#discussions about... idk... language of the self?

[hello-eeveev]

this twitter thread really got to me. because yeah. it is a torment and it is a blessing, and the reward comes from struggling through pinning down the vast expanse of your imagination to the written word. the self is inherent to the process. the way we experience the world influences how we describe it in language and how we organize it into something told linearly.

yeah. I care about writing stories so much. I care about how I tell them and the way I tell them because the process is what makes the story. somewhere between all the floating plot points in your head and the trying to put it into the right words in the right order, the life essence of the story generates itself.

to surrender the process to something that does not experience the magnificent struggle of being alive is a tremendous loss.

[luvvyouforever]

harvey (sdv) - nsfw alphabet <3

-> there is not nearly enough harvey content on tumblr for my liking. SO two harvey posts in a row, yes i do believe. and i do love reading an sfw/nsfw alphabet so of course i have to provide for our favorite nerdy doctor <3 i also want you to know that as i write this, i imagine harvey as a taller, bigger man. so like he's got some chub on him and he's got broad shoulders. idk idk it's my headcanon.

-> this is nsfw and dirty! like i really tried to get over my reservations about using descriptive language. with that being said, NSFW 18+ MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

harvey is the sweetest, most gentlemanly partner after sex. he makes sure that you get cleaned up, that you protect yourself against any UTIs or other gross things, makes you some coffee or tea, and cuddles with you endlessly. harvey would need some extra reassurance that what he did was good, that you enjoyed it, or that you didn't get hurt. he'd get anxious and worry about it for the rest of the night if you didn't offer him some kind of honest discussion.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

i think he appreciates his arms and hands! he knows that he has some strength and likes when you can grip on to his biceps in the heat of the moment. knows how to work his hands i mean, come on. he can do minor surgical interventions. if you hold onto his arm while you're walking in town, he'd get all blushy.

as for you, he truthfully loves every part of you. if you ever asked him "what part of me is your favorite?" he would actually stress over it and couldn't answer. however, if you really really wanted him to say, he would choose your eyes. there's nothing better to him than looking at them when he's giving you pleasure. sends him reeling, actually.

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

i don't think harvey is particularly keen on making a mess, especially of the bed or another surface. he'd try to keep his cum inside of you, or at least contained to an easily wipeable surface (like your face). on the down low though, i truthfully think he'd surprisingly enjoy cumming on your face, mainly around your lips. messy oral? he's done for.

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

meeting dr. harvey in his office for a confidential check-up? hmm. definitely not when you first start dating, but give him some time and you may just find yourself on his desk (never in the actual, sterile field) receiving a little extra attention wink wink nudge nudge

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he has plenty of knowledge about anatomy, trust me. he never struggles with finding your best spots. however, he struggles with foreplay and building intimacy and dirty talk, etc. he's a nerd! what can i say? tell him what you like, guide him, and help him and he'd be confident in no time. he's a quick learner.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

so, i think there are two sides to harvey. he is either incredible slow, passionate, and earnest. this lends itself to something simple like missionary where he can stare into your eyes, kiss you, tell you sweet things, etc. his other side comes out later, when he's gotten more comfortable with you and with himself, and he can get a little rougher or faster or intense. he likes to be able to grip on to you so something like doggy, maybe riding?

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

harvey can't help but be clumsy sometimes. he learns to be able to giggle at himself when his hand misses the bed and he falls. he also can't help but giggle when hair gets caught in your mouth or some other silly thing. however, he likes to keep things intimate and prefers to have a serious moment with you in bed.

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

i don't think he fully shaves, he just doesn't strike me as that kinda guy with his mustache. but i do think he trims it, kinda manscapes it a little bit to tame everything down but he likes to have a little hair down there.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

loves making sex romantic. he doesn't do it often, but on special days like your anniversary or birthday, he will harvest some flowers from the farm and throw the petals around the room, open up some freshly made wine, and showers you in affection. as for every day sex, he still likes to make it special for you and never backs down on his pure, teeth-hurting sweetness.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

i think that he is the kinda guy that starts feeling guilty for masturbating after he gets into a relationship. prefers to just wait for you. however, before your relationship, he would masturbate every once in a while when he was stressed or horny. if he ever watched porn, which i feel like would be very rare for him, he wouldn't watch highly produced, fake porn. it would have to be something amateur. (harvey has a secret twitter account)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

okay so...i think harvey starts out vanilla. when you're getting to know him and for the first few times you have sex, he keeps it simple. mainly out of nervousness. however, i think he's kinkier than we might assume. i think he really enjoys being praised and praising you. i think, too, he likes feeling big and strong in that he gives in to his possessiveness sometimes, and he likes being able to manhandle you a little bit. also, i propose this everyone....bondage? nothing super strong! just with his tie or belt. and your hands. to the headboard.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

your bedroom, mostly! he has a reputation that he needs to uphold so anything in public is nerve wracking. but with some convincing, like i said, his fancy office is not totally off limits.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

seeing you do anything! especially if you're really determined to get something done and you're working hard at it! like, you've been working so damn hard on renovating and cleaning the farm and you come back proud of everything you've done, he will look at you with a glow in his face. kisses on the neck, too!

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

i don't think he'd ever hurt you. it's just not something he could ever see himself doing. he doesn't mind seeing like fingertip marks on you the day after but anything like choking, spanking, etc is out of the question. he also would find rudeness a turn off in a person. like he would hate to see anyone be rude to another person and it would take away from someone's attractiveness immediately! (that's not to say that he doesn't enjoy some town gossip here and there)

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

my first headcanon here is that harvey LOVES giving oral and on the days when he hasn't cleanly shaved his face, his stubble leaves marks around your thighs. okay, now that that's out of the way: harvey is such a pleaser and he'd do anything to make sure you feel good. he likes when you guide his head, mouth, or hands and he likes being told if you want more, or faster, or less. as for him receiving, i think he enjoys it but he gets so in his head that he can't really cum from it. it takes some extra praise and reassurance to get him to fully open up.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

like every other answer here, it depends on his mood! he can get really fast when he's feeling extra needy or kinky. however, when he's trying to be romantic, he will take his sweet time and go nice and slow with his thrusts, movements, touches. however, i think he could also use slowness to his advantage and tease you.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

prefers to take his time but sometimes he likes to catch you before you wake up and start working on the farm and before he has to go to work. he enjoys these more than he will admit to himself though and he thinks it can be fun!!

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he's down to try new things, don't get me wrong! if you wanna try something new, he'll let you to an extent but he won't do anything that comes with a dangerous outcome or health risk! like, sure, he might be down to try some new rope positions but he won't dare put chocolate sauce around his genitals. do you know the bacteria risks that can come with that??

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

i don't think he has very high stamina. it's not that he gets really sleepy after, but he can't go for multiple rounds. maybe two if it's been a long time since he's seen you. he can last a while though, i think. he won't cum the minute he engages in anything and with his anxiety, it may even take him a while to get to that point.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he doesn't mind bringing out a vibrator because he knows how good it could make you feel. he doesn't like them on himself though! he doesn't mind taking a trip out to zuzu and hitting up a sex shop to buy some new bondage-y toys. they will be thoroughly cleaned though. why would nipple clamps be any less clean than forceps?

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

he doesn't do it with malice in his heart, trust me. he just likes seeing you on edge, waiting for him of all people, begging for more pleasure. he experiments to see how long you can go for, or how far he can drag out oral. he definitely enjoys it more than he'd let on. oh, and, i leave you with this, imagine harvey offering fake pity and cooing at you:

"my poor flower...you must want it so bad!"

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

keeps quiet, mostly. some interjections of grunts and groans, especially when he cums. he uses his voice more for sweet talk! he loves hearing your noises, though, and it gives him more encouragement than anything.

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

the first time you called him dr. harvey in a joking, yet somewhat flirtatious manner, he blushed and got incredibly flustered. then, you did it again, and it had the same effect. and then...oh lord. your hands were roaming his body and you, just testing the waters, called him dr. harvey and he could have finished right there.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he's big guys, i'm sorry. nerdy white men are always packing. i headcanon him as a big boy and it's only fitting that he's proportionate. more thickness than length. he was a little ashamed the first time you had sex but he realized just how good it feels and it makes him proud. big dick energy if you will.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

i think he has a fluctuating sex drive. during flu and cold season, he is so stressed and likes to come back and make dinner, cuddle, and go to bed. however, during the summer, when everyone is healthy and only needs some aloe vera gel for sunburns, he could go day after day with you. it just all depends on his mood and the time of the year.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he enjoys cuddling and talking after sex but give him an hour and the man is CONKED. he's the older bachelor so of course he's a sleepy man. cuddle up to his chest, open up the window to let fresh air or the sounds of rain float in, and he'll be like a baby.

[mihii-i]

hi, Could you make a story about Mizu x fem, the reader works in a brothel and Mixu ends up meeting her there and falling in love. Sorry my english is bad

cruelty of pleasure.

Pairings: mizu x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, afab reader, mentions of sex work/prostitution, prostitute reader, implied sexual assault (not by edo japan’s standards but still), reader thinks mizu is a male, episode 4 spoilers, reader isn’t ugly per-se but a low ranked prostitute bro idk, obviously has themes discussing sex so not entirely sfw, bye this turned out so bad I can’t even look at this, short fic, rushed I apologize feel free to request again if you don’t like it, not proofread.

A/N: yessss I adore my beautiful half white half japanese samurai someone get the spray bottle and scream nurse she’s out again because i legitimately have a crush on this woman irl it’s not funny anymore ALSO EW WHY DOES MY TEA TASTE LIKE 99% HONEY WITH BOOTYHOLE also remember, this fic is RUSHED DONT EXPEXT IT TO BE GOOD.🕯️

Quivering breaths drawled from the cherry red smudges of your lips in shallow exhales, thighs twitching as you scrambled away from the warrior spread out nude on his back before you. You promptly retracted your leg into the baring, thin fabric of your ikat patterned kimono loosely draped over your body being the only article of clothing that covered you.

Being amongst the lower ranks, and ultimately deemed as less desirable in a venereal world of pleasure claiming your life, you had always found yourself caged in the grueling depravity of men who couldn’t be fulfilled by simply bedding a woman. Even the most extreme of desires that sparked within Madam Kaji’s teahouse as a stream of peculiarities after the other fell short of meeting the expectations of a few who couldn’t reach their release at sight of torture itself.

You’ve seen it all, the horrific ends to which their cruelty reached to simply relish in the metallic taste of blood spilling onto their tongue, as if it was a cup of tea rather than the agony of a drained woman. Despite the surges of pain searing through your body, the sting seeping along your sore muscles as you struggled to keep up the position you were flexed into on multiple occasions, the god awful smile and facade of enjoying a man’s advances for the sake of his fantasy remained stretched along your cheekbones through fat tears brimming your eyes occasionally.

Kaji kept you in her care as she had promised, safe from everything besides the torment of the men forced onto you among the semi-comfortable accommodations of where you rested alone, clouds of your thoughts snug beside you as company. You couldn’t exactly trace back to when exactly you had been sold off to the teahouse years ago, stumbling upon being shoved inside and quickly bought in the blink of an eye.

Kaji eyed your reserved, young self shrinking away from the intimidating paper doors lined up and boxed around every corner you glanced upon, sliding open like the puzzle of a labyrinth that would tear you open on sight. In a way, Kaji had took remorse on you, although she wouldn’t dare to act on it. The older woman observed you from afar when she caught sight of the subtle jerks in your body language within the dimly lit room, hands shivering as you attempted to steady your grip on the teapot filled with sake, spilling into the slight bowl curve of the cup steadily.

