#tw violence against lesbians

[womenaremypriority]

Hate people saying “gay men face violence, but lesbians face objectification!” As trying to say both have it bad… you’re correct in your analysis that both groups are targeted and oppressed but why would you say it like that. Even if you mean otherwise people (especially men) are not going to see this as equal. The objectification lesbians face IS violence. Men just think its people thinking you’re sexy or watching porn of you. Obviously that sucks, but it’s what it adds up to. Objectification is men telling two women to kiss on a subway and beating them up or killing them when they refuse. Objectification is a young lesbian facing corrective rape. Objectification is lesbian’s being unable to adopt. Objectification is a lesbian who was raped by another women being laughed at by police and asked invasive questions by judges and lawyers simply for their own sexual gratification and curiosity if she tries to take it to court or succeeds(which is very unlikely). Objectification is being killed when you refuse a man and say you’re a lesbian. What is this with people trying to downplay violence against lesbian and bisexual women with women.

[unhingedfemmecontent]

You really need to be raped until you realise the delusion you are in. Not by all men. Just 1 is enough. I don't believe women should be fucked by all men. Rather they should be by their own man. Yes continuous exposure to dick pounding inside your pussy, until you cum will help you break the delusion. Idiot.

no. i will never have sex with a man glad that bothers you so much though.

[overlookedsurvivors]

From “female perpetrators of domestic violence” by fawn writes

[ask-the-rag-dolly]

after listening to an among us song i was given the drive to reboot this au so ,

originated from a doodle that spiraled , SPREAD THE INFLUENCE is an au where ragatha is the ( unwilling ) host of a parasite called ' the influence ' which is a virus that only wants to spread and survive . she wasn't compliant about it at the beginning which was ' fixed ' with an itty bitty bit of psychological torment !

also yes i know the abbreviation is unfortunate and i do not care it's funny

even though ragatha's still our usual sweet little optimist , there is this persistent feeling of wrongness . too positive . too affectionate . it's like all of her humanity has been scooped out and you're left with the mask she made for others in the circus .

which is how the virus spread in the circus - they preyed on vulnerabilities which was what their host is perfect for . striking when the victim puts their guards down , making them submit under the guise that their problems will be fixed ... unfortunately it's a monkey's paw situation .

of course , that's only for this particular instance of the influencer ! something to note is that the virus takes a lot from the host's personality , so t.i's mellow and passive , only resorting to violence whenever necessary . t.i's not really an opposite ragatha she's more like a Dark , Fucked Up Version of ragatha the amazing digital circus . she cares a lot for everyone she considers a part of her hive , but it took a lot of manipulation and gaslighting for them to get infected .

caine is left uninfected because " i would do that if my goal is to destroy this place ! " t.i's ultimate fear has always been dying . it'll do everything to not die , to the point it's trying to spread out of the circus . unfortunately there's this jester who's resisting the virus with pure lesbian rage and is trying to stop her .

now rags would eventually get de-influenced and the circus will no longer be infected , but we will talk about the extremely rocky journey of recovering from knowing you harmed everyone you cared about Later

was this ' the influence ' that amanda ( ragatha's va ) keeps referencing ? sighs ... yeah . ( feels so surreal that i can say i have their seal of approval for this )

why ragatha ? in story , how is she not the perfect host ? metatextually , this is an au of an au - this came from a blog about ragatha getting a virus that is inconveniencing her life . i simply thought of an idea of ' hey what if the virus took over her body ' one day . then this abomination was born . i would reveal the why and how she got infected ... eventually .........

is she still afraid of centipedes ? is it a ragatha if she doesn't have a fear of centipedes

does pomni still use a taser ? yeah

could i use / be inspired by the influence for my au ? i did not invent the concept of Computer Viruses so feel free to be inspired by it , no credit needed . for t.i as a character specifically , please credit me !

are there ships ? just pomni x ragatha

is suggestive content of t.i ok ? just don't send them to me , tag it as #tw suggestive or #suggestive so i could filter it out

is nsfw content of t.i ok ? my tiny artist hands are powerless against the unstoppable force that is the internet so my answer will not matter . that being said , i recommend that they're not put in the main au tag so people won't unexpectedly come across it . and no i do not want to see it please do not send them to me

could i draw fanart / write fanfic of this au ? 100% yes you could either mention me or tag it under #tadc influence au

does this au have an ask blog ? only a t.i roleplay blog so don't expect cryptic lore and stuff . i do plan on making a comic series for the influence since i have a story in mind

[femsolid]

TW: Trans activists

For more than a decade now, trans activists have been harassing those who belong to a feminist philosphy we call radical feminism or the women’s liberation movement.

Radical feminists, like most feminists, believe that men use sex to oppress women. Meaning they oppress women through sexual exploitation and by perpetuating sexist discrimination towards those who belong to the female sex. They were the first to research and expose violence against women as endemic and traumatizing, and to create shelters for rape and domestic violence victims. Those shelters are now being vandalized and defunded by trans activists.

Because radical feminists don’t believe in gender identities, gendered souls, gender roles or any form of innate personality based on sexist stereotypes, they have been receiving rape and death threats on a daily basis. The acronym “terf” was soon invented and is now used to describe any person who doesn’t support the trans movement, even if they’re not feminists, just as long as they're women, though lesbians and feminists tend to be the primary targets.

As a whole, the trans movement claims that its biggest enemy and threat, its most pressing matter, its most dangerous opponent is the women’s liberation movement or what they call “radfems” or “terfs”. This is where their energy and anger is directed, typically in the form of sexist and sexual harassment, intimidation techniques, violence, censorship and social isolation. So let’s talk about that.

From the book Hate Crimes in Cyberspace:

Cyber harassment involves threats of violence, privacy invasions, reputation-harming lies, calls for strangers to physically harm victims, and technological attacks.

Victims’ in-boxes are inundated with threatening e-mails. Their employers receive anonymous e-mails accusing them of misdeeds. Even if some abuse is taken down from a site, it quickly reappears on others. Victims’ sites are forced offline with distributed-denial-of-service attacks.

While some attackers confine abuse to networked technologies, others use all available tools to harass victims, including real-space contact. Offline harassment or stalking often includes abusive phone calls, vandalism, threatening mail, and physical assault.

The Internet extends the life of destructive posts. Harassing letters are eventually thrown away, and memories fade in time. The web, however, can make it impossible to forget about malicious posts. And posts that go viral attract hundreds of thousands of readers.

Online harassment can quickly become a team sport, with posters trying to outdo each other. Posters compete to be the most offensive, the most abusive. An accurate name for such online groups is cyber mobs. The term captures both the destructive potential of online groups and the shaming dynamic at the heart of the abuse.

Cyber harassment disproportionately impacts women. The U.S. National Violence Against Women Survey reports that 60 percent of cyber stalking victims are women, and the National Center for Victims of Crimes estimates that the rate is 70 percent. Of the 3,393 individuals reporting cyber harass-ment to WHOA from 2000 to 2011, 72.5 percent were female. The most recent Bureau of Justice Statistics report found that 74 percent of individuals who were stalked on or offline were female, and 26 percent were male.

Researchers found that users with female names received on average one hundred “malicious private messages,” which the study defined as “sexually explicit or threatening language,” for every four received by male users.

According to the study, “Male human users specifically targeted female users.” By contrast, men are more often attacked for their ideas and actions. John Scalzi, a science fiction author and popular blogger, has found online invective typically situational. When he writes something that annoys people, they tell him so. People do not make a “hobby” out of attacking his appearance and existence as they do female bloggers.

The nature of the attacks similarly attests to bigotry’s presence. Hate expresses something uniquely damaging. It labels members of a group as inhuman “others” who do not possess equal worth. It says that group members are inferior and damaged. Bigotry conveys the message that group members are objects that can be destroyed because they have no shared humanity to consider.

Cyber harassment exploits these features by exposing victims’ sexuality in humiliating ways. Victims are equated with their sexual organs, often described as diseased.

Once cyber harassment victims are sexually exposed, posters penetrate them virtually with messages that say “I will fuck your ass to death you filthy fucking whore, your only worth on this planet is as a warm hole to stick my cock in.” 

Rape threats profoundly impact women: over 86 percent of rape victims are female. Virtual elimination may follow the imagined penetration: “First I’ll rape you, then I’ll kill you.”

One woman who faced online abuse noted, “Someone who writes ‘You’re just a cunt’ is not trying to convince me of anything but my own worthlessness.” Despite the gravity of their predicaments, cyber harassment victims are often told that nothing can or should be done about online abuse. Journalists, bloggers, lay observers, and law enforcement officials urge them to ignore it. Victims are called “whiny baby girl[s]” who are overreacting to “a few text messages.” Often victims are blamed for the abuse. They are scolded for sharing their nude images with loved ones or for blogging about controversial topics. They are told that they could have avoided the abuse had they been more careful.

A related message sent to victims is that the benefits of online opportunities are available only to those who are willing to face the Internet’s risks. They are advised not to expect anything different if they want to make a name for themselves online. The choice is theirs: they can toughen up or go offline.

The Internet is governed by society’s rules. Life online bleeds into life offline and vice versa. The notion that more aggression should be tolerated in cyberspace than in real space presumes that virtual spaces are cordoned off from physical ones.

Most victims do not report cyber harassment to the police because they assume that nothing will be done about it. Sadly, they are right. Law enforcement frequently fails to act on victims’ complaints even though criminal law would punish some of the behavior. Victims are told to turn off their computers because “boys will be boys.” Online harassment victims are told that nothing can be done; they are advised to ignore rape and death threats. During the summer of 2013, high-profile women were subjected to a torrent of online threats. The feminist activist Caroline Criado Perez received hundreds of graphic rape threats via Twitter after her successful campaign to feature more female images on British banknotes.

Members of Parliament and female writers who publicly supported Criado-Perez faced the same, including bomb threats. One tweet featured a picture of a masked man holding a knife with the message, “I’m gonna be the first thing u see when u wake up.”

Because the Internet serves as people’s workspaces, professional networks, résumés, social clubs, and zones of public conversation, it deserves the same protection as offline speech. No more, no less.

Without doubt, the free speech interests at stake are weighty. Free expression is crucial to our ability to govern ourselves, to express our thoughts, and to discover truths. For that reason, government cannot censor ideas because society finds them offensive. Truthful speech must not be banned just because it makes people uncomfortable.

But credible threats, certain defamatory falsehoods, social security numbers, and nude images posted without consent contribute little to discourse essential for citizens to govern themselves and discover truths. Their net effect is the silencing of victims. Victims could blog, post videos, and engage on social networks without fear of destructive cyber harassment. They could raise money using networked tools unencumbered by rape threats, reputation-harming lies, and distributed- denial- of- service attacks. They could take advantage of all of the expressive opportunities available online. Protecting against online harassment would secure the necessary preconditions for victims’ free expression.

With the help of law and the voluntary efforts of Internet intermediaries, parents, and teachers, we might someday achieve a free and equal Internet. We need to take action before cyber harassment becomes a normal feature of online interactions. A hostile online environment is neither inevitable nor desirable. We should not squander this chance to combat discriminatory online abuse; it is early enough in our use of networked tools to introduce equality of opportunity as a baseline norm of interaction.

[sundazesun]

"I’M SICK TO DEATH OF HEARING OF HOW everything fucking hurts trans people’s feelings & how I’m obliged to erase myself & my reality, constantly police my speech & have it policed for me, & walk on eggshells to center their narcissistic fragility.

I’m sick to death hearing that trans people are the most oppressed people in the entire world. Affluent, western white men in their 30s, 40s, 50s wearing dresses are not fucking oppressed AT ALL, let alone more than poor black & brown girls in the developing world.

I’m sick to death hearing that TW being told they can’t get their dicks out in places where women & girls are vulnerable is denying them rights & the worst possible hardship any human has ever faced. If that’s the worst you ever face you are privileged, not oppressed.

I’m sick to death of women being asked to prove that vast numbers of us are in peril of brutal rape & death for our objections to sharing private spaces with males to be considered valid, & anything short of that being seen as an acceptable price to validate.

I’m sick to death of hearing that TWAW even if they take no hormones, have no surgery, see no doctors, get no diagnosis, experience no dysphoria, & keep their beards, but when we ask questions suddenly all the TW will kill themselves from triggered dysphoria.

I’m sick to death hearing that women talking about surviving male violence are “weaponizing their trauma” against trans people when the entire trans movement is founded on the weaponized trauma of their (supposed) dysphoria & emotional blackmail.

I’m sick to death of hearing “no one’s saying sex isn’t real” & “sex & gender are different” while being told there’s no such thing as a biological female, women have dicks, males have periods & get cervical cancer, a clitoris is just a small penis.

I’m sick to death of hearing how hard it is to be trans when every politician, mainstream media outlet, corporation, charity, & celebrity is in the thrall of trans ideology while women who say humans can’t change sex are vilified, doxxed, fired, & otherwise cancelled.

I’m sick to death of hearing that endometriosis, menstruation, miscarriage, abortion, street harassment, sexual objectification, & unpaid domestic labor are examples of “cis privilege.”

I’m sick to death of being told that women & girls who dare to set boundaries are hateful bigots; that men are entitled to decide whether our boundaries are justified & whether they will be granted; & that straight dysphoric men are entitled to sex from lesbians.

I’m sick to death of white people with BLM in their bios saying women who say humans can’t change sex are the same as nazis and white supremacists while also saying that black women are indistinguishable from dysphoric men.

I’m sick to death of being told that “humans can’t change sex” is the epitome of violent hatred but “choke on my fat ladycock, t*rf cunt,” “kill t*rfs,” “t*rfs get raped with my barbed wire-wrapped baseball bat” are considered justifiable, if not downright righteous.

I’m sick to death of hearing that injured male pride is a catastrophic violation of human rights that must be avoided at all costs, up to and including the sacrifice of female bodies—but female rights & trauma are at best irrelevant. Sick. To. Fucking. Death."

@feminist_rachel on twitter

[sexysapphicshopowner]

🤎 Context/AU (Alternate Universe): Big news for the dreamgirls!! Aftermath of 'Twenty Foreplay'

🤎 soft!wife!dreamgirl!sevika x wife!dreamgirl!reader

🤎 CW/TW: abuse, violence, death, murder, child sexual abuse, adult language, pregnancy, lesbians, pet names, fluff, angst, abortion attempt, sevika has a tragic backstory, eating disorder, drug use, mentions of alcoholism, sorry if I forgot any, not proofread/edited so excuse any mistakes

🤎 A/N: It's late, I know, life happens. I actually cut it short bc it was starting to get a lot heavier than I wanted and the flow was starting to get a bit sloppy. So have this.

🤎 Notes: Um, I cried while writing most of the flashback parts. I love the dreamgirls.

🤎 Word count: 12.4k

Aromatic wisps of rosemary and sage wafted through the bathroom, the scents intermingling with that of the light and warm, semi-bubbly milk bath your wife had drawn for you when she’d gotten home for the day. You let out a soft sigh, your head barely hanging over the edge as you sunk further into the calming water, trying to let as much stress seep out of you as possible. 

Familiar and comforting hands found your shoulders, a kiss being planted on your temple as she spoke, voice barely a rumble over the neo-soul that was playing from the speaker on the sink counter, “How are you feeling, dream girl?” 

“Better now that you’re in here,” you hummed as you looked up to her, pressing a kiss to her chin as she massaged your shoulders. 

Her laugh was quiet as she ducked lower to press an upside-down kiss to your lips before kissing up the bridge of your nose. The playful little pecks turned reverent as her lips landed back at your forehead, peppering across the area as her hands moved. 

Fingers splayed out over your neck and partially your collar as she pressed her thumbs behind your ears, rubbing in circles. You all but melted in her hands, letting your eyes slip closed once more as you enjoyed her touch and kiss. 

“Have you started yet? I dropped last night.” 

You shook your head, letting out a little sigh, “Not yet, though I wish it would hurry up. These body aches are killing me and if I keep gagging, I’m gonna throw up and that’s gonna make me cry.” 

She cooed, thumbs now tracing down, applying a slight pressure as she dragged them along the line of your jaw, “My poor little mama...” 

“Why poor me? You’re the one that’s actually on. I should’ve been the one drawing a bath for you when you got home.” 

“Sure, but if you never drop then, you know what that means,” she hinted. 

You rolled your eyes playfully, humming, “True... we’ll see. I’ll let you know what happens. We both know my cycle is still very off and weird.”    “Right, right. Now about this gag-” 

“No.” 

“You didn’t even let me finish,” she pouted. 

“I don’t have to. You were about to ask if it’s too bad for me to suck a lil’ dick. You’re so sick and twisted and completely un-slick, little nasty,” you shook your head, pushing her face playfully. 

“Well, you’ve got me there. It was worth a try in my book,” she shrugged. 

“Uh-huh. You disgust me.” 

“Do I? Do I really,” she asked playfully, as you looked up, leaning your head back just a little further. 

