#people are always so shocked when i tell them i only ever get misgendered at school. like why are you surprised? even in gender studies. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

remywrites5 · 4 years

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Regulus sat on the sofa, where he fiddled with his hair nervously, and shifted uncomfortably in the dress his mum had put him in. He hated that he was forced to keep his hair so long. Sirius had been growing his hair out since he was fifteen, ever since Reg finally told him the truth, that Regulus identified as a man. “Look, Reg,” Sirius had said, once his hair was past his shoulders. “Boys can have long hair too. So don’t feel bad that mum won’t let you cut it!”

They had poured over the many Astronomy books in the library to find Regulus a different name – a boy’s name. After a bit of back and forth between the two brothers, they had eventually agreed on Regulus Black.

Regulus had had a rough go of it at Hogwarts – being misgendered, people using his dead name, and having to sleep in the girls’ dormitories. The only time he had been happy was on the Slytherin Quidditch team, because everyone wore the same uniforms. But now he was out of Hogwarts and had hoped he could finally live his life the way he wanted. Those small glimpses of hope had been dashed once Sirius ran away from home. Sirius was disinherited and burned off the family tapestry. Regulus was now responsible for producing a Black family heir, since he was not eligible to inherit.

Since graduating from Hogwarts, Regulus’ life had been a parade of men from pureblood families. Walburga was searching for someone worthy. Regulus had lost count of how many men had come by, looking for an arranged marriage that benefited them. Some of them were just looking for the status that marrying a Black would bring them. Others were interested in the money. Regulus had taken a page out of his brother’s book, and had causes enough trouble that they all ran away.

Walburga had stopped giving Regulus any insight into who would be coming to the door. Perhaps she had figured out that if Regulus had knowledge of the suitor, he could figure out a way to scare them off. Most of the men coming by were people Reg knew from school, which meant he knew their weak spots. After all, Regulus was a Slytherin at the end of the day, and he would use every advantage he had if it meant he didn’t have to marry.

The door to the parlor opened and Regulus stood up. He smoothed out the skirt of the black satin dress his mother had forced him to wear and prepared himself for the worst. He was a little caught off guard when James Potter of all people walked in. His mother considered the Potters to be blood traitors, which meant she must have been getting desperate to find someone pureblood still left.

“James –“ Regulus said, feeling himself blush.

“Hi Reg,” James responded, giving a little wave.

Regulus was so shocked to hear one of these stupid suitors call him by his name. It was almost enough to make him cry in relief. “What are you doing here?”

James shuffled awkwardly on his feet and scratched the back of his neck. “Could we maybe sit down?”

Regulus crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not like it’s a secret.”

James made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. “I knew this was going to be bloody awkward. Look, I’m probably the last person you want to get saddled with after everything that happened with Sirius, but your mum invited me out, and Sirius wanted me to come see how you are.”

“Oh,” Reg said, rubbing his arm self-consciously. “Well, I’m fine, you can tell Sirius I’m fine.”

James took a tentative step forward. “Are you sure, Reg?”

“I’m sure,” Regulus snapped at him. “You don’t want to be here anyway, so just go,”

“I didn’t say that,” James countered defensively. “I said you don’t want me here. I know you don’t like me all that much since Sirius came to live with me.”

“I never disliked you,” Regulus confessed quietly. “I disliked the situation, but I always understood why Sirius had to get out.”

“So…” James took another step towards Regulus. “You don’t hate me then?”

Regulus shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he said out loud in case James needed it verbalized to believe it.

James sighed in relief and smiled at Reg. “I’m glad to hear it. I was a little worried you were going to hex me on sight.”

Regulus smirked and sat back down on the couch. He crossed his legs primly and then patted the spot next to him. James eagerly hurried over to sit down beside him. Regulus tried not to find it endearing and failed miserably. “Here’s the thing, I don’t want to get married and I certainly don’t want to have a child.”

“Okay…” James said, his brow furrowing. “Then why are you going along with all of this then?”

“I don’t exactly have a choice,” Regulus said through gritted teeth, his hands curling into fists by his sides. “The Black family needs an heir and we both know Sirius isn’t an option anymore. As far as pureblood wizards go, you’re about the best I’m going to get. Besides, I want someone who is going to accept me as a man. I know I might not be what you were looking for –“

“Actually –“ James interrupted, scratching his chin. “Sirius informed me I’m something called Pansexual…so, you know, I’m fine with you being a bloke.”

Regulus blinked a few times in surprise. He honestly had not been expecting that at all and was completely baffled. He had always thought James Potter was straight, after all, he had spent most of his time at Hogwarts chasing after Lily Evans.

“So wait, you’re actually considering this?” Regulus asked, shaking his head slightly in disblief. “You’d marry me?”

James shrugged. “If you’ll have me.”

“You’re not just doing this as a favor to my brother, right?” Reg asked, eyeing James suspiciously. After knowing James for so long, it was difficult not to imagine he had some kind of ulterior motive for all of this.

James grinned. “I love Sirius like a brother, but even I’m not that altruistic that I would marry a bloke just to make him happy.”

Regulus was satisfied with that answer. He couldn’t believe that he was actually considering marry James Potter. “You must have something you want out of all of this,” he said, chewing his bottom lip. “This is a lot to give up.”

“I don’t see it that way,” James said, slowly reaching over and taking Reg’s hand in his, giving Reg enough time to pull away if he wanted. “I mean, you’re very pretty. Handsome? No, blokes can be pretty. You’re pretty. Beautiful, actually. I – fuck – you know you’re gorgeous. I don’t have to tell you that.”

Regulus felt himself blushing horridly. He couldn’t believe one compliment like that – and a fumbled attempt at one no less – was enough to get him flustered. “So you just want to marry someone pretty then?”

James laughed but it was a bit strained. “I think you’re more than just a pretty face, Reg.”

Regulus turned his face away to hide his deeper blush. What was wrong with him today? “Shut up, James.”

“What do you say, Reg?” James asked, giving Regulus’ hand a squeeze. “Do you want to marry me?”

Regulus turned and eyed James up and down for any sign that he was being disingenuous. Instead all he saw was the stupidly earnest look on James’ face as he waited for a response.

“Yes.”

***

Regulus felt like he had been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since he’d agreed to James’ proposal. After they got married, Regulus and James had gotten a flat together in London, and being away from his parents meant Regulus could finally breathe. He donated all his dresses and skirts to charity, so that he never had to see them again. James didn’t say a word when Regulus cut his hair, picking a fashionable undercut, the front still falling into his grey eyes.

Regulus still felt like they were on the precipice of something, though. James never asked for anything, and that simple fact put Regulus on edge. He wasn’t used to someone not having any expectations for him. For the most part, James just let Regulus be, and since they weren’t sleeping in the same bed, they were almost more like flatmates than a married couple. It made Regulus uneasy, since he still didn’t know what James was getting out of their arrangement.

It started with Regulus stealing James’ shirts and hoodies. James was fairly muscular from his obsession with Quidditch, so when Regulus wore James’ clothes, he was kind of swimming in them. They were so cozy that Regulus couldn’t help wanting to wear them. Being wrapped up in James’ clothes kind of made Regulus yearn for the man himself.

James was relaxing on the couch, studying for the Auror exam he was taking later that month. He glanced up when Reg entered the room and his hazel eyes immediately went soft behind his glasses. He took in the sight of Regulus wearing his Gryffindor t-shirt and smiled. Regulus chewed his bottom lip for a moment and then walked over to the couch. James watched him for a minute and then scooted over in an invitation. Regulus dropped into James’ arms and they tangled themselves in each other.

“James?”

“Yeah, Reg?”

“Am I enough for you?”

James frowned for a moment and Regulus immediately buried his face away against James’ neck. He was nervous that he had upset his husband. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because you’ve given me a home, and you’ve let me be myself,” Regulus said, his voice muffled against James’ skin. “I don’t know what I do for you.”

James chuckled, rubbing his hand over Reg’s back. “Do you want to do something for me?”

“Well I am your husband,” Regulus groused, wrapping his arms around James and hugging him tightly.

James slid his hand down, brushing his finger along Reg’s jawline, before tilting his chin up. James ducked his head and kissed Regulus tenderly on the lips. Regulus gasped slightly, but the kiss was already done before he got the sound out. “There,” James said, shifting around so that he could comfortably hold his book, his other arm still around Reg. “That’s all I wanted.”

Regulus’ jaw was still dropped. “That can’t possibly be enough for you,” he reasoned.

James put his book down in order to focus his attention on Reg. “Fine, I’ll do it again then,” he said with a soft sigh. He captured Reg’s lips and proceeded to kiss him breathless. Regulus clung to James, letting his mouth be invaded by James’ talented tongue, whimpering slightly against his husband’s’ lips.

“James –“ Regulus said, breaking the kiss. “I want you to be honest with me. A few kisses? That’s really all you want?”

James grinned and ran his fingers through Reg’s hair. “You want me to be honest, huh?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to wear my clothes all the time, because it does things to me to see you in them, and I’m a bad, possessive husband, who wants to see my husband in my t-shirts. I also want to kiss you pretty much all the time. Finally, I want you to fall in love with me, but that one I’m willing to wait on.”

Regulus hid his face away again because the things James said were simply too overwhelming. “So that’s all I have to do?” Regulus asked in astonishment.

“That’s all,” James confirmed, pressing a kiss to the top of Regulus’ head.

Regulus huffed indignantly. It all sounded so simple, but that couldn’t be all James wanted. Regulus knew that his mother had constantly been bombarding James with owls since their wedding night six months ago. A barrage of letters and howlers had come asking when they were going to get pregnant and produce and heir. Walburga probably would have had conniptions if she knew James and Regulus weren’t even sleeping in the same bed. But after their little cuddle session on the couch, Reg was thinking he might have to reevaluate his stance on that. Being held by James was actually very nice. “May I tell you what I want?”

Regulus felt James nod, since Reg still had his face buried away. “Of course,” James said softly. “Anything you want, Reg.”

Regulus pulled back, so that he could see James’ face, and took a deep breath. “I want you to fall in love with me too.”

“Too late.”

Regulus sputtered for a moment. “Y-you’re not –“

“I’m not?” James challenged, raising an eyebrow. His eyes got that same softness to them as he smiled before leaning in to kiss Regulus again. “I’m pretty sure I am.”

“Only pretty sure?” Regulus murmured against James’ lips, managing to tease him, even as his heart was fluttering away in his chest.

James chuckled, pressing their foreheads together, so Reg had no choice but to stare into those hazel eyes he’d become enamored by.

“I’m sure.”

#Jegulus #I write things #happy pride month everyone #fluff #trans Regulus #Regulus Black #James Potter #james potter x regulus black #arranged marriage au #I just want nice things for Regulus okay?#trans character

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lunaris-laments · 3 years

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bakugou with an s/o who gets misgendered (gn)

reader uses they/them pronouns! their specific sex/wrong pronouns are not mentioned as well as their identity (they’re generally genderqueer) to make this as inclusive as possible

wrote this as someone who frequently gets misgendered and this is very self indulgent

reader also works in the service/retail industry

pairing - bakugou x genderqueer reader, sfw

tw - slight themes of transphobia (?) or gender dysphoria

bakugou can tell something has been bothering you for a while

every time you come home from work you look a little more broken and a little less self assured. he asks you about it, a fleeting “you okay?”, and you always shrugged it off with something along the lines of “it was a long day”, or “shitty customers”, with a small, awkward smile

he can sense something else is wrong, though. one night, after he returned from his pro hero duties and you got in from work, you had settled onto the couch together and were watching a movie. bakugou wouldn’t have said anything that night specifically - you had once again come home defeated and both mentally and physically exhausted - but the quiet clicks of your teeth biting into your nails had him distracted

despite being brash, and blunt, and rough around the edges, bakugou tries his hardest, puts his all into everything - he loves fiercely and only wants the best for you. has the biggest heart of anyone you’ve ever met - it rivals midoriya. he’s attentive, knows your schedule and habits like the back of his hand - notices the little things. like right now, how you only start biting away at your nails when you’re anxious about something and will only open up about it when seriously prodded

so, he prods

bakugou pauses the movie, and you look over to him. you raise an inquisitive brow, wondering what the problem was, and he turns to face you fully. “y/n,” he says, worriedly with underlying tenderness, and a determination to get to the bottom of it. “what’s really goin’ on with you? with work, i mean. and don’t give me that ‘i’m just tired’ bullshit. you’re fine until you go to work and come back home lookin’ like someone just shot a puppy.”

“katsuki…” you start, and gulp down the lump in your throat, avoiding eye contact. he’s right, of course he’s right, and he’s reaching out in his own way and he wants you to tell him what’s wrong and he’s looking at you so lovingly that it all comes back to you so suddenly, and before you know it, there are tears falling down your cheeks and you find yourself smothered in a warm embrace, burying your face in a sturdy chest

bakugou’s hugs, much like other physical acts, are a reflection and extension of himself - what he can’t express through speech. they’re for when he can’t find words to tell you how much he loves you, or that he’s sorry, or that he’s there for you. the hug is always different depending on what he wants to show, as in,

“i love you so much i feel like i’m about to combust, and i want you to understand, but i don’t know how to make you understand with shitty words i can’t seem to get right” - his arms would slip around your waist slowly as he pushes you up against him, he wants to feel you as close as possible, and it always comes as a shock how warm he is and how pleasant it is to melt into him despite all his hard muscle. he keeps his chin on your head or lips by your temple, eyes fluttering shut and breaths deep in total relaxation - you relax him. sometimes he mumbles sweet nothings and the rest of the world falls away; he hope’s it’s enough to reciprocate all you do for him for now.

and right now you know he’s doing his best to comfort you, when words fail him. they always do when you start crying. he pulls you into his chest - he knows you’re hurting, and that you need to let it out before anything he says can get through to you

so, bakugou lets you cry in his arms for a while. tears stain his shirt fabric but he doesn’t mind - does all he can, rubbing your back softly, squeezing you just a bit tighter when your sobs get louder, holding back tears of his own, because your pain is his pain.

when you’re done, you pull back and wipe your remaining tears. he stays close, hand resting on your bicep, all the while resisting the urge to kiss away your tears in place of your shaking hands

“s’not even that big a deal,” you speak again, voice hoarse and head spinning a little from all the crying, and bakugou mutters a quick one sec - kisses your forehead before getting up and returning with a glass of water for you

you continue after a minute of drinking with intervals of deep breaths, trying to steady your racing heartbeat and staggered breathing.

“it’s… s'just that,” you gulp down some more water, giving yourself time to think how best to word it, so he’ll understand. “at work… they don’t use the right pronouns for me and it's… annoying.” you’ve put it lightly, but got the gist out.

bakugou urges you to talk more. throughout all the years he’s known you, your gender has given you trouble - you’re proud, and comfortable now, but have dealt with much dysphoria, discomfort, and prejudice. pronouns are an important part in validating your identity and, no matter how confident you are, there’s a part of you that relies on the work of others too. although he can never completely understand, bakugou has always worked hard to see things from your side, and he’s learned a lot in the process. he wanted you to feel as safe and loved as possible in his presence.

