#They’ll just bypass it

[mega-aulover]

I feel like a fraud- like my writing isn't good enough...I'm having this moment right now.

There is this internal conversation /battle. A small little voice that rolls her eyes and is like here we go again...just snap out of it, and another part that's like a huge booming voice and says nope you're an awful writer...pack it up - walk away no one cares because you're a fraud.

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

I genuinely have no clue how to prepare my sons for the Gender Wars

[inkdrinkerworld]

𝓒𝓤𝓟𝓘𝓓'𝓢 𝓒𝓤𝓡𝓢𝓔

Synopsis: James can make your days trying to get a story for your company really hard, he gets under your skin and knows exactly what buttons to poke and you hate it.

cw: a bit of an axious!reader, rugby!james, i used the house names for the clubs but it is not at all set in the HP universe.

wc: 1.1k

-`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´-

Sports journalism is fun and rewarding. 

You love going to the post and pre-match interviews and talking to the players and managers and getting all the insight you can to then write your story. What you don’t like is having to interview James Potter. 

Everytime James sees you in the press room, he decides it’s his time to be the most non-descriptive, non-responsive to all of your questions and make it difficult for you to even write a story. He loves giving you vague answers that don’t answer any of your questions and it gets under your skin like nothing else. 

It’s even more tiresome when he’s the team’s go to media-man because of his looks. He’s England’s current heartthrob first and their best flanker second. He’s beefy and burly, with curls that look like they’ve been ink dipped individually and dimples that throw a wrench into many a woman’s plan. It also doesn’t help you, mostly, that he’s the perfect gentleman the minute the cameras are on and everything he says takes on this sugary, colying tone.

Dread fills you as you walk into the media room, finding a few familiar faces before you sit to the back. You hope in vain that James isn’t on media today, maybe they’ll put his sweet teammate Remus on media duty. He’s always sweet and succinct, answering all the questions, no matter how ridiculous, with a grace and precision you suspect makes him perfect for being the team’s fly-half. 

You’d even interview his rowdy teammate Sirius, possibly the best winger in the game right now, and endure his loudness and even his flirtations with the camera so long as you just got good answers. 

Your hope is shattered when you hear James talking as he rounds the corner, your hands grow cold knowing that today is the day you write a half decent story about the Gryffindor team. 

“Morning,” he calls as he enters, his eyes find you immediately and the smile he shoots you makes you scowl. It’s going to be a long press day. “It’s great to be back.” 

“How have you and your team prepared for the start of the season? Knowing it’s a derby game must make it all the more exciting to be back.” One journalist starts, sweat already pebbling on your brow. 

James answers perfectly, in depth and with the knowledge that you sometimes forget these players possess. 

“What about the injured players from last season? Can we look out for their names on the starting squad? What sort of system can we look forward to this season?” You ask, hands shaking as you prepare for the worst. You hate how much anxiety courses through you nowadays in these interviews. They used to be far more fun. 

“I can’t well say what we’re going to play this weekend, it’d be a bit of a helping hand to the Slytherin team.” The media room laughs and you have to bite your tongue to keep the scowl off your face. “However, we’ve got a lot of key players back in the squad, so I’ll say keep your ears open for some names you haven’t heard in a couple months.” 

By the time you’re finished with the conference, you’ve got sufficient answers for the hopes of the beginning of the season but every other question was bypassed or you’d received a roundabout answer. 

You’re picking up all your equipment, the other journalists all gone already. James hovers near the door, watching you for whatever reason but it makes your skin crawl. He has to know what he’s done. 

“Can I help you, Potter?” You ask, lifting your head to catch a peek at him. His arms are folded across his chest and he’s leaning against the doorframe, something sort of like a smile on his face. 

“Just waiting for you to be done. Wouldn’t feel right to just leave you in here alone.” There’s a bit of sincerity but mostly amusement in his tone and you roll your eyes. James laughs and pushes off the door frame moving towards you, “All done?” you huff and sigh, hoisting your bag over your shoulder and walking past him. 

“Have a good training session, James.” he nods, watching you go with a smile on his face, one that spreads bigger when your perfume lingers in the room after you. 

-

When you hit submit on your report you feel good but stressed. 

What usually takes you an hour and a half to get done, took you twice as long because reports have been so slow during the off-season that you wanted to get it perfect before the opening match. Stretching, you make your way into the kitchen. 

You’re sure half the worry was unnecessary and the other half was about impressing your boss. God knows you need that woman to be pleased with something you do this year. 

Your phone rings before you can give in to that anxiety inducing thought, your stomach pits and the cup of tea you had to your lips lower. “This is Y/n.” 

“Hi, I want to talk about the interview you just submitted,” Your boss is a bit of a hardass. She’s always harping about things being ‘perfect’ and stories being complete, so in the two years you’ve worked there, though you’ve climbed to higher and higher positions, you’re still the fresh and sort of peppy girl you were to her when you’d handed in your resume and appeared in her office in a blue suit. 

“Sure,” you set down the tea and open your laptop, ready for a slew of changes or to change whatever she wanted you to. 

“It’s great,” that’s high praise, yet you sense something in her tone. You’re almost certain she’s going to make you rewrite the entire thing to make the opening game of the season, a derby game no less, seem even more anticipated than it already is. “I just want you to add a little more about the history of both teams. Potter’s already brought in an influx of new fans, we want to make it easy for them to get into the season and get behind either team and feel the rivalry.” 

That’s not what you’d been expecting. Not what you were expecting in the least. 

“I’ll resubmit tonight by eight.” is what you say but inside you’re twirling and jumping around your apartment while morning sun streaks through your living and early 2000s pop music is blasting through the house. 

James Potter and his non-answers be damned, you just got the best compliment of your work life.

[jinxed-lemon]

Part 2 to my original post of Mean Siblings Unbreakable Bond because it’s funny writing them:

Whenever they play an outdoor game like Hide and Seek or Tag, it’s a battle to the death to achieve victory. Sonic usually wins the most bc he’s the fastest, so the one ace in his sleeve that Tails learned to pull is the waterworks. Sonic find him during hide and seek? Tears. Sonic is close to tagging him? Tails will fall down and pretend to get hurt and start sobbing. Sonic falls for it every time.

Doing laundry? They make it last for hours on end bc they’ll literally take each others stuff out of the wash mid cycle to out their own in. It pisses the other off so much to the point where they’re constantly stopping the wash to switch out the clothes. Oh, Sonic is washing his old blue hoodie??? Too bad, Tails yanks it out of the washing machine sopping wet and drops it on the floor with a splat to put his blanket in. They know that they can probably just wash their stuff together but it’s funnier this way.

They’re play fighting and Tails learned to do that infamous leg kick. You know the move you do when you’re cornered on your back? He just starts kicking his legs at full speed and Sonic starts screaming bc it’s nearly impossible to get past that move.

Sonic is eating chips and he has dust all over his hands? He purposely bypasses the numerous napkins they have just to go up to Tails and wipe his hands over his head to have the chip dust fall on top of him. Tails retaliates by shaking the empty chip bag over Sonic’s head.

Tails is an avid coffee drinker and Sonic has tried everything to stop his addiction. So he tries the famous ‘replace the sugar with salt’ trick to mess with him. One morning Tails puts the salt in instead and when he takes a sip Sonic already had that shit eating grin on his face. Tails immediately spits the coffee in his face and Sonic fall to the ground screaming.

Tails take advantage of his shorter height and sneakiness to kneel down and tie Sonic’s shoe laces. He’ll fall face first and before Tails can book it away Sonic will stick his leg out and make his brother fall too.

Their favorite way to embarrass the other is going onto each others social media accounts and changing something about their profile. Tails logs on one day and finds that his profile picture had been changed to an embarrassing photo Sonic took of him one day and PROMISED not to show anyone else. Sonic goes into his Twitter and for some reason there’s hundreds of posts hyping up Eggman and basically talking about how Eggman is the best/greatest, etc. His profile, header- everything is basically changed to pro-Eggman propaganda.

Fans: are you and Eggman friends now???

Sonic: I was hacked I would never say this shit pls you gotta believe me 😭

Tails LOVES bringing up the ‘divorced parents’ story whenever someone asks about the relationship between him and Sonic. Like Sonic is about to explain how Tails is his adoptive brother and Tails immediately interrupts and says, “Yeah, this is my dad. He got custody of me after the divorce and it’s been really hard lately so try to be nice to him ok? :(“

They’re eating out at a diner/restaurant and Sonic looooves secretly telling the waiters that it’s Tail’s birthday so they’ll do that embarrassing thing of coming to their table and singing happy birthday in front of the whole restaurant. Tails is mortified and covers his face every time and Sonic will record the whole thing like a corny parent and say “Oh he’s just a little shy! Smile at the camera Tails!1!!1!! 😁”

[confused-wanderer]

The batsiblings have their own code version of “Do you want to talk or find a solution”

or when the bat siblings have to force one another to talk about their feelings, vent out what they’ve been keeping inside or basically trying to help another one out, they always say “Penny for your thoughts?”

Which doesn’t mean the saying. It’s a reference to Alfred Pennyworth, the OG able to make everyone quiver before him with a single judgemental eyebrow raise. He’s the one who always sees through their bullshit, calls them out on their behaviour, serves as a comforting presence to simply blurt out everything on your mind that’s been bothering you.

It means they’ll listen, nobody can make them leave even if they tried and they’re not gonna relent until they get what they want. It’s an opportunity to get the other person to open up and share their own thoughts while also giving the other space and comfort.

Steph started it by asking Batman of all people when the man was brooding the whole day over an attempted kidnapping of Jason and Dick when the two were out. Thankfully, their Wayne persona had not forgotten their childhoods as Dick as a gymnast and Jason as a street-kid, so the two were able to escape without much concern brought to how two rich kids took down a gang of people whom the nurses were struggling to decide if they should put in hospice.

Bruce, the worrying father he always was had an annoying habit of being a recluse even more than he already was when he was really stressed. So Stephanie one day just sauntered over into the batcave, bypassed all the emergency codes, sat down wolfing down her breakfast while forcing Bruce to look at her by eating in the most atrocious way possible to keep his attention - a task not too difficult because the man ate cheeseburgers by using a knife and fork, was a raised by a butler and Steph was.. well Steph.

And once she has his attention and horror, she raises an eyebrow and asks

“Penny for your thoughts?”

It works, somehow and when it’s only when Steph and Bruce are having a heart to heart that several shadows currently in the vents vanish, and along the lines it becomes a part of their vocabulary too. First time Steph hears Jason say it, she accuses him of stealing her patent, to which Jason shrugs and says he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Dick uses it too and always glances at Steph with a smile when he says it. Tim uses it in cases where he’s too tired to simply point out the flaws of his siblings selflessness or gameplans because he knows all of them are too stubborn to face it point-blank and this way ensured they actually took what he said into account, which meant he didn’t have to stalk them afterwards and hide in the shadows until the plan was completed successfully with minor (Tim’s definition of minor is no organ out of body) injuries. Damian simply chides her for not putting a patent on it.

So while Steph is happy that everyone’s actually using it to help one another, she is getting increasingly ready for justice when they keep gaslighting her and claiming they came up with it all by themselves.

[lumiaxz]

okokok imagine if baizhu and pantalone tag teamed. They literally look the same just a different mindset 😋

Double Trouble (Slight TW)

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Pairings: Baizhu x Pantalone x Reader

Warnings:, rough sex, Tag-teaming, double penetration, face fucking, Dacryphila, Soft dom baizhu, Mean Dom pantalone, crying, brat taming, Choking, pet names, degrading, (almost) blacking out , hate-fuck. Lmk if I missed anyyyy

A/N: This is kinda…sad? I would definitely read with caution idkk 🧐

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Pantalone is beyond tired of your bullshit, You don’t give 2 flying fucks about anything or anyone but yourself. It doesn’t matter what he does, you don’t care and continue doing it. Fucking you till you can’t speak or walk, does nothing. Choking till you pass out multiple times, does almost as worse of a job. Although Baizhu on the other-hand doesn’t mind it too much, he just ignores you which usually ends things. (usually) The other harbingers suggest just not allow you to come into the quarters nor near him but something about you tells him to not bypass that rule, or anything similar.

After a horribly long and stressful day, Pantalone rants to Baizhu about you, per-usual.

“That girl acts like she’s untouchable, it’s outrageous! How do you manage to just simply ignore her?!”

“It’s quite simple, just pretend you don’t hear her?”

After a few hours of his ranting, You skip into the pharmacy sounding bubbly and ready to cause trouble for both of them.

“Good afternoon, Pantalone and Baizhu!!”

“Not so fast, princess.“

He gets up and harshly grabs you by the hair and drags you into a eerie room. You struggle to get out of his tight grasp. Looking around, you spot things like blindfolds, random toys and seemingly handcuffs bolted to his desk, weird right?

