Heya, I’m Selene. This account is getting re-tooled to mainly be for my writing since I said fuck it and just started reblogging horny shit on main. (I also follow back from there)
There may be harder kinks here so if that’s not your deal you are more than allowed to block or unfollow.
Beneath the read more’ll be my tags and a list of my writing.
Writing:
Changing of Seasons - You have been living in your own apartment for years, you don’t really have many friends, your job is a bit shaky, and everything has settled into a boring routine. Transitioning helped, but you’re still everything that constitutes you, your world is and always has been grey and full of apathy. Until your younger sister shows up at your workplace without a place to stay.
End. - The world is ending, and you just want to spend time with your younger sister. You have been attracted to her for longer than you’d like to admit, you don’t know if you can tell her before you both die. (This one is going to be shorter than changing of seasons and likely will take a secondary focus for now.)
Reflection/Repetition - Short twincest one-off
Tags:
#The raven’s quill - Writing
#Selene is preening her feathers - Nudes
#Selene is cawing - Horny Talk (might go unused now)
Your daughter has been sneaking around with women that look exactly like you?
The door got caught on a loose converse shoe when your daughter tried to slam it behind her, and it swings halfway open as you peek your head through the opening. Ellen threw herself face first onto her sex-messy bed, still barely clothed in striped panties and a baggy t-shirt, and you have to admit it's cute how she's kicking her feet while she groans into her pillow with emphatic frustration. Her door is always open while she's awake, and most of the time when she's asleep, so you sidle in through the open door, and knock against the thick white frame.
Ellen turns and looks at you with one eye, then she turns back and digs her face into the grey case lining her plush pillow to suppress a scream. It makes you cringe a little, but not back out of the room - when she's actually mad at you, it's not this. It's too many words and not-quite-yelling and she just has to tire herself out before she passes out on the couch with red eyes and rumpled hair, ready for an emotional reset when she wakes up with a crick in her back and repentance in her posture.
This is different. She's been sneaking around more, staying out late, evading your questions about where she's been, leaving her window open with the screen removed, like you wouldn't notice. You've noticed marks on her skin, dancing under the necklines of shirts dramatically lower cut than her usual choices during the summer. She always just blows up at you when you ask her about something she did wrong… So hiding? It had to be something.
And it was. The woman who just rushed out the front door could be a member of your wine-and-book club; if they let clones attend the same meetings. You watched from the porch as your barely dressed daughter rushed out behind her to insist in an indiscrete volume that her sexual tryst hit her up again once she 'figured out all this' while she gestured at you. From the dirty look Ellen ricocheted at you off the concrete of the porch when she huffed her way back into the house, you got the impression that her request was turned down.
It might be prompting her to throw a one-sided argument at you to say "Um, Ellen, what, was that?" but she just flips over and throws her pillow across the room into the overstuffed closet instead. "Ugh" is all you get in response as she stares at the ceiling and sporadically huffs. Another mom might have stepped away and transitioned the awkward conversation to text messages, or at least asked her to pull one of her mussed sheets over herself for this conversation, but Ellen's always worn so little around the house that this is honestly above par. Body freedom and sexual freedom are human rights, so you've let her do what she wants. Lord knows she didn't have nearly enough freedom before she moved in with you.
She's got plenty of space on her california king mattress, so you move inside her room, step over a pair of recently evacuated jeans, and take a tentative seat on the edge of her bed. Your daughter rolls toward the far edge of the bed and crosses her arms across her chest and tightens up into in a ball, but then she immediately sticks her legs out straight a few seconds later. "What."
Your daughter has been as blunt as a hammer with you, so you might as well be a good mom and do her the favor in reverse. "She looked just like me."
"Uh-huh."
"And?"
Ellen flips back over and deliberately matches your gaze before she rolls her eyes with an affectation of Sisyphian exhaustion. "And what?"
"Is she the one you've been seeing?"
She laughs. "Seeing?"
You lift a hand in the air. "Seeing? Is there… another word for that?"
"Fucking. Fucking, mom, she's the woman I've been fucking. One of them."
Your head bounces back an inch. One of them? You make a kindergarten-educated guess: "Are they all older women?"
"Yeah."
