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whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years

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At the End of Your Rope (Jeff the Killer X F!Reader)

At the End of Your Rope

[Jeff the Killer X F!Reader]

[Warnings: heavy domestic abuse, violence, murder (not heavily described though), language]

[AN: This one's kinda heavy in some places. Take care of yourself first and foremost.]

It was rare that you had moments to yourself and even rarer when you found yourself enjoying those moments. Usually, you were tense, on edge, bitey and waiting to snap or invert back into yourself. That is what it does to you. It takes away, it destroys and it saps you of all your energy, your drive and your will.

No matter, that’s not what you’re supposed to be thinking about. You hum softly as you do the dishes, wondering how long this set of plates will last until he returns. You scrub hard at the bits still stuck to it, wondering how on earth he even managed to get this much filth plastered onto its surface - you made the meal, served it to him, you even took it back to the sink. Was he trying to key you off?

You took in a deep breath and scratched at its surface, only smiling softly when the piece finally dislodged from the blue floral design. You ran it under the sink, lukewarm water feeling alien against your skin as you continued to mindlessly rinse off the suds. As you began to stare off into space and by extension, the void, you found yourself remembering the times he used to bring you blue flowers at the beginning of every date.

A long time ago, when you were starry eyed about the world around you, he loved you deeply and truly. And it was the most strange of couplings, but they do say that opposites attract.

Last class of the day, what a relief. What wasn’t a relief was that it was chemistry. You’d never been particularly good at the subject, but you would often try your hardest and so far, throughout the year, had managed to coast by with a -B. It wasn’t perfect but it was good enough.

For the people around you who knew you better than that, they were more than surprised you hadn’t managed an A in the class just yet. You were the over achiever, the smart girl, the one who knew it all. But not in a cocky way, no, of course not. You were sweet, helpful and kind. That’s what spared you from how cruel teenagers can get - your aura was incredible and people would be absolutely dense to not like you. For the most part, you were quiet and only spoke to a few close friends.

Unfortunately for you, your last period chemistry class didn’t have any of your dear ones near. You sat in the middle of the classroom, attempting to take notes and kept your head down, honestly focused on the material when you heard laughter from the back of the classroom.

“Don't make me come back there,” your teacher said, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Do I need to split you up?”

“No, sorry Mrs. Haut,” a dark haired boy piped up.

Mrs. Haut rolled her eyes slightly before going back to writing on the chalkboard. She was talking about the electron configuration of atoms or something like that when the laughter picked back up again. Mrs. Haut sighed again before continuing writing. “One of you move up here by Miss Reader, another by Miss. Rhys, and another by Mr. Clarke.”

The three boys in the back verbally voice their distaste with their teacher’s decision but ultimately went along with it. You buried yourself in your notes even deeper when you realized just who it was sitting next to you. Usually, the person sitting next to you wouldn’t bother you, but the fact that this was by far the most disruptive person in the class had you a little flustered. You couldn’t afford skipping the notes or getting sidetracked especially with midterms coming up.

“You have a pen?” He asked quietly.

That made you pause. “Excuse me?”

“A pen..?” He repeated, albeit a little slowly, as to really get the point across.

You didn’t want to disrupt your teacher any further by the idle chit chat and quietly rummaged in your bag for a pen. Once your fingers grazed the object, you plopped it back onto the desk and got back to writing.

“Thanks,” he said.

Your eyes wandered from your notes over to him - and he smiled at you. Fighting back slight heat, you began scribbling down the notes with a nod as if to say ‘no problem.’

The lesson continued on for a little bit longer until you felt him gently poking your shoulder. You pried your eyes off of the board to give him the attention he so desperately craved. With an eyebrow raised, you asked him what was on his mind.

“What’s your name?” He asked softly.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks - how the hell did he miss your name? You were the only consistent question asker in this class! “... Reader,” you answered, eyes narrowed slightly at the fact he’d miss your name. Though, you do suppose what else could you expect from a class clown? “And what is your name?” You asked simply out of politeness.

His eyes widened in shock, and his face followed in suit. “You seriously don’t know?”

When you shook your head he gave a quiet, but exasperated groan and then flew into a tanger about who he was. The guy who set all those frogs loose last year, the same one who orchestrated turning all the furniture upside down, the guy who did donuts on the football field and the one who covered half the auditorium on elaborate post it notes art.

And unfortunately for you, none of those rang a bell. “I knew someone did it, but I didn’t know you were the one who did it.”

And that spirited yet another tangent from the boy sitting next to you. He went into painstaking detail about how he even got some of those things done, and you pretended to care, more so interested in the passion in his eyes than the actual content of the story. He was a surprisingly good storyteller! You hadn’t even realized the both of you had been chatting more than note taking when everything went dead silent. Much too silent.

“Miss Reader, I am more than disappointed in you,” Mrs. Haut said with another frown pulling on her red lips. “Both of you, detention.”

Your eyes widened in shock as she slapped down two pink slips on your shared table.

“Again?” The boy next to you asked incredulously, taking the note into his fingertips along with his bag in the other hand. “Mrs. H, this is like the second time this month!”

Mrs. Haut only shook her head and gestured towards the door, her shoe tapping impatiently on the ground.

“There’s only thirty more minutes left of class,” you said as you began to pack up your things. “I... “ Upon seeing your teacher’s tired expression,and not being one to directly challenge authority, you relented. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled before taking the slip into your grip and exiting her classroom. You took in a deep breath and trudged out of the classroom, wondering how you would explain to your parents your record had a spot on it when you exited the classroom and closed the door softly behind you.

“Do you know where the room is?” You posed your question to the resident class clown with a crestfallen expression.

“You’re actually planning on going?” He said it like it was a surprise.

“Uh, yeah? Where else would I be going?”

“I don’t know, but we can figure it out.” He smiled widely at you and plucked the pink slip from your hand.

“Wait what-? Give that back!” You cried out as quietly as you could to not disturb the other classes.

“C’mon, Princess, come and get it,” he teased. It didn’t sound like he had malice in his tone though.

You chased him through the hall attempting to get the slip back, narrowly avoiding the watchful gaze of hall monitors and the like when you found he had led you out to the parking lot. You didn’t have a car.

“Let’s go,” he beamed, scrunching up both of your pink slips in his hand before tossing them into the trash. “I wasn’t joking about figuring it out together.”

“I… But-”

“But nothing, Princess. Live a little.” He nodded for you to follow him, and you, feeling much too awkward to challenge someone, found yourself being led by him to his car. It wasn’t a fancy car, but it wasn’t near as run down as you expected it to be. It looked like he kept it relatively decent, and the scent was that of lemon. Whatever, live a little.

You slid into the passenger seat and put on your seatbelt as he became once again.

“Atta girl!” He chuckled as the car roared to life. He then flicked on the radio, turned up some music and the two of you left the school.

You can’t quite say you’ve ever had fun like that before. He took you to a diner, out bowling, you two snuck into a movie theatre then got smoothies before he dropped you off at home. And he was so sweet and kind throughout it all. He made you laugh, listened to you attentively, and over smoothies, he attempted to help you study a bit. It was moot, but it was nice that he even attempted.

That was what started a beautiful friendship that lasted throughout the rest of that academic year. Later, it blossomed into a relationship, and further, it transformed into marriage. The day he asked you to marry him was one of the best days of your entire life - and then, you were convinced you had met your soulmate. He was everything you’d ever wanted in a partner, and he was oh so helpful and attentive.

High school sweethearts was what you were referred to, and you both fit the image so well. You were practically glowing anytime anyone had seen you. Your marriage had happened too fast, but you were convinced he was your one and only unaware that growth comes in many forms. And in this specific case, the roots have burst the pot.

Back then, he used to give you flowers nearly every day in various shades of the rainbow. Blue seemed to be the preferred though.

“You always get these, why?” You had asked one evening, fingertips gently petting the soft petals.

“Apparently, they mean something poetic,” he replied before pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “That’s what the flower guy keeps telling me. And they’re kinda hard to find,” he continued, eyes looking out at the starry night sky the two of you laid under. “So, whenever they come in, I grab them tight and bring them back to my baby.”

You giggled slightly before shutting him off with a kiss.

They were damn near unattainable after the two of you had gotten married. It seemed they’d gone out of style, or perhaps they just weren’t thriving as they used to. One day, when you were lonely and missing your husband, you pulled out an old book on various flora and fauna. You must’ve spent hours upon hours learning about the area you lived in when you chanced upon a dash of blue.

Cornflowers, they were cornflowers.

The flowers on the plate you’d run under the faucet for far too long weren’t the same shade of blue, but they were just as pretty. It’s a shame that these plates would most likely be broken before the month was out.

Gods, when did he change? It was hard to pinpoint it because the two of you had been under each other’s spell for a good chunk of that time. When did he flip the switch? When did he… You shook your head and turned off the faucet, deciding you were done with the dishes for now. Accidentally, when you were placing the plate back in its place, you bumped your forearm on the counter. With a wince, you hissed and mentally reminded yourself to mind the bruises that were still fresh there. He gripped your wrist so hard that night you were sure it was going to snap right off.

He really wasn’t like this in the beginning and your mind raked constantly with reasons as to why when you laid awake at night hoping he wouldn’t go too far or burn a bridge only to find it needed to be rebuilt with supplies that no longer existed.

It was nearing the late evening and he wasn’t supposed to be home until later in the night. You could afford to relax for just a little longer. With a deep breath, you walked up the stairs dead set on drawing a bath to just let your mind go blank. Hidden away in the bathroom sink’s cabinet was a ‘mix’ of herbs and such a dear friend of yours had said would aid in relaxing your soul and maybe your wounds. You could only use the clumsy excuse for so long.

You opened the door to your bathroom, quietly shut it behind you and didn’t bother locking it. If he was here, you might have, but you weren’t expecting him back until much, much later. You could afford to breathe. You drew the faucet and let it run for a moment or two until the water got a little warmer, then you plugged the tub and let it fill. You crouched down and poked your hand around towards the back of the bathroom sink before finding the jar filled with herbs and salts. It smelled divine even when closed. Unscrewing the lid, you are able to take in the scent of lavender, chamomile, rosebuds, sweet lemongrass and vanilla. Pink sea salt for added effect made the bath look heavenly when you poured in a generous scoop. As the water heated the herbs, you notice the rosebuds blooming into large, pink and red flowers. It was nothing short of magickal and filled you with some type of serenity.

Once the water was to your liking, you stripped and got into the tub, sighing in contentment as the water heated your form up. And from there, you let your mind go blank and take in the aroma of the herbs and flowers. You feel the stress leaving your body. You wish you could feel like this forever.

You allow your brain to wander as you relax and find it going back to your husband every single time. If he wasn’t asked to sit next to you, would you have been in this awful situation now? This was no way to live - and you wondered if you had just gone to detention that day if things would be different, or perhaps better. You thought you were able to pinpoint when everything went wrong when yet another starting point would come into your mind. It was like your brain was purposely making you move the goalposts so you wouldn’t be retraumatized by anything all over again.

It started small and in little bouts. He lost his patience with you. If you accidentally burnt the pancakes? It was alright but don’t let it happen again. Over watered the petunias just once? Great, now he needed to go to the store and pick up some new ones should those suffer root rot that was relatively treatable. Couldn’t get dinner ready on time? What a mess. Said something slightly off base? Your intelligence was being actively questioned. It kept snowballing until it reached the first time he hit you. Which was a dark enough day that you rather not think about.

He said he loved you. That he would protect you and make sure you were safe from all harm. But he broke that the moment his hand slapped your face so hard you felt the air leave your lungs. That was a really dark day, but it was not the darkest yet.

You must’ve spent close to an hour in the bath when you heard the front door opening. Shit, he wasn’t supposed to be back. You feel your heart pounding as you leap out of the bath, quickly drying yourself before throwing your clothes back on. In your haste, you forget to unplug the bath. But it’s too late, you hear him coming up the stairs. Seconds later, he’s in your shared bedroom.

