#I had a really bad gender crisis here

[theclosetedskeleton]

im going to DIE IN THOS PLACE/NSRS I DONT WANNA STAY HERE UNTIL THE 4TH

[waldau]

softie — choi seungcheol | 890 words | fluff

#melonpan :c also, my need to include marriage in every other fic of mine needs to be studied.

gender neutral reader. warnings: none.

"are you sure it wasn't as bad as i thought it was?"

you stop combing through seungcheol's hair with your fingers. "yes."

"really?"

"yes."

"i mean, i broke a plate, stepped on your mom's foot and—"

"i was there."

"—swore in front of your dad."

"i know, baby."

"promise it's okay?"

"seungcheol, if you ask me that question one more time, i'm going to eat up all of your melonpan."

seungcheol tilts his head up to look at you from where he's sitting on the floor between your legs. he tries to put on his best hurt face. "what happened to cheol? or love of my life? or even...pookie?"

you laugh. "you want me to call you pookie?"

"...no. but anything's better than my name."

"no," you say, resuming combing through his hair and detangling a particularly stubborn clump. "your name is lovely, even if you insist it isn't."

"it's just so...serious. it sounds like i'm going to get scolded."

"it's you. and i like it. but tonight didn't go bad at all, baby."

the thing is, seungcheol's never met anyone's parents before. at least, not since he became an idol. you had been telling him your parents should be more worried about hosting an idol at their place for dinner but seungcheol had been stressing about it for a couple of weeks, worrying about what to wear and what to gift and how to sit, till you held him by the shoulders and very sternly told him to be himself, and nothing more.

he's done just that tonight, and he's landed himself in this predicament now.

"you're just saying that to make me feel better."

you sigh and your hands stop working in his hair again. now seungcheol can't have that, so he turns around and clings to your leg.

"cheollie!" you say immediately, ruffling his hair. he lets go. "what, are you really that scared of what my parents think of you?"

"yes? they're your parents. and i met them for the first time yesterday. what if they tell me to stay away from their only child for the rest of my life because they didn't like my shirt yesterday?"

you fish out the television remote from behind the cushion and toss it into his lap. "show me a fancam of yours while i finish working on your hair. choose one you really like."

that doesn't sound good. why would you ignore what he said in favour of something else? unless—

"did they—"

"choi seungcheol."

that shuts him up. he scrolls through some videos on youtube and picks one he thinks looks good. you pull out a rubberband and gently tie his hair into a ponytail. seungcheol swears you have magic hands, because you've never once hurt him whenever you've volunteered to do his hair.

"done," you say, pushing him a bit forward so you can stand up.

seungcheol groans. "don't leave me alone."

"i'm just...going to get us some water?"

"i'm having a crisis here."

you giggle and sit back down, tugging at him till he climbs up and rests against your chest, both of you watching his videos of choice together. your grip on him tightens even though you don't say anything. seungcheol keeps quiet about it for exactly two and a half fancams before he twists to look at you.

you have a goofy smile on your face, and he feels kind of silly for wishing you were looking at the real life him, and not the one on the screen.

"what is it?"

"what?" you ask, looking down at him.

"you're smiling. at him."

you snort. "that's you."

"yeah, but i'm right here."

your eyes crinkle when you smile at him. seungcheol just feels like he's stepped into bright sunshine after a cold day.

"i was watching some edits of yours yesterday."

"oh. were they any good?"

"really good. but i wonder what your fans would think if they got to know you're the biggest softie in the world. none of that supposed alpha stuff here."

seungcheol pouts, but he can't keep it up for long. he's pretty much at his best when he's with you. you're the reason why he can physically feel his shoulders relax most days. you're also the reason he finds himself smiling a lot more.

"supposed?"

"well..."

seungcheol turns to bite your arm gently. you push his head away, not before pressing a kiss to it. "stop worrying so much, okay? you didn't mess up anything with my parents. do you have any idea of how much my mom liked you?"

"she...did?" 

"yeah. and my dad asked me when we're going to visit again."

seungcheol feels his worries dissipate. you don't look like you're saying it to placate him, but...

"are you..."

"...sure? cheol, my mother literally asked me when we're planning to get married. i think that's enough for surety, isn't it?"

seungcheol swears he can feel his heart beating fast enough to escape his chest. of course he'd love nothing more than marrying you one day, even if it's a long way down both of your futures.

"hm," is all he can say, settling back down against you. he doesn't mind you smiling at the version of him on the television. he's the one who's going to get to marry you, after all.

[multifandomhoodies]

scrungles

[purgatory-if]

demo (tba) | faq | masterpost (you are here.) | art cred @aykaypee

You’re in danger, and every fiber of you knows it.

You’re sure, by now, that no matter what you do you won’t be able to stop it. Maybe that’s a good thing.

...This is the end.

You wish you had something that would remember you.

... YOUR life is a mystery to you when you wake up in the sunny fields of Purgatory. Apparently death isn't supposed to be a full memory wipe to the soul, but that's no problem, right? There's usually some sort of record kept of this kind of thing. If not for special cases like yours, then at the very least for organizational purposes. You're told all of that, assured that nothing is wrong and that this jsut 'happens' sometimes up until the moment they look for yur death and find nothing to speak of. Nothing of your life, either, just to make a bad time even worse.

Without knowing anything like this, it's safe to say that it'll be impossible to pass on. The underworld isn't built for fringe cases like you and even if it was, not even knowing who you were is disconcerting at best and cause for crisis at worst.

So alright. It shouldn't be too hard to find out how one person died, right? Detectives and story characters do it all the time- and now you have all the time in the world.

You should, anyways.

... FEATURES include:

play as a seriously unlucky pc whose cause of death depends on which route you decide to pursue

be whoever you want to be! standard for ifs nowadays; things such as pronouns, general appearance, personality all that jazz

8 romance options (mostly fem/non-binary, 1 option you can choose the gender of) and the ability to play as aro and/or ace

at least 4 poly romance routes!

love me some good vanity stats! vanity stats

get recruited (read: forced) into a 9-5 where time isn't real

beat up time

really symbolic mythology! i could write a goddamn essay on these fuckers

... PURGATORY is recommended for players over the age of 15, though I’m not going to police what you do on the internet. The game will contain major character death and death of all kinds, what is probably sacrilege, memory loss, fantasy violence, potentially sexually suggestive scenes and dialogue (hi ama.), morally dubious behaviour, and more. In-depth content warnings for each chapter and specific routes will be released at a later date.

... 'MAIN' CHARACTERS

THE DIVINE.

Angel (prns selectable) / Witty, charismatic, more than a little bloodthirsty, there's a certain volatility about someone who is Fate embodied. While they take their time on the many, many field missions necessary for stability in the multiverse or whatever very seriously, they'll put their restless passion into anything if it catches their eye for long enough.

Achlys (they/them) / Death itself, stoic and sharp and more than a little intimidating, it's hard not to let their mere presence get under your skin. While it would be nice to say that's not an intentional effect, the only unintentional thing about them is the fact that they're down here, of all places. They seem to be making the best of it.

Esme (they/them) / An angel in what is certainly an analogy for hell, classic, isn't it? They're little more than a shambling mess in a skirt if we're being honest, oh so scared of any shadow that moves in the corner of their vision. They truly do wear their heart on their sleeve, which seems to be an invitation for some to try and stop its frantic beat.

Amaterasu (she/they) / Don't let her meet your parents, is the only advice I'd give, because she'd be gunning for at least a threesome by the time starters are served. Unflinchingly forward and seductive, they're horribly charming in the most impermanant of ways. There's nothing she'll shy away from trying sooner or later, it seems, in or out of the bedroom.

THE MORTALS.

Viviana Alatorre (she/her) / Businesslike. Some people really don't change when they die, and going to this office just means you see the sun less on your coimmute. She doesn't appear to be dead, or alive, something in the middle. Out of everyone here, she's probably the most terrifying. Even more than the death god, probably because she's actively working towards terror.

Ailbhe Kahinu (she/it) / There's nothing that troubles Ailbhe, and it wouldn't be concerning if she was... y'know, dead. In the face of certain terror, it faces things with a shrug and a sigh. At least she's good-natured about this whole thing, being dragged down here by both her girlfriend (Vivi) and her sister (Rahley). The prices here are better than aboveground, anyways.

Rahley Kahinu (she/her) / Rahley's been compared to a robot more than one time, and while the comparison probably wasn't in good faith that doesn't mean it was necessarily wrong. She's intensely focused on her work, and her skill in that department seems to have drained her ability in things like basic conversation and empathy. So it goes.

M Blankenship (prns selectable) / Previously called 'Hit 'N Run' in the world of roller derby, the violent nickname seems odd on someone as cheerful as M. They act as a sort of tour guide for souls entering the Underworld proper instead of hanging around Purgatory, and it's hard to say their easy extroversion makes them anything worse than great at their job.

THE CONSTANTS.

Stratos C. Lusse (he/him) / The eternal guide to Purgatory for souls lost, souls found and all who are inbetween. He seems to have been here the longest--minus all of the deities, of course.

Octavia Hardin (she/her) / The part-time guide to Purgatory. She seems more likely to throw your soul into damnation if you cross her or anybody she cares about. Stay on her good side!

Salem Astor (she/her) / She would be a romance option if I had the energy to code in a shop feature. But I don't. So she runs free through the city.

Abbadon (prns selectable) / Personification of the past. If anyone can help you figure out what the hell happened to you, then they should be the one to go to. Sometime in the next 5 centuries would be ideal.

Maliel (prns selectable) / Personification of the future. Again, probably someone who can find out in a second what you'll know when you figure out this mystery, if you're able to find them at a good time. The woes of being a primordial deity.

...and more! Probably. Co-workers, pirates, other deities but this is running long.

[primojade]

【 # 001 】 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

fallacy (n.) : are flawed, deceptive, or false arguments that can be proven wrong with reasoning.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 : As a veteran AR60 player of Genshin Impact, you pride yourself as someone who knows the ins and outs of Teyvat, even studiously completing Spiral Abyss every reset, and having 100% exploration to some, if not all, of the released regions so far. Everything is fun and enjoyable, especially since Sumeru just recently debuted so you still have a lot to do!