"Wwww… why? Why not girls your age?"
She says it like it's obvious: "It doesn't work."
Your eyes narrow. She has a MILF fetish? At her age? "Is it because they're older?"
"Sort of."
This is a much weirder '20 questions' than the games you played when you were breaking the ice with her after she came into your care. You cut through another five circuitous queries with the one that most directly addresses your curiosity. "Do they… all look like me?"
Something stills your daughter, and her eyes lock on your face, green in all the ways yours have never been. Uncharacteristically, she just nods instead of speaking.
Some… strange, elusive energy seems to hitch a ride with the sound of crickets to sneak through the window and into the room. "Wwwww… whyyyyy… are you seeing older women that look like me?"
She rolls her eyes again. Ever the teenager. "I'm not seeing them, mom."
"Okay… fucking then. Do you want to tell me why you're fucking women that look like me?"
You didn't expect her to say yes, but she sits up and scoots back against the wall with her arms wrapped around her knees. Her eyes evade yours in that way that they never have before this… whatever it is started, and the vulnerability in her energy makes you scoot forward a few feet, nearly within arm's reach.
A few moments pass, and you know her well enough that she wants your maternal touch right now, so you move a little closer and put a hand gently on her knee. She leans her head down and rests her forehead against the back of your hand, and then murmurs something that you can't quite catch, so you ask "Come again?"
Her head flicks up in a manner that might convey spite, but instead she looks timid when she makes eye contact and clarifies: "Because the first time someone ever made me cum she looked like you."
Oh. You start to lean away from her, but she catches your hand before you make any distance, and there's fear in her eyes at the admittance, so you stay close, against your natural reflex. It's all you can do to try to process the moment to repeat "The first… girl who made you cum looked like me?" She nods, and you continue "So, you're finding women that look like her?"
Ellen's cheeks instantly bloom so red that you'd be worried she had a fever if she sat down for breakfast wearing that kind of blush on her face, and that's answer enough. You can't put the exact realization to words, but you've found your way to the fulcrum of the conversation. Something else finds its way out of your jaw, something that's ready to implode and make the confidence as a mother deep in your core collapse. "You're trying to find affection from another woman who looks like me because I don't care enough?"
Her eyes instantly spark in denial. "No! No no no no no!" Her legs tighten to her chest and she yanks your hand with them, pulling you inches closer. You can't help the incipient volume of your fears forcing you to say "You need something from me that I'm not giving you."
Your daughter tucks your hand all the way against her lips and kisses the back of your fingers. "No, mom! I love you, you're good, you're great, you're my real mom, I love you so much!"
The softness of her lips against your skin is the point in reality that tethers you to still believing that you're a good mother, and as you flex your fingers slightly, she kisses them again, and… again, and again and again and-
There's a hunger in her eyes, a need, she's staring at your fingers and her kisses are drifting toward frantic, not with mania but with a… desire.
Your heart burns with a beat of adrenaline and you try to pull it away, but her grip stays tight enough to demand custody of the tips of your fingers, and they brush between her lips. Her breath on them is hot, and it makes something tingle in someplace strange, someplace you've never felt. Ellen's eyes flick to you and lock as you try to pull away, and there's a… fixation on you that goes deeper than this moment in her expression.
Less emphatic than even the first partial attempt to free yourself, you lean back again, but your daughter follows your fingers with her lips and kisses their tips with an open mouth. The moisture on your skin seems matched by the sweat on hers, but an order of magnitude more blooms from your pores when she asks "Please" with a face clearly as mortified to have said it as enthralled to have made the attempt.
"Elle, what are you-" Your question is cut off when your daughter closes her eyes and moves her head forward to slip three of your fingertips into your mouth and suck. Your bones seem to be made of fire, all smoking coals on a briquet of burning disbelief at the moment. Your eyes are locked on her pink lips, moist and moving gently with her motions, and you can't tell if it's been seconds or minutes when she releases and looks at you with vulnerable eyes to say "I just need this, mom."
It's your baby girl right in front of you, the one that took you as her mother even faster than she truly became a daughter to you. She's been looking for sexual gratification from strangers, ones who don't even really care about her like you do, and…
And you can't! You can't be that to her, you can't do that to her, you're her mother.
