#not visibly age them apparently | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seattlesellie · 19 days

Text

dads best friend!abby scenario cause why the hell not.

cw: sexual themes mdni, age gap, abby’s a cocky but charming asshole, power dynamics-ish? : ・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・ :

— "Oh and honey? Doctor Anderson's coming over for dinner" Everything felt oppressively hot and everything felt impossibly tight. The food seared your tongue, humid steam rising from the vegetables on your plate causing your throat to constrict and your eyes to sting with tears. Your right hand was clenched in a tight fist, left hand gripping your fork like it might grow legs and run away if you let go of your grasp. Your tights were itching relentlessly, tank top strap kept sliding off of your shoulder and built itself a home down your arm. Your lipgloss felt too sticky and your palms too clammy, you felt agitated, uncomfortable and way too goddamn nervous.

You felt consumed.

You didn’t know why.

Sure, Doctor Anderson was attractive, with palms twice bigger than yours. She wore a tight fitted muscle tee that had you squinting then turning your head around fast enough to crack your neck, noticing a goddamn six pack poking through maroon fabric. And yeah, she had an intoxicating scent of pine and wood and a hint of pepper that made your eyes nearly roll back inside of your skull, voice silky smooth, thighs firm and muscular, eyes icy blue, a smile that made you melt and all that stupid jazz,

but none of these things were a good enough explanation to why you were feeling this way — dazed, stupid, all bothered.

She sat down on the dinner table’s leather chair in a manspread as if she owned the place, and her thighs bulked up even more, veins of her arms becoming more prominent. She always knew what to say, and when you cracked a joke about orthopedic surgeons she cheekily told you to “watch it” — which made you thickly gulp and sheepishly smile down to the floor like your idol from age thirteen just told you they want to marry you and have you forever.

You needed an ice bath, but she also wouldn’t stop goddamn looking at you, even when you made it clear that eye contact with the surgeon, your father’s best friend, was a task that you apparently couldn’t manage to complete.

Her look made you nervous, and when she narrowed her eyes you nearly choked on a carrot, and when your father asked you “What’s wrong, kid?” you couldn’t even answer because what was wrong — was that you had to cross your legs together cause of some aching down there, and what was wrong is that his best friend made you feel like you were losing your mind at 9pm with a fork glued to your palm.

So you lied.

“M’just... tired, I guess” you murmured, then fake yawned, then internally cringed at yourself for performing the worlds fakest goddamn yawn.

“Already?” he voiced, shifting his gaze towards a visibly amused Abby. “Quite the night owl, that one... usually”

"What can I say, dad, loooong day" answered you, with a syrupy voice she wanted to stick her fingers inside and lick.

Abby chuckled, then smirked at you even though the response wasn’t directed at her. Then, she looked over to your father who was gnawing on some overcooked steak.

“She’s a kid, needs to get her sleep”

You scoffed, which made doctor Anderson poke the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “What...?” she murmured cockily, cracking a toothy grin. Your tights felt tight again, glued to your hot flesh, then you realized why they fucking call them tights because dammit they really are tight.

“I'm not a kid, can, y’know... drink, and stuff. Plus... M'busy, with... College"

You sounded like a damn idiot. All Abby did was chuckle and tilt her head back slightly, leaning further back in her chair.

“T'aw, I know, What'ryou studying again? Fashion science?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. That bitch.

"Sorry I don't wanna go to medical school and spend seven years of my life sticking my hands down a corpse"

So you didn’t go to your room after that, caught up in a whirlwind of proving a point. You stayed stubbornly with your feet glued to the floor and listened to Abby and your father ramble and yap on about work shenanigans. Usually, you’d semi doze off at this point, go on your phone and occasionally throw a snarky remark, but this was different. She was different than any of his other friends. Abby was actually funny, she didn’t brag too much, and if she did it faded quick cause she really was that good.

Abby threw a reference to a book you thought no one else had read except for you. You timidly lifted your gaze and remarked, “Oh, i read that book, actually”

Abby smiled and flattened her hands on the wooden table. “Smart cookie, huh? Did you like it?”

You batted your eyelashes like a kitten seeking more strokes at the praise, not noticing that body language of yours.

But she did.

You talked about the book for a solid ten minutes. Your father was the one, surprisingly, to go on his phone and faux-snort when he felt excluded from the conversation ran by two intellectuals and a giant elephant who goes by the name of "Tension", in the middle of the room.

Abby made you laugh and she made you think and she listened to your anecdotes. It made you buzz with electricity, and it made you yearn for her attention.

it also made her long for yours.

Your father interrupted by showing Abby a picture from work. When her eyes lowered to his phone, she shot you a lingering gaze and a smirk. You, feeling a rush of heat to your cheeks, shyly looked away.

It was tight everywhere all over again.

So they talked more about work, Abby’s patients, their coworkers, Doctor Martha’s chicken pot pie, Doctor Johnson’s bizarre antics, the glass door no one bothered on calling to be fixed, blah blah blah, an endless stream of chatter.

And you listened, you listened with rapt attention, every ounce of your focus aimed at the prospect of another one-on-one conversation with Abby. Each time the older woman casted you with a quick glance, you flushed even harder. You waited, and waited and waited but your father was a blabber mouth, and you were oh so impatient,

you began mindlessly kicking the wooden table's legs.

Your sock-covered feet shifted restlessly from side to side, then you tucked them beneath your chair and resumed kicking, the movements gaining force. You curled your toes and continued to play with the table's handles. Abby winced, but you didn’t pay her any mind. You kicked again, with more force now.

You sighed.

Abby cleared her throat, and her cheeks suddenly bore a faint crimson blush. You couldn't help but notice, hm, must be the red wine finally catching on to her form. Ignoring, you kicked again, and the doctors back straightened and she stiffened in response. Your father asked her a question, and Abby… stammered.

“Yeah, that guys… uh— yeah”

You rested your chin on your hands and lightly tapped your fingertips against your cheeks thrice.

Then you kicked again, harder, you were bored and restless, waiting, give me some attention, Abby —

And then, you felt a pair of shoes encase your feet, ankles creating a cage around yours. It was then and only then that you had the startling realization: you hadn't been kicking the table at all. Instead, you had been unknowingly engaged in a game of footsies beneath the table with a goddamn world class surgeon.

And oh god did you want to die.

And oh god did abby sport a shit eating grin on her face that only you seemed to catch.

You froze, not even able to release your feet from her iron like grip. Unmistakably, she didn’t seem to release her grip either. So she kept them there, caged and locked.

“Alright,” your father sighed and cleared his throat. “Got some cuban cigars in the yard, shall we?” he gestured towards Abby, who was still holding your feet in her tight grasp.

“Yeah, go ‘head, I’ll just clear the table” she murmured absentmindedly. So kind and polite, huh?

You father chuckled and tapped abby on her shoulder, as he rose from his sit and straightened his back. “Nah, let the kid handle it”

Abby shot you a glance. Your pupils were dilated and your chest heaved rapidly up and down.

“She's not a kid, remember?”

Abby let go of your feet and you rose from the chair with such haste, you nearly had whiplash. When you lifted your plate, staying mute, looking like a deer caught in headlights as your father paced towards the yard, Abby gazed at you, and her eyebrow arched up in utter amusement.

“You uh, play soccer, by any chance?” quipped her, crossing her arms on her firm hard muscly chest.

You gulped.

“Huh?”

Abby lifted her wine glass to her lips, taking a sip that left a glistening sheen on her bottom lip. A chuckle escaped her.

“Jus’, y’know… with all the kicking, and everything. I mean, take a girl out for a drink before you do all that, yeah?”

You stood in shock, you didn’t speak, didn’t mutter a word, merely humming in response. Abby grabbed the plates from your hand, and then she grabbed the salt.

She furrowed her eyebrows and huffed. “M'just ’joking, smart cookie. If you wanna play, let's play"

Then you heard your father’s voice down the hall.

“Sweetheart?” he paced closer as Abby walked towards the sink. He leaned over the wall,

“forgot to mention it to you but, Abby’s staying over for the weekend”

#abby anderson fanfiction #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby smut #abby anderson x you #abby anderson drabble #dbf!abby #doctor!abby #abby anderson fic #abby anderson #tlou2 fic

1K notes · View notes

he-calls-me-kitten · 2 months

Text

Sugar, Spice and a Tempting Vice

VA! MC x OM! Characters

"Hey Levi, any new game recommendations for me? I just finished the last lot of books Satan suggested." You asked, plopping down your head on his shoulder to look at his screen.

"M-MC! You have to warn me before you do such things!" He muttered, his ears turning red as he scrolled some webpages pages for you. "But okay yeah these are the new games that are out recently... see anything you like?"

"Oh my God! It's out it's out!" You pointed excitedly at the screen. "Pretty Little Things is out! Finally!! I was dying to tell you all about it!"

Levi visibly stiffened up. "You-you were waiting for this particular game to come out? Are you sure it's not another game with a similar sounding name?"

"Nah uh this is the exact same one. Look up the list of voice actors in this game!"

"WHAT?! MC WHY IS YOUR NAME IN HERE?????"

"Yes! This was the new part-time job I couldn't tell you about since it was still in production! Im so glad you can just play it now!"

"...it's uh ready for download on all platforms already...so which character did voice?"

"Oh spoiler alert, my character is the only one that doesn't have a name, you have assign me one, the same way you name yourself. They even designed the characters to resemble all the VA's and add in some of their personalities, isn't that sweet?"

"Hahaha y-yeah definitely sweet! I'll be sure to check it out soon!"

"Great! Lemme know what you think of the game okay?!" You squeezed him in a small hug before you left.

Later in the Demon Brothers only group chat:

Levi: Code Red! Code Red! ASHSKSHSKSKSJJSKKS

Mammon: WHAT WHAT THAT MEANS AN MC RELATED EMERGENCY RIGHT??

Asmo: OMG are they OKAY?? Should I go check up on them in their room!?!

Satan: I'm already on my way.

Mammon: NOT BEFORE ME YOU'RE NOT!

Belphie: Is MC hurt in anyway?

Beel: Did they pass out from hunger?! I can bring them emergency snacks right away

Lucifer: Can you lot not lose your minds everytime MC is mentioned? Pathetic. Levi, calm down and tell us what's wrong.

Beel: But Lucifer I just saw you hurrying up the stairs to MC's room too...

Satan: Typical Lucifer. By the way, MC is perfectly fine, happy even. Levi what are you on about?

Mammon: Yeah MC can't stop smiling! It's a good thing that happened, you idiot! Why would you scare us like that?

Asmo: Omg apparently MC voice acted in a new game! Levi I need you to download it for me ASAP please!

Beel: Me too, please.

Belphie: Me three.

Lucifer: I've already done it, you all can do it yourselves if you could do your own work for once.

Satan: Oh shut up, MC just did it for you right now as they did it for me.

Levi: It's a Dating Simulator. With multiple H-rated DLC endings. And MC is one of the dateables.

...

Levi: Hello?!! Did you guys not see my message?!

Levi: Seriously no reaction?! You guys aren't freaked out by this?!?

Beel: I just heard several doors opening and closing at once.

Asmo: Oh come Levi, I think you already know what our reaction is Levi ♥️ How can we possibly hold in our excitement after such a news!?

Levi: Are you all downloading the game together?!!! Y'all are hogging the bandwidth too much, my download speed has gone way down!!

Simeon: Hey

Simeon: I heard some demons in a cafe, raving about a game where MC plays one of the main characters?

Solomon: Indeed MC just sent us all a link right now.

Simeon: Oh is that so? I'll get Luke to help me download it after he's done with his.

Levi: Luke is playing it too?! I don't think it's appropriate given it's certain hidden endings!!

Barbatos: MC already made sure of it. He only has access to the sibling and friendship routes. It's a special version they added for all ages.

Diavolo: It already has downloads in the ten thousands. I'm really glad to see how MC is beloved by Devildom.

Levi: Are NONE of you affected by the fact that there are erotic routes with MC's VOICE?!!

Solomon: Oh I personally cannot wait hear my adorable apprentice's performance.

Barbatos: Ahem. I'd rather not comment on it.

Simeon: Same.

Diavolo: Same.

Levi: Sigh. We really are just a helpless lot at the mercy of MC.

To be continued...

#obey me #obey me smut #obey me solomon #obey me satan #obey me mammon #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me lucifer #obey me simeon #obey me diavolo #obey me barabtos

1K notes · View notes

thevoidstaredback · 21 days

Text

Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant

Listen. It was an accident. He didn't mean to! It just kinda happened.

So maybe he brought a drink with enough caffeine in it to kill an elephant within a few minutes, and maybe he forgot to put the sleeve on his cup so he could tell it apart from the others, but it's not his fault! He didn't think anyone else was going to have the exact same Yeti cup as him! It's not like he'd seen any of the others carry one before. Besides, he worked with superheros. They should be smart enough to check before drinking someone else's drink.

Danny had been summoned by the Justice League Dark a few years back in order to help with a world ending crisis and he just didn't leave. It's not like he could go anywhere anyway. His ghost half hadn't grown past fourteen and his human half had stopped visibly aging at eighteen. He'd had to leave town as Danny Fenton, but he'd stayed in Amity Park as Danny Phantom. When his parents died of old age, thank god, he'd closed down the portal, stuck around for a few more years, before traveling the world as Danny Fenton.