Pantalone throws you onto his desk, but your scrambling allows you to constantly free yourself. Just as you think you’re avoiding these punishments too, Baizhu moves the curtain and enters the room. Baizhu grabs both of your wrists lightly and holds them in place for Pantalone to cuff them on the desk, to completely restrain you.

You assume they’ll try to fuck you to shut you up, which is correct but not in the way you think.

“I’m fed up with you, bitch.” Pantalone curses out

You’re bent over Pantalone’s desk, restrained to is aswell. Pantalone behind you, Baizhu infront of you. Strangely enough, nothing has happened, yet.

Your thoughts were cut short when you felt a harsh blow to your ass, it burned a lot, yet also felt…good? Except your body didn’t react how you felt. Tears streaming down your face.

Baizhu cups your wet face, lifting it up to meet his eyes.

“Aww, don’t cry love. This’ll be over before you know it.”

Enough time had already been wasted, Pantalone was far past patient with you. Your clothes were ripped into shreds within seconds.

Your precious skirt that you valued more than anything, into nothing but scraps of fabric on the floor.

“Come on, Why rip her skirt? It doesn’t take much to just slide it off.”

The wind in the room was enough to make your bare body shiver, not only in fear but cold.

“Stop fucking crying, slut.” Pantalone grunted

You attempt to keep your pride and ignore his order, even if you’re bent over the 9th Harbinger’s desk. Pantalone’s hand makes its way around your neck, tightly. Even with this painful gesture from him, you still don’t cave in.

He slams himself into you. All this time you been laying here, you hadn’t noticed him undoing his pants. He does this as a form of “punishment” all the time, yet this felt different, slightly more painfully than normal.

This sensation has your stomach in a queasy feeling, why?

“Notice anything different, Love?” Asked Baizhu

“No..”

“Your face says otherwise.” He says with a sweet smile

Pantalone swiftly speeds up his pace to cut your conversation with Baizhu, in jealousy?

The grip on your neck tightened, to the point where breathing wasn’t even a option. Baizhu notices that and releases you from the cuffs, how sweet, right? No, he did that only to flip you on your back and clips them back.

“You done putting on a show for her?” Annoyingly askes Pantalone

The mint haired one chuckles before stuffing your mouth with his cock aswell, Easily catching up to Pantalone’s pace.

“Isn’t quite nice to let your frustrations out on the one who caused it?” Asked Pantalone

“Somewhat, It’s hard to enjoy myself if I feel bad for her.” Baizhu says with a sigh

Suddenly, Their paces change and no longer match. 2 Different cocks moving in and out of you at different paces isn’t fun at all, for you at least.

A fuzzy feeling in your stomach adds to the queasy one, this time it burns, alot. Incoherent babbles and “sorry” spew from the corners of your mouth along with a bit of saliva, makeup that you spent hours on, streaming down your face.

Just as you feel yourself building your climax, it just disappears. Almost like it was just ripped from you, They both had pulled out. Baizhu pulling out was more of a relief, Pantalone on the other hand was more of a disappointment.

“Pantalone please I’m sorry..!” You whined

Weird, you were actually begging for him back inside you, almost as if you weren’t crying for him to pull out minutes ago.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” Pantalone says with a grin

Quite ominous of him.

He unlocks the cuffs with a small key that was actually right next to your body. You were stunned, they made the impression that you were trapped but you just had to ask them to unlock it. That thought spun around your mind for awhile as you simple just sat there in utter silence.

Thoughts once again cut short, by Baizhu’s cold hands gently lifting you up from the desk, causing you to shiver. He was holding you like a baby, your legs wrapped around his waist, his hands on your ass supporting you.

Pantalone walked around his desk to meet you both on the other side.

“Just relax, alright?” Cooed Baizhu

The black haired male grabbed your ass and also helped support you. Somehow, you were managing your tears to not cry just by the touch of him. You were sandwiched between both of these tall long-haired men, Your tits pressed against Baizhu’s chest.

On the verge of tears, you managed to cough up a attempt to persuade them to atleast go slower than before.

“Pantalone.. I’mm s-sorry, please..” you voice, hiccuping in the process.

“Should’ve said that earlier, too late little one.” Pantalone says in a threatening tone

They both enter a hole of yours at the same time, the stretch is enough to force out a moan from pleasure and pain. The tears you had been holding back spewed out as they thrust in and out of you at different speeds. Incoherent “please” and “sorry” flooded the room, breaking the somewhat silence.

From your constant crying and stress on your body, you feel you mind go fuzzy and your vision start to blur more.

“Don’t you fucking black out on me, I want you and your mind right here the entire time.” Pantalone spits out in anger

You try to lay your head on Baizhu’s shoulder but all this time Pantalone was throwing you around, you forgot you also piss off Baizhu regularly.

“Not here either princess, no blacking out.” Sarcastically coos Baizhu

After a few more harsh thrusts they both come inside of you, filling you to your brim. Pantalone pulls out and cleans only himself up. But Baizhu keeps himself in you for a few more minutes before pulling out aswell.

“You alright, love? I apologize on Pantalone’s behalf. I Hope this reminds you to not bother us, ever again” Baizhu coos but with a hint of humor

You feel Baizhu kiss your forehead as he cleans you up.

Safe to say you never bothered them again.

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[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 46.5

Posting the added Christmas part, which is entirely @queenie-ofthe-void 's fault. In the context of the story, this takes place just before Steve reconciles with Carol. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled programing tomorrow <3

Steve gets quieter and quieter as the days pass. It’s as if now that he’s not constantly bombarded with distractions, all they’ve been through has enough space to root into his brain and grow. Eddie doesn’t like it.

He’s curling into himself, smaller and smaller as he watches Eddie flit around the trailer from his perch on the couch. He never tries to join him or waylay him, never asks for anything at all.

All his neighbors are putting up their usual illegal trees and shitty old twinkling lights. It makes Eddie want to dig a deep hole and die in it.

He’d driven past the Harrington house last year on his way to Jeff’s usual Christmas Eve party. Their lights were white and classy, picture-perfect tree standing in the window, flaunting its opulence for all the world to see. Eddie remembers scoffing, turning up his tape as loud as it would go, hoping to disturb the Hallmark special undoubtedly going on inside.

Now, he wonders if anyone had been there at all, or worse, if it was just Steve, rotting on the couch, even more alone than he is right now.

He shifts his gaze furtively to Steve, grimacing when he sees the distant look in his eyes, trained on the television but taking in nothing at all.

“Hey, Harrington,” he calls nonchalantly, just to get a reaction. “Your folks coming home for Christmas?”

Steve grimaces, but his eyes focus and turn Eddie’s way, so mission accomplished. “Probably not,” he replies.

Meaning, they probably hadn’t been there last year. Eddie can’t believe he’s even thinking the thought, but he hopes Steve had gone over to the Perkins’ or Hagan’s houses, and spent the holidays surrounded by assholes full of Christmas cheer.

But Steve’s frowning down at his knees, so he doubts it.

Eddie and Wayne don’t usually bother with a tree, but they’ve still got their Christmas traditions. Wayne will come in from a late shift, and Eddie will have their traditional dinner of grilled cheese waiting for him. They’ll stay up late watching all their favorite Christmas movies, and then trade gifts as the sun begins to rise.

Eddie wonders if Steve has any traditions at all.

Then, he got an idea. An awful idea. Eddie got a wonderful, awful idea. With barely any forethought at all, Eddie walks over and takes Steve’s warm hand. “Come on, Steve,” he says, pulling on his arm until he gets with the picture and stands. “We’ve got stuff to do.”

Steve furrows his brow, but doesn’t let go of Eddie’s hand. “What? But–”

“No buts!” Eddie interrupts. He eyes Steve critically. His still-short hair looks greasy. Eddie’s not sure if he’s showered since Winter break began. A bad sign if he’s ever seen one. “Go shower and get dressed!”

Steve glares at him, but drops his hand, and walks to the bathroom without complaint. The shower turns on. Eddie rushes around, gathering his wallet and keys, stuffing his feet into his worn out boots. Once Steve’s done in the bathroom, he harangues him into getting dressed. He listlessly complies, tugging on jeans and bypassing his own clothes to tug on one of Eddie’s Hellfire shirts and Wayne’s coziest flannel, which he left draped across the back of his recliner.

Eddie herds him out the door and into the passenger seat of the van. Eddie turns the dials on the radio until he finds Hawkins’ one and only Christmas Station. The last dregs of Sleigh Ride pour out of the speakers at Eddie’s usual volume, Ella Fitzgerald’s dulcet tones serenading them.

Steve jumps at the volume, but otherwise doesn’t react. Rocking Around the Christmas Tree starts. Eddie sings it at top volume, bouncing in his seat to the beat. By the time they’re decking the halls with boughs of holly, Steve’s smiling, mouthing along to the words too quietly to be heard over the music.

Eddie reaches over, shaking him back and forth gently by the neck, trying to shake the ghosts of Christmas past right out of him. By the way Steve laughs, he thinks it may have even worked.

He pulls off Mirkwood, parking in the dirt between two trees, smiling brightly as he takes off his seatbelt and slides out of the car. He skips into the trees, pausing to wait for Steve. He hears the passenger door open and slam shut and Steve’s slow jog to catch up before he starts on his merry way again.

“What the hell are we doing, man?” he asks, looking down at his feet as they step over roots and fallen logs.

Eddie wonders if Steve feels that same drumming anxiety in his heartbeat that he feels. It’s the way the light passes through the trees, like something could come lumbering up between them and swallow them whole. Being back here in the woods with Steve by his side. Still, there’s something content bubbling up alongside the anxiety. No matter which side of Hawkins they're on, Steve’s still right by his side.

“Shopping!” he replies, beaming at Steve’s audible scoff.

“In the woods?”

Eddie wraps his arm around Steve’s elbow, pulling him familiarly into his side and holding him there. Steve doesn’t resist, just snuggles in, like Eddie’s that cute little teddy bear that now shares their bed.

“Well you see, Sir Steven,” he replies gallantly, make-believing that Steve really is a knight, and Eddie’s his loyal servant. “Those of the noble house of Harrington might pick out something perfect and green at Merrill’s lot, but us lowly commoners have to settle for what we can scavenge.”

“You didn’t even bring an ax.”

Eddie scoffs, shaking him lightly. “There’s those rich kid roots again,” he says, smiling conspiratorially over at him. “You think we need an ax for anything that’ll fit in the trailer?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but Eddie doesn’t even care. There’s life in them again. “It’s not rich kid roots that you’re going to be pulling out of the ground.”

Eddie laughs.

They don’t make it much farther before settling for a little sapling, already snapped. Eddie crows and finishes snapping it with his hands. It’s going to be a very Charlie Brown Christmas, and Eddie can’t wait.

Steve grumbles and groans at his choice, but when they get back home, he dutifully grabs the dinky pitcher from under the sink and fills it halfway with water while Eddie turns on the mixtape he’d made a few years back, full of his and Wayne’s favorite Christmas songs. Steve settles the tree in the living room, situating it in the corner so it won’t block the TV.

Eddie digs what little decorations he and Wayne have accumulated from the storage under the trailer, and they spend a good five minutes filling it with lights and garland. When the lack of bulbs becomes apparent, Steve scrounges through Eddie’s figurines, stringing them up and dotting them around the tree. It ends up looking a bit like they’d hung a bunch of tiny men to die, but Eddie loves it.

When Wayne gets home, he raises his eyebrow at the setup, but doesn’t comment.

Presents accumulate over the week leading up to the big day. A couple for Wayne, a few more for Eddie, a few more still for Steve. When Steve first sees his name scribbled in pen atop a box wrapped in scavenged advertisements, he looks like he’s going to cry.

Eddie and Steve trawl the shops, each picking up odds and ends for Will and the kids, and scratching both of their names on them. Harrington's payout is starting to run thin, but Eddie helps Steve pick out a few things from the record store for the Hellfire boys as well. Eddie can’t wait to see the looks on their faces when they fork them over.

He picks out a pair of mittens each for Nancy, Barb, and Jonathan, and looks especially proud of the World’s Best Mom mug he snags for Mama Byers, even as he blushes throughout the entire purchase.

Eddie catches him picking up a bottle of nail polish a few times, or a stack of baseball cards before he puts them down with a shake of his head and a world-weary sigh. He doesn’t ask who he was thinking about, doesn’t think he has to.

They wrap the presents side by side, forgoing bows and frills, and leave them stacked behind their little tree.

It all makes the trailer feel homey. Warm and safe.

Eddie plays phone tag with all their friends until he catches them all. Everyone bundles into the small space on Christmas Eve, exchanging presents while A Christmas Carol plays in the background.

Jeff and Doug maintain their manners, but the look of shock on Gareth’s face when he unwraps the new Metallica cassette that Steve hands him is a sight to behold. He sheepishly hands over a Hershey’s candy bar obviously bought from Melvald’s, but Steve just hugs him and takes a bite.

Will tucks Mama Byers’ wrapped present into his coat, lest he forget it. It’s loud and chaotic, but before he knows it, they’re all trickling through the door with well wishes and good cheer, off to continue the festivities with their own families.