She can see something in your face, reading how you react even better than you can feel your face emoting, and that sugar-sweet smoothie of fear and vulnerability pours over her features again. Something inside you wordlessly resists the prospect of making her feel that way, and in a sense of surreality, you press your fingertips further into her mouth.
Ellen's eyes spark with surprise, then she sucks with emphasis and moans on your fingers. The sin of a moment that would have made you never sign her custody papers drapes a heat over your eyes, and you pull your fingertips back a mote and then push them in further. You can immediately sense from her salivation just what it's doing for her, and there's a peculiar haze starting to creep over the emotional foliage in the back of your mind. A spirit not entirely your own asks "Just this? Elle? Just… this?" At your last word you push your fingers further, and she moves her head toward you, taking you up to your second knuckle with a soaking wet mouth.
She sucks hard and deep on you, and then the abscess of suction smacks her lips open for her to say "Please, mom, just this?" while she gives you the most heart-wrenchingly torturous puppy-dog eyes you've ever seen.
Your breath burns hot and heavy out of a mouth wordlessly breathing a cooperation that hasn't caught up with your cognitive faculties yet, and Ellen sees your agreement before you feel it. She laps her tongue out to trace along your fingerprints, and then leaves her tongue extended for you to start to stroke with your fingers. She's so smooth and soft, and warm, and little unconscious sounds are finding their way out of her exposed throat while the wet texture of her tongue leeches a sexuality into the moment that some level of your brain still wants to try to shut itself away from.
Her reverence for the erotic touch is complete, and your fingers find a tender dance with her tongue, gentle pressure, moderate brushes, little taps, a vague squeeze, and within a few tantalizingly unceasing minutes, you're running your fingertips in broad strokes along the full length of her tongue, and her hands have drifted down to her clothes. At first she just starts to grope her breasts through the fabric, but her patience fails her faster than your faculties can adjust to the first stimulation, and the motions of your hand become clumsy as your eyes lock on her exposed chest when she frees it to pinch at her own nipples.
"Ellen, you can't, I'm-"
Clumsy, through a mouth half full of fingers she hastily replies "You don't have to look! Don't look, just this." She flicks her head up to indicate your fingers, and then moves her head forward to suck on them with deep emphasis.
Against all reason, you adjust closer to her to accomplish an easier angle for blood flow to your soaked fingers, and when you do, your thighs call to fierce attention just how much arousal has saturated you while you fingered your daughter's mouth. Shame tries to boil off all the skin on your face, but your blood is pumping elsewhere with too much ferocity for it to manifest as more than a cloud of dissociated guilt behind your mind. After all, it's just… this. You're not fucking her, you're not doing what that woman was when you walked past the open door, you're just…
This.
You can feel yourself start to pant as your daughter's pace on your fingers picks up, and one of her hands drifts down between her legs, just out of your sight. The image you had of those striped panties burns in your mind, given fundamentally different context in this moment than the chaste nothing you felt when you came into the room and sat down. You can picture the fabric becoming moist, her fingers tracing across them, gently pushing at sensitive places, pressing flat from bottom to top-
Ellen moans on your fingers with a clumsy sound, and it makes you realize that you'd started to press in and out of her with even more emphasis. That thread of apprehension at the moment manages to snake out a tendril and start to pull your hand away from your daughter's face, but her lower hand darts up to grab your wrist as she demands "More."
You try to say something, no, or yes, or anything, but all you do is give a startled little moan of your own. At the sound, Ellen quickly slides down the wall and yanks at your wrist to force your fingers back into her mouth, and you clumsily adjust onto the bed with one free hand, ending up with one leg between your daughter's. You can feel her fingers moving inside her now, bumping against your thigh at an irregular pace, not quite matching yours as you fingerfuck her mouth, but trying, clumsy as her body is in her arousal.
Your own arousal is becoming nearly painful, vicious pressure between your legs restrained behind a barrier that even in this warped moment you know you won't cross to try to satisfy. The pulsing in your sex becomes a pulsing in your head, which in turn becomes a pulsing in your fingers, and the gasps and little gags your daughter is giving at your increasing pace and depth are drowning things in your brain that aren't ever supposed to get wet. You can feel noises coming from your own mouth, ones that add more wood to the already burning moment, and within moments you're already panting just as hard as your daughter is, braced above her on knees and one hand while she fellates your fingers with such emphasis that she might never have looked at another part of a woman's body before.
