#cw for discussions of transmisogyny

[mr-ribbit]

this isn't meant to soften or reduce the objective transmisogyny + additional hate action going into this, but since the people running these harassment campaigns are acting like they're literal baby children who need their hands held to understand anything, maybe this needs to be said:

what you're doing and how you treat trans women on this website is fucking MEAN. if you want to sit there and honestly convince yourself that you're *not* a transmisogynist or a transphobe or a misogynist or any other type of bigot - like if you genuinely believe that and are confused why people are calling you these things - then maybe we need to start from little primary colored building blocks and tell you that you're being fucking mean and rude and actively harmful to real people who read the things you say. im not sure why we need to start off with "trans women have feelings" - just kidding I know exactly why we need to - but maybe you don't.

no matter who you're talking to, do you honestly think accusing someone you do not know of being a pedophile, en masse, behind their back /and/ in a public forum, is a reasonable way to treat someone for making a tumblr post about video games or political opinions? even if you strongly disagree with the post, you think someone deserves to be treated like that by people they don't know? take a second please and sincerely imagine how that would feel. wouldn't it be scary? wouldn't you wonder who the people were who thought this about you - if they're people you know - if they're just a few people that will continue saying mean things to you forever or if there are thousands of people who choose to dedicate their time and energy specifically to making you feel bad? if you accidentally write a post in the wrong tone or unknowingly interact with a shitty person, that there are uncountable people that will keep track of that just to hurt you later? that's fucking horrifying

and to zone in on what's specifically happening here: do you think randomly accusing people of being pedophiles or sexual abusers has no effect on them? like a lot of you tend to excuse yourself in these discussions by saying "I didn't actually see the context of what they were saying" or "I didn't see that they apologized already" or "I didn't actually understand the post was a joke" or whatever other kneejerk response to make sure *you* aren't seen as a bad person. do you realize that makes you look even meaner? you didn't bother to actually follow up on a thought you had about someone before sending them hateful messages or making public accusations about them? those actions are harmful whether or not you like the victim at the end of the day.

believe it or not some people you send this shit to are survivors of abuse themselves, or have their own historical personal reasons to be weighing in on a touchy subject. when you baselessly decide it's ok to call someone an abuser of any type, that person is probably *also* disgusted by whatever horrible shit you're accusing them of. as someone that hates these things as much as you do in order to attack someone for them: what do you think it's like to have complete strangers think that about you? how many eggshells would you walk on if random people thought so little of you that they were ok doing this?

it's mean. it's heinous, cruel bullying, and if you genuinely think you are not doing it from a place of transmisogyny or hatefuk bias over the victims' identity, then you need to understand that that's not an excuse. "i didn't even know she was trans" ok, it was still mean to call her a pedophile with 200 of your closest friends in public. "im trans so it can't be transphobia" ok it was still mean to assume someone was endorsing abuse when they were talking about being accused of abuse. "i didn't see the post where she said it was a joke" ok it was still mean to actively harass someone without bothering to look into the full context.

at the end of the day, yes, obviously I still think you're all transmisogynist assholes who are clearly willing to gang up on a woman who has nothing to do with your problems simply because she dared to speak on them. i think you're bigoted and unwilling to examine that if it means giving up your vitriol against someone who doesn't like your favorite video game or whatever excuse of the week. but like even if you were just doing it for love of the hate game, it's fucking weird heinous shit and i hope you're happy having that be a central part of your life

to be clear: im not transfemme and if I'm overstepping or talking over anyone please let me know. im not speaking for anyone's actual experiences except my own, which is the experience of being angry at how much literal bullying and harassment I see excused on this so-called progressive queer blogging website

[nekropsii]

asking you this since you’re the only person who understands mituna in the entire fandom in my perception of the hs fandom

is it okay to headcanon mituna as autistic? sorry if you get this type of ask a lot/have already answered this type of ask

Instead of answering this question, I will give some food for thought: Mituna has a TBI. He has Brain Damage. This is a core element of his character. Probably the biggest one. In fact, it's so important to him that it's an injury that has remained with him in death. His TBI is a huge, huge part of what makes him... Well, him. It's why he's interesting.

So... Why is a need felt to also declare him as Autistic? Assuming this is a projection thing, since it tends to be most of the time - if you relate to him for his already canonical Neurodivergency, which is Brain Damage, why does one need to give him Autism as well?

Oftentimes when people headcanon him as Autistic, they tend to minimize or even outright erase his TBI. Oftentimes, people say he's Autistic as the reason he's canon Neurodivergent representation... Even though he's shown no real signs of it, but instead is fully written as a character with a Frontal Lobe Injury, and is constantly stated to have Brain Damage.

TBIs and other Neurodivergencies are often seen as less palatable than Autism. On Tumblr especially, it's far more "acceptable" to be Autistic or ADHD or headcanon a character as such than it is to have Brain Damage or literally any other Neurodivergency or acknowledge that a character is written with those. Autism and ADHD are seen as cute and relatable - even though they're very complex and at times devastating disabilities that do have the potential to seriously fuck up your livelihood, much like Depression and Anxiety, and I'm saying this as someone who has and struggles with all 4 - and are often used to erase the presence of other Neurodivergencies. Hell, it's to the point where people use "Neurodivergency" as a synonym for ADHD and Autism.

Again, I'm not going to answer this question for you. I think there's a way someone could potentially make the narrative of Mituna having Autism prior to the TBI compelling - the TBI has essentially stripped him of his ability to mask, after all, so one could make it be a situation where some of these symptoms are ones he already had, but is only just now really getting shit for because he's no longer able to hide it, and part of that tragedy is knowing that had he never been good at masking, his "friends" would have never accepted him. You could get some interesting questions about that. Was the repression worth it? Would it have been better if he'd just been himself the whole time? I think it's extremely valuable to ask yourself why you see any character as any specific minority - necessary, even - and how that affects not only the character's writing in its original text, but also your relationship with said character. Consider optics. Consider the way in which this character is meant to function in the source material. What purpose do they serve, and what is the driving force behind this character? Is Occam's Razor applicable? Are there other explanations as to why they are the way they are? Perhaps ones that are more succinct, and cover more ground?

Yesterday, I watched a film that has provoked a response in Tumblr that I think is applicable. I Saw The TV Glow. It's a film about a Trans Girl who never finds the strength to accept herself or come out. It's an incredibly gut-wrenching watch. It made me cry several times, and there are parts that made me feel a deep pain in my chest. I sat through 95% of the film with a pit in my stomach. I had to lay on the floor in the dark for a while after I finished. There's a scene where the main character is asked whether she likes girls or boys. She says she thinks she likes TV shows, and elaborates by saying that every time she tries to think about that kind of thing, it feels like someone's cutting her open and shoveling out her insides until there's nothing left. Not that there was anything in there to start with, of course - she says she knows there isn't, but she's too scared to look for herself and see.

That scene was about how Gender Dysphoria can completely disrupt your sexuality and repulse you from the thought of that level of connection with others, because it is, in essence, a deep disturbance with the nature of who you are as a person. Many people who are Asexual, or Aromantic, or both, related to that scene because it, on the surface, depicts discomfort with romance and sexuality. What they failed to understand by chalking it up to its own sexuality, is the fact that that scene wasn't depicting a Sex-Repulsed Asexual, or a Romance-Repulsed Aromantic, it was depicting a Trans Girl who is at such deep odds with herself and her identity that she cannot grapple with the concept of loving or being loved.

What, functionally, is the purpose of slapping an extraneous label onto a character that is meant to depict a certain thing? What is the purpose of assigning the label of "Autistic" to a character meant to depict the tragedy of a loss of support after gaining a disability, or "Aromantic" or "Asexual" to a character meant to depict a deep internal struggle with unresolved Gender Dysphoria?

Ask yourself these questions, and carry on from there. See where your mind takes you.

[dogboyboyshorts]

i think the foundational problem that the transandrophobia crowd cant get past is that transphobes literally dont see us as men. they dont. they dont hate us because of our “manhood” they hate us because we dont conform to the gender binary. 

like yes transphobes dont see trans women as women either, but the way that transphobia affects them is by abusing them for not conforming to standards of female desirability, ie their bodies make them “disgusting” and “unfit for society”, so in the transphobe’s eyes the only other option trans women have available is to be perverts; which is nearly identical to how garden variety misogynists treat cis women (if they’re ugly, they’re a whore, etc). transphobia against trans men doesnt harken back to a wider societal ill against their gender the way transmisogyny does. we aren’t abused for being men, we’re abused for trans men. and since society doesn’t hate men, then, well, we’re really just experiencing transphobia. 

it seems like such a simple equation to me. like if a trans man were cis, he wouldn’t experience any bigotry for being a man. he may get hit with homophobia/toxic masculinity, sure, but his being a man isn’t something society is out to get him for, it would be his “inadequacy” at being one. if a trans woman were cis, she would still experience bigotry for being a woman. because society views women as less than men. NOT THAT DIFFICULT TO UNDERSTAND!

[moongothic]

Honestly what kind of changed the way I view One Piece was when I realized that Oda's transphobia isn't just a side-effect of him having an "outdated" view of trans people, but also like

One Piece is very much about Letting People Live How They Want To

And that includes not just queer people in general, but every single transfem person who either doesn't pass or doesn't want to pass, it includes not just the "acceptable, normal trans people" but also the kinda weird and/or horny ones.

Because Queer Liberation is for everyone

Like don't get me wrong, Oda may not fully understand the difference between GNC and trans people, and most of his transfem/GNC men (only lumping them together because Oda does that) look identical to how gender crits would draw "a trans person infiltrating women's spaces!!!!11!!!". And he does seem to have some actual gender essentialist beliefs (Luffy being "a vegan if he was a girl"........... Bro) with a healthy dose of misogyny thrown on top Generally speaking, it would be nice if his queer rep was more like 50/50 with the """"normal"""" (this is One Piece you know exactly what I mean) and weird queer characters instead of like 95% weird. Not just because it'd give queer people more characters we might actually want to relate to and see ourselves in, but also because it would maybe help drive home to queerphobic readers that One Piece is in-fact for Queer Liberation instead of supporting their beliefs that queer people are just "kinky men who like to wear women's underwear because they're delulu".