Anyway, he'd taken up residence in the House of Mysteries after the JLD had summoned him. Constantine, at first, had been wary, but he and the rest of the JLD had grown to accept him. He was an honorary member of the team.

At some point, just after Robin had become Red Robin, Danny had been introduced to the Justice League. He liked those guys, too, and worked with them sometimes. Though, he usually only went to bug them.

Red Robin had been very interested in the fact that his was fourteen and working with grown heros, like he was one to talk, but Danny hadn't explained anything other than saying that he had died and come back. The following conversation was an interesting one that lead to Danny knowing that Nightwing was the Batman he'd met and that Batman was lost somewhere. He'd confirmed that the man was not dead, but he hadn't offered to help look for him. He probably should have, in retrospect.

Back on topic! Everyone in the JLD knew not to touch Danny's drink. They'd all seen him make it before and had been horrified on varying degrees. It's not like it could kill him. He's already half dead! So long as he only drank this specific brew as Phantom, he'd be fine.

The Justice League, apparently, didn't get the memo. He blames Constantine because Zatanna and Raven can do no wrong. No, John, he's not biased.

The point is, Red Robin just had a sip of Danny's drink. The horror he now felt was akin to the fear he held when he'd told his parents he was Phantom. (An interaction that had gone very well, thank you very much.)

Danny knew the exact moment that the vigilante realized he grabbed the wrong drink. His eyes widened to an astonishing degree, and, if he'd been able to seen his eyes behind the mask, Danny knew that the man's pupils would've completely overtaken the irises. His hands started shaking, too. Oh, no. The man's already addicted to hellish amounts of coffee. This is only going to make it worse!

Quickly, and without drawing any attention, thank the Ancients, Danny rushed over. "You, um, you okay, man?" Obviously not, but he tends to talk when he's anxious and he was certainly anxious right now. He could've possibly just killed a man via poison!

"What the fuck is in this coffee?" Red Robin asked, going to take another sip.

Danny pulled the Yeti from his hand and gave him the proper one. "Enough caffeine to kill an elephant."

"Obviously not, seeing as I'm still alive."

"Yeah, I can't tell if that's a good thing or not."

"Excuse me?"

"I-I mean-! I didn't-! You know what I mean." Caffeine is poisonous in excess, and his drink was way beyond excess, but it's the only thing that works for him as a ghost! Superpowered metabolism and all that.

"Do I?" The laugh in his voice answered for him. He took a sip from his drink and frowned at it. "I don't think any coffee will ever be enough again."

"And that's my cue to get my drink very far away from you." Danny turned, fully intent on moving to the other side of the room. Besides, the meeting was going to start as soon as the Flash and Kid Flash arrived, which would be soon. Something about one of their Rouges getting out?

"What?" Red Robin asked, "Why?" If he was a little desperate to get another sip of that coffee, he'd rather not acknowledge it.

"Because you don't need anymore lethal coffee," he muttered, "The sip you took will already keep you awake for three days at least, and it probably jump started an addiction. Best to stop it now. Besides, I need to go have my crisis on how the hell you're still alive after even a sip of this stuff."

"Again, rude." The bird themed vigilante crossed his arms as best he could while holding his cup. "If it's so dangerous, why do you drink it?"

Danny took a deliberate sip as he locked eyes with the technically younger man. "I'm dead. I don't need to worry about my heart stopping or having a seizure."

"Excuses."

"No, it's not 'excuses'. I'm saving your life."

"You're a kid. If I can't have that coffee, then you shouldn't be having it."

"First, I'm older than you. Second, I already told you: I'm dead. This isn't going to hurt me. Third, you can't tell me what to do."

"There's no way you're older than me. You're like, ten."

"I'm thirty-eight!" He balked, "I only look fourteen because I died when I was fourteen. We've been over this."

Neither noticed the entire Justice League looking at them. The two they were waiting on had arrived a few minutes ago and everyone was ready to start the meeting, but they'd been distracted by the two's conversation. Was that true? Had Phantom really died so young? They'd all been made aware he was not living, but they didn't think he'd died so young! Though, that was probably the denial speaking.

The Justice League Dark had been fully aware of this and didn't really bat an eye. Though, someone should probably get this meeting started. A potentially world ending threat was the topic, and that was a pretty important thing to discuss.

Captain Marvel was the first to pull himself together, though that was only after Atlas and Zeus had mentally slapped him out of his stupur. "As, ah, riveting as this conversation is," he stepped between the two boys- er, boy and man? "we really need to start this meeting."

Batman did not clear his throat because he'd not lost his voice in the first place. "He's right. Everyone take your seats."

Part 2

1K notes · View notes

luveline · 11 months

Text

spoilers for spider-man: across the spider-verse below

please don’t read any further if you are avoiding spoilers

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel hops dimensions expecting a new family, and a new life. he’s not expecting you —featuring a tired miguel and his confused but adoring wife. or, miguel gets the comfort he so desperately needs. requested here. fem!reader, 2.5k

tw. gun mention/no graphic scenes

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel seems different when he comes home that night. You've loved him for years, you know his face. He looks slightly younger and older at the same time, impossibly so. He looks like he has bad news and he doesn't want to tell you. Something harrowing. How else can you explain his expression?

You stand up from the dinner table. "Hey," you say gently. "Is there something wrong?"

He isn't convincing when he answers, "What? Uh, no. Nothing's wrong."

"Something looks wrong."

You step in front of him and lift your chin. Usually, he'd look down with a smirk, or at the very least a smile, but he seems weary. You lift your hand to his cheek, pinching it between your fingers without malice.

"Smile, handsome. You have a lovely smile."

He smiles. His lips part just slightly. "You… you really love me. You're happy."

"We're happy," you correct. "Me, you, and Gabs forever, right?"

"Gabs?" he asks.

"Don't start with me. Gabriella's a mouthful. A beautiful mouthful," you concede. "I still think we should've named her Sofia. And yeah, Miguel. I love you. Really really. Don't forget it."

You make him sit at the kitchen table. It's a selfish manoeuvre; you want him to sit so you can actually reach his hair. Your husband is the tallest man you've ever met.

"Did you get a haircut?" you ask, running your fingers through his hair slowly. He shivers at your touch, and tilts his head back in question. "You did. That's such a betrayal, my love. I've been cutting your hair for going on six years now, I'm suddenly not good enough?"

"You're good enough," he says. He really sounds so strange.

"I'm joking. Miguel, if there's something wrong, you really need to tell me. I can make it better. Well, I can try." You bite your lip, unnerved by his quiet, solemn air.

"Am I being weird?" he asks.

"No," you say, worried he thinks you're judging him. You never would. (He's being really weird.) "Of course not, you're just quiet tonight, that's all. Did you have a bad day at work?"

"I– I got mugged. On the way home from work. I forgot the– the milk."

"You what?" you ask, eyes widening in shock. Miguel's kind of gigantic. You've always said that you pity the fool who tries it, but apparently he's less hardy than you thought. A mugging explains his weird behaviour these last five minutes, at least. "What happened? Sweetheart, are you okay?"

You take his face into both hands. He has dark circles under his eyes and a scratch along his jaw, but he seems unhurt. You suppose being attacked would age you instantaneously too.

"Miguel, are you in shock? Should I take you to the hospital?"

"I'm okay. I just feel strange."

"Are you sure?” He nods hurriedly. You purse your lips. “I'll make you something warm to drink, that'll help. As long as you're not hurt, right? Did he take your wallet? We'll have to cancel your credit card."

Miguel catches your shirt before you can go too far.

"Hm?" you hum in question.

Miguel visibly deliberates. His eyebrows lift ever so slightly. "Could I hug you?"

The hurting and worry you have for him intensify before falling on the back-burner. You can shove your own feelings aside easily if he needs comforting.

"I don't think you have to ask me," you say, offering your arms.

Miguel is usually a short but meaningful hugger. You've hugged so many times and in what feels like every place on earth, and he's such a tall man that even if he doesn't mean for them to be, his arms are all encompassing.

It surprises you that this hug is different. He's tentative. When his hand falls to the small of your back it slots into place, and you can feel his relief like a palpable thing.

"You’re okay," you say, your lips at his crown, your legs between his.

He's keeping space between you, and you don't like it. You press yourself as close to him as possible, your arms behind his shoulders, cupping the back of his head. Soft hair tickles your palm.

"Was it scary?"

"Was what scary?" he asks. You don't mention his little sniff. He's smelling your hair.

"Being mugged? Did he have a gun?"

"Yeah, he did."

"Oh, I see. There's no shame in being scared, you know that?"

"I'm not scared. I wasn't scared when it happened. I just wanted to come home to you."

You frown. His admission is like a barb in your chest, aimed true for your heart. "I'm so glad you did," you confess against his forehead, a murmur of sound. "So, so glad. I don't know what I'd do without you."

You kiss his head three times in a row. The last kiss lingers, his arms slackening around you.

You pull away, not wanting to smother him. Whoever's watching knows he's had enough of you these last few years.

"Where–" Miguel clears his throat. "Where's Gabriella?"

"She's in her room. Call her."

You're hoping time with her will bring him back into focus. He's clearly more affected by this than he's willing to say. You don't know how you feel about it. Terrified, because you could've lost him. Euphoric that you didn't. You'd had this funny feeling all day long, and it's weird, you’d felt that something bad happened, a moment at the sink with Gabriella singing in her room, the clock ticking on the wall. Miguel late, but promising to bring the groceries you needed home with him before dinner.

"Gabriella?" he calls up the stairs. You watch from the stove.

You'll grab the pan and make him some hot cocoa. Just as soon as he stops looking scared.

"Daddy?" Gabriella asks back. She's audibly ecstatic, and her footsteps are a stampede from her bedroom. You can see her from the kitchen when she gets to the bottom of the stairs. "Dad, pick me up!"

"Oh, right," Miguel says, leaning down to hold her.

He pulls her with all the grace of an elephant to his chest, and she nearly chins him.

"Woah, careful."

"Dad, you're super late. Mom said I can yell at you for being late."

"You can yell at me, if you want to." He gives her a curious look. "I'm sorry for taking so long."

Gabriella tilts her head to the side, dark hair shifting. She's a gorgeous little girl and her dad can't withstand it, melting as you hoped he would, the taut string of his back finally cut in two.

"I don't want to yell at you," she whispers.

"Good, because I don't want you to yell," he whispers back.

Gabriella leans back in his arms and giggles thickly. He almost drops her, and has to readjust his hold on her back.

"I'm so happy you're home!" she cheers, bringing her little hands up together from her chest and thrusting them out like fireworks. "You work too much! I thought doctors was s'posed to make everyone better and go home."

"I'm not that kind of doctor," he says.

You turn from where you've brought cocoa powder and milk to an emulsified simmer on the stovetop and beam at him. It's your favourite thing in the whole world when she mixes it up. Ever since she found his ID card with DR. written clear as day before his name, she's been under the impression that he works at the general hospital. Alchemex might break medical thresholds, but it is far from a hospital.

"Are you having hot cocoa with your dad?" you ask Gabriella.

She gasp in excitement and lists toward you. Miguel almost drops her for a second time. "Yes, oh my gosh!"

"Well, come and sit. What mug?"

Gabriella can't decide on what mug she wants; there's the orange cat with too many whiskers, there's the black one with bright white stars. After some deliberation, she decides on her and Miguel's matching daddy-daughter mugs.

"You're having some too, right?" he asks you.

"Don't I always?" you ask. "Though I do want to protest the mugs. Where's my mug? Don't I deserve number one mom?" You kiss the top of Gabriella's head where she languishes in Miguel's lap, before placing their hot cocoa down far from her arm's reach. "It's hot."

Miguel doesn't touch his. You blow cold air at Gabriella's and dip your fingertip into it periodically, content to spend some time with them both in amicable quiet. Gabriella just loves him to pieces, and she leans back in his arms with her eyes closed, basking in his closeness.

She squints at you with one eye. "Dad?"

Miguel doesn't answer. You nudge his foot.

"What?" he asks.

"You're not doing the thing."

"The thing?"

You frown.

"Yeah, dad." She huffs and curls his arm manually across her front. "Please, I want the kisses."

He looks at you, completely lost. You're feeling similarly confused. "She wants you to kiss her hair," you say, wondering if perhaps he's suffering from stress related amnesia.

He leans down carefully and kisses her hair. It's not the usual enthusiastic kiss, and he doesn't bother blowing in her ear after.

Gabriella glares at him. "My ear!"

"Blow in her ear," you mouth.

He blows gently into her ear. She shivers, shudders, and laughs up a storm.

When the cocoa's been drunk and the mugs washed and put away, Gabriella races upstairs, promising to return with a storybook and the drawing she made earlier in the day once she’s changed into her pyjamas. Miguel looks less lost than he had. In fact, he looks normal. The warm drink has put colour in his cheeks, and his daughter's cuddles have done their job. He's relaxed. He's forgotten the fear of the mugging, you're almost sure of it.

You waver beside him. "Can I sit with you, or am I too heavy?"

"Why would you be too heavy?" he asks.

"You always say I'm too heavy," you say, sitting down on his thighs. They feel solid, a little different from usual. Miguel works out, but this is strange. He must be more tense than you thought. "It's your worst joke."

"I'm sorry. I won't say it if it upsets you," he says, his voice rough and low.

