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sunvmars · 8 months

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sour | s.r. [2]

pairing: steve rogers x afab/fem reader

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word count: 3.2k

warnings: swearing, brief mentions of abortion, pregnancy/pregnant reader- that's ab it

summary: you and steve discuss plans for the pregnancy, steve faces the consequences of his actions

a/n: oh boy have i got a little plot twist coming for y'all soon. also, the chapters will get longer as more of the story is revealed!

“I’m pregnant, Steve.”

Steve's hold on you became a little tighter. He found himself unable to fully process the information you'd just dropped on him; you being pregnant wasn't something he had even considered. You stood still in his arms, allowing him time to process the news and awaiting any type of response from him. He took a deep breath, his mind racing with thoughts and emotions. The words kept repeating in his head; she’s pregnant, she's pregnant, she's…pregnant.

"Steve? Did you hear me?" you questioned, voice slightly muffled by how you were being pressed into his chest.

Only after hearing your voice again did he move. He released his grip on you and took a step back to look you in the eyes. His eyebrows furrowed, his expression containing a mix of disbelief and confusion. There was something else hidden below the surface of his gaze too- a deep-rooted concern. A concern not only for you but for the tiny little life growing inside of you too, the life both of you created.

"What..? I'm sorry, this is just, uhm, wow."

You cock an eyebrow up at him, "That's all you've got to say?"

When he doesn't respond, you scoff. His eyes search the room as he tries to avoid direct eye contact with you.

"Well, now that you've made this abnormally awkward, I think I'm gonna go home now," you chuckle, trying to hide your irritation, ''Since I'm having your baby, please feel free to call me when you've got something else to add, alright?"

He grabs your arm when you turn to leave, "Wait. I'm sorry, y/n. Come inside, please. We can talk in here.”

Reluctantly, you allowed Steve to guide you into the apartment. His grip on your arm stayed gentle but firm like he thought you were gonna turn and run away at any moment. Once fully inside, you noticed how everything seemed so familiar yet foreign at the same time. Most of the pictures were off the wall except for two.

One picture was one that Tony had taken at the beach a year ago. The photo was of you, Steve, and Bucky sitting in the sand. You were laying in Steve's lap with your head resting on his chest while playing rock, paper, scissors with Bucky for the last slice of Steve's birthday cake.

The other photo just had you and Steve on your first date. You'd made him take a picture with you in front of the movie theater you went to. It was the oldest theater in town and, at some point during the night, you made a joke about how the theater was the only thing as old as him in the city.

He'd rolled his eyes at the joke but found himself unable to contain a smile when he saw your face light up as you laughed. You were witty, and that was his favorite thing about you, even if he was on the butt end of the joke. As long as you still had that pretty smile on your face, he didn't care how many jokes you made about him.

The soft, white couch you'd picked out together when the two of you first moved in was still there too and so was your favorite vase. The vase was missing the flowers though- the flowers he'd come home with every Friday without fail. More often than not, the ones he bought the week before weren't even dead yet, but he'd buy you new ones anyways.

"Ma used to tell me that if someone buys you flowers and they don't die for a long time, that means they really love you. But it's unavoidable that they'll die eventually, right? So I figured that if I buy you new ones before the old ones die then you'll never get the chance to forget how much I love you," he explained, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead.

"Right, but what if I forget anyway?" you joked with a smile.

And then he shrugged and gave you a peck on your nose, "Then it's a good thing I'll be right here to remind you, honey," he cooed.

You bit your tongue, forcing the lump in your throat to go back down upon remembering all of the moments you shared. This was your home until just a couple of months ago, and now it felt like you were standing in a shell of what used to be your safe space.

Steve led you to the living room, the last room you'd been in before he gave up on your future together. He gestured for you to take a seat and you plopped into your favorite recliner that didn't even seem like it'd been touched since you left. The tension in the room was palpable as he sat on the far end of the couch, the side farthest away from you.

"You scared I'm gonna bite you or something?" you joked, rubbing a hand over your aching stomach.

He gave a short-lived chuckle before speaking, "Listen, I'm sorry for my reaction," he began, his voice filled with sincerity, "I didn't expect this, and I'm sure you didn't either."

You nodded to show your understanding, "It's alright, this is a lot for both of us."

"What do you wanna do..?"

"Me?"

His brain blanks as he tries to think of whether or not he'd said something wrong.

"Yeah?" he finally says, almost saying it like a question.

"It's not just my decision, Steven. You get a say in this too."

"I do?"

You laugh a little at his confusion, "Yes. You do."

"I'm sorry, it's just that with everything that happened I... I'm trying to say that I'd understand if you didn't want me involved in this decision," he says, looking down at the floor to avoid your eyes.

"Steve, look at me," you begin, pausing until he looks back up at you, "I wouldn't leave this choice up to just me. Whatever decision we make has to work for both of us though."

He looks up at you with surprise etched all over his face, "Thank you, y/n. It's more than I deserve."

"Mhm, tell me about it," you sigh while still rubbing a hand soothingly over your stomach, trying to ease the nausea.

He's silent, avoiding the dreaded breakup conversation. Luckily enough, neither of you are ready to have that discussion yet. He claps his hands together in his lap quietly and clears his throat to get rid of the silence.

"Do you know how far along you are?"

"No, not yet. I have to find a doctor. I'll ask Tony to make the call for me tomorrow."

"So, what do you wanna do?" he asks again, emphasizing the 'you,' "Have you thought about...you know?"

"The alternative? Yeah, I thought about it for a bit, but I think I wanna keep it. I've only known about the little guy for less than an hour and I'm already attached."

What you said was true, you did think about every possible alternative from abortion to adoption; but at some point on the way here, you'd decided on keeping it. You feel a bit of hope when you look down at your stomach. You smile to yourself, momentarily forgetting all your troubles. Though your smile is quickly replaced with a frown when you remember the situation at hand. You look up to lock eyes with him, seeing he's clearly hesitating to respond.

"But if you don't want this, I can raise him or her alone. Y'know, move out of town or move a few states away to be closer to family so there are no unwanted run-ins. The whole nine yards," you say softly, wiping a stray tear off your cheek.

"Oh, y/n," he mumbles, "I'm sorry. I didn't want it to be like this- I didn't want any of this."

You take in his words, trying to make sense of them. You felt your heart beginning to break as he remained silent. How can he just give up so easily before it even gets hard? Not that you'd pressure him into raising a kid he didn't want, I mean you did give him the choice, but his words still come as a surprise.

"So, the whole nine yards it is then?"

"I'm sorry, y/n..."

“I need you to look at me and say it, please.”

Steve looked around the room, appearing as though he was about to cry. His eyes finally land on you and you swear there's bits of guilt and regret in them.

"I don't want this baby."

That was all you needed. Hearing him say the words to you only solidified that y/n l/n and Steve Rogers didn't stand another damn chance. You sniffled as you stood up, trying to conceal any glimpse of sadness he could possibly see in you. You make your way to the door and go to turn the handle only for him to start speaking and stop you in your tracks.

"Y/n. I'm sorry, okay? I wasn't expecting any of this. I don't know what I want yet."

"Of course you do, Steven, you just said it," you say with a fake smile as you turn to look at him, "I'm not upset with you for not wanting this, but I'm disappointed that you're not the man I thought you were. If you change your mind, you know where to find me, but decide soon because I won't let you be in and out of our lives."

With that, you leave and quietly shut the door behind you.

The drive back to the tower is entirely too slow and painful. You slipped your shoes off once back inside the comfort of your room and made your way to the bathroom to run a bath. After sinking in the warm bubbles and water, you unlocked your phone to unblock Steve's number. You awaited a text as you bathed- a text that never came, that is. You felt a little silly for ever thinking he'd want this with you but brush the feeling off quickly as it makes you feel physically sick.

You dry off, slip into your favorite night clothes, then slip under your covers. After trying to fall asleep for four hours and either waking up after a few minutes or not being able to fall asleep at all, you text Bucky to see if he's awake. It's about 3 a.m., but he responds after only five minutes to tell you he's coming to your room. The fact that he knew you wanted him to come over without saying it had a smile spreading across your lips.

When he arrived, you hugged him tightly and let out a shaky breath you'd been holding. He pulled away from the hug and looked at you with a concerned expression painted on his face.

"What's wrong?" he asks, hands resting on your arms.

"I'm pregnant, Buck."

You laugh a little to hide the way your voice cracked but Bucky sees right through it. He frowns at the sight of you, taking in the dark bags under your eyes and your skin that was paler than your usual tone.

"Let's go sit down, yeah?" he smiles warmly.

The two of you sit on your bed in silence as you lay your head on his shoulder. You make small talk after a few minutes, Bucky mainly asking questions about what you plan to do and how you feel.

"I'm guessing you told Steve?" he inquires.

He feels you nod slowly against his shoulder and he takes it as a sign to continue.

"And how did he take it?"

You shrug before speaking, "It seemed like he wanted to be a part of it all at first...then he said he didn't want this, but then he said he wasn't sure."

"Huh," he sighs out of confusion, "You know I'm here for you though, right? Both of you are my best friends, no matter how stupid he's being."

"I know you are," you reply.

"I know it's early and all, but have you thought about if you want a girl or boy?" he asks cautiously, worried the topic might upset you, "If you keep it, that is," he quickly adds.

"Buck, can I be honest with you?"

"Of course."

"I went to Steve's to get his input, but I think I decided to keep it as soon as I found out about it. I hate Steve so much right now, but this baby is a piece of both of us. I can't bring myself to get rid of something so innocent just for being a part of him," you explain, "I know it's not that simple for other people, but I did want kids with him eventually. I'm not unhappy with the pregnancy, I'm unhappy with the circumstances. Boy or girl, I'll be overjoyed either way."

He smiles to himself briefly, "You've got the biggest heart, you know that? You'll be a wonderful mother, y/n, and I mean that."

As hard as he tries to come up with an explanation for his friend's odd behavior, he can't. He'd promised you that he wouldn't go digging for answers when you broke up, you'd told him you didn't care to know and that it wasn't his problem. You're his friend, so he respected that. But now? Now it wasn't just you that Steve was abandoning, which meant that now he had to have answers.

Your breathing slows after a little bit, a sign that he recognizes as you getting sleepy. Slowly, he lays down, cradling your body so that you lay down with him. He lets you rest your head on him as he strokes your hair back soothingly. He waits until he hears your soft snores to gently ease your head onto your pillow before getting off the bed. He'd decided that he was going to get answers, even if it was three-forty in the morning.

Back at the apartment, Steve had only moved once to turn off the lights, pour a glass of alcohol, and sit in your recliner. He would never say it now but he hated being alone in the apartment without you. This wasn't his home, and it never was, not without you there with him. The space that used to be filled with your laughter and your love now felt void of anything other than cold. He sat in the dark, alone with his thoughts, as he did almost every night since you broke up.

His phone buzzed, startling him out of his thoughts. The timing of him getting a message was unusual given the late hour. He picked up the phone and saw it was from Bucky, he smiled softly in hopes that his friend would offer some sort of help. He was sadly mistaken.

Bucky: We need to talk.

Steve frowned at the cryptic message as he typed a response.

Steve: About what?

Bucky's reply was swift.

Bucky: You know exactly what.

A knock sounded at the door no more than ten minutes later. He sighed, mentally preparing himself for whatever talking to he was about to get.

"It's open," he called out.

The door opened to reveal Bucky. As he walked in, the light from outside lit up his face and allowed Steve to see his expression of concern and irritation. He closed the door behind him and then turned to face Steve.

"I'm starting to worry you're turning into a vampire or something, punk. Why are you sitting with all the lights off again? Haven't we had this talk before?" he questions, flipping the overhead light on, "Have you been crying again?"

Steve groans and rubs his wet eyes with his free hand, "No," he lies.

His eyes narrow in Bucky's direction as he walks towards where he's sitting. Steve then brings the drink up to his lips to take a sip only to have it yanked away.

"Buck-"

"Now this is new, is this alcohol?" Bucky asks, bringing the glass up to his nose only to recoil at the scent, "Steve, oh my God, What is in this?"

"Whiskey, tequila, a little bit of everything. Well, everything she left here."

Bucky looks away, desperately trying to contain a laugh, "You can't even get drunk. What are you doing? What's the end goal here?"

"The taste helps me forget how big of an idiot I am," Steve confesses as he snatches his drink back, "It's like a punishment."

"Glad you know you're an idiot, it makes my job here easier."

"Did she send you over here," Steve asks, looking up at Bucky through his eyelashes.

"No, she didn't. But she told me what happened and I came here on my own," Bucky responds, "You know as well as I do that she can fight her own battles."

"Then why are you here?"

"To check on you. And like you said, you're an idiot. I'm here to figure out why you're being such an idiot, though. Whatever Steve you've been for the last four months isn't the Steve I know."

When he doesn't answer, Bucky continues talking, "I've let this go on for far too long. I should've asked when I noticed you were acting weird, but I chalked it up to how rough that last Hydra mission was. But this whole baby thing is the last straw, Steve. I've had to put up with your dumb decisions recently, I deserve an explanation. The woman carrying your child does more so, but we'll get to that."

Steve let out a heavy sigh and his shoulders slumped as he realized there was no escaping the conversation. Bucky had always been a straightforward friend. For as long as they knew each other, he was never one to beat around the bush, and he wasn't about to start letting Steve get away with stuff now.

"I don't even know where to start," Steve admits, his voice laced with frustration.

He takes another sip of his drink, hoping it might give him the kick he needs to explain himself. His face turns up at the taste and Bucky tries yet again to conceal a laugh.

"Okay, enough of that," he says, taking the drink back out of Steve's hands.

Bucky crosses his arms and sits on the end of the couch closest to Steve, giving him a stern look, "How about you try starting with why you decided to walk away from her? She's the best thing that ever happened to you, Steve, we both know that."

Steve winces at his words. He knew Bucky was right, as he usually was, but facing the same truth every day didn't make it hurt any less. It actually hurt worse since he knew that this entire situation was his fault.

"So?" Bucky says, urging Steve to speak.

Bucky instinctively brings the glass up to his lips and takes a sip. His expression turns from understanding to disgust as he spits the drink back into the cup.

Steve chuckles under his breath, "Habit?"

"Think it was the feeling of the cup in my hand, not sure why I did that. Guess old habits do die hard," Bucky explains, "Anyways, get to the explaining."

"I... I don't know, Buck. I messed up, bad."

"We already know that, care to elaborate?" Bucky prodded.

"It wasn't up to me, Buck," Steve sighs, speaking again when he sees Bucky's confused look, "Remember that Hydra mission you were just talking about?"

taglist! @vicmc624 @tooruen @athenabarnes @blackhawkfanatic

to be added to or removed from the tag list for this series, leave a comment or message me :) submissions and asks are now also open

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thought--bubble · 3 months

Text

Like A Dream

Tom Bennett X (Pregnant Wife Reader)

Warnings after the cut

Tom Bennett Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Based on THIS request

Banners by @arcielee

A/N: Writing this came so naturally to me. I had my daughter young and was looking my best right before I got pregnant, so I used personal experience for this one 🥰 also I did an abnormal amount of research regarding the rarity of grapes during this time period and how special it would be for someone to find them available for purchase 🤣🤣

Warnings:: Body Dysmorphia, pregnancy, minor depression,smut, oral sex (F receiving)

"You alright love?" Your husband asks from his place on the sofa as you walk through the front door.

You sigh. "Yes, Tom," you carry the few bags with food you picked up from the market and place them on the kitchen counter.

Ever since Tom found out you were pregnant, he fawns over you. He hates the idea of you lifting a finger in your delicate condition. The problem? You are a very independent person and like your freedom.

"Not too convincing." he rises from the couch and goes to the counter, peeking through the bags to see what you bought.

"Mmmm, they had grapes!" He plucks a grape off the vine and pops it into his mouth.

"Tom!" You playfully hit his arm."They should be washed first! You don't know who had their hands all over em before I bought em!"

"I survived war, love." He leans his back against the counter. "Don't think a grape is gonna do me in when bombs couldn't"

"Yeah, well, they can still make ya sick, and I'm already sick every morning. Can't have the two of us going. " You huff and sit down in one of the old creaky wooden chairs that sit around the scuffed up second-hand table you successfully purchased off a neighbor about a year ago.