When Eddie shuts the door on the last of them, he turns to find Steve looking sad and small.

Eddie claps his hands, aiming for big and bright. “Now, for the Munson’s traditional Christmas Experience.” He says each word with the weight it deserves.

Steve perks back up, spine straightening. “Traditional?”

Eddie nods, leading the way into the kitchen. “Uncle Wayne should be back soon, and I always make dinner,” he says, digging the ingredients out of the fridge.

“You can cook?”

Eddie scoffs, but then shrugs. “Well, I can make grilled cheese,” he says, plunking the butter and cheese onto the counter and grabbing the bread from its box. “And I heat up a mean can of soup.”

Steve scoffs. “You burn them every time, don’t you?”

“It’s tradition!” Eddie cries, but lets Steve hip check him out of the way and begin the preparations.

Eddie’d been twelve the first time he’d done this for Uncle Wayne. By the time he’d walked through the door, weary from a hard day’s labor, there’d been two sandwiches on the table, almost charred beyond recognition, and two luke-warm bowls of canned tomato soup. Wayne had said it was the best meal he’d ever had, and ate every last morsel.

The sandwiches Steve makes are browned and buttery, cheese melted just right in the middle. Wayne smiles when he walks in through the door, and they settle in front of the TV to watch The Grinch, meals tucked onto TV trays. The cheese stretches tantalizingly when Eddie pulls the two triangles Steve had cut it into apart. It’s the perfect sandwich. Wayne groans his agreement as Steve smiles into his traditional canned soup.

They watch Christmas movies all night, trying to find Steve’s favorites when he admits to never having watched most of them. And when dawn’s light starts drifting in through the kitchen window, Eddie bounds down to the dinky tree and passes presents out.

They open each present, one by one. Wayne tears up when he opens the World’s Best Dad mug that Steve must’ve bought, and Steve’s similarly water when he opens his own gift to find Wayne���s favorite flannel, pilfered often enough that it fits comfortably on his shoulders. Eddie outright laughs when he receives a mixtape from Steve. When Steve huffs in offense, he tosses the mixtape he made Steve at his head.

Steve smiles down at it, and spends the rest of the morning turning it this way and that way in his hands as he reads the track list and looks at the little drawings Eddie’d done by each song.

When they finally crawl into bed, his bedroom is much lighter than usual, but he’s too tired to care. Steve reaches across the scant inches separating them to grab Eddie’s arm and pull it into his chest like a security blanket.

Eddie sighs, content to close his eyes and sleep away the day.

“This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had,” Steve whispers into the quiet of the room.

Eddie scooches just a little closer, thinks of their dinky little tree and stupid thrifted presents, and whispers right back, “me too, Angel.”

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect

[strangelittlestories]

“I’m just saying that any sufficiently developed view of the world, if it’s detailed, internally consistent and (honestly) *weird* enough, is a practical paradigm for magic.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. Why is the weirdness important?”

“Because if it wasn’t weird, it’d just be the natural way of things. Magic wouldn’t care. Changing the world with the power of your will *is* weird. And vice-versa! To be weird is to impose your will on the world.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“Let me put it this way: what’s the biggest limitation in retributive enchantment?”

“You mean cursing? It’s fuel, right? Maintaining a curse takes upkeep, concentration. It drains your batteries and splits your will.”

“Right. But! But but but … there is a bypass. If, and only if, you understand the opposing paradigm well enough.”

“I feel like I’m going to be horrified by this.”

“If the curse fits their world view, if it’s in line with the direction of their intent, then you can co-opt *their* power.”

“So, what? You’re suggesting, I dunno, that if you know someone’s magical operating system you can put malware on their animus?”

“I’m suggesting that I already did.”

“Holy Crowley, pal. Who’d you curse?”

“One of the Flat Earth Wizards tried to burn the Atlas of the Horizon. I was on security.”

“What did you curse them with?”

“To never find the edge of the world.”

“Devious wording.”

“And the best part?”

“There’s more?”

“The curse relies on the conspiracy theory as a framework. If he starts to believe the world is round, the curse breaks.”

“You think that’s likely?”

“Well, if he wants to unpick the curse, they’ll have to understand *my* paradigm. It might help.”

“Did … did you reinvent empathy via the medium of maledictive magic?”

“A little bit.”

“You’re a monster.”

“Yeah. But you can understand where I’m coming from, right?”

[millersdjarin]

I Only See Daylight

Chapter One

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Series: Ongoing, set after The Mandalorian season two

Warnings/Tags (Overall): eventual smut, post-canon, trauma, past emotional/physical abuse, scars, self-doubting/negative self-image, din working out his shit, reader working out her shit, found family, injury, religious trauma, cults

~series masterlist & info~

chapter tags/warnings: mentions of past trauma/emotional abuse

chapter length: 6.8k

notes: this planet and its creatures are entirely made up by me, it does not exist, hope u like it anyway :) the fic title is from "daylight" by taylor swift, aka the soundtrack for this fic ❤️

my love was as cruel as the cities i lived in; everyone looked worse in the light

Ah, the smells and sounds of a backwater planet in the morning. 

Dewy grass underfoot and damp moss lining the bases of trees. Birds chirping on the tall branches, bright green leaves shaking gently in the wind, the sound rustling through the air. The scent of the nearby flowers, the running of the river beside your hut, the hissing of an engine and the smell of burning metal…

Wait. 

That’s…not the smell of this backwater planet in the morning. 

You’ve just had a small breakfast, fruit picked from the meiloorun trees a few miles West, when the strange sounds and smells suddenly hit you. 

It’s concerning, to say the least. No one is around for hundreds of klicks; not a hint of civilisation, not a whiff of a trade route until you reach the other side of the planet. 

You chose this place for a kriffing reason. No one’s here. No one’s even near. Despite the sparse covering of meiloorun trees in an overgrown meadow, there’s no reason for anyone to be here. No reason for a ship to land nearby, that’s for sure. 

Unless…

No time to think. 

There are footsteps approaching. 

Shit. 

Your sniper rifle is by the door to your hut, blaster by your pillow. One for hunting food, one for self defence. 

One that you’ve never had to use before now. Not since arriving here, anyway. 

Well, first time for everything. 

You grab it, and press yourself against the wall by your door, slowing your breathing so you can listen closely. The footsteps get closer; they’re muffled on the grassy ground, but getting louder, and it’s definitely a two-legged being of some kind. Just one. 

You’d have thought that if They had found you, They would bring the whole damn lot along to take you back. An army, a garrison, outnumbering and overpowering you in every way. 

But maybe not. They’re cunning, manipulative. Maybe sending just one of them, sending him, is a tactic. Maybe They think it would break you down; make you vulnerable again.

Well, whoever it is is walking carefully, slowly. Like every step could be putting a foot wrong. 

There is, of course, the possibility that they’re not here for you at all, and are just going to bypass your hut without a second thought. A very minute possibility; you are the only sentient being here, your hut the only sign of someone’s life. It’s the best place to hide, somewhere where no one ever goes, because no one needs or wants to. The flora and fauna isn’t ideal, there are no useful resources for trading, and only just enough for one careful person to survive on. 

But that chance of someone being here not for you is squashed when you peer out of the window on the door and realise that, yes, there is a figure emerging from the woods in front of your hut, and, yes, that is the shine of the barrel of a blaster. 

Kriff.

They’ve found you.

You could run. There’s a back door you built specifically for this. 

But if there’s only one out front, then it’s definitely some kind of manipulation tactic. There will be more nearby. They’ll be waiting in the back, having taught you themselves to always have a back route to escape, and they’ll grab you before you can even think twice. 

The only option is to try and reason with him. To try and use his own tricks against him. To manipulate him into thinking you’re doing what he wants, and then use his weakness to get away. 

It’s never worked before. 

But it’s the only option you’ve got.

Creaking open your front door, you point your blaster around the frame, followed closely by your left eye. You expect to see a human face, bearded, white skin and bright blue eyes. Familiar. So familiar you can never fucking forget it.

But, instead, all you see is blinding silver. 

No, not silver. Not even durasteel. You don’t know what it’s made of, but it’s armour, a lot of it, shining brightly in the morning sunlight. It’s complete with a helmet, also that strange type of silver metal, with a black T-shaped Visor across the eyes and cutting down the front. A gloved hand is holding up a blaster not dissimilar to your own, though the person looks hesitant, only holding it as a caution, as they approach your hut in the same way.

“Get back!” You shout. 

The armour stops. 

People don’t normally actually stop when you tell them to. So, you’re not sure what to do next. 

(You were expecting to shoot, but honestly, you’re not sure what good it could possibly do past that armour. What is that stuff, anyways?) 

“Leave now,” you demand, “this is your warning. I will shoot you.” 

The hand holding the blaster lifts, very pointedly bringing their finger off the trigger. They hold up both of their hands, in surrender. “I’m not here to harm you,” a voice comes through the helmet, modulated and most likely male. He’s speaking quietly, so measured and calm that you wonder if the helmet does that for him. 

“You need to leave!” You say again, gaining enough confidence now that his blaster is not pointed at you to put your whole head around the door. Now both of your eyes are on him, you see the entirety of his armour. He is absolutely armed to the fucking teeth, probably not even needing a blaster to kill you in a breath. There’s a rifle on his back. A satchel is slung over his shoulder, but you can’t see the bag itself as it sits over his back. 

The shape and design of his helmet is familiar to you, distantly, something in your brain ringing when you see it. But you can’t quite put your finger on it, and it’s not important right now. 

“I can’t do that,” he says, measuredly calm again. 

“Who are you? What do you want?” 

A pause. He still has his hands in the air, but after seeing the amount of weapons he has strapped to him, it’s not all that comforting. “My ship crashed,” he says after an uncomfortably long time, like he wishes he didn’t have to say it. “I was hoping to find somewhere to buy parts.” 

You huff out a laugh. “Good luck with that,” you say. Subtly, and with your blaster still aimed at him, you get another look at him. With his hands up, his satchel is starting to slip around his body. You get a glimpse at the very edge of the bag. Whatever is in there is heavy, and you’re not about to take the risk that it’s something dangerous. “You need to leave. You can’t be here.” 

“Is there a town nearby that you can direct me to?” He asks. “I tried looking at the map, but it must have been corrupted…” 

You laugh again, rolling your eyes. “It’s not corrupted. There’s nothing on this side of the planet.” 

Another pause. “But you’re here.” 

Alright. Either They have sent some random, terrifying guy to lure you into a false sense of security, or he is just genuinely lost. 

You’re just about to lower your blaster, to give him the bad news that he’s going to have to travel half way around the planet if he ever wants to get off it, when two things happen at once. 

First, the satchel slips all the way around. You jump at first, but soon, the bag itself is moving, and something pops out from the top of it. Something…alive. Something green, wrinkled, with ears as big as its head and deep, dark eyes almost as large too. 

You frown. A kid? 

Not enough time to process the fact that this seems to be a father who has got himself stranded, because suddenly you see something else in the satchel, sticking out from one of the front pockets with a blinking light and a beeping that you can hear from here. 

A tracking fob. 

Your heart rate shoots up, blood suddenly rushing through your ears so you can’t hear anything but that. You flick the safety off your blaster, aim it stronger at him, look through the scope with one eye. “Get out of here, bounty hunter, or I swear I’ll shoot you where that armour can’t protect you.” 

The child—why the fuck does a bounty hunter have a child?—coos, seeming concerned, and looks up at the armoured man like he’ll have an answer. 

The man himself has his blaster aimed at you again, and you didn’t even see him move to point it. Kriff. He’s fucking good.

They put a bounty on you. Fuck, They wanted you back that badly. 

“I said leave!” You cry, feeling tears of both fear and betrayal sting at the backs of your eyes. You try desperately to swallow them down. “Take that tracking fob, and leave, or I swear to the Maker—”

Your words seem to startle him, and he drops his blaster once more, the helmet tilting down towards where the fob is sticking out of his bag. “No, no, it’s not—this isn’t for you!” He says, sounding more hurried now than he had when his hands were up and you were about to shoot him. He fishes the fob out. “This isn’t yours. See, it’s not telling me I’m close to my target. Look.” He holds it out towards you. 

A quick glance tells you that he’s not lying about that. The lights aren’t blinking right. 

You hesitate. Your heart is still beating wildly in your chest, so hard that it feels like it might jump out and run away from this entire situation. Which, you couldn’t blame it.

You wish you could do the same. 

“You really just crashed here?” You ask, your blaster-wielding arm twitching. 

“Yes,” he answers. 

You look at the child. “The kid yours?” 

“I…yes. Yes, he’s mine.” 

A frown creases at your forehead, both concerned and curious. “No one’s surrounding us? No one going to jump out and take me?” 

“…No,” he says. Something in the tilt of his helmet comes across as amusement. 

It’s not funny. 

But he has a kid. Someone sent here to kill you wouldn’t have brought a kid.