Pity fogged her vision as her eyes frequented to glance through the cut peephole dragging open, eyelids lowering upon seeing the dripping wax of the candle puddled at its base to illuminate the sick sight of heaping fear fighting its way back down your throat. Your pathetic whimpers and nails clawing at anything you could find below you to ground yourself only wrenched her heart at the disgusting view of you thrashing about against the tatami mats.

Clearly in pain from the stretch, yet unable to run nor cry. Only take in the sickening scent of sake and sweat stinging your nostrils in the unbearable heat blistering against you, neck tilted in the illusion to grant him access, yet only eyeing the paper doors through tears crowning your lashes as your vision blurred together gleams of gold bouncing off white.

Swallowing back the heaps of drool piled in your mouth, gliding down your throat painfully as you rose to your feet, bare legs trembling with your thighs clamped together. Your fingertips treaded along the thin layer of the sliding door, gently pushing along the sheets delicate under your hand as your nails grazed along the rimmed wood.

Limping out of the room, your head tilted back to the sight of the man passed out, bare as he jerked in your sleep in the confines of the furnished room barely lit by the stubby candle flickering along the threaded straws. You meekly slid the door back shut, each step of yours planted along the floorboards drawn out in slow motion through your head spinning in a sharp jab for every waking moment you stood.

The ache pumping across your body burned at your calves, nearly unable to walk any further across the small prickles poking at your heels continued to rip away your ability to walk properly, knees buckling inward as your palm gripped at a nearby pillar to stabilize yourself as your dry mouth hung agape.

"(Name)..? What on earth are you doing on the floor like that?"

Your hazy eyes raked over the tall woman towering before you, intimidating shadow looming before you like a ruthless monster. Madam Kaji's brows furrowed at your heavy breaths expanding against your constricted chest with a death grip digging into the splintering wood of the pillar, glancing up to meet her eyes digging into you with the sting of her judgement written all over her face.

“I..”

“Get yourself to the dressing area. You look a mess.” She instructed, eyes fixed on your trembling thighs struggling their way back up, tensing up the fatigued muscle in your futile efforts to cease the shaking and remain upright. Curling your toes into any stability of the floor chafing against the bare soles of your feet was the only grounding that held you back from cracking off the edge, similarly to how your sanity wore thin in the confines of a pleasure house.

Your skull throbbed along its fleshy confines as you stumbled into the unruly heat fogged thick along the dressing room, eyes of the other women dead set on you the moment their head whipped around. Every pair of eyes lining each little outline of your body like a hawk wasn’t difficult to detect, nor were you unaccustomed to the lingering stares that stabbed you with their gaze.

Yet despite the common nature of such an occurrence being routine to you, the overly shrewd inspection continued to burn deep against the base of your neck, as if everyone around you passed a judgement of resolute hatred directly unto your soul itself. Of course, you knew the selfish strings of plaguing thought were false, everyone here had been sold in on varying conditions, concerns aimed solely toward themselves in their own realm of level anxiety matching yours in the cruelty of pleasure.

Fingers walking along your shoulder, the cusp of your hand snaked under the loose fabric draped over your collarbone, tugging down at the withering fades of your cheap kimono. As the fabric brushed further and further down, more bruises of purplish red sprouted in a trail down your body as if it was the spread of hellfire itself, crawling down in red claws to latch onto you whole in the grim reminder of your agonizing lifelong doom.

Chatters of the other prostitutes flushed out as worthless bursts of noise against your ears, aimlessly raking your gaze over your knees brushed against the floor with the gloss clouding your eyes becoming unnoticeable at this point. Their laughs and banter was merely an act wasn’t it? So how come the poor girls got to speak amongst one another in joy without sobbing nightly at the reality of their life being nothing but wringing them dry until they had not even an ounce of strength to stand?

“I’m not taking that blue eyed freak, why do I always get the ugly ones?”

“So far he turned down everyone.”

“Let him turn down me.”

Dragging yourself out into their periphery, you groggily blinked upon taking in the exasperated comments of the others fixing themselves intently in the mirrors specked with flicks of stray dust. Some sort of foreigner in the brothel? That couldn’t be possible, there were no white men in Japan. Not by a long shot. Perhaps he was mixed, although that taboo would be too disgusting to even imply in the stir of hatred that fostered amongst the tensions of an already hostile society.

“(Name), go check on him, I will be there alongside the gentleman shortly.” Kaji immediately ordered, her voice cutting through your train of thought. You couldn’t even speak up to object, voice far too strained and energy drained dry to think about rebutting any statement drawled out of her lips.

With a brief nod, you staggered to your feet, smoothing out the fabric drawn over your body as you attempted to mask the limp prevalent in your pummeled steps.

By the time you had laid your eyes upon the stranger, he seemed..strange. As if his lack of interest in anything around the brothel was oddly comforting to you, considering how used to you were with men getting their hands all over you quickly in violent fashions the moment they stepped into a whorehouse like this.

Your footsteps remained cautious before you knelt before the stranger, the orange tint of his glasses obscuring the view of you in the rest of annoyance he seemed to flaunt around to add to that brooding demeanor.

Those eyes.

You saw them. Blue, just like everyone had said, yet no monstrosity or vile malice presided within those waves, only hate.

“I said I don’t want any company.”

That..was far more comforting than the usual lunge or assault of ripping off your clothing on sight. Well, there truly was someone who didn’t wish to abuse your body for their satisfaction. Someone before you who beheld the eyes of a demon, yet the intent of his in such a place truly emphasizesf he was not human.

As, a human wouldn’t have enough good in his heart to reject any desire of his, not everyone was truly trying to tear you apart on sight.

Perhaps, you liked this devil. Grown fond of him already in fact.

A/N: I’m very sorry to the requester but I got too frustrated with this and stopped it at a cliffhanger I’d like to apologize a thousand times over for the poor quality, as well as my abrupt ending of said fic. I’m going to chill a little bit on the fanfiction since my mental health has been declining quite a bit and I have finals as well as a mock exam in the morning so I must sleep early right now—contemplated deleting this cause I didn’t like how it turned out, but I did NOT want to disappoint with nothing so I came out with this shitshow. Once again, I am truly sorry. And I promise my next fic will have some sort of quality within it.

Yours truly, mihi.

this except she’s not straight not in my fucking eyes

god I hate everything that breathes in my direction rn (minus my mother love her)

[netherfeildren]

Busy, Dying. Part 2;

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: In an in-between place called his life, Joel Miller is alone. In search of a cure. In need of a miracle. In want of God.

Can I interest you in a cure for loneliness? She'd asked him in a language without words. Taking it is the easy part. Letting her go is impossible.

-OR-

an a/b/o soulmates AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Infidelity, Cheating, They're behaving badly and doing things they shouldn't be doing idk, HEA!!!!!, Angst, Fluff & Smut, Scenting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Group Therapy, Social Experiments, Explicit Sexual Content, Dom/sub Undertones, Complicated family dynamics, Discussions of self harm, Depression, Existential Angst, He’s a loser your honor!!!

Word Count: 6.3K

Read on AO3

Part 2;

It is your own conspiracy that if you say the words three times in the mirror—I am so alone I am so alone I am so alone—the feeling will go away. Banished ghost. 

You commit yourself to this practice religiously for three weeks before you feel you must absolutely return to the meetings held in the basement of the Emmanuel Episcopal Church or you might just die. 

The first Friday back, you watch him. He blunders around the crowd, struggling to find a seat when he rushes in late that evening, trying to sit as far away from you as possible and, to his great misfortune, ending up right behind you. Squashed between two old ladies, his big body comically trying to fold itself into the tight rows. 

You laugh at him the whole way through the meeting. 

After, he’s like a raging bull. Scowly and unapproachable as the omegas in the group inevitably make their meager attempts to talk to him. It makes it all the more irreconcilable, a man like that here in a place like this—all the while with a wife at home. 

You wonder about her. 

“That one has a bad temper,” Maria warns as the two of you watch him. They seem to know each other in some way outside of this church, and it takes everything in you not to beg for details. A brother far away in Wyoming, Maria tells you later. “Big and hairy like a bad, lonely dog.”

You say, “I think he’s shy.” 

She watches you very peculiarly after that, and tells you, “You’re lost, girl. Joel Miller isn’t what you need finding you.”

But you know this, you assure her, and you continue to avoid him. 

The following Friday, he’s the one playing the disappearing act. The next week, as well—no show. You start to dread even your own shadow, wondering where he is, wondering if he’s ever coming back, if he has children and how old he is. Wondering if he wonders about you. Wondering why you’re so obsessed.

Too full of curiosity for your own good, you hover when he finally appears once again. Circling him and Maria, desperate for any sort of information. 

His wife had been sick, he says. He’d had to take her to the doctor. 

You wonder if her sickness might be a baby—sick to your stomach at the thought of it yourself. 

Finally, the week after, the two of you break your fast from one another. 

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he says, coming up from behind, ambushing you once again at the dessert and coffee trough. This is supposed to be a safe space, yet it feels anything but with him near. 

“No I haven’t.”

“You’re not supposed to tell lies in church. It’s a sin.”

“I don’t believe in sin.” You turn to face him, and your stomach hurts. 

He’s got on a dark green fisherman’s sweater—well worn but knit sturdy. A thing that looks as if it’s been his for years. 

And you’re feeling thin-skinned and unable to face him today, for no good reason. You don't know this man. You have no right to punish him with your silence, no right to be angry, to wonder about him. Going out of your way to avoid him is childish when you’re supposed to be here to get to know people. But that sternness from before, the one that looked too heavy for him to carry, has been wiped away from his face now, and in its place he only looks very earnest, like he really wants to talk to you. And it’s only that, well you don’t know him, yes, but you’d felt that you needed to, or that you would. That you were meant to find him in this place, and you’re angry at yourself and at him at how wrong you’d been, still, even after all these weeks of radio silence while he’d been busy caring for his sick wife. 

“Me either,” he gives a small huff of laughter, shoving his fists into the pockets of his dark jeans. 

Setting the donut in your hand back on the table—rude and gross, but it’s an afterthought—you wipe your sweet sweaty palm against your hip, appetite all gone now. The basement is suddenly unbearably hot, your heart beating in your throat. 

“Anywho, I gotta run. Somewhere to be—” you mumble, brushing past him. There’s a sudden rush of itching heat burning its way up your chest, your throat, ants crawling over your scalp. The room is stifling, your limbs leaden and too many bodies; so many disgusting, clashing scents: pheromones, and desperation and such terrible loneliness, and him at the center of it, ambrosial.

You’ll have to recite your mantra more faithfully in the mirror every night, not a single miss. Remind yourself, I am so alone, so that the feeling might go away, and you’ll forget him and the way he smells and his eyes like amber green river stones, more quickly. 

“Whoah, hold on,” he calls after you, following to the exit and up the steps to the world outside of this church. You’d brought a coat today, unable to enjoy the cold the way you usually do, uncharacteristically chill, aching limbs, miserable in the biting morning air. He calls your name, and you clutch the wool against your chest, trying to hurry away from his much longer legs that catch you anyways. 

Suddenly, though, you change your mind. Whirling around to look up, you stop your running, and he’s right there, so close. “I haven’t been ignoring you. You were gone.” Mind changing again, your gaze falls, unable to hold his eyes. You watch his left hand flex like he wants to do something with it. 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

A scoff. “What are you apologizing to me for?” 

