txjisbabydoll - Tumblr blog

[txjisbabydoll]

choso ☆

ac: aransmind

[txjisbabydoll]

@kitkat-pattywack

I'm on period gang

[txjisbabydoll]

I think sometimes people forget how fucking big Soap is. That man is thick, muscle built on muscle since the day he turned 17 and enlisted. He may not have Ghost or Price's height but he'll sit between them and go match for match arm wrestling, compare biceps with Gaz and laugh at the furrow in Gaz's brow when Soap's flex is bigger.

Which really just leads into my next point about Soap putting you in a full Nelson and fucking you in front of a mirror so you can see how much bigger and stronger he is. Man is a monster, and he's mean when he has a sweet thing like you to tease.

[txjisbabydoll]

the prowl - single dad! Price x teacher! stripper! Reader (fem)

[1] a mishap

She comes to you with shredded knees and fat tears.

Amelia Price is a quiet girl, and even her squeaky cries mimic that sentiment as she paws at the skirt of her uniform, bottom lip trembling. She stares at you like she can’t afford to look anywhere else, but her whimpering gives away that she can feel the trickle of blood traversing down her shins. It glints a bright maroon in the afternoon sun where it bakes in the unforgiving September heat, and you feel your heart shred at the sight. The beads race, viscous as they soak into her pristine cotton socks. 

“Oh, sweetie, what happened?” you ask, voice gentle. You bend forward, soft zephyr toying with the skirt of your dress as you try to get a better look at the damage. Rocks pierce her skin, jutting out like sanguine teeth feasting on her flesh from the inside out, and even you almost wince. 

She sniffles, but refuses to wipe the tears from her reddened, blotchy cheeks. “We were playing tag,” she chokes out. Each word leaves her chest shuttering as her diaphragm spazzes against her ribs; unforgiving. “Tripped on something and- and fell…”

You shush her before she can work herself up, before the dam does more than just crack, and you straighten yourself up and glance at your colleague. Mrs. Addler, a veteran primary school teacher, is hardly phased by your young student’s mishap. The crows feet in the corners of her eyes deepen as she waves you off, attention returning to the swarm of navy blue uniforms buzzing around the playground like marine bees waiting to be picked up by their parents. 

“Get her cleaned up. One teacher missing from guard duty won’t cause any trouble,” she assures you. 

Barren corridors greet you as you lead Amelia back inside of the school with a gentle, guiding hand on her shoulder. Sweat starts to wick and evaporate off of your skin, and you quietly revel in the building’s cool halls, shielded from the unforgiving sun. The bell rang not even six minutes ago, releasing your students for the weekend, and you can’t help but feel a bit of pity for her. Had she just been careful for a little longer, she could have gone home unscathed. 

For a six year old, Amelia does a better job at composing herself and regulating her emotions than most adults you know, yet you still find yourself cooing to her emollientally about how everything will be fine as you lead her toward the infirmary. Her sniffling stops echoing off polished floors and brick walls the moment you enter the empty, sterile room. Cartoon posters paint the walls with Cover your sneeze! and Have you been vaccinated yet? mantras, shedding little color in the otherwise grey space.

The light flickers on with a quiet hum as you approach the green-leathered treatment bed shoved against the wall. You give Amelia an understanding smile as you pat the bed, paper crinkling underneath your touch as you invite her up. 

“Hop up, then.” 

While your student situates herself as instructed, you search through cupboards and drawers for supplies, fetching alcohol wipes and disinfectant spray. Amelia’s tears are less frequent, and the blotchy redness of her cheeks have faded by the time you bring your attention back to her. She even gives you a timid smile — comforted by your presence, yet anxious about her minor wounds. 

Flowing fabric brushes against the ground as your dress fans around you, knees sinking onto the floor to better clean Amelia’s knees. Without prompting, she holds her skirt out of your way, meticulously taking care that she doesn’t make a mess of it like she did her socks. Darkened blood soaks into the cotton, staining them a near brown color. You hope her father knows how to clean it out. 

