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siswritesyanderes · 3 years

Note

hii,, trans anon here idk if u got my ask but aaa ty 4 this it made me feel so validated,, I would love to request uh reader coming out to tom? and him punishing ppl who misgender him if thats ok w u!! thank u sm <33

(Aaah, I hope this came out okay! I didn’t want to take so long.)

Your hands and your voice were shaking a small but noticeable amount as you expounded on the truth of yourself. Tom found himself fixating on it; he thought it endearing, at first, that you were so nervous, because it meant that his opinion, his verdict, mattered to you. (As it should.)

But as you elaborated further, and he came to understand the source of your nerves, his mood shifted.

Under normal circumstances, he would have been bothered that you had told your family before telling him, but given the nature of the news and your distressed state, he was instead just furious, enraged, that they had upset you.

“Come here,” he said, and you warily drew closer. He pulled you into an embrace, his eyes staring darkly out the window of the abandoned classroom you were both occupying even as the side of his face nuzzled gently into your hair.

Comforting you was the immediate priority, because he didn’t like to see you upset, but certain things would have to be corrected once you felt better.

His arms were tight and secure around you, and he was satisfied to feel you ceasing to quiver. Melting into him. Good boy. Very good. With one hand, he stroked your back, up and down your spine in a soothing pattern, and with the other, he raked his fingers through your recently-shorn hair. (He understood, now, why you’d cut it. He would make sure that one of his followers did that for you next time. Such things shouldn’t be your job.) You relaxed even more, all of the tension leaving your muscles, just as you should, in his arms. Mine. My own.

“Will I be calling you something new?” he asked. Even he was feeling calmer, now; the feeling of your heartbeat so close to his own had that effect on him. It didn’t extinguish his rage that someone had bothered you in the first place, but it ensured that he wouldn’t be so swept up in it that he killed them straightaway.

Which was good, because he had other plans for them, and killing them was only the last.

“I thought of a name,” you said into his robes.

“Let’s hear it, then.”

You told him your name. It wasn’t something he would have chosen, as he enjoyed the more opulent, unique pureblood names (and you deserved an opulent name, because you were his), but it fit you well, and he would allow you that choice.

“I’ll see to it that that is the only name you hear from now on,” he assured you, in that matter-of-fact way he had of making services sound like mere tasks, so that he could never be accused of kindness. “And you'll sleep in the boys’ dormitory tonight.”

“Are there enough beds?” you asked, and he laughed aloud:

“Carrow would sleep in the lake if I told him to.”

So, you had a bed in the boys’ dormitory for your first time since starting at Hogwarts. You turned in early, the first night, for fear of being stared at by the other boys, but when you awoke, they were all very friendly (almost fearfully so, as if they thought they’d burst into flames if they failed to say “Good morning” soon enough) and quick to call you by your correct name even when the sentence didn’t call for use of your name at all. No one even called you by your surname, anymore; it was strange…and very pleasant.

Tom lurked closer to you even than before, likely due to a combination of having increased access to you, in the dormitories and the lavatories, and his vigilance about making sure no one said anything untoward.

The first person who “conscientiously objected” to using male pronouns to refer to you vanished from two days’ worth of classes and returned (without explanation of the disappearance) pale, trembling, and unwaveringly polite.

But that was just Tom’s equivalent of sending a warning.

After that, all bets were off.

Every “slip of the tongue”, every thoughtless comment, even instances when people failed to wish you a good afternoon when they greeted everyone else, was followed by a disappearance, and this time they didn’t simply return to class a few days later, shaken up; now, they had to be found, suddenly dangling from the highest point in the owlery a week later, or suddenly in some spider-infested cupboard after two weeks, or suddenly rescued from the Black Lake by a pair of curious mermaids a month later still. Every one of them terribly hoarse, as if they’d been screaming a great deal, for an extended period of time.

They never could explain how they’d ended up in such places; the most coherent of them could only spout out something about a door suddenly appearing in the middle of an empty wall, and something about being locked in a room for a long time. Every investigation into the matter was inconclusive; most of the victims came from different Houses; the only strange commonality between the cases was the fact that every victim was adamant, upon waking, that the first thing they had to do was apologize to you, but you had an alibi for every single disappearance.

You didn’t voice any suspicions about Tom (or to him), partially because there was no point; he had covered his tracks well, and anyway, his efforts had worked. Most everyone was vigilant, to the point of distraction, about addressing you in the correct ways.

You slept in the boys’ dormitory, washed in the boys’ showers…you were being treated, for the first time, as exactly who you were.

#male yandere #yandere tom riddle #tom riddle/reader #trans reader #male reader #possessive #protective

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mcytreaderfics · 3 years

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Hi! Could u maybe do sapnap comforting a trans male reader after having a bad day or being misgendered?

I went a little overboard with this one cause I'm a trans man and I could really relate lol. I hope you enjoy it!

____’s day had been shit from the second he woke up. His head was throbbing after he got up from bed. His alarm had gone off late, making him late for work. He couldn’t find his binder, forcing him to wear a baggy hoodie for the day despite how hot it was out…and then at work his creepy cubicle mate was being extra fucking weird, trying to get ____’s opinion on ‘hot chicks’ in the office.

Things probably could have turned around. Surely, ____ had thought, nothing could make this day worse. And then his bosses boss made an unexpected visit to the building.

It was nearly time for ____ to leave for the day, but he got called back to his boss’s office. Groaning in annoyance to himself, ____ forced himself to his feet. He had been doing customer calls all day and it felt like there was more pissed off customers than not. Hopefully this could get done and over with quickly so he could just go the fuck home already. Forcing a tired smile to his lips, ____ walked his way over and knocked on the door before stepping inside.

Inside was his boss, a man who ____ didn’t like or hate. The person standing by his desk was new. Obviously, he knew her as his bosses boss, someone who came by only for worker evaluations. ____ had assumed that was what was happening all day, but he had really hoped that his wouldn’t be until tomorrow. Obviously not. Smiling still, ____ stepped in fully and shut the door behind him.

"Afternoon, ma’am” ____ said politely as he sat down. She smiled back as well, giving him a nod

“Good afternoon Ms ____“ She said, making his heart leap and his brow furrowed. Maybe it was a mistake, saying ‘miss’ with his last name.

“I’m sorry, its ah…mister, not miss” ____ corrected. Her smile dropped to a look of indifference. Her apathetic grey eyes glanced down to a paper in her hands before looking back up at him.

“Your file here says your name is..” as she said his deadname, ____’s blood ran cold. His posture became less relaxed and his smile dropped to something akin to a scowl.

“Actually, ma’am It’s ____ and its in my file as well. I would like to ask you to politely respect that” ____ had learned long ago to stand up for himself, not wanting to let someone like this walk all over him.

“Well miss, unfortunately, I have to call you by what’s in your file. So now-“ the woman was speaking, but ____ stood up. He didn’t give her a minute longer to continue.

“I will be clocking out now and I expect my last check to be forwarded to my address. I will be speaking to someone higher up about this blatant disregard of the antidiscrimination policy I read deeply into before I started working here. I truly hope you have a horrible rest of your day.” He said calmly despite the anger boiling in his veins. How ____ didn’t start crying from stress alone was a miracle. He said not another word as he left and went to his desk. He logged out of his computer, grabbed his bag, and went to clock out for the day. I could find another job easy enough, so he didn’t give two shits about giving them two weeks more of his life.

Storming out and into his car, ____ finally let a yell escape his throat. It left his throat feeling raw, but he felt a thousand times better. He didn’t even think to call Sapnap to tell him that he was coming home early. ____ was already tearing up as he started the drive home. Within fifteen minutes, he was pulling into the driveway and making his way inside. Unlocking the front door, ____ didn’t hear the tv on or see Sap anywhere. Frowning and feeling the stress pooling at the top of what he could handle, ____ locked the door back and started searching the house for his boyfriend.

Finally, he could hear muffled talking coming from the other man’s recording room. Guilt pooled in ____’s stomach at the idea of interrupting him, but at the same time, he needed his boyfriend’s presence right now. Approaching the door, ____ knocked quietly, not wanting it to be picked up on Sap’s mic. Opening the door next, he peeked in and frowned at his partner with tears trying to break the dam. It was obvious that Sapnap had heard the knock, because he was muting his mic and looking away from the screen.

“____? You’re home early- Woah wait why are you crying?” Sap frowned as he turned and typed something quickly and closed everything out. He stood up and put his headphones on the desk.

“I…I’ve had a really shitty day…” ____ hiccupped, tears finally spilling over onto his face. Sap was quick to come over and pull ____ to his chest. That was all it took as he was crying loudly, hugging his boyfriend and holding onto his shirt like it was a lifeline. He could hear Sapnap whispering soft words to him, a gentle hand on his back as he cried his heart out. After a minute, ____ started to calm down. His sobs had become sniffles, his breathing evening out.

“Lets go and watch a movie, you can tell me everything that happened, okay…?” Sap murmured as he leaned back to wipe ____’s tears away. ____ nodded, sniffling.

A movie got put on in the background of the living room as ____ and Sapnap got cuddled up on the couch. He had gone through the whole day, telling Sap everything that had occurred. The way the other man’s face contorted into disgust when mentioned the deadnaming was comforting in of itself.

“That’s fucking horrible, ____. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that. Anyone can look at you and see you’re a guy. I hope that bitch gets fired..” Sapnap muttered as he held ____ close to his chest.

“Me too..I’ll make some calls tomorrow, but right now I just wanna cuddle and not think about it..” ____ sighed softly, leaning his head back against Sap’s chest. At least his horrible day could have a happy ending.

#mcyt #mcyt x reader #sapnap x reader #sapnap x y/n #sapnap x you #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x you #🌸#Safe

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everseeking · 3 years

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hi ! can i get hcs for when reader braids armin’s hair or like plays with it ?

- hi ! thank again you so much for requesting !!!!! i love your requests so much <3 it took me a few days to finish but i hope u still enjoy :)

plaits

- armin arlert x reader

- over the years people have been known to make fun of his haircut, but he had no desire to change it since he's had it like that his whole life

- but when you came along and actually liked his hair ?

- his eyes literally sparkled

- compliment this boy even a little bit and he'll be absolutely whipped for you

- whether you're relaxing alone together or cuddling, he wants at least one of your hands tangled in his hair

- every time you start to gently scratch your nails against his scalp it sends tingles down his spine and he dozes off

- the first few times this happened you were in the middle of a conversation and were waiting for a reply until you looked down to see he was asleep

- just the sight of him made your heart swell, he's adorable

- similar to eren, it took a bit of effort to convince armin to let you actually style his hair (we can cut him some slack though, his argument was much better than eren's)

- even before he dressed up as historia people often times misgendered him. they even took it a step further by making fun of his body, poking at how slim he was, which lead to them calling him weak

- armin hated admitting that he took their words to heart. he never let them change who he was, but that's not to say their words didn't hurt

- thankfully he had great friends in his corner like mikasa and eren, and an even greater s/o

- you knew him all too well, so before he could get too far into his worries about you braiding his hair, you were already sharing your plan

- the two of you came to the agreement that you'd only do his hair behind closed doors. he wouldn't wear it out in front of the others if he didn't want to

- this eased his anxiety and warmed his heart a bit knowing you truly understood him

- to start, you grabbed either your own hairbrush or one of the other girls' and brushed out his hair

- this definitely awakens something in him though because now it’s a daily ritual for you to brush his hair

- it amazed you how well kept it was, as you knew his hair care process wasn't exactly a thing

- his blond lockes are so so soft and had almost no tangles in the first place. no wonder he pulled off playing historia so well

- after you had finished you pulled him aside to a mirror and showed him the look and much to his surprise, he really liked it !!

- his hair isn't too long, so the braid was small and some bits fell around his face, framing it

- you had to agree that it definitely suited him

- things were going well afterwards. he was thanking you and shyly opening up about how he thought it looked nice, when the door opened and in walked connie, jean, and eren

- you and armin froze in place

- it was kind of your fault for doing it in the boys dorm where anyone could walk in but the two of you were so deep in conversation and appreciating each other’s company that the outside world sort of drifted away

- connie and jean were abt to greet you like normal since they didn’t even notice armin’s hair at first, but eren didn't give them a chance to as he pushed past both of them and ran to his best friend

- eren started freaking out, grabbing both armin’s arms and had stared at him with wide eyes

- "ARMIN. what did you do to your hair ??"