“Reader? Where are you?” He sounds exhausted. Upon seeing the bathroom door closed, he stalks up to it. “Reader? Open up, Princess.”

It’s not the first time he’s tried to soften the blow like this.

“I-I’m still in the tub-”

“Sure, sure, sweetie,” he hums. “Can you uh, tell me why you haven’t gotten any food ready if you were going to fuck around in the tub like this then?”

Your heart constricts and your stomach twists. “I didn’t know you were gonna be home this early,” you say softly, ready to brace the door.

“Oh you forgot,” he says as if he’s speculating whether that was a decent answer or not. “You forgot,” he repeats. He stands in front of the bathroom door, swaying slightly like he’s waiting for you to come to you. “Come out of the bathroom.”

“I just drew it-”

“Did I ask for your excuses?”

“No-”

“Then come out of the FUCKING BATHROOM!” He hits the door so hard you thought you heard it splintering.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You cried out as you immediately rammed against the door, struggling to keep your husband back from breaking it down.

He didn’t answer, only continued to rattle off about everything wrong. She kicked the door harder and harder, sending you bouncing against the wood. You continued to cry out in pain but dug your shoulder into the door as you prayed it would be enough to keep him out.

“Stop, stop, STOP IT!” You felt tears pour out from your eyes as your husband pounded the door. “You’re being crazy right now, stop it!” Your throat felt raw with anguish as you continued to screech, head coming dangerously close to bouncing against the door as your husband began kicking it.

Eventually, he succeeded. He backed up, reared his leg up and took three hard hits, successfully kicking the door down. You went flying down with it and tumbled down the tile floor with a yelp of pain, landing sharply on your hip. You looked up through your pain and saw he was standing before you, fists balled and nothing but rage in his eyes.

“I told you to fucking let me in,” he seethes as he narrows in on you. Before he can touch you, his eyes travel to the tub. “And now you’re clogging up my fucking pipes?” He asks in an exasperated tone as he feels his blood pressure rise. “You need to learn a lesson,” he sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair. “When dogs are just puppies and they have an accident,” he begins as he bends down to the ground and nears you as you struggle to crawl away from him. “You take their nose and bury it into their mess.” He finishes. He straddles your waist and sloughs off your weak attempts to get him off of you.

You continue to cry and scream, beg and plead as his hands snake up your arms and to your hair. And your eyes widen as he takes a fistfull and then roughly stands up, dragging your body up with him.

“You fucking dog,” he spits as he drags you upwards. He begins to drag you towards the tub.

“No, NO!” You plead as you dig your heels into the tile, trying to grip onto the sink for dear life as he continues to drag you. You feel your strands of hair damn near get lifted from your scalp as he continues to yank you. He’ll kill you if you don’t put up a fight. “I’m sorry! Gods, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Whatever I did to piss you off I promise that it won’t happen again!” You attempt to reason as he finally pries your hands off the sink.

“You should’ve known that to begin with,” he replies as he pulls your hair harder. He then brings you to the tub and roughly shoves you to its lip. You catch yourself and try to get away when he pushes at the back of your head. You still continue to fight him, crying and pleading even harder as your husband kicks in the back of your legs, attempting to cripple you further to get you to bend. You continue to push back, staring into the now cold bath like it’s a watery grave.

A scream rips through your throat as he hits the back of your skull, having you gasping for air and consciousness. He takes that moment as your weakness and finally overpowers you. Your head is thrust below the waters, and you find yourself screeching all the while. From above the water’s surface, you can hear your once beloved husband muttering about you and the faults of your character as he holds you under the water. Before you can even register that air is in your lungs again, you’re plunged back into the water, coughing and hacking all the while as he does so.

When he grows tired of continually plunging your head into the water, he picks up your lower half and tosses you in, sending the water and herbs flying everywhere as your clothed body enters the freezing tub. Your tears mix with the remnants of the bathwater as he holds you under, nothing but rage in his eyes as he does.

When you feel like it’s too much, you begin to let go. Perhaps darkness would be a nicer sight than the sunrise of tomorrow.

You open your eyes slowly to see that you’re still in the tub and laying in a small pool of water that isn’t enough to harm you regardless of how you were laid. You feel aches all over and you feel like water is weighing down your lungs. Slowly, you get to your bearings as you prop yourself up. Step by step and painstaking muscle movement by muscle movement, you stand and grip the edge of the tub, realizing you need to change out of your clothes. You pause momentarily to look at yourself in the mirror.

“Gods,” you whisper to yourself. You look like you were in a car accident. There’s bruises on your throat and your face from where he tried to slam you into the bathtub, and your face is puffy and discolored from crying. Your hair is knotted and you feel like no amount of conditioner on earth can get that out - to even think about detangling it is a nightmare. Your clothes are ripped and waterlogged. Everything about you screams pathetic. When you turn your head and look at the door, you see it’s broken beyond repair. He kicked it out of its latches and the wood itself is splintered in two.

You quietly step out of the bathroom, ready to change into drier clothes when you see your husband sitting at the edge of the bed, waiting for you. You feel yourself begin to shiver, momentarily feeling your mind drift elsewhere to protect your brain from further trauma.

“You’re finally up,” he says, a blank expression on his face. “Are you okay?”

You feel disgust come up in the back of your throat but swallow it back down in favor of not angering him further. “I’m fine,” you lie, not bothering to plaster on a smile.

“Good.” He slowly stands up. “I’m heading out. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” He holds his arms out to you.

Shivering and absolutely terrified, you find yourself bending to his will. Quietly, you pad across the carpet to him and allow yourself to be wrapped up in his arms. His arms feel like a metal cage as they wrap around your quivering form.

“I’m sorry,” he says emptily as he buries his nose into your hair. “It won’t happen again.” He sways the two of you side to side as he holds you a little tighter, not bothering to mind the bumps and bruises he inflicted on your body.

You internally sigh and hollowly nod, allowing him to hold you.

He said that the last time.

It’s been a few days since your husband flew off the handle like that. Your husband stayed in the house, but like every time before, he pretended nothing had happened and instead vied for avoiding you. In a day or so, he’d be back to pretending he still loved you. But, your mind wasn’t entirely on him coming back to you and acting sweet - it was on everything in between.

See, this isn’t the first time that something of this caliber has happened to you. Convenience was something that seemed to pop up in your life more often than not, and you’d just accepted it. The first time you could remember it was when you were in your garage, trying to have a moment alone after your husband had shoved you into a wall for not making the potatoes the way he wanted (what a stupid thing to be upset over). As you sat at the workbench, sobbing quietly, your attention was pulled towards a thing of antifreeze. It was just propped up there. You don’t remember buying it, nor did you remember your husband buying it either. Neither of you regularly did car maintenance, nor did it seem like the kind used for a pool (which neither of you had). What on earth was it even doing here?

You quietly picked up the bottle and tossed it before your husband came calling for you to redo the potatoes.

The second time you noticed something much too conveniently placed was when the coffee in front of you was decaf. Your husband was terrible at waking up in the mornings, and the only thing that kept him up was his morning coffee on the drive to work. Well, one morning it was decaf in the keurig- and you almost didn’t notice it. The last time that happened, he’d almost swerved off the road. In a panic, you switched it to the right one before he noticed. If neither of you did, it could have claimed his life as the drive from your neck of the woods to the city was kind of dodgy in general.

The third most prominent time was semi-recently. You were cooking and once you finished, carried about your day. When you stopped by the kitchen to grab your keys and head to town for some shopping, you noticed that the gas was left on. Your husband was due to come home soon - if it stayed on for any longer, it might have killed him. Of course, you turned it off, but your hand lingered on the dial just a moment longer, wondering what would have happened if you didn’t turn it off. Feeling monstrous for even letting that thought pop into your head, you pulled back your hand like you had thrown it into the fire.

Those were just some of the most prominent things that happened. There were also little things that occurred as well, such as the TV always being clicked onto certain types of true crime documentaries entailing warring spouses, or the reading material being a tad too detailed in how to get away with things that obviously weren't legal. It started with petty theft, or piracy, and then moved onto other things that were much too unpleasant for you to even detail. All of these things seemed to be calling you towards something more sinister than you had ever imagined.

And until now, you’d managed to hold it all back. Sure, you entertain yourself by watching the documentaries and reading the material (which you wonder deeply who put it in your mailbox to begin with) but you never actually thought to harm him, did you?

It all came to a head a few weeks after the bathtub incident. He pushed you around plenty since then, but it hadn’t crossed the threshold like what happened back then - and that was enough to keep you at bay until this specific dinner. Apparently, your husband had missed out on a promotion given to someone younger and more ambitious than him and that killed him on the inside. He had a chip on his shoulder and he was dead set on taking it out on you.

“Gave it to that little prick,” he mumbles as he stabs at his food.

“I’m sure you’ll get it next time-”

“Next time? That’s half a fucking year away,” your husband replies as he bites down on his food. “Worthless job and can’t even move up in it. Stuck in this hellhole,” he continues to mutter as he stabs around.

Not wanting to even think about flaring him, you just drink uncomfortably at your water. “Is…” You close your mouth, not wanting to even hear his voice.

“No, no, finish your thought,” he says with a deep sigh.

“It’s not important.”

“My wife has something to say, she says it.”

“No, really I-”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Reader, spit it out.”

“Is the food okay?” You ask quietly as you avert your eyes to anywhere but at him. You gulp thickly, worrying that you’ve upset him further and lament even opening your mouth up to begin with.

“It’s awful,” he replies before taking another bite. “You must really be testing me, y’know that?”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“I know.”

Uncomfortable silence passes between the two of you as dinner goes on with that same unease. You practically exude discomfort as you sit there, picking at your food and not wanting to even stomach it as long as this monster sits across from you. You wonder if your husband is going to go on one of his tangents when he answers that useless question by opening his mouth.

He talks a lot about how much he hates work, his coworkers, his lot in life, literally anything he could complain about and everything. He has such a hatred for the world around him that you wonder if it was always hiding just below the surface when you first met him. Probably. People tend to grow into who they were always meant to be as the years go on.

“And you,” he continues, pointing his fork in an accusatory manner at you. “You are the worst part of it,” he says as he narrows his eyes. He does this to you at every meal. And by the end of it, he’s always so riled up he almost breaks the plates. “Remember that girl, Jada? From honors math?”

You quietly nod.

“I should’ve married her. Girl with some brains and a nice ass,” he muses. “Instead I settled for you. Worthless, bruised and battered, puffy faced you,” he says with absolute vitriol, getting more and more riled up as his complaints carry on. “Hell, if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have been thrown in detention again either.”

“That wasn’t my fault-”

“Oh so she speaks, does she?” He stands up.

You brace yourself.

“You know better than that,” he says lowly like a tiger waiting to pounce. “Than to talk back to me in my OWN GODDAMN HOUSE!” The plates and the dinner go flying off the table as he roughly shoves his arms across it.

There go the plates that reminded you of something nicer.

You immediately stand up and gasp, your chair flying back as you do so. Your hands fly up as your husband’s hands grip ar your wrists, his power taking over your frail form as he begins hurling you backwards to the countertop.

“Teach you to talk to me like that again,” he growls as he slams you down onto the counter, wrists not being jostled into his one hand. “You’ll never learn,” he mumbles, strill wrangling you down to the countertop.

From the corner of your eye, you could see him reaching towards the knife rack - and you see your very life fly before your eyes as he palms one.

You begin to repeat no like a mantra as he grips the knife and then lets go of your wrists, hsi hand going to the collar of your shirt. You cry out as your hands balled into fists and start punching, your legs being held by his body as his hand latches onto your throat and squeezes. Tears prick your eyes once again as his eyes flick down to your shirt.