You beckoned her closer as you leaned your head back a little further, “Kiss, kiss.” 

She happily obliges, leaning down to meet your lips as you stretch up just the tiniest bit. The kiss isn’t long, but it was enough to sate you until you could kiss her properly later. She mumbles against your lips as she pulls away, “I’m so in love with you and everything about you...” 

Your breath caught as you looked up at her, finding that same indescribable flame that always burned within her silvery eyes. Somehow the color still hadn’t dulled against the harsh reality of life as a Zaunite. Even more, that loving look in them only seemed to be larger every time you caught her eye. 

You were swooning. 

It wasn’t until her lips pressed to your forehead that you were pulled out of your reverie, blinking up at her as you turned around in the tub to look up at her properly as you leaned onto your arms, folding them over the edge of the bathtub, “I love you more.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nodded, beckoning her closer with the crook of a finger, “Uh-huh. C'mere. I’ll show you how much I love you.” 

She all but fell back into your lips, sighing into your kiss as it consumed her, your nails raking over her scalp as your fingers slid into her hair, thumbs tracing her jaw just in front of her ears. 

In a very uncharacteristic move, she pulled from the embrace before you could even deepen it, huffing, “You can’t kiss me like that, dreamy...” 

“Why not?” 

She shook her head to clear it, wiping her face, “Because then I’m gonna wanna get into the tub with you, then I’m gonna fuck you and I’m supposed to be focused on doing other things right now.” 

“Such as?” 

She just chuckled in response before planting a much more chaste kiss to your lips, following it with another to the tip of your nose, the final one touching your forehead as she stood, “What fun would it be if I just told you, mama? I’ll be back in a sec with some sparkling white grape. Just in case I did knock you up, which... not to toot my own dick, but I’m pretty certain I did.” 

Your laugh was more of a splutter as you choked on your spit and air at the same time, “For Janna’s sake, Sevi, it’s ‘toot my own horn’. I can’t stand your nasty ass sometimes.” 

“Then it’s a wonderful thing you’re in the tub right now, isn’t it?” 

“Girl- just hurry up, I want cuddles when I get out of here.” 

She blew you a final kiss from the doorway before disappearing into the rest of the house to do whatever it was she was hiding from you. As promised, she’d come back with the sparkling juice, to which you accepted gratefully with a little kiss before sinking back into your bath, lazily holding the champagne flute over the side of the tub as you sipped on the drink idly.

Sevika doesn’t like men. 

All the men out there who’ve ever wanted to fuck her can thank her father for the aversion. 

You see, when your childhood consists of being pimped out to strange men to pay your alcoholic father’s gambling debts, constantly getting into street fights, and then getting your ass handed to you once you get home- you don’t have much time to really discover yourself. 

Maybe in a different universe- one where Sevika wasn’t born in Zaun... where her father wasn’t abusive... where she wasn’t sex trafficked by the very man that was meant to protect her... she might’ve been attracted to men. 

But this wasn’t that universe. 

Her fear of relationships with men quickly grew into an outright disgust of them. 

And then it got worse. 

For Sevika, it started with the vomiting. 

For probably all the ladies living up Topside, the first sign would’ve been a missed period. Thanks to life in the Lanes, however, Sevika was pretty used to her period not coming at all sometimes. It never came with a baby before though. 

She’d been dancing the line of unknown pregnancy scares since she was 11. Now she was 21, still under the thumb of her father, and even worse- pregnant.

It wasn’t long before you were wrapped in a fluffy robe, feet slid into your house slippers as Sev guided you into the kitchen with her hands over your eyes under the guise of ‘driving you’ to her secret little surprise. 

You stumbled a bit and she took a little pause, “You okay?” 

“I smell food.” 

Her chuckle was hearty and you could almost hear the head shake that accompanied her words, “I’m sure you do. Almost there, dream girl.” 

Her hands were removed from your eyes without warning and allowed your eyes to adjust as she leaned her face over your shoulder, hands coming down to their usual home base of your waist as you took in the ambient, candlelit dinner she’d put together for you guys, “Sev...” 

She shook her head before you could continue, “Yes, I’m on my period and that’s your favorite time to spoil me, but I wanted to treat my wife.” 

You poked your lip out as you turned your head to look at her, “Sev...” 

She giggled, peppering the side of your face with kisses, “Don’t cry, mama... it’s just dinner. I can’t even cook like you.” 

You sniffled, fanning your eyes, “Shut it, my emotions are just everywhere right now. It’s not about your cooking skills, even though we both know I’ve taught you well... It’s about the gesture, and you know it.” 

She nodded, lips now at your shoulder, “I know... hope you love it.” 

“Of course, I love it... I love you...” you mumbled, holding a hand against her cheek. 

“Alright, alright, sit and eat,” she prompted, pulling your chair out with her foot. Before you could protest as she sat you down, she pressed several kisses to your face, “And I love you too. Never forget it.” 

You had a stupid smile on your face throughout the entirety of dinner.

Emetophobia. 

The fear of vomiting or seeing others being sick. 

Sevika had experienced her father’s violent reactions to her throwing up before. 

The first time was when she was 6. 

It was a particularly bad winter in Zaun. The smog was thicker, the cold seemed to seep into the very core of the Lanes. 

She’d been battling the sniffles and a nasty fever for days, all the while still being forced to ‘put herself to use’ by her father. 

Then it got worse. 

Then she began to throw up. 

At first, she hid it well. She’d swallow it down when she couldn’t get out of his sight. When she could, she’d always go out to an alley, ducking and weaving through bodies of what the little girl only hoped was just drunkards and junkies who’d passed out on a bender rather than what a six-year-old Sevika knew in her heart were either already dead or close to it. 

Up until this point, the extent of physical abuse coming directly from her father was a slap across the face or being picked up by the front of her shirt and shaken around. 

Then she brought him breakfast and didn’t make it out of his room fast enough to go puke out back. 

That was the catalyst for the abuses that would be-fall her for the next few decades of her life. 

Throw up tastes disgusting. 

It tastes even worse going back down after being licked up off your father’s grimy boots. 

Even worse, the feeling of wanting to re-release those fluids again when you were forced to lick those same boots clean until they were no longer grimy. 

Sevika trained herself to hold her throw up in after that.

Your music from the bathroom was moved to one of the counters in the kitchen, incense burning in the holder as you and Sevika cuddled up into each other, you perched up on her lap with the two of you picking from the same plate in between soft kisses and intimate looks. 

It was just you and your wife, enjoying the presence and company of one another in the midst of the meal she’d prepared. 

You leaned back against her chest, letting out a happy sigh, “You know... I’m so proud of you for this.” 

“Yeah,” she asked softly. The softness of her voice, the genuine question in that one word was so cute. You turned in her lap, sitting sideways atop her, cupping her cheek in a hand as you smiled warmly, pressing a kiss to the bridge of her nose. 

You kept your voice at the same level of hers as you responded, “Of course, I’m proud, baby. You pan fried the rice properly and everything. I’m so very proud to see you picking up cooking a little more.” 

Your heart broke a little at the tears that glossed over her silver orbs as she looked up at you, “Really? You mean it?” 

“Yes, baby, I mean it. What’s wrong,” you cooed, bringing your other hand to her cheek to stroke both of them with your thumbs, “Talk to me, baby.” 

She shrugged, looking away, “I dunno... I just... I feel like I’ve been struggling to eat lately. Like I’ve been having to force myself to eat so I just... I wasn’t sure if I was in the right headspace to be cooking tonight, but I wanted to treat you, you know?” 

“Sev...” you began. 

“Don’t... it’s okay, doll. I’ll-” 

“Sevika,” you stopped her, keeping her face turned to yours as you moved again, this time to straddle her, “Will you look at me? Please?” 

She shook her head in your gentle grip, tears beginning to well, threatening to spill over as she fought hard to blink them back, “I can’t...” 

“And why not?” 

“I don’t want to see you disappointed in me...” she whispered, voice barely the ghost of a whisper. It was the smallest you’d heard her voice in a while. The last time was... you softened, further, bringing your voice to a warmer tone. 

“I’m not disappointed in you, baby. And I never could be, especially not for something like that. I’m actually proud of you. Very proud that instead of shutting down, you’re talking about it. I know how hard that is for you, especially when it comes to your eating. So with that being said, will you please look at me?” 

Watery eyes met yours as she nibbled the inside of her cheek, whispering, “Promise?” 

“Of course, baby. I promise, I’m not disappointed.” 

She took a shuddery, breath, closing her eyes as she leaned her forehead against your chest, “I love you...” 

You pressed a kiss into her hair, rubbing her back, “I love you too, baby. You wanna try and eat a little something more for me? Or do you just wanna talk? What did you eat today?” 

“Um.... I had a few bites of the lunch you made me, but then I.... let Ran eat the rest... I’m sorry...” 

“Baby, you don’t have to keep apologizing. Can you at least drink some water and eat a little something? Just a couple of bites?” She whined and you let out a little sigh, running your fingers through her hair, “Have you smoked yet?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Didn’t help?” 

“No.” 

“Okay... You’ll try again later?” 

“Sure.” 

“If you can’t that’s fine, but you gotta promise me you’ll try and eat well tomorrow, okay?” 

“I promise...” 

A plaintive silence fell over the two of you. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just... somber. You didn’t comment when she began to pick a few bites off the plate again, simply smiling that she was getting some form of food in her, even if it wasn’t a lot. 

At some point, Sevika had stopped eating, hands gripping at your waist, hips and thighs as she pressed kisses along the line of your neck and shoulder. Her hands strayed to your stomach as she mumbled, “Hey, mama?” 

“Yes, my love?” 

She chuckled as you stuffed your face with food, wiping some from your cheek, “What if I really did knock you up in one try?” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised. I mean, how many times did you nut in me? And we were both ovulating around that time too. It was like perfectly timed for us to actually end up with a baby.” 

She didn’t say anything else for a few moments, and you went right back to eating before she rested her chin on your shoulder, tracing your side with her mechanic hand, “You make me want a family...” 

“Yeah?” 

She nodded, “Yeah... even with life down here... the work that I do... you make me wanna have something to leave behind... a little family that’s like... a legacy of our love. Like, yes, I wanna be a mother and give our kids the things that I never had, but I also want people to see our kids and know that those are our kids. Like... they know that our kids have two loving moms that are actively in love.” 

You let out a little giggle, turning to the side in her lap to wrap your arms around her neck, pressing a kiss to her cheek as you held her other one, stroking your thumb over her cheekbone, “You’re so cute... I love you, and I would love to have your babies, and I know what you’re trying to say, I promise.” 

She relaxed, letting out a sigh of relief as she leaned into your hand on her face, “Thank Janna, I thought I was just rambling stupidly.” 

You shook your head, pressing more kisses to her face and lips, “No, I understood you perfectly.” 

“Have I told you how much I love you today?”

You giggled, nodding, “Yeah, a little bit. You always remind me that I’m loved... it’s why I married you.” 

“Really?”

“Of course. Baby, you told me you loved me within our first four dates. It was so cute because you were still learning to navigate love and healthy relationships... we both were, and still are, but here I had the big, scary lady of Zaun and she was looking at me like a puppy and telling me that she thought she was falling in love with me. I think that was the moment when I truly felt like I had found my person in you. And well... the rest is really history. By the time you asked me to marry you, I couldn’t say anything but yes.” 

She had idly reached for her wedding band that she always wore on a chain around her neck, fiddling with it as she looked up at you in her lap, “You never once like... entertained saying no? Or maybe waiting a little longer?” 

“Never. I knew when I met you that I had to snatch you up and it was just my luck that you seemed to have the same thought process when it came to me. I love you. And that’s not changing. So yes, I mean it when I say I wanna have your children, or that I love you more than anything, or that I’d do anything you asked of me because you’re... you’re everything to me, Sev... and I know that when it comes to us talking about kids it’s hard for you... but you’ve given me so much and I wanna give you the same thing in return. If given the chance, I wouldn’t change a thing about our relationship... well...” 

Her eyes snapped up to you from her ring as worry laced through her features, “Well?” 

You snickered, placing a gentle kiss to the bridge of her nose, “If I could go back, I would make sure I’d asked you to marry me before you could ask me.” 

“You’re so,” she rolled her eyes, unable to hide her smile as you shut her up with another little kiss. She pulled you further into her lap with a happy little sigh, “I love you, dream girl.” 

You leaned into her, resting your head on her shoulder as you wrapped an arm around her, your other hand coming up to her chest, fingernail tracing along her collarbone, “I love you too.” 

“Done eating?” 

You nodded, patting your stomach, “May or may not be a baby-baby in here, but there’s definitely a food baby in here.” 

The way she perked up almost like a little kid was too cute as she asked, “I did good?” 

The sated and full sigh you let out was all the answer she really needed, but you furthered it as you spoke, “Fuck yes...”

She rubbed your back with one hand, her other one grabbing hold of your hand to kiss each of your fingertips, “You’re so cute. It wasn’t even all that, mama.” 

“Uh-huh, it was gourmet. My compliments to the chef.” 

She raised a brow, voice full of ulterior motives and that all-too-familiar lilt as she muttered, “If you weren’t clearly about to fall asleep, I would ask for some better compliments, you know.” 

You quirked a brow sleepily, looking up at her through low and hooded eyes, “Huh?” 

“Alright, c’mon. To bed with you,” she prodded, adjusting her hold on you to pick you up with your legs wrapped around her waist. 

You instinctively looped your arms around her neck, pressing a few kisses to it as you hummed, “I love you.” 

“So I’ve noticed. I love you too.” 

“I love you.” 

She chuckled, “I love you too, baby.” 

“I love you.” 

She used her foot to push open the door to your shared bedroom, nodding as she used her foot to close the door once more, “Uh-huh, I love you too, dreamy. What’s up?” 

You shrugged as she sat down on the edge of the bed with you in her lap again, “Just feel like I haven’t said it enough today, you were at work all day, baby. Gotta reach our quota.” 

“We have a quota?” 

“Mhm,” you nodded against her shoulder, eyes closed as you planted lazy kisses against whatever skin was closest to you. 

Her breath hitched in her throat and she assumed a firmer grip on your hip as she hummed, “And what exactly would that number be?” 

“We say ‘I love you’ at least 76 times a day. And we kiss at least 280 times.” 

She chuckled, hand stroking along your hip and thigh as she nodded, “And where did you get these numbers from? Your ass?” 

“I’ve always counted.” 

That shut her up before she asked her next question a few moments later, “Are these exact numbers?” 

“An average. I did say ‘at least’.” 

“Huh.... you’re gay.” 

“Okay, but you married me so what does that say about you?” 

“That I did.” She turned to press a kiss to your forehead, just below your hairline before resting her head against yours, “I love you, dream girl.” 

You melted in her arms, nuzzling into the crook of her neck as you tightened your hold around her waist, “I love you...” 

“I love you,” she called again with a soft lilt in her tone as her thumb traced circles at the side of your hip. 

A heavy blush was creeping up from your chest, your skin growing warm as you let out a shaky breath, “I love you...” 

“You okay?” 

“Uh-huh...” 

“Words, mama.” You huffed and she shook her head, “No, ma’am. Talk to me. You goin’ to sleep on me?” 

“No.” 

“No?” 

You shook your head against her, “Mh-mh.”

She just chuckled, rubbing your back with one hand as she cradled the back of your head with the other, pressing kisses into your hair, “Whatever you say, mama.”

Sevika’s pregnancy scares were probably a lot more than she realized, but with little actual knowledge of her body, and the compounding factor of probably the world’s most irregular cycle, she spent the majority of her tween, teen, and young adult years none the wiser to any of the times where her body was seemingly contemplating the creation of a child. 

Until it started. 

At first, it was just a random nausea spell here and there. 

Then the nausea grew constant, the smallest smells setting her off with this horrible gagging. 

And then she threw up. 

All she could think of was what she was supposed to do when her father found out. No, no... he couldn’t find out. 

Flashbacks of that day when she was 6 have been haunting her since the first day of nausea. The intensity all but doubled when she woke up running for the toilet. 

Terrified didn’t even begin to cover the amalgamation of emotions Sevika was feeling when she realized what was going on with her. 

She thrust herself into ‘working’. Unsure of how far along she was and unable to actually find out, she decided to swallow down her daily morning sickness whenever it cropped up if she could, and when she couldn’t, she was straight to the nearest toilet. 

That didn’t stop her father from finding out. 

Sevika was sat on the bathroom floor, groaning under her breath after being unable to force herself to swallow her vomit back down. She was too weak and out of it to scramble and get herself together. 

If it wasn’t bad enough that she’d thrown up- didn't even get the chance to flush the toilet yet- her lack of reaction to his presence only further incensed the already drunk and irate man that called himself her father. 

It was a shitshow. 

Sevika was hemmed up by the collar of her shirt, his fist shaking as he barked in her face, questioning if this was why she’d been ‘underperforming’ lately. Too stunned to speak and reeling from the sudden yanking up from the floor, she sputtered, dizzy with a pounding headache as she tried to form a response. 