All this to say; no, the queer rep in One Piece is still kinda Not It. It could definitely be better*. Like I said at the begining though, realizing OP specifically has the belief that everyone should be allowed to live how they choose to and be free (something Luffy dreams of becoming, the most free person in the world aka Pirate King)... IDK it just changed how I view Oda's transphobia. Because it truly does not come from any sort of malice, it's just... misguided support

(*In fact, One Piece has/had the potential to be so extremely pro-Queer. Like we know trans people play a HUGE role in the Revolutionary Army and helping take down the Government already. We saw a FUCK TON of Queer people being held in Impel fucking Down, the giant prison facility that's meant for "the worst criminal's the world had to offer" that the government had to put away somewhere. I know the implication with the imprisoned queer people in Impel Down was that some/a lot of them were already imprisoned there for some other reasons (probably) and simply transed themselves because being a funny little queer in Newkama Land was a billion times better than being tortured by guards in the jail. Which is understandable. But like, my question is... How many of these people were imprisoned in Impel Down because of some crimes they commited, and how many were imprisoned for being queer? One Piece never exploring queer rights within its world is an absolute fucking shame. It is such a missed opportunity. Like all Oda needed to do was say "it's illegal to be gay on Island XYZ, these people were imprisoned in Impel Down for being queer". Just that, just one island could completely reframe how being queer is seen in this world. It would completely reframe the Revolutionary Army's queer participants, and it would not just remind the readers about why the World Government is Bad, but also drive in for those queerphobic readers that One Piece is, in fact, pro-queer. Like really rub it like salt into their wounds.)

[genderkoolaid]

Cw: "Aaron" Bushnell https://www.assignedmedia.org/breaking-news/bushnell-gaza-immolation-protest-trans-identity

I thought I should let you know if you didn't already. Rip Lilly

While there is evidence pointing to Lilly/Aaron being trans, I still think we should be careful in how we talk about it. I don't really have a problem agreeing that the username and the reddit history does feel like someone who, at least, is exploring their gender identity. A person who says they knew him/her in life is very insistent that s/he could not have been a trans woman based on private information. However, others who have said they spoke with him/her online frequently insist s/he went by Lilly and used she/her and he/him. Although I don't think there's any reason necessarily for those folks to be lying, I do wish there were actual screenshots of the pronoun use in discord servers? Given that rn the conversation is just People Online Making Claims.

I'm still unsure of how I feel we should talk about this tbh. Lilly/Aaron was very deliberate in how s/he presented his/her gender to the public. As the person interviewed says, I don't think Bushnell would be upset by being seen as trans if s/he was a cis man. But even if s/he was trans, I am hesitant to make assumptions about what is best for a trans person's legacy. The issue of trans recognition in death is very sensitive for most of us, so I understand why people are so invested in this. But it should be kept in mind that the discussion around Bushnell's gender should not overshadow support for Palestinians. That was his/her goal and its clear that s/he cared more about that than making a statement about his/her own gender. It is fully possible for a trans person to make the decision to let themselves be assumed cis, and be comfortable in that decision, and its not up to other trans people to decide whether they made the wrong decision with their own legacy.

Its possible s/he made that decision solely because s/he wanted to prevent his/her message from being derailed by transmisogyny. But again, that shows to me that s/he wanted more than anything for his/her death to be focused entirely on raising support for Palestine. I don't want to be patronizing about Lilly/Aarons's decisions and I definitely don't want any Discourse on this to do exactly what s/he was trying to avoid. Additionally, Bushnell is reported as having used he/she pronouns. The person who claims s/he used both uses both Aaron and Lilly. Its very easy for genderqueer and nonbinary people to have their identities reduced to binaries in death, even by other trans people. If s/he was trans, why are we making assumptions about if s/he was fine with being called a woman, or that s/he wasn't okay with being called a man? There is too much grey space and too much exorsexism that goes unchallenged in our community for me to not feel the need to point this out.

Anyways. I guess my Take on this is that both trans and suicidal people tend to have our choices undermined, and have people on all sides debate over what we Really mean and what we Really want. We are rarely seen as being the experts on ourselves, or having our autonomy respected even when it makes others confused or uncomfortable. I don't think anyone online discussing this can have a full picture of The Truth. Like I said, I don't think there's any reason to assume people claiming they knew Lilly and that s/he used she/her and he/him pronouns are lying right now. But more than anything I'm concerned that the debate over this could end up doing exactly what Lilly/Aaron was trying to avoid. And I don't think its my place to insist any trans person has to be out. I want to respect what s/he wanted for his/her legacy. I don't want him/her to be a trans hero if that results in detracting from his/her goals.

I think this is part of larger moral issue trans activists have to deal with when it comes to trans history: when is it okay for us to correct the language someone used for themselves? When is it illuminating and respectful, and when is it whitewashing someone's own self-perspective to fit our goals? Bushnell was extremely purposeful in everything s/he did as a part of his/her suicide, and that includes how s/he presented his/her gender. I don't want to disrespect those decisions.

[misanthropattern]

okay it’s time. time for the first nikola orsinov essay. everyone is going to love this.

CW: SA. transmisogyny

And To Be Clear: i am not ‘cancelling’ anything. i enjoy the magnus archives. that’s why i’m criticizing it.

the crux of this issue is as follows:

nikola is a thoroughly trans feminine coded character

i thought this was obvious but it isn’t a topic i’ve seen discussed in the fandom at length, and i don’t see it factored in to a lot of analyses of nikola. the wording around this transformation in the text is vague and consciously macabre, but it is stated several times by several characters, (and admitted by nikola herself) that she used to be joseph grimaldi. that is, she was grimaldi before gregor orsinov ‘tore him apart’ and made nikola out of him. if you’re well versed in trans misogynistic tropes, you can probably already see the issue, but it’s best if i explain.

trans fems are, in reactionary circles, commonly thought to be both perpetrators and ‘products’ of grooming and/or SA, and this is a large part of how we’re depicted in popular culture, the horror genre in particular

to be clear i don’t think jonny sims set out to demonize trans women with this portrayal. i do think nikola’s trans coding is a symptom of how deeply transmisogyny runs through our culture and media. artists often engage in transmisogyny without knowing, and this post isn’t about casting blame.

simply put, however, i can’t help but find myself a little hurt when the final confrontation with this trans fem coded villain features the protagonists deadnaming her a bunch. tim lowkey deadnames her with his final line in the show!

what’s to be done about this? nothing really. i still like nikola a lot as a character. in fact i don’t think i would be as compelled by her without her transfem coding! but that coding is there, and by it’s inclusion, the text subtly reinforces some some rather reactionary ideas.

the magnus archives (and protocol) are stories with a lot of canonical, ‘queer rep.’ i believe this leads a lot of fans to overlook, or only partially interrogate, the queer coding which the stories also engage in. i would like to discuss it more thoroughly.

[canonmisogynyvictimstournament]

PROPAGANDA

DRAGONA JOESTAR (JOJO'S BIZARRE ADVENTURE: THE JOJOLANDS) (CW: Transphobia)

1.) While JoJolands has only barely started, Dragona already is not being treated too well. In her first appearance, a police officer sexually assaults her, and in addition makes comments about how her being transgender makes the situation more exciting for him.

Her brother misgenders her, referring to her as “"big bro”“ despite knowing she takes ”“cosmetic injections”“ that caused her to grow breasts, but this could be just a nickname Dragona doesn’t mind, ignorance from her brother, or from lack of clarity due to all translations this far being unofficial. Otherwise, Dragona isn’t usually referred to with any gendered pronouns, which could be due to the source material being in Japanese, which doesn’t really use third person pronouns, substituting them with names.

While I hope Part 9 starts treating her better, the very beginning of the story has been rough on Dragona.

2.) The JoJolands went from 0 to sexual assault in 10 pages. Yes, Dragona is sexually assaulted by a police officer less than 10 pages into the manga. The pigs then get their asses kicked by her little brother Jodio, because so far in this story, Dragona has very little ability to stand up for herself. Then there’s the fact that she isn’t even explicitly a woman in the story. She was amab, and is described as wearing feminine clothing, and having injections so she has breasts. Still, Dragona is referred to as Jodio’s big brother, and primarily uses masculine pronouns in the fan translation despite some fluidity in that department from the original Japanese. It is unclear what the author’s intent is here, and I’m not one to try and guess what’s going on in that man’s mind. There’s a chance she gets a lot of development and ends up being a well-written character. I’m not terribly optimistic with what we’ve seen so far.

3.) After 35 years of misogyny and transmisogyny, the author decided to be bold and make one of the main characters of the new part a trans woman! … who gets SAed in the first chapter and who gets the "just a tr*p” label slapped on by the narrative despite her transition being fucking discussed. You can always count on Jojo for misogyny!

GWEN STACY (MARVEL COMICS)

1.) One of the most famous examples of fridging of all time. Marvel reintroduced physics for five seconds to kill her off, then forgot about them again.

2.) Got killed off because a (male) writer thought she was a boring love interest.

3.) Got fridged

[transmisogyny-explained]

(CW talk of sexual assault)

(a bit of leeway for you)

A trans woman explains the frustration of discussing sexual assault statistics and how trans women are treated like liars.

The first response: "and trans men..."

Like c'mon get your own fucking post. I'm not implying trans men don't face this kind of shit but for all the talk of trans women "taking over conversations"...

I think that some people, when confronted with the reality of transmisogyny, have this reflexive, perhaps unconscious need to deny that what they’re seeing is indeed transmisogyny, but they also don’t want to be seen and labeled as outwardly transmisogynistic; so they will implicitly deny these examples by “yes and”-ing whatever point is being made, to also make it about how something similar might sometimes happen to certain groups of TME trans people. That way it seems like a positive response made from the desire for solidarity, but in reality it’s a way of subtly going, “This is not transmisogyny because it’s not unique to trans women.” I do think that some people who do this are well-intentioned, but they really need to examine why they feel the need to always bring up TME trans people’s experiences in discussions of transmisogyny.

[lesser-vissir]

Okay, required reading if you want to engage with my posts about transmisogyny.

https://purecatharsis.medium.com/we-need-to-talk-about-transmisogyny-6bdf0e79d29c

[l4nterns]

NORFOLK TRANS YOUTH DOCUMENTARY

CW: Discussions of transphobia, homophobia, depression, suicidality, Sexual Violence, Domestic Violence, transmisogyny, media representation of trans people, healthcare

In the UK climate of transphobic smear, sensationalism, and fear-mongering, here is a documentary I produced, filmed, edited and scored in partnership with Norwich based trans support group Evolve. Norfolk Trans Youth lends voice to REAL trans young people to talk about the REAL material struggles they face in the UK today, but also about the lives they create for themselves in the powerful catharsis of self-actualisation in defiance against the systemic oppressions they face.