"Hey...." He leans down towards you and pushes your hair back. "You're tired and stressed, darlin. Let me take care of this, yeah?"

"I can do it." You grumble, annoyed, and try to pull yourself from the seat, but your near end of term pregnancy belly made standing an incredibly challenging endeavor.

Tom gives you a stern look. "More stubborn than I am." He gives you that cheeky smile, and you playfully roll your eyes.

"That's not possible" Tom is the most stubborn person on the planet as far as you were concerned and you know for a fact that even on your worst day you couldn't possibly be more stubborn than the man you married.

"Ah! I always knew ya married me for my looks." He wiggles his eyebrows at you as he unloads the groceries.

"What can I say? You got me with those blue eyes, and that smile." You look at him lovingly. You married him for a million reasons. He had pursued you relentlessly for weeks before you finally caved and went out with him. You didn't have any reason you made him wait other than thoroughly enjoying watching him try to convince you of something you already wanted desperately.

"Thank God for my parents! They gave me the good stuff!" He chuckles loudly, and you watch him in awe. Tom had this aura about him. He exudes confidence. Tom is handsome. He knows it, and he embraces it. You hardly ever see him without a smile on his face, and he takes almost nothing seriously.

You sigh to yourself as you move to try and pull yourself out of the chair again. Pregnancy is a magical thing. You know this. You feel it, yet you can't help the way it has you feeling about the body it leaves behind.

Your face is fuller. Something people have been complimenting you on, yet you hate it. Your hips are wider, and your already plump thighs have somehow grown bigger.

The discomfort with the changes in your body started gradually, but as you near the end of your pregnancy, less and less do you like what stares back at you in the mirror.

The tears start to well up in your eyes as you fight a losing battle to hold them back.

"Hey..hey! What is going on, love?" Tom crouches before you cupping your cheeks on either side of your face. He furrows his brows in obvious concern. "Talk to me," he gently rubs his thumb against your cheekbone. His heart breaks a little as he looks into your tear filled eyes. Upset with himself that you are this sad, and he didn't notice until now.

You take in a shakey breath and look at him with despair. "I'm a terrible mum, and the baby isn't even here yet." The flood gates break open, and tears finally start to pour down your face.

"W-why... why would you say that?" He scootches closer to you, placing his hands on either side of your thighs and rubbing his hands up and down.

"I should be happy! A good mother would be happy, but..." The tears are pouring out of your face now, the sadness, guilt, and shame bubbling over and making you feel like you have lost complete control over your emotional state.

"But what, sweetheart?" He drops down to his knees, pushing himself between your legs while he continues to caress your thighs. "You can talk to me, oh darlin, please talk to me."

"I ... I ... I ... I hate it!" You start to sob your face in your hands. "I'm tired, everything aches, it's difficult to move, and all that would be bearable if .... if i didn't look so disgusting now"

"Disgusting??" Tom balks at the statement. "Someone say something to you?" His face contorts in anger. "Was that Mike arse three doors down, wasn't it?" Tom nearly growls. "That's about how much he hates me nothing to do with you, darlin. I'll go sort him." Tom shoots up quickly, tossing on his jacket.

"TOM!" You screech just as he is about to fly out the front door, most likely to rearrange Mike's face. Mike and Tom do not like each other it is certainly not a secret in your neighborhood. Yet Mike has never been anything but pleasant to you. After all, his issue was with Tom, and he wasn't going to take that out on you for simply being Tom's wife.

"No one said anything to me, I have eyes! And a mirror! I can see it clearly for myself!" His heart shatters completely when he hears the crack in your voice, his jaw drops, and he wants to retort but quickly stops himself. The priority is you. He needs to take care of you, so as aggravated as he is, he softens his features and turns back to you.

He drops his jacket on the back of one of the other kitchen chairs and takes your hand. "Let's get you into bed, you need rest" You sniffle and nod as he places your hand in his, while gently holding your lower back with the other making sure to get you out of the chair in the most comfortable way possible.

Once you're up and walking, he wraps an arm around you, gently leading you up the stairs and into the bedroom . He helps you get into the bed, raising your legs and sliding them in before crawling in next to you, his face directly across from yours as you both lay on your side facing each other.

"Thank you," your whisper is gentle with a hint of lingering sadness as he reaches over and caresses right under your eye with his thumb.

"You. are. beautiful." He moves closer to you and puts his forehead against yours "Always".

You chuckle slightly. "You are a good husband, Tom Bennett." You lean forward and kiss him gently.

He pulls back from you, cupping your face in his hands. "Look at me"

You look him directly in the eyes. Yours are still a bit watery, so you try to blink back the tears.

"You. are. beautiful." He repeats."You are always beautiful, don't you ever forget that. Big, pregnant, bald even, you are always beautiful"

You giggle and sigh. "You're too good to me"

"Aven't been good enough love. Or you wouldn't feel like this. " He kisses you softly but deeply while gently rolling you onto your back.

"Been neglectin' ya. Work and allat." He kisses down your neck."I'll make it up."

You hum contentedly and place your hand on the back of his head. Arousal builds up in your core, but you're so tired you don't know if you have it in you right now.

"Don't know if I have the energy for this right now." You chuckle as you close your eyes, just enjoying the feeling of him on your neck.

"Just lie back and relax. This is all about you"

He moves down your body, placing a delicate kiss to your belly before pushing your dress up around your hips.

"Oh Tom, you don't have to do this." You say as he pulls your knickers down your legs.

" I wish I did have to do it. Wish it was an everyday requirement, but I guess I have to settle for doing it when you'll let me. " He brings his hands to your heat, pushing your legs out wider.

"Stunning site, really,"

"Tom!" You chuckle and reach down to give him a whack, but he catches your hand and holds it.

He licks a stripe straight up your center. Your hand squeezes his tight, letting him know the pleasure that is building up.

He gently flicks your bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue, bringing his free hand to your hip and rubbing circles there with his thumb.

You involuntarily move your hips, desperate for more friction. "You're supposed to be relaxin," he taunts

He returns to your clit swallowing it whole and sucking on it harshly while rolling his tongue over it.

"Oh god, Tom!" You can't help but yell out, your hips taking on a mind of their own as you move against his face.

He smiles against you as he releases your clit nudging it with his nose as he travels lower lapping up your juices before sticking his tongue inside.

Your eyes fly open as you look at the ceiling above you, panting harshly. If someone asked you your name right now, you wouldn't even know the answer. Your head is completely empty of everything, save for the pleasure you are experiencing.

His brings his hand off your hip, the other still grasping your hand tightly. He rubs at your clit with his thumb as he fucks you with his tongue.

"Ahhh. Ahh!" You squeeze his hand tightly as you writhe against his face, getting closer and closer to sweet release.

His hand and tongue switch places as he slides two fingers into you while sucking on your engorged nerve.

"Oh my god, Tom, I can't. I can't!" You don't know what you can't do. You just know that you can't.

He pulls back momentarily. " Oh yes, you can love, and ya will"

He brings his face back to your heat moving it from side to side over your clit while he increases the speed of his fingers.

Everything that happens now is automatic. Your legs lift up and squeeze his head as you arch your back and gasp for air as a title wave of pleasure washes over you.

Tom gives you a few more kitten licks as you ride out your high and stops when you start to twitch.

he crawls back up next to you and flops on his back, panting. "You're. .....beautiful.... don't.... ever... doubt .... that" he rolls onto his side and gazes at your face. "Promise me"

"I promise I'll try Tom." He knows that is the best answer he is going to get out of you so he just smiles.

"While we're talking about promises, I need you to make just one more tiny promise," he grins at you cheekily, sliding his body over so he is right up against yours.

"What?"

He takes your hand and places it over the massive bulge in his trousers

"That you'll help me with this"

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acey-wacey · 1 year

Note

hiiiii i love the future children series so i request Riddle, Vil, Kalim, Jamil and Idia if that is okay ^^

This series is in quite high demand, I must say.

...

🌹 Riddle Rosehearts 🌹

Riddle was on his way to attend to the Heartslabyul croquet hedgehogs when he found that their cages had been opened.

You can imagine his panic when every single one of them was gone.

He huffed, trying his best not to hyperventilate at this grievous issue.

He heard a giggle from behind the garden shed and stormed over, ready to scream at some irresponsible first years.

When he caught sight of two little girls, he was so shocked he forgot to scream at them.

The two girls, one of them 6 years old, the other 5, were petting and playing with the little blue and pink hedgehogs.

Both of them had bright red hair and features that reminded him of someone Riddle couldn't quite put his finger on

He cleared his throat, startling the little girls.

"What are you children doing here?"

"We were just..." began the older girl before she was interrupted by the other.

"We were making sure the hedgehogs weren't lonely!"

Riddle sighed and crouched down to be at eye level with the girls.

"I appreciate your concern for the emotional well-being of my hedgehogs but it was very irresponsible to take them out for their cages, especially without permission."

"Sorry, papa," the girls said in unison.

"No need to call me papa. I'm not your father. Speaking of, I'll take you two to the main office. I'm sure Headmaster Crowley will spare no effort to reunite you with them," Riddle spoke, trying not to crack as the little girls stared up at him with their big ol' eyes. He then muttered under his breath in contempt of the headmaster. "Especially if it will give him and excuse to not work on sending Y/N home."

The oldest girl tugged on his sleeve and furrowed her eyebrows.

"Why are you gonna take us to Mr Crowley? Do you not want to play with us?"

"As much as I would love to entertain you, I'm sure your parents are very worried about you. You must be visitors from the Isle, correct?"

The girls exchanged a look and burst out in giggles.

"Silly papa! Did you forget? We're from the Kingdom of Roses, not the Isle!" the older girl laughed.

"I learned about it in school!" The younger girl said proudly with her hands on her hips. "We talked about the Queen of Hearts and she was from the Kingdom of Roses too!"

"You're from the Kingdom of Roses?"

"Yes, papa! Keep up!"

"May I ask what your parents names are? Perhaps I'm acquainted with them."

"Is this a test, papa?" the youngest squinted at Riddle.

"I know!" The older girl squealed. "Our parents are Riddle Rosehearts and Y/N Rosehearts. And just in case you need it for your test, my name is Reina Rosehearts and my little sister and best friend in the whole wide world is Rosaline!"

Riddle was stunned upon hearing your name and his own as the children's alleged parents.

He was far too flustered to deal on his own so he called you and told you to come to Heartslabyul right away.

You thought somebody had broken some bone so you rushed over immediately only to find Riddle cuddles on the common room couch, reading fairy tales to two little girls.

It's safe to say, he warmed up to them pretty quick.

"This is the emergency you were talking about?"

"Hush, Y/N, we're at the best part of the story."

...

🗡️ Silver 🗡️

It wasn't abnormal for Silver to fall asleep on one of the campus benches.

It was, however, unusual to spot a little boy cuddled up with him.

You were walking back to your dorm when you spotted Silver, who was curled up while hugging a little grey-haired boy.

The boy looked about 7, far too young to be on the campus without an adult, and he had Silver's jacket draped over him like a blanket.

You didn't want to wake Silver but you were so curious and you didn't have anywhere to be so you sat next to Silver on the bench, waiting for him to wake up.

About 30 later, Silver's eyes blinked open and he found you right next to him.

"Oh, Y/N. When did you get here?" he rubbed his eyes and tried to shift his posture without waking the boy in his arms.

"About a half hour ago. I wanted to ask, who is the boy with you?"

Silver looked down at the boy he still cradled and almost looked surprised.

"Oh, yes. This is Elliot. He's our son."

You couldn't help but laugh from the pure shock from Silver's response.

"Our son?"

"Yes. He's from the future and found his way here, one way or another."

Silver seemed so genuine that you stopped chuckling and furrowed your brows.

"Are you still half-asleep, Silver?"

"Probably, but I'm actually being serious about this. He's our little boy. He even says so himself. We could wake him to prove it."

You shook your head and looked at the little boy who peacefully snoozed on the bench.

"We shouldn't disturb him. How about we carry him back to the Diasomnia dorm where he can sleep peacefully and when he wakes up, we'll have this conversation?"

Silver nodded with a barely visible smile and gentle picked Elliot up.

The boy whined and shifted but stayed asleep.

The two of you took him to Diasomnia in comfortable silence and napped on Silver's bed with Elliot in between you two.

Of course later, Lilia would walk in and take a bunch of pictures before practicing you both about "intimacy before marriage".

He stops as soon as s he realized he had a grandson.

You have to pry Elliot away from Lilia because he so thrilled to have a baby again.

...

♣️ Trey Clover ♣️

"Who are my strawberry tart?" Riddle screeched, fuming mad at his authority behind undermined. "Ace, you knave!"

Ace rolled his eyes and crossed his arms at Riddle.

"For the last time, Mr Dorm leader, I'm not always to blame for everything that goes wrong."

"But you gotta admit, it is usually your fault," Cater chuckled from behind his phone screen.

"This one isn't my fault! I'm not gonna sit here and be yelled at for something I didn't even do!"

"Then who would eaten it?" Deuce sighed, his head starting to hurt from all the yelling.

Trey cleared his throat and all turned to look at him as he stood in the doorway of the kitchen.

He rubbed his neck sheepishly as he looked at Riddle.

"Sorry, Riddle. That would be my fault."

"Trey?"

"For real?"

"No, no, not me," Trey chuckled in embarrassment and beckoned for someone from behind the door.

Three children sheepishly stepped out with their hands behind their backs.

There was an older boy, a girl, and a very little boy, all three of them with strawberry red staining their cheeks.

"Trey, what is the meaning of this?" Riddle sternly inquired. "Are these your siblings? Did they eat my tart?"

"They did eat the tart but they aren't my sibligns. They're actually, uh," Trey sighed, unsure how to bring it up gracefully. "They're my children.

A gasp rippled through the room before all hell broke loose.

"You have kids?"

"When did this happen?"

"You're just 18!"

"Who's the mother?"

Trey held his hands up in surrender and ushered the kids back behind him as they seemed very overwhelmed by the influx of questions.

"They're from the future, so don't worry about me having children as a teenager."

"How'd they get here if they're from the future?" asked Deuce, though he wasn't sure if the answer was obvious to everyone else and he just wasn't getting it.

"I don't know, Deuce, but they're here until I can figure out how to get them back," Trey sighed. "Since they might be here a while, I'll introduce them."

Trey pointed to the older boy who had greenish hair and glasses just like his father.

"This is Julian,"

He pulled the girl, who had e/c eyes with a mischievous glint, into a little side hug and she giggled.

"This is Catherine,"

He ruffled the little boys h/c hair, making him laugh.

"And this little one is Lukas."

"Okay, but who's the mom? Is it someone we know?" Ace seemed very invested in the new tea.

"I'm not sure I really want to tell you anymore."

"Come on, who is it?"

"Mama is Y/N!" Lukas exclaimed, looking very proud of himself that he remembered his mother's name.

All the Heartslabyul students went quiet. This time nothing broke the uncomfortable silence as they all exchanged glances.

"I heard yelling. Are y'all alright?" you poked your head into the kitchen.

"We're fine!" Deuce practically screamed, making you even more concerned.

"It's absolutely nothing," Cater gave you a thumbs up and a saccharine smile as you raised your eyebrow suspiciously.

"You're all acting weird."

"Mama!"

Before you knew it, three tiny bodied were upon you.

"What's going on?" you asked, panicked. You looked to Trey for help since he usually knew what was going on.

Trey sighed and began prying the children off of you.

"Alright, kids. Let's not suffocate your mother."

You practically saw blue screens.

"Mother?"

"Maybe let's take this somewhere more private where I can explain."

You could hear a chorus of suggestive "oohs" from the kitchen as you walked to Trey's room.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #disneytw #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #silver twisted wonderland #silver twisted wonderland x reader #silver x reader #trey clover #trey clover x reader

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cistematicchaos · 8 months

Text

ID: a screenshot of text from a tumblr post reading: "Pathologizing: Hey sorry I yelled at you. I have this ADHD symptom called RSD that makes me really sensitive.