The more she floundered to actually engage with him, the more angry and downright belligerent he became. 

As always, he didn’t see his daughter, shaking under his grip of her collar.

No, he saw the extra mouth he’d been having to feed.

He saw the reason his wife was dead. 

He saw red. 

By the time Sevika found her words to even begin attempting to answer his barrage of questions and demands, his fist was already connecting with her face, his grip on her shirt the only thing saving her from ending up sprawled on the bathroom floor. 

It was going to be a beating for the books.

You didn’t even realize it when she’d laid you down in the bed on the pillows, tucking you in, until she was sliding into bed next to you, wrapping her arms around you from behind with a kiss to the back of your shoulder, “Hm?”

She shook her head, reaching a hand into your robe to hold one of your breasts as another kiss was planted to the side of your neck, “Go to sleep, mama. I just had to go get out of my work clothes.”  

You let out a little groan, turning in her arms to nestle into her, your face tucked under her chin as you mumbled, “Hmmm... g’night.... love you...”  

With a little chuckle she pressed kisses into your hair, rubbing your lower back as she whispered against you, “Good night, my love. Sleep well.”  

You didn’t sleep very well at all.  

Along with the aches and random pains in weird places in your body- a tugging in your lower abdomen that also had a random stabbing along with it, back pain, an almost constant headache, and just a general discomfort and ache in your body- you also had this constant metal taste that was like having a mouthful of rusty change in your mouth at all times.

You were constantly waking up throughout the night from the discomfort, the violent urge to brush your teeth to purge your mouth of the vile metallic tang plaguing you. This, compounded with your incessant gagging, had you growing nauseous with the mere thought of your toothbrush starting to make you want to dry-heave.

You were presently standing over the sink, tears in your eyes as you tried to prepare yourself to gargle some mouthwash after having thrown up for about the fifth time since you woke up in the middle of the night.

Sevika, ever the stony sleeper, had no idea until she rolled over, finding your cold spot in the bed next to her. She groaned, calling out in a sleep-filled voice, “Baby, what’re you doin’? Come back so we can cuddle...”

You huffed, gripping onto the counter of the bathroom sink, fighting the urge to dry-heave again, “I’ll be back in a second....”

You could hear her trudging footsteps coming closer to the bathroom until she was coming up behind you, rubbing your back and pulling hair out of your face, concern and sleep both written on her features, “What’s wrong, baby?”  

“I just.... I’m fine, I’ll be fine,” you shook your head, pushing her hand away before grabbing the capful of mouthwash.  

“You can’t lie to me, dream girl. You’re crying, you’re pale... you look like shit and you’re supposed to be asleep right now. Talk to me.”  

“I’m in pain, gagging now has nausea with it, I just threw up, so now I gotta wash that out of my mouth, but that’s still not going to get rid of this fucking taste in my mouth and I just-”  

“Hey,” she moved to stand right in front of you, hands on your arms as she rubbed them to try and calm you back down, “Avalanche, you’re spiraling, dreamy. Take a deep breath with me and we’ll go sit down and talk, okay?”  

You nodded as you looked up at her, taking a shaky but somewhat deep breath along with her as she nodded along, continuing to rub your arms with her thumbs tracing circles.  

You let out a hiccup when you went to exhale and the second the tears started to brew again, she shook her head, “No, no, eyes on me... You’re safe... you’re okay, I promise. I’m here. You are okay, you’re doing so well, my love. Let’s try again, okay? Deep breaths.”  

It took a few more tries before you finally relaxed in her hold, wrapping your arms around her. She brought one hand up to play in your hair, the pads of her fingers rubbing your scalp as her claws on her mech hand trailed lightly up and down your back.  

She ended up taking you to the kitchen, sitting you down as she made you a glass of water with two and a half ice cubes- just the way you liked it after an episode like that, holding your free hand and kissing your knuckles and fingertips as you drank with your other hand.  

When you sat the glass down, she stepped between your legs, still stroking her thumb over the back of your knuckles, “Whenever you’re ready, we’ll talk. If you don’t wanna talk, we can go back to sleep. If you want a distraction, we can watch something, or I could read you something. Just let me know, okay?”  

You nodded, reaching up with your other arm for her to come closer. She pressed a kiss to your cheek before leaning into the embrace, wrapping you up in her arms. The two of you remained that way for a few quiet moments until you looked up at her with a sniffle, your chin on her chest, “Sev?”  

“Yes, dreamy?”  

“Can you read to me in bed?”  

“Absolutely, baby. Do you wanna stay with me while I grab a book or go get comfy?” You held onto her tighter and she nodded, stroking your hair, “Alright, I got you.” She moved so that she could give you a piggyback while she grabbed a book. She ran her finger over the titles, moving on to the next one when you let out a little ‘mh-mh’ sound at each one until giving a nod when she got to a book you wanted to hear.  

Once you were both back in bed, Sevika sat up against the headboard with you lying on your stomach between her legs curled up into her chest, she started reading the book, her voice still rather raspy from sleep. She held the book in one hand, her other one up at your face, stroking your cheek with the back of her fingers and only moving to flip the page.

Eventually, you closed your eyes, enjoying the vibrations of her voice in her chest beneath your head and the feel of her fingers on your face. Unconsciously, you took hold of her hand, fiddling with her fingers. She paused in her reading to check in, “You okay?”  

“My mouth feels empty,” you lamented softly, the traces of whining laced in your voice.  

She kissed your temple, “You’ve got my fingers, mama. Do you want me to keep reading?”  

Sevika was no stranger to your occasional bouts like this. You hadn’t had a panic attack like that in a while, but usually when you did, you came out of them feeling very subby, not saying much, and your oral fixation would kick up, usually leading you to say things like ‘my mouth feels empty’. 

You nodded in response to her question as you closed your eyes again, softly sucking and gnawing on her index finger. She smiled as your breathing evened out, setting the book aside as she pulled the covers over you both, allowing you to keep her finger before she picked the book back up.

A little groan left you as you took one more finger into your mouth, shifting atop her with your right arm wrapped around her. She shushed you softly, pressing a kiss to your hair, “I’m right here, dream girl... I’ll never let you go... promise...”

First, he punched.  

Blow after blow into her face.  

To this day, Sevika still has the slightest taste of blood that crops up in her mouth for no apparent reason from time to time.  

It was clear that he was just making himself angrier with each hit, the strikes growing more violent and frenzied the more he spoke, barking at her about bringing another unwanted mouth into the household, about how she was still going to have to work. How could she be so foolish as to allow something like this? Half of his yelling barely made any sense but one thing was clear- he was saying that she’d gotten pregnant on purpose, trying to get out of pulling her weight around here. 

His grip started to shake on her collar until he’d thrown her to the floor, too lazy to bend over and keep using his hands, so here came the infamous worker’s boots, smashing into her stomach and chest with seemingly reckless abandon- yet somehow still managing a concentration of kicks to her stomach. Sevika curled in on herself slightly, instinctively going to guard her stomach which left her chest open.  

There was a sick crunch with each kick there, blood bubbling up out of her mouth as her body was wracked with coughs, the blood spattering across the floor with each one. Her father stopped for a few moments, leaning against the wall to catch his breath as he wheezed. 

"You... are fuckin'.... pathetic..." he huffed, turning back around to prod her face with his foot. 

He spat down at her as she lay there, voice gruff as he all but growled, “Get the fuck up.”  

Sevika was already weak when he came in, having been throwing up essentially all morning before he'd come in to find her when he got home. It hurt to even breathe, ribs threatening to puncture her lungs with every shallow breath she managed, let alone for her to actually get up off the floor. 

She didn’t move.  

He gave her a shove with his foot, pushing her onto her back as his voice got louder, “Did you not hear me, bitch? Get the fuck up!”  

Tears brewed at the back of her eyes. She always says the back because she learned early on not to cry. He hated that almost more than he hated her. 

With a great amount of effort, she rolled onto her side, then her stomach before bracing her hands against the floor to push herself up, low grunts and huffs escaping her the whole way.  

She barely got a few inches off the floor before he used his foot once again to kick her, knocking her back down, “Get up.”  

It was getting harder to hold those tears.  

She wasn’t foolish enough to hope that actually ending up pregnant would change things. She never hoped for anything. But some subconscious part of her did. While she had no plans on keeping the child, not that her father would let her anyway, something deep within her secretly wanted to.  

Her arms were wobbly, weak as she started to push up again. Each time she started to get up as he was demanding, he’d kick up under her, right into her stomach.  

She knew what he was doing.  

She didn’t want to lose the baby.  

Not like this.  

But she couldn’t do anything.  

For years after his death, she berated herself for not killing him sooner.  

After all if she had...

To say you had a disgusting cocktail of things seemingly going wrong with you would’ve been an understatement. 

You were locked in an almost unending cycle of sorts. First, you’d feel so nauseous it was almost like you were seasick. Then you’d throw up, which meant you had to brush your teeth after, lest the unceasing metallic taste be joined by vomit, which meant more gagging and possible throwing up. Then to make you feel even worse, now your gums were bleeding. 

And there was the pains. 

Sevika could barely keep up, but she was doing her best. She went into work less often, explaining the situation to Silco. When she did go in, he kept her for shorter hours, having her back home to you before afternoon. 

You guys were still awaiting your now questionably late period when you called from the bathroom one morning, “Baby?” 

“Yes, mama?” 

“Can you bring me a liner from the closet?” 

“You dropped?” 

“I think?” 

She entered the room with a liner in one hand and fresh panties in the other, “You think?” 

“It’s never been this light before. It’s not spotting, but it’s not my usual first day either,” you explained, letting her see the red and brown that now stained the panties you were wearing initially before you tossed them across the bathroom and into the hamper, taking the fresh ones and the liner from her with a soft ‘thank you’ as you changed.

She leaned against the sink, clearly studying you, trying to rack her brain for any sort of explanation. 

“This just started?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Hm.” 

“What are you thinking about over there? I’m not dying, am I?” 

She looked at you like she could kill you before whatever this was did, “Don’t talk like that. I’m just trying to make sense of this. Perhaps we should visit your mom...” 

The last line was muttered more to herself, but you responded all the same. Your mother was a doctor. More than that, she was a pretty damn good one, and she specialized in childbirth and care. She’d helped numerous women through what could’ve otherwise been fatal pregnancies, not to mention you come from a very... fertile line of women. 

“Would that make you feel better if I did?” 

She nodded immediately, “Yes, please. If anyone will know what’s going on with you, it’s definitely her.” 

“You know that’s a six-day trip, right?” 

“Don’t care. I’ll work something out with Silco if need be, but I need to know what’s going on with my girl. Start packing when you get out of here, I’ll be back in 45, okay?” 

You huffed, grumbling to yourself, “Watch it just be somethin’ stupid."

“Nothing’s stupid when it comes to you, dream girl. Don’t make me fuck a reminder into you when I get back.” 

“You’re leavin’ without my kisses? Do y’even love me anymore,” you wailed dramatically. 

You could almost sense her playful eye-roll as you heard her steps clunking back toward your shared bedroom. She bent down to meet you as you placed the liner into your new panties, pressing two kisses to your lips, “Happy now?” 

“No,” you pouted, your bottom lip poked out as you looked up at her sadly. 

She stooped down to your level, face softening, “What’s wrong, my love?” 

“You only gave me two kisses....” you whined, dead serious. 

Her face fell and she pushed your knee, “Don’t scare me like that, I thought something was really wrong, dreamy. Mmmmwah, better?” 

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you as she planted a very audible kiss on your lips, nodding, “Yes, thank you. And insufficient kisses it very much serious business.” 

“Yeah, when it’s you depriving me, not the other way around. Hurry and get ready, okay? The sooner we figure out what’s going on with you, the better.” 

“I know, I know. I’ll be fine. Go talk your way into going with me,” you waved her on, getting up from the toilet as you flushed with one hand, turning the sink on with the other to wash your hands. 

She got maybe three steps away from the door before she was back in the bathroom, tugging your face to hers for a searing- almost teasing- kiss as she muttered before pulling away, “I love you, lock the doors and windows, I’ll be back soon, okay?” 

Despite already missing her presence with her standing right in front of you, you managed a smile, pecking her lips once more, “Hurry, Sevi. The longer it takes you to leave, the longer I have to be here by myself.” 

“Say it back first,” she mumbled against your lips, the two of you still trading kisses back and forth. 

You pressed a lengthier kiss to her lips, looking up at her with a whisper, “I love you...” 

She tilted her head to rest her forehead against yours, closing her eyes, “I’ll be back, okay?” 

“Sev-” 

“I’m fine. I’ll be back.” 

She quickly suppressed the brewing tears, heading to go ask Silco for some time off to make the trip.

Sevika spent that night on the bathroom floor, bloodied and bruised, still coughing up blood periodically as she cradled her stomach, praying to whoever was out there that she didn’t die on that floor. 

She didn’t die. 

Even more, neither did her baby. 

Sevika wasn’t excited. 

She wasn’t happy to be bringing this life into the world. 

Sevika was petrified about the mere idea of it all. 

If she kept the baby, there was the chance her father would kill the baby, or worse, the baby would end up being abused just as she was. She couldn’t have that happen. 

But did she truly want to give it away? 

If the baby was lucky, it would end up being sent topside to Piltover. It’d be safe there as much as she hated to think about her child ending up being a topsider. 

But more likely than not, the kid would end up just in the system. Sent off from home to home around the Lanes. Or even worse, the kid could end up being one of the many orphans on the street. 

Sevika didn’t know what she wanted. Or what she would do. 

To make matters worse, her father acted as if she weren’t even pregnant in the first place. 

She was still working, now having to do even more ‘work’ to make up for the “lackluster performance” from the week she first found out she was pregnant. She was also working at home again, something she hadn’t done much since she’d become an adult. 

It took months for her to begin showing, and by the time she had, it was almost as if her father intended for her to keep the baby. The physical abuse was now reduced to the occasional slap or hair snatch here and there, and though the verbal and emotional abuse intensified in its place, he’d begun seemingly making room for the new addition. 

He was by no means happy about the prospect of his daughter having a child. But the way he saw it, that was another worker to bring money in to fund his drinking, gambling, and other vices. 

The way Sevika saw it? She'd rather die than let her child go through the same things she did. Whether this was something she wanted or not, she knew that if she had to have this child, she’d protect it with her life.

It’s nowhere near the first time you’ve had to make this trip to see your mom. 6 days there, 6 days back. 

The majority of your journey is spent with your symptoms playing a twisted game of roulette, alternating between which ones will be your biggest issue that day. 

You’re a constant mess of tears, throwing up, gagging, whining, and for the life of you, you cannot stop peeing, only to end up releasing barely a trickle if even a few drops. 

You’re tired. 

Sevika is also tired. 

Your wife wasn’t much of a caregiver when the two of you met. She wasn’t the worst, but it was clear that she was still very much learning. By now she's got it pretty much mastered.

She’s been holding you through everything, offering up massages, cuddles, and her fingers whenever you’re starting to get too overwhelmed by all the different compounding symptoms of what’s looking more and more like a pregnancy. 

That’s when the nosebleeds started. 

You’ve never had a nosebleed before. Aside from getting your nose broken that one time, you’d only ever dealt with Sevika’s nosebleeds that she gets during the winter from her nostrils drying out. But you? Never had it happen. 

However, you knew what it meant. 

It ran in the family. Bloody noses and sensitive- sometimes bleeding- gums were some of the earliest pregnancy symptoms within your family. If you didn’t know based on your other symptoms, all other weird yet slightly common symptoms of pregnancy, you definitely knew now. 

You were both in your hotel room, the last stop before the final half-day stretch that would get you to your mother’s house, your back to her front as she trailed her fingers over your stomach, muttering affirmations and praises under her breath at how good you’d been holding up when you felt what you thought was your nose running. 

You reached up to swipe at your nose with a sniff, pulling your sleeve away to find red now smeared across it, “Oh no...” 

She sat up with you, eyes going wide, “Baby?” 

You held your nose, pinching the bottom of your nostrils as you cupped your other hand under your chin, holding your head forward while running to the bathroom. 

It’s not an overwhelming amount of blood. You’ve seen Sevika come home with much worse from particularly bloody brawls at The Last Drop for sure. But to your wife? You may as well be dying. 

Sev is right on your heels, a face towel in her hands already being run under some warm tap water as she pulls you in front of her, taking hold of your chin with her mech hand and assessing the situation as she cleans your face with the towel in her other one. 

“This isn’t normal.... d’you think we can leave tonight? Get a jump on some answers? I’m worried about you.” 

“Baby, it’s just a nosebleed. I won’t bleed out by morning. It’s not even bleeding anymore.” 

