#I didn't realize how much pressure I was putting on myself when I identified as a woman

[mistydragonflyart]

Cheers to always learning new things about ourselves and happy pride month!!

[scwheeler]

🩸🔪 ˖ ࣪⊹ — ‘MY TEARS RICOCHET’

pairing: ethan landry x reader

summary: miscommunication leads to the loss of ethan’s only lover and much regret

warning: blood, violence, stabbing, death

authors note: i’m a swiftie !! (lyrics are in italics)

i didn't have it in myself to go with grace

you sucked in air through your teeth as coldness took over your body. carefully your eyes drifted downwards to your stomach where a black object was. out of adrenaline, the pain didnt kick it until a few moments later. your body shivered in response to the sharp knife cutting through your skin and embedding itself into the side of your stomach.

you looked up, straight at your killer. the dark lights of the room making it almost impossible to identify who it was. but you saw the mask. the black and white ghostface mask that had been on the news nonstop since the late nineties.

'cause when i’d fight, you used to tell me i was brave

after running around the room to get away, fate finally caught up to you. even though you fought and fought, throwing lamps and chairs over the room to slow down your killer, it was inevitable.

the mask that your friends had warned you about. the one tara had gotten stabbed by, but survived. looking around for help you realized your unfortunate fate. there was no escape, no help.

and if i’m dead to you, why are you at the wake?

your killer didnt even stab you with the knife all the way. they stopped at two-thirds and you could feel their body tense up, almost regretting their decision.

your back was pressed hard against the wall and you reached around to keep yourself up but failed. your legs have out and you slid down to the cold hard floor while your killer stood there with a hand out where the knife had been. now the knife was skewed into your abdomen as you tried not to scream in pain.

biting your tongue, tears streamed down your face. you heard a heavy breathes coming from above. there was a gasp, a moment of surprise and regret following with a small whisper, “y/n..?”

cursing my name, wishing i stayed

look at how my tears ricochet

you put pressure on your wound and refused to pull out the knife since you watched all those survival tip youtube videos with mindy. she had taught you to never take it out or else you’d immediately bleed out. you remembered tara and anika laughing and joking that it was ridiculous. that it would never happen.

and i can go anywhere i want

the shadowy figure in front of you crouched down, kneeling before you. slowly they lifted their mask and revealed such a familiar face. the face that would remind you of home. the face you would kiss before going to sleep. the face would give you such comfort and love.

with blood rising in your throat, “ethan?”

anywhere i want, just not home

the same face that was now sitting before you with blood on his hands. your blood.

and you can aim for my heart, go for blood

but you would still miss me in your bones

ethan landry was reaching for your wound. the one he inflicted. you couldn’t believe your eyes and wanted to run away, avoid this confrontation but it was too late. he was inching forward but instead of the harsh interactions from earlier.

he was back to himself. handling with care and with a face of worry. “oh my god…fuck,” he whispered and panicked over the blood leaking down to the floor.

and i still talk to you (when i’m screaming at the sky)

and when you can't sleep at night (you hear my stolen lullabies)

“no no you weren’t supposed to be here,” he muttered and tears started to form in his eyes. you could’ve laughed at the irony. your own boyfriend stabbing you after swearing he would protect you. suddenly the pain wore off and your body felt an uncomfortable lack of warmth with chills running down your back.

all of your weight was leaning on the wall behind you and your head followed. your hands fell to the ground and no more pressure was tended to wound except ethan’s. his efforts of trying to revive you were useless.

i didn't have it in myself to go with grace

he saw your phone tossed a few inches away and grabbed it, hurrying to call 911. he didn’t even realize he was still in the ghostface outfit or the blood that stained his hands.

the specks of blood on his face were getting washed off by the tears slipping from his eyes. “jus—just hold on! please y/n don’t give up…s-stay awake!” he pleaded and waited for the opposite end to pick up.

and so the battleships will sink beneath the waves

“hello this is 911, how can i help you?” the operator said. “my girlfriend needs help! her name is y/n y/l/n, she needs an ambulance she’s dying! she’s been stabbed please!” he shouted and continued to explain but your ears were drowning out the noise.

as your eyes roamed the room, the bright lights on the ceiling were making your eyes sensitive. you looked away and felt your vision blur. ethan noticed your limp body fading away, as his grip became firm as he let go of the phone.

you had to kill me, but it killed you just the same

cursing my name, wishing i stayed

his attention completely fixed on you. “no y/n! fuck fuck fuck please just stay with me! they’re coming!”

your eyes shut and ethan shook your body but there was no response. there were sirens outside already but he could tell it was too late and you were gone. as much as he didn’t want to believe it, he held your body close to his.

you turned into your worst fears

his grief poured out in a flood of uncontrollable tears as he continued to pull you closer even though you already were. the hugs shared between you and ethan were for warmth and comfort, when one of you passed a test, leaving for a weekend trip, winning a game of just dance, or when he would instantly be knocking at your front door when you needed a shoulder to cry on.

but this was different.

there was no reciprocation and ethan was alone. his throat was tight and his breaths were short with his heavy sobs tearing through his chest. his voice was quavering and shaky, “this is all quinn’s fault—no no it’s my fault. you weren’t in this, this isn’t your fault—i’m sorry.”

and you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain

crossing out the good years

your unresponsive body relaxed in ethan’s arms and you felt at peace. while your head fell back, a tear slipped from your eye and trailed down your cheek.

and you're cursing my name, wishing i stayed

ethan ignored the footsteps of the police charging in and the sirens getting louder. his sobs flooded his ears and his cries turned into whimpers. the lingering sadness strangled his throat and he burrowed his head into your shoulder.

look at how my tears ricochet

this time he needed a shoulder to cry on.

[hawthornvisual]

2013 vs 2024

tbh, this is incredibly difficult for me. as a trans woman, there are certain expectations for posts like these. some gruff but sad looking man who was transformed into a happy beautiful girl via hormones. so you might think that nothing has changed. or perhaps i have gone backwards, gotten hairier, bigger, becoming even more of a man than i started off as.

this might be hard to read, so i'll put the rest under a read more. CW for homelessness, starvation, transmisogyny, and probably a few things i'm missing.

my transition has been messy. in some ways, you might say that i spent the first 25 years of my life transitioning. as a child i was efemminate, loved to play dress up and dolls, but my father was so against this that he filed a lawsuit against my mother, getting a court order forbidding her from "forcing me to crossdress." this set the tone for the rest of my childhood, which is a story i will not get into here because it is much worse than the story i'm trying to tell.

growing up in a christian fundamentalist home meant that it wasn't until much later, after my mother gained custody and i had gone on to experience even further ruination of my life, that i even learned that trans people exist. that this was a thing you could do, could be. a brief flash, something hiding behind my eyes, and i had locked it away. of course i wasn't trans. i was an athlete, a martial artist, a musician, why would i need to think about gender?

when i was 16, i joined tumblr. i saw a blooming transgender community, got to see the inner thoughts and conversations that trans people were having, couldn't avoid certain things any longer. i started to identify as nonbinary, eventually even coming out to my mother, who certainly TRIED to be supportive. it was exciting, made my heart race a little, made me scared. i had no idea what i was doing, or how my world was about to turn upside down and inside out.

the summer i turned 18, i was severely injured in a martial arts tournament. my right knee had caved in, the bone at the site of the joint crushed by a man i had thought was my friend. i didn't realize what had happened, and so didn't go to a doctor until two weeks later, at which point the damage was considered irreversible. everything i was disappeared. i lost all will to live. i stopped drawing, stopped playing music. i started drinking heavily. my family knew i was struggling but any efforts to fix the situation just made it worse. my mother and older brother had been putting more and more pressure on me to get a job and get out of the house, even though i could barely walk. my older brother told me that my mother was going to kick me out if i couldn't start contibuting. i still couldn't. i became homeless for the first time at the age of 19.

when you're homeless, it's like every single day is drawn out into countless hours, and you either have nothing to do, or far too much to do, and nothing in between. i had an online partner at the time, someone who turned out to be a chaser targeting suspiciously egg shaped men and nonbinary people, who spent the entire time getting more and more frustrated that i didn't have the time to be a fucktoy. i ended up insitutionalized for a month, after which i was kicked to the curb and left with nothing but a backpack and the clothes on my back. any journey of self discovery i may have been having was on hold until i wasn't fighting for survival.

my rescue came from a nonbinary lesbian who reached out to me. i was offered a room, a place to stay for no cost. they helped me break up with my partner. i found myself in a new sort of situationship, but at a confusing cost. why was this lesbian interested in me? was that even okay? eventually we had a conversation. they revealed to me that they had thought i was a trans woman. the fact that i had been seen as a woman hit me like a truck in a blindzone i didn't know i had.

after a difficult few days of arguing with myself, i couldn't hide from it. i was a woman. maybe i had always been a woman. a thought more terrifying than it had any right to be.

i grew my hair out. i started shaving. after a few months, i was even able to book my first HRT appointment (thank you state of washington trans healthcare laws). i came out to my mother a second time, and her reaction was much different this time. maybe due to the distance that had grown between us, the past hostility that left scars still bleeding, but i suspect it was because telling her that her firstborn son was actually a woman was much scarier to her than telling her that i didn't really care about gender.

this photo is from the day that i had my first HRT appointment. my soft chin, once a weakness, could be bared proudly, the ambiguity in my face becoming something that i cherished.

a year later, i had the longest hair of my life. if i shaved and wore makeup, and dressed right, i could get gendered correctly so long as i didn't speak. in that regard, i was truly getting the full experience of womanhood. my relationship with my partner was going strong. i thought that i had found my forever.

things got messy. you will probably hear me say this again. you won't find many better ways to describe my life, other than messy. my partner had always been polyamorous, but i was not, and had not ever pretended that this was not the case. so when one of my partners friends confessed her love to them, they went into panic mode. suddenly they were pushing everyone away, reverting to old bad habits and anxieties, and our relationship began to fall apart.

the friend, we'll call her A, pretended to move on, started dating someone else. my own friendship with A was strained by the situation, and her new partner, a butch lesbian named rowan, seemed to be suffering for it. i realized that the only way our relationships could survive was if we tried to work out an agreement to polyamory. in the end that wasn't enough, but i was desperate. i was starting to see the cracks, realizing that if this fell apart, i would be homeless again. my leg injury had already been so badly worsened from my first experience with homelessness, i knew that going through it again would be the end of me.

since my partner and A were now seeing each other, i began to get ignored. the only time either of them spent talking to me was talking about each other, either joyous or trying to fix some new problem. at this point, i started getting to know rowan. we had a lot in common, i had never talked to a butch before, let alone known one, and seeing the way that they navigated gender made me jealous. i didn't know why.

more and more, rowan and i were separated from the broader relationship, and as we talked more, something developed. i had already felt it the first time we spoke, on some level, but it had grown and grown, from respect, to admiration, to desire and love. we were in a polyamorous relationship after all, so it made sense to me. but shortly after, when i told my partner what i was feeling, they freaked out. this wasn't the agreement, they had only agreed to them being able to date other people, didn't think that it would need to be specified because i wasn't polyamorous.

the entire relationship falls apart and we go back to being two separate couples, and the end of that came swiftly after. they cheated on me with A, and when i found out, that was it. my now ex partner told me that i could stay at the apartment until the lease ran out, and they would move back in with their parents. they took all the furniture, i was left with an ancient computer, a blanket, some clothes, and two pillows. my depression came back with a vengeance, and i stopped eating. by the time the lease ran out, i had lost a dangerous amount of weight. i became homeless for the second time at age 22.

this time, after only six months, i found a thin sliver of hope. i was given a place to stay. a single-wide trailer that i would share with three other trans women and a hairy nonbinary lesbian. you've probably heard the stories of similar situations. it's impossible to have healthy boundaries in a space the size of a can of sardines. or healthy anything really. i got involved in an incredibly toxic relationship with one of the other trans women, who i found out was dating nearly a dozen other people.

the only thing i could do was try to feel wanted. desired. i began experimenting with my image.

i re-established contact with rowan, but there was so much there that i couldn't bring myself to face yet. as i began to experiment with more masculine presentation, those around me took a greater interest in me. i was an object of desire. it was the most worth i had felt i ever had.

i wasn't eating again. so my weight kept dropping. in the three-odd years since my first encounter with homelessness, i had lost 30% of my entire bodyweight. this only made my physical issues get worse and worse.

i wasn't done with experimentation though. what could i do with this newfound territory?

the time came. i couldn't stay anymore. the relationship had fallen apart, and my connection to the household had been sent away in exile. the irony of this is not lost on me. i was lucky enough to be able to couch surf for a few months this time.

i lost weight again.

and again.

my knee got worse and worse. my iliotibial band tore. my birthday came and went, nobody celebrated except for rowan, now my only friend.

a week after my birthday, a lesbian couple contacted me. told me that they had a spare bedroom, and that if i could cover the costs of my own food, could stay for as long as i liked.

i started HRT again. rowan and i had managed to work through all the shit and scum of our past and started a relationship anew. it felt like this could be real.

i started to look a lot like my mom. kind of uncomfortably like my mom. rowan was butch, so i had thought i should be a femme. i didn't understand what that meant, but whatever it was i attempted, it wavered dramatically.

i began to switch, every month or so, between masculine and feminine presentation. my chest had grown enough that it was visible now, and i experienced an equal amount of joy and fear when i was gendered correctly in public, having learned to fear people finding out that i was a trans woman.

