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lets scream with mama

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they're on a date and its going really well @nonbinary-bosmer

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99% of nose-blowers quit right before the one rip where they hit their sinus cavity's resonant frequency and spend a solid 15 seconds blasting a thumb-sized wad of yellow phlegm straight out of their pineal gland and can suddenly smell colors

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Mom gf this, mom gf that, but, would you like it when I give you a bedtime? Make you eat your veggies? Give you a curfew? Make you some balanced meals? Take you to the park or wherever you wanna go? Hold your hand when we cross the street?

Oh wait, you would definitely like that wouldn’t you?

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Frrrrrrr i dont want to be a human why would i want to force my plant mom to look human

Affini need to stop changing their forms to make themselves more palatable for sophonts, show me the beautiful eldritch abomination you are!!!! Become a bush! Be a giant mass of vines, be unknowable!!!!! Please!!!!

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worshipping plommys pussy call that eating your veggies

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Let's loaf with mama

(trans rights are human rights)

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Dragon who mothers you (erotically)

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the t4t urge to be a big wolf or dog or what have you and lay on her so she can pet me

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petplay but you take a cute little tgirl dog home and make her wet food so she can actually eat bc growing tiddies takes energy

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In contrast with professional drag queens, who were only playing at being women onstage, [Esther] Newton learned that the very bottom of the gay social hierarchy was the province of street queens. In almost total contrast to professional queens, street queens were "the underclass of the gay world." Although they embraced effeminacy, too, they did so in the wrong place and for the wrong reason: in public and outside of professional work. As a result, Newton explained, the street queens "are never off stage. Their way of life is collective, illegal, and immediate." Because they didn't get paid to be feminine and were locked out of even the most menial of nightlife jobs, Newton observed that their lives were perceived to revolve around "confrontation, prostitution, and drug 'highs'." Even in a gay underworld where everyone was marked as deviant, it was the sincere street queens who tried to live as women who were punished most for what was celebrated-and paid-as an act onstage. When stage queens lost their jobs, they were often socially excluded like trans women. Newton explained that when she returned to Kansas City one night during her fieldwork, she learned that two poor queens she had met had recently lost their jobs as impersonators. Since then, they had become "indistinguishable from street fairies," growing out their hair long and wearing makeup in public-even "passing" as girls in certain situations," in addition to earning a reputation for taking pills. They were now treated harshly by everyone in the local scene. Most people wouldn't even speak to them in public. Professional drag queens who didn't live as women still had to avoid being seen as too "transy" in their style and demeanor. One professional queen that Newton interviewed explained why: it was dangerous to be transy because it reinforced the stigma of effeminacy without the safety of being onstage. "I think what you do in your bed is your business," he told Newton, echoing a middle-class understanding of gay privacy, "[but] what you do on the street is everybody's business."

The first street queen who appears in Mother Camp is named Lola, a young Black trans girl who is "becoming a woman,' as they say'." Newton met Lola at her dingy Kansas City apartment, where she lived with Tiger, a young gay man, and Godiva, a somewhat more respectable queen. What made Godiva more respectable than Lola wasn't just a lack of hormonal transition. It was that Godiva could work as a female impersonator because she wasn't trying to sincerely live as a woman. Lola, on the other hand, was permanently out of work because being Black and trans made her unhireable, including in female impersonation. When Newton entered their apartment, which had virtually no furniture, she found Lola lying on "a rumpled-up mattress on the floor" and entertaining three "very rough-looking young men." These kinds of apartments, wrote Newton, "are not 'homes.' They are places to come in off the street." The extremely poor trans women who lived as street queens, like Lola, "literally live outside the law," Newton explained. Violence and assault were their everyday experiences, drugs were omnipresent, and sex work was about the only work they could do. Even if they didn't have "homes," street queens "do live in the police system."

