#SHE WAS PART OF MY FORMATIVE GAY EXPERIENCE

[dykeinthedark]

venting in tags about gender n shit (long as hell) (u can comment and talk 2 me as always :3)

[targaryenluvs]

OUR LITTLE DOVE

pairings: dark!lucy gray x fem!reader, dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader, coriolanus snow x lucy gray

summary: you reunite with your dear songbird after the games, but it seems the capitol has followed her home, and taken an interest in the two of you. but it seems lucy gray is willing to share you with a certain peacekeeper, even if you aren’t.

warnings: crazy lucy n corio conspiring like evil doers, manipulation, chasing, primal play?? is that what is called idk corio enjoys hunting your ass down, kidnapping, drugging, forced into accepting a third partner?? nc touching, abuse of power (peacekeeper), power dynamics, kinda cheating (lucy n corio), guilt-trip, jealousy, threatening, self doubt and relationship problems, murder, betrayal

word count: 3.0k

a/n: lol i complain about wanting to write fluff but all my good ideas r so dark 😭 someone needs to give me tips on how to write girls cuz i have no experience would be easier if i was gay boooo!!

he was like a shadow, stuck to your back, always.

you’d complained to lucy numerous times that you didn’t feel comfortable around him when she played at the hob, knowing he’d be there, in the crowd. “sweetie, he was my mentor. he helped me so much in the games, i wouldn’t be here without him. you love me don’t you? so you need to learn to love him too, he’s a good friend a mine. i love you and i gotta get to the stage baby.” she explained as she ran around getting herself and the covey ready.

you were always front row. wanting to be as close to lucy as possible. she looked especially majestic tonight with flowers in her hair. as you listened to her sing you’d managed to forget about the certain blonde peacekeeper near the back. but he hadn’t forgotten about you, nor lucy.

you’d left to get a drink and you’d came back to an unfamiliar tune. you usually knew every song being played off by heart but this was new.

Everyone's born as clean as a whistle

As fresh as a daisy

And not a bit crazy

Staying that way's a hard row for hoeing

she sounded as angelic as usual and the crowd around you seemed entranced.

As rough as a briar

Like walking through fire

This world, it's dark

This world, it's scary

lucy smiled at you once, just once. which threw you off since you usually got a bunch. especially during new songs and songs about you. was this not also about you?

I've taken some hits, so

No wonder I'm wary It's why

I need you

so it is about me! you thought as you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to sway to the music and singing. you’d hoped you wouldn’t miss a smile headed your way.

You're as pure as the driven snow

your eyes flew open as you stared at lucy, she was looking past you and to the peacekeeper. to coriolanus snow. you’d always been a rational person, you prided yourself on restraint but that restraint was hanging on by a thread. you wanted to jam a beer bottle into his neck. lucy was your girlfriend not his. and yet he smiled stupidly towards her as she sang and you could feel your heart clawing its way up. best to leave now rather than stay and hear more of the ever so driven man.

your head was spinning as you slumped to the floor, in one of your finest dresses yet worst mental states. of course, something had formed between the two. she was in the goddamn hunger games and he was her mentor. trauma bonding? he quite literally saved her life, coached her and you did what? sat at home and hoped.

hope could only get you so far.

your hope and faith in lucy gray baird was dwindling as her lyrics swirled in your head. of course she loved him. who wouldn’t? the man was undeniably eye catching. a capitol man. but you’d always imagined lucy staying away from the capitol, despising them. but maybe it wasn’t the captiol part but the man part. maybe she wanted a true life, a home, marriage and children and everything she could wish for.

what on earth could you provide her with?

“y/n?” it sure as hell wasn’t lucy calling out for you and you knew that. coriolanus’s reflection was prominent in the puddle before you as he neared. great, you sneered, would love to get to know you mr peacekeeper. please tell me how you stole my lovely girlfriend from me!

your chest felt oh so heavy as you heard his footsteps in the gravel, determined and unwavering as he made his way to your slumped body. “what do you want? you wanna gloat?” coriolanus stopped in his tracks, gloat? “why would i gloat?” you looked up at him annoyed, “rub it in my face. you practically stole my girlfriend from me.” coriolanus laughed. actually laughed and it made you want to strangle him with his stupid dog tags.

“sweetheart.” vomit. you wanted to vomit. maybe choking and dying on your vomit would be less embarrassing then this. why on earth was this fuck head calling you his sweetheart. “fuck off.”

you didn’t see him coming. and you certainly didn’t expect his demeanour to snap. but the large hand tangled in your open hair was a big slap in the face to your unreadiness. “you of all people don’t get to talk to me like that. do you know who you’re talking to?” you could hear his perfect porcelain teeth grinding at your words. god this man couldn’t handle an insult. wuss.

“what the hell is your- ow! problem!” you yelped as he dragged you into an alleyway. “you need to learn how to respect your superiors. if you’re nice to me, i can make your life easier. doesn’t it hurt? not being able to fully provide for your family? seeing them struggle? do you really think disrespecting a peacekeeper is going to help? i suggest you straighten your act and thank me for even looking your way. there are plenty of other girls here.”

but he didn’t want those other girls. he wanted you. you with the teary eyes and messy hair. you who he’d been seeing in his dreams and during the day. you with the kind smile and curious eyes. you who were so sweet and pretty but mean when need be. the y/n who was stupid enough to spit such hateful words at a peacekeeper. but he’d teach you. whether it be with words and lessons or actions and bruises. you’d learn your place, by his side and lucy’s, and underneath. but with such fearful, brown doe eyes watering up infront of him, the girl he’d heard oh so much about from lucy. how could he refrain from indulging?

his hand reached out to wipe away the few stray tears that fell as his left extended towards your right, which was clutching your head, where he’d grabbed you. “shh, let me help you.” your hand slowly retracted as your heart ran a marathon. the man was obviously unstable, going from a deceptively caring man to violent. coriolanus smiled at your actions, and it freaked you out. he caressed your scalp in an attempt to soothe, “good girl.” he cooed as your apparent saviour approached.

“sweetie?” lucy called out to you as coriolanus withdrew from your personal space. he walked over to her and she let him. he held her hand and spoke with, love? his voice was soft and comforting, his thumb again caressing the back of her hand as they talked, whispered, plotted? god knows, all you wanted was to leave.

was this your chance?

you tested the waters, slow and calculated movements as lucy nodded in agreement with him. but by the time they were done speaking you’d bolted.

but you sure as hell weren’t getting far with these two on your tail, poor y/n l/n. a little dove trying to spread her wings but they were bound to be clipped.

your feet were throbbing and begging for you to slow down. but your brain was in charge for once, your heart which yearned for your dear songbird pushed to the side as your head screamed and urged you to go. she was in league with him apparently. her seeing him corner you and not even batting an eyelash. did she truly care for you so little? did she want to rid herself of you? she could’ve broken up with you and let that be it. maybe the games had twisted her head.

even as you believed yourself to be gaining distance from the two you could hear the not-so distant steps of determined pursuit, headed your way. how would they kill you? slow and intimate? hasty and brutal?

“if you stop running now we won’t be mad little dove!” lucy shouted in warning as you felt yourself momentarily slow at her words. traitor. you thought to yourself as your body involuntary listened, she still had an affect on you. “she’s right, we love you, we won’t hurt you. unless we have to, don’t give us our reasons.”

“shut up!” you screamed. god, i know we haven’t talked in a while. last minute efforts right? maybe he’d listen to you, save you from your tormentors. you should’ve kept your head clear, focused on running. focused on your surroundings and if you had, you would’ve noticed the nearing tree roots, thick and protruding from the ground, ready to knock you down.

you crawled behind the tree, trying to catch your breath as your hands worked tirelessly to provide some form of relief to your aching ankle.

crack.

you’d been found. you fucked up.

“our little dove, ever the sprinter.”

his words had you lurching forwards in an attempt of fleeing but lucy’s cold hand on your ankle dragged protests and cries from your throat as well as you, back to them. “you should’ve listened before, we would’ve been nice. given you some time to adjust, but you can’t sit and think for a second can you?” coriolanus mocked as his hand trailed up your un-injured leg, “that’s okay, you won’t be doing much thinking from now on. we’ll be taking care of you, since you obviously can’t take care a’ yourself baby.” lucy’s voice was saccharine, like honey, and her smile was even sweeter. the familiarity and comfort of her presence was intoxicating, you felt at peace on one side and the other wanted to jump off a cliff. she lowered your guard and coriolanus slithered right in.

the prick in the side of your neck wasn’t painful, but their words were. “you’re with us now, we’ll take care of you, we promise.” and you were stuck, stuck with them for god knows how long.

you blinked away the sleep in your eyes, adjusting to the room. maybe they had killed you? in their own twisted way they’d keep you forever, in their memories and soul. coriolanus and lucy’s voices swam around your head and blended together. you were wrong. yay.

“it’s a bit early for katniss, even if it’s one of her favourites.”

“she should eat something better.”

“better? don’t go all capitol on me now corio.”

he was smiling, you could tell.

“never lucy gray. but she’ll be weak for a few days, proper meals will help her regain some strength.”

you picked your head up and looked through the window, the lake was evident.

“alright, you go grab it and i’ll stay here.”

“why? so you can get more time with her? if anyone should get extra time it’s me.”

“now who was her partner first? oh that’s right, me. you’re acting as if i’m gonna pick her up and run away. if you’re that scared than we’ll both go. take her with us.”

coriolanus’s head whipped towards the cabin and you quickly flopped back down on the bed. you shut your eyes as you heard the door creak open. “gosh, doesn’t she look pretty?” lucy asked, knowing the answer already. “so calm, i liked her better when she was crying.” lucy hit him, “coriolanus snow!” he stroked the side of your face and you had to resist from turning your head and biting his fingers off.

“little dove.” your eyes opened again, turning your head his way tiredly. “we need to get some supplies okay?” you nodded as lucy went outside to gather the baskets she’d left out earlier on to dry. coriolanus’s hand dug into your cheeks as he forced you to look at him, “i told you i’d make you respect me. now listen, if you try anything when we’re in town i will never let you forget it. you’ll know who you belong to every single day. maybe i’ll pay your family a visit? an appointment with the hanging tree for being rebels? stealing?”

you shook your head violently as you began to cry, “you don’t want that? didn’t think so. you listen to me and everything will be fine. your family will get daily help and weekly groceries. they’ll never go hungry again. all thanks to their sweet little girl. lucy’s too nice, but don’t think for a second she’ll save you from me. you’re mine and if you try anything.” he leaned in to whisper, “i’ll strangle her with my bare hands infront of you.” his words were meant to scare you, and they did. but don’t you know? coriolanus snow doesn’t need a reason to do bad things.

coriolanus was wicked and ruthless when it came to what he wanted, if you had any hope of trying to get through this then you’d need lucy’s attention and help. so you nodded. “words sweetheart.” you swallowed your pride, your dignity, and you shook hands with the devil.

“yes, i’ll do what you say.” he straightened up, his white shirt a contrast to his dark thoughts.

“y’all ready to go?” lucy questioned as coriolanus grinned, “yes, yes we are.” he lifted you up and helped you dress, you hadn’t realised the fact that you were only dressed in his own white shirt, dress to you. he handled you like you were the most delicate object. as if he wasn’t hell bent on breaking you, over and over again. till you were fit to his standards. the captiol standards. the snow standards.

his, his, his.

with how obedient you were, he figured you’d do well in the capitol. which was exactly where he was meaning to bring you.

lucy walked in front of the two of you as you made your way through the woods. coriolanus’s hand was glued to your waist as he held you close, afraid to let go. you were at flight risk of course. his grip was tight and bruising. lucy’s humming distracted you at times, if you were delusional enough you could imagine it to be the two of you. your brothers far infront and the covey following. after an amazing afternoon at the lake, heading home for dinner, maybe a performance or the night shift.

your daydreaming was interrupted when you clocked coriolanus’s missing hand from your waist, and his arm now around lucy grays throat.

don’t you remember? you’d do well in the capitol! you were his! but not entirely, no.

not with her in the way.

you were frozen in place as lucy clawed at him before reaching out for you. a plea, a cry for help and aid yet you stood stuck in fear. a minute, two. she’d put up a strong fight, especially when you ran towards the two, pushing and shoving at coriolanus to let her go. but again, you fucked up.

here lies lucy gray baird, singer, victor, psycho.

obsessed? madly in love? you couldn’t think of another word, and as much as you wished to forget her, forget how she’d practically allowed another man into your relationship and let him kidnap you. her lifeless face and hollow eyes made your heart clench. but soon enough she was rolled over, thrown in a pre-made hole and buried. she’d survived the games but no one survived coriolanus snow.