“Stop!” You weakly cry out as his fingers dig into your flesh.

He raises the knife, a mad look on his faze as the steel catches the light. It shines, and then comes plunging down.

You scream as the knife is stabbed much too close to your neck, instead trapping you by snagging your shirt to the counter.

“You stay here and think about all the trouble you’ve caused,” he says in a ‘bubbling with rage’ tone as he shoves your head into the counter. “And clean up this mess.”

Once he leaves and slammed the front door shut, you pry yourself free from the knife and then fall to the floor sobbing, once again feeling your heart broken over your husband treating you so. But, once the rain fell, all that came was a ping - a spark. As you finally composed yourself and began cleaning his mess, the spark ignited to a flame that grew like wildfire in your mind’s eyes as you gingerly picked up the pieces of plates that you held such saccharine fondness over.

You couldn’t stand for this anymore.

With exhaustion sweeping over your body and the kitchen now cleaned, you allow yourself to move on autopilot and move upwards towards your bedroom. You don’t bother changing and plop down onto it. You stare at your ceiling, wondering if you should run away or - oh! Here comes a thought. With your eyes inching towards your nightstand, you finally give into the overwhelming feeling to open the drawer and you do so. Your hand gropes around before you finally touch something cold. Your mind lurches once you realize what it is.

You sit up, more than surprised to see the handle of a gun under your fingertips. On it is a sticky note with a smiley face: ‘don’t forget to turn off the safety :)’. A shiver of horror runs down your spine when you realize there’s a silencer attached to it. Gods, you knew he had a gun but a silencer? Everything about this - you knew it was wrong.

But holding it in your hand… That felt right.

You decided to stay quiet on things for now and think. Afterall, he was stronger than you. You couldn’t just confront him with the gun. He might wrestle it out of you and shoot you instead. You couldn’t take that kind of risk right now. So, you waited, looked over the gun some more, and waited.

Your husband entered back into the house at some gods awful time at night, more than pleased to see the house was back in order as it should be as he closed the door behind him. He was exhausted on all facets (though it could not hold a candle to how you were feeling) as he trudged up the stairs.

You laid in bed, pretending to be asleep. You knew what had to be done.

When your husband came in, huffed and got ready for bed, you itched for the trigger. You knew you had to act soon, but not too fast or he could hurt you again an take you out instead. Your breath hitched when you felt him sit on the bed and get comfortable, of course, turned away from you.

You took in a deep breath, closed your eyes, and held the gun in your hand once you felt him slip into sleep. The moments felt like hours as you quietly sat up and held the gun in your hands. Were you really going to do this?

Your mind flashed with hundreds upon hundreds of possibilities. At one point, a long time ago, you loved him. You loved him deeply and truly.

You took aim.

You shot.

Gods, if you knew it was going to be this hard to drag his body out here, you would’ve chosen a different place to shoot him. Dragging your now dead husband through the woods behind your house was an absolutely miserable process. You were working up a sweat as you did so and it was so dark that you could hardly make heads or tails of anything.

Finally, guided by the moonlight, you came to a place that looked more than decent. It was far enough, and the growth here was so heavy that if you tumbled the earth around, it would hardly look like anyone had disturbed it to begin with.

“Always making things harder on me,” you mumble as you toss his limp body back to the earth before you juggle the shovel you’d dragged along into your hands. You let your mind go blank as you began to cut into the soil.

A plethora of thoughts entered into your head as you shoveled away, making a deep enough hole to throw your deceased husband in. In a way, you didn’t think he deserved a hole this nice, but you knew deep down you had to hide the body. You continued to shovel, and once you finally made it deep enough to your liking, rolled his body into the ground.

“Didn’t think you had it in you,” a low, slightly gravelly voice chuckles, slow clapping.

“Who’s there?” You ask in a slightly panicked tone, holding the shovel up like a weapon. “I… I won’t hesitate-”

“Don’t make me laugh,” the voice continues, a playful bite on every syllable. “No, no, you did good.”

Your eyes frantically look around for the voice when you hear a whistle. There, behind you, is a man. Possibly mid 20s, shoulder length black hair, pale skin that rivals the light of the moon, wearing a hoodie covered in things you’d rather not think of and taller than you by a good head or so.

“You gonna put the shovel down?” He asks with a brow raised.

Hesitantly, you lower the shovel in your grasp just to let him get a little closer. Your eyes widen when you see he’s cut a smile into his face. “Who… Who are you?”

“I’ll tell you if you finish your job here,” he says as he nods to the uncovered, deceased body of your husband. “And before you go through the typical ‘oh my gods, are you gonna turn me in’ bullshit so many of you seem to go through, rest assured that I’m not gonna do anything to you. Just finish your job. Can you do that for me, Bird?” He leans against the tree, looking at you with a small smark.

A mind too frazzled for anything else, you nod and get back to work. It doesn’t take near as long to fill the hole as it did to carve it out, which was a pleasant surprise. When you were done, you wiped the sweat from your brow.

“What are you doing here?” You asked as you held the shovel firmly in your hands.

“Checking in on you,” he replies. “You want to go back to your house and-”

“No,” you cut him off, eyes averting down the ground. “Anywhere but there right now.” You say softly, gesturing to the disturbed earth.

The man pops off the tree and stalks over to the hole you’d covered, lightly shoving some foliage on top of it. “Okay, still sensitive. I get that,” he hums. “Follow me then. Let’s take a walk.” He nods for you to follow, blue eyes silently telling you to bring the shovel along with you.

Not wanting to be near his body anymore despite it being packed below the ground, you relent and follow.

“So, you did good, really good,” the man says as he puts his hands back in his hoodie pockets.

“Why do you keep saying that?” You ask, quickly matching pace with him. “And I never did get your name..?” You trail off slightly, taking in the deep scent of the woods around you. The scent of pine and autumn fills your nose.

“Because you did my job for me, and it’s Jeff,” he replies, his arm momentarily pushing back some low hanging pines. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you for a while, Bird.” He chuckles softly when he sees your confused expression.

“Really? Bird?” You repeat in a dry tone, face deadpanning at the very mention of it. “Job?”

“You’re flighty, like a bird, and judging by how fast you switch topics, bird.” He smiles, continuing to lead you further and further into the woods and away from your now empty house. “Little while back, I was asked to kill your husband. But, I saw you during one of my stalking outings and well, thought I could make things interesting.” He says it like it’s nothing and common knowledge.

“You what?” You ask in a surprised tone. “You stalked us?”

“Well, yeah,” Jeff says. “Normally, I don’t take that much care in my work. I tend to gut first and never ask questions, but you posed something interesting in my wake.”

“Holy fuck,” you murmur as you continue to trot throguh the woods. “We’re both going to jail.”

“Me? Absolutely not. You? Well,” he turns his attention to the deer path laid before the two of you and smiles at the open, moonlit field. “Depends on how you’ll answer my question.”

The two of you step through the remaining brush and finally reach the field. You had no idea this place was even behind your house or even so close. Tall grass rising to your waist sways gently in the wind as you step out of the trees and into the open air. Stars dot the sky as the moon hangs overhead. This place feels nostalgic. Out in the distance is a little stone structure, and upon Jeff taking you closer to it, it’s a little stone shelter.

“Take a seat, gonna be a while,” Jeff says as he rummages around in his pocket. He pulls out a lighter, bends down and lights the pieces of wood conveniently left inside of it, and the night is no longer cold.

You get comfortable and let your exhausted body rest. “Have you been watching me for long?”

“Longer than necessary,” Jeff answers as he cracks his back before finally getting comfortable. “But, I only watched you from a distance. Tell me about yourself first, let me know it wasn’t a mistake to let you breathe.” He smirks at you and winks, sending shivers down your spine.

You take in a deep breath, not really feeling anything but exhaustion and decide to tell him. You tell him everything, about your childhood, about little intricacies and so on. You told him about high school and how you met your husband. Little stories, anecdotes, memories and feelings resurfaced as you detailed how everything was bliss. And then one day, it wasn’t.

“Something in him snapped and went rotten,” you sigh. “And he hurt me. Hurt me really bad.”

Jeff looks up from the fire to see how the light dances across your skin. It’s here that he’s finally able to see the extent of your dead husband’s power over you. Bruises darker than your natural shade line your skin like oddly erased marks on a stubborn piece of paper. Your eyes are hollow, devoid of all life. Hair from your scalp is oddly placed as if it’s still trying to grow back. Your posture conveys nothing but pure exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a tone that’s much more gruff than he originally means. It’s not that he doesn’t genuinely feel bad, it’s that he’s awful at actually verbalizing it. In truth, Jeff doesn’t like abusers. They make him feel wrong, make him feel like something’s not fair. Jeff like to fancy himself as someone who goes by the rule of ‘equality.’ If you pick on someone weaker than you with them having no chance of fighting back or at least inflicting the same damage back, you are nothing but a coward who gets off on hurting smaller people. And that in his mind is nothing short of detestable. “Guess good on me for letting you take him out, huh?”

You look at him with an odd mixture of confusion and absolute relief. “I guess,” you say, the sound of serenity slipping into your tone. “And what about you? What originally sent you out here?”

“Tall guy in a suit,” he stated, a small scowl pulling at his lips. “Y’know, he’s interested in you.”

“Tall guy in a suit?”

“Slender Man. I call him ‘Pale Ass’ though. He’s like… A murderous businessman. Has little drones to do his work even though he’s more than capable of doing it himself. And that’s where you come in.” Jeff shifts slightly and fixes his posture. “He’s the guy who originally wanted your husband dead. Sent me to do it.”

“Why did he want him dead?” You inquire. You knew your husband had done some dodgy things, especially with how strangely he was acting within the last few years as his abuse ran up, but you originally assumed he was cheating or something. Maybe into some other shady things. What on earth could he have done to garner the attention of some murderer kingpin?

“Saw something he shouldn’t have. My guess is Toby - maybe Theo. Both of them suck at covering up their tracks,” Jeff laughs slightly. “Probably saw one of us hiding a body, committing a murder, shit, he could’ve stumbled on some finals when he obviously shouldn’t have done that. Regardless, it got Slender’s attention, and now he’s dead because of it,” Jeff continues as he casts his eyes from you to the flickering flames. “You remember that night he fell asleep in his car in the garage?”

You nod.

“Almost took him out right there.” Jeff’s brows furrow slightly. “Something stopped me and then I saw you. The way he reacted to you asking if he wanted a certain type of potato made me giggle, and then I got a thought.”

“The antifreeze…”

“Yeah, the antifreeze. I’d noticed you were being pushed around for a while, honestly planning on taking you out to give you some rest but,” his eyes flash, “seemed more fun to get you into it too.” He sighs and leans back. “Was it cathartic?”

You find yourself uncomfortably shifting and wanting to answer with ‘no, of course not! I killed someone,’ before realizing that wouldn't be truthful. It was cathartic to put an end to his life. It was cathartic to finally bring justice for yourself in a way that no prison system would allow. “It… It was.” You admit, shyly and quietly like confessing to a bad secret.

“Feels nice to admit it, right?” He smiles.

“It does.”

“Now, imagine doing that to other pieces of shit,” he says as he sits up again. “Imagine being able to do that to every monster that’s ever hurt anyone just like you/”

You close your eyes and feel the red hot rage tingle your fingertips. Being able to unload on your dead husband was more than pleasing - in fact, it was nice, and dare you say, fun. The thought of being able to do that to other people who hurt others like that, while a far off possibility now as you were still frail, was still a possibility nonetheless.

“I mean, where else do you have to go?” Jeff continues, watching as you toss the thought around in your head. “You’d never get caught. He’d handle it all right now. You’d be free.” Jeff stands up and begins crossing the distance to meet you. His shadow walks alongside him. Dusk hangs in the air. “Or, if this isn’t to your liking, you can join him.”