“What do you have planned for the weekend?” you question. Interrogate. Distract. Keep her mind off of the pain. You rip open an alcohol wipe, and its aseptic scent burns your nose within seconds. “Anything fun?” 

Amelia winces as you brush debris free from her skin. Unforgiving rocks and sticks clatter on the ground, tinking like bells as they scatter out of sight. Whatever discomfort she feels is ephemeral though, and she sniffs and huffs to answer your question.

“I’m going to my granny’s,” she informs you, blue eyes unable to look away from the ghastly sight of her knees. 

“That sounds like fun!” you beam, voice high pitched and engaging. Always chipper and bright with the young ones, lest their attention get caught by something else. “Do you know what she has planned?” 

“I think uh… the pool?” 

You grin. “How lovely. No rocks to trip on at the pool.” 

Melodic giggles erupt from the girl at your joke, and you continue your banter until her knees are free from rubbish and blood. Slight bruising muddles the cuts; makes her delicate skin look like rough terrain rather than the unburdened flesh a child should have. Either way, the bleeding has ceased, and so have her tears. 

“Alright,” you say as you stand. You discard bloodied wipes into the trash and fish out a few boxes of bandaids where you try to balance them for Amelia’s viewing. The wounds bled worse than the cuts would have you believe, and though dressings aren’t necessary, it’s always a bit of fun for the kids. “I’ve got Barbie, Transformers, or… dinosaurs.” 

Sapphire flames ignite behind Amelia’s eyes the very moment you mention those freakishly large lizards. You’re already putting the other two boxes away before the answer comes out of her mouth. 

“Dinosaurs!” she cheers before sheepishly coiling in on herself. “Please!” 

It takes two bandaids for her right knee, and only one for her left, but soon the pain is long forgotten as you're kneeling in front of her, talking about velociraptors and stegosauruses. Eventually, her starry-eyed expression melts into something more diffident as her legs begin to sway off the side of the table. 

“Uh… Miss. Lolly…” Her voice trails off, unsure of herself, but you can see the way she keeps glancing at the pockets of your dress. 

Reading her mind, your hands follow her gaze where you fish out a lollipop. Your students know you well, and you didn’t earn the name Miss Lolly just because they thought you were nice. A sugar addict yourself, you always reward good students with a well deserved treat. She giggles as you hand it to her, wasting no time at removing the cellophane wrapper before devouring the grape flavored candy. 

“Of course. I think you’ve earned a treat for being so brave,” you chuckle. 

You’re still kneeling on the ground when heavy footsteps march through the door, where they cross the threshold of sterility before halting. Head snapping, you look at this new figure with wide eyes. The sizable form of Amelia’s father towers over you, still on your knees, as his attention is brought to his daughter with a solicitous glimmer clouding his gaze. 

“There you are.” 

There’s no denying it; John Price is a handsome man. You came to that conclusion as early as last year when Amelia started reception. Freshly trimmed facial hair curls with his lips as he gazes down at his girl, and you find your teeth digging into the soft flesh of your cheeks. Ardor exudes from him as he looks at Amelia like she’s God’s greatest gift, and it’s almost enough to wipe the acrimony haze that always seems to hide in the depths of his eyes. 

Fat muscles struggle against the expertly steamed fabric of his shirt as he crosses his arms — business casual, light fabric, a fitting sky blue. A silvery sheen catches your attention as the buckle of his belt catches the light, and you feel your face flush with terrible realization. Such an angle you have, looking up at him like that. Low and kneeling. Even with the polite distance, it’s more precarious than you would care to admit. 

Jumping to your feet, you give John a polite smile yet you can’t find the words. Your brain is still swimming, clogged with inappropriate and unwelcome thoughts. You’re utterly chagrined, and you curse yourself for it. Luckily, Amelia’s adoration for her father is poorly hidden as she slides off the table and rushes to his side, saving you from any awkward conversation.

“Hi papa!” she says, words slurred due to the lollipop in her mouth. 