“don’t forget what i said. don’t forget what you agreed to. you said you’d do as i say, i’m telling you to get up and follow me. we’re leaving district 12.” your face was painted with confusion as coriolanus clutched your face, “i’m going back, and you’re coming with me. don’t ask questions, just do as i say.”

and you did.

when he had you say goodbye to your family, a courtesy, a privilege he’d granted you. you kept it short and sweet, no questions just hugs and false promises of return.

when he ushered you onto the train and he wanted you to sit and be silent, you did.

through his time at the university, he wanted you close to him, living with him. and you did.

through his presidency campaign he wanted for you to charm sponsors and entice newcomers. you did.

when he wanted to marry you in a grand spectacle infront of the captiol and dress you up, you did as he asked.

when he held you down on your wedding night after tearing your dress off, biting and marking you down all over, pushing you down to your knees and took you all over the house, asking you to give yourself to him as if he didn’t take you anyways, you did.

you had no idea why at this point.

for your family? who hadn’t reached out in so long, even when they promised to talk to you every day? coriolanus had them all arrested, punished and hung for inciting riots and uprisings.

for your friends whom listened to your concerns of the capitol peacekeeper who hovered and didn’t make you feel crazy? each of them ended up dead in many different ways, hung, shot, a mugging gone wrong.

you didn’t know at this point and when you looked in the mirror you didn’t recognise the girl who stared back. a captiol sheep, dressed up in the finest silk dresses and slick heels yet the filth underneath the finery, jewels, and makeup weighed you down. each time he touched you, kissed you, fucked you, it felt like a peace of yourself was thrown away.

and as you clutched your swelling stomach, you couldn’t help but feel pity for baby number four.

maybe you’d grow up and find love.

maybe i’ll be able to take you all away from him.

maybe we’ll heal.

you thought, but in the back of your head, a little voice wouldn’t shut up.

you’ll always be his little dove.

[sabertoothwalrus]

I’ve seen you post some labru stuff and I’m curious what your thoughts on it are. personally I don’t see it? I can buy Kabru having feelings for Laios, but I think Laios wouldn’t be interested in Kabru, so it makes me wonder why so many people ship them. (Tbh I feel like Kabru has more chemistry with Mithrun anyway)

Sorry if this ask sounds rude, I just genuinely don’t understand the appeal of the ship, but I want to understand and I trust your analysis of characters very much :] maybe there’s something I’m missing

I really like both ships, actually!

For labru, there’s sooooo much I could talk about. The inherent homoeroticism of being narrative foils. The inherent homoeroticism of being the king’s advisor. All of chapter 76. The fact that Kabru has mask upon mask upon mask, and Laios is the first person that made his facade absolutely crumble.

Kabru struggles with being genuine!!! Everything he says and does is so perfectly calculated, even when he sort of means it. But since Laios doesn’t get social cues, Kabru gets thrown for a loop.

I get so frustrated when people act like Kabru still hates Laios by the end of the manga!!!!! He killed those corpse retrievers for being corrupt, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to kill Laios. He has such a strong sense of justice, and knew that killing Laios would be a mistake. Because, after meeting him, he could tell he wasn’t actually evil. He’s strange, sure, but not evil.

Kabru DEFINITELY wants to be friends with Laios!! He was not lying about this!!!

But this last comic shows how much Laios wants to be friends with Kabru, too. He’s so nervous after calling Kabru his friend 😭 he doesn’t want to be presumptuous and fuck it up again.

Laios does show an interest in Kabru, at least when Laios thinks he’s interested in eating monsters too. Like,, what was up with THIS

Laios’s gaze is LINGERING. Plus, (this is before that bit at Thistle’s house when he forgets his name) he brings up Kabru when they first form their plan to eat Falin.

And maybe this is just because of my own personal experiences, but Laios reminds me a lot of my own girlfriend. I think they have a similar flavor of gay/aspec & autism combo where, had I not asked her out first, she probably never would have considered being interested in me. But she was very down when I did.

The tricky part about labru is more the political aspect. Regardless of whether you see Laios as aroace or not, he’s in a situation where he will probably get married. He had a fiancée before he was age 13, likely betrothed since he was a baby. He’s already comfortable with the idea of getting married because He’s Supposed To.

However, Laios is king, and could make gay marriage legal if he wanted to (He would probably do this for his sister and Marcille before considering it for himself ). But at the same time, I think Kabru would object to Laios making whatever policies he wants without considering the repercussions of how other kingdoms might react, especially when they’re just getting Melini off the ground and need lots of support from other countries. Laios and Kabru getting gay married anyway and dealing with the aftermath could make for a really compelling story.

I do think Kabru would be a good ruler. He’s already fit for it. He speaks a dozen languages, he knows people and their motivations, and likes politics. The manga already joked about Chilchuck’s daughters trying to marry a king, so it seems like noble blood isn’t too important, but Kabru’s foster family IS nobility. When it comes to heirs, I do like trans Kabru headcanons, but at the same time, I think it’d be cute if they adopt anyway. Kabru seems like he’d have strong feelings about adoption given,,, yknow.

The alternative version of labru to this is Laios gets straight married out of obligation, and Kabru is his mistress hdhdhshsj. I don’t know if I could see Laios doing that? or if Kabru would risk the scandal of being outed as Royal Advisor and Regent trying to seduce the king. It could go SO downhill. but maybe that would be fun.

NOW FOR KABUMISU.

I knew people shipped them, and I could see the basis for it while reading, but I wasn’t really sold on it until the very end. There’s something about “I had no desires left. I decided to create new desires, and one of them is you” that’s really charming.

There’s also something funny about “the demon ate my heterosexuality so I’m gay now”

I think it’s interesting that Kabru hates elves. He was raised by them, and he hates them. He hates feeling patronized by them. He made absolutely sure that elves wouldn’t take control over Melini, not just for his sake, but for Rin’s.

But Mithrun’s interactions with Kabru are founded on more mutual respect. Though, that’s not to say that Mithrun doesn’t still have his biases towards short lived races..

Where Laios doesn’t understand social cues, Mithrun does but just doesn’t care. For that reason, I think Kabru would enjoy spending time with Mithrun. It’d give him a break from his compulsion to calculate all of his social interactions. But at the same time, Kabru is the KING at bottling his emotions. Mithrun is blunt, but also doesn’t care enough to pry. If Kabru had anything bothering him, I could imagine him seeking Mithrun’s company to avoid thinking about it. Could make for a fun dynamic.

I do think it’s funny that Milsiril 1) took care of Mithrun for potentially 20 years and 2) is only four years older than him. I imagine this could lead to funny situations.

I don’t ship things for no reason! I think both of these could work platonically, romantically, one-sided, or even “requited but they don’t do anything about it.” Their relationships compel me and I think it’s sort of bad faith to brush off either like they’re nothing more than baseless yaoi pair-the-spares. To me, I see just as much of a foundation in the source material as farcille.

After all, dungeon meshi isn’t a story about romance, but it IS a story about love. It’s a story about life and death and grief and the love that comes with it. Regardless of shipping, these characters love each other!!! And I love talking about it!!

[hazbinhotelxreader]

can you do a lute x fem reader smut?

Hell yea! Love that girl, she slays💅

Words: 992

A/n: okay! There wasn’t much

Warning: fingering, eating someone out, bondage, light cussing, light insulting, smut, gay sex, mean lute, hair pulling, rough sex, orgasm denial, light crying

Part 2!

Being around lute is an..experience. She’s mean, then sweet, then mean again, honestly it was confusing. She was off duty finally, and went up to you, grabbing your wrist and tugging you along. She was pretty stressed, wanting to relieve some of that stress on you.

She pulled you into her room and locked the door, immediately slamming you against the wall and kissing you hungrily, biting your bottom lip. You moan and grunt as she aggressively kissed you and bites you, your bottom lip bleeding due to it. She held your wrists against the wall harshly, whispering into your ears. “Why don’t you be a good girl for me and strip those pretty clothes off~?” She said in a husked and desired voice.

You follow her orders and began to strip, you were taking too long for her, causing her to grab your clothes and rip them off. “Hey..” you said sadly as your favorite clothes her ripped off.

“I’ll buy you a new pair..” lute reassured quickly and grabbed your body, throwing you onto the bed and biting your neck harshly, you yelp softly in pain, she doesn’t stop.

“You’re being too rough..” you say to her as you moan, hoping she’ll be more gentle, which she didn’t.

“Don’t be a baby, you’re fine” Lute growled softly and continued her vicious attack on your neck, you whimper softly as she moaned against your skin.the next thing you know she’s grinding her hips onto you roughly, you moan and buck yours too, allowing Lute to make an insult. “You little slut..so desperate for my attention” She growled and roughly slammed her knee into your aroused core.

You let out a pained and pleasured moan, closing your eyes in pleasure and pain, already starting to pant from the roughness. Lute harshly squeezed your breast as she licked and sucked and bites your collarbone, leaving large dark purple hickies all over you. You let out gasps and quiet yelps as she squeezed your breasts harder and attacked your collar bone more.

She started to bite down your body, starting from your neck all the way down to your stomach. You moan and groan, squirming underneath her harsh treatment. She chuckled over you, and put her mouth closer to your wet and aroused pussy. She lets out another insult and started to bite and suck your inner thighs. You squirm more as your sensitive skin in getting more wounds.

She moved up more, and left a long lick in between your folds. You let out a quiet soft gasp and moan, moving to grab her hair and pulling it to make her face go into you more, which she didn’t like. She growled and sat up. “Don’t touch my hair.” She demands and grabbed some rope, harshly securing your hands together and tying them above your head.

“It’s too tight..” you whimper and try to move out of it.

“That’s your fault.” She says and finally started to attack your pussy again. You moan as her movements got rougher. She thrusted her tongue inside of you, thrusting in and out, tasting your tight entrance. You gasp and moan when her tongue entered you without a warning. You felt yourself going over the edge as she thrusted harsher and harsher, losing against your entrance. You felt yourself about to let go..but she stopped and pulled out.

“No no please…” you whimper as tears formed in your eyes, the orgasm you were about to have died down.

“Aww~ I’d like to see you beg for it~” Lute smirked, finding this amusing, the tip of her fingers teasingly poking in and out of your entrance. You beg and beg for her to continue, but her sadistic self took pleasure in your pleads.

“You’ll have to try harder than that whore” She smirked and continued to tease you. She spent about 3 hours teasing, forcing you to sob softly and beg and beg. You wanted nothing more than to have your release, but lute would be taking her time to make you suffer and for her to be satisfied .

At last after the torturing hours she started to thrust her fingers in roughly, you moan and beg, your wrists getting rope burned from the bondage, your body sweating and your panting. Both of your legs were spread wide for Lute to invade, lute thrusted her fingers harsh against your g-spot and tight hole, not caring about your pleads for her to go a little more gentle.

You were finally close and you let out a longer moan and cry. “That’s right you little whore..cum out for me..” she said rougher. Your awaiting orgasm finally came, you panted and closed your eyes, but she wasn’t done yet.

Lute took off her leggings and shirt/short dress, lining both of your wet cunts together. She pushed her cunt down onto yours, and moaned out. Your breath hitched as you felt her wet aroused pussy against your own. Both of you start to grind against each other, she leaned over and bites your neck to ground herself, you let out a choked out cry, she growled against your neck and bucked her hips violently, searching for relief.

She pants as she let out a small cry, you following in suit. Both of you orgasmed onto each others pussy’s, cum dripping down your thighs and onto the bed sheets. You pant and she collapsed onto you, leaving softer love bites onto your sweaty skin, breasts rubbing against each other.

You knew it wasn’t over, of course it wasn’t. It’s lute. And it’s all about her. She wants more, whether you’re up for it or not, all you know is that it will be a long, painful and pleasant night.