Humanizing: Hey, I'm sorry that I blew up like that earlier. In the moment I felt really attacked and overwhelmed and I reacted badly. I know you didn't mean to offend me with what you said, so that behavior is on me."

sorry, maybe im just. not in the loop. but this feels gross? i shouldn't mention my mental illness' by name? because that distances me from others? what? what about stuff i can't control or things that're really hard to explain without bringing up the fact that, hello, i'm mentally ill/disabled? also, i'm confused, pathologizing means to acknowledge or view something as psychologically or medically abnormal-why can't i be human and abnormal too?

and like. how does this apply to a meltdown. what do i say? "hey, i'm sorry i covered my ears while you were talking and told you to stop. at the time, i felt [like someone was putting sand through the gears of my brain and also scratching their nails across a chalkboard and banging pots?] but just sitting there with my ears covered was a bad reaction, it's not on you"?

like. that's not even something i can control, not to mention...you think no one's gonna have questions? how would it not just be easier to say, "i'm autistic, i had a meltdown which is where i get really overwhelmed and i just need a bit to chill with no interference when i'm covering my ears."

i dunno. the whole thing sounds insensitive. maybe it works for some things but the whole vibe of "don't mention your mental illness! you're just distancing yourself from other people/you're pathologizing yourself instead of humanizing yourself to ppl!" is giving wildly ableist vibes. you can mention your mental illness and still apologize for shit that happened because of it. you can mention your mental illness and still "humanize" your conversations or whatever tf.

like sometimes shit happens 'cause we're mentally ill. yes, there are good ways to explain that and not-so-good ways to explain that but just cutting our mental illness' out of the equation in an effort to "humanize" ourselves isn't some sort of bold, brand idea. that's just assimilation and ableism.

#actually autistic #actually disabled #madpunk #ableism #disability #chaos is speaking #tell me im not the only one getting weirdass vibes from this???#autism

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whump-imagines · 3 months

Text

Ice

Will & reader (could be platonic or early relationship.)

900 words

For anyone else who was missing a certain red head on Wednesday...

You felt like Bambi trying to make your way across the parking lot toward the hospital. Between sleeping through your alarm and the icy road conditions you were running very late for your shift. In your haste to get out of the house, you’d thrown on your regular shoes rather than your boots.

About halfway to the door your tractionless shoes slipped and you took a full cartoon style fall– both feet up in the air to land hard on your back. The hit knocked the wind from your lungs and it took a moment to suck in a breath.

Seconds later, the pain registered. Your back and head hurt. Before you could even think of what you should be doing next, Will was kneeling beside you.

“Don’t move,” he said. He started to run his fingers down either side of your neck in search of any abnormalities. “You hit your head pretty good. Does it hurt?”

You coughed, your lungs still trying to function properly. “Uh, yeah. My back too, kinda like up between my shoulders.”

“Okay, can you squeeze my fingers?” He placed two fingers against both your palms and you did as he'd asked. “Good, and push against my hands like you're pushing the gas pedal.” Again, you did as asked.

“Fuckin’ ice,” you muttered quietly.

“Okay. Do you think you can sit up?” Will asked.

You took another deep breath. “Yeah.” He offered his hand and very slowly pulled you into a seated position. You closed your eyes tightly as dizziness set in. “Woah.”

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You peeled your eyes open, locking into his concerned ones. “Just dizzy. Really dizzy.”

“You probably have a concussion,” Will suggested.

A shiver ran down your spine. “Yeah, well, won't matter if I freeze to death out here.”

Will chuckled. “We are going to move slowly. I don't need you passing out because you stood up too quickly.” He shifted so he could stand to help you up. “Ready?”

“Yup.” You winced as you straightened up, pain flaring through your back. You took half a step to get closer to Will and your feet slipped slightly. You gripped onto his arm so tightly your knuckles turned white.

“Okay, you're okay. I got ya.” He started to walk slowly and carefully towards the doors.

Once you made it to dry flooring, you sighed in relief. Will kept your hand wrapped around his arm as he headed towards the nurses station.

“Hey, Mags,” he greeted. “What's open? She took a hard fall outside.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She rubbed your shoulder gently. “Take treatment one.”

“Thanks,” said Will. “Can I get thoracic and cervical spine x-rays and a head CT?”

“And something for the pain? Please?” You asked.

“Let's get 50 micrograms of fentanyl, too,” Will added. “Oh, and a warm blanket.”

“You got it,” Maggie noted all the requests in the tablet she was holding. “Any blood work?”

“No, just the scans for now.”

About an hour later, you had finished all the scans and were trying your best not to doze off under your second warm blanket. April had brought a new one when she'd come to check your vitals.

Will came in with the tablet in his hands. “How're you feeling? In too much pain?”

You gave him a thumbs up. “I'm possibly too comfy. I'm fighting the nap hard.”

“Good news then. You can nap shortly,” he said.

“Yay!” You said lazily.

“You do have a mild concussion,” he explained. “As well as two bruised ribs. So you're stuck here for observation until at least tomorrow but you can sleep if you want.”

“Well that's gonna hurt tomorrow. Awesome,” you added sarcastically.

Will squeezed your hand gently. “At least nothing is broken. Get some rest, alright?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, already giving into the pull of sleep.

You had no idea how much time had passed when you woke up. It seemed a safe guess that the pain was what had roused you. It felt like someone was digging a knife into your shoulder blade and breathing made it even worse.

You groped around the bed for the call button as tears welled in your eyes. A moment later, you found it and proceeded to push it several times. April pushed the curtain back soon after.

“You're awake,” she stated.

A tear rolled down your cheek. “It hurts. It hurts a lot. I feel like I can't even breathe.”

She quickly moved closer and took your hand. “Just squeeze as hard as you need to. Take slow breaths.” Within a few minutes she had calmed you down quite a bit. “I'm gonna go find someone to get you something for the pain. I'll be right back.”

She leaned out the door and you heard her tell someone that you needed something for pain. Will came in a second later and gave April a dosage for morphine.

“That should help,” he started. “I'll make sure to get you a prescription before we send you home too. Sound good?”

“Thanks, Will,” you said. He took your hand. “What would I do without you?”

He laughed. “Probably would have just frozen to death in the parking lot. So my shift is over soon and you're getting moved upstairs. What do you say to some pizza and a movie?”

“Ooh, yes. Please! Hamburger, bacon and extra cheese for me.”

“Okay. I'll see you upstairs in an hour or so.”

#will halstead x reader #will halstead imagine #chicago med fanfiction #one chicago fic

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moonlightdreamzz · 1 year

Text

kill bill

part one

you return back to korea one year after you and hyunjin broke up, only to find out he has replaced you. how could he replace you?

→ g: all of it. the pain, the sexy, the happiness. angstsmutfluff! <3

🎧 ➤ kill bill by sza

warning! you’re a heartbroken bitter ex girlfriend here, although for a valid reason. party environment! mentions of (w**d) and alcohol, language, and infidelity!

I'm so mature, I'm so mature

I'm so mature, I got me a therapist to tell me there's other men

I don't want none, I just want you

If I can't have you, no one should

it felt so, so good to scream these lyrics from the pit of your stomach. you imagine anyone that could hear you and felix passionately singing alongside sza had many questions, the first being; who hurt you? but, as always neither of you care in this moment. the two of you have finally finished cleaning up the dorm in preparation for changbin’s surprise birthday party; the only thing left to do now was decorate and get ready.

you have no idea where the rest of the members are, but who are you to ask questions? knowing your friend, he didn’t trust them to get the job done in time. they could be so damn silly sometimes, taking forever to do the simplest tasks. it was adorable watching their sad attempts to hold all their jokes and playful tendencies within. they failed every time.

felix, who is clearly exhausted from your early morning grind can’t help but to back into the wall and slide down to the wooden floors. he takes a deep breath before blowing upwards, causing the hair covering his forehead to lift ever so slightly.

“someone’s tired.” you chuckle, deciding to lay on the couch over the cold wood. you are so tempted to beg felix for a quick nap, but you know he’s gonna ridicule you for it if you do—in a friendly way of course. he has been talking about this party and how perfect it has to be for what felt like forever. you know deep down his real reasoning for being so prompt was because of who’s birthday it is.

“how can I truly be tired though, y/n?” his aussie accent is thick as he confesses his shame to you, “you came all the way here, landed early as hell in the morning with jet lag, and here you are cleaning with me. i need to get up.” just like that, felix has risen again and stretches his arms out before moving to start taking the decorations out the box.

he was always too hard on himself. “lix,” you coo, walking towards him and placing your hand on his shoulder gently, “getting rest is vital. even if for thirty minutes, why don’t you relax for a little bit? at least close your eyes?”

you can tell he’s considering it by the way his eyes look straight ahead into nothingness, but just as quick as the thought comes, it goes. he inhales deeply before continuing to take things from the huge brown box.

“i promise I’ll rest after this is all over. i just…i don’t want anything to mess up on my end.”

so, they really were all the same huh? those words trigger what feels like a thousand memories into your mind— all of someone you know you will have to see tonight. you were certain he has spoken that exact sentence to you on multiple occasions when you expressed how worried you were about his physical and mental health. you still have no idea what you’re going to say when the two of you eventually bump into each-other at this party.

you’re fidgeting now, and felix’s heart feels as if it wants to jump out of him for the day, but not because he was in love with you or anything. no, felix was incredibly guilty. he knows you’re thinking about his bandmate. you were always so…dazed when he was on your mind.

all day there has been this weird silence in the air between you and felix, which was abnormal to say the least. before you moved back home, you were two peas in a pod. your conversations could last for hours if you let it. all of the boys, but especially felix told you that they loved how free they felt around you. they loved how normal they felt in your presence. you didn’t know why it was such a bad thing, but apparently it was a sin here to have some fun.

the minutes keep passing by and felix has yet to utter a word to you. have things really changed this drastically since you left? was he angry at you for leaving? did you not check up on him enough?

“felix i—

“hyunjin has a new girlfriend!” he spits out as if there was a pistol on his scalp. the balloon he was blowing up flies from the machine, squealing as it tries to find a place to land. if there was a metaphor to describe what those words just did to you, it was that. you felt like a lifeless balloon. the tension in the room is so thick you feel like your throat is about to start closing on you.

your clear vision is now red, so much so, that you were certain your tears would be the same color if you weren’t fighting for your life to hold them in your tear ducts. you hate that even after a year, exactly a year by the way, that he still has so much control over your emotions.

“who?” are the only words you can manage.

felix thought that confessing to you would make him feel better, but as he watches you clearly refraining yourself from having a mental breakdown, he feels a thousand times worse. maybe he should have listened to changbin and chris when they told him to just let you see it. no—he was right. if you were going to hate him, he would rather you be able to say he warned you instead of you finding out from seeing hyunjin waltz in here with his new woman.

“some girl. she’s not famous, and I have no idea where he met her. i’m sorry, y/n. i know you’ve been going to therapy and everything and I just—I never wanted to trigger you. it’s still not an excuse I just—

“lix,” you finally breathe after what felt like days, even though it had only been a minute or two. “i’m not angry with you. how could I be?”

“because i’m your friend.”

“you’re his friend too.” is all you can muster. you know a look of defeat was prominent on your features, but you can’t fake it right now. it wasn’t worth it. you’re trying to push it down, but the rage is burning in the pit of your stomach. you looked so sane to the naked eye. upset? sure. pissed? maybe? but you were way more than those two emotions. you were heartbroken and livid all over again; a woman scorned. all you can hear in your mind right now is the last thing hyunjin uttered to you.

i will never be able to replace you. i need you to breathe. i love you. i’m so sorry. i’m sorry I failed you when I promised I never would.

you heard it in your dreams and nightmares what felt like every night. his voice cracked so clearly on the phone that night. he usually tried to be tough for you, pretending as if nothing could get to him, but not this time. he was so hysterical.

you believed him. you didn’t want to, but he was sobbing. or maybe your ego was big as fuck, and the thought of hyunjin unable to move on from you fed into your fantasy of him suffering without you. you hated that you felt this way, but it doesn’t matter now. it was all a lie.

“y/n.” you hear felix trying to snap you back to reality.

there’s a million things you want to say. you want to see her. you want to ask felix if hyunjin is as happy as he was with you. but you figure you’d save those questions for when he had to see you tonight. if he moved on genuinely, fine. but he was going to have to say it to your face.

“I’m cool.” you smile as if you hadn’t heard the news. you begin ripping the plastic off the decorations you assumed went on the wall based on their shape. you can feel felix’s doe eyes burn holes into you, but you learned a long time ago how to ignore that.

“you sure?” he questions in disbelief.

“positive. i just needed a minute to digest it. I’m good.”

the song you and felix had been shouting the lyrics to has replayed, neither you or Felix knowing the lyrics sza was singing beautifully would foreshadow what was to come later tonight.

I did it all for love

I did all of this on no drugs

I did all of this sober

Don't you know I did it all for us?

fit pics; a necessity when going to any function, but especially when you want your ex to feel sick to their stomach.

yes, you are that girl that makes your friends take your pictures over and over again—hating them all. no, you are not ashamed. this was jisung’s fifth round of taking pics of you, and you are trying so hard to hold in your laughter at his frustration. he’s looking at you, and you know he hasn’t blinked or breathed—already knowing that you’re going to tell him you don’t like the twenty new pictures he’s placed in your camera roll.

“if you don’t like these, i don’t know what to tell you. you look mad good. stop acting like that.”

“you’re lucky I’m pleased.” you smirk, pushing him playfully, “this is the least you can do for the many years you’ve spent trolling my ass, or have you forgotten?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.” he smirks back. his eyes attempt prove his innocence, but they fail and he can’t help but to push you back to play it off.

the music can be heard from outside of the dorms, and you have no idea how they are pulling this off tonight, but you never ask questions; you simply follow suit. you didn’t intend on missing the surprise, but jisung called you frantically saying that he was going to be late and that he would owe you if you pulled up alongside him. truth be told, you pretended that you were fine with being late because you loved him oh-so much, but in reality you wanted to make an entrance.

you wanted hyunijn to pace back and forth as his new girl got ready—heart practically beating out of his chest at the thought of having to see you. you knew he would arrive in preparation to say surprise! to his bandmate, subtly searching for you everywhere. obviously, you aren’t there, but he won’t know whether you are just in the bathroom, late, or not coming at all.

the time will continue to pass—but still no sign of you. his girl is there, so he won’t express his interest about your whereabouts out loud, but he will text felix wondering where you are. she’s coming, is all felix is going to respond, already receiving the text from you that you were running late to ride with jisung, but not wanting to spill your beans to your ex, regardless of the fact that he was hyunjin’s friend too.

you know his anxiety is going up and down right now. he’s probably not paying ole’ girl any attention because hyunjin knows. he fucking knows that any second now you will walk into that dorm and he’ll have to recall his last words to you. he’ll also have to see how damn fine you look tonight from head to toe. he’ll think of every single late night he tried to replace your body, but couldn’t. you love changbin so much, but he was crazier than you when it came to his lovers. he will understand. you also know he’s probably ten shots in by now, so if he was upset with you, the alcohol had drowned it away.

“come on.” jisung instructs. you’re surprised he’s not snapping in your face like everyone else does when you daze out. it had rained earlier, so the weather is perfect—not cold, but not hot. you and hyunjin love this kind of weather. if the two of you were still together, you’d probably be outside whispering sweet nothings to each-other while smoking a blunt and embracing the relaxing breeze that blew through the city.

you follow your friend, taking his hand that was extended out to you. he knows you too well. your anxiety was beginning to build up from the pit of your stomach. it always makes you feel sick and dizzy and you want to turn around and run off, but you can’t. your feet have began to hurt too—your boots although fashionable, never being the move when you were going to be standing for a long time.

“these are some of the trainees that’ll be in the next group.” jisung spills as you approach the entrance. you can’t tell whether they want to be here or not, but you can’t lie, this is adorable.

they greet the both of you respectfully—you, only because you were with their hyung, and the two of you step in promptly. immediately the smell of marijuana clouds your senses, and you can’t help but let out a cough. the music was so loud that you know you will likely have a headache in the morning, but it was worth it. there are people everywhere and they’re all doing the same thing; smoking, taking shots, and trying to find their person for the night.

“look who it is, finally.” a drunk changbin stumbles your way, immediately embracing you and picking you up. he reeks of everything in this room, including women, but you expect nothing less from the man of the hour. he looks nice—a typical all black fit from him. he continues to slur things to you that you can’t understand, but you know it’s something along the lines of “i’m so happy to see you.” and “don’t think you’re running from these shots.”

jisung doesn’t understand what he’s saying either, and the two of you make eye contact before he pats changbin’s back to put you back down in the ground.