All that ends though, when a mysterious passerby pushes you off the building of your university while playing Genshin. But instead of meeting your inevitable end, you find yourself waking up in the very world you were addicted to! 

It's supposed to be a fun dream, right? Something you could laugh at when you wake up? Right?! So, why is that you were back in AR1 with nothing but a dull blade in your inventory?!

…well, at least you still have those 700+ sunsettias and mints, Timmie's fowls…and surprisingly similar game mechanics you used to merely see on the screen before. But what should you do now? Flirt with the Genshin men??? Good lords...

"Welcome to Genshin Impact, Dreamer. Here, we can show you a happier ever after you've never had before…so, ready?"

𝐂𝐖 / 𝐓𝐖 : graphic depiction of violence; possible character death (on bad ends so choose your route wisely!); multiple endings (including good, bad, normal and secret ends); canon divergent, game mechanics, existential crisis, character study.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 : isekai/reverse isekai, choose your own adventure (cyoa) with branching narratives, romance, comedy, angst (depending on the routes), hurt with/without comfort (still depends on routes), action, mystery, found family.

𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐒 : albedo, tighnari, zhongli, cyno, xiao, diluc, venti, ayato, kaveh, kazuha and tartaglia. Possible more love interest as the story progresses.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 : on-going

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 :

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 : that love is a fallacy.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈 : alea iacta est. (the die is cast)

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐈 : argumentum ad hominem.

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐈 : argumentum ad ignorantiam.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈: audentes fortuna iuvat. (fortune favours the bold)

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐈.𝐈 : magister dixit.

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐈.𝐈𝐈 : argumentum petitio principii.

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐈.𝐈 : ignoratio elenchi.

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐈.𝐈𝐈: cum hoc ergo propter hoc.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈 : veritas liberabit vos. (the truth will set you free)

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐈 : —

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐈 : —

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈 : —

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐕 : —

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐕 : —

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐕𝐈 : —

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐈 : —

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 : —

tba...

"𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅" 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐒

𝐈 | odi et amo ; ( gn!reader × scaramouche ) ; in which scaramouche reveals you the reason why he hates you so much. But in the silence that comes after his hatred is revealed, and from the unspoken words that never leave his lips, would it be too selfish to ask for something more than this? 

𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 :

reader here is gender neutral, so if I happened to have a pronoun slip by accident, please do correct me. I swear it was a honest mistake cause I don't really proofread my works :3

that being said, although reader should based off of you, as in you reading this, reader has their own background prior to their arrival in teyvat. Down below are some of the changes/characteristics I took the liberty to add to the reader's persona and history to fit in the story!

(i.) reader is a university student studying science or other related field (their specialisation differs in each route to make it interesting). though i did not specify their age, appearance and race (feel free to imagine them whichever), they were supposed to be in the middle of taking their college degree.

(ii.) reader has an adoptive older brother (who would be important in the storyline later on).

(iii.) reader is presented to be quite reckless, a bit ditzy, chaotic, an unhinge and lively character, rebellious, hardheaded, opinion oriented, and wouldn't bend to rules that they see as pointless no matter how the society dictates them to do so, but they were kind and carefree when you get to know them more. you'll see what I'm talking about in the first chapter 😂

before I forgot, although I'm a huge fan of the sagau presented in tumblr (the one with creator and cult themes; those are chef kiss btw), my take on the plot of sagau is very different. There's no divine creator here or cultish behaviours (i'm so sorry if that's what you're looking for 😷) my main focus here is all about the genshin characters' self awareness that they were in a game as they interacted with the isekai!reader, which is why I added the reverse isekai in the genre tags because it will be a huge turnover in the future chapters :>

also, the game mechanics I'm talking about above is what we see on the screen of genshin. Like the Paimon Menu, the inventory, the character archive, and so on! When reader is isekaid, it seems like they brought the whole screen with them? XD

I know stuff will probably be confusing for you and me later on because of the branching narratives happening in this hellhole of a plot, but please bare with me xD I will do my best to make it clear as possible.

This fanfic has four types of routes (or ends if you prefer it that way), There are good ends (romantic happy ending all the way!), bad ends (if you're unlucky that you fall in the dramatic hellhole then yes), normal ends (this could end in either being platonic, a cliffhanger or an open ending up to your interpretation lmao), and lastly, the secret ends (i'll keep whatever this is hidden for now because I planned something huge for this lol).

a "what if" routes are a series of one-shots, short stories or drabbles that was not really connected with the primary routes. It could be read as a standalone fics. Possibly just my word vomit and brainrotting lmao. They also don't have any branching narratives like the primary routes.

well! that is all, i guess! I'll add something later if I remember stuff I should be telling you beforehand but for now, i guess this would do xD also, if you wanted to be tagged for this, feel free to dm me or send an ask about it! Thank you for reading all the way and I hope you will have fun (and a good laughs!) while you were reading this trash of a fanfic lmao 🤣

Ps. I'll try to post the prologue tomorrow since its already half finished already <3

[pocketsizedquasar]

thoughts about jon, gender, n hair

aka i've literally wanted to write a fic centered around this concept for like over two years but. well. anyway. i still might write the fic at some point but lord knows when that'll happen so in the meantime here are my jon jarchivist headcanons centered around hair and gender, ft. my personal flavor of jon: persian, w/ a white grandmother, n amab nonbinary transneutral/transfemme

⁃ jon's hair was always kept short as a kid. short hair was for boys, his grandmother had said, and besides, she didn't have the desire nor energy to learn how to care for his thick persian curls; the shorter they were, the less tangled and unruly, the better.

⁃ jon explored some more fem/gnc presentation in college, some of which included growing out his hair. he attributed it back then more to just the fact that he was exploring his queerness (in a bi and ace sense) in general & that he spent a lot of time around georgie (also transfemme), and didn't really think about the actual gender accompanying it -- he wasn't actively thinking much about his own gender. questioning and coming to terms with his sexuality was already a lot.

⁃ but he liked the way his hair looked and felt long. he liked the quiet rebellion of it. he liked the way georgie ran her fingers through it. he liked how many different ways it could be worn long -- in ponytails and buns and braids and just loose down his back. he doesn't remember much of his mom, but he's seen in pictures her long, dark, curly hair, just like his now, and he likes the reminder.

⁃ he keeps it long after college, though upon getting hired as a researcher at the magnus institute, he has a bit of a crisis over whether or not to cut it, re: standards of white cishetero "professionalism" and decorum and masculinity, all of which he's doing his best to perform. maybe even early on in his research days he cuts it a bit and decides it makes him feel so bad (for some inexplicable reason) that he decides to just leave it long, though tidy and brushed and straightened and pulled high up into a tight bun so it looks neat and out of the way and functionally short anyway.

⁃ similar thing happens when he gets promoted to archivist. i personally like him deciding not to cut it here because i like him being allowed to keep one (1) thing, though i def understand other hc's where he does cut it short for S1 / being the archivist. he's still very much keeping it pulled up in a tight bun and out of the way, and removes anything else remotely feminine about his appearance -- earrings, more fem clothing, nailpolish, etc.

⁃ i read mossy's @coulson-is-an-avenger "shopping for gender in a british wal-mart" fic like 2.5 years ago and i still love it so much and it's still canon to me basically re: he tries a skirt Once to work at the sort of peak sweet point where he's settled in enough to feel comfortable trying to wear a skirt but not yet paranoid enough about Prentiss. sasha talks w him about gender and femininity and stuff, though he's not quite ready to confront it yet.

⁃ then prentiss/season 2 hits and he regresses again hard into self-defense mode; the performative masculinity goes Harder. his hair is still long but it's messy; thick curls and flyaway strands frizzing about his sleep deprived and paranoid face.

⁃ by the time s3 rolls around, everything else in his life has gone to shit, so mostly he's just like "fuck it" re: his presentation in general, including his gender presentation. there's also a sense of just.. "this it the one thing in my life I have control over," so he sort of starts just wearing whatever. even if he's not really acknowledging the actual gender feelings to himself. but his hair and his clothes are One thing he can control about himself, one thing the watcher can't really take away from him. so with s3-s4 it's like. yeah he feels like he's becoming less and less human and yeah he's being kidnapped once a month and yeah the world is going to end but at least he can wear a goddamn skirt.

⁃ i do think there's also an element of it too where, there's obvious anxiety and concern about him being a visibly brown and trans/gnc person in fucking London of all places, but as time goes on i do think there's a bit of like. even if i face violence for this what does it matter. i hardly leave the archives anyways, and even then, would that really be anything? in the face of everything else that's happened?

⁃ in the safehouse jon and martin (who to me is a trans man btw) talk about gender a bunch and Jon realizes they want to try using both he and they pronouns and maybe jon decides they want to do some more feminine things, want to try wearing skirts and maybe painting their nails again and martin braids flowers into their hair and things are good

⁃ and then season 5 and the apocalypse hits.

⁃ for the first little while in the safehouse jon's hair is still long. but before they leave, he cuts it, for several reasons -- first like, if keeping it long and presenting femininely was partially about control for Jon, this is them letting Go of that, of what he perceives to have just been an Illusion control. yeah it might make them a bit dysphoric but so what, my body was never mine tobegin with.

⁃ and i think he's also doing it as a mental preparation for leaving the cabin, after jon and martin have had the initial talk about eventually leaving. long hair is a liability; hair can get pulled on and tugged on when being kidnapped and grabbed at; hair can be drenched in shampoo and twisted by plastic hands; hair can be tangled and snag on the walls of a coffin; it can be full of dirt days and days later; hair is a hassle and a hazard and an illusion of control and above all it was a comfort to jon and this is no longer a world where you can trust comfort, martin.

⁃ martin walks in on jon in the bathroom staring at themself in the mirror with a pair of scissors. they ask martin to cut it for them. (martin gets a haircut too, in a show at solidarity and some levity. also undercut martin rights)

⁃ anyway, Somewhere Else Jon wears flowy dresses and grows his hair long and leaves lipstick stains on martin's face when they kiss and hikes his skirts up above his knees when they work in the garden and their hair is long and dark and thick and curly and he likes it; likes the way it looks and feels, the way martin runs his fingers through it, the way it reminds him of his mother and the way it makes him smile at the person they see standing in the mirror.