[missmastectomy]

I was hesitant to write this post, but I want to talk about why so many women and teenage girls are getting double mastectomies.

The justification a lot of trans people use for elective double mastectomies is that "top surgery" helps people feel comfortable in their bodies. Traditionally, this surgery was restricted to transmen. In the recent decade, however, nonbinary identified and even non-trans identified women have been getting mastectomies. I remember clear as day when my coworker (who identified as a "cis" woman) told me that at 18 she was planning on saving for top surgery. I myself got my breasts removed when I identified as nonbinary, having been on testosterone for 2 years.

It's important to remember that no person is born wanting surgery. Society creates conditions that are hostile to women, GNC, and gay people, and this hostility encourages a dissociated state. The body is removed from the mind - instead of the body being an intrinsic part of your personhood, a mechanism through which we experience the world, it instead becomes ornamental. This is perfectly represented by all forms of non-reconstructive cosmetic surgery, which risk people's health for entirely aesthetic reasons.

So, why do teen girls want to remove their breasts? For those of who experienced unwanted sexual advances from a young age, the answer is intuitive. Breasts are inherently sexualized. They are not seen as a vital organ that contributes to bodily function and health, but as a decoration, the only purpose of which is to attract men and feed babies. In this way, a woman's breasts do not even belong to her. When men openly gawk at a woman without a bra, when relatives grope at her as a pubescent girl, when we are exposed to an endless stream of hyper-sexualized images of women with their cleavage out, a message is sent loud and clear: existing in a female body is unsafe.

I want to make it very clear that an elective mastectomy and the practices of breast ironing are very different, but there are commonalities in the attitudes behind both. Breast ironing is done to pubescent girls in order to "prevent" her being sexually assaulted or harassed by men, sometimes including male relatives. When I hear stories of girls in the West starving themselves and binding to hide their chests, I can't help but see similarities. When I was binding and restricting calories as a 15 year old, I would have said I was doing it so that I could pass as a man. But I would have been lying to you. I was lying to myself. I didn't hate my breasts because I was "born in the wrong body." I hated my breasts because they were used to justify my sexualization. From my perspective they put me in danger.

We often hear that women's rights in the West have been secured, but you need only look at the war on women's bodies to see that that is a fantasy. When young girls constantly receive the messaging that your curves and boobs WILL attract men and that you will be objectified for it, many will try to opt out.

Take Liv Hewson, for example.

She says herself that her anorexia was a manifestation of "gender dysphoria," but the question remains - where did this dysphoria come from? Why would anorexia develop as an outlet for it? What makes more sense: a young woman was born hating her body and her breasts because she has a gendered, non-female soul, or that same woman hates her body because she has been conditioned as such by a patriarchal society, the same society that encourages extreme self harm and body modification through a multi-billion dollar cosmetic industry?

Gender dysphoria in young women needs to be demystified. It's not special, it's not unique. It is NOT evidence that she needs invasive surgery or steroids to feel comfortable in her body. It is evidence that she is in pain. In order to address the rising rate of transition in young women, we must first acknowledge the conditions that nurture this form of self-hatred.

Transition IS a feminist issue. It is just as relevant in Western feminism as tackling the beauty industry, female sexualization, and violence perpetrated against women through porn. All of these issues are deeply interconnected. When we approach dysphoric women with compassion and encourage them to perceive their bodies as a part of themselves that deserves to remain intact and whole, rather than as their enemy, we take a necessary step towards female liberation.

[springwitch26]

hots for teacher (melissa schemmenti x fem!reader)

part 2

summary: you've been infatuated with melissa schemmenti ever since you worked under her as a student teacher. what will happen when you meet again a few years later?

warnings: NSFW content, implied future smut (part 2 on the way??), praise kink, age gap idk

notes: hi everyone! my name is april, and this is my first ever fanfiction. i wrote this for fun and then decided to share it with the community, because i love the little gay women in my phone! i've been reading fics on tumblr for as long as i've been on the internet, so this is a strange experience for me. anyway, enjoy, and let me know what you guys think!

tonight you looked sexy, and you knew it. you wore a sinfully short black dress with colorful butterflies. it was one of your favorites; it showed just the right amount and hugged just the right places to be tantalizing. your eyes were painted with thin black wings and soft, glittery eyeshadow that made you look like a sweet dream. your lips glistened and your hair was tied up in two dutch braids. you were a vision.

all this meant that you were not the least bit surprised when a deep, sultry female voice sounded from behind where you sat at the bar.

"it should be illegal to look like that in public."

you smiled coyly and turned around to face the stranger.

"why? see something you like?" when you turned to face her, however, you were met with a familiar face. it was a face you'd seen in your dreams time after time: your former boss, melissa schemmenti.

you had been assigned to work with melissa as a student teacher while you were in school for your teaching certification. at the time, she was teaching two grades simultaneously, so she was grateful to have you there to ease the burden. it didn't hurt that you were always so eager to please. you wanted to learn and become the best teacher you could be.

of course, your motives weren't entirely pure. you were attracted to melissa from the moment you saw her. you remembered it like it was yesterday: her flaming red hair was slightly messy from trying to wrangle her double class, and her glasses sat askew on her nose. then you came along and turned everything around. she would give you to-do lists, and you would finish them before lunchtime the same day.

"great job, hon! you're so good, don't know what i'd do without you..." she'd say each time, beaming with pride at her new prodigee.

"o-of course, ms. schemmenti. what else can i do for you?" you'd respond, blushing profusely at the praise and struggling to hold her intense gaze.

within a week of having you, melissa was caught up on all her work. she couldn't help but feel like you were an angel, or some kind of gift from god. whatever you were, she cherished you. as the two of you spent more time together, she started to want you more and more. every project, every conversation, every smile you two shared only added to your chemistry.

she had fun with it--teasing you with special pet names and praise, watching you get all flustered and squirmy. she knew you liked her back. you weren't the most subtle about your desire.

melissa would never act on her feelings, though. you were a doe-eyed twenty-something with big dreams, and she was your much older boss. getting involved with you would be too messy. but she always held out hope, even after you left abbott, that one day you'd meet again.

you studied melissa's sly smirk for a moment, in disbelief at your luck. it had been two years since you left abbott. you had your own big girl job now, and you were a bit more mature. there was nothing stopping you from acting on your desires.

"oh my god, ms. schemmenti! please, have a drink with me. it's been a while." you hoped you didn't sound too desperate, although you definitely looked desperate once you got a good glance at her.

her look was striking. your breath hitched in your throat as you scanned her form, dressed in red leather pants and a button-down shirt. her arms were visibly muscled, even through the jacket. the black button-down shirt she wore was unbuttoned just enough to tease her cleavage. around her waist was a thick black belt that you wanted to pull on. her fiery hair was tied back haphazardly in a high ponytail, just messy enough to be sexy. and her hands—god, her fingers were long and ringed and—

"whatever you say, kid," she shrugged and sat down next to you, giving you a playful smile. "and you can call me melissa now."

she had a mischievous glint in her eye, probably knowing how you felt just by the wanton way you stared at her. when she sat down beside you, you felt your whole body heat up. your thighs were almost touching from the proximity, and you could smell her intoxicating perfume with each inhale. feeling her body so close to yours had you more drunk than the alcohol. it didn't help that her eyes now roamed over your body shamelessly, taking in your glistening lips and lingering on your soft cleavage. you tried your best to play it cool.

you talked for a while, catching up on everything. you told her about your new job at a suburban elementary school, your volunteer tutoring on the weekends, your summers in the mountains. she beamed with pride hearing of your accomplishments.

"that's great, y/n! sounds like you're goin' places."

"thank you! i think i owe a lot of my success to my student teaching experience—everyone at abbott was great, including you. especially you," you looked at her with an intense gaze, feeling your desire catch up with you.

"you were such a passionate mentor. you just had this way of getting me excited..." you trailed off as you fixated on the stirrings of a smirk on her face.

"...excited about learning," you finished shakily.

"mm-hmm," she chuckled.

maybe it was the alcohol, or the simple fact that she was right next to you and seemingly devouring you with her eyes, but you became bolder then. you only had one shot at this.

"i mean, you really touched me in a way that nobody else could," you leaned in, dragging out your syllables for emphasis. "i worked so hard because i just needed to be good for you."

now she was the one shuddering. you had the upper hand, if only for a moment. but she quickly got her boldness back.

"i noticed that. always so bright and attentive. i bragged to all the other teachers about what a good girl you were." to top it all off, she punctuated her sentence by placing her hand firmly on your knee.

you thought you were going to explode right then and there. your skin erupted in goosebumps at her touch, and you spread your legs ever so slightly to indicate your consent. her face split into a smug grin and she began to crawl her fingers up your thigh, agonizingly slowly.

your response came as a shaky whisper. you were sure you must have soaked through your panties just from her teasing touches.

"it's good to know that you thought so highly of me. i looked up to you a lot," you said sheepishly. "um, i'm a bit embarrassed to admit it, but i did have a bit of a crush on you..."

"oh, yeah. that doesn't surprise me. don't be embarrassed, hon. you can't help what you feel," her hand had stalled at the midpoint of your thigh, and she looked at you with sincerity.

"it doesn't surprise you?" you asked, struggling to get the words out once she resumed stroking your thigh.

"i had my suspicions," she said with a knowing smirk. "i'm sharper than i look, ya know."

her darkened eyes sent shivers down your spine. you felt your core heat up at the humiliation of knowing she knew exactly what you thought about her.

"am i that obvious?" you asked, somewhat breathily.

"oh, sweetheart," she laughed. she leaned in close and you could smell her perfume, feel the warmth of her breath on your skin. her fingers pinched the skin of your thigh as she whispered to you. "you sat five feet away from me for months, always wearin' those little black skirts. you think i didn't see you rub your thighs together every time i gave you praise?"

her hand now caressed your inner thigh softly, teasingly. you failed to respond, trying to process her words but finding yourself unable to do anything but whimper almost silently.

"so soft here. mhmm," she husked into your ear. there was a hint of giddiness in her voice, as if she was pleased with herself for taking you apart so easily. "does that feel good, princess? do you like it when i touch you?"

"yes!" you said, almost too loudly for the public setting. "yes, i like it very much."

"good," she whispered as her fingers found the edge of your panties. your thighs spread even wider, and you let out a small gasp.

"we've got lots more to catch up on, don't we?" she continued, her fingers drawing feather-light circles over your clit through the fabric. you wondered if she could feel you throbbing for her. your hips bucked up to meet her hand, and she slapped your thigh in warning. "if you wanna keep talkin', we can head back to mine..."

you turned to her with big, glazed-over eyes. still whimpering, you nodded rapidly, earning a laugh from the older woman. she grabbed your hand and guided you out of the packed bar.

"i'm gonna wreck you, hon," she mumbled without looking back at you.

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

A few weeks after #MeToo exploded on the internet, an old friend and I did what so many women did during that time: We got on the phone and finally began to acknowledge what had happened to us. My friend shared a story of hers from college. Back then, we’d all just considered it a “bad date,” but she now recognized it as sexual assault. She also shared that at nearly every single job she’s had since college, a boss or co-worker has sexually harassed her.

The month before our conversation, I had published an essay sharing my own experience of sexual assault while traveling abroad. Like my friend, it was not my only experience—it was one of many. But I’d only included the one, because in the early stages of #MeToo, the idea of sharing one assault story still felt risky. The idea of sharing more than one felt culturally impossible. My friend agreed.

“As a woman, you’re only allowed one #MeToo moment,” she told me. “After that, people begin assuming the problem must be you.”

Out of the many celebrity #MeToo stories told in the past five years, only a handful have acknowledged the experience of multiple assaults. In an HBO documentary, Alanis Morisette spoke about repeated incidents of statuatory rape that happened when she first entered the music industry, all of which “fell on deaf ears” when she tried seeking accountability. In her memoir, Selma Blair wrote about a teacher who sexually assaulted her, as well as the many men who raped her in her 20s. In an interview with Dazed, Amber Rose said, “I cannot even count how many times a famous guy touched me inappropriately.” On a social media post during the Kavanaugh hearings, Tatum O’Neal wrote about her multiple assaults: “It was not my fault when I was 5, 6, 12, 13, 15.”