"Who said anything about that?" He's never called you heavy to be cruel.

"Sorry," he apologises again. "I think all the excitement today messed me up."

You spread your fingers wide across his chest, his heart beating a surface below. "It's okay. You don't have to react any one way…" You rub the tip of your nose against his jaw lightly. "I'm so glad you're okay. I had this weird feeling like something bad happened to you, you know?"

Miguel laughs and coughs at the same time. It borders on being distressed. He's really worrying you. "You did?" he asks.

"Mm-hm. But you're okay." You work hard to sound sure.

His hand slides between your legs, fingertips digging into the soft inside of your upper thigh, though it doesn't stay there. He pulls away, looking flustered. "Sorry."

"For what?" You blink.

"I don't know."

You laugh and press a kiss to the column of his throat, your nose squished against him. "I was thinking we'd watch that new movie tonight, with Harry Woodson, but it has guns and stuff. Would that still be okay?"

He puts his hand behind your ear and guides your head back to look you in the eye. It's a familiar touch. He looks like himself again, though you truly are offended by his haircut. Maybe something happened at work and fried it off.

"You're really something special," he says quietly.

"How so?"

His face softens with your flirting tone. "You're kind. You're so kind. I've never met someone like you."

"What are you talking about?" you mumble. It's your turn to feel flustered, jellified by the earnestness lining his features.

"You're sweet, and soft, and so pretty," he says, matching your tone. He's looking at you like he's seeing you for the first time.

You understand the feeling. Sometimes you look at him and can't believe he's your love.

"Soft," you repeat. "Are you trying to say something?"

"Like that. That joke. You don't even sound mad."

"You don't have to be so amazed. I've been like this since we met, haven't I? I'm hardly ever angry with you." You follow down from his eye to his jaw with your knuckle, tracing a tear he hasn't shed. He's spun you into thoughtfulness, and more than that —reverential fondness for him aches in the very centre of your stomach.

"I must have some good luck," he says.

His near death experience has inspired a wave of sappiness.

You lean in until your forehead touches his, giving him time to close his eyes or lean away if he wants to.

"I love you," you say simply. "You're not lucky, you're amazing, and all this good you see in me? I see it in you, O'Hara." You huff a laugh, breath fanning over his top lip as you steal a wonky kiss. You pull back. "You're sure–"

Miguel kisses you. His hand flies to the back of your neck and his lips are eager, his head tilted to one side to accommodate your nose. He deepens the kiss and it's a mess, really, nothing like his usual kisses, no practised ease, nor confident touches. His fingertips push at the hairs lining the nape of your neck as though he's not sure what to do with his hand. It's like kissing him for the very first time.

It's not a bad kiss.

You kiss back slowly. You're the steadying constant to his hotheadedness, in kissing and in everything else, pulling time into an endless stretch of his mouth under yours, his body heat seeping into your skin.

The sharp point of a tooth catches your bottom lip. You gasp into his mouth and flinch away from him.

"Um, ouch? What was that, handsome, did you get your teeth filed to spikes?" you ask, probing your lip, a flood of giggles slipping between your fingers.

He looks at you like you've lit the sky one star at a time.

"Sorry," he says. "I'll be more careful, I swear."

"Sure," you laugh. "Well, you'll have to be more careful later. You promised Gabriella you'd read her the Wishing Tree, and she's expecting a performance. Voices included."

He adjusts you in his lap with more strength than you knew he had. "Will you help?"

You'll always help him. He doesn't even need to ask.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!

3K notes · View notes

ozzgin · 4 months

Text

Yandere! Yokai Harem x Reader (I)

This is probably my longest running dysfunctional daydream scenario, so I thought I'd share it here.

As stereotypical as it gets, you've fallen into an old well and found yourself in feudal Japan. Almost immediately, you're attacked by a yokai that calls you by a name you don't recognize. He insists you possess the soul of an ancient priest that would capture demons under a binding contract. Something isn't right, however, so your life is spared until further clues come to light. With two men unwillingly bound to you, you begin to uncover this mess as more 'collection pieces' show up. They might prefer you to their previous owner.

TW: violence, monsters

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Character Guidebook]

You vigorously cough out whatever grass you seemed to have bit into when you hit the ground. Was all this vegetation here just one moment ago? As you get up and dust your knees you're brought back into focus by the loud buzzing of insects. You look above and involuntarily squint your eyes. You didn't expect to see a full, bright sky.

"What the hell?" is all you can mutter.

You and your university friends had planned a quick trip to the neighboring Tokyo, just to visit some trending local cafes and shop around. You somehow wandered into the suburbs and found a very obvious path to a large shrine that was visible from the bottom of the stairs. Now, what's more stereotypical than finding a shrine, approaching it with shy steps, dangling the old rope of the bell and humbly clapping your hands together for a quick prayer that gives you a fake sense of meaningfulness? Then again, you love a good cliché. So you did just that, and then whipped out your phone to snap some artsy photos of the place. In your search for the perfect angle, you spotted a wooden structure among some pillars and zoomed in to realize it's an old well.

Here's where you awkwardly tiptoed away from your friends. You couldn't possibly confess to them that you're one of those anime nerds, and that you immediately thought of a certain classic title, and that this could make a very good impromptu cosplay shoot. You could smell the nostalgia as you carefully swayed your way behind the pillars and under the shade of the tiled roof. You bent over carefully (apparently not carefully enough) to asses how deep the well was. Just as you were about to exclaim its shallowness, you felt the gravity pull you inwards. Within seconds your head made contact with the moist soil and you briefly blacked out as the rest of your body arrived in proper position.

Unpleasant, but you've had migraines worse than this. Though now you're wondering whether you might've damaged some important brain parts, given the sudden change of scenery. Or has your dysfunctional daydreaming finally caught up to you?

You laugh silently and test the walls around you, feeling for some contact point that you can use to pull yourself back out. You finally crawl out, but freeze with your elbows around the frame of the well, looking ahead.

There's no building around, just tall grass and what seems to be the beginning of a forest. You remember to blink, and each time you close your eyes you hope to see the shrine once again, to no avail.

"I thought I'm past the risk age for schizophrenia", you mumble in a humorous attempt. The situation is so absurd that you need to share it with an imaginary audience.

You muster up the courage to step out and onto the ground, with extra caution as if it could vanish at any moment. After brief consideration, you slap a bunch of weeds in front of you to test their consistency. The hard stems hurt your wrist and you nod. This is a little too intense to be just a hallucination.

Alright, so you got trapped in some sort of feudal anime remake. What now? You glance around, almost hoping to see some white haired man sleeping against a tree with an arrow stuck into the chest. You check your phone. No signal, but thankfully it still works. You have a battery and its charger, but the latter is probably useless. Unless this remake comes with electricity. You chuckle at the thought. Who knows, maybe it's one of those isekai otome games instead and some timeline inconsistency or loophole will provide you with an outlet.

After trying the well one last time without success, you decide to at least find another human being. Then you can get some grasp of your whereabouts and situation. You notice a patch of grass that's been bent to the ground, probably from frequent stomping. That's a start. You follow the hints of bipedal movement and hope for the best.

The improvised path slithers downhill and around the mass of trees, and you question whether the fields ahead might have traces of houses on them. You pick up your pace in anticipation.

A sharp swish of an unknown object causes you to flinch and halt, and before you can process it, a thin blade lays inches from your nose. You follow its length and find the source: a tall, horned (???) man with silver hair.

Ironically enough, he seems to be more shocked than you. His facial expression flips from focused anger to unbelievable confusion within seconds. His eyebrows are raised and his lips part.

"Ah!" you yell as the gears begin to turn. "Christ, you almost made me question my sanity!

Now let me tell you, this is some great cosplay. I was about to beg for my life. Hah! How the hell did you pull the whole transition? Is the well a tunnel? I hope I didn't accidentally break into some event."

The man returns his sword into its sheath, still in deep disbelief.

"You're not him, are you? But then again..."

"Huh? Him? I'm sorry, were you expecting someone? If you show me the way out I'll disappear in a moment." you turn around, prepared to be led to the exit. "Who're you cosplaying, anyways? I'm a big fan of historical dramas, but I don't recognize the character design."

"I don't understand what you're saying." the man tilts his head in utter surprise.

"Alright, I get the point" you force a laugh, slightly irritated by the persistence. "You're deep in your acting, I get that. Focus and all the jazz. But my friends are around the corner and I don't have signal, can you please skip the theatre and show me the exit?"

"The exit to...where? You're outside."

You sigh, loudly, and click your tongue. "Enough of this, please. Where's the shrine?"

"Ah, I get it. You're trying to confuse me." he pulls his sword back out. "I've had enough of your tricks. You're in an early stage, aren't you? Not strong enough to fight back. I can sense it."

Oh God, it's one of those maniacs, you think to yourself. You raise your arms as a peace offering and hope you won't be featured in the 5pm news with multiple stab wounds.

"Listen man, I really don't know what you're talking about. I'll leave quietly and won't bother you again, I promise."

You gulp and await a response, but the man's mouth opens and the words are replaced by a foreign, disembodied shriek. There's a rapidly approaching heavy shuffle that sounds like the trample of many limbs. You feel your leg being hooked into something and the ground turns around at a dizzying speed.

Something just grabbed you.

Given the movements of the lips, you're assuming that the mysterious cosplaying maniac is yelling something, but your ears are ringing and throbbing as the adrenalin begins to pump. You're being thrown around by something and you can feel the skin holding your leg together creaking and tearing with every jolt.

You manage to land your eyes on the creature. The teeth are unnaturally sharp and it seems to have many arms and legs arranged in a scattered order along the scaly body. It trashes around in such a fluid, dynamic way, that you doubt it could be the result of any machine. It's a living thing and currently attacking you for whatever reason.

Once the bizarre reality settles in, panic floods your body and you scream for help. If not the maniac, then some godly intervention. You did offer a small donation at the shrine, it has to count for something.

The spectacle doesn't last long, since the silver haired man doesn't hesitate to behead the creature. You can see that he wasn't making empty threats with his sword skills. You'd prefer, however, if you weren't the next one to go under his guillotine. Your body rolls over the dirt, limp from the shock.

You tilt yourself upwards pathetically and let out a groan once you attempt to use your leg to stand. You turn around and notice the aftermath of your little air ballet. There's a deep wound and thick, red blood is oozing out, scrambling to form a protective crust.

"You... really can't fight at all, can you? You weren't lying."

The man is now standing in front of you, the same amount of disbelief he had at the beginning.

"How the hell would I have fought that...that..." you choke and can feel tears forming in your eyes. "I don't understand what's happening. I just want to go back home. I don't know what's happening." you start sobbing and angrily rub your eyes, hoping to trigger some sort of way to wake up. But your eyelids burn and you feel awake. This was never a dream.

Your sudden meltdown startles the man and he awkwardly hovers his hands over you, unsure of how to handle this.

"Sorry, if I had known, I would've stopped it earlier. I genuinely thought you're..." he sighs. "I'm really sorry. You got hurt because of me."

"Can you please tell me where I am? I feel like I'm going crazy. It's year 202X and I was out with my friends and fell into a well. I've never seen a creature like that in my life. I somehow ended up here and I can't go back. Where the hell is this?"

"I... I don't understand what's happening either. I came here because I sensed he's back. I didn't expect to see... well... you."

You scan his face. His frown is sincere. Which, truth be told, is even less helpful. You're back to square 0, it's getting dark and your ankle is trashed.

You just want to sleep.

You stare at the ceiling, hands locked together over your chest. The improvised hay mattress isn't exactly comfortable, but it's certainly better than nothing. You sheepishly glance at the horned man. He's sitting by the window, idly looking outside with hooded eyes. He seems to be tired, too.

"Try to get some rest", he'd told you earlier. Easier said than done. After the monster attack, he carried you on his back until you found an abandoned hut. His way of apologizing for letting you get mauled. As you walked, he narrated his reasoning to you.

His name is Kiritsubo. When he was a child, a human dressed like an onmyouji took him in for training. Said to be the successor of Abe no Seimei himself, the man was feared throughout the country for his supernatural powers. Most of his strength, however, came from the collection of yokai he'd gathered to work for him. None of them had agreed to it, but no one knew how to break the bond subduing them. Eventually, the old man succumbed into his eternal slumber, yet the yokai were still not freed from the contract.

Some of them suggested he wasn't truly gone. Merely reincarnated. And today, he felt it for the first time. That's how he stumbled upon you. You appear to have part of his soul within you, whether you realize it or not. But if you truly have no knowledge of it, he doesn't have the heart to slaughter an innocent.

"What about the rest?" you blurt out, quietly.

Kiritsubo turns to you, mildly startled.

"What do you mean?"

"You said the man owned 12 legendary yokai. Are you the only one left?"

"No." He frowns. "They most likely know about you already. Let's try to send you back to your world tomorrow, because they will not be as forgiving."

A shiver runs across your spine. This one is scary enough already. You pray you'll be home before you can meet any other beast.

"This is where I found you, so the well shouldn't be far."

The silver haired man surveys the horizon and you limp forward.

"I'll check the area, since you can't walk much."

As soon as he says that, he vanishes. You're left with the heavy buzz of afternoon cicadas. You might as well do your own search. Keep yourself preoccupied. The idea of leaving this behind fills you with excitement and you find enough strength to push ahead.