“s'just really frustrating and disheartening. it makes me feel like m'not doing enough to… to earn it? like i don’t look genderqueer enough? and it's distressing when they just assume what i am, and assign me a gender, and because of where i work, i have to smile at them n' act like nothing’s wrong.” you gnaw at your lip and stare up at him.

for a moment he doesn’t say anything to your confession, and the room is almost silent. then for a second time that evening, he bundles you up in his arms and holds you close. “m’sorry. i’ll beat those shits into the next century for ya.” you smile against his neck at his statement; it’s so him. “always makes me so confused when people do that. assume when they know fuck-all about you. promise they mean nothing… i promise their uneducated asses aren’t important at all.”

it’s short and he struggled to string together the sentences with minimal cursing, but you can hear his emotions in his wavering voice: anger at those who hurt you even unintentionally, regret that he didn’t ask you about this sooner, and sadness - he’s so upset that he can’t do more, can’t personally be there to stare them down or correct them if you wanted him to

he knows that all he can do is be there to pick you up and make you feel better at the end of the day. and if that’s his only role, he’s going to be better than anyone at it

you huff a laugh and kiss his neck softly, mumbling a thank you and i love you, which he responds to by pulling back and pecking your lips - once, twice, three times, more, moving to different areas of your face until he’s satisfied, “love you too. m’always gonna be here, whatever you need.”

#hmmm #my writing #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x gn!reader #tw transphobia #<- just in case #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

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Whumptober Day 25: Disorientation

CW: Sick whumpee, emeto references, infection, medical whump, some references to institutionalized pet whump. Needles, track mark mention, IV placement (vague, non-graphic). Brief misgendering (out of delirium/not being able to see correctly, very brief/accidental). Includes hallucination referencing parental death.

TIMELINE: Immediately post-Infection

“Blood pressure is 100 over 60. That’s lowish, but not the worst it could be.” There’s a voice. He doesn’t know the voice. The words are familiar, though. Like a show on TV. “You got a temp?”

“One hundred three point four degrees,” Another voice says. They’re speaking so quickly he is struggling to follow them.

“Shit. That’s up from when his guardian called.”

“We need to get that fever under control. What did she say about history?”

“Threw up this morning and didn’t stop throwing up. Says he admitted he’s been hurting for two days - classic symptoms, pain started at navel and moved right and down. His fever was probably present from when he woke up, but.” There’s a pause. Chris blinks his eyes and sees, blurry and bleary, a sense of someone shrugging.

“Why didn’t he tell anyone?”

There’s a snort. “Kev. You know why.”

“Yeah, okay. I’m going to get fucking blacklisted from EMT work if we get caught, you know. What we’re doing is illegal.”

“We’re not gonna get caught. I’ve been part of lib life since I was seventeen, just trust me on this.”

Chris tries to speak, to ask them who they are, where he is, but his lips move without sound. He can feel the vibration of an engine, hear it rumbling, and the world around him is shaking minutely, bumping along on a road. With each bump and pothole, the screaming pain in the boy’s abdomen crests like a wave crashing the shore inside him, and he can feel tears running freely, blurring his vision when he tries to blink, to see.

Above him there is white inset with tiny round lights and his breath hitches. He tries to sit but there are straps holding him down, and his eyes widen, staring up in terror.

No. No, no, no, they said I wouldn’t go back, they said-

He breathes in shallow whistles he can’t seem to control. His stomach is churning, flipping with new nausea, the pain throbbing through his abdomen, behind his eyes, all the way to his toes and fingertips. “Wh, where, where, where-where, where am, am I-”

“Sssshhhh.” Chris flinches and twists as best he can to look up and behind him, the person he vaguely saw shrugging before is there wearing a dark blue uniform with letters that hurt to look at across a pocket on the front. A plastic-gloved hand presses to Chris’s shoulder to help push him back down. “Hey no, you gotta stay steady, there, kiddo. Don’t move, you really, really don’t want to strain your muscles right now. We’re about to check and make sure Yoder’s guess is right.”

Chris keeps blinking, but his eyes are blurring with tears so quickly he can’t get a clear look at the person’s face. He can move one of his hands, at least, and he lifts it to lay it over the person’s glove, feels the slip-slide of plastic and the warmth of them underneath. He shivers, then whimpers when the pain worsens in response. “Nat? Where… where is… Please-... please, sir, h-hurts-”

“Not sir,” The person says, gently, a bit of auburn hair falling over their forehead. Their voice is low, soft and soothing. “Can you see?”

Chris rolls his eyes back towards the ceiling. The light coming from the little circles in the roof of the vehicle is slightly yellowed. It isn’t cold. It has weight but isn’t cold. There is padded blue plastic lining the walls, something like a bench on one side and a jump seat, like flight attendants sit in on airplanes…

She holds his hands, so so tightly, as they bump around. He clings to her, breathing fast. She tries to smile at him and her eyes are wet. “Just remember, Tris, even when the flight is kind of bumpy, you don’t have to worry about a thing. The pilots do this all the time.” Her face is pale, though, and he sees her looking ahead, where a woman in a skirt is buckling herself into a special seat.

“Mom? What’s, what’s, what-what-what is, is that, why does does she have a different-”

“It’s called a jump seat, baby,” The woman says, and the plane bumps up and back down, and his mother’s breath comes shaky and uneven.

“I love you, Tris,” His mother says suddenly, and her voice catches. “Baby, I love you so much-... l-love you-... it’s okay, baby, it’s okay-” Her voice is getting weird and thick like she’s speaking through water.

His breath catches at red spreading over the front of her shirt, and the plane stops tumbling through the air because she’s sitting with her back against a wall under a photo of the three of them last Christmas and her blood is on the wall behind her in a spray and Tristan starts to scream and he paints with blood on a cold white wall and the plane is hurtling through the air and his mother is gone and his father is gone and his life is gone-

The headache hits him and the thought he was having dissipates under the pain, one more piece of him throbbing. “K-Kind... kind of… can see... hurts-... Mom, I’m, I’m sorry, Mom, I didn’t stay, stay hidden, I’m sorry-”

“Sssshhhh. You’re okay, you’re okay.” The person squeezes his shoulder, just a little.

“What the fuck was that about?”

“Rescues do this. Don’t ask.”

“That’s fucking eerie, man-”

“I said don’t ask. We don’t ask them, they don’t tell us. It only makes it worse if they try to keep thinking about it, so just… forget he said anything. He probably already has.”

The headache slips back, and the pain in his stomach is stronger again. Chris hears a low voice from somewhere slightly further, relaying information, speaking in a monotone that is just soft enough that Chris can’t understand it.

The person with the nice voice and pretty auburn hair is talking to him again. “Here we go. Tori’s going to help me get you some paperwork going and we’ve kind of got a system to get you in without the docs picking up on anything. Don’t worry, kiddo. You’re not the first we’ve pulled through this.”

“Th’ first…” He can’t keep his thoughts straight. Can’t understand what any of it means.

“Well, one good way to check,” The second voice says, and Chris turns to stare upwards at a man who gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry, kiddo.” He presses both hands down on Chris’s abdomen, on the right side of his navel. Briefly, the sharp pain fades, and Chris’s breaths slow, just for a second. “All right, let’s check his response.” The man pulls his hands back.

Chris, strapped down to the table, arches his back in a nearly perfect arc as best he can, screaming hoarsely as the pain rushes back in, even worse than before. He is buried in it - he drowns in the waves of agony, like and unlike the pain of the shock collar, like and unlike the worst pain he’s ever felt.

His scream ends, and the two people in uniforms look at each other. “Well, that’s a fucking sign, isn’t it?”

“Check the heel. Okay, kiddo, we need to test one more thing to know for sure, okay?” The hand squeezes, one more time, at his shoulder, and then pulls back. “I’m going to prep fentanyl-”

“I don’t know, that pressure’s low for fentanyl.”

“... no, you’re right, it is, but... it’s our best option for controlling pain until we get there. It’s riding a line, but I think 100 over 60 can handle it.”

“You sure?”

“Confirm first, we’ll decide after that.”

“Got it.” Chris has only just settled back into the swaying nausea of hurt when there’s a flat, blunt impact against his bare heel - and he sobs, whimpering at the way pain rockets through him from his abdomen, spiraling like blades beneath his skin down his leg and up his side, gripping his heart. He jerks away but he’s strapped down too tightly to move. He wants to curl up but they just keep hurting him. They’re handlers, and this is fun, and once again Chris is the trainee and they’ve tied him down so he can’t stop them.

He starts to cry, hot tears running down his face, and the man who hit his heel says something to the other person but he can’t hear them over the rushing of his own blood in his ears, the pain inside him has taken him completely. He isn’t being good enough, that must be why they’re hurting him. He wasn’t good, and he is being punished, and the handlers have something they want he’s not giving, but he doesn’t know what, and he can’t… he can’t see…

“Please,” He whispers, groping blindly as much as he can. “Please, please, please, stop, please, I’ll, I’ll, I-I’ll do anything, please make it stop, I’ll b-be good-”

There’s a pause.

“Christ. Give him the fentanyl, Kev.”

The man’s voice is shaken. “... yeah, let’s do it. Uh, yeah, yeah. Right.”

“You handle the IV,” The first person says, the one who seems to know Nat. “Can you get him set up?”

“Dunham, I-”

“Just breathe, Kev. Let’s get his IV in.”

The Drip. No, not the Drip, no no no no-

Chris tries to beg - they have always loved his begging, and these new handlers will, too, he’s sure of it, he will beg them to let him keep Jake, he can be so so so good for them if they’ll only let him have Jake, if they won’t take his memory of Jake away. He can be so good...

He can’t make his mouth work any longer - it hurts too much, he can’t seem to force his brain and mouth to connect. He can’t do anything but cry, heaving wailing childlike sobs, and he is going to lose more people, all over again, he will never stop losing the people who love him-

Please, don’t take them away from me, please-

Mom, I’m sorry-

“Yeah, I’ve got it. You going to-”

“Hold his hand or something. He’s scared. They’re always scared.” The kind face, hazel eyes and auburn hair, slides back into his vision. Their voice softens and they brush a little hair away from his forehead. “Hey, you. We’re going to get you something to settle that pain, okay? Just hang on for me.” They turn away, briefly, voice raising above the rumbling engine, the low vibration, the rocking and swaying that neither of the two back here with him seem to notice like he does. “Amy, what’s our ETA?”

“Seven minutes,” A woman shouts back from the front. “Seven minutes and I’ve already confirmed Tori has a chart prepped to go. Before we stop I’ll make sure she’s ready to get us inside. She’s called in Mandela to do the surgery and you know the nurses wouldn’t tell WRU a fucking thing. Get that wrist bandaged over and we got this. Tori’s got our asses covered.”

“Gotta love that woman,” The person murmurs, turning back to Chris, smiling kindly down at him. “Look, we got you all set. Yoder-... uh, Natalie’s going to be there when you wake up, okay?”

What good does that do if they give him the Drip and he doesn’t know her anymore?

“Pl-please,” Chris whispers, managing to get his hand over the person’s, holding onto their wrist with the tightest grip of his thin fingers he can manage. Their skin feels blistering hot and he shakes, the world spinning around him. “Please, please, n-no, no, no no no, no needles, please-”

“I’m so sorry,” The person answers, soft-voiced and sincere. Handlers never say they’re sorry, Chris thinks. Handlers don’t apologize for hurting you. Handlers tell you you deserved it, or you wanted it, or you need it because you’re just a slut you fucking love this, but they never apologize. His hand is gently uncurled. He stares up into the person’s face, lost in the look of real compassion there. He has never seen someone who wears a uniform look at him like that. Like thy care. “This is just for the pain.”

“Jesus Christ,” The man says from the other side of him, and Chris turns, trying to see him more clearly. “I cut off the sleeve, Finn, it was too tight to roll up-” Chris hadn’t even noticed. “-and he’s-”

“Yeah, he’s a rescue, we talked about this, Kev, they’ll have a barcode-”

“No, he’s got track marks.”

They both go quiet, and Chris doesn’t know what the words mean together, although he knows them both separately. The silence draws out, and then the first person says, “They drug them. Heavily. You should always expect track marks on your rescue patients.”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t-... this is the first one for me.”

“No problem. Just keep that in mind. Does he have a usable vein or no?”

“Yeah, these are old. I can get him set. Just… shook me up a little, is all.” There’s a swipe of something cold along the inside of his elbow, sickeningly familiar. Chris is good - he goes very still, waiting for the needle to slide into his skin.

He is a good statue boy.

“I, I’ve lost-... please, please, please don’t make me lose, make me lose them,” He whispers. “Please don’t, don’t take him away from me, please don’t take Jake-”

There’s a sharp pinch, more indistinct voices as they speak to each other, and then his eyes roll up and his body shudders hard, rattling the table.

He feels himself thunk back onto the softly-molded padded plastic, a burst of ache as he bites his tongue. The world goes white around all its edges, he slips and slides inside his mind, breath slowing or going faster and he’s no longer in his body enough to know the difference.

Both of the people in the back of the strange van start cursing low under their breath.

“Shit, shit shit shit, check that blood pressure again-”

“Could be a syncope, Yoder said he’s terrified of needles, could just be a trauma response-”

“It could be, sure, or he could be crashing. Fuck!”

“Don’t be crashing don’t be crashing don’t be crashing, come on kiddo, stay with me, don’t be crashing-”

Kiddo

“Could be the fentanyl, maybe his bp was too low to pull that off, oh shit what if we fucked this up, Finn-”

Little man

“We didn’t fuck this up. Okay? It’ll be okay, he’ll be fine. I’m checking his pressure again. Amy, what’s the hold up, we need to move!”

“Almost there, Dunham, I swear! Just hold him together until we get there.”

“Doing my fucking best, Amy!”

It’s okay, Tris

You’re okay, sweetie

It’s all right, baby, you’re okay, Mommy’s got you.

Chris takes in a breath, and blinks his eyes open one more time as something cool seems to pass through him, the throbbing agony fading, just a little. The world slows around him in its dizzying spin. He looks blearily up at the person, the handler or not-handler, who apologized. “Please… please…”

“I know,” They say, softly. There’s pressure, of some kind, but Chris is drifting now, his eyes moving without focus over the little circles of light. The two people move around him in some kind of strange dance that both of them know but Chris doesn’t, and that’s okay - he wouldn’t be able to dance like this, anyway. He’s dizzy but not sick with it, and that’s kind of funny, but he can’t remember how to laugh or why he thought that was funny at all.