the weight didn't come back. it was like my body had burned itself so far down that it could not regrow. i had no energy, and my physical condition continued to deteriorate. but i was allowed to be myself. and i was in love with a butch. maybe that would be enough.

i began to develop a fashion sense of my own. the butch label was starting to appeal to me. and my roommates seemed to agree, since they both shifted towards butchness and masculinity alongside me. but it wasn't to last. one of my roommates, a TME lesbian i'm gonna call M, suddenly went off on a transmisogynistic rant to me. M's partner was a trans woman, and hearing this caused me to suddenly re-evaluate everything. did this happen because M viewed me as more masculine now, a more acceptable target? would this happen to G, M's partner?

i hardcore shifted gears back to feminine presentation. it felt safer. i stopped eating again. things weren't okay, but they were bearable this way. but then, one day, we got locked out of our apartment. a stupid, played out thing that happens to everyone at least once. while my roommate G went to see if the apartment manager was in with a spare key, i attempted to climb our balcony and get in through the unlocked back door. when i was up on the railing of our balcony, it gave way, and i fell to the asphalt below, breaking my back. following a trend that i set half a decade ago, i didn't realize it had happened. my back hurt, but i thought it would go away. it did, replaced by a vast numbness through the middle of my back. i began to collapse any time i tried to exhert myself physically at all. i would only find out why years later. the fact that i couldn't contribute to chores anymore, and nobody knew why, made the situation with M deteriorate much faster.

at my lowest point in years. my relationship with rowan was the only thing that kept me from giving up, but after the third time M decided to spew vileness at me i just spent months locked away in my room, terrified that any time i saw M was going to be another lecture about how i was disrespectful, loud, obtrusive, intimidating, too quiet, too lazy, whatever incoherent train of thought i would have to face next.

it was too much to handle in combination with the events of 2020, the lockdowns, the illness, the forest fires, things ended up coming to a head. at age 25, i became homeless for the third time, during the pandemic and a wildfire that filled the air with plastic fumes so thick you couldn't see ten feet in front of you.

i got in contact with my mother and had her take my cat, because i knew i couldn't take care of her like this. that was the last time i saw my cat in person before she died. rowan was frantically trying anything and everything possible to help me. i thought that this might be the end.

three and a half years ago today i got the best news of my life. there was a way out. it would be a long and tricky road, involving moving my whole life to a new country. but we could do it. not only could we do it, but we actually did it. in a months time, i was in rowan's arms. for the first time in our years of knowing each other, there was nothing keeping us apart any longer.

i was finally able to rest. able to eat. i started to regain weight for the first time in nearly a decade. i felt my energy come back, slowly at first, and then more and more until i was capable of functioning, even if at a low level. it's around then that i find out the truth of what happened to my back. it still hasn't properly healed.

in my gratefullness for life and love, i briefly forgot my identity crisis. i was happy to just exist without fear and pain. it wasn't until about a year ago, when a miracle occurred, that this changed.

i woke up one morning, feeling more energetic than usual. i think to myself, maybe i can do some light exercise, for old times sake.

my knee doesn't hurt.

my knee doesn't hurt.

MY KNEE DOESN'T HURT.

a wound that i thought would dictate my life forever, given actual time to rest and food to fuel the process, had healed. everything that i had ever given up on came rushing back into my head, ideas about who i could be, what i could become, what other injuries i might be able to recover from if i treat them right and rebuild myself. ten months ago i began to work out consistently. my back is slowly healing. i am stronger than i ever was before.

i have had to rebuild myself so many times. did i ever discover the secret of butchness in the process? no, that's something that i think will take the rest of my life. for now, my butchness is an enduring pillar, the only part of myself that never fully burnt away. standing up for myself, being my own person, loving another butch, refusing to lose the kindness i so desperately clung to my whole life, refusing to limit myself and my dreams, this is who i am. i am friends with other butches. i am not alone anymore. for now, this is butch. this is me.

[marchtothefuckingsea]

The Devil's Heel - Lucifer (Supernatural)

My Masterlist

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Injury, canon violence and descriptions of gore/injury. Not proofread.

soulmate au (where an angel's soulmate can see their wings because i love thag au so much), x gender neutral reader, no usage of y/n! Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort.

Summary: Reader has a bad past with angels. They get hurt on a hunt and, although they didn't know the devil that has been staying in the bunker was their soulmate, Lucifer comes to the rescue. They're terrified, understandably so.

I groaned in pain as I was thrown into a wall for the second time today. My head slammed backwards against it, and I saw stars. A weak moan left my lips when gravity worked its magic. I slid down ungracefully to the floor, my body a limp heap. My angel blade clattered onto the floor a meter away from me. The demon-who I hadn't identified yet-kicked the knife even further away from my grasping hands; just for good measure.

"You fucking-" I hissed out, shoving myself to my uninjured forearm, hunched over and gasping. My trembling voice did little to hide the panic threatening to claw its way up my throat. This was just supposed to be a salt and burn. Maybe a poltergeist at worst.

"How original." He sneered. A hand came down, gingerly taking my angel blade I always kept at my side. I raised my head and growled, low and raspy, and he suddenly plunged it into my shoulder. A strangled gasp escaped me as I toppled backwards from the force of the blow, clutching my shoulder. The demon ripped it out, cutting my palms in the process. He slashed it across my chest once, then twice over my torso. My vision was blurred badly. I could barely whimper out hoarse noises of agony, only able to toss my head back and forth. I was barely conscious.

Even so, as I drifted in and out of consciousness, I couldn't help but to be forced to relive the pain, the torture that had come during my 'stay' with certain angels.

I heard a voice in the distance.It was the demon; finally tired of toying with me and, with a bored sigh, sunk the angel blade somewhere through my broken ribs. First came the shock. Then I felt a sudden, sharp pain in my chest when I drew in a surprised gasp. It became hard to breath without triggering the agony, so my breath came in short pants. Instinctively, I just wanted the thing in my chest that was causing me pain out. So, without giving it a second thought, that's what I did. I grasped at the handle of the blade, crying out as it slid out of my chest.

The demon immediately knocked the knife out of my hand, as if I was any threat to him in my current condition. I went limp, realizing my mistake of removing the blade when it now became even harder to breathe. My hand rested limply over the wound with the intent to apply pressure, that I didn't have the strength in me for. My eyes fluttered shut.

I flinched when I heard the sound of feathers fluttering; the sound an all too familiar one to me. I struggled to not bolt upright, hoping it was just a figment of my near-death brain, tormenting me before I died. Even so, I forced my eyes open. I fought to focus my eyes on the new winged figure, who was obviously an angel. There was only one angel, I knew, whose wings I could see. It was none other than Lucifer.

Lucifer, the fallen archangel. Lucifer, one of the oldest and most powerful of his brothers and sisters. Lucifer, who was supposed to be caged in the bunker, at the moment. The devil himself, who appeared to have escaped the banker's warding to keep him contained from causing the apocalypse.

My eyes widened in alarm. I forced myself onto my forearms, immediately regretting the action when pain shot through my right arm. Panting, I writhed on my side, struggling to put as much distance between myself and the archangel as I could. His eyes, red with fury, darted between the demon and my broken form on the floor. His wings were spread out in what could only be meant to intimidate. They were taut, and almost vibrated with rage. I heard him mutter something low and angry under his breath, before the demon was a stuttering mess. It apologized hastily, but that didn't stop the devil. He raised his hand, middle finger and thumb tips poised to snap. The demon backed up as if the distance would keep him safe. A snap echoed hauntingly throughout the abandoned room, and the demon exploded into a cloud of black dust. It only reminded me just how powerful the archangel, who now faced me, was. I shrank back, panting shallowly and cradling my broken forearm to my chest.

I heard him say something, but my brain couldn’t register it. All I knew was, before I could even blink twice, he was standing beside me, peering down at me. His eyes, now blue, roamed over my beaten form, taking in my condition. I shifted, struggling away from him until I coughed. My breath hitched in my throat painfully as I twisted around for the angel blade sheathed at my hip, only to remember it had been knocked out of my grip by the demon, and had clattered onto the floor uselessly. Blood bubbled up in my mouth, confirming what I already knew was true. I coughed again, and again, fighting to twist onto my stomach. No matter how much it hurt, I knew I would drown in my own blood if I didn’t; but I couldn’t. The deep wounds on my abdomen bled profusely, soaking the worn floorboards with my blood, so much that it began to pool around me. It made the floor slippery, and my hand slipped uselessly against the floor as I struggled to right myself. With every shallow breath came a little more blood. I continued to cough, instinctively, even though it hurt more than anything.

I didn’t have the strength to fight when I felt arms wrap around my body, pulling me into the devil’s lap as he now kneeled on the floor beside me. Still coughing up blood, I gratefully sucked in the air I could now get, thanks to not lying on my back anymore. I panted, unable to focus on anything but the air in my lungs; and the pain in my lungs that would have had me sobbing if I had the breath to.

When the coughing fit ended, I laid limp in Lucifer’s arms for a moment more, my energy spent. It took me several heartbeats before I began to kick my legs weakly, and then fought against his iron grip. I knew he was abnormally strong, much stronger than any human. If he didn’t want to let me go, I wouldn’t be going anywhere. And he didn’t. My eyes widened in panic, and I struggled more and more against his grip on me. He allowed me to flip onto my side, and I whipped my head up. His eyes had an uncharacteristic softness in them. That, paired with the foreign expression on his face, only served to further confuse and scare me. I had been tortured and nearly killed-only to be healed and brought back for more-by so called angels many times over. I knew how quickly angels could shift. If angels were that terrible, the fallen archangel holding me now could only be much, much worse.

I whimpered pathetically, writhing in his grip as I remembered how he had turned that demon-the one that had just about killed me-into nothing so easily. He was a creature of nightmares, far worse than a demon. He was, after all, the devil himself.

“Calm down, sheesh.” He said, though it wasn’t accompanied by an eye roll or the sarcastic tone it usually would have been. His voice was flat, deadpan at most, tinged with something bordering worry. Almost like..fear? What could the devil possibly have to fear?

I forced myself to still, my breath still coming in pained, shallow pants. He shifted me in his arms, and I found myself letting him. I didn't make any attempt to shuffle away from him, even when I had the chance to do so. Maybe I was too tired. I had lost a lot of blood, after all; I was dying. And I didn't know what the devil had in his plans for me. The thought sent a jolt of fear into my very being.

I did protest, though, when his arms slid under me and he stood, hoisting me up with him effortlessly. I found myself clutching to him with shaking hands, a strangled, painful noise leaving my throat at the

small movement. His wings curled around the both of us almost protectively, although I had the nagging feeling it was more for me than for him. I clung to him as the familiar, yet foreign feeling of angel teleportation washed over me. The few times I had experienced it, it had felt completely different; it had felt wrong. Uncomfortable, to say the least. My entire being had tingled almost painfully, like pins and needles. But this time, with Lucifer, it felt familiar in the most foreign way possible. A comfortable warmth spread through every fiber of my being. One that almost felt as if it were coming from inside me, as well as him; instead of the pins and needles that had tried to painfully penetrate my skin before. If it hadn't been for the terror of my past trauma, I might have even found it comforting.

When my eyes finally focused, I realized we were at the bunker. I felt a little better at the familiar surroundings. Simultaneously, remembering the Winchester's absence, my fear rose. But exhaustion and shock were beginning to catch up to me. As well as the knowledge that I would most certainly die if I didn't tend to my injuries.

"Let me go." I mumbled, pushing my hand against his chest.

"Do you really think you can stand in your condition?" He argued, but he shifted me in his arms anyway. Carefully, with more caution that I would have expected, he stood me on my feet. He didn't go far, nearly hovering over me as he let me go. As soon as he let go, my legs buckled, and he was holding my waist, lowering me to the floor.

"Get away from me." I hissed out painfully. My chest felt like I had been stabbed again as I inhaled sharply.

"Do you want to die or do you want to die?" He shook his head, glaring at me. "Stubborn humans." He muttered under his breath, crossing his arms.

He turned around, taking several paces away from me before spinning back around. "What will it be?"

"I- I need help." I admitted quetly, hanging my head in defeat.

"I guess you're not the most stupid one." He mused, as if this were a game. "But, haven't you ever been told not to make deals with the devil?"

I grit my teeth. "'S not really like I have a choice right now."

"Right-o there." He grinned. He kneeled beside me once again. His hand outstretched, two fingers poised to touch the most fatal wound I had; the puncture to my lung.

I shrank away, willing myself to allow it to just happen. As his fingertips began to glow, I panicked.

"No, no. No grace-" I mumbled out, flinching into the wall.

He noticed my fear and, unlike I had expected, he withdrew his hand immediately. His expression was torn for a split second, but ultimately he allowed the confusion to show clear on his face. "What? Why not?"

"I can't..explain. Just.." My voice shook. "Please." I said quietly, my lungs hurting more with every word.

He surprised me yet again with the suddenly softer tone in his voice. "I'm going to have to, for this one at least." He explained gently. I debated, struggling internally. He waited patiently, never showing a hint of impatience or irritation.

"Okay." I answered softly. I felt how each breath hurt more and more; it became harder and harder to suck in air as my lung collapsed. He nodded grimly, so close now that he took up the entirety of my unfocused sight. In my peripherals, his wings curled around me protectively, though I tried not to focus on them. I had a hard time believing that the devil was suddenly protective of me, but I didn't want to think of how his wings could be boxing me in as well.