Well, probably not. Though knowing Them, you wouldn’t necessarily put anything past them. 

Not without hesitation, you lower your arm. Flick the safety back on, but keep your finger on it, ready to flick it back at a moment’s notice. “You crashed onto the wrong planet,” you say, stepping further into the doorway. You can’t see his eyes, but it feels like they’re on you, taking you in now he can see you. “I meant it when I said there’s nothing until you get to the other side.” 

He observes you. “Can you help me?” 

You sigh. It’s been a long time since you had any kind of human contact—well, you assume he’s human—and it’s already becoming too much. A tiny, corrupt part of you says, No, you can’t help him. Send him on his way. A part of you that is either there for self preservation, or a part that They put in you from a young, young age. 

It’s a part that you have never listened to. Not once. 

And you’re not about to start now.

“I can give you food and water,” you say, eyeing the kid curiously, wondering if it even eats or drinks, “and I can tell you more about this place. Maybe even help with the ship. But I haven’t got a way for you to get to the city.” 

He seems to relax a little. Tentatively, and still holding his hands halfway up, he steps closer. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you very much.” 

He sounds so sincere, so genuine, that it takes you by surprise. Because, really, he’s quite terrifying. Just this big, looming wall of steel-silver armour, covered head-to-toe in weapons, as well as ones that are no doubt hidden, too. You can’t see his face or read him at all. He walks so casually, like he’s meant to be here. Like this is normal. 

And there’s a fucking green child strapped to him, the likes of which you’ve never seen before.

“Please, sit,” you say, gesturing to the table and chairs you have set up under the awning that stretches from your hut’s roof. “Are you hungry?” 

“The kid is. We have supplies on our ship, but it’s a few miles away…” 

You raise an eyebrow. He doesn’t sit down, just stands there under the shade, staring at you. “When did you crash?” 

“We didn’t crash, necessarily. Just…an interesting landing.” 

“Right, right, of course. But it was such an interesting landing that you can’t take off again?”

“…That’s right.” 

Before replying, you head inside and to the little kitchenette along the left wall. There’s some fruit there and a little of the bread you made last week. You gather it, along with a knife and some plates, and take them out to the man. 

“Well, I don’t know much about mechanical stuff,” you shrug, putting it all down on the table, “but I’ll do what I can to help.” 

He still doesn’t move to sit down, or even towards the table. The child careens towards the food, though, reaching out little clawed, three-fingered hands. 

The man just stares at you. You wonder why. What he’s staring so much for. Is there something particularly puzzling about you? Something he doesn’t understand? 

“Thank you,” he says eventually. “For your generosity.” 

Yeah, well. Again, you gesture to the table, and finally he follows. He sits down and puts the kid on the bench beside him, giving his nose an affectionate little rub before he turns to the table and breaks a bit off the bread. The kid is reaching for it as he hands it over, and the way his little green mouth starts biting at it is adorable. 

“So,” you say, “who are you?” 

The helmet looks back at you again. Even out of the sunlight, it’s still a piercing, shining silver. “People call me Mando,” he says after a beat. 

You frown. “Mando,” you repeat, mostly to yourself. “As in, Mandalorian?” 

He seems to startle a little, pausing as he cuts the fruit into kid-sized squares. “You know about the Mandalorians?” 

“Doesn’t everyone?” 

A noise comes through the helmet. You could swear it sounds like a breathy laugh. He shakes his head and looks back to the fruit in front of him. “Depends what you know.” 

“Uh, let’s see,” you sit down on the chair opposite him, across the table. “A race of warriors, proud of their heritage, destroyed by the Empire…” 

He tenses. Stops again, and looks up.

Kriff. 

“Sorry,” you say quickly, “sorry. It’s…been a while since I talked to another person. That was insensitive.” 

After yet another long, indiscernible stare, he gets back to work. Silence passes for a minute, long and uncomfortable as anxiety roils in your stomach. You always say the wrong fucking thing, don’t you? Always making things worse, always fucking things up…

“Well, you’re right,” his modulated voice breaks through your quickly spiralling thoughts. “The Empire destroyed most of us.” Grief laces his voice, heavy like you imagine the armour on him must be. 

It twigs, then. His armour. Mandalorian. The shape of his helmet. 

That’s where you recognise it from. 

You want to ask, want to hear more about his people, about what happened. Before coming here, you knew a lot about the different cultures in the Galaxy; last you heard, the Empire was gone, and the New Republic was being built. But you don’t know anything about the Mandalorians except that they were all wiped out—or, so you thought. 

He starts handing little cubes of yellow fruit to the kid, who coos and accepts them happily. 

“Aren’t you going to eat?” You ask him, curious.

“No, thank you.” 

A frown tugs at your forehead. Maybe he’s not human. “Do you…do you eat?” 

“What?” 

“I mean…do you need to eat?” 

“I—yes, I need to eat. I’m human,” he adds on, like he’s realised my unasked question. 

Okay, good. Not that it would have been bad if he’d not been human. But the way his broad shoulders look under the armour, the solidity of his thighs, the way his gloved fingers are flexing around the fruit, shiny with juice, working deftly…

You shake yourself from your thoughts. You literally just met this man, and you know that he’s a bounty hunter. You need to stop.

Speaking of, “So did you come here for a bounty?”

He looks up again, and something about the way he startles comes across as surprise. Pleasant or unpleasant surprise, you’re not sure, but either way, he looks surprised that you asked that. 

“No,” he says.

“How badly damaged is your ship?” Recalling the smell of burning engine oil, you prop your foot up on one of the table’s legs, the soles of your boot gripping to the wood. Sunlight is streaming through the coarse fabric of the awning above you, casting tiny slivers of golden beams across all three of you. It shimmers in his armour, and he looks just a little magical. The kid is gazing up at the twinkling lights above him. It looks like the canvas is covered in golden stars, flitting as trees rustle between the fabric and the sunlight. 

“I can probably fix it myself. At least enough to get me somewhere that has parts.” 

“Hyperdrive blown?” 

“Yes,” he says. “How’d you know?” 

“I could smell it,” you say. It’s been a long time since you smelled that, but it’s ingrained in your memory, all sour and oily. 

“The hyperdrive blew, and it damaged the engine. I only just got us down safely.”

“So probably a little body damage too, then.” I ponder, wondering if there’s any way we can find parts that he might need. There’s a scrap heap a little way off—definitely not as far as the other side of the kriffing planet—left there by, presumably, the last people unfortunate enough to crash here. 

“I thought you didn’t know about mechanics?” He asks, something in his voice quirking, the same tilt of his helmet that you thought was amusement earlier. 

“I have a little knowledge. Are you sure you’re not hungry?” 

He shakes his head. 

“Alright.”

And it’s not a good idea to offer him the kind of help you’re thinking of offering. It’s not. He’s a bounty hunter, very clearly dangerous, and he’s also the first person you’ve seen since you left Them.

You don’t trust people easily. You used to. But you don’t anymore. 

But he has a kid. And if you don’t help him, he’s going to be stuck here forever, unless he’s happy to take the year-long journey of going to the other side of the planet. You came here for solitude, for safety. To not have to trust people.

That won’t work if he’s going to have to stay here.

And, who knows? Maybe he’ll try and kill you for food in the end. By the looks of him, he could. 

You sigh to yourself. 

Because even despite all that, despite the fact that the only remotely good reason to help him out is to try and stop yourself getting eaten, you’d still help him anyway. 

That’s who you are. You didn’t let Them make you anything else. Swore you would never. 

“Well,” you say, having made up your mind, “there’s a scrap heap a fifty klicks West of here. It’ll take a couple days of travelling on foot to get there, but it might have what you need.” 

He nods. “I could probably get there. Can you mark it on a map?” 

You haven’t seen a map in years. In fact, you only know this place by its terrain. By its land under your feet, the trees above you. “No,” you say. “But I can come with you.” 

He stares. “You don’t have to do that.” 

“If you ever want to get off this planet, yes, I do,” you say with a smirk. What you don’t say is, And I want you to leave. Despite the fact that you’ve got really lovely shoulders and a cute baby. “Assuming you actually need parts. Can you fix what you need to fix with what you’ve got?” 

He sighs. “Probably not,” he says. “It’s a new ship. I don’t…know it as well as my others.” 

I quirk an eyebrow. “You have others?” 

“Had,” he corrects. “I have had others.” 

“Hm. Alright, well, I’ll help you, if you’ll accept my help. Just don’t point a blaster at me again.” 

There’s that sound again, a little huff, like a laugh. “I’ll ask the same of you,” he says, “if you would.” 

“Mm…I’m already doing you a pretty big favour,” you tease, smirking and patting the blaster that sits at your hip, “I’ll think about it.” 

-

You’re not really big on babies. They’re messy, sticky, demanding, and loud. 

But this one is really very cute. 

He’s got hold of your finger, and is squeezing it gently between his little fingers. Mando tells you that his name is Grogu, and the first time you call him it, his big green ears twitch along with a tilt of his head. 

It probably wasn’t all that wise to let Mando stay the night. Even though he and the kid slept outside in your hiking tent, and you kept the front door locked, you know that he could have without a doubt gotten inside to kill you. Or worse. 

But he didn’t.

All that happens is that, when you wake up, he and the kid are already sitting at the table, and the little box of food that you’d left with them after sunset in case they got hungry was empty. 

You’d talked with Mando a little yesterday, but mostly went about your daily routine like he wasn’t there. He seems good at that; just being still, blending in, the opposite of obtrusive. Which, you suppose, is what makes a good bounty hunter. At least the type that likes to do it with minimal mess.

Still, you’re curious about him. He sat outside all day with the kid, even took him for a walk to the nearby creek in the late afternoon. It’s so strange to see such contrast in him: the cold, hard exterior of his armour, something so impenetrable and immovable; and then the soft way he handles the kid, the way he bounces him on his hip, shows him magic tricks, picks him up when his little hands reach out for him. 

There are a lot of questions on your tongue. Why and how he has the kid, where he came from, where the rest of his people are, how the kriff are you such a gentle person when you’re also the scariest pillar of metal I’ve ever seen?

You keep them to yourself. 

You wouldn’t want anyone asking questions about you. (Hence why you’re here in the first place, but.) So you don’t ask the same of him. 

The morning after he arrived here, the three of you set off for the scrap heap. Your backpack slung over your back, filled with blankets, rations, flasks, and sleeping mats. Mando carries a bag that you gave him, though most of the bulk is your hiking tent. 

It’s only when you’re a half hour into the forest that you realise you’ve only got one tent. 

Three sleeping mats for the floor, yes. Three sets of blankets, yes.

But one kriffing tent. 

Well, you think, we can take sleep watch shifts anyway. 

The sun is warm this morning, but not too hot; just a comfortable heat on your skin as you walk through the thick forest, climbing over fallen trees and winding, gnarled roots that stick up from the ground. It’s mostly dry earth underfoot, some moss glistening on rocks, a few tufts of grass sprouting beneath pillars of light that shine through the treetops. 

Mando isn’t much of a talker, you’re realising. And you can’t decide if you like that or not.

The kid is always babbling, though. He’s got his head sticking out of Mando’s satchel again, and he’s looking around slowly, his mouth slightly open and big eyes wide as he takes in his surroundings. You wonder if he’s ever seen anywhere like this; where the two of them may have been together. You don’t even know what species he is—he could be from somewhere like this. A planet with a warm, mildly humid climate during the spring.

You’re coming up on one of the large valleys that splits the earth, stretching down into a deep cavern filled with rushing water coming from the tall waterfall beside it. You can hear the water before you see any sign of it. 

“We’re coming to the waterfall valley,” you explain, “there’s a fallen tree over the chasm that we can use as a bridge.” 

Wordless, Mando nods in acknowledgement. 

The fallen tree that bridges the gap between sides of the river is giant, both in length and width, with more than enough room to comfortably walk across it in a single-file line. It was probably thousands of years old before it fell. The roots snapped at its base, leaving gnarled and sharp splints of wood curling up into the air and surrounding foliage. On the other side, its branches are bare, the leaves having died and fallen off long ago, and the branches are anchored into the ground after years of being covered by it. 

“It looks mossy,” Mando says as you step up onto it first. “Watch your step.” 

He’s right; the spray of water constantly shooting up into the air from the waterfall has made for a nice home for moss, glistening in dark green florets along the top, with longer water weeds hanging from the underside. 

It could be slippy, but you’ve walked across it many times, and you’re used to it. It’s the only way to the fruit trees in the overgrown meadow. There’s almost a path worn across it, though not quite; the moss grows back far too enthusiastically to stay away. 

Grogu is cooing as you cross. You don’t look back at him lest you lose your footing, but you can imagine that he’s gazing around with that same wonder on his face.

It is pretty. This whole area is pretty. Serene, if you don’t count the various wildlife that can often be just a little hostile. There are birds of prey that swoop down from the impossibly small treetops sometimes; yellow and red lizards that skitter along the forest floor, their tails, complete with stinger, thrashing threateningly into the air as they run past. As long as you keep an ear out, though, it’s alright. 