- everyone watched as a red blush seeped onto armin's face while he stammered out something about how you had asked to do his hair for fun

- once again, poor armin thought people were making fun of him :(

- but his worrying was for nothing

- eren was freaking out because he thought armin's hair looked really good

- he turned armin around so he could get a better look then pat him on the back and complimented him

- connie and jean joined in, agreeing that it suited

- armin didn’t know what to say. he spent so much time worrying about what others would think of him, when not only did those closest to him like it, but more importantly he liked it

- sure, he was feeling confident about his looks in a world where aesthetics weren’t super important, but an ounce of confidence can go a long way sometimes

- you made sure to pull eren, jean, and connie aside later and thank them for being kind to armin

- connie and jean may not understand why they were being thanked but eren go it

- after experimenting with his hair a bit more, armin now lets you do different styles that he wears out occasionally

- braided, half up half down, pony tail, bun, the whole lot

- his favorites are when you plait his hair or tie only half of it up. ponytails remind him a little too much of his acting days

- when the two of you hangout your fingers mindlessly go to his hair and start weaving three strands together into a braid

- it relaxes the both of you

- his bangs still hang down, so while he’s reading you clip them back for him so he can see better

- you were sad to see his hair get cut short as your days of styling his hair and twisting pieces of it between your fingers were gone, but when the chances came for relaxing and cuddling you still made sure to hold the little bits you had left and massage his scalp

- similar to eren, as the days get harder armin needs more comfort sometimes, and playing with his hair is always just what he needs

#attack on titan #aot #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #shingeki no kyojin #snk #shingeki no kyojin x reader #snk x reader #armin arlert #armin #armin arlert x reader #armin x reader #armin arlert headcanons #armin headcanons #headcanons #x reader

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heavenly-roman · 4 years

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The Talk

Plot: “Dee never thought they would have to have “the talk” with five grown men, but lo and behold, their life was full of surprises.”

Warnings: sympathetic deceit and remus, swearing, coming out (and the fear that comes along with it), a lil bit of crying and embarrassment, misgendering (due to not being out yet), kissing ((i promise it isn’t as much of a doozy as it sounds like))

Pairing(s): roceit, platonic drlamp(?? is that what it is ?? idk)

Word Count: 1148

if you liked this, consider buying me a coffee?

Taglist (bc i have one now!!): @emo-disaster

(ao3 link!!!)

+++

Dee never thought they would have to have “the talk” with five grown men, but lo and behold, their life was full of surprises.

No Girls Allowed ;(

Dear Devin Hansen (6:17pm): hey guys

Dear Devin Hansen (6:18pm): can you meet me in the living room? I have to tell you something

JD-lightful (6:20pm): uh sure dev?

Patton me, are u aaron burr, sir? (6:22pm): yeah of course!!!!! You okay?

Dear Devin Hansen (6:22pm): im fine pat, just hurry up, im anxious

H. Chandler (6:23pm): isn’t that virgil’s domain?

H. Duke (6:23pm): DID DEVIN AND VIRGIL SWAP BODIES

Drama-Turd (6:25pm): remus, stop it.

Drama-Turd (6:26pm): devin, I will be downstairs soon.

Drama-Turd (6:26pm): and roman?

H. Chandler (6:27pm): uhhh yes lo?

Drama-Turd (6:29pm): you’re never allowed to choose my nickname again.

Dee sat patiently on the couch, leg bouncing nervously as the others filed into the living room, faces all showing various levels as curiosity. Logan appeared last, and Dee took a deep breath.

“So,” they said. “I have to tell you all something.”

“Dev, if you’re about to tell us you’re gay, we know,” Roman laughed.

“Hey,” Patton scolded. “Let him talk, he’s clearly nervous.” he turned to Dee, saying, “Go ahead, Devin.”

Dee cringed at the use of their birth name, not going unnoticed by Remus, but he decided to let Dee talk and confirm his hunch.

“Well, actually, I-” Dee sighed, feeling a pit in their stomach, and decided to take a page out of Virgil’s book, ripping off the band-aid. “I’m non-binary. My pronouns are they/them, my name is Dee.”

There was a cacophony of shocked noises, causing Dee to wonder why they didn’t just do this in the group chat. Their hands became clammy and their leg started bouncing even more than before. They held their head in their hands, feeling regret and shame creeping in and tears of embarrassment prick their eyes. The murmurs ceased and they looked up, wiping their tears, to see five concerned faces. Patton was the first to speak up.

“So, Dee,” He said softly, reaching his hand out to grab Dee’s. “I guess that means we have to change your nickname in the group chat?”

“Dee Evan Hansen!” Remus quickly shouted, causing Dee to bark out a laugh.

“I was hoping for Sincerely, Dee, actually,” They chuckled.

“Both are appropriate nicknames,” Logan nodded, unlocking his phone to change Dee’s nickname.

“Hey Dee?” Virgil called. Dee nodded, signalling him to continue. “Pain in the ass is a gender neutral term, right?”

Dee shoves him, laughing. They sobered for a moment, “Seriously guys, I… I really appreciate how cool you’re all being about this.”

“Of course, Dee,” Logan smiled. He stood, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to get back to.”

Logan left, and the others slowly trickled out of the room, leaving just Dee and Roman.

“So,” Dee started. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Yeah, I-” Roman sighed, and turned to face his friend. “I just… how long have we been misgendering you?”

“Oh, um, not long-“

“Dee.”

“Okay, it’s been… about five months.”

“Dee!”

“It’s fine, Ro,” Dee grabbed his hand reassuringly. “I’ve been introducing myself properly to everyone else I meet.”

“Oh, so you’re just letting your best friends misgender you then?” Roman sassed.

“Roman-”

“No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” Roman squeezed the hand that was holding his. “I’m sorry that you didn’t feel comfortable enough to come out to us-”

“Roman-”

“And I’m sorry if we did anything to invalidate you, or-”

“Roman!”

The actor at least had the decency to look sheepish. “Oh, sorry.”

“It wasn’t anything that you, or one of the others did to stop me from telling you guys. I just… I needed to be sure of my identity. You had no negative affect, Roman,” Dee comforted. “Do you… have any questions?”

“Just one,” Roman said.

“Shoot.”

Roman shifted closer, and Dee absently noted that they were still holding Roman’s hand. “So, you’re still attracted to men?”

Dee flushed, though they tried their best to hide it with sarcasm. “No, Princey, I am suddenly attracted to,” They fake gagged and shuddered, “girls.”

Roman chuckled, “So that’s a yes?”

“That’s a yes.”

Roman shifted closer again, causing Dee’s breath to catch in their throat. Roman leaned in, brushing his thumb against Dee’s bottom lip. “Is this-”

“Roman if you do not kiss me right now-”

Roman rolled his eyes affectionately and leaned down to press their lips together. Dee snaked their hand to the back of Roman’s neck, holding him there. Roman’s hand moved to cup Dee’s cheek, and god, if Dee could stay in this moment forever, they would.

Unfortunately for them, Dee needed to breathe, and therefore reluctantly pulled away from Roman.

“Dee, I-”

“Don’t talk, just keep kissing me.”

Roman acquiesced, a smile on his face, as he leaned down again to capture Dee’s lips once more.

No Girls Allowed ;(

H. Chandler (10:37pm): attention peasants

Patton me, are u aaron burr, sir? (10:37pm): Roman, be nice!!

JD-lightful (10:38pm): what do u want roman

H. Chandler (10:39pm): Dee and I

H. Chandler (10:39pm): are no longer friends

Drama-Turd (10:40pm): That is rather unfortunate.

Drama-Turd (10:40pm): Should we make a secondary group chat and remove one of you from this one?

Patton me, are u aaron burr, sir? (10:41pm): Roman, sweetie, is this because of Dee coming out to us? Because if it is, I’m afraid I’ll have to take their side

Sincerely, Dee (10:42pm): Roman

Sincerely, Dee (10:42pm): that is the WORST way to tell them we’re dating

Sincerely, Dee (10:43pm): also thank u for taking my side pat love u

H. Duke (10:43pm): HA CALLED IT

H. Duke (10:43pm): VIRGIL YOU OWE ME TWENTY BUCKS

H. Duke (10:43pm): SUCK IT

Patton me, are u aaron burr, sir? (10:44pm): love you too, Dee!!!! <3

JD-lightful (10:44pm): :((((((((

JD-lightful (10:44pm): pat thats flippin gay

H. Duke (10:45pm): also yeah happy for u guys i guess

JD-lightful (10:45pm): im not

JD-lightful (10:46pm): because now i lost twenty bucks

H. Chandler (10:47pm): wait wait wait

H. Chandler (10:47pm): you bet on us????

Sincerely, Dee (10:48pm): yeah guys how dare you

Sincerely, Dee (10:49pm): (remus if i dont get half of the loot im ending our friendship)

H. Duke (10:50pm): sure thing double d ;)

H. Chandler (10:50pm): hit on my partner again i dare you

H. Duke (10:50pm): okay

H. Duke (10:51pm): hey dee you’re cute we should go out sometime

Sincerely, Dee (10:54pm): hmm okay

H. Chandler (10:55pm): OKAY THATS IT

And if Roman removed himself from Dee’s arms to go fight his brother? Well, that’s none of their business.

#lex's roceit agenda #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #Remus Sanders #sympathetic remus #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roceit #roceit fanfic #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #coming out #non-binary deceit #fluff #platonic drlamp #bennie’s books

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cole-grey-writes · 4 years

Text

Pains & Stains

Universe: The Witcher (Netflix)

Timeline: Post-Season One

Character(s): Ciri, Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier

Pairing(s): Ciri x Trans Male Reader (platonic), Geralt of Rivia x Trans Male Reader (platonic), Jaskier x Trans Male Reader (platonic)

Warning(s): not episode 6: Rare Species compliant, blood, period talk, vomit, swearing, temporary misgendering

Summary: When you wake up one morning in a puddle of blood, you look to Ciri, the only one who knows about you. You’ve kept this part of yourself hidden from your other travel companions, Geralt and Jaskier, for a reason. But, now it looks like you can’t hide anymore.

A/n: I had the worst period of my entire life. This is basically a retelling of what happened to me (with some embellishment of course). Sidenote, ciri x reader can actually be read as either romantic or platonic, whichever you prefer (it says platonic only because it’s not explicitly romantic) but since ciri and reader are both teenagers (id say 14-15 ish, give or take a few years) the geralt and jaskier x readers are strictly platonic/familial type relationships. Also, i got another week of spring break so pls send in asks before i have to focus more on school again. But anyway, enjoy °u°

Side Note: in regards to Geralt at the end, I genuinely don’t think he’s being transphobic or misgendering on purpose and that’s not how I meant for it to come off as. In my opinion, I think geralt is just wholely... unaware of the situation. He’s basically been isolated (with the exception of other Witchers) for a vast majority of his life so I think with that comes ignorance to certain things. So, he’s not being malicious, he’s just very uneducated.

You know exactly what wakes you up. You know what the painful cramps and squishy, warm feeling in your pants means, but you don’t want to look down and confirm it.

The sun is slowly rising which means Geralt will be waking up soon and you don’t want him to find you bleeding all over yourself. You wouldn’t be able to explain yourself without having to tell him about you, so you accept your fate begrudgingly.

Sneaking a peak at Geralt and Jaskier, you take note that they’re both still sleeping in their separate bed rolls on the opposite side of the burned out campfire. You roll back over as quietly as you can and reach out to Ciri, who’s sleeping right next to you, and try to get her attention. It takes a few calls of her name and a shove before she finally wakes up confused. All you can do when she looks at you questioningly is ask for help.

Ciri is, rightfully, concerned and immediately up and ready to help. She gets her bag, fishing out the cloth she uses for her menstrations before she gives it to you. You stand to leave when Ciri asks, whispering, “What are you gonna do?”

“Go to a stream close by or something and wash my clothes.”

Ciri nods. “I’ll deal with the blood.”

You eye the small puddle of blood that had dripped down your leg and into the forest floor. You turn away quickly, agreeing. You head off in some random direction and it isn’t long before you come across a stream and begin stripping. It’s awkward being naked out in the open, even worse when the water you’re washing up in only comes up to your waist but you figure it would be even more awkward to explain to your travel companions why you have blood all over your crotch.

You bear the vulnerable feeling and refuse to look down while you allow the flowing water to clean your lower body, simultaneously scrubbing vigorously at your pants and smallclothes. You decide to take longer than necessary to wash. You know it’s gonna be a long day of walking so you wanna make sure you don’t immediately feel gross.

After the washing is finished, you just get your clothes back on, still stained but less so and now damp, when Ciri comes into view.

“I couldn’t get the stain all the way out,” you tell her, feigning nonchalance when all you can feel inside is panic.

Ciri tells you, “It’s fine,” before she’s pulling her cloak off and handing it to you. “You can wear it until we can sneak you some new pants.”

You sigh, relieved and grateful. “Thank you.”

Ciri smiles and you both begin to head back to camp. As you walk, Ciri questions you about the pain. You and Ciri go back a long time, practically grew up with each other. Your parents were soldiers of noble blood who fought alongside Queen Calanthe so you’ve known each other since you were kids. It didn’t take long for you to confess to Ciri about how you felt when people called you by the name your parents gave you or when your dad called you his little baroness or when the peasant boys you and ciri played around with called you little girl. And since you were so close, she knows all about how painful your time can be.

“It's not so bad right now,” you tell her, subconsciously rubbing at your abdomen.

“That's good,” Ciri says. You agree but silently wonder how long it will take before you’re completely consumed by pain.

You’re both silent as you make it the rest of the way back to camp. As you step back into the clearing where you had slept, you note that the camp is completely put away. The only thing left as a sign that anyone had been here is the circle of burnt firewood.

“Ah, there you two are, you little scamps,” Jaskier exclaims upon seeing you walk into the packed up camp, throwing up his hands dramatically. “We were beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”

Beside Jaskier, Geralt doesn’t look all that worried but he does look mad, although he does always look like that. He leans against a tree with his arms crossed, glaring at you as you approach. “Where have you been?”

“I told you I was going to the bathroom,” Ciri explains quickly.

Geralt says, without looking away from you but still gently, “Not you.”