⁃ and it's good. it's really good.

[half-bakedboy]

For bucktommy! “For some reason, I’m attracted to you.”

read on ao3

Buck knows objectively that dating a guy is much different than dating a girl. He’s done enough research—if a lot of articles like Dating Advice for Gay, Bi, and Pansexual Men count—about how dating someone new is supposed to be exciting and nerve-wracking, and dating men isn’t going to feel any different than dating a woman.

If that’s all true, then why has he never felt so awkward in his life?

He’s sitting across from Tommy at this quaint Italian restaurant that Maddie once mentioned wanting Chimney to take her to and all he feels is unsettled. The table is too small between them and Buck worries that if either of them moves, their knees will knock over everything on top of it. Buck ordered white wine because it seemed like the classy choice but he hates wine, and Tommy ordered a red wine that makes him wince every time he swallows.

The butter is as hard as a rock and Buck refuses to eat bread without it ever since his first date with Abby. Somehow, this date almost rivals Abby performing a tableside tracheotomy because Buck choked on the dry bread he’d shoved in his mouth to tame that awkwardness.

He catches himself glancing down consideringly at the basket of bread rolls before him but looks away abruptly when Tommy breaks the silence.

“So, this is a nice place,” Tommy decides. Buck nods and grabs both sides of the small table with a white-knuckled grip. “How’d you find it?”

“Maddie! My sister,” he says, unsure how much their mutual friends have told him. “Chim’s girlfriend. Fiance actually, but uh, my sister. She suggested it to me.”

“As a place to grab drinks?” Tommy asked with a raised eyebrow.

Buck shook his head. “As a place for a date,” Buck says proudly, tipping his chin up a little, challenging anyone to say a damn word about it. A small smile tugs at the corner of Tommy’s lips at the words.

“You told your sister you had a date? Did you tell her…” The rest of the question is obvious, but Tommy pulls back like he’s unsure whether he should ask.

“That this is my first date with a dude?” Buck finishes for him. Tommy chuckles and takes a sip of his classic red wine. He presses his lips together as he swallows and nods. “Not necessarily, but Tommy isn’t exactly a gender-neutral name.”

“Hey, it’s a big step. I’m proud of you either way,” Tommy says softly.

He reaches for Buck’s hand across the table like he’s testing the waters. It should be a cute moment, but Buck panics—an obnoxious casualty of his sexuality crisis—and turns his palm up to welcome the first public sign of affection between them, knocking over both of their glasses of water, drenching the aforementioned bread rolls.

Buck immediately thinks it’d be hard to choke himself with them now.

“God, I am so sorry.” Buck panics, stands up too abruptly, and the knees he was so previously concerned about hit the edge of the table painfully, sending Tommy’s almost empty plate onto his lap along with the remnants of water on the table.

Buck feels his face heat up like a furnace and he closes his eyes in hopes that this is all some fever dream born out of his fears of his newfound sexuality. But Tommy is chuckling and a waitress is apologizing like this is somehow her fault and Buck has to accept that he really is just bad at this.

He has his hands white-knuckled on the back of his chair and he’s considering just running away when a gentle hand rests over his. When he looks up, Tommy is still grinning—Buck doesn’t understand how he just keeps smiling through it all—like he isn’t covered in all of Buck’s mistakes.

“Evan,” Tommy mutters. There’s humor in the voice and Buck feels like he might actually die if Tommy makes fun of him. “Do you wanna get out of here?” Tommy asks. Buck’s eyebrows pull together and he sees the moment Tommy reads his mind. “C’mon, Kid.”

Tommy somehow unglues Buck’s hand from the chair to maneuver them toward the door. Buck apologizes to every waitstaff he sees, but it doesn’t matter. They’re all looking at him with so much pity that Buck feels like one of the patients on his calls. It’s a feeling he really hates, especially when Tommy must notice the stares, too.

Once they’re outside, Buck blurts, “Please don’t tell Eddie how bad this is going.”

Tommy snorts out his laughter like he’s been holding it in for hours. Buck should be mortified, but Tommy’s hand is still gripped in his and it’s firm and warm and much larger than his own.

“Oh, I’m gonna,” Tommy promises. Buck attempts to pull his hand away but Tommy only squeezes tighter. “Evan, c’mere.”

This time, Tommy pulls him into a warm hug while they stand in the cool night air. Buck breathes him in, eyes closing as he relaxes into the touch. He’s rarely smaller than those he hugs, and he’s never been smaller than someone he’s hugged like this. It’s almost like Tommy is ensuring Buck knows he’s still interested. Even after the awkwardness and tragedy, Tommy knows Buck has more to offer and is willing to find out.

It means so much to Buck that when Tommy pulls away, he has to stop himself from gripping even tighter at Tommy’s broad shoulders. He doesn’t move far, though, and keeps one hand on Buck’s waist, playing with the fabric there like he’s somehow more nervous than Buck. When he starts walking, Buck follows, finding no reason not to trust wherever Tommy is taking them.

“Are you… okay with all of this?” Tommy asks. Buck blanches because he never once considered his inability to remain calm around this man to come off as some sort of internalized homophobia.

“Y-Yes! I’m—Are you okay with this? With me?” Tommy tilts his head inquisitively, cocking an eyebrow up like he doesn’t know exactly. “C’mon, don’t pretend that this wasn’t the worst date you’ve ever been on.”

“I’ve been on a lot of bad dates, Evan,” Tommy says.

Though, it’s not as reassuring as Buck thinks he meant it to be.

Tommy sighs. “I think that we both wanted this to be perfect. For some reason, I’m attracted to you,” he teases, “and I wanted to woo you on your first ‘date with a dude’,” he mocks, earning a smack from Buck. “I remember how terrifying my first public date with a man was, so I can imagine how you were feeling leading up to this.”

“It was scary for you, too?” Buck asks shyly. He’s more reassured by that fact than anything else. In his attempts to not be weird about the date, he tried to hide his fears—this is something so new and important to him but it might not be a singular experience.

“Oh my God, yes!” Tommy laughs. “It was with a dancer. A small guy who looked like he walked straight out of the magazines I used to keep under my bed when I was a teenager.”

“I forgot you grew up in the 80s,” Buck teases. Tommy pinches his waist in retaliation and Buck squirms just a little closer to him.

“Since he was a dancer, I tried to find us a club. You know, dancing at a club was a stereotypically gay thing I could do to prove to this guy I was, in fact, gay. Like the asking-on-a-date part wasn’t explanatory enough.”

“Dancing’s a good first date!” Buck argues, not yet seeing the downside to this conversation.

“Oh, it can be! Except I was terrified to fuck it up, so trusted some stranger on the internet to recommend a spot.”

“Oh no,” Buck mutters.

“Oh, yes,” Tommy agrees. He winces like the memory has been repressed for a little too long. “It was a swingers, leather club. Needed a password to get in.”

“The stranger didn’t give you the password, did he?” Buck guesses.

“Worse. My date knew it and ditched me almost the second we got inside.”

“Oh no,” Buck repeats, though he’s holding back laughter. Tommy waves him on.

“Go ahead, go ahead. Get your laughs out.”

Buck does, throwing his head back for a moment before looking back over at Tommy. He’s staring at Buck like he’s made of sunshine and Buck has never felt brighter.

“So, is this your way of telling me you're into leather, then?” Buck jokes.

“It’s my way of telling you,” Tommy stops, turns, and makes sure he’s looking directly into Buck’s eyes, “that first dates are terrifying no matter who you are with, but how you feel about someone at the end is all that matters.”

“Yeah?” Buck asks. He feels small with Tommy’s eyes on him, with Tommy’s hand around his waist, sliding to the small of his back where he’s unused to being touched so gently.

“Yeah,” Tommy agrees. Buck waits until Tommy glances down at his lips before he smiles.

“And how do you feel about me?” Buck asks. He brings his hands up to put one of Tommy’s broad shoulders and the other brushes a strand of Tommy’s hair back. The red that blooms on Tommy’s cheeks makes Buck’s heart sore.

“I feel…” Tommy begins to lean forward and Buck’s ready for the kiss this time. He isn’t going to be surprised. He knows what to do with his hands. He’s ready to show Tommy that he knows how to kiss better than he knows how to date.

But then Tommy’s gone, and when Buck realizes it, they’re already a few feet apart, Tommy walking backward down the street.

He shouts, “I feel a little damp and sticky. Come back to my place so we can fix that?”

Buck runs after him, shouting, “Is that an innuendo? I don’t get them all yet!”

Contagious laughter echoes through the almost empty streets, and joy thrums through Buck’s entire being. Awkwardness aside, he thinks he could easily get used to this.

[ownedbythescribe]

Tighnari | Under The Moonglow

ıllı Synopsis: What started as a sapling of admiration became a blossoming lotus of affection. Tighnari seemed so out of reach for the likes of you, yet you were willing to remain by his side. So on his special day, you prepared a unique gift only reserved for him.

ıllı Genre: Fluff, Romance

ıllı Notes: Gender Neutral Reader

ıllı A/N: So, I decided to rewrite this story. The first one was not bad, but I had to edit a few parts. Tumblr was acting up, and I’m also using mobile for this, so it’s kind of a win-win.

The duties of the forest rangers of Gandharva Ville include protecting the forest, guiding lost travelers, and conducting seminars and talks about the fauna and flora of Sumeru. It was their pride and joy to ensure that the relationship between the forest and any living beings was balanced and no boundaries were overstepped. The one who stood leading the rangers was none other than Master Tighnari, a renowned Amurta graduate from the Akademiya. Every scholar and ranger knew the span of his knowledge of the fauna and flora of the region was no joke. When a crisis arose, the Forest Watcher stayed vigilant and humble, directing the rangers what to do and when to turn the tables. His rationalized and easy-to-understand directions captivated his co-workers, allowing more efficient operations to work with.

Of course, Tighnari was not all sunshine and rainbows. Make no mistake. If he saw you doing something foolish or dangerous, be ready for hours of lecture— or maybe more afterward. Did he not make efforts to create and publish ‘A Field Guide to Rainforest Life’ for this reason? Although, despite his sternness, Tighnari was always willing to instill within anyone the importance of safety and precaution, much more to those who were eager to learn. The same could not be said for those who were hard-headed though.