“happy birthday!” the two of you yell in unison. ah, you would be lying if you said you didn’t miss him. he was always so sweet to you, and in this moment as you and jisung congratulate him on another year of life, you heart is warm seeing the genuine smile on his face.

“thank you, love.” he slurs once more. “you know, you were always my favorite. my favorite girlfriend that is. smart, gorgeous, and actually fun.” the music seems as if it’s gotten even louder, but you hear him loud and clear.

now you’re the one smiling. “thank you. i got you a lot of gifts, but the rest of them I need you to open sober. here’s one you can have now.” you see jisung’s panic as you hand his bandmate a little bottle of hennessy. you know the second either you two walk away or changbin does, that he’s going to cuss you out for not telling him you brought a gift. “from me and jisung.” you add with a potent smirk on your face. you see him exhale beside you, and here you are again holding in your damn laugh.

“now y/n…you know you have to take a shot with me, right? thank…thank you.” all of a sudden there’s a hand on changbin’s shoulder, and she’s pulling him back towards where the bedrooms are. you make your false promises knowing he won’t even remember you’re here soon.

“you owe me two, han jisung.” you twirl to face him now.

“yeah, whatever. look, as always I’ll look out for you, but I can’t lie it’s time for me to put some shots in my body and find me something to lick on…for later.”

“ew! you’re like…fifteen.”

“i’m literally twenty-two?” he blinks repeatedly.

“whatever. i’m going to the bathroom.”

and you’re off. you see a couple of familiar faces on what should be a short journey to the restroom, but isn’t due to how crowded the this place is. your heart is racing, fearing that you’ll say excuse me to someone, and they’ll turn around just for it to be hyunjin. you planned this out so well in your head, just to be shaking in your boots now…literally. your feet hurt even more then they did ten minutes ago.

you finally make it to the restroom after what feels like forever. you’re afraid to even go in there, terrified about who you may see partaking in adults activities and not wanting to argue with someone who was hogging the room just because they hate parties. you hate those kind of people.

you knock—nothing. you knock again—nothing. you can barely stand now because you genuinely have to pee, and maybe there is someone in there, and they are responding— you just can’t hear them, but fuck it. you open the door quickly, closing it just as fast so a creep doesn’t try to slide in here with you. you’re about to run to the toilet when you notice someone very familiar sitting on the floor with his face buried in his hands. no fucking way. no way.

he looks up at you, his eyes irritated at first from being intruded on. he probably did say someone was in here. but the second he sees you, his eyes widen. it’s as if he’s seen a ghost.

“y/n…y/n?”

you haven’t heard him say your name in a year. you haven’t heard his voice. you don’t know how you’re still standing considering the fact that you’re having a stare down with the love of your life. you know your eyes are softening as you continue to make eye contact with him. he’s still so…beautiful. how was it possible that he has become even more attractive, even with his eyes slightly red. had he been crying?

snap out of it, y/n!

just as quick as all of the memories begin to run through your head, you turn the movie off, pulling down your shorts and panties. “move, hyunjin.” is all you say, quickly sitting down on the toilet and emptying your bladder. he scoots ever so slightly, eyes still burning holes into you even as you pee loudly and your eyes look straight forward now.

this isn’t happening right now, is it?

authors note: part two coming soon…🤝🏽 I wanted to make this one big story but I said … that’s going to take too long to finish hehe. i hope you guys liked this.

#hyunjin imagines #kpop black reader #kpop x black reader #hyunjin imagine #hyunjin angst #hyunjin smut #hyunjin fluff #stray kids #hyunjin #stray kids x black reader #kpop x poc #kpop x poc reader #skz hyunjin #skz imagines #skz smut #skz angst #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines

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a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 8 months

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Ghost x City Girl Reader

You expected Ghost to leave you before the morning; he usually does. However, you're surprised to see him rush to your aid after being woken up by violent night terrors. A sweet and unexpected moment between you, that only ends as quickly as it began.

Tags: Romance, Drama, slight Hurt/Comfort, slight Angst, Intimacy, Fluff that turns sour, Mask-Kissing, Arguing, Swearing, Enemies to Lovers, FWB, Jealousy, Toxic Relationships, "Couples", Arguing, Swearing, A Little Melodramatic, I'm aiming for something more real though, Reader is somewhat bratty and immature, Ghost is bad at communicating his feelings, Damaged people not knowing how to talk to each other and let their walls down, reader has night terrors, I wanted representation!

WC: 4.5k~

Author's Note: I'm back from Vegas! I was on a drunken bender on Fremont St. partying with my brother for his birthday this week (I talked to a lot of interesting people too 😏). This chapter might be a little different, I don't know? I'm not gonna lie, after this chapter, the tone is about to take a shift. Please enjoy~

Also, thank you so much @argella1300 for helping me out when I asked. Your insight was greatly appreciated and it really meant a lot! 💞

Masterlist

It came in the dim shade of dusk, tucked in by shadows of your hall -- the abnormally tall silhouette of a man. Stalking you. Haunting you.

He looms at the brink of your hallway, expressionless, unmoving, and yet somehow inching forward all at once. With each step he closes between you and himself, an encroaching darkness fills the room behind him within the blink of an eye.

Who was he? It's a question you've had since adolescence. The answers never felt as true as his unsettling existence.

The world around you is silent, fogged as though you were being held underwater, your mind racing at an incoherent speed. The only sounds you hear are that of your own screaming. You knew what was happening; your body and mind had just been unable to control it.

Night terrors.

You've never told anyone about them before; you've never felt any need to. It's not exactly a hot topic of discussion, nor something you could even put forth any real value into if asked; you can't explain something you don't understand.

They haven't been anything beyond a waking three-minute inconvenience. An on-and-off occurrence throughout your life. But once it happens, there'd be no avoiding it.

They send your body into a mindless, cold panic, the only emotion coursing through your veins being the unknown fear that first woke you. Your arms thrash frantically as you scream, your body feeling as though it were being grabbed by a million hands...

Don't touch me, your mind cries out. Don't touch me. Don't touch me...

...Until you've felt the one, very real hand touch your shoulder, taking with it the darkness you'd thought had all but swallowed you whole and replacing it with the waking world around you.

The morning returns, as do the rest of its unpleasant realities.

"Hey." That deep and raspy Manchester voice is the first sound you finally register, and for once in your life, it couldn't have sounded any sweeter. "Hey," Ghost says again, placing both hands gently over your shoulders to wake you. "Everything's OK. You're in your living room."

Your chest heaves shallow breaths when sitting up on your couch, taking in your surroundings. That's right, you're still in your living room. You'd almost forgotten you'd passed out on your couch last night, now catching the breaking dawn which pooled through your windows.

It always takes you a moment to regather yourself after it happens, having to make sense of what had been real versus some strange in-between with you and your REM state. In those moments, everything felt real, and fake all at once.

Even the shattering and reforming of reality around you could not take your mind from Ghost's hand, which remained wrapped protectively over your arm, fingers trembling with the hesitancy of his own actions.

"Are you alright?" His dark eyes look your face up and down, taking in every twinge your lips made and how your eyes seemed to look in every direction but his own, still glossed over and dazed from sleep. "You just started screamin' out of nowhere."

Once his words run through your head a few more times, you realize that you'd made a scene right in front of the one person you hadn't wanted to know this about you, a new detail he no doubt did not expect from you at all.

Ghost has known you to be many things -- seductive, witty, cold, distant, and near every other synonym in between. He's heard your voice moan in pleasure more times enough to recognize it within a crowd; he's heard you hurl enough insults his way to send even the hardest of soldiers home crying and insecure.

Never has he heard you scream like this before, with such fear and strife. In fact, he can't think of a single time you've ever been so frightened around him. To see a glimpse of that had been more unsettling than he wished to let on.

He'd only woken up a few minutes shy of you, having slipped away to fix himself up and reset his balaclava. His lips had still felt stained by your kiss from last night, the skin on his face tingling off the memory of your touch alone.

Nearly two months he's spent with you in this odd, little fling and he's never actually kissed you like he had last night before. Never for so long. Never so deeply. He wouldn't allowed himself to. Kissing just for the sake of it always felt like a step beyond casual, as much as he often craved your lips on his most exhausting days.

Ghost must have stared at himself in the mirror longer than he should have, just chasing that feeling again, making himself sick with it. He debated on leaving before you woke, though he'd keep that to himself, having heard your screaming once he'd rounded the corner. In which case, Ghost ran to your aid without question.

His first thought had been that you were in danger; perhaps someone had broken in, or worse, you'd been hurt. You might get on the man's nerves, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't care about your well-being at least somewhat. He never wished any harm to you, and he damn sure wouldn't let anything happen to you if he can help it.

The archway between your hall and you had felt as foreign and distant as space itself, however. When Ghost found you on your couch, your arms writhing, and wide eyes locked on him with confusion and terror, he had frozen in place.

For a split second, he thought that fear had been caused by the sheer sight of him. And then, the strangest thing had happened -- it tore him to pieces being given a glimpse of a reality he didn't know he feared most of all. One where the sight of him brought you complete anguish.

Your screaming didn't stop when he approached you, nor had it stopped when he knelt beside you, saying your name and asking what was wrong, only falling on deaf ears.

Nothing had stopped your screaming, nor these emotions that ripped at him, until his hand had touched your shoulder, and you both felt the sensation of one another.

Your features calmed, your gaze softening at the sight of him, now having been pulled from that sudden trance. In a matter of seconds, you'd just barely managed to get your breathing to a more manageable pace, your heart not drumming so loudly in your ears. You played his words in your head, again and again, until you've slowly regained composure. Everything's fine. Everything's fine.

Had you noticed he had this effect on you? Ghost imagines you'll only carry on as though it were just another thing; the kindest of gestures are often the hardest to notice in the moment, and you never did like to dwell. It only took years' worth of tragedies for Ghost to be able to recognize them himself. Though every now and then, it isn't something he can catch either. He only wishes this hadn't been one of those times.

Embarrassment and shame flood within you like a crashing wave, though you mask it in an annoyed groan, turning your body away from Ghost in hopes he'd take the hint and give you some space. You always hated when this happened around others, most of all around the men you slept with. Slowly, you prepared yourself for your usual dose of reactions.

"I'm fine," you say. "I just... I'm fine." You rub your hands over your face in defeat, before sinking your head into them with a low groan.

There had been reasons you didn't sleep over or have others do the same often, this being one of them. You didn't need to have another guy slowly ghost you because you scared him awake at 2am in a frantic panic; the best way to avoid it would be to not put yourself in the situation at all, right?

But what happened last night hadn't been like any of your normal nights with Ghost. Last night had been something... not quite the same. There had to be some reason you haven't sent him home yet otherwise. You wondered if it had been the same reason why he hadn't gone home yet either.

"Fuckin' hell," Ghost sighs. "You might've woken the neighbors with that one."

"It's nothin' they're not used to," you say casually, though the second you do, you wish you hadn't been so cavalier about it. You hadn't meant to invite him into your world like this.

However, no one had been more understanding of these sorts of troubles than he; Ghost knew what a pain it could be feeling as though you needed to explain emotions you had no control over. So he wouldn't ask you what that was about, or why you think it may have happened. He didn't need to know anything beyond the fact that you were OK.

"Well," Ghost sits down beside you on the couch with a dramatic "oomph", huffing to himself with a certain contentment to it. "I've been there."

"I'm sure you have," you groan. You couldn't help being sly with him, even now. It came out of you impulsively, knowing he'd always reward you with some form of attention you both could get something out of. Something you both let sit at the back of your minds all day.

You stretch your arms over your head feline-like, your body now finally feeling as though you'd slept in your living room instead of your bed. Your shoulder ached dully, your back already popping at each stretch you made with your body. The wonderful joys of aging.

"That's one way to get the blood pumpin' in the mornin', yeah?" Ghost jokes, he always did feel a little humor could lighten any mood. "You never scream like that with me."

"Perhaps you should do a better job then," you tease.

"Don’t tempt me, love."

Love. He doesn't call you that often. Only in your most intimate of moments. You hadn't felt your face smiling, but you knew you were.

You looked so innocently up at him after without even thinking. "Tempt you, Manchester?" You give the man a rather tired but still lurid look, bumping his shoulder playfully with your own. "Perish the thought," you say. "As if it's that hard to do."

"Oh, fuck off." Ghost sighs, and you can practically feel the man smiling beneath his mask. A smile that felt as warm as a heater come after a snowstorm.

Wind chimes clung lightly outside your window, the finches gathered at your bird feeder chirping blissfully. You both laugh lightly to yourselves, your arms faintly brushing at every small exhale from your noses. And you both sat there even after the laughter, simply looking off ahead of yourselves, with eyes still heavy from waking.

It had felt suddenly a tremendous task to look over at Ghost. Once you've worked up the courage, you catch him gazing out your window aimlessly, peacefully, his body settled into your couch as though he'd been with you the day you bought the thing.

And then he looks down at you. Maybe he felt you staring, but you never noticed how brown his eyes are, or how deep they could look in a dimly lit room. Similarly, he's never noticed how animated your own eyes are, always moving and observing some small, unknown detail. It made his skin crawl delightfully. Ghost would have thought that feeling to be a bad thing, and yet it had been quite the opposite.

Why don't we ever do this? You asked him that last night, and though he'd answered you, it hadn't been the entire truth.

A sudden burst of energy springs from you, pulling you from your seat and inviting yourself onto Ghost's lap, who leans back and lets you do so without question. Your legs settle over his boulderous thighs, humming lightly as he rests his hands back against your hips, sighing pleasantly to himself and looking back up at you.

Ghost did his best not to squirm around too much with you on top of him. It hadn't been the worst thing you two have done together. However, it wasn't common for things to feel so... easy. He could stay like this all morning if you let him.

Something tells him you felt the same way; you don't usually take this long to start getting to the point of things physically.

"What is it?" he asks.

"I'm surprised you're still here."

You watch your comment bring him to a short pause and find yourself now at the edge of your seat, arms resting gently over his shoulders and not being used to this sudden anticipation towards his answer.

Ghost had thought about being completely honest with you, admitting that he'd been equally surprised. That's when he woke up and saw you still sleeping on the couch next to him, it had been the hardest thing to even excuse himself to the restroom.

Your arms had been entangled around him, cuddled against his large shoulder like a giant pillow. You slept soundly beside him, peacefully, having felt so at ease with letting your guard down, all things considered. An innocent sight too far and few between bitter exchanges.

He's never slept over after before, nor has he ever held you in his arms like this. Yet, it had felt like the most sensible thing to do now, something as natural as breathing or blinking.

He found himself just watching you sleep for a while, still. In the early morning light that crept through your living room window, he sees all these details to you he's never had the chance to; you are beautiful. Truly. And he hadn't meant it in ways that were superficial or lustful. Genuinely, he really did find you a stunning woman. He's always found you so, even behind the toxicity.

Seeing you next to him had made him happy, and all at once, it hurt him the same, knowing this time would always be finite. You'd bore of him soon enough, only to call him later as another passing thought. Maybe one of these days, he'll gather the strength to stop answering.

Even now, with you over him like this, it's odd. He doesn't want to get up, and yet he does. He wants to pull you in closer, and he wants to leave. He can feel himself breathing, yet the sight and touch of you made the air catch in his lungs each time he went to inhale.

Maybe he could just blame that on the smoking.

"Good thing I was 'ere, yeah?" he finally quips.

"Right," you lean forward, letting your nose brush the tip of his just faintly enough for him to long for its sensation beneath his mask. You watch the blond of his lashes flutter innocently, with eyes wrapped up in you even more than they had been last night. "My knight in shining armor. You won't hear me complaining."

"That's a first," he teases.

"Fuck you."

Your kiss is what truly wakes him that morning, your lips sculpting the shape of his mouth through his mask and gently planting slow, light pecks. His arms hug around you warmly, with strong fingers gently grazing their way up your back. He always did like these rare occasions where you'd treat him softly; he liked to think it had been a side of you that only he had seen. Even as he knew it wasn't true.

You continue to kiss him for a little while, the man's hands only remaining comfortably at your back to keep you over him. Ghost wasn't sure how much more he could take of you wiggling about on his lap before he gave you what you were clearly looking for. But it wasn't until you started reaching for his mask that he felt a sudden bolt of lightning strike him.