[meli-writes]

Little Miss Laser - Ch. 02

(Previous)

/// CW: hostage scene w/ electroplay, explicit BDSM scene (light restraints, oral), transphobia/transmisogyny and discussions of it, mentions of racism & sexual assault. ///

Laser was the only thing that mattered, and Glass could only look; at how tired she was, at the uniform-standard makeup twirling down her cheeks, and the curls frizzing from the unceasing, infuriating clawing of Biker Hood, all while she waited again for— Tzzt.

The Little Miss wretched involuntary against her, filling Glass’ ears with a gently nauseous squeal before she was let collapse, the collar clicking with a sickly note of satisfaction.

“Aww— don’t wanna play today?” Hood cooed, prerecorded; should would only dare be so arrogant hiding behind the poorly-compressed ransom note. “Maybe she’ll learn to like it.”

“She’s gettin’ it every 30 seconds till you’ve paid up.”

How many times had she felt it? Thousands— Laser hadn’t picked up in days. Thousands more. Glass was gonna murder Biker Hood, maybe it would even be legal, turn her hands to ice and choke her on a cocktail chilled with her own fingers, snapped off one-by-one.

“Also— if you’re planning on the Lil’ Miss lasering her way out, on leaving her here—”

The words wound themselves around Glass’ neck, as though it were the electroplated chain in Hood’s grasp, who knew exactly what little to expect of a Little Miss. If she’d only fallen harder for the copper crap, Glass thought, as Laser was pulled off the raw concrete floor.

“—we’ve got a demonstration for you. Come on, Doll, I know you like showing off for me.”

Magenta-muddied eyes reflected on the glassy helm that covered Hood’s face. Trembling lips begged to ask for anything else. Tzzt. “Please, I-I can’t do this again,” she whined.

“Don’t I recall you saying you wanted to be a good girl, for me?” Hood said, squatting down and slipping a leathered finger under her chin. “We can do this, or we’ll just have to up that Doll-Resonant Auto-Shocker to every 15 seconds. How long till your friends even see this?”

It was bitter. Friends.

What did she tell you, Hood? Maybe she just knew Laser better than the rest of them, even Glass. Maybe that’s how she caught her. Why would you even care?

There was a single tear falling to Laser’s heart, where shimmers coiled around the gem buried in her sternum, rainbows flooding her palms before the collar clicked—

TZZZT.

Laser was left so breathless, she didn’t even scream. “I worked out the frequency of those little government space-rocks,” Hood said, punchably smug. “It’s why you’ve stopped being able to track her, and why the more she tries, the worse it hurts — no limits.”

The collar was scaling with her, Glass surmised, and it would only stop if it — Tzzt — or Laser broke. Hood could never know how strong Laser really was, she wouldn’t have had the limbs, or atoms, to make her ransom flick otherwise.

How many times had Laser felt that? Glass knew, she’d be terrified of the team seeing this, seeing her like this. It must’ve already punished her— over— and over— and over again.

Hood took her again, roughly, at the chin; Laser melted into its cruel comfort, barely able to hold herself up anymore. The lower segment of Hood’s helmet detached, revealing lips painted in lincoln green, that sowed a kiss on Laser’s own with sensuous possessivity.

She owned Laser in that moment, who Glass had almost thought was blushing, before she buckled, sobbing, and was turned like a mannequin — like she wouldn’t soon slice Hood’s head into messy subdivisions, with Glass pouring in a few icicles after for good measure.

“So — America’s Sweethearts — you’ve got three days. You transfer to the specified accounts and you’ll find out where she is after it’s untraceable,” Hood said.

“I spot anyone looking—” Tzzt. “—and maybe you’ll never see her again.”

---

Little Miss Inferno flicked it off, pivoting around the penthouse boardroom, an audible bristle in her aramid-woven bodysuit. “Six— Million— Dollars,” she breathed, huskily.

“Okay, so— don’t pay it? We don’t lose like a million bucks, and if Hood finishes them off it’s one less problem. Besides, they could totally laser out — if they wanted to,” Tremor said, her oversized, ironclad boots still pitiful compared to the pentagonal desk that stole the room.

“Babe, please— as if we need the bitch overcharging again. You remember we’re in the city; won’t be useless mountains this time, it’ll be us,” Cyclone said, stroking at her wind-proof blonde bun, before clattering the same tightly-trimmed nails on luxury wood. “We don’t even know what this Biker Hood — god, I can’t say it — will even do if we refuse. I say we make the video public, then the Department has to step in to clean up and—”

“This is not a negotiation.” At least Fern had some sense, the least-worst leader after Glass was ruled out as a supposed bad culture fit. “It’s more profitable if we suck it up, take the insurance, and stop Laser from damaging our image any more than they already have.”

Scheming bitch. If the ransom was in cash I’d shove every last rolled wad up your—

“And what am I supposed to do when this third-rate dipshit turns up with six-mill in that resonance tech; bury her in downtown?” Tremor spat, knowing full-well she could handle it.

Glass’ water had turned solid in her hand — and she shattered it, crystal decanter and all, into pieces. No one would give her notice if didn’t she stand out, leaned into it even, with the snow-white hair — but anything else, that which could be considered ‘culturally specific,’ had to be American, and she was thoroughly aware they would never consider her that.

“We’re paying the ransom— and getting her— out of there,” she howled, a blizzard beating at unbattened hatches. “The hell is wrong with you, all of you. We pay it for her sake, for how much it would hurt her if this got out. Should never let any of you attend Pride ever again.”

Cyclone immediately whipped up a double-down, grasping at Tremor’s hand, “Excuse me? We’re— They’re not one of us, remember? They’re only here because the gem is stuck—”

Tremor, for her sake, at least looked at Glass with some guilt — gold star for effort — a degree she was definitely annoyed for feeling, “It's just a joke, I wasn’t really suggesting—”

Fern dove a knuckled fist into the table, burning a fire-break into their squabbling.

“Trem, check storage. Laser’s duty uniform hasn’t been checked out in three weeks, so either Hood made a very convincing fake or someone’s bypassed our security— oh don’t give me that look, this is the easy job,” she said. “Cyk, I need you on the flight deck. If there’s an incident I need you to contain it before press gets there.”

Cyclone squinted at Glass through amber-tinted goggles. Tremor didn’t even look.

“Now go, both of you.”

Their hands began to unwillfully untwine, and once they’d pouted off in different directions Fern looked right at Glass, “I do what’s right for the team — not any one of us.”

“Yeah— cos what’s right for the team is keeping in-check the murderous little sunbeam you need for cover-up work, right?” Glass shot back.

Fern was an obedient, government girl; she knew when to hold her tongue, and Glass knew this was the actual reason. Laser wouldn't be so useful if every villain ran at the sight of her; if every civilian started getting in the way, hoping to film something bloody and mistaken.

“Glacier— Do whatever the hell you want. I don’t care. I’ll arrange the damn payment.”

Fern picked up the hotline receiver, the incumbent Secretary of Supers leering down from his gaudily-framed, overbearing portrait. She paused, inputting the code for someone low-down and easy-to-silence, before side-eyeing Glass.

“Why did she even send it to you?” Fern asked, waiting on either response.

“Because I was calling Laser to check-in on her, Fern. People do that, you know — make sure their friends are okay,” she said, before Fern turned, wincing into the receiver.

She had been as clear as spring water. You don’t have friends, Fern. Not here, not in me, not anymore. But Laser is my friend, and I’ll do everything it takes to get her back. Her prints turned to ice as she left, crunching deeper as she thought about how tired Laser must be.

Oh, habibti— how did you get yourself into this mess?

---

“AHHHhhh— Eek! Hood, p-please— I can’t take it anymore.”

Thwack.

“That’s Ms Hood to you— Little Miss,” Milly drawled.

She was distant lightning on her Doll’s thigh — its flash and its thunder, but gentle, with none of its sting. Laser trembled in her bindings; cold-steel police cuffs, borrowed, leashed to a bed-frame squeaking more than she did. The smallest bite to pair with her pleasure.

“Does that mean you’re ready to yield now, Doll?”

Her lips had loosened for only a moment and already Laser was canting an oil-slickened clit back into her, cat-lapping — needily so — at the blood-red furls of its underside, her tongue curling around its half-throbbed head before pulling her back in.

Oh— God, Babe, of course we can call it that! That’d never be too much to ask; your body, your clit.

“Ahh— Never!” she pleaded, in an overacted, pitched-up soprano, “I’ll never yield to your villainous scheme.” It was new, at least, to Milly — turned her into a puppy, squeak-toy in slobbering jaws, pressed with a primordial urge to tear the screeching bunny to shreds.

Milly was stripping off well-stained leather, pouring herself then into Laser’s generous folds, fingers slipping into the softened haunches at her ass, which the slutty, knock-off uniform had temptuously struggled to cover. She wrenched Laser — squirming in desperation as her faux-captor’s cheeks popped with spittle, and precum — back into the straddle, plush thighs sitting nervously at the sides of Milly’s upturned face, curt and bleached blonde hair pooling around her; never once letting go, with suckling mouth or strapping grasp.

“Aww— will you really?” Milly teased, “You’ve been holding on for hours now, and it’s still just you— and me.” She had seen Laser be properly hard once, before bursting into tears. So, instead, Milly made sure to torment her with a thorough and deliberate delicateness.

“Your so-called friends really take their time when it comes to rescuing you.”

The barb was accompanied with a tremulous semi-retreat, pulling back to Laser’s head and letting the little limpness slack in the air, before sucking even tighter, tongue against its tip.

“Oh— Fuck,” Laser said, stomach collapsing into itself, “Fuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck— FUCK.”

“Shh— shhh—” Milly soothed, trying to guide Laser back to her own adorable script, keeping them on track for the finale, feeling the intoxicating shiver that rocked through Laser’s thighs into the sheets. I’m gonna need to use these for pillows, but, for now— “You’re gonna have to keep it down, Doll. Or, maybe, everyone will have to find you, just— like— this.”