“You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met in my entire life.” He says it quietly by way of explanation, like another apology. 

“You must not have met very many interesting people.”

It feels hot and cold at the same time out here. Your stomach still hurts. Your eyes ache as if you could cry, which is ridiculous because you have absolutely no reason to cry. 

“Maybe not,” he says very low. It seems he’s drifting closer, like you’ll float away. A car honks its horn loudly somewhere in the background, and you still can’t look at his face. His own coat is clutched in his fist and now the honker is shouting too, expletives and God’s name being taken in vain. 

“You should go back in there,” you tip your chin at the depths you’d just fled from, stealing a quick glance at his face, “Find someone else who’s interesting.”

He grunts once, a wordless no and lifts his coat to drape it over your shoulders—you decide you’re even colder now, you don’t think you’ll ever be warm again—and takes yours from your listless grip, draping it over his elbow. 

This man. “Aren’t you here to get to know people?” You demand, finally looking up at him angrily. 

“No,” he shakes his head. “Let’s go for a walk.” 

His palm at your bicep urging you towards Arlington and the garden sends all sound skittering out of your ears. He reminds you of your earlier words, that he might like to walk, and you can hear yourself agreeing while you look up at the muted light of the late November afternoon leaching through the cloud cover. Through the wool and cotton you feel your skin sucking heat from that singular point of contact, warming you entirely.

It had been blisteringly cold last night, the alluring taste of incumbent winter in the air, and a vicious frost had ermined all the tree trunks within the Boston Public Garden, roughened the surface of the grass. 

Joel chooses a quiet spot by the pond, the willow weeps above your head and all around the two of you the sharp autumn air is lightly laced with the fragrance of leaf rot. An elderly couple floats serenely in a lone swan boat at the center of the pond, not a ripple in the surface, as if they weren’t really there. 

Helping you to sit, he gently pulls his coat from your shoulders, laying the garment for you to rest on protected from the frigid ground and carefully looping your arms through your own coat now, he pulls the excess fabric of his up, draped over your shoulders once again, leaving you securely enveloped from the cold. 

“Here, let me help you,” he says, and the sudden gentleness in his voice makes you want to burst into tears. 

His character, that of some matryoshkin sort, one embedded in another in another, never knowing which is the realest one, the truest one, which will come next. Angry snarling dog one day, a gentleness that burns the next. You have the sense that a person could know him for decades and still never reach the center, never cease to discover more. 

Sitting before you—you perch alone on the island of his given coat—he tilts his head, leaning back braced on thick arms to look up at the swaying vines with just an impression of brilliant yellow-green, as if that were the color of the air. A sudden breeze stirs the softness of his hair, lifting a stubborn cowlick, and at that exact moment, the cloud cover parts on the face of the sun. In the brilliant shaft of buttered sunlight, his dark curls glint with specks of purest silver, leaving you wishing you could touch the fan of fine lines at the corner of his eyes, feel his age with your fingertips. 

“You’re angry with me,” he finally says, head still tilted towards the sky. You watch him very closely, learning. His voice is deep, quiet. He looks tired, the violet shadows beneath the brilliant hazel eyes. Still beautiful, the full, slightly sulky curve of his mouth surrounded by dark beard. He is everything, all of him, masculine. 

“It doesn’t matter.”

Finally, he looks at you, too. He’s got a big head, proportionate to his big body, that falls back heavily. You can’t help smiling at him, it feels too natural. 

“Now you’re honest.”

“I wouldn’t tell a lie here,” you say, and he sighs like you’re a supremely difficult little omega, too impossible to be reasoned with. Turning back to the sky, eyes closed now, there’s a smile across his mouth also, and you wish the two of you could sit here and laugh forever in this moment.

The silence between the two of you is marvelous enough to be unnerving. Settled beneath his great coat, you’d never believed you could feel the cold so little—learning every fine detail that makes up the man. Even inches away from him, he seems utterly unattainable, each of the two of you existing on your separate islands—you trace the woolen edge of his coat against the ground—some twenty years your senior, likely, and married. But the cold has given you such a feeling of grounding buoyancy. You’d awoken angry, miserable, so full of despair you would’ve been sick with it if it were possible. And now—you hadn’t felt this alive or awake in years, perhaps your entire life. He is a marvel, and there are bubbles in your head threatening to take you floating away, and yet, your feet are firmly melded to the ground in reality. 

How attractive, how delicious the prospect of intimacy is with someone who you know will never grant it. It fills you with something ferocious or hungry or snapping, something pathetic that makes you want it all the worse. And he, with a gravitational pull too strong to even think of escaping.

Yes. You hadn't felt so happy in years. 

“How old are you?” Breaking the silence, you ask him.

“Forty three.”

“You have a brother.” He nods. “I have one too.”

“Do you speak to yours? I don’t.”

“He calls me once a month. It’s all he can bear of me.”

“Mine won’t speak to me.” He sounds sad saying so. 

“Why not?”

“I hurt him. Scared him.”

“My brother, he says my whole life is papier-mâché. My values are all wrong, I’m a crowd-pleaser. It’s probably true.” You’d felt it impossible to better yourself, and yet still, you tried for him even when you didn’t want to. “How did you hurt him?”

“You can’t change a man, only make him more secure. Depending on his character that may then bring happiness or strength or success. Tommy’s failure of this in me was more than he could bear, also.”

The willow becomes your confessional. “I spiked my own drink once just to see what it would be like. A doctor told me afterwards that I have self destructive tendencies. I want to hurt myself, but I don’t want to actually feel the hurt, which makes me all the more addicted to it. A supernumerary on the stage of my own life, too afraid of hurting and hungry for it at the same time.”

The heel of his left hand, you notice, is bearing down on an old acorn burr, and yet he seems not to feel the pain. 

He’s looking at you very intently now. Some glimmering streak in his eye. It almost looks aggressive, and a muscle flutters madly at the edge of his jaw. He straightens, sitting up to face you. The acorn burr is left flattened and disfigured in his wake.

“The last doctor I saw told me I was depressed. I never went back after.”

“Are you?”

He laughs surprisingly full of humor and then instantly serious again. “Probably. I’ve been watching my life, scratching at it trying to get in. I can’t. It’s right there.” The matryoshka shuffles, locked in his melancholy one moment, spilling brightness the next. 

You want to understand him so badly your hands shake with it. 

“What’s your favorite thing about your work?” You ask him. 

Where does his wife think he is right now?

“That’s a nice question. Maybe…” he thinks a moment, “Getting to make things that’ll go in people’s homes. The idea that something that came from me will be surrounded by a family.”

You can’t help yourself. “Why aren’t you at home, then?” You ask him imploringly, unbearably sad for him, sick with need, desperate to understand what it is he’s doing here, and all at once, utterly certain of what it is you are. You breathe him in deeply. “Don’t you love your wife?” The question is posed with no bravery, and yet it still comes out into the world demanding. 

He clicks his tongue, taken aback, a shocked breath, maybe even a small, reproving smile. A hundred different emotions coming to life across his face in that single moment. 

“I don’t know,” he finally answers. “I remember loving her. Maybe. At best? She’s a stranger. At worst? An excuse?” The way he says it, like a question—he’s asking you, not telling, for he isn’t even sure of it himself. You’ve caught him off guard. 

“No…” the click of his tongue snaps you to attention, “That's too generous. We’re trapped in a box together, but completely strange to one another.” It suddenly feels like he shouldn’t be telling you this—about her. You’re sure he shouldn’t be. 

“Do you hate each other?” you ask anyway. There’s something…your only example of love and marriage being two people who had always hated one another and filled the home where their children lived with more hate. It’s difficult to fathom something different than what that had looked like. 

If you were truly brave, you’d ask if he has children, too. 

“No,” he says immediately, a non option, his brow furrowed. “That would take too much effort.” 

Now you understand. He’s alone anyways. The feeling of urgency within you mounts. You’re frightened by this moment of discovery. 

“You’re Southern. Your accent…” You can’t discuss this anymore, needing to change the subject. 

“Texas.”

“When did you leave?”

“Long time ago.”

“Do you miss it?”

At his, he laughs like the question is ironic. “No. Where are you from?”

“Sometimes it feels like I can’t even remember.”

And as if he’d pulled the feeling straight from your mouth, he tells you that he understands what that’s like, and you can’t help it when you reach for his hand, being as careful with him as you would any shy creature, needing to hold him. 

-

“I’ve never been in love,” you tell him, childish look of recklessness and valor coming across your face as you pick up on the earlier thread of conversation you’d frightened yourself with. “It seems too daring, even grotesque.” 

He thinks he wants to capture that look in a bottle and take it everywhere with him. His entire body throbs with a heartbeat and the shape of your hand fits his as if every joint and muscle and soft ligament had been specifically designed for him to hold, filled suddenly with a terrible sense of foreboding. Looking at you, one just knows there’ll be a broken heart. 

Your small thumb smooths gently over his large one, and he marvels that such an exquisite creature would touch him. God, but you’re beautiful. Your touch, soft and enticing and painful all at once. No one had ever been so gentle with him.

“Won’t you tell me a secret?” you beg.

He will. He might give you anything in this moment. In the weeks he’d been kept away, he’d desperately counted the days and minutes until he could return to that place of worship and honesty. 

“I think about you,” voice hushed, the shaking of the leaves not loud enough to mask the soft breath you suck in as he gives you his confession. 

He maps the architecture of the small hands in his grasp, fingers tracing fingers, uncured clay fragile before the heat. He feels tired and strangely spent, almost drunk on your touch. His thumb slides upwards, marveling at the softness of your wrist, and then there, beneath the shivering distraction of your pulse and his disturbing search, the unlocked fragrance of your scent gland. It drifts towards him slowly like smoke rising from sleep.  

The air seems to pulse between the two of you with heat and premonition. That singular moment before everything goes terribly wrong, he can see it in your eyes. Such vibrancy, excitement, recklessness turned dangerous. 

“We should…” you feel him begin to pull away, grappling to hold on to the moment and his hand, “We should fuck.” He takes himself back, letting you go. Where else was this being led?

He cringes away from you. “Excuse me?” 

“Sex. You’ve had it before.” His mind reels. His body’s reaction at hearing your mouth say these things, the way it shapes them, the soft, full lips wrapped around the words.  

Looking away, he watches the pond’s couple help each other out of the swan. In his periphery, he can see you begin to bristle at his silence. 

“Don’t be peevish. It’s unbecoming.” 

He can’t help feeling angry. “I’m not. I’m old enough to be your father.” 

And you laugh at him. You’re deviating paths now, going opposite ways and angry at one another for it. 

“We could pretend that—if that’s what you want,” you say, voice husky and seductive. 

A small palm smooths up his thigh and his gaze snaps fire at you, hand clamping painfully at your wrist, fingernails digging at your gland, disturbing more of that gorgeous scent into the air. 

You make a pained sound. He needs to leave. He needs to never see you again.

“Don’t be disgusting,” he shoots back, hot everywhere. 

“Don’t be a prude.” He flings your wrist away, and you cradle it against your chest as if he’d hurt you. The heat turns to guilt pulsing through his limbs. 

Warring to wounded then, your eyes. You wrap your fingers around your discarded wrist. “What if we lose everything? What if tomorrow’s the end of the world? What if we’re so thoroughly cured of our loneliness after all this is done, we never feel like we need another person this way again?” 

