#(at one point over the past year i swear i was one really bad dysphoria day away from bigenderizing him. but i was so brave about it ❤️)

[artekai]

I made two because it was hard to choose just one piece for some months. Last year's under the cut for comparison 💞

[weary-minds]

I have a more positive story to share, and I swear it does relate to mental health-- There's this game from a series I was certain would not have another iteration to its name that got announced with a teaser a few months ago. I of course was really happy with the news. Quite a few hours after, I got a DM on Discord. A DM from a old friend, someone who I used to be super close to but slowly drifted apart from as he found new friend group and fandom he clicked better with. Which hey, no shame; as long as he was happy. What times over the past few years I tried to contact him afterwards though, our conversations would always fall flat and it'd be over before it even started. I don't think there was any malice of course, but it still made me feel horrible since it used to not be like that. Like I just... couldn't be a good enough friend to matter anymore. Back to the DM he sent. It was a message with that game teaser, although he had only played one game from the series, he was actually excited for this new release and had assumed I hadn't seen it yet. That's not the point though; the message along with it boiled down to him saying, "I thought of you!" And I kid you not. I cried. This is just over text of course, but the most wholesome, innocent, genuine voice played in my head, saying I thought of you. He messaged me over a game that he wasn't super into, just because he remembered how much I gushed over it during the days of the first game. I cried not just once (after we had a good conversation over what the game might be about), but twice (recently when I reread our messages). I can't put into words just how much something so little as letting me know that he was thinking of me meant as a friend. Depression and anxiety is nasty towards those who've stepped out of my life, telling me they couldn't possibly care anymore and that it's my fault. Pair the ruminating/rejection sensitive dysphoria from the ADHD/autism, and I've got a nasty storm of confirmation bias. And there was minor proof to side with it when in a bad mental state. Yet-- I still can't get that out of my head, that little voice.

"I thought of you!"

Gentle reminder to check up on your friends every now and then. Those with depression, ADHD, anxiety disorders, or/and who are autistic may struggle with being able to regulate their thoughts and emotions, especially in stressed times and it never hurts to give a little reassurance. Be it memes or whatever you know they like, take a minute out of your day to let your loved ones know you care. I know it meant the world to me.

[littleoddwriter]

Hope | Roman Sionis x Male!Reader

Guess what - It’s another vent fic! I promise to keep going with the requests I still have open, very soon. Be patient some more, please. Inspiration comes and goes pretty quickly at the moment. Anyway-

summary; You are being rejected by another potential therapist you contacted and you’re not dealing well with it, but  Roman’s here for you to make you feel better.

Notes: TW // RSD (Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria); Self-Harm (cutting); Bad experiences with therapists mentioned; (mild) Dissociation; Implied Suicidal Tendencies; Hospital Mention. Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Hope; Hugs; Love Confessions; Soft Kisses; Roman is trying his best.

For over a year, you’ve been searching for a new therapist to go to. Unfortunately, you kept being rejected left and right and were therefore forced to fight everything on your own for the time being. You couldn’t go back to your previous therapist for several reason, the biggest one being that she wasn’t good for you. She’s put you down a lot, mocked you, laughed at you, never helped you with anything you’ve told her, and you’ve finally reached the point, where you’ve officially had enough, taking all your courage to stop seeing her.

Yet, you hadn’t expected to not find one willing therapist to take on your case. It was extremely frustrating and hurtful. It made you lose hope of ever receiving the help you needed, and deserved. You didn’t want to live from hospital to hospital. The last time you’ve been there, it didn’t really help you anyway. So you wanted to keep away from them for now. You just wanted to have a chance on living your life, while you were being treated for your issues.

A while ago, you’ve received another therapist’s data from your social worker. It took you a long time to fight your anxiety over the pending phone call. Eventually, time was a little pressing, since you wanted to have some results to show to your social worker at your next appointment with her.

So you forced yourself to call in the morning before you did anything else and could potentially put it off any longer.

Trembling, sweating, and with a pounding heart, you picked up your mobile phone and dialled the number, checking it five times to make sure it was the right one, and after a minute of encouraging yourself verbally, you hit the green button to make the call go through.

It didn’t even ring, after the dial, it clicked and the therapist’s voice rang through your ears. She sounded as if she had just gotten up, which surprised you and made your anxiety spike even more. You greeted her and stated that you were looking for a therapist, hoping that your smile was audible and that you seemed friendly.

“How’d you get this number?”

You faltered.

“M-my social worker gave it to me. She said I should give you a call?”

“Ah. Well, the earliest that I’d have time for a first session would be in a month at the earliest.”

“That’s okay,” you replied quickly, lightly. It wouldn’t have been a problem to wait another month after all this time.

“Do you have any diagnoses? What are your issues?”

Quickly you listed off your diagnoses, making sure there were no surprises this time. You had even written it all down, just in case your anxiety would have gotten the better of you.

“I can’t help you with that.”

It was the same as always. You had expected that, especially since she wasn’t the type of therapist you were recommended by others. Your social worker had insisted on trying different approaches, though. Which is exactly what you’ve told this therapist, but she wouldn’t even consider it, only repeating that she wasn’t the right one for you because she didn’t even cover all the disorders you had. After that you already said your quick goodbyes.

You carelessly let your phone fall onto the table, trying hard to hold back tears. The rejection just wasn’t something you could handle very well; it ate you up, ripped your heart apart and fogged up your brain.

Shaking your head to clear it a little, you got up and went straight to the guest bathroom. Roman was showering in your shared one at this moment, and you were glad about it, even though you had to be quick anyway.

On autopilot, you opened one of the drawers under the sink and got out the small blade you kept there, hidden and kept safe in a paper towel. You disinfected it, just in case, and then looked at it for a moment. Now was the time that you could still put it back and stop yourself from ruining your recent best streak. Before you had even realised it, though, you watched yourself press the blade into your forearm’s skin, drawing a short line. Blood quickly welled up from the new wound.

It wasn’t enough. You were almost there, but it wasn’t enough. Only an inch below the spot you’ve just cut, you nicked your skin once more, creating a smaller, but just as deep, incision. Sighing, you put the blade back where it was, nursed your wounds and got out of the bathroom.

The twin band-aids glared at you. You could see them out of the corner of your eyes at any given moment, which made your insides fill up with guilt all too quickly, choking you from within.

Trying to ignore the evidence of the mistake you’ve just made, you sat back down at the table and looked through your phone, while you were anxiously waiting for Roman to be done with his morning routine.

Eventually, Roman walked over to you, putting his hands on your shoulders and kissing the top of your head. “How did it go?”

You just scoffed, “Same as always. Already got rejected on the phone.” Roman stayed put behind you, so you pressed your arm against your stomach, hoping he hasn’t already seen the band-aids.

“Fuck! I told you I can pay them a visit for you, I’m sure someone would take you then,” Roman offered for the umpteenth time in the past year.

“No, I wouldn’t feel comfortable with that. Thank you, though. It’s sweet of you.”

Clicking his tongue and then humming thoughtfully, Roman ran his hands down your arms, prying your injured one from your body. You didn’t really put up a fight then. It was a lost cause anyway.

“Aw, baby, no. That cunt wasn’t worth it,” he cooed, leaning over you and lifting your arm to take a closer look at the plasters.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, feeling your heart clench painfully.

“It’s not your fault. Still, I’d have liked for you to wait for me, or come to me. You’d have been very welcome in the shower, you know?” He gave a quick kiss to the band-aids and let your arm down gently.

You chuckled softly and nodded, “I know, I’m sorry. It all just sort of happened, as if I was completely on autopilot.”

“I get it,” Roman sighed. “Stand up.”

Without questioning it for even a second, you got up from the chair, while Roman took a step back to make room for you. As soon as you stood there and turned around to look at him, he was on you, embracing you. You melted into the hug immediately, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the sweet, pleasant scent that was his cologne.

“We’ll find someone for you. Eventually, someone’s just got to take you in, baby. I promise. Just hold on for me until then, ‘kay?” he spoke softly into your ear, which made you shiver slightly and had you hug him more tightly.

“I’m trying as best as I can, Roman. I swear, at this time, I’m only staying for you anyway.”

Instead of giving you a verbal answer to your confession, Roman leaned back a little, effectively making you look at him; and then he kissed you, oh, so softly. Those kinds of kisses were rare to be initiated by him, which only made you treasure them more. You smiled into the kiss and reciprocated it, sighing.

All of a sudden you felt so light and carefree, as if none of the other things had ever happened. You never wanted it to stop, it was just too heavenly, and you couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the hell on earth that your current situation felt like.

Yet, you had to admit that maybe it wasn’t just all hellish.

Roman cared about you and made you feel it. He comforted you when you needed it and didn’t shame you for the things you did. He really was your anchor in this world, the only thing – person – keeping you somewhat afloat and fighting every day. He made it worth the pain. In a way, he was the hope you so desperately clung onto.

It was one of the many reasons why you loved him so much, why you would never dare to leave him, even when your brain was screaming at you to do so for whatever new reason it had come up with that wasn’t real.

“I love you, Roman. Thank you,” you whispered when you two finally broke the kiss.

His eyes turned so gentle and soft for a split second, and he lifted one of his hands from your back, cupping your face with it, and stroking his thumb over your cheek. “I’ve got you, my prince,” he replied.

It made your heart flutter. You knew it was his way of saying ‘I love you’ back to you. You appreciated it more than you could ever truly put into words.

[page-doctor-bekker]

Rooftop - Part 1 (transfemme!sarah)

(A/N) hey! i have a long ass one-shot and i kinda of want to make it lead off a lil bit of a cliffhanger so i've got part one here for you. this takes place a few days after this oneshot

-

-

Sarah grabs her white coat from her desk chair, and stares at the embroidery.

Sarah Reese, MD

Dept. of Psychiatry

She sighed, before retreating to the bathroom to tuck and dress. Even after her orchiectomy, tucking was still mildly uncomfortable. At least she had graduated from using tape to using a gaff, which was much more comfortable and easy to take off at the end of the day.

Once she was dressed, clad in a pair of relaxed, navy blue dress pants and a pale pink button-down shirt speckled with cartoonish images of various types of fruit, she grabbed her lab coat, and shrugged it on.

There was a mirror on her closet door, and she caught a glimpse of herself in it. She gulped, and stood in front of it, staring herself down.

She pressed the pad of her thumb against her jawline, and dragged her skin around in a feeble attempt to soften it. Her jawline led her to her chin, the cleft in it causing a pang of dysphoria in her stomach. She puckered her lips, trying to make them look fuller, but that only exacerbated her chin. She sighed, and gave up. It is what it is.

She let her hand fall to her side, and fiddled with her coat. After a moment, she scowled at herself.

“Move on, Sarah, just move on,” She mumbled to herself, taking a hair tie from her wrist and putting her hair up into an unintentionally neat bun. No matter how hard she tried, she could never succeed in creating a messy one. That required more finesse than she had.

She smiled at herself, although her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I am a good doctor,” She affirmed, “A good doctor who made a mistake,” She quoted Dr. Charles, the thought of him filling her with calm.

“And Ava,” She gave herself a confident look, “Is not worth my time. I don’t even like her anyways.”

She paused for a moment.

“Because I don’t like women,” She shrugged, “And someday I will meet a man who loves me for me.”

“Don’t give me that look,” She snapped at herself, “Just because I’m not cis doesn’t mean I can’t be straight.”

“And I deserve better than Ava anyways,” She opened her mouth, then closed it, like a fish. She opened it again, “Someone better who is a man. I will find the man for me. The only reason I think I like Ava is because I haven’t found the man for me. That’s okay. I’m only 26. Some people don’t get married until after 30.”

“I am a confident woman,” She declared, “A confident straight woman.”

She started to walk away, but she looked back.

“And i’m a good doctor,” She said, sharply.

She saw Dr. Charles outside the hospital, and he waved her over. She ran to catch up with him, out of breath by the time she arrived, “Hello Dr. Charles,” She tried to catch her breath, thinking about how insane she must look right now.

“Dr. Reese,” He greeted with a nod, “How was your break?”

“It was very good,” She announced, “I feel like I am making progress with myself. I am a good doctor! What happened was a mistake, and it doesn’t define my clinical skills.”

He looked at her skeptically, “Good.. Good,” He gave a smile, “In my experience, all you really need after a mistake is to treat a few patients successfully, so I’ve volunteered you to be in the ED this morning.”

Her heart sank.

“And then, when Maggie dismisses you for lunch, come see me in my office and we can chat about what you did differently today,”

Sarah nodded, stuffing her hands in her pockets so she could fidget discreetly. If he knew I’m anxious, he might send me home again.

He gave her a pat on the back, “Holler if you need me. I’m just a page away.”

He left her at the doors to the ED and she took a deep breath, and smiled at the big red letters.

“Help! I need help!”

Go time.

She ran towards the direction of the voice, a large man in his mid-40s who was carrying a young girl, maybe 5 years old, in a bridal-style position.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Reese, I’m going to help you, tell me about your daughter,” She prompted, pressing two fingers onto the girl’s neck while awkwardly walking with the man.

“Ah, she’s my niece, Miranda Maxwell,” He corrected, “Uh, she’s almost six, she’s got a.. uh… Heart condition? She was born with it. Her mom said she sees a doctor here uh… Dr… Dr… Beaker? Brekker?”

“Dr. Bekker?” The name made Sarah’s heart flutter.

“Yes, that’s the one. Anyways, she collapsed today, and says her chest hurts, and she’s a bit blue around her lips and nails.”

Dr. Reese took Miranda from the man, and took a light jog into the emergency department. The man took off after her. Upon entering the ED, she called to Maggie, “Five years old with a congenital heart condition, chest pain, trouble breathing, rapid pulse, blue lips and nails, where do you want me?”

“Treatment five.”

Dr. Reese set the girl down on the bed and Monique rushed to start an IV, “Let’s get her on the monitors, and get her changed into a gown,” Sarah instructed, “And Maggie?”

Maggie looked up from where she was conversing with the girl’s uncle.

“Page Dr. Bekker, Miranda is a patient of her’s, and get Miranda’s parents here as soon as possible,” She looked back towards the girl, “Miranda? My name is Dr. Reese, I’m going to help you feel better.”

“It hurts,” She cried, clutching at her chest.

“I know, I know, we’re going to figure out why,” Dr. Reese cooed softly, before taking on a more serious tone with Monique, “Get a CBC, BMP, urinalysis, 12-lead EKG, and get her on oxygen until Dr. Bekk-”

“Talking about me?” Dr. Bekker startled Dr. Reese, “My ears were itching. Miranda, did you miss me? Is that why you’re back so soon?”

Miranda giggled through the pain at that, and Dr. Bekker smiled. Dr. Reese almost allowed herself to feel endeared by the rare display of kindness, but quickly regained composure.

“Maggie, where are we with her parents?”

“They’re on their way, but they said to do whatever it takes to help Miranda,” Maggie called back, and Dr. Bekker nodded.

“What seems to be the problem, Mindy?” Dr. Bekker pulled her stethoscope off of her neck, and pressed the drum to Miranda’s chest, and listened thoughtfully.

“I felt weird and then fell down. My chest hurts real bad,” She complained, “I can’t breathe.”

“Let’s get an echocardiogram,” Dr. Bekker noted to Monique, who nodded, and started to set up the ultrasound machine, “Does it hurt more when you breathe?”

Miranda shook her head.

She’s so gentle with her.

Sarah smiled.

“Okay, I’m going to look at your heart with this special tool, you’ve done this before,” Dr. Bekker assured, before squeezing the gel onto the girl’s chest and pressing the ultrasound wand down.

She can be gentle. And kind.

“Psych residents, I swear. God, isn’t anyone in this hospital competent?”

Sarah was shocked back to reality by Ava, who was snapping her fingers at her, “Dr. Reese? What tests did you order?”

“Uh… CBC, BMP, urinalysis, and a 12-lead-EKG?” She trembled, her voice seeming more questioning than answering.

“Okay,” She said quietly, focused on the ultrasound.

A few minutes of quiet later, Dr. Bekker put the wand away, “Clean her up, and,” Dr. Bekker looked back at Miranda, “And if I remember correctly, your popsicle of choice is cherry?” She winked at Miranda, removed her gloves, and helped herself to hand sanitizer off the wall. Dr. Reese nodded at Monique, who was wiping the girl off, and left as well.

“Um…” Dr. Reese started, “What do you think?”

“Transfer her up to the PICU and let me know when her parents get here,” Dr. Bekker told Maggie, before turning to Dr. Reese, “I think she’s in congestive heart failure,” She shrugged, “Did you see the ultrasound? She has a complete atrioventricular septal defect, she’s been my patient for the past year, we knew this was coming.”

“Why didn’t you operate earlier?”

“Her parents wanted to wait,” Ava shrugged and rolled her eyes, “Nobody wants to put their four year old daughter through open heart surgery. But now,” She gestured back towards the room, “Their five year old daughter is going to go through open heart surgery today.”

“Well is she going to be okay?”

“If I can get her in for- I’m sorry,” She interrupted herself, “Why do you care?”

“She’s…” Sarah balled part of her coat up in her hand, “She’s my patient, I just-”

“Not anymore she’s not,” Ava huffed, “Thanks for not killing her. Wish I could say the same for Mr. Nearling.”

Ava flounced off.

Sarah watched her leave, and turned to Maggie, who pointed at treatment 1.

“Ear infection.”

Dr. Reese nodded, grabbing the tablet the charge nurse was holding out, and heading to treatment 1.

By lunch, she had treated three ear infections, a gunshot wound, a miscarriage, and sent a psychosis patient up to the psych ward. By the time Maggie sent her off for her lunch break, she had practically forgotten about Ava.

Dr. Charles was waiting for her when she opened the door to see him, and he gave her a tight-lipped smile, “How was it?”

“Uh, good,” She sat across from him, and he pulled out his own lunch while she unpacked hers, “I saw Dr. Bekker.”

“Oh? How was that?”

Sarah tapped her foot, “One of her CHD patients came in, um…” She took a bite of her sandwich, “I ordered some tests for her. She was snarky about it when I talked to her afterwards though.”

