#modern;;

[eildcve]

✆

Send “✆” for a MORNING text.

[text: doctor strange] does science have a way to fix a hangover at 7 am

[sxmemxnge-blog]

Trans AU;; open

     Samuel sighed as he got out of his dad’s car. New school, new chance to introduce himself as Samuel, not Sam. Never Sam, he hadn’t been Sam in years. 

     He quietly ducked into the school, avoiding the glances a few people gave him. He knew he was strange He wore an old, large, dirty red hoodie, baggy pants, old sneakers, his glasses were large and circular and his hair reached his shoulder blades.

   As he went into the cafeteria, he found a place in the back that was free from people. He sat down, pulling a cereal bar from his hoodie pocket before opening it and taking a bite.

    He sighed when he saw someone walk over to him. He didn’t want questions. He braced himself for the gender questions to start rolling in like a tsunami.

   --“Before you ask anything, my name’s Samuel.” he mumbled at them, not looking up from his food. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, worried that hey would think his voice as feminine and mistake him for a girl

[kirsteiniism-archive-blog]

I know you reblogged it like, years ago, but can you do the inner monologue meme?

Inner Monologue:

This ain’t your typical story, boys and girls. Buckle up and keep your hands inside the ride, because it’s about to get bumpy.I don’t remember my childhood like I should; I’m not sure I want to remember it, to be fuckin’ honest with you. It wasn’t happy. I had a mother, a father, and no siblings. I wish I had some, but my father was adamant that one dead weight was enough for him— he didn’t need anymore brats stealing his cash and running him to the ground after a hard day’s earnings came through. Let me tell you now, the money wouldn’t have been spent on us, anyway. Rarely was in the first goddamn place.My dad was a drinker. Twelve hours a day he worked at the rigs, and the other twelve were spent drinking until he couldn’t even remember my name— some fatherin’ figure, I know. I think that’s around the time I met him, too. Nice kid, lived down the way from us. Marco. I was sitting on the porch steps feeling sorry for myself as my father.. shouted at my mother and he was just standing there, looking at me like he wanted to help. Didn’t say nothing, just came and sat beside me. That was enough, I think. Nobody along our street was kind enough to acknowledge the smell of booze and the shouting that came from my front door— he was, though. And the next time he saw me, he invited me back to his place. His parents didn’t seem to be home; I figured the worked long hours or something like that. I think that’s when it all started.