His muscles tense with the need to flee or attack, the thought of you needing him, of being needed—he’s like some creature coming upon its mate. 

Despite his age, he had never tried to truly seduce anyone. He had never truly wanted anyone. Not in any real and base sort of way. Like an alpha. Desire for him had been a mute and ordinary thing. But he could have you now, turned into a thing he’d never been before, he could mount you and rut you into the dirt like an animal. Never so much a product of his designation as he feels in this instant. 

He can’t even form word, and your body seems to pulse against his with embarrassed heat and indignation. 

“Have you ever even fucked an omega?” You spit at him meanly. 

“We shouldn’t be talking about this.” 

Voice carefully restrained, each syllable off his tongue is measured with his tenuous control. 

“Tell me anyways,” you demand, shoving his coat off your shoulders being the thing that almost makes him lose it. 

“It’s cold. Put that back on.”

“Tell me.” And he shouldn’t. You should have no sway over him. No demand of his honesty or anything else that belongs to him.

“Once. Only because I wanted to know what it was like.” He’s man enough to admit to himself the embarrassment he feels telling you this.

But it seems to quell some tremor in your eyes, and you sit back, palm petting at your throat as if you’re trying to soothe yourself. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, gaze averted, glassy, delirious look there. “I’ve always gotten my feelings hurt easily. I’m—” you shake your head quickly, sucking on your lip. “...too sensitive. Sometimes I feel like I’ll float away if I don’t find anyone to hold me down.” 

He should tell you that you’re not, wants to, but the image of you weak and pinned beneath him churns in his mind. Whole body aching suddenly, needing his hands on you before he does something truly heinous—he straightens abruptly, abandoning your reassuring warmth. Feeling suddenly cold despite the sweat dotting his spine. 

Without another word he turns to leave you there, alone, while the swan pair watches from across the pond as the two of you part ways. 

The next morning he awakens stiff and burning, his cock a brand of heat against his stomach. And works his entire day in a static haze, lavender spots at the edge of his vision where all he can think about is how you smell and the way your hand feels in his. By five o’clock, his fingers ache, spasming painfully from gripping his tools too hard. Breaking his weeks-long habit, he decides to attend the Saturday night meeting, full of constrained energy and sullen moodiness. Reasoning that a pretty, young girl like you wouldn’t waste her weekend in the basement of a church abandoned by God. 

And is sick to his stomach with equal measures elation and dread when he spots you sitting amongst the crowd of metal folding chairs—wearing his coat. He doesn’t hesitate even a little when he claims the seat next to yours. 

The two of you sit in strained silence the entire meeting, the other alphas and omegas surrounding throwing alarmed and intrigued glances your way as the tension brews hotter and more frenzied, scent mounting.

His body hurts. This is a painful kind of lust. 

He listens to the speakers tonight with only half an ear, instead, occupied with the memory of what you’d looked like the other week eating a jelly and cream filled donut, imagining what your mouth would look like smeared with his blood and come. He can smell your body, how hot and trembling nervous you are. So unlike all that blistering, innocent valor from yesterday. 

The omega with the cruel husband turned sick one is taking her turn again tonight. Now that he finally looks at her, she has hair that at one time was vibrant red, now turned a softened copper threaded through with white. Time is such a painful, slow thing, Joel thinks. 

“Have you ever been with someone you knew you were too good for?” The omega asks the room, while the one beside him begins to shake, knee jolting nervously.

You’re anxious, and it makes him angry that you should be made so by his actions. 

Too rough for forbearance, his palm clamps down tightly on your knee, holding it still, and you make some supplicant whimper at the back of your throat. Almost imperceptibly, you draw away from him, the line of your shoulders growing rigid, and a wild, irrational sense of loss steals his breath. 

He’s been so busy lately, distracted. He’s hungry, overstrained, anxious, himself. He doesn’t mean to be brusque with you. He just can’t help himself. 

Would we be here if we had? Someone lost in the crowd pipes back. 

The woman laughs, she has a kind face. “Me either.” You shove his palm off your leg as if it burns. “But there was someone… once. A chance, maybe. Someone I didn’t choose but should have. We were friends. We came very close to being happy.” 

And Joel suddenly feels a wave of desolation so overwhelming wash over him. He turns to look at you, your vibrating profile, so pretty, and he’s gentle this time when he touches your knee. Just to feel you. How terrible, he thinks, to only come very close to being happy. 

The speaker changes, and then it’s Maria’s voice talking to them all. Joel still can’t look away from you as you, in turn, refuse to look at him. 

“Stop, Joel,” you whisper. But he can’t. 

“At the start of this, we usually discuss a second option for those of you who aren’t able to find what you’re looking for in this. Sometimes it’s not so simple,” Maria tells them. 

A miracle move on drug, is what she calls it. 

The group’s coalition is sponsored by a pharmaceutical company, one testing a cure for loneliness. Something they think of as pilled perfection, something to numb the pain of loss. Any emotional wound, now with the potential to be a thing of the past. The young omega handing out the pamphlets had promised an easy cure, it seems this is what he’d been referring to. And if the potential side effects included an inability to hold on to any sort of emotional attachment afterward, well, the encounter groups they’d targeted thus far were grateful for it in the end anyway. They were all alone after all. 

“It’ll help you let go of everything you can’t let go of,” Maria tells them. “Help make you forget. Help make you un-lonely. We’ll be holding a session Wednesday morning for anyone who’s interested in being part of the trial. Our sponsor company, Firefly, is very happy to welcome as many of you as possible.” 

Beside him, you whisper, “Only a coward would take that option. What a cheat.” 

Joel hesitates, perplexed and wounded by your words. 

“You’ll never have to grieve or miss something you can’t get back, ever again. I know that for many of you, this is the ultimate fantasy,” Maria says.

“I think it sounds like something to help let go. Like what I came here for.”

You exchange cards. Now it’s your turn, the wounded look. 

When Maria’s through, bidding the group goodnight and setting them all free to mingle, you’re up and out of your seat before he can get a word in. He watches you go as if he were some sort of abandoned lapdog, only for a second, before he’s once again, striding after you. 

You weave almost drunkenly through the crowd, first heading towards the exit, then to the beverage station, then correcting and veering towards the back hall where the restrooms and catechism classrooms are. 

Gaining on you, he takes you by the elbow, pushing you deep into the darkness of the long hallway. Going far enough the din of desperate socialization turns a quiet murmur. You’re really in the belly of the beast now. So quiet and dust infused it feels as if it’s been years since a soul stepped through here. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Your face glows with fevered sweat. 

“I’m sick,” you mumble on the tail end of a whine when he shakes your arm into responsive compliance. “Let me go. Stop,” you fight, trying to claw away from him.

“No you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. I threw up all night. And you have the personality of a snarling dog more than a man. Has anyone ever told you that?” Shoving at his chest now feebly.

Ignoring your caterwauling, he takes you in entirely. “You’re not sick,” he says again, sure now. 

There’s a timeless hunger gnawing at his gut. Joel suddenly feels more himself than he thinks he’s ever felt in his entire life. 

Dragging you high against his chest by the collar of his own coat, he brings the tip of his nose slowly to the valley of sweet fragrance at the side of your throat. Inhaling deeply at the flushed, swollen scent gland there. The sound of your toes scuffing against the floor excites him even more. 

“You’re not sick. You’re going into heat,” he says slowly; gathering the overwhelmed, shivering creature as gently as he can in his arms. 

Your fingers claw at his own throat in return, as if digging for his own answering scent. “No. But it’s not time. I had one not so long ago.” You sound on the verge of tears, and he makes a deep, soothing sound in his chest. “My blockers...I— I can’t be. It’s not time yet.”

“It’s a breakthrough heat.” His other hand comes around to the small of your back and ever so slowly, he presses your hips closer to his. “It’s mine. Because of me.”

“No.” You shove back with renewed strength suddenly, spinning around to scurry deeper down the dark hall and then careening on weak legs into an abandoned classroom. 

Heart beating madly at the prospect of the hunt, he takes a singular calming breath before he’s stalking after the sound of your crying. 

-

“You need to not run from me right now. It’ll make my rut come faster,” his deep voice comes from somewhere in the dark unknown. 

You scramble around the children’s desks, weaving your way clumsy with disorientation to the far end of the classroom. You don’t want to go into heat right now. You can’t. Not with him. You need to be safe and alone in the confines of your warm, comfortable bedroom, far away from the temptation of him.

His heavy, panting breath sounds closer and there’s a shriek in your throat like a struggling kitten. 

“You want me to lose my self control. That’s what this is, isn’t it?” There’s a loud crash as he shoves one of the little desks out of his way, followed by your answering half-scream. And then he’s here, coming up behind you but finding mercy enough to hold himself back at the last moment, panting as if he’d just run miles fighting against himself. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. Come here, baby. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s okay.” He takes a step closer, and the slowing of his breath and soothe of his voice calms you in turn. Baby baby baby. “You’re only going into heat, that’s all, sweet girl. I’ve triggered it for you and I’m sorry. Let me come to you.”

You let out a high and harried sound, palm smoothing over your throat over and over again. “Joel,” you say once.

“I’m here. It’s okay.”

“It’s only that—”

“What is it?”

“I have to tell you something.”

“Tell me.”

“I’m embarrassed.” A helpless tear spills out over the edge of your eyelid. 

“You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about with me. Ever. We understand each other, you and I. Don’t we?”

And he’s right of course. You’d picked his face out of the crowd in instant recognition, after all. “I’ve had heats…but I’ve never—never had a, a heat with someone. With an alpha.” 

He’s utterly silent and you feel deranged enough you’re almost certain you can hear the pound of his heart inside his chest.

“You’ve never had a knot take your cunt?”

“No.” You swallow, cringing with mortification at his crass words. 

“Never.”

You hear a muttered fuck, and his breathing goes quick and shallow and then even again. He has better control over himself than you do at this moment. 

“Then how?”

You flush hotter, so embarrassed. “T—toys,” you stutter. “Medication to help me.”

When he steps closer, only calm accompanies him. All is suddenly quiet. You want him. Your disjointed mind, overwhelmed by too many confusing emotions had gone into overdrive for a moment, but now, with the scent of hot, aggravated alpha surrounding you, it’s obvious this was all you’d needed to calm down. In a rush of air out of your nose, it’s all okay. 

You can feel his hot breath against your forehead, the wash of heat on each exhale and the lingering scent of sweet musk at his inhale. You touch his cheek with shaking fingers and feel him turn ever so slightly into your palm, and then he’s bending slowly. 

First, it’s a soft, wet nudge of his mouth, your bodies held apart. A frightened thing. Then his strong nose bumping into the side of yours, the splendor of inexperience turning to knowing, a nuzzle. Coming in again hungry, with the slick of tongue now, and the deep inhale of shock at first taste. Your breaths rush through one another, and you feel yourself backing away in maybe fear, more likely overwhelm, but his mouth follows your retreat and then his palms are at your waist, tugging you into himself, pressing you tightly to his body with a ragged groan. 

“Your mouth…Your mouth is so beautiful,” he says.

Everything in your lower belly cramps in painful agony, and you scratch at his arms and neck without much strength, trying to climb higher and take more of him into your mouth. Oh, you want this so badly. You want it to be everything you’ve dreamed of so obsessively the past weeks. Nothing else in the world exists except for your two mouths pressed together.