Dr. Charles shrugged, “Well, Ava will always be Ava, regardless of-”

“She said, um… She thanked me for not killing the patient and said she wished she could say the same for Mr. Nearling.”

He sighed, and nodded, “Well, it’s only been a few days. She’ll get over it. You guys were good friends before, you’ll be good friends after a while..”

“Good friends?” She questioned, “What makes you say that?”

“Well, y’know,” He motioned back and forth with his hands, “You’d chat, you seemed to be happy when you saw her, she teased you a bit. All of Ava’s telltale friendship signs.”

Sarah was quiet, instead choosing to take a bite of her sandwich and chew thoughtfully.

“Tell me, Sarah, do you like Ava?”

“What do you mean?” Sarah asked, carefully.

“Like… You know, are you interested in her? Romantically?”

Sarah choked on her sandwich, coughing a few times.

“Remember to chew, Dr. Reese,” Dr. Charles reprimanded.

“I don’t like her,” Sarah defended, “I don’t care about her. I deserve better. If I still liked her after she talked to me like that, even if I liked her in the first place, I’d be crazy.”

Dr. Charles shrugged, taking a bite of his salad.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What?”

“The shrug.”

“What do you think it means?”

“Did you do Yolanda’s intake?”

“Who?”

Sarah nodded, stuffing her half-eaten lunch back into the bag and tossing it in the trash.

“Sarah, you haven’t finished your lunch-”

“Not hungry, I’ll see you around,” Sarah started to leave, but Dr. Charles stopped her.

“I’m supposed to pass a note on for you.”

-

-

(A/N) come back tomorrow for pt 2 lol

[marshmallowprotection]

RFA + Saeran + V W/ a Trans MC who comes out

I left this without specific labels so it could be applicable to all Trans MCs out there. The RFA will love you no matter what, and I hope that you know that in your heart. Long post, more under the cut. I hope this makes that Anon who asked happy! 

Yoosung

You had been really struggling for a long time with yourself. Yoosung knew it because he had been dealing with his own grief and depression and had learned all of the markers and signs that were out there when it came to seeing someone that was tired. He thought that you must have been struggling with something at work or school, but it became abundantly clear to him that it was something else when you started to dodge him. He thought that he did something wrong and it concerned him.

Well, it grew to the point where he had to come and check up on you. He didn’t say that he was coming over and he surprised you. He wanted to talk about what was wrong. You reluctantly did open the door for him and sit down with Yoosung. It took a moment, and you clutched onto his hands with a deep breath. “Yoosung, I haven’t been avoiding you because you did anything wrong. I was avoiding you because I felt like if I was honest with you, you wouldn’t love me the same way.”

Yoosung was shocked. Why wouldn’t he ever love you the same as he always had? You asked him if he was willing to listen to you speak before he said anything, and he was. So, you opened up to him about everything that you had been trying to swallow down. How you couldn’t stand when people called you the wrong pronoun, how you couldn’t stand it when you looked into the mirror and it didn’t connect with you, and how upsetting it was to think that if you were ever honest with him, he might break up with you because you “weren’t the same.”

Yoosung is upset that you’ve been hurting all this time and you were scared he wouldn’t love you anymore for being Trans. Yoosung affirms that he loves you no matter what you identify as because you’re the only person in the world that listened to him and made him feel alive again. He wants to support you and love you in this, so he wants to learn and understand as much as he can to treat you as the person you’ve always been.

Jaehee

Jaehee knew what it felt like to hide yourself from the world because she had spent years biting her tongue and trying to keep her heart deep inside of a chest locked at the heart of her deep and stormy seas. She knew that something wasn’t right the second that you started to speak to her less at work, and the moment that you said that you were going to have to take the rest of the week off, she grew more concerned. She thought that maybe you had gotten bad news and you needed some time to aleve it. She didn’t want to get involved in your private life if you didn’t want to talk to her about it.

However, radio silence isn’t a good thing. She wants to give you space but at the same time she doesn’t want you to be alone. She tried to do that to herself but you had gripped her hand along with the others and helped her realize that she needed to open up to everyone and be honest with herself and the world. So, she decidedly calls you and asks if she can come and visit you because she would never drop in without saying anything. You reluctantly agree but she’s happy the line is open.

So, when she sits down with you over coffee, she doesn’t know what to say and clearly, neither do you. But, Jaehee is patient and she’s willing to let you take as long as you need to, to open up to her about what’s bothering you. You practically burst into tears all at once from trying to keep it in for so long. You admit what was bothering you. How you had been trying to live as a person you aren’t for the longest time, and being called the wrong pronouns and not being able to have your hair the way you wanted it, so on and so forth, had really been too much. Your biggest fear was that Jaehee wouldn’t want to be with you anymore because of this.

Jaehee does take a moment to think about this and her thoughts, and this may seem like a warning sign, but she was just trying to think of the right thing to say. She loves you and wants to be with you because you’re the one that stood by her side and reminded her that she didn’t have to be a doormat. She loves you because you’re you, and if she can do the same thing for you, if she can support you as you come out and start living your truest life, then she will hold your hand and do whatever she can for you. It changes nothing, well, it changes how she talks about you to others with pronouns in mind, but now she just has her trans partner to support just as much as she did before.

Zen

Zen was always happy with you and he loved being around you. It just made him feel like everything was right in the world and nothing could ever go wrong. So, when he noticed that you were starting to pull away from him, starting to shy away from his touch, and starting to grimace if and when he used a specific pet name. He didn’t know if he had done something wrong so he laid off of it but it did nothing to ease whatever was going on inside of your mind, and you got to a point where you didn’t talk to him for a couple of days.

Now, Zen is headstrong and he’s the kind of guy that will rush into the room if he thinks that something is wrong and that he can fix it. He comes on a little strong, and he’s the kind of guy that will get you flowers and try to come over as a surprise to make things right. You might be surprised to see him outside your door, but he insists that he just wants to talk because he’s very worried about you. You let him inside of your apartment and he gives you the warmest hug and that alone is enough to make you cry.

You just break down and admit everything that’s been bothering you this entire time and how you’ve been trying to push it back down because of your past experiences but it’s just to a point where your dysphoria is so difficult that even the smallest things make you feel very sick to your stomach. It’s not Zen’s fault, he didn’t know, but he does sincerely apologize to you as he wipes your tears away. He can’t say that he understands what it must feel like, but he knows that you’re the most important person in his life.

He wants to be with you, no matter what pronouns you use for yourself or however you dress or look. He doesn’t care what people think, he only cares about what you think. He never wants to hurt you and he always wants to protect you. Zen may have some slip-ups along the way but he swears that he’ll do everything he can to learn and adjust his language and how he speaks to you and about you from now on. You’re Trans, you’re his partner, and he’ll always love you no matter what.

Jumin

If there’s one thing that Jumin knows it’s how to read a room and it’s how to tell when something is amiss with you. He knows it when he sees it because he’s learned how to read you, just as you have learned all the tricks to knowing him that there are. He ponders why you continue to pull off and away from him time and time again, he notes that it happens more often if he speaks of you or calls you a certain pet name, when he uses your name, it’s not as bad, but it’s added to his mental checklist of things to note in case he can discern what’s wrong with you. He prefers to meet things head on, however. He has learned in recent times that patience and being humble can sincerely help.

You need space, and he gives it to you for a day to clear your thoughts before he approaches you or when you approach him. He knows that one of those is going to happen the next night, and you know that Jumin is going to let you fester in your feelings for a very long time. He knows better than that. That’s why when he confronts you the next evening in the living room as you both sit together, there’s a resigned look on your face that he often sees when you know that he will win the argument. He gently asks if you want to talk, and you manage to nod your head and say that there’s something you need to say.

Jumin had a feeling, but he didn’t know what the feeling was for. However, you approach the subject with an emotional sigh, and tell him exactly what you’ve been dealing with for a very long time and how you feared being honest with yourself and being honest with Jumin would mean that he may break up with you. You knew that he didn’t care about his image and how the public saw his private life, but his background made you worried that he may not want to be with you anymore if you told him you were Trans.

You were very well in tears by that point. Jumin never did handle emotional situations well but he was always willing to push through that for your sake. He’d take hold of your hands and tell you with no hesitation that he loves you, he loves no matter what you identify as, you’re the one and only person who saw him when he was suffering, and you’re the one who stood by him when he was being a stubborn fool. He wants to be with you, forever and always, and this just means you’re being true to yourself. He wants you to be yourself with him, and this is just you doing that. He supports you and he always will.

Seven

Seven knew that something was wrong. There was just this energy about yourself that seemed to lack that luster in life that he had grown used to seeing. He knows that you may not want to talk about it so he doesn't make you, after all, you had been incredibly patient with him and given him the time and space to open himself up again. He knows how scary it can be to talk about any little thing that feels like a bomb about to explode, but he’s the one to tell you that he’s always here to listen if you want to talk before you start pulling away from him. He wasn’t sure what it was.

He’s the kind of person that seemingly frets over the details. He tries to discern what he may have said or what he may have done, but he can’t figure it out. It’s not like a program or a code he can crack. Emotions are hard, but you know him, he won’t leave you alone forever, he lets you have a few days but then he comes to get you because he can’t stand to hear or think that you’re crying all alone. He finds you like that, and he bundles his hoodie over your shoulders and he gently pressed his hands against your cheeks, trying to coax you down.

You quietly tell him that you’ve got to talk to him, and he tells you that he’s ready to listen to you speak. You open up to him about what’s been bothering you, how you can’t stand it when he calls you prince(ss), and that when everyone is talking about you in the chat, and you just want to cry when they call you that pronoun instead of the one that you know feels right. How you can’t hide it anymore, how you have to be honest with him that you’re Trans. You tell him that it’s okay if he wants to break up with you because of it, you know he’s religious and he may not… he may not see you the same.

Seven is shocked that that is what’s been bothering you, and he feels like he went wrong somewhere because you felt like he would leave you for being honest with him about something that is this important to your sense of self. No, this doesn’t change how he feels about you. He loves you just as much as he loved you before you admitted this to him. Now, he tries to make a joke to ease the situation, to make you crack a smile, how he needs to go call you his prince(ss) from now on. He wants to talk to you and about you in a way that makes you feel comfortable and happy. Your smile is what he covets and it’s the part of you that he’s always loved the most, so calling you by the name you want is easy.

V

V has always had a difficult time with his emotions. It’s not always been simple, even when he was more open with his feelings in his youth. He knows that it’s the same for others but he isn’t sure how to go about helping others. He tends to get overwhelmed himself when it comes to his own feelings. So, when he notices that you’ve started to isolate and pull away from him, he knows what you’re doing because he did the exact same thing to everyone else and look at what good that did for him. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, but he wants to be gentle with you as you were with him.

He gives you some time to breathe, but he does message you and remind you that he loves you and that he’s always going to be here for you as you were for him. He’s always willing to wait and listen to anything that you have to say. V loves your patience and that you’ve always got him in mind, and he wants to do that for you. So, when you do finally answer his messages and tell him that you want to talk, he comes to you right away because he doesn’t want you to be alone for another minute.

You both sit down, and you gently approach the topic with him. How you had been long trying to move beyond your uncomfortable feelings and swallow it down where you can’t reach it. But, no matter how you did or how hard you tried to push it away, it would always come back to the top of your mind no matter how hard you pushed. You hid what you could, but he always knew that you were biting back something. So, when you admitted how you were struggling with people calling you the wrong pronouns and how everyone just… treated you over all, How it simply became too much to hear people call you something that didn’t align with what you knew, that you were Trans.

V can’t say that he understands what this must feel like, but he loves you, and he knows that now more than ever, you need someone to support you through something that you’ve been holding back all this time. He’ll be there for you, forever, just as you helped him believe in himself to get better. He loves you, no matter what, and he wants to do right by you. He’ll ask a lot of questions but it’ll be in the sake of trying to learn and understand how he can treat you right, and the way that you want. You can count on him to hold your hand through whatever comes next.

Saeran

Saeran knows what it feels like to be an outsider looking in to the rest of the world and he is the one that feels like he’s never doing right by you. He’s glad that you gave him a chance to prove his love and dedication, because he won’t screw up again as long as he has a say in the matter, but lately, he’s noticed that you’ve started to shy away from him whenever he used a pet name or whenever he mentioned you to the others using that pronoun. He can’t say that he knows why you were pulling away, his fear is that he did something wrong by you and you’ve remembered that he’s a monster.

He isn’t sure that he deserves to be around you after he hears you crying late at night where he can’t see it, or at least, where you think he can’t see or hear what’s going on with you. Well, he doesn’t want to see you in tears, so he decidedly makes you a special meal to apologize or what he may have done, and you burst into tears with a bitter laugh when he does it. He doesn’t really understand why, but he knows that you need him to be there for you because you’re crying and something isn’t right.

You kind of just break down. It’s been weighing on you for a long time, longer than you’ve known him, and you finally admit to yourself and to him something that you’ve felt for a long time but never wanted to admit aloud in fear of what you may lose. You thought that you would lose Saeran if you were honest. How you’ve long not been able to stand being called a certain with a certain pronoun, or how you’ve always felt a knot in your stomach whenever you were grouped in with others. You thought you could tolerate it, but it just got to be too much for you now.

Saeran is surprised, he didn’t think that this is what the problem was. He’s not really educated on these matters, so he does need you to explain it to him, but once you do, he shakes his head, just looking at you and affirming that he loves you no matter what. You’re his only love, his true first love, and he wants to be with you no matter what you call yourself. His reaction may seemingly be the most calm and steadfast out of any of the others for some reason, But, he is sincere and honest with you, always blunt.

[green-ball-of-trash]

Roman in The Closet by Himself!! part 2

Word count: 1219

part1/part2/part3/part4/?

WARNINGS: angst, depression, crying, uncensored swearing, bad home life, extreme selflessness, mention of dysphoria, lots and lots of angst, feelings of hopelessness

some knowledge for reference: deceit's name in this is Damien-

ships: prinxiety, logicality, remile, demus

Recap: They had arrived at Virgil’s house and said their goodbyes, with half witted insults with no venom in the words. It was their usual routine and they were both content with the way their relationship was. But they were just content, both of them wanted more but they would never admit that to themselves or each other. Roman walked home, with everything swirling around in his head and he laughed with a sort of dark emptiness. What a day.

-

-

Roman stared down at his shoes, and felt that light airiness that he had felt with Virgil slowly melt and drip off of himself as that bubbly feeling was replaced with a hard cold stone sort of manginess that made home in his chest. Like all the color on his face was wiped away with a grey expression devoid of any substance or meaning.

      The sky had started to get grey, and he walked towards his house with his red converse shoes dragging across the pavement like the weight of the world was pulling him down so much that he couldn’t even pick his feet up all the way to make full steps towards home. He didn’t feel like he was going home, however, home was how he felt when he was gossiping with Remy, or how he felt when he was gushing about space and Steven Universe with Logan, or the way he felt when he was discussing mental health and dad jokes with Emile and Patton, or the way he felt when he saw that smile that could kill on that soft little emo’s cheeks.

     His home never felt like home, where the arguments felt like world war three and his brother was his only comrade. As much as he fought with his dirty minded potty mouth brother, he loved his brother. They would never let anyone else know but they were always there for each other. He loved making jokes about his brother’s name, ‘’Remus’, they named you that because you were stinky when you were born’ not a very clever insult but it always made them both laugh and forget the screaming downstairs, a sound that seemed to cut into them like knives ever since they were young, even if it wasn’t directed at either of them it still hurt with an unimaginable pain to hear. Remus would make jokes about Roman’s lack of facial hair and Roman would retort with something along the lines of ‘Oh yeah! Well at least I don’t look like a rapist!!’ leading Remus to say ‘I am a rapist!!’ then they would laugh and wrestle or play Mario Kart and forget that there was a war going on in their household. 

Roman laughed, a soft sort of sincere laugh that no one could hear but himself. 

    He felt a wet droplet, first on the top of his head, then on his shoulder, and his nose before the drops turned into a downpour. The water felt like a wake up call, and all the things that he had shoved inside himself for the past few years suddenly came down with the rain. The weight of it all made him drop to his knees as his sobs were covered up by the sound of thunder and the tears of the skies hitting the ground with the force of ten tons of anguish. His tears got mixed up with the rain and the rain got mixed up with music and the music got mixed up with his cries. He couldn’t do this anymore, a thought that had landed into his head, and it was very much an unwanted thought. He could never think like that, he had to be there when Patton was upset because of his mom’s unwillingness to accept him, he had to be there when Logan was stressed out about a test even though Roman knew he would ace it, he had to be there when Virgil was having a panic attack, he had to be there when Remy was feeling dysphoric or complained about his brother Damien, and he had to be there when Damien complained about Remus, he had to be there when Emile was worried about Remy or some stranger he had met that day, he had to be there for all of them…. Then… Why did he want to disappear so badly? All these things that had given him meaning and purpose suddenly didn’t matter to him right now, and the selfishness of that made his heart fall into pieces on the ground that he would have to pick back up and glue back together later.  

Even with all the happy times he had with his friends, and all the laughter that they had shared over the years, a part of him knew that he wasn’t okay. And that part of him had been okay with not being okay, for a long time he had told himself that it was okay! He just had to keep moving and everything would be okay. It wasn’t okay, and he had started to believe it would never be okay, he wanted to scream all the things that were trapped in his head all at once but that desire to scream was settled with muffled sobs as he hid his face behind his Disney hoodie as he cried about all the things that made his heart ill. 

He tentative gentle hand rested on his shaking shoulder. Roman jerked back and fell on his backside, he looked up to see who had found him in such a state. The confident, always smiling, always laughing Roman, had been caught red handed by none other than Remy Sleap, Remy looked down at him with concern hidden under his sunglasses and an umbrella set in his hands blocking the rain from both of them. One of his best friends, and Roman had no fake made up explanation on his lips to explain why he had been crying in the rain, like a cheap romance movie trope where the girl cries in the rain after a breakup. Only the only thing that broke up was him, and he wasn’t a girl, and he wasn’t in a romance movie. 