Geralt’s tone doesn’t bother you as much as it used to. He was worse in the beginning actually. You used to think that Geralt hated you for some reason because he wasn’t as distant with Ciri as he was with you and then Jaskier joined Geralt in his travels again. And he treated Jaskier about the same as he treats you. It took a few days of observing interactions between the two men to figure out that Geralt wasn’t being mean or, rather, wasn’t trying to be. He was just reluctantly accepting of the presences of men.

It also crossed your mind more than once that it could be because Ciri was his child surprise, as Jaskier eventually explained. But whatever the reason may be, he acts differently with you and there isn’t much you can do about it so you ignore it as much as you can.

“I was washing up,” you explain lamely.

“We did that last night,” Geralt says through gritted teeth. Which, yeah, they did while Ciri bathes by herself away from sight — still within Geralt’s earshot for safety reasons, obviously —, the men bathe together. And since you haven’t had the courage to tell Geralt and Jaskier your situation, you, in fact, did not bathe last night.

“Oh, hush,” Jaskier says, waving Geralt off. “So he wanted to wash in the morning. I actually do it often when I'm not spreading the tales of your heroics and I find it quite refreshing. You know, some say people that wash in the morning actually-”

“We should’ve left by now,” Geralt huffs. “We’re late.”

You sigh, watching Geralt walk away and start leading Roach down the path.

Jaskier comes to stand beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulders. He playfully tells you, “Don't let Geralt bother you any. He's not a morning person, clearly,” which makes you instantly smile.

“Where are we headed?” Ciri wonders as she comes to stand next to you, too.

“About a day’s north,” Jaskier says.

You groan, throwing your head back. “A day?!”

“Yes, I’m afraid,” Jaskier confirms sympathetically. “Ah! But, if you would like a nice way to pass the time, I am always willing to give a little… sneak peak of my new ballad.”

Ciri gasps, eyes sparkling. “Yes please!”

You hum, “Sure.”

Jaskier begins strumming his lute and you all set after Geralt, doing your best to ignore the increasing pain in your abdomen.

As always, it doesn’t take long at all for the force of the pain you usually feel to hit full throttle and in turn, the nausea sets in.

You wrap your arms around yourself, fingers digging into your sides with all the strength you have, doing your best to ignore it. You had hoped it would even out the pain so it wouldn’t be that bad, maybe distract you for a while, but it doesn’t work even a little bit and it’s downright unbearable.

By mid morning, your muscles are shaking, you’re sure you’ve carved little crescents into your sides even through your shirt, and you're dripping in sweat with the effort to not cry and fall to the floor in blinding pain. You blame the last one on the blistering sun when anyone questions you about it.

Your problem causes you to lag behind everyone else quite often, although Ciri does her best to stay with you and keep you mind off the splintering pain. She talks endlessly about anything and nothing at all but it helps only a little bit.

It’s during a particular lull in the one sided conversation between you and Ciri that you hear Jaskoer badgering Geralt insistently about something. You almost don’t pay any attention to it, it's Jaskier and Geralt so that's how they always are, until you hear him say your name.

“He needs a break, Geralt,” Jaskier says sternly and louder than his previous tone, which catches Ciri’s attention as well. Geralt continues to ignore the bard. “Maybe your witcher eyesight is starting to diminish in old age, so I suppose I'll enlighten you. He is positively sweating rivers, Geralt. He’s soaked through his little-”

Geralt pulls Roach to a sudden halt so he can growl in Jaskier’s face. “Fine, we can take a break if it will get you to shut up!” Then, Geralt ushers Roach forward faster, veering off the path.

Jaskier turns to you and Ciri, smiling a very smug smile. “Well, time for a well deserved break. Hopefully there’s a river nearby, we can fill up our waterskins. Maybe splash about for a while if Geralt doesn’t threaten to leave us behind for taking too long, if we’re lucky, if-“ and you tune him out as he keeps talking on account that a hot spike of pain stabs you directly in the pelvis. You barely manage to swallow a cry, although your face contorts in the effort. It caused Jaskier to pause mid babble. “Are you alright?”

“No, I'm fine,” you say, rather quickly. Too quickly.

“Are you sure? Because you really look very pale. And, actually, your hands are-”

You’re yelling before you can stop yourself. “I said, I’m fine!” Pushing past Jaskier roughly, you rush to catch up to Geralt who’s almost completely immersed in the foliage a little ways away from the path. You prefer, at the moment, to deal with an annoyed Geralt than a chronically curious Jaskier who questions you nonstop about what’s wrong with you until you get so fed up, you spill all your secrets.

There’s no river or stream where Geralt decided to stop and let Roach chew on some grass near his feet, but there is a small sized pond. You don’t wander too close to Geralt, keeping your distance like you always do, instead choosing to sit against a tree while pressing your knees hard against your chest to try and control the pain.

Jaskier and Ciri approach only seconds later. Jaskier immediately walks over to Geralt and starts talking to him about his new ballad, even though they’ve all heard it five times that morning so far, and Ciri comes to sit down next to you.

Ciri leans close to your side, whispering, “How high is the pain so far?”

You show her your hands, shaking visibly, causing Ciri to frown. She grabs one of your hands and holds it in her lap soothingly, rubbing her thumb across the back. “I also feel like throwing up.”

“That might have to do with the fact you didn’t eat dinner,” Ciri tells you as a matter of factly, side eyeing you pointedly. “And breakfast.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say dismissively. You add, in a sad attempt to use comedy to cope with the pain, “I've made mistakes.” In response, Ciri doesn’t laugh but she hums with a small smile.

You sit silently for a few moments before you turn to Ciri and say, “I think, maybe it would be a good idea to throw up a little bit.”

Ciri shakes her head doubtfully. “I don’t know, Y/n.”

“I should at least try it,” you tell her, shrugging. “It might help get rid of the feeling, even for a little bit. Maybe hold me over until Jaskier can convince Geralt to stop for another break.”

Ciri looks like she thinks it over before she nods reluctantly. “I guess that makes sense.”

You and Ciri stand together, seeming to grab Geralt’s attention. When he begins to approach with Jaskier in tow, you turn sharply to give Ciri a questioning look. Ciri nods understandingly, sending you walking away speedily in a random direction, not bothering to spare either man a glance. You can feel the burn of Geralt’s golden eyes on the back of your head as you retreat into the forest, but you don’t slow your gate. You hear Ciri explain that you had to pee and silently thank her for being such a good liar.

You only stop walking when you feel you’re far enough from Geralt’s impressive hearing won’t catch the pitiful noises you’ll inevitably make. You notice that you’re near a fallen tree and you decide you can use it for support. Walking over to it, you drop to your knees and put both hands on the horizontal trunk. Waiting only a few seconds for the nausea to bubble up, but it obviously doesn’t when you want it to and you figure since Geralt’s been in a bad enough mood all morning, it’d be best to make this experience as quick as possible.

Opening your mouth, you stick a single finger to the back of your throat, gagging instantly. Except nothing comes up. Your breathing increases tremendously though and you do feel the sickness set back in quickly after. You gag twice more without any help from your fingers before you feel your stomach finally give a wet gurgle. Gagging once final time, a yellow liquid comes up. It's warm and slippery but there's hardly any of it, barely a handful.

You were right earlier, it seems, because you do feel better, if only a little. Your stomach finally settles and the sickness isn't burning the back of your throat anymore. You kneel on the ground for only a few more moments, making sure you’re done. You stand when you deem yourself stable enough, wiping the slime from your lips. Your turn to make your way back to your companions before you’re left behind, ignoring the quivering that spreads from your hands to your stomachs to your thighs.

As it turns out, you couldn’t quite ignore your trembling libs and apparently, neither could Jaskier. He stopped you multiple times on the long and agonizing walk, asking if you were alright, and every time you told him you were fine every time. Jaskier clearly didn’t believe you if the increasing number of worried glances were anything to go by.

Your condition, as the day drew on, only grew worse and it was getting bad enough to cause a crease to appear on even Geralt’s brow. You barely make it to midday before Geralt is suddenly deverting from the path and leading the group through the woods to a new destination. It confuses you and Ciri, causing you to exchange glances, but you both choose not to say anything.

The new destination, as it turns out, is the nearest civilization that actually only takes a little over ten minutes to get to. It’s a small backwater village with barely ten families, only a single story inn, a quaint little tavern, some food vendors scattered around in the center of town, and, thankfully, a stable for Roach. Surrounding the village is nothing but yellow fields on one side and the blossoming forest on the other side, which is an odd combination in your opinion. Obviously, given it’s miniscule size, there’s nowhere to sightsee — not that you do much of that anyway, thanks to Geralt’s workaholic attitude — so you all immediately head off in the direction of the inn.

Outside, Geralt hands you and Ciri some coin. “Go inside, book a room–”

“–preferably with two beds,” Jaskier jumps in easily.

Geralt, ignoring him, continues, “–while I drop off Roach–”

“–and I look for work at the tavern.”

Ignoring Jaskier even harder, Geralt wonders, “Think you can manage that?” You side eye Geralt at that because you know he’s talking about you, but it doesn’t sound melicious like you would’ve expected from him. In fact, it sounds to you like his tone leans more towards slight concern than anything else.

Shifting around on your feet, you look down and fidget with the sleeves of Ciri’s cloak that is darker now at the ends from you wiping away the sweat from your face all morning.

Ciri takes the coin bag from Geralt. “We will.” When Jaskier and Geralt walk away, you follow Ciri into the inn. She turns to you as soon as you walk in, saying, “It might take a bit to get the room. Do you think you’re able to stand and wait just a little bit long before resting or maybe you should sit down?”

You shrug even though you feel like your limbs are weighing you down. Ciri gives you another doubtful look of the day and tells you to just have a seat while she gets a room. You watch her walk over to the innkeeper before your brain catches up.

You do as Ciri said, walking over to a stool that sits next to an empty table and drop into it, your feet dragging the whole way. Resting your head on the table feels more relieving than it should, but you really don’t have any more strength left to think about it or to keep your eyes open any longer. They droop and fall close.

It feels like only seconds that you sit there before a hand grasps onto your shoulder. Your eyes snap open, vision blurry with rest even though you feel like you got none at all.

“Sorry,” Ciri apologizes. “The innkeeper was trying really hard to negotiate a price.”

You shake your head drowly. “Didn’t really notice.”

“Well, the room is paid for now so we can go settle in,” Ciri seems overly happy about that but maybe it’s just for your sake. “You can change cloths before Geralt and Jaskier get here. Dinner won’t be served for hours so there’s plenty of time for a nap before that.”

You nod, agreeing. It does sound nice and it would be good to change cloths so you don’t leak while you sleep.

You stand to start walking with Ciri to your room, but as soon as you’re upright, a flash of cold air whooshes through your body and you immediately feel light headed. Stumbling, you accidentally knock over your stool and another next to you. Ciri grabs onto your arms to help you stay standing but it’s no use. Your knees buckle anyway, vision going dark just as you feel yourself collapse into Ciri’s arms.

You wake up slowly only because you still feel like absolute shit. Your arms feel stiff and your legs feel as shaky as they have been all day. Your stomach is tying itself in knots and the nausea is back.

Your eyes actually don’t hurt from the dim light at your left, but you close your eyes anyway in hopes of going back to sleep.

“Oh, you’re awake.” You open your eyes at the undeniable sound of Jaskier’s relieved voice. You have to turn your head to actually see him, noticing as you do so that there is a cool damp cloth on your forehead and that you are laid above the covers. Jaskier, when he comes into view, is kneeling in front of the fireplace, setting two more pieces of wood in the dwindling flame. “That’s good. I was getting a bit worried.”

Not wanting to move your head more than you have to, you just look where you can from this certain angle. Thought, to be honest, there’s not much to look at. You are obviously in the room Ciri paid for. It’s small like you expected from a one story inn. There’s a chair in the corner by the fire with Ciri’s cloak thrown over the back of it. The dark blue curtains over the windows are closed and it would be drowning the room in complete darkness if it wasn’t still daytime out. But, given the bright orange light coming seeping through, you suspect it’s not going to be much longer. Also, there’s a small table next to your bed with a lit lantern sitting on it.

“It’s on low,” Jaskier says suddenly. You look at him questioningly. Jaskier smiles softly, saying, “The lantern. I put it on low so it didn’t hurt your eyes.”

You guess he must have seen you eyeing it.

“You’ve spent an awful long time without food,” Jaskier tells you, almost as if you didn’t know that yourself. But, still, you grimace at that thought of food. “Yes, I imagine food really doesn’t sound all that appealing given the nausea and cramps. But, alas, you must eat something.”

You wonder for a moment if Ciri told them about you but you shove the possibility away violently. You know she wouldn’t do that. Ciri had promised when you first started traveling with Geralt that she would never say anything if you didn’t want her to. But, then again, it’s not a real surprise Jaskier knows. You’ve heard many tales of Jaskier’s many sisters while he’s traveled with you. He’s grown up with many women in his life, and while you are no woman, that doesn’t discourage your body from acting like one.

Jaskier walks over to you with a wooden bowl in his hands. Jaskier sets the bowl on the table next to the lantern. He says, jokingly, “It’s no rabbit stew, but it’s good, I suppose. Do you think you can sit up a small bit and have some soup?” You can groan minutely and turn your head away in response. “Come on, cub.”