Compression somewhere on his arm. It doesn’t matter.

“70 over 40. God damn it.”

“Okay, let’s get that B.P. stable and check once more time before we get him inside to see if it’s up. Temp check?”

A pause, a sensation Chris can barely understand, and then more swearing. “His fever’s not fucking going down. Jesus fucking Christ-”

“Okay. Keep it calm, Kev.” The voice is even and steady, and Chris feels the barest brush of fingers over his shoulder. “We have got to stabilize this kid. Mandela can’t operate if he doesn’t stabilize. Come on, kiddo, don’t crash on us, come on come on come on-... Amy, confirm with Tori that we’re covered, please?”

“Tori is ready and waiting for us, Finn,” Amy says, a disembodied woman’s voice that swirls in a fog around Chris’s thoughts. “They’re prepping surgery, we can get him straight in. Mandela was close by and she’s already in the O.R. They’ll get him off your hands as soon as we stop, Tori’s got a new team called out to give us a break so you can tell his guardian the plan. Guardians will be in the E.R. waiting room, there’s two of them. They’re wearing-”

“Amy. We saw them when we picked him up, remember? Plus I’ve known Yoder for years.”

“... Right. Sorry.”

“You’re good. Tori really thought of everything, huh?”

“Christ, I love that woman,” The man - Kev - mutters. “Just… love her.”

“Didn’t I tell you? Tori’s on top of it. She’s been doing this longer than I have, she’s actually who got me into it at my last job. I was into the movement young but just, you know, flyers and stuff, little bit of sneaky shit. When I met her was after I got kicked out of the Army-”

“You got kicked out of the Army?”

“It’s a long story. Technically I’m not allowed over the Canadian border anymore, either. Anyway, when Tori got a new job, I just… kind of followed her here.”

“What, you weren’t born elbow-deep in La Resistance?”

“Ha, ha. Oh, here we go. Okay, kiddo, time to fix you up good as new.” The vehicle slows, and slows, and then there’s a hard turn, and Chris’s eyes close.

When the pain fades a little more, he finds he is too tired to open them again. He slips away into a warm and drifting darkness where the pain can’t reach him anymore.

I love you, baby boy.

Hold on.

I’ve got you.

You’re going to be just fine.

He hears something, high-pitched beeping noise that seems to be fading as the world around him fades. It’s all dark now, and warm, and he’s going to be okay.

She brushes fingers over his face, and he can barely hear the voices of the people inside the ambulance with him as he sinks into the darkness.

“Shit shit shit, not again-”

“65 over 35-”

“Fuck, I’m gonna have new gray hair after this-... come on come on come on-”

“Finn!”

“What, Amy?”

“We’re here.”

---

Finn Dunham and Tori (mentioned) belong to @whump-tr0pes and are used with permission. Thanks to Athena as well for her help making this sound remotely realistic!

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary

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serahlink · 3 years

Text

Knight in Orc Armor // F!Orc x FtM!Reader

Summary : After being harassed by some transphobic goblins, an unexpected hero swoops in to save the day.

Word Count : 2,675

TW : transphobia (including slurs and misgendering)

The weaved basket filled to the brim with fresh fruit and various vegetables weighed down in your arms. The market you were leaving behind was always a lively sight to say the least. Goblins, humans and orcs alike ran about, hashing out meats and services to one another. It was the one thing you liked about being in a close knit village. People were brought together in a way. That same gesture wasn’t given or taken by just everyone though. Being one of the only humans in the village usually warranted you relentless bullying and if that wasn’t enough, the fact that you are a trans man was a thing that some people didn’t take kindly of.

Being trans has always been a journey for you, you’ve seen and faced countless discrimination and rejection. While it never ceased being an unrelenting pain, you’ve learned to let things like that roll off of you. You built yourself out of cold stone and you were proud of that. So when you spotted two mischievous goblins in your periphery, you were ready to ignore them and be on with your day. Then their squeaky voices began to taunt you.

“Why, if it isn’t ol’ (Deadname).” One cackled out on your left, easily keeping up with your patient steps. The question was an innocent one enough if you completely disregarded respect of your gender and how menacing their intent was. “Still an errand girl for your parents, are ya?”

The other one chimed in. “That’s how girls are, y'know? Maidens who don’t stray far from home~.”

Their voices didn’t fail to make you nauseous. Their raspy strained tones felt like daggers on glass and the urge to wring out their scrawny little necks only intensified. As if their transphobic taunts weren’t enough, one suddenly jumped in front of your way. Your once unfazed gaze was now bothered and stared daggers down at the creature, who wore a look you could only describe as sadistic.

“You’re no fun at all.” The goblin opposing your side pouted, yet held the same expression as the other one.

With papery hands folded over each other mischievously, the goblin blocking your path grinned a gross smile, baring his yellowing blocky teeth. His knobby hand outstretched to the food kept relatively safe in the basket and you caught a determined glint in his bulging eye. “Now, why don’t you be a good village girl and hand over a fruit or two.”

“Like hell.” You bit back, hugging the basket protectively close. Your response only brought an inquisitive look back from him.

“Really?” The goblin feigned shock, his curling smirk on his lips. “I wouldn’t take that a hero’s daughter would get that kind of attitude.”

“Son.” You corrected firmly, biting back the harshness in that statement. “Hero’s son.”

Just then, the small creature slowly made his way to you until you nearly fell backwards on yourself. He then swiftly hopped up on the basket and dug his chipped nails under your collar, bringing you in a distance that’s too close for comfort. “You will never be a hero’s son. All you are is a pathetic excuse for a daughter, you hear?” With each venom in his statement, he inched closer to where you could feel the musk of his breath. It was nearly suffocating.

Nothing was more suffocating than the heat from your building anger. You could tolerate most things, but slandering you under your own father’s name is something you would not ignore. With one shakingingly angry hand, you slammed down the goblin to the dusty floor and didn’t hesitate to get in its face.

“Listen here, you ugly fiend. You have some nerve to put anyone’s name in your mouth, let alone bring my fathers profession into this.” You spat. “You will not tell me what I will or won’t amount to because of my father going off and making himself a hero, you got that!”

Surprisingly to you, the goblin actually had a bit of fear in his eyes and you pulled up, a smirk on your face. “I think you need to get out of here.”

The goblin under you scrambled to its feet and ran past you, back into the direction of the village market. You then looked to the goblin, who was looking in a direction that wasn’t you. It’s wide eyes fixed on something tall that towered above you both and it was merely then that you realized a heavy shadow was covering your own. Whatever scared the goblins clearly wasn’t you but something much bigger.

Behind you, a muscled arm that appeared to have the bicep the size of your face reached past to pick up the sneaky small being, who yelped as the towering being picked it up. Immediately, you knew what kind of creature this was. An orc. If it wasn’t by the animal skins and steel armor you picked up on that told you it was an orc, it’s size sure did.

Slowly, you turned around. Your expectations told you that you’d be face to face with a savage beast who would rip out the spine of the goblin right in front of you, as if to send a message. You thought this was where you had to be prepared to fight all the fear pulsing through your veins and slay this monster but all that subsided like a cool storm when you saw her.

Instead of meeting a snarling beast, you found a beauty in its place. The toned body of a female orc was plated by armor and draped with various skins, a bow resting behind her back. The strap of it hugged around her torso.. Angular features were broad and tense under dark hair that shaped her face. Her concentrated features glared down at the stammering goblin she held tensely under her strong grip.

All the goblin could spit out was excuses and frankly, the female orc wasn’t buying it. “Tell it to my bow,” She snarled, “or get out of here.”

She only gave a flick of her wrist at most yet the goblin ate dirt at the velocity he was thrown. Quickly, he was on his feet and sped back into the village without sparing a word.

In the sudden quiet, you could hear the quick beating of your heart rattling in your rib cage. It only occurred to you just then that she saved you. This random orc was literally your hero.

Suddenly, before you could even think, you were enveloped in strong arms and being swaddled by the orc bridal style. Her eyes looked everywhere, examining you as if to check for any marks or bruising. You flinched a little, hands scrambling to cling onto anything as to not fall; that very place being her chest and neck. “-! Uh, excuse me!”

Under you, the woven basket fell to the ground with some spare fruit catching dirt ground. “Dammit.” You cursed under your breath.

She looked down at you curiously, her eyes being all you could see.

“Can you, yknow, put me down?” You cleared your throat, fighting back your raging heart beat and flush in your cheeks.

“Oh. Oh! I’m sorry,” To your surprise, she was sheepishly apologetic. “It’s just, you humans are so fragile so I just wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt.”

Fragile? Since when were humans treated as a baby species?

Essentially, she let you down and joined you as you began to assist you in picking up the fallen goods.

“Thank you.”

The orc peered up when you spoke and you found yourself stammering slightly. “But you really didn’t have to do that.” You sheepishly rubbed the back of your neck, picking up the basket once more.

She grinned. “What for? They were giving you trouble and I couldn’t let them do that. It’s common courtesy. Besides, I don’t really like goblins anyway. Pests are all they are.”

She had a bit of an accent, you noticed, but you couldn’t place what kind. Her own was pretty thick but it was easy to make out what she was saying.

“How long were you standing there?” You asked.

It was her turn to become all sheepish. She shrugged, a soft frown began to befall her face. “Long enough to see most of it.”

You weren’t sure why, but something about that frown sort of made you feel guilty. After all, it was enough to be discriminated against. You didn’t want to be pitied.

Then, you cleared your throat. “Right, well, I guess I’ll be going now.”

She stopped you before you could go, practically snabbed the basket out of your reach by its handle. Just as you went to curse her, her cheeky smile stopped you. “Let me carry this for you. You’ve gone through enough trouble today, besides, I’m heading this way anyhow.”

In a way you did curse her. In your head, your voice mumbled curse after curse of her smile and how persuasive it was. Even worse, she acted all innocent, as if she had no clue that a dumb grin like that could make you fall to your knees. Either way, you couldn’t refuse her and against all odds you were walking home with an orc by your side.

“So, tell me about yourself.” The orc suddenly said and she was smiling when you looked up at her.

“Why don’t you tell me about you instead?” You offered. “I mean, you’re the one who swooped in and all. I don’t even know your name.”

“Oh, that’s right. I never introduced myself, did I?” She laughed. “I’m Snatha.”

When she looked at you expectantly, you reluctantly introduced yourself. Snatha looked surprised, yet immensely intrigued. “That’s a nice name.” Her eyes lingered you for a minute longer. “You look a lot like him, your father, I mean.”

Her compliment nearly caused you to stop in your tracks to take it in. You’ve never heard something so heartfelt directed to you before. All your life you shaped yourself to be just like your father and it all usually fell on the hushed ears of people who ridiculed you constantly. Yet this one orc who barely knew you spoke of you as if she believed in you. It meant more to you than any transphobic comments ever did.

By the time you two made it back to your quaint village home, it was getting to be the peak of the afternoon and before you knew it, it was time to part with Snatha. You peered over at the orc herself who gently brought the basket from her shoulder to the ground. “Your house looks empty.” She commented.

“Yeah,” You mumbled. “It’s been just me for a while.”

The orc gave a sympathetic frown, realizing what your silence meant. Before she could give a word of comfort, you walked over and gestured to her to come near, close to your height. She obliged and when she was close enough, you granted her a soft kiss on the cheek. You pulled back and she looked back at you, face flushed and eyes wide; baffled.

“Thank you, for everything.” You smile. You would’ve gone and left straight for your house but instead, you took Snatha by the hand gently. “Actually..would you want to join me for dinner? It’d be nice to have someone to share a meal with.”

Her eyes drifted to your hand that softly squeezed hers and back to your hopeful face, a face she couldn’t have resisted even if she really wanted to. Snatha chuckled, “Of course.”

Instead of bringing the tall orc inside like you would’ve done any other sudden visitor, the two of you took to the back of your village hut where steamed meat was the main course tonight. The fire was blazing, crackling with each lick of flame. It was beautiful, you noticed, the way the light of the fire incandescently lit her features. Even if she was practically shoveling the food down her throat, you found it very endearing.

She only left a cleanly picked bone on her plate, leaning back with a hand over her stomach which was without a doubt full. “I haven’t had a meal like that in ages.” Snatha let out a full groan, smiling contently.

Just as you suspected, she must’ve been off either adventuring or maybe in the war before hand, perhaps both but you didn’t think to ask. Instead, you chuckled. “Really? Well, if you’d like, you can always come by here and get one. I’ll just have to remember to get more meat this time around.”

Snatha looked like she really liked the sound of that. Red glowed under her cheeks and while you told yourself it was because of the fire, some part of you suspected that it was more than that. “I’ll just have to take you up on your offer then, but don’t complain once I get stuck to you.” She teased.

You quirked a grin, then chuckled. “What makes you think I will?”

You could only smirk more and laugh as that red color you saw grew brighter and brighter and all she could do is sputter, struggling with what to say to you unexpectedly teasing her back.

After that, the conversation headed in the next direction. Next thing you knew, you were hearing Snatha’s war stories, stories she claimed to be from her own father which you learned died in a war years ago when she was merely a child. Across from you, she was animated on that log of hers as she practically reenacted the stories like it were theater. She was basking in the bravery and bravado of her warrior father, and it only immersed you in. It was easy to imagine the tall brooding orc dawned in warrior clothing atop a stone ledge, blood hungry eyes narrowed before leaping into battle, throwing no caution into the wind.

It was just like how you saw your father.

Slowly the warm hues of the afternoon were replaced by the cool blues and purples of sunset. It surprised you to realize you’ve spent the whole day with this orc and that’s when it disappointed you to realize it was now ending so soon. The two of you stood at the end of the trail where Snatha would depart from you. Before she did, she paused to say something.

Her eyes averted your gaze and she smiled, arm sheepishly rubbing her neck. “Before we say our farewells, I wanted to thank you for a great dinner. It’s one of the best ones I’ve had.”

“Same here.” You agree, also smiling.

Before she could turn to fully walk away, she paused and turned back to you. She looked a little reluctant and sounded a bit nervous. “By the way..I was wondering that, if you aren’t busy, if we could..I don’t know, go out somewhere sometime?” Although nervous, she indeed looked hopeful.

Her proposal surprised you a little. You knew the two of you took to each other well but to have her also feel the same way was surprising but also, you were relieved. Of course you’d love to spend more time with her. With a soft smile, you nodded. “Of course.”

Snatha lit up from her nervous demeanor, also relieved. “Oh! Oh– that, that’s great!” Her tone told you that she was surprised you’d even take up that offer even when you thought you made it clear you liked her. After a silent shared moment, she cleared her throat. “I suppose I will see you in the ‘morrow then, Sir (L/N).” Snatha forced a formal warrior voice that made you laugh.

“See you too, Warrior Snatha.” You gave your best impression of her back, failing at the orc accent you tried to maintain. Afterwards, you again took her by the hand and stood on your tippy toes to jump up and kiss her cheek.