"A pity, really. I majored in Botany, but growing brains is not in my area of expertise." Was what he would always utter. A wry smile would worm in your face, shaking your head in amusement at his vexation with those who refude to abide by the forest's rules.

This was probably just one of the reasons why your heart grew fond of the Forest Watcher. What started as a sapling of admiration became a blossoming lotus of affection. Oftentimes, interactions with him ended up with your heart beating like you sprinted a marathon, stuttering like an awkward fool. He simply attributed it to your shy nature and would encourage you to place more faith in yourself. He was not telling you this as an empty compliment, but more so because he saw potential in you the moment you began your career as a forest ranger. Right now, you were one of the people he trusted, whether it would be to handle Withering Zones or help out as a forest guide. That said, you were not immune to his sass and sharp words.

“This is the third time this week, (Y/N)! You really shouldn’t put yourself in so much danger just because a simpleton cannot follow your rules. Not to mention how rude that merchant was.” He scoffed.

Tighnari rambled about the peculiar merchant you escorted earlier who blamed you for his misfortune when it was the other way around. You diligently guided the merchant away from Rishboland tigers and Spinocrocodiles, but he ended up landing on a hoard of fungi that decided to play with him. One electro mushroom rushed towards him, and you immediately pushed him out of the way using your weapon. Your leg did not escape unscathed, as the electro ring around the fungi hit it.

"He learned his lesson after seeing the blood. Don't worry. Plus, this will heal in time! I'm no ordinary human, after all, Master." You teased, your vision flashing in agreement. He let out a sigh before tying up your bandage.

"All right. Later night, come here again and I'll re-apply the salve. This will prevent the wound from leaving a scar." He ordered. Grinning, you stood up with a pep only to stumble. Tighnari held your arm and sighed.

After exiting his office, you took out your journal to see what tasks were left for the day. Your eyes landed on the reminder to go to Grand Bazaar and pick up the order for vegetable seeds and ingredients for the cold medicine Tighnari was making. Nodding your head, you made your way to Sumeru City.

Bustling with energy, more merchants from Port Ormos had visited the city. It was always a delight to see them in the main city despite the considerable distance from the port.

Reaching the bazaar, you were greeted by a crowd cheering for Nilou, who was dancing with two more members. Her elegant moves and twirls never failed to capture your attention. If only only you could invite Tighnari here, he would have enjoyed it too. Sadly, his sensitive ears often prevented him from going or staying too long. His preference for solitude was known to a lot.

"Hmm? (Y/N)! Are you here for the seeds and ingredients the Forest Watcher ordered last week?" Saphina, the florist hailing from Fontaine, asked. She was holding a bundle of lotuses that you helped carry inside the shop. Once done, you answered her answer with vigor.

"Yup, and I also wanted to check out how you are and the current market. I would have to note the changes in the economy of vegetation sold in Sumeru City and Port Ormos so that Master Tighnari will not bother with people suddenly coming to the rainforest to forage whatever they could sell should something happen." You reasoned. She gave a hearty laugh, patting your back for being hardworking. However, you denied it, claiming that it was the Forest Watcher who should take credit.

"Oh please, you're also doing a good job! Be proud, Lassy. Now, here are the seeds and the ingredients he asked me for. Oh, and can you also pass this on to him? This will be useful." She remarked, passing you a vial with a blue liquid in it. She told you that it was a new fragrance she stumbled upon while in Port Ormos. It was made from Sumeru roses, sweet flowers, and Padisarahs, giving it a nice aroma.

With a smile, you placed everything in your bag and thanked her. She grinned, and you took off to check around the city. Puspa Cafe was your next destination to buy Padisarah pudding. The exquisite taste of the dessert was to die for! Settling down, you took a scoop and moaned in glee.

"Didn't take you for a pudding lover, (Y/N). Must be a good dessertation to make, you know because—“ A voice from behind you stated, but you immediately stuffed a pudding in his mouth.

"Yes, Cyno, I get the joke, and I hate that I get it." You groaned. The joke did make you laugh a little which brightened the General's day. It was great to see his friends laugh and lighten up every once in a while.

The General sat with you, sliding in the food he ordered. You were curious why Cyno was around the area when he was seen in the desert from what you heard from the other forest rangers. He informed you that he was gathering intel in the area and decided to take a short break before running off again.

"Have you prepared a gift for Tighnari yet?" He asked. You paused, midway through putting the spoon in your mouth. Your eyes widened in surprise before putting down the pudding and taking out your journal to see the date. It was already the 26th, and his birthday was on the 29th.

"You forgot?" Cyno hesitantly inquired, seeing how you were starting to tear up at the fact that you did forget. There was a good excuse though which was all forest rangers were swamped with new work. After the fiasco with the Sages and the Dendro Archon, there were internal changes in Sumeru, and more diverse work were registered with the forest rangers (based on their skills and capabilities, thank Tighnari for this).

"Cynooo, what should I do? I don't know what to get him! And, and, it's also this late! Why did I forget such an important event?! Tighnari will hate me if he found out." You grumbled, tearing up slightly. Cyno first assured you that he will do no such thing. He listed the presents some of the rangers had already prepared, and it made you feel more guilty.

"Just give him something you think he will like. It's the thought that counts for him, (Y/N). There are still two days left, so don't fret." Cyno advised. He was not the type to uplift spirit, so his words calmed you down. Nodding, you thanked him and finished the food on your table.

The General Mahamatra glanced at his hourglass and noted that it was time for him to leave. You bid him 'Good luck' with his endeavor which he smiled at. Before he left, he disclosed the time he would arrive for Tighnari's birthday.

'Something that he will like? But he has a lot of books already, not to mention, his tent is full of ingredients for medicine. Wait... Oh no, I don't like this idea of mine already. Please don't let me regret this.' Only a sigh escaped your lips.

That night, you returned late to Gandharva Ville and received a light scolding from Tighnari. You told him that you met up with Cyno, causing time to slip up from your mind. It was not a good excuse, but it was more than enough. The Forest Watcher had a conflicted look in his eyes. He knew that you often meet with Cyno and that he was also one of your friends, but for you to be enjoying time with him than the fennec fox slighted him.

"All right. Let's rebandage you up then go rest. Today was eventful, more so how the following days will be." He warned. You nodded.

True to his words, things had been hectic the succeeding days. Tighnari had been invited by his Amurta Darshan to conduct a series of talks about the rainforest and the current status of Sumeru's ecosystem. Interactions between you two were limited to giving and receiving tasks which did help you manage your surprise, but it also felt a little lonely.

'Ahhh! I'm almost late, almost late! This is bad!' You finished your job quickly and took your bag before dashing out of the village. Tighnari saw you frantically come out of your abode, weirded out by your actions. He wanted to chase after you, but he was called out by Amir to check his report before submitting it.

"You're late. Here, take this and then place it there. After that, take it to Madam Faruzan then deliver this to the Amurta Sage. Then, we'll test it out again once you're back." The person in front of you ordered. You gave him a deadpan look.

"Things are not gonna get done with you just standing there, (Y/N). Your feet's gonna have to work, you know that." He teased. With a shake of your head, you did as you were told. Faruzan slightly kept you occupied than expected, but you came back to the office as soon as you could. Testing it out, you let out happy noises and even smacked your partner in happiness.

"It took so much effort, but with so little time, we got it done. Thank you so much, Alhaitham! You can take this as another favor from me. Thank you again!" You grinned, placing your gift in a special box. You prayed that this would assist Tighnari considering he was the one who always goes out, exposing him to most danger than you.

The following day, you raced towards his office to give his gift, but the Forest Watcher was already gone, off to his next talk in Sumeru City. It bummed you out but hoped that you could deliver it later. You managed to accomplish the tasks earlier than usual, yet Tighnari was nowhere to be found. Collei informed you that he would be home a lot later than usual. He was invited by the Amurta Sage to check the research he was conducting. It hooked the fennec fox up.

"Master told us to leave the gifts in his office, then we can celebrate his birthday tomorrow. It may be late, but he said, he wanted to thank us for trying to hide our surprise." Collei said. Tighnari knew the forest rangers like the back of his hand, and he could not be more proud and happy to work with them.

The moon was already high in the night sky when he came back to Gandharva Ville. It had been a hectic yet fruitful day. However, he wanted to feel the crisp air before he returned to his office to arrange it for the next day. He ended up going near the falls where he noticed a familiar figure dipping their feet by the water, lost in a daze. The Nilotpala lotuses around them were shining brightly, and he almost thought they were a holy being descending to Teyvat.

"And may I ask why you are out so late at night and lost in a daze, Ranger (Y/N)?" His voice cut through your thoughts that you almost threw the box in your hands. Frantically trying to find an excuse, you gave up and told him that the night sky kept your mind from swirling in the wrong direction.

Tighnari sighed and sat beside you. He took off his shoes and examined the lotuses before you. They were much livelier than normal. It was when he noticed your dendro vision pulsing. It had the effect of bringing vitality to wildlife, and he was often amazed by its intensity to cure the withered zones.

"Umm... Happy Birthday, Tighnari. I'm sure a lot had already greeted you, and you told us rangers to put our gifts in your office, but...." You felt embarrassed trying to give an excuse that you wanted to gift it to him personally. He smiled and held out his hand expectantly, encouraging you that he was willing to accept it now.

Fumbling, you placed the box in his hand. He asked if it was okay to open his gift now. You told him that it was his, and there was no need to get your permission. Without waiting time, he opened it and smiled. Inside was a bracelet and beside it was a pressed Viparyas flower. You explained that it was something you came up with to help with his patrol. It could detect leyline overflow and strong elemental residues that could pose danger to people. It could only sense things within a small range, but in time, you wished to increase its capabilities.

Tighnari could see the passion you poured into his gift. The Viparyas alone was an astounding feat. They said that only the Aranaras possess them, and luckily for you, you stumbled upon a kind Aranara who you helped fix their home and cook. They had tastes different from you, but they were grateful nonetheless.