“What?” You question, eyes flicking up from Jeff’s shoes to his eyes.

“You gotta understand,” he begins as he crouches in front of you. “If you say no and

decide to deal with the fallout like a normal human being, you’ll be caught and most likely killed for it. You’d be at the end of your rope.”

You feel an ocean of emotions swell up inside of you. “And if I… What would you even have me do if I followed you?”

“I’ll take you to meet him, and we’ll see what happens next. He’ll cover for you. You won’t ever have to see this place ever again.”

The sun begins to peek over the horizon. The fire is dying down. You can hear birds chirping in the early morning sky as fluffy clouds bid good morning to the dimming stars in the sky.

“Let’s get outta here, Bird.” Jeff stands up, holding out his hand.

You take in a deep breath, hand hovering over his. You thought of your husband, your life and everything that had ever happened to lead up to this moment. You’d gone this far, and there was clearly no going back. Another deep breath in and you pressed your hand down to his.

Jeff’s smile bloomed once again.

#jeff the killer #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #jeff the killer x reader #reader insert #x reader #creepypasta jtk

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iamanartichoke · 3 years

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I completely agree with your post about Tom. People’s entitlement over their favourite celebrities goes to far. And tbh I really hate when fans act like they know for sure how he feels and what he’s thinking based on very ambiguous “evidence”. This is usually done so people can align Tom’s views with their own which requires most of the time someone else to be villanised. What I mean is that fans have no actual proof that the writers, producers and director of Loki are bad people and that Tom is unhappy with the directions the show took. There is usually nothing to be inferred about who these people are beyond their merits as professionals. But fans present their assumptions as facts anyway and that has evolved into actual harassment of the production team. All the while piggybacking on this idea that Tom thinks exactly what like them. And I am saying this as someone who hated TR and thinks Loki was deliberately made weaker/less important so Thor could shine more. And someone who hates pretty much all of Mike Waldron’s previous work on Rick and Morty. But is still feels very presumptuous to act like these people deliberate compromised the their own work because they hate Loki and his fans. And that they are filled with every prejudice know to man. And it’s also very demeaning to victimise Tom in the process. Of course some of the people involved suck but most of the time these assumptions have no basis whatsoever. And there is also an over-identification going on between some fans and Tom which isn’t healthy for anybody.

Sorry it took me several days to get to this, anon. It took me a minute to get my thoughts in order. But in a nutshell, yeah, I agree with a lot of the things you pointed out here - especially with fans acting like they know for a fact what he's thinking or feeling.

Under the cut for length and a bit of wank and disagreement w/ the "Marvel hates Loki" discourse so please skip if you don't want to see it.

A lot of the Loki series wank is rooted in whether or not Tom actually likes the series and significantly contributed to it, or if he's just saying what he has to say for publicity and his ideas and contributions were largely ignored. None of us will ever know for sure, bc none of us are Tom and none of us were directly involved in the series, so it's moot speculation, really. But it seems to basically come down to people trying to reconcile their feelings about the show with their feelings about Tom.

I don't necessarily think there's anything wrong with believing that Tom's hands were tied to an extent and/or he just says things that he has to for promotion, but I also don't think that it should be treated as fact and then used as, like, ammunition against other people working on the show. I personally have not seen anyone I know or am friendly with taking their complaints to the level of harassment of actual people irl (that seems to be more of a twitter thing, as far as I can tell, and imo comes from an entirely different place than just hating the show [I think there's an inherent meanness in people whose instincts are to harass and bully bc they want to actively make others feel like shit]) but I do see it posted as fact, time and time again, that the showrunners had a personal vendetta against Loki and were intent on making the series as bad as possible, and that Tom was helpless to do anything about it.

Which I get, in a way, bc I personally believe that the Russos had, if not a vendetta, an active dislike of Loki and a vested interest in getting him "out of the way" in a manner that would make him look pathetic in IW - but, I certainly can't say that's the case for sure, and I also think it's a little different bc Tom's contractual obligations for his film appearances were likely very different than what he (and/or his people) negotiated for the show.

That's neither here nor there but my point is, I can understand where the theories come from but I just don't think that's the case here, and seeing it so often makes me feel kinda uncomfortable (for a lot of reasons but also) bc, imo, it undermines Tom's autonomy for fans to act as if he's little more than a puppet on a string, just saying whatever he has to say to please the powers that be. Like, yes, there are legally binding contracts that probably limit how candid he can be, and we all know that he sugarcoats things and never says anything bad about anyone, which can make him seem like a bit of an "unreliable narrator" when he gushes about the show -

- but, he's also a big name celeb (I mean, the studio has always banked on his name being attached to the project bc he's the one who would draw in the most viewers). He's got clout (is that the right word?) to back him up - they wanted him, specifically, to play Loki in this series. Without Tom, there's no show. So why would they want to alienate him, silence him, or dismiss him when he comes to the table and says "here are my ideas"?

My point is, it's unfair and, yes, demeaning to act as if Tom is this voiceless, powerless victim who has no choice but to act in a series he hated that was purposefully trying to destroy his character, and then to turn around and mindlessly sing its praises while promoting it.

I think that the truth is somewhere in the middle - Tom's creative control was likely limited bc he wasn't the director and wasn't the showrunner or head writer, and no one person is ever completely in control when it comes to the end result that we, the audience, end up seeing on the screen anyway. He may not have been entirely happy with every writing or directing choice that was made. But it's also very unlikely that he had no say at all or that any input he had was dismissed (or 95% of it, as it were); again, the series is banking on his name being the draw and he has the advantage of being an authority on Loki while also being intelligent and eloquent enough to convey his perspective on the character. I think that the real issue is that Tom's current perspective and/or interpretation of Loki no longer aligns with his interpretation of OG Loki from 2011-13. Which is, admittedly, a very hard pill to swallow.

Anyway, this may have veered off in another direction and idek if you wanted this answered or to have a conversation or maybe you were just venting - but, here we are.

To make it less about Loki specifically and more about Tom in general, though, yeah, ultimately I just wish his fans wouldn't feel so entitled toward him and his opinions, or his career choices, or his love life, or his clothes. I was browsing one of the Tom ask blogs (or maybe it was a Zawe one, I don't remember now) the other day and I find it really creepy, for lack of a better word, at how invested people are in Tom's, like, day-to-day whereabouts. Someone saw him at a restaurant in NYC - I wonder if he's still there today? Where's he staying? Is he there as a tourist or for work reasons? Who could he be meeting with in New York? A producer? Another play? Will he host SNL? Is Zawe still with him or did she go back to London? etc etc like, it really goes back to my original point in my original post which is, basically, who caaaaaaaares, why are you investing so much of your day trying to figure out what Tom is doing with his?

Now I'm just venting, but yeah ... shit's weird.

#asks #a nonny mouse #charlotte replies #tom hiddleston is my favorite unicorn #disclaimer - i know a lot of my mutuals feel this way about tom and my disagreement with those takes is not meant as a personal attack #but again if my opinions hurt your feelings or make you feel like you can't trust me #please just unfollow so i don't have to keep feeling the need to apologize all over the place #for shit i post on my own blog #long post

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baby-grayson · 4 years

Text

Kind Stranger|GBD|Part 9

Parts 1-8

Words: 3.6k

tw: fluff and angst? Tags: @dolanpornhub @styles-dolan @evergreendolan @someonetogray @vintagedolan @prettyboydolan @dolansficsandpics @graysavant @baby-turtles

Grayson leaned back on a patch of grass, his body falling beneath him as he slumped on the ground. Ethan sat beside him, one arm draped over a bent knee and the other fidgeting with blades of grass. Ethan could swear Grayson hadn’t been this quiet since their father passed. Ethan struggled to comfort his brother, growing increasingly tired of dead ended conversations. Grayson had tried to call Kate at least once a day for the past five days: she never picked up. Ethan shepherded his brother between Zoom meetings, phone calls, and their various responsibilities while the shell of Grayson wallowed in heart break.

Grayson’s usually glimmering eyes were duller, like a light inside of his face had been put out. He had lost sleep, beginning the accumulation of heavy, dark bags under his eyes. The calluses on his hands were picked over and ripped up, his pass time during meetings. He and Ethan were preparing for Wakeheart’s candle launch, being persecuted on twitter for their podcast, and trying to maintain momentum for their Youtube channel. Grayson struggled to find focus, much less creative energy, since his fight with Kate.

This afternoon, Ethan invited Grayson longboarding in an attempt to get him out of their rental house, and hopefully out of his head. A few wipe outs later, the twins founded refuge on a patch of grass. The silence was deafening. Negative clouds ruled Grayson’s mind while Ethan tried to navigate around them to soothe his brother. “What did you do last time things weren’t so great?” Ethan probed, hoping to find the answer to Grayson’s dilemma. Grayson shrugged from where he laid on the ground. His eyes followed a cloud moving across the open sky above him. “We kinda---just …” Grayson exhaled, thinking about the happy times felt like a treacherous tap dance on his heart. “I went over. We kissed. I spent the night and it just went away..” Ethan’s jaw dropped softly as he cocked his head to the side. Grayson stayed focused on his favorite cloud and did not notice Ethan’s eyebrow raised. “Are you telling me you fucked it out of her?” Ethan could not veil the cutting tone in his voice. Grayson groaned. Her soft skin, her plumps lips, her whispy hair, her sweet, citrus scent..it all flooded back to him. Fuck. Fuck Ethan for making him think about this..about her..”No, we just got busy and happy and didn’t really think about it again.” Grayson’s eyes darted around, no longer able to locate his cloud. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to focus on the feeling of the ground beneath him when he added, “We haven’t had sex yet.”

Ethan’s head pushed back, his brother was always full of surprises. It both made all sense and no sense to him. Grayson usually practiced certain activities on a regular basis, soon after meeting women. Of course Grayson would have waited for the girl who actually meant something to him. Ethan exhaled, realizing the gravity of the situation. “You do know you can’t be a virgin until marriage if you’re not a virgin when you meet her, right? Do I need to explain that idea to you?” Grayson’s arms went limp against the grass. He exhaled through his nose, striking a twinge of pain in his sinuses. He did not try to mask the annoyance in his voice, “No, but you can explain what I need to do to get her back.” Grayson’s head throbbed in pain, his lack of sleep not serving him well. His eyes felt heavy. His body felt heavy. His soul felt heavy. He questioned where he went wrong. His heart twisted and turned between being hurt and wanting to hear an apologize but feeling the obligation to apologize himself. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling and asking himself if this was a preventable problem. He barely heard Ethan’s words of encouragement, telling him not to give up on her if she really meant something to him.

******* Kate opened her freezer to pull out one of many pints of ice cream. She dug a spoon out of the bottom of a kitchen drawer, not wanting to think about the pile of dishes sitting in her sink. She plopped down on her bed, opened her third pint of the day and continued playing the youtube video lighting up her laptop. Getting over a break up was hard—Was this a break up?—but it was made even harder when the object of your affection was plastered all over the internet.

Over the past five days, Kate had consumed enough Dolan Twins content for a lifetime. She watched Grayson perform as a goofy teenager on TRL. She mused over him in the image of a Greek God at Paris Fashion Week. She cried over a scoop of chocolate ice cream while watching his tribute to his father. She laughed at the antics of a younger Grayson and Ethan. She admired the way his hair fell in front of his face. His wheezy laugh sounded like a song to her. His smile beamed through her heart and lit her soul on fire.

And suddenly, she remembered that she kicked Grayson out of her apartment and her heart. Occasionally, she would hold her phone when he called. She would let it ring, internally debating whether she knew what to say. Did she miss him in a deep place? Yes. Was she willing to forgive him for his double standard? For holding her to different rules? For trying to control the way she processed and celebrated their relationship? No. His phone calls extenuated the moot point.