“Safe travels.” You said, leaving Snatha to place a hand to the kissed spot on her cheek and smile.

“You too.”

#monster x reader #monster x human #monster lover #exophilia #writing #reader insert #orc #orc x reader #orc x human

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idvfanposts · 3 years

Note

Andrew x transmale!s/o 😈

~ Andrew x Transmale!lover ~

Babe how did u know I crave transmale hcs!!!

Alright, let's get writing *rubs grubby hands together*

~ Coming out ~

during your time in the manor, the more you spoke and hung around others the closer you got to everyone, but the closest you got to was the well built albino male, Andrew Kriess.

when you finally got the courage to admit these feelings you had suppressed for a long time, you gathered everyone, wanting to tell everyone all at once. Hopefully the more accepting of the group would help tune out the less accepting. Of course it went... mixed, some not caring, others thinking its absolutely blasphemy, and the more accepting being willing to help you adjust, but if there was one sure as hell thing, its that Andrew would support you no matter what.

Of course he was a little shocked, and a bit hurt you didn't tell him beforehand, later he would pull you aside, ask if you need help choosing a name or getting masculine clothes that would suit you. And if anyone dared to misgender you, he would loom over them like a shadow, even going as far as to not rescue people who misgender you mid match

Your special to him, one of the only others who showed him compassion and didn't push him away for the way he looked, so he would destroy the world for you. Although unsure how to feel himself, he would be a little conflicted, unsure if he's gay or, straight. Stuff he would bottle up until it exploded and you helped him understand a bit more

☆ wholesome headcanons ☆

- bad case of dysphoria? He would hold you, and remind you how handsome of a man you are.

- if you ever got hurt from binding he wouldn't hesitate to scold you for not being careful, but despite his tough front he truly cares and just hates seeing you hurt

- he is inherently overprotective of the people he cares about, if he heard the hunter was near you in a match, he would follow around, even sweeping in to bodyblock, even if your full health.

- despite hating violence, he understands how intimidating he looks to strangers, and is willing to use that to his advantage to scare others into respecting your name and pronouns

- sometimes he would let you wear his clothes, smiling as you would cuddle into the coat, enjoying his scent left on the fabric.

- if you where gone, he would find clothes you wore, and cuddle with them until you were back

- Andrew is a sentimental person, he would keep your old clothes, and maybe even find ways to hand tailor them into a more masculine look for you, if you didn't like it, that was ok, he would keep it for himself. So when he was lonely he would cuddle your old clothes, thinking about cuddling you...

- hes been caught wearing some of your shirts under his coat, not that you'd care, its cute when he gets all flustered because you pointed it out, but he gets extremely angry and storms off if its in public

- hes shy about his affection, and only returns it when you two are alone, sometimes you'd have to pull him into a locker mid match just to give him a kiss and tell him how well hes doing during the match

- he has a deep voice, and feels bad when you visibly get jealous at it, he would help to the best of his ability so you can sound more masculine

- when you get your period, he would help you feel as comfortable as possible, getting you food, and even replacing you in matches with himself if your forced to match while your on it

♡ NSFW trans s/o time ♡

- Andrew is very vanilla, he would hold you, run his slender somewhat bony fingers along your soft skin, any defects like stretch marks or scars he would run his thumb along or, kiss gently. Cuddling you and holding you, fondling every inch of your godly body.

- he hates it when you try to fuck with your binder on because it hurts you and that makes him upset.

- Andrew would practically worship you in bed, making sure everything he does pleasures you, putting himself over you in bed. Kissing your skin and asking what he's doing is pleasuring you, or if he would change. If you wince or whimper he would apologize, kissing your neck and cheek from behind

- hes probably packing, a little above average. Wanting to take it slow with you though it would be long into the relationship before you got too intimate and any penitration happened, he is Christian, but not heavily Christian. Maybe before anything too intimate happened you could have a secret wedding at red church, honeymoon in Andrew's room after the match ;)

- he loves it when after some fun you lay on his chest, he will trace circles on your back and hold you close sometimes teasing you by tracing marks he left

- he hates sex under a blanket, its too claustrophobic for him, the bed would have to be free of anything getting in the way. So if your bed is rid of his blankets, he will easily take the hint, same for you with his bed aswell...

- he always asks to do things, asking if he can hold your hand or, kiss you gently, especially in public, he would whisper it with his low voice into your ear, unaware of how arousing it could be...

- if you start to have bottom dysphoria he would let you do anything to help soothe it, although, probably got scared at the concept of pegging..

- if and once he would warm up to bottoming for once, he would enjoy it overtime, doing it for you anytime you ask. Although he's generally more wholesome, so any nsfw is more rare, when it does happen though its always the best night to ever happen

#identity v #idv #idv grave keeper #andrew kreiss #character x reader #trans reader #trans male #lgbt #lgbt representation #andrew is a big scary bisexual and he should kiss me #god i love idv #i hope my irls dont find this #tobie if you see this no you dont #i hate you

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transmascjfk · 3 years

Note

i'm,, trans and hc chihiro to be a male..

i'm sorry, but i don't quite understand how that's transphobic. could you please explain how chihiro is transmisogynistic? (sorry if i come off as rude - that's not my intention and i genuinely just don't understand, though i would like to!!)

What is transmisoginy?

"Transmisogyny is a distinct category of transphobia in that transmisogyny mainly focuses on trans women and other transgender individuals who demonstrate femininity, whereas transphobia is a more general term, covering a broader spectrum of prejudice and discrimination towards transsexual and transgender individuals. Julia Serano states in Whipping Girl that "when the majority of jokes made at the expense of trans people center on 'men wearing dresses' or 'men who want their penises cut off' that is not transphobia – it is transmisogyny. When the majority of violence and sexual assaults committed against trans people is directed at trans women, that is not transphobia – it is transmisogyny." "

Chihiro is written to mock trans women, to say that in reality trans women are secretly men, she is a man who is weak and uses being trans as a way to escape her problems, this is a thing that is also said to trans men a lot, that theyre just trying to avoid the hard parts of being a woman by becoming a man. Even if the writters intended it to be like that or not (which they probably did because transphobia is a big thing that happens a lot, obviously) it's still transmisogynistic. Thats that on that

This is a pretty common transphobic trope actually, the "Turns out this one character was actually from the opposite sex??!!", theres more examples of this in other games outside Danganronpa.

But also her experience is pretty different from other examples, her experiences are way too similar with trans womens experiences.

This is mostly for the cis people who call her a crossdresser and refuse to change their mind, on it, sit down.

Written by a trans man.

Don't tell me whats transphobic and what it's not transphobic if you're cis. Just sit down and read.

Tw: transphobia, transmisoginy, death mentions and blood in the pictures.

The game implies a lot of stuff with her dialogue, it doesn't straight up says "I don't want to be a woman anymore, I'm a man" like everyone claims it does.

[ Alt text 1:

Chihiro Fujisaki: I'm going to get stronger...and accept who I am... ]

[ Alt text 2:

Chihiro Fujisaki: Strong enough so that when someone says "even thought you're a boy" I'll be okay. I'll get better! ]

[ Alt text 3:

Chihiro Fujisaki: I wrapped myself in lies. I'm weak. I want to destroy that version of me forever! ]

[ Alt text 4:

Chihiro Fujisaki: ... I want to change. ]

[ Alt text 5:

Chihiro Fujisaki: I have to change. I don't want to be weak anymore ]

She goes to Mondo not because hes masculine, but because she admires him and his strength. She never once says it's because shes a man or because Mondo is a man.

[ Alt text 1:

Chihiro Fujisaki: Maybe talking to Mondo about it will help give me some courage... ]

[ Alt text 2:

Chihiro Fujisaki: I admire... your strength... ]

These dialogues can be read in two ways, the first one being the one the game tries the hardest to put in your head thats shes a man, all of this guessed by other people btw not what she herself says. Which is really transphobic, because she was written as a trans woman and then theyre like "uh no actually hes a man, because he was born as one but hes a coward so he started to dress as a woman to hide from his problems. Because thats what people do right? People who dress as their oppossite gender are so pathetic, specially men amiright? Ahaha"

Reading it in this way really weird, you're doing a lot of mental gymnastics because you would literally call her a trans woman with all of this if the rest of the trial, that consists of cis people assuming shes a man, didn't happen. And sadly you're following transphobic ideas by this. Because the canon is transphobic and transmysoginistic.

And the other way is just read what she says, that she just wants to be stronger and stop lying to everyone, basically about being cis, because shes not, shes amab (assigned male at birth) and thats probably what she said to Mondo, but most people when a trans person who already passes or is in their transition comes out many people tend to think "oh so youre your gender assigned at birth and not the one you claim to be?", because they don't get what being trans is and they think only "biological gender" is a thing. Basically, misgendering and invalidating the trans person.

I can guess all of this just because of how vague they decided to make her dialogue, not even showing how she tells Mondo about being amab.

What did she said to Mondo? "I'm trans"? "I'm a man"? "I was born a man"? We dont know, because they didn't show it and she died right afterwards and then everyone was like "Chihiro was secretly a man" to solve the case and thats it. A lot of people in the discourse get their information from Monokuma who isn't either Chihiro or even Mondo. Monokuma knows many things but he can't read minds to know if she was really trans or not, only she could say it but she died so she couldn't explain if shes trans or not.

[ Alt text:

A youtube comment by Gail Frisbee, posted 4 days ago, this comment was edited by the autor. The comment says:

"It's honestly increible to me when people try to argue that a scene in which a female-presenting character gets their genitals groped and then is posthumously referred to as a male from that point on can't be transphobic just because that character calls themselves a boy in some other side content later. It's on about the same level of intellectual honesty as claiming that Quiet from MGS5 isn't really fanservice because she totally breaths throught her skin you guys.

As it turns out, if you really dig down deep into the lore, Chihiro is a fictional character and the same people who wrote the genital investigation scene also wrote the lines that character says in the game as well. It's a shocking twist, I know." ]

Her fears of being outed and people founding out her secret (being trans) or being transphobic is used as a gross big twist. A trans woman being used as a mockery of trans people? Great totally normal (/sarcasm)

Read this post made by a trans woman. I'll be using this only part but it's still a great read.

[ Alt text:

So. There is a lot to unpack here, but I want to start with something that specifically hurts me as a trans woman, and that's how the game flippantly uses real world horrors trans people face as shocking reveals and twists. You can go down the list for "worst nightmares" of trans people incluiding:

Threatening to be outed against your wishes

Outing yourself to a trusted friend and being met with rejection, or worse, violence

Having your body and privacy examined and invaded

Having your deadname used and being misgendered after death, when you can't correct them ]

Now, let's go to her backstory for a bit. I will be using the wiki for this. (Which sadly uses he/him for her 💔)

" When Chihiro was a child, he became the subject of harassment and bullying. He was always told to "be a man" and that he was "so weak despite being a boy", and because of that, Chihiro slowly but surely began to develop a "weakness complex". In order to escape the bullying, Chihiro began to dress as a girl so that people wouldn't bully him as a weak boy. "

This doesn't sound like a normal crossdresser, this sounds like a trans woman who was bullied for being different when she was younger, like many trans people, and then she decided to transition because she's a woman, she wanted to be more feminine and stop being seen as a person shes not. Specially after so many people tell her to basically man up when she doesn't want that, because shes not a man.

Have you ever heard of the classic stories of "since I was little i knew i was different, i was a boy who liked playing with dolls and was more feminine than the rest" or "i used to be a tomboy when i was little, i had mostly male friends, i liked playing with car toys and was more masculine than other kids" coming from trans people? This just sounds as these types of stories to me.

People also like to say that alter ego uses he/him pronouns and says shes a boy. Many trans people can misgender themselves for personal reasons too guys, she could've been trying to misgender herself because she didn't felt like she wasn't enough to be a real woman, this happens a lot to trans people. If people constantly tell you that you're not actually transgender or you just feel like you're faking it then you might actually believe it, thats were most "detransitioners" come from. And thats basically what they made her, a detransitioner.

Some of you might also don't get how shes trans because you think she doesn't perfect or exact trans stereotypes. Trans experiences can be similar on the feeling of not fitting in, dysphoria, etc. But trans experiences, stories, transitions and complete lifes can be very different, because we all (including cis people) live different lifes, experience, process and cope with things differently. So i can understand why you might not get her being trans coded at first, don't worry. But try instead of just not caring because you don't get it at the first try, to see what trans people say.

This whole discourse its mostly cis people talking over trans people about their own experiences (incluiding the dead trans coded characters experience) saying if theyre valid or not and denying stuff not wanting to learn anything, completely refusing to it because "In canon hes a boy" ok then in canon shes written in a transphobic way too but most of you don't care about that. You would rather call her a crossdresser than try to acknowledge how obviously trans coded she is and how thats used as transphobia.

The way most cis people act in this discourse is very transphobic to me to be honest, if you think you're a good ally but act like this then you should get more educated on the topic as a whole and about trans people too.

-the trans Chihiro flag to finish this up, she has a bit boobie! good for her! good for her.

#chihiro discourse #discourse #transphobia #transphobia cw #transphobia tw #chihiro fujisaki #if i forgot about something please tell me!!#trigger happy havoc

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nvvermore · 3 years

Text

Songbird vs Rattlesnake

People get mean when the chips are down, and Amaryllis and Vesper were no exception to the rule.

words: 2115

cw: fighting, descriptions of burns/cuts/blood, manipulation, abuse, misgendering/deadnaming (for context, this is set in a period before anyone had ever come out)

—

“Hey Mal,” the greeting is snarled from behind directly behind Amaryllis. Whirling around reveals Veronique, leaning against the wall, nonchalant, positioned like she’d been just waiting for them to pass by. They wouldn’t be surprised to learn that was the case.

“What do you want?” they spit back. Really, they didn’t have the capacity for her antics today. Amaryllis hated being caught off-guard by their sister, anxiety now bubbling in the pit of their chest.

“Wow, I can’t simply seek out my baby sister for a little chat?”

Her arms are folded over her chest, and Amaryllis notes she’s in her riding clothes; her long, violet hair had been braided back, knee-high riding boots giving her short stature a boost, and well-tailored jodhpurs and dark riding jacket perfectly in place, not a wrinkle in sight. Clearly, she hadn’t come from the stables.

“No, you can’t.”

Veronique couldn’t, because her days of sitting and chatting pleasantly with Amaryllis were far behind them. They couldn’t imagine a single reason why she’d have a sudden change of heart.

“Gods, you really are such a fucking diva,” she pushed herself away from the wall, “I get it, the precious little songbird has much more important things to do than entertain the likes of me.”

“All I do is entertain the likes of you. That’s the only reason anyone keeps me around.”

“And you don’t even appreciate it.”