“I don’t know your name,” Mando’s voice, calm through his helmet, cuts into your thoughts once you’ve crossed. He’s fallen into step beside you, one of his hands absently pressed against the kid’s back. 

You glance at him, uncertain. Technically, you don’t know his name. So, really, it’s only fair that your answer is, “No, you don’t.” 

His helmet tilts as he huffs out a laugh. “Alright. Guess I’m not going to?” 

“Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” you challenge, raising a teasing eyebrow at him.

He laughs again. You wonder how often he does that. He seems to live a pretty serious life, with what little information you have on him. But the kid is adorable, and there’s bound to be several times a day where he laughs at his cuteness, surely. “Alright. Fair enough.”

“There’s a river up ahead. I’m going to fill my flask.” You gesture to the approaching clearing where a river cuts through the forest floor, a few metres wide, deeper than it looks. 

“Can we cross it?” 

“We’ll have to get our feet wet, but yes. And watch out for the water snails.” 

“The what?” 

“They live in the riverbed. If your foot lingers too long, they’ll crawl on you and suck you down into the sand. Oh, and then there’s the stinging lizards that live in the brush on each side.” 

The helmet tilts to look at you, and something about his body language comes across as incredulity. “Safe planet you got here,” he says, dry.

The surprise of hearing him make a sarcastic comment catches in a laugh in your throat, bubbling out without permission. “It is safe,” you counter, smiling at him even though he’s not looking at you anymore, “no one else around kind of has that effect.” 

“If there’s nothing on this side of the planet,” he says, “why are you here?” 

A cold stab of dread shoots through your stomach. Quickly, you push it away, forcing the thoughts out of your mind that want to come in and race around until you feel dizzy. To cover up your slight falter, you clear your throat as you step out into the river’s clearing. “How about I don’t ask you about you, and you don’t ask me about me?” 

He stops beside you when you lean down to fill your flask from the rapidly running river water. For a moment, he just observes you, quiet. It’s strange to be able to feel someone’s gaze so strongly when you can’t even see their face, their eyes. “Deal,” he says. 

Satisfied, you stand up straight again, and gesture to the shallower part of the river a few feet to the right. He follows as you step into the water. You keep your steps light and quick, scanning the riverbed for any sign of those metallic-brown molluscs that masquerade as innocent rocks. 

The thing with the snails is that they don’t actually want anything with you. They don’t eat you. They just pull you down into the sand because it’s their instinct. You get stuck, and sink until you drown in the water or the riverbed itself. When one sticks to your foot, the entire swarm of them joins in, and it’s nearly impossible to escape if you don’t catch it quickly enough. Your only hope in that situation is that the blue shindl birds will come and eat the snails before their numbers are too many.

You make it to the other side quickly enough, and turn to watch Mando copying the lightness of your steps. It’s quite amusing, actually, to see this heavily armoured, heavy-booted man taking light footsteps like he’s standing on ground too hot for his feet. The kid laughs from his place in the satchel, and you watch in amusement. 

That is, until, there’s a loud swoop coming from the sky above you, accompanied by a Squalk! 

A shindl bird, bigger than your own body, swoops just metres above you, dipping so low down towards the river that you can feel the downdraft from its giant, pale white and blue feathered wings. 

On instinct, Mando freezes in his tracks, covering the kid with one hand and reaching for his blaster with the other. 

“Don’t shoot it!” You shout hastily, watching as he tracks the bird flying down the length of the river with his blaster’s scope. The bird turns around, heading back to you. “They’re just looking for the snails to eat!” 

Mando ignores you, too busy clutching the kid to his side. 

“Mando, you need to move! The snails!” 

This time, he doesn’t ignore you; but he does only have a second to look back at you before he’s trying to move, to bring his feet out from the riverbed, but one of them is stuck. 

Kriff, he’s stuck.

His visor turns down to his feet. He tugs his left leg, trying to walk forward on it.

“Oh, for kriff’s sake,” you curse, reaching for your own blaster. He’s not sinking yet, but you can already see the large snail on his foot through the water, and more are coming to life beneath the surface, slowly making their way to him. 

The shindl swoops overhead again, lower this time, clearly having spotted the snails too.

“Stay still!” You shout to Mando over the deafening sound of the bird’s wings flapping in the air. 

He looks up at you and sees the blaster pointed towards his foot. “What are you doing?” 

“Just hold still!” You aim through the sight, just an inch away from the edge of Mando’s foot, getting the snail’s eyes right in your crosshair.

Mando protests, saying, “Wait, no, don’t—” But he’s too late, your finger already squeezing the trigger. 

The snail on his foot wilts immediately, like leafy vegetables thrown into a hot pan. Mando wastes no time in pulling on his leg again, and he only just gets himself to move in time before the rest of the snail’s colony is gaining on him and discovering the body of the early bird who got the worm—well, the foot.

He splashes out of the river towards you, still gripping the child to his side, with both hands now. Once he’s free and clear on to the riverbank, he sighs out in relief at the same time you do. 

Lowering your blaster, you watch as the shindl bird swoops right down to the water and ducks its large beak down below the surface, grabbing the dead snail first. Its wings are so wide and so close that you feel the very edge of one of its feathers brush against your face. 

It turns to look at the two of you before it flies up completely vertically into the sky and gives a triumphant cry. 

“You might want to back up,” you tell Mando with a smirk at how he’s trying to scrape off the snail’s goo from the top of his boot. “The rest are coming.” 

“The snails?” 

“No. The birds.” As you reach a hand out in front of him, you back up, automatically taking him with you. He follows willingly, though he could just as easily push you away and defy your advice. 

You step back into the tree line again, under the cover of the rustling branches. 

Before you can even blink, suddenly an entire flock of the shindl birds is descending upon the river where Mando was once stuck, all diving in with their beaks open to pick up as many snails as they can at once. 

Really, Mando did them a favour by getting stuck. The only time the snail colony comes out is when they think they’ve caught something. Otherwise, the shindl have to spend hours looking down into the water, standing still or hovering low, waiting for one to appear before them. 

The flaps and squalks of the birds fills the air, and beneath it, you can hear a trill of glee coming from the kid’s satchel. Looking down, you find his hands outstretched towards the whole ordeal, flapping a little in excitement. 

You chuckle. From under the cover of the trees, it’s a pretty amazing thing to see. The birds’ feathers are metallic and pearly, fading from glistening white to pale blue as the sunlight shifts over their curves and edges. They fly so gracefully despite the frantic fight to find the best snail. 

The first time you got caught in one of their food grabs wasn’t as fun, though. But you learned your lesson. 

“What are those things?” Mando asks. He lifts the kid from the satchel and clutches him to his breastplate, tapping comfortingly at the kid’s tummy. It’s sweet, like he’s reassuring him that everything is alright after what happened.

When you don’t answer right away, the helmet turns to look at you, waiting for an answer. 

You got distracted by him, to be honest. By him and the kid. “They’re shindl birds,” you say. 

He looks back to them. The flock is clearing a little now; you imagine there are only a few snails left for them to devour. 

“They’re native to this planet. They really love those snails.” 

“Hm.” Mando hums, and you’re not sure if it’s an acknowledgement or a laugh. 

“Come on,” you say, gesturing to continue on your path, “we should move.” 

“Are there more creatures out to get us?” 

“Probably. But don’t worry. I’ll save you again, should you need it.” 

Walking alongside you, his helmet tilts. “I can handle myself.” 

“Clearly. You’re welcome, by the way.” 

His sigh is not impatient or unimpressed; in fact, it sounds amused, warm. “Thank you. You did save me back there.” 

“No problem. I’ve dealt with those things before.” 

“I would have appreciated a warning, though.” 

“I gave you a warning; I told you not to stop in the river!” 

“You didn’t tell me about the birds.” 

The kid laughs, lifting up one of his hands to press it against the side of Mando’s helmet. 

“Well, I’m just glad you didn’t shoot them,” you say. Out of the corner of your eye as you walk side-by-side, you observe Mando, watch the kid touch the plate of metal that covers his cheekbone. You realise, then, that you don’t actually know what he looks like. He’s never taken his helmet off in front of you; not even his gloves. You don’t think you’ve even seen him have a drink. 

Maybe it’s for the best, though. Because you’re finding yourself wanting to walk just a little ways behind him so you can admire the casual, commanding way that he walks, the slight swing of his hips as his hands flex at his sides. The breadth of his shoulders, emphasised by his heavy armour. His hips, the way his torso gets only a little narrower towards them, his entire frame straight and wide and beautiful. 

You need to stop. 

You don’t even know what he looks like. 

Speaking of, “Do you want a drink?” 

“I’m fine. Thanks.” 

“Do you drink?” 

“I told you, I’m human.” 

You nod, hoping it comes across as unassuming. But there are so many questions swirling around in your head; so much that you suddenly want to know about him. He’s mysterious, you’ll give him that. Does he do it on purpose? Is it something he does to try and get people to follow him, or is he just genuinely a private person? 

You’re so used to people using tactics, games to mess with you and the way you form relationships, that you never know what to believe. They used to string you along, make you chase them, make you beg for them to just see you, hear you, understand you…and then, just when you felt like you’d finally done enough for them, they’d turn it all around and shut you out again. 

It was a never ending cycle.

It’s hard not to project that onto Mando. He’s the first person you’ve seen since you escaped Them. For all you know, he could be just as manipulative. 

Except, unprompted, he says, “I don’t take my helmet off.” 

Oh. 

Okay, racing thoughts on pause: “What?” 

“It’s part of my Creed. As a Mandalorian.” 

“Oh,” you say as the pieces fit into place. It makes sense now, but you’re still surprised; you didn’t know that about Mandalorians. In fact, you distinctly remember meeting some when you were a child who definitely did not wear their helmet all the time. “So…you’ve never taken it off?” 

He pauses, hesitating. His moment of unprompted honesty falters. “It’s complicated.” 

Oh, great. It’s hard not to put bad intentions on to him when he says stuff like that. It’s complicated.

You wouldn’t understand.

You don’t get to know the secrets. 

You’ve earned my trust, well done.

I never want to see you again. 

You have to force yourself to stop spiralling. For a long moment there, you were no longer walking through the forest with a strange Mandalorian and his little green child. You were walking through the forest with Them. With your family. And the weight of everything they ever did.

You clear your throat, demanding yourself back into the moment. “Is it not uncomfortable?” 

It must be. Especially in humid climates like this. Or maybe it’s temperature-controlled under there. The entire set of armour looks pretty swish; maybe it’s got some cool technology. 

“I’m used to it,” he says, and his tone suggests that that’s the last he wants to talk about it. 

So, you’re quiet again.

You focus on the ground crunching underfoot, the tiny birds whistling in the trees. 

You’re not back there. Mando isn’t Them. 

You’re safe. 

You’re okay. 

notes: i'm REALLY excited to finally be posting this fic! i hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. all interactions are appreciated, but comments and reblogs especially make my day ❤️ updates will be regular!

i'm going to make a taglist for this fic so if you wanna be on it, drop me an ask or reply to this post!

take care of yourself ❤️

[snowy-equinox]

"Does my crush like me?"

Ask any reader, and they’ll tell you every time they open their inbox they get flooded with people desperate to know if their crush returns their feelings. Even if they state clearly in their rules that they aren’t answering that question, a few always slip in. 

Maybe some tarot readers enjoy receiving this question, but many do not. We are annoyed by this waste of our time and energy. I’m telling you to stop. 

Tarot readings are not perfect

Tarot readers have off days; they can misinterpret the cards, or pull the wrong cards. Some tarot readers lie to make you feel better, so you come back, so you tip better. There is never a guarantee that the reading you get is accurate. Getting a tarot reading from a stranger (online or in-person) is always a leap of faith. 

For the most accurate answer to this question, you need to ask the person themselves. If you really want to date this person, ask them. Otherwise, you might get misled. You could miss out on a wonderful relationship because a reader told you they don’t like you, or you could still embarrass yourself anyway if the reader says you do. There’s no real benefit to getting a reading over asking your crush directly. 

"But it's scary"

Look me in the eyes. If I tell you they like you back, will that give you the confidence you need? Will you turn around and ask them out immediately afterwards? Or, would you psych yourself out after the reading and go right back to your nervous, wondering state? 

Unless you could tell me, with certainty, that you would take my word and ask them out, you are wasting my time. 

Not to mention, this is part of being human. People have had to deal with crushes and unrequited love for the entirety of time, and I don’t like the feeling you’re using me to get around what many would consider a rite of passage. It sucks, I know. But you have to learn to manage the situation yourself. 

"They say they do, but they don't act like they do"

Okay, then…move on? My tarot reading is not going to fix their behavior. Even if I say they like you, you still need to address their mixed messages because that won’t just stop. Clarify what your relationship status is (if they try to deflect or give you a run-around, time to move on). Talk to them about how their behavior makes you feel. Sometimes the person you’re crushing on is not ready to be in a relationship even if they love you. You need to be able to learn the red flags without worrying about if they still like you. I’m not going to give you a tarot reading that you can cling to while they continue to hurt you. 