Something starts to burn, and a part of you that isn't inside Ellen's mouth realizes that it's the part of your thigh contacting your daughter's sex as she grinds against you, jerky and irregular while her attention continues to stay focused on your invasion of her mouth. A devil in one part of your body twitches your leg forward to push against her, but some shell of motherhood locks it back in its previous place when you hear the perverse moan under you at the friction.
Stopping your motion did the opposite for your daughter, and she starts to jerk her crotch against you harder and harder, her mouth's movements on your fingers turning long and slow, sucking hard and deep as she bucks against you, breath spastic and short while she grinds herself up and over the threshold of climax and onto a plane of dazed euphoria that glazes her half-open eyes when she collapses limp onto the bed under you.
All of your skin bristles with the change of the moment, and you slowly slide your fingers back out of her mouth, a trail of saliva connecting your skin to her lips for a long, tense second, but then the spell is broken, and the catastrophe of what you'd just done collapses onto the immovable foundations of your home around you. You're in your daughter's room, while she lies under you with her shirt pulled up over her chest and her panties pulled away from her sex, exhausted like she'd finished what she'd started with a woman that looked just like you, but instead it was her mother that just fingerfucked her mouth to completion. Sweat and shame saturate your skin in equal measure, and a voice with more fear than a daughter should hear from her mom asks "Was that enough, Elle? Was that what you wanted?"
Something kicks in your stomach when she clumsily nods with heavy eyelids, and you purse your lips as you pull back and stand up, careful to keep your wet fingers from touching her bed, unwilling to imbue them with more profanity than what just took place. You try to close the door behind you when you leave, only for it to hitch on the same shoe, and it swings open while you find the kitchen sink, slower in body than your mind as it searches to try to find a way to get clean. Your clean hand pushes the lever on the sink to run the water, and that same feeling that made you do such a filthy thing to your daughter tries to press your face into an image of taking those spit-wet fingers into your own mouth to suck at your dear Ellen's saliva with just as much desperate emphasis as she showed your skin.
Around the corner, in the master bedroom that you moved out of to give to her, you hope that your daughter didn't hear you moan as you tasted her for the first time.
You have been staying at your boss’ place free of charge for a while. You’re unsure of what you both are but, the new routine is nice. Work isn’t so bad when she has you wrapped around her finger. A few little moments have continued to keep you going.
It’s a Saturday morning. A blaring noise cuts through your foggy dreams. You find yourself atop comforting linen, far more blissful than the couch you started calling your bed. Kate is snoring next to you softly. It’s amazing how much this woman can dedicate herself to sleep. You smile as you brush aside a pesky hair causing her to keep itching her nose. You both haven’t really talked about the relationship you now find yourself in, you thought it would be a fwb situation but the way she touches you feels like more than that. The way she’s held you tight after you both return from an arduous day at work, body and soul drained from the unique hell that is food service, just feels like she wants more, more that you are unsure if you are able to give. It’s a drop of too sour lemon juice in an otherwise sweet tea. It’s alright though. You started sleeping in her bed a few days ago, you forgot how nice it is to have another body next to you as you fall asleep.
It’s a Wednesday afternoon. Kate is working solo today, supposedly she wants you to rest. Your mind wanders to Ivy. You get the mental image of a fox kit starving and alone. You’ve been able to pay your bills thanks to Kate. She won’t let you spend a single dime on her place, and with another by your side your less-than-healthy habits have started to dwindle. So you decide screw it, might as well doordash Ivy some staples. The stupid bright hopeful spot in your brain that pushes past your constantly rebuilding walls nudges you to do something. You remember eating those little pink wafer cookies with Ivy after class. It was your own little shared tradition. Your folks thought it was too effeminate (it’s a goddamn strawberry cookie not a dress and makeup, amazing that you both managed to transition on your own) so you would steal the things and smuggle them over to Ivy. She wouldn’t drink with you, so at least you could hold on to this little routine that started at a young age. You add a pack to the cart and hope for the best.
