Stop Calling me That (mcyt + ftm reader) -Book 1/2-

-35-

((Don't ship Wilbur and Niki, they aren't comfortable with it! Even though these versions are far from accurate to IRL and are not meant to represent IRL people, we must still follow the boundaries they've clearly set!!))

((And you, yes you, if you choose to ignore the warnings on purpose knowing it will trigger you, don't comment that you are doing so. I'll delete the comment and do the closest to blocking you this app allows. Respect your triggers. There's a recap, use it if you have to.))

((Warnings are just fuckin a lot, so I'm gonna give them for each section divided by POV. This way you can skip a section if you gotta without missing the whole thing <3))

((General Warnings, for the entire chapter: food, covid mentions))

((Y/N POV))

((Warnings: tad bit of depersonalizing, anxiety, stimming, mention of ed, exclusion(?)))

Y/n stared at the building reflected in the rearview, the mirrored words on it's brightly lit sign boasting fresh pizza and 'Karaoke Every Tuesday!' It felt more like a threat to his mental health than it did an invitation to a night of fun, but maybe that was just his aversion to social-spaces.

He turned to the others, trying to gauge their reactions. Shockingly, it looked like he wasn't alone in his discomfort. In fact, none of them looked all that thrilled to be there. Wil's fingers tapped nervously on the steering wheel, Tommy's god-awful posture nearly rivaled his own dysphoria-hunch, and Tubbo hadn't stopped fidgeting since they'd parked. Or... maybe that was just him projecting.

The car with the rest of their group (minus the two they were meeting) pulled in alongside them just seconds after Wilbur had stopped the car. Y/n could see Kristen wave to them through the slightly darkened window and just barely caught Tubbo returning it in his peripheral vision.

He was only partially aware of himself as he went through the motions, a surreal and detached fog settling over his thoughts. It was like watching himself from another perspective, as if this life was simply a work of fiction or film, and he were simply another impartial member of an uncommitted audience. He exited the car on auto-pilot, following the others up to the glass doors. He knew that his god-awful posture was going to come back to haunt him, but the dysphoria he was sure to be hit with at any moment outweighed the risk of future back pain.

Usually, he'd say he had no clue as to why he was feeling worse than usual, but this time he knew exactly why. Between his earlier anxiety attack, the lingering dread surrounding the call from his mother, the buildup of constant misgendering and deadnaming from all of his closest friends just going on and on and on- hell, even coming out had been a stressful experience, as positive as Tommy's reaction had been. And now forwhatever this evening had in store for him.

Of course, he knew it wasn't going to be a particularly good time, per se, but truly, he couldn't have had even the slightest idea of just how badly it was going to go.

He looked up as they neared the front, finally pulling his gaze from his shoes. Tubbo held the door patiently as everyone passed through, offering him a smile when it was his turn. He awkwardly thanked him before hurrying out of the way and after the others.

He stood to the side of the waiting area, shifting his balance back and forth as he gradually sunk further down into himself. Phil's voice in the background speaking to the person behind the counter hardly even registered, y/n only finally being pulled out of his own head by a hand tugging on his sleeve.