She shakes her head, turning your face side-to-side face for signs of any bruising or other things that may be outwardly wrong with you. When she finds none, she starts to gently prod at your nose with a finger, pushing against the bridge and around, “You don’t get it, dreamy. You don’t get nosebleeds. I get those like an orphan gets the cold and flu. Not you... I don’t know a single person in the Lanes who’s just never had a nosebleed like you... I’m scared.” 

While you were now very certain about being pregnant, you wanted to wait to tell her, so you simply took hold of her arms- standard panic protocol between the two of you- as you spoke gently, “Baby, there’s a lot of things going on with me that just aren’t normal for me, but that’s why we’re on this trip. We’ll get answers in the morning, okay? Breathe for me, deep breaths.” 

Sevika’s barrage of questions and worries fizzle out on her tongue as she locks in with you, mumbling a small, “Avalanche,” as she takes a deep breath in time with your own. 

“There we go, my love. What can I do for you to make you feel a bit better right now? If you wanna get back on the road, we can. Or we can go cuddle and I’ll braid your hair. Or we can watch our show. Whenever you’re ready, just let me know, okay?” 

She closed her eyes as she took a final breath, opening them once she blew it back out, “Can you braid my hair and we watch our show?” 

“Of course, baby. Come on, relax time. If my nose bleeds again tonight, we’ll get up and head on immediately.” 

The two of you ended up back in bed, Sevika’s head in your lap as you gave her a few braids to pull back into two little pigtails in place of her usual half pony, you guys’ show playing in the background of her giving you updates on the things she’s gotta do for Silco when you two return back home. 

“And then he was literally all whiny talking about how he needs me to come in at some point when we get back so I can go head up the factory and take stock.” 

You snickered, pulling a hair tie around her first little pigtail, “We need to get this man a calculator class or something. Oh, remind me it’s time for a trim when we get home, your undercut is practically long enough for me to braid it too.” 

She rolled her eyes, rolling over in your lap to face you so you could do the other side of her hair, “Oh hush, it’s not that long.” 

“Nah, I’m just being extra.” 

“I love you...” 

“I love you too.” 

She squeezed her eyes closed, gritting her teeth, “I love you...” 

You noticed the tense in her jaw, voice softening, “I love you more, baby.” 

“Avalanche,” she said meekly, fist gripping your shirt.

You set your comb aside, pulling her up and into your arms as you wrapped your legs around her, allowing her to bury her face in your chest. Slowly rocking side to side, you stroked her hair with one hand, holding her tightly with your other arm as you pressed kisses to her temple and along her hairline, “I got you, Vika.... I’ll never let you go.... never leave... You’re safe... I love you... I’m always going to love you... nothing you do will change that... We’ve been married for so long now... We’re planning babies... We’re still gonna get our homestead... And you can have your animals... I’ll have my fruits and veggies... Me ‘n you, baby...” 

You kept whispering little reassurances, reminding her about you guys’ life plan, the things the two of you have already accomplished together, the ones still to come, all while rocking her and playing in her hair. She was holding onto you for dear life. You’d been waiting for it to hit her again, knowing what time of year it was. 

When her breathing evened out and her grip on you relaxed just the tiniest bit, you pulled back slightly, cleaning the crust from her eyes with your shirt before pulling the article off, tossing it to the floor. You finished her cute little pigtails while she slept, pausing to press a kiss to her nose every time she started to stir a little bit. 

You watched a few more episodes of you guys’ show, making sure to put it back to where it was when she fell asleep before you relaxed as well, pulling the covers up over the two of you. 

With a final kiss to her nose, this one earning a soft smile in her sleep, you leaned your head against hers before following her to sleep, mumbling, “Sweet dreams, my love... You’re gonna be a great mother...”

Pregnancy was... well... 

Sevika wasn’t sure how to describe her pregnancy. She was in such a weird place after the initial day of her father finding out that she wasn’t sure what to make of anything. 

One moment, he was “caring” for her- which really just meant not beating the shit out of her and pimping her out- and the next he was either acting like she didn’t exist or, again, human punching bag. 

As far as symptoms, her vomiting didn’t last very long, took her maybe two weeks after that day for her to get a handle on forcing her morning sickness back down no matter what. 

She really didn’t get the chance to think about it much. Sure, she had aches and pains. Sure, she had cravings. Sure, she was in and out of bathrooms like it was nobody’s business. But, those were all just minor- trivial things that ranged from annoying to slightly inconvenient at times. 

The hard part was delivery. 

Sevika delivered her daughter herself. 

Alone, in a back alley, deep in the very heart of Zaun. 

Giving birth hurt more than anything she’d ever felt before and anything she’d ever feel after. 

Sevika didn’t know much about her body. 

Besides the hateful things spewed about it from her father, the lustful words from her “clients”, and the few things she’d managed to sneak and read back when she was younger, she actually didn’t know much about how her body worked, let alone pregnancy. 

But something seemed to come over her. 

It was as if suddenly she knew everything she needed to have her baby safely. 

Yes, she was giving birth in a dirty alleyway- the whole of Zaun was dirty, it was unavoidable- but even through the pain she was... calm. 

She wasn’t worried about someone finding her and interfering. She wasn’t worried about her father. 

All she cared about was making sure her baby made it out into this world. 

And she did it. 

With nothing but a lighter, a shoelace, a pocketknife, and some stolen whiskey, she delivered her baby. 

A girl. 

She always wanted to have a daughter when she was little. 

She told herself that she’d have a girl so she could give her all the love and care that her father never showed her. 

She named her Mieko. 

Sevika didn’t know who the father was before now. 

And even though Mieko was but a newborn, she knew. 

This baby belonged to her father.

The next morning was a rush. 

Sev wanted to get to your mom’s as soon as possible. She didn’t say anything about last night aside from asking if your nose had bled any more after she fell asleep, and you didn’t mention it either. 

But the cloud still hung. 

You noticed her fiddling with the two shell casings that hung from the same chain as her wedding ring. Every so often her hand would stray up to her neckline, fingers practically searching for the items that sat just beneath the fabric of her shirt. Each time you just gave her mech hand a little squeeze, kissing the back of it just the same as you would her flesh hand. 

She was thankful you didn’t pry. You never did, actually. Sure, you knew what the casings held within them, and even more you knew exactly what it meant when she started to play with them, but you didn’t bother her about it. You gave her breath and space to grieve in her own way, never pushing for answers, never making her feel weak for showing her sadness. It was one of the many reasons she loved you so much. 

Naturally, the somber mood slowly started to lift the closer the two of you got to your mother’s place of residence. You knew Sev was only mostly trying to distract herself, but you also knew how much she and your mother adored one another. 

Presently, she was still fiddling with that chain of hers, rubbing the casings between her fingers as she spoke, “D’you think she’ll try and keep us here if it turns out we’re just having a baby?” 

“As if you’d be opposed. The way you two act, people would swear I was the one who married in.” 

She chuckled, sticking her tongue out at you, “Don’t be mad at me because moms prefers me. I’m just that guy.” 

You rolled your eyes, playfully mushing her in the face, “Literally die. Don’t ever say some stupid shit like that again.” 

“Or what?” 

“No booty.”

“What?!” She cried incredulously, immediately on her knees, “C’mon, mama, you know I was just playing. ‘M sorry...” she trailed, looking up at you with puppy eyes. 

You couldn’t help the snicker that escaped you as you pulled her up by her chin, being sure to press your lips to hers when she got close enough before she was once again standing over you, “You gotta be nice to me, okay? I’m 65 percent sure mom wrote me out of her will to put you in it.” 

She rolled her eyes playfully before leaning down to kiss you once more, “Oh, please, even if she did you already know I’d just give it all to you anyway.” 

“True, true.” 

“You ready?” 

“Yeah, are you?” 

“Hell yeah. If you end up not being pregnant we’ll just try again when we get home... so long as you’re not dying or something.” 

“What if I was?” 

“Don’t make me beat your ass, dreamy.” 

You gasped dramatically, “You tryna eat my ass?!” 

“I most certainly would hope not.” 

The two of you immediately forgot about the little argument that was about to start as you both raced to get to your mom first from where she stood on her porch. 

“Mommy,” you exclaimed as you launched yourself into her arms. 

She let out a dramatized grunt as she wrapped you up in her embrace, squeezing you tightly, “I wish you’d have told me you were coming before I felt you. Would’ve made your favorites.” 

“Sorry, it was kind of an emergency.” 

Sevika cut in, tugging you out of the way, “Yeah, kinda like you hogging moms right now.” 

Your mother snickered, squeezing Sev just the same, “You two need to be nice and stop fighting over me all the time. You both know that I love you equally.” 

“But Sev’s not even-” 

“What did I just say, gummy?” 

You huffed, folding your arms as you grumbled under your breath, “I can’t stand either of you.” 

When the two finally released each other, your mother turned her attention back to you, raising a brow, “Sevi, baby, can you do me a favor?” 

“Anything, moms.” 

“Go to the garden and gather the vegetables I’ll need for stir fry, please. I’ll be in the kitchen after I finish with this one,” she requested, eyes never leaving you as she seemed to be scrutinizing you. Sev left with a kiss to your cheek and another to your mom’s temple before she practically skipped away into the garden like the overgrown kid she really was. 

“Do you have something you wanna tell me?” 

“What do you mean, ma?” 

“You’re choosing that card? Step into my office, gummy.” 

You bit your lip as you followed after her into her home office, fiddling with the hem of your hoodie, “I swear to you, I don’t think I’ve got anything worse than a cold-” 

“Sit down,” she instructs, not looking to play these games with you. You shut up immediately, sitting back as she takes your vitals, “Last period?” 

“9 weeks ago.” 

“6 weeks late, huh?” 

“I know what you’re thinking and-” 

“Did you know I’ve been dreaming about fish for a month now? Tiny little fish swimming around with tadpoles.” 

You looked up at her as she handed you a cup, “Seriously, ma? I’m literally your only gay child.” 

She raised a brow, “What does that have to do with me? Piss. I’m testing everyone, it hasn’t just been you.” 

“So you tested Ky?” 

“Sure did.” 

You rolled your eyes the moment your back was turned, a slipper promptly smacking you in the back of the head, “Ow! I didn’t even say anything.” 

“You rolled your eyes and you were grumbling in your head about me making your brother take a pregnancy test. Obviously, I tested his wife, genius.” 

You smacked, rubbing the back of your head, “I didn’t even-” she raised her other slipper and you promptly shut your mouth before grabbing her slipper from earlier, handing it back to her. “I started getting the nosebleeds,” you mumbled softly. 

She looked up from her clipboard, voice and eyes softer than before, “Dear, why you know-” 

“That it means I’m pregnant? Yeah... I know...” 

She set her things aside, wrapping her arms around you, “Oh my little girl... all grown up... about to have a little girl of her own.” 

You chuckled through the tears that had begun to fall, “We don’t even know if it’s a girl yet. Not even close to finding that out.” 

 She waved your argument away, rubbing your back, “Did you forget who your mother is?” 

You didn’t answer, holding her a little tighter. Your mom softened, voice quiet as she questioned, “What’s wrong, gummy?” 

“I’m scared...” 

“Of?” 

“All of it.... being a mom... having a kid in the heart of Zaun... what if... what if Sevika falls out of love with me? Or I fuck up and lose the baby somehow? Or-” 

“Excuse me? I know this isn’t how I raised you to think.” 

“I know, but-” 

“No buts. You’re scared of being a mom? Comes with the territory. You’re scared of having your kid in the heart of Zaun? Guess what, baby girl, that’s where my mom had me, and look at how I turned out. You think you’ll somehow breathe wrong and lose the baby, I already know because I know you- you won’t. I’ll check you two out properly before you guys go back home just to be sure everything is fine and in working order with you and your body and the baby.” 

“As for Sevika? Sweet girl, if you think that girl is going anywhere away from you, then you clearly have a lot of learning to do. She looks at you like you’re the very air she needs to breathe; as if you hung the sun, moon, and stars just for her. That girl loves you even more than I do, and you’re my baby,” she chimed, playfully pinching your cheek, “Make no mistake, there’s nothing that could make her fall out of love with you. Not this one. And by Janna, if she does- call me.” 

You chuckled through your tears, letting out a little sigh, “I got this?” 

She gave you a kiss to your forehead, “Yes, sweet girl. You’ve got this. And I’ll be here the whole time, okay? And you’ve got a wife that loves you... You’ll be okay. And if you ever want to move back up here at any time during your pregnancy or after, let me know. My door is always open, you know this.” 

“I know....” 

The two of you stood like that for a good while before you mumbled, “Mommy?” 

“Yes, gummy?” 

“Thank you.” 

She let out a soft sigh, shaking her head as she held you a little tighter, “Anything for my girl. I’ll keep the news to myself so you can tell my other daughter, alright?” 

“Thanks... I love you.” 

She planted an audible kiss to your forehead, “Of course, little one. I love you more. Now clean that pretty little face and get yourself together. I’ll tell your wife you’re using the bathroom while we get dinner going, okay?” 

You let out a happy little sigh, giving your mother one last good squeeze, “Thanks, mommy.” 

She gave your stomach a little pat before turning to leave, “Don’t take too long or you know she’ll come find you. Also, you have a cold, sit your ass on the couch when you come out and don’t you dare set foot in my kitchen, you hear?” 

“Yes, mommy. I’ll be out in a second.” 

The door closed behind her and you placed a hand on your stomach letting out a little breath, “Now I’ve gotta figure out how to tell your mom about you, angel.”

2 years. 

Sevika had been hiding her daughter from her father successfully for 2 years. 

She doesn’t know how he found her. She didn’t know then and, to this day, she doesn’t know now. 

She’d returned to her childhood home from a day of “work”, heart falling from her stomach as Mieko came tottering to her, wrapping around her leg. 

For the longest time, fear was the only word she could use to describe that day, but no... it was something more than that. Sevika wasn’t just afraid. She was horrified. Petrified even. 

How long had her daughter been alone with her father? How did he find her? How long had he known about her? Was this his first time coming into contact with her? 

A million questions and terrible scenarios ran through her mind, the soft pat of her daughter’s hand on her leg pulling her from the slow descent into panic. She couldn’t help but smile at her baby, picking her up and smothering her in kisses as the little girl dissolved into giggles. She could feel her father’s eyes watching her every move. 

“You take her to the back room.” His voice was gruff as always, words short and to the point. 

Sevika froze. She knew what was coming for her if she let go of her daughter and faced him alone. She didn’t move, arms clutching onto her child as her heart raced even faster than her thoughts. 

There had to be a way out of this. 

Her father hated repeating himself. His anger was palpable, a churning storm ready to roll through the house as he slammed his fist down, “Back room, now!” 

The loud noise and his elevated voice scared Mieko. She started crying. He hates crying. 

Sevika slowly backed toward the front door, holding a crying Mieko to her chest as she tried to quiet her. 

Wrong. 

Her father was in front of her in an instant, large hands reaching for Mieko. Sevika went to turn around, run back out the door, only to have her face smashed into it, her daughter torn from her arms by his other hand. He shook the crying child, screaming at her to shut up. 

Disoriented with blurry vision, Sevika stood on unsure feet, trying to reach for her daughter back. 

She felt that familiar tiny hand clutch her finger for the briefest of moments before a shot rang out. 

She saw red.

Sevika’s hand strayed to the shell casings around her neck frequently throughout dinner, her eyes misty and sort of far away. Your mother looked to you, wondering what was up with her daughter in law, but you waved off her concern, stroking your thumb over Sevika’s thigh in a show of silent comfort each time she withdrew from the conversation. 

After dinner was finished and the dishes had been put away, your mother left for bed with a kiss to each of your foreheads. You sat on the couch with your wife, rolling a cigar for her as she curled around you, her flesh hand at your stomach, tracing patterns over the bit of skin poking from beneath your top. 

You placed the ‘gar between your lips, lighting it before taking a hit and holding it out for your wife. 

She took it, not hitting it, but studying it before she took a hit, sighing upon her exhale of the smoke. 

“How are you feelin’,” you asked softly, playing with her semi-wavy hair that had been freed from the braids and pigtails you’d made the night prior. 

“Stressed... worried...” she trailed off, voice falling quieter as she passed the blunt back to you, “sad...” 

“Where do you wanna start?” 

She shrugged, unwrapping herself from around you to sit up beside you, “Dunno... it’s all just a lot right now...” 

You leaned your head on her shoulder, taking a couple more hits of the blunt before you passed it back to her, taking up interest in her mech hand as you started to fiddle with the metal, “Okay.... what’s got you stressed?” 

“Everything...” 

“But in particular at this moment?” 

She didn’t answer for a few moments, eyes clouding over again. You gave her mech hand a squeeze, whispering gently, “Hey...” 

“Hm?” 

“You keep leaving me... Talk to me...” 

“Is it possible to miss someone you’ve never met?” 

Her mom. 

You gave a small nod, “Entirely possible.” 

“It’s like.... this longing... But it’s more than that because how can you long for something you never truly had? Even worse to miss someone who... who’s not here anymore because of you...” 

Her last sentence was like a ghost, the words dissipating the moment they left her lips. 