It’s a Friday night, you and Kate watch a sappy romance anime, she looks a little… lost the whole time, and refuses to meet your face.
It’s a Saturday morning, you both fuck for the majority of the time you meant to spend getting ready for work.
It’s a Tuesday evening, Kate shares some biology about birds, you never wanna hear the word ‘cloaca’ again.
It’s a Thursday morning your curiosity is piqued, a little gnawing question has been stuck in the gaps between busywork. How does Kate afford this on her own?
You half-yell since Kate is in the kitchen making you breakfast “Hey Kate, got a question.”
She seems lost in her own little world, autopilot clicked on. “Mm?”
“How do you even pay for this house? I mean the mortgage or rent alone must be absurd.”
Her form drops. Shit should you have not asked? Does she have financial trouble. Goddamn curiosity making you open your yap again.
“Oh. That. My parents left it for me.”
Oh. Shit. You didn’t mean to touch a topic like that. “You mean they?-”
“Died yes.”
She resumes her cooking and you are left in quiet shock. Of course it would be something like that, it makes sense. Stupid. Stupid Autumn.
Kate pipes up, sorrow laced within her tone yet with no less kindness. “Happened when I was a little younger than you so don’t worry about it okay?”
You nod, still feeling a cramp of shame.
“Y’know sweetheart, I saw a little of myself in you when I first sat in your interview. Scared. Desperate. Confused. Alone. I didn’t want that for you.”
It clicks. It finally clicks.
“So you did just hire me out of guilt.”
She catches a retort out of the air before she can even speak it. Reevaluates, then continues.
“Partially. And I know that’s not what you want to hear. But you are a good employee Autumn, and a better girlfriend.”
You can’t control the gasp that flees from your lips, girlfriend?
“Shit. I didn’t mean to-”
“No no, Kate, it’s okay. Is that. I mean, do you want to be?”
Everything about Kate always screams control with just a bit of elegance in how she composes herself. It’s honestly astonishing she let that slip.
“I would like to be, if you do honey bun?”
You can’t help but be more than a little excited, you still aren’t sure about the totality of your feelings for Kate, but why not? Life sucks, might as well go for it.
“Girlfriends it is then!”
It’s nearing the end of the month. You feel a soft blanket of warmth surrounding your very soul. You and your new girlfriend skipped a few steps, things got jumbled along the way, however, it’s wonderful being here, with her. Even if the future is as uncertain as always. You sit on her couch, watching some dumb slasher flick you loved as a teen. She pulled the classic “yawn into a stretch into a cuddle” maneuver and all. You are content.
The evening’s peace is then broken with a small knock at the front door.
You have been staying at your boss’ place free of charge for a while. You’re unsure of what you both are but, the new routine is nice. Work isn’t so bad when she has you wrapped around her finger. A few little moments have continued to keep you going.
It’s a Saturday morning. A blaring noise cuts through your foggy dreams. You find yourself atop comforting linen, far more blissful than the couch you started calling your bed. Kate is snoring next to you softly. It’s amazing how much this woman can dedicate herself to sleep. You smile as you brush aside a pesky hair causing her to keep itching her nose. You both haven’t really talked about the relationship you now find yourself in, you thought it would be a fwb situation but the way she touches you feels like more than that. The way she’s held you tight after you both return from an arduous day at work, body and soul drained from the unique hell that is food service, just feels like she wants more, more that you are unsure if you are able to give. It’s a drop of too sour lemon juice in an otherwise sweet tea. It’s alright though. You started sleeping in her bed a few days ago, you forgot how nice it is to have another body next to you as you fall asleep.
It’s a Wednesday afternoon. Kate is working solo today, supposedly she wants you to rest. Your mind wanders to Ivy. You get the mental image of a fox kit starving and alone. You’ve been able to pay your bills thanks to Kate. She won’t let you spend a single dime on her place, and with another by your side your less-than-healthy habits have started to dwindle. So you decide screw it, might as well doordash Ivy some staples. The stupid bright hopeful spot in your brain that pushes past your constantly rebuilding walls nudges you to do something. You remember eating those little pink wafer cookies with Ivy after class. It was your own little shared tradition. Your folks thought it was too effeminate (it’s a goddamn strawberry cookie not a dress and makeup, amazing that you both managed to transition on your own) so you would steal the things and smuggle them over to Ivy. She wouldn’t drink with you, so at least you could hold on to this little routine that started at a young age. You add a pack to the cart and hope for the best.