His hand holds the side of her head as she leans against him in a hug, short arms hardly reaching around his waist, and for a moment it’s like you don’t even exist as he looks down at her. “Everythin’ alright, pumpkin?” 

Amelia nods before she rips the candy from her mouth. “I tripped on the playground, but don’t worry, Miss Lolly fixed me.” 

John’s eyes flash to you with obvious gratitude, and you busy yourself with running your hands over the skirt of your dress. It’s beautiful, the playful pattern of flowers is just flashy enough to keep the kids interested, yet not so much so that you anger the headmaster. His eyes follow your movement, lingering on the way the fabric flows around your legs like he’s sizing you up. Reading every bit of code in your DNA based on scent alone.

“She’s got a few scrapes, and a little bruising, but nothing serious,” you conclude politely. 

John nods, lips pressing together as Amelia grabs hold of his hand — a small grain of sand in a never ending desert. “I appreciate it. She’s gettin’to be too much like her father. Always findin’ trouble.” 

That sentiment is so absurd you aren’t able to stop the incredulous laugh that leaves your lips. “Oh, not at all. Amelia is a fine girl, Mr. Price.”

Something of a smile pulls at his lips, and your heart stops in your chest. “Just John is fine, Miss Lolly.” 

“Come on, papa,” Amelia urges as she pulls against him, cutting your conversation short. There’s no possibility that a girl as young and small as her could drag a man of John’s size and weight, yet he plays along as he stumbles and huffs after her. “Granny’s going to get mad at you again for making her wait.” 

A hearty, raspy chuckle exudes from John at his daughter’s bluntness, and he raises his free hand at you in a polite wave. “Alright, but don’t forget your manners. Say goodbye, Melia.” 

Pausing, the girl waves her sucker at you with a grin. “Bye!” 

“See you Monday!” you smile. 

The playground is barren by the time you’ve retrieve your items, and Mrs. Addler and the other teachers are long gone. Children’s laughter ghosts somewhere in the distance, making the skeletal remains of the play area terribly daunting. Despite the heat, you shiver before turning away from the window and locking up your classroom. 

You wave goodbye to the custodian as you slink off to the bus stop with aching feet. It’s a bitterly loud ride back to your flat as older students crowd the seats and yell about their plans for the weekend. Brash. Annoying. A tense ache blooms at the base of your skull where it wades through the mess of your brain until it’s pounding behind your eyes. It’s a fine way to end the day, you suppose.

If only it was the end.

What a terribly long week. 

You’re dropped off unceremoniously, and you huff and puff in the sticky heat as you climb the steps up to your apartment. Leaving the windows open all day did you some good, as the entrance isn’t as warm as the building itself, but there is little relief to be found. Dragging your feet, you slink off into your bedroom where you begin to shed your layers. Off comes that eye-catching dress, the one with pretty roses and lilies, the beautiful display that gets your students chatting and whispering to one another in the morning. Off comes your smile. Away goes the affable tone in your voice as you mutter curses to yourself. 

You wear many skins. Many hats. Many masks. All of them are meticulously made; sewn together with tentative effort and care. As you clean yourself in the shower to prepare your body for a different skin, you fight the urge to cry. No amount of suds or scorching water can cleanse you of the delassation that taints your soul. It permeates your skin. It is permanent. 

Rest your body screams. Rest. Recuperate. You have had a long day of performance; of shaping children’s minds for the better. Yet when you drag yourself out of the shower and look at the time illuminating on the microwave in the kitchen, you feel your stomach drop. The backsplash that sits behind it is cracked and molding, but you pay it no mind as you groan at the numbers on the display. 

7:30 PM. 

You are tired. Beyond exhausted. With a pounding headache, screaming feet, and a growling stomach, all you want to do is sleep. Sleep and sleep and rest. But there’s no rest for the wicked. 

No, it’s time to really get to work.

[txjisbabydoll]

quick colored sketch of the bby

[txjisbabydoll]

@starsofang

Gaz with piercings please!! 😩💎✨

[txjisbabydoll]

biker ghost? biker ghost.