She cursed his beautiful face when it appeared on her screen. She cursed the glittered gems embedded in his teeth. She cursed the watercolor tattoos on his legs. She cursed every ridge and curve of his bronzed, muscular body. Somehow, having a virtual Grayson in her company only made her feel more alone.

LA was a lonely place, especially when you moved during a pandemic. Kate missed Philly, the familiar sound of the subway and bustle of people in City Center. She missed walking through the universities, looking for food trucks in the afternoon. She missed not wondering if everyone she walked by on the street was an internet celebrity, post-career actor, or wanna-be sugar daddy. LA wasn’t home: LA was a lonely, abysmal place that separated Grayson Dolan from Kathleen Walker.

A hollow knock rapped across the front door. Kate sat straight up, not trusting her own ears. No one in LA knew where she lived…except—Kate shot up when the knock came again. She looked down at her bare thighs, the very tops of which were covered by an oversized t-shirt. A third knock jolted her off of her bed. She tossed her ice cream to the side and hurried to open the front door.

She turned the lock to expose a tall, muscular figure towering over her. His familiar hazel eyes seemed completely strange to her in that moment. He trimmed his hair since the last time she saw him, keeping it out of his face. His sharp jaw line nearly reflected the sun’s rays from outside her apartment. “What are you doing here Ethan?”

Ethan removed his hands from his pockets and bit his lip softly, “Can I come in? I was hoping we could talk.”

Kate opened the door further, letting Ethan stroll through the door. Ethan looked around, eyeing her sparsely filled apartment, decorated in IKEA furniture. Ethan stood awkwardly in the entryway, his eyes landing on Kate. “Do you want water? Or um—a snack maybe?” She hoped he wanted ice cream, because the only other thing she could offer was a slightly moldy head of lettuce. “No I’m fine,” Ethan hedged, burying his hands in his pockets. He looked at the floor and then back up at Kate, “I was hoping we could sit and maybe talk?” She lead him to an arm chair and sat across from him.

The air in the room was heavy. It’s not every day you are stuck in a room with your ex-boyfriend’s identical twin. Seeing Ethan’s face panged in Kate’s heart, she wanted desperately to see Grayson’s again. Ethan cleared his throat and leaned forward in the armchair. He exhaled softly before starting, “I wanted to talk to you about the Grayson thing. I don’t know how you’ve been dealing, but Grayson is a mess.” Ethan revealed, wondering where the line was drawn between being honest and depicting his twin as a pathetic, lovesick sack. “I don’t know how you’re feeling about him or what happened, but if you can – could you call him? Or talk to him? Give him maybe a little more closure than he has now?” Ethan’s voice was soft, and his eyes curved downward at the sides. His reverence and care for his brother filled the room in a gentle air.

Kate struggled to find words. She struggled to maintain eye contact with Ethan; looking at a creature so much like Grayson made her heart lurch whenever she focused on Ethan for too long. Her pupils bounced to the pile of dishes behind Ethan, to the traffic on the other side of the window, to her own feet, and then back to Ethan. Her mind went blank at the first time to talk about what happened out loud. Faithful to Grayson’s request, she hadn’t told her mom, her friends, or anyone really. For the past week, she had no one to comfort her. And now, Grayson’s brother sat in front of her, assuming she had already processed her emotions.

“I don’t know Ethan,” her voice stayed just above a whisper. “I don’t know what I can offer him.” She let out a breathy chuckle as she continued, “I almost feel like he should be giving me closure—if it’s ..ya know…case closed.” She shook her head, slumping her shoulders and letting her head fall between her knees. “I really like him Ethan,” she confessed, “I just don’t know if this whole…” she waved her hands in the air, waiting for a word to come to her, “—celebrity thing” she spoke it as if it was a curse word “is a world I want to be a part of.” She sat back against the armchair, holding her stare on the ground, “At least not the way he was handling it.”

“Grayson’s my partner: in everything we do. I would have never gotten this far without him, he’s the energy when we come together.” Ethan sat back against his own chair, his mind opening the flood gates for his words. “Our ideas, our projects, our pushes—those are all him. He constantly asks for us to be better, for me to be better. I owe so much of what we have to him, because I would have never been able to do it without him.” Kate’s heart lurched, remembering a similar conversation with Grayson about Ethan.

Ethan continued, “I was the one who was nervous about you in the beginning.” Kate’s head shot up from its slumped position, finally meeting Ethan’s gaze. Ethan swallowed and weighed his head before continuing, “I was concerned that you were maybe..I don’t know a gold digger? Or something like that and you were going to use him.” Kate’s eyebrows raised, staring at Ethan as if he had seven heads. “That was before I met you,” Ethan hedged “But I think I was the one who put the thought in Gray’s head to be extra careful about you two.”

“I didn’t know that,” Kate’s voice was just above a whisper. She wanted to melt into her armchair, disappearing from this scene. Her mind felt torn between blaming Ethan for Grayson’s behavior and decided that this was no excuse, Grayson was a grown man who made his own decisions. Kate’s eyes narrowed, trying to decipher her own thoughts. Ethan started again, “I just can’t stand thinking that I’m the reason for what Gray is feeling right now and—” Kate shook her quickly, “You’re not Ethan.” She leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her knees and exhaling heavily. “I’m the reason for what your brother is feeling.” She opened her mouth, but feelings of confusion, guilt, and loneliness competed for the next word. Ethan beat her to it, “If you give him a chance, he won’t disappoint.” Ethan played with his fingers in his lap, looking up to meet her gaze, “My brother is a hopeless romantic who gets off on making the people he loves feel special.” Ethan shrugged and let go of his fingers.

A few moments later, Ethan stood from his armchair and thanked Kate for at least listening to him. She gave him a thin smile and nodded as he stepped toward the door. She closed the dead bolt behind him and stood there for a while. Her mind felt like a thousand horses were trying to pull her in different directions: toward Grayson, away from Grayson, into friendship with Grayson, back to Ethan with more questions. Her mind was a mess. She stepped back into her bedroom, finding that a dollop of melted ice cream has stained her sheets. She exhaled and threw her head back, cleaning her space begrudgingly.

She sat on the end of her stripped bed, phone in hand. Her hand felt heavy as her phone rang. Her heart beat throbbed into her temples. Her good leg shook softly against the edge of the bed. Her tongue went dry. “Hello?” His voice was so familiar. Her mind set off a fireworks show of internal curse words, her teeth nearly chattered in rhythm to the shiver down her spine. “Hey Gray,” she started without knowing where she wanted to finish, “I was hoping we could talk-but not like this—maybe we could pick a time or a place?” Her tongue felt like a brick, heavy and stiff against her lips that tried to remember to pass air through her lungs. “Y-yeah” Grayson’s tone wavered, trying to mask excitement and anxiety with something that sounded stable, “I’d like that.”

*******

“Thank you,” Kate smiled at her Uber driver as he pulled up the edge of the beach parking lot. She had considered walking to meet Grayson, but eventually decided that walking across LA, by herself, at 7PM was not a good idea. She left the car and started to fidget with the hem of her skirt, which was blowing in the ocean winds. The ocean breeze usually calmed her, but today it only ignited her flaming nerves even further. Her hair would not sit still, blowing in nearly every direction as she walked forward. She cursed to herself, not wanting to look like a mess to have this conversation with Grayson.

She stopped when she spotted him. He was waiting in his usual spot from when they met—his spot. He looked so elegant, his grand figure a silhouette against the sunset. Even in the shadows, his megawatt smile beamed at Kate. She bit her lip from across the beach, the hand on her purse clenched down. Every thought about the ocean breeze escaped her mind. Her knees shook slightly. How is it that one human being could elicit that kind of response out of another?

Kate’s hands cupped her face while her heart exploded, looking past Grayson for a moment. A few beach towels acted as a picnic blanket for a home made meal and a couple of Wakeheart candles. A stray napkin floated through the wind away from the setting. Two place settings were laying on the ground, ready for the two of them to sit together. Grayson grinned watching her face, hoping that maybe he could show her how serious he was about making her happy. Silently, he wished she would take her hands away from her face. Grayson desperately wanted to see her smile; his heart needed the confirmation that he was able to make her happy again.

The hands on her face were only one part of this scene teasing Grayson’s heart. The dark tendrils flying around her face called out to the day they met: making Grayson’s heart swell. The air around her was angelic, Grayson could make out the gold flecks in her brown eyes from where he stood. The sound of her voice as she approached him was like a song to him.

“Grayson—” hearing his name in her voice sent Grayson’s emotions into a romantic frenzy “—this is amazing.” She removed her hands from her mouth, revealing her kind smile and pink mouth. Grayson’s cheeks burned from grinning so hard, his happiness overtook any anxieties that had been clouding his mind. A deep part of his mind wondered if he had done enough practicing earlier, now that he was struggling for words. His elation took over any cerebral duties his mind would usually oversee, “I wanted to do something special for you, because you’re special to me.”

Grayson took her small, dainty, smooth hands in his large, rough, calloused ones. He squeezed her palms and looked down into her big, brown eyes. Kate bit her lip subtly, wondering how one man could be so many things at one time. Grayson took a breath before starting his semi-rehearsed speech. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry for hurting you, doing something to you that made you feel like I wasn’t proud of you. If anything, it’s the opposite. I’m so proud of you, the things you have preserved through in your life before you ever met me--..I don’t think I could do it.” Grayson gaped down at her, he swallowed while holding back sentences about her disability, career, and drive. “I just..I did something wrong. I should have been more open about who I am and what my life is like from the start. In truth, I didn’t think I had to me. I thought I was just a normal guy, who could meet a normal girl and have a great relationship.” He squeezed her palms warmly. “But I see now that maybe that’s not what this situation is. And to be honest, I don’t really know what that means. But I do know that you make my life better. You make my life so much better,” a stray tear sat on Grayson’s bottom lashes. His voice choked slightly, making Kate’s eyes widen as her entire expression softened. The sight of her garnered a stray tear on Grayson’s other lash line. “You make everything so much better. You make me think about what’s important, because so much of my life isn’t.” He made a noise that sounded like a sad chuckle, “I spend so much of my day worried about branding and images and posting schedules and comments—things that I barely have control over sometimes. But when I’m with you,” he squeezed her hands and pulled her in closer, “my life isn’t that. With you I’m happy, and I get to share simple things with you. I feel like someone is seeing me, for the first time in a long time, as just a guy.” One lone tear danced its way to his cheek while he finished, “I hate what I put you through, I hate how that other part of my life could have poisoned us…But I think we can make if you’re willing to talk things through with me because I want to keep you around for such a long time…I love you.”

Grayson’s heart felt like it was tiptoeing across a high wire above a pit of sharks. He felt like one word could change her answer. He gulped hard. Grayson Dolan had done many daring things in his life: blind folded sky diving, swimming with sharks,cliff jumping in foreign countries. And yet, no deed felt more daring than this. He admitted that his own life confused him, that the reality he thought existed was just his attempt at gripping onto normalcy: saying it out loud felt like a vice grip on his emotions.

Kate thumbed one of his hands gently in hers. She let go of one of his hands, causing Grayson’s mouth to gape slightly in fear. Grayson’s lips fell into a relaxed smile when she moved to cup his face in her hand, softly wiping at the ghostly trail left by the tear. She tried to find words, any words, but they weren’t coming. Her tongue was tied in a knot around her heart. Grayson instinctually moved his freehand around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He looked from her deep, bright eyes to her lips and back to her gorgeous gaze. Kate bit her lip, licking it softly before exhaling. Grayson drank in her sweet, citrus scent—only realizing now how comforting and soothing that scent had become for him.

The sound of the waves crashing against the shore boomed around them. Kate memorized his face in this moment, cherishing how the warm, sunset rays only illuminated his bronzed skin. The gold flecks in his eyes danced for her, begging for closure. His few freckles gave his face a boyish charm, decorating high cheek bones and a striking jawline.