A few minutes later, you hear a shuffle behind you. Could it be that Kiritsubo already found the well? Enthusiasm fills your chest and a burning heat spreads out. Although it speedily pools in your left shoulder, and you notice in horror that it wasn't enthusiasm taking over your body. A blade is sticking out of your shoulder, avoiding anything vital as some sort of mockery rather than omission.

"Found you."

The voice is deep and foreign. You barely manage to tilt your head and meet the glowing red eyes of a black haired man. Dark horns are twisting menacingly from his crown and his expression is that of pure wrath. As fresh blood drips down your chin, you wonder if this is the next yokai in line to seek his revenge.

How will you get out of this?

#female reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere yokai #yandere demon #yandere monster #monster x reader #yokai x reader #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #male yandere x reader #original work

2K notes · View notes

lundenloves · 10 months

Note

Dad!Simon reacting to his oldest daughter having a small crush on a boy at school! Overprotective dad!simon having to be scary (ofc not towards his lil family) but in private with Wife!Reader he’s emotional because his little girl is growing up 😭😭 fluff mix with tiny angst

Thx! Love ya Dad Simon series 🖤

dad!simon masterlist | taglist

ANON! This mf would get migraines over the idea of his sweet little baby girl and a boy. I’ve had quite a few asks about this, all along the same lines (crush, boyfriend etc) so just decided to make one of all of them. Unless someone wants something dead specific, shout me!

Everyone grab your binoculars as we observe from a safe distance.

He almost choked on his drink, dropping the glass to the counter with a cringe inducing clink. One that echoed around the now silent kitchen as his eyes caught onto his wife’s. “A what?”

His eldest daughter threw her arms in the air in battle of her mother. “Why would you even say anything to him, oh my god.” She groaned frustratedly, attempting to storm away but cut short when Simon had cleared his throat.

“Why didn’t you tell me.” He leant his palm on the kitchen counter, looking down at the girl who was slowly growing to look like her mother instead of him. “What’s his name?”

“Because you’re like this.” She gestured to him, whining a sigh and turning to her mother. “Tell him, mum. He always gets involved.”

Simon laughed, balling his hand into a fist and habitually hitting down on the counter with his movement. “I’m only asking, love.” His arms then crossed over his chest, feet a length apart from another. “What age is he?”

“See!” She shot a hand toward him, widening her eyes at you. “He can’t help it.”

“Well, I need to know what—“

“Simon.” You held a hand out to silence him, a slight tilt of your head telling him to let go. “Invite him for dinner, darling.” The warmth in your voice made Simon itch from the other side of the counter, a half-hearted glare piercing into you over what you had just asked.

“No.”

“Why?” You knew exactly why.

“Because dad will just fu- interrogate him.” She left the room, walking down the hall as she continued, “Which he doesn’t even get to do. He’s never here anyway!” Her words were spat out and Simon tsked, turning back to you when she had stomped up the stairs.

“He’s her age.” You said quietly.

“You knew?” He whisper-shouted as you took a step toward him.

“Of course I knew.” He humphed when you had wrapped your arms around him, humming into his chest. “That’s what mothers are for.” A long sigh left him at that, pulling back from you and rubbing a hand through his hair and down his face visibly stressed.

“I need a cigarette.”

“It was always going to happen, Simon.” You smiled, following him outside and nudging his shoulder playfully. “Leave her be. What’s the worst that could happen?”

He eyed you through a sideward glance.

“She’s not going to get pregnant.”

“If she’s with a little rat—“

“Stop.”

He lit his cigarette, taking a long inhale before shrugging. “That kid is not stepping one foot into this house.” The smoke escaped his mouth with each word, creating a momentary cloud around him. “Not when i’m here.”

“She’s growing up.”

“Too fast.” Simon shook his head with another long drag, the two of them stood in silence.

Being a father to a teenage girl was a new era of problems. Ones he was yet to even learn about never-mind tackle, and this was apparently one of them. The boyfriend dilemma. He was not immune to the dad feelings, resulting in many a phone call to Johnny who somehow knew everything. The man didn’t even have a family.

“Just invite the kid, see what happens. He’s hardly going to pull out an M9.”

“I’m not having him ‘round.”

“She can go to his then.”

“No she fucking can’t.”

In result, he was invited over. On one condition with his daughter, so was uncle Johnny.

Him and Simon were stood in the kitchen when the scrawny kid walked in. You had convinced your husband that holding his knife wasn’t a great idea, twirling it around his fingers before forcefully sticking it into the chopping board.

“Alright, son.” Johnny slapped a hand onto the kids back, ultimately welcoming him but also shoving him toward Simon.

“Sorry. That’s my uncle.” His daughter would point with her eyes, steering him away from her dad and to the seat furthest away. Many a death-stare had been shot across the table toward her father, all returned of course if it wasn’t for you stomping on Simon’s foot underneath it.

It was a mess, to say the least. Bar Johnny’s flamboyant stories that kept at least a drop of fun.

this was supposed to be a lot shorter but LMAOO you can’t convince me ghost wouldn’t recruit soap in this whole thing. THIS is canon. so many thoughts, such little brain.

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @freakonfilm @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @abbugaduu @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog

if you weren’t tagged i couldn’t get your blog!

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x f!reader #ghost x female reader #ghost mw2 #mw2 fanfic #mw2 x reader #call of duty mwii #cod mwii #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw2

2K notes · View notes

l3monlem0n · 27 days

Text

Some Murder Drones Episode 7 screenshots I thought were interesting and my thoughts on them :>

SPOILER WARNING!!!! is spoilering

Nori, despite being a middle aged woman with a child, appears to be an Otaku or otherwise likes "edgy" and "scene" stuff, as well as listening to nightcore, very much like her daughter. Good for her tbh you're never too old to have fun

She also has a photo of Khan and what I can only assume is baby Uzi, though it appears to have blue eyes, but maybe it's just the lighting. Still very cute she has a pic of her husband

As well as all the previously mentioned Otaku stuff, she also drew herself as an anime character. She has a skinsona. Phenomenal (pos)

Nothing much here, just Uzi coughing up blood. Girl got the goop (gore) inside of her already

Lab Space. Apparently the Church was just down there and not even the humans know why. The canonicity of this is questionable; it could just be a joke

OT, as per google, stands for "Occupational Therapy". Makes sense for the context, and makes the bottom text funnier

"Fun Time To Universe Big Crunch: 87". The Big Crunch is a hypothetical way the Universe could end, where the universe folds on itself and shrinks into a single point. 87 "what" I don't know. If it's months, that 7 years and 3 months

Honestly the Murder Drones lore is super confusing. I think what this is trying to say is that every other Zombie Drone is doing poorly, (Except for Yeva), they are trying to reactivate 002 (Nori) via the USB. I'm not sure what this means. Maybe they only got the results they wanted from the two of them, and are trying again with Nori since she was the only other one that worked (also why they got Yeva when she failed; this may all be referring to how the episode opened up) Also, the date says SER. As revealed in the episode Cabin Fever, Copper-9 has months that Earth does not. SER most likely stands for Seramorris, the month revealed in that episode

Looks like the "bad event" wasn't the first one. Certainly was the last one though lol

Just a good pic of ghost/hologram V with the scary stuff. Might use this as a wallpaper

You can literally see the hole in his neck where N bit him in...

...And it's to the point his HEAD FALLS OFF. (including because I didn't notice the first time around)

Yup, the idea that Uzi became the Admin for N and V is completely true. I wonder what would've happened if she didn't, since Cyn didn't react whatsoever

friggin bug (very pos)

You would not believe how difficult it was to get a good pic of this (I'm using snipping tool lmao). Always a pleasure to see Uzi's doodles. Things her gun can do (upper right):

NOT judge her

Forced prom date (?)

Allows her to say she had friends before she frickin murdered them with sci-fi machinery

The cut off text at the bottom: Plan B: Normal gun + Shoot really fast

This is while Tessa is looking for something in the lockers. Claws, chains, magnets, Wings, and scribbled "HELP". Looks like the lockers were all specifically to hold the infected worker drones. Oof

We are in the future now baby. We have rererererereCAPTCHA. Funnily enough, it still couldn't stop a robot

There is a message board where someone who doesn't like robots is talking. They also are scared. Also no one else is using this system, which is unsurprising. "Ur aight ;)" Wait is the winky face intentional foreshadowing? Or unintentional?

We get the names of a bunch of other Worker Drones. Unfortunately for all 029 fans, her name was not visible. (also can someone tell me what "JWEB" could be short for?) And Yeva is said to have a patch. That may be the crucible thing idk

Cyn (which I will be calling this version Skyn [Skin + Cyn]) apparently took of the space suit just to give Doll the Withered Foxy jumpscare. Honestly really terrifying. If this photo was teased before release I think the fandom would've exploded

Just N being a good boy :3

The MDs, Cyn's pets. Nori refers to them as "Nerfed" so the "Entity" can ensure control, and says they were made to destroy other hosts. I don't know why Cyn would want them dead, but I'm not the loremaster here. YouTube line is there because I couldn't be bothered after the Railgun image

Probably already confirmed, but doubly confirmed that a symptom of the Solver is giving Drones organic insides. A Worker Drone body with a rib cage and guts. I wonder what would happen if the infection continued uninterrupted (also R.I.P. Doll I loved you :frown:)

I'm sure everyone noticed, but when Uzi tried to manipulate Tessa, the ERROR noticed appeared. Already hinting Tessa is not all she says she is

Apparently the Solver can create Black Hole Saws. Interesting development (Blackhole Blitz)

I know most people (I think) see this as a joke and N just being a bit of goofball. But honestly, I think he did it intentionally to shock Cynuzi and give Nori a chance. In the Pilot, he licked V's sword to surprise her too, which means he isn't unfamiliar with doing something weird and surprising for the advantage

Skyn eating Doll's core. R.I.P. Doll again. Seriously, was that Doll in Core Form like Nori was? Or was Nori a fringe case because she was "Exorcised" and this is just a regular core? Questions, questions. Also yeah the Solver also gives you a Core. Fun

This tag makes me think that this body is Cyn's actual body. Not longer a hologram, but her actual body from the mansion. The reason Tessa gave N, J, and V their names was because that was the first letter of their Serial Designation (she's very uncreative). However, Cyn's tag was slightly faded, which meant her SD couldn't be seen, so Tessa gave her the name "Cyn" after her P/N, even though the other 3 already have the same P/N as Cyn (Tessa, again, is very uncreative)...

...and for some reason, Cyn or the Solver, which ever theory you subscribe to, decided to wear Tessa as a skin suit for some twisted reason. It did help her with the Captcha. Also scary because this doesn't have the right proportions for an adult (unless Cyn really forced that skin on), which leads me to believe that this is a Younger Tessa, and she faked having an older voice. Maybe I shouldn't call her my wife... I'm sure Eldritch J is still available :^)

(Seriously, the eyes are burnt out, leaving two eye holes over the visor, so she gives herself two X eyes so it looks better. Also yeah we found out what that thing on the "It Came From Copper-9" poster came from. It really was Cyn or Skyn)

Just a frame of the final...frame... for coolness. I'm probably also going to use this for a background. Also, this is definitely Copper-9. You can see the ring and ringless moon together on the right. Uzi somehow got sent to orbit after falling in the meat hole

Well that was all for now. This series has consumed me entirely, body and soul, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Goodbye and goodnight

428 notes · View notes

chaedomi · 9 months

Text

LITTLE MERMAID

SUMMARY . unable to witness your death a second time, your sister desperately strives to change your fate, even if it meant ridding of others to prevent it.

CHARACTERS . ARIADNE VALENTINE

WARNINGS . YANDERE, female child reader, platonic, ooc, violence, abuse, death, unhealthy relationships (if i missed any, kindly alert me)

WORDCOUNT . 1.8k+ / MASTERLIST.

LETTERS . i have only read up to chapter 17 in Becoming The Villain's Family when this idea just spawned. so, the timeline in which i wrote this fic will focus more so on the scenes in the beginning.

HERE’S A fun fact. Did you know that if you were to encounter a Mermaid, the higher the chances are of encountering a Siren as well? In addition to the creatures viewing each other as family, because of a mermaid’s delicate nature, sirens are naturally possessive of them. They become drunk and hypnotized by a mermaid’s affection, and thus, diligently fulfill a mermaid’s desires to preserve the shine they thrive off of. It’s an interesting tale, to learn the charmers become the charmed. However… if The Mermaid were to ever fall, so will The Siren as their main source of warmth has died. They will descend into madness and become the hostile nature they are known for or even worse, willingly succumb to the hands of death.

In the past, both you and your half-sister, ARIA, led a pitiful life. Throughout your years, your stepmother would force your sister to consume a potion, rendering her speechless, whereas yours will gently hug you, encouraging you to always remain neutral. It was confusing and painful, as it seemed those were the only moments your mothers cared about you both. Your stepmother, quiet as a mouse, and your mother, apathetic as a heart of stone.

During those times, you and Aria were grateful for each other, more so Aria, as she would cling to your tiny body crying and trembling while you tenderly kissed her cheeks and wiped away her tears.

Eventually, the truth came to light when you were the age of five, and your sister, ten. Through the season of spring, your mother passed, inclusive of your stepmother, who apparently went mad and took her own life after hearing of your mother’s death. By eavesdropping on the maids, it was then you both learned of each other’s identities, Aria, a Siren, and you, a Mermaid.