Remy didn’t ask any questions, not yet, at least. He was focused on trying to get Roman out of the rain, “Hey, let's go over to my place and get you some dry clothes hon.” Remy’s smile was almost motherly. He was really worried about Roman, they had been friends since grade school and he was ready to kick the ass of whoever made his best friend cry. Remy is the kind of guy who would fight god for his best friends (and probably win). Remy was a little chaotic and got into trouble more often than he would like to admit, but all of the trouble he got himself into was in the name of his friends. He didn’t like fighting, but he would be damned if he let someone hurt his friends and get away with it. 

Remy helped the crying prince up to his feet, Roman leaned into him still sobbing his broken heart out. He felt like a dam had been broken and he didn’t think anything could stop the water at this point. He would have a fun time trying to explain this…..

-

taglist:

@www-dot-ohshit-dot-com

@mostpeopleannoyne

@icequeenoriginal

@espepspes 

@korsaromantic66

@rats-this-username-is-taken

to be continued~ 

im sorry this part is a tad bit shorter than the last one!! oh my gosh I am having so much fun with this fanfic even tho I cried a couple of times while writing it :’)! I’m glad that some people like it, AND TO THOSE PEOPLE- I LOVE YOU AND HERE IS THE SECOND PART :D!!!

Green~

[baepsaetan]

Banner by @thebannershop​

Summary: In a futuristic age where a person can be coded and inserted into a new body, the rich can live forever. Born to a wealthy family, Jin expects to live life at a lofty and uncaring height. His expectations go awry when his body is murdered and a small gang steals his ‘stack’ and resleeves him in a criminal. Thrust into a gritty, neon world far below his life as an immortal, where death can be Real, Jin will discover truths that challenge his perceptions and make him wonder what - if anything - immortality is worth.

Chapters: pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt.5, pt. 6, pt. 7 -> read on Ao3

Genre: Altered Carbon Fusion, Science Fiction/Futuristic, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Murder Mystery

Warnings: Shifting PoVs (primarily Jin), minor character death, abuse, torture, gangs, drug addiction, drug use, references to depression, body dysphoria, animal death, swearing, smut in future chapters

Length: 3.2k

A/N: Still behind! My bad, but I will catch up. And please lovelies, if you’re reading this, casual reminder that comments will literally fly my muse (and my adoration for you, lol) to infinity and beyond. 

//

There's nothing there. Just the darkness of his eyelids. Try to picture anything, Jimin said, but it's like struggling through a liquid even thicker than water, reaching for an object obscured by a haze and not sure if you're even going in the right direction. His mind is frighteningly, stubbornly empty; all his memories of the last few weeks – maybe even months – are blurred. "I don't..." Jin mumbles, and no one replies, so he keeps trying.

His murder. He has to think about his murder. An open chest – he'd thought of that before. Lying on the ground, something digging into his hip, spasms overtaking his body, the taste of blood in his throat. Strange detachment, even though he knows he's dying. Something coming into view, waving over his face. "There was a gun," Jin says, and isn't sure if he hears someone scoff, so he ignores it. "It's big and – it doesn't look like the guns on the net. More like a tool or something."

"The bolt pistol," Jungkook supplies.

It's Namjoon's voice that comes next. "Can you remember who was holding the gun? If you can, maybe you’ll remember something else about him, how you know him, something."

He tries. He really does. But there's a sheet of static draped over the person with the weapon, and he can't seem to call them into focus. "No," he eventually replies, frustration lacing his voice. "No, I can't. I think I – I begged them for help. They didn't reply, just kicked me over," he remembers lying on his side in a rapidly widening pool of blood, one hand pressing fitfully into his wet chest, the other opening and closing spastically, "and then they just... left." That, or he lost consciousness, but either way, the trail ends there. He can't remember anything else.

He opens his eyes, shakes his head. "That's it," he says. "It might not even be real – I could just be making it up in my head. Either way, there's seriously nothing before that. Nothing about why or even – or even where I was."

Jungkook sighs and Jimin positively pouts, but Namjoon, standing next to the table, looks thoughtful. "At least that either means he took something, or he knew Seokjin personally," he says, more to Jimin than to Jin.

Jimin cocks his head. "What do you mean?"

"He didn't go over to make sure Seokjin was going to suffer RD; he would have shot him again if that were the case, when Seokjin asked for help. And why kick him over? Either Seokjin was lying on something he wanted, or shooting his chest out wasn't quite enough to get rid of his anger."

"Why would he be angry with me?" Jin exclaims. "It's not like I – or any Meth – make a habit out of hanging out with normies. Especially not criminal ones."

Namjoon’s eyebrow jumps up, his mouth thinning. “Normies?” he asks quietly, yet the disapproval is loud and clear in the question.

It’s the first time he’s sounded angry, even if only slightly, and Jin finds himself ducking his head, fixating on the unfamiliar terrain of his hands to avoid making eye contact with anyone. “You all call me a Meth, and I haven’t even lived anywhere near nine-hundred and sixty-nine years, like Methuselah. At least you are all normal,” he mutters, prodded by a disconcerting mixture of defensiveness and petulance. He can’t put a finger on why he feels so foolish saying it. Isn’t he right to point it out?

Thankfully, the other man elects to ignore his mumbled protest. Or maybe not – it leaves Seokjin feeling even worse, as though his objection was so childish it wasn’t even worth acknowledging. He finds himself curling the disjointed fingers into fists and then releasing them, so quickly it’s more of a tic than anything. Is that him, or just the ghost of the last person to wear this sleeve, lingering in the muscles that were never supposed to be his? The thought threatens to send him out of the body again, into the floating sensation that had gripped him before. This time, however, propelled by his desperate need to be anchored, Seokjin holds on and keeps himself in place. Deep breaths. In and out.

When he says nothing to fill the wooden silence, Namjoon stirs. “If he can’t remember on his own,” the tall man says, “we’re going to have to go with our other option.”

“It’s risky,” Jimin says, less of a protest than an observation.

“Yeah. But we still need to do it. What other choice do we have? His memory is no more stable now than it was when…” Namjoon trails off awkwardly, which makes Jin lift his head, wondering what Namjoon had been about to say. He gets no answer as the other man continues, abruptly business-like. “So, we’ll do it. Jungkook, you’ll come with us. Jimin, you keep trying to find the missing footage, see if anyone is willing to admit to hacking the cameras. We need to find out if something was taken.”

“Okay, hyung! I’ll go grab our packs,” Jungkook agrees, surprisingly eager as he trots out of the kitchen. Maybe he only sounds sullen when he’s talking to Meths.

Jimin is less exuberant, though he doesn’t appear inclined to argue with Namjoon. Biting at his bottom lip, he hesitates for a moment before nodding. “Be careful,” he requests quietly. “And… be careful with Seokjin.”

It’s hard to tell if that means be careful of or care for, and neither option is particularly palatable; he’s not a package, fragile glass or a bomb to be handled with care. Seokjin doesn’t exactly appreciate being talked about as if he isn’t sitting right there, either, and he scowls. “Are any of you planning on telling me what you’re talking about?”

“What if we aren’t?” Jimin shoots back, an impish smile dancing across his mouth, the worried crease across his forehead smoothing. “What would you do then?”

It knocks the wind out of Seokjin, a reminder that he isn’t in control here, when Namjoon’s straightforward sincerity had started to ease him into forgetting, and that makes him honest. “Throw a fit, probably,” he replies, and doesn’t quite manage to smile. He almost asks what they would do if he did fly off the handle. Except that he’s afraid of the answer.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Namjoon says, and he smiles, a pale ghost of amusement that’s still too compassionate for this situation. For the fact that he’s the kidnapper. Rising from his chair, hands braced on the worn table, Namjoon explains, “We’re going to the Ring. You were shot almost just outside. The hope is that it will jog your memory, of the event, of the people you were talking to beforehand… something.”

“The Ring…” He has memories of a teeming club, one he’d been to on several occasions, but there’s nothing significant about the memories of pulsing music and eyedrop drugs and laughing with whoever he was with at the time. And anyways, the tension is back, twisting his ability to focus on the past. “What if my memory doesn’t feel like jogging?” The empty bravado is surely better than cowering, but he does wonder. What happens if he really can’t help them? Somehow, them just… letting him go… seems unlikely.

Namjoon exhales slowly from his nose. “One thing at a time.”

About to speak, Jin hesitates when Jungkook comes back in and drops two medium-sized, navy blue packs on the table, begins rearranging their contents. For some reason – maybe it’s the way the muscular kid’s eyes narrow when they land on Jin – it’s hard to get the words lined up on his tongue out. Seokjin struggles for a moment longer, summoning his courage, but before he can blurt out what he wants to say, Jungkook straightens.

“That’s everything, hyung. Checked and double checked. And…” He pulls something out of one of the packs, and it takes Jin a moment to realize that they’re handcuffs.

He tenses, surprises them – and himself – by finding his feet more quickly than any of them can react. The movement hurts, pain throbbing from the bruises spread like latticework across his chest and ribs, but the speed is exhilarating, too. It makes him feel something he’s never felt before, in his other sleeve. Powerful, maybe. Dangerous.

The feeling lasts all of two seconds, at least until Jungkook steps forward, legs wide and brows furrowed in fierce concentration, and Jin is reminded that these people are dangerous, too.

“Don’t touch me,” he snaps, backpedaling, and Jungkook follows with a smooth grace that’s reminiscent of documentaries he’s watched about long-extinct tigers. All too soon, Jin finds a wall and can’t flee further. Trapped, he raises his hands, clenched into fists, but it’s hard to ignore the fact that they’re shaking. This body might be in fighting shape, but the person inhabiting it is distinctly not, and he doesn’t think muscle memory, honed or otherwise, is going to help him against his captors. After all, he’s never fought anyone in his entire life. He’s never had to.

Well, he thinks, panicking and struggling not to drift into shock again, there’s a first time for everything. Maybe by some miracle he’ll save himself.

And he is saved, albeit by a miracle with peach pink hair. “Wait, Kookie,” Namjoon orders, and (miraculously) the younger boy pulls up, the sulky scowl on his face notwithstanding. Trailing two fingers over his lips, the picture of conflicted contemplation, eventually Namjoon tics his head to the side, almost shaking it, like he’s trying to persuade himself about something. “You need to listen, Seokjin,” the leader says at last, and there’s nothing soft about the jagged command in his voice as his hand drops. “If you start any trouble – any at all – Jungkook or I will shoot you. Dead. It’d be easier to deal with a stack than some idiot Meth, anyways.”

Then why deal with an idiot Meth instead of a stack in the first place? he wonders but doesn’t ask, fear tying up his tongue. Instead he takes a deep breath, trying to still his shaking limbs, trying to stop the quick blinking. “…You won’t make me wear those?” Jin all but whispers when he’s found what’s left of his voice.

“Not if you cooperate.” At the words, Jungkook’s scowl grows, and Jimin murmurs something under his breath, but neither of them protests. Wordless, Jungkook puts the silvery metal into a side pouch on the nearest pack.

“Good. Great.” The bluster is as thin as a strand of hair, but it’s all he has to cling to. Besides, he made them do something. Made Namjoon do something. Even if it’s something as small as not tying him up, it gives him hope. And the hope makes him want to speak, if only to release the tension still skittering through his chest like some horrible black spider. “I’m – I’m not into that stuff with strangers, anyways.”

They stare at him like he’s crazy. Namjoon is the first to get it; his bark-like laugh, an incredulous haha, bursts from him before he claps a large hand over his mouth, smothering the sound. He gets himself under control remarkably quickly, the laugh brushed away like an inconvenience, but his dimples are still showing when he drops his hand. Jimin snorts, shaking his head as he pushes back his heavy orange bangs in one slow, doubtful motion, but Jin notices the gesture only peripherally. It’s suddenly occurring to him that if Namjoon wasn’t here, or if he wasn’t the one in control, this situation might have gone a lot differently. A lot more painfully.

It sets an uncomfortable writhing across his skin, a feeling only slightly alleviated when Jungkook, probably still not getting it, mutters, “Crazy Meth,” and yanks one of the packs onto his shoulder.

Namjoon follows suit with the other pack, briskness radiating from the action. “Let’s go,” he says, in a way that makes it obvious he expects to be instantly followed.

That makes it awkward (and terrifying) to say anything, but Seokjin figures that if he’s going to play Russian Roulette, he might as well go all the way. “Uh… wait a moment.”

The way all three of them swivel in perfect unison to stare at him disbelievingly might have been funny… except that it isn’t. It’s just another reminder that he’s pushing big red buttons that probably shouldn’t be pushed, unless one wants to be shot. Swallowing hard, he continues nonetheless, needing this just as much as he had needed to say something flip. “I haven’t, um, seen myself. Or – this sleeve, I mean. In a mirror, or –” What else could he see himself in? Coming up blank on that front, Jin continues shakily. “I just… could I see myself? Do you have a mirror? Not for long, I just…”

“…need to see,” Namjoon finishes for him, irritation fading from his striking face and leaving his expression far softer. Jin nods, and the other man pauses, considering. “It’s hard, Seokjin,” Namjoon says gently after a moment. “Maybe you should wait until we get back.”

“I don’t want to.” Jungkook snorts at that and says something about snotty Meths, but Jin’s not being narcissistic. Or – well, he’s not just being narcissistic. Yeah, there’s a weird kind of fear that the face looking back at him will be ugly (it’s that kind of day), but it’s more than that. Until he sees what he is, he’s nothing. Less than nothing. What’s a body without a face? He doesn’t know the answer.

Fine eyebrows drawing down, as though he’s not quite sure what he’s doing, Namjoon gestures to the hallway they came through to get to the kitchen. “The door on the left,” he says.

Immediately, afraid his mirror privileges might be revoked for some reason, Seokjin hurries to the indicated closed door. Namjoon is the only one who follows. Confronted by the plain wooden barrier, however, he hesitates, his brief urgency expunged. All of the entrances in his house are motion sensitive, and when he’s out and about, he usually has someone to open doors for him. That’s not entirely the cause of his indecision, though. It’s just, the simple brass knob might be the scariest thing he’s ever seen in his entire life, and Seokjin is struck by the sudden conviction that he’s not going to manage to turn it. Hell, he can’t even lift his hand. He’s just going to stand here forever, like an idiot, like a coward, too afraid to face what’s on the other side. They’ll jeer at him, probably, these people who fit so comfortably inside their skins, and he’ll deserve it because–

A smooth, sun-bronzed arm reaches by him, and, without any fanfare, shoves the door open. “Like ripping off a bandage,” Namjoon advises from somewhere behind, “best to just get it done.” The words are brusque, but his tone isn’t.

That’s the push he needed, and Seokjin creeps into the small room, his eyes fixed on the chipped, stained white sink. Namjoon’s voice comes again, from his memory instead of from the man lingering just outside the bathroom. Deep breaths. In and out. His head is so empty that the words have plenty of space to spread out, blanketing him with a feeling that’s either numbness or reassurance. Breathe. He can do that. He just needs to breathe, and – look up.

The person facing him in the mirror is not by any definition ugly, but Seokjin feels no relief, because that’s not him, right? The guy is definitely Korean, and with dark, thick brows like his own, but the resemblances pretty much end there. Jin certainly doesn’t own the lurid purple bruise caressing the left side of the long, oval face, skimming across barely noticeable cheekbones. He doesn’t have those wide, hazel eyes that stare with so much anxiety he almost wants to look away. The sense of dislocation continues even when he lifts a hand to brush the messy, golden brown hair out of his face; it just feels like he’s looking out a window and someone facing him on the other side is copying the motion. Any second now they’re going to quit the game, move differently than he does. Any second now.

His fingers tentatively slide along the nose as the person opposite him mirrors the gesture, confirming what previous, blind exploration had already hinted at. It’s a little crooked, probably broken once or twice, but that doesn’t really weaken the proud, aquiline profile. Are the lips really that thick, or is their puffiness because this body has recently been hit in the mouth? It has, he’s sure of that – there’s a little cut that confirms it – but it seems like the exquisitely swollen lips are both full and rosy naturally. He’s pretty sure he’s seen fellow Meths, the kind that shell out billions for aesthetic beauty in their sleeves, with lips less perfectly manufactured than this guy’s.

Not ‘this guy’s’, he reminds himself. You. That’s you.

Easy to say. Less easy to believe.

He moves his fingers from the cut lip to the bruise, prodding at them and trying to elicit enough pain to make himself believe they belong to him. How’d they happen, anyways? Namjoon hadn’t said anything about his sleeve’s battered condition. Maybe it had been like that before they’d received the body? Maybe it belonged to some gang member who’d been arrested and put on ice, his sleeve put up for sale? That seems a likely explanation, but it doesn’t bring Jin any closer to accepting that the crooked nose and wide eyes belong to him.  

“Try to look at the whole picture. Your whole self,” Namjoon suggests as he edges further into the room, and now Jin has two strangers staring at him from the mirror. Except that he’s already more comfortable with Namjoon’s eye-catching features, pink hair and all, than he is with his own reflection.

He tries to do what the other man says, though. To take in the whole picture, instead of fumbling with the puzzle pieces that are his individual features. His face. He’s trying to really look at his face.

God, he’s attractive. He’s never had cause to complain about himself – quite the contrary – but this sleeve is on a different level. The face – his face – is not completely without edges; a slightly egotistic twist about the full mouth, a few lines and scrapes, the bent nose. But those sharp points only serve to elevate the rest of his features, giving his face an almost unearthly cast that’s… well, unnerving. Like those ancient statues of tribal deities at some museum, older than you’ll ever be, pristine and removed and probably not actual gods, right?

Abruptly, Jin is the person in the mirror. It happens violently, almost as if someone grabbed him from where he’d been standing, outside the body that’s not his body, and slammed him into it with enough force to meld them together. There’s a moment of vertigo, and he rocks forward like he’s about to fall into the mirror before catching himself on the sink, still staring at his reflection. The blur in his vision and the tinny echo in his ears are gone. When Jin moves, so does the mirror image, and now it feels ridiculous that he was ever expecting it not to copy his motions. It’s him. It’s him.

He wonders if that will ever stop sounding like a lie.