"They say they do, but I have my doubts"

I have a lot of relationship-based anxiety, and I know exactly how it feels. You are searching for any scrap of validation, anything to lessen the choking weight on you. But once you have that validation, it only lasts for so long before the anxiety comes back. 

My reading would only be a temporary salve, not a solution. If you have doubts, you need to talk to the person themself. Give them a chance to understand how you feel and help you. It could mean changing a behavior, more transparency, or more love notes. 

Tarot readings are meant to help you grow and learn, not keep you stagnated. Learning how to manage feelings and communicate is such an important part of life; you cannot be a functioning member of society without these skills. Our tarot readings are not here so you can bypass this work. Stop asking us this question, stop wasting our time, stop using us.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

I just wanted to say how fucking much I love pez dispenser debris. It is so cathartic and raw and the humour just adds to the moments that make me feel like I’m looking in a mirror.

The backflip treaty and all its mentions feel EXACTLY like something I would’ve done at that age, and when I’m laughing at things like “slaves to the flip and bakogou” it just. Is real. Even living with all that anger, there’s funny bits in between.

Especially this last chapter with Shinsou. You spend all that time having a cutoff point, at what time you’ll call it quits, then your life has changed and you don’t even notice as that point passes you by until after it’s over. And then you panic. Because you were meant to have called it quits but now you don’t have a plan for wanting to keep going.

Your writing is amazing. I mean that as genuinely as possible. Even for fandoms I’m not in, I’ll read them and be blown away by how human and alive these characters feel.

Thank you, honestly, for writing this and deciding to share this with the world. For all the Tiny Midoriyas knowing that the best they’ll get is that someone chokes on them, and the Shinsous, who don’t know what to do now the cutoffs gone and they want to live.

I really wanted pez dispenser debris to capture that sort of grey transition period between childhood and adulthood.

All the kids in Izuku’s class are exactly that—kids. They have silly little jokes between them like the fucking backflip treaty. They just all committed to the fucking bit like it was their job. It started as a silly little bit while being irresponsible and drunk, then that one kid who was a bit too goth in the class incorporated a fucking curse into it, and what were they supposed to do, get cursed? No. The only answer was to double down while simultaneously giving shit to the one friend who bypassed getting stuck in the fucking backflip treaty. Make it the group chat name.

Like. They’re kids. They’re horribly, painfully young, and at the same time, they are becoming adults who are catastrophically important to their society. They are already being heralded as some of its most important and influential members. And that’s in such uncomfortable contrast with their undeniable youth.

I also wanted this fic to just be a horrible funhouse mirror of being confronted with the pain of your past self. The most obvious example of that is Midoriya himself, but the other characters aren’t exempt, and Shinsou is one of the ones who most closely dovetails Midoriya’s own situation.

Shinsou knows, deep down, that there’s an angry, hurt version of his past self who still doesn’t know why he had to be hurt banging at the walls of his own heart trying to get out. There’s a reason why he’s the one who gets on best with Tiny Midoriya.

Tiny Midoriya is a screaming echo of Izuku’s past pain, and Shinsou hears the echoes and can’t help but think it sounds a hell of a lot like his own voice. Midoriyas not the only one who has to reckon with who he used to be.

Thank you so so much for your kindness. I’m so grateful you like my stories and that they resonate with you.

[starsurface]

I’m so sorry for making your list longer than it is but you do so well with these requests I just had to ask for this one. Could you do Earthrealm Champions+Liu Kang celebrating a baby regressors birthday? My birthday is at the end of the month and I’ve been thinking about this one for a minute.

Awh please don't worry!!!! I enjoy making content!!! :D (Really happy I got this before the end of March, was so worried I'd miss the deadline)

Also, Happy Early Birthday!!! :D <3 <3 <3

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

CG Raiden, Kung Lao, Johnny, Kenshi, & Liu Kang w/ Babyspace Birthday Regressors Hcs

❤️ . . . When I say that you are getting spoiled, I mean you are getting SPOILED

⭐️ They’d give you two different birthdays, one for when your in your headspace, and one for when your out of your headspace

🌟 Your out of headspace birthday party is very fun, you get a bunch of gifts, you guys all get dinner (that Johnny ends up paying for), your the center of attention

🌩 ^ Johnny probably takes everyone out for a ‘girls day’ . . . even if the entire group (or everyone but you, depends on your gender) isn’t a girl

🍖 . . . But are you really going to say no for a free shopping free and getting to dress up all pretty? I don’t think so!!! (it’s also his gift to you . . . Okay, he has more, but still)

❤️ Your little birthday party goes very different though

⭐️ Raiden wakes you up to some yummy pancakes, fruit, and whipped cream/chocolate chips!! (Mickey Mouse shaped ones are my favorite)

🌟 It’s a very peaceful morning, Raiden even spoon feeds you!! (he normally spoon feeds you when your this small, but he’s insistent on helping you today)

🌩 Long day of very fun little activities!!!

🍖 Johnny gives his birthday gift to you early, it’s a couple of super cute regression outfits

❤️ Why so early? Super simple, fashion show!!! :O

⭐️ He’ll hold you on his hip, helping you strut down the handmade runway (which is a bunch of pillows leading to the couch that the others cheer at)

🌟 Liu Kang steals you next, saying it’s time for outside time, specifically in his private garden area

🌩 What’s outside? A small picnic!! :D (and some water balloons/guns because it’s fun)

🍖 ^ You and Kung Lao team up and end up getting Liu kang all wet (much to your twos enjoyment and his dismay)

❤️ Don’t worry, Liu Kang gets back at Kung Lao later, convincing you to throw a water baloon at him 

⭐️ . . . Which you may or not blame Raiden for, and now a full on war has been brought between the two friends)

🌟 . . . Kenshi does notice and lectures you about lying, unfortunally :(

🌩 But not too much!! It’s your birthday after all, birthday little ones get to bypass some rules (you still need to apoligize to Raiden and Kung Lao for lying though

🍖 (^ Don’t worry, Liu Kang gets all the blame <3)

❤️ You get a ton of gifts!!!

⭐️ Kenshi got you a chicken plushie and some chicklets!!! (inspired by Snow Blind and the chicken stuffies in Unpacked)

🌟 Liu Kang got you a new music box, maybe a song from your favorite video game, or maybe the lullaby is really soothing (it’s a easy hand crank one too)

🌩 Kung Lao got you some more regression snacks, a new baby bottle, and a soft blankie

🍖 Raiden gives you a small backpack to make into a baby bag (or just use)!! As well as some pins or patches he can help sew in!!

❤️ ^ He also got you some really cute socks :3

⭐️ Johnny gets you a custom made pacifier, completely detected out, like, your dream paci (as well as the cute outfits from before)

🌟 They’ll have one of your favorite deserts, or your favorite cake!!

🌩 But . . . It’s a cake based off of your tv show/video game character!!! :O

🍖 Kung Lao will spoon feed you this time, mostly because he whined that Raiden already got to feed you and he wants a turn :(

❤️ You either spend more time outside, whether playing with the rest of the water balloons, or hiding on Kenshi’s lap while the other four run around trying to get the others soaked (Yes! Even Liu Kang ends up getting in on it!! And he is destined to win)

⭐️ If you also get soaked, you do have to have a bath :\

🌟 But it’s a very nice bath!! Nice soap, maybe a bath bomb, fluffy towels, wearing one of your new onesies!!

🌩 And because Liu Kang is so nice, and it’s your birthday, you get to skip/push back nap time!! :D

🍖 . . . A horrible decision, because now your incredibly cranky, grumpy, and still refuse to fall asleep, and it’s ALL Liu Kangs fault!!! >:(

❤️ Don’t worry, very easy fix: Cuddle pile!!!

⭐️ Putting your favorite tv show on, you getting borderline suffocated while they all try to snuggle you, and getting very sleepy very quickly

🌟 (If your big when you wake up, they’ll take you out to eat again!! Probably somewhere like Madam Bo’s or your favorite place)

🌩 (If you’re still tiny, you can get to use some of your new stuff!! And they get you some yummy takeout or make you your favorite food!! . . . Or order from Madam Bo’s)

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Small Note: When you get new gear, make sure to wash/clean it!!! Otherwsie it can be nasty (this also goes out got things like new cups or silverwear in general!!! Always clean things you first get!!!)

[resident-gay-bitch]

🏳️‍⚧️ Trans Tuesdays 🏳️‍⚧️

Trans Marauders Chaos (MtF Sirius, FtM James + Remus, NB Peter)

So, imagine all the Marauders are actually trans in one way or another. The way the sorting of their rooms works, is literally a matching spell or something that pairs up the boys and girls based on their compatibility, interests, and values. So the Marauders all get clumped together, being the four trans kids (presenting masculine in 1st year) in Gryffindor.

At this stage, Remus and James have both started their transition, both trans masc and passing well enough. Due to money and his amazing family, James is passing extremely well, and Remus not so much. He kind of has to make his own methods, thankful he didn’t get his mam's pretty genes and instead his dads ruggish nature, fugly face and crooked nose, makes things a fair bit easier when he’s not typically ‘pretty’. Sirius is MtF, but she doesn’t know it yet, going about her days as a bloke without much of a clue yet, used to constantly feeling a little off and uncomfortable from growing up in 12GWp. Pete's non-binary, but they don’t know it yet either. 

Remus and James have absolutely no intentions of ever admitting that they’re trans to these random boys they share a room with, and so they keep it so well hidden, they don’t even clock each other. 

By the time Sirius figures out she’s a girl, and Pete figures out they’re NB, they’re all playing a secret game of hide and don’t get caught. None of them question why they all change in the bathroom, none of them question why they’re all so tidy about their clothes, ensuring no one sees anything that might give them away (like binders, packers, pretty skirts or makeup), none of them question the other peoples odd and secretive behaviour, because they don’t want their own weird demeanours questioned. 

It literally takes years before it gets anywhere. 

It’s only when Sirius runs away, when James is there hugging her and consoling her in the middle of the night, without having time to bind since he was in bed. And well, from their close proximity Sirius feels something she doesn’t usually feel whilst being held by James. So she does a little snooping, and finds James’ binder awkwardly stuffed into his bedside drawer, and sees pictures of a tiny little girl with James’ face. James pretty quickly fesses up, making Sirius promise to never breathe a word to anyone, so Sirius comes out to James in turn, and it really solidifies their bond. 

So, back at Hogwarts, Sirius now knows James is trans, and James knows Sirius isn’t a bloke, the other two deep in the dark. Shenanigans ensue. 

Sirius and James are joined at the hip now, constantly around each other, so much so that they’ll both change together in the bathroom at the same time now, not caring around each other because they’re each other's safe space and never feel judged in the other's proximity. Ensuring James sometimes gets lazy with his bindings in the morning since he doesn’t sleep with them on anymore, when he and Sirius share a bed, and sometimes walking through the dorm without them under his baggy shirt. Creating some suspicion from Remus, who sees his own body in James’. 

And sometimes James slips up and refers to Sirius as she or her or a girl in conversations with other people, so mindlessly he doesn’t even notice he’s done it, doesn’t “correct” himself. Most people just assume it was a natural slip of the tongue and bypass it, but it can only happen so many times in their dormitory before Pete and Remus catch on. 

And then they all start noticing more and more things about each other, as they get older, because they’re more perceptive now and notice when things are a little off kilter. Like, they put two and two together as to why Remus always already has bandages around his chest after a full moon and completely hides away his middle but won't hide the rest of himself, even when his legs or face are more scared than his middle. And they notice empty bottles of hormone potions in the rubbish, and ends of bandages sticking out of drawers and makeup in the bathroom. 

They’re all very suspicious of one another, but far too scared to actually come out and say something in fear of being wrong, and then ostracised by their most trusted comrades. 

It all implodes one afternoon, after a very rushed morning to get out of the dorm and to the quidditch pitch on time for the game, because they were all up very late pranking and overslept their alarms. James was shouting and chasing them around the room because he couldn't believe he, the quidditch captain, was running late to his own game. And of course Sirius is running around after him, guilty for maybe waking up earlier and ignoring her alarm without much thought. And then they’re all out the door and in the cold, ready to play and watch the match, just in time for the kick off. 

It’s when they come back to the dormitory that everything unravels. They walk into the dorm together, all having a laugh, when Remus suddenly stops in his tracks and asks, “Erm, what is that?”

It's then that they all turn to face the middle of the room, where right there on the carpet is a soft blue item of clothing. And both Sirius and Peter dive for it, recognising the shape and colour in an instant. 

They both are on the ground, fighting over it for a second before freezing and looking at one another with flabbergasted expressions. 

“What the bloody hell do you need a bra for?” Sirius asked. 

“Why do you know this is a bra?” Pete asked back. 