He glanced at me for confirmation, surprising me, and I nodded. Still, I couldn't help but to shrink against the wall as his glowing fingers met the fatal wound on my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut, clenching my jaw and preparing for the pain that usually came with an angel's healing.

But just like before, Lucifer's grace was warm, and entirely unpainful. Compared to my previous experiences with being healed by angels, where I had felt the bones in my body shifting painfully back into place, and the stinging of open wounds being forced back together; this was a part of me. It was something bigger than both of us, I could sense that much, but there was something in me that rose up to meet his grace when he used it on me.

I found myself relaxing at the comforting warmth, the safety, I felt. My muscles relaxed, and I slumped against the wall. A small sigh left my lips when I realized I was able to breathe without nearly as much pain anymore. Still though, I hesitated to open my eyes.

"It's done." Lucifer's voice told me, uncharacteristically kind. I knew once I was in my right mind again, I would be getting serious whiplash from this.

"Thank you." I said gratefully, finally opening my eyes. I had to stop myself from jerking back at his unexpected closeness. His vessel's blue eyes were level with mine, something unreadable flitting around in them.

"Let me heal the rest." His voice wasn't pleading-he was the devil, and he never would stoop that low-but it was close.

"No, I'm-" I hissed between gritted teeth as I pushed myself to my feet. He stood quickly, mirroring my actions. "I'm fine."

I took a hesitant step forward, still weak, and stumbled right into him. "Woah there." He said, catching me by the shoulders, his wings once again curling around me; seemingly out of instinct, by now. I flinched purely out of instinct, although I didn't know what I had been expecting to happen. He had already proved he wouldn't harm me.

"I'm fine." I repeated stubbornly, suddenly aware he had healed my arm, too. I looked down at my arm, then to him, narrowing my eyes. "Thank you." I said half begrudgingly.

He shrugged. "Figured you couldn't bandage yourself up with just one working arm."

"Guess so." I grunted, shuffling against the wall. I stopped in the hallway, just outside the door to the infirmary. I closed my eyes, leaning against the doorframe and letting out a nauseated breath.

"You good?" His voice made me jump. I hadn't expected him to follow me here; I thought he would have lost interest now that the threat of death was no longer looming over me. The excitement was gone. Even more puzzling, was the seemingly genuine question from the devil.

"I'm good." I answered, a bit more harshly than I had intended to. He didn't seem offended in the least.

With more effort than it should have taken, I finally pushed the door to the infirmary open, staggering in. I immediately went for the painkillers, before remembering the archangel that had followed me into the room, not leaving my side for a second. I hesitated, before groaning and turning to the bandages and disinfectants. I hoisted myself onto the bed, letting everything onto the bed beside me.

Tugging my shirt off, I still hissed in pain at the various deep slashes that were littered across my stomach and ribs. I looked up for a moment to find Lucifer leaning against the doorframe, a frown on his face. As soon as he caught me though, he immediately opened his mouth to, most likely, make a sharp remark.

"Not in the mood." I ground out, my eyes flashing to his for a brief moment. Surprisingly, he shut his mouth.

Tears welled in my eyes at the burning sensation as I dabbed at the gouges in my skin with a water-dampened cloth. My hands shook. This wasn't even the worst of it yet.

Next came the alcohol. That was, until I couldn't help the whimper and the involuntary jerk of my hand that caused the bottle to go flying onto the floor. I grasped my stomach as if that would help to lessen the pain, gasping. Out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn I saw Lucifer flinch simultaneously.

"You need, uh, you need help with that?" He offered, his voice guarded as he tried not to sound too helpful.

"Yeah, probably." I sighed in defeat. I held myself still from flinching when he came closer. His fingertips brushed mine as he took the bandages and cloth. Gently, he dabbed at the gashes running across my stomach, while my hands balled up the white sheets into fists. I grit my teeth.

"I could just heal them." He insisted again, sighing in annoyance.

I shook my head. "Why are you so against my grace?"

"I just am."

"There's more to it than that." He huffed, but the feathers on his wings didn't ruffleI as they usually did when he was irritated. I knew it was an invitation to open up to him.

I sucked in a sharp breath at the alcohol he poured onto a wound, jerking back slightly. "I haven't had the best experiences with it. Or angels in general." I said hesitantly, quietly. He hummed, indicating he was listening. "They..they tortured me before. For information." I put it bluntly. I didn't see the point in dancing around the truth, not around the devil.

A frown had formed on his face. His jaw was rigid and his wings moved towards me slightly, taut with tension as well. "What kind of information?"

"About you." My voice was small, in an attempt to not anger him further. It wasn't my fault, but I didn't know that.

His eyes began to glow with the faintest hint of red, and every muscle in his body was tensed. "Lucifer?" I asked quietly. He took a step back.

"This whole time, they knew, and they dared to-" He muttered to himself. At the rage in his voice, I unconsciously leaned away from him, my arms coming up around my now-bandaged waist defensively. He immediately cut himself off when he saw the fear on my face and in my posture, taking a deep breath. His eyes slowly faded back to his vessel's blue. His wings were still taut, but he gave me a look to continue.

"They would leave me nearly dead, then heal me up again with their grace for another round." I told him what I knew he wanted to hear; what they had done to me. Why I was afraid of his angel's grace. I grit my teeth, furiously wiping away the tears in my eyes. It had happened only a few months ago, and the memories were still fresh enough to almost feel them as I explained it.

His face held a sort of understanding now that he knew. He nodded, though I could still feel the fury radiating off of him.

"Why are you still here?" I asked, in an attempt to break the ice and as a genuine question. "I'm not going to die anymore, there's no more excitement to be had." He pretended to look offended.

"Couldn't let my soulmate just die now, could I?" Soulmate. Even though it sounded foreign to me, it almost immediately seemed to make sense. It was the word, no, the explanation I had been looking for since the strangeness of his grace, compared to the other angels. That, and the closer bond that had seemed to draw the two of us together ever since he had first used his grace on me.

Even so, I had to consciously make an effort to close my mouth that had opened in shock. "We're-"

"Surprise! Your soulmate is the devil. Lucky you, right?" He grinned, though I could see something in his eyes that wasn't right.

"No, more like lucky you." I smiled weakly, still unsure. I had come across very brief, shallow information of angels and soulmates before in different texts, but I still knew so little about it. "You get a hunter as a soulmate."

He faked a grimace. "Yeah." He seemed more relaxed though, and I knew what I hadn't been able to place in his eyes before. He was afraid that I would be disappointed. That he had waited only god knows how long for a soulmate-maybe even believing he didn't have one, as part of his punishment-only for his soulmate to hate him, to hate being tied to the devil himself.

"So how does this..work…now?" I trailed off, gesturing between us.

"We're attached at the hip now!" He exclaimed.

"Seriously. Why didn't this come up before? How long have you known? Did-" I was silenced by a finger to my lips, and suddenly Lucifer was much closer than he ever had been, face inches from mine.

"Quiet with the questions, sheesh." He groaned, leaning away. "May I?" He motioned to the empty spot on the bed beside me. I nodded.

"First of all, my grace, well, activates the bond, you could say. That's why this hasn't happened before. I didn't know until then, either. Although, I've always had this nagging pull towards you, I suppose. Annoying." He huffed. I unconsciously leaned towards him, our shoulders brushing.

"Being my..mate," He almost hesitated at using that word, glancing at me, but I didn't grimace or react negatively towards his word choice. "Your soul is intertwined with mine. In other words, you have a small bit of my grace in you. And I, a small piece of your soul."

"That's why your grace doesn't hurt." I mumbled in realization, more to myself than to him. "Oh."

He looked down at me, eyes telling me to explain. "The angels, when they used their grace on me before. It was like it was penetrating into my skin. It hurt. But yours…didn't. Not at all."

He explained more, but I began to nod off against his shoulder, exhaustion finally catching up to me. The sound of his voice was surprisingly comforting as I dozed, until he stopped, noticing my unconsciousness.

"Let's get you to your own bed." He stood, slowly, so I had time to wake up before I dropped from his shoulder. I jolted awake at the movement, apologizing profusely once I realized what I had done. The smug smile on his face told me enough.

I leaned against him heavily as we walked down the hallway to my own room. He shoved the door open, nearly supporting me by my waist. I immediately slumped onto the bed with a sigh and a wince. My eyes already began to shut again, until Lucifer pulled away. When I opened them, his wings were taut, poised to leave.

"Don't go."

His look was one of surprise. "What?"

"Stay here." I knew, with the events of today, that my nightmares would be haunting me the minute I slipped off into sleep. I didn't know how to explain it to myself, least of all to him, how I felt safer with him there. How the prospect of him leaving at the moment was almost scary to me. I didn't have to though, he read it all through our bond.

He nodded silently, kicking his shoes off and sitting on the edge of the bed. He waited for my confirmation before pulling me against him and lying us both down on the mattress. With a sigh, I felt myself immediately relaxing against him.

I felt safe as I drifted off, though somewhere in the back of my head, I knew this was the devil and he was dangerous. But I also knrw there was no threat here. Not as long as he was with me.

[convolutedblasphemy]

Since it's Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week I want to thank the aro community for everything they taught me and everything they did for me even before I started to identify as frayromantic. I had so much amatonormativity to unlearn before I could arrive at this point, so this is my first aro week, but identifying as ace for years, I inevitably met a lot of aros online and saw a lot of aro positivity posts.

Truth be told, from age 14 - 19 I suffered a period of debilitating, very traumatizing emotional abuse that killed my entire social life and my abuser would make sure i couldn't form these bonds when i wanted to. As soon as I got out of that -> covid lockdown. When the pandemic restrictions were lifted I've spent 7 years at that point pretty much socially isolated aside from online contacts. And in the past 3 years I've been busy healing, studying, adulting and picking up the pieces.

It's been almost a decade now in which I didn't have a stable social life (aside from my relatives) and everyone else has always looked at me with this... weird pity for it. I had a lot of anxiety due to being ace as well; because i didn't feel like i could find that close committed relationship i wanted without engaging in sexual activity. People imagined the past decade in my life as me sitting on the couch all day wallowing in self-pity and loneliness, which honestly does such a disservice to all the places I visited, the ways in which i've grown, the art i made and the changes i made. People treated me like I had wasted 10 years of my life and constantly put pressure on me to be more social, to put myself into situations i wasn't comfortable with or to at least get a partner so I won't have to die alone. Dying alone was this terrible horror concept that was pushed onto me as my inevitable fate if i didn't get my shit together. And for the longest time I believed that. I hardly struggled with loneliness, I struggled with this internalized idea that I had failed at life - that i am a failure - if i don't have this many irl friends or a partner.

The aro community was THE FIRST SPACE that helped me dismantle this perspective of seeing the relationships in my life as an extension of myself. The first space that taught me that relationships of any kind aren't these things i have to collect to prove I've led a successful life. The first community that turned around and said "You are whole as you are. You are enough. And you don't need anyone else to complete you." And hearing that, to me, was such a wake-up call; it was such a novelty-realization in contrast to all the bullshit i had internalized, that I cried because damn, this was what I needed to hear.

Suddenly the value of my life wasn't defined by the kind of relationships and how many relationships I filled it with. Suddenly I realized that the committed relationship I wanted didn't have to be romantic (or sexual for that matter); hell, I didn't even want it to be. Suddenly I realized the biggest obstacle to enjoying life for me was all the people who told me i wasn't enjoying my life properly. The aro community taught me so much about love, self-worth and independence. And I haven't been active here for long but everyone has been so kind.

The aro community gave me all the hope and positivity that i needed to focus on myself and my life. I still want to form meaningful irl friendships and get a QPR in the future but the pressure is gone to get all of that asap or else my time on this earth is wasted. I have faith that these things will come when I'm ready and when it's the right time and even if they don't, it's not going to be the end of the world. My value as a person and the success of my life is not defined by the people in it and it never will be. Nor will yours. Nor will anyone's.

Some of y'all might be out here asking yourselves "I'm not aro, what does the aromantic community concern me?" So much. Amatonormativity and relationship hierarchy go so much deeper than just the assumption that everyone desires romantic love. The aromantic community can teach us so much and help us unlearn so many things that are ingrained into our system and into our way of thinking. We should be unlearning those things because doing so will take pressure away from all of us, no matter how we identify. The aromantic community should concern you because they're people with their own hopes and dreams who deserve to find happiness in whatever way feels right for them without the world constantly telling them they're doing it wrong.

The aromantic community has made me a more understanding, hopeful, positive and independent person and I can't thank them enough for that. Happy Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week.

🧡💛🤍🩵💙

[symptoms-syndrome]

so something i have had trouble with is Gender while having parts representing different genders, varying in their expression or discomfort with various “too gendered” clothing items/hair/etc.

i guess my question was: do you feel like your gender identity is more fixed, or do you think it is affected by your parts at different times? i also thought of this to ask you specifically because i think you are one person i have seen transition more non-traditionally and i wonder if the experience of parts feeling different ways about gender in general has contributed. if this is too personal no worries! no pressure to answer. :)

Hmmm this is an interesting question! I think it can be hard to pin down a satisfactory answer for you, given the way I think about gender in general (which, to give a TLDR, is "I don't." I honestly don't even consider myself "transgender" as much I consider myself a boycotter of gender LOL.)