It’s a Friday night, you and Kate watch a sappy romance anime, she looks a little… lost the whole time, and refuses to meet your face.
It’s a Saturday morning, you both fuck for the majority of the time you meant to spend getting ready for work.
It’s a Tuesday evening, Kate shares some biology about birds, you never wanna hear the word ‘cloaca’ again.
It’s a Thursday morning your curiosity is piqued, a little gnawing question has been stuck in the gaps between busywork. How does Kate afford this on her own?
You half-yell since Kate is in the kitchen making you breakfast “Hey Kate, got a question.”
She seems lost in her own little world, autopilot clicked on. “Mm?”
“How do you even pay for this house? I mean the mortgage or rent alone must be absurd.”
Her form drops. Shit should you have not asked? Does she have financial trouble. Goddamn curiosity making you open your yap again.
“Oh. That. My parents left it for me.”
Oh. Shit. You didn’t mean to touch a topic like that. “You mean they?-”
“Died yes.”
She resumes her cooking and you are left in quiet shock. Of course it would be something like that, it makes sense. Stupid. Stupid Autumn.
Kate pipes up, sorrow laced within her tone yet with no less kindness. “Happened when I was a little younger than you so don’t worry about it okay?”
You nod, still feeling a cramp of shame.
“Y’know sweetheart, I saw a little of myself in you when I first sat in your interview. Scared. Desperate. Confused. Alone. I didn’t want that for you.”
It clicks. It finally clicks.
“So you did just hire me out of guilt.”
She catches a retort out of the air before she can even speak it. Reevaluates, then continues.
“Partially. And I know that’s not what you want to hear. But you are a good employee Autumn, and a better girlfriend.”
You can’t control the gasp that flees from your lips, girlfriend?
“Shit. I didn’t mean to-”
“No no, Kate, it’s okay. Is that. I mean, do you want to be?”
Everything about Kate always screams control with just a bit of elegance in how she composes herself. It’s honestly astonishing she let that slip.
“I would like to be, if you do honey bun?”
You can’t help but be more than a little excited, you still aren’t sure about the totality of your feelings for Kate, but why not? Life sucks, might as well go for it.
“Girlfriends it is then!”
It’s nearing the end of the month. You feel a soft blanket of warmth surrounding your very soul. You and your new girlfriend skipped a few steps, things got jumbled along the way, however, it’s wonderful being here, with her. Even if the future is as uncertain as always. You sit on her couch, watching some dumb slasher flick you loved as a teen. She pulled the classic “yawn into a stretch into a cuddle” maneuver and all. You are content.
The evening’s peace is then broken with a small knock at the front door.
Daily affirmation: one day i'll have a beautiful vagina and i'll wake up to a beautiful woman hungrily eating me out while i lay on the bed, with the sun warming up my naked body
You are 6 years old, in first grade alongside your twin, Sabrina. You don’t really like it here but you’re doing okay, you mostly just keep to yourself. You try to befriend another boy during recess and he just pushes you down, calling you weird. Your sister instantly rushes to your aid, pulling you to your feet. “Julian are you okay??”
You are 10, and at a family member’s birthday party. You know by now that you prefer your own company, most of the time. You get along with your basketball team well enough at school, but otherwise, you prefer to stay in your own little world. Aside from your twin that is. You are sat in the furthest quietest corner you could find in their house, only to hear a thudding of feet and beaming smile of your sister. “Julian! Auntie got Susie the new Mario you gotta come play with us!” A tug of your wrist and your fate is sealed, not that you mind.
You are 15. School hasn’t been going so well. One of the teachers caught you selling weed to another student. You got suspended and your parents were rightfully pissed. And Sabrina, who you can barely bear to look at, with her new shapely body, face softer than your own, the same raven hair just framing her face in a way yours never will especially with the amount of grease you can never seem to be rid of, freckles like cinnamon speckled upon her face, and deep forest-like brown eyes, the kind you could get lost in unlike your muddy puddles is dragging you off to her room. She scoffs “that was stupid, I know you’re younger but you should have known better.” Great more scolding, not to mention that you are two seconds younger, a fact she annoyingly constantly points out. “What? We’re literally the same age fuckface. I just wanted some extra money.” She just smiles? “Whatever, wanna play some halo?”