“Sevi...” 

“It’s fine, I’m-” 

“No, you aren’t, baby... And you don’t have to be. It’s okay to not be okay... But I wish you’d stop faulting yourself for that...” 

She let out a sigh, holding the blunt out for you, “I know... Just.... can we talk about something else? Or just cuddle and smoke?” 

You nodded as you took another hit, “We can do that.” 

The silence that fell was comfortable, the two of you sharing the blunt back and forth until it was nothing but a roach left. You leaned to place it in the ashtray on the coffee table before moving to lay aginst Sev’s chest. 

Your body was buzzing. It had been a while since you last smoked and you felt that familiar sensation of both floating and sinking into your wife’s body as you lay atop her, her arms wrapped loosely around your waist, flesh hand trazing lazy patterns along your spine. 

You tilted your head slightly to look up at her, her eyes fixated on the ceiling, but not really- she was thinking. 

“You have such pretty eyes,” you whispered. 

Her grin was immediate as she moved her vision down to you, those silver orbs darkened in her high state, “You think so?” 

You nodded, curling further into her as you closed your own eyes, “So pretty... I hope the baby gets your eyes.”

Sevika is known for being a woman who revels in violence. 

The Scary lady of Zaun. 

She’s the one who kicks ass and takes names- no questions. 

But it wasn’t always like that. 

The shot flipped a switch in her. 

To be quite honest, she’s not sure what exactly killed him. 

Maybe it was her beating him. 

Maybe it was her bashing his skull into the wall. 

Maybe she’d broken his ribs with her kicks, punctured a lung or even better his heart. 

She didn’t know. 

But when the rage had settled and her father lie dead on the floor, she saw her little girl. 

She crumpled, those tears she’d been holding back for so long in her life ripped from her as she held her girl in her arms. 

Those tiny fingers wrapped around her pinky for the last time, matching silver orbs growing dim as Mieko took her final breath in her mother’s arms.

Sevika’s heart stopped in her chest as she froze beneath you. 

You sat up, looking down to find her eyes glossed over, a single tear escaping, “Sev?” 

Her eyes were wide, heart hammering away in her chest, threatening to burst from it as she just barely managed to speak, “You... you’re...” 

You took her hands, nodding as you whispered, “Yeah, baby... I’m pregnant.” 

You were holding back tears of your own. You’d only seen your wife cry once, and that was on your wedding day. Sevika crying was as rare as you getting a nosebleed. 

You cupped her face in your hands, wiping away her tears as they fell. She seemed frozen, eyes faraway again as she whispered feebly, “You...” 

Sevika didn’t know what to say. She had dreamed about this moment, played it out a million different ways in her head. She just knew she’d wrap you up in her arms, a mess of kisses and giggles. But now that it was here, the two of you under the light of the fire in your mom’s living room, she was stuck. 

Her eyes focused on you as you spoke, tears in your eyes, “Hey, come back to me? You okay?” 

No, she wasn’t okay. 

“You’re pregnant...” she whispered, still sounding like she didn’t believe it. 

You let out a soft chuckle, nodding as you leaned in to kiss a line down her nose, ending with her lips, “We made a baby, Sev...” 

There were stars in her eyes as she stared at you. She was never one for flowery language, she’d tried, but she always stumbled over her words or felt like she’d just come off cheesy. Her hands moved to your waist, thumbs stroking the sides of your stomach as she looked up at you, “We did...” 

“We’re gonna be parents...” 

“We are...” she whispered, her words thick as she blinked away a fresh batch of tears. 

You didn’t wipe them away this time. Instead, you pulled her closer, wrapping your arms around her as she tucked her face into the crook of your neck. If you felt her tears soak through your shirt, you didn’t say anything, fingers combing through her hair as you rocked softly. 

Sevika was swimming through her thoughts in her mind. She was petrified and ecstatic at the same time, but the fear seemed to overtake the happiness by an astounding wave, causing her to press further into you. You simply wrapped your arms tighter around her, pressing a kiss into her hair as you rubbed her back to keep her grounded. 

Her mind was running about a million miles a minute. Flashbacks of her own pregnancy, her labor and delivery in that cramped alley... the few moments of peace and happiness shared with her daughter.... Mieko’s eyes as the life leaked from them... 

Then she thought about you. The life the two of you have settled into together. The day that started all of this when the two of you decided to try for a baby. About all the shit you’ve had to put up with thus far and all the things to come. 

She pulled back to look at you, silver eyes glistening still in the lowlight, pupils blown as she found her voice, whispering under her breath, “Thank you...” 

Your eyes caught on your mother, a soft smile on your face as she mouthed, “I told you so.” 

🤎©️ All work belongs to sexysapphicshopowner. Do not use or repost my content in any way without my consent or permission. Thank you! 🤎

🤎 Taglist 🤎:

@certainlynotasimp @trafalgardvivi @love-sugarr @archangeldyke-all @fyeahnix

[thedreadvampy]

look I do not want to have this argument in the notes of a 5k+ post bc I will get crucified and so will the person who I'm arguing with

but see I made this post about the use of language and said I thought that words like rape or abuse or suicide are extremely necessary and that they can be uncomfortable words but that's because they're uncomfortable things?

someone in the replies said, quote, "that doesn't excuse y'all reblogging this without trigger warnings"

and like, far be it from me, a guy who spent a non-zero amount of time having panic attacks if I saw Chewbacca merch and once had a day-long dissociative episode because I saw someone carrying a guitar, to say what acceptable triggers are or how people should respond to them

but in this instance. I'm pretty clear that yeah actually it does excuse reblogging it without trigger warnings

because in this post I didn't at any point actually talk about rape, abuse or suicide, I talked about the words "rape", "abuse" and "suicide".

in fact in the original post I don't think I want into any more detail than I would in the tags "tw rape" "tw abuse" or "tw suicide"

which gets under my skin, right, because while there's no problem with choosing to trigger tag that post of you think it's helpful, demanding that this is such an Obviously Triggering post there's a moral obligation to tag it (because it contains the Bad Words) is uhhhhh kind of exactly what I'm talking about?

Language here is mistaken for the thing. Saying the word "rape" is construed as unambiguously harmful in a way that talking about rape without naming it isn't.

I have literally heard people begin to describe a rape, a domestic violence case, a murder, a suicide, in those terms - then stop themselves, change their language, and carry on describing these really specific, upsetting experiences with the clear understanding that they've removed the Problematic Part (now that they're saying "special cuddle" and "adult time" instead of "rape").

Part of what I'm reacting against in that post is exactly that - the idea behind the cutesy euphemisms and the censorship of important words like "death" and "rape" (and frankly "lesbian". and "sex" and "kink" and "porn"), which is this tendency to displace the discomfort caused by the word onto the word itself.

Obviously everyone's experience of trauma is different. But as a survivor I'm not triggered or disturbed by the word "rape", I'm triggered and disturbed by the act of rape, and potentially by conversations which describe or explore or evoke that act or experience.

And frankly I find it hard to believe that a significant plurality, let alone a majority, of people with PTSD connected to rape or abuse are so sensitive to the Word Itself that they must be protected from even hearing it named.

I am particularly clear on this with "rape" and "abuse" because, as I said in the post described, those are unambiguously words coined to create purposeful discomfort, because they're words coined to recognise the harm in very common and normalised actions.

If you've experienced rape, abuse, or whatever, and the words alone for those things are deeply distressing, I'm very sorry for you. That must be awful and I wish you well.

But a lot of the time I think when people start linguistically self-censoring (not "you can't talk about this topic without a trigger warning" but "you can't use this descriptive word without a trigger warning") they're not actually reacting to a debilitating trauma response, but to the fact that hearing the word inspires discomfort, because it puts an appropriate amount of weight on the topic.

you have to trigger tag for "suicide" but not for "unalive yourself" "sewerslide" or "kys"

you have to trigger tag for "death" but not for "no longer with us" "left the world" "unalive"

you have to trigger tag for "rape" but let's be honest not for a description of having sex with someone against their will, as long as you don't call it rape.

(btw people will blame this on the Algorithm but it goes back way further, we were having this Acceptable Words Discourse on Tumblr in 2012, you know? it's definitely accelerated by algorithmic control but this list of Bad Words as a shibboleth for Caring About People is old old bullshit)

(also the idea of trigger tagging on the basis of words rather than meaning strikes me as uhhhh suboptimal? especially when it comes to words created to talk about our experiences? like maybe there's a significant textural difference between a post which uses the word "rape" in a list of words that exist, a post saying "if this happened to you it may have been rape," an exploration of survivor feminism and the political positioning of rape, a list of rape prevention and recovery resources, and a graphic rape fantasy. like any of those might be things I don't wanna see, but they're very different in relation to each other and to my trauma, you know? and not wanting to see explicit discussion of rape doesn't necessarily mean not wanting to Ever Hear The Word. but that's another conversation.)

anyway this is all academic frankly because the thing you're objecting to is that the words are in the post. bc again, trigger tags on this post entail Exactly The Same Amount Of Exploration Of These Topic as the post itself

[bizlybebo]

Sinking sun (you won't rise again)

little less than half of my unfinished jrwi waning crescent fic as requested by @s0lar-ch3ri

i don't know how to format these i don't usually post fics on tumblr. here's girls kissing

not proofread yet forgive any spelling mistakes </3

---

wordcount: 4k

tws: just some light violence (no mcd yet)

description/summary: 2 times lizzie lafayette kissed ava ferin and the 1 time she realized she’d never be able to again. (or: tragic lesbians. also rosewater. the two subjects of my brainrot)

----

“Cease, pirate!” screams Ava, pistol drawn and aimed taut as she gracefully sways back and forth, trying to keep her balance on the shingles of one of many rooftops throughout this little town.

On the other side of this roof-turned-stage, Lizzie wobbles for a second before she can stand up straight herself, reaching down and drawing her cutlass sword, rising up to her role for this audience. “Oh, a Ferin thinks she’s truly capable of catchin’ me?” she gloats, even adding a dramatic backwards lean and a flourish of her sword before stepping away in retreat and leaping over an alleyway, clinging onto a windowsill and using the momentum to fling herself up onto the next rooftop, a couple feet higher.

She’s actually unsure of where they stand in this performance yet, or if it’s even a performance at all.

It’s definitely a show, an exaggerated battle for the people— pirates and Navy alike— gathered in the town square, some of them yelling and baying for the blood of a ‘dirty thief’ while others shield their young from the gaze of soldiers.

Lizzie breaks into a run and races across clay-red bricks, the slightest of maniacal grins on her face as her heartbeat picks up, adjusting for the chase about to happen. This had happened a couple of times now; the two of them had built quite a rivalry for themselves, something that could be defined clear as night and day in the public eye, but...

something that Lizzie didn't think she could explain herself, not really.

It had happened a couple times before; one of them, usually Ava, would give chase to the other, usually Lizzie. Lizzie would get cornered and Ava would speak to her in rehearsed threats and vague words, staring at her just a little too intently, for a little too long, as she did so.

And then something would come up calling for Ava's time, and it would be urgent enough for Lizzie to be able to avoid arrest, with only a promise from the young Ferin that 'she would be back for her'.

And every time, she was back.

Lizzie takes a sharp turn to the right, hopping over the main street despite the way she knows she won't be able to actually make the full jump. Wind rushes through her teeth as she just barely improvises a move that involves grabbing onto a clothesline and using it to slow her fall, wincing apologetically when it snaps.

She hits the ground ducking and rolling before her head jolts up and she sets her sight on the beach, only a couple hundred feet away-- where she'd prefer to take this battle so that nobody else got in the crossfire or interfered with their personal vendettas against each other.

Staggering to her feet now, she smirks up at the silhouette of Ava on the rooftop, gaze darting from side to side as she seems to be trying to find a way to go after her, since Lizzie had (granted, accidentally) destroyed the quickest way of pursuit.

"Come on, show your fuckin' Navy what you're worth!" she taunts with one last brandish of her cutlass that makes villagers reel even back further in alarm. The blade gleams in the late afternoon sunlight, catching the rays in the same way the pin strung around the Ferin's neck does.

"I'll show you!" comes in response, and Lizzie takes it as her cue to begin actually running, because despite her actively haven chosen the terrain for them to run on, she actually doesn't fare well on flat ground-- she's much better at climbing and leaping across rooftops and rough surfaces.

Her heart pounds in her ears again, and her lungs begin to ache with the familiar freedom of boots skidding across sand and kicking up rocks.

After a few moments, Lizzie braves a little glance up to the rooftop again, squinting against the sun, and she doesn't see that familiar figure atop it anymore.

That could mean anything.

She runs along the outside border of this little seaside town, making her way towards a grassy hill that sticks out atop the boundless sands that make up the beach. She prays her theory's right, because she's seeing ocean water lap against the shore in waves that diminish on impact, but the current travels further up the land here, creating little indications of what Lizzie hopes is a cave. She knows there's plenty of little caves and ravines sparsed throughout this area, since the crew she runs with had actually been hiding out here for a few days now before Navy showed up.

Regardless, though, if there's a cave, it's still rather far away-- it's a matter of if she can be fast enough to disappear within it before Ava catches up to her, meaning she actually has very little time.

Adrenaline bursts through her bloodstream as she pants, gasping for salty ocean air and contemplating whether or not she can risk another peek behind her again, to see if her arrest is going to be public or not. Because gods know that if somehow, their push-and-pull ends today, she's not going down without a damn fight.

Seagulls cry above, soaring overhead like this is just a normal day, a normal occurrence, like several people aren't watching and holding their breath, entranced by the chase between a cut-and-dry hero and foe, ready to travel the news by word of mouth on the dirty crew of pirates and whether or not they get away this time.

Lizzie's heart skips a beat as she begins to hear pounding footsteps just over her shoulder, and she grunts with one last burst of speed as she finally reaches the hill she'd seen, whooping in joy as she finds just what she was hoping for: a little cave with plenty of crevices and rocks within it, small sand-colored stalagmites taking up the entire height of the thing.

With the one chance she gets to look back towards Ava, she gives a smug two-fingered salute before darting into the cave, disappearing into its mostly dark environment.

And immediately, she finds an opportune ledge on the side of the wall, a tiny crater that's hidden by one of the mentioned stalagmites. She swings up onto it with a proud smile, tucking herself into the hiding spot in wait, leaning slightly out to get full view of the cave below her.

Ava Ferin skids to a stop at the cave's mouth, pistol still drawn at her side as she quickly surveys her surroundings, making a noise of frustration when she can't find Lizzie immediately.

"By the goddess, where the hell did you go?!" she cries, carefully holding her weapon between her hands now as she stalks through the area slowly, checking around every corner. "Surrender yourself!"

The cave's rather small-- only twenty feet both ways at most, meaning that Lizzie has to use her hiding spot to its full advantage, either by disappearing from sight and remaining silent or utilizing the element of surprise it affords her.

And today, her choice is the latter.

Because she wants answers.

Ava finally finds herself at the end of the cave, whirling around in confusion at not having found Lizzie yet.

The moment comes to a pause as Lizzie takes in a quiet, shaky breath through her nose, hand over her mouth to preserve her stealth for as long as possible. She cautiously adjusts her grip on her cutlass, careful so as not to reflect any light and draw attention to herself. She slowly scoots over to the very edge of the little crater of rock she'd tucked herself away into, readying her boots so that she can jump off and out immediately.

Immediately, upon the second that Ava's back is turned, Lizzie leaps out, sword in hand, and brandishes it out at the captain.

She jumps in response, whirling around, and only giving herself further to Lizzie's plot, because the tip of the sword is pressed to her jugular, sharp edge a silent threat.

Ava's eyes widen, deep and blue just like the ocean Lizzie lives on. Her pistol still remains pressed between her palms, but since it hadn't been held ready, it's still pointed towards the ground, putting her at a disadvantage.

"Any sudden moves and I-- I'll fuckin' gut you," Lizzie huffs, watching alarm, indecision, and frustration wash over the captain's expression.

"You're despicable," she retorts, own voice strained as her chest heaves for air.

"You're trying to arrest me."

"For being a thief!" Ava bites out.

"Drop your pistol."

The Ferin's eyebrows press together as she seems to consider saying no, but Lizzie presses harder with her blade, and although her grip's a little shaky, it still forces Ava to tilt her head up to avoid being cut, looking down at the pirate through slits of eyes due to her height. The Ferin family were all rather tall, as far as Lizzie knew, and there was something satisfying in diminishing what would be a clear advantage in any other situation-- Ava was a head taller than her, but it meant nothing when such a threat was staring her in the eyes.

A silent moment passes between them, before an indescribable shift occurs in her gaze that Lizzie had never seen before, and a soft thud echoes throughout the little cave as the pistol hits the sand, clinking against it and creating a dent in it.

Ava Ferin splays her fingers out, displaying how her hands are empty as she raises them in surrender.