“No, wait I— I didn’t tell anyone I’d be here, Ms Hood.”

There was the rose-pained truth, breaking her beautifully, the shadow of a dark-hearted desire she was forced to hide — if acted, perhaps, with more ham to it than her ass.

“No one is coming to rescue me — it is just you.”

Laser was stiffening out of her comfort-zone, and Milly loosened to let their short-of-breath, mutual arousal settle. Suddenly, Laser slipped; fallen to the side and strung-up awkwardly on the leash. Milly rushed to catch her, lithe-wire arms making Laser giggle out-of-character.

She pulled her into a cradle, up, from scrunched-up pillows, and reached for the wand that waited, eager and plugged-in, on the nightstand and drew it the perfect spot — the one the pair had once spent a meticulous evening making sure Milly could find the finicky thing.

“Please, Ms Hood— please,” Laser begged, quivering an ever-worse contortionist act on her face as Milly didn’t yet switch it on. “Just— be gentle. I’ll be such a good Little Miss for you.”

Milly ran a tongue over her lips, looking far into Laser’s eyes as she pulled the Doll’s mess into her mouth. “Then yield for me, Doll,” she asked, flicking it on at last. “Maybe I’ll let you feel like this — instead of something worse.”

Goodness, Babe, how you love to pretend I would ever hurt you — that I even could.

“Y-yes, Ms Hood.”

She let Laser fall into her — brown curls unfurling in her face, shoulder brushing at her chest — taking the spare hand to hold Laser’s clit and kiss it, firmly, against the wand.

“Come on then— aren’t you gonna?”

It was notched higher, and then higher again, tussling at Laser’s compos mentis, retching her with unrestrained delight. “Please— I am, I am, I am.”

“Don’t you wanna?”

“I do, I do, I promise, I—” When the words had finally formed she couldn’t stop saying them. “Fuck I— Ms Hood. I YIELD— I yield-I-yield-I-yield-I-yield-I—”

Milly withdrew it, gently, spotting the tell-tale sign, the emotional fever-pitch that Laser so thoroughly thrived over, as she whined one final, delirious request— “Just don’t hurt me.”

“Deal.”

She rolled forward, drove herself onto Laser’s clit, bobbing back-and-forth as she continued to stare into her, making sure Laser knew— This toy belongs to me. And with one last squeak— she came, bucking into Milly and knocking her back with a hushed choke.

So Milly braced on the velvet throw, shaking her head for morsels of dignity as spit-watered cum dripped down the corner of her mouth, catching herself as she rubbed it with an open palm and taking a teardrop on her pinkie-tip; she brought it, chin-tilted, to a concavely curved tongue and waited a pensive and heavily-breathed moment before she tasted it.

This is so bad, Doll. You’re lucky you make me wanna make it look delicious.

“Such a fool,” she mocked. “Enjoy this— it’s the only mercy you’ll know, now that you’re mine. Wonder what I should call you? Little Miss Laser is far too decent for a thing like you.”

“Oh— anything, Ms Hood. I’ll be anything you want; anything for your mercy.”

“Hmm. How about, Little Miss—” Keugh. Heugh. Milly had missed a bit in the back of her throat, and now her oesophagus was furiously rejecting its entry. “Ahh. Fuck. Laz?”

“Yeah, Hood?”

“Ouch.” Milly knocked at her chest— Thump. Thump. “What— was my line? I forgot,” she asked, twisting a neatly-split brow more than sheepishly.

“Oh— um. Little Miss— well. Ahhh.” Laser was blushing at her own naughtiness, pressing cheek into shoulder. Seeing her instinctive attempt to hide was making Milly blush all on her ownsome. “I’m getting out of it now, so I think saying it’s gonna feel so silly.”

There was no way for her to do it, arms pulled above well-squeezed, widely-set tits — those Milly had figured out she preferred push-ups to manage, when she wasn’t having to hide the ever-present purple glow that spilled out her sternum — and legs spread by Milly’s own muscled presence. It just brought even more attention to her self-mortifying predicament.

“Shit, sorry Babe,” Milly said.

“Nah— it’s okay, there’s always—”

---

Brrrrrrt. Brrrrrrt. Brrrrrrt.

Laser’s phone was ringing— again. Milly was surprised to see something so plain from her, still bracing for a poorly-ripped version of the theme from the Department-funded show, Lil’ Misses Save America. But maybe that risked getting her clocked, if it blasted off in public.

“Heya! AHh— Ahk,” she sputtered, voice broken into clattered splinters as she tried to answer, pitching herself back to a relaxed, private tone. “Oh-my-gosh. I’m so sorry, Glass.”

Milly had been presaged, though it was always pleasant, into baby-sitting her niece when she’d figured it out. Hey, Babe— why does your submissive voice sound like your cartoon?

“How you doin’ Chilly?”

That TV found itself immediately unplugged, with Milly left a muttering mess to the overly sharp, superheroine-obsessed 8-year-old — working overtime to keep her satisfied.

She was, at least, well-armed; an entire, accessory-packed doll set, that her niece knew was precious, smart enough to know it wasn’t released yet, hushed-up on Milly’s less-than-legal secrets, and to never believe it was a real Little Miss who’d procured it for her.

“Oh— yeah, I’m good. Just allergies — I’m at the shelter right now.”

It was an idealised version of herself, maybe that’s why Laser liked it so much. It was never going to slip — like she needed to; it was always going to fit in — like she didn’t. She was the one who cared about the contractually-obligated consulting; script feedback, coaching the actresses, hiding the truth. Five times the amount, in-fact, to cover for all the rest of them.

“What d’ya mean you’re not tracking it?” Laser pulled a worried brow at Milly, hastened her to spoof Laser’s signal for Glass to see. “Yeah, I promise. I’ll get it looked at soon.”

Maybe she needed the reminder, who Little Miss Laser could be — who she could be. That she was only able to pretend to be with Milly, who Laser made sure knew she was helping. It was sweet, but still weird. And somehow, hopefully, it was reconciled with all the rest of her.

“Hey, Glass— Can I call you later? I’m kinda, uhm— with a girl.”

Milly had cried when Laser unwrapped the boxed dolls, telling her seventeen times she didn’t have to. She wasn’t even her niece’s favourite Lil’ Miss. And it didn’t matter at all.

“Thanks Chilly. Love you— bye!” Laser sighed with relief. She did love that girl, but not when she was trying to have fun. “Where were we?”

Maybe it was the weirdness that made it so sweet.

---

Brrrrrrt. Brrrrrrt. Brrrrrrt.

Laser had twisted the leash around her, checking on the nightstand, giving the rumbling phone a painful wince before Milly could clamber up to liberate the exhausted captive.

“I think it’s Glass again.”

“You’re gonna have to answer at some point,” Milly said, folding the cuffs into a drawer, next to a dozen naughtier items. The signal jamming is worrying her Babe, more and more.

“Couldn’t she wait till morning?” Laser wrapped tightly around Milly, beginning to trail a finger — one of the ones she trimmed with particular, beloved ruthlessness — between her abs. “We saved the world like— three weeks ago,” she whined.

Milly hadn’t spoken and Laser cautiously tried to fill the space, “You know, cos we’re not due for another asshole like that for, like, at least another few—”

“Till morning?”

She felt Laser’s hands pulling at the trap she’d stepped into, at something she hadn’t been ready to ask in the increasing proportion of time she was spending in the hideout, especially in recent weeks. In another moment she’d retreated the rest of the way — a few filthied pillows put between them — and was squeezing her fingers as she did when really, properly, self-conscious. As though it were possible to press her own power back into herself.

Milly had to look Laser in the eyes. Didn’t.

“Hey— Milly?” asked Laser.

Milly wanted to give her space, she thought, sit there and take in her tits, respectfully, for the fortieth time today. Didn’t realise she’d turned away, groping tremors into the velvet.

Oh— Fuck. She knows my name. I never told her—

---

“So how come she’s still calling you Hood,” Bri asked. “That part of the game?” nodding to the hunch-backed bundle of blankets on Milly’s couch — she was always getting cold in the warehouse, unhelped by how little she wore — watching her own cartoon and taking notes.

“I haven’t uh— told her my name yet,” Milly said, keeping her voice low, “Besides, she must’ve heard it by now. Maybe it’s just part of her game — like you said.”

Bri looked at her with a consternation packed neatly into four, internationally-bound suitcases; the job had gone adequately and she was not interested in acclimatising to this while she waited for the heat to die down. Though, maybe she was still going to entertain it.

“Hey, Little Miss — what do I call you again?”

Milly spotted the smirk passing over Bri’s mouth, a vicious composure slipping just a little. Nothing she was up to could be good — but Laser was already bounding over, bright-eyed.

“Laser’s still totally good. You can say Laz! If you’d like to.” She was being very sweet to Bri, apparently having misidentified her as Milly’s equivalent to Glass, and trying to make a good impression on her behalf. “There is Alex — but it’s not what I would’ve picked.”

And now Milly was getting straight eyeballed, redder than sunburn. See— She knows how to be honest. Bri rolled her head around and prompted Laser further, “Didn’t you choose that?”

“Naw— it’s what Mom picked.”

“Cos see she wanted something neutral; she was that sorta hippie,” Laser elaborated, sitting up and munching eagerly on a clutch of grapes, “And when ol’ Uncle Sam finally found us, changing it was a rather affirmative No. Easier to scrub me with less trailing papers, so it’d be harder for people to figure out one of America’s Sweethearts is a tranny. You know, for whenever some queen like Manning leaks the Department’s dirty laundry.”

“Weird priorities, I know,” she grimaced. "At least they added ma'am when they said it."

Milly was wondering if she should interject, not to stop her — though maybe she was too honest, Bri would be thinking so — but to make sure Laser knew she was listening too, “Shit. I’m sorry Babe. Can I ask what you wanted to pick?”

“Francesca,” she squeaked, a little tender, “Which— Fran. I know it’s kinda dumpy.”

“It’s cute, and it suits you.” Milly paused, watching for how Laser would respond, if she’d ask what Milly hoped she would, “I could call you that, if you’d like?”

“Nah,” she said, “Nah, I like Laser. I like Laz.”

Her smile slid, bittersweet, to the side. “Maybe someday, when we’re— past this. But right now? It’s what you call me, and it’s what Glass calls me. And I like it for that.”