Sirens, gaining the name of the ancient monster, that flowed through your stepmother’s blood, through their songs, they possessed people, treated them, controlled them, and shook their emotions. Mermaids, gaining the name of the mythical creature, that flowed through your mother’s blood, through their tears, they shed milky crystals that held the power to repel a siren’s song. With those tears too, they were capable of granting grand wishes whether great or small, destructive or creative. Despite how dangerous their power was, they were harmless and good-natured.

Twelve years ago, your father had kidnapped a Mermaid and a Siren, presenting them to the world as they were originally known as myth. That Mermaid was your mother, and The Siren, your stepmother.

Your mind was too young to understand the information told and realize how dire the situation was. So, it worried you to see your sister in a constant state of panic and tears every now and then. You had asked her several times for the reason for her grief, but she brushed your concerns off each time, snuggling closer to you. And your worries slowly diminished as well as you returned the hug. Till… it happened one night when your father was unbelievably drunk out of his mind.

It was sudden, you were telling a story to your sister while she clung to you before your father barged inside the room, a wave of hatred visible in his eyes. One thing led to another and your sister was dragged outside the room by the hair. Even though you couldn’t make sense of what was happening, the sword that was tightly grasped in his hand as he took your sister away, was enough for you to spring into action. A silly game of tug-of-war it was, you, screaming your lungs out while you pulled at the hem of your sister’s nightgown, and your father, effortlessly dragging you both, to where he pleased. What it took to stop him, was the perfectly sweet voice of your sister, and the solid gems that fell from your eyes as you wept. He resembled a total madman, reaching toward you both as he cackled about the materials he could possess. You could only cry harder as your sister hugged you, burying your head against her chest.

Your lives were horrific beyond that point. Living the lives of a Mermaid and a Siren, you both were forced to mature quickly, learning and hearing unspeakable things. Becoming caged animals, you were pressured to fulfill the greed of scum. And despite all the abuse you suffered, you continued to push smiling, even when the exhaustion taking a toll on your body became more visible with each passing day.

Such a selfless soul you were too, quick to jump to others' needs instead of yours. Whenever your sister silently wept after a song, you would rub her head in comfort, sweetly hushing her as she lay in your lap. Whenever she was angry, you would squeeze her hands, attempting to calm the brewing storm in her heart. Whenever she felt as though she couldn’t make it, you would kiss her cheek, saying that she has done so well.

She, of course, soaked up every affection you provided. Too occupied wallowing in her sorrows and the comfort she will receive afterward from you, she forgot that you were also affected, dealt with the same ill-treatment, as well as that you had your limitations. So when the day arrived when you had no tears left to cry, her heart shattered.

It was a pitiful sight to witness, your sister in a mess as she cried desperately to you, begging for you to stay. You wished that you could, but the longer your head rested on her lap, and her cold hands held your cheeks, you felt more of your life fade away. So you forced yourself to cry, to shed one more tear, and it fell.

With that tear, you wished, that perhaps in another lifetime, both you and your sister could enjoy your days in endless glee, like free birds soaring in the sky.

As you drew your last breath, your sister too accepted her death, willing to perish alongside you. You were her joy, her motive to continue her days. But, when you left, so did those things. And she sang her last song, calling to whoever could come and console her weeping soul. Even when her savior came and held her in his arms, your sister’s eyes never left your corpse as she continued to sing. Maybe, if she died, she’ll be reunited with you in the depths of hell, unknowing of the white glow that shone by your corpse as she closed her eyes…

…So it came as a great surprise when she reopened her eyes not to hell, but to a lovely floral scent wafting in the air… As it dawned on her that she reverted to her ten-year-old self her head immediately snapped to the spot beside her on the bed, a lump visible under the duvets. With a shaky hand, she slightly tugged it downward… revealing your adorable face.

She almost cried there on the spot, leaning forward to press a kiss against your temple. She remembered that wish you made on your deathbed… could this outcome be a result of your wish being granted? If so, she will not take it for granted. Your father… who ruined both of your lives, she will inflict vengeance on him. She will save you from your fate no matter what it takes.

“MY YOUNG Lady, you seem upset. Is everything alright?” Dana asked, chuckling lightly. Damn right, she’s upset. And no, she’s not alright. Can’t she tell? She was considered to be weak physically, but, god, the sight in front of her filled her with so much rage that she was capable of snapping the spoon in her hand in half.

The maid assigned to you was just doing what she ought to do, heeding your commands. If you tell her to bark like a loyal dog, she will do just that and obey your orders. So, naturally, if you had instructed her to spoon-feed you the food brought to the table, the maid would oblige.

Aria's teeth sunk further into her bottom lip, listening to how you squealed and laughed in glee when the maid gently wiped the crumbs off your face, chuckling along with you. Why were you acting so sweet and loving to someone you just met? She was there longer than that maid ever was, no? She was the only one there for you when you suffered, so rightfully, whatever abnormality or emotion you may feel, she is the only one allowed to witness it.

"What is it you don't like, My Young Lady?" Tearing her eyes off the sight that sickened her greatly, she stared blankly at her caretaker, who contrasted her expression with a beaming smile. She was so focused on the scene that she hadn't realized her body moved on its own, scribbling messily on the piece of paper she used to communicate.

She slowly wrote again. “You don’t like the maid, My Young Lady?” Dana tried to hide her amusement over the situation, albeit terribly, I may add, the fingers pressed against her quivering lips a dead giveaway. “So, that’s why you have that frown… Young Lady, are you perhaps jealous?”

Jealous? The feeling inside her body burns too hot for it to be deciphered as jealousy. What she felt was a pure unspoken rage that could tip over at any given moment. Such anger she felt… was similar to the night she confronted her drunken father after she awoke as a child. In short, she didn’t want this maid to just leave. She wanted her gone. Entirely.

“Hmmm…” Dana frowned at Aria’s discontent. Pinching her chin in thought, she glanced in your direction. “The Other Young Lady does not know how to use cutlery correctly, hence why she always seeks assistance. However… Ah!” Dana snapped her fingers as a thought popped up. “Why don’t you feed The Other Young Lady instead?”

The rate at which Aria immediately perked up was comical. Eyes sparkling like fine jewels, she was practically buzzing in her seat! Satisfied that she made her Young Lady smile, Dana quickly moved to update your maid on the change of plans.

You were very confused when your maid abruptly stood from her chair, big-doe eyes staring when she stood near the doorway with a large smile plastered on her lips. But when your sister approached you, taking the spot the maid sat on to feed you, all questions vanished. You were already glad to see your sister just… there, so, think of the wave of happiness that rushed over you when she wrote she wanted to feed you!

The food served became tastier now that your sister was the one feeding you. And with a full mouth of food and eyes that glimmered in admiration of your sister, you huffed out an ‘I love you’ as best as you could. It was a bit gross to see some bits of food fly out of your mouth, but the warmth that clenched her heart from your genuineness overpowered her disgust. Smiling fondly, she wiped your messy mouth before leaning over to press a loving kiss on your forehead.

Your happiness truly is the source of her own happiness. Keep smiling for her, she will do anything to preserve it and anything for you, her little mermaid.

©chaedomi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of the works published.

#🥛━ 𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐄 #becoming the villain's family #btvf #btvf x reader #manhwa x reader #manhwa x you #yandere manhwa x reader #yandere x reader #platonic yandere #yandere platonic #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #child reader #female reader

1K notes · View notes

hellsitegenetics · 2 months

Note

vertebrates are nothing. this planet is dominated by water which is filled with plankton, algae, countless swarms of critters with a few miserable fish. the reefs are built of cnidarians, sponges, algae; crustaceans and gastropods outnumber chordates a zillion to one. even on land, beetles, flies, hymenopterans reign among the life visible to the naked eye; dwarfing them are the plants, and the fungi, and the microbes which live on and in everything. you will never get a vertebrate in a million years.

unless you're fucking Margaret Thatcher apparently.

I would love a geometrid moth, but I'll take anything without *shudders* bones

String identified:

tat a tg. t at at at c t at, aga, ct a ctt t a a . t a t caa, g, aga; ctaca a gat t cat a t . a, t, , ta g ag t t t a ; ag t a t at, a t g, a t c c a tg. gt a tat a a.

' cg agat Tatc aat.

a gt t, t ' ta atg tt **

Closest match: Poecilus cupreus genome assembly, chromosome: 5 Common name: Carabid beetle

#tumblr genetics #genetics #beetles #bug #bugs #insects #asks #requests #sent to me #astra-the-dragon

416 notes · View notes

wynnyfryd · 5 months

Text

Trailer park Steve AU part 39

part 1 | part 38 | ao3

Eight hours, four pizzas, and one — yes, one, Henderson, Jesus — job-well-done beer each later, Steve waves the kids out the door and promptly collapses facedown on his shiny new vinyl flooring.

"God," he groans, rolling his forehead on the floor.

Eddie's not much better off. He's slumped against the front door, bracing his weight with one hand, head hung low between his shoulders. His hair's all frizzed out with sweat, and Steve can hear his soft panting over the hum of the radio. "Yeah," he says in breathless agreement. "Fatherhood is exhausting."

Steve snorts a quiet laugh. "Welcome to the babysitters club."

"Not even getting paid for this shit," Eddie complains, but Steve can see the smile tugging at his mouth when he steps over him. "I'm gonna grab a shower. That okay?"

"Go ahead," Steve mumbles, eyelids heavy as he waves Eddie down the hall. "Towels are in the closet. Borrow whatever you want."

His limbs feel like lead. Shoulders throbbing; headache worse. He's also... maybe, possibly having some major regrets about moving all the couches out onto the front lawn along with the rolled-up carpet earlier (a fact he'd sooner eat his own shirt than admit to Eddie, because Eddie warned him not to do it; told him he was going to be too tired after installing the floors to bring them all back inside, and Steve had shrugged him off at the time because Steve's an overconfident dipshit.) Anyway, he's pretty sure the spasm in his spine is price enough to pay for not listening. He's not about to put up with Eddie's gloating, too.

Eddie pauses in the hallway, rings tapping against the wall, smug little bastard look on his face. "You doin' okay down there, champ?"

It's a serious effort to raise his arm to flip him the bird, but Steve manages.

—

"Hey, sunshine."

Eddie's voice is gentle as Steve blinks himself awake, neck cracking horribly, little puddle of drool under his chin. He's not sure when he drifted off. The last thing he remembers is nuzzling his cheek against the floor, feeling the weirdly papery material slide against his stubble; thinking about how it was cheap and it was tacky but it was new and it was his. How it felt like as good of a fresh start as anyone in Forrest Hills was going to get.

"How long was I out for?" he groans, rolling onto his back to stretch out his stiff limbs.

Long enough, apparently. Eddie got a whole pillow fort situation sorted out while Steve was snoozing — dragged all the pillows and blankets off Steve's bed and arranged them in a pile in the middle of the empty room, pulled a side table and lamp over from the corner, gathered up the radio and the last box of leftover pizza and his black lunchbox and a couple of beers to share.

He's also freshly showered and wearing Steve's pajamas. Looks clean and warm and soft; borrowed Hawkins High green sweats, a thin, white undershirt, the shoulders damp where his hair hangs in pretty wet waves.

Steve is so, so normal about the picture Eddie paints.

So normal.

Not at all popping a boner over a guy in ratty loungewear.

Steve crosses his legs — subtly, left ankle to right knee, but Eddie gives him a knowing smirk over the lip of his beer bottle anyway.

"Shut up," Steve blushes.

"Did I speak?" Eddie asks.

—

part 40

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #my fic

545 notes · View notes

just-jordie-things · 7 months

Text

home run - inumaki toge

word count: 5.5k warnings: swearing, idk anything about baseball so it’s mostly made up summary: toge helps coach you on how to play baseball before the big game for the exchange event. you can’t stop flirting with each other. (unestablished relationship!) more info: aged up characters! jujutsu tech is a college, still usual first and second years a/n: remember when i said this edit had me in a chokehold well i wrote this forever ago for myself and the toge loving bbies :) ___

When it was announced that the second portion of the Jujutsu Exchange Event would be held via baseball game, (y/n) visibly paled. So much so that she’d been instantly teased by one of her underclassmen for her obvious discomfort.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to play baseball!” Nobara threw her head back as she cackled obnoxiously. “It’s the easiest sport!”

“Kugisaki don’t be rude” Megumi grumbled, kicking his friend in the ankle as punishment for laughing at her superior. He seemed to be the only one who cared about such formality.

The group of them, the first years and second years, had been heading back towards the building for a lunch break in between events. She dragged her feet along the path, wishing time would slow down and stop altogether before she had to step foot on that field.

“I know how to play,” (y/n) defended herself, but her hold on the strap of her sheath tightened with her anxiety. “I’m just not good at it” She admitted in a quiet voice.

“That’s okay! We’ll try to give you an easy position then!” Itadori offered kindly.

She gave the boy a weak smile, grateful for his positive attitude, but still feeling the pang of embarrassment.

How she sucked at such a simple game was beyond her. Had it been a proper duel, she would be an excellent candidate. Swinging a sword- or nunchucks or spear or axe- came easy to her. Which she was able to demonstrate in the first part of the event. She’d scored quite well for her school, even when outside forces interrupted the fun and games and things had gotten real very fast.