I generally don't consider gender often in my day-to-day. I have parts that have stronger or weaker attachments to various genders, but I guess it doesn't always reflect anything outwardly on a consistent basis, and is more reflective of things like "these are the pronouns/words I use to refer to this part." For example, Hes identifies as a woman, so I refer to her using she/her and words like "woman," but she doesn't usually care much about how our body presents or is dressed. On the other hand, Mimi identifies strongly as a "girl," and part of how that manifests for her is enjoying "girly" things, including ways of dressing, so if she's around to pick out clothes for example, she'll gravitate towards more feminine looks.

But looks aren't all gender is. Even if she's not around to dress herself, if she's around later and is dressed masculine she still feels like a girl. Identity is a personal thing, and while I think parts can sometimes feel like the way we're dressed isn't reflective of how they would dress themselves, I don't think it usually effects their own self-perception of gender. I guess it helps also that I consider myself a cross-dresser in some ways LOL.

And on a whole, I guess it's been helpful for me to detach aesthetics from gender altogether. I sometimes tell people that to me, my bottom surgery was as important for my gender and expression as my facial piercings (I have lip piercings + an eyebrow,) and I stand by that. I look how I want to look, and that includes every part of me. I don't feel the need to look like a cisgender man or woman, and when I'm getting dressed I don't really consider "do I want to look feminine or masculine" as much as I consider simply "what do I want to wear today." There are times I wear a binder and a feminine outfit or a bra and a masculine outfit. I'll wear makeup while the rest of my body looks like a cis guy's sometimes. It's been incredibly freeing, esp considering I've given up the idea of "passing" (which I know is not a privilege everyone has, I just live in an area where I feel safe looking however I want to look. To be honest, it started with realizing that I don't think I'll ever 100% "pass" as anything, which was honestly? Very helpful for me.)

To go into specifics about my personal gender identity, I identify as transsexual, by which I mean that I transitioned my sexual characteristics. I wanted a certain body configuration, I didn't feel complete without it, now I have it and honestly my dysphoria vanished entirely, even with things that had not changed with surgery. I don't really feel that my body/sex characteristics in particular have anything to do with my gender to be honest, not more or less so than my choices to dye my hair or dress alternative. They're all "things people see when they see me." I feel weird having natural colored hair, I felt weird having the body I had before, it was a very similar feeling for me. Gender is, more or less, arbitrary categories that people get sorted into, and being trans at all honestly will put you in a third category to a lot of people regardless of actual identity. We don't really have a ton of control over the ways other people see us, so to me it feels kinda useless to worry too much about conforming to other people's idea of what x gender should look like.

This got long and sort of off-topic, I guess my main point is that yes, parts feel differently about the way that they want to look, and sometimes that's connected to gender, but to me having "I want to look this way because I identify as this gender" and "I want to look this way because that's my personal sense of style" feel pretty much the same to me, and so while parts do sometimes influence the way I want to look and present myself, whether that influence is due to their gender identity or just personal taste is hard to pin down and I don't really care either way. Either way, there are parts that don't mind at all whether we're presenting/dressed a way they wouldn't personally choose, and there are parts that mind very much, but I don't usually consider, for example, whether "I don't like my nails not being painted" comes from a place of taste or a place of gender, and more consider "is this a thing that's just an 'i would rather it be different' or an 'i feel really uncomfortable like this.'" Usually it's the former, and if it's the latter it's usually for a reason like "this is too flashy and I don't like people looking at me" rather than anything to do w gender. And w pronouns, I don't super care about any of them, esp the most common she/he/they, so people use diff pronouns for me depending on factors beyond my understanding and I don't ever correct them.

And whether my view of gender has been influenced by parts is hard to say. I don't know what I would think if I didn't have parts. I think that having parts definitely pushed me more towards gender apathy, but I have friends who don't have dissociative disorders who have felt similarly to me so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it's hard to say. I try not to dwell on what-ifs.

I hope this maybe helps? Even though I didn't answer your question directly. Gender is a topic I find really interesting and I feel like my views on it are really complex and hard to explain without a longer post LOL. I'm a gender nihilist or gender apathetic or whatever.

[whythewords]

Expedition

Goodness me, it's been a weird few weeks. But it actually hasn't. I think I'm using that as a turn of phrase to identify that in the intervening weeks since that last post, I've had a few deeply sad and lonely days amidst an otherwise "normal" time. Maybe pepper in a few revelations about what I want out of life and how soon I want it. But technically this is all "normal" ain't it? We go about living our lives in between the milestones of total befuddlement as to how in the hell we got where we are, for better or for worse.

I went to check out a concert last Friday. It was a mostly acoustic show in a tiny little venue, a little tavern/restaurant in Toronto. I remember a time when I was so staunchly anti-city, and that sentiment returned when I was only working out there and still living in Mississauga, but at some point in between then and when I was actually living there (or much closer to it) I romanticized the hell out of it. It was also for the two years that I was single between my first and second stints dating my now ex-wife. I'm starting to think it wasn't the city I was romanticizing, it was the concept of discovering it on my own. Going out mid-week, doing more open mics, getting drunk on a Tuesday and stumbling onto the subway to get home. In a weird way, I romanticized my single-hood at the time, but I also recall it took me so long to get to that place. I remember those times vividly, and for most of them I was miserable.

Part of me feels as if I'm clawing my way back to that sense of wonder and self-discovery, but that misery hits at the exact same time. This show on Friday was the second solo concert I'd been to in the last couple of months, and the feelings were the same each time... Realizing now that I didn't even talk about the first one though it was in March: It was a John Mayer solo acoustic show at ScotiaBank Arena. As I sat alone in my seat with strangers on either side of me waiting for the show to start, I felt that profound loneliness that I thought was reserved for the darkened room in my folks' apartment, in the wee hours of the morning with my face lit up by the glow of my phone. It was there in full force and it was all I could do not to think about how I was the "weird guy all alone at the concert." It's moments like these I feel fortunate that I'm a music guy. The show started, the music took a hold and I settled into it and forgot about those feelings and enjoyed the show. Ironically, my ex happened to be at that show too and I met with her briefly after to "say hi." And it was fine, we were good and amiable but I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel weird. Concerts were an activity we enjoyed together a fair bit when we were, well, together.

So that was the arena show. Flash forward to this past Friday at a tiny little venue, Eric Hutchinson at the Dakota Tavern. I was sitting at some tables with strangers and there's that same familiar feeling, now with the added bonus of this weird pressure I've put on myself to be more outgoing and chatty because "maybe I'll meet someone." The lonely feelings lingered into the opening few numbers of the set and it was a little while before I settled into the distraction, and I don't even know that I fully settled in. It took until after the entire set was over and I was milling around the bar waiting to meet the Eric (he came out afterward to take pictures and chat with fans) that I actually made an attempt to strike up a conversation with a stranger. It was fine, friendly, and I kicked myself for not saying something sooner, but by this point many of us (myself included) were looking to get our photo and chat with Eric and then head out.

I got on the subway home and reflected on the lonely feeling and thought about what I could have done differently....all of these thoughts swirled around instead of me reflecting on the show and that I got to chat with an artist I admired and get a photo with him. I meandered from Kipling to one of my new favourite shawarma joints that was in the area for a late night pick-me-up, still got home early enough to properly wind down for the night. I mean, fuck, it was a pretty great night all in all, both of those shows were...but that feeling man, it's been chasing me. And I'm not even all about the dating thing right now. I threw the apps back on my phone and I can barely stand to look at them, don't even know why they're there.

To get deeper into the thought process, my plan for battling these feelings was to keep my head down and keep working on myself until I get to that inevitable "reinvnention." "It'll be different man. When I have my own place, and a new job in a new town...like Halifax perhaps." Yep, that idea is still on my mind. And It's getting harder and harder to contend with the fact that I'm not there yet now that pretty much everything else has fallen into place. I have all of my independence except for that one key, very important part of it...that accounts for like 98% of it. All of the rare moments when my folks have left the apartment for a night, hell even for an afternoon, are the most joyful and peaceful moments of my entire week or month. I need that feeling. I need to get out. I need to exact and execute the plan of working for a year or a year and a half and then trekking out east to (overdramatic as it fucking sounds): "build a new life." But even that job man...I mean it's going fine, but a year? Year and a half? I don't think I can wait that long anymore. I don't know how much better real estate prices are going to get over here, or how much shittier they're going to get over there over the course of a year.

I'm thinking a lot. Not the first time I've pointed it out, but I know this desire for solitude as well as this profound loneliness are completely at odds...but solitude fucking wins out. I need to get there, to get my head right and be with myself for a while so that I can be ready and willing to be with someone else. I think that's what the hesitance and timidness boil down to, a lack of readiness. But the last piece of the puzzle to get where I need to go emotionally and mentally, is to get the fuck away from everything else physically. The moving away thing. Just like the Japan trip, it started out as kind of a pipe dream, and as time went on it seemed like more and more of a potential reality...or a necessity. I think I gotta do it. I think that I NEED it. And I think I gotta expedite the process. I'm heading out there on vacation in July. Maybe that ought to be more than a vacation. Maybe I ought to start scouting things out, looking for a plot of land to finally finish rebuilding this fucking machine.

It's almost fully operational...almost.

[silvershoe]

re: your last rb about bi women, i’ve recently come to terms that i’m bi after thinking i was a lesbian for the longest time simply because of all the internalized hatred/disgust at myself for liking men and at men in general to an extent (until i realized that lesbianism isn’t defined by hatred/disgust towards men but attraction towards women) but it’s still so hard for me to come to terms with it?? especially because whenever i tell someone i’m bi or make a comment about a guy i find attractive it’s always assumed that like. my attraction to women comes second to that of men’s and that men will always be my first choice, that women are just a convenient option if i’m ever “bored” or something like that. and while i do see myself more readily with a man (that may just be internalized homophobia, unfortunately, that i still have to relearn), the idea of being with a straight man who can’t understand the complicated relationship i have with my sexuality is enough to scare me away from any relationships. like it took me so long to get to this point so to have that all invalidated in the event of dating a guy… idk. sorry for basically venting in your inbox, i’m just glad someone understands how i feel ;;;

don't apologize!! i really do want to open up the floor for people going through similar shit to feel like they can talk about it on my little blog <3

i guess i went through a kind of similar thing, thought i was a lesbian for a while before coming to terms with my attraction to men. part of it was realizing the label felt constricting, and even though i couldn't really picture myself with a man at the time i was questioning myself (definitely a result of a similar feeling of disgust/hatred aimed at myself; it felt obvious to like women and afab people but less safe to like cis men), i knew i wasn't solely interested in women. part of what helped me in the questioning period was dropping labels as a whole. all i knew was that i was queer on some level but i didn't feel the need to specify what "kind" of queer. i was comfortable with this lack of labelling for most of high school, and even now i don't really feel the need to stick with one label. my identifying as bi feels very fluid and i'm not exactly attached to it, it feels more like an easy explanation when it comes up in certain contexts if that makes sense. i'm a firm believer in sexuality as an ever changing, fluid part of living, at least for myself. once i started thinking of my sexuality in this way i really think it alleviated a lot of the stress i associated with "choosing" a label, which feels very much like an external pressure to me.

unfortunately the assumption that men will always be the preferred choice isn't going to change. the best advice i can give you is to learn how to not give a shit and know yourself, understand that it's okay to be more attracted to men; that doesn't and will never invalidate your attraction to women. the people in your life who really want to understand you and care for your wellbeing won't put pressure on you to explain yourself.

i'm dating a cis guy right now as someone who identifies as both bisexual and genderqueer (tentatively, i feel similarly about labelling in application to gender). i've had to accept that he won't ever fully understand my relationship with my sexuality or my gender, and there are things i won't understand about his experiences either. that's just something that comes with relationships in general. you have to be comfortable knowing you won't understand things you don't have experience with, but you can be empathetic, and you can listen to them if they're willing to talk about it, and vice versa. i promise you there are men out there who are emotionally mature enough to understand this balance, which i really think is essential to maintaining a healthy relationship.

to respond to your fear of feeling invalidated by being with a cis guy - i get it. and i won't lie and say i haven't felt this way, because i have. and it's difficult because it's not because of anything my bf has said or done, it's purely a result of him existing as a cis man, and he can't change that lol. what's really helped me is realizing that my attraction to men as a bi person is a different experience than, for example, a straight woman's attraction to men. that differentiation is really comforting and validating for me, because it reminds me that i am queer, which is something to be proud of. and of course i am aware that i'm reaping the societal benefits of being in a straight-passing relationship, something that i try to keep in mind, and something that i think all straight-passing couples should be aware of. seriously, as someone who's only been in visibly queer relationships before this, it's a whole new world to exist in public spaces with you're s/o when he's a dude.

anyway, this was a lot longer than intended, but i hope i maybe spoke to some of what you mentioned. and i mean this in the kindest way possible; don't worry so much. take a breath. things will come with time, and you'll be okay. xoxo

[iwillsearchtheuniverse4u]

See You In My Dreams, Stranger

Sik-k smut | khh smut

Warnings: SMUT! ORAL! (f and m receiving) PUBLIC? (not really tho)

Preview: Meeting a stranger on my night walk down the river turns out to be one of the best nights of my life.