You pause at the endearment. It's not new but it is surprising in this situation. Jaskier uses it often with you and Ciri given your high status Cintran blood. But, he’s never used it all those times he’s lectured you and Ciri about wandering around towns without supervision or when you swear when he’s around or when you and Ciri sneak away with his lute for some of your own concerts. Which means Jaskier is clearly not mad at you for keeping your secrets or at least he’s really, really worried about you.

“It’s been almost an entire day since your last meal. There’s no way you’re not starving.” Still not willing to force food down right now, you swallow around your dry, swollen feeling tongue. With a scratch to your voice, you ask about Ciri with as little words as possible. “Out. With Geralt, getting some… products.”

You don't miss the obvious way Jaskier stumbles. You have no doubt what word he skipped over in his explanation and it confuses you. Usually everyone just assumes–

Geralt comes clambering into the room with Ciri right behind him. Unlike Geralt, who has that permanent scowl on his face, Ciri is smiling brightly.

Ciri comes over to sit down next to you immediately, setting down the loaded bag on the bed in front of her. “How are you feeling?” She asks. When you hum noncommittally, Ciri hums back empathetically. “Well, we went into town and look!” Ciri exclaims, pulling out some black pants from the bag. “We got you some new pants. They might be a little big but I know you don't mind that,” Ciri tells you, smiling a little too cheerfully for something so simple as a pair of pants, but you smile back anyway.

Ciri goes to say something else, no doubt still praises about the pants, but Geralt interrupts her harshly. “Are you going to explain what happened or not?”

Jaskier’s head whips around from where he’d been looking on at you and Ciri. “Geralt,” he hisses.

Geralt is unbothered and continues despite Jaskier’s warning. “Why were you keeping secrets?”

“Geralt, is this really the time?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Jaskier fully turns towards Geralt, hands resting on his hips. “Oh, I don't know, Geralt, maybe it’s because he’s sick!”

“She lied,” Geralt growls.

You sigh, resigned. You were expecting it but it still makes your belly sink with ice.

Your eyes flash open when the bed shifts violently. When you do, you see that Ciri has jumped up on the bed, towering over Geralt. “She?!” Ciri screeches indignantly, catching everyone off guard. “He is a boy!”

“Ciri,” Jaskier says gently, attempting to calm the obviously furious girl.

From behind her, you, as well, do your best to appease Ciri, even if you would really much rather crawl into the mouth of a Kikimore and never come back out. “Ciri, it’s fine…”

“No, it’s not. Do you even know how hard it is for him to be seen as who he is?” Ciri says, voice still booming. Geralt looks rightfully surprised. “He did not spend years publicly reinventing himself to be mistaken as a she!”

When Geralt tries to speak, Ciri doesn’t let him have the chance. In fact, Ciri raises her fists and starts hitting Geralt, saying multiple explicit ‘fuck you’s. Geralt, in turn, blocks her attacks but doesn’t try to stop her while Jaskier rushes over to calm her down himself.

The fighting only stops when you curl in on yourself from a painful cramp. You barely have enough sense to roll over to your side to vomit over the side of the bed. The puddle is even smaller than the one in the forest.

Ciri breathes heavily, crossing her arms while scowling that rivaled Geralt’s own. “Get out.”

“Ciri,” Jaskier tries, but Ciri moves away from Jaskier and tells them to leave again, more steely. Jaskier sighs. He puts his hand on Geralt's arm and shoves him towards the door. You have no doubt that Geralt allows Jaskier to move him, knowing that there’s no physical way Jaskier is strong enough to move him on his own. Jaskier turns back towards Ciri as he stands in the doorway. “Try to get him to eat, alright?”

Ciri doesn’t give any sign that she’s heard what he’s said or that she’s going to follow his direction. With that, Jaskier leaves and shuts the door behind himself.

You sigh from your fetal position, far more relieved to have them leave than you feel you should be. Actually feeling comfortable in this position, you’re reluctant to move. “You didn’t have to do that,” you tell Ciri, deciding not to face her.

“I did,” is all Ciri says in response. She sits in bed behind you, doing so slowly and softly so as not to jostle you. “You want some sleep?”

You hum, thinking. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Yeah, I suppose it wouldn’t,” Ciri agrees. “You can eat and change your cloth when you wake up.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you joke lightly.

Ciri agrees again, shifting and wrapping her arms around you, curling up behind you. “I’ll be here when you wake up this time.”

You smile, shutting your eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.”

(NOT MY GIF)

Main Blog // Other Side Blog

((NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WORK ANYWHERE EVEN WITH CREDIT))

#ciri x male reader #ciri x reader #jaskier x male reader #jaskier x reader #geralt of rivia x male reader #geralt of rivia x reader #reader insert #the witcher

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3000s · 4 years

Note

ig i just dont understand ur post bc like if a “cis” woman wants to transition to look more masculine and has dysphoria about being a woman and wants to become more like a traditional man isnt that just being a trans dude? and like if cis women start transitioning while still calling themselves women wouldnt they be misgendering themselves? also wouldnt us calling them women after transitioning just give more excuses to transphobes to misgender trans men?

the thing about that is like, if they dont identify as trans men then they're not trans men! the reason these labels exist isnt to categorize people based on how we see their experience, its for people to have the language to describe themselves!

i think a lot of yall get stuck on the idea of dysphoria being something that makes someone transgender, but thats not something i believe, so thats a large part of why an argument based in transmedicalism would fall flat on this subject... people have the right to self-identify, just like how there are trans people who dont medically transition, there are also cis people who do, and you cant force them to identify as transgender if thats not how they feel!

its def important that ppl within our community learn that as trans ppl we arent the only ppl who can have a complicated relationship with gender. i've mentioned it a couple times before, but there are a lot of factors at play with regard to someones gender + presentation + dysphoria + decision to medically transition! race, sexuality, and things of that nature can play a part in the way someone experiences these things... for ref, this post puts it well; even a cishet person of color can have a more complex relationship with gender than a white lgbt person, and some further explanation on that in a post here as well! like, for example, historically (yes, even within lgbt spaces and relationships) black women have been and continue to be treated as though they are more masculine than white women because of their race, and although that isnt exactly what you asked, thats why i say that peoples experiences in a gendered society vary, that can cause someone to have a different relationship with gender, something you or i may not be able to relate to

and really anyone can feel alienated from belonging to their assigned gender with those factors at play to influence it, and that doesnt always cause them to feel like they belong to another gender either. there are many lesbians who feel that their only ties to womanhood are through their sexuality and love of other women, its not uncommon for them to use pronouns other than she/her, or to go on testosterone, or to get top surgery, but at the end of the day they can still tell you explicitly that they do not identify as trans men, and it wouldnt make sense for someone to assign them that label.

you didnt mention it here, but to get it outta the way: the last thing i've seen argued is that women are using up & taking spots in line for life-saving resources that transmeds believe trans men should be entitled to... honestly i think its kind of batshit how the ppl saying this don't realize how stupid they sound by advocating for the medicalization of transness, having to jump through all these hoops for these treatments, then somehow placing the blame on other people looking for treatment. like, if you were a cancer patient needing chemo you wouldn't go around blaming other cancer patients as the reason you arent getting treatment, right? it makes no sense, and we should be talking about the issues with the way access to hrt and affirming surgeries are set up rather than prying into the personal lives of others to see who "really" needs it the most, yknow

anyway this got long as hell, my bad, dm me if u have anymore questions or w/e

#asks

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neutroiis · 4 years

Note

o wait same person and different question sorry to be annoying just feel like if I asked my friends this stuff they’d get mad lol! Is it just me or is the framework of ‘gay people can only like non-binary people who are man/woman aligned’ kinda :/. Gay friend of mine says it’s ok to like a man-aligned nb person but if he liked an un-aligned nb person he couldn’t call himself gay anymore as it would be misgendering the nb person because gay men only like men? But like,,

,,,that doesn’t make sense to me because non-binary people aren’t men or women (?) idk I guess when u try to define ‘who a gay person can like before they have to rename themselves’ things start to not make sense to me v much. I don’t see why a gay person can’t just like an unaligned nb person without ‘denouncing their gay card’ or something. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

for the record i only got these two asks so if u sent something else i def didnt get it. im also not sure if you meant to send me this but whatever!

to be totally honest i think the idea of ‘man aligned’ and ‘woman aligned’ non-binary people is like. a huge cop-out. i mean if an individual non-binary person chooses to identify that way, obviously thats fine, but most of the time i see that structure imposed on non-binary people rather than the other way around. which im not a huge fan of. i think the most interesting differences between non-binary people have to do with our lived experiences, as opposed to whether we more closely map onto “man” or “woman”. like, im a fairly feminine nb person, but im also on testosterone -- so where does that put my “alignment”, yfm?

which brings me to your actual question because like.. by what metric is your friend deciding who’s “man-aligned” and who’s not? maybe he’s relying on whether individual nb people use that term, which would probably be ok -- but more likely, he’s making judgment calls which are completely arbitrary and based on appearance, even though non-binary people can look like anybody, so like. that distinction is bound to be meaningless.

i think its possible to get into questions about how people are materially treated -- if i had never gone on t but my boyfriend still had, we’d likely be treated as a straight couple even if my identity as a non-binary “man” stayed the same. and honestly sometimes if i get SUPER fem we still get treated as a straight couple, whereas when im masc (well, masc by my metric) we get treated like a gay couple. lgb people dont like to hear this, but sexuality literally is a social construct -- that doesnt make attraction any less real, it just means that its completely socially defined. in a society where nb people constituted a legally-recognized third gender across the world, sexual orientation and identity discussions would implicitly involve nb people -- gay men would still be gay, lesbians would still be lesbians, but the way we’d talk about nb people would be different!

so this is a lot of words to say i agree with you. i think a lot of lgb people (and the occasional trans person who’s not non-binary) tend to have strange ideas about what it means to be non-binary, which leads to people making distinctions that aren’t based in reality. on any given day two people could decide i’m “fem-aligned” (because i dress femininely) or “masc aligned” (because im on testosterone) and none of that has to do with me.

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gayrezi · 4 years

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(if ur uncomfortable w answering feel free to ignore srry!) how did u realize u were non binary,, bc I think I am but idk if i have dysphoria :shrug:

putting this under a read more bc i like talking about gender, so this got a little long. tl;dr: you don't need dysphoria to be trans/nonbinary, though it can certainly be an indicator. for me, i was initially very unsure of myself and didn't recognize my dysphoria until after i allowed myself to start exploring and experimenting with my gender, and what helped me most was giving myself the freedom to be questioning and try new labels or interact with new communities online.

content warning for mentions of dysphoria under the cut.

i first started questioning my gender in july of 2019. i don't remember the context, but i was searching up labels like "demigirl" and "nonbinary lesbian" on tumblr because i'd seen a couple posts mentioning i and i was curious. and the more i looked, the more i related to the ideas i saw people talking about -- it wasn't a perfect match, but certainly fit better than calling myself a cis girl.

back then, i viewed being a cis girl as the "default option" for myself because i was born afab -- like "yeah, i guess i'm a girl, but only because i've never been called otherwise in my life and i also know i’m not a trans boy. i just happen to have a lot of shared experiences with girls my age because i am viewed as one of them". at the time i didn’t think i had dysphoria, but i didn't enthusiastically identify with womanhood on any level except for knowing that i held a lot of feminist beliefs and that i liked women in a gay way (but with the existence of nonbinary lesbians now introduced to me, even that was shaken up because i identified more with being a lesbian than i ever did with being a woman in that context). my history with feminism, lesbianism, and collectively being grouped with girls my age made it really difficult for me to untangle my gender.

at this point, i spent a really long time on the fence about my identity - i looked at a lot of quora threads in desperation, which honestly i don't recommend (it really only lead me to the conclusion that "i’m gonna have to decide for myself what my gender is, huh"). what DID help me was allowing myself to try new labels, presentations, pronouns, or just ways of viewing myself. i didn't need to commit, just to allow myself the freedom to view myself as "not necessarily cisgender." i started using they/them pronouns online, dressed in ways that made me feel more androgynous and comfortable, and interacted with more trans people here on tumblr. joining a trans discord server really helped me a ton, since i got to see people talking about gender and living authentically in a way i never saw from my cis peers in real life, and i could take part in a community that would support my own exploration of my gender.

once i gave myself these opportunities to get to know myself, *then* i started finding out all the details of my personal experience of gender. once i was open to the possibility of being enby, sometime around september 2019, only then did i start to recognize my previous feelings of discomfort about my body and interactions with others as dysphoria. i realized the label of demigirl didn't really fit, and actually it felt wrong to be misgendered as a girl at all, and shifted to call myself just "nonbinary" ("agender" is TECHNICALLY also accurate, since i don't really have a connection to gender at all, it just doesn’t feel like something relevant to me, but i like the openness and fluidity and blatant rejection of the gender binary that comes with "nonbinary." this is 100% my personal feelings though, may not apply to you or anyone else). this is still pretty much where i stand now, and i've really been able to embrace this identity after coming out to my immediate family at the end of march 2020 and being in a weird semi-out state at university currently.

the most important advice i'd give to anyone questioning their gender is this: you don't need to know what you are Right Now, and instead should focus on pursuing things that make you feel good and comfortable with yourself - the label will be easier to identify with time if you allow yourself latitude for exploration! there’s no wrong way to be nonbinary, and what matters most is that you find a means of self expression that makes you happy.

i don’t want to get into my most personal thoughts on my gender publicly on this blog, but if you want to dm me about this (whether you're the anon who sent this or not) feel free to, i would be happy to talk more there! you can message me on this blog and we can chat on tumblr or discord. good luck with everything and have a wonderful day :)

#i wrote this between classes so apologies if i get a little sidetracked in it. anyway i dont pretend to be an expert but im happy to help #asks #anon #not hs #jaz.txt #ALSO if you sent in other anons i have read them and appreciate them but alas i am a busy college student. i'll try to answer later

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asoftervirge · 4 years

Text

Of “Love” & Murder (7/13)

CHAPTER TITLE: Logan Oxford: Esteemed Novelist

RATING: PG PAIRINGS: P. Sanders/V. Sanders (main/one-sided); R. Sanders/V. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/L. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/D. Sanders (former); Remy/E. Picani (side); T. Sanders/OMC (mentioned)

CHAPTER WARNINGS/KINKS: mentions of Anxiety, Logan being A Nerd, Philosophy Jargon, mentions of a previous Murder, mentions of Poisoning CHAPTER SUMMARY: Logan tell Patton how he met Virgil.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: And we’re introduced to Logan! :D This chapter is shorter than the Roman introduction, but it should still bring excitement for people to want to learn how xe died. That’s a weird sentence. lol And yes, xe not he. Logan has had a number of changes with this update and I’m very pleased with them, so I hope everyone else is too. Also, this chapter is PG, so that’s good! Have fun reading everyone! xx Virge

INSPIRATION: This post by @phantomofthesanderssides

AO3 || Buy Me a Ko-Fi!