She sighs deeply through her nose, but does not hiss out any further threats or insults, only raising her eyebrows as Lizzie lets her sword drop the tiniest bit to let her breathe, yet still clearly not enough to fight back in any way.

"Well?" whispers the Navy captain, voice lower and softer, but not actually gentle.

She tilts her head back down again, and Lizzie has to consciously stay focused on the situation and not get distracted by the way her vibrant orange hair, fine and silky like the ocean's current, falls around her face and frames it perfectly.

Lizzie clears her throat before speaking. "What the hell is this?

”I’ve no clue what you mean by asking that.” Something glimmers in the Ferin’s eye, but it’s so inconsequential, Lizzie can’t tell if it’s real.

”You—“ She keeps her eyebrows pressed firmly together, expression remaining stoic so that Ava doesn’t see any gaps in her composure and reach in to tear at them. Tear her apart.

”Elizabeth.”

“Wh-what?”

The way that she speaks her name, delicately yet firmly, is almost addictive for some reason, and it catches Lizzie entirely off guard. She has to swallow before she can even think of soeaking again, suddenly very aware of the breaths she takes and how they want to speed up in the presence of Ava— but not to run from her. 

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” asks Ava as she slowly lowers her arms from their surrendered position, until her hand, slim and strong, with a fingerless glove adorning it, rests upon Lizzie’s sword.

It’s an ask. A silent challenge.

Lower the sword.

Lizzie’s appalled when she finds herself considering such a thing. She consciously tightens her once-loosening grip around the cutlass’ handle, and watches as Ava Ferin raises her own eyebrows in surprise, and maybe even a little bit of amusement.

But her hand doesn’t fall from the sword’s blade.

”What—“ growls Lizzie through gritted teeth this time, “—is this?”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to clarify—“

“All of this?! You— you keep finding me! Hell d’you mean ‘clarify’?! It’s like you’re fucking obsessed with me, some shit like that! But— you’ve never arrested me, and maybe you’re just fuckin’ shit at what you do, but—“

Lizzie stands in wait after that, waiting for her outburst to spark a reply from the Ferin, to kindle an argument, set ablaze an equally intense response from the other.

Instead, Ava Ferin begins to push down on the blade yet again, and it quickly becomes a silent arm-wrestle of sorts. Ava refuses to look away the entire time as she does so, and though she’s growing antsy, Lizzie refuses to back down; hell, she’s angry that anybody thinks she would in the first place.

But having set things up in what she thought was an advantageous way, she never considered how much easier it would be to forcefully lower her cutlass if somebody simply stood taller than her. And of course, Lizzie could quickly usurp this by just— thrusting her sword up, letting it pierce right into the captain’s throat and watching rivulets of blood pour from her rival’s mouth.

But she could never do that. 

At this silent realization, and the way Lizzie eventually stops fighting, Ava appears extremely confused. “What is it, pirate?” she mutters, eyes falling towards the sword that’s now only held loosely in Lizzie’s palm. “Accepting defeat that easily? Finally quit evading arrest?” 

Staring down at the weapon she allowed to be lowered, somewhat dejectedly, Lizzie doesn’t reply at first. She’s still fucking pissed off by the pretentious prick of a Navy captain that Ava is, but—

Rough, slender fingers find their way towards the side of her chin and forcefully turn her attention back towards said prick.

And Lizzie’s heart catches in her throat and for a second, she really does think she may be dying. 

But instead, she’s staring her fate in the eyes— arrest, surely. Not death; something less intense but even more loathesome. She thinks that even a moment in a prison cell would send her spiraling, feeling lost and aimless without the ocean nearby at all times.

Speaking of oceans, Ava Ferin’s eyes are the same color as it; a shade caught between blue and green, like foamy waves crashing onto a shore and dissolving into nothing before surging back, twice as powerful.

“I—“ she finally stammers, before gritting her teeth her again, re-focusing herself after the way her mind had fogged (and admittedly, still was rather addled) by the way that Ava had gotten so close, close enough that they were sharing the same air in irritated breaths. “No.”

Ava tilts her head further downwards, just to ensure she’s truly gotten Lizzie’s attention. “‘No’?”

Lizzie’s hand snaps up, curling around the wrist that tilts her face up, sharp nails pressed to the side of her neck as though she hadn’t just been pressing a blade to the other’s throat moments ago. “No, you’re not fuckin’ arresting me.” 

“You speak as though you have a choice.”

Their two hands remain suspended; Lizzie’s fingers clamped around the Ferin’s forearm. 

“It is Elizabeth, correct?” 

“You’ve heard my fuckin’ name a thousand times over by now.”

”Don’t get too ahead of yourself, dear.” And with that, Ava slowly flexes her hand, until Lizzie grows lenient with the grip on her arm, too, letting Ava slide her wrist down until— 

oddly enough, the woman intertwines her fingers with Lizzie’s. 

Both their hands are roughened by their lifestyles, covered in calloused with scars stretching over the skin. However, where Lizzie wears rag-tag jewelry, mostly of copper and turquoise, upon her wrist and fingers, Ava Ferin only wears a few simple golden pieces. 

The moment is oddly silent, and Lizzie simply can’t help but be bewildered by such a sight.

Her sword, long forgotten when she had grabbed Ava’s arm, lays buried in the sand alongside the Navy captain’s pistol, weapons dropped in favor of a more personal battle, it seems.

She’s too shocked to take note of the way Ava reaches forward until her left hand snakes around her waist, pulling Lizzie in and pressing the two of them together in a nearly comical, waltz-like sort of sense. 

Her breaths freeze in her chest entirely, and for several long seconds, all she is aware of is the rushing of blood in her ears and the way her heart is thrumming against her ribcage, threatening to claw its way out.

And of course, she’s aware of the way Ava’s head perfectly fits between her shoulder and neck as she leans down, breath hot against the side of her neck for a too-long moment before—

“Elizabeth, you’re under arrest for multiple accounts of piracy and thievery, among other things such as threatening my life.”

And that’s what snaps her back entirely.

Lizzie can’t abandon the heat spreading throughout her face, and she knows she won’t be able to hide the way she’s turning a deep shade of red. But above all else, she knows damn well she won’t let things end like this.

Not with Ava Ferin getting the last word, the final laugh.

”Like hell I am,” she whispers, anticipation now joining the dissonant chorus of emotions swirling through her in the moment.

Because if Lizzie is anything, she’s a criminal— dirty pirate, thief, vagabond— whatever one could say. And she was serious when she decided she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

In one great motion, she untangles her hand still entwined with Ava’s, instead leading it to rest on the Navy captain’s shoulder, and taking her free one, which had previously been hanging in the air from the sheer shock going through her system, reached up for a firm grip on Ava’s cheek. 

And standing up on her top toes, Lizzie kisses Ava Ferin, the woman hellbent on (and yet, suspiciously unsuccessful with) arresting her. 

The kiss isn’t gentle— it’s a bruising thing, and Ava’s sharp teeth drag across her bottom lip, setting ablaze a dangerous fire, and Lizzie knows she should be stopping to ask herself what in the goddesses’ names she is doing, but for just a moment, everything’s slotted into place, it’s all perfectly even and everything makes sense, and it’s okay. 

And Lizzie wants more, she wants to stay like this forever, locked in this battle with Ava, but she’s pretty sure that trading everything for a second further of this euphoria would end up with her simply locked in a prison cell.

The hand around the back of her waist, which had tightened around Lizzie’s belt in shock when she had first leaned in to press her lips to Ava’s, loosens as Lizzie steps back— it seems purely subconscious, because the Ferin appears dazed by the advance, still processing it, and… hell, she almost looks upset that their kiss ended, too.

Lizzie’s face breaks into a sly grin at the realization that she’s crumbled the confident, postured façade of a Navy captain— and not just a Navy captain, but Ava Ferin of all people. She’s dissolved that hard, stone wall that’s usually put up by Ava, and for once, even though she’s running away again this time, she feels like she’s truly came out of this altercation as the winner. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” is all Lizzie huffs in a smug, breathless tone before suddenly ducking low to the ground, swooping to pick up the sand-covered pistol and press the thing between her palms the same way that Ava had done before. 

And just as she predicted, Ava jumps into a defensive position quickly, finally back to herself, but before she can make any moves to apprehend the pirate again, Lizzie dives between her legs, cocking the hammer on the pistol back as she snaps to her feet in less than a second, cold metal barrel aimed at the back of Ava Ferin’s skull.

And the two of them know: really, Lizzie wouldn't shoot.

But still, Ava surrenders a second time, chest still heaving from the previous kiss, and Lizzie is certain that her head is spinning the same way her own is. 

“Don’t— really think we can call ourselves… strangers, anymore,” breathes Ava as Lizzie slowly steps around her, a little sour at having to abandon her sword in this cave in favor of getting away, but at least she’ll have stolen a Ferin’s pistol, as well as a kiss from them, and lived to tell the story.

Of course the choice was selfish. And maybe it was something she’d thought about doing many times before. But nobody would have to know that except her. And nobody would truly believe Ava even if she wanted to share the story. 

“I’ll have to see you some other time, dear,” hisses Lizzie as she slowly retreats to the cave’s entrance, reprising the previous pet name that Ava had attempted to call her. 

“Fuck you,” bites Ava.

”Eat a dick!” Lizzie cries out, hearing it echoe off the walls of the small cave before she finally turns heel and runs, feet skidding across the beach sand once again as she catches sight of Shadowbeard’s once-docked ship, now apparently having left the harbor for a quick escape from Navy soldiers.

Standing at the back of the ship, is a familiar blue face whose exasperation is nearly palpable even from fifty or so feet away. 

Lizzie waves widely to Caspian, who vaults over the deck before descending into a graceful swan dive, ready to retrieve her and drag her onboard before she’s truly caught by Navy this time.

She breaks into a smile as the afternoon sun filters through a break into the clouds, before sprinting into the ocean’s carefree waves to try and meet Caspian halfway, despite the water genasi being, naturally, a much faster swimmer than her.

Even as she herself dives headfirst into the sea, Lizzie can’t extinguish the burning fire in her chest, the single match that had dropped in the kindling to allow a blazing inferno to set itself alight.

Don’t be a stranger.

-☀️-

The ocean sings a gentle lullaby to Lizzie as it rocks her back and forth on the deck of the ship, a delicate swaying motion from side to side as she lays on her back, an entire sky full of stars that glisten and shine above her.

And yet, there's something even more beautiful she's looking up at.

Ava's looking down at her with a fond fire burning behind her sea-green eyes-- Lizzie remembers being a kid, on the Black Rose, and having... Chip (she shoves down the wave of grief that comes with remembering that young boy she once knew) tell her that blue fire was safe to touch because it was the 'cold kind'. She'd learned an important lesson that day, that not only was blue fire actually the hottest, most dangerous kind, but that also, Shay was a terrifying woman when lecturing children who misbehaved, such as Chip. 

...Her thought process had gotten rather disorganized, but, regardless-- she knew that the fire in Ava's eyes was certainly a dangerous one. But it was also one she'd allow to burn her to death, burn her to her very core, because she was addicted to the heat of such a flame.

Ava's fingers gently traced lines over Lizzie's face as she cradled it in her lap, a little sly smile on her face every time Lizzie got flustered when she'd trail a fingertip under her chin, or over the exposed skin of her neck.

"Goddesses, I can't believe I really wanted you dead before," Ava murmurs gently as she leans down further, low enough that her silky auburn hair is practically in Lizzie's face, bathed in gentle moonlight that only makes her appear more stunning with each passing second.

"I can't believe you were shit enough not to kill me," Lizzie responds, teeth flashing as she smiles up at the Navy captain.

"Maybe I should still arrest you anyways." The joke is practically a running one between them at this point, something they reference every time they have their secret meetings-- something they'd been having for a little less than a year, now.

"Like to see you fuckin' try," smirks Lizzie, even though they both know-- she'd let it happen. She'd let it happen and she wouldn't as much as think about resisting it, because she was nothing if not hopeless when it came to love.

"Yeah, bet you would."

"Okay, I--"

Ava dissolves into gentle, wry laughter as Lizzie's face turns a deeper shade of red before she simply draws her hands up, covering her face sheepishly.

t

---

yeah thats. thats it. i plan on revealing ava as having wings after this because i am a winged ferin truther

[gothichorrorshow]

Y'all I have found an absolutely terrifying statistic, and we should be scared of what this means

TW: Suicide 

(Image description: A CDC link reading "LGBT Youth | Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Health" The description reads "Nearly one-third (29%) of LGB youth have attempted suicide at least one in the prior year compared to 6% of heterosexual youth. In 2014, young gay and bisexual..." End ID) 

In 2021, one in four queer youth attempted suicide. One in four. I was among those 29% myself. I have several friends both online and in real life who I know are too. 

It's so hard being a queer kid now because of how aware of everything we are. We're aware of all the violence happening towards us, all the laws being passed against us, and all the hate we face. It's hard to look away from it. 

And just because there's more openly queer people doesn't mean our parents get anymore accepting or our peers decide to stop bullying. If anything it makes the bad worse. 

I knew there was many of us who were overwhelmed to the point of being suicidal. I know because many of them are close to me. But putting an actual number and statistic to it... it's way more than I thought. 

I don't know why I'm surprised. My friend group consists of most of the queer kids in my grade and we've all been suicidal at one point or another. We've all been each others' reason for waking up and coming to school. 

We're more likely to experience abuse and neglect from our parents. Even if we have a good home life we're more likely to face bullying, harassment, and even assault from our peers. 

Even if nothing happens to us, we can be traumatized by the things we see our friends, our siblings, and our lovers go through. Or by the things happening large scale like laws, hate crimes, and statistics like these. 

If you're a queer kid who's suicidal, you are never alone. There's hotlines you can call, text, or chat with for various purposes at this link. If you just need someone to talk to who knows where you've been feel free to shoot me a message or ask. Don't give up. There is a future for you where you'll be happy, but you have to get through today first. 

If you're wondering what you can do to help queer kids when you're a minor, you can help one by sharing this post and spreading awareness. 

Two by supporting or creating local groups to help queer kids (e.g. school GSA clubs. last year I helped my friends create GSA club at my school) 

Three by reaching out to your queer friends and just checking on them to see if they're ok. Or even just talking to them. Offer them hotlines to talk to if they need it. 

It'd be so great if you can help even one young queer person. That's one life you potentially saved. 

[autumnpeaches]

and now i see daylight. | travis hackett x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: After surviving until dawn six years ago, you’d never imagine having to survive another monstrous event… until now. You’re heading to Hackett’s Quarry this summer to be a counselor with two of your newest friends, only you don’t make it right away to camp like you thought you would.

TW: canon typical violence??

TAGS: multi-chapter fic :), slight slow burn???, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, age difference, older man/ younger woman, slight references to until dawn, slight mention of until dawn characters  

PROLOGUE  CHAPTER II

CHAPTER I (LINK TO AO3)

23:50 | JUNE 24 — ROUTE 919

Max and Laura were nice enough to let you carpool with them. Despite your age, you have yet to own a car, usually relying on public transportation to get around.

Sitting in the backseat, your head rested against the window as you observed your surroundings. Max had been driving for almost the whole day now since Laura decided that she wanted to arrive at camp early by a day to scope out the area, which… wasn’t a bad idea, but also wasn’t the best considering that it’s nearly midnight.

The three of you were severely lost and all you could see ahead of you were just trees going on for miles and miles.

The full moon above you felt threatening, emphasizing the fact that you guys were driving in the dead of night. The moon was full that night six years ago too.

Suddenly, you felt the skin on your face prickle in pain. Letting out a hiss, your hands moved to massage your face.

Although your scars had fully healed, sometimes, you’d feel a sting sensation across your face. Phantom pains. Massaging your face helped to soothe it, but when that didn’t work, you relied on your meds. Nothing too expensive, just some over the counter medicine, like tylenol or advil.

Laura turned around to face you, “You okay?”

You gave her a tight-lipped smile, “Yeah, yeah. Just the phantom pains. I’ll take some meds if I need to.”

She gives you a quick nod, turning back to the front to turn off the music. Max glanced at Laura before returning his attention to the road.

“Why’d you kill the music?” he asked.

“I think you know why,” she says.

Max lets out a confused laugh, “Uhm, I don’t think I do—”

Seeing that Max wasn’t getting the point, Laura generously gives him a hint. “It begins with an ‘L’? Like the ‘L’ word?”

Max stares blankly at the road ahead, turning to look at Laura for a moment, “Lesbians??”

Snorting, you fixed your posture as you exclaimed, “Oh my god, Max, we’re fucking lost!”

Max narrowed his eyes at the rearview mirror, “We’re not lost! We’re just… we’re in geographic flux!”

My god!!

Laura rolls her eyes, “Right. So.. lost.”

Max tilts his head slightly in disagreement. “That’s debatable.”

Sighing, you lean back into your seat as the two begin their squabble. The car bounces from time to time as Max drives over some bumps in the road.