Stories that emphasize the ubiquitous nature of assault are vital in a world that so often focuses on one dramatic episode, with visceral details of the violation and an easily identifiable villain. This amplifies the false idea that assault is just a singular, horrifying incident—when in reality, many of us experience it as part of a larger, more insidious culture.

Once a person is assaulted, research shows they’re more likely to be assaulted again, a phenomenon called “revictimization.” Around 50 percent of children who survive sexual assault reexperience it later in life, and even a single incident of sexual assault in adulthood can increase the risk for it to happen again. As psychologist A.E. Jaffe and her colleagues wrote in a 2019 paper on revictimization: “Perhaps the most consistent predictor of future trauma exposure is a history of prior trauma exposure.”

Why would this be? In lieu of a good answer for it (more on that in a moment), we often blame victims themselves. We easily justify these statistics by suggesting that anyone who has survived multiple incidents of violence must be asking for it—either by acting promiscuously, hanging around too many shady men, or getting themselves into precarious situations. One survivor I interviewed told me that though she received some form of victim-blaming in response to all three sexual assaults she experienced, she noticed a stark decrease in support each time it happened again.

“After the second and third, some people began saying, ‘What’s happening in your life to attract that?’ or ‘Do you have enough awareness to know when men want to harm you?’ ” she told me. “One person even asked why I was ‘trusting men so much.’ ” Another friend who experienced multiple assaults went through a similar line of questioning, only with herself. “After so many times, I began asking myself, ‘What is it about me that brings on these experiences?’ ” she said. I told her I ask myself that question all the time.

In his essay “Spectator” for Roxane Gay’s anthology on sexual assault stories, Not That Bad, Brandon Taylor wrote about his best friend telling him she was beginning to think she was “just the kind of person this stuff happens to.” For a long time, that’s what I believed, too. As a travel writer and a single bisexual woman, I figured that at some point, I’d pay the price. Eventually, I’d have to face some element of physical harm—wasn’t that the obvious trade-off for attempting a liberated life? To me, survivorship—more than resilience, bravery, or strength—often felt like resignation.

But in some cases, it’s exactly that resignation that influences repeat assaults. While there’s no conclusive evidence as to why revictimization happens, we do know that normalizing assault can contribute to future harm. If a survivor has not internalized their experience as exceptionally traumatic, they are less likely to advocate for themselves, or demand accountability if it happens again. If they, like me, accept violence as an obvious fact of their lives, then when it repeats, they don’t seek the support they need to process and heal from each experience.

In an article for Psychology Today, psychotherapist and clinical social worker Keith Fadelici called this a “cognitive accommodation to ongoing violence.” The trauma continuously gets downplayed as victims attempt to normalize their assaults, which helps them feel more in control. “This dissociative process is a common symptom of PTSD,” Fadelici told me. “And can also later make survivors less capable of detecting risk by numbing the fear that is supposed to trigger alertness to danger.”

Oppression also plays a significant role. Those with marginalized identities are more at risk for experiencing assault in general, and thus more likely to experience it again. LGBTQ+ people are four times more likely to be assaulted than the general population (bisexual women and trangender people also are far more likely to experience assault than gay men and lesbian women). Rates of sexual assault for Indigenous women are three times higher than non-Indigenous women, and Black women are much more likely to experience assault than white women. Neurodivergent people are 11 times more likely than neurotypical people to be victims of violent crimes.

“If this is coming up repeatedly with one individual, it might be because that person is within systems and structures that facilitate assault more often,” said Jaffe. For those of us living with any of these identities, we normalize violence because living under oppression is consistently violent. In order to survive, a “cognitive accommodation to ongoing violence” is necessary. We train ourselves to get used to it, and move on.

After #MeToo, I began reading and rereading the legal definitions for rape and sexual assault to make sense of what had happened to me. Any sexual contact that occurred without consent constitutes assault? Any sexual contact that included penetration without the other person’s consent constitutes rape? The criteria felt almost too easy. Under these standards, I had been raped twice, and assaulted several other times—all stories I had not yet fully internalized, and was not yet ready to tell. Dozens of legal crimes had been committed against my body, but that idea felt so unfathomable I hardly knew what to do next.

In the three years after publishing that first story, I experienced more incidents, and I still don’t know what to call them. I don’t feel comfortable firmly declaring them as “assault.” I don’t like how it connects so deeply with an oppressive legal system, and how it automatically connotes some excessive form of violence. Even today, it seems too strong and rough a word for how these episodes played out: often with little physicality, with only brief conflict and polite turns toward quick forgiveness, until weeks later when I’d unpack the severity of what had happened. As I began sharing more of these stories with close friends, I would catch myself saying “technically” before saying “I was assaulted,” acknowledging the semantic disconnect I still felt. This hesitation is common among many survivors: As one 2019 meta-analysis showed, rates of victimization increase when participants are asked “behaviorally descriptive questions” about what happened to them, rather than questions that use terms like “rape” and “assault.”

Sometimes, people ask “How many times all together?” I say “six-ish,” a number that captures the amount of experiences that have dramatically changed the way I relate to my body—how it experiences intimacy, how it engages with the world: The one that happened at work, just weeks into my first job out of college. The one at a festival in India. The one while getting a deep-tissue massage. The one at a New York play party. The one so common I learned it has its own name (“stealthing“). The one with a lover I had loved and trusted deeply. The one with another lover, a violation that was not sexual but physical and thus, as yet another nonconsensual act done against my body, still felt so connected to all the rest.

And this still does not take into account every time I was nonconsensually touched in public—the men who pulled and grabbed my arms, my back, my butt, my shoulders to try to get my attention on the street—nor the times I’ve been followed, harassed, physically threatened by strangers on the street.

The accumulation of more and more of these events creates a compounding impact, one where each additional incident begins to amplify the ones before. For me and most survivors I spoke to, we are not healing from trauma—we are learning how to exist in a world where trauma continues to accumulate.

Every survivor I interviewed for this piece told me they fully accept the potential that they’ll experience assault in the future. Still, most of them admitted to me that it’s still easier to only share just one story with the world—never the full range of what has happened to them. “When you only have one story, the enemy is the rapist,” one survivor told me. “But when you have several people with a lifetime of these experiences, the enemy is all of us.”

This is what we mean when we talk about rape culture. The first thing we can do to start to dismantle it is to recognize what we’re up against.

[anon-sect]

Bensen had long discovered at a young age that he had inherited a rare trait that was passed down his family line on his father's side of the family. It was the ability to transform objects or things into other objects or things. He experimented with it in the days of his youth. When his father found out he had it, he warned him not to use it on living things. He respected his father and his words all the way until he had graduated college. He had a high paying job that dis more than kept the bills paid up. But it wasn't satisfying enough. He wanted something that he could use his inherited ability. So he decided that he would do a part-time gig to make extra money on the side. He posted an advertisement with a fake name of Jack the handler. If there was anyone that needed to be handled or gone, call him. He even brought a separate phone just for his side hustle.

Bensen honestly didn't expect anyone to call, but someone actually called the number in the advertisement. A young woman had complained about her abusive boyfriend, who was both verbally and physically abusive with her. She tried reporting him, but he had connections on the police force. He would only be in jail one day and back into her life again. She really wanted him gone forever from her life. Bensen agreed to handle her abusive boyfriend problem at a cost, which she was willing to pay. She gave him the details of his whereabouts.

The next day, Bensen arrived in a back alley area behind a local restaurant. Just on cue, a young muscular guy about 6'1" tall was stepped out to take his break. He had never transformed a living thing before, so he was excited to do it for the first time. "Is your name Jesse?" He asked. He wanted to make sure he had the right target.

"Yeah, and who are you?" Jesse asked, curious that a stranger would ask for him in a back alley completely out of the ordinary.

"My client asks that you be removed from her life. All the abuse she had to endure the past year has to stop." Bensen spoke, getting ready to take his first human victim as he got closer to him.

Jesse knew exactly who his client was. "That bitch sent you, didn't she? Well, she will regret it when I get home." He spoke, seeing a smile of excitement on the stranger's face.

"You are mistaken. You won't be going home or back to work." Bensen paused as he thought about what he should make the guy become. The guy was a asshole to his girlfriend, may as well become something an ass sits on. "In fact, you are coming home with me." He added.

Jesse didn't know what to make of the stranger, but he definitely wasn't going home with a guy for some gay crap. "Get out of here before I beat your ass to a point your mom won't recognize you." He saw the threat was not working. He saw the stranger's eyes glow for a couple of seconds. Suddenly, he found himself completely immobilized with clothes on top of him. He didn't know exactly what happened, but even his body was different. It was flat and hollowed out.

Bensen fished out a pair of thong underwear from the pile of clothes on the ground. "Wow, it really did work. I can't wait to get home and wear you. You look comfortable." He stuff them in his front pants pocket and left the area before anyone else showed up. But he was too late. Two other employees were taking their break at the same time as well. He didn't anticipate this situation.

Jesse was mortified when he saw daylight again. The stranger was holding him in his hands. After hearing the words 'wear you', he knew exactly what happened. He was somehow transformed into an article of clothing. From the feel of his body, he hated his new form because he had the sinking feeling that he was underwear. He saw himself stuffed in the guy's pocket like property. He mentally cursed at the guy, but seeing that the guy didn't hear a single word.

Willie and Lesner walk out to see a pile of clothes on the ground and a stranger standing next to them. Both looked at the clothes on the ground and happened to see Jesse's name tag on top of them. Being not sure what was going on, Willie was about to question the stranger.

Bensen needed to flee the scene, but didn't want to leave behind witness. He thought of a pair of socks for the two guys in front of him and a small thin nameless rag for Jesse's clothes and shoes.

Willie saw the stranger's eyes glowing for two seconds, and everything changed in an instant. He found himself laying on the cold ground. He couldn't move his body. He tried screaming out for help, but found he had no voice. He heard large foot steps and saw the stranger picking him up off the ground. The stranger was now giant size. He then felt his body was empty on the inside, yet soft cotton on the outside.

Lesner panicked mentally when he realized he was no longer human. He wanted to call out for help as the stranger housted him in the air in his hand. He didn't like what was being said. It was like something out of a nightmare, yet while being awake.

"Awesome, new underwear and a pair of white socks. I see one of you is Willie, and the other is Lesner. Sorry about turning you into socks, but I can't leave behind witnesses. But at least I won't forget your names. I believe you two will make my feet really comfortable." Bensen spoke as he stuffed the socks in his other pocket and ran from the area before anyone else showed up. On the way home, he ran into a former bully from school. He couldn't resist the urge. He turned him into a shirt, grabbed him up, and came home.

Back at him, Bensen got undressed. He wanted so much to feel what it's like wearing a person as clothing.

Jesse saw one leg enter him and then the other. He curse so much it was driving him crazy as he was pulled upwards. His face impacted with the guy's dick and where his penis would have been being cramed up the guy's ass. He was in no way gay, but this was insane. He hated being worn by a guy. This was a nightmare beyondy anything he could have imagined.

Lesner felt a foot enter him. The fact that a human foot controlled all his motion sickended him. He was just a simple bystander, he didn't deserve to an object owned by another guy or even worn on the guy's body.

Willie on the other hand was in bliss. He had fantasy of what it would be like to be a sock. He even dreamt it before. It was his favorite dream he ever had. Now it was a complete reality. He didn't want it to end. In fact, he hoped the guy never turned him back to normal. He had already accepted the guy as his master.

Bensen loved how it felt to wear people as clothing. The surge of authority he had over his new clothes felt so good. He called his client's phone. "This is Jack the handler. Your abusive boyfriend won't be bothering you anymore. In fact, you will never see him again. I put him in a place where I am sure it's a living hell for him. I expect full payment." He spoke over the phone. Within in minutes, he got a text alert of a bank deposit. He was pleased. He made money using his gift while also gaining new clothes that are supposedly are so durable they last for a very long time. He would have to test that theory.

[ladykailitha]

Never Hold Back Your Step Part 4

One month later...

Sorry about that guys. Hopefully now that Batshit Soulmates and Not All That Glitters is Gold is coming to end next week, you'll get more of this story.

In this we have the relay race, Steve getting weird vibes from his teammates, and finally putting his foot down with Nancy.