It was one of those restless nights that I’ve been dreading ever since I started attending university. I couldn’t sleep, the thought of not knowing where my life is headed keeping me awake every single night. I couldn’t concentrate, I couldn’t brush my teeth or remember to drink water, I just felt like existence was so utterly useless when all my dreams have been swept under a rug somewhere because I was too afraid to act upon them. I’d been dreaming of becoming a translator but all the odds of the world were against me so I chose some apparently more ‘useful’ business degree that I hated with all that I had in me. Because of my perfectionism I had been attending all of my online classes and excelling at them but I felt empty, I felt like I had been contributing to everything I hated the most in this society. At the same time I was just too afraid to change my major because I felt like I had to do something impressive to the outside world, something that would make people respect me.

Just another night of endless tossing and turning, tears streaming down my face, wondering if life does ever get better than this. I couldn’t take it anymore. I got up, took a few steps towards the light switch in the corner of my one room apartment and pressed it. The cheap yellow light bulb lit up the room. The floor next to my mattress was covered in books I was trying to study from and my notes covered in smudged ink. I had a bad habit of crying while studying, sleeping, listening to music and showering, every activity that demanded me to be alone in my little space that had never really felt like home at all. Not much else was in that room apart from a small refrigerator, a microwave oven, my mattress, a closet and a wooden bookshelf. I also had a tiny bathroom that always smelled a bit moldy if I forgot to spray the air freshener three times a day.

I decided to go for a walk along the river as it became clear I wasn’t getting a second of sleep in that night. I hastily put on my black leggings and a hoodie with my high school’s logo on it. I desperately needed to get away from my own thoughts so I grabbed my phone and my earphones that were tied into little knots as always. I couldn’t afford the wireless ones because my scholarship was kept safe in my bank account where I was saving every last cent just in case I decided to drop out and go move to...run away to a foreign country where my name sounds like a whisper of the distant wind. As I was locking my door I heard one of the neighbors flush their toilets. Most of them were students like me or people living on part-time jobs, I never really met any of them, they were just familiar faces I would probably forget in a year after moving out.

The streets were quiet, only the sounds of air conditioners and an occasional motorbike or a car passing by me. I checked my phone to see the time, the picture of my favourite singer’s face lighting up my screen: 3.30am. Of course other parts of the city were probably very much alive at this time of the night but my area was populated only by grocery stores, cafes and libraries, not a single club in sight. The only lights I could see where streetlights and some LED signs. I headed towards the river trying to untie my headphones. I put them in my ears and decided to lose myself in the beats of one of those hyped-up rap songs. I put the volume up just so it was a bit uncomfortable and let my ears adjust to the blasting music.

I finally reached the riverside and started walking along the flow of the water. I couldn’t hear it but it still resonated with my mind better than the rustling sound of the city. There was a road along the river that ended somewhere within the green forest because the are was populated with some important bird species that I could never remember the name of. I sat on the bench at the beginning of that forest, my mind still dissolved in the loud beats coming out of my earphones. Even though my ears were covered with a thick layer of my long brown hair I was sure the music could be heard by anyone standing within a 1 meter ratio. I didn't mind, it was 4 am, people were either asleep or sloppily making out in a club somewhere far away. Thinking about the things I was missing out on started to become louder than the music and I let my tears fall. I was overworked, overwhelmed and empty, I couldn't keep it in. Not that I ever tried. I had never been good at hiding my emotions.

Looking at the night view of the city on the other side reflecting on the surface of the river, getting lost in my thoughts, I felt the bench move ever so slightly under my body. I looked to the side and almost fainted at the sight of a dark shadow sitting beside me. My heart started beating and I stood up to leave in case it was a stranger trying to talk to me in the middle of the night. As I took my first step away from the bench the person lightly touched the fabric of my sleeve. I looked back at him. I was certain it was a man judging by his broad shoulders and a black cap on his head. I removed my headphones, my heart still beating as if I had been running for the last 3 hours. "Excuse me. I wasn't trying to bother you or anything. I just like to look at the city at night when my head gets all crowded and I can't think straight. Don't go just because of me." His voice was deep and raspy but had an elegant tone to it, it felt  calm but distant as if he had been lost in thought. He was looking at me and the lights of the city were playfully jumping around in his eyes but his expression was the complete opposite. He seemed broken. I couldn’t let myself leave him, partly because he seemed significantly depressed and partly because he was astonishingly beautiful. My feet were unable to move, I stood there for a moment contemplating my options but my gut feeling sat me down next to him.

As we were sitting, each on one side of the bench, looking at the sparkly surface of the river my heart calmed down and minutes passed, none of us speaking, just the sound of the river mixed with my music flowing through the night air. "You were crying." He stated with a regretful tone, almost whispering. My cheeks flushed with warmth, I looked at his profile, him still staring at the waves. "I just thought I was alo-" "Don't. Feelings aren't something to be ashamed of. They're just as much a part of you as your legs and arms are. If people feel burdened it's usually their problem because they've never been faced by their own emotions. They just don't know how to act and feel uncomfortable." He talked slowly and didn't bother looking at me. It felt like his words were directed at the universe or at himself just at the general direction he was speaking, he looked so lost. I didn't notice I was staring until he looked at my eyes and smiled. It was one of those crooked smiles, filled with a certain type of worry I couldn't identify. "You can tell me why you were crying. I probably won't remember tomorrow anyway. I can lend you my ears for tonight, maybe I'll forget all about my own problems." His gaze moved back to the view as he sat back and crossed his arms on his chest. At that moment I felt like telling him every little thing about my life. It had been so long since I had anyone who would just listen without the constant urge to solve my problems but just LISTEN. I stopped myself. "I won't let you get off the hook that easy. I have a feeling that you're the one not facing your own problems. Why don't you lean on someone for a change?" I said, determined to make him speak. He looked at me from the side and his head slowly followed his gaze, his eyebrows furrowing just so much I could notice. The anticipation of hearing his raspy voice that felt so familiar and kind made me turn off my music. This man that sat next to me just a moment ago suddenly awakened my curiosity. It took a while for him to speak as we were maintaining a really intense eye contact for what felt as hours. I was able to inspect every milimeter of his dark cat-like eyes. "You're good at reading people, I'll give you that." He smiled and turned back to face the view. "I'm just under a lot of pressure. People expect a lot from me, that's all...and sometimes it can get really frustrating when I can't really reach those expectations. Sometimes it feels like there are so many people doing my thing better than me, it scares me." He put his hands in the pockets of his black sweater still staring at something in the distance. I wasn't sure what to say but he also didn't expect me to say anything. He needed someone to listen and I was there to supply. I asked: "And what would your 'thing' be exactly?" in an effort to get to know more about this mysterious creature in front of me. "Music. I make music for a living." His eyes now focused on his shoes while he bit his lips in an effort not to smile. I finally realized why his voice sounded so familiar, it was freaking Kwon Minsik, Sik-k, Korea's best rapper, sitting next to me staring at the Han river. My hand automatically covered my mouth as I inhaled. I was trying to calm myself down. He probably heard my playlist which was full of his songs and it made me feel so embarrassed, my cheeks flushing with heat again. He tried really hard to hide his cocky smile as he turned his face away from me, looking into the woods on the other side. After a few minutes he asked: "So now are you going to tell me why you were crying?" He was facing me, looking at my eyes attentively like a little boy waiting for instructions from his teacher. I was still to shy to maintain eye contact so I looked at my hands on my lap. I told him my story about how lost and useless I felt in life. I told him about feeling lonely and scared about my future. I told him everything.

Before I knew it tears started to emerge from my eyes again and I tried really hard not to look at Minsik who was still facing me, one of his arms resting on the back of the bench. I cracked. I cracked in front of a man I respected the most. It was embarrassing but also liberating, I was done trying to impress the world. I dropped my head, defeated. Next thing I felt was his warm hand on my cheek, gently wiping the trail of my tears. I froze for a bit, my eyes widening at the sudden proximity of his body. I didn't even notice him getting closer before he put his hand on my face. He was sitting right next to me, the sides of our thighs touching ever so slightly. I could hear my heart rate getting faster and louder. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t control it. I looked at him and he removed his hand, still looking at me with his furrowed eyebrows, a concerned expression drawing on his face. "I'm sorry. You probably think I'm just being childish, crying at something as trivial as my major." I said with a shaky voice. "Don't ever say sorry for your feelings ever again, you hear me? And besides, I don't think it's stupid, I think it's just very important to you. You want to set goals for yourself but you're too afraid that you're not going to reach them so you just let them go. I would obviously tell you to go for what feels right and figure it out but that won't make you feel secure and I bet a lot of other people in your life told you this before." He replied with his deep raspy voice that I loved so much. He was so close. I could feel every breath on the surface of my cheek, his left arm was lying behind me on the back of the bench, it was almost like a hug. I couldn’t think straight anymore, my thoughts were intertwined with the smell of his cologne and the heat of his body so close to mine. He didn't feel like a stranger, he felt like someone who'd known me for years. I buried my face into my hands so I wouldn't make any thoughtless mistakes. Suddenly, he moved away from me, I couldn’t feel the proximity of his body anymore, the cold night air embracing my whole being. I peeked up from my palms. He was still looking at me with concern in his eyes, saying: "Sorry, I probably got too close for comfort, I'm not used to this kind of emotional thing, you know?" I felt a desperate need for physical touch, maybe it was the cold air, the anxiety or his perfect stature or maybe it was a mix of both but I straightened my back and looked directly into his eyes. It was so unlike me to be this bold but my body automatically moved closer to his.

He didn't move even when my face was only ten centimeters away from his. His expression changed, his forehead relaxing, his eyelids closing halfway when I suddenly felt his hand on my thigh. He grabbed onto it like he was holding on for his dear life and it made me want him more. I stopped, looking down at his lips when he pulled himself closer. His smooth lips crashing into mine made me lean back but he was only getting closer until he pinned me to the wooden bench beneath us. It was a passionate kiss, his hands didn't limit themselves to my thighs but discovered the hot surface of my skin under my hoodie. I felt a certain kind of euphoria, the kind you only get to experience when you do something completely out of character for you but turns out to be the best thing you could have possibly done.

As our kiss was getting more heated and his hands were groping my breasts for a couple of minutes the heat between my legs was getting unbearable. I could feel one of his hands roam down to my thigh and up to my ass where he got the grip to grind against me. Our lips and tounges still inseparable, I played along and grinded my heat against his growing buldge until I heard his raspy growls which sent shivers down my spine. As our tempo aligned we started breathing heavily and his lips left mine but relocated to my neck, definitely leaving more than just the incredibly pleasing pain. There was only a couple of pieces of clothing seperating us but the longing was excruciating. I started tugging on the collar of his black hoodie, trying to stop him as his lips attacked my collarbone. "Stop...I can'...I can't take it." I said with a soft voice in between my moans. His hips stopped moving immediately and he pushed himself above me so we were looking face to face, his body still on top of me. The loss of friction left me feeling needy. "Are you okay? I didn't mean to be this fast, I just thought-" I got up and laid a small kiss on his lips mid-sentence. "Come to my place." I whispered in his ear. I hadn't gotten to know this part of me before but that night felt different. Maybe it was the stream of emotions I had just shared with this stranger on top of me or the tone of his voice or the feeling of the cold night breeze but I didn't want to spend this morning alone.

When we finally arrived at my door he was standing so close to me I almost held my breath trying to get myself to collect my thoughts. I swear I could hear his heartbeat like it was my own, his lips suddenly tracing the curve of my neck as I was trying to insert the right passcode. I couldn’t even focus in my own hands as his were holding me around the waist so it took me a few moments to find the right digits. When the holy sound of the door lock unlocking echoed in the hallway he already pressed the knob in a hurry and pushed me inside. Because my one room apartment was so small it only took our intertwined bodies a solid 30 seconds to hit the mattress. He was planting sloppy kisses down my collar bone as I was tugging at his hoodie, trying to set him free of it. He stopped for a moment only to get up and remove it. The moonlight from outside my small window caressing his elegant body, lighting him up from the back like he was some beastly creature of the night taking advantage of my sadness. I couldn’t move, he was sitting on top of me, his face was covered in darkness but I knew he was watching me. "Do you have any idea how freaking beautiful you look in this light?" His raspy whisper made me quiver. I smiled and looked away while my body was hungry for his touch. I wasn't ready to show it.

He slowly got up with his hands trailing the shape of my thighs until he was holding me behind the knees, still looking at me. I felt his hands pull my leggings of as if it was the easiest thing in the whole entire world. He then proceeded to playfully pull at my panties, rubbed my knot and lowered his face to blow at my growing heat, my legs almost immediately trying to close at the sudden pleasure. He held them open while licking my folds twice, trying to see my reaction. I couldn’t hold in my moans and my spine curved in-synch with my breathing. It was something I haven't felt in forever, not like this, not this strong. I grabbed onto his hair and he seemed to read the ques as he got rid of the piece of fabric. His tounge was doing circles around my clit making me see fireworks and probably tugging at his hair with both hands so much that his scalp was in pain. He got me shaking in a matter of minutes and it was the best high I've ever experienced, sending all kinds of shivers down my skin, leaving me panting. He was far from done though.