As you looked over to the other side of the window, your eyes caught sight of Laura’s backpack, which was laying right next to you in the seat over. There were two folded papers sticking out of the packet: the leaflet containing information of the camp and… the map!

“A-ha!!”

At the sound of your triumphant yell, the two paused. The sound of the map rustling as you unfolded it made Max glanced at the rearview mirror for a second, “Did you find something?”

You wiggled your eyebrows and grinned as Laura turned back to look at you. “The supposed answer to our current problem on being lost!!”

Lifting both your hands, you revealed the map with a little, dramatic shake. “I present!! The map!!!”

You offered the map to Laura, who took it while asking, “Did you take a look at it yet?”

“Pfft, yeah, but I don’t think I have the best coordination skills. I tried figuring out where we are, but that’s kinda hard to do when there’s no signs around, and we’re literally in the middle of nowhere surrounded by billions of trees.”

Max lets out a breathy chuckle, “Yeah.”

As Laura takes a minute to herself to examine the map, Max turns his head to glance at it too, only… the glance turns into a staredown.

Max breaks focus when you shout at him to keep his eyes on the road.

A loud gasp slips from your mouth as he yells out in surprise.

The three of you spot something on the road. The car is near to hitting it, and Max swerves the car to avoid it.

Of course, this action does not come without consequences. The harsh swerve makes Max lose control of the car for a bit, swerving through the opposite lane. A loud crash could be heard as the car wrecks through the fence that separates the road from the woods.

The swerve also makes you hit your head on the window, and you lose consciousness for a moment.

Only when the car finally comes to a stop does Max and Laura notice your lack of voice. Upon noticing you passed out, Laura quickly jumps out to go check on you. Max climbs out a second later, standing behind her as she opens the car door to where you sat.

Her hands lightly shake your shoulders, yelling your name in multiple attempts to wake you up. That seemed to do the trick as your face grimaces. Eyes slowly opening, you blink at her groggily.

“Are you okay?!” Laura exclaims. The couple stare at you with concerned expressions, waiting for you to reply.

“Yeah, yeah… I think I’m okay,” you reply, nodding steadily as you move to exit the car. You let out a sigh as you took a look at your surroundings. Trees for fucking days.

“Did you guys happen to see what we almost hit???” The two shook their heads.

“Okay… okay… Are you guys okay??? Is the car okay???”

Max walked over to the front of the car as he replied, “Yeah. We’re both okay… Like Laura said earlier, still in one piece, right?”

You made a noncommittal noise, “I guess.”

Max grumbled, a frown upon his face as he examined the hood of the vehicle. “I really F’d this car up.”

Walking over, you stood next to him to take a look at the car as well. “I think it looks worse than it is,” you offered. “Maybe you should check the damage before we try starting up the car again?”

Max gave a nod,  “Yeah, yeah… you’re right. My mom’s gonna kill me though.” Turning in Laura’s direction, he shouted, “Hey, hun! Can you get my tools from the trunk?”

Laura gave him two thumbs up, “Yeah, sure!” Quick with her hands and feet, Laura was in the front with you guys within a minute, phone in hand with the light on.

Max shot her a smile, “Thanks, hun.” Laura smiled back, “Yeah. Do you need a hand?”

“Yeah, actually. If you could just shine a light right here…” Max gestures to the spot, and Laura shines the light towards that area.

She turns her head for a moment to glimpse deeper into the woods. “The sooner we get out of here the better.”

You nod as you move to stand next to Laura, “I completely agree. The three of us alone in the middle of the creep ass woods at night is kinda freaky.”

Max pauses his work for a moment to grin at you, “Didn’t know you were into threesomes.”

Laura and Max break into a small fit of laughter, the smack to your forehead rings loud and clear as you facepalm, grumbling to yourself.

As Max returns to fixing up the car, a rustling from the side catches both yours and Laura’s attention. She turns her light towards the direction of the noise right as you hear a whisper, “Silas.”

Was that a… woman?

The two of you turned to look at each other. “Did you—?” Laura nods, “Yeah.”

She speedwalks off to the right to see if there might be anything or anyone out there. You follow in suit, Max noticing your disappearances a second later. “Where are you two going?”

While you stop yourself from walking any further away, Laura continues, slowing just slightly to reply as she waves a hand to indicate where she’s heading, “Just, over here…” You can see the worried expression forming on Max as he shouts to her, “Just… stay there for a second okay? I’m almost done!”

You head over to Laura, who pauses only for a short moment before she shouts back at him impatiently, “My god, Max. Hurry up!” He relents on fixing up the car for a short moment, and heads over to meet the both of you. “What’s going on?”

“I’m worried that there’s somebody down there,” Laura explains.

Max raises his eyebrows at her. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah— they could be hurt. I don’t know.”

“I didn’t think we actually hit anyone…”

“Well I don’t know… I just— I heard something, okay. It sounded like… a woman.”

Nodding, you chimed in, “Yeah, I heard it too.”

“Do you think we hit her?” Max asked nervously.

Laura shrugs, “I don’t know… I just want to check it out… Just in case.” Turning, she headed towards what seems to be a small ledge in the woods.

Max follows closely behind, helping her climb down. “Okay. Alright. Just don’t go too far, okay? Be careful.”

You give him a pat on the shoulder, “Don’t worry Max, I’ve got her. Good luck with the car.”

He nods in thanks, helping you down. “You be careful too.”

Winking at him, you tell him that you’re always careful before you turn to go catch up with Laura, who’s already gone ahead of you. “Hey, wait up!”

[bloodshcd]

name: Vanessa Koblizka

occupation: Dancer at the Satin Caberet

age: 175 27

sexuality: lesbian

species: vampire

clan: Karnstein

hometown: St. Petersberg

relationship Status: single

personality Traits: self distructive, selfish, cold, hostile, passionate, perceptive,

&. BACKGROUND

tw abuse (including childhood), violence, death

1850’s

Vanessa’s true date of birth is unknown, an orphan on the frozen streets of St Petersburg nobody cared to write the date or even the year down. If she had living family she wasn’t aware of them, vague memories of an old woman who gave her sweet buns by a fire was the closest thing to a family memory she possessed, but that could have easily been someone from the Orphanage. Life in the orphanage wasn’t the worst, but it couldn’t be described as good. There was never really enough food, and it was always cold. But they didn’t beat the children often, and sometimes the bed wasn’t too lumpy.

1860’s

The women that ran the orphanage always swore Vanessa danced before she walked. Always light on her feet the lithe young child glided silently along the normally creaky orphanage floor. She moved with the grace of the cats she liked to feed in the back ally behind the crumbling orphanage. One day she caught the eye of one of the instructors from the nearby Ballet Acadamy and after a few quick words, and no consultation with Vanessa, the young girl was loaded into a cart and driven to the Ballet school. She didn’t protest the move, and when she learned where she was going she was filled with excitement at the prospect of actually learning how to dance and not just dreaming of it.

That excitement soon went cold in her stomach when she realized the training would be anything but easy. The Ballet school was brutal, the children trained from sunrise until sunset, danced until their feet bled and then had to clean the academy spotless before they were allowed to sleep. Food and bedding were dependent on performance. Make no mistakes and you got to eat, dance well and you got a bed with a pillow and more than one blanket. Perform perfectly and you received privileges, privileges like leaving the academy.

The years at the Academy were hard, the students constantly pitted against each other in perpetual competition. Friends were hard to come by when you knew that the better someone else did the less likely you were to have a bed to sleep in. Despite that Vanessa found solace in another student, Oksana. They called eachother their twin flames, and together they pushed eachother to train longer, work harder, and become the best dancers in the school. They decided it was better to succeed or fail together, rather than break eachother down trying to get to the top. They shared meals, and on the nights they did not have blankets to keep warm they huddled together for warmth. Whenever their clothing became warn and torn instead of throwing them away they would rip the fabric into long strips and hide them under the mattresses, and when they had enough they began weaving them together into a blanket so even when they were punished they could be warm.

1870’s

After years of training Vanessa was recruited to join the Bolshoi Ballet, she was told privately after her audition that just one dancer from her school would be going to Moscow, and she refused to go unless Oksana could come with her. The two girls, now woman, had promised they would never leave eachother, and one day would make sure they lived the life they dreamed of, one where the blankets were soft and the beds overflowing with pillows. Inspired by her fierce loyalty the choreographer agreed to bring Oksana along and together the two escaped St. Petersburg and moved to Moscow.

Within the year Vanessa was cast as the Princiapal Ballerina for the debut of Swan Lake, and Oksana her alternate. As the Ballet gained notoriety Vanessa and Oksana gained notice, and were wined and dined by the finest of Moscow’s aristocrats. Vanessa enjoyed being spoiled, and developed a taste for the finer things, and the aristocrats loved to see the awe on the young women’s faces as they tried a new delicacy or were gifted a new velvet dress. Rumors flew from lip to lip, but were never confirmed, and the rumors kept the ballet on the forefront of the public’s mind so the academy didn’t protest.

Two weeks before Swan Lake was set to open however Vanessa disappeared. Story on the street was she had been courted by a political figure, who gave her a lavish gift of jewelry but Vanessa spurned the benefactor, turned and sold the jewelry to run away with her fellow dancer and was blacklisted from the ballet. The truth however was much darker.

You see one of the aristocrats she caught the eye of was a man named Alexei Karnstein and to call him a man was a cruel insult to humans. Alexei was a vampire, old as sin and just as cruel, but able to hide it behind a charming smile and a mountain of money. He offered to Patron Vanessa, and at her insistence Oksana. His gifts grew more and more lavish until ladened with enough money and jewels to buy the life of their dreams they tried to run. But their dreams had no time to grow beyond the distant impression of warm ocean water before they were ripped from them at the train station. Alexei had caught them like a lazy cat with a pair of terrified mice between his paws. Gone was the smiling affable man they had come to know and instead a monster stood in his place. Kicking and screaming the two women were brought them to the basement of his estate to endure unknown horrors. Vanessa threw her body over Oksana and tried to protect her from the worst of the attacks but it was no use, Alexei overpowered her with a flick of his wrist. Endless hours of torture later Vanessa succumbed to the sweet cold darkness, and she thought it was finally over, accepting her fate and hoped that whatever came next would be less cruel than this life had been

But then she awoke, and the nightmare only continued. Lying on the ground in agony she turned to Oksana, and found only a pool of blood with drag marks off into the darkness. Defeated Vanessa lay in the darkness, willing it to consume her and take away the pain. She wasn’t that lucky however, the darkness refused to take her, and out of it instead appeared a woman quietly offering a hand up and a chalice of blood to slake her thirst. Quietly the older vampire began to explain what her life would be for the centuries to come, the precautions she would have to take and all the blessing and curses of being a Vampire.

TIME BECOMES A BLUR

From then on Vanessa was one of Alexei’s personal playthings. Life with Alexei was never stable, his mood shifted with no warning and Vanessa could never anticipate his next move. She tried her best to keep him happy, keep him entertained, always living life on the knife’s edge trying her best to keep him from getting angry, in constant fear of his violant rages. If she made any misstep, embarrassed him in any way he took seemingly endless delight in breaking her legs, stripping her of her ability to dance and then watch her supernatural gift knit her body back together and force her to dance for him like nothing had happened. Her happiest times were when Alexei was away, and chose to leave Vanessa in one of the many castles he had spread out across Europe. Those occasions were few and far between and the decades passed in a blur of pain and fear.

2000’s

Vanessa’s life was upturned when Aoife killed Alexei, it was the best thing that ever happened in her unlife. She was free, but after spending over a century in the tight clutch of a cruel sire’s first Venessa didn’t know how to be her own person, how to function as something other than a pawn. To say that she handled freedom poorly would be an understatement. Left to her own devices Venessa went into a tailspin, traveling through Europe doing anything and everything she wanted. Unfortunately doing anything and everything she wanted included killing any man who she deemed unworthy of living… which was most of them. After two years of leaving a blood soaked trail behind Vanessa was running out of placed to hide and decided to leave Europe for the Americas.

Present

If asked Vanessa honestly couldn’t tell you how she ended up in Oregon, but she settled in to Port Liery with the plan to only feed from the willing and only kill if the person really deserved it. The plan is a shakey one, and she fell off the wagon quite a few times. But by the time Aofie arrived in town for a wellness check she feels like she is starting to get a routine down. She feeds only from the willing and she dances at the Satin Cabaret where she has control over who gets to touch her, and when she feels rage overtaking her she leaves town and hunts for a creep undeserving of life.

Wanted Plots -

Her Twin Flame - Oksana (name can change) - antagonistic and messy plot. Oksana was Vanessa’s best friend and lover, the two were brought up in brutal conditions. They swore they would always stay together, that their happiness depended on the other, but when Oksana was turned first by Alexei she reveled in her newfound power and abandoned Vanessa. Oksana drank Alexei’s koolaid, so when Aofie killed him Oksana would not have been pleased. Or maybe she wants to take over the clan herself. Either way Oksana is coming to Portland Liery with an agenda, and no idea Vanessa is alive. Or maybe she does and just never felt it important to tell Vanessa she was alive.

Fellow Karnstein members - give me all the messy Karnsteins

Ex Hookups - Vanessa hasn’t let anyone get close in a long time, and struggles with friendship and being soft so these would have most likely never progressed far from tangled sheets and Vanessa ghosting

More!

[sntsatticus]

case     file          :          atticus     ,     nikkola         , my  god  whose  performance   am   i   watching   

associations          :          the garnett coven

2001    ,     unknown          what     is     this     space     between     myself     and     myself

Name: Nikkola Desmona Atticus

Occupation: Linguist

Age: 23.

Sexuality: Lesbian

Species: Witch

Clan/Pack/Coven?: Garnett Coven

Hometown: Port Leiry

Relationship Status: Single / It's complicated

Personality Traits: reckless, impulsive, kind, friendly, loyal, alooft, troubled 

Biography -

TW: Violence, Cruelty, Torture, Burning, Death, Implications mention of child death, Ghosts, Blood, Murder, drugs

It starts like this: tales of cruelty are shared in hushed whispers and carved into the faded pages of history books, there exists a saga both tragic and haunting. Yet for Desmona Atticus, cruelty was not merely a distant specter, but a cruel force that barged through her door with the swiftness of a cyclone, leaving devastation in its wake.

No one knows how they found her, how they captured the powerful and ever-prepared witch. But the evils inflicted upon Desmona were reminiscent of a long-gone era, a harrowing echo of the violence her kind endured centuries ago. With a bag forced down her throat, she choked on the putrid taste of burnt flesh and the suffocating embrace of ash, only to be cast into a shallow grave, left to rot in the embrace of oblivion.

Yet fate, in its capricious whimsy, intervened with the tender touch of a mother. A kind older witch, shrouded in the mysteries of ancient magic, stumbled upon Desmona's form and nursed her back to health with spells many would frown upon - dark magic, the very same arts that Desmona had mastered.

As she rose from the ashes of her former self, her heart simmering with hatred and bitterness, the older woman remained steadfast at her side, a silent sentinel in the crucible of her turmoil. Together, they plotted retribution against those who had wronged Desmona, their resolve unyielding in the face of adversity.

And when the hour of reckoning arrived, she stormed into the house of her tormentors, the clamor of battle echoing through the halls as death reaped its grim harvest. Yet amidst the chaos, Desmona's gaze alighted upon a weeping woman, a mother who begged not for herself, but for her innocent babe caught in the revenge coils of Desmona.

A life for a life, the ancient code decreed, and so Desmona, with a babe in her arms and a shattered heart, made a choice that would alter the course of her destiny. She would raise the child as her own, shielding her from the darkness that had enveloped her own existence.

And so, Nikkola came to know a childhood tinged with the shadows of her mother's past, yet suffused with the warmth of love and protection. With her asthma and ADHD as a constant constant reminder, she found solace in the verdant embrace of the garden and the whispered incantations of her elders.

Hidden on the tapestry of her upbringing, there lingered a sense of otherness, a palpable aura of strangeness that set her apart from her peers. She walked the boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead, her touch colder than the chill of the grave, her sight piercing the veil of reality to glimpse the spectral phantoms that danced in the shadows.

But it was her uncanny affinity with death that marked her as truly unique, an enigmatic bond that she could neither comprehend nor escape. And though her peculiarities garnered her few friends, she found solace in the ancient tongues of the dead, devoting herself to the art of deciphering cryptic texts that held the secrets of generations past.

For Nikkola, the world is a labyrinth of mysteries waiting to be unraveled, a tapestry woven from the threads of darkness and light. And as she embarks upon her journey, she knows that her path will be fraught with peril and uncertainty, yet illuminated by the flickering flame of her indomitable spirit.

WANTED CONNECTIONS;

WC It's Complicated/Toxic Sapphic Ship - Tropes; age gap, power imbalance, possibly arranged marriage, possibly enemy to lovers. Nikko is Persephone and as such, she must eat the pomegranates and find herself in the realms of her Hades. No set dynamic in mind, but I earn for toxic sapphics who are bad for each other. Everything can and should be discussed, and I'm open to anything. Nikko has a drug problem, and the only way she found to deal with her connection to death, and anything can come from that.