Patton squeaked and stood up straighter. For some reason, this person gave off a cold and aloof aura. Much different from the warmth and passion that radiated from Roman.

“You— You must be the second of Virgil’s husbands?”

“Spouses,” the second ghost immediately corrected. His lips curled into a slight scowl. It was pretty intimidating to say the least, especially with how tall he seemed to be. “While I do not completely mind being considered his…’husband,’ I would prefer to be called his spouse. Also my pronouns call be he/him, but I would prefer xe/xyr.”

“O-Oh!” Patton blushed, feeling bad he accidentally misgendered another person. “I’m so sorry! I-I didn’t mean—”

“Since this is our first encounter and it was merely an accident, I’ll let it slide.” xe told the confectioner while marching toward him, maintaining a good distance. “However, should we encounter each other again multiple times after this, and you still continue to misuse my pronouns, I can guarantee I will not be so friendly.”

Patton gulped. “Got it.”

Xe held out a hand for him. “Logan Oxford. Esteemed novelist and self-admitted astrophile.”

The confectioner didn’t know what half of those words meant. “U-Uhm,” he shakes Logan’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mx. Oxford.”

“Logan, please. No need for formalities.”

He nodded. Now that he thinks about it, Patton has heard the name Logan Oxford before. His cousin Emile brought xem up a couple of times when he talked about therapy (while still keeping patient confidentiality, obviously). He mentioned how xyr essays were really good, but they seemed a little too…stuffy, for his personal tastes (like most scientists/doctors/philosophers/etc).

Now meeting xem for the first time, he can understand why Emile said that.

While Roman had on very bold, fancy colors: reds and whites and golds, Logan was a stark contrast to that. Similar to his own palette but not quite. Xe had on a dark blue dress coat with a white button-up underneath it, along with black suit pants and dark brown dress shoes. A little bit of gold was on his buttons and cuff links, but other than that, the colors xe wore were predominantly dark.

Come to think of it, there were a lot of differences between he and Logan. The novelist had dark eyes while he had baby blue. Logan had straight, gelled black hair while he had strawberry blonde curls. A medium build with a good amount of muscle as opposed to a soft curvy build with a bit of chub. A sharp face as opposed to a rounded one. Square glasses as opposed to rounded lenses.

Regardless, xe were a very clean-looking individual. Perhaps even handsome in xyr own right, much like Virgil was.

“I suppose you’re wanting to warn me about Virgil too?” he asks.

“Is that not why you’re here?” Logan responds. “Or were you just wanting to put your nose into the affairs of a relatively wealthy man?”

Patton pouted. He didn’t have to be rude about it!

“But yes,” the novelist says immediately after. “I am here to also warn you about the dangers of Mr. Virgil Nyx of 613 Rue Morgue.”

“Well take your time. I’m not here to rush you.”

“I appreciate your concerns, but my past before Mr. Nyx is easy to discuss,” Logan tells him.

The confectioner nods, listening to him attentively.

“Growing up as a child, my father was a firm believer of knowledge,” Xe began. “He always believed that it was an incomparably valuable, multipurpose tool, instrumental in identifying and solving any of the world’s problems.” Dark blue eyes casted themselves over to the books. “One of the things he used to tell me was, “If you are ever worried about getting hurt, then seek knowledge. It is our greatest weapon, and our greatest defense.” And so, with that, my ever-growing thirst began.”

Xe went on, “I scoured for any form of knowledge, be that books or even educative television, wherever I could find it, I absorbed it entirely. I read every book from both my father and Ye Ye, every book from the libraries— primary school, the public one, university— etcetera. All of it was not enough for me. I eventually received my Master’s in Philosophy and a Doctorate in Physics, wishing to expand my love of all things intellect and share it with the world.” He turns back to Patton. “Before my graduation, I had published a few theses that were eventually used at other prestigious universities; and afterward, I had written a book or two, which resulted in my rise to celebrity.”

Patton nodded. Then he asked, “Had you known about Virgil before you met him?”

“I was aware of him, yes.” the novelist’s lips thinned into a firm line. “I had heard about the…supposed suicide of Roman Scarlet, famed Broadway actor and beloved performer of the Storytime lounge. I had also heard of his brother’s desire to take Virgil to court without any proof of murderous intent, I believe he was even in contact with a lawyer despite this.”

The confectioner looked at xem in surprise. “Even when he didn’t have evidence, his brother had contact with a lawyer about wanting to see if Virgil could be charged with murder?”

“Indeed.” Logan nodded. “At first, I read it off as some silly story for revenge, not exactly understanding how that was actually the truth.”

Patton nodded. “So…Did you meet him at a book signing or…?”

Logan didn’t say anything of the longest time. When xe did, it was very vague-sounding. “When I met Virgil…well, let’s just say it was…a strange sense of irony.”

…

If he could, Virgil would have openly spat about how much he did not want to be here. When he became as wealthy as he is, he swore up and down that he would never return to this place, return to the old life he lived before he knew what it was like to have money.

And yet, here he was, walking into a familiar-looking bookstore. The name re-entering his mind like he hadn’t shoved it out oh so many years ago.

Catching his eye was the small clump of beings standing outside its old, paint-chipped door; maybe the line won’t be as long as he thought. However, he quickly (and unfortunately) realized that the clump of people outside stood at the end of a line that snaked through the entire store.

Everyone and their mother apparently wanted to meet Logan Oxford today of all days.

He should’ve expected this, and yet, he didn’t. Idiot.

Actual anxiety slowly began to seize his being as he continued to approach. Everyone seemed to have a book clutched in their hands. Most were the newest release that came just before the holidays, while some seemed to be personally chosen titles by the older audience, and then there were even books of essays that were held and gossiped about by students (or who Virgil assumed to be university students).

By the time the line actually started moving, Virgil felt sweat starting to coat his palms. He let out a noise of annoyance and shoved them into his pockets.

He was not going to let his stupid anxiety ruin this chance for him. He wasn’t!

Walking in, the little jingle of the bell above sounded like the heavy dong of a church one.

Virgil forced himself to look around. This cozy little hellhole remained the same even after almost a decade. (He even forced himself to wonder if the old owner was still here. Probably not. Maybe retired. Or dead.)

The lighting was still bad, but it gave the small interior of the store its warm glow; the carpeting was still old fashioned and had that untraceable smell to it; the chairs scattered about the store were all patchy and worn-down; the wooden tables had scratch marks and random-ass messages that people carved in with pencil; and there were still crazy knickknacks and antiques hanging from the walls or seen from the shelves.

For the widower, this place was a walk-in nightmare, like walking into someone’s grandmother’s house. But for the many customers who come and go daily, it was a little spot of comfort.

Silver-grey eyes eventually found the prize he was looking for.

Logan Oxford sat at a small table with a pen in xyr hand. The writer smiled very thinly up at an admirer as xe handed back their book from across the table.

A thousand little details flooded Virgil’s mind all at once. A full mouth that could be expressive if it wasn’t so clearly behind a reserved wall. A face that was as sharp as Roman’s but it was much more angular. Rich, dark eyes that almost seemed black: dark and mysterious, they looked like they were pulled from the night sky. Slicked back hair that would still be considered neat without all that damn hair gel.

Xe were more than attractive than the widower realized. Perfect for being his next target.

Just before it was his turn, he saw a stand full of Logan’s books, all new and old alike. Making sure no one was looking, he snagged a copy before making his way towards the novelist.

The novelist took the book without even saying anything, not even so much as a polite hello. Xe flipped it open to the first page and started to scribble on the first page with blue ink.

Virgil looked down at the book he grabbed and an idea sparked in his mind. He cleared his throat, but not loud enough to cause a scene. “Mx. Oxford?” he pretended to sound eager. “I know you’ve probably heard this before, but your philosophy essays are so fascinating.”

“You are correct, I have heard it before.” xe said. Dark eyes flashed up at him, a brow quirked and his expression monotone. “Do you have a particular question you’d like to ask me?”

He nodded. “Actually, I do…Do you believe that your field of study has been hindered by the teachings of Aristotle, or are you one of those science-y people who just nod and continuously say he’s right without any substantial proof?”

At that, Logan’s head shot up. “…beg pardon?” Xe were a little stunned by the question being asked of him.

“Do you agree with Aristotle’s teachings, yes or no?” Virgil asked again, a tiny bit amused as he made the novelist react in such a way.

Xe cleared xyr throat, trying to regain some composure. “W-Well,” he stammered. “In the case of Aristotle…the man was usually wrong. A lot. Most of his descriptions of the natural world are some variety of incorrect,” xe tell him. “Looking past his blatant sexism, his understanding of motion and forces is wrong, is astronomy is wrong, a good portion of his biology is busted, and science has in fact suffered for it. For almost 2,000 years to be specific.”

The widower hummed. (Truth be told, he hated philosophy. It was basically a bunch of old guys trying to preach certain ethics and ideologies that would eventually become outdated and criticized.) Nevertheless, he wanted to know what Logan thought about it.

“However,” Logan continued, a glimmer of something sparkling in his eyes. “It wasn’t until the 1800s when the atom was officially declared A Thing, that people began to believe his contemporary, Democritus, as opposed to himself.” Xe snort. “Not to mention, according to Cicero, his prose was apparently a flowing river of gold…when it actually was not. And it was because of him that we not only lost science but also a catastrophic amount of classical literature.”

“So in actuality, his works are basically glorified lecture-notes from his students?” Virgil smirks faintly. “I guess you know now why we should’ve listened to Gorgias instead.”

“Gorgias?” Xe ask, looking at him incredulously. “The man was, excuse my Greek, a pathological pain the ass. He didn’t care for objective truth and stated that everything was a matter of opinion, which was always bendable.”

“Exactly!” Virgil smirks more. “Everything is a construct, therefore we tried and failed. So now all we need to do is to hide under the covers until the sun goes away.” With that, the widower takes his autographed book and begins to leave the store.

“Falsehood!” A screech came from behind him, making him jump. He turns around to see the novelist get up and stride over to him, a sharp look in his eyes. The widower immediately stood straighter. Damn…that glare reminds him of a certain someone that he does not wish to remember right now. “Just because Gorgias was able to obliterate Stephanos of Thebes with straw-man arguments and casual fallacies, does not mean you can, Diogenes the Cynic.”

Virgil blinked. “…Diogenes the Cynic?” he echoed.

“Yes,” Logan says. “A philosopher who believed that all Sophists were liars, the Philosophers were too pretentious, therefore taking immense pleasure in poking fun at their logic.”

The widower pondered thoughtfully. “…yep. That sounds like us just now.” A glint of wicked humor shone in his eyes as Logan just looked done with him. “But in all seriousness, Mx. Oxford. You have to realize that philosophy can be a bit asinine, right?”

Logan stayed silent for a moment before breathing out. “I suppose so,” xe states. “All of the big, complex ideas simply come from those who are fallible and prone to…ridiculousness. For every Plato’s Republic, there is a Diogenes urinating at a banquet table.”

“There you go,” Virgil laughs. “I hope you really didn’t get offended by what I said. I like presenting counterarguments just to see how people react.”

“No harm done. Although I must admit, while I don’t particularly enjoy socializing with others all that much,” Hard same. “I would like to talk to you more. Maybe about science-based media— or whatever it is you’re a fan of?”

Virgil nodded, smirking internally. “I don’t mind at all. In fact, I would like to challenge your claims on what you call cognitive distortions. As someone who has generalized anxiety, I wanna know what your psychology thinks about my over-reactionary mind.”

Logan hummed in interest. “Oh? I look forward to it then, Mr…?”

“Nyx. Virgil Nyx.”