Both his hands shoot up to grab yours, large fingers hooping across your wrist like cuffs, keeping you just out of reach from the brim of his mask. His sudden hesitancy makes you smirk, and already does he know that you're about to push his buttons.

"Aw," you tease, purposefully rocking your hips into him. It makes you giggle when he huffs to himself. "Feeling shy?"

"Not shy," Ghost says. "Just..." Vulnerable. Anxious. Wary. Careful. "...You know how it is."

"Aww," you start to pout mockingly. "Is that honor only reserved for the special girls in your circle?" you ask. "Or just the ones you don't fuck?"

"For the ones actually interested in sticking around," he says. "Instead of just being some fling."

You can't help but scoff, and Ghost can't help but tense up afterward, already preparing himself for an outburst. You certainly were good for them, and Ghost hadn't wanted to kid himself here either; this would all end soon enough.

It wouldn't be long now... and he knows he should pull away before that day comes. He's lost enough people in his life to recognize not to get close to something that won't last long enough to really matter. So he won't hold back his words with you. You can't have your cake and eat it too, he thought.

But some small, sad part of himself wanted you to fight his words, however harsh that storm would be, just like you always do.

Your shoulders slouch and your eyes drift off somewhere into the room. You couldn't make it more obvious that what he said had stung, in ways you hadn't even known you'd been capable of feeling towards him.

A fling. A piece of meat. That's how you liked to present yourself -- it's how you've viewed others too -- most of the time. So you can't get mad if that's how he sees it.

Yet every time that truth is brought to attention, it can't help but make your gut twist up in knots. As if some delusional part of you felt you could continue to sleep with Ghost and see other men as well without him caring.

You've been in a losing battle with Ghost since you first slept together. You knew on that night that any real formalities between you two were forever gone; you'd already spoiled so many of the first joys of being with someone, and it often left this feeling of things being too late to change. What you have now will probably always be what it is. So why can't you enjoy it for that while you still can? Why must he complicate things?

"I just wanted to kiss you," you admit.

It's the honest truth. You dreamed about his lips; his kiss had felt that good. You never expected him to have left such an effect on you, yet you've woken up, and the want to taste him has not subsided.

Ghost takes his eyes from you, dark orbs lowering to your lips as though to telepathically share the same thoughts as you.

"I..."

BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

Your eyes turn to the thunderous rumbling of your cell phone against your hardwood coffee table. A phone call.

Ghost looked back at you, expecting you to sit up and answer it. You merely turn back to him, letting it buzz until the call finally drops. You could always call them back.

As you've opened your mouth to speak, however, the phone begins to buzz again. Another phone call. It's this time that you've decided to sit up and see who it is; you freeze once you read the caller ID. Shit!

"Who is it?" Ghost regrets asking the second his voice lets the words rumble out.

"It's uh..." You stumble on your words, purposefully being coy, knowing he wouldn't like the answer.

"Your boyfriend?" Ghost answers for you, and your silence after speaks volumes.

Your boyfriend. Mr. Sweet and Super Understanding himself. This supposed "doomed" second relationship that has been nothing but highs since you've known him, if anything you told Ghost last night had been true. It figures he would call you so early this morning, you two had seemed close after all.

And like the strike of a match, his entire demeanor runs from cold to ticked off. Ghost can do nothing more than laugh to himself, shaking his head as though you'd just pulled the rug from underneath him and blown the ceiling off the roof of your prior delusions.

After all, you got exactly what you wanted here from him. He fixed your car, fucked you after, and now you get to send him on his merry way while you spend some real time with someone else.

Grumbling to himself, almost without him even knowing, he mutters, "I don't know what else I fucking expected-"

"He's not-" You struggle to find the right words to say, feeling as though every sentence spoken made a true difference between Ghost walking out of your life for good or not. The thought made you start to panic all of a sudden. "I'm not with him like that. You know this already."

You're right; he does know this. You haven't lied about a single thing since he drove over to jump your car. "Besides," you start to argue. "Why does it matter anyway? Why do you care? It's not like you want to be with me. You won't even let me look at you! You've said it yourself; I'm just some "slag" you sometimes like to fuck. Why the fuck do you care if I'm seeing someone who doesn't think that way about me?"

Because he hadn't felt that way about you. Not anymore. Not ever.

Never has he met a woman able to push his buttons so effectively, in ways all too familiar to his childhood. But at the same time, this woman, this human who unknowingly held so much power over him without even being aware, you equally found the littlest of ways to creep into his mind and bring him a bittersweet peace he had not felt since his youth.

But if he said that to you would you listen? Would you even understand? You've never been a woman to be tied down. He's known this. Who was he to think he'd be the difference when what you say is true. He has not been kind to you, not until it was too late, and now you've one foot out. How could he blame you for that?

And yet Ghost stands up, a bubble now having been burst. "As though you're so innocent," his voice raises, emotions finally starting to tip. He matches your hostile energy, his dark eyes glaring down at you, a mirror of wounded gazes. "How many times have I been here for you, only for you to cast me aside like an old toy you can just play with when you're bored? All I've ever been to you is an easy out; you've never cared what I've thought-"

BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

Ghost's eyes shoot down to your phone ringing in your hand, and you swear you've never seen him more upset.

A passing fear of him stepping over and snatching your phone from your hand passes over you, and your entire body language subliminally shifts in response. You instinctively take a step back from him, lightly turning your body to keep your phone from his reach. You'll be damned if he thinks he can try that.

He notices this small action, and a part of himself felt akin to his father, recognizing that fear in your eyes from his mother, even as you hide it behind a biting glare. That feeling alone could have done him in for good.

Though Ghost wanted nothing more than to answer that call and tell that other man to fuck off already, he had more self-composure and respect than that, along with his own moral obligations.

Still, it didn't take long for the conversation to take a turn, and from that point, it had been as though everything this morning had been but a slow build-up to an inevitable argument between you two. It always did come naturally.

It started out antagonistic from the jump. You questioned and belittled his sudden emotional flare-up, criticizing every one of his reactions and ignoring the obvious signs that you really needed to back off and just let him go. Or it would be better to say you didn't care for it.

To be frank, you didn't understand his frustrations. If other men had been such a problem, why does he keep coming back? What is it that he keeps seeking here?

Ghost hadn't been interested in spending his whole morning arguing with you, and physically feeling a grave be dug for the remains of your tarnished relationship. He moves around you and begins gathering his things, needing the air now more than ever.

"Hold up-" you approach him, throwing any caution or personal space out the window, as you've stopped a few steps shy of him. "Where are you going?"

"Back home." Ghost starts to put his boots on, the frustration he controlled in his voice being taken out by the aggression he used to tie his laces. "It's time I've made myself scarce."

"You're just gonna run off now? Just like that? I didn't take you for such a pussy, Manchester-"

"Don't push me, Spice," Ghost warns you. "I mean it."

"Or what? You'll leave?" you taunt. "I'll do whatever the fuck I want to."

"And that's the problem," Ghost says, standing up on his two feet and towering over you. "All you ever do is what you want. You never care how your actions affect others or what someone might think of them."

"What do you want from me, Simon?" You finally ask him, voice starting to rise, your chest puffing up aggressively. You'd curse him for getting you so emotionally riled up this morning.

What do you want from me? What do you want? A simple question that had been impossible to answer, because answering it would mean being honest with himself about what's happened with him here. It would mean being vulnerable.

"Stop calling me," Ghost says. "Stop seeing me. Stop being with me. We should never have done this in the first fucking place... This has to stop."

No longer did he wish to feel this way, to feel as though the worst parts of himself came at a constant full display with you. No longer did he want to feel himself slowly start to care for you, knowing that at any moment you could be gone. He's not sure he could handle something like that again.

Your mouth opens, and then it closes, and then you frown. Ghost thought you wouldn't say anything to him. He thought you might even cry. But no, you never were one to just leave things at that. You always had to say the last thing in an argument, and you never minced words.

"Then fucking go already," you say. "Get out. You won't have to worry about me calling you ever again."

Ghost didn't say anything after that, though he had looked at you for a little while longer. If you hadn't known him as well as you think you did, you'd say his brown eyes looked rather sad.

He moves away from you, making his way to your front door and unlocking it. He makes sure not to look back as you see him out. The man wouldn't be able to stomach the sight.

He remained on the other side of the door after you'd slammed it, feeling the wind hit his back and the sharp silence that it brought with it. Ghost then cocks his head back and closes his eyes, sighing in defeat. He felt the warm, morning air hit the little parts of his skin left bare for the air to kiss, and as though his mood couldn't drop any lower, he remembered he still had to go to work with you this morning.

Part Seven Coming Soon. Stay Tuned~

Since I'm trying to explore toxic relationships, I wanted to delve into the complexities a little (while not being so on the nose about it). They have their ups and they have their downs; they blend and happen all at once and take each other's places at every positive or negative interaction. You can have genuine moments of care and empathy with people you simultaneously butt heads and take issue with I feel; nothing is ever just black and white. I'm rambling and probably not making a lot of sense.

But, now that Ghost and the Reader are in the pits, they've gotta look within themselves and fix their shit if it's meant to be. I want to write them in a way where it's clear if they could just sit and figure out what it was they wanted from each other, then this could be something real if they let it. However, life waits for no one, and they're about to be in for a doozy. The mission i have planned for them is gonna be 👺👺👺

Taglist: @cabreezer0117, @homicidal-slvt, @deadbranch, @argella1300, @poohkie90, @glitterypirateduck , @sarraa-26, @quincessimus, @0-444-4444, @crazymela, @13thprogenitor, @joce2fine, @sapszilla, @dmitriene, @justherebecauseafarisucks, @zevrajalexxandra, @corvusmorte

#call of duty #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #modern warfare ii #call of duty modern warfare ii #mwii #mw2022 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #no good men left to spare #Spotify

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cowgurrrl · 2 months

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Dear Arkansas Daughter

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: A truce [2.8k]

Warnings: guilt, Andie being a menace, so much yearning, Ellie has an anxiety attack, comfort, June pushing her Mary Oliver agenda once again

You don't speak to Joel all throughout the winter break. You get so busy with family events, work, and painting that you don't even notice it until a song he recommended comes on while you're working, and you reach for your phone to tell him about it. You stared at his contact for a little too long, debating your options, before you finally sighed and threw your phone on your bed.

Sarah's home for the break. He's probably busy with the girls. The last thing he needs is to hear from you after you got out of his truck without even saying a proper goodbye. The silence feels like a staring contest or a challenge of wills to see who will break no contact first. It sucks, but thankfully, Ellie is none the wiser and even texts you Merry Christmas with a picture of her and Sarah with reindeer ears on the abnormally cold December morning. You reason this is the best-case scenario for a really shitty situation. No reason for anyone to get more involved than they absolutely have to, right?

Andie's reappearance on Texas soil is a welcome reprieve from the guilt. You pick her up from the airport once she gets back from visiting her parents in Dallas and run into her arms like she's a long-lost lover. "You're here!" You yell as you squeeze her tight.

"You're here!" She mimics. Her dark curls tickle your face, and she laughs loudly in your ear, but you don't care. Just having her within the same zip code again makes you feel like a kid. On the drive to your apartment, you sing along to a playlist she curated specifically for your time together— a perfect mix of Beyonce, ABBA, and Joni Mitchell— and talk about everything from her parents to work to Vienna weather. She takes all of five steps into your apartment before she guns for your newest canvases drying against the wall.

"Those aren't done!" You scold but you couldn't stop her from fawning over them if you tried.

"Are you kidding? These are amazing." She says, gasping when she sees the corner of another one peeking out behind the stack. "Babe!"

"Alright, alright, calm down. They're still in the early stages. They probably won't look anything like this when they're done."

"You're right. I'm sure they'll be even better when they're done," she calls as you walk into your bedroom and drop her suitcase at the foot of the bed. You don't have a guest room, and there's no way you're gonna make her sleep on the couch, so you get to have a good old-fashioned sleepover again. You’re secretly really excited just to sit in bed and do nothing with her. When you walk back into the living room, she's holding an old, reworked painting with a fond smile. "Are you going to submit these for exhibition?" She asks, and you shrug as you lean against the back of the couch.

"I don't know. Maybe? They just don't feel done."

"That's because the longer you stare at something, the more things you want to change about it."

"It's not a bad thing to want to make sure something's perfect."

"If you wait for perfection, you'll never make anything, and you know that." She says, cocking an eyebrow at you, and you roll your eyes at how well she knows you. "Isn't that what you tell your students?"

"Oh, God, please don't pull the teacher card on me right now. I'm supposed to be on vacation." You groan, and she laughs.

"Does it count as vacation if we have to go to the student showcase tonight?" She asks.

"Yes, it does because you're here, and I don't have to lecture a group of thirty teenagers about pointillism," you say. "And you really don't have to come. All I have to do is show up to support the kids for a couple of hours and leave. I'll be home before nine, and then we can go out and actually do something fun."

"Is Hot Single Dad gonna be there?" She asks, waggling her eyebrows at you, and you give her a look.

"You said you'd stop calling him Hot Single Dad."

"Hot Single Dad is so fun, though," she whines. "Also, you're avoiding the question. Is he gonna be there?"

"Ellie's work is being shown, so yeah, most likely, but there will be lots of people there. I doubt we'll even see him."

"Oh, I'll see him."

"Andrea Lynn," you scold, and she throws her hands up. "We're gonna go and be professional and not cross any lines that could get us in trouble, right?" You think you're saying it more for your own benefit than hers, but she still puts up three fingers and nods.

"Scouts honor."

The gallery's atrium is buzzing with conversation and excited kids from all across the district. The winter sun set long ago, but the warm lighting of the space makes it feel a little less oppressive. Small trays of refreshments make their rounds as you talk with other teachers and some parents you know. You introduce Andie to each of them, mostly to sing her praises about being a professional musician in Vienna, and she chatters away with anyone about anything. You easily kill half an hour just mingling with people before the exhibition officially starts.

At the hour, someone on the school board (you don't know their name or position, and honestly, you think it's too late to pretend like you care enough to find out) stands on a makeshift stage and says something about the importance of art in academia. You doubt it's a sentiment he actually shares, considering you've never seen him at any other art-related events, but you clap politely anyway. Halfway through his spiel, you just barely catch the sound of squeaky boots coming through the door and turn to see the source without fully thinking it through.

There, through the crowd of heads, you lock eyes with Joel. Tommy and Ellie are at his side and wave politely. Sarah must've gone home before the New Year. You think you remember him saying something about her working at a clinic in Boston? You're a little disappointed you won't get to meet her, especially after hearing such amazing things, but you can't focus on that. Joel's eyes don't move from yours, even when Ellie and Tommy turn their attention to the speaker at the front.

His hair has gotten long since the last time you saw him, the curls defiantly sweeping around his ears after an obvious attempt to tame it, and he looks well-rested. Despite the extra length of his hair, his beard has been recently trimmed and the salt-and-pepper stubble well maintained. He's wearing a nice dark green shirt (a Christmas gift?) and a well-broken-in denim jacket. He looks good. Of course, he does. Andie notices you're not paying attention and bumps your shoulder.

"'S that Hot Single Dad?" She whispers, and you shake your head.

"Not here." You beg. She seems to want to question you further about it, but she doesn't. You're sure she'll buy you a drink or two to loosen up after this and spill your guts. You sit through the rest of the speech without any more hiccups before you're finally allowed to view the gallery.

Everyone is all smiles and excited chatter when you enter the colorful room. Thrilled parents take pictures of their kids next to their work, and proud art teachers point out their student's talents to others. There's a wide array of art. Anything from photography, drawings, paintings, sculptures, and even a video of a performance projected onto the wall. You catch bits of people’s conversations and hear a lot of chatter about the artist from your school. You don’t need any more context to know who they’re talking about. You and Andie walk side-by-side in silence as you look at the different works, only talking when you come across one of your kids' works. She makes you take a picture in front of each one, and you feel a little silly, but you can't fight the pride in your chest.

Andie has always had the unique ability to celebrate you for things you wouldn't celebrate yourself for. In reality, all you did was push them to make the art and consult them through the process, but she reminds you that they might not even have made anything if it weren't for you. It makes you feel special and seen. It makes you wish she lived closer so you could do the same for her by showing up to performances and taking pictures of her in her element so she can cherish them. It makes you forget about Hot Single Dad until Tommy rushes up to you, calling your name.