"It was tough working with Alhaitham, but I hope you liked it!" After hearing his name, Tighnari froze. There it was again, hearing that you spent a long time with another man other than him. You felt his annoyed gaze glance at you. It was at this moment that you saw a new emotion pass by the Forest Watcher's face.

"First was Cyno, then now, Alhaitham. Really, (Y/N)? What am I going to do with you?" He muttered. You were confused until he stood up, pulled your arm, and held you in his embrace.

"I want to be the only man whom you will maunder with those lips of yours, (Y/N)." He confessed. In his heart, he, too, had grown the fruit of affection, and it was time for him to reap it.

Under the moonlight, Tighnari's features were highlighted. You cheeks flushed at how divine he looked, but you noticed the hopeful gleam in his eyes. He was waiting for an answer. With a nod, you leaned in his arms. The scent of mint and leaves mingled in your nose, calming your thoughts.

"All right. I'm sorry, 'Nari." He smiled at your words and kissed the crown of your head. You were finally his.

Please do not copy or repost my stories, but notes and reblogs are always appreciated!

[sp4ceman-craig]

I was bored, so here are some NPMD headcanons

Steph -AFAB, she/they -biromantic, bisexual, and polyamorous -She can pull anyone and everyone -she dyes her hair a lot -They do really good makeup and put makeup on the rest of the nerdy prudes -She kinda smells like nutmeg? -She plays a lot of video games -Lowkey a twitter comedian -Allergic to cats and pollen -Likes sweet foods more than salty -Their favourite movie is Scott Pilgrim vs. the World

Pete -AMAB, he/they + neos -biromantic and bisexual -the most responsible out of the group -not when it comes to Steph though, he would do anything for her -he would jump off a bridge if they did -Steph sometimes puts makeup on them and no one wants to admit it but they would make a really pretty girl -He reads a lot of classic novels and writes like dissertations on that shit for fun -most likely out of the nerdy prudes to join the smoke club -Spends like 75% of his time day dreaming but also somehow takes impeccable notes in school -They like the spring but get major allergies -falls in love super easily -enjoys gardening -Left handed and has pretty handwriting -favourite colour is green

Ruth -she/they/he + neos -She could be trans or cis i honestly don't know -biromantic and bisexual they will take anyone who will have them -Charlotte’s younger half-sister -Theatre kid till the day she dies (literally) -Knows a lot about mushrooms -can read tarot cards -Listens to old weird music like Kate Bush, showtunes, or like......fucking Hazbin Hotel music -Bo Burnham liker -Changes her name a lot but never sticks with it -Knows a lot of obscure plays -also falls in love super easily

Richie -AFAB he/him -bisexual and demibiromantic -He’s really not all that concerned with romance -He kind of has a thing for Steph though (everyone does) -tries to get his friends into anime but none of them really understand it -he’s an anime guy, ruth's a theatre guy. they may be besties but they just don't quite understand each other -Reada a ton of comic books -plays Pokémon -beats everyone at Super Smash Bros and Mario Kart EXCEPT Steph -one time he beat Paul (his uncle) at Mario Kart and Paul had a midlife crisis -he makes kandi and gives them to all his friends -Gets gender envy from anime characters

Grace -AFAB, she/her -lesbian -Okay she's the other most likely nerdy prude to join the smoke club -i have this idea in my head of her and Pete becoming stoners together -her and Pete are besties kind of -Really just a bundle of anxiety -knows a lot about botany -has like six versions of the same exact outfit -rides her bike everywhere -Has the shakiest hands of all time -Gets really nervous around Steph -stress baker

Max -AMAB, he/him -biromantic and bisexual because I said so. bi rights. -Unironically down kind of bad for Grace. She sort of hates him and is sort of just scared of him -possibly the worst cook known to man -okay so in my head he tries to impress Grace all the time but it never works -also has a lowkey massive crush on Kyle.....why else would he be so adamant that he can't date Brenda -Chronically offline. He won't STOP touching grass. He doesn't own a phone -has no concept of personal boundaries -Kind of a theatre kid. Secretly.

[messier-jin]

What Was I Made For?

So... I was having my own existential crisis late at night and this idea came in. At first, it was supposed to be a short drabble, but it quickly went out of hands. And I almost did a really angst ending but I managed to stop myself, we’ll stay at hurt/comfort.

Hope you’ll enjoy! Don’t forget to drink water, I wish you the best!

Content Warning: Existential crisis, survivor guilt, hurt comfort, gender neutral reader, one line of depiction of violence, reader refused to eat.

Character: Rengoku Kyojuro (featuring Kocho Shinobu).

Song I listened to while writing: What Was I Made For? by Bilie Eilish.

Words count: 1745 words.

This mission had turned for the worst. The demon you faced was stronger than you expected. After a long night of fighting, you turned out to be the only survivor. And how bad you felt for this… Kocho Shinobu, the Insect Hashira who took you under her care after you had been found, called it ‘survivor guilt’. 

How could you not feel guilty? Why were you the only one making their way out of this alive? The other demon slayers trusted you. One of them even protected you. Why did they protect you instead of saving their own life? They were stronger than you. They should have lived. 

You should have been stronger yourself. You should have trained harder before going. You should have listened to orders better. You should have been the one protecting the others when they were down. 

Why were you so scared? Why did you end up paralyzed? When the demon crushed one slayer under a giant hand… When the demon bit off another slayer’s arm… When you almost lost your head yourself… 

You remembered your heart beating so loudly in your ears. You remembered how sweaty your hands turned against the hilt of your sword. You remembered the silent tears in the corner of your eyes at what you witnessed. You remembered their cries of pain. You remembered how your blade broke in two when you tried to cut the demon’s neck. Why did you fail?

They did not deserve to die like this. You should have been the one dyi-

“[Y/N]?”

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇ 

“Rengoku?” Kyojuro stopped in the middle of the corridor when Shinobu called his name, catching his attention. He turned around to see the Insect Pillar walking toward him. Her constant, calm smile was present on her face. But it was not reaching her eyes - even less than usual, at least. Anyone who knew her well enough could read the expression she was trying so hard to hide: she was worried.

“How can I help you, Kocho?” The Flame Pillar asked with his loud voice. Usually, calmness was requested, between the walls of the Butterfly Estate that were filled with wounded people who needed rest. But Kyojuro had a special permission, considering his half-deaf condition.

Shinobu knew it, her fellow Pillar was as worried as she was. If not, why would he be hanging around the Butterfly Estate so much, ever since you had been brought here? You have been training under Kyojuro for months, maybe even years. You joined him for several missions to learn from him. And even now that you were not under his care anymore, he was always checking on you. He held you dear, it was obvious for whoever saw the way he was looking at you…

“[L/N] skipped lunch today again,” Shinobu admitted, “They’ve refused to eat ever since they woke up.”

In her opinion, if there was one person who could make you take care of your health, it was Kyojuro. If you refused to listen to others, you would listen to the solar Flame Pillar.

Kyojuro’s expression shifted. The corner of his lips twitched. Something in his eyes seemed to tremble. He could feel a pinch on his heart. It pained him. The Flame Pillar tightened his grip around the hilt of his weapon, where his hand was resting.

“I will talk to them.”

Without waiting for Shinobu’s answer - not giving her a chance to give any - he hurried toward the room where he knew he would find [Y/N]. The Insect Pillar could only look at him. Now that she was alone, her fake smile fell to show her clear worry. A heavy sigh slipped through her lips.

“They will listen to you… They have to…”

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇ 

In a gasp at the loud voice, you looked away from the window - through which you were admiring the night sky from your bed… Even if ‘admiring’ was a big word, since you had been staring into the void, attacked by your own intrusive thoughts. 

“Rengoku?”

Kyojuro was standing at the entrance of the room. His expression was unreadable. It was nothing like his usual reassuring smile and flamboyant aura. A sigh escaped him when he took in your sight before slowly making his way toward you.

“I told you, you don’t need to be formal with me because I’m a Pillar. Kyojuro is fine.”

Once he was at your bedside, the Flame Pillar sat down onto the mattress, just next to you. Out of habit, he reached out to place his hand on top of yours, something he always did when he felt like you needed to talk. But as soon as his skin touched yours, you pulled away, bringing your hand to your lap, away from his touch. Kyojuro stared at you, his eyes pained by your reaction. But he was quick to blink to hurt away.

“Kocho told me you ate nothing, today,” he started.

“I was not hungry…”

You simply looked away to stare through the window once again. Your eyes seemed… empty. It was the first time Kyojuro ever saw you in such a state. He was used to you hiding your pain behind a caring personality. He had learned to see through this facade and comfort you when he felt you needed it. But never once did you reject his help. And never once did he see you this affected.

“[Y/N], you need to eat to stay healthy,” he continued, “and you will heal faster if you-”

“But what if I don’t want to?”

Kyojuro was surprised by the fact you cut him, and with such a loud yet trembling voice. But he was even more surprised by your words. He stared at you with wide red-orange eyes. His mouth gaped as he was too stunned to reply. 

“I know that everyone is trying to be nice, telling me to get better soon, coming to check on me, Kocho told me it wasn’t my fault but–!”

Your words made everything fall into place for Kyojuro. It was not about not wanting to eat. It was not about healing physical injuries. It was much deeper than that.

“She even offered to train with her. And I’m sure you will agree with her. Just like you probably agree with her about this whole situation because of course, you will. But now is too late to train because they all already died! And I could not help anyone! I’m just useless!”

“[Y/N], I can’t let you say such a th-”

“What use am I?!” Your outburst resonated through the whole room, empty aside from Kyojuro and you. Your voice broke as you held fistfulls of the blanket covering your body. Your form started to shake as a sob escaping your trembling lips. 

“Kyojuro… What was I made for, exactly?”

When you looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, Kyojuro swore he could feel his heart being ripped into shreds. Through his lips, your name slipped in a whisper. Your breathing was heavy as you came down from your meltdown. 

Slowly, he reached out to take your hands in his once more. And this time, you did not pull away. You accepted his touch, so gentle, as if he was afraid you would break if he were to move a little too fast. His gaze never looked away from your trembling one. You needed an anchor to ground you, and the Flame Pillar was ready to play this role.

“[Y/N], I want you to listen to me.” 