“Mr. Nyx.” Named after the Roman Goddess of the Night, the novelist mused. Xe liked it. Xe scribbled something onto the back of a bookmark, handing it to Virgil. “Again, thank you very much for coming and I hope to communicate with you again soon.”

“See ya.”

With a finger salute, Virgil left the bookstore with a sigh of relief. He was quite glad that his anxiety didn’t make him look the a fool and that he was out of that atrocious place. He opened the book and saw the fancy penmanship of the novelist.

On the bookmark, was his phone number.

He smirked. Maybe he did succeed after all…

…

Patton listed as Logan finished telling him about xyr first meeting with Virgil. He had to admit, it was rather nice to not listen to any…graphic details about things he didn’t want to know, even if Roman told him in a vague manner.

“So how did you stay close with Virgil?” he asked, remembering the questions he presented Roman. “You gave him your number; did you call each other on the phone? Or did you both kept meeting at the bookstore.”

Logan shook xyrs head. “No. However, I would invite him out for some coffee if I was in the area. And every time we did so, we would always have little discussions that would turn into…not-so-little discussions after a period of time…”

Patton raised an eyebrow, smiling knowingly.

The novelist scowled. “We did not argue, if that is what you’re thinking! We…debated, that’s much more civil.” The confectioner giggled but allowed him to continue. “And, while I’m not a traditionally…emotional person…it was quite nice to have someone debate on certain subjects with me, even if they tended to hiss at me from time to time.”

Despite this slowly becoming a sad tale, Patton giggled again. He won’t lie, Virgil did act like a cat every once in a while. It was actually kinda cute (you know…despite the fact he murdered three people…).

“I would also take him to any conferences or panels that I would be invited to attend or speak at,” xe told him. “He would act as my plus one, if you will. I must admit, even if I could manage them on my own, it was…almost beneficial for me to have him around during those events.” Xe chuckled. “I say this despite the fact that he detested such things, as they tended to prompt his anxiety and cause him to rudely hiss whenever someone— and I quote— “reached his limits with stupid questions.” Not only that, he was not primarily invested in the actual subjects of said discussions and was more interested in the catering they served.”

That caused Patton to actually laugh. That also seems like something that Virgil would do, though he doesn’t blame him at all. In fact, if he were in his shoes, he would be a bit more curious in the food too.

Logan couldn’t help xyr lips from twitching upwards. “I shall confess, there were times where I myself have agreed with his sentiments.”

Unfortunately, the smiles and laughter had to end at some point.

“But what happened afterward?” Patton eventually asked. “What caused everything to go downhill?”

The little twitch of a smile instantly when back to a frown. The confectioner sees xem turn to grab a book that was suddenly on the table (when did that get there anyhow?). It was a very beautiful looking book: dark indigo in color with a title that he couldn’t quite make out, but he could see Logan’s name at the very top. Xe opened the book, flipping it to the very last pages before handing it to Patton.

‘ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS’ Baby blue eyes skimmed through the short paragraphs of text. Logan gave simple but kind words as xe thanked the people who helped xem achieve such a feat, such as his parents and former professors.

Then he followed to where the novelist had pointed a finger at.

“Lastly, I would like to give acknowledgments to my husband, Virgil Nyx.

While we have not known each other long, and have newly become married, but having your support throughout this journey was momentous for someone like me to complete this project. Your harsh and honest (almost too honest) criticisms of my work were what kept me going to make and achieve better than my means. And while I am not an emotional person, nor do I express my emotions often, I quiet enjoyed having your company while I wrote and rewrote my rough and final drafts… And I must thank you for bring me my favorite green teas and jellied biscuits whenever I hadn’t eaten or drank anything for hours on end.

This is the most I have genuinely praised someone so highly (and also a first), but it cannot be helped. I truly hope you see the appreciation and respect I fester for you.”

Patton couldn’t help but tear up. To Logan, they may appear simple, but they were also so beautiful.

“As you’ve read, by the time I had written my last book, Virgil had become my spouse.” Logan says. “We were married in a simple ceremony. Something that was vastly different from Roman’s grandiose nuptials.”

Patton giggled. It was amusing with how Logan was poking fun at Roman from beyond the grave. (In an almost magical way, he could almost hear an indignant noise in his ear).

“But,” Logan’s face grew sad, almost angry. “That did not last long, unfortunately. I had quickly fallen for Virgil’s rouses like the one before me. And, like him, I was met with an unfortunate end.” A deep, almost tired sigh. “To think, someone like him could have been two steps ahead of me in a metaphorical game of chess…I must say, it was truly a checkmate on his end.”

“Him murdering you, you mean?” Patton asked, fearing the answer Logan will give him. Silence. A very familiar silence.

Then, Logan nodded. “Yes. Although, poisoning is the correct terminology this time around.”

#Sanders Sides #Patton Sanders #Logan Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Analogical #Of Love & Murder

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kaz3313 · 4 years

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[Ask to be added or removed from the tagglist 😊] @whatever-rat-im-thinking-of @ebonydove35

WARNING: Past Homphobia, Transphobia, and Police Brutality. Everything is tagged but just in case! And always, if you need anything tagged please ask me 💕

[[MORE]]

"So... our new lead is in this pastry shop?" Beez questioned as they sat in one of the outside seats. They preferred outdoor to indoor, especially on cases.

This one especially, since The Angel had an intricate set of rules but sometimes it felt like he was contradicting himself. The only true pattern was a brand was always found, but even then they had four cases related to The Angel of unbranded people. One was in pieces and Hastur had pointed out that one of the pieces could've very easily been branded but u

"Well, before he was killed, Hastur figured that it was by another blunt object, he was seen buying a muffin,"

"Alright, so Angel was at the pastry shop-"

"Stabbington,"

"Ugh, you really like this bookshop angel, don't you?"

" Beez you wouldn't understand, he's just- Hey, his bookshop is across from here," Crowley pointed to the sign that said A. Z. Fell & Co. He rose from his chair, heading toward the shop.

"Crowley, you can't go talk to your crush right now," Beez insisted, already shaking their head.

"Well guess who buys pastries all the time, he could be a witness," Crowley was the kind of snake that could get his way while tying it to the case at hand. This proved helpful thirty percent of the time and just a waste the other seventy percent.

However, with this case, the Angel rarely left any leads which meant Beez would allow this without much hassle.

The Bookshop, called A. Z. Fell & Co, would never be a place Beez thought Crowley would willingly go. It looked dusty, smelled musty, and while they couldn’t see very well into the windows they could see all the clutter. It obviously hadn’t been renovated in decades. Crowley knocked onto the nice, old, wooden doors and the two awaited any response.

“Closed, as per the sig- Crowley! Oh my dear, it is so good to see you,” the bookshop angel opened the door and after the initial recognition gave a warm smile. Cheer radiated off of him.

Beez always analyzed a person before they introduced themselves, it saves a lot of trouble. The man definitely mirrored his establishment; a soft, cloud haired, old fashioned (in clothes, style, and posture but Beez knew not in mind), and intelligent person. Perfect for running a bookshop, though, if he so chose, would be well suited as a professor or librarian. His posture was impeccable but he didn’t hold himself as if towered over everyone.

“Good to see you too, angel, and look I brought a friend! This is detective Beez,” Crowley was more enthusiastic than usual but Beez scarcely rolled their eyes. No, they watched the bookshop owner, who’s his blue eyes trailed to see Beez and his body stiffened up. He began to rub his pinky ring with his other hand.

“ I am Aziraphale, owner of this shop. Crowley has told me so much about you, I thought he would tell me if he was bringing company. I’m afraid I didn’t prepare anything ahead of time, I hope you don’t view me as an awful host ” He gave a forced laugh but it had an abrupt end as it had an abrupt start. His eyes darted back to Crowley and he suppressed a pout and instead gave him a smile.

“Don’t worry, Aziraphale, I’m not here to stay long. Just to ask you about the bakery, and if you saw anything unusual.”

“Of course, here come in. I have plenty of room for us to sit,” Almost immediately his nervousness vanished, as if it was a facade. Beez headed in, Crowley giddy beside them, but couldn’t feel at ease. Something did not bode well.

He insisted on making them tea and when he hustled to the kitchen, and out of earshot, Beez leaned into their partner.

“Have you notizzed,” Beez asked, and based on Crowley’s brows furrowing together and his mouth twisting in a not-a-frown-but-not-smirk either showed he hadn’t.

“ What’s wrong?” Crowley asked, his voice a little louder than what they hoped.

“ He waz nervouz when he saw me,” Beez whispered hoping Crowley would catch on without them having to spell it out. Instead he got, irrationally, angry.

“Beez, people haven’t been nice to him his entire life, and I don’t think cops have been on his list of people he could always trust,” Crowley spits out.

“Shush! Voice down, idiot! He seemz real chummy with you, and we all know detectives are different from cops.”

“Don’t get nickpicky with me! And he’s “chummy” with me cause I sssaved him!” Crowley hissed, as often as Beez ‘buzzed’ he’d ‘hiss’.

“You… saved him?” Beez couldn’t remember any case where Aziraphale was involved.

“There… remember Barrison?”

How could one forget Barrison? He’d been an officer for five years and at first Beez only heard stupid little remarks. First it would be about their hair, then their lisp, if they’d found a ‘man yet’, and how ‘no one liked a girl who didn’t smile’. They made it explicitly clear that they were nowhere close to being a ‘girl’ or ‘women’ or whatever other term he used but Barrison hardly listened. It became more than little remarks when he started harassing Crowley for wearing a skirt. As much as Beez was annoyed when someone, purposely, misgendered them they found it much less tolerable when it happened to the people around them. He was a sleeze, and they were sure to remind everyone when he was at the scene or at their department. If his transphobia wasn’t enough, he was horridly homophobic and thought proudly annoancing annoying retoric in front of the forsensic departement was the best idea. Hastur had almost punched him right then and there. Beez tried to get him fired, or at least banned from their office.

He was finally arrested after he was busted for selling evidence but he was found to have many other crimes as well.

Most were assault and battery charges; Beez felt their blood curdle.

“He- That asshole,” Beez said. It was so easy to picture now, so easy to play the scenario like a movie. It would’ve been dead of night and before the bookshop owner knew he’d be attacked. And if he recognized him as an officer, well he would understand there would be very little chance for justice. So, the kind (because based on what Crowley said, Aziraphale was kind and based) man just took the beating. That is, until Crowley showed up.

“He was drunk as ever, no that that’s an excuse but made knocking him out a lot easier. Woke up, thought he’d just passed out, the prick. I found him right outside the shop, kicking a bloody heap. Can probably guess the rest,” Crowley said, he was still seething but not at Beez anymore. “I took Aziraphale inside, I told him that was the last straw. That he’d get justice.”

The point was plain, the bookshop angel was a nervous wreck for reasons that Beez didn’t need to question.

They knew that was a weakness and a strength of thiers. They always expected the worst out of the situation; have a nervous, possible witness, and suddenly he becomes a suspect. On the reverse, it’s easy to see the annoying sleazy coworker become an angry violent villain who only shows his true nature when he thinks there will be no consequences.

“I- I won’t mention it again,” Beez said and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Back in the kitchen, the kettle almost boiling, Aziraphale listened on. Some of their voices were lost, which meant he’d check out the recordings later, but he understood the gist of the conversation.

Anthony, sweet Anthony, was somewhat right. He did naturally get nervous around strangers, especially because of what that horrid man did to him (he tried not to think of his scars but he failed. The one left from the attack haunted him just like the others from previous incidents. When he remembered the scenario he could also remember the pain-). And he knew the cops would come knocking at his door eventually (fate or perhaps it was Her plan, She had a funny sense of humor at times) but to be seen as a possible ally? Well, he may have detested decievers, but he’d be stupid not to take the chance.

It was bittersweet, he thought as the kettle screamed, Crowley desperately trying to be a part of his life. He just hoped he wouldn’t get hurt- Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he did.

He poured the tea and closed his eyes in thought. He’d have to tread carefully moving forward but The Angel was nothing but careful; that’s why he hadn’t been caught. He was already thinking of a good way to get them poking in the wrong (well, in a way it was right) direction. Possibly an enemy could be taken down and The Angel wouldn’t even have to lift a finger.

London, and therefore his world, would be safe; that’s all that mattered.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens human au #homophobia #transphobia #police brutality #good omens beelzebub #crowley #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #ask to tag #tw blood

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thewhumperinwhite · 4 years

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Café: Used Car Lot (2)

I’m not 100% sure this is done, but it is actual whump for once, so up it goes.

Kent has A Bad Time. Sol tries very hard to stick to his principles. Pax plays the role god gave them.

Previous: Teaser 1, Teaser 2, Hospital/Squad Car, Empty Bar, Used Car Lot 1

@whumpitywhumpwhump

TW for: noncon touching, slightly sexualized threats, knives, bad gun safety practices, guilt, mild flashbacks. Oh, also, one unintentional instance of misgendering.

Letting out an undignified “woof!” sort of sound, Sol reaches out to slam the hand that isn’t holding his makeshift bat into the sign to stop himself, forgetting that it’s the hand attached to his broken wrist. He doesn’t even have time to worry about whether anybody will hear the resulting clang because he’s too busy doubling up around his throbbing arm.

“Uh. You okay?” Kent says, struggling to keep a straight face.