Again Nancy will get worse before she gets better.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

****

Steve kept catching Ezra looking at him at the strangest times. It made something between his shoulder blades itch. Like it had back in the junkyard with the demodogs. Just that feeling of...not evil. But danger. He just couldn’t shake the feeling.

He stood behind the jump box and shook his arms loose. He hopped up and down on the balls of his feet trying to stay warmed up. All along the line the other competitors were doing the same.

He got into position and pulled his goggles down. Then the shot went off and they all dived in.

Steve was going up against his teammates for the individual events and knew that for this first one, he had it in the bag. Butterfly was his specialty. So he focused on beating them and not worry about the other competitors.

He knew his form was good, his strokes powerful. His breaths perfectly timed.

Before he knew it he was touching the end plate and getting out of the water.

He saw a couple other boys getting out of the water after him, but it was clear he had beaten them.

His coaches were cheering almost as loudly as the crowd was and Steve felt a sense of accomplishment, one that wasn’t tied to other worldly dimensions and protecting nosy ass teenagers from monsters. He smiled up at the stands and waved.

He took off his goggles and waited for the judges to read the results. A boy from Chicago was second and third place was from Minnesota. But Steve was the undisputed winner.

His teammates mobbed him, jumping on him and cheering.

He watched as his teammates won medals in their heats too. Then they called it for the boys for the day.

Steve hit the showers ready to get that oil slick feel of the chlorine off his skin. Grateful that the cap protected his hair.

He scrubbed his skin with the soap and again he could feel someone watching him, but this time when he looked up, he couldn’t tell who it was as there were so many people around.

It made his skin crawl. It was like sharing the shower room with Tommy and Billy all over again. An experience Steve would rather not repeat. But it wasn’t as though he could go to the coaches with anything, either. There was always going to be boys staring at you in the showers. It didn’t necessarily mean they were gay either. Hatred. Envy. Even curiosity.

He quickly got dressed and hurried out to his waiting friends.

Jeff put his arm around Steve’s shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”

Steve looked behind him, but didn’t see anything. He nodded. “Just jumpy being so far away from home, I guess.”

Eddie frowned.

Wayne clapped his hands together. “All right, Jeff and I are going site-seeing this afternoon. You boys behave yourselves.”

“Never!” Eddie cackled.

Jeff gave him a high five. “The only way to be.”

Steve and Eddie watched as they walked away talking about all the places they were going to see.

“This about your comic, baby?” Eddie whispered.

Steve shook his head. “I’ll tell you all about it when we get to your hotel room.”

Once they were up in Eddie’s room, Steve flopped on the bed dramatically.

“I would give up sports all together if I didn’t think my dad would kill me if I tried.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean, gorgeous?” He got up onto the bed next to Steve.

“Ever since I fell from popularity or lost my crown or whatever,” Steve grumbled, “it’s been really hostile in the locker rooms.”

Eddie laid down next to him. “Even with the swim guys?”

“Before this trip I wouldn’t have thought so,” Steve murmured. “But I’ve caught Ezra staring at me more than once and it’s making my skin crawl. And I’ve been feeling it when he’s not around, too. I don’t know, it might be in my head.”

Eddie pulled him close. “I doubt it’s in your head, Steve. I know you better than that. You wouldn’t be feeling it if there wasn’t something to it.”

Steve let out a sigh. “I guess.”

Eddie pressed his lips to the column of his throat. “I know just how to distract you.”

Steve hummed. “I was hoping you might.”

****

Steve stood in line for the final event. The 4x100 m/yd medley or relay swim. They were all bouncing on their toes, trying to shake off their nerves.

Steve was up third with the butterfly and Ezra was last with free style, with Nike and Lyle starting for back and breaststroke respectively.

Lyle was their weakest link, and being second, it could really hurt them if Steve couldn’t pick up time. Ezra was by far and away their best and fastest swimmer. His front crawl was incredible to watch.

Nick got up on the podium and readied himself for the starting shot. Steve nodded in approval. Nick’s stance was good.

BANG!

And they were off. Nick slicing through the water like a knife. He spun around and began the backstroke. He had an instinct that couldn’t be taught and that’s why he was the best at his part of the relay.

He touched the plate below the podium and Lyle was off, showcasing exactly why he was on the team. His broadstroke was good, but not great. What he was great at was getting off the starting podium at the precise moment Nick touched it.

Steve got up and focused on Lyle coming back down the length of the pool. Lyle was doing well, keeping up with the other teams and not losing any ground that Nick bought them.

He leapt in and all the roar of the crowd, the splashing of the other teams’ members, even the sound of his heart beat went away. It was just him and the water. No distractions, no worries, no fears, just the way the water flowed around him.

Each movement was flawless, breathtaking. Then he was touching the pad and Ezra was splashing into the water above him. He pulled himself out of the water and the world came rushing back in.

He was handled a towel and he began scrubbing his face so he could watch Ezra finish their heat. It really wasn’t even contest. Ezra turned before the other teams were even half way. Ezra would have to get a cramp and drown in order for them to catch up.

Something he obviously didn’t do. He tapped the panel and pulled himself out of the water. He looked up at the time clock with a frown. They had won. Of course they had, but even Steve could tell that hadn’t beaten the record.

Even though Steve and Ezra were co-captains, they had flipped a coin in the locker room to see who would be on the podium if they medalled. Ezra had won.

Steve smiled at his teammate. They had kicked ass.

They all hurried to get showered and changed so that they could celebrate with the people that had come to see them compete and their coaches.

Then they got the news. Nationals were going to be held in California that year in two weeks. They only had two weeks to raise the money to go all the way out to California and Steve felt in the pit of his stomach that Nancy was going to bring it up again. But he pushed it as far to the back of his mind as he could.

Now was the time celebrate.

All throughout dinner and as they got ready for bed Steve still felt like Ezra was watching him. It seemed less hostile then from when they were in the showers, but it still sent a chill down Steve spine as he tried to keep the conversation light with the other boy.

The next morning they all packed up, ready to go back to Hawkins.

It had been a fun trip, the weirdness with Ezra aside. Steve had a few medals to take home with him. A couple of golds, three silver, and a bronze. And they were going to Nationals. It had been one hell of a trip.

****

Of course, Nancy had made a fuss about them going to Nationals. She had ranted about it in the school newspaper again.

Even Tommy H stopped to ask him if Nancy had it out for him in particular after the article came out.

It was the first nice thing that Tommy had said in literal months. And the thing was, Steve didn’t know.

In fact Steve was speaking more to Jonathan at the moment than he was Nancy. A fact that hadn’t escaped him.

So he finally cornered her about it at her locker after school a couple of days after the article came out.

“Seriously, Nancy,” he growled. “What the hell is your problem with me?”

She straightened up. “My problem, Steve, is that you played with my heart for almost two years and I’m suddenly supposed to be okay that you’re dating a man?”

Steve looked around to make sure no one was around to hear that. He grabbed her arm and dragged her to an empty class room.

“Are you trying to get me beaten up?” he hissed. “First this campaign of yours against the swim team and now outing me in the middle of the fucking school, Jesus Christ!”

“Does Eddie know he’s dating a coward?”

Steve straightened up and squared his shoulders. “You’re jealous.”

She folded her arms and leaned back on one foot. “What? No I’m not.”

“You are!” he laughed. “This make so much more sense!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve leaned down into her space. “Oh but I do. You see, Nancy. Despite everything I did love you, but you never loved me. You’ve always been waiting for something better, for someone better and you moved on the instant you found it.”

“That’s not true!” Nancy hissed.

“You didn’t even wait until we had officially broken up to sleep with him for fuck’s sake!” Steve hissed back. “And now that I’ve found someone who loves me for who I am, you can’t deal with it. Because you want to remain as your second option. Well, I’m not some college you can fall back to when your first choice falls through. I’m a human being who just wanted you to love him.”

She stomped her foot angrily. “You don’t get to say that. You’re gay, Steve don’t give me this bullshit about loving me. Because you can’t.”

“I did love you, Nance,” Steve insisted. “Maybe I wasn’t sexually attracted to you, but we both got off and you know we did. Love isn’t just about romance and sex. There are other kinds. But I won’t let you continue to hurt me because you’re jealous.”

“What are you going to do about it?” she huffed.

“I’ll tell the journalism teacher that you have a vendetta against me and to talk you off writing sports,” he said with a shrug.

Nancy scoffed. “He wouldn’t do that.”

Steve tilted his head. “You’ll find I still be pretty persuasive when I want to be. And who is he going to believe? Co-captain of the swim team or little Miss Priss?”

Her jaw dropped.

“That’s what I thought.”

And he walked away.

****

Part 5

Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie

@chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

@goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

@justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

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@greeniebean911 @birbsauce @acingthecounts @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

[sanzaibian]

Life is really unjust.

My name is Killian Ndiaye, and I’m intimately acquainted with its bad side. My father died while I was young, leaving me to be raised along with my younger sisters by only my ma. We weren’t rich by any means, so it meant that my ma made ridiculous hours at her job, and that us, when old enough, had to pitch in with part-time jobs.

Thankfully, I was quite an intelligent kid, and still managed to have quite good grades. However, that didn’t mean that school life was easier, as I was always labeled as the “poor nerd” in class, wearing the few simple clothes I owned and sporting the buzzcut my ma cut for me. As she always said, others just cared more about looks than about life.

However, this was not the last of my struggles, quite the countrary as it turned out that I wasn’t the cis straight man I was supposed to become. High school was formative in that sense, as it’s in there that I noticed that I wasn’t into girls like the other guys my age were, and like ma expected me to be.

I… had a very hard time admitting that I was gay. Ma always told me that those “queers” didn’t know what life was like, and that they were just living carelessly, wasting their parent’s efforts… I didn’t want to wast my ma’s efforts, as I love her, yet I couldn’t hide from the truth. I’m gay, and that’s just it.

I vainly thought that I just needed not to be like “those gays”, those who live in the hairdresser’s, the clothing store and the clubs, looking all like fairies, and that everything was going to be alright. How shameful it was when, at 17, I started questioning my gender, so disconnected I feel to masculinity and other men’s experiences, and so uncomfortable I am with the facial hair that just won’t stop growing…

I thought that if I just suppressed it, if I was just the most “normal” I could be, then everything was going to be alright. That perhaps, I just needed to alleviate a bit my dysphoria, and everything was going to be alright.

However, my ma is a very observant person. As I was approaching majority, she started to make comments about a girlfriend, and about me stubbornly shaving my face. I just dismissed those questions, still foolishly hoping that everything would end well.

When I was 18, she asked me whether I was gay. I couldn’t lie to my ma.

And we arrive to now, a few years later. My ma “didn’t want a fairy in her house”, so I stayed with a few friends. But when they went to college and I couldn’t, I was left to fend for myself alone. Now, I live in the streets, and spend my time alternating between finding part-time work and begging in the city. I do it whenever I need to go somewhere, and though I don’t do anything illegal – I even spend some of my meager funds on a transports card – it absolutely does not mean that I’m suddenly well-liked.

Few are those who spare any money. And on top of that, because I’m a black man, I hear plenty of racist comments. As if they thought I didn’t hear them asking me to “return to my country”, even though I’m already there…

And the most depressing fact of this all is, because I can’t really shave anymore, my dysphoria is going through the roof. My life is hell, but I keep at it in the vain hope that I’ll be able to climb back to a respectable life.

However, today was especially terrible. I had found an interesting job of installing the equipment for a big concert, and actually ventured quite far from the center of the city to go to the big theater. When I arrived there, they told me that they weren’t looking for anyone, they had all the help they needed. Dejected, I left, but as I was leaving, another young guy entered. I hang out a bit to hear what was going on, and I heard that he was hired for the temporary job. I guess they thought I would steal from them or something…

It’s so unfair ! I love music, and at school always wanted to do something that had a link to it ! I was so hyped to work in this job ! I thought that if I worked hard enough, people would even notice me and my good knowledge of the equipment, and would consider me as a good partner for further work ! But, as ever, all those dreams were, once again, cut short…

On the way back, I started begging, but as I reached the back of the first bus, I saw what looked like a man in a dress, wearing makeup and nail polish, being harassed by an older-looking woman.

“(…) and any sensible person ! How do you expect me to do nothing while a pervert is preparing to go to women’s bathrooms and assault girls ? You should be ashamed of endangering others !