It was not the voice of Kyojuro, your warm and joyful friend. It was the voice of Rengoku, the strong Flame Pillar, determined to accomplish the mission he assigned to himself. He waited for you to give him a nod, signaling you were listening to him, before moving on. 

“Your hands are made to protect others.”

When you opened your mouth to protest, he lifted one of his hands to place his fingertips against your lips, stopping you from saying anything. His other hand kept hold on your smaller one, giving it a soft but reassuring squeeze. Kyojuro would not let you talk down to yourself any longer. 

“When something makes me angry, it’s your hand grabbing my sleeve that grounds me,” he explained. “When I fall down, it’s your hand that reaches out to help me back up. When I got hurt, it’s your hand that comes to lay on my shoulder to check on me. When I need comfort, it’s your hand that rubs my back. When I taste delicious food, it’s your hand that hands me more. It’s always your hand…”

As he spoke his fingertips moved away from your lips to caress the skin of your cheek before cradling it delicately - as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His other hand guided yours up to his own lips. Kyojuro closed his eyes as he laid the most tender kiss on your knuckles, a gesture to thank your hand for its help. His lips were warm. You could feel every single emotion of his through them. 

“Kyojuro…” Your voice was barely above a whisper as a tear fell down your red cheek. Then a second rolled down. And soon, you found yourself unable to stop them from streaming down. 

Kyojuro could feel your hand tremble in his hold. His warm eyes opened, filled with his natural compassion. For a short while, he admired your features in silence: flushed cheeks wet from tears, glassy eyes, quivering lips… 

“Your hands saved me more than once,” the Flame Pillar admitted, his voice softer than usual, each word carrying reassurance and gratitude. “Don’t call yourself useless ever again, because I would not be as strong without your protection.”

Not able to hold anything in anymore, you let go of everything - every tear, every doubt, every self-hatred thought, every single feeling… You did not know how long you cried. Somewhen during it, Kyojuro wrapped his arms around your sobbing form, protecting you from the outside world. The fabric of his uniform was wet from your tears over his shoulders, but he never once complained about it. His comforting hand rubbed your back, the circular motion soothing your ache. 

You did not know why you were here, what you were made for… 

But you knew what you could be. 

For as long as he would let you, you will be here to support Kyojuro. 

Until the very end… 

[notknickers]

it's here, barely in time. enjoy, or don't. i'm done. which is what matters.

synopsis: when colonel könig gets restless, he knows he can always count on his favourite recruit to put him in his place the way he needs to. warnings: unethical power imbalance, full-con otherwise, boot blacking, proud to messy submissive, slight degradation, manhandling, könig loves it when mummy steps on him, orgasm control, masturbation, praising, köning is a little worm who loves to squirm, smoking, light petting, aftercare, second-person narration in present tense, no gender mention, but reader assumed to be afab, military-related inaccuracies, probably. word count: 2643

a/n: i was stoked to write a boot blacking scene, so i hope it came out right.

if you are under 18, tentakönig doesn't want you to clik below. you don't want to make tentakönig sad, do you?

that day started exactly as expected. early wake, frugal breakfast and another simulation of a real mission. tomorrow will be the same, until, one day soon, it will not be just another realistic exercise to drag you from bed, but a real, multi-day operation with unbelievably high stakes. so you and your squad completed your tasks, competing against the others, making use of all the skills cultivated in the almost ten years of service before being hand-picked for your new position in the private sector, just to see if your current employer is satisfied with it, or thinks you could all use a few pointers and much more training to meet their very high standards. you cleared the assigned objectives to the best of your abilities, each member of the team there to shore up each other’s weaknesses and emphasise each other’s strength, then exfiltrated and had an end-of-day debrief. a very boring one, by then. with all the adrenaline spiking and dropping, all you could think of was supper, then the cot. not a recap of the day. even less so a reprimand for accidentally tracking mud inside. that one ended with the sergeant with a stick up his arse threatening all kinds of debasing chores around base to instil in you some sense of decorum. luckily, colonel könig stepped in to take the task of teaching you a lesson personally.

the sergeant really wanted to be the one to discipline you, before the colonel swept you from him! too bad.

you felt grateful, suspecting könig had far different plans in mind, even though exhausted, dirty and starved, you were not sure you could perform them as well as he had come to expect.

you found comfort in the fact that he did not appear to be in a full-on crisis like last time, even though you could sense nervousness exude from his fidgety fingers and pace.

when the two of you turned the corner of a corridor and he lifted you off the ground like you weighed nothing – to avoid leaving any more mud prints and no other reason, surely – all worry dissipated like fluffy clouds battered by ruthless winds.

so, this is how you find yourself in the colonel’s private office, sitting on his incredibly comfortable – and duly reinforced – leather chair he usually keeps behind his desk, with one muddy boot rested on the kneeling man’s bulky right thigh, a boot blacking kit set on the floor beside him.

he has just finished wiping the worst of it from your soles and is now undoing the laces, pinching them between thumb and index to force the dried dirt to crumble on the towel he has intelligently spread under both of you.

you observe the meticulous care with which könig folds the lace into a hank and puts it on the corresponding side, so he will know to what boot it belonged. he does the same with the other.

perched up in his – now yours – chair, you watch the colonel dip the bigger brush in water and saddle soap a few times, before he begins to lather the leather until the whole surface froths with white foam, the circular motions soothing your aching feet even through the thick material.

but it’s not just the pleasant, physical sensation that captures you: it is always fascinating watching the colonel labour with such practised skill.

it’s not that you are a stranger to caring for each item of your uniform to the mandated standards yourself: minding your equipment is just another one of your duties. however, the fact that a man several ranks higher than you is hard at work on his knees to clean muck from your boots never ceases to tickle that well-hidden spot in the secret hallways of your mind. that spot that feels increasingly less concealed, as time goes by and colonel könig keeps, knowingly or not, to appeal to it with such naked candour and good will.

you sink into the padding a little, closing your eyes as the clean, slightly pungent, scent of soap fills your nostrils and the gentle rustle of cotton against the leather grain reaches your hearing with regular cadence. könig is vigorously wiping the foam with a rag, mercifully sending warmth up your stiff legs, weary from all the walking, scuttling and crawling.

he takes his time with it and you don’t dare say a word, lest you distract him and ruin the moment. you can envision his serious expression even under the mask he has not removed: brow knitted. intent focussed. mind clear.

you wonder if the colonel is the type who, when fully committed to a task, lets the tip of his tongue inadvertently snake and wander from the confines of his lips, leaving it to peep out for the duration. the thought makes you snigger, a small but crystalline sound that has könig halt a moment in question.

you shake your head in dismissal, mirth warming your features: «please, colonel, continue.»

the harsher sound of dry bristles from a smaller brush going through seams and metal eyelets resumes as he obeys, until this stage, too, is completed to his – and, implicitly yours – satisfaction.

as much as you crave the sight of him, so much you wish you could burn it in your retinas, you don’t have it in you to open your eyes when he firmly lifts your right leg to rest it on the bulging muscle of his quadriceps, like he just did with your left, to restore that boot, too.

you let the colonel serve, his movements and their sounds giving you a very clear idea of what is happening all the same, as you sink even more in your seat.

the clinking of a metal jar makes you grimace faintly, but the known smell of shoe grease gets you back in the moment. he works the stuff with his bare fingers, massaging it into the leather up to the ankle, which he carefully turns to slather the whole boot.

you almost wish you could get away with keeping your endowments in worse condition, as all it will take for your boots to rediscover their as-new shine will be a single coat. two at most. you can’t help but sigh, trying not to let your disappointment sift through: so attentive and attuned is the colonel, he would surely detect it and risk thinking he is the source of your displeasure.

a notion that could not be furthest from the truth.

as the left boot soaks in the wax, the colonel’s hands operate as deftly on the other. this time you indulge in watching him knead more product in with knowing touch. the time to buffer the other one with another clean clothe comes too soon, but you enjoy the care anyway. when the right one has also been thoroughly wiped, he takes both of your feet back on his thighs to laces them back up. making sure the length on each string is even.

quiet but proud, he waits for your verdict.

you peer at the renewed leather with critical eye, toying a bit with the colonel with long pauses and pensive frowns, the soft light of the desk lamp suffusing the outline of your right boot enough to let you admire its state.

«an impeccable job as always, colonel», you state as you plant your left boot on his shoulder, «however…»

you sense his tension at your objection, that sudden tautening that goes through every fibre of könig’s ample figure like lightening. his eyes lift to yours, expectant.

«however, i think they could use a spit shine… what do you say, colonel?»

könig eases right away as his neck turns towards your ankle. there’s no need to specify you expect his tongue to serve as both applicator and buffer, this time, as the colonel is already lifting his hood, using the bridge of his nose to secure its hem.

his eyes fix on yours as his tongue traces your boot from heel to toe, through the side, and a deep, intense shiver seizes you from within as he continues, lips smacking as he delivers a flurry of wet and languorous kisses on the leather itself.

his large hand firmly braces your ankle, further bending your knee. he cups the rubber sole with the other, as his tongue contours the shoe’s silhouette. he glances at you in between long sweeps of his tongue, desire glinting as bright as fireflies in the dark.

you take it all in from above. the fluid movements; the way his ruined, red lips, glowing with spit, part and suck; how his soft, pink tongue flutters over the dark surface, careful not to miss a single spot.

as diligent with his mouth as he is skilled with, you have come to believe, all he does. a quality of his you thoroughly appreciate.

you find your teeth pinching your bottom lip as the sight of him filters through the heave of your chest, getting slightly faster as it accommodates your heart picking up pace. so devoted to his task, he barely notices when your stamp your other boot on his muscled chest and push, shoving him down to the floor.

you abruptly stand as könig drags backwards on his elbows, resettling after the unexpected fall.

«tell me, colonel, do my boots taste good on your tongue?», there’s a hint of a cruel smirk pulling your lips in a tense line.

könig, eyes a little desperate in arousal, nods slowly.

you draw closer, speaking more softly: «do you miss it, colonel, their taste?»

again, he nods as he still holds himself up from the floor on his elbows as you loom closer.

«how much?», you breathe out as he watches you advance with no more room to escape.

you press the boot on his cheek, pushing his face between floor tiles and rubber, forcing könig to lie on his back.