Sol shoots him a dirty look. “I’m fine.” Then he leans around the sign to examine their options, feeling an excited grin creep onto his face in spite of himself. Just looking at all these shiny gently-used vehicles is sort of making his heart pound. If only he could get away with taking a bike, instead. That won’t do the two of them much good.

Not— that he’s decided he’s going with Kent. Because he hasn’t. And he probably isn’t. Almost definitely.

“Any preferences?” he says, turning to Kent, who seems a little taken aback by his enthusiasm.

“Uh— I think I’ll let you take this one,” Kent says, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

Maybe he does have some redeeming qualities, after all.

There are so many to choose from! Sol’s budget hasn’t left him room for even the shittiest of cars since he started living on his own, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t thought about getting one. In fact, the amount of time he’s spent fantasizing about what kind of vehicle he’ll get when he can afford one is— kind of embarrassing. Now, granted, this is a used car lot, so it isn’t like there’s anything really impressive here. And maybe it makes sense to shoot for something sort of inconspicuous, in such a hostile environment. Some sort of nondescript-colored pickup, then, maybe. He cranes his neck above the sea of cars, looking around for something that suits his needs— and maybe a few of his tastes, too, no harm in that.

Kent trails along behind him, curled in a little around his bruised and broken ribs, looking faintly miserable. With the self-justification that he’s doing the kid a favor anyway, Sol chooses to ignore this.

“Ooh!” he says, spotting a flash of red. “Here’s one!”

It’s lovely, Sol thinks, standing back to admire it. The color won’t really help them blend in, necessarily, but it’s big and sturdy enough that if anybody gives them any shit, they can just run the bastards over. Gleefully, Sol tugs the driver’s side door open and climbs up into the front seat, setting his makeshift bat on the passenger’s side.

With a relieved sigh, Kent half-collapses back against the next car over, laying a careful hand over his collarbone. Sol hadn’t really noticed the bruising there, before, but now that it’s soaked, his white t-shirt has gone sort of see-through, and his new contraband coat isn’t buttoned all the way shut. Not that Sol is looking. Necessarily.

Oh, whatever. Sol’s improved mood makes self-denial seem a little pointless. Kid has nice collarbones, bruised or not. Nothin’ wrong with observing that, he figures.

Sol turns back to the car, running both hands reverently down the steering wheel. He passed his driving test ages ago, and hasn’t had much opportunity to drive since then, excluding that one outstanding instance, which Sol can acknowledge went sort of— badly. Still, he’s fairly certain he remembers how to drive.

Pretty certain. Like, sixty, maybe fifty-five percent.

“Say,” he says, with a slightly awkward clearing of his throat, while he feels around under the steering wheel. “I know you don’t have a car, but you do know how to drive, right?”

Kent blinks up at him. He looks kind of dazed. Under his I-get-to-steal-a-car excitement, Sol feels a twinge of worry, which he hastily dismisses, because it isn’t his problem. “Uh— no,” Kent says, his eyes clearing a little as he focuses on Sol’s face. “It never really— seemed important to learn. My dad has, like, three drivers, so—”

Sol rolls his eyes. “Naturally,” he mutters. Then he crows delightedly as he finds the panel and snaps it off easily, leaning around the steering wheel to get a good look, successfully distracted.

He’s grateful Kent sort of made him take the gloves, now. Probably not smart to play around with electricity with his bare hands. Licking his lips, Sol trails his leather-covered fingers along the wires lead from the engine, and pulls them free of the ignition, enjoying the little snap.

Blinking down at the wires, Sol yanks the plastic caps off, exposing a little of each wire, then frowns, chewing at his lip thoughtfully. He misses his lip ring.

For a second, Sol thinks fucking Proux and his fucking dress code and then he thinks of a bloody hand reaching toward him and desperate pleading fading out of glassy eyes and his hand goes numb around the wires.

It’s only for a few seconds, but in that time his vision is entirely filled with Proux, dying, and his own thought a few minutes before then

(I swear to god I could about kill him sometimes)

and that’s why he doesn’t hear Kent’s alarmed cry until it’s too late to do anything much except duck down into the cab.

“Hey!” a man’s voice crows from somewhere Sol can’t see. “There’s somebody else here, man!”

Keeping his head down, Sol scrambles for his makeshift weapon. Have they seen him? Shit!

“Aw, don’t run away!” the voice calls, and is joined by the laughter of at least two other people.

“Shitshitshit,” Sol whispers. He isn’t gonna get caught crouching here like a child avoiding punishment— but if they haven’t seen him, he isn’t gonna get himself killed just because he was too proud to be smart, either.

There’s a sudden, earsplitting bang. Sol, flattening himself against the driver’s seat, has time to think in a panicked, half-hysterical sort of way that this time yesterday he wasn’t so intimately familiar with what a gunshot sounds like.

“Don’t run away, I said,” the man’s voice says, from a lot closer than it was before.

“I’m not,” Kent says softly, his voice admirably steady. He still sounds scared, though. Sol stares down at the fabric of the seat. Concentrates on the fabric of the seat and nothing else. “I’m not moving. Okay?”

“Aww, he’s scared,” a new voice says. It’s a little less cuttingly loud than the first one— through the half-closed car door, Sol can’t even tell if it belongs to a man or a woman. “It’s okay, little birdy. We won’t hurt you. Will we, Harri?”

The other man laughs once, a low, rumbling sound. Sol glances up. He can’t tell how far away they are anymore. Forcing his brain to slow the fuck down and run over the options left to him, he looks up at the half-closed door. It isn’t open very far— he left it open so he could hear Kent, and no further— but they’ll still see him hiding in here if they draw level with Kent. Fuck. Shit.

“‘Course not,” the first voice is saying. “C’mere, why don’t you?”

Sol freezes.

“I— “ Kent’s voice falters badly, but after a second to gather himself he sounds steady again. “I don’t have any problem with you. If this is— your lot, I’ll just— I’ll leave. Alright?”

“Maybe you got a little hearing problem,” the first voice says, friendly on the surface and dangerous underneath. “C’mere, I said.”

His heart in his throat, Sol risks raising his head so he can just see Kent out the window.

Kent catches his eye. Sol freezes down to his marrow. All Kent has to do is acknowledge him, and they’ll both be stuck. Shit. Shit!

Then Kent looks away, and steps carefully in the direction of the entrance to the lot, using the car to support him.

Sol’s immediate rush of gratitude is followed with a flood of shame so heavy he thinks he might throw up. He claps a shaking hand over his mouth.

“There you go,” the first voice says smugly. “Damn, you’re a lot prettier close up. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“It— It’s Kent. Listen, sir, I— “

There’s a crash, and Kent makes a strangled sound. Sol almost presses his hands over his ears, but doesn’t quite allow it.

He’s not Sol’s problem.

“Don’t you tell me to listen, ya little shit. What are you doin’ here?”

“U-uh— I was looking for— uh!” He cuts off with a sharp gasp. Sol swallows hard, and then he forces himself to crawl over to the passenger’s seat, picking up the bat again.

If he’d taken a damn weapon, this wouldn’t have happened.

“Mm?” the man is saying curiously. “Ooh, you don’t like that much, do you?”

Kent makes a sound that is almost a scream.

“Ooh,” the second voice says, sounding interested. “That looks like a pretty nasty break, sunshine. Must hurt.”

Sol’s hand tightens convulsively on the bat. He tries to stop listening to what they’re saying and focus on the sound of their voices. They’re father away, now, and definitely on the driver’s side, somewhere. Sol forces his throbbing right hand to reach for the handle of the passenger’s side door. If he opens it slowly enough—

Kent should have been keeping watch— he was the one not fixing the car.

You have to take care of yourself in this world, because nobody else is gonna do it for you. People who don’t understand that—

“So tell me, sweetheart— you here by yourself?”

“I— y-yes.”

Sol pushes the door open as quickly as he dares and slides out onto the pavement, bat clutched in one white-knuckled hand.

People who don’t understand that—

“Really? You sure?”

There’s plenty of time to get away now, while they’re distracted. It would be stupid to do anything else. Crouching low, Sol leans around the bed of the truck so he can see.

There are three of them— a woman in a long coat who’s leaning against a car with a gun in her hand, looking bored; a person with a long red ponytail and a bright green scarf pulled up over their face, and what looks like a fucking katana slung over their back, and a big burly man in a leather jacket. The man is pinning Kent against a car with his big, thickly-muscled arm across Kent’s chest.

While Sol watches, the big man leans into him, pressing what looks like his full weight against Kent’s broken collarbone. Kent’s cry turns into an awful, choking cough.

“God— y-yes, I’m— I’m sure!”

“Really?”

“N-no one! I’m alone!”

“Hmm.” The big man runs his free hand over his chin, like he’s considering whether to believe Kent or not.

He isn’t Sol’s problem!

The person wearing the sword laughs, although they sound slightly uncomfortable. “Come on, man. I think he’s telling the truth.”

The man turns to look at them, a dangerous light in his eyes, and the scarfed person holds their grounds. Then the man shrugs, and pulls back.

Kent goes to his knees, gasping for breath.

Sol releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Okay. Okay. They’ll leave now. Everything is fine.

He’ll— he’ll still probably leave, though. He isn’t sure he can— imagine going back to Kent, now. Sol tries very hard not to acknowledge the sick guilt lying heavy in his guts.

“Hmm,” the big man says then. “You don’t look much like one of the crazies, sweetheart, but I think we should be sure, don’t you? How bout it, sweets--are you bit?”

“Wh-what?” Kent says weakly, looking up at him like it’s hard to lift his head. “No.”

“Are you telling me the truth, now? We wouldn’t be doing our civic duty if we let one of the crazies go wandering around the city— would we?”

“Harri,” the sword-wearer says in a low voice.

Something metal flashes in the big man’s hand. Sol’s hands tightens on his bat before he can stop them.

The big man lays the knife against Kent’s cheek. Kent is still on his knees, and his eyes when he looks up at the man are cloudy, like he’s fighting to stay awake.

“I— “ he croaks, raising a hand and stopping just short of trying to push the man’s hand away from his face. “I’m not bit, okay? Please, I just— “

“Shut up,” the man says conversationally. He pushes the knife a little harder against Kent’s cheek— the one without the scar. A few drops of blood slide down toward his jaw.

“Harrison,” the sword-wearer says, louder. “That’s enough, okay?”

“You shut up too,” the man says, a trace more irritation in his voice. “I’m the boss, and you do what I say, you got that, you freak?” He brings the knife a little further forward. Blood is flowing down the side of Kent’s face, now, getting watered down by the rain. Kent gasps, just slightly. “If I wanna kill this little shit, then I’m gonna, and there ain’t nothing you can—“

Sol swings the table leg.

There’s a really satisfying crack as it connects with the back of the big man’s skull, and he goes down like a rock, flopping over sideways and leaving behind a very surprised Kent to stare up at Sol, his blue eyes very wide. Blood has started to soak into the collar of his shirt from the cut on his cheek.

“Oh, shit!” the sword-wearer squeaks, leaping back, and they draw their ridiculous weapon with a whisper of metal against leather.

Sol turns toward them, readjusting his grip on the bat. He’d been sort of hoping that it was some sort of cheap imitation blade, but it looks awfully— sharp for that. This— this is the stupidest goddamn thing he’s ever done.

Goddamn, though. Kent really looked surprised.

No going back now, anyway. He readjusts his footing, raising the weapon like he’s standing at home plate. He’s high on more adrenaline than he’s ever felt, and it’s easy to ignore the pain shooting up from his bad wrist.

Both Sol and the sword-wearer jump pretty badly when the gun goes off again, punching a slightly smoking hole in the car window between them.

The sword-wearer, looking annoyed, flicks their eyes back toward the woman. Shit, Sol had forgotten all about her.

“Tell you what, love,” the sword-wearer says icily. “I won’t start this if you won’t.”

For a long moment the woman and the sword-wearer stare each other down. Sol, heart hammering in his ears, half-expects sparks to fly between them.

Then the woman shrugs and slides her pistol into a holster at her hip, and bends to scoop up the bloody lump that’s left of the big man. He’s definitely unconscious, and maybe dead, Sol notes, and he’s allowing himself some self-satisfaction over that one. Even if they’re both still entirely fucked, at least he’s got one really good hit in.

God he’s an idiot. Fuck. Fuck.

The sword-wearer watches the woman carry the much bigger man off, with less difficulty than it seems like she reasonably should be having, and then their eyes flick back to Sol. Sol wishes they weren’t wearing that obnoxious goddamn scarf— he can’t read their face when it’s all covered like that.

“I gotta say,” they say, and dammit, their voice isn’t any help, either. “I’m kind of impressed. It takes some doing to sneak up on me, to say nothing of the lady over there.” They nod in the direction in which the woman has disappeared. “Surprised it took you so long, though.” They tip their head, giving Sol what he can only assume is a considering look. “Seems sort of shitty of you to take so long to rescue your friend, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Sol spits, trying to ignore the guilt that twists immediately in his stomach. “We’re not even really friends.”

“Hmm. Then maybe you’re not an asshole— just an idiot,” they offer cheerfully.

“Wha— fuck you!” Sol raises the bat, leaps forward— swings—

“H-hey— wait!” Kent cries from behind him. “You can’t beat him with just a—”

The sword-wearer dances easily back out of range of Sol’s swing, and Sol’s bat slams into the window of the car next to him, instead, showering both him and Kent with shards of glass. “Shit!” he scrambles to readjust his footing. “You think I don’t know that?” he howls, and swings again. This time the sword-wearer raises their weapon exactly enough to slap Sol’s bat away with the flat of the blade. “Dammit— stop fucking with me!”