[romansleftshoulderpad]

Like a Lover

Words: 6, 713

Ship(s): Remile, background Logicality and Prinxiety, I think Background Dorry is mentioned

Warnings: Swearing, caps, a lot of jokes about condoms (and various NSFW mentions as well as an ending that alludes to some NSFW... activities), Emile gets tipsy at one point, food mentions, mentions of Dysphoria and improper binding. (There’s technically a continuity error from part one but Mama Mia 2 had plenty of errors so basically I’m already doing better than Mama Mia.) 

Additional notes: Genderfluid!Emile and Trans!Remy, This is an unofficial sequel to 2 A.M but you don’t need to read that to understand this. (Eventual) Fake dating. There was only one bed. *Gasp* and they were ROOMMATES!

Tags: @fandermom @my-analogical-romance @patchworkofstars

---

“Guess who’s back,” Remy said in a sing-song as he crawled from his balcony to Emile’s.

“You’re going to kill yourself one of these days,” Emile teased, stabilizing his arms.

“Oh, please, Babe, you’ll have to prove that I’m not immortal first.” Remy stood straight as he regained his balance. Emile’s hands were still touching his skin.

“I’m pretty sure your death is exactly what it would take to prove that you aren’t immortal,” Emile said. The two locked eyes for a moment before bursting into laughter and pulling each other close. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Remy glanced down to Emile’s wrist, seeing the blue ribbon tied around it. “I’ve missed you, too,” he said softly, almost as if he weren’t sure if he wanted Emile to hear.

“C’ mon in,” Emile said, “my dads are gonna want to see you.”

Emile intertwined his fingers around Remy’s and lead them both through the foreign familiar bedroom. “You repainted,” Remy said. “Very, uh... it’s blue.”

“You’re not the only one growing up, College Boy,” Emile teased.

“So all the Funkos?”

Emile rolled his eyes, swinging open the bedroom door and leading Remy out of it. “All on shelves in my closet. I’m not a monster, Remus, of course, I still have them.”

They walked downstairs to where Logan and Patton were sitting at the kitchen table, reading the news and sipping on coffee over quiet conversation. Remy couldn’t help but notice how softly warm and domestic the whole moment was. He almost felt bad for intruding. Emile coughed quickly, drawing their attention towards them.

“Remy!” Logan greeted with a smile. “Welcome back. How’s college going for you?”

“Oh! I didn’t hear you come in last night!” Patton said with an innocent smile.

A blush ran through Emile’s cheeks and up to the top of his ears as he released his hold on Remy’s hand. “He just dropped in ten minutes ago.”

“Sure thing, Kiddo,” Patton laughed, hiding a smirk behind a sip of coffee.

Logan cleared his throat, embarrassed either on his son’s behalf or on his own accord. “So...College, Remy.”

“Oh, yeah, uh, college.”

“Yep,” Emile squeaked. “College. Let’s talk about college and nothing else.”

Remy and Emile took seats at the table and Remy began to give a practically day by day analysis of his past school year. Emile was totally enamored by his every word as he mockingly imitated his professors and talked about how he was shocked to actually enjoy a few of his classes.

“And how about summer plans?” Patton asked with a mischievous grin.

Remy shrugged. “Not sure I have any. I’ve been too busy with finals to make any.”

Emile forced out a cough under his dads’ stare. “Well, um, my uncle is getting married. And I, uh, he told me to bring a plus one.” Emile took a deep breath and only then did Remy notice the way that he was shaking his hands. “I thought it’d be a little less awkward with you there.”

“And, of course, we’ll pay all of your expenses,” Logan said.

“When is it?” Remy asked.

“We leave next weekend,” Emile said. “It’s a seven-day cruise.”

“A... a cruise wedding?” Remy asked. “I’m in.”

“I don’t know, Em, you might need to twist his arm a little more,” Patton teased.

The group continued to talk, eventually roping Remy into a family breakfast. They shared jokes and made plans and Remy couldn’t help but feel like he was home.

The time before the cruise came and went in practically the blink of an eye as Remy found himself boarding the large ship by Emile’s side. “Woah,” he muttered out, seeing the large chandelier that hung over the elegant lobby. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Emile laughed. “Uncle Roman is pretty, uh, extravagant. I just wanna know how he got his fiancé to agree to this.”

“You say that like your uncle would marry anyone less than half as extra as himself,” Patton laughed.

“Why don’t you two check out the ship a bit while we take the bags up?” Logan suggested.

“Are you sure?” Remy asked hesitantly.

“Just don’t go overboard,” Patton teased. He took Remy’s bag and gave the other a pat on the back. “Have fun, Kiddos!”

“Alright! What first?” Emile said with a smile as their dads headed towards the elevators. The skirt of their dress fluttered back and forth as they swayed where they stood.

“Two words,” Remy said with a smirk. “Pool. Deck.”

“Follow me, my good sir!” Emile teased.

Remy tried not to think too hard about how Emile’s callused hands were bigger than his own as they maneuvered through the crowd. When they snuck into a crowded elevator, he tried not to focus on how their bodies pressed together (and how Emile was noticeably taller). When they reached the pool deck, Remy felt like he could breathe again, free from the crowds and embracing the fresh air. Speakers blared a mumbled version of some generic pop song he had never paid attention to and kids yelled as they splashed around in the pool.

“This is our lives for the next week,” Remy said with a smile. “Nice.”

“With a few wedding events sprinkled in, yes,” Emile laughed. “Dinner is semi-formal so if you see a man in a red sequin tux, it’s Uncle Roman.”

“A red sequin tux?” Remy asked with a laugh.

“Yep. His fiancé sent us pictures once.”

“No way.”

“Yes, way, I’ll show you them at dinner,” Emile said. The two continued to walk around the pool deck, arms brushing against each other, as they explored, making themselves acquainted with all of the elevators.

Emile and Remy had been childhood friends for as long as they could remember. They had been there for each other through each of their coming-outs, sleepless nights, and years of holidays and birthdays. If a couple... /feelings/ had developed, Remy didn’t consider that anyone’s business but his own. Of course he felt /close/ with Emile, but never in /that/ way. Right?

“Oh look! An arcade!” Emile said excitedly. “We should totally go sometime!”

“Oh, hell yeah. Let’s kick some greasy 12-year-old’s ass.”

Emile laughed, pulling Remy’s hand forward as they announced, “Adventure is out there!”

“Can you ever go five minutes without a Pixar reference?”

“Nope!” Emile replied, popping the ‘p’ and tapping Remy’s nose lightly.

“Bet you can’t get through ten during dinner,” Remy challenged.

“With my uncle?!” Emile asked. “You’re on.”

+++

Despite Emile’s constant reminders that dress codes weren’t strict and that the first night everyone would be more focused on catching up than appearance, he still couldn’t help but feel anxious the entire way down. Logan had always been rather formal but seeing Patton in a pastel three-piece suit was certainly a surprise. Emile was wearing their usual go-to look for such events, though without the colorful tie. Their green ribbon had been discarded from their wrist.

“Are you okay?” Remy whispered. The four of them walked down the hall, seeming to be ridiculously ahead of schedule.

“Hmm?” Emile looked up, their fingers rubbing the hem of their cardigan. “Oh, yeah, it’s just... there’s a lot of people to explain it to. I’d really rather not.”

Remy brushed his arm along Emile’s as a small reminder and a silent question. Emile nodded scantily and Remy intertwined their fingers, squeezing with just enough pressure to let Emile know that he was there for them. He pressed the button to call an elevator and gave Emile a smile. “So what’s this Uncle Roman like?” What followed was a long conversation with more embarrassing stories than Remy imagined that Roman would want to have shared.

Inside the restaurant were about three tables filled with Emile’s family members and a man in a dark red suit happily waved them all over. “I’m noticing an obvious lack of sequins,” Remy teased.

“Oh please, this is only night one. He still has plenty more time to cover himself in fake jewels,” Emile assured.

“There’s my favorite non-binary pal,” Roman said, keeping his voice restrained to just the small group as he ruffled Emile’s hair. “And this must be your date.”

“My plus one,” Emile corrected. “This is Remy.”

“Nice to meet you, Remy, I’m-“

“The infamous Uncle Roman,” Remy said with a shit eating grin.

“Oh this one’s a keeper,” Roman said, nudging Emile’s arm. “Now, if you don’t mind me asking, what are your pronouns?”

“Oh, uh, he/him,” Remy said.

“Emile, you need to bring him around more,” Roman teased.

“You say that like anyone can separate these two,” Patton teased. They took their seats and Roman’s arm fell across the shoulders of a man dressed in black with faded violet hair.

“Oh! Remy, this is my fiancé, Virgil,” Roman introduced. “Virgil, this is Emile’s friend Remy.”

“Hey, kid,” Virgil greeted with finger guns.

“Uh, hey,” Remy replied, shooting back an awkward smile. As the rest of the group settled into casual conversation and catching up, Remy couldn’t help but feel like he was intruding. He began to debate whether or not coming had actually been a good idea when he was taken from his thought by an arm pressing against his. He found Emile’s hand and intertwined their fingers, smiling slightly as Emile squeezed his hand.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Emile said. “But I’m glad that you’re here.” It didn’t take a genius to know what they meant. (Unfortunately, Remy had one brain cell.)

“Thanks, Em,” Remy said. They held hands all throughout dinner, and Remy was starting to realize that his crush might have been bigger than anticipated.

Of course, a tiny crush turned into a big, gay disaster when they got back to the cabin. “The couch is a pullout, right?” Remy asked nervously, chewing on his lip.

“I think so,” Emile said. “Remy, I’m not going to make you take the couch. It’s not like we haven’t slept together before.” Emile thought back to his father’s teasing, face blushing as he then realized what he had said. “I mean sleeping in the same bed. Separately. Asleep.”

“Gotcha.” He dug his hands in his pockets, staring at the ground.

“If it makes you uncomfortable,” Emile blurted out, “I can sleep on the couch.”

“Em, you don’t need to do that,” Remy said. He took Emile’s hands in his own and the two found themselves in a stalemate as they locked eyes.

“Well I’m not letting you sleep there either,” Emile said, their face crinkling as they tried to appear serious and threatening.

Remy couldn’t help but laugh, breaking his stare. “I nearly forgot how stubborn you are.”

“Ha! I win then!” Emile said. “My stubbornness is my best quality.”

“No way,” Remy said, breaking away from Emile to pull a pair of pajamas out of his suitcase.

“Oh yeah? Then what is my best quality?” Emile asked, their breath hot against Remy’s neck as they leaned over his shoulder.

Remy thought for a moment, panicking on what to say. Your compassion. Your thoughtfulness. Your sense of humor. The way you don’t care about what people think of you. Your smile. Your eyes. The way you’re making my heart beat so loudly I feel like it’s going to burst!

“Your ass.”

Emile laughed and rolled their eyes. “Whatever, I’m gonna go get changed.” As they went off to the bathroom Remy groaned in his hands silently asking himself whhyyy?

Remy was used to friendly flirting. Hell, he was used to real flirting! He had dealt with crushes before and was certainly experienced when it came to relationships, but Emile was different. Remy has never considered Emile his type; he was into more edgy, dangerous people. Those who weren’t afraid to get a little messy or even get some blood on their hands.

But Emile? They were a mediator. Emile was the calm during the storm and they had been a constant in Remy’s life for as long as he could remember. He couldn’t imagine living in a world without them. He was but a blade of grass and Emile was the entire universe.

Remy shook out his thoughts as he took his binder off and quickly threw on a baggy shirt with his school name on it in large print. He continued changing into his pajamas and put his clothes off to the side until Emile walked in.

“Since when do you sleep shirtless?” Remy asked, trying to hide a blush as Emile raked their hands through their wet hair. Truthfully, he wished he could stop his eyes from wandering across Emile’s soft stomach and toned arms. Someone had clearly kept their New Year’s Resolution.

“I guess I just made a habit of it,” Emile said with a laugh. “I can put something on if you’re uncomfortab-”

“NO! I, uh, no, I’m not uncomfortable at all!” Remy said, blushing both in embarrassment and from his inability to peel his eyes from the sight in front of him. Suddenly he felt rather fortunate to be trans. “You can be as clothed as you want and I’m going to shut up now.”

Emile giggled as they climbed into bed and patted the space next to themselves. Remy tried to contain his heart rate as he slowly climbed into bed, busying himself with the way he adjusted the pillows. It’s just Emile. It’s just sleeping. Calm down.

Of course, it wasn’t long before Emile was half asleep with their head against Remy’s neck and their shoulders overlapping. “Em,” Remy whispered, just to make sure that they weren’t listening. He pushed their hair away from their face and fought back thoughts about how wonderful it must feel to kiss those lips. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

+++

The next morning proved that Emile, dawned with a blue ribbon, only had one thing on his mind: The arcade. He had quickly gotten dressed- and urging Remy to do the same- excited as they headed to meet his dads for breakfast. Remy soon realized that Emile was very much a case of like-father-like-son as he saw an exuberant Patton dragging along a very tired Logan.

“Coffee?” Logan asked quietly as Emile and Patton talked loudly and excitedly about their plans for the rest of the cruise.

“Definitely,” Remy agreed.

Logan patted his back with a small laugh. “Welcome to the family. You’re either a morning person or addicted to caffeine.”

“Let me guess which Roman is.”

Logan groaned, pushing up his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Excruciatingly loud in the mornings. We can only pray that there’s enough coffee in the world to allow Virgil to keep his sanity.”

“So,” Emile said, excitedly drumming his fingers on the table, “Remy and I were planning on going to the arcade later!”

“Kids,” Patton said fondly, exchanging a glance with Logan. “Just be ready for tonight. Roman invited us all to join him and Virgil later for swing dancing.”

Emile let out an excited squeal, smiling and shaking his hands slightly. “I love swing dancing!”

“Since when?” Logan teased, his eyes darting to Remy for a quick moment before landing back on his son.

“There are some things you don’t know about me, Dad,” Emile teased.

Patton was considerably less subtle than his husband had previously been as his eyes darted between the younger boys. “Care to elaborate on that, Em?”

“Nope!” Emile squeaked, hiding behind his hands.

Remy couldn’t help but laugh at Emile’s blush. He was bright red and possibly the cutest thing that Remy had ever seen. “How do we need to dress?��

“Just a bit fancier than jeans and leather,” Logan teased.

“I think I can work with that.”

“Now eat fast,” Emile said, “I wanna get in as much arcade time as possible.”

It was no secret that Remy had a competitive streak. He certainly let it show as soon as they had hit the arcade. After rage quitting at Pac-Man, he bought a few more tokens and had his eyes set on Skeeball.

“You ready to lose, Picani?” Remy teased, nudging his friend’s arm.

“Oh, you’re on,” Emile bit back, just as fiery but with a wide smile.

Unfortunately, Remy has a terrible aim and quickly had his ass handed to him. “How are you so good at this?!”

Emile chuckled, teasingly messing up Remy’s hair. “It’s called ‘patience’, Remus, you should try it sometime.”

“Patience can eat my ass.”

Emile rolled his eyes but Remy couldn’t miss the fond smile that graced him. “I have enough left for one more game,” Emile said, digging through his pocket. “Let me help you.”

Remy was quick to arm himself, just about the toss when Emile stopped him. “Patience, Remy,” he teased. “Just follow my lead.” Emile grabbed onto Remy’s hip causing Remy to blush as he took in a sharp inhale. Emile’s freehand traveled down Remy’s arm, just barely intertwining their fingers together at the end. Emile slid his foot between Remy’s and opened up his stance, widening his legs slightly.

Emile was his best friend, and Remy did /not/ like where his mind was going. Emile drew back Remy’s arm, each of their bodies twisting together in sync. Remy’s mind flooded with a thousand poisonous thoughts and he began to wonder how he would ever survive the trip.

Skeeball, he reminded himself, we’re playing Skeeball. Nothing... else.

They made the first shot and scored 40 points. “See what patience can getcha?” Emile teased. “C’ mon, let’s shoot for 50 this time.”

Remy forced out a small laugh ignoring the way his body wanted to melt into Emile’s. He focused on the game. “Yeah. Patience.”

Unfortunately, that night’s events weren’t much easier. The club was dimly lit save for the spotlight on a loud, brassy band. In the corner of the room was a bar where Roman and Virgil had been waiting, sipping on margaritas. The rest of them took seats at the bar and ordered drinks- specifically only getting water for Remy. (Which didn’t matter as he took sips of Emile’s drink when no one was looking.)

By the time they got to the dance floor, Emile was already tipsy off of his second daiquiri. “C’ mon, Remy, dance with me!” Emile laughed, pulling Remy by the arms. Even if Remy wasn’t saying ‘no’, Emile still brought out his signature charming smile and puppy dog eyes. Remy wondered if Emile knew that he was his only weakness.

Emile brought Remy’s hands to his own hips as he wrapped his arms around Remy’s neck. He wants me to lead. Sure, Emile might not have been entirely sure what kind of dance they were doing, but he wanted Remy to lead. That seemed to be all that mattered.

Remy wasn’t blind. He had noticed the ways that Patton enjoyed using him to embarrass Emile; he saw Logan ever so slightly testing him when he and Emile were being particularly affectionate. It was the same way his own parents teased him about Emile long before he had a crush on his neighbor.

Only, that’s where the line was drawn. Emile didn’t have a crush. Parents just like being assholes sometimes. They like teasing. So Remy just had to ignore it. He couldn’t get his hopes up. And as he felt his hands against Emile’s soft fingers as they danced, faces not even an inch apart as Emile came back from the twirl, Remy pushed his hopes down deep into the darkest part of his mind.

“Remy! Dip me!” Emile yelled.

“WHAT?” Before Remy could stop him, Emile was already leaning back too fast for Remy’s noodle arms to catch. They both fell to the ground with Emile laughing the whole way down. Remy’s face was just above Emile’s, their lips practically touching, prompting Remy to sit up quickly in a panic as Emile kept laughing.

“Oh get a room,” Virgil teased as he swung by. Remy noticed that he was straddling Emile and quickly scrambled off of him.

“We, uh, we fell,” Remy said. “That’s it, I swear.”

“Relax,” Virgil laughed. “I saw you fail at dipping him. Patton said he’d give me a dollar if I could embarrass Emile.” Virgil looked the giggling man up and down before helping him up. “I don’t think I’m getting that dollar.”