"Mr. Miller, it's good to see you." You greet politely, but he's out of breath and looks stressed as he looks at both of you. He softens when he sees Andie and takes a deep breath to pull himself together.

"I don't believe we've met," he charms and offers his hand to Andie. "I'm Tommy, Ellie's uncle."

"I'm Andie, the forever teacher's pet," she shakes his hand and gives you a look over her shoulder. "Honey, you didn't tell me how handsome Ellie's uncle is." She says. Tommy smirks and looks flattered, but mentioning Ellie brings him back to the moment.

"Ellie's askin' for you." He says, and you furrow your brows and look behind him.

"Where is she? Is she okay?"

"She got real upset bout somethin' but wouldn't say. She just said she wanted to talk to you." Fuck, you think. Did she find out? If so, how? There's no way Joel would've told her, especially tonight of all nights. Is she upset about how her art is being shown? Is she mad at you? Possibilities run through your head and twist your stomach into knots, but you don't hesitate to follow Tommy. If she says she needs you, then you need to be there.

Andie follows closely behind as you and Tommy weave through the crowd until you come to a stairwell off the side of the gallery, away from overlapping voices and bright colors. When the door creaks open and echoes through the empty space, you see Joel and Ellie sitting on a step, tears staining her face. Andie says something about hanging back, and Tommy agrees to wait with her, but all your focus is on the crying kid in front of you. You wait until the door shuts behind you to settle onto the step under theirs and pull Ellie's hand out of her balled-up fist. Joel watches you carefully but doesn't try to stop you.

"Hey," you say gently, like she's a scared animal. "What's goin' on? I heard you wanted to talk to me."

"I," she tries, but her voice catches in her throat, and more tears well in her eyes. You rub your thumb across her knuckles and shush her gently.

"You're alright. Take a breath, okay?" She does, and Joel reaches out to rub her back soothingly. A few more tears fall down Ellie's face as you wait her out. You catch Joel's eyes over her shoulder, and he gives you a grateful look. All you do is nod.

"I'm not good enough to be here," she finally gets out. "Everyone's work is so much better than mine, and I... I think they made a mistake. I can't compete."

"That's not true. That's what your anxiety is telling you. That's not even close to the truth." You say firmly. She shakes her head as she looks at her dad.

"We shouldn't have even come." She says, and he pulls her under his arm, kissing her temple.

"Honey, they took your art for a reason. We're not here by accident. We're here because you worked hard and made somethin' so beautiful that they had to show it."

"He's right," you say. "Hundreds of students apply for this exhibition every year, and every year, hundreds of students get rejected. But not you. You worked and earned your spot here. How many days did you show up early to my classroom to work on it, huh?" You ask, and she wipes her eyes. She seems to calm down a little at your words but still shrugs like she’s unsure of herself.

"I don't know."

"Ellie, you were in my room for at least a month straight working on this. Somedays, you were painting before I even had a chance to turn on the lights. You got up early and stayed late, and it shows. You made something so wonderful the district couldn't keep it a secret. Do you know how many people are talking about your yellow painting?"

"People were talking about it?" She asks, and you nod, squeezing her hand.

"They kept saying they'd be surprised if you didn't win, and I'm not just saying that because I'm your art teacher. I'm saying that because it's true." You say. She chews at her bottom lip and stares at her shoes as she thinks.

You knew about Ellie's anxiety long before this moment. She's spent many planning periods in your classroom venting or crying about it, and you pointed her to the correct resources. She's in therapy and on medication to help her control it, but it still rears its ugly head every once in a while. With all the teenage emotions and daily battles, you're not surprised that it does. But it does surprise you that she can't see how special she is. She works so fucking hard— sometimes too much— and she gives her all in everything she does. Of course, people are going to recognize that greatness. Of course, she deserves to be here. Of course, she's going to be amazing.

"Every time I look at it, I just see all the bad things about it." She admits, and you sigh. Of course, she treats her work the exact same way you do.

"I do the same thing," you say, and she looks at you with wide eyes like she wasn't expecting you to actually cop to it. "It doesn't matter how much time I spend on it or if I like the concept; I will find a million things wrong with a piece before I can admit that it's a semi-okay piece of work. I have a canvas sitting in my apartment right now that makes me want to throw up every time I look at it."

"How do you get over it?"

"I'll let you know the second I figure it out," you say, and she smiles a little now that she knows she's not alone in her internal fight. "You deserve to be here, kid. You are hard-working, creative, and smart. You are going to make so much beautiful art in your life, you won't believe it. And it's true that it won't always be the best, and you won't always love it, but the thing all great artists have, regardless of medium, isn't talent. It's resilience. If you wait for perfection, you'll never make anything, so you have to keep going and making things even when you feel like it's bad because the world needs your art. The world needs you, Ellie." You say, echoing Andie's words from earlier. She takes a deep breath, and the weight on her shoulders seems lighter. Her anxiety rolls away like a wave from the shore. It will be back again and again, but she knows people are going to grab her before she can drown. She knows she's got lighthouses. She knows she's okay.

"Thank you," she mumbles, and you nod as you squeeze her hand. She relaxes into Joel and looks up at him. "'M sorry."

"You've got nothin' to be sorry for, baby girl. I'm on your team," he says. He looks at you and chews the inside of his cheek. "We're both on your team." It's a peace offering. An end to the challenge. An acknowledgment that you can't ignore each other forever. You take a deep breath and let your free hand squeeze his calf where Ellie can't see, letting him know you know.

You read a poem once in college about not being afraid of joy and taking advantage of the happiness while it's there. You remember reading the words "Joy is not made to be a crumb" and feeling your chest crack open in that funny way that only art can cause. It couldn't have been longer than two hundred words, and you read it so long ago you're surprised you even remember it, but you're glad you do. You're glad Joel and Ellie came into your life. You're glad you made so many memories with him, and you hope he'll let you in enough to make more as friends. You're glad you called the parent-teacher meeting when you did.

You decide joy is not made to be a crumb, but neither is affection. In that cold, dingy stairwell in downtown Austin, you think you could paint something about this feeling. You think you could be okay with its imperfections. You think you could even submit it. You think you could win the bet.

TAGLISR: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia

#hippies and cowboys #joel miller tlou #joel miller #joel miller au #the last of us au #tlou au #joel miller fluff #joel miller hurt/comfort #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x fem!reader #tlou fluff #tlou fic #the last of us fluff #the last of us fic #joel miller fic

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prince-liest · 2 months

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Ok so I know you haven't officially trans anyone's gender in any of your Hazbin fics, but I lowkey get really trans vibes from Alastor in most of your fics?

Idk, it's a little hard go explain but what really tipped me off was his... distaste? Disfavor? Aversion? To his "male body" in one of the 666 fics. (I think the line was something akin to "the male body being what it is" in reference to Alastor getting hard fairly quickly).

There's honestly a lot of interesting things to speculate in relation to how Alastor views his body. Especially with his relationship with touch, and how he initiates touch and how he actively dislikes it (depending on the person).

Not to mention his feelings regarding his non-human features. How he doesn't inherently dislike them for being what they are, or rather, that they're "abnormal", but more so that they're not what they're "supposed to be", and not "what he was before" (though I do think that his dislike of his deer features is linked to his dislike of how he died, being viewed as something so easy to be put down - an animal).

Which also relates to how dressed Alastor constantly is. How he shields away his body using clothing, a customizable thing that he takes great pride in making sure is up to his standards (notice how when his coat is damaged he immediately goes to get it fixed, even though the ends of his coat is already damaged. He seems to have very complex opinions on how, exactly, his coat is supposed to be damaged)

I do think that Alastor's preference to being so dressed is linked to his dislike of vulnerability, but I also think it's a very trans(tm) move, lol.

(And I also do think that his dislike of vulnerability is tied to his transness, kinda in a weird "chicken and egg" scenario.)

I find it really interesting how Alastor's true feelings are revealed by his shadow, a being that can transform to look different, is mostly hidden, and is internally mysterious. Idk, it's just very trans(tm) to me!

I also think that Alastor's transness is linked to how he views masculinity, how he seems to automatically like woman, while automatically disliking man. How this is also tied to his parents. I've noticed in your fics (and could be completely wrong about) that Alastor seems to relate femininity (and his mother) with "safety" (how he compares the gentle touch in your last fic with feeling like his mother and his like of jambalaya).

I'm not sure if I would say that Alastor is a trans woman, but I also wouldn't say he isn't. Overall I think he has a very complex view of gender, but it's definitely something he doesn't put a lot into. Which relates to him not knowing what asexuality is.

I have a lot more Alastor trans thoughts, but this ask is already getting pretty long so I'm just gonna cut it off here. I hope I made sense, and that you're comfortable with me speculating on a character you've written about gender. (Totally valid if you're not though! If so, then please disregard this ask!)

I'll take "asks that made me realize I'm out here accidentally writing a character as nonbinary" for 300, please! Please prepare yourself for the mistake of letting me have a keyboard and talk about gender after 9pm, so sorry to literally everybody else.

You're gonna get a real fuckin' kick out of the first bit of the next 666 that I'm gonna post tomorrow. ;) It's definitely the point where I finally acknowledged to myself that I have a strong urge to inject some genderfuckery into Alastor in the form of him continuing to use his thing with Vox to explore his own relationship with, like, existing in his own body, and then also threw those feelings all over Angel Dust like a fistful of glitter while I was at it.

Like you said, I wouldn't say that I've ended up writing him as a trans woman, but I think I have seen him from the start as a character who is not exactly cis in a wibbly-wobbly way I have not previously defined but that I think I would perhaps characterize as "gender: monster condescending to play at humanity."

I don't think he eschews masculinity entirely, for what it's worth. He definitely strikes me as a person who aligns himself with the image of a smiling gentleman (if a hellish one) as the proper way for a person like him to be, and for whom that is an important, comfortable, and satisfying part of both his identity and how he relates to both his female friends and to men. However, he also strikes me as someone for whom that part of his identity is what he shows the world on purpose, presented as he would like it to be seen, rather than as something that reflects his bodily preferences. To put it another way, if he'd been AFAB, I think he would put just as much into his presentation, just in the direction of femininity, and it wouldn't make him any more or less comfortable with himself.

You're right in that I've definitely written him with a faint distaste for the mundane physical reality of his body, and a lot of this comes through in how he alternates between short moments of fascination with what new things his body is doing as he explores it and decides whether or not he likes it, and his much longer moments of utter disregard for the same thing. It also extends to the rest of his mundane humanity, though: his physical limits, his adrenaline-rush of fear, etc. He values the coat, the cane, the reality-bending static, the smile - but whatever he sees in the mirror when he gets undressed or whatever doesn't function to his purposes, he can take or leave.

I see Alastor as someone who defines himself first and foremost as the radio demon: not a person, but a monster and an enigma. A voice and a personality. Everything else is more or less incidental, and he would prefer to keep it set aside, thank you. The occasional dysphoria isn't just about his sex, it's about the humanity of his body as a whole.

#ask #alastor #hazbin hotel #personal #vengeful-velvette #vengeful velvette #long post #gender #my writing #meta #anyway I don't think I'll be tagging him as nb because idt he would identify himself that way even if it was explained to him #(unlike the aroace thing I suspect)#but! jazz hands! now you know!#all of this said I would be REALLY down for writing ftm Alastor if I hadn't already committed to him possessing a dick lmfao #but that version of 666 would have even less internal acknowledgment of his body from his narration

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no-nameno-face · 1 year

Text

Auburn Thoughts (Pt.2)

Pairing: Reader x Ellie Williams

Summary: When plans to meet up go awry, you flee. Unsure of your feelings, and convinced they are one sided, you are contacted by an old friend. You decide to do something out of character. Anything to get your mind off of her.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Minors do not interact. Jealousy, Angst, Alcohol, Drinking, Alcohol Abuse, Smoking Weed, vague mentions of SA, creepy guy, Anxiety (please let me know if there's any I forgot)

Author's Notes: Jealous Ellie!! Jealous Reader!! Protective Ellie!! I'm obsessed. I love jealous Ellie with my whole heart. Actively reminding myself to take this story slow… anyways I'm very excited to see where this story goes. hope you enjoy this chapter :)

Part 1

Part 3 (With Audio)

______________________________________________________________

Back at my dorm, I find myself doodling the image of her bitten lips. Auburn thoughts.

______________________________________________________________

I wake up the next morning, tired. I stayed up too late again. Drawing. I stretch my arms above my head and squint my eyes at the light coming through my windows. Class. I have class. My brain talks but my body does not move. I’m so tired. I reach over and grab my phone, checking the time. I bolt up in my bed. Fuck, I'm going to be so late.

I rush to my closet and pull on a light green oversized sweatshirt I thrifted forever ago, and throw on some light wash jeans. They have light paint splatters on them but honestly most of my clothes do. Shoving socks on my feet I slip them into my white tennis shoes. On my way out I stop in the mirror and assess the damage. Bed head and bags under my eyes. I grab a hair tie and rushedly pull it up into a messy high ponytail. I poke the dark circles under my exhausted eyes but decide there's nothing I can do in the time I have, so I head out the door, turning off the lights and locking it behind me.

Sitting in my second class of the day I remember my evening plans. Suddenly I wish I had gotten a bit more ready. After class is over I rush to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, hoping it would bring down some of the puffiness that my restless night lended me. I look at my reflection. “Fuck,” I say under my breath as I lean on the counter looking down at the running water. What is this? Don’t think too much about it. I look at myself and practice a smile, turning my face to observe. My face drops. “Shit. What is wrong with me?” I turn the faucet off and walk out of the bathroom, to my next class.

4:30, I’m early. That's okay, god knows my project could use some work. I put my headphones in and tuck my knee up to my chest resuming the apple from yesterday. I find myself checking the time regularly, and it feels like it's passing abnormally slow.

The door opens and I turn expecting to see Ellie, but another girl walks in. I recognize her from the halls. Slender and feminine, pretty features and short dark hair. Striking honestly, especially in comparison to my drained appearance. A subtle shade of insecurity settles over me. I overlook it. She must be in a different class time than Ellie and I. Turning back to my work she sits a couple seats to the left of me. She doesn't acknowledge me, I don't think much about it. People in the art department tend to be more introverted, so this is a typical encounter.

Shortly after resuming my work the door opens again, I turn. Green eyes. Wearing a thick flannel, jeans, and her same old sneakers. Her hair is half down today, the other half in a bun. Loose strands framing her face. I notice her freckles a bit extra today, small constellations littering her cheeks. I smile and she returns it.

“So you decided to show up!” I say, turning back to my canvas a bit flushed.

“What? Did you think I was gonna stand you up or some shit?” she says with a smile in her voice as she makes her way to you.

“Hey you never kn-”

“Ellie!” A voice cuts me off. “I didn't know you were coming today!” I look to the girl sitting on my left, she's craned her head around to face Ellie beaming at her.

“Oh!” she sounded startled. “Hi Cat.” Ellie says with a courteous smile that doesn't meet her eyes. The girl gets up and basically prances up to her, wrapping her arms around Ellies neck. Ellie's eyes meet mine as I dart back to my work. Staring past my canvas. I'm face to face with an unfamiliar pit in my stomach. I try not to listen to their conversation, my heartbeat building in my ears is loud enough to drone most of it out. Most of it.

“It's been so long,” Cat…

“You're normally not here this late” Ellie…

“Yeah, I’ll have to start coming more often!” Cat..

Heartbeat thudding.

“Well you should call me later! We could catch dinner when you're done here.” I feel eyes on me. “Catch up a bit.” Cat…

Louder pulsing in my ears.

Next thing I hear is the seat to my right creaks and snaps me out of it. I glance over at Ellie and can't get out of my head fast enough to say anything. I look back to my painting. She looks at me, then my painting.

“It looks good.” Her voice comes out awkward. I notice her fidgeting with her hands.

“Thanks.” I say without looking her way.

“Umm, well should i grab my stuff?” she suggests.

“Actually, I didn't sleep well last night.” I say looking down at my hands in my lap. Gripping each other to keep from shaking. What is wrong with me? “I'm pretty tired.” I glimpse at her quickly then back to my hands. “I’m gonna head out.” I say standing up and start walking to the sink to rinse my brushes. Ellie gets up and tries to follow me but is stopped by Cat. Cat.