“Why would I appreciate being treated no different from a circus animal?” Kept in a cage and only let out to play for a selfish crowd, then shoved back in until the next show.

“I don’t know what the hell they all see in you,” she began to close the distance between them. Despite Amaryllis being the one who towered over her, they were intimidated. It was hard not to be. Though they wouldn’t let it show, even if Veronique surely knew the unease they instilled. “You get the entire crowd's love and attention and yet you don’t even give a damn about it!”

“You’re right, I don’t. It’s all just smoke and mirrors; I couldn’t possibly care any less.”

“You’re insufferable!”

Veronique was right before them now, had to tilt her head all the way up to look at them properly, but it didn’t detract from her imposing aura. Amaryllis returned their ice-blue glare, refusing to falter before her.

Over the years they’d gotten better at standing up to her; or at least standing their ground when she taunted them. Amaryllis didn’t like fighting— with anyone— especially not someone so unpredictable. Someone who, despite how illogical the feeling was, they loved. Someone who was supposed to love them, and possibly did once, but had been ruthlessly turned against them.

Veronique was never hostile to them before Amaryllis had started to take the stage; she might have been the only person who was nice to them who didn’t have to be. As a child their concept of ‘nice’ had been skewed, sure, but they were certain no one was forcing Veronique’s hand when Amaryllis would stumble upon her stargazing in the estate‘s gardens.

She’d invite them to sit and tell them all about the constellations. Or point out the bush nearby full of lilac-colored hydrangeas, and how they were her favorite. She’d explained how they symbolized heartlessness, and all flowers had a special meaning. Once, long before they ever saw themself as ‘Amaryllis’ or even a them, they’d asked her what the scarlett flowers in the garden meant, to which she replied ‘pride’.

The siblings were only six years apart in age, ten and sixteen around the time in question, but Amaryllis thought she was so much older and wiser. So gentle compared to the rest of the family, a trait they admired and constantly tried to emulate.

Amaryllis wasn’t allowed at parties, but that didn’t stop them from eavesdropping, inspired by the way everyone in the room seemed to gravitate towards Veronique. Showering her with compliments on her excellent riding form or her perfect aim with a bow, and how every word made her smile shine as bright as the stars she’d pointed out to them. They had very little understanding of familial relationships— and most social situations— and how they were supposed to work, but they understood that she was their big sister, and it made them happy to see her happy.

And then Amaryllis’s talent was exploited, and everything shifted. So they knew very well why Veronique hated them so much. The spotlight that once illuminated her belonged to them now, involuntarily snatching it away from her. And unfortunately for the both of them, their parents had made sure it was not a beam large enough to share.

Amaryllis was wracked with guilt at first, but it faded along with Veronique’s kindness towards them. After a while, they stopped feeling guilty. It wasn’t their fault, and like Amaryllis, her anger should have been directed at their parents who’d decided to pit them against each other. With every new act of disdain, the interactions they’d shared as children became irreparably tainted. It began to make sense why she favored hydrangeas, with their callous meaning.

“It must run in the family,” Amaryllis folded their arms in front of their chest. Clearly mimicking her posture, Veronique didn’t look pleased.

“Yea, on your mother’s side.”

The jab was misplaced, Amaryllis didn’t know their birth mother and never had; and when they gave no reaction Veronique scowled. Despite all her intimidation, she’d never been good at masking her expression. Before Amaryllis could retort at all, they were shoved backwards, just barely keeping their balance from the harsh action.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You! That’s what’s wrong with me. You! You’ve ruined everything for me! Always have!”

“It’s not like I had much of a choice, take it up with my superiors.”

Another shove, and another, and then Amaryllis was thrown against the wall and Veronique’s hands were circling around their neck. Their hands shoot to seize her wrists, nails digging into her skin as they attempt to pull her away. She’s strong, strong enough to hold Amaryllis a good inch off of the ground.

Their toes point down, reaching, but brush uselessly against the marble flooring. Amaryllis doesn’t want to fight back but there’s little choice, she’s actually trying to cut off their air. With regret even now, they slam a knee up into her stomach and she lurches back. Veronique is a skilled fighter, a star athlete, but now she’s angry and distracted and has left herself open in the process.

Their other knee slams into the floor as they’re dropped, and Amaryllis thanks their perfect breath control for the fact they aren’t breathless in the slightest. Veronique isn’t hurt, just surprised and irate. It wasn’t as if they had any other option, but Amaryllis may as well have just jabbed an already riled up rattlesnake with a stick.

“What the fuck? Escalating from tormenting me, to what? Attempted murder?”

Unhearing, she bends down to unsheathe a dagger from her boot. Certainly, they’re royally screwed. Amaryllis could keep up with a frenzied and unarmed Veronique, but they’re no match for her armed.

Amaryllis rises and quickly backs down the corridor, not sure if it's better to keep their eyes on her or turn and make a run for it. They’re cursing themself for not spending more time learning combat magic. Maybe they could charm her, but they’re terrified and unfocused, and when they open their mouth to scream, nothing comes out. The only things that could be heard were the clicking of boots against the tiling and Amaryllis’s rapid heartbeat.

In the blink of an eye Veronique is caught up to them, and effortlessly lands a kick to their chest that sends them crashing to the floor. Then she’s on them, pinning them to the floor, eyes dark and dagger poised with intention. Their hands catch her wrists again, and there’s a power struggle over the blade’s proximity to Amaryllis’s neck. They flail and kick but it’s no use; Veronique knows how to keep someone down, and is dense with muscle that makes her heavy.

“If you’re so miserable, let me do you a favor and put you out of it.”

It wasn’t a joke, it never had been, but the revelation sunk further the closer Veronique’s blade came to its mark. Amaryllis let their head fall back to the flood as the struggle continued, desperate to conjure up something, anything, to get out of this impasse. But they were afraid to the point of tears, already so tired, and magic didn’t come easy in such a state.

If they so much as took too deep a breath or flinched, the tip of the dagger would graze their nose. They weren’t trained for this, their stamina was impressive but they didn’t use it for fighting, but Veronique was trained for this. Amaryllis’s eyes fluttered shut and they wondered if it would be so horrible to just give in; she wasn’t wrong, they were miserable.

Just when they were debating on letting go, a raucous scream rang out and Amaryllis recoiled. They had thought it might have been their voice, but then they felt the sharp sting of the dagger slicing their cheek open as Veronique was dropping the knife and jolting away from them.

“You witch,”

Distantly, Amaryllis noted how warm their hands felt, and when they opened their eyes to the view of their palms turned searing sanguine, like iron fresh from the forge. A gasp falls from their lips, but the motion tells their brain the pain wasn’t coming from their hands. Slowly, they pick up a faint, but repulsive scent, and as their shock fades, they start to put the pieces together.

The screams were still sounding, and when they finally looked to Veronique, there were angry, bright red handprints burned into her wrists; enough to cause notable damage, but too little to have damaged the nerves. Somehow, at the last possible second, Amaryllis had mustered up magic capable of drastically heating up their palms. They weren’t even entirely sure if they had even known such a thing was possible.

It saved them, but it felt wrong. Never before had Amaryllis used their magic for something so destructive. The worst they’d ever done was place harmless charms on ‘noble’ guests. Despite Veronique’s full intention to gut them, they felt a conflict stirring, and for a moment wondered if they were capable of any healing.

Suddenly Veronique was approaching, and Amaryllis sat up and snatched up the dagger that had been abandoned nearby. As they held it, their touch began to rapidly heat the metal, and soon enough the weapon complemented their hands. There was a low hiss as their blood that had decorated the blade heated too, boiling away and leaving it congealed. Amaryllis was shaking and crying and bleeding, but they were unyielding as they turned the dagger on its owner.

Amaryllis watched her face carefully, telling themself they were prepared for her next move, so when something in her expression shifted, they saw. Like she had been in a trance, captivated by her rage and misplaced hatred, and it just hit her exactly what she’d done. Veronique gasped, the tears that had come from the burns now falling for completely different reasons. Frantically her eyes flitted between the red of Amaryllis’s eyes, the red of the wound marring their pale skin, the red of the blade leveled at her.

“Mal…” she choked out, and then she was dashing down the hall, gone as abruptly as she had seemed to appear.

Then, a scoff sounded from behind Amaryllis and they spun around, still on edge. Standing a few feet away, looking thoroughly disappointed, was the madame. She looked down upon her ward, bloodied and on the floor, and rolled her eyes.

“What a pity,” she said simply, and in that moment, Amaryllis reconsidered their stance on violence. “I had assumed she was more capable, but perhaps I had too much faith in her.”

It was the first true confirmation Amaryllis had of the woman’s crime; her carefully planned manipulation had fallen short, and she couldn’t even pretend to act like it was an accident.

“Get yourself cleaned up,” she ordered, and then left without another glance.

After that day, even long after the cut across Amaryllis’s freckled face had healed and faded into an unsightly scar, they never saw very much of Veronique again. Sometimes at night— however illogical it was— they’d find themself at the hydrangea bush in the garden, eyes trained on the stars, wishing they’d both been dealt a different hand in life.

—

#this is a lot #again this is long before amie comes out and long before vesper even realizes #amie is referred to as amaryllis and they bc its their pov #but vesper is referred to as veronique and she #also the arcana backgrounds on fics thing is cute so #dont mind if i do #amaryllis leroux #vesper tristesse #apprentice amaryllis #not apprentice vesper #amie fic #vesper fic #my ocs #my fic

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callboxkat · 4 years

Text

Second Chances part 8: The Visit (2 of 2)

Author’s note: The second half is here! I hope you guys enjoy it! :)

Summary: Between some difficulty getting along with his coworkers and his quickly approaching visit with his parents, Roman has a lot on his mind. He can only hope that things will turn out well

Warnings: fear of being rejected, arguing, food mention, death mention, knife mention, injury mention, blood mention, Remus mention, accidental misgendering, some Spanish but not a lot

Word count: 7310

Second Chances Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

...

It was sunset by the time the bus pulled into its destination.

Roman stared out the window at the station as they approached, searching the small crowd for familiar faces. He wasn’t quite sure whether or not he wanted to find them.

As the bus came to a stop, Roman turned away from the window and slid Logan’s book back into the suitcase, zipped that shut, and picked it up. He waited for everyone ahead of him to file off of the bus, and then followed suit, clutching the flower pot to his chest.

His legs might have been shaking rather badly, but he did his best to ignore that fact.

His shoes hit the asphalt, and a cool wind ruffled his hair. He breathed in deeply and stepped up onto the curb, searching the crowd.

He thought he recognized a few people, people he’d perhaps gone to high school with or seen around town when he was younger; but it was entirely possible that he was simply feeling paranoid, like the earlier incident at the café.

He walked through the crowd, feeling very nervous and rather lost. As the seconds passed with no sign of his parents, he was beginning to think that maybe they had changed their minds, that maybe they had decided they didn’t want to see him after all, that maybe he’d made a mistake in thinking that he’d get to just see them again after lying to them and disappearing for so long.

And then he saw them.

They were about twenty feet away, watching what Roman realized was the wrong bus. Both of them had more gray hairs than Roman remembered, and his dad looked thinner, but it was them. It was really them. A rush of excitement went through his body… only to be instantly overwhelmed by fear.

Roman stared at them, suddenly unable to move.

Just then, Roman’s mamá turned, and she saw him.

There was no anger on her face, only joy as she gasped, running for him.

Roman let out a laugh that may or may not have strongly resembled a sob, and jogged towards his parents before he could overthink things any more.

“Dad! Mamá!”

People were quick to get out of the way, even if they griped about it; and then she was hugging him; and she smelled just like the same combination of cinnamon and perfume that she always did; and Roman was crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” he said, needing to say it again, to their faces. His mamá shushed him, kissed him on either cheek, then just held his head between her hands, searching his face. Her eyes were filled with tears.

“Mijo,” she whispered. “Mijo, mijo, estás aquí.”

“I’m here,” he assured her, his voice breaking.

“Maybe we should go to the car,” Roman’s dad said, standing to the side. “We’re making a scene.”

Roman’s mamá sniffled, nodding. “Yes, yes, of course—you are right.” She pulled back from the hug slightly. “Oh, you are so thin….”

She reluctantly released him, but kept one of Roman’s hands in a firm grip as they made their way out of the crowd and away from the bus station.

“Oh—um, I got this for you.”

His mamá paused, apparently only then noticing the small, flowering plant that Roman had barely managed not to drop or allow to get squashed during their hug.

“For me?” she repeated.

Roman nodded.

“Thank you, mijo. Las flores son bonitas.”

“They’re forget-me-nots.”

“Oh, I would never forget you.”

Roman smiled, ducking his head slightly. “And Dad, I….” He fished a small box out of his pocket and handed it over. “This is for you.”

“I’ll open it in the car,” his dad promised, giving him a side-hug. They started walking again.

“We drove here together,” his mamá said. “We both wanted to ride back with you.”

Roman frowned, and he took only a few more steps before coming to a stop. “Why—why wouldn’t you have driven here together?”

His parents glanced at each other, and then back at him. His mamá reached up and rubbed his back.

“Roman,” his dad began, avoiding looking at either of them, “you have to understand, it’s been a long time since you left.”

Roman glanced between them. He realized he couldn’t feel the ring on his mamá’s finger where she gently rubbed his back. “Wait. No.” Please don’t let them say what I think they’re going to say.

His dad let out a long, weary sigh. “We got divorced two years ago.”

“We wanted to tell you in person, cariño,” his mamá added. “We decided it wasn’t a… phone conversation.”

Roman didn’t know what to say. Except, very softly… “Was it my fault?”

They glanced at each other again.

“No,” his mamá said. “No, Roman. It was… it was a lot of things.”

Roman wasn’t sure he quite believed her, but he just nodded and allowed himself to be led to the car. It was his mamá’s car, the same one he remembered. The tassel Roman had worn at his high school graduation no longer hung from the mirror. He forced himself not to read into that.

He got in the backseat, and they drove.

…

Being back in his home town was strange.

A lot had changed in the five years he’d been gone. Things looked older, there were new buildings where there had once been empty lots (or different buildings), and there were empty lots where other buildings had once been.

Most of it, though, looked just the same, which was somehow stranger than what had changed.

It took him a while to realize that the car wasn’t going the way he would have expected to get to his parents’ house. He didn’t mention it, though. The atmosphere in the car was rather awkward, and Roman was content to stare out the window rather than break the silence just yet. After their initial greetings, and the bombshell of breaking the news of the divorce to Roman, no one had seemed sure of what to say to each other.

There had been one brief respite, when Roman’s dad had opened his gift. He had been impressed when he saw the ancient coin that Val had helped Roman pick out. But that conversation had only lasted so long, and they fell back into quietness again.

What did you say to your parents after lying about going to college, disappearing for five years, becoming homeless, and then one day calling them out of the blue to tell them that you were not, in fact, dead?