A few grains of sand infiltrated Kate’s sandals, catalyzing a series of rough and jagged attacks on her soft skin. Kate’s mind raced in finding her next words, knowing that she could choose to give Grayson her whole heart or walk away from a future navigating the hurdles of his life. If it wasn’t for the pit growing in her heart, she would have chuckled at the irony of the moment. Here they were, almost embracing each other, almost crying for each other, almost surrendering themselves to each other: when just a few weeks earlier, they stood in that same spot as only a pair of kind strangers.

#grayson dolan #fanfic #romantic #fluff #dolan twins #youtuber #ethan dolan #grayson X OC

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novantinuum · 5 years

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Hollowed Moon (Ch. 1-3)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (for sensitive content in later chapters)

Words: 1.5K~

Summary: Stevonnie doesn't crash the Star Skipper onto that jungle moon. Instead, they crash on a craggy fragment of rock suspended thousands of miles away from its associated colony, long forgotten.

On that lonely hunk of rock is a domed garden.

And standing in that garden, just as lifeless seeming as the rest of it, is a pink Gem.

Okaay, so this is the beginning of a little series of drabbles I’ve been posting on AO3 over the last two weeks. It’s an AU that diverges from just after Lars of the Stars. I have seven chapters posted already on AO3. Link to that will be posted in the reblogs, for anyone interested.

Ch. 1

The force of the impact nearly vibrates through their bones as the Star Skipper hits the surface, throwing them against the cockpit’s control panel at such speed that they barely have enough time to put up a bubble. Thankfully, ‘enough’ is all the time they need. In but a millisecond the world tints pink. Following momentum, their neck snaps forward, causing their head to smash against the solid barrier. Stevonnie yelps, vision going temporarily woozy. It takes a while for them to fully recover, with the wrecked remains of the ship spinning like a top from their perspective as they slowly lift a quivering hand to their forehead to check for wounds. They groan, nearly every square inch of their body aching something terrible, but there’s nothing. No blood, no easily distinguishable breaks, nada. Lucky them! Score, Stevonnie one, busted, broken spaceship zip.

It must be your healing powers keeping us in one piece, ‘cause that was one really violent crash.

Well, also my bubble is pretty strong!

“Hah, well... we’re lucky even a bubble got me outta this scrape,” they murmur out loud, and let out a shaky breath as they attempt to ground themself. Taking a cursory glance around, they notice that the cockpit’s window has shattered, leaving the ship open to the vacuum of space. At least, they’re assuming it is. Whatever hunk of rock it is they’ve crashed on, it doesn’t appear to have an atmosphere. “Oh boy, guess I gotta keep this thing up for a while,” they say with a nervous laugh. They press their cheek against the bubble’s rim, peering at the cracked display screen. “Now, I wonder if any of this tech is salvageable...”

Stevonnie shifts in the seat. Without any iota of warning the ship’s engines explode, launching their protective bubble hundreds of feet closer to the very stars they’re lost amongst.

Oh, what a day it’s been.

Ch. 2

This shard of planetoid isn’t particularly large, but it has just enough mass that its gravity pulls Stevonnie’s wildly spinning bubble back to the surface. Their heart pounds as the bubble collides hard upon the craggy surface, bouncing a few times before finally coming to a rest. They gasp for breath, pulling themself to their knees.

“Aughh, my everything hurts.”

Slowly but surely they rise to their feet, their knees still shaking. All around them, the remains of the Star Skipper (may she rest in pieces) are now barely distinguishable, nothing left but melted twists of scrap metal. Even if there was any possibility of fixing up the communication array earlier, it’s a moot point by now.

Steven, how are we gonna-?!

“Oh, no, no no no no!” they cry out, gripping at their hair. “Oh, this is bad. This is so, so bad. How is Lars gonna be able to find us now?”

They adjust the straps of the backpack around their shoulders and begin pacing as they continue to talk to themself, walking back and forth across the dust and rock within the bubble like a hamster in a ball.

“Okay, Stevonnie, calm down,” they say, hugging their arms around their chest. “We’re fine. I’m fine! Let’s just work this out bit by bit. So. We’re stuck on some weird asteroid, or something. We have no ship. No means of communication. We’re safe in this bubble... for now. But... I honestly don’t know how long I can keep this up. I don’t usually use it longer than a few minutes at a time.”

What about when we first met?

“That’s different, though,” they stress, plopping down to sit crisscrossed. “That time he didn’t summon it voluntarily. And that time, we weren’t stuck in the vacuum of space! Although... Okay. Okay, we were stuck under the ocean, fair point. And I guess there’s that time Steven was marooned with Eyeball. But still. It’s only been a few minutes and I’m already... so... so tired.”

Stevonnie’s breathing grows shallower, each puff of air coming in staccato gasps in their exhaustion. They grit their teeth, hand clenching against the rose quartz gem at their midsection. Over time they’ve come to realize that maintaining any one of Steven’s shields or abilities for a long period of time is super taxing to them, more so than it is for the young half-Gem himself. Makes one wonder if that’s because they’re a 75% human hybrid, because of the nature of being a fusion, or because they simply haven’t trained enough together.

They moan, frustrated at this whole dumb scenario, desperately wondering if there’s anything they could’ve done differently to avoid it all together. Lars and his friends will find them soon once they follow their trail and do a flyby, hopefully, but there’s still so many variables to consider here. They quickly hop back onto their feet inside the bubble.

Stevonnie squints, for a moment thinking they can see dimmed starlight glinting off of a domed surface in the far distance. Perhaps there’s some Gem technology hidden away here that could prove useful. For now, all they can do is explore and wait.

Ch. 3

The dome encapsulates a gigantic garden. At least, what they can only guess was once a garden. All the plants have long since shriveled up into husks of their former glory, much like the hollowed-out moon hanging high above. There’s a single service doorway on the dome’s exterior, a feature Stevonnie is exceedingly lucky to have found before finally fading to exhaustion with their bubbling ability. Now freely wandering around the dome's interior, they approach a massive platform towards its center. Eyes glittering, they brush their hand against some eroded etchings in the old stone. They’re sure it used to be quite a sight to behold in its heyday, this whole complex. Such a shame time had to carry this place to eternal rest. What used to go on here, they wonder? What kinds of Gems would use this space? Did they all leave when the colony above was... fully drained of its resources?

Their nose crinkles just thinking about it.

Hey, they muse suddenly. Up at the top... I think that’s a warp pad.

Are you sure?

Pretty positive.

“Couldn’t hurt to look,” they mutter softly, climbing up the stairs. Their legs are still burning from the long walk they set upon to reach the dome in the first place.

When they reach the top they kneel in front of the warp, and place a palm flat upon it. They close their eyes, focusing their mind on the tangled web of warp stream signatures old users have left behind, almost like a fossilized travel record. Except it’s energy based. Well, kinda. They’re sure it’s far more complicated than that, but to be fair Steven wasn’t paying full attention to Pearl the day she was teaching him how to do this. His loss, Stevonnie thinks with a snort. They think all this Gem history stuff is pretty fascinating.

The web comes into focus in their mind’s eye, one particularly bright thread stretching further across the stars than any warp pad they’ve ever seen before can.

“Galaxy warp,” they breathe in giddy realization. “This is an actual, working galaxy warp! But- no!” they cry, grinding their hands into fists. “That means we can’t use it, because Earth doesn’t have an operationa—“

“Pink, is that finally you??” a high pitched voice cries in joy from the distance.

They whirl around in a flash, scanning the interior of the (perhaps not so?) extinct garden. The complex is massive, but it’s not long before they locate the origin of this new voice, trapped amongst the browned and hardened brambles.

Standing midway between the raised galaxy warp platform and the stagnant fountain at the center of the dome is a short pink Gem.

From this distance, they’d have to guess she’s maybe half their height, perhaps a little taller. Her gemstone is on her chest, a heart shaped type they don’t recognize. The Gem’s hair is pulled up into messy little buns, twisted to look like hearts themselves. She stands with her arms open wide, baggy eyes alight with anticipation as she waits for their response.

Mouth agape, Stevonnie skitters down the steps of the platform as fast as they can. Who is this Gem? Why is she alone in a withered garden, in the middle of deep space? And why are her feet literally bound by roots?? How long has she been standing here?

“Oh! Oh, hello! I, uh- I don’t think I’m who you’re looking for, sorry,” they say with an apologetic smile. “I’m Stevonnie. If you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing here all on your own?”

“I’m playing a game,” the small Gem replies simply, clasping her gloved hands together.

“A... game?”

“With my best friend, yes!” she enthuses. “She’ll come back any day now, I can just feel it.”

Her voice sounds chipper enough, but perhaps as a result of Connie’s lonely childhood and the walls a person learns to erect in those situations, Stevonnie can intimately sense the cracks in her facade. They may not yet understand the full scoop, but they can tell she's desperately trying to convince herself of her own cover story.

What on Earth happened to this Gem, here in this forgotten garden?

#su #su fanfic #steven universe #stevonnie #spinel #su fanfiction #hollowed moon #my writing stuff

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werevulvi · 5 years

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These pics are just to show my dented ribs, cause like... suffer with me? Also cause I feel strangely alright with what my chest looks like in these pics. But anyhow. On left pic I'm pointing at the centre where it goes in and then pops out again on both sides of the sternum/breastbone. And yes, that's my bone bending like that, not just fat or muscles. Likely from having pushed my breasts towards the centre in binders and sports bras. On the right pic I'm pointing at the big dent on the lower left side of my ribcage, which is right where the sports bra elastic goes. My lowest ribs then curve out much farther than they do on the other side. Putting pressure on either of those dented areas hurts a bit.

(The bump above my nipple on the right pic is literally just my pec muscle, so no need to worry about that one.) And yes I'm sucking in my stomach here only so that you can see my ribs better, I don’t normally do for photos. I've sure gotten hairy again since I stopped shaving my body, and I like the soft fluff! It’s dark brown, almost black, irl. Which is quite a contrast to my ivory skin. And yes my happy trail does connect with my chest hair, which almost connects with my beard but not quite. Those little tufts just above the scars on my chest are my actual nipple hairs, or used to be before the nips were relocated during top surgery. They're weirdly misplaced little hairs now, but that's why they're there. And yeah, 5 years post-op but the scars never became white. But let's get onto the topic. I've come across a new doubt about my wish to have breast reconstruction, which I'm already looking into and not brushing under any carpets. I do want to make as sure as I possibly can that I make the right decision about my chest this time, so I'm tackling every doubt I get about it. And that new doubts keep popping up from time to time, worries me too. Even though I sorted through all the previous ones. So what's it this time? Since I've started going flat in public a couple weeks ago or something (I think the last time I went out with boobs on was June 6th or around that date) I've noticed I seem to be less likely to be assumed to be a trans woman, and instead seen as just a gnc man. And strangely that actually feels better, mentally. It's still very far from ideal, but I feel it's the slightly better of the two evils.

What would be ideal? In a perfect (and highly unrealistic) world: I'd love it if people would just know I'm a female who's taken testosterone and/or see I'm a masculinised woman even if they can't figure out, or know, how. And without me having to change my body at all. But that is not how reality works and I know that people won't perceive me that way just because I want for them to.

So, without changing my body again I'm basically stuck having to choose between being perceived as either a "cis" man or a trans woman, depending on my presentation and style. (Cause apparently we are assuming "gender identity" and not just bio sex, these days.) Of course I don't have 100% control over which one of those I'll be read as, but I've come to notice that people do seem to be much more likely to "trans me" when I'm wearing my breast forms cause that is adding a female (not just feminine) trait to my otherwise male appearance... and they seem to be much more likely to think I'm simply a man (albeit gnc) when I go flat but still keep a feminine style. However, some still read me as a gnc man with boobs and some still read me as a trans woman without them.