But when it came to swinging a bat and hitting that dumb little ball, she whiffed it almost every time. It was humiliating, knowing she had the strength to cut a head clean off a body, but couldn’t play a game that was mostly catch.

Her pace slowed until she lingered behind the rest of the group, who were busy assigning positions for the coming game. If the ground swallowed her whole for the next few hours, she wouldn’t complain.

“Tuna tuna”

Lifting her gaze she found Toge stopping in his tracks as the rest of their classmates headed up the stairs without them. Even with his collar zipped up, she could see he was smiling at her, undoubtedly pitying her helplessness.

“Put me to sleep, Toge,” She sighed dramatically, to which he chuckled. “I’m serious,” She mutters at him. “This is going to be so embarrassing, I wish we could’ve just done something else. Like archery”

He shrugs his shoulders, before glancing back at their friends again, seeing they were already headed inside, and apparently hadn’t noticed their separation from the group.

He turns back to her again, and tilts his head for her to follow him. She does so without question, partially because she didn’t want to sit through an awkward lunch where the group planned what position would be easy enough for her to handle, but partially because she had taken such a liking to him that she’d follow him anywhere he tried to take her.

This wasn’t new. Since the day they met the two of them had been close, hitting it off like they were old friends reunited. His cursed speech never proved to be an obstacle, it hadn’t taken long for (y/n) to understand him as if onigiri ingredients was her foreign language choice in grade school, and she made an effort to always ensure they were having proper conversations that she’d have with anyone else.

Well, not entirely. She didn’t exactly flirt with everyone else or whisper with hushed giggles with everyone else, but you get the point. They clicked.

It doesn’t dawn on her where he’s leading them until they’re approaching the baseball field, and when they do, she lets out an exasperated groan.

“Toge, no” She whines, giving him pleading eyes to spare her from more embarrassment.

He rolls his eyes back at her, and grabs her by the wrist to drag her along the rest of the way when she tries to plant her feet and stay put. She could go boneless and let him literally drag her, but she stumbles and follows along anyways. Perhaps once he saw how terrible she truly was at the sport, he’d give up on helping her practice and ditch her out here.

Although she knew this couldn’t possibly be a real possibility. He wasn’t capable of doing such a thing.

“Salmon!” He cheers when he finds that all of the equipment for the event had been prepared, helmets and gloves sitting neatly on the bleachers, and a tall basket of baseball bats ready to be used.

He pulled one out, smacking the head of the club in his other hand as though to analyze it, even though they were all brand new and had never been touched.

He looks up at (y/n) with a grin that just barely peeks out of his collar. She frowns back at him.

“Don’t do this to me,” She pleads. “I thought we were friends”

He laughs again, and tosses her the bat without warning. At least her reflexes are sharp enough that she catches it without difficulty.

“Salmon!” He cheers for her, and she shoots him a more deadly look.

“I can catch things,” She mutters, turning her gaze to the bin of baseballs and the gloves lined up on the bleachers. “It’s the rest that I’m shit at”

He scoffs at her in disbelief, but he had yet to see the proof. (y/n) chewed on the inside of her cheek as she watched him select his own bat, and then nod at her to follow him to the plate.

If she ran away, he probably wouldn’t chase her down, she figured as she followed him up to the white rubber base- just as untouched as the rest of the equipment. She dismisses the idea just as quickly as it crosses her mind though. She wasn’t capable of ditching him, either.

Toge gestures for her to stand a bit in front of him as he takes his stance at the plate. She does so, holding the hilt of the bat loosely as she rests it on her shoulder. He continues to gesture for her to understand what he’s doing. First it’s to his feet, spread evenly but not too far from one another, just enough to keep his balance solid. Then he bends his knees the slightest, probably to give him a good range of motion. She could understand this much.

Then he holds his bat out towards her as he carefully maneuvers his hands around it’s handle. His grip tightens, and then he looks up at her expectantly, as though asking, got it?

She nods back at him wordlessly, and then he goes back into straightening up his stance. Her eyes track every movement with intense precision, wanting to commit every detail to memory. From the angle that his left elbow rests at, to where he holds the bat just behind himself, ready for the swing.

He raises his eyebrows at her, which she doesn’t notice right away since she’s too busy studying everything about his stance rather than his face. She could almost hear the teasing voice behind the look he’s giving her. Good, right?

“Mustard leaf?” He asks, in that exact tone she’d heard in her head.

“Yeah yeah, I got it” She nods.

He nods back at her, and then slowly goes through the motion of a swing, so she could clock every detail. After he finishes the follow through, he repeats the motion properly, swinging the bat with full force. Enough so that she can hear the aluminum cutting through the air.

He asks his question again when he’s done, and again, she nods at him.

“Yeah, I think I can handle that,” She says. “Should I pitch for you?”

Toge shakes his head and waves his hand for her to come up to the plate. When she stops just in front of him, he giggles, and drops his bat to the ground so he can reach out and take hold of her shoulders, so he can properly guide her to the base.

Despite the way her face heats up when he keeps his hands on her as she tries to copy the way he’d just been standing there, she doesn’t mind feeling a little shy about it. Feeling shy around Toge wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as having him teach her this simple sport.

In fact, it was never embarrassing to be reduced to a blushing mess around him. It happened too often for her to feel any shame in it, but it helped that she often brought the same behavior out of him, too. She just couldn’t see his pink cheeks when he’s standing behind her, mumbling unintelligibly as she took her stance.

She’s certain of herself once she raises the bat behind her shoulder, almost knocking him in the head, but Toge swerves and hopes she doesn’t notice.

“How’s that?” She asks with confidence.

His hands fall from her shoulders as he checks her over, and he winces behind his collar. His lack of response has her looking over her shoulder with a frown.

“Really?” The confidence is zapped out of her straight away.

He chuckles, and shrugs his shoulders with a small smile as if to ease her worry. Then his hands are on her again, guiding her arms to the proper places where she’d have the best range of motion. The toe of his shoe taps the inside of her left foot, silently prompting her to slide it out just a bit further. She follows the instruction until he raises his hand. Then he gives her a beam and a nod of his head to confirm she was positioned just right.

“You’re sure?”

“Salmon” He reaffirms.

He steps back then, twirling his finger around in the air so that she could show him her swing. She looks unsure, but she lets out a breath and lets her body follow through as naturally as she could.

She feels good about it, but she doesn’t know any better. When she looked over to Toge again, he had just unzipped his collar, ready to cheer when she swung just fine. Instead, he wears what she would call his polite smile. It was his friendly way of displaying something wasn’t quite right, but he was too nice to critique harshly. (y/n) frowns back at him.

“That bad?” She asks quietly when he approaches her again.

His smile brightens and he shakes his head at her. He was far too nice to her. If Maki was training her, she gladly would have laughed in her face before barking out orders on how to shape up.

Toge hand waves about, telling her to take her stance again. This time her footing is just right, and he beams proudly at the improvement. She manages a smile back at him, his silent praise giving her a little more confidence in learning.

He does a little circle around her, making sure everything is as it should be. There’s a pause in his step just behind her, where she’s holding her bat.

“Bonito flakes” He pats his hand over once of hers, and she fixes up her grip on the handle, then turns to look at him.

“Like that?” She asks, not sure of what her mistake had been.

It must not have been fixed, because he reaches his hand to hers, gently fingers prodding at her hand in silent instruction until she loosends her hold. He quickly raises his hand away again, giving her a thumbs up. Her grip was still secure, but her knuckles weren’t white with tension now.

After that, Toge comes behind her again, poking at the top of the baseball bat before giving her an affirmative nod to take a swing.

She does as told, slowly of course, so as not to smack him in the face on her follow through. He stops her before she even finishes, his hand patting her shoulder so she’d fix up her stance again. Third time was the charm, and her posture and hold are perfect as she straightens up.

“Tuna” The quiet instruction to pay attention is whispered in her ear as he takes a small step closer so that he could guide her properly through the swing.

One hand lays over hers on the handle of the bat, and the other slides around her opposite arm until it stops at her elbow. Her face is so hot now she wishes she was wearing one of those dumb helmets to at least hide it a little.

He guides her through the motion slowly, his hand on her elbow wobbling a little. It takes her a second to catch up, but she realizes he’s telling her that her swing was uncoordinated. She nods in understanding.

Before she gets the chance to take her stance again, he’s already guiding her back to the proper position, his eyes studying her grip carefully to be sure everything is in order.

He’s so close now that she can feel his soft breaths on the back of her neck, and baseball is quickly becoming the furthest thing from her mind. The hand that is resting on hers is so soft but so firm in it’s hold, making sure she didn’t strengthen or loosen her grip in the slightest. If she shuffled back even an inch, her back would hit his chest. It’s unbearably hot today, she’s grateful she thought to tie her hair up so it wouldn’t stick to the back of her neck, but she has half the mind to close those last pesky inches of space between them.

“Mustard leaf?” Toge’s hand pats at her elbow, beckoning her to pay attention. He must’ve noticed she’d zoned out.

“Sorry,” She mumbles, snapping back to reality. “You’re being distracting”

She’s scolding him, he can tell in the tone that she doesn’t mean it to be one of her more usual flirty comments. Nonetheless, Toge preens, grinning down at her, even though she was trying to avoid looking at him. It was hard, seeing as he was right there, and even standing behind her he was tall enough that he could see a blush creeping up her cheeks.

This time, rather than let her swing on her own, he moves her through the motions himself. It’s horribly slow, especially when her swing reaches it’s apex and he’s pulled even closer from the motion. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she struggles to keep her focus on paying attention to her form.

“Salmon” Toge gives her a smile as he finishes guiding her through the follow through. He’s certain she has the technique down now, but when she looks at him, her expression is defeated. His brows furrowed in confusion. “Mustard leaf?”

“This isn’t going to work,” She huffs, lowering the bat until it almost hits the ground. “It’s too..” She trails off, waving her free hand around in a sporadic motion. “Too much!”

He seems to catch her drift, his shoulders shaking as he chuckles at her.

“Don’t laugh at me”

He sticks his bottom lip out at her in a dramatic pout.

Her brows pinch together before drawing upwards, pleading with him not to mess with her more than he already had.

“I’m sorry I’m not getting it!” She cried, her leg bouncing with her irritation. “But you’re the worst teacher!”

“Bonito flakes!” He took offense to the comment, and (y/n) gave him a deadpan look.

“You know what I mean,” She says in a quieter volume.

He tilts his head and feigns a confused expression, just to watch her blush and squirm.

“You’re being a jerk you know” She tells him, her eyes locked on his even when he walks closer and grins in her face. He’s waiting expectantly for her to explain what he already knew.

He flustered her. It wasn’t the first time, and most certainly wasn’t the last. But truthfully, Toge hadn’t been aiming to flirt with her. He just wanted to help her out with her swing. Seeing her blushing and flustered was just an added bonus.

She’s the first to surrender.

“Okay fine,” She lets out a heavy breath and raises her bat again. “Show me one more time, then you can pitch for me”

Toge’s grin is plastered on his face as he repositions himself again, but this time she swears he’s standing just a little closer than before as he guides her hand and elbow through her swing.

He lets out a low whistle when he draws her back again so they can practice through it one more time, even though (y/n) was certain now that she had it down. She starts to pull away, but before she can tell him that she thinks she has it now, he tuts at her and drags her back towards him. This time her back does hit his chest, and she doesn’t protest again.

Even though her footing is all off, and there’s no way she could deliver a proper swing when his chin is tucked against her shoulder where her bat should hover. He’s close enough that he can see- and hear- the heavy gulp she swallows. He giggles at her before pulling away the hand he had on her elbow. He lets out a small mumble of an onigiri ingredient she doesn’t quite catch because his breath is hitting the crook of her neck and he’s just so close that she feels dizzy. He brings his hand up to her neck, knuckles skimming over the nape and then along the junction of her shoulder so he could pull away the few strands of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail.

She giggles at the ticklish feeling, and he forgets that he’s supposed to be coaching her as he raises his fingers to brush over the spot again. This time she tilts her shoulder as she laughs again, a jerky motion as the muscle reacts on it’s own accord, but it brings his face closer to hers as she does so. He laughs to himself just from hearing her giggles as he continues to tease the sensitive spot.

“Toge!” She tries to shove him away, but he’s quick to drop his other hand from where she had a hold on the bat, wrapping his arm around her front and holding her hip firmly so she couldn’t wiggle away from him. He laughs almost too joyfully as she continues to giggle and squirm in his hold. “Toge! Qu-quit it!” She stammers over the relentless giggles he forces out of her, and it seems to only spur him on further.

She’s reduced to broken gasps between her fits of laughter, and the bat falls from her hand before she realizes. Even when it bounces on the sand and rolls across the ground she doesn’t pay it any mind, too busy using her free hand to try to grab at his arm and get him to loosen his hold on her.

Her attempts are futile. His hold on her is firm, and even when she gets a good grip on his sleeve, he retaliates by keeping her snug against him, and then lifting her off the ground altogether. Her feet kick and scramble, somewhat from the lack of ground beneath them, more-so from the way her body reacts to his continued tickling. Both of her hands are now occupied by gripping onto his arms to keep her anchored somehow, but even in the delirious state he’s sinking her into, she knows he wouldn’t drop her.