“You can hang with me El’s,” a pang in my gut at the familiarity in the nickname. “I've got another 30 minutes or so of work to do here!” her voice reignites the thudding. All I hear is mumbles behind my own spiraling thoughts. I wash my brushes fast and carelessly, then load them, still wet, into my case. I haul my canvas away and walk out the door. I walk fast down the halls, my throat feels dry, my chest feels tight. My eyes feel prickly. I hit the wall of cold air past the front doors. What the fuck. I take a gasp of the icy air. Then head in the direction of my dorm. Heartbeat heavy.

______________________________________________________________

My phone rings. I lay on my bed staring into the ceiling. Seeing arms around her. The ringing stops. Then it starts again. I groan and reach my arm over to grab it. Chloe, my friend who I'd rather neglected over the past art filled days. I put my phone to my ear,

“Hey chlo.”

“Hey bitch. Where the fuck have you been?” I smile at her voice, rubbing the back of my neck.

“I have this gnarly realism project in my painting class. It's taking all of the little mental capacity I have” I say, mind on Ellie. Ellie and Cat. my smile fades.

“Oh, yeah. That's shit. Well it's Saturday, and since you owe me for being MIA, you are coming out with me tonight.” To be honest, a drink sounded pretty nice right now.

“Sure, what time?”

“Wait really? You’re down?”

“Yeah, I could use a distraction.” From her.

“Period! I'll pick you up at 9! We are going for… slutty chic.” I smile down at my legs.

“We’ll see.”

“I swear to god if you don't dress up im gonna-”

“Bye Chlo! See you at 9!” I say with a forced laugh, hanging up the phone. I throw myself back on the bed and lay there for a moment before I finally force myself to sit up and make my way to my closet.

______________________________________________________________

[here!] My phone dings. I take one last look in my mirror, evaluating. A fitted black racer-back cropped to my upper stomach, a large key hole at the neck exposing some of my cleavage, I pull it up a bit self consciously. My skirt, a matching set to the top sits a couple inches beneath, exposing a sliver of my stomach. The fitted black skirt ends before my resting hands do. I tug at it, too short. I grab a cropped fluffy black jacket from the rack behind me and slouch it over my shoulders, then I’m bending over to pull on some black heels over my dark tights. Looking back to my reflection I look taller, elongated.

I lean in and double check my makeup. A soft smokey eye, with a thin line of dark eyeliner. Blush and highlighter shape my nose a bit more than normal. My eyes shift to my hair, slicked back in a high ponytail, I lean my head to the side grabbing my pony and pulling it over my shoulder sighing at my reflection before I grab my black bag and head out to Chloe's car.

I hear her before I see her, music blaring. She's applying lip gloss in her visor mirror. I climb into the passenger seat, holding my skirt down while I do so. She glances at me, “Oh my god. you look so hot.” she says, eyes boggling jokingly at me.

“Oh shut up,” I roll my eyes at her reaching my hand out to borrow her gloss, she hands it over and I apply it in the mirror of my visor just like she had done.

The drive consists of her updating me on her sexual escapades. I smile, laugh, and gasp at her stories as we wind through the streets. This girl is wild. God, I love her.

We pull up to a house and try to find parking among the cars lining the street. Finally finding an empty spot, she does her best attempt at parallel parking. I laugh at her focused face and multiple failed attempts. She tells me to fuck off.

Walking up to the house We pass a group of guys, they eye us up grinning. Chloe smiles at them, I cross my arms across my chest and look at the pathway to the front door. As we get closer the music pounds in my ears getting louder until we are inside. There's a lot of people here, energy pulsing through the thick air. I feel a bit overwhelmed. Chloe, reading my face, grabs my hands.

“Drinks!” she exclaimes with a wide warm smile. Her blonde hair bouncing behind her as she turned and pulled me by the hand to a table in the living room. She pours us a shot of something clear, tapping our glasses together then on the table. The liquor going down my throat is warm and stinging. We cringe at each other and laugh at our sour faces. After another shot, this time a bit easier, I pour myself a mixed drink and sip it to get the taste out of my mouth. It's not much better, too strong, but I sip away at it.

Chloe has drifted to the kitchen, giving eyes to some guy. I watch her touch his shoulder laughing at something he said and I smile at my now empty drink. Man, she's got game. I can feel the heat in my cheeks as the drink combines with the body heat of all these strangers. It's nice. For a moment I didnt even think about her.

Fuck.

Smile gone, I sigh and walk to the drink table, a bit wobblier than when I arrived, pouring myself another tall glass. Maybe another drink will get the images of her out of my head. I sip at my new concoction, barely tasting it as I stumble to find a bathroom. I knock. Met with no response, I walk in and lock the door behind me. I look in the mirror and my hooded eyes look back at me. I smile at myself. I do look pretty good, I thought. I turn on the tap and run cold water over my hands, I indulge in the drunken sensation of it.

I head back out into the crowded hall, people scattered along the wells leaning, chatting, even a couple messily making out. I subtly blanch at the boldness of it. Walking past them, eyes drifting over strangers, observing. Suddenly my eyes freeze, locked onto green. No , no, no. An exhale deepens her chest releasing a large puff of smoke from her lips. Her lips. She's sat with knees up on the couch, leaning against the arm. A blunt resting in between her fingers. Her eyes are locked on me, a look of shock shining over her already glazed eyes. Her eyes wander down my body, evaluating my every detail. Her brows furrowed a bit and I swear I saw her chew the inside of her cheek, before her eyes snaped back to mine. My eyes shift to the girl on the couch next to her. Short dark hair. My eyes trace her hand resting on Ellie’s thigh. My stomach twists. I turn sharply and walk to the kitchen, seeing everything through a tinge of green.

I approach Chloe. She smiles at me and asks how I'm feeling. “Drunk” I respond with a small empty smile.

“Drunk enough to dance?” she asks. Not sure if it was the liquid courage or a vengeful spirit possessing my body, I put my cup to my lips, downing the drink. I grabbed her hand and led her to the living room. Spinning her to face me, we begin swaying quickly to the beat of the music in the mass of dancing people. My hands skim up the curves of my body as we smile at each other. I tilt my head back and close my eyes, Ellie is in the darkness behind my eyelids. Then my hands are on Chloes waist turning her against me, we dance together. She’s pressed against me, my hands following the rhythm of her hips. When the song ends and transitions to another she laughs drunkenly, turning back to me and locking her hands around my neck.

“Okay, keep dancing.” I obliged. “See that guy behind me. Dark hair, tall. Definitely looking at my ass.” She looks at me with a smirk. I scan the faces in the kitchen, and locate the guy she's talking about. He was indeed staring at her ass. “Im gonna fuck him tonight. I bet you a million dollars.”

“That's a losing horse man, I see how he's looking at you, I'm not taking those odds.” I laugh at her, shifting my eyes as we sway together, my hands resting on her waist. Images begin blurring together, until my vision locks in on the girl leaning against the entryway. Arms crossed against her chest, one hand holding her still lit blunt. Eyes pinned to mine. Darkened green. The haze of people seems to blur around her. I see her suck against her teeth, she doesn't look away. I hold her gaze while I turn and begin dancing on Chloe, now her hands roam my waist. I watch as Ellie takes a long drag. Ellie. Chloe laughs into my neck.

“Jeez. you're putting on a show! Who are you performing for?” she says over the music scanning the crowd. My eyes are on green. I feel my face flush as I see Ellie turn on her heels and head back into the hall. Could she hear us? I turn back to Chloe.

“I'm gonna take a breather.” I say with a smile. She boos me as I walk away into the kitchen, “you're up,” I nod to the guy eyeing her. He heads her way. My vision sways, and I lean against the counter. I drop my head, I feel heavy. My body feels all the gravity of the world at this moment. What the fuck did I just do.

I stand up. Turning to walk to the bathroom, suddenly too drunk. I take staggered steps down the hall, my eyes looking over the couch, once occupied. Now only the black haired girl sat there chatting with someone, I didn't care enough to see who. She probably left, my thoughts told me. Not sure if I was reassured or upset by the idea. I stumble into the door. It sways open and I follow its momentum until my hips hit the counter and my hands fall next to the sink. I look at them.

Click.

My head shot up in the mirror, Ellie was leaning against the door watching my reflection.

“Your friend’s right, that was quite the show.” she says in a dry voice, looking at me emotionless.

“Where's your girlfriend?” My voice slurs at her, a bit harsher than I intended. The wrinkle between her brows deepen at this.

“Is that what this is over,” she said, rolling her blood shot eyes to the ceiling. I turn to her, leaning back against the counter.

“This isn't over anything.” I know I'm lying. I wonder if she does too. What's your problem?” I say through squinted eyes.

“My problem?”

“Yeah, whats your fucking deal? Looking at me like that, with your girl basically on your lap.” I was too far into my drinking to be shocked by my bluntness. My green was showing. I didn't have enough sense to care. Her eyes were dark.

“She's not my girl.”

“Okay,” I let out a mean laugh looking up, then back to her. “Sure.”

She steps towards me, my breath catches in my throat. “What about your girl?” She scowls at me, “The one you were dancing on,” she looks down to my hands “touching.” Her head still angled down but her eyes dart up to meet mine again. She looks angry. Her eyes stir something in my stomach. This is so unlike that calm and collected sarcastic girl from class.

“What about it?” I say to her with a rude smirk, my tongue poking the inside of my cheek as I glare into her. She stares into me, her eyes drift to my lips, then back to me. Piercing me. I feel myself go pale. “Stop looking at me like that,” my voice is softer than I anticipated. A harsh contrast to my aggressive tone. “I can't handle...” my voice trails off.

She looks at me for a second, softening the slightest amount. Contemplating. “You’re drunk.” She resigns. “Who's your ride? I think it’s time you head out.”

“Ellie, im not your fucking responsibility. I can handle myself.” My confidence fluctuates again. I try to pass her to get to the door, stumbling over my own feet. Her hand slams against the door, holding it shut. She turns, keeping her hand on the door.

“Dont be fucking stupid.” I gape at her. “Don't act like you didn't see all the guys watching you.” I didn't. Honestly. I only saw her. “You go out there like this and your easy fucking picking. Do you know how easy it would be for a guy to..” her voice stops. Her hand on the door squeezes into a fist, white knuckles. “I mean shit you left the door open when you came in here, what if it wasn't me that came in?” Her eyes are angry again, protective. My head pounds realizing she's right. I sigh and look down at my hands now clasped together. My liquid confidence faltered by the reminder of my fragility.

“Fine.” I say barely above a whisper. Her eyes hesitated on me. Softening a bit more.

“Come on,” she says, opening the door letting me out first. She trails behind me, an overwhelming presence. I walk to the living room, peering around for Chloe. She's not there. I pull my phone out and squint my eyes to keep the words from blurring together. I finally found her contact and pressed call. I hold it to my ear plugging the other one trying to hear over the music. Sent to voicemail.

“Fuck,” I mumble under my breath. I press call again. It rings a bit longer this time, then voicemail. I turn to look at Ellie, she's closer than I expected. My heart thuds. I look up slightly to meet her eyes. I'm sure she would have stepped away if it weren't for the people surrounding us. “She's not picking up.” I say looking down to the phone in my hands then back to her. I don't know what to do, I’m nervous, too far gone to have a poker face of any kind. She looks at me with a tinge of concern in her eyes, then scans over the crowd, before redirecting her gaze to me.

“Okay, follow me. She says as she turns and carves her way through the crowd. I follow behind her watching my feet to make sure I don’t trip when my body thuds against something.

I look up and see a man looking down at me. “Sorry sweetheart.” he smiles a toothy grin at me, scanning down my body as I back away from him.

I go to step around him, mumbling a small “excuse me,” but he steps in my path.

“Where ya going?” he leans his head down by me, “Can I come with?” he breathes moist air onto me, the smell of alcohol hot on his breath. The sound of blood rushes in my ears.

Suddenly, a hand on my waist. “Hey man, back the fuck up.” an aggressive voice rings. Eyes jump to see Ellie standing next to me. She's staring at him with narrow eyes, then looks at me. Her eyes are a statement. I got you. I look down to the floor. I feel her hand pulling me with her.

“Woah, dude.” he throws his hands up mockingly. “We were in the middle of something!” He called after us laughing. Her grip on me tightens, and I focus on the feel of it to drown out my anxiety.

Leading me out of the house, we get outside and my distraction disappears as she drops her hand. Mumbling profanities under her breath, walking fast. I follow behind her and she turns to check I’m still with her.

“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to keep up with her.

“I'm taking you home.”

#ellie williams fluff #ellie smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie x y/n #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you

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kalfui · 2 months

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happy aromantic awareness week! amir talai posted about it on twitter asking aro people to chime in with what we'd like people to know and he'll share it outwards -- we really lucked out with such a great guy supporting the community:

https://twitter.com/AmirTalai/status/1759129372911395100

Happy aromantic awareness week! I am so glad for lovely Alastor over here, and Amir Talai is so supporting! I'm very happy that Amir interacts with his fans and the aroace community he's gained by being Alastors va!

I think if there's one thing I have to say, it would be to not feel ashamed for not feeling romantic attraction, I, as a kid used to feel very left out since I never had any crushes or anything similar, and teachers that would say "You'll find the right one one day, and if you don't, you're gonna be missing a part of yourself, a part someone needs to fill in your heart," etc etc would just fuel my sadness. I've grown to accept myself and realize I don't need romantic attraction or love to be happy in my life. Believe me, forcing yourself to maintain relationships when you don't want to will tire and exhaust you out. Don't think that you're weird or abnormal because you don't feel romantic attraction, you can have many meaningful relationships without romance, and that's completely okay!

I guess this is just stuff I'd say to my younger self, and I'm more talking about my experiences, and I do realize that there exist people who do feel romantic attraction even though they're aromantic, and thats completely valid! I just wanted to share my thoughts and experience for a second, and thanks a lot to Amir!

#aromantic #aroace #hazbin hotel #hazbin #vivziepop #vivienne medrano #spindlehorse #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #aroace alastor #amir talai #WE LOVE AMIR TALAI OVER HERE #aromantic awareness week #lgbtqia #lgbtq community #lgbtq #aromanticism

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winterlogysblog · 2 months

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What is Nasiens?

In light of what is currently going on in the manga. I'm gonna talk about this one.

So, if I'm being perfectly honest, at this point, I don't care about the Nasiens-is-a-girl theory. To me, Nasiens is Nasiens and I love him regardless of what his gender may be and after looking through the raws of Chapter 139, all will be revealed in Chapter 140.

So, here's the thing. The theory about Nasiens being a girl, makes sense, it has merit I'm not gonna deny that however the only reason why I had issues with the theory for so long now is because there's no reason for Nasiens to hide his true gender.

Characters hiding their identity always stems from the reason why they're hiding these things. The character's reason for hiding their true identity is so important that it bugged me to no end on why on earth nobody has ever spoken about the reason Nasiens is hiding his true gender.

Now, here's the deal. Nasiens' identity reveal can go two ways.

1. Nasiens is a girl (just like everyone assumes)

2. Nasiens is a fairy and has tiny wings on his back.

I don't think Nakaba will do both. (I'll be astounded if he did)

Now, with Nasiens being a fairy and has wings in my head actually makes sense and it follows the thought process of the first one.

Let me explain, as far as I know, the reason why people theorize that Nasiens is a girl is his refusal and embarrassment to be seen at least half naked by people (I don't really follow the theory it may not just be this) because you know Nasiens will be revealing his top and if Nasiens is a girl there will be two things that dudes shouldn't see.

Let's put that logic into this. Nasiens doesn't want people to see his body because he's hiding something. It may just be Fairy Wings, and here comes the why that the Nasiens-is-a-girl theory is missing.

Nasiens is raised in a forest filled with fairies. Fairies are known for two things, their wings and their ability to fly. If Nasiens is secretly a fairy and has tiny wings he would obviously suspect his own identity, they may just have sprouted recently, maybe along with his magic, who knows. But the point is, Nasiens has wings and he can't fly, this to him is an abnormality and he would obviously feel embarrassed to even talk about it let alone show anyone, especially now that he's literally in the Fairy Realm.