WC Desmona Atticus, mother - If there's any interest in Desmona, I will welcome it with eager heart and hands. She is a complex character, but despite what is said in the bio, she doesn't have a set personality other than possessive, overbearing, morally gray, and manipulative. This Persephone needs her Demeter.

Friends - Nikko doesn't have a lot of friends. She has always been the odd one out, the strange kid who sees shadows in the corner of her eyes. But the few she has? Oh, they share a single brain cell that is tired of putting up with their bullshit. Give me crackheads that go ghost-hunting together and accidentally end up slapping each other. Deep conversations in the night. I would kill for you, I would die for you, but I will judge you every step of the way vibes.

Exes

Hook-ups

Collagues

Enemies

Clients - For healing or for translating

Drug dealer

[itti-bitti-yibbi]

I have more ideas! It's rattling in ma brainn (About the AU idea in this post)

TW: Mentions of suicide and mental illness

Not all of Stanley's missing memories are gone, a bunch of them are in there, just inaccessible to his consciousness.

His unconscious mind can reach them though, and uses some of them in building The Parable

Stanley and Mariella knew each other since elementary school

Mariella's representation in the Parable is directly from Stanley's view of her

She has been both a voice of reason and a total badass infront of him

Stanley is fairly average physically, in a lot of ways, but he is visibly sturdy, and plenty of "tough guys" have tried to pick fights with him for that reason

Where Stanley tried to resolve such conflicts without violence, Mariella has on multiple occasions beat the absolute motherloving shit out of people for trying to mess with her sweet little friend

Stanley is of course, much more frail after the coma, and even after lots of PT, and generally exercising to make up for the muscular atrophy he suffered, he's never quite the same

It's not exactly a physical difference, just something about his demeanor is changed, despite him still being as kind as ever

People don't pick fights with him anymore

The Timekeeper is the ghost of Employee 432

In life, he was suffering from multiple untreated mental illnesses that caused delusions and paranoia, which ultimately resulted in him taking his own life

Stanley was the only person who treated him with even a modicum of respect, hence why his ghost hangs around him

Timekeeper influences The Parable in multiple areas, and eventually assists with guiding Stanley to awakening from it

Though when Narry and The Curator first began collaborating to wake Stanley, TK was working against them; he didn't want Stanley to wake because he knew that if he did he wouldn't be able to communicate with him at all anymore

His behaviors as The Timekeeper are erratic- varying from friendly towards Stanley to very dangerous for him

Before the coma, Stanley was almost exclusively nonverbal- Mariella could count on her hands the number of times she'd heard him speak.

The Narrator had only ever heard it once. That one time was also the only time he'd seen Stanley be aggressive towards another person, and it quite frightened him. (He also found it quite attractive)

The injuries that caused the coma also rendered him unable to vocalize at all after the fact, which wasn't really a big deal for him, but I feel like it's worth noting

Mariella is a lesbian, and Stanley is bi, and they have definitely bonded over pretty women in the past

The Narrator is gay and demisexual

Stanley is usually very warm! But whenever he died in The Parable, his body temperature would drop very suddenly, which frightened The Narrator on more than one occasion.

The Narrator will often hold Stanley's hand while he's at his bedside

Sometimes, after the coma, when they're living together, Stanley or The Narrator will wake up from a nightmare, and end up in the other's bed (until they share one)

Stanley is the big spoon

[waitmyturtles]

(TW/CW: violence against trans individuals)

TL;DR: The 2018 NHK dorama Life as a Girl totally moved me. I did not expect to be so moved and thrown by this short series about a transgender woman in Kobe. If you’re into rabbitholes involving either Shison Jun or Machida Keita, this is a MUST WATCH. LONG POST!

I wrote last week that in my Machida Keita rabbithole, I discovered through the Tumblr algorithm a 2018 drama that he co-starred in called Life as a Girl, playing the bumbling roommate of a transgender woman named Ogawa Miki (played by an unbelievable Shison Jun).

Like I wrote previously, I’m deeply impressed that NHK produced this show -- NHK has these edgy tendencies that they don’t let run REALLY deep, like TV Tokyo does with its late-night programming. But I think that NHK leverages its huge influence over Japanese television by delicately introducing topics of mental and physical health and acceptance through short bursts of creative dorama content, and getting just unbelievable actors to carry the topics through (doramas that come to mind include To Heal Wounds of the Heart, with the AMAZING Emoto Tasuku as a psychiatrist who treats clients after the 1995 Kobe earthquake; and Hoshi to Lemon no Heya, which focuses on hikikomori culture, and stars Kaho and Miyazawa Hio, who both just ate their roles). 

Life as a Girl establishes at the start that Miki has been living a confident life as a woman for a few years by the time we meet her. She is working in fashion, in a workplace that totally accepts her, and her immediate community -- her croquette vendors, the aquarium she visits after work -- all love and care for her. 

But Goto (Machida), a high school classmate looking for Ogawa Mikio, Miki’s previous identity, bumbles into her life after falling into debt and needing a place to live. The risks are obviously high for Miki -- she has no way of knowing how Goto will take and understand her transition since the school days, and even after she welcomes him into her home, he takes a few minutes to realize that Mikio has become Miki, and IS Miki, through and through. 

The show focuses on a few immediate themes, with more cropping up later on: 

1) That while Miki is confident on the outside, she is insecure and shaky about her immediate existence and future as a lesbian, particularly as she as not had any surgery at the moment we meet her

2) That with Goto in her life as her roommate, that she will have to experience cishet male culture again, and she notes how this affects her and her behavior

3) That Goto’s presence means that people from her past life as a boy/man will learn about the transition and have their own reactions (which episode two focuses on)

4) That Goto’s presence also makes her realize and reflect on her family’s acceptance, or lack thereof, of her identity

5) That her attraction to women forces her to confront that no matter what, even as a woman herself, she will not find the assumed societal stability that a non-lesbian in Japan would find in marriage with a man

6) That if she gets into a relationship with a het woman, that that het woman may end up leaving her to go into marriage in the end, which (spoilers) ends up happening with a woman that Miki dates in the short series

7) And finally, while this is not OVERTLY stated, it is somewhat implied in episode three, when Miki is briefly attacked by her cishet older brother, that transgender individuals are more at risk for attacks and homicides than cishet individuals.

Before I go on with my analysis of the show, I want to say that my first introduction to a viewpoint into transgender identities in Japan was through the 1993 translation of Banana Yoshimoto’s novel, “Kitchen,” first written in 1988. I didn’t read it until I was much older, already a teenager, so that was the late 1990s/early 2000s (yes, I am old, so old), in which the mother of one of the lead characters was previously his father, and this mother is murdered in a transgender club. 

The way in which transgender identities are treated in “Kitchen” are somewhat reminiscent of how I felt gay identities and culture were treated in the drama version of KinnPorsche by Kinn’s father, Korn, in that -- no huge deal was made about the decision that the co-lead character’s mother made to become a woman. The main character of the novel -- a young woman who has lost her entire family -- regards the mother as the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. And the culture in which the lead character is introduced to is treated quietly, with no reactions recorded at all, and acceptance being a given. It is simply accepted as a way of life in big cities in Japan, one way of life of millions being lived in the city everyday. And most importantly, the transgender individuals are only initially regarded as such -- and by the time their stories are fully told, they are family figures, and never outed again as “transgender” by the author. 

While “Kitchen,” I think, began to establish a line of acceptance for transgender identities and culture in Japanese art (and I am obviously missing plenty of works that certainly cropped up between 1988 and 2018), Life as a Girl allows us to dive specifically into the focus of a transgender woman ACTIVELY living the life that she has chosen, with her small chosen family around her. Miki keeps a blog, and her internal communication to herself is often peppered with pop-up hashtags of what she’s witnessing and summarizing about the world around her. We see the hashtags, many times in rapid-fire fashion, as she analyzes what’s happening around her and as she reads the people around her.

And she’s a master at reading people. When Goto literally bumbles into her life in episode one, Miki knows that it’s just a matter of time before Goto catches on that Miki was Mikio -- and he catches on, and is startled. But Miki’s coolness, her acceptance of Goto’s confusion, her watching him through his process -- she already knows almost all of what Goto will go through to realize that his schoolmate is no longer a man.

What catches and turns Miki, though, about Goto throughout the series, is that Goto only exists on a sincere level (he’s bumbling and foolish and kind of dopey, and VERY cishet -- but he’s deeply caring, and shows it). Slowly over the course of the four episodes, Goto sees the discrimination that Miki faces, and begins to develop a defense of how Miki lives her life -- which we see coming in full circle in the last episode of the series, when Miki is heavily discriminated against by a rich cishet male, and Goto stands up to him loudly and firmly. Miki runs away at that moment -- her coolness can’t tolerate the sheer sincerity of Goto’s loud defense and emotion in defending his friend and her decisions. 

We also see it in episode three, where by chance, Miki is sent to her hometown for a work assignment. While waiting for the train back to Kobe, Goto appears on the platform. Miki is in wonder -- why would Goto, of all people, be here? And Goto implicitly indicates -- it’s because he needed to be here for his friend, who may encounter unpleasantries while in her hometown. (More on this scenario in a moment.)

The way in which we learn a lot about Miki and her ability to survive the world around her is through the ways in which she attends goukon, or group blind dates, of which there are a number throughout the series. Not everyone at the goukons knows that Miki is transgender. But, Miki sets her sights and targets on the women in the group, automatically turning the tables on the socially implied nature of the setting that girls get with guys and vice versa. It’s at a goukon where Miki meets her girlfriend of the series, a young woman with a boyfriend in her country hometown, who is assumed to be with Miki in part because Miki has not transitioned surgically yet. 

At these goukons, Miki is fully engaged in her coolness about the people around her -- how they’ll behave, how simple cishet men are, how the women she’s attracted to will react when they are approached by Miki. 

But what I love about this show is that the foil from the goukons to her co-living existence with Goto forces Miki to face a deeper level of emotion about herself and what it means to be transgender in Japan. Goto’s quiet transformation to a devoted and ACCEPTING friend surprises Miki, and clearly surprises her throughout the show. It’s such a lovely, revealing reflection against the many, many, many defense mechanisms Miki has had to put up in order to survive. 

The other best example of Miki’s coolness colliding with sincerity from others was in episode two, when the bumbling Goto mistakenly invites another high school classmate (Mini-san) to visit Kobe and stay with them. Mini-san’s real intention to come to Kobe was not to relieve his depression, as he told Goto -- it was to find out if Miki, previously Mikio, was a monster (and the subs literally translate this concept as “monster”).

Miki knows what’s up. She already knows the discrimination that she’ll face from Mini-san. And she lets it go through its process, all while Goto is taken aback at Mini-san’s disgusting behavior. Finally, Miki makes her cutting diagnosis of the situation: she reveals that Mini-san is actually interested in cross-dressing, and aids him through his experimentations. This throws Goto -- and demonstrates to Goto that Miki’s warm heart is one that needs investing in.

Finally, the show deals with family acceptance. When Goto appeared on the train platform to accompany Miki home after her first visit to their hometown, I was deeply moved -- and that was before the appearance of Miki’s father and older brother, an older brother who was shown in flashbacks to have tormented the former Mikio as a young man for cross-dressing. 

I have to make a long post longer by processing the family scenes, because I thought it was deeply interesting in how Goto served as a go-between for Miki and her father, to help bring her father to a place of acceptance for Miki’s life. The father is initially presented as being surprised to see his former son as a woman, obviously, and the conversation is light at best -- but it’s clear that Miki’s father is relieved to see Miki healthy.

And Goto, in talking about Miki and their arrangement as roommates (which confuses the hell out of a lot of people, and I wish Goto had just used the word “roommates,” lord, but bumbly Goto didn’t ever do that), misgendered Miki’s pronouns to her father to talk about Miki. 

So as a progressive -- of course that made me wince. But as an Asian, with Asian parents -- I see why the writers had Goto do this. There is no way in living hell that my own parents could ever understand the culture around using correct pronouns. Their concept of reality is only focused on their understanding of their world around them. If a boy was born as a boy, that boy will always be a boy. My parents don’t have the cultural insight, leverage, or conceptual fortitude to understand anything else -- both in their refusal to understand different concepts, but also in the ways in which they’ve lived their simple lives over their lifetimes.

I believe the writers of the show had Goto click into that mindset. Goto was really Miki’s go-between at that moment -- a translator of sorts, from a cishet male to a cishet male, with Goto serving as the image of someone who had worked on gaining understanding and acceptance for who Miki was and how she lived her life.

That demonstration, in front of a family member who could have very well rejected Miki, was AMAZING to watch. And the appearance of Miki’s older brother, who bolted in with his discrimination in the process, judging Miki, attacking her, and railing on her appearance, was also a necessary foil to the moment. Goto stands up to the brother, and Miki also fights back, voraciously and vocally, stating with confidence -- I am a woman, I love fashion, and I have chosen the life I want to lead. 

And Miki’s father accepts it. At the end of the scene, he stands and accepts his daughter, calling her Miki. It was VERY reminiscent of the incredible scenes of acceptance at the end of the movie “His,” with Miyazawa Hio and Fujiwara Kisetsu, when older members of their small town vocally demonstrate their acceptance of a gay couple in their town. 

I think the show ended on a touch of a wiggly note, showing Miki continuing to live her life in kind of a more fun way than we had previously seen, and I think the show certainly could have gone down a more sickly-sweet sentimental route, considering this was on nationally broadcast Japanese television. But that’s a minor quibble. We need to see more transgender actors in roles, but I don’t think they could have cast this better. Shison Jun was absolutely SPECTACULAR as Miki, and he’s my new rabbithole; while Machida Keita ate his role as Goto, and for me, played the first cishet role I’ve been truly happy to see him in. He was cast and USED perfectly to set up how hilarious many cishet male behaviors are, and demonstrated a lot of what Miki left behind, culturally, when she became a woman. 

WHEW. This show tore me apart. I’m keeping it close, and not only for the Machida rabbithole (which, lord help me, will jack back up when I get the Cherry Magic DVD in mere days). Life as a Girl is a MUST WATCH, and I am definitely going to rabbithole more into transgender-focused content from Japan in the coming months. 

[failurefemmegf]

Vent of something I've had on my mind lately. Any advice is welcome.

tw: discussion of sex and sexuality, sexual trauma, kink

I don't have a healthy relationship with sex. Maybe I've never had, and maybe no one does.

First things first, I am in my early-mid twenties, and I am a virgin. The only shame I find in being a virgin is the shame that's be instilled in me by society. I am also sexually attracted to women.

I have been sexualized and exposed to sexuality from a very young age. I have unclear memories of CSA, along with some very strange memories with my sister when we were children. I won't go into detail on those.

I went through puberty earlier compared to my peers and developed breasts earlier than my peers. This lead to comments from the boys in my classes and body image issues I still struggle with, including gender dysphoria and body dysmorphia. When I attempted to vent my struggles online to women who I though could help me, I was instead sexualized and predated on by men, the attention of which I welcomed because I was a young, barely-teen girl.

I exposed myself to porn and misogynistic content against women from my early teens onwards. Kink, especially hard kink in fiction/fanfiction like rape, age gaps and pedophilia, and incest became a major part of my life from my teen years onwards. I was fascinated by these topics, and that fascination was encouraged by my peers. I engaged and consumed roleplay, fanfiction, and hentai on a daily basis. The entire basis of my sexuality seemed to be sculpted around sexual violence, and I feel lucky that I was never taken advantage of during this time.

I continued to be sexualized and pursued by men, especially my male friends since I struggled to make female friends (autism + niche interests + mental health issues). I welcomed male attention but I hated waiting for their attraction to become overt. I liked being pursued, hated being caught. Eventually this culminated in me being severely sexually harassed by one male friend in college, white-knighted by another male friend who proceeded to isolate me away from everyone else int he friend group, and then both of them dropped me when they realized I wasn't going to fuck them. I became actively suicidal and agoraphobic during that final semester of college, and fell back into fiction and hard kink to escape.

Now that I've become much more critical of the content I consume, and have begun to explore my sexuality as a lesbian, I find myself so lost. Any depictions of sex, especially sex with men, make me uncomfortable. I refuse to watch live-action porn for good reason, and drawn porn/hentai seems so alien to me now. I can't read erotica, as I find most erotica male-centric, whether that be because it's meant for straight women, or it's lesbian erotica written by men. And I can't fantasize anything because I don't knwo what a healthy sexual relationship looks like, and I'm so dissociated from my own body I can't imagine myself as a sexual being with agency.

I do crave intimacy. I just don't know what it looks like. I can't even imagine what it looks like. I cna't even talk about sex or pleasure without feeling a gnawing sense of guilt and shame. I feel like I went from drowning to dying of thirst (ha).

I don't know where to go from here.