[txjisbabydoll]

Ghost with a Transmasc!S/O

I've been wanting to write this since last week! I'm not exactly happy with how it turned out, but maybe someone else can enjoy it as well!

When you’d approach him, all nervous and fumbling around, he’d just stay quiet. Sure, he’ll tell you that, no matter what, you can tell him anything and he won’t judge you, but he won’t pressure you into telling him what’s wrong either, even if he is pretty curious. If you need an hour until you can tell him, then he’ll wait that hour, reassuring you that it’s alright. Once you tell him that you’re a man, he would only be half surprised. He’s seen how you eye other men. While he may have thought that could have been attraction at first, once you come out to him, all the pieces fall into place. You weren’t in love with them, you were admiring them. However, he won’t judge you in the slightest, but will talk to you about what’s okay for you and what isn’t. Are you alright with him bringing up the past? Are you alright with him referring to certain body parts? If not, then he’ll keep that in mind. He’s never really been dysphoric before, so he doesn’t really know what you’re going through, but he tries his darndest to be supportive of you.

In fact, you coming out to him as a trans man makes him think about his own masculinity. What does it mean to him? How would he define it? What makes him feel masculine? Those are things he never really questioned before since he’s never seen himself as anything but a man, he always took it for granted. Although he may not say it, or even realize it at first, I think he might grow more comfortable in his own masculinity as a result.

But that aside, the first thing he does would be taking you to a clothes store to buy you some new clothes. He doesn’t really have an eye for aesthetics, and menswear being usually rather dark in color doesn’t help that much either, but he’ll pick out some shirts and pants for you that would fit you and that you might like. He’d also pick out some boxer shorts for you, the same brand that he uses since those are of a higher quality and will last a bit longer. If you’re extremely nervous about it, then he’ll even go to the cashier and pay for you. You don’t even need to pay him back. As long as he can help you out somehow, he’ll pay any price. Will also buy you some men’s body wash and deodorant. Probably the same he uses since he’s familiar with it.

If you’re alright with it, then he’ll break anyone’s nose who dares to misgender you. Especially on the days where you’re feeling a bit more dysphoric. Naturally, he won’t out you to people when there’s danger involved or when you tell him not to, but he’s not above getting into a fight for you. Especially when some transphobe decides they need to be mean to you for no reason. He’s a scary man, he can intimidate most people with his resting face alone, which he uses to his advantage.

If you can get the approval for your surgeries and testosterone the regular way, then he’ll congratulate you and celebrate with you even. However, if you were denied such, then he has acquaintances who can get you the permits. Nikolai is a good lad, he can get you just about anything. Ghost will fight for your clinical reports.

Once you start going on T, he’ll actually be overjoyed with you. As silly as it may sound, he wants to record you saying something, anything at all, so he can compare your voice now to how it develops later on. He’s pretty good with faces, he probably has a few pictures of you on his phone, even if they aren’t plenty, so he’s confident he’ll be able to tell you how you’re slowly growing into a body that is yours. If you let him, he’ll even administer your shots or rub the gel onto your shoulders. It actually makes him incredibly happy when you do, it’s a sign of trust to him. He gets to watch you be giddy, he gets to spend time with you, he gets to make you feel good. If it was up to him, then he’d hug you every time afterwards.

If you don’t know already, then he’ll teach you how to fight. He’ll teach you how to beat someone bloody and how to get up with a broken nose. Although he may go easy on you at first, he won’t forever. He’s a top notch soldier, so there’s a good chance you won’t ever be able to beat him properly, but you’ll learn. You’ll be able to defend yourself and you’ll have a pretty nice outlet for your anger as well. If you’re okay with it, then he’ll involve Soap in your fighting sessions as well. It’s absolutely animalistic when he joins, so you really don’t need to worry about any sort of etiquette when he’s around. It’s just beating each other into submission and then patching each other up.