“I don’t think anything can embarrass him at this point,” Remy said. “He doesn’t drink, well, ever.” The realization felt like a rock hitting Remy’s chest. “Guess we’ve both changed a bit.”

“Young love is adorable,” Virgil teased. “Just because he’s 21 now doesn’t mean he won’t stop acting like he’s 12.”

Remy let out a fond sigh. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Now,” Virgil said, jokingly pushing the two back into the crowd. “Go have fun.”

They spent about another hour dancing and giggling before Emile had sobered up and Remy had begun to push past his limit. “Rem? Are you okay?” Emile asked, stopping their dance and bringing Remy to the edge of the crowd.

“Yeah, yeah,” Remy said. “Just- my binder-“

“Nope, say no more, I’m taking you back to the room so you can take it off,” Emile said stubbornly. A few passing patrons glanced suspiciously at them.

“Em, it’s fine,” Remy said.

“Nope!” Emile swept him off of his feet (literally) and carried him out of the room. Remy hid his blush as he saw Roman and Logan’s glances before the door closed behind them.

“Emile, I’m perfectly capable of walking to the room myself.”

“I’m aware, I just don’t give a shit.”

“Em!” Remy yelled in surprise.

“Like you haven’t sworn before.”

“Oh I’ve said some shit, but this isn’t about me,” Remy said. Emile gave him a stern glance before the two began to laugh. When they got to the hall, Emile used his knee to call up an elevator. “You literally could have put me down.”

“Could have,” Emile repeated. “But I won’t.” As a man of his word, Emile continued to carry Remy all the way up to their room. “How long have you been wearing that thing?”

Remy mumbled something from inside the bathroom that Emile couldn’t hear.

“C’ mon, Rem, tell me.”

Emile’s voice was cold and commanding and it sent a chill down Remy’s spine as he inspected the red lines on his torso from the mesh of his binder. “Twelve hours,” he mumbled, a bit louder. Despite the door between them, he could already feel Emile’s disapproving glare. He was so much like his dads at times. “But it’s fine!” he yelled before Emile could get a word in. “I’m fine, just a bit sore.”

“Which is exactly why you aren’t wearing that thing tomorrow,” Emile argued. Remy groaned, trying to avoid looking at his reflection as he pulled on a baggy shirt.

“You, Sir,” he said, swinging open the bathroom door, “are an asshole.”

“Yeah, but I’m an asshole who cares about you,” Emile said. He gently pressed his hands against Remy’s ribs, just below his arms. The moment was quiet and intimate in a way neither knew how to describe.

“Does it hurt?” Emile asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No.”

“Good. Lay down, I want to help you relax.”

“What?” Remy asked as a soft blush rose to his face.

“I just wanna work out the kinks-“

“This, Emile, is why your dad keeps asking you about condoms.”

“The kinks in your back, pervert.”

Remy opened his mouth the argue but found himself speechless as Emile pressed his gentle fingers into the curve of his neck. He let Emile lay him down and began to relax as warm hands unwound the knots in his neck and shoulders.

“Do you mind if I go under your shirt or would you prefer for me to stay over?”

“Over,” Remy said almost instinctively. With the way his crush was getting worse by the minute, he could only imagine what the touch would do to him. “Please.”

“Of course,” Emile said, his voice soft and light. Loving, almost. Almost.

Remy let his face sink into the pillow. As Emile’s hands traveled down his back (with just the right amount of pressure) Remy wished that he could focus on anything. Fortunately, it didn’t take long before he was fast asleep.

For the first time in years, Remy had been disappointed to wake up from a dream. It hadn’t been sexual, but it had certainly involved the man beside him. They had been dancing, only more coordinated and less tipsy. They each moved effortlessly and the feeling of Emile pressed up against him was now permanently seared into Remy’s brain. In a good way at least. The dream was hauntingly vivid and Remy could still feel the phantom Emile’s hand on his cheek and his soft lips pressed to Remy’s.

Remy slid out of bed, immediately going to search for his binder. “No binding,” Emile said groggily from under the covers. “C’ mon, you promised.”

“I didn’t promise shit.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing that I know where your binder is and you don’t.” Emile sat up from bed, his hair in a million different directions as the fabric fell into his lap.

“Emile Picani, you’re going to hell even if I have to put you there myself.”

“Oh no,” Emile sarcastically whined. “I’m being a good friend.” He crawled out of bed and rested his chin on Remy’s shoulder. “I have an idea I think you’ll like though.”

Remy rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“Well, you did seem pretty excited to go to the pool deck.”

Remy’s eyes widened and he dashed to his suitcase. “GIVE ME FIVE MINUTES AND WE’LL GO!”

Remy was like an excited child the whole way up and Emile couldn’t hide the fact that it made his heart flutter. He let Remy lead them to the seats with “Optimal Hoe Lighting” presumably to tan.

Now, it would be a lie to say that Emile had never seen Remy partially undressed. As children, they often took family trips to beaches where the two would run around in bathing suits and build sandcastles. As they grew up, however, Remy drew back slightly. It was understandable, of course, no teenager is perfectly content in their own skin and adding his dysphoria made his desire to be so public with his body even lesser.

But Emile shouldn’t have been so surprised when Remy took off his coverup. He couldn’t stop his eyes from raking over Remy’s body. His muscles had become more defined and his hips bones stuck out just over the top of his board shorts. His tongue stuck out from between his lips as he adjusted the straps of his bikini top. His were hidden behind his sunglasses and Emile silently wished that he hadn’t noticed his staring.

Remy smiled at Emile with a small giggle. “You did not blend that sunscreen in at all.” He stuck his tongue out in that same concentration and cupped Emile’s face in his hands. Despite being nearly a foot taller than him, Emile thought he just might melt into Remy’s touch. “Let me help you.”

His hands were warm against Emile’s skin and the taller of the two couldn’t help but smile. His face was twisted in concentration but he worked with the utmost care. He took the excess sunscreen and worked it into the skin on his ears and neck. Emile couldn’t help but smile at him adoringly.

“What?” Remy asked with a laugh.

“You’re adorable,” Emile blurted out and failed to hold back his giggles when Remy began to blush. “Aww, are you getting flustered?”

“Yes! Now shush!”

Emile laughed, tapping Remy’s noise with a sound effect. “Well, I just can’t help it if the most handsome man in the world is easily flustered! D’awwh and look how cute he is with his face bright and red.”

“Emile Picani, I swear to all things good and holy I will absolutely push you in that pool,” Remy said, trying to look angry but ultimately failing.

“Why? I’m only stating the tru- OOF!” Emile grabbed onto Remy’s wrists as he fell back into the pool. He came up, coughing up a bit of water but laughing the whole time. Remy splashed him across the face.

“You’re the worst.”

Emile playfully splashed him back. “But you loooooovvveee meeeee.”

“That’s gay,” Remy countered splashing back as the two engaged in a full out battle of splashing only to stop when the lifeguard yelled at them. They had made their way out of the pool to tan (Remy tanned; Emile panicked about burning) as he lay there with earbuds drowning out the world around him, Emile attempted to recall the last time he had seen his friend so at peace.

He was happy for him. After all that Remy had been through, he deserved a break. Emile selfishly hoped that he was partially to credit for such a state.

“Like what you see?” Remy teased.

Emile muttered gibberish under his breath as he hid his blushing face from his laughing friend. If he heard that gorgeous laughter until the end of time, it still wouldn’t be enough.

+++

When they were getting ready for dinner, Emile still refused to give back the binder. He really missed the relaxing laughter then, it would have been a much better substitute for the yelling. “Your body needs time to rest!”

“My body can survive another hour or two without your advice!” Remy shot back, his voice seething with venom. The venom began to pool in Remy’s eyes, though he would never admit it, and Emile’s heart shattered. “I- I can’t- Em, I can’t go out in front of everyone without it.”

“But, earlie-”

“Your family, Emile. I can’t go out there without it in front of them.”

“Remy,” Emile whispered softly. “I... if you’re worried about passing, you can borrow some of my clothes. I’ll make sure you’re the most handsome man in the room with it without a binder.”

Remy opened his mouth to speak but just as quickly closed his lips and hesitantly looked to the floor. Emile smoothed out Remy’s hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I can call my dads and explain to them.” He could see the gears turning in Remy’s mind. “Just be prepared for the inevitable jokes from my dad.”

“I’m more surprised he hasn’t given you a box of condoms already,” Remy teased.

“Worse,” Emile groaned. “He gave me two.” Remy exploded into laughter with a smile bright enough to make the sun seem like a lightbulb; Emile was absolutely smitten.

“I’m fine with going to dinner,” Remy said. “Dress me up as your own living doll.”

Emile dug through both suitcases and gave Remy a pair of his own black slacks while frantically digging through his own clothes. While Remy would never have considered wearing a white button-down under a sky blue sweater, he loved the look more than he’d admit. The soft fabric was a comforting weight on his shoulders and it smelt like Emile. It was perfect.

At dinner, he sat between Emile and Virgil and he let his mind wind down and relax. His fingers ran up and down the sleeves of the sweater as he watched Emile talk.

“So,” an old woman, presumably Emile’s grandmother, asked suddenly, “how long have you two been dating?” Her voice was sweet and full of adoration. Emile and Remy glanced to each other quickly.

“Oh, we aren’t-“

“Two years.”

Emile looked like an owl with his wife eyes being magnified by his lenses. “What are you doing?” he mouthed quietly.

“I’m so glad Emi is doing more than just watching those silly shows,” the old woman teased.

“Remy, I think we should talk,” Emile said sternly. “Alone.”

Logan and Patton exchanged glances between themselves and the two as they walked out of the restaurant. “Okay! Okay! Before you say anything, I panicked!” Remy justified.

“What? HOW IS THAT YOUR SOLUTION TO PANICKING?!” Emile yelled. “NOW I’M PANICKING!”

“I’m sorry! She just seemed excited and I didn’t want to-“

“It’s fine,” Emile said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not upset just... confused.”

“Do you want to stage a dramatic breakup?” Remy offered.

“No, no, I don’t want to make a scene the week of the wedding. Uncle Roman would have my head on a spike,” Emile said.

“Hey,” Virgil said from the doorway behind them. “Patton asked me to check on you too. And, uh, make sure that you’re using condoms. I’m not gonna make you answer that.”

Emile winced with a groan. “He really needs to stop worrying about that.”

“STDs aren’t a joke,” Virgil said, falling to hold back a teasing laugh. “Let me guess: This dumbass lied and now you’re figuring out how far to take this bullshit?”

Emile stared at him in horror; Remy was trying to telepathically communicate with Virgil. “How did you figure that out?” Emile asked.

“Magic,” Virgil deadpanned. “Also I’ve been eavesdropping behind that wall for the last minute.”

“I’m sorry,” Remy said. “I didn’t mean to lie, I just-“

“Kid, it happens,” Virgil said with a genuine smile. “Now, c’ mon, they’re bringing dessert out and I’m sure you two ‘love birds’ don’t want to miss.” Remy blushed, intertwining his hand with Emile’s as they walked inside.

The next day had Emile whisked away with his Uncle for last-minute wedding preparations leaving Remy entirely alone for the day. Somehow, on a ship full of thousands of people, Remy was alone.

An hour before the wedding his phone began to ring. “Em?” he asked, not even having bothered to check the caller I.D.

“Go, uh, go ahead and get ready,” Emile said. “There’s still a bit more I need to do and, uh, just meet me here, okay? My dad, Patton, will help lead you here.”

“Lead me there?” Remy asked. “Em, I’m a grown man.”

“A grown man who gets lost a lot,” Emile clarified. “Now hurry up.”

+++

“Care for a dance?” Remy jokingly flirted, holding out a hand to Emile. The pink tie she wore in place of a ribbon was subtle enough to go unnoticed to everyone else; but not Remy. He knew her too well.

“My prince,” she laughed, taking his hand as the opening notes to a song from Cinderella began to play. Neither could remember the words, but the melody was all they needed.

Remy intertwined his fingers with Emile’s and let his other hand gently curve against her side. She smiled shyly as she laid her free hand on his shoulder. “I haven’t danced in forever.”

“That’s what I’m here for, my dear,” Remy said with a laugh, pulling her onto the dance floor. He led her into a simple rhythm and smiled softly when she relaxed into it. “You look... beautiful, by the way.”

“So do you,” Emile said. “H- Handsome, I mean.”

“So this is love,” the speakers sang. “So this is what makes life divine.”

Their foreheads pressed together as the world melted around them. All that mattered was each other and keeping their feet in time. Remy pulled Emile closer, snaking the arm that had been on her side to the curve of her back as his other hand cupped her cheek. Emile’s hand stayed against Remy’s, rubbing circles onto the skin and beckoning him ever closer.

For a brief moment, more than ever, Remy wished that he hadn’t been lying. No, he didn’t wish he could take back the falsehood, he simply wanted to make it true. For a brief moment, he forgot that it wasn’t.

Their lips connected softly and moved in sync, each slowly pulling the other closer. Emile’s hands were on Remy’s neck, holding him until neither had air to breathe. Emile’s tongue traced against Remy’s bottom lip and that’s when the panic set in. He pulled away quickly, staring at Emile with wide eyes and a gaping jaw.

Emile was blushing with a natural smile on her face. “That was...”

“I gotta go,” Remy blurted out, quickly taking Emile’s hands off of him and dashing out of the room.

“REMY! Wait!” Emile called out, starting to run after him when she got caught by the arm.

“Sweetie, just let him go,” Logan said softly.

“He needs some time to himself right now,” Patton agreed.

“But- But he’s my best friend! A- And he needs me!”

“Is this about him needing you or you needing him?”

Emile was breathing frantically, tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t know, but- He-” Her hands were shaking and tears began to fall down her cheeks. “He actually likes me back,” she whispered. “I’ve been in love with him for three years and the minute we finally- something finally happens he just runs off.” She glanced behind her at the couples dancing and laughing gracefully.

“Give him ten more minutes. Then go find your Prince Charming.”

+++

It had been forty minutes since Remy had left the wedding. “Go away,” he said weakly to the pair of shoes in front of him.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Emile said. “I just want you to listen to me. Please?”

Remy silently moved to his left, leaving just enough room for Emile to sit down. He kept his face mostly covered, but Emile could still see his red eyes and stray tears.

Emile took a breath, fiddling with something in her lap. “Remy, I- I think you’re incredible. You’re smart and kind-“

“Are you really reading this off of your phone?” Remy asked.

Emile quickly put her phone behind her back as a red blush grew on her face. “N- No! I just-“ She sighed defeatedly. “My dads helped me edit and revise.”

Remy laughed, snatching Emile’s phone and holding it above his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And in love with you,” Emile blurted out. Remy almost dropped the phone. “I’ve... I’ve been in love with you for the past three years. You’re my best friend, Remy, and I... I thought if I told you then I’d... lose you.”

“Em,” Remy said softly. “You’re not going to lose me.” He pressed a small kiss to her knuckles. “I love you, Emile. Sure that love has changed and evolved over the years, but it’s always been there. It always will be.”

“How do you love me now?” Emile asked.

“I love you like a best friend,” Remy said.

“Oh.”

“I love you like a lover.”

“O-Oh!”

Remy’s heart was pounding in his chest and he wondered if his face was any redder than Emile’s strawberry skin. “Emile,” he asked softly, “can I kiss you?”

Emile laughed, leaning up and brushing her lips against Remy’s. “I thought you’d never ask.”

+++

It was nearly the end of summer. Another sleepless night, but Remy took the time to start packing. His eyes were strained and he knew he’d be exhausted by sunrise, but for now, he chose to embrace the tranquility of midnight.

That’s when something hit his window.

He pulled back the curtain and saw Emile, clad with a blue ribbon, standing on the balcony and waving. He climbed out of his own window and let the summer air hit his face. “Hello, my love.”

“Hey, Rem,” Emile smiled and held his arms out towards Remy. “Mind helping me over?”

“You’re coming in through the window?” Remy asked, holding onto Emile.s sides and helping lift him into the balcony. “Well, this is a surprise.”

“I didn’t want to risk my dads being awake tonight,” Emile whispered softly. Remy’s face flooded with color and Emile pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Emile Picani, are you being a bad boy?”

“Mmm, I’m your bad boy,” Emile said, pressing a kiss to and nipping at Remy’s bottom lip.

The two slipped inside, fingers tightly interlocked. “I love you so much,” Remy whispered. “And I’m going to miss you so much.”

“I’ll be waiting for you here when you get back,” Emile said. He pressed a soft kiss to Remy’s lips, following it with a trail of kisses down his neck. “Now, why don’t we make up for that lost time in advance.”

“O-Okay.”

[milomeepit]

An Untitled Document (Roman Angst Oneshot)

Ship: Roceit, background Analogical TW: Depression, anxiety, past abuse mention, unhealthy habits, dysphoria mention, brief eating disorder, death mention, bad family past, brief past mention of violence Word Count: 2k AN: ... yep.

Roman groaned as he tapped his fingers against the keyboard of his laptop. The sunlight streaming in through the window left a blinding white glare on the upper half of the screen, but he didn’t quite care enough to be bothered getting up and closing the curtain. He instead angled it down, sinking lower into the wooden dining chair. His back would surely complain later, but a shower would probably fix any aches or pains from the awkward position.

He wondered if he should get up and walk around for a bit, stretch his legs and give himself a break from his (apparently fruitless) efforts to work. But, then again, it seemed wrong to give himself a break when he hadn’t really done anything.

He had eaten breakfast- if cold leftover pizza and too-strong coffee counted as breakfast- and fed his pets. He’d even played with the cats for a while, and that had left a fleeting smile on his face as he sat down at the dining table with another cup of coffee and a bottle of soda to sip at while he worked.

The last dregs of coffee sat untouched in the cup, now cold and cloudy, while the soda was half-gone already. His teeth felt rough and slimy, coated in the absurd amounts of sugar from the unhealthy drink. The document on screen hadn’t changed since he sat down an hour and a half ago, the cursor blinking and taunting him. Sure, he’d written and rewritten and deleted a few hundred words, but nothing he’d written seemed good enough.