Yeah, Roman didn’t know, either. “Sorry” probably didn’t cut it.

Sure, they’d been talking on the phone every night for over a week since then; but this was different. This was in person.

The changed route made sense when they reached their destination: It was not the house he and his parents had lived in when he was younger. Of course it wasn’t—he should have realized. Why would his parents still share a home, if they were divorced? And why would one of them pay to live alone in a home built for four? Neither case made sense.

He didn’t recognize the house they pulled up to. It was a small, modest home, painted a pastel yellow. Hostas lined the walkway up to the door, which was a pale gray. Flowerbeds decorated both sides of the house, filled with various flourishing plants. A small, frosted window was set into the door. It was a cute house, Roman had to admit.

“This is your mamá’s place,” his dad said, sounding unsure of how Roman would react. “We’ve set up the guest room for you.”

Roman stared at the house for a long moment before he unbuckled his seatbelt. His dad grabbed the little suitcase, and they all went inside.

Roman’s dad turned to his ex-wife as they entered the house. “Is it alright if I take him to his room?”

“Of course,” Roman’s mamá replied, locking the door behind them. “I will come with you.”

They walked upstairs. Roman’s mamá opened the second door, and Roman stepped through it, into….

His room.

It was his room.

Everything was arranged how it had been in the old house, down to the placement of the posters on the walls and the pillows on the bed. He bet that if he checked the dresser drawers, the clothes he hadn’t brought to “college” would be there. It was much cleaner than Roman had ever kept his room as a kid; and some of his knick-knacks and toys appeared to be missing; but he could see some boxes under the bed; and he guessed he could find them there. Small details like that aside, the similarity was striking.

“You kept my things,” he finally said, sounding rather shell-shocked.

“Of course we did,” his mamá said. “I… we always hoped… you might come back,” she admitted.

Roman rubbed at his eyes. “Oh,” he said, his voice cracking.

“We’ve missed you,” his dad said from the doorway.

“If there is anything you want to take, you can,” his mamá said. “It is all still yours, after all.”

Roman sat down on the bed. The sheets felt freshly washed.

“Took a while to get everything just right,” his dad was saying. “The room dimensions are a little different than the old one. I think we got it, though.”

“Yeah,” Roman said softly, looking around. “You did.”

It was strange.

“So, your mamá and I were thinking of making encebollado soup tonight,” his dad said, changing the subject. He set down Roman’s borrowed suitcase on the floor, beside the desk.

Roman looked over at him, daring to smile. “Since when do you know how to make encebollado?”

“Okay, your mamá was thinking of making it.”

“I would appreciate some help, if you want to give it,” his mamá tempted.

“I’d love to,” Roman said, and he meant it.

…

Roman and his mamá split the work of cutting everything up for the encebollado, including the fish, onions, tomatoes, and yuca.

Once that was done, Roman’s mamá took care of putting everything together into the soup, adding pickled onions and plenty of spices.

Meanwhile, Roman was put to work cutting up the avocado and limes, as well as the plantains for a side dish. He put the sliced avocado and quartered limes each into a bowl and set those at the table before returning to cook the slices of plantain.

“Not too long, mijo,” His mamá said, watching. “They could burn.”

“I like mine crispy,” he reminded her.

(That brief exchange felt so much like one they might have had years ago, before everything changed, that Roman froze for a second, and had to minutely shake himself to get back to what he was doing.)

“It smells amazing,” his dad chimed in. He was mainly serving as a cheerleader where he sat at the kitchen table, commenting on how great everything looked and smelled. He wasn’t a great cook, and Roman’s mamá didn’t trust him to operate a cutting board. Probably for good reason.

Roman glanced up to see him stealing an avocado slice.

“Hey, I saw that,” he said, his heart beating faster as he tried to take on a joking tone.

Thankfully, his dad just smirked. “Saw what?” he asked, taking another slice.

Roman pointed the spatula at him as if in warning, narrowing his eyes.

His dad stuck the avocado slice in his mouth and smiled. Roman gasped as if affronted by his audacity.

Roman’s mamá seemed amused (and possibly relieved) by their antics. “How was your trip, mijo?” she asked, stirring the soup. Roman’s dad was right. It did smell amazing.

“It was fine,” Roman said. “The bus driver was really nice, and I got a window seat.” He flipped over the plantains he was cooking. “Pat and Logan dropped me off,” he added, smiling a little. “They were waving goodbye even as we were pulling away.”

“They seem like good friends,” his mamá said approvingly.

“They are,” Roman agreed. He didn’t deserve them.

…

After dinner, which was only about a quarter of the way as awkward as Roman had feared it would be, Roman’s dad took his plate to the sink, squeezing his son’s shoulder on the way.

“I have to go, but I’ll be back in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Roman said. He watched his dad as he walked into the kitchen, rinsed off his bowl and set it in the sink, and went to grab his coat.

“Bye,” he said.

“Bye,” said Roman.

“Chau,” said his mamá.

The door closed, and Roman’s mamá, who was loading the dishwasher, paused, clearly thinking about something. Roman watched her, starting to grow worried. As he’d expected, she turned to him.

“May I show you something?”

Roman, still sitting down at the table, shifted uncertainly; but he wasn’t going to refuse. “Claro, Mamá.”

She nodded, and walked over to a different part of the kitchen counter. “Some months after you disappeared,” she said, retrieving something from a drawer, “we received a phone call.”

Roman frowned.

She hovered behind the counter, looking down at whatever it was she had taken out. “It was from the police department in a city called Clearwater. They said that they had received a 911 call from someone who reported anonymously that a group of men had attacked a man under a bridge.”

Roman forgot how to breathe.

He knew exactly what she was talking about.

Those men. Their laughter. Their accusations. A knife, gleaming in the night.

The thin scar just under his jaw felt like it had been outlined in ice. His ribs and his tongue ached in memory.

They’re gone. You got away, he reminded himself. If they were going to find you and kill you, or send the police after you, it would have happened a long time ago.

He squeezed his hands together, and he waited.

His mamá hadn’t seemed to notice his reaction, too distracted by her own thoughts. “They said that by the time they got the call, no one was there.” She took a shuddering breath. “That there was only garbage, and… blood.” There were tears in her eyes. “And this.”

She walked back to the table, holding a clear plastic bag. She sat down and slid the bag over to Roman. Inside was a broken phone, the corner of it bent, with cracks spread across the screen, and in a case broken in two. A few small pieces of glass that had come free sat at the bottom of the bag.

It was Roman’s old phone.

“They were able to get some of the data off of it, and find out it was yours.” She let out a shaky exhale. “The police returned it to us because it technically belonged to your dad.”

Roman stared down at the phone.

“This is all we had, for nearly five years,” she said. “We told the police to look for you, but they said that there was nothing they could do. We went to Clearwater ourselves, for a week, to try to find you… but we couldn’t.” She paused for a second, apparently decided against saying something, then continued, “We were afraid that… that they had” —she swore in Spanish—“that they had killed you, and… you were gone.”

“I left,” Roman murmured. “I couldn’t stay; I….” He shook his head. The why didn’t matter. “Mamá, I’m sorry.”

His mamá looked at him. “May I ask what happened?”

Roman subconsciously rubbed a hand across his jaw, over the scar there. “It’s not important,” he said. “Some jerks decided to mess with me, because I was there, and they could. But I’m okay. It was a long time ago.”

“Cariño… I did want to know that, but I meant….”

Roman looked away. She meant why he had disappeared in the first place, of course. How he had ended up homeless, and why he hadn’t tried to ask for help before it was well past too late.

He’d already told Logan and Patton most of the story, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to tell his family. Especially since he suspected that—assuming they believed him—they would think it was their fault, if they knew some of the details. He’d only told them the basics up until then—the fact that Saint Gabriel had retracted their offer of admission, that Roman hadn’t wanted to tell his parents, and that he’d run out of money after leaving home and ended up on the street. But they didn’t know much more than that about the reasons why that had happened in the first place. Or why he’d been so against telling them about being in trouble.

The seconds were ticking by, and Roman still hadn’t said anything.

She studied his face for a long moment, as if deciding whether to push the issue, or to let it go. Finally, she nodded to herself, and she took his hands in hers. “When I heard your voice on the phone, I was so sure it was a cruel joke. But it was really you. You are here.”

Roman’s eyes flicked back towards her, and he gave her a watery smile.

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to see you again.”

“I thought you’d be furious with me,” Roman said, his voice cracking.

“I was,” she admitted. “You know that I was.”

Roman recalled their first phone call with a wince. There had been… quite a bit of yelling, on that call, once she’d been convinced that it was really him on the phone. He didn’t blame her, though. Five years was a long time to go without any word, especially since he had disappeared without any warning.

“But I love you, and your brother,” she said. “And that will not change, whatever your mistakes.”

Roman swallowed hard. A second or two passed in silence.

“…Could we have hot chocolate?” he asked.

“With cinnamon?”

“Yes, please.”

…

Roman stood in front of his old over-the-door mirror, staring at the loose folds of fabric that draped over his thin frame.

After his conversation with his mamá, Roman had come upstairs to the guest room—to his room. Or to the room that eerily mimicked his room, anyway.

Simply to pass the time and definitely not as a way to nostalgically relive the past, and since all his old things were right there, he decided to try on a few of his old clothes and see if they still fit how they used to.

Unsurprisingly, they didn’t.

Well, it wasn’t that they didn’t fit, exactly. Technically, they still fit. But they were a lot looser than Roman remembered them being. The pants he had on might not have stayed up if it weren’t for the belt he wore.

Roman put his hands in the pockets, frowning.

He wondered how this outfit would have fit during the worst days of his homelessness. There had been some… rough times.

He’d never been very good at being homeless.

Roman shook his head, deciding not to dwell on that. He was supposed to be moving on with his life, wasn’t he? He wasn’t homeless anymore, and he wasn’t alone. He had Logan, and Patton, and Val, and his parents. He was fine. The past didn’t matter anymore.

He pulled the shirt back over his head and threw it on the bed with a bit more vehemence than was strictly required. Instead, he picked up the one he’d had on before, one that Logan and Patton had gotten him, and pulled it back on. He changed back into his better-fitted jeans, moved the discarded shirt, and sat down on the bed. He stared for a long moment at the still-open drawer of the dresser, and the neatly folded clothes within.

A thought came to him, and he got back up, looking in the closet. It probably wasn’t there, but just in case, Roman figured there was no harm in checking. He stood on his tip-toes, searching.

His old duffel bag sat on the shelf, just about where it would have been in Roman’s old room. Roman snatched it and pulled it down.

Maybe his old clothes were rather loose; and he didn’t particularly want some of the old t-shirts emblazoned with logos for bands he’d never been a fan of in the first place; but he could still wear most of the clothes. And his parents had said that he could take whatever he wanted from the room.

Roman unzipped the duffel bag and started stuffing clothes in. Even if they were too big now, they might fit better eventually. And for every shirt he could keep from his old things, that was one less shirt he would have to buy for himself later on (or worse, have bought for him).

The half-full duffel bag joined the small blue suitcase on the floor, and Roman went to bed. He would have expected to lie there, awake, for hours, overthinking the next day; but he fell asleep too fast.

…

It turned out that Roman’s parents had gone ahead and made plans for what they and Roman would do over the long weekend. It seemed that they really wanted to make up for lost time, judging by the packed days.

Saturday morning, they went to the local park, revisiting old haunts that Roman hadn’t seen in a long time. The duck pond, the reservoir, the fountain, the old trees and picnic tables where the family used to have picnics when Roman and his brother were kids.

Almost all of the meals Roman had that weekend were homemade—save for when they stopped for ice cream at the mall, or Saturday evening, when Roman’s dad insisted that they go to Olive Garden to celebrate. Apparently he’d gotten a gift card a while back and was looking forward to using it. In any case, all of the meals were rather large. Roman’s mamá made so much food, it was as if she were trying to get her son to gain back all the weight he’d lost over the years within just that one weekend.

…

On Sunday, they were planning to go to the zoo. Roman came downstairs to find that both of his parents were already there, presumably waiting for him. His dad must have come early, so that they could get out the door and have more time at the zoo. Except… something seemed off. They each had plates of breakfast set out in front of them, but the food appeared almost untouched. Roman paused, wondering what was going on. Clearly, he was missing something.

His mamá looked like she was trying not to cry. His dad looked like he was trying to decide whether to be horrified or enraged.

Roman considered just going back upstairs, and “sleeping in” until whatever was going on was over. He took a hesitant step back.

“Roman.”

Too late.

His dad had spotted him, and was beckoning him over. Roman very reluctantly shuffled nearer.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” his mamá said.

Roman glanced between them. “What’s going on?” he asked, hoping he wouldn’t regret the question too much.

His parents glanced at each other. His mamá looked slightly guilty.

His dad cleared his throat. “Your mamá, ah… told me some new information,” he said.

“He needed to know,” she added.

Why did Roman feel like he was about to get in trouble?

“She told me what you told her. About the phone, and Clearwater.”

“…But I didn’t tell her anything,” Roman said, frowning.

Unsurprisingly, they didn’t appear happy with that impulsive response.

“You told her enough,” his dad said.

Roman stared between them. All he had told them was that some jerks had been mean to him, and that he had left the city afterwards to get away from them. How was that any new information? They had already known that his phone had been left behind after some guys had attacked him, and….

Wait.

His mamá had said “a man”. She had said a group of men had attacked “a man”.

Roman gripped the back of the nearest chair.

No. They couldn’t have thought….

“You thought I was one of the guys who attacked someone?” he said, his voice like a dry desert breeze.

“No, mijo, no—”

“Yes, you did!” Roman said, taking a step back. He stared at his dad with wide eyes. “You did, didn’t you?”

“We didn’t know what had happened,” his dad said. “We didn’t know anything, or what to think.”

Roman tried to speak, failed, and shook his head.

A long silence fell, and then his mamá said, “Perhaps… we had almost hoped you were. It was better than thinking you had been….”

His dad sighed. “We’d rather you had been a criminal than dead,” he reluctantly admitted.

“Well, I’m not dead,” Roman said bitterly.

“No, you’re not,” his mamá said. Roman noticed with a sinking heart that she was crying now.

His dad leaned forward. “Roman, what happened? Who were those people who attacked you? Why were you there in the first place?”

Roman squeezed his eyes shut.

“Please. Something happened. Why would those people attack you for no reason?”

Roman’s nails bit into his hands. Maybe it wasn’t on purpose, but his dad was making it sound like it was automatically his fault he was attacked. (Which, okay, maybe it was, but the assumption still hurt).