Eventually Toge’s laughing at her too much to care about continuing to tickle her, even though he took great amusement in it, he was now entertained enough by having her in his arms, even if she was kicking at the air for him to put her down.

She’s shouting his name between bursts of giggles that still escape her like after shocks. The sudden bout of goofiness from him is a little lost on her, but even as she hollers at him to put her down, her threats are empty. She sinks into his hold and accepts whatever fate he has in store for her.

Her head tilts back until it hits his shoulder, and she can just barely peek up at him. His face is split with a grin, lavender eyes hooded and dazed as he gazes back down at her.

Toge’s never needed words to flirt with her. Sure sometimes his texts had certain incriminating emojis, and the notes he’d pass her in class were also damning evidence of his affections. But (y/n) could feel all of that coming from him just from the way he looks at her, like right now. He had an intense gaze, and she was sure that if she was brave enough to not break away from the eye contact, that she could penetrate his mind and read his thoughts directly.

Finally, he sets her down, his grip on her loosening, just as her hands on his forearms did once she had her feet on the ground again. She giggles at him, giving him a cheeky little smile as she turns to properly face him. Her hands take hold of his wrists as she ensures the proximity between them doesn’t shift too much.

Logically they should get back to perfecting her swing, the lunch break would be over soon and the game would begin shortly after. Not that logic is able to cling onto a single thought in her starry eyed stupor. She looked up at him like he was the prettiest thing she’d ever seen, softening before him in her gaze and the smile on her lips.

She had been patient, at least she thinks she has. She’s enjoyed the little game they’d been playing, the lingering touches, the flirty remarks met with longing gazes. Their mannerisms were anything but platonic, and if anyone were to snatch their phones they’d scramble to delete their messages with each other.

But it had been quite some time of this game as she’d affectionately referred to their… whatever this was. And her patience was wearing thin waiting for him to make a move. She didn’t know what he was waiting for, she was certain that she’d made her position clear. Especially now, clinging onto him and staring up at him expectantly. It was just the two of them, and they were so close, it wouldn’t take much for him to just fucking kiss her already-

Toge’s movements are quick as he pulls his arms so his wrists fall out of her hold, only for him to squeeze her hands quickly before moving past her.

“Tuna mayo” He beckons her to follow him back to the plate, but she’s stunned in place for a minute.

Did he really just brush that off? She shook her head as she went back to home plate, picking up her bat and tapping it against the ground to shake off the excess sand that had clung to it when she’d dropped it. Had she not communicated well enough through her eyes? She’d stared at him with her best ‘kiss me now!’ look. Her brow furrowed as she watched Toge grab a glove and baseball from the leftover equipment.

He jogs out to the pitcher’s mound, giving her a thumbs up and an affirmative cheer. With a determined look on her face, (y/n) straightens up her stance, her hands curling around the handle on the bat until muscle memory took over and she found the correct hold on it.

Toge throws a perfect pitch, his movements clean as his long limbs work in harmony to send the baseball hurtling towards her. Her eyes never leave the ball as she tightens her grip, takes the smallest of steps forward, and swings.

The crack sounds so loud the aluminum trembles in her hold from the harshness of her hit. Even Toge’s impressed enough that he’s frozen as his eyes follow the flight of the ball over his head. He was confident in her ability, after some coaching anyways, but he wasn’t expecting such a solid swing. Had Jujutsu Tech gone the cheap route and got wooden bats, he was certain this one would’ve been ruined.

As if having the same thought, their eyes simultaneously rip away from the ball’s trajectory towards the outfield, and they look at each other expectantly.

They both break into a full sprint in opposite directions. (y/n) drops the bat haphazardly as she takes off for first base, and Toge’s racing to the outfield in the hopes of miraculously catching the ball before it lands. However, it’s already begun it’s descent so the odds are slim to none.

(y/n) knows she should keep her focus on running and hitting all the bases properly, but she can’t help but throw her head over her shoulder to keep an eye on Toge. He scrambles to grab the ball just as she’s touching second base.

She squeals with delight when he makes a break for home plate, and tries to push herself to run faster, but she’d already decided to give this run of the bases her full power, seeing as it was just the two of them.

He’s gaining on her when she crosses third, and a string of laughter escapes her from the anticipation. It’s not a real game, but her competitive nature had been tapped into as soon as she struck that ball, and now all she cares about is winning.

As home plate nears she can feel Toge getting closer. She doesn’t dare look at him again, instead opting to do whatever it took to get her on that plate before he can. Her heart is racing, she’s panting for air, the sun is beating down impossibly hotter, but she doesn’t care. She’s about to take the win.

Toge has other plans, darting around her and coming up on the plate with more speed than before. She gasps in offense at his drive to take this from her, but it sparks that competitive fire in her again, and she comes up with a faster plan.

With as much momentum stored as possible, she drops to the ground. She falls with grace but hits the sand unceremoniously. The course grit is uncomfortable on her skin as she slides across the ground with the force of her body weight. Her dominant leg is outstretched, foot angled outwards in the hopes of touching that damn white plate before he can.

She cheers in premature victory when she feels the brush of solid rubber against her sneaker.

The pride is short lived when she feels another foot collide with hers just as the rest of her body is sliding over the plate, and before she can stop herself, she’s effectively tripped Toge right off his feet, and he’s falling to the ground.

They both barely let out a yelp in surprise before he’s crashing into her. He just barely braces himself with his palms hitting the sandy ground on either side of her head, so his full weight doesn’t hit her, but she’s still properly knocked the wind out of him.

The look of shock on her face fades away as she begins to giggle. The corners of her eyes crinkle and her smile only grows wider as the giggles grow louder.

“I did it!” She cheers loudly, even though his face is inches away from hers. “I hit a home run!”

“Bonito flakes” Toge mutters, and she’s not sure if he’s cursing for her knocking him down or if he’s correcting her because technically in a real game that wouldn’t be a home run, but she doesn’t care.

She ignores his indignation completely. Her hands shoot up, grabbing either side of his unzipped collar, earning a startled look in response from the sudden impact.

Her eyes light up, and Toge blinks to make sure he’s reading this look right. The way her lashes grow heavy as her eyes flicker in between his a few times, before lowering to rest on his lips.

His lips? She’s looking at his lips?

In her moment of not paying attention, his own gaze lowers, mentally tracing the soft edges of her smile. He thinks he’s quick when he brings his line of sight back to hers, but she’s staring right at him again, and her smile is brightening, having caught the glance.

“Just kiss me already”

She’s barely finished the command and he’s obeying it like she was the one who bore the snake eyes and fangs. Leaning down the rest of the way so quickly his hands shuffle in the sand to fix his center of gravity before his lips slant over hers. She kisses him back instantly, and with fervor, her soft lips moving against his in a quick pace.

Once Toge has a good balance, he shifts so that he only needs to hold himself up with one hand, so that the other can gently cradle her jaw. His fingers skim over her neck before resting in her hair. He’s getting sand all over her skin, but she’s already covered in the stuff from her showboating slide to home plate, so he figures she won’t mind.

She hums in delight as her own hands begin to travel. The sound is heaven to his ears, and his nose prods against hers as he moves to deepen their kiss. She’s tracing over his shoulders and then the nape of his neck before diving into the soft strands of platinum blonde that aren’t even damp. Seriously, didn’t they do the same amount of sprinting just now? He didn’t break a sweat?

The thought makes her let out a little chuckle, and their kiss finally breaks when she does.

Toge’s brow furrows at her in the slightest, wondering what she could find so humorous, but she looks so pretty like this- laughing, beneath him, with kiss swollen lips that were his doing- that he doesn’t even mind. He just admires her while she blinks a few times to ease her vision to the sunlight.

“It’s nothing,” (y/n) mumbles when she sees the faint confusion in his expression. “Was just startin’ to think you’d never make a move”

Toge chuckles back at her, finding some humor in the comment. He’d been waiting for her, she was the one with all the flirty remarks after all, but he won’t complain. He could tease her about it later.

He leans back so she could sit up properly, and takes her hand to help her up to her feet with him. She begins to awkwardly brush the sand off of her clothes, but quickly realizes it’s no use and gives up. They share a laugh at her weak attempt to dust off.

“Have you guys been out here this whole time!?”

A distant holler steals their attention, and their classmates are making their way to the field. Toge frowns at the realization that their alone time was over, and now they had to gear up for the finale of the Exchange Event.

(y/n) notices the sour look, and squeezes his hand to bring his attention back to her.

“Hey, how about another game?” She suggests with a glint of excitement in her eye that should make him nervous, but he nods eagerly. “If we win this game, we can hang out in my room after,” She suggests, and then her cheeks turn pink. “And make out some more?” She adds in a softer tone, the confidence in the offer evaporating as soon as she’s actually saying the words out loud.

Toge’s face lights up as he nods in agreement to her rules.

“What!?” Panda’s voice booms and echoes throughout the field, and was likely heard even past that.

Toge and (y/n) share a wince. They’d conveniently forgotten about Panda’s enhanced hearing abilities.

Judging from the curious looks from the others and Panda’s erratic movements as he spoke, it was clear that he was telling everyone else what he’d overheard as well.

“Cheer for me when I hit a home run?” (y/n) beams at Toge, who nods back at her happily. He raises his hand, sticking his thumb and pinky out before shaking his hand in a ‘hang loose’ motion. A simple action he did often to show support for his friends.

“Salmon” He affirms.

“Okay, I’ll cheer for you too” She says sweetly, standing on the tips of her toes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, before making her way to their approaching friends, eager to tell them about her success with baseball.

They were more curious about the bases she hit with their resident cursed speech user rather than the actual bases of the game.

… then again, so was she.

___

a/n: breathe if u want me to write a part two where they celebrate winning the game teehee

xoxo ~ jordie

804 notes · View notes

johannestevans · 10 months

Text

I came out as trans at about fifteen or sixteen, changed my name, and I’ve lived as a man since. As a young man doing my A-Levels, going to university, and working afterwards, I was out as a man, using he/him pronouns, using my actual name —

Two pictures of me, one at age 16, the other at age 19.

To people who had no idea what a trans man looked like, it was pretty easy to give people a funny look and say, “I’m a man,” in a tone that made them suddenly flustered and nervous, because cis people feel extremely guilty about misgendering another cisgender person in a way they don’t when they know you’re trans.

I was thin, had a lower-toned but still not masculine voice, didn’t have much of a chest — I got gendered correctly automatically maybe 30 or 40% of the time, and maybe up to 50% if I employed shame in the right way, implied I was cis with a hormonal imbalance, or if people assumed I was still a teenage boy rather than an adult.

To people who did know what a trans man looked like but weren’t trans themselves, talking to them was fucking excruciating.

I remember once when I was selling house alarms and some hideous cis girl asked, “Are you transgender?” and I immediately told her, “Nope,” as she kept questioning the point. Another time, I was in the back of a taxi when a man asked if I was trans, although thankfully when I told him, “Nope, just low testosterone,” he seemed to immediately believe me and back the fuck off.

It’s one of the reasons I feel conflicted about trans visibility — it’s great for other trans people to see a variety of trans representation, but cis people knowing what trans people are is a double-edged sword, because cis people are entitled, invasive, and often just straight-up weird about gender, most of all when they think they’re being allies.

When I started working at a hotel, my immediate boss was a very abusive woman — she was petty, vindictive, and because she had poor organisational skills and frequently got flustered by her own workload, she would take this out on any staff around her, whether that was her juniors, other management, or sometimes guests.

Her being abusive in the workplace wasn’t that unusual. Now and then the managers would misgender me, and I’d correct them, and they’d brush it off as they apologised, that sort of thing.

Because this manager identified as an ally, she flipped her fucking lid.

She went off on a tirade for some ten minutes about what a great ally she is, and how much she knows about and cares about trans people, and how a lot of people wouldn’t hire a trans person, and she volunteers with local queer groups (she was at the time a mediocre DJ, and frequently DJed at a local gay club), and all this bluster.

Over one (apparently needed) correction.

All she needed to do was not misgender me — a quick “sorry” might have been nice. A ten-minute rant about how she was a saint for hiring me?

Not really necessary.

Cisgender people hate trans people — and I know some cis people reading this are immediately raising their hackles and about to go “well not ALL cis people — “ because they’re allies, and it’s important that I know that they’re a good one, actually, and they’re a real ally.

But the reason that cis people have a knee-jerk negative reaction to trans people, intersex people, and any person that they have decided is gender non-conforming, the reason they respond so punishingly to our existence or to mild misbehaviours on our parts — such as demanding respect or correcting their mistakes — is because our very existence is an interruption to their worldview, the ideologies and biases by which they live.

They should know what a man is just by looking at one, and if they get it wrong, that’s embarrassing for them — because to cisgender people the binary male-female divide is crucial to the way they respect or disrespect others, people that interrupt their thinking on it can trigger a lot of rage and upset. A trans person represents a frightening challenge — what if they accidentally treated a man with the casual disrespect that is rightfully allotted women? What if they sexually objectified a man thinking he was a woman, and it made them gay for a moment?

If they think you’re cisgender and heterosexual enough, any of these things are their fault, and they feel very bad about them.

But if you’re trans?

Well, it’s your fault for existing that way, right? You’re the one doing genders wrong — they’re not the one that made the error!

There’s a particular rage reserved for trans men, lesbians, and any other trans or GNC person that’s perceived as being “biologically female” — because society feels the greatest gender-based entitlement over these people’s bodies, in large part due to institutional misogyny, we’re perceived as gender traitors.