Bri pushed her noisy, overheating laptop aside and reached across to rub Laser’s cheek. “Thanks Laser, that will be all.” It was a feigned comfort, surely, but Laser didn’t need to know that, Bri would be gone soon anyway.

“Oke doke!” she beamed, in moments having bundled herself back on the couch, the familiar SFX imitation of her blasts emanating from the front-desk TV Milly had taken with her on the last job.

Bri thumbed through another stack of stolen post-it notes; reams of passwords, emails, and security question answers. She was looking for whatever let her into another one of the hedge-fund fuckboy’s offshore accounts, but was stuck with half as much material as hoped.

It coulda been so much more, Milly — if your head was in the game and not between her—

Biker Hood hadn’t enough tricks prepared to keep the reception-level distraction going long enough, and fewer marks to work with meant drawing more from each one. After she’d moved the first few million they’d noticed, and were able to cut her off sooner each time.

“See Milly— She knows how to trust you.”

You.

Bri was making some kind of punishment from this — not out of malice, just boredom. There was going to be a lesson too, there always was. Bri did want her to be okay when she was gone. The plan was already booked. Not friends, but still peers.

The lesson hurt worse than the punishment.

“And whether she knows it or not, your name — has it in some crime computer, if she’s found your paper-thin shell company — until you tell her yourself, she’s gonna know you don’t trust her back.”

“Hey— Milly. Can I—” She almost didn’t say it. “—Can I stay over tonight?”

---

        I want her to — but if I’m not able to tell her—

        “No?”

“Oh.”

        Oh?

“Sorry.”

        Fuck.

“I-I know it was, like, a big ask,” Laser muttered. “I’ll go get sorted.”

“Ahh,” Milly choked, “Wait!” She rushed a pair of gym-addicted forearms around Laser’s mid, pulling at sweat-soaked rolls till Laser fell back into her. “You can stay—”

“I want you to stay.”

The startled Lil’ Miss dropped to Milly’s side; she grasped at her loosened bearings and brought a hand to intertwine with the one pulled around her shoulder. “But you—”

“I was scared,” Milly said, her breath shattered into broken chain-links, nesting her head on Laser’s shoulder so she could press a blooming cheek into her thick, fluffed-up curls. “Just— a little. I sort of wanted to make sure that I could say it: No.”

“Oh. Yeah— Of course, I’m—”

“Please don’t say sorry,” Milly begged. Laser said it too much, and Milly wished she could dare to ask: is it because you mean it, or that you think you deserve less? “Please.”

Milly squeezed her harder, terrified the precious thing could vanish if she ever let go, and whimpered, “It’s all me; me and the dumb, intrusive thoughts I shouldn’t have said. Okay?”

She’s gonna know you don’t trust her back.

“I didn’t realise that you knew— well, me. Millicent. Milly. Mill,” she continued. “And I sort of freaked. I should have told you.”

Laser rolled into her and clutched at the accidentally shattered handhold when Milly dared not do it herself. “Why’re you scared, Milly? I know I’m— I know how to control myself. I wouldn’t even dare to think about hurting you.”

Milly forced herself to look at Laser, pulling the buckles of a spiritual armbinder several sizes too small till it pulled into place. “I’m not used to not being in control,” she admitted. There was an awful look in her eyes, in the girl who should never have to feel guilty for this.

She won’t trust me if I can’t tell her — maybe even if I do.

“Because— I could kill you?” Laser said. There was no emotion to infer out of her, the realisation of that causing Milly to wince. The girl who could never stop smiling, till Milly made her. “That I could level the building too, while I’m at it. Hell— the entire block.”

An entire— Fuck, Doll.

Milly needed to let her prosecco-and-orgasm-addled brain process it all, what Laser had just said, arid as the high noon on a gentle, long-forgotten, childhood summer’s day.

“And that’s what everyone else is thinking!” Milly exclaimed. “They’re treating you like this bomb that’s a loose or crossed wire from exploding and— Fuck, it hurts to realise I’ve thought of you like that too. I never used to.”

“No. I get it,” Laser said. It still worried Milly how easily she could accept things, fuzzing the line between easy-goer and people-pleaser. “I guess I’m just used to it now.”

“And you shouldn’t be! You shouldn’t have to be used to it at all!” Milly had almost yelled it, kneading Laser’s hands with a desperate, reassuring pressure, who’d let out a cosied whine in response. “I’m sorry— Laz. I really, really am.”

And she smiled. Just the smallest amount. Yep. “You’re all good.” Please continue. “It’d take a lot to burn the goodwill you got out of kidnapping me, or trying at least,” she said, bringing herself to a giggle. Milly could feel the ropes unknotting at her heart.

“Goodwill!? Babe, what is wrong with you?” She teased, not necessarily desiring the answer.

“Hmm, so many things. So— Many— Beautiful— Things,” Laser said, lolling forward so when she did she was looking up at Milly instead of at her. “It’s nice— when you treat me like there’s nothing I could do to stop you. I don’t worry about a thing.”

“Yeah, except for: the crop, the cuffs, the wand— what colours of rope do we have now?”

“Alright, stop! Hehehe— you’re so embarrassing.” Laser knocked into Milly’s chest, laughing before she leapt right back up. “Hey! You wanna know what the other Little Misses are into?”

Milly pinched at the fat on Laser’s neck, “Let me guess — Glacier’s super into iceplay?”

“Too obvious. Well— yes, but only if she’s domming,” Laser mused, an endearing literalist at times. Milly did not actually need to know even more compromising exposés on the most dangerous girls in the whole world. “Usually the preference is wax.”

Laser twitched suddenly, and her brow curled as she mulled how to admit whatever would come next. “We’ve never had anything, to be clear,” she said. “I used to think I’d actually end up with her. But that’s not Glass — she just wants to be like really good friends. It’s the same with everyone. Kink is more like a hobby she chats with me about. I keep my stuff—”

Our stuff. “—Private. Speaking of which—”

Brrrrrrt. Brrrrrrt. Brrrrrrt.

She scooped the phone and mashed Busy with a tizzied hush. I didn’t mean you. She sighed and swallowed, asking, “Milly— could you get the cuffs out?”

“There’s something I wanna tell you.”

---

Laser kicked at the messed-up duvet till it cradled her unpetite feet. Not askin’ how you got this haul, Hood — but every pretty shoe stops several sizes below me. She was chilling in the warehouse air, faded was the stuffiness begotten from sexed-up biker breath circling about her chest, laying a head on Milly and peering over her neat bust to find some other kind of warmth in her eyes. “Remember when the Lil’ Misses and I were fighting this dude a few weeks back, like— God, Scaremungus-What,” she asked.

“I mean, I’ve met the guy— once, at this mixer,” Milly replied. “He’s got that—”

“Jock. Strap. And it’s shaped like— Yeah, him,” Laser confirmed, the small, golden chain linking her cuffs twinkling as she fumbled at the well-stretched neckline of her costume.

“Hey!” she realised, “Weren’t you doin’ one of those saving-the-world sortsa missions a few weeks back?” You’re not telling me that— he’s even more laughable than me, Babe.

“Mill. Chill. I’m getting there,” snipped Laser, with a chuckle. “So— we’re in this abandoned mineshaft and we’re not supposed to, like, kill him because there’s this low-key nuclear device in the adjacent town with his name on it no one can get close to and, like, it’s putting Tremor out of commission cos there’s no cave-collapsing allowed. Sorry— anyway, I get cut off and he starts uh— coming on to me with, like, the exact pun you’re thinking of, and then he started, like, grabbing himself and—”

She paused, for a moment, Milly drawing in her knees to tip Laser closer as an aching breeze of frustration passed her lips. “I never realised how close he’d gotten and— he grabbed me, and he knew what I was and when he said that—” Laser stopped, head lurching into her chest with only a whimper escaping.

“Mill, you’re the first to ever— express interest in me; like, the real thing,“ she said, the words coming slow and practised. “I know what exists on the internet, the Rule 34 and worse, but— you wanted the actual Laser. Laz. Alex. Francesca. Whoever. Whenever I’ve spoken to people before it’s like they only want the Laser on TV. The doll that comes in plastic packaging—”

“—the one they can throw away, when it isn’t fun anymore.”

“Should I stop calling you Doll?” Milly asked in a quiet and guilt-ridden whisper.

“I don’t know?” Laser replied. “It’s me who puts myself up to it. I tried to be that for you, hid myself, before I realised I could—” She pivoted without a lost beat, “Well— you know that random earthquake in West Virginia? This Appalachian mountain that just fell into itself?"

A few weeks ago. West Virginia. An entire block. “Oh— God— Laz?”

“Yep. Lasered him — and something like half-a-kilometer past him.” Laser was looking past Milly, peering into the peerlessly black tunnel she’d carved again in her imagination. “Fuck, it was bad. It was so bad. And it could have been so much worse.”

“You stood up for yourself,” Milly said — firmer, like she was almost domming again.

“I’ve told you I’m stronger but— Milly, I could pair down the power of the sun till it gives you a tan. That’s what I do every time. Stopped his bomb by putting my finger in a vice — cut a fifty-micron hole into its microcontroller. But if someone just— ticks me off, in the wrong way, at the wrong time. I could hurt so many people.”

Babe. It’s not your fault. It’s because he—

“I’ve thought about it and— I think I could do it, laser to the core, if I managed to get upset enough.” Laser breathed, allowing the gem to pulse in time with her, letting it shimmer through to all her extremities; Milly had to think better of the flittering urge to pinch at her luminous, pink-tipped tits. “That’s the reason I’m a Little Miss. The real one. Not cos I’m secretly as good as them, but because I’m more. West-Coast girl goes rogue, heel-turns into a parody, and she’s under house arrest, but if something went wrong with me? Snipers and drone-strikes. It’d need all of them to take me down — and they’d have to get lucky.”

Milly wished she knew how she was supposed to comfort her. She couldn’t just listen, she thought, it wasn’t enough. Laser deserved better, she—

“I don’t deserve you,” she plead — regretting the words as she said them, seeing it cut deeper, uncauterised, into Milly with each one, and cried, “I— Milly I’m—”

“Don’t apologise,” Milly caught. “It isn’t a question of deserving it — you’re allowed to have me. I know I was— particular, in what I said, what I called you, but even from where we started I could never have wanted you if you weren’t always there. That courage that glimmers through you, in a world I knew would hate you for it, if they did too.”