If you don’t already know, then he’ll teach you how to ride a motorcycle. For some reason, motorcycles are very masculine to him, so he thinks it would make you feel good as well. One day, you’ll be riding one together, with him being the one to hold onto you. He’s looking forward to that day.

On the days where the dysphoria hits harder than usual, he’ll remind you that you’re a man. You’re the most perfect man in his life, and he wouldn’t want to have it any other way. Holds you close and reminds you that you will become your most ideal self, it just takes time. Either way, he won’t leave you, he won’t think of you as less than a man just because you had to put in the work to get to where you are right now. You’re his most ideal man, and he would go through all the torture he’s gone through once more just to be with you. He’ll support you through your highs and your lows. You’re a man. A darn good one at that, because not anyone can go through what you’re going through and still be standing. He admires you greatly for your strength and will remind you of that fact as well.

[txjisbabydoll]

Cursed Queen

based on a fem Heian Era Sukuna drawing done by Mizu on Twitter! tweet here

[txjisbabydoll]

redraws featuring some of my fav megu moments(tm)

[txjisbabydoll]

the darkness which became the light

[txjisbabydoll]

Thinking about you telling husband!simon that you want a divorce. You still love him just as much as the day you married him but you can’t take the constant fear every time he’s gone on deployment, wondering if you’re about to become a widow, if his enemies have caught him, if they know about you.

Simon stays silent, listening to you. You think he understands, that he agrees. You take his silence as assent, as understanding.

He holds you while you cry, telling you it’s going to be okay. You’re his strong girl, you’re gonna get through this, he’ll always be here for you.

When you’ve finally exhausted yourself you don’t even fight as Simon ushers you into the bathroom, using a cool wash cloth to wipe your face and help you get ready for bed. He pulls you under the covers and takes his place behind you, knees bent into yours, arm wrapped around you with his palm on your chest, fingers just barely touching the base of your throat.

You can accept this. One last night of comfort before the harsh reality of morning. You sear it into your memory to get you through whatever the days ahead might hold.

The problems start next morning

Simon acts like the conversation last night never happened. He was up before you and got breakfast ready. You woke to the smell seeping into your room.

When you make your way into the kitchen Simon just greets you with a morning lovie and a bussed kiss to your temple before going back to the stove. The same thing he’s done dozens of times in the past.

When you remind him of the conversation last night he shrugs it off. You’re allowed to have your feelings but I made a vow. You’ll be my wife until death do we part.

This is the theme for the following week. Simon continues to act as if nothing has changed. He goes to the grocery store to pick up food. Cleans the bathroom when Saturday rolls around. Fucks you until you’re seeing stars. Shh shh love, I’ve got you. I know. You’re just scared. It’s okay. I’ll always be here.

Finally you break and ask him flat out why won’t you leave? I broke up with you. I don’t want to be in a relationship with you anymore Simon! I can’t be in a relationship with you any longer!

Simon just pulls you into his arms, tucking you under his chin.

I’ll never let you go love. I am your husband and I’ll keep being your husband until the day I die. And you best believe I’ll be finding you in whatever passes for the next life too. No don’t cry sweetheart. I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.

[txjisbabydoll]

Funny how @nanathott is saying she gaps are okay but when I asked for Toji and megumi smut she got mad because of the age difference. Grooming is okay but incest is where you draw the line??? - @nanaslutt

you don't deserve any part of the response I am about to give you, but I'm going to give it to you anyway.

big trigger warnings under the cut for csa

I'm a CSA survivor, anon. I've been a victim of grooming, I've seen people defend incest. I live with my trauma every fucking day. Day in, day out.

Just for you, some stupid, entitled, trolling fuck to come into my ask box with this.

die. I'm not even kidding. and do not fucking come back to this blog.

I hate you.

[txjisbabydoll]

Normally I have a cool title or something.

Uh, not for this one. I don’t know what was going through my mind when I made it.

[txjisbabydoll]

whats been eating you up, gojo?

[txjisbabydoll]

Rough play

[txjisbabydoll]

"Gojo said he was okay with it", my brother in Christ that's the most tragic thing ever.