- Miss... please stop… I swear I won’t do anything bad…” The person in a dress said, clearly on the brink of tears.

- And how can I trust you ? I know you snakes, you’re just saying this to then go and continue your business unharmed !”

As she was about to continue harassing that person, I decided I needed to step in. I want there to be justice at least somewhere, even if it can’t be in my life. I step between her and the person in a dress, and ask calmly :

“Miss, please stop. They are clearly really hurt by your comments, and everybody around us is uncomfortable with this display.” I say, as I watch everyone else looking away, as if nothing’s happening. Courage shines ever so hard…

- Oh, now a beggar is coming ? You should go back to your country or find a goddamn job rather than profiting off of our hard work !” She said, clutching her designer bag, as if I was going to steal it.

- Miss, these comments are really racist. Please stop.” I stay, choosing to remain calm and composed.

- What, can’t I say what things are ? That’s really all the wokist’s fault, nowadays we can’t say anything, we have to walk on eggshells at all times ! I’m not racist, but if you want racism to stop, you have to stop overreacting at everything !”

She looks at me with a smug look, as I’m about to lose it. I can’t answer anything, because, unfortunately, one can’t argue out of nonsense ! Especially someone like me who’s not trained in rhetoric – I had part-time jobs at the time !

… at least, I can shield that person with a dress from further harassment. I look behind, and see them smiling to me, thankful for my help. If I can help at least one person, I’ll be happy.

Suddenly, the sound of thunder rings in my ears.

No one seems to be bothered by it, save for the old woman who seems to be just as uncomfortable as I am. I turn to see the person I was protecting, however their eyes glow an unnatural color… What’s-

Before I can even try and understand what’s happening, a headache strikes, and I instinctively put my hand on my face. Fuck, I hope I haven’t gotten a cold or something, medication is hard to come by…

As I’m holding my face, a few fingers make their way in my beard (ugh). But suddenly, I feel it shifting. Intrigued, I touch my beard more thoroughly, and feel the hairs receding, growing smaller and smaller, until they finally come back under my skin.

How did that happen ? I mean, I like not having a beard, but still, it’s not normal… I look in front of me and it seems that the woman is losing wrinkles. What’s happening !

The bus stops. Quite a few people leave. Why was I here ? … yes, I had to do something with the people on it… was it work ? I don’t quite remember…

However, as I look around me, I suddenly notice that the people who looked away previously looked a little bigger. As if they were… bulking up ? As I notice that, I feel pain on my body. When I look down, it seems that my undernourished body looks more healthy… No, not just healthy, it looks… muscular ? I’m… inflating, somehow ?

The bus starts again, yet this time, its course seems smoother… I look in front of me and notice that the old – now young – woman’s hair is now tied up in a bun. Almost instinctively, I take my hand to my hair, and feel it moving.

What was a short messy afro is growing, however, something even weirder happens. As it grows, I feel strands joining, growing into large spirals. It’s no longer a sponge-like mass, it’s more like… coils ? My hand presses less and less. I need to be careful about my hair, I don’t want to have to go to the hairdresser again !

I stop myself at my thoughts. Hairdresser ? They’re a waste of time ! Only those who don’t care about life – or don’t have to care about life – go to those and try to look good. Yet… it feels good. No, actually, it feels... right…

Like, it’s right to want to look good ? I mean, look at me, I have muscles, I have good hair, I look good ! Suddenly, I feel my t-shirt straightening and softening. I look down as its color drains, and it splits in the middle. I smirk, and as the collar hardens and folds, I open it the shirt up to the middle of my chest, right as buttons materialize.

The woman in front of me, now sporting a much more formal costume, sighs and gives me a black jacket. I take it and put it on expertly on top of my dress shirt, fitting it right down to the belt holding my dark jeans. She then sits on one of the seats, more in the front of the bus.

She really looks stylish, as one should… after all, fashion is the be-all and end-all ! One of the other passengers comes to me, quite a muscular guy dressed in a black suit, and starts putting makeup on me. I close my eyes as foundation, concealer, mascara, and tattoos are put on my face and body. I can do it all myself, but having a professional do it is always better. That’s why I always go around accompanied.

I suddenly open my eyes. What the hell is happening ! I don’t have a tattoo ! I don’t do makeup ! Hair and clothes suffice ! ...

I scratch my shaved sides, until I reach my earrings. Yeah, it suffices… good hair, good clothes, good makeup and good accessories… it suffices…

“Are you good, Mx. Ndiaye ?” The makeup artist asks me.

- Yes, don’t worry, I’m good.” I say, with a deep yet feminine voice. It seems wrong somehow…

- Do you want to see the results ?

- Of fucking course !”

The makeup artist grabs a pocket mirror and holds it to me.

Oh yeah, I’m so fucking gender ! Plus my necklaces oozes fanciness. Like, it makes me look so fucking rich !

I look around me. The vehicle somehow seems more… cramped, even though at the same time it seems more spacious, with its large seats. My head hurts, it really feels like something is wrong…

Suddenly, the limousine stops. Annoyed, I shout to the chauffeur :

“Magdalena ! Why the hell are you stopping ? We’re not at the villa yet !”

The chauffeur looks back. Wasn’t she an old grumpy woman just now ? She looks so young and has such fancy clothes, even though it’s quite clear that she isn’t from high society.

Ugh, my head really hurts...

“I’m sorry, Mx. Ndiaye, we have new guests to pick up at your request.”

I look around and see that person with a dress leaving. Suddenly, it all comes back as a flash of light. I’m not supposed to be an ultra-rich person, I don’t need all of these fancy clothes and accessories ! … I’M SUPPOSED TO BE ON THE STREETS !

That person, as if they were reading in my mind, answers in a rich and deep yet slightly unsettling feminine voice :

“You have the gratitude of the calamities, Mx. Ndiaye. Accept this… gift.” They say, smiling as they get out, followed by the makeup artist and one of my two personal guards – the other staying at the front of the vehicle.

Suddenly, it’s as if a fog descends on my mind. Like, what was I thinking about ? Oh, yeah, I was thinking about my next song that I’ll film in the villa ! Ugh, it’s so annoying that my agent asks me to pump out banger after banger like, I have all the money in the world… but I guess it’s alright to work a little. This way, I get famous and get laid, and that’s the only thing that really matters.

As I’m about to shout on the chauffeur to ask why she’s not turning the limousine back on, two guys, a cute twink and hot hunk, climb aboard. I lick my lips. It’s gonna be a great night.

“So, guys,” I say, letting them take place in my arms at my right and my left. “have you heard of my new song that’s gonna come out ? If you’re good enough, I might even let you in in the filming for the clip…”

And the limousine sets off.

The sun comes to my eyes, and I wake up in a giant luxurious queen bed, with my two conquests sleeping tight at my left and my right.

I smile as I get up, naked. Yesterday’s clothes were flung in all directions, and as I approach them, I see they’re all crumpled. I chuckle. We had a ton of fun last night… Besides, Magdalena’s gonna be the one to pick that all up.

I take from the closet a nice pair of white pants and a white shirt, and put them on quickly. I go to the balcony, and look at the view.

Life is really unjust.

I get to live the perfect life, while others are left to pick up the remaining pieces.

But when you’re on its good side,

Life is fucking lit.

[peri]

Peridot and Unlearning (Internalized & Externalized) Homophobia

i.e., here's why peridot's redemption arc is partially (a metaphor?) about unlearning homophobia

the title sounds crazy but bear with me here.

let's start off with saying NO, fusion does not = romantic love. that's an age old discourse and it can be so easily solved by stating there are many different forms of love, and sometimes fusion is just for power (which is a form of love in-of itself, albeit fucked; the love for power or toxic love) HOWEVER, in many cases, such as Garnet's, it most certainly is about romantic love. so to keep it as brief as possible, thats what we have in mind in this post. it's gay love okay.

now, let's talk about the scene i just captioned. this is from the episode "too far," which is an episode about developing a crush and accidentally hurting them in the process of trying to impress them. (however you want to look at it, but thats how i interpret it) the fact it starts off with casual homophobia is important, coz it shows peridot still has a lot of prejudices despite recently becoming part of the team, which is full of gay people, undeniably.

peridot's redemption arc is partially about coming to terms with your sexuality, retraining your mind from internalized homophobia after being raised in such a homophobic society/household, and becoming proud of your sexuality / identity.

OBSERVE:

"you dont understand! im protecting a planet i was once trying to destroy! i used to follow every order - every rule!"

"now im a traitor! a rebel!"

"A CRYSTAL QUEEEEEER"

sorry i had that joke stored for this analysis since 2019. anyways

i'm going to try to keep this short, but more under the cut.

IM SO BAD at organizing my words so this post is rly hard to make so im gonna do it like this.

MORE EVIDENCE THAT PERIDOT'S REDEMPTION ARC IS COMING TO TERMS WITH BEING GAY / UNLEARNING HOMOPHOBIA:

being frustrated about joining a lesbian/gay gang

coming from a society where homosexuality is forbidden

telling off your mom by saying youre joining some rebel lesbians/gays to fight her oppressive society

wearing pride flags (stars) everywhere after coming out

looking up to experienced lesbians (Garnet)

the scissoring joke (from "too far." if you know you know)

furthermore, i thought it'd be fair to include peridot learning how to respect how people identify in other ways, such as names / how they prefer to be addressed. this, most of the time, goes hand-in-hand with homophobia.

peridot, narrating: "he also said he wanted me to stop calling him "the" steven." steven: "its just, steven!" peridot: "i told him i'd call him whatever i want!" [hiss] peridot: "he told me that was rude."

(from the episode "log date 7 15 2")

peridot learns how to respect how people identify. lgbt win

i should add she also eventually learns how to respect Garnet's whole deal in the same episode (log date 7 15 2) which was also a huge moment in her unlearning homophobia. which, btw if you dont know or dont remember, Garnet does by comparing herself to peridot's (assuming) gay ship between Percy and Pierre from Camp Pining Hearts, saying she was the optimized version of herself (the reason peridot "ships" them; theyre the best team logically according to her analysis ship chart)

anyways, now the biggest most obvious point is the fact that peridot actually is gay. i've referred to this episode a few times now, but thats becoz it really is a huge point in proving my 'thesis';

in the episode "too far," peridot is shown to get obsessed with impressing amethyst. peridot experiences something they havent yet up until this point: a crush. i mean, you can interpret it as you wish, but thats how i saw it. the butterflies, the obsession with making someone laugh, the fact peridot states amethyst is objectively the best gem of the crystal gems and emphasizes "damaging her standing with the best gem here" with their apology to amethyst after hurting her feelings.

and um, this.

🌈yeag

sorry im losing any professionalism i started this post with. also this is focusing on early-season / redemption arc peridot which is why its kind of short and is missing stuff from later seasons. i hope this was at least somewhat concise and easy to understand, and i hope yall see my point of view here! feel free to add on (theres SO MUCH its easy for it to skip my mind) if you have any other points youd like to make to support my cause and uprising. love you

[americascomic]

Hello. I sat here for a good 30 minutes trying to think of best how to ask this question without giving the online version of an annoying exposition dump, so I hope this somewhat makes sense: I’ve found myself, increasingly, having conversations with the more tenderqueer-esque queers in my life surrounding slurs- specifically slurs like faggot and tranny. I’m a trans guy, and I was told by another trans guy of the genre of person i just mentioned that only gay men can reclaim the word faggot, and trans women can reclaim the word tranny. I thought this was a stupid and gatekeep-y idea, and told him so, but i have been genuinely wondering if this is just a manifestation of terminally online induced queer infighting or a form of ignorant transmisogyny on my part. Is tranny a slur directed at and only to be reclaimed by trans women? Or is it just another tick in the barrel of a long line of slur speciation discourse?

I think the short answer of who can say what slur is "this is terminally online bullshit"

And my second answer is "this is a conversation that mostly people under the age of 30 have, and people mostly online have." I think the age is important - it's feels like it's a developmental phase a lot of queers go through, where they negotiate their identity." So, like I'm patient (if a little irked) when I see it on my feed. Or hear some dipshit socially awkward t-femme at Bluestockings rudely chime in to a conversation I'm having with a friend.

and I sometimes put it as a hypothetical;

I'm telling you right now, as a trans woman, in my lived experience, people of your exact intersecting identities are only allowed to say the word "tranny" on a Tuesday and "faggot" on a Friday. If you forget, remember 'tranny' and 'Tuesday' starts with 'T' and 'faggot' and 'Friday' starts with 'F'

Like, that's absurd for me to ask. And so I think that kind of forces the thought that at the end of the day I'm the one asking it. There'll be no consensus on this issue.; you have to decide for yourself whatever or not to respect one point of view over the other.