His lips burn a wet path across your cheekbone, sliding to the side of your neck to suckle at your scent gland. “Fuck.” His scraped teeth along the patch of sensitive skin. “Have you had sex before?” The question is gentle, understanding, his tongue tasting your sensitive earlobe, head ducking suddenly to give a sharp bite at your breast. 

“Yes.” 

His erection is pressed firm at your belly, hot even through his jeans and your sweater. His large body radiates heat. At your back, his palm finds the edge of your top, sliding underneath to make first contact, blistering skin against blistering skin. 

“But not an alpha.” He says it smugly, the bastard. Palm sliding down to your rump, tucking you more tightly against his hard cock. You shake your head at the crook of his neck, fingertips twisting in the back of his hair. Your breath comes in wet little pants that sound too pathetic to bear. 

“It’s going to feel so good,” he promises, acknowledging what it is that will now happen between the two of you soon, rubbing slow circles low on your back with that wide, strong palm. “It’s different. It’s…” That palm slides lower, squeezees the curve of your backside. “It’s ordinary if it isn’t with someone…special. If there’s not the possibility of—” 

You tell him you understand what he’s trying to say. 

“I think it’ll be so good between us,” he finishes. 

At the waist of your skirt, his fingers press between your skin and the stretch of your tights, forcing his large hand into their confines. Your breath skips into his open mouth, panting into one another, he cups you between your legs and suddenly all you can focus on is the tight ache there, the nylon soaked obscenely between your thighs. His arm around your back squeezes you tighter to his chest and his fingertips are pushing past lace edge to feel the slick swell of wet cunt. 

“Oh, Joel. Not here,” you moan. “Someone will come in.” He’s circling your clit, so sensitive and so swollen it hurts. You tug him impossibly closer, and he presses you back into the cold stone wall. “We can’t in a church.” Your protestations sound weak even to your own ears as you spread your legs wider for him. 

“I don’t give a fuck.”

He takes your mouth again, sucking deeply, groaning even deeper when he presses inside of you to the first knuckle. “Tight, baby,” he breathes into your neck, his hips slowly grinding into your pelvis. 

He feeds you more, then presses a second finger, holding still for a second, then another. Panting like a rabbit caught in a trap with three of his too thick fingers stuffed in your overstretched cunt. The sound of popping seams moves up your spine. 

“Can feel your little cunt shaking around me. Jesus—” he groans. It’s all mine, whispered into your hair. 

Suddenly, there’s the open and close of a door nearby. And then the sound of someone’s voice calling your names. Joel huddles you further into the dark corner, confined by the protection of his body, his fingers still moving in and out of you, stretching you well enough to burn as he presses as deeply as he can and with the utmost gentleness, pets lightly at the painfully sensitive mouth of your cervix. Humming in satisfaction at the feel of you. 

“Right there?” He hums. 

You’re crying, clutching at him even more tightly. Your name sounds again, being searched for, like a warning. 

“If I fuck you, nobody else ever will.” His voice is so dark it’s menacing. It’s recklessness, verging on a lie. Maybe it’s hope. 

Pressing lightly again, petting, petting, he pulls his fingers back a little, the loud sucking sound of your cunt trying to hold onto him, and you’re coming for him, crying into his neck, sucking on his scent gland so that the taste of him floods your mouth. The sound of a door opening, and you hear him growl at someone to fuck off in a very scary voice, his fingers never ceasing their steady thrust inside of your clenching sex, and the frightened slam of a door. 

“It’s alright. You’re alright. That’s my good girl,” he pets and soothes at you, pressing a kiss to your temple, your eyelids, your mouth again and again.

Part 3;

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

[adventures-in-mangaland]

Another Dead Boy Detectives Fic Rec List

Netflix sucks and I'm sad, but the Dead Boy Detectives fandom continues to be awesome, so here are some more very quick fic recs!*

Tonight's the Night You Fight Your Best Mate's Dad by Opossum_Subatomic

Everyone's Alive College/University 5+1 things fic featuring Charles bringing Edwin coffee and slowburn payneland. Also Family/Wedding Drama involving Everyone Thinks They're Dating so acute is verges on Fake Dating. This author is seriously fantastic, everything they write is gold.

You should also check out Kissing Lessons, which is a high school AU that does what it says on the tin while also giving non-binary Monty and polyamory.

Ornithology by Rosie447

Monty gets a job working at Tragic Mick's. This one's not actually payneland, being gen and Monty-centric. I know, gasp. It's a fantastic and very sweet exploration of Monty discovering his sense of self post canon and works as a great metaphor for recovery from toxic family/relationships. Also, the ex-animal solidarity and bonding with Mick is lovely.

what some circumstance stole by Chrome

The Sandman crossover featuring Edwin and Hob being kidnapped and tortured together. Their friendship is really wholesome with eventual Father Figure and Found Family Feels for the whole agency and background Dreamling.

dandelion wine (life and death in summertime) by world_wanderer

Payneland Right Person Wrong Time AU in which neither of them die but they still meet and become friends. The May/December friendship is sweet but tragic, with a bittersweet ending. Superb.

Mirror Image by Anonymous

Charles' afterlife gets taken over my an evil shape-shifting doppelganger, leaving him with plenty of time to regret never talking to Edwin about his feelings. Angsty but with Feelings Realisation and the Power of Love and Friendship vibes.

my healing needed more than time by babyseraphim

Case fic with de-aged Charles! Baby Charles is precious but be prepared for discussions of childhood trauma/abuse.

The same author has also written I'm So Aces at Babysitting, which is a really cute two-chaptered AU featuring Charles and Edwin babysitting the kid versions of each other, with bonus Crystal and Niko doing the same. It's very wholesome and the author writes little kids really well.

Pouring into me by tragedy_machine

Love me some "Charles wants to date Edwin to figure out his feelings but gets turned down" fic. Feelings are hard, OK?

thank u, next by KiaraSayre

Edwin fucks and Charles seethes. It's very funny and also features some interesting worldbuilding with the Fae.

Like We've Never Known Hurt by dearheartdont

Just cute established relationship PWP and praise kink. So good.

all of these hollows by handwrittenhello

The boys are alive again but sans memories. Can they still find each other and prove their devotion to the Night Nurse?? While also evading heavenly and hellish forces trying to keep them apart??? Very interesting concept executed well.

Suo Gân by emryses

The agency takes on the case of a traumatised Edwardian ghost searching for her missing baby... Read it for Edwin family feels.

Where Primroses Bloom by PantryJesus

Reading aloud as a love language and Watership Down feels. Idk, I'm now convinced that Edwin is kind of rabbit-coded with the whole "if they catch you they'll kill you. But first they must catch you" thing. A lovely well written fic.

I'm so sick of online love by Hse11z5

College/University AU where the boys meet through a dating app. It's cute.

you can have the best of me, baby (and I will give you anything) by aletterinthenameofsanity

Again, it's the Friends with Benefits but with real feelings and mutual pining for me. Now has a Charles PoV companion fic.

True Love's Kiss by Asidian

In which Charles curses himself with a Sleeping Beauty enchantment in order to confirm his feelings for Edwin and Crystal is the real MVP. I love this one because the boys are both SO stupid but in very different in-character ways.

I also recommend Promised, in which they kind of play the Green card angle to keep Edwin out of Hell? Which honestly needs to be more of a trope. And Tight Quarters, starring the boys trapped in a magic circle, leading to Forced Proximity induced Feelings Realization (in more ways than one! 😉).

Something I Can Turn To by DontOffendTheBees

I love some domestic fluff, in this case as an Everyone's Alive/Childhood Friends AU in which the boys are poor but happy living together. I liked how they both survive their respective traumas, but Reality Ensues.

I also recommend Lived My Whole Life Before the First Light for a lovely but melancholy Soulmate AU that goes for the "seeing colours" trope for extra wistful angst.

Dining at the Ritz by TerresDeBrume

Meeting the Parents fic in which Edwin's parents are awful and Charles is Not Having It. This has Everyone Thinks They're Dating and autistic Edwin stimming representation, plus discussions of racism, classism and ableism. The fic is also part of a great Modern AU series in which the boys attended St Hilarion's at the same time and Charles saved Edwin from a non-supernatural but still almost deadly prank. Highly recommended!

The Case of the Couples Retreat by juliasfanart

Listen, I can't get enough of undercover fake dating/relationships at a couples retreat, OK? Some minor angst but overall very cute and fluffy.

acu (aysar cinematic universe) by ObsessedWithFandom

The agency is hired to solve the mystery of Charles' death and bring his killers to justice. I'm genuinely obsessed with this series; I love its OCs and Charles having an exboyfriend gives Edwin a fun crisis. Plus haunting Charles' killers is very satisfying and cathartic. Just imagine they're Netflix execs, y'all.

*Not actually quick, as it turns out. 😅

I love doing these lists because I always think I've only got a few recs and then I look back over my recent bookmarks and I've got a metric ton of great fics to rec. You guys are so talented. ❤️

[twistedmionn]

Twisted Wonderland iceberg

Explanations ahead (slight spoiler warning)

Tier 1:

everything is self-explanatory, I think

Tier 2:

Haruhi = the protagonist of Ouran High School Host Club. She's a girl who dresses up as a boy (correct me if I'm wrong) and many players who have a female MC consider theirs to be like Haruhi. [EDIT: Thanks for the anon pointing out that I misspelled the name!]

Tier 3:

self-explanatory

Tier 4:

A fair amount of people headcanon Vil as a trans woman because he presents androgynously/feminine and doesn't care about gender roles. This has also caused discussion in the fandom because breaking gender roles ≠ trans.

Tier 5:

People sometimes wish TWST was more like a dating sim and had character/dorm routes.

Some people headcanon that Silver is based on Prince Philip (from Sleeping Beauty) and/or is a prince himself. I haven't played all of book 7 yet (only the parts out in the ENG server) so idk if the theory has been proven right.

Lilia is old and hints at dying soon.

Hot NPCs, such as Deuce's mom and Sebek's grandpa.

Ace and Deuce have expressed interest in Yuu at various points in the game.

Genshin VAs: Leona/Alhaitham, Silver/Kazuha, Idia/Razor are the ones I can think of

Tier 6:

A beastman (I think it was Jack) has stated that he has problems talking to animals, and Ruggie's talent at it is considered something special.

The tweels are considered intersex by some due to eel anatomy (I'm no eel expert).

Kalim is considered the real villain by some due to never really bothering to help Jamil.

Epel's backstory/attitude has many elements that a fair amount of trans men relate to.

There are theories that Lilia and Sebek are twisted from Peter Pan characters. I'm unsure about Silver, but I think I've read something about him being from another movie, too!

Tier 7:

Some people headcanon that Ace has experienced domestic abuse.

There's a theory that Ace will betray Yuu.

Cater has two sisters who boss him around, which is a resemblance to Cinderella.

Malleus might have two pps because well... dragon.

Epel and Deuce had a whole ass beach date. Deuce constantly cares for him and broke the school rules in order to make Epel feel better. Their scenes together (the settings) looked straight out of a shoujo manga. If Epel were a girl, this ship would be considered canon by most.

I'm not sure EXACTLY which languages Jade's VA speaks, but I do remember that he knows German.

In one of his Halloween vignettes, Ruggie — as opposed to Lilia — has indirectly expressed that he has no interest in romance/relationships.

Tier 8:

UH.