“Because it’s my-” Sirius shut her mouth immediately. 

“What? No, it’s mine!” Pete sassed back. 

Sirius furrowed her brow, “No, look, it’s mine.” She said, wiggling it in the air, suspended between each of their hands. 

They both looked down at the material between them, one pale blue bra with purple flowers all over it, stretched out from each of them holding one side of the clasp, both sure it was their own. It even has the sweet little bow in the middle that they picked it out for! 

“What the bloody hell do you have a bra for?” Remus asked, cutting in. 

“My tits-” Sirius shouted, at the exact same time as Peter said, “On the days I want boobs-” 

They both looked at eachother again, “No, see, look.” Sirius huffed, tugging at the undergarment, “I picked this out last Christmas, it has a stain on the top of the left boob from my shaving cream- A cup.” 

Pete glared at her, flipping their thumb on the tag to turn it over, reading out the label, “Well, this is a B, so-”

“Wha-” Sirius muttered, freezing in her tracks, remembering a very crucial piece of information. She pulled her own collar out, looking down her top to notice she was wearing the exact same bra already, “Oh, well…”

“Told you.” Pete sassed, grinning as they snatched the garment away. 

“Wait, why do you have a bra?” Sirius asked again. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” Pete narrowed their eyes. 

They stared at each other for a moment, both glaring with hard expressions, neither one willing to break. 

Standing above them still, James groaned, dropping his head forward, “Erm, this is awkward. Perhaps we should go, Rem, before her head explo-”

“Her.” Remus interrupted, “You always call Sirius she.”

“Yeah, you do.” Pete nodded, looking at Sirius still, “Last I checked, you’ve got a dick.”

“Yeah, well maybe I don’t want it.” Sirius sassed, “Last I checked you did too.” 

“Yeah, well…” Pete huffed, “I don’t have a good comeback for that.” 

Sirius swallowed, looking at the blue fabric clutched in Pete's hands, “Are you like me?” 

“Okay, we should definitely leave, Moon-” James tried. 

“Nope.” Remus shook his head, putting his hand on James’ chest to stop him. 

“I don’t know, are you like me?” Pete asked back. 

“Well, I don’t fucking know. What are you?” Sirius sassed. 

Peter glared at her, “You first.”

“No, I asked first.” 

“Well, how am I supposed to fucking answer if I don’t know what you are?”

“Right…” Sirius swallowed, “So… you’re a girl?”

“No.” Pete muttered, and Sirius went pale.

“N-no neither am I. Obviously, I’m not- that would be weird. I’m- it’s not… I was just joking-”

“I’m not a bloke either.” Pete cut in, “I don’t know how to explain it.” 

Sirius tensed, staring at Pete with desperate eyes, “But you… you have a bra?”

“Cause sometimes I like wearing one.” Pete swallowed, “And sometimes I like makeup, and sometimes I don’t. And sometimes I wanna have a beard and put glitter on my eyes and wear a bra and boxers and… I- I don’t know.” 

“Oh…” Sirius nodded, “Well, I don’t…. I like makeup too, and bras… and skirts, and stuff. Don’t like that boy shit though.” 

“So, you’re not….”

“A bloke, yeah.” She sighed, kind of relieved to get it off her chest, “Shit, yeah, no. I’m a girl.”

“Oh…” Pete swallowed, “So… was that your hormone potion I found under James’ bed?”

“No, I don’t take mine anywhere other than the box on my bookshelf.” Sirius said defensively, before tensing and glancing up at James, “Wait- no, it probably was. I might have accidentally-”

“Nah, it wasn’t.” James shrugged, sighing, “It was mine.” 

“Wait, what?” Remus asked, gobsmacked. 

“Your’s?” Pete asked, “Are you a girl too?”

“No, I’m a bloke.” He shrugged, lifting up his shirt and running his hands over the little scars under his chest, “See, bloke. No tits, chopped ‘em off… wow, that was great to get off my chest-”

“Oh my fuck- stop making that joke, James. It’s old.” Sirius groaned. 

“Not to them, it’s not!” He defended. 

“You know about each other?” Peter asked, looking between James and Sirius. 

“You weren't born a bloke either?” Remus muttered, staring at James in awe. 

“Nah, I’m on hormone potions-”

“Wait, either?” Sirius asked from the ground, looking up at Remus. 

Remus turned red, “Well… yeah.” He huffed, leaning over for the box on the end of his bed, opening it up to show his own hormone potions inside, “Me too.” 

“Oh…” James said, looking down at the potions before up at Remus, “You’re like me?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Remus shrugged. 

“Okay, wait, are we all…” Sirius started, looking around at the other three, “Are we all a different gender than what we were born with?” 

“Yeah.” Pete shrugged, as the other two nodded in agreement. 

“Bloody hell.” James laughed, “Six and a half years of running around in secret for nothing, then?”

“That could have saved me so many problems.” Remus groaned, “I made Madame Pomfrey come up with a binding spell to help compress my chest after full moons so you all wouldn’t fucking notice-”

“I got Effie and Flea to find me a glamour spell to cover the fact that I’m growing tits all the time.” Sirius said, smiling up at them, hurriedly reaching for her wand to rid herself of the glamour, “Look, there's a lump!” She said, turning to the side. 

“Merlin, you can have mine, if you want.” Remus offered with a laugh. 

“So we’re all just fucking stupid?” Pete asked with a smile. 

“I guess so.” James shrugged, “Do you reckon we were all put together in this dorm on purpose?” 

“If they did do it on purpose, then why the fuck didn’t they tell us.” Sirius huffed, “Do you know how many times I’ve whacked James for calling me a girl in front of you lot? I mean, it feels great but it stresses me out.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” James blushed. 

“Do you reckon Minnie will make you move into the girls' dorm if she finds out?” Pete asked. 

“God, I hope not.” She grimaced, “I don’t think I’ll survive living in a dorm without James.” 

“Oh, hey!” Remus grinned, pointing down at her, “You’ll be able to get into the girls' dorms now, right? We can finally pull that prank on the girls… put those frogs in their bed, get them back for the spiders.” 

Sirius grinned, “Oh, you’re brilliant, Remus-”

“Do you reckon Pete will be able to get in?” James asked, looking down at them.

“I don’t know?” Pete replied, furrowing their brow, “I’m not a girl.”

“Yeah, but you’re not a bloke. The charm is there to keep boys out.” 

Peter squinted their eyes, “Should we go try it out?” 

“Yeah!” James shouted, as they all scrambled towards the door. 

“Oi, imagine the look on the girls' faces if you can get in.” Remus added. 

Pete could, of course, get in. And the look on the girls' faces was golden. Marlene was rendered into a giggling heap on the ground, because they already knew about Pete, they’re the same. Mary just stared, jaw dropped, and when Sirius waggled her eyebrows and stepped into the room too she jumped up on her chair and shouted, “Bloody hell, Sirius! Are you like me?” Shocking the shit out of them all. Lily was just very confused until they all explained what was happening. 

The girls also did not appreciate the frogs in their dormitory that night. 

Anyway, they’re all stupid (affectionate). Joanne, fuck you, all your characters are trans in my eye’s. Just you wait. We will take over. 

Also, I just know James would make so many top surgery / trans jokes, it would annoy everyone so much. He would think he’s so funny though.

[instructionsnotincluded]

True North - Sneak Peek (John "Bucky" Egan x Original Female Character)

Ok so after a handful of messages yesterday, I was feeling inspired and a little excited about the possibility of a new fandom and may have binged some of Masters of the Air late last night. I'm not quite sure where it's going to end up, but here's part of the first chapter. Testing the waters (or clouds?) to see if there's even any interest in it. OR if it's just total shit, since it's a new era I've never written for before. (If so, we can just pretend this never happened, hahaha.)

Pairing: John "Bucky" Egan x Original Female Character

Length: 1935 Words

Warnings: Language, military inaccuracies, writer flying by the seat of her pants as she tries to research more about WWII and pilots, mentally cursing herself for not paying closer attention in history class, 18+, MDNI.

“You’re flyin’ today, Frank!” 

The loud accented voice filled her ears, the brunette squinting her eyes closed tightly as she heard footsteps echoing all around the shared room, the sounds of trunks opening and closing joining in a moment later. She’d just been on the verge of a delicious dream with Gary Cooper’s character from The Westerner when Dorothy Skylar’s voice interrupted their suggestive conversation, her friend rudely butting into the fantasy.

“If you don’t get up, they’ll give your spot to the boys!”

“Ok!” Frank lifted her arm into the air, waving it around to signal she was, in fact, alive, “ok! I’m up—I’m getting up. Keep your panties on.”

“We call ‘em knickers ‘round here, love!” Dorothy’s laughter bounced along the walls, mixing in with the various posters, postcards, photos, and letters pinned above each of the beds, “if you’re going to talk about them, get it right!”

“You are all so irritating,” Frank shifted into a sitting position, the thin strap of her silk tank-top falling over her shoulder as she pressed the heel of her palm into her eye, “does no one like to sleep in anymore?”

“Haven’t had the luxury in years, darling,” Dorothy finished buckling her belt, pausing briefly in the full-length mirror as she adjusted the pins in her curls, “while you Americans have been ignoring what’s been going on across the Atlantic, we’ve been living this nightmare for years.”

“Well—at least it’s a shared one now,” Frank rested the back of her hand against her mouth as she stifled a yawn, “alright, I’m getting up. Where am I going?”

“Thorpe Abbotts,” Dorothy glanced over her shoulder to look at Frank as the shorter woman moved around her bed and over to her trunk, pushing aside piles of unfolded clothing to find her uniform, “should be a quick flight, you’ll be back before dark.”

“Maybe,” Frank disrobed and redressed once her undergarments were secured, Dorothy averting her eyes as Frank changed before messing with her hair, “we’ll see—last time I flew the airfield manager wouldn’t let me off the plane until he’d spoken to at least three men, one of whom was ranked lower than me.”

Dorothy only hummed, both women more than aware of how difficult it could sometimes be ferrying planes to and from airfields and bases, especially if the Americans were involved. It was still shocking to most men that women flew—and while the program in the US was slowly getting off the ground, the British had fully embraced female pilots, the Air Transport Auxiliary allowing women to help ferry new, repaired, and damaged aircraft between factories, plants, airfields, and squadrons. Frank had jumped at the chance to fly, to do something for the war effort that wasn’t working in a factory—she had well over four-hundred hours of flight time in the US, and while the United States Army Air Forces wasted time debating on whether or not you needed a dick to fly, she bypassed the red tape and joined the ATA shortly after Jacqueline Cochran led the first group to England. Fast forward two years later and Frank found herself an active member of the No. 6 Ferry Pool, doing whatever she could, whenever she could. 

“Are you going to see that boy of yours?” Dorothy asked, nodding towards one of the folded letters on Frank’s nightstand, the corner of it peeking out from under one of her journals.

Frank shook her head as she finished buttoning up her flight suit, the material heavy, thick, and too big for her frame before sliding on the sheepskin jacket. That was another thing about being a female pilot—there weren’t any uniforms to fit the female body, the material often baggy on her arms and legs, but tight across her hips. “He went down a few months ago over the North Sea,” Frank mentally scolded herself for not tossing the letter after she heard the news. They hadn’t been that close—a few afternoon dates when she found herself on overnight trips to London and he happened to be there, brief memories of them sneaking around hallways, bodies pressed up against walls as they sought comfort and distraction in one another. He was from Texas and smelled like home, reminding her of easier times when she was away at college, just trying to find direction in life. But like that experience, he was gone and she was left to figure out which way was North once again. 

“Frank…”

“It’s fine,” Frank reached for her bag, Dorothy pausing at the doorway, eyes cloudy with regret as she watched her friend pass her, pressing the heavy wooden door open as both women stepped out into the hallway of the dormitory the ATA housed them in, “it’s war.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t mean something…that it doesn’t hurt…”

“I thought you were British,” Frank pushed the emotion and tears away, scolding her heart for clenching as she turned to walk backwards, pressing a finger onto Dorothy’s badged chest, “aren’t you supposed to ‘stiff upper lip’ everything?”

Dorothy only rolled her eyes, the girls exiting the building a few moments later, the cloudy gray English sky greeting them as they crossed the pathway towards the waiting trucks, “have I ruined your flight time?” Dorothy asked quietly once they were in the back of the jeep, eyeing her friend as Frank leaned heavily against the side, “you’re not going to be distracted are you? You’re flying a Class 5 aircraft today—you need to be focused.”

“I’m fine,” Frank waved her off, “and even if I wasn’t, I’d be fine once I’m in the air. Trust me, that’s the only place my mind doesn’t wander.”