"You taste so good, baby girl," he said unknowing of the affect it had on me. I got up to unzip his pants (which he more than willingly helped me with). I traced my fingers down his perfect abs to the hem of his boxers and lower, tracing his hard member while inspecting his face. As soon as I grabbed it through the fabric with my whole hand his eyelids shut closed and his head fell back in pleasure. I pulled him to the mattress and got on top of him trying to grind at his boxers, making them soaking wet. Then I got up to remove the rest of his clothing. I proceeded to trace my tounge along his shaft and sucking on his member, enjoying his growls. His hands were grabbing the sheets and the veins on his forearms and neck were starting to protrude. Every now and then a soft "fuck~" escaped his mouth, motivating me to keep going. Then he suddenly stopped me, saying: "I need to come inside of you, grab my wallet." Instead, I got up to open one of my drawers where I was saving a pack of condoms, praying they would fit him. I handed one to him and he was so quick about it, it got me thinking just how many girls he gets to play around with like this every night. The thought escaped my mind when he stood up to hold me around the waist, slowly pulling me back to bed with him. He undressed me, pulling my hoodie over my head only to discover I wasn't wearing a bra underneath. His dark eyes glowed with passion as he greabbed one of my nipples, tugging at it while kissing me sloppily. He threw me on the mattress and got on top of me. My body was heated up completely, I couldn’t even feel the night breeze coming from the opened window. He licked my sensitive nipples a few more times before aligning himself with my entrance and pushing inside of me. The fireworks from before were nothing compared to the utter pleasure I felt at that exact moment, Sik-k filling me up perfectly. My head fell back in moans and my back curved up again. I could have sworn I saw stars playing in the darkness of my eyelids. All I heard him say was: "Fuck..." He took his time waiting for me to adjust and started to quicken his pace while adjusting the angle. One of his hands was stroking my stomach and the other was holding onto my ass. I tried to mimic his movements, increasing the fraction of our bodies. The moans escaping our mouths felt so unholy they made it even more passionate. "I'm going to- I'm close!" I squealed throught the moans which made him go even harder and faster. My whole body tensed up and I grabbed onto the bedsheets pulling them off. His dick was starting to twitch inside of me, hitting all the right spots and I knew he was trying his best to make me come first which was a rare experience. I opened my eyes seeing him focused on me with his furrowed eyebrows, sweat dripping down the side of his jawline. My body was caught up in a wave of shivers, the walls of my pussy tightening so much it got him shaking as well. We were both just trying to ride out our highs with the last strenght we had. It was sweaty and suffocating but liberating at the same time, all of our thoughts disappearing for these unthinkable moments of pleasure. His hot body collapsed on top of me, both of us trying to catch our breaths again. "This was amazing." I told him in between breaths. He rolled over me to remove the condom and, to my surprise, came right back to lie beside me, his arms hugging me from behind. He kissed my neck and whispered in my ear: "See you in my dreams, stranger."

[serenityseventeen]

Love & Letter: To The Thirteen Boys I've Loved Before

The Sixth Letter

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To: Lee Jihoon

From: Y/N

I'm sorry.

Jihoon, I will not blame you for anything. If I were in your shoes, I would have been even more irritated than you were. I'm still irritated, actually.

I know for certain that you probably hate me so I will begin this letter for you by reminding us of our good times when no one was there to butt in.

When we first met in tech audio, I was really surprised that you were a musical genius. You knew how to work the garage band app right away and since we sat next to each other, I could already tell that you were familiar with it.

You were also able to play the guitar and the piano. I've always liked music so seeing someone play those two instruments just fascinated me. Not only that, but you also played the clarinet well.

You've probably lived around music all your life, right? I listen to music almost everywhere I go, every day, it's one of my human needs, but I have to admit, even after learning a bit of piano from you, I still have almost no idea about music. Genres of music are still hard to identify for me and I can still barely tell the difference in chords. I'm still thankful that you took the time out of your worktime to help me understand more about music.

Honestly, when I first saw you, Jihoon, I was intimidated. You didn't like exactly friendly and I just stupidly thought that you were one of those ‘perfectionist’ students who only cared for their grades and being the best. Also, just the way you looked when you didn't smile gave me that impression. However, when you smiled, you looked completely different. You looked cute. We laughed a lot together too.

I bet you that on our first assignment, I must've looked like a complete tech idiot. The assignment was just to come up with your original piece of music by messing around on the app. Was my confusion that easy to see through?

I don't know, but I think the moment that you helped me was when I started to realize you as the person you are now. You taught me how to use the app in such a gentle tone, you know that? I still feel like I can listen to your voice forever and I won't get bored of it.

I was happy with our forming friendship. I felt like I could truly be your friend. Plus, we had one other class together so I was able to talk with you a lot about music. Everything you say fascinates me and makes me believe that you are a musical genius. I still believe that you are even if I can't hear your songs anymore.

Speaking of your music, I think you should become a ‘pro’ music producer, lyricist, composer, songwriter, of them all. Your talent in music is truly undeniable!

That first piece you showed me called “17”, I have to say that that song may be my favorite out of all the songs you've sent me. I still have all the music files stored in my phone and I'll never delete them. It's not because I still like you that I'm keeping them but it's because I like the song. I might put them into an mp3 player and stick them on the back of this letter. Out of the 13 songs you've shown me, there was not one that I disliked.

Your voice is also heavenly. I love it. I don't understand why you aren't getting yourself a whole career already! You don't know this but when I was playing your song “Rock”, my father was totally digging it! Even my next-door neighbor wanted to know who was the artist behind “20”!

There was also that time when you were helping me learn how to read music using the piano and our hands kept brushing against each other. Our shoulders were also glued together because the seat was so small. If your heart was racing just as much as how pink your ears turned, then please, believe me, my heart was beating twice as fast.

You didn't just teach me music and show me your creations, you also shared music that you enjoyed. A lot of the songs are still in my playlist. You have great taste in music too, Jihoon. I enjoyed every moment we spent just sitting at the window of the classroom, sharing headphones and listening to the songs you liked.

When they were love songs, I just couldn't help thinking that you chose the song for a reason. I'm quite an overthinker. I always thought that maybe one of the songs you showed me held your heart and maybe they did, but now I'll never know.

I'm your fan, Jihoon, even though you probably wouldn't want me to be anymore. I still admire you and I respect you a lot, that's why I'm deciding to write you this letter. I'm not going to get too close to you, I won't even try to bring us back to what we were because now, it's too awkward between us. I know that deep inside, you must feel so a deep hatred toward me, even if it wasn't entirely my fault.

I've realized what kind of person you are, Jihoon. You're kind, caring, talented in almost everything, shy, and stubborn. You love music. You hate it when someone who isn't close to you gets all up in your business as if they know everything. You also hate narcissists. You're selfless and humble.

I don't know who you told but I'm sorry. Your trust must have been completely broken. I mean, I can just imagine how painful it would be, being an introvert and telling someone your crush while trusting them to keep the secret only to have them spill it to the person's friends.

I hate my friends because they ruined our relationship but since they are my friends, I just can't abandon them as if we didn't spend years being best buddies. I've been distancing myself from them for a while now but I think it won't be long until we continue hanging out again. I want to hang out with you too but you must feel so... angry.

I heard that you're not friends with the guy who leaked the secret that you liked me. I truly hope that you can find a friend that is a true friend. I don't want you to live in fear and keep everything to yourself. I'll always be here for you though, so please, even if I don't speak with you, you can speak to me.

Gosh, what am I saying? It can't be fixed.

You must've overheard it when my friends dragged me away from your cafeteria table and whispered to me, “Did you know? He likes you!”

I was flustered and when I turned back to you, I still remember seeing your hands clench. That's when I sort of knew that we wouldn't be friends anymore.

Even after having your trust broken, you continued to hang out around me, which made me believe that if I confessed my feelings to you when the time was right, we could fall in love. So, I spent a lot of time learning about you.

That's when my friends came in again. They started teasing us in front of the whole class, saying all that stupid cheesy shit. I was ready angry and kept telling them to stop but they wouldn't because they just thought I was like them.

‘When you're in high school, you don't want the person in the relationship, you just want a relationship.’

That was not the case for me but that's what they thought. I wanted you, Jihoon. I was ready to teach you about me and get to know you better so that when I was ready to love, we would be able to stay together.

My friends are stupid.

They continued to pressure us to be together.

Knowing you, you must've gotten extremely annoyed and fed up with it, enough for you to end your friendship with me. And that's exactly what happened, right?

Each day, for a month, they came to our desks singing stupid love songs meant for children. They were so childish and I was growing so sick of it. I knew that you didn't like that shit. I knew that you were just enduring it but I couldn't stop it and I'm sorry.

We went through all that humiliation together. I think we could have had a better love story if your friend didn't leak your secret and my friends didn't act like children. I saw sparks in your eyes, that's why I had hope that we could fall in love together, but we couldn't even get ready to love.

I just remember that day when you ignored me. I was telling you that your piece sounded good and asked if I could get a listen, but you didn't reply to me at all. You still don't talk to me. It makes my heart ache.

When our friendship got ruined, I almost ruined my other friendships too. You don't know this but they kept pestering me, asking if you and I were finally dating and if we had a couple fight. They kept reassuring me as if they knew what we were going through and saying that it was just a small love fight and that we would recover soon. They didn't even know the problem was them so I yelled at them.

In the middle of the cafeteria, I slammed my hands on the table and shouted at them. I'm sure you heard me, you were in the same room. I'm pretty sure that you didn't know about this either but when I left the cafeteria in anger, I cried in the stall of a bathroom.

Now, I'm fine.

I wonder what you thought of me then. I mean, we still had to see each other but we didn't talk to each other like we were strangers. I was angry at you for not understanding me so I didn't want to speak or even glance in your direction, even if it did hurt to ignore you.

I think I know what you feel but all I'm thinking about your emotions are just assumptions in the end. You're a stranger to me now. A stranger that I loved.

You brought me the colors of music.

If only things didn't have to turn out so negatively. If only one friend kept his promise of keeping a secret... If only a group of friends didn't tease so annoyingly... Maybe then, things would be different.

Oh yeah, I'm sorry about this too. I overheard you playing a song the other day. Don't worry, I didn't record it but I cried to it. I just have a feeling that the song was about me. All the lyrics, the depressing but gorgeous sound of the piano, your emotional voice, it all brought tears to my eyes. Were you in pain?

I had never heard the song before. When I cried to it, I had my hands covering my mouth to keep noise from slipping. I don't know if you heard me because you just continued singing.

“Maybe I could have been a man

when everyone was telling me to.

But both choices were selfish,

keep you close or let me go,

so I chose

let's just not fall in love.”

I think your choice was for the better.

Sincerely,

Y/N

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© serenityseventeen

6/21/21 - 11:01 am

a/n: sigh... I feel like this letter was so relatable on so many levels. My former friends were like that, always wanting a relationship but not the person in the relationship. They're too desperate. + ARTHUR KYEOM COMEBACK!??!? SVT CHINESE DRAMA OST!?!?

[deepseavibez]

Fall Pronto_1 || JHS

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-> Picture Source - Pinterest

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Fall Pronto [Hoseok x Reader]

Part 1 || Part 2

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Genre - Smut; 21+; Best Friends Brother

Summary - Hoseok was quiet. He focused on work and stayed out of the way. He was calm and collected. He was patient. He didn't even dispute your food choices. What a man. It made sense that he stayed over while he visited the city for business;you had the space and it would only be a few days. There was nothing complicated about a short visit, of course not, after all, he was only your best friend's brother. Right?

🎶 - Waves - KANG DANIEL (feat. Simon Dominic & Jamie

Warning - 21+!Only; Smut; Vulgarity;

Word Count - 2.1k

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It was late, a bit after two in the morning according to your bedside clock as you squinted to look at it properly. Your throat dry and skin itchy from the humid weather, you threw the covers off and stepped onto the wooden floors.

As you walked down the hall, a glance at the room next to you, the door wide open and bed untouched confirmed your roommate hadn't returned for the night.

Shaking your head absently, you decided to call her when you got back in your room. She worked too hard, too late, and she was too in love with her job.

But then, Seri was one of the lucky ones that way. Her family was well off, her job was perfect for her and she was beautiful.

You would be salty about it, but Seri was wonderful. A kind heart, caring and she was one of your best friends.

You sighed, a smile crossing your face at the thought of one of the most important people in your life.

Barefoot, in purple cotton shorts and a shirt, you walked to the kitchen. Delirious and tired, you navigated yourself through the dimly lit house, purely by muscle memory.

Yawning, you reflexively covered your mouth with your hand as you passed through the lounge and into the kitchen, illuminated by the moonlight shining through the window above the sink.

Opening the fridge, you scrunched your nose as you found nothing to your liking, so you grabbed a cup from the overhead drawer, and filled it in the ice water dispenser.

Humming at the coolness of it against your hand, and placing it against your lips, you were just about to drink as you turned around, only to let out a ear piercing shriek.

Cup forgotten, you clutched at your heart as you identified the familiar face and struggled to compose yourself.

The cup of water and its contents on the floor in pieces, you stared up at the face of the man that plagued your mind and caused you sleepless nights.

Jung Hoseok was absolutely handsome. A diamond shaped face, brown eyes and a jawline created to stand out he haunted your every sane thought. And considering the circumstances his presence did nothing to calm your fast beating heart.

Now dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts, his clear smooth skin, lean tummy and muscles drew your attention. You gulped audibly, trying to be as discreet as possible about his affect on you.

Would it be too much to hope my reaction could be passed as being chicken shit for the dark.

You thought it would be okay to have Hobi over, after all his sister was your roommate and he was only crashing for a week or two. But the days proved to already be too much.