You are 17, you managed to get a fake id to get into the bar. It worked, but you came alone and got way too wasted. You tried to look tough but the much larger man you picked a fight with didn’t even get grazed. A leather jacket you stole and some puffing of the chest wasn’t going to win you that fight. Sabrina picks you up from the bar. “You’re not gonna tell dad are you?” You mutter, placing a cold soda against your aching head. “Of course not moron. I’m gonna tell them Justin jumped you after threatening you at school today.” She lets out a shaky breath, is she crying? “Just don’t pull that shit again? You scared me.” You messed up again, but you cannot help but see how the passing streetlights illuminate her form. Fuck she ended up so pretty.
You are 20, you don’t look like her. You wish you did but you don’t. You still stay in touch but less and less as the shifting tides of life drag you both along your own path. You thought it would be a good idea to wear eyeliner to work, a little step to make some change. Your boss fired you on the spot. You couldn’t prove why. But you knew. Sabrina let you stay at hers. “Jules you always have a place with me. I don’t care if noone else sees you. I do. Stay ask long as you need, okay?
You are 23, you are seeing yourself in the mirror more and more, and Sabrina reminds you of it daily. Your own personal hero always standing in defense of you. Your guardian angel dappled in effervescent light. You got a new job and stayed with Sabrina. Unfortunately for you the threads that contained what you thought to simply be jealousy of your sister have unwound, it’s clear a portion of that tangled knot was attraction. Her freckles, her crows feet she says she’s getting too early, the little scar on her lip that you cannot seem to stop focusing on.
You are 25, you spend another evening watching a movie with Sabrina, once again both equally bemoaning your lack of romantic lives. She coyly admits she might be gay, you retort by laughing at her and asking why she was even worried, you’re a trans lesbian why would you ever be upset?
You wrap your arms around her just a little too tight, pressing your faces just a little too close. And when you pull back you don’t see the relief you thought you would. Instead she seems curious? Fearful? Anticipatory? And what you realize is you are looking at a mirror of yourself. Sure you both were separated by differing puberties but the similarities are there all the same. Freckles like cinnamon. Deep woods of brown eyes, shoulder-length raven hair, jawlines sharp enough to cut. If you both are feeling the same thing in this moment, what if?
You place your hand upon her cheek, running your thumb gently across her beautiful face. You cannot bring yourself to make the first move. You’re just seeing what you want to see in her. Your spell is broken and a fireplace lights within your soul as she brings her lips to yours. Her lips are soft, warm. You wrap your arms around the small of her back as you straddle her.
She loses herself in the moment. “Jules- wanted you. For so long.” You find yourself sobbing into her chest. “Me too sis me too, always always.” She dulled the sharper parts of yourself, made a home with you. An imperfect reflection of one another, but together all the same.
You are 6 years old, in first grade alongside your twin, Sabrina. You don’t really like it here but you’re doing okay, you mostly just keep to yourself. You try to befriend another boy during recess and he just pushes you down, calling you weird. Your sister instantly rushes to your aid, pulling you to your feet. “Julian are you okay??”
You are 10, and at a family member’s birthday party. You know by now that you prefer your own company, most of the time. You get along with your basketball team well enough at school, but otherwise, you prefer to stay in your own little world. Aside from your twin that is. You are sat in the furthest quietest corner you could find in their house, only to hear a thudding of feet and beaming smile of your sister. “Julian! Auntie got Susie the new Mario you gotta come play with us!” A tug of your wrist and your fate is sealed, not that you mind.