She hoped it was right, that she understood — because she was scared she never would, no matter what book she read, what video Laser linked, how much she tried to listen.

“Don’t call me brave,” Laser told her, rubbing at her tears with bound-up hands.

“Laz. I’m not. I didn’t mean to—”

“I don’t want to be,” Laser cried, her head buried then into Milly’s chest. “I want to be scared, and vulnerable. I don’t want to answer Glass’ calls. I can’t go back to HQ, it’s why I’ve been here more and more and more. I want to be safe and to know you’ll keep me so.”

        “Always. I promise.”

“But you’re—”

        “What, Babe, what is it?”

“No— I’m sorry, Mill I—”

        “Please, tell me.”

“You know, how you said, you don’t feel like you’re in control?” Milly nodded in quick, subtle dips — furrowing her forehead in muscle-ached sympathy. “You’re cis, Mill.”

“There’s part of me that thinks — no, knows — you’re better than me,” she continued. “You want me, my body, and it’s— intoxicating, the affirmation of it. It’s like I’m not pretending I’m worth more than I am, or that I have to make up for that — to give, and never take. I’m not telling you I’m sorry every time I’m not perfect, I’m not worried each mistake will be my last. Except— now— I’ve just fucking vindicated all their worst beliefs about me.”

“Everyone else has stood aside, when you needed them most.”

“Yeah,” Laser muttered, weighed down by the people she could never tell this to, should never have to, in the first place. “Glass— there’s Glass. It’s not the same, but when she doesn’t understand me she still trusts in me. You trust.”

No. I— Stop. You have to say it.

“Babe I— I shut up. I listen. I’m not sure I could ever understand it all, and it hurts. It never feels like it’s enough,” Milly said, her own tears falling into Laser’s hair.

“It is,” Laser replied, muffled as she clambered till her lips met Milly’s cheek, and kissed her in the softest way she ever had. “You are too. And you do understand now, right — why I’m a freak? Power didn’t give me control, it stole the little I even had. If someone could slap some device that nulled me, held me hostage while Fern gave third-degree burns to any villain-fixer she could get her hands on. Well— I don’t know—

Did you finish it — the collar?”

“I did — after the kidnapping attempt,” Milly said. It was a penance, really. Assembled and disassembled and assembled again. She was reminding herself what would’ve happened if she’d used it. “But you know it didn’t work like that — it was a shock collar.”

“I know. It’s a— sophistication of brute force,” Laser beamed. “I wonder who that reminds me of.” Milly laughed, squeezing her tight, and kissed back at her. When you say these things, Babe. “I just keep wondering, Hey! What if it did work! Don’t have to deal with the intrusive thoughts about being pissed off enough to cause the whole-ass end of civilization.”

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t know, it’s bullshit and— Laz, how come I didn’t piss you off?”

“I mean you kinda did— once,” Laser chuckled, while Milly heatedly recalled the plasticated air and the copper droplets running into concrete pores. “Otherwise? Hot and pathetic.”

“Ah! Hahaha! Me. Babe. Pathetic.” — “Really?”

“Come on— did you never wonder,” Laser asked, “why none of my girls have dragged you off to jail yet?” Milly was attempting to command even a twitch on her face, and could only blink in stupefied shock. “Cos I specifically told them how literally not-a-threat you are to me,” she continued. “That you’re like— exercise.”

“Damn. Okay.” Milly looked off the bedside, where the batons and laminate planks slipped into the distant, uncared-for warehouse floor. “Makin’ me feel bad with that one, hehe.”

“Yeah, well— can always put that energy back into spanking me Little-Miss-Inferno Red.”

“Really are a freak, aren’t you?” Milly said, tugging at Laser’s hand. “I love you, Laz.”

“Love you too, Mill,” Laser responded, slowly. There was a small part sensing the moulding tone, but she was still stuck in an attempt to diffuse it another way. “That’s an actual, licensed colour. Emulsion paint, which was a marketing choice. Didn’t let me pick mine—”

“It does hurt though, Laz,” Milly said, nervously watching Laser swallow her info-dump and turn into her own shoulder. She made herself finish, “You don’t— take me, Hood, serious?”

There was a chopped-up groan dragging itself out of Laser’s throat, which she held onto till she couldn’t anymore, till it spilled onto the sheets. “Sorry, I do,” she said, looking back. “It’s because — when I tell them that — like, I trust you. I think I always have, kinda? Because you’re, like, a real villain, Milly! Not some up-jumped crook in a costume who’s gonna fuck up his kayfabe and pull a gun on me because it didn’t go his way.”

She stuttered out a couple laughs, before sucking them in as they collapsed into sobs.

“I knew you’d never hurt me. Not really,” Laser continued. “I got scared because I’d never thought that'd happen — never prepared for it. Cos it was my outlet — my fantasy, even. And our time had become super important to me. And, again, I know — if the collar was working, and you put it on, it wouldn't be good, not if it worked.” She crept forward, till Milly could see herself in water-stained, silver eyes. “But that, like, didn’t happen, and even if it did—”

“—I know you woulda made it right.”

The worried grimace that tore at Milly’s face slowly knitted itself into a wry smile; her shoulders wrenched back, and she yawned into the deindustrialised void and watched Laser’s gaze dancing along her pumped-up ‘ceps with a pleasing glow, before knocking her head into Laser and rubbing at her softly, skin-to-skin.

“Thank you,” she said at last — proud.

“You know, I was thinking, if it was fixed again — the collar — we could always fake it.”

And then — wheezing like a bleached, wounded wolf — she could have sworn her eyes were going to fall out of their sockets, if she’d been able to stare any wider. Laser did not notice. “It would, maybe, you know, sort of reset their expectations of me,” she added. “Make them think I’m more pathetic again, I was thinking.”

And the villain whose idea this had been in the first place still hadn’t opened her mouth, lips inflating shut as she tried not to drink in the suggestion. Bri was right, you are going to kill me. It just won't be you specifically.

Laser began to realise the ground she was treading on. It had taken months to coax Milly into a scenario like today’s. “Just cos— Glass is gonna keep calling and—”

You can’t go back in, not now. And— God— how I’d love to ruin them for that.

“How about— yeah, how about we sleep on that one, ‘kay Babe?” she then asked, rooted in the rhetorical and knowing, with a smirk — it wasn’t going to work.

---

(Masterpost)

originally written on cohost 27/03/2024, in response to Making-Up-Magical-Girls' prompt:

Magical Girl Who Just Wants To Sleep In For Once

[some-flavor-of-discourse-blog]

Pinned post

Hello, you can call me V. This is going to be my blog for discussing and trying to understand mainly queer issues, specifically the transmisogyny and anti-transmasculinity bit for now.

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[trannyfutch]

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[hiskillingjar]

transfem law x transfem mc?

you're the only bitch that i fucking respect in this town

4700+ words, general warning for some discussed transmisogyny and cw for. uh. animal death, death descriptions, genital mutilation descriptions and shade towards true crime girls.

cross posted on ao3 cus it's long and i want attention :)

"You know, if you brought me out here to kill me, I'm going to be pretty upset."

You smiled in spite of your dark joke as you followed behind Law, them leading the way through the brush after driving you to the woods outside of town. Their long arms pushed aside tree branches for you to pass and kept hold of your hand, so you didn't get lost in the dark.

You'd met Law at therapy after a particularly rough stint at the psych ward, when they still went by 'Lawrence' and you were barely six months on hormones and still got clocked on a regular basis (including by them on your first meeting).

Now, it had been a year, you'd had your first consultation for sexual reassignment surgery (and it had gone successfully), and Law had made some…well, discoveries of their own.

It was nice, having a friend like them, and you liked their company.

"No, no, no,” They said, looking back at you over their shoulder. “I know it’s strange to be out here this late, but…this isn’t what it seems..."

“I know, Law,” You interrupted with a laugh, squeezing their hand a little tighter. "I'm only teasing. "

They took things a little literally at times, a symptom of the disorder that had landed them at therapy in the first place.

You didn’t mind correcting yourself for them, though.

"Oh...right...okay.” They said with a nervous chuckle, reaching back to scratch their neck. “I…um, I just wanted to make sure.”

Their grip tightened around yours for just a moment before going back to normal as they led you deeper into the brush.

It was a dark night, way later than you were usually out (you were, regrettably, somewhat of a morning person later in life), but it was a peaceful kind of dark.

The kind of dark that swallowed people whole and kept them safe, surrounded, like an all-encompassing hug, a pill bug under a log, a baby in the womb, a tapeworm in your twisting guts, worming around your insides and looking for the closest thing it could burrow deeper into.

You squeezed their hand harder and gave your head a little shake, trying to rid yourself of the gruesome imagery, as they pulled you into a quiet clearing of the brush.

The night was clear and cool, and the full moon was out, casting a glow on everything in the surrounding area, something beautiful and...almost otherworldly.

Like for just this one moment, the entire world was on pause and you were the only two people that existed.

It was a nice thought.

"This is it..."Law murmured softly, a little breathless as they stepped and pulled you into the clearing, looking around the small space like a child excited to share a new toy with their friend.

It was a canopy of thick trees surrounding a flat patch of ground, a blue tarp laid out to one side and three tall barrels with tight lids on top of them covered by a similar tarp, hiding whatever the barrels held from prying eyes.

“Cool, if a little creepy. Very Dahmer-esque. I’m into it.” You joked as Law let go of your hand and clenched their long, bony fingers together in front of them. "So, what did you wanna show me, Law?"

"Oh...right, yes. Just..." Law looked at you, those same nervous eyes shining brightly in the dim moonlight, taking in a deep breath before speaking more quietly, their voice dropping to a soft whisper. "Close your eyes for a second, alright? Please?"

“Alright…”

You did as you were told and closed your eyes, your own fingers (not as long but just as bony) curling against the denim of your shorts.

If they did decide to kill you, now would be a fantastic time to do it. You had ignored every red flag and word of advice against doing this just to be here, after all.

“Stay Sexy, Don’t Get Murdered”, your hate-listen podcast had warned that morning, while you walked to work.

What were you doing, ‘getting ugly, waiting to get murdered?’

While your eyes were closed (while your mind was spiralling about their potential bad intentions), Law pulled off and stepped around the crinkling plastic tarp to pry off the lid of one of the barrels.