Writing was supposed to be his passion, the thing he could still grab and hold close to his chest when things got rough. It was all he had left at this point. He couldn’t dance anymore, not with the weak knees he’d inherited from his mother, and his own growing ankle issues from several years of working on his feet for whole days with no breaks. He couldn’t remember the last time he performed a song or in a play, the foggy memories of hot stage lights and elaborate costumes and giggling, whispered conversations in dressing rooms now leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Drawing and painting was an option, still, but they were never really his, not after the ridicule he’d received through highschool from one particularly sharp-tongued art teacher.

Roman’s stomach growled, and he grimaced, glancing at the clock. Only eleven o’clock. He couldn’t eat until one, at the very least. He couldn’t let himself slip into comfort eating again, not when he still had a generously padded belly, not when flab swung off the bottom of his arms, not when his back fat poked unattractively out of the bottom of his binder, not when-

He shook his head, as if to clear it like one of the Etch A Sketch boards his nephew loved. He was in a bad enough headspace right now without spiralling down into a dysphoric, self-body-hating hellscape.

He instead turned his attention back to his phone, which sat on the table between him and his laptop, and continued scrolling blankly through social media. Memes and posts and videos flashed past his eyes, some of them drawing a faint smirk or an amused huff. He sent a few to Dee. He was well aware that his fiance was at work, but some of them would hopefully give him a smile when he went on break later.

He set his phone down again and took an absentminded swig from the bottle of soda. He winced as it grated against his teeth, the sugar almost hurting his teeth as it swirled down his throat. He ran his tongue over his teeth, prodding at them gently. He hissed sharply as he got to the loose one at the bottom of his mouth. Adults probably weren’t meant to have loose teeth, he thought to himself. He probably needed to see a dentist. When he could afford it. If he could afford it.

11:11am. Roman spent a few seconds trying to think of a wish, but before his mind could grasp a solid thought, the clock ticked over, and the moment was gone. It was all rubbish, anyway. Wishes didn’t come true, and life was cruel to those who didn’t deserve it. Dee was one of the best people he’d ever met, and certainly his favourite, yet he was a ball of anxiety and guilt complexes. He deserved to feel confident about himself, to love his laugh and his soft tummy and his small stature that put him at the perfect height for cuddling, to love his loud way of speaking and his passion for those he cared about. Roman certainly loved them, more than words could say.

He was jolted from his thoughts by his phone buzzing with a message from Dee. He must have been on break already. Roman had yet to pin down the break times scattered throughout his shift, so he never knew exactly when his beloved would be online during the day.

snakememesaremadeofthese [11:16]: good morning darling <3 how did you sleep? cocoa_crowns [11:16]: hi, love <33 alright, how’s work going? snakememesaremadeofthese [11:16]: oh, you know, same old same old. It’s.. a day pft snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: what are you up to? cocoa_crowns [11:17]: nothing much really, just dishes and laundry

That was a complete lie, but Roman couldn’t quite face telling Dee he hadn’t touched the chores they discussed last night. He fully intended to do them before Dee got home, that was for certain! Just... not right now.

snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: so, are you working this weekend or? cocoa_crowns [11:17]: i havent gotten a shift request yet so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: all good, that means we can stay home over my long weekend, do some cleaning and stuff.

Roman let out a soft whine. He’d honestly been hoping that he would get a job request for the weekend, between rough finances and missing his older brother. Logan seemed happy to let them stay at his and Virgil’s house over the weekend when Roman was working, though that was likely because Roman was working for Virgil.

At least Dee usually didn’t seem to mind hanging out at their place while Roman was working. He spent most of his time with Logan and Virgil’s three year old son, Patton. Patton, for his part, adored Dee as if he’d hung the moon and stars in the sky with his own hand. It was cute to see, even if a tiny part of Roman stung with jealousy over being replaced as Patton’s favourite. He genuinely did love seeing the two of them cuddled up on the couch together, playing with toys or watching TV or talking.

It made him excited for the idea of having children, in all honesty. Dee had made his desire to one day have kids clear pretty early on, and Roman had to say he agreed. For a long time, he hated the idea of having children- mostly because he didn’t want to be pregnant, the very idea of it set off his dysphoria like an alarm bell- but he didn’t mind the idea of raising a child with Dee.

Speaking of... he turned back to the computer, squinting at the bright white screen. It was meant to be a story about adoption and found families and unconditional love and hope, but... he just couldn’t get it to click. No matter what he wrote, the tone didn’t feel right for what he was trying to hit. It was just... Wrong, and he hated himself for it.

Writing was meant to be the one thing. His thing. But it just wouldn’t flow, no matter how hard he tried, or what tips and tricks he tested out, or how many breaks he took, or what projects he tried to work on. He loved these stories and characters with his whole heart, and he knew people would be interested in this story- after all, he’d gotten a great reception from the first installment in his planned series. He could talk about them for hours, gush about his plans and ideas and characters, but when it came to actually writing them?

Not a chance.

His heart ached. He felt like he was spinning in the same circles as he had been for months. New house, an (ex boyfriend) friend turned vaguely irritating housemate, new pets, a possible new job that would pay well but he was certain he would loathe- despite Dee’s company during breaks- all of these changes were throwing him off rhythm, and while he was sure that they were for the best, and long term, they would help him live a Happy Life, it was upsetting.

A small, shameful part of him wanted to go home. Not home back to the shared house he had been miserable in, despite only living there for a few short months, not home back to Logan and Virgil’s house, but back to the house he grew up in. It was filthy and toxic, and the people there weren’t much better, but it was familiar. It was regular. He knew how to navigate the treacherous landscape of rotting food left piled in the kitchen, of insults screamed over minute irritations, of the stench from medical issues improperly treated, of prescription medications abused and leaving the mother who was meant to protect him in a drug induced haze, of his father bellowing and throwing things and breaking precious objects and walls (and, in some terrifying cases, people), of the two middle brothers fighting and not understanding why it upset him so. He knew how to try and keep the peace, and how to cope when he failed, as was so often the case in that household. He knew who to talk to and who to avoid in that neighborhood, who to run to if he got in a fight, who to stand up against and who to back down from. The scars from knife wounds in his youth had taught him lessons more valuable than his rundown school ever had.

He didn’t realise that he was crying until a fat tear plopped onto the dining table, narrowly missing his phone screen. He hated that he missed it. He hated that he missed his father, despite swearing off contact with him after coming away from their last conversation with a black eye. He hated that both he and Logan were deliberately keeping their mother at arm’s length, trying to save themselves from the pain of her likely-approaching death. He hated that his other brothers were good people, people he loved, and he couldn’t even go near them anymore out of fear for their parents.

Roman glanced at the clock blinking in the lower corner of his computer screen. An hour and a half had passed since Dee had messaged him, and he hadn’t moved from his slouched position at the dining table. He probably had roughly three hours to do everything else he needed to do before Dee got home. That should be plenty of time. Should be.

He noticed numbly that he hadn’t yet changed out of his pyjamas, just thrown on the cat hoodie he’d bought at a convention a few years ago to show it to the kittens and see if they would cuddle up in the large pocket on the front. He probably needed to shower, as well. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bathed.

... Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. He knew he’d had a bath at least semi-recently, because he remembered using one of the bath bombs that he and Dee had gotten at the pharmacy near Logan’s house the other weekend.

He twisted a finger into his hair, pulling his fringe down over his eyes to inspect it. It didn’t feel too greasy, and it looked fine. He was probably fine. Though he should at least wash his face, to deal with his blotchy cheeks and red eyes, if nothing else. Maybe slap on some makeup and go for a walk in the pleasant weather outside. Take the dog with him, wander around town a bit.

As he stared out the window at Dee’s dog, who was sprinting wildly up and down her tether, probably chasing some bug or lizard, he felt his heart sink. He knew he wasn’t going to do any of that. Pipe dreams for someone with far more energy and functionality than he possessed lately.

So, instead, trying his best to ignore the looming sense of dread he felt, and the anxiety he could feel building over Dee’s return and subsequent disappointment over his lack of productivity, he turned his still tear-blurred gaze back to the too-bright screen of the laptop, readied his fingers over the keyboard, and attempted once again to write.

Depression, anxiety, past abuse mention, unhealthy habits, dysphoria mention, brief eating disorder, death mention, bad family past, brief past mention of violence

[aestherians]

My response to this video is gonna be ridiculously long, so hit J if you want to skip it

“Fictinkin is Terrible” Bad grammar. Should either be ‘fictionkin are terrible’ or 'fictionkinity is terrible’. But I digress.

“I actually used to be fictionkin” It’s generally agreed that if you’re 'kin, that’s what you are. It’s an inherent trait, like a hair color, and you can’t just quit it (though you can realize you never were 'kin in the first place or you can stop associating with the community or you can refuse to use any of the labels). A better wording would probably be “I used to think I was fictionkin.” This is just nitpicking, honestly, as it doesn’t change the experiences you’ve had with the community.

“[The otherkin community consists] of people who believe they are the spirit of a species besides human, born into the wrong body.” Not exactly wrong, not exactly right. This describes a lot of otherkin but by far not all. I believe my soul is partially that of a bison but I don’t believe I should’ve been born in the body of a bison. I also feel like I’m a gnoll (you know,, those fuckers from D&D) on a psychological level, which I chalk up to a lot of weird things in my late childhood/early teens, such as roleplaying werewolves and imprinting on the art of DarkNatasha. It’s not play-pretend, it’s just a… character trait, I guess you could say. Like being Pagan or being really into knitting. A large portion of otherkin believe it’s a purely psychological phenomenon or that the cause is a mix of spiritual and psychological stuff. Likewise, a lot of otherkin don’t feel like they’re born into the wrong body. It’s very subjective how each individual describes their otherkinity.

“It’s origins are mainly from tumblr” Not really… The current otherkin community has its roots in the elven communities from the 1970s (namely the Elf Queen’s Daughters and the Silver Elves). The EQD have letters dating back to 1973 detailing their nonhuman identities and can trace the origins of their organization back to the late 1960s. The word 'otherkin’ was coined by Torin in a mailing list (hosted by R’ykandar Korra’ti) in 1990. This is around the same time that the therian community appeared (seperately from the elvenkind/otherkin community) in the newsgroup Alt.Horror.WereWolves. For more information, check out “Otherkin Timeline - The Recent History of Elfin, Fae,and Animal People” By O. Scribner.

“Nowadays, the otherkin community has actually been pretty dead recently…” Again, not really… If anything, there are more otherkin actively discussing their identities and connecting with each other now than ever before. The community is just isolated to private chats and servers (mainly on Discord) and heavily moderated forums like WereList, Therian-Guide, and Fictionkin Dot Com.

“…and in its place has arisen something far worse: This is the fictionkin community.” Though some of the elves of the EQD and the Silver Elves would technically be classified as fictionkin today (as they identified as canon characters from Tolkien’s Middle-earth), the fictionkin community as we know it dates back to circa 2001. In other words, it’s not a replacement for the otherkin community specific to tumblr, and it is probably older than a lot of the people watching this video. For more info, check out “A History Of The Fictionkin Community” by House of Chimeras.

“Otherkin actually has [sic] some basis in spiritual beliefs like reincarnation and spirit animals” Otherkinity has nothing to do with having a spirit animal and an otherkin have nothing to do with spirit animals. If someone isn’t first nations they shouldn’t even touch that term. I understand where the confusion comes from, though. When you’re just getting to know your animal guide/spirit guide you think about them a lot, and when you think about something a lot you’re bound to experience things that are reminiscent of otherkin experiences, such as dreaming that you are the animal or taking on the mindset of the animal. The author Lupa used to think she was a wolf therian but a couple of years down the line recognized that she’d mistaken her spirit guide for a theriotype. You can read about it in her article “Letting Go of Therianthropy For Good.”

“Fictionkin, however, these people lack any actual reasoning behind why they think they’re a fictional character. They’ll often run around in circles, trying to come up with explanations for it, usually quoting the multiverse theory.” Archetypal connection, dissociation, energetic resonance, imprinting, mental fabrication, psychic connection, differently shaped soul parts, soul shattering, spiritual links, trauma, a coping mechanism turned into an involuntary identity, astral shapeshifting, neurodivergence, developmental issues in one of the critical periods of identity formation… Need I go on? There are plenty of things (both spiritual and psychological) that could explain why some people are fictionkin.

“At least the otherkin community tries to explain their logic with actual spiritual and religious beliefs.” What’s the difference between an “actual spiritual belief” and what fictionkin believe in? Hopefully you’re aware that all religious and spiritual beliefs were created by people. Superheroes are the modern day Greek gods, and fictionkinity isn’t really different from Alexander the Great believing he was a demigod. At least I don’t see the difference, except in the number of people that believe it (and I think we can all agree that the number of subscribers a belief has does not determine how real it is, otherwise we’d all have to accept the Abrahamic god as real and atheists would be seen as delusional).

“But the fictionkin community preaches a theory with no actual evidence behind it like it’s fucking fact.” And what exactly is the evidence behind non-fictionkin beliefs about the cause of 'kinity…?

“How do you actually determine that you are these characters?” I’m not fictionkin, so I can’t speak for them, but I identify as a bison and a gnoll because I experience a lot of things that fit into either narrative more comfortably than it does a human narrative. Body dysphoria, homesickness after places I’ve never been, impulses/urges, supernumerary phantom limbs, periods where my mindset feels less human and more animal, and flashing images of being my kintypes. Am I literally a nonhuman creature in a human body? Who the fuck knows. But it feels good to me to put those experiences in that narrative.

“It’s really concerning that these people would base their entire identities around something so vague.” Assuming someone’s kintype is their entire identity because you only know them from their 'kin blog is like assuming Drea Renee’s entire identity is 'knitter’ because she runs a big knitting blog. It doesn’t really fly. I’m otherkin, sure, but I’m also an animal science student, an aspiring amateur entomologist, a collector of old books, a fantasy fan, a cat lover, a scourer of thrift stores, and I could go on. Old books isn’t my entire identity. Insects aren’t my entire identity. Otherkinity isn’t my entire identity. I understand the assumption as you only see most 'kin on their blog devoted to otherkinity, but trust me, they will 9 times out of 10 have a private main blog where they post about all the other stuff that interests them.

“Let’s assume these memories are real. Don’t you think it would be possible to have memories of a character you aren’t even familiar with?” Plenty of people do, actually! They usually only find out when their source comes out, though. A somewhat famous example is Ebony who identified as a thestral a few years before Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix was released. You can read about this in their essay “Fangs, Flesh and Flight” on House of Chimeras’ Livejournal. I myself have had several 'memories’ (I’m reluctant to call them that for personal reasons) of being an elderly woman in various situations. I’ve looked everywhere for something that matches those images, but I’ve pretty much resigned myself to it just being a 'normal’ past life.

“They pretty much make their self-indulgent canon” As a canon-divergent gnoll, I am Offended™. Nah, but honestly, canons and people’s relationships with them are weird (and I have a gut feeling that non-'kin would call our experiences fake whether we adhere to canon or not). Some people swear up and down that Shiro from Voltron still loves his ex, others claim the opposite. And neither of them are wrong since it’s all about the media consumer’s own perception of what they’re shown. Then there are people like me who just go off whatever gut feeling they have, so whatever kind of gnoll I identify as doesn’t show up in any tabletop canon that I’m aware of. I technically identified as a gnoll before I knew what a gnoll was and on my blog there are plenty of posts where I list my traits, asking if someone knows a creature matching them. In the end a kind Anon pointed me towards gnolls.

“According to these people you don’t even have to have memories to be kin. Actually, there’s no real determining factors for how to be kin and nothing is stopping you from being kin with every single fictional character that you like. As a matter of fact, people who are only kin with one or two characters are the minority.” You don’t need memories to be 'kin as there are many other factors that could cause you to feel nonhuman/like a fictional character. I’ve already gone over this in “How do you actually determine that you are these characters?”. What stops you from having a billion characters as your kintype at once is the simple fact that only a smaller number can really be significant enough parts of your personality to constitute kintypes. There’s no set upper limit, but somwhere around 5 is usually where you should start to get really skeptical. The people who have a list of 100 supposed kintypes have just really misunderstood what other-/fictionkinity is and need to be gently corrected. I hate to sound like I’m yelling ‘no true scotsman’ but among genuine otherkin, you’ll rarely find someone with more than 10 kintypes. Past lives, sure, but not kintypes.

“…delusions of being fictional characters.” 'Kinity is not a delusion. Please don’t downplay mental health issues by comparing them to a subculture. The DSM-IV classifies a delusion as “A false belief based on incorrect inference about external reality that is firmly sustained despite what almost everyone else believes and despite what constitutes incontrovertible and obvious proof or evidence to the contrary. The belief is not one ordinarily accepted by other members of the person’s culture or subculture (e.g., it is not an article of religious faith). When a false belief involves a value judgment, it is regarded as a delusion only when the judgment is so extreme as to defy credibility.” Otherkinity is an identity, not a belief, and it is in identity that makes no claims about the external world (with the exception of a select few elves and fae in the 80s/90s who claimed to be genetically otherkin). The beliefs surrounding otherkinity, however, can be delusional in rare cases like physical shifting. But in almost all cases the beliefs would fall into the culture/subculture category like religions do.

"And as they always say, anyone can become kin! You don’t even need to take it seriously.” The people who say that are going against the +40 years of established knowledge about the community and the otherkin experience. They’re wrong. You can not 'become 'kin’, only realize you were 'kin your whole life. You can, however, choose to become a copinglinker, which I believe a lot of the kids on tumblr actually are. If you chose your kintype, if you can drop a kintype all willy-nilly, or if you’re “kin to cope,” you’re a copinglinker, not otherkin. It’s a matter of misinformation and a lack of resources (and of kids refusing to listen when more knowledgeable people correct them).

“Eventually you’re gonna have to grow out of this.” Why? I’m happy the way I am (and functional, if that’s what you’re worried about). I’ve got friends, hobbies, and goals. I recently quit my job to focus on my studies, but up until then, I had no problems keeping it. I go to college. I go to parties. I’m going to Pride in a few hours. I’m not exactly secret about being otherkin, and all the people who’ve found out or who’ve been told that I am, have just shrugged and accepted it. If it doesn’t interfere with my day-to-day, there’s no reason to 'outgrow it’. For the record, I know plenty of people in their 30s and 40s (even a few upwards of 70) who lead completely normal lives and happen to be other-/fictionkin.