As a result of being policed and ostracized by their own gay peers, Newton felt that street queens were "dedicated to "staying out of it" as a way of life. "From their perspective, all of respectable society seems square, distant, and hypocritical. From their 'place' at the very bottom of the moral and status structure, they are in a strategic position to experience the numerous discrepancies between the ideals of American culture and the realities." Yet, however withdrawn or strung out they were perceived to be, the street queens were hardly afraid to act. On the contrary, they were regarded by many as the bravest and most combative in the gay world. In the summer of 1966, street queens in San Francisco fought back at Compton's Cafeteria, an all-night venue popular with sex workers and other poor gay people. After management had called the police on a table that was hanging out for hours ordering nothing but coffee, an officer grabbed the arm of one street queen. As the historian Susan Stryker recounts, that queen threw her coffee in the police officer's face, "and a melee erupted." As the queens led the patrons in throwing everything on their tables at the cops-who called for backup-a full-blown riot erupted onto the street. The queens beat the police with their purses "and kicked them with their high-heeled shoes." A similar incident was documented in 1959, when drag queens fought back against the police at Cooper's Donuts in Los Angeles by throwing donuts-and punches. How many more, unrecorded, times street queens fought back is anyone's guess. The most famous event came in 1969, when street queens led the Stonewall rebellion in New York City. Newton shares in Mother Camp that she wasn't surprised to learn it was the street queens who carried Stonewall. "Street fairies," she wrote, "have nothing to lose."

Jules Gill-Peterson, A Short History of Trans Misogyny

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trans girl who frantically tries to squirm out of the big claws holding her and desperately insists that she’s a person and not a pet

dragon who knows better and is very patient

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I love the very idea of the paris catacombs like. yeah sure the real-life city of paris has a straight-up megadungeon sprawling under it. Why not.

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The House

The timbers creaked and moaned at the vibration of her saw, the rhythmic back and forth of each stroke cutting a little lower on the cladding, until the teeth screamed against the stone foundation. She chained the snatch and tackles tight to the oak tree in the front yard, and with hooks in every door and window of the old farmhouse, she began to pull. Each step took all her strength and moved the facade a fraction of an inch, but her pace, though strained, was unrelenting. Her feet dug into the soft dust of the earth with silent ticks paced once for every two seconds, steady enough by which to set the grandfather clock in the living room as it now faced outwards to the midday sun. By the time she took her final step, that sun hung low in the sky and seemed to peer in through the great bisection, the faceless house nude before the evening air with guts and veins on full display. The front yard, between the dragging of the houses half and the steady flow of water from the mangled pipes had turned into a muddy wreck, long streaks left in the structures path softened by the deluge. The motley green pipes still shone brighter then their vacant surroundings in those last rays of light, twitching and shaking as the good clean water poured from them, and the heavy cast iron tunnels of the drainpipes in the walls did echo with every tap and shift and change in pressure. The copper of the wires hung in tangled hairs from in the walls and ceiling, their incompleteness rendering the remaining rooms in long, stark shadows, and the timbers that still clung together well enough to keep the farmhouse standing did so with great yeering protest, their fibers strained beyond imagining as they pulled and clawed to keep the thing together. It was a home no longer. A house in name only. The abomination was bisected as a corpse beneath the knife of a mortician, and in those defaced walls she could see the rot that clung within its core. The fleshy tendrils snaked beneath the floorboards and up throughout the walls, sealing shut the attic door and filling out the halfway empty space within. Inside that open space adorned in untouched moving boxes and the refuse of decades of her life the thing filled out the open air like honeycomb, great sheets of mucus in the flesh grown inches from each other until the air that passed between them was itself a kind of breath, passed through the gills of the house beast. The flesh shook, and shivered in the cooling evening air, it’s growths seizing up and clinging to the houses frame. She knew that if it could have made a sound itself, it would be screaming at the work she’d done with the teeth of her saw. The tool dripped with a bluish red that clung between the little points and filled out every dimple in the blade, slicking it as though to make the job go faster as it passed inevitability. The house was barely even host to the parasite inside, and still it quaked and shuddered to see what had occupied its frame. All three of them could do little else but wait, and hope, that death would arrive before the morning.