Exactly why I seem to prefer being read as a whole ass man rather than as a trans woman, is complicated and not entirely nice, but basically this: Both trans women and "cis" men are bio male, and it's the assumption that I'm bio male that rubs me backwards, at the core of it.

However, being assumed to be a trans woman adds another layer to it. It makes me feel like people shove the gender ideology down my throat that is hard to wiggle myself out of, and it makes me feel like I'm perceived as a "fake" woman and a "fake" lesbian. A fraud, to be brutally honest. Whereas when I'm assumed to be simply a gnc man, the gender ideology is not being shoved down my throat, people don't comment on my assumed genitals, etc. But above all I'm more likely to be treated with respect, which feels hugely relieving.

But mostly what truly whacks my mind about being assumed to be MtF is that it makes me feel like I'm an imposter of an imposter. Double wrong. While when seen as a man, I merely feel like I'm simply an imposter. Plain wrong. And that, is exactly why I feel like "gnc man" is a better wrongful assumption than "trans woman" is. Cause two wrongs really don't make a right.

But regardlessly, I am not and will never be an actual man. I am an imposter, a male impersonator of modern times. But at the same time I believe I'm more authentic like this than I would be if I tried to force myself into acquiring a stereotypical "womanly" appearance. That would be a charade just as much, if not more. That was a long ramble about how I'm perceived again, but it's highly relevant to my doubt about getting breast reconstruction, just hear me out. Cause that, what I'm read as based on what's going on on my chest, was was made the doubt creep out from its shadows, just a few days ago. It has gotten me suddenly worrying I might not like it how I'd be perceived if I have permanent boobs on my chest that I wouldn't be able to hide. Cause no more binding, ever. I've fucked my ribs over enough for a lifetime. And of course, how fucking moot and dumb it would be to bind after breast reconstruction! The thing, however, is that if I actually prefer to be seen as a gnc man over being seen as a trans woman, and boobs being the tipping point between those two perceptions... that creates a thorn in my side, a doubt, a conflict even, about if breast reconstruction really is the right choice for me then.

Ever since I left my boobs at home those weeks ago, people have left me alone about my gender/sex. Out of all the 5 or 6 strangers that have come up and talked to me since then, zero have confronted me about my gender, sex or even my style. It is a relief to just be left alone about my body like that.

I'm also feeling slightly (possibly even increasingly) okay with my chest as it is. I do still regret my top surgery and I still miss having boobs, and it's definitely possible that I'm just disassociating from my chest being flat now, but... Yesterday I was even walking around in my neighbourhood wearing literally just a skirt, fem slippers, my lesbian necklace, red lipstick, and an open, flimsy tunic/cardigan. The wind grabbing it quite a lot means most of my chest showed, including nipples, and my neighbours could see it as I walked back and forth to the laundry house to clean my dirty clothes.

Is it weird? Well, I highly doubt I'd be reported for indecent exposure cause I'm at least 99% sure everyone in my neighbourhood thinks I'm male. Cause they certainly looked shocked at me when I first started going fem in my early detransition a year ago. I've only lived in this area since mid-transition, so no one here knows my history with that. Basically I can't imagine my neighbours think I'm somehow bio female, without slipping into the territory of wishful thinking. But it has gotten me thinking: when I don't shave anywhere, and don't wear boobs, knowing I can only pass as male that way... am I not technically "presenting male" then, despite being female and also so feminine in my style? I mean, up until the point I introduce myself as "Laura" that is. Also, last night I took a shower, and for the first time in... I dunno how many years, if ever... I actually enjoyed soaping and touching my chest in gentle, massaging and caressing ways. For but a glimpse of a moment, I could connect to it for probably the first time since top surgery, or ever, in a non-sexual way. It is indeed a breakthrough. It is also a hint of its possible true potential. That I could maybe at some point come to peace with it. Why do I feel so bad for regretting my transition? Cause even though I achieved a 100% passability, here I am, still dysphoric and miserable, missing the womanhood I traded away. Oh, what a fool I was. This irrevokable fate that seems like an impossible dream for the dysphoric, and I'm just pissing on it. I'm sorry, but I cannot appreciate having been transformed into a highly believable illusion of something I can never actually become and no longer want to be. I never thought it could hurt. I never knew it could hurt like this. Was I sold a lie? But back to my chest. I know getting new tits won't make me any more or less female, and it wouldn't make me pass as female either. What I'd want them for is personal comfort in the private, in both non-sexual and in sexual contexts, and vaguely also cause it would help me relate better and more positively to other women. I'm jealous of every pair of boobs I ever see, clothed or uncovered, and that hurts. But what makes me now hesitate, perhaps for real, is this new, gnawing inkling of a feeling that what if I'd miss having a flat chest? Sometimes I like the look of it, in the sense that it kinda goes with my otherwise male appearance and who doesn't/wouldn't like the feeling of a soothing breeze on their bare chest during a hot summer day? Cause it sure does feel good. Oh god, I wish I could just have the cake and eat it at the same time!

It's been 5 years since I had my top surgery, but did I ever truly try to make amends with it, before my detransition? No, I didn't. What I did was trying to force myself to like the result of it, and that's not a successful approach. Just like I didn't exactly manage to like being a woman when I during my teens tried to force myself to become fine with my female body after I had figured out I was likely a trans guy at age 15, and up until the point I said "fuck it" and began my social (and eventually medical) transition at age 19. During those 4 years my dysphoria only worsened, and I think my rabid attempt to force myself to like being female was part of why it only got worse. Forcing self-love is not the way to achieve it. It won't work. Just like you can't beat depression out of yourself, or any other issue, you can't beat dysphoria out of yourself either. That kind of force is actually more likely to make it worse instead, I believe. Cause it'll just strengthen your belief that it won't work. However, to gently and with compassion for yourself and your struggle try out different things, over a longer time and with lots of patience, to slowly accept and come to terms with it can lead to the dysphoria disappearing. To not punish yourself for still being dysphoric or for not "succeeding", but rather reward yourself for even just trying and for every little thing that may improve on the way. At least that's how I managed to accept and embrace being female in my late 20's despite having failed so miserably at it during my teens, because this time I didn't force it. I killed that dysphoria with kindness, quite literally.

Likewise, I think there is a chance I could come to accept and embrace my flat chest if I just stopped forcing myself to, and tried it with gentle self-care and curiosity, without pressure to achieve anything. If only I just want to and can be prepared to give myself that kind of care and patience, one more fucking time. Cause I've only got one body and I'm so fucking painfully aware of it now. I can't fuck it up again. Detransitioning requires so much more soul-searching and scrambling around in my brain for answers, self-care and patience, etc, than transitioning ever did. Well... that's why I ended up detransitioning, I think. Cause I didn't do a good job at truly looking into myself the first time around. Would I still have wanted to go on T if I had known everything I know now, though? Oh absolutely, but that's not the topic of today.

But whether I'll in the long run wanna live as a male-presenting woman incognito or later on down the road change my body in some way, I can't know for sure at this point. Perhaps I'm just not mentally ready yet to take that kind of leap. Or perhaps I don't ever want to present fully female again and may end up loving this look and contradiction as I grow more secure within myself and more confident. But either which way, I will have to follow this new doubt carefully and see where it takes me. Keep going flat for a while and see how it goes, and see if how I'm perceived really changes based on that and if that really feels better in the long run to be perceived as a man. To take advantage of this very hot summer to be shirtless also in public to test my comfort level with that, and if I'd miss that. To explore my flatness gently and with careful patience to see if it really is so bad. To ask my brain: what is this lingering doubt trying to tell me? I'll start with giving it this summer, then more time if needed. I'll still go to the surgery consultation that could happen anytime now. It's not like I'd have to get the surgery by just going to that consultation, cause I'll need to go through my trauma therapy first, and even if it's expected I'd go through with surgery after consultation, I can always cancel at any point. Also, being informed of what a surgeon can do for me and my specific chest, as well as getting my questions about the surgery answered, would surely be helpful in my decision-making as well. I mean, that's what surgery consultations are for. Because I still lean towards wanting it more than I lean towards maybe not wanting it, I think cautiously proceeding with my thumb close to the cancel button is not a bad idea.

#my pics #top surgery #detransition #regret #dysphoria #gender critical #surgery doubts #5 years post op #my dented ribs #venting #desisting

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ficauthor · 5 years

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New vid rambly thoughts

I have to say the funniest part of the name reveal is everyone (myself included) trying desperatly to fit remus into their Aus. Equally as funny is Remy (sleep) becoming either a version of remus that turned good or people trying to rename him. Idk if I'll ever put remus in a fic but I'm gonna make remys middle name be Remy cause cool people go by their middle name till a garbage man makes them disown the name entirely.

Honestly tho I love all you creators who are doing your best and I'm sorry the scary leaf man set fire to parts of your intricate stories. You're doing great sweetie and if you wanna keep him out fricken do it.

Honestly I deal with intrusive thoughts on the reg and as nasty as remus is I low key love him. Like he's basically a cryptid doing a cartoon villian tiptoe around the mind tapping his nails on things like an asmr YouTuber as he comps ominously on deorderant. Like I get and sympathize with those who can't deal with him in fics. I know middle school me would not be able to deal. However I feel like he could work as a good cutaway gag for some fics were he's just being slightly concerning and just makin vaguely silly alibiet disturbing imagery. Pats making breakfast and he's in the upper cabinet filling the nails on the dismembered hand bottles of nail polish at the ready for him to do the hand's nails.

Also Roman!!!!!! My sweet boy!!! God some one give him a hug he was so left out of the vid that's gotta sting his ego. Like I get why he was MIA but first the callback now this.

Like I think it's fair to say that his arc that's been building for the last few episodes is really kicking into overdrive. The duke being brought to forefront implies that maybe Roman has in a way had to fight him off for awhile. Maybe he's turned some of his really grotesque ideas into better more productive concepts or images. (Also the dicotamy of prince vs duke is v good. In royal structors dukes are under the royal bloodline and have less overall power than a king in power. However dukes can often have more short-term power than a prince. In that over their smaller sections they get more say untill a crowned prince arrives to dictate other wise)

Also him comparing the duke to a fun house mirror where you see all you'd hate to be has some interesting implications.

So I don't think this is really a theory I think it's obvious but Deciet is the other side of Pattons coin. The side of morality that you don't wanna think about. And for the longest time I kinda assumed Virgil as anxiety was Romans opposite. Mainly because I link my anxiety with alot of my creativity good and bad. But since remus is Romans bro I think it's fair that maybe all of them had a sort of split at somepoint where their functions got too complicated and the mantle of negativity needed a specific side to hold it up. Patton and Deciet again are a good example of this maybe at some point Thomas needed to lie and this literally tore Patton up making the need for a distance from his very strict morality code and the idea that sometimes you need to lie.

But that really leaves logan and I think Virgil as anxiety might be his dark side. Which as a prinxiety shipper with a love for opposites attracting and rivals to friends to lovers with a forbidden lover angle eats away at my shipping fantasy. But maybe he's Logan's darkside. Unless they can have multiple which would make my anaology of coins moot (maybe they're like dice then??)

But I can't remember were I saw this but ages ago a post were some one said that anxiety is in it's own right an ignorance of logic/ and extreme perversion of logic.

And as much as I like that theory I did check over the older sandy sides to make sure I was remembering things correctly and it has caused a few bumps for this idea.