[tumblunni]

Oh fuck i cant stand this

Ive already almost used up my damn mobile data again and i only bought it yesterday. Fuck i want to go home. You guys are like the only comfort i have here and i dunno what im gonna do when i cant message you again

Fuckin hell stupid shit day! I was supposed to go to a therapy class thing today but the stupid bus went past where my abusive father lives and i had a MASSIVE FREAKOUT and had to go home and then ofcourse to go home you have to go back on the stupid same bus!! I fuckib failed and wasted the doctor's time and he had to grab me to stop me from running off the bus crying and back to fuckin hell dad's house because im shit and i deserve everything he ever did to me

AND THEN fuckin same doctor continues the relentless constant tide of everyone misgendering me and making crass transphobic jokes

"You see you've gotta understand the other opinion" he says, as if trans people werent fuckin raised SURROUNDED by cis people's predjudiced opinion of us and taught it was fact. As if it didnt take me SO MUCH WORK to even become confident enough to stand up for myself! I've gotta see the 'other opinion' that "yknow well families and children use public bathrooms and theyre scared trans people will molest their children so its understandable they want to kick you out or even act violent to you". Yknow the OTHER OPINION that MY OPINION DOESNT MATTER and also MY ENTIRE EXISTANCE IS A CRIME but i'm the one being predjudiced for not accepting that OPINION, right?! Im here trying to tell him that no that isnt rational because there have been LITERALLY NO RECORDED CASES of trans people molesting children in public bathrooms, or even "evil men faking being trans" to do the same thing. There's been more cases of actual cis men breaking into women's bathrooms to drag women out for merely LOOKING trans. More cis women have been harassed because of anti trans laws than they ever did before! But hey "respect that other opinion", right? And also "at least its not as bad as russia" and "but gay pride is everywhere now, that one footballer had rainbow shoelaces." Hey wow i never noticed that not only was homophobia totally over but also transphobia was remotely related to that! Wow! I seriously had to bring out the fuckin 1600s historical investigation on pre-british olde englishe that showed the existance of a gender neutral pronoun before the word "he" ever existed, and the existance of transgender pride and pronoun discussions in the 1800s before the word transgender was even popularized. I cant believe i fuckin had to do a 'show your sources that queer people existed before the internet' IN REAL LIFE. WITH A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL. I can point at the damn NHS website but nooooo!

Oh and yknow what got me the most? YKNOW WHAT GOT ME THE MOST?? "We have sick people here, you cant expect them to remember stuff like that. Dont ruin their recovery by bringing up stuff like that." Like..fuckin..IM A FUCKIN PATIENT TOO. I wasnt even asking the other patients to stop hurting me i was asking you the staff to maybe consider it! And seriously you want me to be so super ultra perpetually prepared and perpetually rational and able to keep my existance secret and out of every conversation yet theyre too ill to learn about lgbt people existing? Just a sentence would be too painful? And me living every day being misgendered doesnt impact my ability to recover at all, eh? Fuckin shitting fuck hell.

And i hate it i HATE IT because he's being nice so i'll be the bad guy if i complain. Likehe fuckin..doesnt even know he's being rude and doesnt want to consider the idea. He says 'i dont like your tone' if i suggest the concept and FUCK in that moment i was so fuckin scared he was gonna hit me like my dad did. Or at tge very least kick me out of the hospital if i dont cooperate with him. He just fuckin..thinks he's perfectly unbiased and accepts everyone and "oh but i like to make fun of everyone equally". And i even fuckin raised the subject that people who say that often only make fun of minorities and never themselves, the majority, or major power structures. And he's just like 'yeah yeh i hate people like that'. Whoosh. Rigjt over the head. God i wasnt even TRYING to be passive aggressive i was trying tk outright tell him why what he said was upsetting me but NOPE. Trying to explain how its just so hard and tiring to have to verrrrrry patientlyyyyy explain yourself to EVERYONE EVERY DAY CONSTANTLY while they sling loads of rude words at you and it should be just allowed because they 'dont know better'. Like you ask me to educate you but at the same time im rude if i actually tell you?? And god i also tried to explain how the fuckin bathroom violence thing isnt an example of 'educating another opinion' AGAIN by saying like... If someone just asked me to explain being transgender i would. If someone just said they were uncomfortable i would leave. That's 'another opinion'. Reacting with slurs and violence to a trans person existing and not doing anything to you is not 'another opinion' and its not someone who 'just didnt know'. He was seriously trying to argue that it WASNT BIGOTED it was just someone rationally being afraid for their children because of a danger that doesnt exist, and rationally reacting with extreme violence rather than doing anything else. Rationally. RATIONALLY. oh just MISTAKENLY committing a hate crime! Cos they just didnt know trans people exist! Not cos they hate us! Oh no! Yeah sure we totally have a fucking DUTY to educate these POOR UNKNOWING PEOPLE while theyre attacking us, and its our damn fault if we didnt...

And just fucking FUCK i hate how someone can say all that stuff and still be "nice" and still not hate me personally? Like its so messed up?? He's not anti trans or anything he just has so much more damn sympathy for cis people than trans people, and puts all the onus on us to somehow prevent our own murders. And he thinks that "i dont have a problem with trans people" means doing LITERALLY NOTHING to change your behaviour to make trans people feel accepted. They should just magically know that your jokes are jokes when theyre surrounded by so many people saying it honestly, in CONSTANT FEAR OF THAT EXACT THING LEADING TO VIOLENCE. And like in order to be "a guy who has no problem with trans people" he has to do nothing, while in order for me to be not bigoted against HIM it means i have to never get offended by his jokes and also never talk about myself and also constantly educate him about things because he doesnt want to learn, even though he works in a hospital thats supposed to have an anti discrimination policy. Like fuckin just NOT HURTING LGBT PEOPLE doesnt make you discrimination free, shit like telling me to misgender myself because my pronouns would confuse the other patients is kinda fuckin fucked up. Also "that's a question for later" is all i CONSTANTLY get when it comes to talking about legal name changes or therapy or even just talking to an lgbt support group. I have to wait until i stop being depressed because oh no im talking about too many mental illnesses at once. Its been seven years and i havent fuckin stopped being depressed, bitch! Ever consider a fuckin symptom of gender dysphoria is a big ol fat depression!!! And just gahhhhh he was so fuckin baffled and angry that i would dare to get emotional about the subject?? Like he just saw DEBATING WHETHER TRANS PEOPLE ARE REAL and WHETHER PEOPLE WHO MURDER THEM FOR USING THE BATHROOM ARE JUSTIFIED as a perfectly normal casual discussion that a Non Transphobic Man could have with his transgender friend. Why oh why would i cry about this casual hypothetical discussion? Hey its not like it fuckin affects me directly! "Well its never happened to you right?" A Ha Ha Ha Ha. Also fuckin "so which bathroom do you use?" and "well you're not really transgender if youre not getting the surgery-oh wait you do want the surgery? How does that work then?" I swear i could just see the gears turning in his head and he was about to say "do you want both down there". Gahhhhhh *cringes myself into a tiny tumbleweed and blows away*

Also the entire time he kept calling being trans a sexuality and also asexuality. "No youre not trans youre asexual right?" Yeah sure ive just been saying im trans and saying im not a girl and wearing a chest binder and talking this entire conversation about my experiences as a trans person in public bathrooms just to pull an elaborate prank on you. And like i know what he meant is that he thought the word for nonbinary was asexual (has asexuality REALLY made so little progress towards getting into the sex ed curriculum in the entire 25 years of my life?) But like seriously he was like "youre not really trans if youre nonbinary". And then fuck dude i dont wanna explain how surgery works to you!! And especially not also my entirely unrelated sexuality that has entirely different equally upsetting predjudices!

Ans gahhhh fuck i just got no sympathy for crying and he acted as if it was just some wildly unexpected occurance he never could have predicted. And i hate it cos he's nice to me whenever the subject is about anything else. I cant get any symoathey from ANYONE because he's A NICE GUY and why dont i just understaaaaaand other opinionnnnnns

I wanted to fuckin quit this whole thing on the spot and go home. Only reason i cant is because my support worker is off work until thursday auauauaughhh

Fuck at least one positive i guess is that ive made progress in the social anxiety or at least gotten better at giving the impression im making progress. Cos i want to LEAVE AS FAST AS POSSIBLE. And also fuck all my other worries seem less suicide-inducing when im actually getting the closest ive ever been to killing myself on a daily basis because of a stupid other thing that i never could have predicted. Go here for one form of self hate, come home with another! Yayyyyy

And fuck i havent even made a single bit of progress on drawing or writing anything and i cant practise making ganes cos my laptop cant run rpgmaker and i havent even started reading my giant pile of books cos they fuckin LOOK THROUGH THE WINDOW EVERY SINGLE HOUR TO MAKE SURE YOU AINT KILLED YOURSELF. i have no fuckin pribacy and its making me wanna kill myself even more!! I just live constantly on edge looking at the fuckin door window and i cant even do anything to distract myself because im too scared of them looking at me!! Or barging in at no notice to tell me i have to do some big stressful thing RIGHT NOW because i dont even get advance notice of anything aaaa! And fuck i dont have anywhere to go to even calm down from a panic attack cos i have no privacy so at least im getting over being scared of going outside cos outside is the only place i can go to cry. Fuckin strangers in the crowd at least wont cause shit if they see me.

Fuck i want to go home. Fuck i wish i had enough money to keep buying mobile internet. Its like fuckin 750mb a day to run tumblr but its all ive got to talk to any person who doesnt hate me or patronize me or think im faking a bunch of shit or whatever the fuck. And im not even any fun to be around when im like this so im probably just ruining your day too. And im probably gonna vanish again soon and then just go back to crying alone and getting worse and probably never being able to leave

I knew it was gonna be stressdul but i didnt predict any of this.. I just wanna fuckin die. I wanted to jump out the car and go to my old dad's house and have him pull open the door and slap me around a bit. Like call me a fucking dyke, call me a sick retard, be honest about your feelings! I'd fuckin take being abused over this "oh youre the bad one for being mad because i had goooood intentions" reverse psychology bigotry from hell. Either these people are evil geniuses or theyre even more stupid like me. Fuckin shit dad please manifest in my room and slap me, killing me instantly. I feel like being scared of you would at least be a faster emotion than this nebulous sensation of confusing unease and dysphoria 24/7 for 6 fuckin months. One week done, haha! Hahahabahahahahahahahahahahahahshahahahahahshshshahshahahahhahahaaaa

[reject-princess97]

Criminal Minds - Spencer Reid Part 1

"Hey Auntie Em," You chirped happily as you climbed into her work Issued SUV and bulkled in,

"Hey Dorothy, How was OZ?" Emily joked as she set the car of moving and drove us to the FBI building.

"You know when I start at work you'll have to call me by my actual name...you'd confuse your team."

"Our team, Y/n they'll be your team too in a hour or so." Em smiled.

She was right of course because today was my first day of working for the BAU as a profiler. I had spent the last year training and working for this and now that the day is finally here I can't keep the smile off of my face.

I had woken up around 6am this morning and showered and changed into a pair of black skinny jeans, a while blouse and a maroon sweater as well as a Pair of red converse, an inside joke between my and Emily.She has always nicknamed me Dorothy and call her Auntie Em as in characters from The Wizard Of OZ .

Now I sat in her car, listening to the radio talking to Em about the team.

"...And then there's Reid who..."

"He's like me...Smart, finished high school young, 3 PhD's and can read about 20'000 words a minute has an eidetic memory like me and..."

"OK,OK how about you stop talking and get in there, you need to meet Hotch before we get to work." Em laughed interrupting me as she pulled up in the car park. I smiled happily and nodded, I hopped out of the car and waited for Em as she pulled out a box of files and a bag. I grabbed the box for her and she smiled, closing the trunk and leading the way inside.

We entered the building and went straight into the elevator and she pressed the button for the right floor.

"You ready?" She asked. I stayed quiet and nodded, my nerves finally hitting and I started feeling a little ill.

"You'll be fine Y/N. Just be yourself and you'll be fine. Trust me." Emily smiled turning me to face her.

"Em you do know a lot of people don't like me being myself...I'm awkward, I ramble on and I correct everything if it's wrong." reminded her to which she just laughed at.

"Ohhh Believe me, the team are used to that from Reid." Just then the elevator doors opened and she lead me out.

"OK, deep breath...lets go." she told me, I nodded and followed behind as she lead me into what she called the bullpen.

"Here let me help you with that hun." A blonde showed up and took the box from my hand.

"You must be Y/N?" she asked I nodded and smiled.

"Yeah, your JJ."

"That's right who do you know that?" She asked wide eyed.

"Emily told me all about you guy's and there are photos of you all in a nice frame in her house." I explaind. "Also I was given files yesterday, to look over from agent Hotchner, so I would now about you guys before I started." I smiled pulling out a bunch of files from my own bag.

"I see." JJ smiled.

"Hey, Em, You heard about the new girl...She seems pretty cool, very smart and very pretty...our new resident genius." Another blonde started yelling as she walked towards me, not seeing my just yet.

"Yeah, I know." Emily laughed pointing at me as I popped out from behind her,

"Hi," I chirped happily. "You're Garcia right?" I asked.

"That's me. Penelope Garcia, certified Tech Wiz at your service."

I smiled and she turned back to walk the way she was heading. "Oh Hotch is in his office waiting for you both." She told Em and I.

"I'll put this on your desk." JJ said to Em as we both walked towards Agent Hotchner's office.

"thank's JJ." Emily called back as we got to Hotchner's door and she knocked before entering.

"Hey, Hotch. You know Y/N." She smiled over at him, he smiled back and nodded.

"Yes, Agent Y/N Prentiss, I hope you're ready, we have a case. You can stay behind if you want, give yourself time to get yourself adjusted but we're happy to have you start straight away if you feel ready." He offered as he stood up and grabbed a few files from his desk. "Just know, if you choose to start now, you will be put to work and you will be expected to keep up and work with the rest of the team."

"I'm ready to work Agent Hotchner, no need to worry, I swear the past year has been nothing but training for this job." I smiled.

"OK so do you have any questions?" Hotchner asked.

"Well, I do have one for the both of you" I smiled at both agent Hotchner and Emily.

"Shoot" Em smiled.

"Well I understand when on a case and working with other people I need to call Em Agent Prentiss or Emily but What about when I'm around the office or it's just the team, Do I keep up the professionalism or can I you know call her aunt Em?"

Em laughed and smiled, "Honestly you can call whatever you want to myself or the team as they will soon pick up on it, and Morgan usual gives most a nickname anyway, but like you said if we're on a case I think it best you be a little professional. Just call me Prentiss like everybody else. As long as Hotch is OK with that." She smiled to Hotch who nodded.

"Yes of course by all means call her what you wish as long as you keep it professional when it's needed."

"OK thank you Agent Hotchner. At least I'll feel a little more at ease with that." I sighed a deep breath.

"That's good, now, lets get to the BAU room and get started on the case." He smiled and exited the room, Em and I following until he stopped at the door and turn to me. "Oh and Y/N, call me Hotch."

I smiled up at him and nodded.

"Yes sir" He rose and eye brow at me and a hint of a smile hid on his lips.

"Sorry, I mean Hotch." I laughed as we all exited the room, Hotch and Em laughing too.

"Wow, Aaron, did you just laugh. Like an actual laugh?" An older man spoke from the doorway of the office next door to Hatch's.

"David Rossi, right?" I ask smiling at the other man.

"You ask like you don't know who anybody is, you did it with JJ and Garcia and now you're doing it with Rossi what is wrong with you?" Emily interrupted laughing. Rossi looked over, eye brows raised.

"Because it's impolite to just say 'Hi I'm Y/N Prentiss and I already know all about you, why, oh because I really don't like to work with people unless I know at least a little bit about their back ground." I mumble.

"Smart" Rossi smiled. "Did you say Prentiss, is in Emily Prentiss?" Rossi asked pointing to Em who nodded.

"This is that niece I told you about."Em laughed as we all began walking to the BAU room once again.

"Ah yes I remember, you're the Genius of the family and your family were a little upset you wanted to join the BAU with Emily. right?"

"Yeah they were more than upset, they told me if I was going to use my gift for something so stupid like the FBI and not work on something stupid like working for the army of the government then I can go live with auntie Em and never speak to them ever again." I shrugged.

"Wow, I'm sorry." Rossi smiled sadly.

"Are you kidding me, I was so happy to get out of there and be a person and not just a girl with a big brain and no actual life." I laughed.

"Yeah and then Dorothy flew over the rainbow and landed right at my door step. Never seen the girl so happy." Em laughed as we walked into a big room with a giant table stationed in the middle and a bunch of people sat around it, their attention being drawn to the four of us walking throw.

"Reid, Morgan, this is Agent Y/N Prentiss, she starts today." Hotch introduced pointing at me.

Morgan stood up to introduce himself but Em interrupted.

"She already knows who you are, she did research on you all before she started working here because she likes to know who she is working with or she gets really panicky and she won't speak for like a year until she know you not a bad person who will use her for big beautiful brain." Em laughed taking a seat next to JJ. "Now sit" she pointed at a seat in between Agent Reid and Morgan. I smiled and sat n the seat and turned to face Garcia who stood at the front.

"OK my lovely's, it's a pretty gory one. Four teen taken from Maryland Baltimore, The Four were taken on a Tuesday, Kept for five day and found the following Monday, lying in a pool of there own blood, all had their breasts removed and there hair cut to the scalp. Except the fourth who was only reported missing last night."

"Where were they taken from?" JJ asked.

"One was from a high school after her cheer-leading practice had finished. The secend was from a mall and the third on the way home from a friends house after studying for a test the next day. The fourth, Missy Tyler was Taken from a Gym opened to women only. For those who didn't want to be starred down by sweaty, smelly, horn dog men who were hitting on them while they worked out."

"Where were the first three found?" I asked, Garcia smiled and pointed at me, I'm glad you asked young Prentiss, the first was found in the middle of a football field, the second outside a strip club and the third was found in a Gym in the middle of a MMA ring." She answered, pulling up photos of the crime scenes.