[crippleprophet]

i don’t understand how people can be so fucking cruel about people who can’t read much (including people who aren’t literate, though this post is from my experience with chronic illness). like, one of my main motivations behind posting excerpts of butch+femme writing on my main (@campgender ; it’s fine to go through my bookshelf tag but please only followers age 18+ on that blog!) is that it is fucking hard to read a full book!!

my reading comprehension & stamina decreased drastically when i developed worse chronic fatigue, & while i’m overjoyed that i’ve recently regained a lot of that particular ability since getting blackout curtains, there are absolutely still texts i can’t even begin to parse that i once would’ve loved digging into — texts that it would be actively dangerous for me to attempt to struggle through because it would break pacing.

idk i’m not trying to be self-congratulatory here or whatever but like. the second i could access information through this means again, the focus of my (very fucking limited!!) energy has been giving it back to my people. my life has been unquestionably, deeply shaped by tumblr users who share excerpts of theory & memoir & poetry because they were providing labor of which i was in need & incapable.

finding, selecting, transcribing, formatting, & at times contextualizing passages takes a lot of fucking time & energy, but in order for me to encounter certain concepts, experiences, & histories, it’s work somebody else had to do, because i couldn’t read 200 pages of research or anthology in order to encounter the 10 that would change my life — but posted 2 or 3 pages at a time, i could save that in my drafts to get through on a good day, & quotes that were only a couple lines i could usually read right when i encountered them.

so, in memory of the years i spent unable to access theory through anything other than excerpts & secondhand summaries,

and in anticipation of the years to come where i will live the same,

and in acceptance that the brain is a muscle, in love of we the exercise-intolerant,

to you, dear reader — whatever form & frequency & duration that reading may take, even if it’s no further than this post — i make my motherfucking covenant: the issues i discuss around pulling quotes will be about the political act of the ellipse and the ethics of transcription, not shaming people for the methods of accessing information that are available to them. as often & as long as i am able, people can ask me to explain something or summarize in plain language and i will meet them with respect, interest, & effort. if someone’s looking for information on a particular topic, identity, experience & doesn’t have the energy to find it, i’m gonna give what i have towards filtering through the bullshit for the gems.

according to our abilities. according to our needs.

and the next time somebody tells you it’s not ableist to say everyone has to read [whatever work], tell them to go put their precious ability to better use in making it more accessible.

[thatswhatsushesaid]

re: my tags about jgy and qin su in my reblog of that "does your blorbo have ptsd" tumblr poll, can we revisit that excruciating conversation in the jinlintai treasure room in cql? because one of my least favourite reads on jgy's expression and body language here is that he's being "creepy." and to be clear, i'm not trying to say you're wrong to draw those inferences here, because his behaviour is deeply, deeply unsettling, and i also find this scene hard to watch and to read in the novel. but i think if that's where your examination of him begins and ends here, you're doing yourself--and zhu zanjin's exquisite performance--a disservice.

so the 'creepy' bit is preceded by what jgy says to qin su while she has her back turned, and i find his words heartbreakingly sincere and very reflective of a man who has spent his life forced to feel shame and embarrassment over his mother, who he loves dearly and who he watched suffer right up until the moment of her death:

there are a few more very poignant lines in there about his mother and the depth of his gratitude to qin su (these show up in the novel, too), but i think the above encapsulates the same message. then the atmosphere shifts, and so does jgy's expression when he talks about jin rusong and how his death would have been inevitable--essential, even. this is also where i most often see him described as acting like a creep, and i have two separate responses to this that i don't really have the time to get into right now, but which have both doylist and watsonian components to them so 👀 you can probably make some guesses about what my arguments would be. if there's enough interest, i might come back to this later and put together a separate post about it, idk. anyway, i'm not going to get into the 'is he a creep' argument here because tl;dr no, i don't think he is, and also--

i find jgy's expressions here to be more indicative of a man who is, shall we say, Not His Best Self At The Moment 🫠 rather than a man who is intentionally trying to make a wife who, by her own admission, he has treated very well for the entirety of their marriage, uncomfortable. his attention isn't even on qin su or the hell that she is experiencing right now--because he is re-experiencing his own hell. because he, too, is traumatized by this knowledge! he's just had a decade and change to develop some deeply unhealthy coping mechanisms and masking techniques to hide it.

at this point qin su whips around and slaps him, which i know everyone likes to gif and fistbump and holler about in a positive way, but given there is no one in this scene who isn't enduring profound trauma in this moment, i, uh. you know. won't be doing that. i will focus on his face journey in the expressions that follow because they are just so

dissociating

dissociating

dissociating

/executive function switch is flipped in his superbly wrinkly brain, and then "qin su :) we still have so many guests to attend at the discussion conference :)"

a-yao? sir?? hello??? also i do not have the quote from the novel directly in front of me, but iirc he says something very similar here to what he does in the novel, which i'll have to paraphrase: that this revelation is only bothering qin su so much because she is actively thinking about it! it's only thoughts, you see! just don't think about it! haven't they actually been very happy all this time, while only one of them had to live with this knowledge and could not share it with anyone?

to which i can only respond with abject, horrified shock because, like. have you, jin guangyao? been happy and unperturbed by this devastating knowledge? because i think the answer is a pretty definitive no.

anyway i just wanted to quickly keymash my thoughts on this before they fled my brain completely but tl;dr yes, while jgy would not use this language to describe himself, he's absolutely got ptsd specifically around his marriage to his own half-sister, and their son.

---

this post has been added to my dreamwidth meta archive here: https://thatswhatsushewrote.dreamwidth.org/10607.html

[proshippers-against-censorship]

found a LONG post here on tumblr which has nothing to do with pro/anti discourse (inherently) but it talks about how many people who claim they're leftists are still buying into conservative mindsets

A lot of (often young) leftists here seem to oppose conservatism but don’t actually doubt many of the core principles of conservatism. This is especially obvious when looking at tactics or methods

1) Accepting Right wing Framing of Issues

I think censorship might fall into this. The whole "think of the children!" panic and how many conservatives talk about it, it's a complicated issue turned into a simple binary narrative.

So many leftists, rather than challenging the binary just accept it but invert it.

"Actually yeah censorship is really bad but it also like helps children and also gets rid off a lot of illegal material" instead of challenging censorship in itself and admitting that no, even if we censor and ban everything it'll never stop the demand for something, nor does it help children or victims in any way. What people fail to realize is that it's not just art that will be struck down, but any simple discussion of sensitive topics too.

We also have seen this firsthand when SESTA/FOSTA passed, rather than preventing the online exploitation of trafficked persons, these laws have hurt the people they intended to help, pushing sex workers and trafficking victims into more dangerous and exploitative situations.

2) The desire for everything bad to be traced back to a single unified source

a core part of rightist thought process is an embrace of intellectual simplicity and rejection of complexity. They like nice, simple narratives with clear bad guys (for example anyone who thinks people should be allowed to have creative freedom which idk antis somehow equate to being a pedophile?) and good guys and where they don’t have to imagine things in a more nuanced or complicated manner.

3) Utter lack of Nuance

you notice that they tend towards dramatic demonization. Anybody in their circle is good, and those that aren’t are pure evil. because again… complex thinking is literally antithetical to right wing thinking.

This could look like something like this: “oh i morally agree with this movie therefore it is good” or the inverse which is just the most simplistic way you can possibly view art

4) Embrace of Conspiracy Theories, Pseudo History, Pseudo Science etc

I think that one is a bit obvious too. The Right thrives on conspiracy theories, because again…facts don’t care about feelings. They always go to extremes where they just make up problems (like how all proshippers are pedophiles), or use scientific language to sound smart but in reality sounds more like "video games cause violence!"

Also seen a lot of antis claim the word "proship" was invented AFTER anti-shippers which... no? "Proship" was a response to the growing harassment in fandoms, and self named anti shippers came FIRST.

This goes from annoying to outright sinister when you take into account that some of them are willing to serve as apologists for certain horrific regimes (for example, antis celebrated Giorgia Meloni's approach towards "eradicating" pedophiles, ignoring the fact that she's a national conservative, that she opposes abortion and laws that recognize same-sex marriage. She's not after "pedophiles", she's after LGBTQ+ people)

5) Mob tactic

they deliberately artificially create mobs for the purpose of mass harassment. Antis and Gamergate are a lot more similar than they think

6) Not Checking Sources

Their "sources" either come from other tumblr posts, carrds or news report webistes which comment on statistics and what's happening but aren't really a good source or representation of their belief (that fiction always affects people's reality, and always in the same way). So instead of double checking... they love spreading utter bullshit, like screenshotting a google result and claiming it as "source"

7) They like fetishizing violence

I really don't like that word but man, antis love violence. They love it so much they talk in detail about it and think it comes without consequences. I'm not just talking about "regular" death threats but whole paragraphs about various ways to torture people

8) Dehumanization. 

The Right is basically evil, and the Republican are a death cult at this point, but even so quite a few elements of the left are just a bit too gleeful. 

And the thing about that militant mindset is that while it might be directed against bad people at first, it quickly can get corrupted.

Take RadFems for example, a group which is a great example of anti intellectualism, militancy and violence from the start.  It was this “with us or against us attitude” that lead many of them to go on to become TERFs because just hating (cis) men was no longer one of their priorities. 

There's a person on twt who keeps a whole gallery of antis who either sound the same as terfs or become terfs later on. I mean, most antis are exclus anyway, basically terfs lite

.

[bloodyinkandquill]

Scythe x Reader semi toxic yuri/canon accurate

if you keep talking that blah blah blah blah💃🕺💃🕺 kesha fucks hard her music is amazing, anyways toxic yuri😍 ok wait a minute note to self please finish this before bed, ok onto tumblr i go for some reason im thinking of banhammer self ship rn so im reading other people’s works on him rq to fulfill my own wants lmao

had a awful mental breakdown, skipped classes, couldn’t sleep until 5:30, didn’t work on this, i’ll work on it next lemme do something else idk man just need motivation

5 days later i think, i dunno man i just need to get this done ok let’s do this, this will probably just be general dating hcs ill be so real not that i won’t write her with a male reader but i hc her as lesbian *shrug*

- ‘She’s the most wanted demon in the Inpherno!’ pretttyy lady… your friends may not understand but it doesn’t really bother you, you love her and that’s all that matters

- Scythe has an almost flirtatious demeanor to her but when it comes to you that’s cranked up to 11, she loves teasing and flustering you, even simple things she changes into an opportunity to flirt, causal conversation where you look away for a moment? You bet your ass she’s grgabbing your face and forcing you to look at her, and with that she sometimes blows cigarette smoke in your face, it’s so attractive but gods it makes you cough, it’s worth it though for her

- She adores dancing with you, sometimes it’s slow and intimate music at home while other times you’re at a saloon absolutely boogie-ing it down, if you didn’t know how to dance you bet your ass she taught you, she’d make fun of you tripping or messing up but it never was that serious just more so playful banter

- Lightly suggestive but she would so slap your ass as you walked by, it doesn’t matter who’s nearby or where your at, she will fully go for it, and then either carry on like nothing happened or crack up, never in between

- She robs bars on occasion and gets the best most fancy and expensive wines to share with you, telling you all about her latest ‘job’ as you sip on wine you’re pretty sure is worth more bux then you’ve ever owned in your life combined, sometimes she has little trays of finger foods with it like bread with cheeses but usually it’s just a table with the two of you drinking the wine as you admire her