«well?», you taunt, «show me how much you miss it, colonel.»

in that position, he has to strain his tongue to manage to feel the lovely leather back on it, where it belongs. where he aches for it. the tip of it almost reaches you several times as he groans at every attempt, saliva dripping down his mouth to his chin, where it pools thickly, before drooling down to the floor, wetting his reddened cheeks at its passage.

«go on, colonel. if anyone can manage, that is you», you taunt and encourage at once, until, indeed, his tongue brushes the boot that holds him down.

«good, pup!», you coo, dragging the rubber of your boot lower on his chest, the tread of it engraved in könig’s face.

you don’t stop your descent, slow though you decide to keep it, until it approaches könig’s waists. his hips jolt up a little of their own accord before you’ve even found balance, letting you know in unmistakeable terms what he hopes from you.

«you want me to go lower, puppy?»

he nods more emphatically, panting a little in anticipation.

«oh, colonel… do you really want me to use my shiny, black, leather boot to make you come in your drawers, like a pathetic adolescent?»

you rub the toes of your boot downwards, feeling könig’s impressive length struggle painfully against the durable material of his uniform, barely any room to accommodate his hard-on, his hips lifting up against you.

he whines pitifully when you pull away, leaving him to thrust into empty air in utter frustration.

«oh, puppy… but what would all the respectable men and women who serve under you think, if they knew that their colonel likes to make a sticky mess in his clothes?», your voice oozes mockery and sympathy in almost equal measure, as you rile him up.

just like the defeated way in which he peers back at you in supplication both pulls at your heart strings and makes you slick between your thighs at the same time.

you sigh: «alright, then. cock out, colonel.»

he’s not quick enough to react to your tastes, so you intimate again, voice much harsher and peremptory, this time: «cock out, i said!»

he quickly fumbles with belt and buttons, until his heavy member, slicked and leaky at the tip and swollen from all the constriction ill-endured inside his trousers, springs out, lending with a smack on his lower abdomen, on his enticing trail of blond curls.

your boot is quick to kiss it, further squeezing its shaft against könig’s stomach as he groans, full of longing and gratitude. he mindlessly grinds against you as you watch him, barely having to do any work yourself.

«my floor-loving, little worm… squirming so desperately…», you swear you can feel the warmth of his skin as you taunt him.

he’s incapable of uttering anything of meaning. only grunting and grinding. the sight of it makes you feel like your heart is racing from between your legs. it seems, for now, the only one between you who will be making a slicky mess in their drawers is yourself.

you bring your fingers to your mouth and quickly moisten them, before disappearing them in your trousers, a gesture the colonel’s eyes suddenly gain focus for.

under the clothes, you part your lower lips and trap your clit between your fingers, rubbing and pulling at it idly, at first. you are so wet you could have forgone licking your fingers and your breathing turns to sighing sooner than you expected, vying with the obscene squelching of your sex for könig’s senses.

the way the colonel rubs against the tread of the boot that presses down on him, you’re not the only one mere moments away from bliss.

your breath hitches and you barely avoid embarrassingly choking on your own saliva when you try to speak: «are you close, puppy?»

könig frantically nods affirmatively, motion almost matching the rhythm of his hips. a quick glance at him, at the interest with which he stares at you, at his own movements, could have told you as much. the known, mindless litany of german words is right behind his lips, ready to tumble out of them.

it will have to wait

«good puppies wait their turn, don’t they?»

könig whines in supplication, but he will not get any pity from you.

«you might be the big dog out there, but in here, colonel…»

you fail to finish your sentence that your voice breaks, head falling back in a whole-body shiver, as heat waves scorch your core. your cunt clenches tight on nothing. you swallow, panting and can’t help the snigger that emanates from your throat as your body still shakes.

pure euphoria.

könig is not far behind you, especially after that. a few more strokes from your boot and he spills on his own stomach, pumping his hips a little longer, before sagging to the floor.

exhaustion finally catches up with you. you join könig on the floor, after sweeping for papers and tobacco on his desk. he asks you to kindly roll a cigarette for the both of you, before indulging his hunger for your slicked fingers, now that you’re so close to him.

he’s such a nasty man. you oblige him in both favours, of course.

the two of you find yourselves passing cigarettes back and forth, occasionally blowing smoke in each other’s mouths, quietly lying on the floor.

you take a drag, cinders burning bright in the dim chamber, as he undoes the top of your fatigues, clearly tired of lying on your chest without feeling your skin on his, obviously finding there something more interesting to suck in his mouth than nicotine.

he gently cups and kisses, caresses and suckles tenderly on skin and breasts and collarbone, still half undressed and stained in his own juices. neither of you particularly disturbed by it, either way.

thank you for reading. if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging.

[astridellejo]

I wanted to have a TDOV Easter egg cracking story ready for today, but my ADHD won. So here's something I hastily put together at the last minute (like I always do).

My personal trans lore below the cut:

I grew up as a child of the 1980s and had absolutely no idea that trans was a thing. All I knew is that the body I had was not the body I wanted. Those thoughts started around 1983 when I was nine years old. I thought it was just a normal part of growing up, and that everyone in the world felt like that. Even in my senior year of high school when I was eighteen years old, I was still having thoughts like, "I wish this wanting to be a different sex and gender than the one I'm stuck with part of puberty would hurry up and finish, because it's getting really old now."

[egg emoji (not actually an egg emoji)]

Again, I didn't know trans was a thing. It was about 1995 when I would finally see actual trans people for the first time on some daytime trash television talk show. At which point I was like, "Wait, what? Oh no. I'm gonna be really bad at that, then. Because I just don't have it in me to be that ostentatious." I just wanted to wear black and sit in a dark corner of a café and draw in my sketchbook.

Now because it was the 1990s, your average cishet didn't grasp the difference between sex, gender, and sexual orientation. (It's 2024 now and most still don't.) So everybody thought I was gay. And I was all, "Well, technically yes. But not in the way you think."

See, my crushes in the early 90s were Winona Ryder, and Laura Dern, and Gillian Anderson. And who I wanted to look like was Gina Gershon in Bound, or Ally Sheedy in High Art. But back in the day, the idea of a butch lesbian trans woman just blew everyone's minds. The idiot gender headshrink (the person I had to get a 'permission slip' from to begin my transition) just couldn't wrap that around his brain. Which is why I only saw him three times before demanding my letter.

Then finally in summer of 2002, I began my transition (after almost five years of roadbumps and occasional self-doubt). I began second puberty and went through the really awkward teenage girl phase of transition figuring out my new self expression while my body slowly morphed into a shape that I was much more comfortable having.

It has now been 22 years since I began my transition and I'm happy to report that now I look more or less how I wanted to look in 1998, but with hair that is almost three feet long. (Ooo! Long haired butch!) Plus that hair has streaks of silver in it now, making it so much hotter!

I'm going to be 50 in September, which just short-circuits my headmeats. Does that make me a trans elder yet? Or do I need another decade? Whatever. It'll be interesting to see how my midlife crisis plays out.

Anyway, thanks for reading. Happy Transgender Day of Visibility!

(The selfie is from three years ago because I'm too lazy to go take one now.)

[ijustreallylikepirates]

Guys, I just had my third gender identity crisis 😭😭😭 I hate having them so bad!!! The first time I had one i was questioning my femininity and identified as demigender and started using she/they

After a while I started to feel more masculine and had lots of thoughts about being trans (and embarrassingly I had a “persona” of what I think I would be like if I was trans 😳🫡)

I used to stay up crying at night because these thoughts would burden me and I just hated the person I was

I still hate my gender now. My case now is that I would want to be trans because I would much rather have a man’s body than a woman’s body.

What I mean by this is that I just hate being stuck inside a woman’s body. I just hate having to menstruate every month for one week until I’m in my 40s 😵‍💫 and also the thought of pregnancy terrifies me

See, I’m a huge emetophobic and I would hate to have to throw up. I have a panic attack every time my stomach hurts. And also I don’t want to painfully carry a baby around in my uterus for 9 months just to painfully push it out of my woman hole

I also really hate when I lay on my chest and then my boobs start hurting so I cant comfortably lay on my stomach

So I’d kill to have a man’s body

But in my heart and my soul I feel both male and female. So as of rn, I’m bigender and use he/she/they

Does this make any sense or am I just spitballing here??? 😭

[power-handmaiden]

Day 35: Angry Man Pounded By The Fear Of His Latent Gayness Over A Dinosaur Transitioning Into A Unicorn

I love how much contempt for its characters this tingler starts off with. We have the iconic man/woman couple who are always the subject of conservative boomer humor about relationships, the emotionally unavailable man and his overbearing shrill wife, who don't even like each other, let alone love or show any attraction to each other. It feels like a caricature but it actually makes more sense when the man turns out to not actually be attracted to women, honestly.

This tingler aged... interestingly. The protagonist's crisis of sexuality is brought on by his attraction to Bort Jenkins, a unicorn athlete and reality TV star who was born as a dinosaur and recently transitioned to a unicorn. Clearly a stand-in for Caitlyn Jenner. (If my rudimentary research is correct, Bort's resemblance to her deadname is because this was written in that specific time period where she had come out as trans, but not publicly revealed her name yet.) She's a controversial figure for many reasons that I'm not going to get into now, but this comes from a time when people were pretty much just laser-focused on the trans thing. Bort isn't really a character who does anything in this story anyway, more of a news item for characters to discuss.

Another present day context that really changes how I read this story is the conservative furry panic of the past few years. Yes, the "if people can identify as other genders, what if they start identifying as ANIMALS?" dumbfuck made-up problem is much older, but it's really having a moment now. This story was an absurd concept when it was written but now we have real elected officials in the USA freaking out over the idea of people "identifying as" different species, bringing this story a whole lot closer to realism than anyone would've expected in 2015. To me, the message of this one feels closer to the conservative furry strawman than it does to real trans issues, especially with the whole "you're gay regardless of whether you're into human, unicorn or dinosaur men" thing; we're dealing with an issue of species transition where gender is static. (Truth be told, I don't think it was the best move to make a comparison to a real-life trans woman and make this point in association because I've seen how people misinterpret such things... but I'm sure Tingler readers in particular understand the abstraction and that this isn't applicable directly to the real person) I feel like a version of this story could be written today with the message of "what if the conservative strawman version of the furry fandom was real and not just a way of targeting queer people without saying you're targeting queer people? Would it really be that bad or even different of a world to live in?"