"Interesting." I mumbled.

"Whats up Y/N" Hotch said

"I have a theory, but It could be wrong." I spoke quietly.

"Whats the theory?" Reid asked from next to me, a look of surprise on his face.

"Well, the victims were all taken from place girls typically hung out, the Mall, Cheer leading practice, a women only Gym."

"Yeah we got that bit." Em spoke.

"and then the Unsub, did I get that right?" I asked and earned a nod from all the team. "OK well the unsub then dumped the victims on locations where Men or boys are typically found, Football field, strip club, The Gym." I continued,

"What are you getting at young one?" Garcia asked.

"Maybe the unsub is having trouble figuring out who he or she is...Gender Dysphoria." I finished, I watched as everybody picked up what I got on.

"She's right, it makes sense. The way the unsub is working, it's as though they are both a male and a female. He or she is Taking the girls and turning them into boys, making the 'hang out' where the boys do." Reid spoke grabbing every bodies attention.

"The evidence and the signs all point to a man who hates women but what if it's a man who want's to be a woman but had never felt like he could." Reid continued

"A parent of relative who made him feel like it was wrong to feel that way."

"Well look into it when we get there, Y/N I assume you have a go bag prepared?"

"Yes Hotch, I kept it will Auntie Em's in case I needed it." I smiled up at him.

"Good. Wheels up in thirty."Hotch ordered before we all exited the room and walked towards the Bullpen.

"Auntie Em?" Morgan asked as he sat at his desk. I nodded and sat at the desk across from Reid's desk, knowing that was my desk now...Hotch had told me where it was before I accepted the job.

"Yeah, Emily is my auntie, Y/n Prentiss...Emily Prentiss, it's not just a coincidence." I laughed,

"Sure I figured that out myself. Just wondering where Auntie Em came from?" He asked.

"OH, well when I was little I used to watch Wizard Of OZ a lot and my mum used to make jokes that Emily would be just like Auntie Em in the movie, hard working, and hardly ever taking time for her family. It kind of became a thing." I explained.

"Hey Dorothy, the wicked witch of he west is on the phone." Em called over holding her cell phone out towards me.

"Drop it." I called over.

"Drop the phone?" She called back confused.

"No, Drop the house on her already." I sighed, walking over to her and taking the phone and hanging up the phone.

"Wicked witch of the West?" Reid asked me confused.

"My mother." I told him sitting back at my desk.

"They don't talk anymore, something about her not wanting Y/N wasting her talents on solving crime and not putting it to good use." Emily explained. We all stood up and walked towards the elevator and once we were all in we headed down to the car park again.

"So, what talents are you putting to waste working at the BAU?" Morgan asked me.

"She's smart." Em spoke before I could say anything.

"Are you going to answer everything for me or can I talk?" I sassed my Aunt who just held up her arms and shook her head.

"Sorry, of you go." She laughed.

"Thank you." I thanked her making Morgan and Reid laugh.

"Anyway, as my aunt very rudely pointed out, I'm smarter than most." I began. "Like Dr Reid, I have an IQ of 187, I have an eidetic memory and I can read 20'000 words per minute."

"Really?" Reid asked surprised.

"Yeah, I took a little time before coming to work here to build my resume. picked up three PhD's, in Math, Psychology and Computer science and IT. I also have bachlors in physics, Biology and social science." I continued,

"Impresive, I finally have someone of higher intelect to talk to." Reid joked smiled at me.

His smile making me go weak at the knee. From the moment I walked into the BAU room Dr Reid cought my eye. He was very attractive and seemingly very shy.

"Hey, pretty boy, I am stood right here." Derek said hiting Reid softly in the back of the head.

"Mmm I see what you mean. Poor guy doesn't even know where he is...I understand the struggle Dr reid, My auntie is also not the sharpest tool in the shed" I told him earning a smack on the head myself making me laugh. "It is very frustrating when you Try to help people out and they just look at you like your a robot, and then they complain that you're showing off." I joked making him laugh.

"Yes and then they give you silly little nicknames like pretty boy or boy genius." Reid continued as the elevator doors opened and we all walked out.

"OK quit flirting with the new girl pretty boy we have to go, you'll she her on the plane." Morgan told Reid as he dragged him of towards their cars.

Em laughed and Reid turned a bright red, same as me.

"Come on Dorothy we got to get to the jet." Em laughed.

"I like him, he's funny." I smiled as I looked off into the direction of where the boys had gone before I climbed into the car.

"Oh no, it's happened." She whispered.

"What's happened?" I asked confused.

"You've fallen for a boy...for Reid."

"What, no I haven't I just said he was funny, how does that mean I like him?" I asked.

"Because Reid isn't funny he's...Reid."

"Maybe you just don't get his jokes." I offered but she just shook her head.

"No, I get his jokes they just ain't funny."She laughed as she started the car. "Looks it's OK if you do like him, he's a good kid, he's brave, a great agent and he's smart. You both have a lot in common." She tried to reason.

"Em I just met him like literally 15 minutes ago."

"Have you never heard of love at first sight?" she asked.

It didn't take long for us to get to the jet and soon we were up in the air. I felt a little nervous flying as I have never been on a jet before and Reid seemed to notice and he sat across from me.

"Hi Dr reid."

"Dr prentiss" He nodded.

"Actually I prefer to go by Agent if that's OK?"

"Oh sorry, can I ask why?" He asked leaning in. Hotch came and sat by Reid nodded.

"I'd like to know too, if that's OK."

"Sure, we'll the PhD's were never something I wanted. They were something my mum made me do and I kind of feel being called Dr is something she could brag about to her friends, until she was tired of that and made me get another one. The third PhD in psychology was my choice as I had by then decided to use my brain for good and not evil computer development like my mother wanted." I explained.

"But you earned the right to be called Dr by your peers with all the work you put into those PhD's." Reid reasoned.

"While that is true, it started to feel as though people where only proud of me and wanted anything to do with each because I was Dr Y/N Prentiss. After I move out here I dropped the Dr and went to plain old Y/N Prentiss, it was only suppost to be until I stopped feeling weird about it but I sort of gotten used to my life without the Dr."

"Will you go back to Dr Prentiss?" JJ asked leaning over the chairs in between Reid and Hotch.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"I think you should." Em smiled from where she sat.

"Why? I never wanted the PhD's in the first place, I liked being plane old Y/N Prentiss, the smart girl down the road. Instead I became "Oh guess who got ANOTHER PhD to show off about." And "Guess who's daughter is a Dr and won't shut up about it." I told her.

"Oh Dorothy my sweet sweet Dorothy...you came here to be away from your mother not to take a step back in you life. I say use the Dr in your name again, not on paper just yet, just by us, show us why you deserve those PhD's you worked so hard for and then in the future you can be happy and proud to be a Dr you will be happy again." My auntie told me as she walked over and hugged me tight.

"OK sure, but only you guys and Garcia for now. Ok?" I told them and everyone nodded and smiled.

We all sat back in the original seats we were in before and relaxed.

I was feeling a little anxious again so Reid began talking to me trying to keep my mind off of things.

"You know, statistical speaking flying is the safest way to travel." He spoke up after a while.

I smiled over at him and nodded.

"You play poker?" He asked pulling out a deck of cards from his bag, I nodded and he began shuffling them and he delt them and our game began.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7

X

[theviolentfembot]

“For all the world we didnt know we held in common all along the common woman is as common as the best of bread and will rise and will become strong-I swear it to you I swear it to you on my own head I swear it to you on my common woman’s head” - Judy Grahn

I don’t feel exceptional. I feel common, so very common. My situation is not that unique or unusual. A lot of women are traumatized. A lot of women, most women in fact, don’t fit inside the female role or ideal. Some of us try to conform but others of us can’t or don’t want to and you catch hell for that. You catch hell for that either way, actually. You can’t win if you’re a woman in a male-dominated society. A lot of women dissociate. A lot of women are dysphoric. Let me say it again, women are dysphoric. And our dysphoria can be as severe or as mild as any case of dysphoria can be. We can experience the full range of dysphoric possibilities, from cringing when we get called she to having a near constant sensation of a phantom penis. There is nothing women can’t feel including dysphoria.

How much of why dysphoric and detransitioned women aren’t taken seriously or listened to is because we’re women in a society that doesn’t value female voices? How much of this is another way of denying women’s suffering? Why is it inconceivable that women can’t experience severe enough pain that we’d change ourselves drastically, alter our bodies, live as men to escape it? And not just live as men for a while, a few months or years or ten years and then detransition, but live as men for good. Women can get to a place where they have to see themselves as men and live as men to survive in a world that hates them as women.Trust me, listen to me. I know it could happen. I know it does happen. I know I could still be stuck, unable to think of myself as a woman or accept myself as female. My womanhood is not an innate gender identity hardwired in my brain since birth. It is not an unshakable feeling telling me who I am. It is something I learned about through reflection and experience, something that I will always be learning about because it is infinite. I am a woman because I am female, because I inherited social meanings and power dynamics along with my body. It is a biological, spiritual, historical and cultural reality and in a patriarchy this reality is obscured because women who know it become more powerful, become dangerous. It can be known and accepted or kept from consciousness, denied. I would have always been a woman, no matter how long I lived as a man or genderqueer, or how much I changed my body but it’s not inevitable that I would have become fully aware of and accepted my womanhood. My whole society has struggled against me ever finding out what women actually are.Sometimes I imagine other ways my life could’ve gone. I could have gotten stuck in dissociation as a way of life. I could’ve grown more functional over time but I’d still be cut off from my root power as a female and never realize what I was missing. I consider myself lucky that I attained the awareness and understanding that I have now. I met brave women who helped me go to places inside myself that scared the shit out of me and move through them into new territories. Without their help I might still be trapped in old structures and ways of understanding myself that confined my possibilities and restricted my movements while leaving me unaware of that I was so limited.It is so hard to face trauma that hurt you bad enough it made you want to become another person, that actually did make you into another person, split off and wrapped around the one who got hurt. It is much harder than transitioning. I know because I’ve done both. Transition was hard. Detransitioning has been so much harder. The only thing I can compare it to is working through my mom’s suicide. So when I look at how painful it was, it makes sense to me that some people aren’t going to be able to stand that pain or go into it. Not cuz they’re weak or not as strong or smart as me or other detransitioned women. Not because they’re inferior in any way but because this world is fucking dangerous and facing your trauma opens you up, makes you vulnerable, makes you feel. It can make you feel ripped open and if you’re already protecting yourself from a society that wants to rip you up, you might not be able to go there. You need some degree of safety and security to face trauma and not fall to shit. So if you’re not safe or you’re not feeling safe enough, you can’t afford to let go of your coping mechanism cuz it could literally be your survival that’s at stake.I couldn’t start seeing how trauma lead to my transition until my life got more stable and I found a woman who’d also transitioned  and stopped who I could trust and talk to. I had also been meditating for years at that point, which made it easier to detach from and cope with the extreme emotions and sensations that often come up when you’re working through trauma.Some women who transitioned due to trauma are never going to get safe enough to drop their defense mechanisms. They’re not stupid, they’re surviving the best way they know how. But I want better for them and all women who transition. It takes a lot of energy to maintain a protective identity over your hurt self. You get used to it when that’s been your life for a long time. You may not know anything different. But if you get to a place where you can put that shit down, wow, do you ever feel lighter, freer, less burdened. It’s easier to move around and act because you’re not using so much energy to keep the world from touching you or maintain a protective persona. The wounded self you’ve been protecting can finally heal and when that happens you get even more powerful and strong.I’ve felt freer and happier than I even thought possible once I started healing from how I’d been wounded as a woman. I had to drop the idea that I was a really a man or genderqueer or anything other than a woman. I had to accept that I was a woman and then I could see all the damage dealt to me as a woman that I’d been blocking out. I could see the restrictive ideas of womanhood branded into my mind and how they had scarred me so bad that I’d transfered the violence to my own body. That was real fucking hard to face. It was hard to face what other people had done to me and it was hard to face how I’d hurt myself. It was a hell of a lot harder than injecting t into my thigh and getting blood drawn every six months. But after I worked through that hurt, after I faced it and started to understand what happened to me, I started healing wounds I’d been struggling to close up and mend for years. I found strength, wellness and the power of my deepest self which has been better than anything I got from testosterone. I got all the physical effects I expected when I took t but I’ve reached places detransitioning that I never imagined. It turned my whole world and sense of self upside down in a grand way. I am happy that I have changed beyond my mere desires and expectations.Facing my damage has shown me I am not broken, I am resilient and ever-growing and transforming. I don’t think anyone is broken or ruined or lost but I think there are plenty of women who are stuck at the present moment as I was stuck a few years back. They have protection. They have a strategy. They have a way of dealing with their struggles that’s become comfortable and familiar. They’re just trying to live and protect their already wounded bodies and psyches from more assaults and abuse. And I’m trying to create more space where these defenses aren’t needed. I’m trying to talk past the armor to the woman inside who’s so desperate to find a way to come out and walk in open air again. You might think I’m crazy, you might think you have no woman in you but if she’s there, she hears me and I want her to have hope. I want her to know I have her back and so do other women who have taken off their armor and disguises and survived. Not only have we survived, we’ve gotten stronger. Some trans people talk about killing their former selves but I don’t think they ever really die and I don’t think they ever stop looking for a way to live openly. They might never find it but they’re still in there, looking out in case it ever shows up. Doubts might really be hope for something better.I know my woman-self was there all along searching for a way to be free. She kept me restless and questioning. She finally found her opening and she took it and let go of the illusions she’d cast around herself. I want to create more openings, more escape routes out of patriarchal mindfucks and trauma cages. There are so many women struggling to get free and I feel so much love for these women and I want to fight along side of them as they work to free themselves from their oppressors.  Detransitioning is fighting back against your abusers and violators, whoever hurt you enough to turn you against yourself. Women become dysphoric and transition because others committed violence against us, physically, sexually, psychologically and spiritually. Imposing and reinforcing male-created ideas of what women are, brainwashing us into accepting society’s reality over our own is violence. We often bear its scars on our bodies. And the violence inflicted on our bodies digs deep into our minds, changes us, our thoughts and feelings, can shatter our selves into pieces. We resist by naming instead of denying this violence, articulating what was done to us and by whom, calling out the lies and distortions and telling our own truths.I am a common woman. I am not an exceptional case. Most women have been hurt and violated, all women have been lied to about what we are and how powerful we are and most of us spend some time believing the lies. A history of dysphoria and transition makes me stand out but only so much and not as much as many think. There are many women like me. First I found one other and then I found more and more. We are becoming more common. We are finding new ways to defend ourselves that require less armor and grant us more movement. We are seeing each other and being seen. We are creating more expansive spaces for women to live in. As we create more space and raise more power, more and more women will come to that space and find their power too. And we will become very common indeed.

[didsomeonesaytruscum]

just a rant about my life

i feel bad for getting shitty with my family. I can't enjoy time with them fully because they don't call me the right name. I wore my binder to my aunt's house, I felt good about the way i looked. there were some people there that didn't know my mom and I and my aunt introduced me as her niece and it pissed me off. if they were trying and slipped up I'd be okay. but they don't acknowledge it except for when I bring it up or the one time they I guess tried to tell me how gross men are. I don't know. but I'm so angry I could cry. if I were to speak out about it and be stubborn I wouldn't be allowed to go anywhere after school or get my phone taken away probably. I don't know. I don't want to try because it won't work anyway. my aunt kept making a point to call me girl and I slipped into sadness when they were trying to talk to me. my mom has gotten shitty with me for being depressed. I don't want to be. I go to therapy once a week and I have been for 2 years now. and of course I love her. but she tells me I need to get out of my funk but the "funk" is at its worst when I'm with family because my dad and stepmom are the only ones who call me the right name. she'll say "I don't know what to do for you" and I'll say "call me by the right name" and she says she can't do it and it just starts over again. we're not as close any more because of this. I just want to be a son, a nephew, etc. I don't want special treatment. I just want to be a man and move on with my life. my dad tells people I "feel more like a boy" and I feel like a baby because I'm not a boy. I want to grow up to be a man. I'm so ready to become a man. he told me the other day I'm too pretty to be a boy even though I thought my face passed the best out of all of me. he told me if I wanted to "live more like a boy" Id excersize and try to build up muscle. but I "live like a girl" because I get home from school and just go on my phone. find me a teenage boy who doesn't spend a ton of time on his phone, I swear to god. Ive been trying to push for a gender therapist and hopefully hrt and I'm finally going to a place specifically to help me with dysphoria. it's been a year I think. since I started talking about what I'm feeling, I've known longer than that. and he said he doesn't want me to feel like I have to do this or anything. but I'm feeling like I have to not do this because of my family anyways. he has it wrong. I'm not making sense. they're all getting tired of me avoiding family, but it's a lose-lose situation. I go to trying to please my family and stay close to them but I'm so dysphoric I cry a lot more than usual or isolate myself from them and feel bad I'm doing that and making them mad at me. I don't know what to do anymore. I have a girlfriend, and I told my parents a couple weeks after we got together. they were both okay with it. but I was still scared to say it because they'd mostly view me as a lesbian. which made me dysphoric. I said that to my dad and he said my mom shouldnt tell a whole lot of people because it's not something they need to know because it makes me vulnerable I guess. it's a "private" thing. one of my best friends is only allowed to spend the night because she's a girl. and I feel bad when she comes over because I know that's the only reason why she can spend the night and my other best friend who is a guy can't spend the night because we're different. it's bothering me more and more every time they come over. and that's pissing me off too. my mom is worried about me trying to sneak away to have sex with my gf because she was having sex at a young age, and I can't imagine. anything past light kissing makes my skin crawl. I don't want any kind of sexual touch from anyone, not even myself. before I knew I was trans I remember crying a couple times after I would masturbate, and a couple times I had to stop because I would start to cry while I was trying to. I used to have that sense of euphoria after but it kept getting shorter and shorter and being replaced with sadness or crying. I can't really talk about that part of it with anyone. I just wanted to get all of that off of my chest. let me know what you think, tear it to shreds. I really don't care.