We say "listen to black people" but I had this moment in my life where IRL I did a call-out of Nazis in my community and a Black friend told me that I was talking over people of color and another thanked me for speaking up in a way that they wouldn't be listened to. Who is right? Neither. Both. You have to decide for yourself and have a strong sense of race. Same with interacting with our own queer community.

Who can say what queer slur where and when is a thing that can never be litigated online. It's such an interpersonal person-to-person thing. There's no pundit square that can fit all slurs and all identities and all experiences.

in the case of the teen in the previous story who told me not to use the word "tranny," I immediately retorted that people say that word to me on the street and spit at me, which means they recognize it as a thing of power and so I will use that power. And I don't think she'd ever had copped to it, but I think changed her mind because she was saying "tranny" over the next months.

I think for some of this shit, us trans women policing who can say "tranny" is us just doing a proxy war for transmisogny. Like, we get transmisogny in our community, an AFAB person queer person of some type who could probably leverage their privilege against us says "tranny," I can see it irking some. But, have you met a trans woman? Everything irks us. We're reprehensible.

And, I think in terms of your conversation and your friend. I dunno, I think of who-gets-to-be-lesbian discourse. I see so many people online twist in the wind trying to justify to others that they're a trans masc lesbian, or a non-binary lesbian or a bisexual lesbian and I'm kinda sitting there on my ass wondering why they're trying so hard to get probably the dumbest people online to justify our identity. Like, we're hear, we're queer, get used to it. I sometimes feel of the matter that we're all a mass medium as one and just going about shit without apology as a way to force people to confront our humanity.

Iffen you want my personal feelings on the matter, you're just as impacted by the codified violence of the state that's imposed on us and so we're all faggots at the end of the day. But the t-girl sitting next to me might feel differently, and you have to negotiate with that. Sometimes times calls for moments of respect and sometimes it's a matter of saying "fuck it" and doing the thing you know how it is.

If you would like, I can draw you a card that says "Amber, a hot trans woman, says I can say 'faggot'"

Finally, I'll say I wrote a couple paragraphs for you so I'm going to force you to return the favor and just challenge you to sit on your ass and ask yourself in honest ways what the word means and what it means to you and what's beautiful and what's ugly about the word. That - an internal process - a lot more valuable thing worth to litigate then everybody in-community being cops to each other.

And then after that, I always like to challenge people to look beyond the debate. This post I made on the matter is about a dead trans teen. It's nice to debate words, but it's also nice to look out at our wonderful, annoying community, name problems we see that creates material struggle, and then imagine solutions.

[ineffable-rohese]

Good Omens, or the Disruption of Gay = Death

CW: historical homophobic violence and death

@queerfables recently wrote an excellent meta on slash fiction and the concept of "Taking Away the Glass". I had some thoughts, which I was going to add as a reblog, but this seems to spiraled away from the original post, so I'm posting this on its own, but I'm referencing their ideas and references, so maybe go read that first.

This is especially for those of you who are, say, under 25 (which is apparently most of Tumblr), and who haven't had much opportunity to learn queer history. Let me say, I'm not a queer historian. I am a queer who has lived through recent history and can reasonably clearly remember the last at least 35 years of it, and I was fortunate to have had schooling that did include some earlier queer history and didn't shy away from queer topics. (I recognize now what a revolutionary bit of teaching that was.)

I also want to acknowledge that I'm writing from a place of relative privilege, as a white cis woman living in a progressive part of North America, and that some of what is history for me is still life for others. I am speaking from my own personal experiences here -they are by no means universal. But I think it's important for us to share our stories, so this is part of mine.

When You're Dying in America, at the End of the Millenium

Fables quotes a video by thingswithwings as saying "Homosexuality, or just loving touch between two people of the same gender, is equivalent to death in this media narrative." In the 1980s and 1990s, when Good Omens was written and first published, that wasn't a metaphor. When I was a baby proto-queer, what I heard about being gay was that it killed you.

My formative memories of what it meant to be gay weren't pride parades or even riots. It was gay men dying by the thousands and governments and religious leaders ignoring them at best, and welcoming their deaths at worst. To be gay, and a gay man in particular, was to be marked for death. It wasn't until a straight white boy who got it from a blood transfusion died that AIDS became something that "normal" people had any empathy for and governments really started to act.

The gay representation I rember in the media as a moderately sheltered child from the 80s and 90s with left-of-center middle class white parents was news about AIDS, Philadelphia (death from AIDS), Ellen (cancelled after she came out), and eventually RENT (desperately trying not to die of AIDS or capitalism). I knew a very small handful of out gay adults, and no trans adults at all.

My first time being in a large group of queer people was a vigil for Matthew Sheppard, who had been beaten and left to die tied to a fence. I remember being terrified. I wasn't out yet. I knew people who hated us might be there, this group of mostly young queer people gathering with candles to cry over a boy we'd never met, and over the many others who had died just for being what we were. I'd never even kissed a girl yet. I only knew my queerness in relation to death.

In the last decade or so of the 20th century, being queer was about grasping any bit of joy you could from a world that very clearly would prefer you were dead. It was defiance and anger and fear every time you held your love's hand, or kissed them in public. My second date with the person who would become my spouse was interrupted by some dude in a truck shouting slurs at us was we walked down a quiet street. We laughed it off - no one had thrown anything, or beaten us, so it wasn't a big deal. It should have been a big deal, but we couldn't let it be. When you're marked for misery and death, you can't let the little things get to you. You just hold each other's hands as tightly as you can and defiantly keep walking.

An Angel and a Demon and Immortality

Good Omens was written during some of the darkest days of the AIDS epidemic (which is still ongoing, by the way), before there were effective treatments, when gay = death. It is a mainstream, mass-market book. It wouldn't be shelved in the "Gay and Lesbian" section at the book store, it would be shelved with humour, or possibly fantasy.

And yet, here we have these two beings. An angel and a demon, with an unlikely friendship, and who are very clearly written as gay. Or, at least, as percieved as gay by outside observers. Aziraphale in particular is (in one of my favorite lines) "gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide," and "THE southern pansy" (self-proclaimed). Together, they are "consenting bicycle repairmen" (Neil Gaiman's explanation for context) who Anathema was safe with the whole time.

Whether you caught the subtextual shippyness of their relationship (and to be honest, I only did a little when I first read it), they were very obviously written as precieved-gay characters, in a story where their precieved gay-ness wasn't the cause of their downfall. Yes, an 11 year old calls Aziraphale a faggot. But he doesn't get arrested or beaten of killed - he just gets covered in cake. And he loves cake! The attempted insult just rolls off him like water off a duck's back, because he has no pressure not to be visibly gay.

Becuase, see, unlike us humans, unlike his gay contemporaries, he is not marked for death. He's an angel. He's immortal. Even more, he was made by God, exactly how God wanted, presumably, and that is intelligent, English, and so very gay.

Niel and Terry are saying so much here. You can be gay and loved. You can be gay and have a deep relationship. You can be gay because that's how God made you. You can be gay forever, through all time, with someone beside you, finding joy in your life.

You can be gay and not die. You can be gay and live.

[trans-bread-of-life]

Yesterday morning, I had a dream where I was on an elevator with a few people from a “discipleship school” (borderline cult) that I went to back in my Evangelical days. One of the ministry leaders got onto the elevator, said hi by name to every person but me, and only when I said hi to her again did she say hi, still refusing to use my name.

The dream was probably a realistic picture of what would happen if I ran into this particular woman someday, but I’m also wondering if it doesn’t have something to say more broadly about the experience of being a trans man.

As a cis-passing trans guy, I don’t really have a lot of places to belong in the queer community. I’m not a gay man, and gay male spaces are generally a minefield of dysphoria & avoiding chasers anyway. I relate to the sapphics, but as a man, I never really fit in their spaces (even when they try to be more inclusive). Trans-femmes have their own right-knot communities, but I really just have a few isolated trans-masc friends I go to for advice. I could probably fit in with cishet people, but I would have to hide the fact that I’m trans.

And when it comes to dating (mostly women & feminine people, as I’m kind of 90-10 bi favoring women), I keep shooting my shot and being turned down over and over again.

I don’t think I’m the only person experiencing this. In fact, I think it’s a systemic challenge that trans men face. As we are transitioning and reaching the times when we most need strong community support, we’re suddenly forced into the isolation of North American manhood. The message that we hear (usually implied, but occasionally out loud) is, “you wanted to be a man, so welcome to the worst part.”

But of course trans men are even more isolated than cis men, because all of these wild things are happening to our bodies with no one there to teach us to shave or show us how to navigate these new gender roles or help us figure out what the fuck to do with all of this ass hair.

I’m lucky to be involved in very queer church circles, where there is a critical mass to form a robust queer friend group, but not a big enough group to break off into specific identities. But that’s the only place where I’ve found myself belonging to a group and forming deep friendships.

I want there to be parties and queer community events/spaces where my presence is actively wanted & encouraged. I want to have memories that counter the many experiences I have (and the many more that I will have) of romantic rejection. I want to feel like I’m enough, and I want to feel like I belong.

I don’t know what the solution is (besides more spaces open to all LGBTQ+ people and maybe me figuring out to be hotter or something?) but I have to keep hoping it will get better.

In the meantime, hug a trans guy (with his consent) the next time you see one.

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

Rose Reads Love In The Big City

Part I

So as I finished reading Part I and went to look at the questions that @bengiyo provided , I felt that I couldn’t really talk about this chapter from any other place than my own experience. I usually have a hard time writing from a non personal view point which is why I don’t write that much on here. But I wanted to be part of this event and it felt disingenuous to not write from a personal place. With that said.

I moved to London when I was 24 with one of my best friends. Let’s call him P. We shared a flat for almost 4 years. And our lives were not that different from Young and Jaehee. The major difference here was that I was single for all that time and didn’t sleep with anyone. I was ace but didn’t call it that at the time.

But I saw a lot of ourselves in this chapter. When we weren’t working and he wasn’t getting laid, we would spend most of our time together. We would talk about the boy du jour, and why I hated him, except when I didn’t and in that case P was the one that didn’t like him. We would visit gay clubs after work and I was drunk by 8pm and by that time, he had a companion for the rest of the night so I would go home. Of course I would wake up at some point when he staggered back home alone or not. If alone we would talk about the night, and if not alone I would save the conversations till morning. Except for the few times when I was actually still awake and would quickly be put in charge of brewing coffee and providing food to soak up all the alcohol.

This went on for almost 4 years. He had some longer relationships, and by that I mean, maybe six months, and I abstained from all that. Although in the beginning P was relentless about my need to meet someone and get laid, eventually he got the message that that wasn’t me.

We also smoked way too much, drank way too much and I had way too much fun with his sex life. I got very familiar with the local clinic where he would get tested and got to laugh about his poor life choices when something didn’t go well.

One of the my clearest memories of that time was one time where he had a boyfriend, going on like 3 months, the one I liked and apparently he didn’t, and he brought another guy home, and after he left, I was being a judgemental bitch just has P gets a message from a former hook up saying he needs to get tested. My immediate reply was – instant karma. Obviously every time I made a joke about him being a slut I could always expect one in return asking when would I join the convent.

All this to say I saw a lot of myself and P in Part I. However, I ended up relating more to Young than to Jaehee which is interesting but makes perfect sense.

So now for the questions. I don’t think I can answer one at a time so I’ll just go through questions 1, 3 and 4 for now.

Well most things stuck out to me just because I could so clearly picture it in my head almost as a memory. The whole dynamic felt very familiar to me. Just like Young and Jaehee, we were each other’s home. The one we always returned too.

I read the fight the same way as the author did in a way. I saw it as a betrayal. But I don’t think it was about outing him, as he himself is not sure about that. It was the first time that Jaehee put someone else before Young. She told the fiancé the truth, because in that moment he was more important than Young. And that was what felt like a betrayal. Because although they shared their bodies with a number of different people, and even momentary feelings, emotionally Young had an expectation that he came first.