“Roman—”

“I messed up, okay?!” Roman cried, fisting his hands in his hair. “I messed up, and I was—I was just hungry, okay? And those guys found me, and they—they had a knife, what was I supposed to do? I just—I was just trying to—” Roman turned away, his breaths coming in heavy gasps. He kept stammering, hardly knowing what he was saying, just trying to say that it wasn’t his fault and that he was sorry and he’d just run away like a coward because he had no choice and why did they even care about something that happened so long ago and why would they ever think he’d been one of those thugs—

He was suddenly crushed in a hug.

Roman’s stammering broke off, and he buried his face in his mamá’s shoulder.

“Breathe, cariño, please,” she murmured. “Todo está bien, te prometo.”

She held him like that until he had mostly calmed down, and then she gently led him to the living room, where she sat him down on the couch and wrapped him in a blanket, taking her place beside him. She put a hand on his back, occasionally murmuring reassurances.

But his dad kept staring at him.

“This isn’t really news, is it?” Roman said eventually, breaking the silence and steadfastly ignoring the way his voice threatened to give out. “I already told you I was homeless. I messed up. Why is it any big shock that I messed up again?” And again, and again, and again.

“You just said that you were attacked, with a knife,” his dad said. “You could have died!”

Roman shrank into his blanket. “I didn’t.”

“But you could have. And I’m sure there’s other things that happened that you’re not even telling us about—God, five years. It’s been five years. Roman, why didn’t you just talk to us? We could have helped you! You could have stopped all of this before it started.”

His mamá looked at her ex-husband. “James, stop."

Roman worked his jaw. “I did try to tell you, but….”

“But what?”

“But you didn’t believe me! I tried to tell you, I tried to tell you I didn’t plagiarize, but you didn’t believe me. So why would you believe me about anything else? You already think I’m just like Remus.”

“Roman….”

“You do! You do. I know it’s true. Mamá told me, but she didn’t have to.”

His dad’s eyes flicked to Roman’s mamá, who closed her eyes in resignation. “She told you what?”

“That you were angry with me, that you said it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. She said that—that—that I probably ran off to get away from you guys and join a gang or something.”

“I didn’t say you’d joined a gang.”

“But I know what you think of me, what you’ve always thought of me. But, Dad, I’m not him. Please. I’m not Remus.”

“Roman, if you’re trying to say I don’t love you, that’s not true. I love you a lot. If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t care.”

“No—no, I know you love me. You love him too. That’s not what this is about.” He looked away, swallowing painfully. “You love me, yeah, but you’ve never trusted me. Not really.” He took a shaky breath. “And I just couldn’t… I could see the looks on your faces when I told you I wasn’t going to Saint Gabriel. I couldn’t.”

A long silence fell.

“I’m going upstairs,” Roman croaked. He got up, ignoring his mamá’s protests, and walked past his dad, who just stared at him, clearly still trying to figure out what to say. Roman didn’t give him that chance. He kept going, hurried up the stairs, and fled into his room. He quietly closed and locked the door, and sat down on the bed, staring at the floor, the blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

Morning turned to early afternoon. Roman didn’t leave his room. He heard voices occasionally. It sounded like his parents had decided to give him some space.

Finally, around 1 pm, he heard someone coming up the steps, and there was a knock on the door. It was his dad.

“Roman?” he asked through the door. “Please open up.”

Roman swallowed, not moving.

“Roman, I’m sorry.”

The floorboards creaked.

“I believe you,” he continued. “If you say you didn’t plagiarize, I believe you. Your mamá does, too. We should have believed you before, and I’m sorry we didn’t. I’m sorry you thought you couldn’t come to us for help. And I’m sorry if we ever made you believe we didn’t think you were a good person. We’ve always known you were a good person.”

It was a little too late, but… it was something.

Roman unlocked the door and returned to the bed.

After a second, his dad hesitantly opened the door. He stepped inside, and silently sat down on the bed at Roman’s side.

Roman pulled the blanket more tightly around himself. His dad stared at one of Roman’s posters for a moment, clearly not actually taking it in, then turned to his son.

“…Were you hurt?” he asked softly.

Roman swallowed. “I’m okay now.”

His dad recognized that as a yes, of course. He sighed through his nose, working his jaw. “How badly?”

Roman hesitated, then tilted his head slightly and touched the inch-long scar just under his jaw. It was faded, but he knew his dad could see it.

“Is that from…?”

“Yeah.”

His dad swore. Roman wasn’t sure he’d ever heard him swear like that before.

“Who were they?”

“There’s no point.”

“We could—”

“There’s no point,” Roman insisted tiredly. Even if they had any proof of who it was, and even if Roman knew more than one of their names, and even if it hadn’t already been four and a half years since the attack, there would be no point. It wouldn’t change anything. Not to mention that the whole reason it had happened to begin with was that Roman was a thief, and he could very well end up as the only one in trouble. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

He could tell his dad wanted to argue further, but he let it go.

“Do you want to go back downstairs?” he asked instead. “We could just watch a movie. Have a lazy day. We can go to the zoo some other time.”

Roman bit his lip, then slowly nodded. “Okay.”

His dad got up, and Roman followed him downstairs.

…

Things were better after that. Maybe that conversation hadn’t gone exactly how any of them would have chosen for it to go, but it was clear that they had needed to confront the elephant in the room.

Roman’s mamá apologized, too, once he came downstairs, hugging him tightly and telling him that the only thing that mattered was that he was safe, now.

The rest of the day, they just watched old movies from their collection, and Roman’s mamá played with his hair like she had done when he was very small.

The next day, they still didn’t go to the zoo—maybe a future visit, they decided—and instead went to the mall, where they had fun playing with the puppies at one of the pet stores; and Roman’s dad bought him a couple of books. “For on the bus on Monday,” he claimed, even though there were already books in Roman’s room.

Finally, and yet all too soon, the last day of Roman’s stay had come and gone.

A couple of hours before they had to leave for the bus station, Roman’s mamá came to get him, and she led him downstairs, where his dad waited. His parents sat down at the table, gesturing for Roman to sit down across from them. Once he did, his mamá placed her warm, calloused hands over his own. She opened her mouth, had a false start, then spoke.

“It has been wonderful, having you here for the past few days. I know that not everything was perfect, but I know that it will get better in time.” She took a deep breath. “Mijo, I know that you are planning to go home tonight… and I know that this is a lot to ask, but we were hoping, maybe… you might stay? Here, with us?”

There was a long silence. Roman didn’t know how to respond.

“If you want a week or two, so that your job has some warning, that’s okay,” his dad said, before adding, “We both want you here.”

Roman looked between them.

“…You want me to stay because you think I’m gonna screw up and end up homeless again or something, right?”

“No,” his mamá said firmly. “We want you to stay because we love you. We have missed you, so, so much. We want a chance to try again.”

Roman fell silent again.

He thought of all that his parents had been trying to do these past few days. He thought of the cinnamon hot chocolate, the excursions and movie nights, the big family meals, the not-so-subtle attempts to spoil Roman, and the way his parents seemed to be pretending to still have the same relationship they had always had even though they had been divorced for years. He thought of the guest bedroom, carefully constructed to mirror his old one as exactly as possible. Like a snapshot into a former life. A former life that he couldn’t get back, whether he wanted to or not. And maybe that was okay. He had changed since then. Not necessarily all for the better, but not necessarily all for the worse, either. Going back, pretending he was the same Roman he had been in high school, wasn’t just wishful thinking. It wasn’t realistic; and even if he could do that, it would be a move backwards.

“I think it’s best if I move on with my life,” he said finally. “It won’t do me any good to just go back and pretend the last five years never happened, that nothing’s changed.” He squeezed her hand. “I… I have a job now, and I really like living with Logan and Patton and Val.” And they did want him to come back, he reminded himself. They did. He looked up at his dad. “I do still want to see you guys, though. I’d really like to keep calling you, and visit sometimes, if… if that’s okay.”

His mamá looked sad, but she nodded. “Of course. I understand.”

His dad didn’t look surprised. He laid his hand over his son’s and his ex-wife’s.

Roman smiled shyly. “Plus, we never got to go to the zoo.”

…

When Roman went home, with Patton’s suitcase and his own duffel bag of clothes, Patton and Val came to pick him up. Logan was unfortunately at work, and he couldn’t make it.

As the bus pulled up to the curb, and Roman struggled to blink away his drowsiness (it was a long drive) he saw the pair at the front on the sidewalk. Val looked pretty relaxed, but Patton looked like he was vibrating with apprehension. He was talking to Val, who looked like she was trying to reassure him that everything was fine.

Roman picked up his things, thanked the bus driver, and was one of the first people off the bus.

Patton wormed his way closer, while Roman made his way away from the crowds. As soon as they met, Patton latched onto Roman like a koala bear.

“How’d it go?” Val asked, while Patton was busy trying to crush Roman in a hug.

“It went okay,” Roman said, putting his arms around Patton. He took a deep breath and let it out, smiling. “It went okay.”

Val reached out, and her fingers just barely touched his sleeve before she let her arm fall. “I’m glad.”

Patton finally let go for them to head to the car, already pestering Roman with questions about how his visit had gone, and if he needed to fight anyone or not.

Roman smiled, and he told him about the good parts of his visit. He was sure Patton already knew that there had been hiccups—how could there not have been?—but Roman wanted to focus on what had gone right.

…

On Tuesday, Roman went back to work. He was early, as was becoming his custom, but he showed up only a few minutes before Thomas did. His manager looked perfectly fine, now, so it appeared that whatever had kept him at home for two days the week before had passed. He leaned on his car for a moment before he came in, as always, but he seemed okay.

“Hey, Roman,” he said as he came in, pinning his name tag in place.

“Hey,” Roman responded. He wasn’t sure whether it was bad manners or not to ask his manager if he was feeling better, especially since three days had passed. And he didn’t want Thomas to misinterpret anything. So he didn’t. “How was your weekend?” he asked instead.

“It was good,” Thomas said. “How was yours?”

Roman shrugged. “It was… interesting. But good.”

Just then, the door opened, and Roman glanced up to see Virgil standing there.

Virgil, who was wearing a skirt, and a name tag that said “Rose”.

Otherwise, the outfit under Virgil’s Sanders Café uniform consisted of the barista’s typically emo attire. Black leggings, combat boots, purple nail polish, a distressed long-sleeve shirt, and purple piercings. But instead of jeans, Virgil wore a knee-length, lacy black skirt.

The barista stalked forward, head held high, as if daring anyone to say anything. Thomas just smiled and called out a greeting.

Roman kept glancing at his coworker throughout their shift that day. Virgil was surely aware of it, and maybe it was rude, but Roman couldn’t really help himself. He—She? They?—never said anything about it, but did seem more stiff than usual. But at least Virgil wasn’t being openly hostile. That seemed to have stopped after Roman’s… embarrassing incident, on Friday. Virgil didn’t even comment when Roman bumped into an open, quarter-full milk carton and spilled it across the counter. Thomas noticed too, but he didn’t seem inclined to intervene, instead serving customers like normal while Roman cleaned it up.

Roman glanced at Virgil’s skirt, and remembered several days before, when he’d tried to break the ice with Virgil by making a joke about the “Mary Lee” nametag that the barista wore at the time.

…Roman might have really f*cked up.

He had to know if his guess was correct, but he wasn’t about to ask in front of so many customers, or in font of Thomas.

Finally, there was a break in the crowd; Thomas went in the back for a break; and Roman awkwardly walked over to his coworker.

Virgil tensed immediately, looking suspicious. “What?”

Roman flinched slightly at the tone. “Sorry, I just, um….” He glanced down at Virgil’s skirt. “I just wondered…” he trailed off, gesturing at Virgil, at the skirt and the name tag and the admittedly gorgeous purple lipstick. “Are you…?” God, he was awful at this. He knew exactly what he wanted to ask, but what if he was wrong? What if Virgil got offended at him for even asking? Virgil was already rather volatile to begin with. He didn’t want to break their fragile truce.

Virgil looked unimpressed at Roman’s garbled attempts at a question, arms crossed, an eyebrow cocked as if daring Roman to continue. That wasn’t helpful.

“Are you… Are you a he? Can I call you he? Or is something else… better?” Roman finally got out. He was pretty sure he was the color of a tomato.

Virgil stared at him, looking ready to chew him up and spit him out if he reacted the wrong way. “She,” Virgil finally said in a clipped voice. “It’s a ‘she’ day.”

“Oh,” Roman said. He let out a breath, relieved at not being screamed at. “Okay. Do you want to be called Rose, then, or….?”

Virgil glanced down at the name tag on her lapel, and she actually laughed. “No, no. Virgil will do. This is just one of my collection.”

“Okay. So… if today is a ‘she’ day, does that mean not every day is?”

Virgil pursed her lips. “If you’re asking if you can get away with calling me ‘he’ or ‘they’ every day, the answer’s no.”

“What if I’m not asking that?”

“…Then no, not every day is.” She looked back up then and seemed to be studying Roman’s face. There was a mixture of suspicion and something else in her eyes. Roman shifted uncomfortably. Before either of them could say anything more, the bell over the door rang, and they both snapped back to attention and went back to work.

Various times throughout the remainder of their shift, Roman could feel Virgil’s eyes on him.

Finally, two o’clock came and went, and Virgil and Roman were both in the back, getting ready to leave. Roman took the opportunity to approach his fellow barista. Virgil looked up from her phone as he approached, but didn’t do anything to discourage him from speaking. So Roman cleared his throat.

“Hey, um… about that joke I made a while back, about the “Mary Lee” name tag. I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t know you were… that you weren’t a guy. It was just my stupid attempt to talk with you. I was just fishing for something to say. I’m sorry.”

Virgil stuck her phone in her pocket. “It’s fine,” she said.

“Is it? Because that was pretty sucky of me, I’d say.”

She sighed. “You didn’t know. But I’d appreciate if you didn’t make jokes like that in the future.”

“I won’t. I promise. And if I ever do something stupid again, please tell me.” It would be a lot better than days of hostility without explanation, at any rate.

“Deal.”

Roman felt relief wash over him.

“So…” Virgil said, “how was your family thing?”

“It was good,” Roman said. “We didn’t watch Lord of the Rings or play any video games, though.”

“No? Dang. Weekend wasted.” Virgil shook her head. “Please tell me you at least slept in.”

Roman laughed.

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meangirlsx · 4 years

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I hope this isn’t too personal but as a bi/ace person, how did you realize you were bi? As an ace folk I feel like my perception of attraction is all f-ed up and I can’t figure out if I just think girls are pretty or if I’m actually into girls? It doesn’t really matter cause I’ll only ever really be able to date guys bc of my family but I want to know for me

No, not too personal at all! I’m actually really glad you asked because it’s something I struggled with a lot and it’s nice to know I’m not the only one. I just apologize in advance for the essay I’m writing to give you as much context and information as possible for how I figured it out. (Also I basically wrote an essay on the guys I’ve thought I loved, so it’s only right for me to write an essay like this.)