Kent is trying to get to his feet, behind him, but he falls back against the car with a cry, and struggles to raise his head to glare at Sol. “St— stop fighting, dammit! Why haven’t you— r-run away already? If you know you can’t win--shit—“ His knees give way and he falls back on his ass again, wincing. “Then just run away, Solemn! What the hell’s wrong with— “

The sword-wearer’s green eyes widen, just for a second. Seeing the opening, Sol lungers forward, and his opponent, startled, stumbles back a step. Then their eyes flash and their sword moves so fast Sol’s eyes lose track of it entirely for a second.

The flat of the blade smacks into Sol’s hand. He hears rather than sees the bat clatter to the ground and slide under a car.

The sword-wearer flicks the blade so that it rests against the side of Sol’s throat, his green eyes unreadable.

Sol stares at him, ears ringing. The blow has made his hand go numb.

“Fucking dumbass,” he mumbles. The sword-wearer blinks.

Careful not to cut himself on the blade, Sol turns his head to look over his shoulder. Kent is staring at him, sprawled in the mud— he clearly kept trying to get up, even after he fell, the idiot.

“If I could’ve just run away and left you, don’t you think I would’ve fucking done it already?” he snaps.

Kent’s eyes widen. “What do you— “

The moment is kind of ruined by the sound of slightly hysterical laughter.

The sword-wielder has to lower their blade so they can bend almost double, clutching their stomach, and positively howling, their laughter full and bright and weirdly child-like for such an ominous katana-wielding maniac.

Sol stares at them, and is horrified to find himself kind of embarrassed. “H-hey— what’s so fucking funny, asshole?”

Shaking their head, they wave a hand apologetically. “I’m— god— I’m sorry,” they say, wiping at their eyes. “It’s just that— th-that was so— aww, you two idiots are so cute!”

Sol bristles, wishing he still had his bat. “I’m— what the hell do you mean, cute?”

“Sol,” Kent says softly, pulling himself up into a sitting position, pain written in every line of his face. “I think ‘cute’ is a couple steps up from ‘dead,’ don’t you?”

“Shut up,” Sol says, and, keeping a wary eye on the enemy— who is still shaking with laughter, the asshole— he squats in front of Kent, wiping at the blood on his face with his sleeve. “This looks pretty deep, man.”

“I—“ Kent is looking very intently at the ground. “I didn’t expect you to— come back,” he says softly.

Sol stops, his hand still raised. He could cup the side of Kent’s face, if he wanted. “Yeah, I didn’t expect me to either,” he says awkwardly, looking away.

“Why did you?” Kent asks, sneaking a peek up at him, and Sol feels a flush stealing into his cheeks.

“I— I mean, I couldn’t, uh— gah!”

The sword-wearer has sheathed their weapon, and pulled the scarf down to expose a badly scarred copper-brown face— and is now openly watching him and Kent like they wish they had some popcorn.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” they say brightly, waving in a please go on sort of way. Sol bristles.

“Come on,” he snaps, offering Kent a hand up, which Kent takes, and Sol pulls him to his feet, trying to be gentle without looking too much like he’s trying to be gentle. Kent leans heavily against his shoulder, but has the grace to at least look embarrassed about it.

“Okay,” Sol says, turning back to the sword-wearer and taking what he hopes looked like a fighting stance— it wasn’t like he can actually fight without throwing Kent right back on his ass, but it’s the principle of the thing, really— “What the hell’s your deal, man? Why’d you stop? You beat me!”

They wave their hand again, dismissively. They’re wearing black fingerless gloves, and Sol notes, a little dazed, that their nails are painted pink. “Well, of course I did,” they say, not unkindly. “I was a lot better armed, and apparently a hell of a lot more experienced, too. You had absolutely no chance, babe.”

Sol bristled again. Babe, my ass. “Then why didn’t you just fucking kill me, asshole?”

Grinning like a cat that had eaten several mines’ worth or canaries, they get down on their knees, reach under the car, and retrieve Sol’s bat. Sol stares at it, well and truly baffled.

“‘Cause you knew you couldn’t beat me, and you came right at me like a champ anyway, I guess.” They hold out the bat. “It was very romantic.”

Sol stares up at them. He isn’t sure there’s a word for how he’s feeling. Maybe horrified. He moves his lips to protest, but nothing comes out.

The sword-wearer grins over Sol’s shoulder at Kent. “You said your name was Kent, right, hon?” they say, their voice much softer, almost kind.

Kent winces back from it a little, and seems to regret it. “Uh— yeah, that’s right,” he says weakly. “Kent Graves.”

“Very pleased, Kent Graves,” they say cheerfully. “I’m Paxon Field, member of God’s Hammer, at your service, sir!” Then they deflate a little. “Or— former member, now, possibly. What about you, babe?”

“Romantic?” Sol demands, furiously.

“He’s Sol Michaelis,” Kent says blandly.

“So, what— you guys came here to steal a car, then?”

Sol glares at them. “Yeah, we did. What’s it to you?”

For just a second, an unreadable look flashes across their face. Then they’re all cat-smiles again. “Really,” they say cheerfully. “Either of you know how to hotwire a car?”

“Yes,” Sol says haughtily, “we do.”

“Oh, impressive!” Then they bite their scarred lip and tilt their head, so obviously trying to be coy that Sol wonders if they’re serious. “Listen— you couldn’t show me how to do that, could you?”

“What? No!” Sol snaps.

“No?” Paxon says sweetly, pouting. “The way I see it, you owe me for not killing you the second I saw you, right?”

“We don’t owe you a goddamn thing,” Sol growls, and he turns on his heel, letting Kent cling to his arm like a Victorian maiden. “Come on, man, let’s go.”

“Aww, please?” Paxon whines, skipping to keep pace with them. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise!”

“Fuck off!” Annoyed, Sol slows a little so he isn’t dragging Kent along behind him. “There ain’t a thing you have we want, asshole!”

“No?” Paxon switches from a pout to a calculating smirk so fast it’s actually fairly alarming. “You sure? You’re heading out of the city, aren’t you?” they say sweetly.

Sol falters. “So what if we are?”

“The way things are now, it’s probably mighty dangerous out there.”

“Aw, shut up! We can take care of ourselves!”

“Really?” Paxon lets his eyes trail significantly over Kent, who’s really having trouble walking, now, his breath coming in gasps. “You both can?”

Sol glares at him, beginning to feel a little uncertain.

“I’m an excellent driver,” Paxon concludes, still in step with them, and now they look positively smug.

Sol opens his mouth to refuse again— and Kent says weakly in his ear, “Come on, Sol. You think it’s worth trying to stop them, if they want to come with us?”

Sol growls. But— it’s kind of hard to argue with Kent, somehow.

#the café at the end of the world #whump #broken ribs #pressure on a wound #trouble breathing #knives #outnumbered

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bi-and-happy · 5 years

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i dare u to answer all the questions on the pride ask game ☺️☺️

Oh boy, here we go!

1. I am bisexual and I use she/her pronouns

2. I first realised I like girls when I was about ten years old, when I started secondary school. Because I also liked boys, I did some classic Repression^TM and convinced myself I was straight, which included a lot of internal homophobia, biphobia and bi erasure. It wasn’t until my second year of uni when I had my first boyfriend that I realised I was never going to have a good and healthy relationship with anyone, let along myself, if I didn’t come to terms with my sexuality and eventually come out

3. I am cisgender and I don’t look particularly androgynous so I have never been misgendered (except one time by a very embarrassed pizza delivery man)

4. The first person I told was my ex-boyfriend (see answer 2!) We had actually been broken up for about 8 months by that point but we were still friends at the time and he’s pansexual, so I knew he’d understand. He was annoyingly nonchalant about it and immediately made inappropriate comments but that actually worked out because we were in an airport so I couldn’t really have an emotional breakdown!

5. When I first came out (and then when I came out to my parents six months later) it was like I’d spent all this time and effort trying to hide this side of myself, and the effort of hiding just got too much. When I told my best friend (who’s a lesbian) it was super chill - I didn’t want it to be a massive deal so I found a time to slip it in, she was very excited that I’d finally told her (she’d known for about two years longer than I did!) and we immediately started talking about all the girls we had crushes on

6. I’ve kind of brushed on some people, but there were two main reactions: “That does not surprise me, I’ve suspected/known for a while” and “Wait? You like men?! I thought you were gay?” The only person who was surprised was my mum. She was very very quiet for a long time (although she gave me a hug so I knew she wasn’t mad) and let my dad do the talking (she did have some not-so-great things to say but it was nothing I hadn’t heard her say before so I had answers prepared). The next day, we had another chat, and she was a bit more positive then. It’s also worth mentioning that this is an ongoing process. I came out to them two and a half years ago now, and we’re still working some things out but we’re in the right direction!

7. Honestly this doesn’t come up very much, mostly because the vast majority of my friends are also bi, and I study performing arts so everyone’s at least a little bit queer. The question I get asked more often is how I can be an openly LGBT+ Christian (which is a whole other conversation which I would be happy to have if anyone is interested!)

8. Flannel. So much flannel. Also birkenstocks in the summer and combat boots (with rainbow laces) in the winter. I sometimes wear dresses (especially in autumn), and I do like pretty dresses/ballgowns when the occasion calls for it (which again, performing arts - sometimes I feel like I live in concert dresses). But my everyday look is fairly semi-butch. I’m working on my top butch energy

9. WHERE TO START. Okay, Jack/Bitty from Check Please; Jack/Ianto from Torchwood; Patsy/Delia from Call the Midwife; Callie/Aaron from the Fosters; Merlin/Arthur from Merlin; Lena/Kara from Supergirl; and my guilty pleasure, Harry/Cedric from Harry Potter (don’t judge me!!)

10. I very rarely leave the house without eyeliner and mascara on, but I rarely wear anything else unless it’s a special occasion. I’m generally of the opinion that if I can start the day with some killer eyeliner wings, you can make that day your bitch

11. Nope! Never experienced dysphoria

12. This isn’t the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, but it is stupid because it was said by a gay men. “All these kids these days, in their LGBTQWXYZ community... [goes on to deliberately misgender people]”. Again, I have lots of thoughts on the dynamics of this which I will not unpack unless someone asks me to.

13. My friends!! I only have about two straight friends. I love all my friends, and I love my queer friends, and I love how we’re always there for each other and we always support each other. Even if everyone needs to stop dating within the friendship group.

14. See answer 12! The politics about different identities really annoy me. Non-binary people exist! Ace and aro people are part of the LGBT+ community! Bi and pan are different but overlapping identities and neither is better or worse than the other! So much infighting! Bi girls will not leave lesbians for a man! So much infighting.

15. I have never been and I’m out of town this year as well and I’m absolutely heartbroken!! I usually spend my summers working on various week-long projects around the country, and they always manage to bugger up any pride plans I had!

16. Ooooh absolute favourite? Probably Stephanie Beatriz. Followed by Kristen Stewart. And Tom Daley.

17. I had a boyfriend for a short time in my second year, we met at uni. Otherwise, I’ve been a single pringle!

18. I HAVE SO MANY. Absolute, complete, 100% favourite? The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller. YOU ALL HAVE TO READ THIS OH MY GOODNESS.

19. I’ve experienced more discrimination as a woman than as a member of the LGBT+ community! That being said, I was bullied in years 7-9 which included lots of calling me a lesbian, because children aren’t creative in their bullying and this was 2006. That definitely taught me to be ashamed of my feelings for girls.

20. Pride!! I love that film. Also Torchwood!

21. I’ll admit I don’t follow that many LGBT+ bloggers/vloggers... sorry!!

22. Queer!!! (And whether or not it should be defined primarily as a slur is also up for debate; again, I’ll expand if anyone wants me to.)

23. Yes yes yes! I have been to a grand total of three gay bars and loved all of them. Especially that last one. Because that was the one where I got drunk and snogged a girl which was great.

24. I’m a cisgender woman, and most of my thoughts about my gender link with my reading into feminist reading and my constant striving to become a better intersectional feminist!

25. I like the thought of having children. I do not like the idea of being pregnant and giving birth. For me, children is always something that comes as part of a relationship and probably marriage (spot the Christian upbringing!). I’m not definite either way; it’s a decision I would want to make with a future partner, as we created a family.

26. Bi people exist! You’re one of them! Stop hating yourself! Stop using your Christian upbringing as an excuse to ignore anything relating to your sexuality!

27. Gender roles are complete bullshit. Every couple is different, the strengths each member of the couple brings will be different, and it’s up to them to find their dynamic, regardless of how closely it resembles traditional gender roles.

28. Not really! Only that since coming out I’ve felt less pressure to be feminine

29. It’s bloody hard. Even if we’re loud and proud and yelling about it and having a good time, each and every one of us has been through shit to get here.

30. Because it’s who I am! I’m proud to be LGBT+ because it’s who I am, and it’s a community that has come so far and is still making incredible strives forward but is subjected to so much pain and yet we keep going. Much love to you all!

Wow, I’m exhausted after that. Feel free to ask any questions about anything I said there! I touched on a lot of stuff. Much love!! xxx

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