You were antsy and you weren't used to being so flustered. Being single and having no sex for almost a year now, didn't help. You didn't want to feel so drawn to him, but it happened gradually and yet, all at once. Like a fine wine aging to potency.

His presence, was a stark thing. Within the hour of meeting him, your body hummed in awareness of the man, butterflies fluttered through you when you made eye contact with him and if it was even possible, the heat always kicked up a notch when he was around.

Hoseok saved his smile. For his sister. For a good plate of food. For his best friend, Yoongi. Other than that he made head nods a common acknowledgement for you.

Initially you just had an uncomfortable vibe with Hoseok around, which was fair. He was a stranger in your home and in your personal space, of course you felt uncomfortable. But you knew yourself, it was not just about leaning away when he leaned forward, or not making any skin contact with him through effort, you noticed that once it did happen, you wanted it way too much.

You can remember all too well, as you walked out of your room less than a day ago, and straight into something solid and warm. His hands caught at your arms as he looked you over and steadied you. The slight touch sent tingles across you, wanting to lean into his scent, his cologne, the expanse of him already too large in front of your 5'2 frame. You jumped back as if burned and mumbled an apology as you scurried away.

He said nothing to you. Didn't push you or anyone else, you had probably never met someone so set in their standard way of life and yet meeting middle ground with others.

As far as you knew the work habits ran in the family, because he always had his laptop open, one hand on it while he spoke on his Bluetooth and texted with the other. Direct and blunt, his voice carried over commands as if disobedience was never invited to the party.

His rolled up shirt sleeves and the Audemars Piguet watch on his hand, as you walked in on the scene almost had you closing your eyes asking for help from the universe. Because those forearms, curled around you, near you, those hands on you, those fingers in you... the cold shower you had did nothing for you that evening.

Now as he stared at the broken pieces on the floor and your clearly shaken form, you cursed yourself for actually forgetting he was under the same roof as you.

Blinking rapidly, you hissed at him. 'You freaking scared me!'

This man, he didn't deserve your tone, or the disrespect, but he triggered ferity in you on a level so intense you stayed as far away from your apartment as possible while he was around. It was all you could do to protect yourself.

'I happen to live here too,' he looked at you with irritation.

At least that reaction helped; irritation deserved irritation.

Deciding you shouldn't make a snide remark about how long he would be staying, you turned your attention away from him to the floor. Moving your hair aside, you looked down at your bare feet, hunting a way out of the sea of glass that could much likely hurt like a bitch if you stepped on it.

A short look, confirmed that Hoseok wasn't fine either, his feet were bare too.

So engrossed, with your dilemma you didn't notice, Hoseok huff in impatience and reach for you.

You yelped as a pair of strong arms, grabbed you under your thighs, hands flailing as you caught at his shoulders. Even in your shocked state you reveled at the feel of his muscles under your palm, and it took a portion of self control you didn't think you had not to grip into them with your nails and run your hands across the smooth expanse of his skin.

Your legs instinctively wrapped themselves around his waist, the action putting your center's together, the ravaging demand to rock your hips into his was leashed in before you could carry it through.

'What the hell are you doing!' The panic in you could be heard through your cold voice.

'Are you fucking kidding me? You're barefoot! Do you want to get cut?' You brushed aside his concern. You had to. The odds already too stacked against you.

'You're also barefoot,' pointing it out by looking down.

He ignored you. You stared at him waiting for some sort of explanation. He averted your eyes and didn't give one, so you took it upon yourself to try and get out of his grip.

'Can you stop? I'm trying to help you!' he said gruffly as you wiggled.

You huffed, and pushed harder at him, but he had a strong grip. 'I can take care of myself.'

You needed space. You needed to be away from him.

Something wild in you reared it's head but you pushed it aside. Baring it's teeth, you knew all too well you wanted this man and you hated it.

He moved his hands from your waist, and tightened it on your ass, adding more pressure to your center. You only now noticed he was hard. Very hard.

You held back a moan at the realization, but couldn't stop the breath leaving your body as you made eye contact with him.

Stilling yourself, hunting for a thread of calm, you cleared your throat and swallowed through the harsh lump formed in it.

Looking away you frantically searched for the next logical step in the situation. You felt your demeanor tearing itself apart, ice cracking into pieces.

Close to tears at wanting something you shouldn't and the frustration of the situation adding onto it, you whispered softly, 'Please put me down... away from the glass.' You sounded breathless, and you hated it, but assertive all the same.

Surprisingly, he listened. He managed to evade the glass as he walked you over to the island across the kitchen and placed you on it. Letting go off him you looked down, if he'd stepped wrong his expression didn't indicate it. So you swallowed your concern.

'Thank you.' You dragged it through clenched teeth. You evaded eye contact as you said it. Your blood was raging. Your skin too sensitive, too soft.

His hands finally leaving you made you feel empty, but at least you were safer, more from yourself than him.

You waited.

He just needed to move away from you and get out from the space between your legs, then you could get your shoes and clean up this mess.

He didn't.

You looked up at him again, an annoyed, questioning expression on your face.

'I want to know what's your problem with me.' Slightly taken aback at the direct question, you managed to keep yourself composed. Hobi never smiled around you, you didn't even think you were allowed to think of him as Hobi either. He reserved that right for his friends. But that was fine, you never intended to be his friend. He needed to leave as soon as possible. Sunday couldn't come fast enough.

'Move,' you bit out, wanting to crawl out of your skin with the need to sink your teeth on the firm muscle of the man in front of you. 'I need to clean up.'

He leaned in closer, hands on either side of you, caging you in. 'You're pissy with me. You have been since I got here.' His breath fanned your face, you tried evening yours. 'And you don't get out of this position until I know why.' His tone was quiet, but molded in steel, that of a man who had clearly reached his limit.

And so had you.

'Fawning over you is not a requirement Hoseok,' you managed with a smile and a tone so sweet, it drew blood.

'Someone should bite you... hard.' he responded gruffly. 'Then maybe you'd loosen up a little bit.'

You clenched at the near snarl, his tone doing all sorts of things to your body. Especially making the pooling between your thighs more noticeable.

Your nails dug into your skin, as you felt his breathe on your lips. 'It's not like you've been very forthcoming since you've got here.' Nerves far too close to the surface, you needed out or you really wouldn't be able to keep that part of you under wraps.

'Oh hell no!' His eyes slammed into yours. It was the first time you'd heard him come remotely close to raising his voice. 'Don't you dare pin this on me.'

'You took one look at me and decided you couldn't stand me, and I want to know why.'

You breathed in, an attempt to calm your beating heart.

'Look,' you started, 'I'm an asshole generally.'

'That's bullshit and you know it! I've seen you with others. Especially my sister.' His anger was a palpable thing. A blade with a serrated edge would have been less dangerous.

Patience wearing thin, you snapped, 'Get out of my face Hoseok!' You pushed at his chest.

'Are you sure I should?' He leaned in further, restraint evident he continued, 'You probably swipe at me because you can't have me close enough!'

You inhaled sharply.

His eyes widened in shock, as he pulled back. His mouth fell open at your reaction, a resounding, 'Fuck,' leaving his lips.

Part 1 || Part 2

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[lgbtqa-plus-alliance]

It's Agender Pride Day!

It's not a great day for me today but Happy Pride Day to all Agender people! Hopefully you had a better day.

Agender : Relating to a person who does not identify themselves as having a particular gender.

I tried many different labels for years before finding Agender. I never knew what I felt until I realized that I might just not feel anything, I have no connection to any gender. When listening to people talk about their gender and what it feels like for them, how it felt to Transition and finally feel right, I realized that I don't feel that, I don't feel what Trans-Binary people feel. Because of other feelings I've had I thought I was a Trans Man for a long time, then I thought maybe I'm Genderfluid, and then just realizing I was trying to make myself feel something I didn't. I don't feel like I have a gender. Agender feels right.

Don't feel pressured to find a label, they're just words to put to how we feel. How we feel is what's important. Some people have a connection to their label, and their label means so much to them, some people don't have a label or don't have any particular feelings about their label. Whatever your situation is, what you feel is most important, only you know you best, nobody else can tell you what or who you are!

[hms-no-fun]

I know that last response was a joke and no pressure to seriously answer, but how do you actually process there existing fictives of your work? I’m a writer and my headmate, who’s a fictive, absolutely despises the creator of her source, as well as, to some extent, the source itself, and I don’t want to end up being that to someone else. (No need to answer.)

so i think at first i found the concept of fictives a little alarming and maybe even unhealthy? like i didn't understand them and couldn't relate, but ultimately had a live-and-let-live attitude about it.

over time though as i've explored the contours of my own plurality, i've come to see it as a compliment that something i made carried within it enough of a spark that it spun up whole new entities in other people's heads. i don't have any fictives myself and i don't think i ever could, but it's just not my place to judge how other people's minds work.

it definitely puts a bit of pressure on me, though, because another person's conception of a character like june eg8ert isn't gonna be the same as mine. hell, my own conception of her has changed a lot since i first started writing her! and as a writer i want her to grow and change in new and interesting ways, rather than remaining this unchanging archetype. like i think everyone who knows about june eg8ert immediately pictures her how she looked in 2.2, with the vest and the shoes and the hybrid aspect shirt and the mohawk. but that's a very "early 20's gender rebel" mood and i actively want june to grow out of that. which isn't remotely an invalidation of that persona, nor a judgment of anyone who dresses that way and stays that way! just, you know... people change.

and i feel some responsibility to depict that change respectfully entirely because there are so many people who identify really strongly with june. and like i COULD get all in my head about it and feel like, oh no, i don't want anyone to get mad at me, i have to do this the exact right way OR ELSE... but that would be, in my opinion, a betrayal not just of the story but of the very fans i was ostensibly trying to protect.

rather my approach to it is the same as my approach to most narrative problematics. i've always said that the question for any artist wanting to depict or explore something potentially problematic is not "how do i make this text accessible to everyone" but rather "who am i excluding by making the choices i want to make, and are those choices really justified?" i think a lot of writers don't acknowledge how much their craft is reflex, how much we lean on existing narrative structures and character archetypes to do a lot of heavy lifting for us, and like, that's FINE, that's just the process of making art, but a lot of those structures have systemic inequities baked into them that can wind up making creative choices for you without you ever really realizing it. like fundamentally i think a lot of racism/sexism/bigotry etc in fiction has its roots mostly in laziness rather than any active hatred. and i think some writers, they get really defensive when people tell them their stuff has some problematic element because they're like "well, i didn't do that!" and it's a refusal to recognize that liberal ideology makes itself invisible and has a whole lot of really awful attitudes about minority populations built into it, and if you're not careful and actively mindful and about your work you just wind up recreating all those same problems in the subtext. and that takes work! and some writers balk at the idea that it's work that they should have to do in the first place, which to me is just abject cowardice. you're saying the structure made a choice for you that you weren't even aware of, and you're like... you're okay with that??? lmao maybe this sounds really galaxy brain but it's how i've looked at this kind of thing for a long time. ANYWAY THE POINT IS, with june, knowing that there are people with fictives of her is just another aspect of that knowledge of the ways my story might affect people.

the thing is, right, is that godfeels is inherently an emotional and traumatic narrative. it is a story about messy gay people fucking up, of traumatized folks desperately trying and often failing to not hurt each other, and i don't think anyone who made it through godfeels 2 is gonna have the attitude that june is like... their comfort character? or this is their comfort story? and if they expect that bad things are just not gonna happen to these people anymore then, idk, then their conception of this story is just wrong and it's not my job to write to their expectations. but i DO recognize that if i have bad things happen to june, or if i make june do bad things, that could be esoterically very upsetting for someone with a june fictive. the question to me is not "how do i avoid upsetting these people" but rather "am i upsetting these people for a good reason?"

and i think being really honest with myself and asking myself that question rather than pretending like it doesn't matter actually makes me a better writer. because instead of doing something shocking for the sake of being shocking, i know that if i'm going to go in a certain direction that i have to do so with incredible confidence and purpose. and i really feel like that is what i'm doing!

because ultimately i can't control how people see my work, or what they take from it, or WHO they take from it. all i can do is make it as good as it can possibly be, knowing the ways it could potentially harm someone. if i believe that i made that choice for a good reason, if i believe that the story i'm telling is worth that potential negative reaction, then i will be able to sleep at night because i'll know that i wasn't trying to be edgy for the sake of it, that it wasn't arbitrary, that people will be able to look at it and at the very least feel like this was not written with blatant disregard for the existence of the sensitive reader.

3.1 chapter 8 is gonna be ROUGH and i've made no secret of that fact, but i think when it's all said and done that everyone who is really a fan of this story will have found it to be a satisfying experience. that's the hope, anyway 😅

[princebugs]

A meeting with Niles.

Quivering digits rub and scratch at the back of his own neck, goosebumps rising as his eyes shift from corner to corner. He swallows, the nervous lump in his throat dissipating for only mere moments before quickly arising once more. His movements remain shaky, and shifty. He feels nervosa creeping up his spine leisurely, causing his hyperactivity to skyrocket. Remaining still is no easy task.

The male can almost discern a feeling of eyes on the back of his brunette tresses, watching him from the shadowed corner of the room. Perhaps a figure is awaiting the perfect time to pounce on the human and rip his throat out, at a pace fast enough that he wouldn't scream--- no one would hear his death. He whips his head in that direction, his heart pounding against his chest.