And now tying it with the fourth question. Me and P never had any sort of problems regarding optics. Perhaps this is a cultural nuance that I miss.

But as I was reading it, I kept waiting for the break. For when one of them was no longer happy with this arrangement. This is not to say that there needs to be a break. But in my experience, there was a break. First in the form of long distance when I returned home. We would talk everyday and have video chats more than once a week at first. Eventually the distance in geography translated into a distance in the relationship. However whenever he came back home and we were together there was still a semblance of what we shared before.

But eventually the real break came in the form of a new relationship. Eventually he met someone, and now they’ve been together for years and that person and I never really got along. There was no hostility and it’s not that I didn’t like him. We just didn’t mesh.

After they’d been together for a while, he started having a problem with our relationship. Mostly with the fact that I was an influence in his life, and for some reason he thought that meant that his influence was diminished. And apparently I was a bad influence. I will not speak to that because it really doesn’t matter.

So P made a choice. And he chose his boyfriend. I haven’t talked to P in almost two years. Because as much as we wanted to believe that our relationship was important, and bro’s before hoes and all that crap, the reality is that in this amatonormativity we live in, there really isn’t any space for that. Sharing your life with someone that doesn’t involve romance has an expiration date. And more often than not, eventually you will find a “real” partner and that will not leave space for anyone else.

And the thing is normally this would happen just like in the novel. I, the woman, would be the one that would “move on”, perhaps get married and have no space for any other significant relationship in my life.

Because it’s what’s expected. Eventually you will find your “actual” person and be normal. Move in together, get married and whatever you had with someone else was youth inspired and not for the long haul. Because who would be happy with that? I mean, Jaehee certainly didn’t seem like she was ready to get married any time soon, and although I can only guess at some of the pressures she was feeling in the context of her culture, it’s not like that doesn’t translate to my own.

Me and P never had anyone look at us weird because of our closeness. Not my family or his, or any of our friends. The only person that had a problem with that was his last partner. And of course P made the natural choice. Because let’s be real. At the end of the day, who would actually choose a friend over a relationship? I mean, I would but I’m not what anyone would call “normal” and that is just one of the many reasons why.

I don’t know what’s gonna happen with Young and Jaehee. I haven’t read past the first part. I hope they find their way to each other. But that ending – “that Jaehee didn’t live here anymore” hit me like a ton of bricks.

Thanks to @twig-tea for being my editor.

[tinydefector]

Gosh I'm so gay for holomatter avatar of Cyclonus like you can smack with those tits

So may I please request a smut with holomatter cyclonus with gn reader

Pretty women

Cyclonus x Human

Word count: 2-3K (didn't count XD)

Warnings: Smut, holoform, titplay, fingering, slight breeding kink.

Gods holomatter Cyclonus is so fine. Just GOD FUCKIN DAMN!! May have gotten a little to into writing this. But like if anyone draws Cyclonus in a corset I will drool. Cause I can tell you there will be more with Cyclonus holomatter form cause damn he be fine.

_________________

their eyes linger on Cyclonus from across their hab suite. It felt strange watching him, well, not technically him his Holomatter avatar. It was gorgeous, almost Victorian woman like and he was wearing a corset, studying the holoform in a mirror. His hair shimmers in the light, dark purple curls that they wish to run their fingers through the locks but didn't want to mess up the curls either.

"Cy, I've gotta know what made you pick this as your holoform?, She's... you look really pretty. " They state while continuing to watch him as he over looks his form. Cyclonus glanced up from the mirror, his violet eyes narrowing slightly as he registered their presence.

"I did not choose this holoform," Cyclonus replied, his voice calm and measured. "It was assigned, holomatter works in rather strange ways. And as for your comment... thank you, I suppose. However, I have no interest in the aesthetics of a holoform. It is merely a means to blend in with organic when we visit other planets." He paused for a moment, studying the individual's face. "Is there something specific you wished to discuss, or did you simply feel the need to comment on my appearance?"

Their eyes continue to linger on Cyclonus in the holoform. Their hands slowly brushed his hair to the side. The purple locks feel almost real. "Can I touch?" They ask softly. Cyclonus' optics narrowed further as their hand reached out to touch his holoform's hair. His initial instinct was to pull away, to reject such intimacy. But the softness in their voice. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze fixed on their hand, before finally nodding. "Yes, you may," he replied, his voice softer than usual.

As their fingers brushed against his hair, he couldn't help but feel a strange sensation, almost akin to a shiver, travel through his spark. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one that he couldn't quite comprehend. But he allowed them to continue, their touch gentle and affectionate. Leaning into the touch as their hands cup his face, tracing his eyebrows and nose.

"I must admit," Cyclonus spoke up quietly, his optics now focused on their face. "This holoform... it allows me to experience things that I never thought I would. it feels... different, yet strangely intimate." He reached out, placing his hand on top of theirs, a subtle gesture of connection. Though still reserved, there was a hint of warmth in his optics as he met their gaze.

They lean in and pull Cyclonus into a kiss. Hands gripping his hips. Purple lips  smears between the two of them. Their chest is flush agaisnt Cyclonus breast. "Fuck, you look stunning, like I know your handsome in general but your really pretty in this form" they hum agaisnt his lips.

Cyclonus' optics widened in surprise as they pulled him into the kiss, their hands firmly gripping his hips. His initial instinct was to pull away, to maintain some semblance of control over the situation. But the intensity of their kiss, the way their lips moved against his own, ignited a flicker of desire within him. his own hands, finding their way to their waist, holding them close. The taste of their lips, the warmth of their body pressed against his, it was a sensation unlike any he had experienced before.

When their lips finally parted, Cyclonus' eyes were dark with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. He leaned in, capturing their lips in another heated kiss, allowing himself to enjoy the feeling, to experience the intimacy in such a different form.

"Cy.." They whine softly, hands slowly trailing up the corset he wore, hands kneading his breast as they kiss him again. "Can I play with your tits please?" They ask. Pressing their face into his shoulder and peppering small kisses across his skin.

Cyclonus felt a surge of heat rush through his systems as their hands trailed up his corset and kneaded his breast. The sensations were foreign, yet undeniably pleasurable, strange with how soft it made him feel in that moment. "Yes," Cyclonus replied, his voice laced with a mix of desire and vulnerability. "You may... play with them."

He tilted his head back slightly, giving them better access to his shoulder, as their small kisses sent shivers down his spine. The touch of their lips against his skin, combined with their hands exploring his form, it had him melting in their hands like putty.

Cyclonus grabs them, slowly leading them backwards before pushing them down onto their bed. A gasp leaves them as they scurring up to rest on their elbows as Cyclonus sits himself in their lap. A large grin falls across their face as they look up at him hands moving to grip his hips.

He watched them with a hunger in his optics, a hunger that matched their own eagerness. feeling the warmth of their body beneath him. Their hands gripping his hips sent a jolt of pleasure through his frame, and he leaned forward, his own hands finding purchase on either side of their head as he hovered over them.

The grin only served to fuel his desire further, and he allowed himself a small smirk in response. As their hand moved to untie the corset, he held their gaze, the air heavy with anticipation. The slow untying of the corset seemed to stretch out time, heightening the tension between them. "Pest," he mutters softly.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against their ear as he whispered, his voice low and husky. "You're very soft, its nice having you under me," he murmured, his breath warm against their skin. "And I find that... exhilarating."

He claimed their lips in a searing kiss, his hands roaming their body with a newfound urgency. The corset fell away, forgotten, Their lips moved against his as they discarded the corset. Hands are coming up to cup and squeeze Cyclonus breast. Teasing the nipples while pressing them together. "God, they are so soft. You look like a Goddess on a throne, " they utter breathlessly.

Cyclonus' systems buzzed with pleasure as their hands cupped and squeezed his breasts, teasing his nipples. His head tilted back slightly, a low moan escaping his vocalizer. "You have a way with words, little silver tongue teases," Cyclonus murmured, his voice filled with a mix of desire and appreciation.

Thier lips work down Cyclonus' shoulder, nipping and sucking on the soft skin before finally taking more of his nipples in Their mouth. Sucking and pulling on it while they continue to squeeze and leave finger marks in the soft flesh of the other.

Cyclonus' breath hitched as they worked their lips against his chest, back arched, a low moan escaping him once again. The exquisite blend of pleasure and pain coursed through his circuits, driving him closer to a precipice of desire. "That feels good," he mumbles out, eyes closing as he slowly grinds down against their thighs.

They continued squeezing and leaving finger marks on his other breast, slapping them and pushing them together as they pressed their face into his cleavage, humming contently, the flames of arousal rising within him. He threaded his fingers through their hair, his grip gentle yet firm, encouraging their actions, guiding them where he wants their lips.

Cyclonus moans loudly, They leave a bite mark on the underside of his breasts, blowing cold air across the abused flesh before moving onto the next one. Fingers dancing across the perky nipple. Their other hand gripping Cyclonus' thigh. "Mmm could spend hours doing this, best tits on ship," they mumble again the warm flesh.

Cyclonus's frame tensed as they left a bite mark on the underside, the mix of pain and pleasure sending a surge of electricity through his circuits. Their fingers danced across his perky nipple, He couldn't help but let out a low growl, his optics flickering with a mix of pleasure and a hint of amusement at their words. "Flattery will get you everywhere, sweetspark" he replied, his voice laced with desire.

They moan loudly as Cyclonus presses his chest into their face. Their fervour matched his own growing desire, and Cyclonus let out a low growl of pleasure as they left bite marks, hickies, and bruises on his sensitive skin. The mix of pain and pleasure intensified the sensations coursing through his frame, driving him closer to the edge of pleasure.

He couldn't help but arch into their touch, his body responding eagerly. "What equipment do you have on this pretty form, valve, spike, both?" They ask before once again nipping down on Cyclonus' nipple and suckling hard.

Cyclonus' frame trembled as they asked about the equipment he possessed in his current form. "I have both," he replied, his voice husky with desire. "A valve and a spike." As they suckled hard on his nipple, Cyclonus' back arched, moans escaping his vocalizer. The sensation of their lips and tongue working over his sensitive flesh sent waves of pleasure radiating through his circuits.

He threaded his fingers through their hair, his grip gentle yet firm, encouraging their actions. Their hand works under Cyclonus skirt, eagerly running fingers along his shaft before teasing his clit and pressing fingers into him, curling and thusting. "Mmm so pretty, look even more divine as a carrier, bet this form would plump up so nicely," they coo while suckling. Leaving Cyclonus' nipples sensitive and tender. "Might have to get Tailgate to spark you up for me, get you nice, and plump with a baby," they tease.

Cyclonus' optics widened as their finger thrusting into him caused a gasp of pleasure to escape his vocalizer. He moaned, his back arching as they suckled on his tender and sensitive nipples rotating between them, the sensations intertwining with the pleasure their fingers continued to elicit from him.

Thier fingers drive Cyclonus into overload before they catch his lips in a deep kiss letting him right out the orgasm on their hand. Cyclonus's body trembled with an overwhelming surge of pleasure. His vocalizer released a series of unrestrained moans and gasps as the intensity of the sensations consumed him.

In that moment, his world narrowed down to just the two of them. As the pleasure subsided and his body slowly calmed, he found himself gazing into their their, a mix of gratitude and desire flickering within his own. He reached out, his hand gently cupping their cheek, as a soft smile touched his lips.

"Primus preserve me," he whispered, his voice shaky. They smiled up at him as they pressed their face against his chest. kissing his soft and tender skin skin. "Can we do that again at some point?" They ask with a lopsided smile. Cyclonus' optics softened as they pressed their face against his chest, leaving small kisses on his skin. Their lopsided smile warmed his spark, and he couldn't help but return the affectionate gesture.

"Of course," he replied, his voice filled with a mix of affection and desire. "I would be more than willing to interface in this form again," He brought his hand to gently stroke their cheek, his touch filled with tenderness. "Both you and Tailgate are pesky scraplets," he added.

"Awww don't act like that Cy, you'd look so pretty as a carrier, this form would totally be a milf bod" they tease back, leaning up to kiss him again.