The smell was putrid, like rot, like death, and immediately hit you like a truck, making your expression wrinkle without even knowing the source.

"Oh, jesus," You murmured, covering your face with the sleeve of your overshirt to try and mask the smell. “What is that?”

“I’m just finding something,” Law said, their voice soft over the sound of sloshing water. They must have been sifting through the mange without gloves (ew) for a good while before it stopped. “Okay…okay, here it is, open your eyes.”

You opened your eyes obediently and saw that they were holding something out for you to see.

Their hands (big, pretty, bigger than yours, made you feel small, made you feel delicate) were sopping wet and almost blue from the cold, but they looked so eager to show you what they had, that it didn’t matter.

Your eyes widened and you gaped a little wider when you recognised...what looked like an animal corpse that had been pulled from the water.

It might have been a rabbit, a hare or maybe even a small dog, if you had to guess, well past the initial stages of decomposition, with mangy flesh melting off the brown bones, wet and murky fur falling to Law’s feet in clumps.

When you looked from the corpse and back to them, Law's grey eyes (usually so dead and dull, but now open and unnervingly alive) shined as a genuine smile came to their pretty face.

The sheer look of excitement on their face was endearing, and you suppressed your initial disgust to share that smile with them.

“I know this isn't the kind of activity you sign up for when you go on a date..." They said, idly licking their lips, their eyes going back down to the corpse as they turned it around, showing you the protruding rib cage and the heavy skull, where most of the gore had rotted away. “But, I just...I wanted to share something I was proud of with someone...someone I feel comfortable with. Someone I care about."

They said such sweet things so thoughtlessly. You envied that about them.

"No, it's..." You laughed, looking a little flustered as you scraped your hair behind your ears and scratched your neck. Was this a date? Had you known, you might have dressed a little nicer and put some foundation on. "It's cool, Law…I appreciate you showing this to me."

“Really?” They said, huffing out a surprised laugh and holding the bones a little closer to their chest. “Oh…ah, that’s…a relief, I suppose. I was nervous that you would think it’s strange, or gross…” They rambled as they turned around and set the corpse onto the tarp carefully, wiping the worst of the gore off on their sweatpants.

“I mean, it is gross.” You laughed, choosing to be honest with them. “But, like, a cool kind of cross. Like those vulture-culture blogs, they do stuff like this too.” You stepped around the clearing and towards them, watching as they knelt down to the tarp and started scraping melted flesh and viscera from the bones with their fingernails. You assumed there were probably better tools to do the task, but said nothing. “What is it, like, roadkill or something?"

"Uhh..."

Their hands stilled at your question, skin stained with black from the gore and still blue from the cold.

They barely reacted to it, if at all.

"No...well, yeah, it might've been already dead before I..." They mumbled, floundering around their words before eventually trailing off with a little, desperate whimper, shame and immense guilt in their expression.

That answered that, then.

You peered towards them as their words trailed off, a slightly sympathetic look on your face.

"You...didn't kill it, did you, Law?" You asked gently, squatting down on the other side of the corpse, lowering yourself down to their level.

It was an important way of establishing a connection, you had been told once, never putting levels between you and a friend or loved one. Sometimes people did the opposite, to be unnerving or intimidating, to designate themselves as a voice of authority and someone to be trusted.

Men did it, mostly. It was important for you to never do something like that.

Law swallowed, unable to look you in the eye, but you received a slow, guilty, nod to your question. It was almost sheepish, like they were a little kid who had just gotten caught doing something they shouldn’t.

Their hands were shaking, but you had a sense that it wasn’t a reaction to the cold.

"I...I..." Their fingers curled into tight, little fists. "I...yeah...I did..."

There was fear in their soft voice, but also a strange kind of…relief.

Relief that they had been able to tell the truth to someone, someone who had heard them out this far, someone they were happy to tell the truth to.

"Ah," You mumbled with a little sigh, wrapping your arms around your knees. "That's a shame…”

That wouldn't go down well in therapy.  But hey, you weren't a therapist.

“But...” You started, licking your lips and trying to meet their eyes with a gentle smile. “I mean, if you don't do it again...I think that’s okay."

“Really…?” They replied, unclenching their fingers and looking back at you, a slight smile tugging at their lips. "I...I won't, I promise."

They were quiet again, idly pulling at a tuft of wet fur still clinging to the bones and rubbing it between the callouses of their fingers. It can’t have been very soft, but you guessed that it was still a decent self-soothing method.

“It’s just…I mean, I go to therapy for a reason, you know that.” They said, digging their grubby fingernail into the bundle of fur. “I see things, I hear things. I get this…urge, sometimes. To…mmph-”

They went quiet quickly, looking back down and biting their lip, as if afraid of losing control of what they were saying.

But you had a good sense of what they were about to say.

You knew the type of girl that Law was.

"Yeah...I get that," You mumbled quietly with a considered tilt of your head, taking a closer look at the poor creature who died so your friend didn’t shoot up a shopping mall (though you had a sense that Law wasn’t the type to own a gun). "I do, I do get it.”

You clutched your knees tighter and let out a slightly shaky sigh.

“I mean, I never killed animals or anything, but, like,” You huffed out a laugh and pushed a shaking hand through your hair, aghast by what you were about to admit. “Okay, um…when I was a teenager, I'd look at these…gore sites. LiveLeaks, BestGore, that shit…”

Law’s eyes snapped up to yours, stunned by your sudden outpouring of honesty.

“It was initially, like, something I did with my friends. You know, dumb teenage boys doing dumb teenage boy stuff,” You said, feeling a little fondness for the edgy snot-rag you had been at fourteen years old. “Then I’d do it by myself. I was curious, at first, and then…it was also just to...feel something. Something other than how I felt, you know? Something other than hatred."

Law let out a little hum and nodded their head.

"Yeah…me too, actually.” A shaky smile came to their face. “I would...I used to browse the dark web a lot, to see those kinds of things. To feel something, like you…um, like you said."

"Yeah. It's, like, a right of passage for girls like us, right?" You replied with a little chuckle, fiddling with your hair. You had cut your bangs too short and were now sporting, what your chronically online friend called, a ‘fuck-ass bob’. You had grown your hair out for so long, but now felt the bob kind of suited you. “I know way too many to count…”

“Girls like us…” Law repeated thoughtfully, trying to laugh along as well, a shy look on their face as a flush came to their pale cheeks. 

You looked up and tried to smile as normally as you could.

"Um…” They started, after a short beat of silence. “So…you know what you asked before...about if I was bringing you out here to kill you?"

"Uh oh," You mumbled, trying to make a joke in spite of the sudden churning in your stomach.

"Wait, no...no, I...-"

They barked out a strange little laugh, before covering their mouth with their dry sleeve, trying to cut themselves off from laughing any more, any louder.

"I wasn't...I'm still not. You don’t have to worry about…about that.” They trailed off, seeming about to say something before they bit their lip again. Finally, they spoke, looking up into your eyes. “But, I've thought about it a few times...killing you."

You swallowed hard, your smile dropping a little.

"Oh..."

“Don’t freak out,” They said quickly, their grey eyes widening a little. The life in them had subsided, just a touch, replaced by a deadened sort of…mania, like they were getting ready to do something drastic.

What were red flags again?

‘Stay Ugly, Do Get Throttled and Killed in a Forest Clearing’.

That would do numbers, if you still cared about doing numbers.

“I just…I wanted to be honest with you.” They then said, derailing your train of thought. “I don’t want to hide things from you. I don’t…like hiding things from people I care about.”

They looked back down, their shoulders sagging and hiding a miserable expression on their face.

“You’re probably going to think I'm crazy, right? M-Maybe I am..."

"No, it's..." You reached over and grabbed their hand. "It's okay, Law.” You said with an encouraging smile, that was now shaking a little. You might have been stupid, but you weren’t so idiotic that you weren’t a little scared. “Thinking about something and doing it are…like, two totally different things, Law."

Law stared at your hand for a moment, gripping it tightly (almost too tightly, bone-crushingly tight, making you look so small again) before letting their grip ease with a sigh.

“You’re…unreal,” They murmured with a disbelieving laugh. They kept their eyes down, still focused on the gore on the blue tarp in front of them.  “If I said that to anyone else, they’d think I was…some deranged freak and get me put away.”

"Well, what kind of a person would I be if I did that?" You mumbled, rubbing your thumb over their bony, blue knuckles.

"A person with common sense, I guess..." Law chuckled a little strangely, hollow, not totally there, their grip tightening again. They seemed oddly pleased by the contact, though, even if there was also a little bit of uncertainty to go along with that excitement.

"Well, I've never pretended to have any of that," You continued with your own chuckle, before biting your lip. "And I’ve been to a psych ward, so I’d never put someone there. But…” You hesitated. “I mean…how...would you do it?"

"Hmm?" Law blinked for a moment, still holding your hands in theirs. "You mean...how I would kill you?"

"Mm..." You hummed, and you felt yourself tremble.

It was the cold of the night and the wet skin against yours that was making you shake.

That’s what you were telling yourself. It can’t have possibly been for any other reason.

Law’s head canted to the side as they watched your trembling form. Their grey eyes narrowed slightly, like a cat watching and playing with a mouse before it was about to leap and strike.

They didn't let go of your hand for even a second either.

If anything, their grip only tightened.

"You're nervous..." They said.

"Yeah," You replied with a nod.

"You're trembling..." They said, as they leaned closer to you.

"Yeah," You replied again with a little sigh.

“You’re beautiful.” They whispered, bringing their face down to yours, chapped lips tracing yours but not closing the gap just yet, waiting for you to do it.

This close, you could smell the putrid water and the smell of rot and plant matter and sweat that clung to their skin, sweet and murky and dead, like their eyes, like their gaze.

A beautiful dead girl, waiting for you.

“How would you kill me, Law?” You asked again, more sure of anything than you had ever been before.

They huffed out another little chuckle with a slight shake of their head, their blunt bangs choppy on their forehead.

They probably cut their hair the same way you did, with kitchen scissors in the mirror.

The tattooed, septum-ringed girls and they-thems at the ‘all-inclusive’ hairdresser in town always cut your hair too short (something something haircuts don’t have gender, easy for them to say) so you did it at home, split ends be damned.

Was Law the same way, now?

“You’re asking for trouble,” They mumbled hotly, their lips still grazing yours as they held your hand even tighter, their fingers still covered in the watery viscera of the dead animal.