Cis men hate us because we’ve ruined what they perceived as a resource for them — a source of sexual gratification and aesthetic pleasure, a breeding vessel for birthing babies, not to mention a mother with all the domestic labour that comes with; cis women hate us because they perceive us as gaining all the privileges of being male, of gaming the system, and at the same time breaking what they sometimes feel is a sort of sacred trust of femininity.

In order to cope with institutional misogyny, some cis women effectively craft a further gender-based bioessentialism — if you have a uterus and are perceived as a woman by society, you’re not just physically capable of birthing a child. You must also innately have the traits of an ideal mother — you must be nurturing and lovely, you must be caring, you must have the correct emotions, you must be submissive in the right way. But also, a woman like this must be cleverer than a man, and if she effectively parents or cares for the men in her life, she just does that because she is so smart, and men are so stupid.

Again, trans people represent an interruption to that mode of thinking. If trans people are real, and we’re the genders we say we are, all of that ideology is nonsense.

If I, a trans man, can just “choose” to be a man, doesn’t that mean that every woman that experiences misogyny is just “choosing” misogynistic abuse?

The fact that as a trans man, I experience abuses that are linked to misogyny is irrelevant — that I’m at a higher risk of sexual abuse, that medical professionals dismiss my symptoms as soon as some of them realise I’m “really” a woman and cease my treatment or cease treating me with the respect due a man; that people dismiss me and dehumanise me, either because they think I’m transgender, and therefore a lesser being, or an ugly and not sexually available woman, and therefore a lesser being.

If I’m a trans man, I must experience male privilege — why else would I choose to be trans?

And if I don’t experience male privilege in every situation, because people don’t always consider me male or legitimately male, or if male privilege in any given situation I experience is actually complicated by other factors, such as race, disability, sexuality, and so on, then I must be lying.

Passing privilege isn’t the same as male privilege — passing privilege generally refers to the privileges a transgender person experiences because they reliably pass as cisgender.

I don’t think that it’s universal — “passing privilege” assumes that everyone passes in all situations, and while I would say that I pass very reliably in a lot of mine now that I’m several years on T and my second puberty has been very good to me, this doesn’t apply everywhere.

When I’m in the hospital, for example, or otherwise seeing a doctor, I get treated with even more hostility — partially because most cis doctors practice misogyny-based medicine and are more likely to dismiss women’s symptoms or generally give them worse medical care, especially male doctors treating women. In my experience, cis female doctors are more likely to punish me for being transgender than a cis male one is.

I’ve noticed multiple times going to see a doctor, being treated as a man with all my pain or symptoms being treated as a concern, and then abruptly there’s a sudden withdrawal of care and concern when the doctor either realises I’m transgender and/or realises I’m “really” a woman.

But the thing is?

I’m pretty sure that the reason I suddenly receive such aggressive negative response is because I pass so well. When cis people realise that I’m trans, they feel even angrier and more personally betrayed, because I’ve so thoroughly “tricked” them by being a man without their permission.

Me at 24, about a year on testosterone; me at 25, about two years on testosterone. Same blouse, same vest.

But in general, day-to-day life — yeah, I’m perceived as a cis man.

Notably, a cis gay man.

Regularly, other trans guys and some butches tell me that as they began to present in ways perceived as more masculine, they noticed that women in public responded to them differently.

If they were out at night and a woman was walking alone nearby, she might cross the street to be a bit further away from them; she might choose to sit elsewhere rather than be near them on a bench; a woman alone might not want to share a lift with them.

I thought this was interesting the first few times I heard it — I hear it all the time, and it still strikes me as curious, because I don’t experience the same thing at all.

I’ve never had a woman walk away from me, or be careful not to be alone with me. Frequently, women strike up conversation with me in public, they chat to me on buses the way they might with other women — a little while ago I was waiting for my boyfriend to pick me up from the airport, and a young girl of 19 or so actually came up to me to ask if she could hotspot off my phone for a second and to ask me for directions.

It’s not that women alone shouldn’t strike up conversation with men, or shouldn’t be alone with them — but just to avoid any potential discomfort or risk of being harassed, many of them understandably avoid it.

But a lot of women see me in the street or in public places, and when they perform their internal risk assessment, I don’t prompt a red flag.

Part of it is that I’m skinny and white, sure — I’m not very physically intimidating in terms of my size, and I’m not racialised in the way many Black and dark-skinned men and boys are. Sometimes, I’m using a mobility aid like a cane, and that makes a difference, too.

But as a rule, I’m pretty. I wear make-up — I often wear face stickers and have visible “tattoos”. I’m fussy about my hair, and it shows. I dress in bright prints and florals, I wear silks and satins, I wear waistcoats and high-waisted jeans, I wear block heels.

When I walk, I sashay my hips. I hold my hands in a delicate way — I gesticulate freely, and I move my fingers when I do so in an effete way. If they hear me talk, people often guess from my accent that I’m English rather than Welsh, and that I’m more educated than I am, not to mention significantly posher.

The average cishet stranger in the street absolutely sees me as a man — and they exclusively see me as a gay one. No one ever mistakes me for a straight one, and that absolutely affects the way I’m treated.

I couldn’t possibly pose a threat of sexual harassment in many women’s eyes, because I’m obviously gay, and many cis straight women feel very comfortable with — if not entitled to — gay men’s companionship, especially white gays with effete mannerisms.

When talking about gender-based privileges for trans men and mascs, we don’t tend to consider any impact that perceptions of our sexuality can have, but because of the way gay men are sorted into a different subclass of cis masculinity than straight men, there’s a noticeable impact.

Straight people sometimes roll their eyes or look amused when they think I’m being particularly dramatic or gay; occasionally straight men wolf-whistle at me or make comments about how gay I look; people strike up conversations with me about RuPaul’s Drag Race, start chattering to me about drag, because they just assume that’s the sort of thing I would be into. I get looks sometimes on the bus if I’m chatting with friends or on the phone, or sometimes if I’m just there in front of them and I look very gay.

Most of this isn’t incredibly malicious — is it homophobic? Sure, sometimes. A lot of it is just straight people trying to understand what they think is gay culture the best way they know how.

Parents with kids actually make me the most nervous — not because there’s any danger posed by the kids themselves most of the time, but because parents can be the most vicious when it comes to homophobia. They’ll accuse gay men of being paedophiles just for existing in public and seeming a bit fruity, or they’ll get nervous about how gay someone looks in case their kids ask questions about it.

And kids do find how I look interesting — all the time, I’ll be out in public, and a kid will notice that my nails are painted or that I’m wearing high heels or that they see tattoos on my face, and they’ll ask their parents about it.

It’s anxiety-inducing for any parent when their child starts acting about a stranger’s appearance where the stranger can hear them, because they get worried about the potential impoliteness — when that stranger is a faggot, some of them get angry at me, because once again, even without their knowing I’m transgender, I’m interrupting their worldview of what the correct gendered behaviours are, forcing them to think about it, forcing them to explain aberrations to their kids.

A “normal”, “real” man is straight, after all, and does straight men’s things, like dress badly and sexually harass women and get ugly haircuts. It’s confusing, if I’m out on the streets looking fuckable.

The last time I was travelling, I was sitting in a restaurant in the airport, and some boys at the next table were staring at me.

“Dad, why is that man wearing makeup?”

“I don’t know, some men wear it.”

“How come?”

“…”

It is a truth universally acknowledged that wherever a faggot goes, little boys will be asking their mildly homophobic but well-meaning and liberal parents questions about that man’s physical appearance.

A classic response, and one that I overhear often, was this man’s retort: “Why don’t you go and ask him?”

Sometimes teenagers and kids laugh at how I dress, especially if they’re in groups together — and especially, too, if there’s a bunch of us visible queers together.

One thing I’ve noticed about wearing crop-tops is that some people get het-up about how hairy I am and the hair visible on my belly, or under my arms if I’m wearing a vest — because some straight people see a white twink and want to reclassify him as being part of the woman subcategory instead of the man subcategory (based on his assumed sexual availability to men), they then apply women’s rules of physical appearance to him.

After all, if I’m wearing makeup and high heels and high-waisted jeans and a crop-top, that’s like how a woman dresses — and if I’m going to dress like a woman even though I’m obviously a man, I should be held to the standards a woman would be too. I should be hairless and odourless, like a sexy child, because “sexy child” is the ideal for an attractive woman, right?

Some cishet women also hate how I dress and instead of laughing or grumbling about it in the way that cishet men do, they wrinkle their noses and get really quite scornful about it.

Some of those women’s husbands are secretly on Grindr (I know because I have sex with them), and I believe this is the closest they get to facing their suspicions as to their husbands’ bisexuality.

A photo of me from earlier this month, age 26.

I started taking testosterone some months before the pandemic started, but experienced the bulk of my second puberty’s physical effects over the course of the following years.

Subsequently, when I went to a queer event being run after about two years on testosterone, many people there hadn’t seen me out in some time. I got a lot of looks and a lot of interest, especially from other queer men, in a way I never had before — I always got a lot of engagement and looks, but many cis gay men would take a little while to warm up to the idea of me as a man if they knew or suspected I was trans.

Maybe it’s just because I’m hotter, though, right? I’m hardly the only person to go through a glow-up on HRT, and I certainly feel more attractive.

Except that several of the older men looking at me were men I’d known casually for years — and a bunch of them came up and introduced themselves. Said hi, what’s your name, I’m x, it’s nice to meet you, are you new to the city?

Because up ’til then, they really hadn’t much looked at me in much detail. Many of these men had heard me give talks, had talked to me in queer bars, had met me at one event or another, and I just hadn’t stuck in their minds — they certainly hadn’t come up and spoken to me before, let alone with such enthusiasm.

And I do want to say, like —

None of these men would call themselves anti-trans — they’d try to use the right pronouns, they’d say that there should be trans events on, and so on. But there’s still going to be unconscious biases there — whether up ’til now they saw me as a woman (and therefore just looked past me) or saw me as trans (and therefore just looked past me), suddenly I was a fully realised human being. Maybe I was attractive and fuckable to some of them — but crucially, I was also another gay man, and therefore real and worth talking to.

And I will say that this isn’t all older gay men in my community or even like, a massive majority of them — but it was enough older gay men to be noticeable.

Even entering into new gay spaces, queer men tend to be friendlier to me than they used to, more outgoing in conversation, chattier, etc.

That’s obviously not necessarily because I’m trans — like I said, I’m also hotter than I used to be, I’m older, more educated, I dress better and more confidently, etc. There’s other factors at play, and I’m not comparing friendliness to cruelty or coldness — I’m comparing it to polite apathy, which was often mild enough that I wasn’t hugely affected by it pre-T.

Some men do treat me a little coldly, but from what I can tell it’s not usually because they suspect or know I’m trans — a lot of the time it’s actually because I’m so faggy and effeminate, or they just don’t trust that I’m gonna be cool because I’m so young.

Mixed queer spaces can be another story.

Other queer people my age have often found me intimidating — I’m a pretty outspoken person, my politics are more aggressive leftwing than many people’s, and as a autistic, I speak plainly and directly in a way that a lot of people don’t care for, or can find scary and overwhelming.

Now, though?

The response to my perceived aggression is a lot more dramatic and avoidant — because now they assume I’m a cisgender man.

People often interpret me as angry or aggressive when I’m not — I can sometimes be somewhat flat in my affect, I can be a very blunt communicator, I don’t tend to beat around the bush when it comes to my opinions. All of these are pretty standard as an autistic guy, and a lot of other people have experienced the same thing I have — the interpretation of those personality traits as aggressive or argumentative.

But it’s been interesting experiencing the negative response ramp up so much as soon as I’m perceived as “really” male, even by other transmascs, queer people, and trans men.

It can be strange at times navigating broader trans spaces as someone who doesn’t look trans in the way even other trans people expect you to, where they just assume that you’re cisgender, or that as someone who already passes and has therefore “finished” your journey as a trans person, there’s less reason for you to be in community with other trans people.

Especially when it comes to trauma like…

There is an assumption by many young queer people that cis gay people are just fine now, that homophobia doesn’t impact them in the traumatic way it did older generations, or that homophobia is no longer an active impact on people’s lives — I obviously am transgender, but to be brushed off with the assumption I haven’t experienced the same extent of bigotry or negative experience because I appear cisgender always strikes me as fucked up when of course a lot of cis men have had similar life experiences to me, or worse.

I will say that again, the negative responses are from a minority, just big enough to be noticeable, and the more people talk to me, the more they relax a little about the whole thing.

It’s still funny though, like —

I met some trans friends of a partner recently, and I came downstairs without a shirt on because I was hurriedly multitasking, and watched her do a double take at my chest.

I laughed and was like, “Did you not realise I was trans?”

And she went, “No!” and we had a giggle about it.

Most of the time meeting other queer people across the board, I’m extended care and compassion and love — it’s just weird, I think, being so aware of the gendered differences in how people speak with and apparently perceive me, and how things have and do change, especially because people assume transmasculinity means a one-way journey to Male Privilege, and all the benefits it can come with.

As with any and everything else, these matters come with nuance and layers, and nothing is as simple as A to B with no complications.

#musings #transgender #trans rights #trans man #trans mlm

1K notes · View notes