- Scythe very much enjoys going into detail about her work with you, from the regular paper work, to offerings, to her kills, if you’re squeamish it’s not your lucky day that incentives her to describe them even more graphically, but if you fully support her and listen intently when she talks about them she’s not as graphic but loves the look in your eye and you listen to her ramble about her ‘assignments’

- Sorry but if you’re going to date her you had to join the Church of the TRUE EYE, let’s be so for real here if she’s legit dating someone they have to be in the church, she said it’s your choice but you knew it wasn’t, if you wants to be with her you had to join, she hooked you up good, a word to the father here, great accommodations there, she was very pleased once you agreed

- Pampers you in a sorta macabre way, brings you the most fancy and beautiful jewelry she got from someone she killed, takes you on a fancy dinner she doesn’t pay for by threatening everyone to kill the entire building, gives you bouquets she made from flowers that reminded her of the colors of her favorite horns she has framed on her walls, once she tried to gift you a pair of horns she thought were very beautiful, you puked, she didn’t try that again

- Her love language is words of affirmation and gift giving, constantly using pet names to compliment you, and we’ve already discussed the gifting

- With the pet names she obviously calls you darling with her hot ass southern accent, she also calls you thinks like hot and sexy, wouldn’t put it past her to call you hot tits I’ll be so real right now, if she did you’d give her the most disappointed look ever and she just doubles over in laughter

- Scythe’s dates are usually really fancy dinners or saloons, quite different but you don’t mind since she’s usually a lot sweeter on your dates, more lovey at fancy restaurants and more protective and touchy at saloons, speaking of no one could lay a finger on you or she will cut that finger off and feed it to them, she can and will murder anyone she views as trying to flirt with you or harass you, it’s sweet in a very messed up way

- Not really a hand hold-y person but she touches you in other ways, an arm around your waist, hand under your chin, leaving lipstick all over your face and neck, it’s usually more intimate touches, maybe if she’s feeling a bit more adventurous that day she’ll use her sharp ass claws to draw a small amount of blood, she just loves the surprised slightly pained face you make

ok finally got this done let’s get this posted i’ll probably head to bed after this, do the firebrand request and do a self indulgent thing of windforce then open back up requests! WILD LIFE SCDIDHKFHSJ (life series, any fans of the life series who read this talk to me please i’m going insane)

[squeakyleftsneaker]

You survived, gj🫡✨️ Thoroughly enjoyed your descent into hell. Once again, just straight up ignore the fandom (even this message if needs be). Fandom is not what it used to be thanks to the hell shippers of this fandom, particularly the kl*ncers. The Lance stans are insufferable, and their hatred of any ship that isn't KL is well known. It's thanks to them that any ship in general they Personally Do Not Like gets labeled Literal Pedophilia/Basically Incest. Watching Voltron in its heyday was exhausting. Their hatred of Shiro and Allura are well documented, shoving them into Space Dad and Space Mom roles. They hated how close he was to Keith and would spam LOVE THOSE bROTheRs on every social media site to make people who never watched believe they were actually related and have that gutjerk reaction of disgust. They made a whole ass fuss over Adam because he was their ticket for getting Shiro out of the picture. That fuss is partially what led S8 to being delayed and rewritten, and the entire reason for that shit epilogue wedding. They celebrated Allura dying so Lance could be with his ~One True Love~ a heavily fanonized Keith to go with their langsty altean prince true black paladin bisexual king self insert.

SO I let this sit in my inbox for a lot longer than I care to admit. Mostly because I at the time didn't have a great picture for how this all played out, and to be honest I still don't.

I did kind of want to discuss this just bc I was having a somewhat related discussion about a totally different work of fiction (one I may talk about later on here though I am still not quite sure what to do with this blog) and It got me thinking about this message again. Now that I've read the whole dissertation about it, I am kind of intrigued by the mechanisms by which Klance as a ship became so popular.

This may have been the fact that I basically inhaled the whole show over the course of a month, but I never actually picked up on a significant focus on Lance and Keith's relationship in text, though I've been made aware that some of the marketing for the show did lean into it.

This is, however, not super related to what I did want to talk about which is more related to shipping and how we read fiction and interact with it in fandom. I don't think I'm UNIQUE in these observations, no observation ever is, but I do think that having now gotten a slightly better idea of what the show was (and wasn't) I feel comfortable at least getting a sanity check on it.

I, on a personal level, completely understand how someone, in particular someone young, would feel suspicious and RIGHTFULLY uncomfortable with a relationship between two adults with a large age gap who met when one of them WAS a young teenager. That is, IRL, a pretty clear red flag. I get it. I really do. I don't think you, if you're a teenager yourself, should "get over" that feeling of discomfort.

With that being said, I think it's also possible to see why other people in the fandom are, rightfully as well, very suspicious of a group of people who say they're endorsing pedophilia or incest. It's not NEW in queer spaces. It's, in fact, pretty much what ALL queer spaces and queer people put up with. That's what so much anti-queer language and extremely homophobic tradition uses as a bludgeon to devalue queer relationships, queer stories, queer spaces.

Particularly in media, queer stories that weren't allowed to just be queer in and of themselves have historically OFTEN been rejected through the lens of "they're like siblings" or "but it's such a huge age gap," and I think that it is an unintentional, but still real, reinforcement of that language and that policing of morality in fandom that have in general been used to denigrate queer people and queer people desiring to see themselves in media, to be represented, and to take works of fiction that are emotionally significant to them and read themselves into them.

So, yeah. Idk. I can see how particularly young people would be uncomfortable on a personal level with the idea of shipping Shiro with Keith or like. Any paladin. I get that. But I also totally and completely get how that same language and rhetoric around pedophilia and incest being applied to a canonically queer character is like. Very much reminiscent and rooted in a lot of homophobia within fandom. These are in tension with each other.

It is also true that there is a tension in that Shiro and Allura are both very much not white (yay), Shiro is our main character that is canonically queer, and to reduce them to "Space Mom," and "Space Dad," relegating them to non-romantic, background roles feels a little disappointing! Even if that's not the intended effect!

Perhaps more importantly though, they're not rooted in the text itself (which is where we get to the later part of this ask). I don't know a lot about Lance fans as a Culture [TM}, and I will probably not be entirely incorrect in saying that there's all kinds of flavors of insufferable fans (I am one myself), but I do think that this sort of thing naturally arises in a text that doesn't have a whole lot to interpret.

I've written before that Voltron lacks depth. Which means that if you're a fan, if you want to interact with the text, if you want to really discuss the characters, you run out of textual material very quickly. You have to read stuff into it. You HAVE to do a healthy amount of DIY characterization. And Lance is a very natural character to do this with because he IS our point of view character very loosely (though the show does a poor job with this). So I get how that arises, I get how the show itself encourages ~fanon~ over canon because there's so little in canon to talk about.

Sure, in canon for the first 2 seasons and in season 6, the relationship between Keith and Shiro is pretty narratively central. But the writers also totally drop it for ages on end and fail to explore it. I don't feel uncomfortable saying that pretty much every potential ship in the show requires a very substantial amount of eisegesis.

No ship is more textually supported romantically than the others. Not even really the only canon one between paladins, because Lance and Allura have very little reason to be together (deep sigh. Oh writers, oh writers what am I to do with this).

It's very natural for fandom to do fandom things. That's totally fine imo. But I think it's always worth remembering when interacting with others that fanon is. Not textual. You're playing in a sandbox, not doing sand castle archaeology. HOWEVER when showrunners and marketing teams interact with fandom, they reinforce the idea that fandom should influence canon. Choose your own adventure, but for a work of fiction. This is. Something that impacts pretty much all long-running works of fiction. Even if an author doesn't intend for it to happen, if you see it you're impacted by it. It's an inevitability of serialized works. You can see the fingerprints of "Give The People What They Want" all over later iterations of Star Wars.

Ultimately I think Voltron ended up as a perfect petri dish medium for The People [TM] to get what they wanted. Because there was very little in way of canon, because of the compressed timeline of production meaning that there wasn't a lot of time to THINK, and because they kept feeding into it.

But it's still fiction! It's always important to remember that fiction is, and always will be, NOT REAL! You can explore things in fiction that aren't possible in real life. Shiro and Keith or Keith and Lance or Lance and Allura or Shiro and Adam or Shiro and his rando husband who I'm sure he divorced in like a year all could've worked in some alternate reality (not to Slav it up) where the writing had had teeth and substance. And if exploring those hypotheticals makes you personally uncomfortable I get that! I don't read fanfiction (dear reader I am lazy) but if I did I would ESPECIALLY avoid reading Zuko/Katara fics because I feel really uncomfortable with the power dynamic of colonialism present there. That SAID, I don't think that that's a ship that shouldn't exist.

I don't think that shipping that, that wanting to explore that, that being curious about how that could've played out is BAD. It rarely is. And shutting out people looking to explore those dynamics is a great way to breed resentment, and a great way to reinforce the rhetoric of people who want nothing more than to shut Those Freaks up. Be wary of the language you use. Do not echo the language of homophobes. Particularly when it comes to your textual interpretation of a work with ultimately SUPREMELY LITTLE interpersonal depth.

Therefore I SHALL be writing a 500,000 word Shiro/Slav fic because you know what character DOES pull the drama out of Shiro? THAT'S RIGHT BABY! Because I need to be exceedingly clear here duh and obviously I am not gonna write that shit I am nowhere near funny enough for that

It's all made up, dawg! What you make up does matter, but how you handle it matters just as much, if not more! Voltron accidentally created a pro-colonial clusterfuck where none of the characters really know each other, but I'm sure you can see how the same exact elements of the show could've done something genuinely interesting and unique!

Fiction is, at its core, a place to explore things that aren't real. You can have some things that make you uncomfortable, but that doesn't necessarily mean that they are fundamentally immoral. And I would caution greatly against shutting down exploration and creativity.

[trainerethan]

Expanding on my bpd green and avoidant red. I think green swings between horrific guilt for being mean to red when they were young and wanting to make it up to him (red has already forgiven him but green is still worried that he might change his mind) VS reds avoidant behavior confusing and irritating green bc he's trying to be honest and vulnerable but red is Not. (green later feels guilty for even being irritated with red at all.)

Red genuinely listens to what green is saying and nods in understanding, but is Not sure how to comfort green beyond being very direct and matter of fact: "I'm not going to leave." "No I'm not upset with you." Which. Like true and Red is being Honest however it comes off sounding a bit...cold? Distant?

Like red is just stating facts without actually opening up in detail about how things/their past makes him feel. Like it's "I'm not upset about that" and nothing about how it made him feel at the time, or his thought process about why he isn't upset anymore or if he ever was, or anything like that.

It lacks the true vulnerability and emotional labour that comes with actually talking through uncomfortable or serious things with someone important to you, instead of talking about things as if you're an outside observer. From greens pov red is closed off and it makes his insecurities and frustrations worse when red doesn't respond the way green wants/needs him to.

Their conflicting attachment styles and approach to discussing/processing difficult topics causes a lot of tension for awhile after their reunion. Idk if they'd be dating yet but if not it might also drive green insane that he Likes red but feels like red must not feel the same bc of how "closed off and distant" he is.

Then he feels guilty for being upset at that because "of course he wouldn't like someone who bullied him as a kid/whatever else green is insecure about" Meanwhile green is one of like 3 people red would willingly talk to and he likes green very very much. Always has and always will. To him it seems kind of obvious so he doesn't need to say it out loud (green is absolutely dying at the lack of assurance of mutual feelings platonic or not).