(Also seeing Thomas go from "ah the kitchen is like a friend I awkwardly ignore" to "look at how yummy hello fresh is" is the biggest growth of all)

Roman knew about remus and I'm pretty sure Patton knew about Deciet. And they were both aware of how they affected their jobs. And while logan knew of Virgil is seemed to be more of a passing knowledge and all three of them really had that sort of middle ground acquaintance. And anxiety is over heightened fear and can pervert all three of their main functions. (You can do things against your moral code to sedate the anxiety. You can be too anxious to create or be bold but anxiety can also be 'good for both)

Even in anxiety vs logic it didn't have the same feel as the other vs we've had as of late

Deciet attacks them all through Patton trying to muddy his name and function. He also attacks Patton specifically using the others. In the court episode while he used Roman and ended up hurting him that felt more like a by product. The main function of the case seemed to be dismantling the ideas patton as morality had instilled that Thomas was solely good. The purpose appeared to be even with use of the others make Patton fall first and the rest will follow. ( tho I personally still think he's not evil it is important to note that he has a point to make even if he's going about it wrong)

Virgil however doesn't seem to have an end goal. He's moment to moment, his goal is always changing and everytime he's attacked the others it's always been superficial and easy to move past Patton was a focus on how childish he is, Logan's too schedule strict and stresses him out. Roman's too out their and eager to put himself in a spotlight. His gripes with them aren't as organized as Deciets.

The duke also follows a similar pattern he took out Roman and in a way attempted to usurp his role. The reaction he got from Virgil and Patton again felt like a byproduct his goal seemed to be "take control of the creativity role and attack Roman to do so" heck he literally bashes him over the head to do so. (Intrusive thoughts can not be delicate they just bash their way in and ask questions later)

Not to mention whenever Virgil talks about the other sides it's "Deciet's friends" or "The others" always plural. So Virgil might just be an all encompassing opposition he's stumped them all were as the duke and Deciet while causing overall issues seem to mainly target one over them all.

Also like whoever had that theory that Virgil was a spy for Deciet and that's why he's always always slightly off with his impersonations because Virgil very quickly decided he didn't wanna do that.

I have more thoughts and I wish for the life of me I remember the original peeps that had the ideas I mentioned but any longer and my thumbs will give up. Also sorry if this is messy I just had to splat my ideas here and run ta ta for now I might add more later.

#ts spoilers #tw remus #sanders sides #tw deceit #i also know there is a theory were virgil is also depression #but what if. instead. he has a bro thats depression. i might elaborate on that later #i big sleepy i tried to stay up for this ep but i had work this morning so I could not #then like a whole ass hour after i shut dpwn for the night dear tommy npi dropped this #i had so many halfbaked theories in my half written fics that just gotta vamoose now

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dahniwitchoflight · 6 years

Text

minor AU Completion of the Beta Kid’s Animal Symbolism

so something I’ve always thought about and wondered about, I wanna talk about for a bit, now that homestuck’s over and I’m rereading it going through the story

all of the beta kids throughout the story have unique animal related symbolism, that eventually ties into delving into greater parts of their characters, exploring even what you might consider the “darker side” to their characters, sometimes to the point of representing their inverted states/jungian shadow selves nicely tied into the idea of “lower bestial natures” being at odds with their true human natures

and these culminate and get fully cashed in by tragic/failed alternate versions of each beta kid that gets somehow mixed with their respective animal (usually through sprite shenanigans) and ends up in some way dealing with their inner issues a bit

Jade’s Dreamself (who was always very silly and prone be overemtional) dies under prospit’s moon, gets stuffed, and later resurrected as a JadeBecsprite who represents Jade’s inner tragic emotional states

Dave gets trapped in an alternate timeline with Rose, but then goes back in time after learning the ins and outs of the game, only to sec prototype as Davesprite and earn wings, and then forevers deals with the depression and aftermath of never being “Alpha” Dave ever again

Rose eventually dies in a pre retcon timeline fighting the condesce, and her corpse is thrown into Roxy’s sprite post retcon, which then merges with Jaspersprite to make Jasprosesprite^2 and which post retcon Rose is herself embarrassed by the inner revelations revealed by this character, who has itself lost all inhibitions due to the animal prototyping

but John never really gets anything of the sort, but in reality, there was a GREAT opportunity for him to have something like this happen to him, early on in the story, that doesn’t actually change much of the story at all

so this is kind of a “what if this had happened instead?” minor AU where some minor details were a little different

because the animal candidate I’m thinking of that could have had something to do with John personally in the above way, already has a great setup for this: none of its own character/personality/dialogue as it was just a programmed toy robot, minimal invasion into the plot (and most only in regards to John’s Dad related things), viewed John as it’s sole master and had a nice clean death via Green Sun explosion in Cascade

and that is the Uber Bunny Robot known as Liv Tyler

and the alternate version John candidate I’m thinking of is the John that got tricked by Terezi into facing Typheus too early and getting killed by him, causing the doomed timeline where Davesprite is from

this John also has a great setup for this, because at first we get exactly 5 or so pages describing what went down in the Doomed timeline, and all of it from Dave and Rose’s perspective, we know nothing of what really happened in that John Typheus encounter, other than “John died and thus was unavailable to help Jade enter the game”, we also get a little bit more later, when we see the Ghost of this John have a chat with a dead version of Vriska much much later in the story. John says there was more to his death than he let on, he died, but not in a fight with his denizen, because he spoke with Typheus, and knew that his death was necessary for his friends to live on, he made his Choice to die, for the sake of the timeline

and because this alternate John and Liv Tyler have a huge chunk of symbolism in common, all of which ties directly back to John, and more specifically, John’s opposite aspect Blood

the first is, the same Liv Tyler Bunny plush was given to John by all three of his friend’s on his same birthday through time shenanigans

Dave gives him the original plush rabbit, which is the actual original rabbit from the one nic cage movie john really loves, when John ecto’s all the babies, he dramatically re-enacts the con air nic cage scene from that movie (reunite with your loving wife and daughter) and gives the rabbit to Rose

Rose in this reality grows up with the rabbit as her own sentimental youthful object, its old and torn growing up with her, so she knits it back together using the needles that John gifted to her and gives it to John on his birthday

John then gives this rabbit to Baby Jade in the same reunite with loving wife and daughter scene

and finally, Jade with her then alt universe penpal Jake, send it back and forth, making robotic upgrades and enhancements and equipping it with all kinds of awesome gear: the Warhammer Of Zillyhoo, the Quills of Echidna, the Royal Deringer, and Ahab's Crosshairs, which match the Strife Specibi of the beta kids. She does this because she foresaw John would be in danger and wanted to send something to help him fight

this rabbit is the literal embodiment of Johns strongest friendship bonds 3 times over, the literal physical manifestation of his Blood

and then Typheus!John is only able to get to Typheus because Terezi through Sollux helped him removed the 3 random objects stuck in his rocket, 3 random objects, that just so happen to be object that appear in Dave’s, Rose’s and Jade’s houses: a cinderblock, a violin and a potted plant

so again, a connection to John’s connection to all 3 of his friends

now here’s where the AU kicks in:

John is still tricked into meeting his denizen early, preserving the timeline with Davesprite and whatnot, however his choice to die to preserve the reality where his friends continue to exist has another part to it

Not only does Typheus allow him to choose to become a ghost to preserve the alpha timeline, but also gives John a sort of challenge, with a potential boon at the end

If John as a ghost can break out of his extra hard dream bubble coma, break out of his memories, remember the choice he made to help save his friends/the timeline, he may be allowed to manifest in a different physical form instead, in order to continue helping his friends/his new alpha self survive the game

all the panels where dead Vriska meets him and helps him to jog his usually hard to jog memory compared to the other ghosts still happen, but the ending is different, because of the extra challenge/boon Typheus gave him. When John remembers fully, he remembers the boon Typheus left him/how to use it, probably something like, a one use portal window thing that transports his ghost back into the physical realm, so he’s kinda in the same state Aradia was as a ghost in Alternia

so he finds somewhere where the uber bun exists, some point before it actually gets to his dreamself on prospit (doesn’t actually matter where)

and then it’s revealed after the fact, that everything Liv Tyler did upon activation at Prospit was actually the choices made by this alternate universe dead spirit version of John

it’s viable because as a robot made by Jade and Jake, it has the ability to potentially house a soul/life, just like Jade’s dreambot for her dreamself (or again, earth version of the tech that Equius made for Aradia, lot of weird Aradia parallels here, but that really only helps this AU) and something that helps is that the bun likely wasn’t built with any way to naturally communicate, no pesterchum in it like lil hal, nor a voicebox, again making a connection to this being a John which has to internally deal with/overcome that he is no longer the “important” John, but this time he’s simultaneously back with all of his friends, and cut off from them at the same time, similar to Davesprite, but also in a having no mouth and must scream kind of way (relating to symbolism of Breath = Speech/communication/mail) being the opposite of his natural element, in an unhealthy place, similar in situation to how Lil Hal was an A.I. copy of Dirk, a heartless version of a heart player/out of their natural element and having to deal with that negative environmental influence

and it helps explain the few things that Liv Tyler seem to do with no direction, like help get Dad’s wallet containing the tumor (which a John would have recognized as his dad’s and picked up anyway) and getting to Dave Rose and helping them (when it’s stated Liv Tyler was supposed to view John and only John as his master, specifically built that way by Jade for that purpose, to protect John)

the package hes in goes through it’s shenanigans like usual, one minor change could be instead of Jack Noir wielding the bunny against the black queen to get her ring in rebellion, he could simply use one of the many regiswords/assassination requests he apparently gives out like candy, like the one he gave to PM, and the bun merely stays in the box until it’s delivered to PM and then John himself and Bun!John recognizes John and becomes his protector

but then you could just make the point in time that Alt!John merges with the bun the point where Liv Tyler’s allegiances switch to helping John from Jack Noir, so the above is just moot anyway

he stays with John for awhile, then fulfills his major mission in helping get the tumor to Rose and Dave and help them to survive/god tier in the correct time and place/again preserve the timeline, fulfilling the idea of him wanting to come back for the purpose of wanting to keep his friends safe/putting his bonds above his own internal state and self to the point of self sacrifice during the green’ sun’s explosion (again, another point for his blood overpowering his breath)

so yeah, you can see, despite all my text it doesn’t actually change much in the plot! the biggest thing could be Jack Noir not using it for the Black Queen (cuz lets be honest he didn’t really need to, his betrayal would have caught her off guard enough to grab the ring) but really just depends on where you choose to do it

AND instead of this flash: https://www.homestuck.com/story/5027 which was more comedic, we could potentially get a string of panels showing what John was thinking and feeling as the Bun Robot, so close and yet so far away from all his friends, completely alone in his own thoughts and with his only motivation being to make sure his friends survive the game, maybe in thought bubbles or code like Serenity the firefly, showcasing the sort of mental descent and depression that John is really prone to, showing how he could end up in a state where he willingly dies for his friends for their sake

I think it’s a great missed opportunity to be honest and at the very least it’s a very neat little AU Idea

and the way it’s set up would be like an awesome shock reveal too

but then also, John is already compared to nic cage so much it’s not even funny

and John himself makes the symbolic connection between nic cage being just like the rabbit “dirty, worn, old, but it’s what on the inside that counts” simultaneously making that connection to himself when he’s inside the rabbit, because it’s bot his outward appearance that matters, what matters is that He’s still John on the inside, still your best friend guys, I’m right here...

and homestuck has a pattern of turning old jokes into new serious content, so it’s not like it doesn’t fit

and if a few panels are thrown in of a ghostly spirit wandering a bit before settling on the bun inside jade’s gift, it can help establish that Alpha John later would become truly intangible and floating through not just earth, but all of homestuck itself

anyway, those are my thoughts for this idea, I think there’s a lot to go on here

the only thing thats not involved are sprite shenanigans, but If I could find a way to involve those then I would :P

maybe instead of dying at the green sun with Dave and Rose he somehow gets thrown into an sprite somewhere and becomes actual RoboBunJohnsprite (even though everything’s taken already and can’t be altered) maybe it can happen instead of Tavris or GCATavris who knows is BunJohn even survives somehow

shenanigans! shenanigans i say

#Homestuck #John Egbert #Liv Tyler

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