I’m totally with you, I feel like my perception of attraction is about as reliable as a broken clock: maybe right occasionally but otherwise not much help.

I never questioned whether or not I was interested in guys. It was expected and assumed. I never really understood things people would talk about or show in media, like people just not being able to control themselves or people getting excited over events like Broadway Bares, but I never doubted my interest in guys.

In that same vein, despite going to an alternative high school where we talked a lot about LGBTQIA+ topics and I had a lot of friends who were out, it never occurred to me that I could be interested in anyone other than guys. I can look back now at a lot of situations growing up and see the times I mistook interest in a girl for admiration or just thinking she was insanely cool.

The first time I ever questioned being straight, I think I was 14 and I was doing a Romeo and Juliet balcony scene project with a friend who actually was going to come out as a trans man the next year. (The only reason I’m sharing that is because I don’t want to misgender him now but it’s obviously relevant that I didn’t know yet that he’s a man.) When I was watching the footage back to edit, I caught a sweet gesture in his Romeo monologue to me that gave me total butterflies and I found myself watching it over and over. I decided by the end of the week that I wasn’t actually interested in him, and then proceeded to convince myself I was straight again until I was 21.

I was at a regional theatre convention with my college department and we’d seen one of the schools perform a show earlier in the day. The girl who played the lead was absolutely incredible. Later in the day, I was on a bus waiting to go back to the hotel, and I saw that school in line to also board the bus, including the girl. I thought I was just a little starstruck, but my head was spinning as they all got on and she made her way toward the back of the bus where I was to let people continue to get on. She asked if she could sit next to me and I thought my heart was going to explode it was beating so fast.

Normally, when people sit next to me who I don’t know, we both do things on our phones so we don’t have to talk to a stranger. I had absolutely no intention of picking up my phone if there was any chance she wanted to talk to me. And she did. And I truly about died. It turned out that she’d had a rehearsal during a class I attended that she’d wanted to go to, and I’d taken extreme notes, so I offered to send them to her and gave her my phone to give me her email, but I didn’t clarify that. She put in her number. I did not shut up about her for the last two days of the trip or the following week.

Being in a very liberal college theatre group, of course my friends were all super excited and supportive, and one of the adults on the trip with us is bisexual and she was actually a big help and encouragement as I settled into the realization that I wasn’t just starstruck by this girl.

I didn’t have my first full-on crush on a girl until a little later into the year with a new girl in the department. I don’t even remember realizing I liked her. Just all of a sudden, every time I was around her, all those reactions started happening again. And we were in the same friend group, so we were around each other a lot.

She would enter the same room as me and I would have trouble focusing. She would smile at me or laugh at a joke I made and I would almost short-circuit. I had to pin her into this weird top for a costume and I would get a little shaky every time. She would text the group chat and I would just stare at my phone. One time, she hugged me and kept her hands on my waist as we pulled back and she just met my eyes and smiled at me and I am genuinely not sure I have ever short-circuited so hard over a crush.

So that’s how I’ve learned to recognize the signs for myself. I had the same kind of reactions that I had with guys I liked. My head spun, my heart raced, my brain would either never shut up or totally shut down, I found myself going out of my way to spend time with her or just be in the same room as her. I’d see her and I’d get that cheesy warm, fuzzy feeling. I’d get really nervous in a way I never got around other friends.

That being said, my feelings for the girl on the bus and my friend felt so different from what I’d felt before. With my friend, in particular, I’ve never been more sure of a crush. I felt everything more strongly. I’m a pro at finding reasons to stop liking someone so much, and I couldn’t find a single one with her. I could talk myself out of wanting to pursue any crush in college, but the only reasons I had for not telling her how I felt were that the thought completely terrifies me with anyone, I wasn’t sure how she felt and didn’t want to mess up the friendship, and I was about to graduate while she would still be in college for a long time. All outside things. Nothing to do with her.

And it did take me a while to understand it. I think I actually more typically get crushes on guys, so that made it even harder to figure out. Honestly, talking about it helped me a lot. It was easier to make sense of it when I had friends getting excited with me and freaking out over how they hadn’t seen me like that about a crush before.

Being on here helped me, too. I was still scared to talk to friends out loud, so it helped to see what people on here said and find things I could relate to. Actually, one of the first signs I just didn’t realize was that I was starting to read and even write female character x reader fics and trying to convince myself it was for curiosity and expanding my writing.

The one other thing I can think of that helped me was overthinking things the way I always do. It made me try to analyze my own feelings in a way I never had before. I tried to imagine dating this girl. The thought scared me, but because I was starting to realize that dating anyone intimidated me and was an entirely separate problem. Also, being ace does add a new layer of navigation. But when I was first really trying to figure out if I liked her, I imagined how I would feel if she liked me. I realized I would feel a kind of excitement I wasn’t sure I’d ever even felt before, and that was my answer.

It doesn’t have to be any of my business how your family feels, but if you want to talk about that, I’m here. I totally understand that it’s SUCH a difficult situation to be in, but if this is who you are, no one has the right to tell you otherwise or how to live your life. I know that’s a lot easier said than done. But you don’t have to live your whole life the way your family wants.

I can’t speak from experience not having a supportive family. I told my mom as soon as I got home from the theatre convention. But it’s been 3 years, now, and I haven’t told my brother or my dad. I know they’ll be incredibly supportive. I know it won’t cause problems. But the thought still scares me. The idea of anything having to change scares me. The thought of actually physically having the conversation terrifies me.

So I don’t mean to make it sound like I understand having an unsupportive family. I’m so sorry if that’s your situation. I do understand being scared, though, and feeling like you have to cut yourself off from pursuing something for the sake of not having to deal with it. I can’t preach about living as your most honest, authentic self when I’m not there yet, either. But I’m here with you if you want a friend while you navigate this potential new territory.

The last thing I’ll say is this: once I got over my initial shock and set aside other influences so that I could just focus on myself first, I felt so happy. I felt excited. And I felt free. It kind of felt like a rebirth. Things made sense that never had before. I felt like I’d just opened up a new world for myself. Obviously, we live in a world where it’s not simple and easy and automatically accepted by everyone. But that doesn’t mean we can’t find all the good there is.

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izzy-b-hands · 3 years

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A Merry Little Christmas

A sort of sequel thing? in the You Send Me universe, using that Reader.

You, Freddie, and Jim have it fairly nice in London, in Garden Lodge. Especially around the holidays, but that doesn't mean things are always perfect. In this case, it comes down to your mother, your family, and their consistent need to try and budge in on the good you've cultivated for yourself with Freddie and Jim.

TW for casual misgendering by Reader’s family, and mentions of familial discord.

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“Is this better?” Freddie asked.

You melted against him on the couch. “It is.”

‘It’ was a few days early Christmas celebration, with yourself, Freddie, and Jim only. Dinner was takeaway from a shared favorite restaurant, with nothing else planned for the night aside from that and a gift exchange.

And it was perfect.

“Your mum did leave another message on the machine, asking if we were still coming by,” Jim dropped beside you onto the couch. “Didn’t we tell her we weren’t making the trip back in-”

“November? Yes, we did,” you interrupted with a heavy sigh. “But apparently I should have made it a weekly reminder.”

“She’s purposefully trying to get at you,” Freddie said. “She wouldn’t leave a message if she didn’t know we were here at home. We’ll just delete it; we can call her after the New Year.”

“Already done,” Jim smiled. “I did give it a listen, very loud, whatever’s going on there.”

“And now you see why I requested this,” you said. “A nice, calm, quiet, celebration. No extra family, no set ‘things’ to do except eat, relax, and open presents.”

“There was an awful lot of screaming,” Jim noted. “Is that normal for them?”

“The cousins are old enough it shouldn’t be,” you replied. “But yes. Depending on all what’s gone on so far, perfectly normal. Someone’s probably brought up politics, and if they’ve started the gift exchange, then the kids have likely had a fit over something they don’t like or don’t think was an expensive enough gift-”

“This is why you told us to just send them money orders,” Freddie mused. “In equal amounts down to the cent.”

“They wouldn’t actually call and complain about that,” Jim laughed, but his smile dropped as you frowned. “Oh.”

“They absolutely would,” you said. “To me, at least, thinking I would tell you two so we could ‘remedy’ things for next year. As it is, I anticipate a call that they feel they weren’t given enough, even though that’s at least what I would have bought them in physical gifts, were I back home.”

“They got what amounts to nearly five hundred American,” Freddie gave a shocked laugh. “And they’re children!”

“No, the eldest is eighteen,” Jim reminded him.

“Essentially still a child,” Freddie said. “Can you imagine if Roger and I had that sort of money sitting around when we were that age?”

“I have an idea,” you smirked, and gently jabbed at Jim, who bit back a giggle.

“Hush,” Freddie smiled. “Honestly, you’ve got me curious now. If they call back, I want to hear how bad it is before we delete the message.”

A beep sounded from the hall, and you stood, reaching down to pull both of them up. “Well? You wanted to hear them.”

They leaned against you in the hall, hands slipping into yours as you reached for the ‘play’ button on the machine.

“I’m alright,” you reassured them. “It might be rough to hear, but at least I’m not actually there in the mess like I was before.”

“I’M ON THE PHONE!” was the first thing that greeted your ears. “BE QUIET SO SHE CAN HEAR US.”

“Oh no,” Freddie murmured.

“That’s not a great start,” Jim muttered.

“Y/N, we miss you! I hope you can hear that!” your mother continued. In the background, you could hear cousins shouting, their parents, and your grandparents on top of that, begging for silence. “I can’t believe you didn’t come home! I know you said you were going to!”

“We explicitly said we were not going to the States for any holiday celebrations,” Freddie sighed. “Did we not?”

“We did,” you replied. “Three minutes? What on earth did she have to say?”

You sped through parts of the rest of it, as bits of it were almost impossible to hear over your cousins and other family members.

Finally, you got to the last minute.

“And we just really don’t understand what this is about, you not coming home for Christmas,” your mother was mid-sentence as you let the tape go on it’s own. “If it’s about...all your personal stuff, you have to understand that we’re trying. We are. But you need to be forgiving. That’s what the holidays are ab-”

“We’re done with that,” Jim said, and stabbed at the delete button. “She gets enough of her incorrectly based guilt trips in during the rest of the year. We don’t need the holiday version.”

“I could have called, maybe,” you mumbled. It wasn’t that you had wanted to, frankly, you didn’t feel comfortable at the thought of it. But now, the thought was there that you should have, and you hadn’t, and-

“I can literally hear the wheels turning,” Freddie said. “Shut them down. None of that, not tonight. I should have known listening to this was a bad idea; I regret suggesting it.”

“No, it’s okay,” you said. “I’m alright, really.”

“That is sweet of you to say, but such a bad lie,” Jim tsked. “Come on, back to the couch. We have food to eat, presents to open-”

The phone rang again, and all three of you shot a look towards it.

“It could be one of the lads,” you said. “We should answer it.”

“Roger, Brian, and John are all quite capable of leaving us a message,” Freddie said. “If you’ll let me give them so much credit! We can let the phone go.”

The beep of another message, and a moment later, another call.

“Go sit,” Jim instructed softly. “Let me unplug the phone for the rest of the night. If anyone around here needs to get a hold of us, they know they can always come over.”

“We shouldn’t have to do that just because of my mother, or whoever else is calling on her behalf,” you scoffed, even as the machine beeped again, and the phone rang again not a second later.

“This is harassment,” Freddie whispered angrily.

“Go,” Jim pushed you towards the doorway to the sitting room. “We’re unplugging it.”

Freddie’s hand was warm, but held onto yours tight as he pulled you into the sitting room, back to the couch.

“What if someone else calls?” you protested. “We can’t give in to her like this!”

“This isn’t giving in,” Freddie sighed desperately, eyes rolled back for a moment in frustration. “This is protection. You know that if we leave the phone as it is, your mother will literally fill up the tape with messages, and that all we’ll hear is the phone ringing. Well-meaning though she might be, we all know that isn’t how it actually comes off, and that there’s some manipulation behind it, even if she won’t acknowledge it.”

He dropped onto the couch, and tugged at your hand until you settled onto his lap. “The whole idea of us doing this was so you didn’t have a Christmas like that. With your family shouting your ears off, your mother being...herself, to put it kindly. She can try and interrupt it from an ocean away, but we don’t have to let her succeed at it.”

“Exactly,” Jim strode back into the room, and set a plate of sweets onto the coffee table. “Eat, and don’t spend another moment thinking about her.”

“Took you awhile to unplug the phone,” Freddie said.

“I may have listened to the rest of the messages, to see how bad it was getting,” Jim winced. “Not proud of it, but curiosity killed the cat...”

Delilah hopped onto his lap and let out a huff at that.

“Don’t take offense,” Jim smiled. “Only a saying, and the only cat to get killed was myself. You’re such a quiet man, I cannot believe you come from a family that loud...”

“That’s the holiday version of them,” you said. “Normally, it’s one person says something to upset everyone else at the gathering, then everyone else just stews until finally people start going home.”

“How utterly miserable,” Freddie remarked. “What a delightful time that must be for everyone.”

“Only the best time,” you replied. “Which makes me all the more grateful for this. I can’t think of a time when I ever anticipated I’d have this, honestly. A stable relationship with two wonderful men-”

“Hush,” Freddie smiled, and Jim’s hand was warm on your shoulder.

“And holiday celebrations that I didn’t have to stress out over and spend months fearing,” you continued. “It’s perfect, this. It really is.”

“We’ll make it a tradition then,” Jim said. “A few days before, you get your quiet Christmas. No stress, nothing to worry about, just us.”

“And the cats,” Freddie noted, giggling as Lily climbed onto the couch, then onto your lap, before you could get out of Freddie’s.

“As it should be,” you said. “Should we let them open gifts first?”

“You say that as if they have more to open than we do,” Freddie smirked.

“They do, don’t they?” you asked. “I mean, you bought them things, I bought them things, Jim also bought them something, Phoebe and the lads bought them toys and food and-”

“Alright, alright,” Freddie interrupted with a happy sigh. “Let them at it all first.”

You carried Lily with you as you brought the many presents out for them, all wrapped easily enough to be opened by a persistent (or somewhat interested, at least) cat, then set her down and let them have at it.

That was the moment, you decided as you settled back on the couch in between Freddie and Jim, that if you could have, you would have bottled it up like a favorite cologne.

Warm and safe and comfortable with your husbands (official to the three of you, even if not to the law), in a home where you were loved and cared for, with nothing more to worry about than making sure you didn’t fall asleep on the couch before all the gifts were opened.

#text post #LeeH writes #queen band fic #jim hutton x freddie mercury x reader #am I working thru some holiday trauma with this fic? YUP #and giving myself some wish fulfillment in the process ALSO YUP #but I was desperate to get a holiday fic out and I think this lil thing is cute #so hopefully folks will enjoy it

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