Even King has shown insecurity at the fact that he, The Fairy King doesn't have wings but hey at least he can fly. But Nasiens, for his entire life assumed that he's human just one day sprouting wings, Nasiens knows that he's adopted by Ordo and this phenomenon could very much help him learn what his true identity which I think did intrigued and made him feel a bit relieved that now he knows some truth about who he really is. But, ever heard of a fairy that can't fly, that's just ridiculous. Lancelot technically can fly, even if he has to transform to do it but hey can still do it.

But that's just me and my rambling mind. You know me when it comes to Fairies and my fav characters I'll talk and talk.

#Nasiens #4kota analysis #apparently i do these now #theories #nanatsu no taizai mokushiroku no yonkishi #nanatsu no taizai #four knights of the apocalypse #nnt #seven deadly sins #4kota #sds #seven deadly sins sequel #mokushiroku no yon kishi #mokushiroku no yonkishi

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catboybiologist · 9 months

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I'm trans! Here's a way-too-long ramble on my internal thoughts on that!

My other posts on this:

https://www.tumblr.com/catboybiologist/725852054829023232/im-going-to-document-some-things-about-my?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/catboybiologist/725851397783011328/the-short-answer-is-no-but-im-gonna-have-a?source=share

So yay I’m trans! Which like, is neither unexpected nor abnormal for the community I’ve fostered here, so I’m guessing most of y’all’s reactions is just a “hey cool”. But, you see the online side of me, not the irl side, so there’s still a lot of thoughts to sort out on my end. So I’m dumping a lot of thoughts here to sort all that out. And hoooly shit, it got very long, and I still feel like I have more to say… but yeah. If you wanna hear some perspectives on my relation to gender, transness, and femboy culture, read on!

I guess the best way I can think to style this is as an interview with an imaginary third person, sooo…. Bold text is questions I can imagine people having LOL

So what’s my own personal relationship with the term femboy, catboy, and gendered terminology in general? Is the name of your accounts gonna change?

Short answer, no. I like the name CatboyBiologist. “Catboy” itself is a term that is completely untethered from gender at this point to me. Tbqh, the “cat” part feels more wrong than the boy part- as time goes on, I’ve generally ditched the cat ears for most of my outfits as I take them a bit more seriously. Maybe that’ll change when my transition actually starts, but for now, CatboyBiologist stays, and the femboy related language stays in all of my own past posts (keyword, past- more on that in a bit).

I’m not gonna be updating my approach to pronouns. Any pronouns do just fine, I’m sending a vibe into the world and pronouns are my feedback as to what other people interpret that vibe is. Default to they/them if you don’t know what to do with that.

I will be updating my pinned post to link all of these posts, but mostly copy/paste the information from before. That might take a moment cuz I’m lazy, tbh.

And let’s get something else out of the way.

I’m not socially transitioning yet, and probably won’t for a while.

Which, I think leads to a lot of follow up:

Well, why not?

I present fully male and masculine on a day to day basis, and look the part too. Part of it is just this looks insecurity. The mask stays on in my pictures for a reason. Beyond just facial hair (which grows aggressively on me and always shows some shadow), my face looks pretty masculine overall. It takes time to look the way I do in my posts. I wanna give my face and body some time to change so I can look more femme in more casual ways before I present it to the world.

Beyond that, I’m also just worried about being “accepted” as femme straight off the bat. Implicitly, I know this will be easier if I already have some small amounts of physical feminization down my belt.

There’s two main environments that worry me: family, and professionally. Family is a weird hot mess grey area that is too personal to talk about here, but the professional atmosphere is certainly going to be a bit… weird. I live in an accepting geographic region, and around people who are very outspokenly trans supportive…. But most of whom are cishet and simply don’t have a lot of experience seeing or working around trans people. I’m more afraid of being seen as “trans first, biologist second” as far as my career is concerned, than I am about outright transphobia. I know this will never fully go away, and given that I’m 6’2”, I’ll probably never “fully” pass- but I’d at least like people to implicitly read my as femme on a gut level before I start changing how I present that way. One thing my irl femboy experience has shown me is that, even if people can “clock” you intellectually, the way their gut instinct reads you affects whether they treat you as masc or femme. I hope that makes sense on some level. Of course its always going to be an awkward shift, but I hope some time on HRT will make it less awkward.

I’ve come out to one person that doesn’t know about this online persona, or the depths of my queerness. They straight up told me they were shocked. They were incredibly supportive, but they told me they didn’t see it coming at all. And they already knew that I “crossdressed occasionally”. So that’s kinda what I’m working with here.

Essentially, I’m not actually truly “transitioning” in a real sense yet. More than that, I feel like I’m getting the ball rolling. If there’s anything I learned in my research, it’s that HRT takes a while, much longer than anyone expects (suppressing my rant about how the media cherrypicks people in early transition for trans representation and the effect that has on public perception). Two years is often cited as the “end” point, but based on both scientific and anecdotal accounts, that is wildly untrue and variable. I also know that the first changes onset quickly (skin and mood, most notably), but that overall body shape changes sometimes take a VERY long time to start and progress. So to be quite honest, I barely feel like I’m transitioning yet, I’m just laying groundwork for the future.

So yeah. I’m gonna be boymoding for a bit. Possibly a year or more. Even for the people who know, I’ve still asked them to address me as he/him or they/them, and use my masculine name for now (haven’t even really decided on a femme name yet, although I have ideas [open to suggestions as well]).

Wait, so why address it online at all?

Put simply, honesty. I’m displaying a lot of selfies and experimentation with my look here, and I want to make it abundantly clear what I’m doing to have an effect on that. People have asked me if I’m on HRT in comments before, and like, I’m not gonna lie about that. Might as well also make a shitpost, a data gathering post, and a too-long ramble about it as well (which you’re reading now!).

There are a LOT of body image issues in femboy spaces (and trans spaces too!), often among very young people. While I have no issue with people on HRT continuing to call themselves a femboy (more on that in a bit), I do think transparency on that matter is helpful for those body image issues.

So to make it abundantly clear: all of my selfies and pictures that I’m labeling and tagging as “femboy” are pre-HRT. In the future, everything I tag with “trans” is post-HRT. I still got 1-2 weeks before actually starting, and I’m still going to use the femboy tag for any outfits I post during that time. The moment an estradiol pill hits my mouth, though, new pics will use trans tags.

Posts that relate to discussion of the interplay of the communities, and how I view myself within them, I’ll tag with both.

Which leads to another follow up question. This one isn’t about me specifically, but it’s my hot take about a certain brand of trans discourse I’ve seen around (mostly on reddit tbh):

Why would someone who knows they’re mtf trans willingly call themselves a femboy and/or request people to “misgender” them?

So this is actually gonna be striking a nerve with me, and I know I’m gonna kinda be strawmanning here by arguing against the ghost of reddit comments past. I’m not gonna try to dig any of them up in the internet archive, but they are sentiments I’ve seen multiple times.

I’ve seen this question almost word for word in the comments of trans subreddits multiple times. Imma be blunt, and it’s maybe gonna sound a little mean. If this thought is going through your head, you’re likely way more sensitive and particular about labels than most people. And that’s okay! Ask people to address you how you want, you deserve that respect! But the real answer to this question is that many people simply don’t mind being called whatever label is most useful or familiar to themselves in various contexts.

The moment that it becomes completely unacceptable is when someone does actually change their pronouns, name, presentation, etc, and people still address them as “male” or “femboy”. That is completely the fuck out of line, and if you don’t agree, fuck off.

Why does this strike a little bit of a nerve with me? Well, the “conclusion” I saw reached in these trans spaces multiple times when the subject was brought up was annoying as hell. That conclusion was that the only or primary reason that people labeled themselves a femboy, even while on HRT… was to sell their onlyfans. My fucking god, seriously? This is just conservative rhetoric. Luckily, on tumblr, it seems that people are a lot more accepting towards people using whatever language they like to describe themselves, which I’ve enjoyed a lot.

I’ve also had a lot of hate towards “fencesitting” directed at me on reddit, from trans people, for calling myself a femboy. I can’t remember it verbatim, but I very distinctly recall getting a DM that went something like “I fucking hate femboys, just transition already. You’re making us (transfemmes) look bad.” So yeah. Bit of a sore spot.

Yadda yadda yadda the personal journey shit

If I can be real for a moment…. In an ideal world, I would still want to be a part time femboy. Even moreso than the sheer utility of it all (eg, enjoy cis male privilege when I want, but still get treated more femme in certain contexts), it feels almost more profound to fuck with gender norms without sitting on one side of the gender line or another. But I can’t really ignore what I’ve described as my “mental resting state”- a baseline crackle of dysphoria that fills the space in my head when there’s nothing else to fill it. It’s easily distracted, but its always there, and I can’t imagine living my life that way anymore.

I’ve pretty much known I was trans since I was about 12, and had a realization that puberty was just starting to hit me, and I hated it. I suppressed it deeply, for many, many reasons that I don’t think I want to share here. But it made a lot of other mental health struggles in my life a lot worse, even if I didn’t consciously acknowledge that’s what was happening. By the time I was willing to consciously acknowledge it, I realized that my dysphoria wasn’t so bad as to dive in right away. But, I made moves to stabilize my life overall, which have been massively beneficial to me in other ways as well.

During the pandemic, I found myself living alone for the first time ever. So during the pandemic, in one last ditch effort to try to convince myself I wasn’t trans, I delved into femboy aesthetics to try and “just be a feminine man”.

That failed.

So yeah, here I am. I have a wonderful queer community both irl and online, a meagre but stable income, health insurance that has great coverage for trans care, and accepting people around me in my life. It’s long overdue. Maybe I’ll beat myself up for waiting so long and masculinizing so much as a result, but I don’t think I really could have done it any other way.

This all said, I don’t actually really consider myself a woman yet. I’m sure many of you are aware of two different ways transfemmes view themselves(and trans people in general, but using a transfemme perspective here):

-Some view themselves as having always been girls or women, but took some time to realize it and make their body more comfortable for themselves with that information.

-Others view themselves as boys or men who made efforts to become women later.

I fall strongly in the second line of thinking for myself. For my own personal experiences, even though I have felt dysphoria for a long time, I don’t really think I’m “actually” a woman yet. I don’t know what my identity as a woman looks like yet. But I deeply want to discover and create who that person is, and there’s no way to do that without transitioning.

B but… BASIC BIOLOGY!!!!!

How many biology degrees do you have? I got a BS and an MS, and I’m working on my PhD. I’m sure you’ve brought a similar level of expertise to this discussion.

But seriously, I could genuinely write an entire fucking essay about how studying biology has influenced my views on this subject, but honestly, that’s an entirely different topic. But tl;dr is that bioessentialism is brainrot, and if someone tries to use essentialist language to “justify” someone’s transness (or gender in general)… well, I think they’re wrong. Plain and simple. We don’t say someone isn’t “really able to see” if they put glasses in front of their eyes.

I’m stopping myself before I write more here, because this warrants another post or even a fucking video essay, to be quite honest. But yeah. Biology based.

Conclusion?

Uhhhh… in conclusion, I’m not particular about language or pronouns you use for me, I’m making posts about it anyways to ensure honesty associated with my selfies, if you’re transphobic jump of the tallest bridge you can find. I think that about covers it.

#femboy #transitioning #trans #transgender #mtf #cross dressing

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wawawawawawawawawawawawawa · 8 months

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i'm on my aspd izaya bullshit again but like. thru this lens, isnt his arc a perfect encapsulation on how aspd negatively affects the person that has it? even to this day, many professionals do not believe that pwASPD suffer from aspd. like at all. to the point where aspd was specifically listed as an outlier to the "patient distress is what defines a disorder" rule in an abnormal psych textbook

(see why i don't respect the field?)

but... he does suffer! a lot! like- remember his speech to mikado at the end of the first arc? how you need to keep evolving, keep changing in order to escape the mundane? how you have to keep going and going and going, wether it be aiming high or low?

yeah. normal people don't need to do this, izaya. you are a broken person.

but why SHOULD he be content with the mundane? the things people usually have that make them content with daily life- friends, family, a purpose, a distinct lack of extreme chronic boredom that drives you to do completely insane shit- izaya doesn't HAVE any of that!

"wait, chronic boredom?" i hear yall thinking. maybe. "isnt that an adhd thing?"

more than one disorder can have the same symptom. theres like a billion that have "want to die" as a symptom. but i dont really blame you for not knowing, its not talked about much

studies have shown that aspd and adhd are both problems with the dopamine receptors in the brain. more specifically, adhd is a chronic deficiency of dopamine, whereas with aspd, when you DO get dopamine, your brain gives you quardruple the normal amount.

studies have ALSO shown there to be a sort of... adhd to aspd pipeline. the story goes like this: you have a kid with adhd. maybe they're born like that, maybe the symptoms developed from trauma (which can happen? apparently??) anyway. kid gets abused. kid develops conduct disorder as a result of that abuse, as a natural extension of the existing adhd symptoms. they're MORE impulsive, which leads to them hurting others- and if it sets off the dopamine receptors, an abused kid starving for happiness and power is gonna chase it, no matter what. theyre like, six, they dont know anything about like. morality. all they know is, theyre sad and this makes them happy. anyway kid never gets treated, abuse continues to exasperate the symptoms, and now you have an adult with aspd, AND the original adhd diagnosis! and ptsd, which is HIGHLY comorbid with aspd! and probably another personality disorder, because you're actually statistically more likely to have two of them!

anyway! that's ONE of the ways aspd can develop from trauma, which it is Known To Do.

does any of that sound pleasant to go through? at all?

let me ask you a question:

imagine you aren't getting dopamine. maybe it's your adhd. maybe you're depressed. either way, you try to get it any way you can. wether it's throwing yourself into a hobby or a job, so the sense of satisfaction gives you dopamine, or something like drugs or gambling.

now, imagine that "rush" you felt. was Four Times Stronger.

wouldnt that compel you to do increasingly dangerous and risky shit, just to feel okay? imagine if you had no friends. imagine if this was your only way to be happy. wouldnt you, eventually, stop caring about others and only care about yourself? after all, other people have thinga like friends and a family that you don't have. they have a fallback. you only have this.

and you might say, "i'd never do that!" but every addict says that, and most eventually cross that line out of sheer desperation. and this? effectively makes you into a dopamine addict. which is dangerous! you can't just STOP... gettng dopamine....! it's necessary! but you have no help so you keep doing what youre doing. (and how could you get help? its baked into the system that people like you don't suffer. why try if youll just get burned?

anyway, back to izaya.

he's lonely. he has one friend and he sucks. he feels compelled to do these things even though he KNOWS it'll hurt him.

i stole this screenshot from some1 who insulted my friend once for something stupid <3 die

but it illustrates my point very well! does it look like he has much control over things?? he sure like to ACT like he does, but at the end of the day, he doesn't, really. he ends up spiraling more and more, doing increasingly risky and rash things, just to get his end goal... which is to die and ascend to the afterlife. a lofty goal.

aiming high, isn't he? a final, spectacular evolution.

or, it should have been.

but it wasn't.

izaya's impulses and deep desire to continue becoming more and more drastic, coupled with his lack of personal ties to anyone that could keep him from doing so....

it didn't make him ascend. it left him in a wheelchair, with chronic pain that will last his whole life.

THAT is where mental illness takes you. it doesn't make you a hollywood psychopath, reveling in the destruction you chose, of your own free will, wholly and truly, to cause. it makes you want More. no matter what, you need More. you see people content with lives worse than yours, everyone bound together with some sort of invisible thread, some sort of tie that keeps them together. a thread that missed you. your brain refuses to see people as people, thus you remain lonely forever, unsatiafied wirh company other than the superficial, because it's fun. that's all you're allowed to care about. an endless cycle of bigger and bigger actions, impulses slowly getting worse--

--and the worst part is, it tricks you into believing you ever had a choice. it tricks everyone into believing you had a choice. your suffering is worse than disregarded, to all the people you look at from your apartment, all the people you wish you could have been like.

it's nonexistant.

#durarara #izaya orihara #orihara izaya #🔥🔥 BE FUCKING NORMAL ABOUT ASPD ON THIS POST OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL BECOME THE JOKER ON YOUR ASS 🔥🔥#waposts #we r back with classic waposting complete w too many parentheses and paragraph breaks #peace and love on planet tumblr

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