“Probably,” You replied with a little nod. “Tell me. Please?”

The words hung in the air between you for a good minute or two (though it could have been hours for all you cared), a quiet, intense silence filling the clearing.

For some reason, the air suddenly felt thick, almost hard to breathe, like you were in one of those barrels, suffocating and trying not to drown.

Your shorts were tights and your fishnets were clinging a little too tightly to your legs, too tight to be as comfortable as they had been.

"I don't know," Law mumbles quietly, honestly, watching as you shift forward on your knees, feeling the crinkle of the tarp sweat against your skin. "I thought about a lot of different ways..."

"Yeah?" You asked, watching as they did the same, unfolding their long legs and sitting on the ground, taking up space. You were always told not to do that, by girls like you, but Law didn't have that same concern. They hadn't been taught to hate themselves in that way. "What's your favourite?"

"Hah," They let out a breathy laugh and shook their head again. "The same way I killed that dog-"

So, it was a dog.

Your stomach turned and you just hoped to fucking God that it was a stray, not a beloved family pet with missing posters now pasted up around the town.

"I'd break your neck and..." They held your hands even tighter and you finally noticed that your fingers were now also streaked with blackened gore, like they were infecting you with the same disease that had infected them and made them so perfect for you. "Put you inside of those barrels."

You let out a little whimper, looking down at your trembling legs as they curled up with Law's, your body subconsciously wanting to be closer to them

Your cock was throbbing under your tight shorts too, despite your turning stomach.

"And watch you melt away," They continued, raising one hand to cup your jaw (hard, chiselled, any threat of stubble burned away months ago) and bringing your lips even closer together. "And keep everything left behind. Bones, hair, matted flesh.” Their lips spread into a sick grin, the rictus smile of a corpse. “Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

"Yes," You murmured, your eyes half-lidded and dazed as you stared at them, captured by the dead beauty in those grey eyes. "It would be...wonderful."

They smiled again, and gently kissed your lips.

This wasn't the first time the two of you had kissed, far from it, but something about it felt that way.

Like in the wake of your shared honesty, you were now two brand new people meeting for the very first time, finding each other in the darkness and curling together, twin centipedes in a tree trunk, worms in the dirt, mated maggots in the gore you were streaked with.

You keened in closer, holding their hand tight and parting their chapped lips with your pierced tongue, deepening the kiss in a way you knew they wouldn't.

You didn't mind taking the lead at times.

As long as they did it, most of the time.

"Mm," They moaned quietly, pushing their hand through your dark hair and curling it into a fist, gripping a thick handful of it and using it to wrangle you even closer, to bite down on your gasping lips and take you, as they wanted to.

You didn't mind the pain. You didn't mind the sting of their teeth on your lips or their hands in your hair.

It made you feel a little more like a woman.

Your cock stirred again.

If you were still online, admitting to something like that probably would have earned you a sternly worded anonymous message, filled with buzz words like ‘autogynophilia’ and ‘male socialisation’ and reminding you ‘you should really do better to unlearn your male privilege if you want to be considered safe to this community’.

You weren’t online though.

You hadn’t been back online since your main account got banned for ‘violating community guidelines’ and your fundraiser for facial feminisation surgery got taken down after a wave of mass-reporting, a result of a particularly bad faith call-out post from one of the myriad of trolls that plagued you.

That might have put you in a psych ward two years ago, but you knew you were better without it now.

After all, if you were still online, you probably wouldn’t have met Law.

Law pulled back from the kiss, a thin line of spittle attaching your lips that they licked away, the deep depth of their eyes softening a little as they let go of your hands.

"Can I," They started, reaching down to the crotch of your shorts and pressing a palm against it. You groaned through grit teeth and instantly held their broad shoulders, shifting your hips forward against them, the cool expanse of their palm making you shiver, despite the layers of fabric that separated your skin. "Can I touch your cock?"

"Mmhmm," You nodded, biting your lip.

You took in another groan as they slowly unbuttoned and unzipped your shorts and peeled down your fishnets and panties, finding your cock (a little soft thanks to its tight tuck through the day, but you couldn't manage a full erection most of the time anymore anyway) and giving it a light squeeze.

It was a somewhat awkward motion, but you didn’t blame them that much.

They were never really sure what to do with your cock, which was why they generally preferred to play with your asshole, to tease it with their fingers and their tongue, before penetrating it completely.

You would have preferred that too, especially when you were feeling as vulnerable as you were, but you were in a dirty forest clearing without a condom or any lube. And you might have been dumb enough to follow an animal killer with murderous fantasies about you into that forest, but you weren’t dumb enough to attempt anal sex without the right prep.

You didn’t hate yourself enough.

"What else, hah," You gasped against their trembling lips, holding their shirt tighter in your curled fists as they worked their own fist up and down your soft length, trying to encourage it to a degree of hardness. They probably weren’t going to manage such a feat, but you did appreciate the effort that they were going to for it. "What else have you thought about, Law?"

"Hm?" They looked up at your needy expression, a blush quickly gathering in your cheeks when they saw it, saw your narrowed eyes, your parted lips.

"Tell me how you'll kill me again," You pleaded, reaching down with one hand to grope their own cock through their sweatpants, as the other unbuttoned your plaid overshirt and rolled your tank top up your chest, revealing your pale breasts.

Your nipples were perky in the cold air and Law immediately dipped their head to run their tongue over them, despite your request for them to keep talking.

"Mm," You moaned, all the same, pushing the hand through their hair and guiding their tongue to the ripe bud of your nipple. "Give me a good one, Law...come on."

"Ah," They groaned when you gave their cock another firm squeeze, trying to alert their attention to what you wanted. "I want...mm, I want to take you back to my apartment...and tie you up there." They moaned hotly against your skin, thin hips bucking when your fist tightened at their words. "Cut out your spine so I can...hah, so I can keep it."

You felt a pulse of white-hot heat rush through your body and straight to your cock at that mental image, of you bound (and maybe gagged, like the damsels in movies were, the first kind of womanhood you related to in your boyhood) on the bed where you'd fucked so many times before.

Law would be the hulking slasher villain, they’d have a knife, and they would be standing over you, waiting for the perfect time to strike, when you had gotten so worked up and hysterical that they could really enjoy your death all the more.

"Fuck," You groaned deeply (because fuck the voice training right now), bucking your hips as you felt your cock start to twitch and harden in their hand. "God, that’s so hot. What's wrong with me..."

"Hmph," They huffed out a fond laugh, teasing the bud of your nipple with their crooked teeth, making you whine needily and grip them even tighter. “What did you say, about 'girls like us'...that's what we’re like, isn't it?"

We. Including themselves.

Herself.

"Yeah?" You wheezed through a gasp with your own laugh (sardonic and a little mean, not the way girls should be at all, but the way you were), your eyes darkening as you stared down at them. "That’s right…so, what, you gonna cut my dick out to join my spine, Law?"

"Mmhmm," They hummed (and you were silently thrilled that they didn’t even blink at your slurred request for genital mutilation), a demented and almost peaceful little smile coming to their face as you pried their sweatpants down and revealed the monster between their legs. Your asshole clenched just looking at it, and you couldn’t wait to get back to their apartment if you survived this. "I’d keep it safe. Then I’d cut off your testes and eat them."

Your thighs trembled and you grit your teeth, feeling another pulse of heat shoot to your cock.

"Hah…I read they're a natural source of estrogen somewhere," You managed to wheeze out with a little chuckle. "Makes sense, huh? Where one girl ends, another begins."

"Mmm..." They moaned mindlessly, trailing a thick smear of drool down your chest as they let go of your cock and circled their arms around your little waist tightly, pulling you in close.

Despite your maddening arousal, you let them do it, happily, resting your cheek against the crown of their head, and relishing in the feeling as your cocks pressed and rubbed together, sticky heads occasionally grazing over one another.

"Wanna be your girl," They murmured, kissing and tonguing at your nipple again, clinging to you even tighter. "Can I be your girl? Please? Please let me…"

"Baby," You cooed, shifting your hips even closer to theirs hers, almost sitting in their her lap as your own arms wrapped around their her neck.

Twin centipedes in a tree trunk, wriggling worms in the dirt, mated maggots in the gore your hands, your chest, your rotten cock, were streaked with.

"You always were my girl...and always will be."

[actualalivecreature]

tag blacklist

block these tags if you have triggers or content issues! some of this stuff is posted more frequently than others, but if you blacklist the tag and phrase/s, it will hide it from your dashboard if you still wish to follow me

#nsft - not safe for work content

#nsft text - the above, but text posts

#trans discourse - posts about infighting within the trans community

#transmisogyny - posts surrounding trans-centric misogyny and oppression of trans women/fems

#transandrophobia - posts surrounding trans-centric antimasculinity and oppression of trans men/mascs

#syscourse - DID discourse posts

#ableism - mentions of discrimination and vitriol towards disabled folks

more tags under the cut, CW for VERY NSFT mentions of Hard Kink

#CNC - consensual nonconsent roleplay not safe for work content

#snuff or #snvff - not safe for work roleplay surrounding CNC and (fictional!) death

#intox - drug/alcohol intoxication kink mentions, discussion, fantasies, roleplay, etc.

[tye-wig-music]

cw murder, transmisogyny, discussion of serial killers

ultimately I guess it shouldn’t be surprising that brianna ghey’s killing was motivated more by a Leopold & Loeb-esque desire to commit a murder as the enactment of a power fantasy (the alleged killers discussed multiple potential victims before settling on Brianna) rather than principally by transmisogyny per se (although - in case you haven’t read the reports - one of the defendants referred to Brianna as “it” in whatsapp correspondence & the other seems to have been erotically fascinated by her; dehumanisation & objectification were doubtlessly factors here; I mean more that it does not seem on the face of it to have comprised any sort of first step in a genocidal programme). of course, dahmer’s victims were preponderantly gay men of colour; the yorkshire ripper’s, predominantly sex workers; it is no accident that the targets of sadistic and psychologically-motivated murders are regularly vulnerable, disempowered members of marginalised groups. this trial is in its infancy and further facts may come out, but for the moment it seems that the transmisogny implicit in this horrific act of violence was indeed largely implicit; her killers may have had an easier time committing her murder because of her trans identity, but were not apparently motivated specifically by it. Which I did find surprising, but perhaps should not have.