You are 15. School hasn’t been going so well. One of the teachers caught you selling weed to another student. You got suspended and your parents were rightfully pissed. And Sabrina, who you can barely bear to look at, with her new shapely body, face softer than your own, the same raven hair just framing her face in a way yours never will especially with the amount of grease you can never seem to be rid of, freckles like cinnamon speckled upon her face, and deep forest-like brown eyes, the kind you could get lost in unlike your muddy puddles is currently dragging you off to her room. She scoffs “that was stupid, I know you’re younger but you should have known better.” Great more scolding, not to mention that you are two seconds younger, a fact she annoyingly constantly points out. “What? We’re literally the same age fuckface. I just wanted some extra money.” She just smiles? “Whatever, wanna play some halo?”
You are 17, you managed to get a fake id to get into the bar. It worked, but you came alone and got way too wasted. You tried to look tough but the much larger man you picked a fight with didn’t even get grazed. A leather jacket you stole and some puffing of the chest wasn’t going to win you that fight. Sabrina picks you up from the bar. “You’re not gonna tell dad are you?” You mutter, placing a cold soda against your aching head. “Of course not moron. I’m gonna tell them Justin jumped you after threatening you at school today.” She lets out a shaky breath, is she crying? “Just don’t pull that shit again? You scared me.” You messed up again, but you cannot help but see how the passing streetlights illuminate her form. Fuck she ended up so pretty.
You are 20, you don’t look like her. You wish you did but you don’t. You still stay in touch but less and less as the shifting tides of life drag you both along your own path. You thought it would be a good idea to wear eyeliner to work, a little step to make some change. Your boss fired you on the spot. You couldn’t prove why. But you knew. Sabrina let you stay at hers. “Jules you always have a place with me. I don’t care if noone else sees you. I do. Stay ask long as you need, okay?”
You are 23, you are seeing yourself in the mirror more and more, and Sabrina reminds you of it daily. Your own personal hero always standing in defense of you. Your guardian angel dappled in effervescent light. You got a new job and stayed with Sabrina. Unfortunately for you the threads that contained what you thought to simply be jealousy of your sister have unwound, it’s clear a portion of that tangled knot was attraction. Her freckles, her crows feet she says she’s getting too early, the little scar on her lip that you cannot seem to stop focusing on.
You are 25, you spend another evening watching a movie with Sabrina, once again both equally bemoaning your lack of romantic lives. She coyly admits she might be gay, you retort by laughing at her and asking why she was even worried, you’re a trans lesbian why would you ever be upset?
You wrap your arms around her just a little too tight, pressing your faces just a little too close. And when you pull back you don’t see the relief you thought you would. Instead she seems curious? Fearful? Anticipatory? And what you realize is you are looking at a mirror of yourself. Sure you both were separated by differing puberties but the similarities are there all the same. Freckles like cinnamon. Deep woods of brown eyes, shoulder-length raven hair, jawlines sharp enough to cut. If you both are feeling the same thing in this moment, what if?
You place your hand upon her cheek, running your thumb gently across her beautiful face. You cannot bring yourself to make the first move. You’re just seeing what you want to see in her. Your spell is broken and a fireplace lights within your soul as she brings her lips to yours. Her lips are soft, warm. You wrap your arms around the small of her back as you straddle her.
She loses herself in the moment. “Jules- wanted you. For so long.” You find yourself sobbing into her chest. “Me too sis me too, always always.” She dulled the sharper parts of yourself, made a home with you. An imperfect reflection of one another, but together all the same.
Orange/Autumn - An overly pessimistic depressed trans girl, lost most of her friends and support networks and now is a jaded if messy woman. Drinking and impulsiveness are a constant. She accepted a life of jumping from bar hookup to bar hookup while working her dead-end job. Desperate to find someone to drag her out of the depths.
Green/Ivy - Your sister, recently booted out of the house when she came out as trans, not knowing that this all happened once before with you. Skittish, traumatized, desperate attachment issues, all mixed together with trying to seem more mature than she is. She’s a sweet girl, but doesn’t know her place in the world.
Blue/Kate - Your boss, cis woman, really likes birds, anime, drawing, camping, backpacking, and really shitty romcoms. You honestly don’t know much about her but she’s been a caring person in your life for ages now. She seems to have a bit more care than you would for a coworker but you’re too oblivious to notice.
Edit: awlso forgot, wanted to say I was heavily inspired by the amazing works of @sisconvention @sweetestsixshooter and @gentlelovingsiscon go check ‘em out if you like this ^-^