Cue a sigh of relief.

It's just dust. It's just dust, Gavin. Can't hurt you. Maybe fuck with your allergies a bit, but it won't hurt you. You're probably just crazy, like your uncle Kevin--- he still lives in that shed, right? Still talking about those damned 'creatures of the night', hiding in there with a shotgun with hopes that he'll be the one to kill 'em.

Maybe you'll be like that soon, if these delusions go any farther.

A sound of a doorknob clicking interrupts his thoughts and causes the male to jump in his seat, right forearm raising in a defensive manner before realizing that it was only his new therapist, clad in a black turtleneck and black pants.

When did he get here?

Gavin briefly takes a glance down at himself, and is just a slight bit pissed at himself for not dressing nicer.

If this was anything but a therapy session where Gavin would have to speak openly about his mental problems, he would have dressed better. He didn't see the point of wearing something appealing when it was just therapy, and his therapist was most likely going to be some old man or young female that he didn't need to impress.

Sadly for him, the male was definitely not an old man. He looked, roughly, around Gavin's age--- yet he had the sort of timeless face that could pass for a nineteen-year-old. The turtleneck's sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. Gavin usually considers turtlenecks "phckin' ugly" but this guy has changed the definition for him.

And he was overwhelmingly pale. Did he never go outside?

Lesson learned. Wear cute clothes EVERYWHERE.

“Mr. Reed?“ A voice brings Gavin out of his train of thought, and he notices that the male is no longer standing, and is, in fact, sitting right in the position ahead of him, with his head tilted in slight concern as well as confusion.

Dammit.

“Shit, ah,“ Gavin struggles to push away his thoughts for the time being, his nails scratching at the back of his neck as he awkwardly laughs half-heartedly. “Yeah, yeah. That's me, alright.“

The therapist merely emits a soft chuckle, though his mind seems to be elsewhere. He doesn't know for sure, but he thinks that he's making a mental note of some sort--- probably from his behavior. This feels almost like a job interview, and that makes Gavin straighten out his back and lock eye-contact with the male across from him, his cerulean optics now gazing into steel hues. This, however, prompts another brief snicker from him.

“This isn't a professional setting, Mr. Reed. You can sit however you see fit; it is better that you feel comfortable while we converse with one another.“

Gavin's brows furrow together in exiguous uncertainty--- this man spoke like he was reading from a college art essay. Though he said it wasn't professional, it almost felt like it was; like Gavin was being judged for every single movement he followed through with.

It was almost as if he was being ordered to feel more comfortable, which is the most awkward thing ever. It puts on pressure, and makes the situation even more uncomfortable. Nonetheless, Gavin leans back, slouching a modest amount whilst placing his elbows on the back of the couch he sat upon. He stared ahead with half-lidded eyes, and his therapist was studying his body language the entire time.

Gavin would consider this creepy, but it's alright because it's his therapist.

“I'm Dr. Anderson, but you can just refer to me as Niles,“ His therapist--Niles-- begins, his nimble fingers picking up a set of reading glasses and placing them on his visage for a few moments to seemingly read Gavin's file, then setting both the glasses and the file down on the table in front of him. “How about you tell me why you set this urgent appointment with me, hm?“

His voice was smooth, like velvet draped across pale skin. It brought chills down Gavin's back. Compared to how coarse and rough Gavin's voice was, Niles' voice was soothing.

Calm down, dude. This isn't a therapy session for questioning your sexuality. Reply to his question, fucknut!

“Yeah, sure, sure. Uh, where do I fuckin' start?“ Again, Gavin laughs to release some tension, and when the room is silent, he coughs. And continues. “Hah, erm... well, I've been having these weird delusions and feelings of someone watching me. Paranoia, or whatever. I can't sleep, either.“

The concept of therapy wasn't really Gavin's thing; the idea of sharing all of his thoughts with another person was just plain idiotic, in his opinion. He'd much rather keep his feelings to himself, but since his mother called him out of the blue and informed him that she had scheduled an appointment with an "experienced therapist with good reviews" (which sounded shady as hell) because she was worried.

Truth is, he couldn't blame her for being worried. He had shut himself in his apartment, and wasn't even going to work the majority of the time. And when he did go to work, he only got sent home because he continuously kept falling asleep at his desk. Probably because he doesn't feel the eyes on him as he sleeps at work.

“Interesting,“ Niles bobbed his cranium in confirmation, his weight now leaning back as he crosses his arms over one another. He always seems like he is analyzing Gavin in some way.

Weird as fuck.

“So, perhaps you could be having some sort of stalker, or PTSD from something happening to you in the pa--“

“No, no. It's not like that.“

Niles seems suddenly interested and more inclined to listen, his head once again now tilted to the side in curiosity as his brows raise upwards. “Oh?“

Gavin gulped--- the aura that this guy gave off was intimidating as hell, and it was difficult to trust him. “Yeah, like... if it was something like that, then wouldn't I feel some sort of recognition kind of thing? Stalkers are usually people that the person knows personally or knew personally, and PTSD... don't think that's applicable to this situation. I don't think it's that.“

“Elaborate.“

“If it was PTSD, then it wouldn't feel so... so...“ He struggled to search and find the correct vocabulary, the right words-- it was on the tip of his tongue. His eyebrows knit together in comprehension, irises looking down at the couch as he--

“Real?“

Niles' tone is almost demanding in generality; it causes Gavin to shudder and almost cower in fear. Momentarily, he remembers how stern his father's voice was, how it terrified him to his core. Fear can make anyone curl in on themselves.

Gavin nods his head, his grey-blue hues now gazing out the large-sized window located directly to his left, watching as doves fly away. “Y-- yeah. Real. I've experienced PTSD before, and it's nothing like that, at least not this time. It's inhuman, almost. Like... like someone, some thing is going to pounce on me at any second. I don't feel safe in my apartment by myself. Hah, I even had a little moment in here before you got here--- thought something was in the corner.“

His therapist only stares, bobbing his head every now and then as a way to show that he was listening. Though, it didn't seem like it. It was as if he already knew everything that Gavin was saying. He identifies a sudden feeling of recognition--- one that chills Gavin to his very core.

“I, uh--- have I met you before?“ The detective leans forward now, setting his elbows on his knees. He can feel the shadows under his eyes growing deeper-- is that normal? How long had it been since he had slept? Gavin's calloused phalanges weave through his brunette locks, then gripping them tightly. “God, I must be going crazy. Of course, I haven't seen you anywhere--- what am I thinking? Turnin' into Uncle Kev-- I've been seein' shit that just isn't there. It's probably just sleep deprivation, and this therapy session won't do anything, I'm just wastin' my ti--“

“Here, walk with me outside,“ His incoherent rambling is cut short by Niles' request.

Gavin's pate raises upwards, catching sight of the therapist's outstretched palm, reaching for him. Motioning for Gavin to take his hand. His eyes lock with Niles.

“Wowza! Hand-holding? At least take me out to dinner first, eh?“ Gavin internally slaps himself. Meanwhile, Niles just rolls his eyes. Not in an annoyed way--- in an amused manner. Phew, Gavin didn't scare away his therapist.

“Come on, you said that being in here made you have a little 'fit' as well, right? Perhaps being out instead of holed inside your apartment will make you feel better, in some fashion?“

Gavin ponders about his next move, though it didn't seem much like a request at this point. Niles just seemed like he was politely ordering him to go outside. Reluctantly, he places his tan-colored hand in Niles' pale palm, letting his hand envelop over Gavin's and pull him up to his feet abruptly.

---------------------------

They meandered around the perimeter of the building for several moments, neither of them uttering a single word the duration of their walk. Gavin wasn't particularly skilled at breaking the ice when it came to long periods of silence similar to this; he would usually make it worse, actually. Saying something that would be so unexpected that it catches the recipient off-guard, or something that just makes the air between them extremely awkward all of the sudden.

Eventually, Gavin can't stand it anymore. He coughs to clear his throat up, his hand clenching into a fist for him to cough into for a few moments before scratching at the back of his neck again, and again.

“So, like, you have any family around this area, or are you new to Detroit?“

Greaaat question, Gavin. What if he has no family, and you just brought up shitty memories? GOOD GOIN', PRICK.

Niles hums. “I am relatively new here, but my brother lives here with me. You probably saw him whilst walking around the building, yes? Shorter than me, brown eyes?“

Gavin recalls seeing someone who fit that description. “Yeah, that's your brother?“

“Indeed, he is. He's... a little brat sometimes, prefers to do his own thing, but he's still family. We had to move rather abruptly due to some... sudden consequences of our actions, I suppose. Nothing for you to worry about.“

That bewildered Gavin, but he decided not to press further.

Luckily, Niles kept the conversation going. If the silence began once more, Gavin thought he could die.

“You mentioned an uncle earlier?“

Right, during his ramble.

“Yeah, hahah--- Uncle Kevin. He's like, the weird family member, y'know? The one who lives in a shed with a shotgun--- claiming that he'll prevent the apocalypse by killing the bloodsuckers, or something like that,“ Gavin laughs at this, yet Niles is silent.

“How peculiar. Bloodsuckers, you say?“ Niles inclines his head towards Gavin, his arms remaining behind his back as he walked. “What do you think of that?“

Gavin's face scrunches up, emitting a confused noise before sighing softly, remembering that this was a therapy session after all. “I dunno, man. Frankly, I think the idea of vampires existing is stupid as fuck, actually. Like, wasn't it just a myth, or fairytale? Or something like that. Nonetheless, it's hella dumb, and I don't believe in it one bit. If I ever saw a vampire in front of my face, I'd probably call it ugly and scream.“

Niles does laugh at this. “Be careful about what you say, Mr. Reed, you never know who, or what, might be listening.“

The way he said this caused shivers to go down Gavin's back. He sneered at Niles, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and emitting a disgruntled huff. “Don't even joke about that shit, man. I mean, I may find it funny, but the way you say that shit just makes me feel hella uneasy.“

“What if I told you that you should be feeling uneasy right now, Gavin?“ Niles' tone is almost playful, like a cat playing with its prey before chomping down on it.

Gavin just emits a confused noise in return. “Huh?“ He should be feeling uneasy? Why is that such a... weird statement to make?

“I'm just messing with you-- a mere jest. Everyone feels uneasy with their new therapist; that's a sign that you're normal, Gavin.“

Exhaling a soft suspire of relief. “See, when you're all serious like that all the time, I can't even tell the difference between the real seriousness and the fake. That's what makes me feel uneasy.“

“That's how life really is, though. No one can distinguish reality from dream, but we believe that we can. How sure are you right now that you are in reality? At this exact moment, do you know if I am real, or a figment of your imagination?“ The taller male stops in his tracks, and Gavin struggles to stammer out his reply.

Gavin turns his head to Niles.

“I-- I'm totally freaked right now, dude. You're gettin' all... weird. How the fuck did we go from talkin' about vampires to--- this??“

“Gavin. Keep your windows unlocked at night, okay? It's extremely difficult for someone to break a window in a quiet manner. And it just becomes a hassle to clean up later on...“

What the fuck?

Gavin has no time to respond, Niles speeds up and just walks away with a mere wink and a smirk with relatively sharp canine teeth for a human. Remarkably, Niles had no shadow. Weird, weird, weird. Everything about Niles was weird and unexplainable.

Gavin is left on the pavement outside the building with no one around him, awkwardly standing there. He didn't know where to go. Should he follow Niles? No, no--- Gavin didn't want to be around him anymore.

He must look pathetic, wanting to run away and cry to his mother about what had just occurred--- but he'll do it nonetheless.

There was only one thing that Gavin knew from his first and last encounter with his therapist.

He's locking the windows.

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ALSO POSTED ON AO3:

[gettin-bi-bi-bi]

Hey! New here :) so I'm really struggling here bc I don't know how to identify myself? I thought I was straight till I was 19, when I started to see girls differently (something that maybe I did before but didn't realized it?) so after 2 years I thought I was bi. And I was considering coming out to my family, but then I questioned myself that too. I realized that if I feel attracted to a person and I care about them, then I wouldn't care if they were a man, woman, trans or whatever. So now +

+ I'm more confused than ever. The thing is, I've never fallen in love and I've never been with another girl. I've had boyfriends, but never anything serious. And I've noticed that in real life I've never been attracted to another girl, but only boys. But for ex when I see a girl ( in a dating app, actress, singer) I have felt that attraction. So am I really bi/pan if that happens? If I've never been attracted to another girl in real life? Sorry to bother you and thanks so much for reading this.

+ I think that I should also point out that I don't meet many people since I studied home and I work from home.

The only thing that matters is what label(s) you feel comfortable with. There is no one right way to be bi/pan and you certainly don’t have to prove anything to anyone. If you overanalyse every interaction you have with women and every reaction you have to them that’s gonna put so much pressure on you to finally find The One who proves your queerness. But that’s so not necessary.

The mere fact that you see yourself having the potential to be attracted to more than one gender is enough to call yourself bi or pan or queer or all of that.

Also I get that celebrity curshes are a bit of a different department for some people but on the other hand that’s also real life. The girls in those dating apps are real. And a straight woman would probably not say of herself that she’s feeling any attraction towards women because that’s not what being a straight women entails.

I think your main problem is that you have some internalised biphobia to work through. Unfortunately that’s something that many of us go through. I have some specific advice about that here.

Maddie