I'm interested to see how Dr. Tingle tackles trans issues in the future. Despite a couple things that read as dated to me I see a good foundation here from someone who is still working through his own feelings about gender identity. I know that future tinglers will have explicitly trans characters and the perspective of a trans author who has explored and introspected on his own gender identity more thoroughly.

(Also there's a tingleverse connection in this one: mention of the "first human player in the UFL" refers to the events of "Pounded By The Gay Unicorn Football Squad")

[casp1an-sea]

MAY 4th EVENT

Hi I really like sharks!!!! MY name is Caspian Re (Re pronounced Rey) You can call me either of my first names or alternate! Calling me Caspian Sea is also fine. I also go by Cas for short or if your name is Xen, Luc, or Levi, Casserole is fine 😒

(I love silly nicknames even if they make no sense or calling me the name of a character you associate me with)

I primarily post about Twisted Wonderland, Star Wars, Marvel, and 2000s kids shows like Octonauts

Age: 18

Birthday: 10/13 

Gender: Trans masculine/Demi Male but I may just shorten it to Trans (pls only masc terms) 

Pronouns: He/Him, Ey/Em/Eir/Eirs/Emself on most days I have no preference but if it’s a day I do I’ll let you know

Sexuality: Bisexual or maybe just straight up Gay (idk I had an existential crisis about men today)

Zodiac: Libra Star, Pieces Moon, Aquarius Rising 

Personality type: ENFJ

If you send me an ask or msg pls feel free to mention your pronouns 

WE SUPPORT PALESTINE HERE 🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

Hotlines to call Incase of emergency

Master List:

Pls check out my OCs, as well as my Octonauts Intern AU, and my fics located in my writing post :)

commissions: Closed

requests: open!

(I’ll do short writings, picrews, and possibly art if I’m in the mood. I’ll totally do my doodle style of you or a character.)

Fandoms, Writing, Moots and Tags, OCs, Comfort Characters, Just a list of Monsters I associate with myself, Moot Trail Mix Recipe, ART, Gender Envy >:(

rp accounts: @robinbanks-accidentally (TWST), @spring-chicken (OC)

(This is satire if you can’t tell)

Likes: Star Wars, Marvel, Twisted Wonderland, the Life Series SMP, RPs, Random Generators (its an addiction), 2000s Kids shows, Doll customization, folklore, cats, singing, art, musicals, being in musicals, and weird sea creatures especially sharks :)

Dislikes: Sweets, Rey (if you are a Star Wars fan and you like her respectfully pls do not talk to me about her you will get your feeling hurt), Religion (pls do not talk to me about Christianity or Catholicism it makes me uncomfortable), Mean people that disrespect me or my friends, Racists, Homophobes, Transphobes, Ableists, Sexists, etc. 

Fun Facts: 

I am Left Handed 

I am Hungarian and I love talking about my culture or my grandfather’s story if you want to ask

Romantically I am single but I do have a platonic partner, hi XEN 🫶🫶🫶🫶

I’m a Hufflepuff my Petronas is a field mouse and my wand is Willow wood with a Phoenix core

My favorite color is green 

My favorite food is Pineapple Teriyaki Burgers or Chinese food  

I am going to be a film major 

I have two cats named Lilo and Stitch (both girls), and I also have multiple fish and a snail 

I take care of crested geckos at school so now I want one I love those little guys

I’m in my schools broadcasting class

I’ve performed in Willy Wonka, Newsies,  Little Mermaid, Bye Bye Birdie, Christmas Carol, and Shrek, and played the roles of James, Arista (Ariel’s sister), Young Fiona, and the bird that sings in that one song in Shrek . I’ve also had solos in Try Everything, American Tears, Fields of Gold, an Mo Town Medley 

I Did competitive gymnastics for 13 years starting when I was 3, before I retired I was in XL level gold. 

I played Violin in elementary school and during Covid in freshman year I played chimes cause that was the choir alternative 

I watch lots of weird 1990s to early 2000s sci-fi shows typically from Australia, there’s suprisingly a lot of them 

I play Minecraft but I am bad at it lol

I play DND 

Where else to find me?

YouTube: @antosaurusrex3752

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/ANTosaurus1357/

My Change.Org petitions:

[criminalskies]

In Your Orbit. (reposting on new account)

Author’s Note: I’m more than willing to make a Part 2 for this if any of you are keen for one :) I also have plenty of other things in the works though now. Please enjoy and as always feedback is appreciated!

Word Count: 1.2k

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gender neutral reader.

Content Warnings: mention of anxiety, mentions of flying

Summary: Hotch doesn’t understand why the newest member of the team is so dedicated to spending all their time with him. He finally asks and he’s overjoyed with the answer. 

——————————=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=—————————

Five months. You’ve been with the BAU five months today. You are still in as much disbelief thinking of it now as you were all those months ago, receiving your offer for an interview. You applied for the position, a promising agent, but still fairly new to the field. You’d made a name for yourself, however, in record time, at the Crisis Negotiation Unit. You’ve always had a bottomless affinity for conversing with people. It grounds you. When you’re all alone or in a big crowd, the chatter in your mind and surroundings all becomes too overwhelming. Like a buzzing in the back of your mind, always there, always distracting you. It isn’t until you can look somebody in the eyes and connect your soul with theirs that you hear the cacophony stop. You can never swim in the silence too long, though, as the more you bask in the quiet, the more you lose it, the noise all returning. 

You’ve studied anxiety and sound processing disorders, you know you likely fit into one of the above boxes, if not both. But you can’t really bring yourself to have that added to your personnel file. So, you opt to use your affinity for conversation to your advantage. You’ve mastered reasoning with people. You can show them your complete undivided attention and gain theirs, opening the door for them to give you insight into their mind. This is the skill that allowed you to climb the ranks at the CNU, opening many doors to other opportunities including the BAU. 

Which led you where you are today, packing up boxes of files at a dusty old precinct in nowhere, Pennsylvania. But funnily enough, there’s nowhere you’d rather be. You have found a place for yourself in the big wide world. In a team of individuals you feel so privileged to get the chance to know and love. You’re finally getting in a real groove with everybody in your work, moving in sync with the rest of the team like you’d been here for a lifetime. 

You find yourself the most in-step with Hotch. You’ve been inexplicably drawn to him in every aspect of your work. Like now, about to board the jet home, Hotch as usual takes his long strides to the very back of the plane. But you’re never far behind him, claiming the seat across from him like always. He pulls out his laptop and you, your book. You enjoy reading, it’s another of those little things that manages to dull the buzzing in your head. 

The rest of the team files into the jet, stowing their bags and pulling out something to busy their restless minds and hands for the flight home. This case wasn’t all too bad. You feel like your theories really helped, you’re getting the hang of all this profiling stuff. It was your input that was able to narrow Garcia’s suspect list from 76 names down to 2. You feel like you’re becoming an increasingly capable and valuable member of the team. You look out the window, enjoying your mercurial high of having cracked the case a while before you turn back to the rest of the team. Reid, Rossi, Prentiss, JJ and Derek are all playing some card game down by the couches, clearly also in high spirits from today’s win. Turning back, you feel Hotch’s eyes boring into you. He’s staring at you, looking like there are words tucked away in his mouth, itching to come out. “You okay, Hotch? Looks like you’ve got something on your mind.” You offer. He’ll probably deny it. He’s not the most vulnerable person at the best of times. You have, however, witnessed him come out of his shell more in your short time with him than the team had made out he was even capable of doing. You remember being warned of him being a drill sergeant, only to find out that’s not true. 

“Why do you always sit with me here?” “Pardon?” you’re taken aback by his question. You always thought he didn't mind having you here with him, but maybe you misread him. Maybe he really does just want to be by himself. “Ever since you joined this team, you’ve always chosen to be near me. To spend time with me. It just doesn’t make sense. I’m your boss, nobody ever chooses to spend time with their boss over spending time with their coworkers. Particularly when Reid is more your age, Prentiss is more in-tune with your sense of humor and you clearly have great chemistry with Derek and your flirting. Why not join them and have fun?” He looks quite distant as you look into his eyes. He’s searching yours for any sign that he’s changed your mind, any sign you really would rather sit with your friends. 

“Well, I get very easily um, overwhelmed, in crowds or groups like that. It can happen with anybody really. But not with you. I’ve never felt like I’m doing mental gymnastics to keep track of a conversation with you. I think you’re my comfort person, Hotch. You radiate this… calmness, that I can never really feel when I’m away from you. Normally, my mind runs at a million miles per hour, and I feel like I’m juggling six things at once just waiting for them all to slip from my grasp. But you’re very centering. I think it’s the gentle way you speak to people and conduct yourself. I hope that’s not weird to say. I just feel this warmth, this quietness when I’m with you, and my mind stills for the first time in my life. I never worry about what you’ll do next, you’re always… Hotch.” You worry you’ve said too much until you see a blush spreading up his cheeks. He’s trying to bite back a smile, his dimples giving him away, clearly happy to hear that you aren’t just sitting with him out of pity or obligation. 

“I feel very… comfortable with you as well, I think the warmth thing has more to do with us being near the jet engine, unfortunately.” You burst out laughing, Hotch’s dry kind of humor never failing to catch you off guard. “But seriously, thank you.” Hotch makes a note to ask Garcia to explain to him what a ‘comfort person’ is later, although he thinks he gets the picture. When she does explain it to him, he decides that is definitely the way he feels about you, too. 

He never does miss the empty seat across from him. He used to put his feet up on it to sleep, too tall for the jet recliners, but he thinks he likes having you here a whole lot better. He never does question you about your relationship again, even as ‘Hotch’ becomes ‘Aaron’ and the seat next to him becomes yours permanently, even as his shoulder becomes your own sleeping pillow for the jet, he never needs to ask. He now understands how the two of you just move like magnets, wherever you go, he’ll follow. He’s more than content just being in your orbit, forever.