Dorothy didn’t appear convinced, but didn’t push the matter, the girls sitting in silence the rest of the ride to the airfield. Planes dotted the landscape, the tower looming in the background. Most of the planes would find homes on other bases or airfields, another tool for the boys to use in their battles. For a while it felt like production was stalling, they had so few to ferry around, but it seemed in the last year or so it had definitely picked up, so many different classes of aircraft ready to be delivered to the Allies. Frank hadn’t yet flown into Thorpe Abbotts, the Royal Air Force station just a handful of miles to the east of Diss, Norfolk. It was fairly new, having been built the previous year, but once the United States Army Air Forces took possession of the airfield, it seemed like activity was picking up. 

The boys at Thorpe Abbotts seemed to be going through planes like candy, and Frank was pretty sure this was their fifth ferry to the airfield in less than two weeks. Typically they flew to the smaller satellite bases once a month, maybe twice if there were mechanical issues, but five times in two weeks? Something was definitely going on in East Anglia. She’d heard low rumblings of the amount of planes that went down during their missions from the British pilots—the men criticizing the Americans for bombing during the day rather than waiting until evening. One conversation she overheard at dinner a few weeks ago seemed to be about the recently arrived 100th Bombardment Group and how they kept losing men to dumb tactical decisions. “It’s war,” one of the heavier accented men had said, slumped backwards in his chair as he rested a beer on the table, “you do what you need to survive.”

“...are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

Frank’s eyes snapped back to those of Commander Dorothy Skylar’s, the three gold stripes she wore on the shoulder strap of her jacket seeming to catch in what little sunlight they had today, making Frank’s two stripes seem even less important than they already felt. “Yes, sorry,” Frank shook her head and the memories away, forcing herself back into the present, “I was just thinking about Thorpe Abbotts and some of the conversations that I’ve heard in passing about it.”

“They’re losing men and planes at a rapid rate of speed,” Dorothy nodded, glancing down at the folder of papers Frank just realized the woman was carrying, “I don’t think this will be your last ferry there.”

“No,” Frank turned her head as she watched the massive Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress come into view, eyes slowly taking in the matte green of the plane, white lettering and stars decorating the wings and body, “no, I don’t think it will be either.”

The girls scrambled out of the jeep when it came to a stop, their male driver neither acknowledging nor checking with them before he sped off, Dorothy just barely clearing the rear left bumper as he turned. “Fucker,” Dorothy whispered under her breath as they crossed the tarmac, “we fly planes and he drives a jeep—yet we’re still the gum under his shoe.”

“Men are babies,” Frank said as she approached the plane, left arm extending to slide across the edge of the wing, “they move from one tit to another, starting with their mother’s, until they die.”

Dorothy laughed, shaking her head as she watched Frank move through the checklist she had memorized by now, a few of the engineers hovering nearby if needed. A younger woman, who appeared to be just barely over eighteen approached quickly a handful of minutes later, clipboard pressed tightly to her chest, “Stella Frank?”

“Captain,” Frank corrected her, the girl almost shrinking back in on herself as she looked over at Dorothy for approval, but the higher ranked commander only stared back blankly, “it’s Captain Frank.”

“Yes—yes, Captain Frank,” the woman shuffled a few papers around as Frank came to stand beside Dorothy, both women waiting as she handed over a thin packet of instructions, hand shaking as she did, “here are your pilot notes, I’m so sorry they weren’t delivered sooner.”

“Thank you…” Frank waited expectantly but the girl didn’t appear to catch on that Frank was waiting for her name, and instead smiled politely at both women before scurrying off. 

“Must you be so brash all the time?” Dorothy asked once the girl was out of ear shot, “I think today’s her first day.”

“Then she’s lucky she stumbled across me,” Frank flipped open the folder, eyeing the notes that gave her heading and speed instructions, as well as landing information, “if it’d been Ryan or Phillips she’d be on a plane back to the states right about now with wet knickers.”

“You’re not wrong,” Dorothy squinted up towards the sky, “you better get on with it—you’re due at Thorpe Abbotts in a few hours. You might get held up for a bit after you land, I think you’re ferrying back one of the planes that took heavier fire, so be safe.” Frank saluted her commander and Dorothy only rolled her eyes, “and watch for the fog, alright? I don’t know if Carol put it in the notes, but the fog around the airfield is sometimes incredibly thick. The boys may not see you until you’re landing.”

“And they have seen a woman before, right?” Frank lifted her eyebrows and Dorothy only shrugged playfully, “this isn’t one of the groups where there’s hardly any women on base and I’ll feel like a monkey at the zoo, right?” Dorothy took a few steps back in the direction of one of the metal buildings along the tarmac, a wide smile across her face. Frank only raised her voice to be heard, “right?”

“Don’t fall in love, Captain!” Dorothy called back, “we’ll see you back later tonight.”

[daiki1k]

ERROR

ERROR. ERROR. STAGE CONTROLS HAVE BEEN SHUT DOWN.

alarms scream into the halls, main lights flickering as security systems are forcibly shut down.

damn it.

originally, Daiki planned on shutting the entire security system down herself. that’s what she’s been working on. ever since she met Tina, that was her goal. to get them out.

she even went as far as to contact human rebels, secretly planning an escape to get the two out.

but that careful planning didn’t matter, this was an opportunity that she couldn’t pass up. after this, security would be so tight that it would make it impossible.

hence, the fast actions taken by the brunette.

Daiki runs through the halls, sneaking past alerted eyes as she opens the door to Tina’s room.

damn it. it’s been so long since they’d seen eachother. if only they could’ve found eachother again in a more calmer situation.

void-isc eyes widen as she enters the room, feet moving towards the worried Tina.

“we need to go. now.”

“darling? what’s going on?” despite the confusion, Tina knew better than to stay still. she immediately follows Daiki into the halls once again.

a part of her knew what was happening anyway, at least the important part: they’re escaping.

a scarred and cold hand carefully grips onto her much softer hand. even during such a frantic moment, Daiki helped calm her nerves.

those beautifully green eyes of hers get to work observing and watching Daiki’s blind spots. the taller of the two hacking into the systems further, opening paths for them as they continued closer to their shared goal.

there were. . four, no, three more stops they had to get through before they would be free - small group of human rebels already waiting to take them to safety.

that is, until a long shot rings through the hallways.

“DAIKI-!” Tina gasps, eyebrows furrowing at the attacker - a lonesome guard. just one?

before she could go to protect her injured lover, Daiki herself sprints forward and yanks the gun away. bashing the metal against the guards helmet until crimson spills out of the crushed skull, Daiki huffs.

“I’m okay, let’s keep going.”

“But you-“

“we don’t have time, please.” smiling, the brunette approaches the frantic woman, giving her a small peck on soft lips before getting back to work implementing codes that would allow them to bypass the door’s security.

it was fine, she had gone through worse. bones broken while she was awake to feel it, nails ripped off, skin peeled back, every horrific injury. she was quite literally trained to withstand these injuries.

“almost there, okay?” voice is tired, almost breathless as fingers tap against the screen of the last door’s screen pad.

relief washes through the both of them as the door opens, small cheers heard as they look down.

it was a high jump.

a group of three are seen at the bottom, a particularly well built man getting ready to catch them when they jumped down.

this was the easiest way out. a storage port.

“here, they’re friends - jump, okay? they’ll catch you.” Daiki grins happily, eyes shining at their newfound freedom.

there’s a few moments of hesitation before Tina jumps down - thankfully caught just fine.

good. she’s safe.

Daiki takes a deep breath, it was her turn -

BANG.

blood splatters down, drop landing on Tina’s face as eyes widen in horror. a clean shot through Daiki’s torso.

legs falter, knees bucking as hands try to hold onto the doorframe.

no. no no no no. they were so close-!

“GET OUT OF HERE, NOW!” a final order before both of them are dragged away in different directions.

fuck. I’m still holding that shitty gun. I look like a threat- at least Tina .. she’s safe.

something presses against Daiki’s neck, excruciating pain flaring as electricity is shocked into her system. still, it’s only enough to contain her for a moment.

a moment is all that’s needed for guards to restrain her before beating her unconscious, hell if they cared whether or not she lived.

Tina, survive. Even if it’s without me.

I don’t want to, not without you. please. . !

@season39

[anamericangirl]

(1/2) So to that one anon. First of all, yes the removal of completely healthy tissue and Frankenstein-esk construction of some gross approximation of human genitals is, was, and always will be, mutilation. Second. Yes, despite the fact that you losers continually try derail conversation so that no one notices, There are children receiving procedures such as double mastectomies (literally just google Chloe cole. Or that creepy plastic surgeon who was bragging on tik tok about doing surgeries on minors and even telling these kids and their families to contact her if they can’t get the surgeries they want. There are more verifiable examples I could provide here, but I’m not going to write you a book of examples since you probably won’t listen anyway. Even if you say “those are isolated cases” it doesn’t make it any less disturbing) and lastly there have been many videos of doctors ( a lot of whom advocate for “gender affirming healthcare” and or hold high positions on boards and in organizations for these types of things) admitting that puberty blockers are not as safe and effortlessly reversible as y’all would have people believe, but rather causes a lot of long term damage such as infertility, losing the ability to ever achieve an orgasm, and the underdevelopment of sexual organs such as a micro penis in boys. Not to mention the other long term risks such as osteoporosis, vision issues, and brain swelling. And this isn’t me spitting this information after some convoluted game of telephone. You can watch videos of respected board certified doctors saying these things directly. A lot of this is info that comes directly from the fda, nhs, and literally organizations for trans “healthcare” a lot of which are specifically targeting children. And yet the argument is always “you shouldn’t prevent anyone no matter how young from accessing blockers, hormones or surgery! Stop talking about the damages these things cause you bigot! They need these things or they’ll kill themselves!” No one ever wants to actually treat these things. When you just go: surgery! hormones! etc, you are effectively putting a band aid over a gunshot wound. You don’t get to the root of the problem which is ultimately, weather you like it or not, a form of mental illness and or disorders. These people should in no way be demonized for being mentally Ill. It’s not their fault and they would never have asked for this but they need true psychiatric help. You wouldn’t give a girl with an eating disorder a gastric bypass if she said she was going to kill herself, but that’s effectively what we do to these people. The problem is that it’s never going to be enough. No amount of surgery or any other of these treatments will ever make it okay, not because “society is bigoted and won’t affirm me!” It’s because the individuals themselves feels a crazy amount of cognitive dissonance in their every waking moment, because they are living a lie and denying reality. There are perfectly happy trans adults like Blaire white and Marcus dib who are secure and confident in their transitions. Why? Because they have accepted the objective reality of their biology while just enjoying living their lives as the opposite sex. Giving irreversible “solutions” to children who simply enjoy activities society has decided doesn’t align with their sex, or who feel uncomfortable in their bodies at the single most uncomfortable time in a human life (childhood and adolescence, where you start from scratch attempting to figure out both the world and yourself, and just when you start to have it figured out, your body goes through all these changes you cant control and didn’t ask for) it’s bound to cause a lot of problems. The thing is though, statistically, (and feel free to fact check me on this one) over 80% of children who at some point experience gender dysphoria are rid of it completely upon finishing puberty. And the amount of trans adults who have some other underlying mental issues or are mentally ill in some way and don’t actually experience true dysphoria is astounding.

(2/2) cont. Depression, anxiety, body dysmorphia, anorexia, asd, add, adhd, the list goes on. The statistics don’t lie, the amount of people who identify as trans and also have some other mental health issues is staggering. I have to say though, (putting aside the fact that they won’t believe me) I truly bear no Ill will towards these people. Living with mental health problems is hellish. I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. In fact I find it disgusting that the medical system and such a large portion of society today (at least in the west) has just been blindly affirming them to the detriment of these individuals and the people around them. Medicalizing people for life is not the near perfect solution it’s touted as. Medically transitioning is not a “Try it and see how you feel,and if you don’t like it we can just pump you with more hormones and everything will be as it was” situation. That doesn’t solve anything. No one is born in the wrong body. That’s not the problem. The problem is that their minds are constantly at war with reality and they are suffering as a result. People not affirming their delusions isn’t what’s truly causing that. (Also big apology to whoever runs this blog, didn’t expect this to be this long)

No apology necessary because you are absolutely correct and said it better than I could! Anyone spouting out lines like "puberty blockers are completely reversible! No one regrets transition! Minors aren't getting surgery!" is advertising the fact that they've never researched this issue in their life (certainly not both sides) and are just repeating talking points they've heard.

Because the fact is there are several testimonies of people who received these surgeries as minors and being "isolated incidences" doesn't mean they don't count. It doesn't mean others haven't experienced this. It doesn't mean medically transitioning children is ok.

And while they want to talk about puberty blockers being reversible they don't have anything to say about the effects of those puberty blockers, big ones like infertility, not being reversible.

The very medical professionals they tell us to listen to are the ones confirming these things things so they're telling us to listen to people they obviously haven't taken the time to listen to thoroughly.

People shouldn't be demonized for having a mental illness and feeling like they are in the wrong body, but those feelings shouldn't be affirmed by doctors either, especially when those people are children. Even if the child really does have gender dysphoria you do more harm than good by affirming these ideas and mutilating their bodies, which, as you pointed out, does happen, whether people want to admit it or not.