Reds truly not inconsiderate or being distant intentionally. Hes just srsly totally inexperienced with externalizing how he feels instead of internalizing it and ignoring it in favour of more important things (anything other than his own feelings)

It's seriously emotionally draining for both of them to have completely clashing approaches to Whatever they have going on. It's okay though. They figure it out eventually though. Green learning that red really means what he says, there isn't a hidden meaning or fine print that would make red change his mind/secretly be lying. And red learns that green/people who care about him really genuinly want to know how he feels and that he doesn't need to be 100% self reliant when there's people who Want to support him and desperately want him to be more open and be more outspoken with how he feels/his opinions/etc.

Side effect is red goes from refusing to voice a single thought to being more outspoken than predicted and very bluntly voicing(signing) how he feels. Which is usually "I want to leave." "This is boring" "that guy is annoying" "he has no idea what he's talking about. It's more like [insert random fact about pokemon behavior.]"

Green is thankful red is more outspoken but also very thankful that most people don't know the hater ass stuff red is saying to him via sign language. Red isnt actually a hater of course he just still doesn't mince his words and to it very literally when green asked him to tell him what he's thinking more often. Its okay green finds it charming.

[wooahoe]

fresh off the boat — rocket line + uji + aerie oneshot

fob/fresh off the boat adj · sometimes-derogatory phrase or term used to describe immigrants who have arrived from a foreign nation and have yet to assimilate into the host nation's culture, language, and behavior, but still continue with their ethnic ideas and practices (paraphrased from wikipedia) <- very common in asian american circles — “you know eunyoung, right? she’s such a fob!” twinkie noun, slang · an ethnically korean (or east asian) person who is whitewashed; refers to being “yellow” on the outside but “white” on the inside; typically used in a joking manner but is generally a derogatory term; banana is also used in the same manner — “she tries to hide it, but we all know she’s such a twinkie! have you heard her accent? she doesn’t sound korean at all!” aerieverse mlist — 🎧 saranghey❕dory’s playlist

cw: author is lowkey a twinkie ㅠㅠ, swearing in general, konglish (both romanized and not), angst(?), discussion of race and culture, alcohol consumption, sexual innuendos and insinuations, very very self indulgent !! aerie is sometimes referred to as “shroomie” + variations of mushroom-related nicknames (i thought it was cute cuz aerie = fairie = mushroom circles? bro idk), 1.4k-ish words

a/n: IM WORKING ON THE SERIES I SWEAR❕here’s the aerieverse 미국 line in the meantime

this fic is very much based on my own personal experience (at least aerie’s part, not vernon’s cuz i’m not whasian) and i felt like josh and vernon would be the perfect people to rant to about this sort of thing (uji’s my bias there’s no justification for him). I AM NOT TRYING TO BE A 검머외 PLS UNDERSTAND 🙏 also based off of my rant from this post

— ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

aerie lee was having a relatively shitty day.

the party that chan had convinced her to go to had turned out to be far too loud for her liking, and after one too many ‘sorry, i’m here with my soulmate’s, she was left alone in a house full of asians, alcohol, and her thoughts. which, unfortunately for aerie, tended to spiral easily, especially when she was already uncomfortable and not allowed to drink.

after about five hours of pure torture, she managed to get a very intoxicated seungcheol, jun, mingyu, soonyoung, and chan back to a very disgruntled minghao and seungkwan with the help of an only slightly tipsy hansol, before driving back to her own shared apartment, where she, joshua, jihoon, and hansol lived.

once she stepped through the front door, she immediately kicked off her boots, tossed her purse onto the counter, grabbed two drinks from the fridge, and flopped onto the couch dramatically.

hansol laughed at her position, taking a seat next to her and raising an eyebrow quizzically.

“was the party really that bad?”

she sighed, and took a long drink from the bottle in her hand before sending a muffled groan into the couch cushion.

“what’s wrong?”

“have you ever felt like you’re not actually korean enough?”

at this, joshua and jihoon emerged from one of the bedrooms, both thoroughly disheveled, one looking slightly confused and the other worried. joshua shot a questioning glance at hansol, who shrugged, raising an eyebrow back at the elder’s appearance, getting up from his seat and making his way to the kitchen.

“have you been drinking?” joshua asked.

“what happened to hi, hello, how was the party?” hansol questioned.

“그런니까. and what the fuck were you and hoonie doing while we were gone?” she added, doing a once-over of both of them, a slightly incredulous look on her face.

jihoon crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, pink beginning to spread from his ears to his cheeks. “hi, hello, how was the party, we were studying. answer the question, rin, because what kind of question was that?”

she snorted, taking another sip of her drink. “studying my ass, it’s three in the fucking morning, why are either of you up?”

joshua shook his head endearingly, and scolded her lightly.

“it was nothing like that, hoon was helping me go over something and we got sidetracked. but seriously, aerie, what do you mean by that? and why are you sitting like that? are you sure you’re not drunk?”

hansol’s laugh and his ‘sidetracked’ is crazy! could be heard from the kitchen.

aerie laughed before replying, “no, josh. i’m sober, i swear.”

he looked over at her, furrowing his brows. she was laying upside down on the couch, with her legs hooked over the top and her head hanging down near the bottom.

sober, indeed.

hansol, coming back from the kitchen with a pair of beers, a coke zero, and a package of girl scout cookies, let out a snort. “we were literally at a frat party with the hyungs and channie, like, twenty minutes ago. sober, my ass.” joshua pressed a kiss to his temple in greeting before accepting a beer.

“yeah, sol, and i was the dd. so no, i’m not drunk. not even tipsy.”

“you literally have two sojus next to your head,” jihoon retorted, taking a seat next to her upside-down head.

she swiveled her head to the side opposite jihoon, and sure enough, there was a pair of peach sojus sitting at the base of the couch, right next to her ear. one of them was empty; she’d somehow managed to finish the whole bottle before the older two had sat down in the living room.

“oh.” she let out a huff, and then waved her hand around flippantly. “just answer the damn question.”

joshua, who had taken a seat on the floor opposite hansol, let out a quiet sigh, and took a large swig of the drink that the younger had handed him before meeting her gaze.

“what happened at the party, shroomie?” he asked, tone gentle.

she raised an eyebrow before maneuvering her body so that she was sitting upright, and slid off the couch to lean against jihoon.

“왜? what makes you think something happened?” she scoffed, bringing the drink to her lips.

jihoon set his cola down and flicked her forehead lightly.

“yah, why else would we think something happened? it’s not like this came out of nowhere.”

she frowned, pouting a little (most likely from the alcohol, or perhaps spending a bit too much time with seungcheol), but stayed quiet, sipping her drink.

hansol, who had stayed silent for most of the conversation, spoke up.

“yeah, when i was younger, i kinda did. not as much when i was living in new york, but after moving to hongdae…it was kinda hard, y’know?” he bit into a samoa before continuing. “i mean, my mom’s genes definitely came on stronger than my dad’s, and surprising people with your ability to speak korean wears off after the first few times. but i guess i never really felt…not korean? like, english isn’t hard for me, but korean has always been a little easier for me, and i’m more used to the culture in korea than i do here.

“but i don’t feel, y’know, not american either. i guess after a while i stopped caring about what people thought.”

joshua nodded, then tilted his head to the side, as if considering his words.

“i think i felt that after coming to korea, too, for the first showcase that we did. it’s not like i couldn’t speak korean, but it’s a little daunting. almost nobody called me jisoo at home, and so for everyone to start calling me that once we got to seoul…it felt a little awkward. like i was pretending to be someone that i wasn’t.”

jihoon hummed in agreement.

“it’s weird when you’re used to being called a certain name and then all of a sudden you’re being called something else.”

the three of them shot him a confused look.

“ji, your name is korean,” joshua said, tilting his head in confusion.

“yeah, but going from jee-hoon to 지훈 was kinda 이상해. having everyone pronounce my name properly was 이상해.”

aerie snorted.

“when we came back home, though, i went back to being joshua. and that probably would’ve been weirder if you and hansol hadn’t called me josh during the trip,” joshua finished.

aerie hummed, staring at her drink again, as if processing everything her boys had told her.

“are you okay?” jihoon asked, placing a hand on her knee.

during the conversation, joshua had moved to lay on his back in front of the two, with hansol shifting to lay his head against aerie’s thigh and his legs on top of joshua’s, the drinks and cookies long forgotten.

she merely hummed again, and ran her hand through hansol’s hair before responding.

“it’s just…i don’t know. nobody ever uses my korean name except for, like, jeonghan; everyone just calls me 애리. which isn’t, y’know, a bad thing, but…” she sighed, reaching over jihoon’s lap to grab her soju, “몰라요. and my korean is pretty…well, it’s not ass, necessarily, but my accent is so terribly american that junnie can barely understand it. i’m literally a twinkie at this point.”

hansol frowned. “who told you that?”

“nobody.” she took a sip of her soju before pursing her lips and opting for a cookie instead.

“shroomie.” she looked up and saw the three of them staring at her.

“what?”

“who the hell called you that?” jihoon asked, frowning.

“nobody, hoon.”

“then why—”

“it’s just frustrating.”

joshua nodded, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

“it’s like i’m…stuck. not entirely american, evidently, because i’m too asian, but not fobby enough to be fully korean. stuck in this weird limbo, y’know? i’m 외국인 wherever i end up.”

then the four of them fell silent, the only noise being joshua’s hum of agreement.

“is this because the showcase is coming up?” hansol asked.

“응, 맞아.”

“괜찮을 거에요. 안게 될 거야.”

“그렇게 바라요, 우지야, 그렇게 바라요.”

— ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

a/n: bro i love samoas so much…

[twunkbirthzey]

snokoplasm ramble

(i had this part in my amazingphil marathon document and this is the most basic thing that everyone probably thought about but i wanted to share bc why not)

Ever since the first time I watched this years ago I could not stop thinking about snokoplasm. First of all, it’s just so creative and whimsical and beautiful and PEAK arthouse amazingphil. But also I cannot help but do a queer reading of it. (I think Phil has so much indirect commentary about societal gender roles in his 2000’s videos. I don’t and can’t know whether that’s intentional or just subconscious of course but they ARE there and especially visible with snokoplasm and Phillippa) A lot of people did this like 10 years before me so this is NOT original at all but I wanted to yap about it.

I remember seeing tumblr posts about this back in the day of people arguing whether this is lube or not lmao, but it COULD be!!! (Could be a good addition to the pina colada gate T-T.) It could be lube bc of my thoughts on the object/element as a whole. This could be an overanalysis and I could be making shit up but hear me out.

First of all realizing you’ve run out of snokoplasm is a bit odd bc a lot of other people say it’s shower gel etc (which could be and we’ll probably never know) but when you run out of this you usually know and don’t “realize” bc you use it often. You know. And if I read the whole thing as a queer allegory it being lube just makes sense??? (but this is the silly side i think it doesn't really matter what it is at the end)

He goes into the store and the shopkeeper immediately assumes he’s getting the blue one. Phil then gets offended and laughs, saying “You actually think I’d use blue?” and this alludes to the fact that he’s been stereotyped by the shop helper. We do know that he was “emo” and not very “stereotypically male” in his self presentation at the time and this kind of feels like people immediately assuming that he’s gay. The helper even says “It's so obvious that you use blue snokoplasm,” furthering this idea of Phil looking a certain way. Phil’s reply to this makes me truly believe that this a queer allegory because he shows off his muscles and says “Yellow all the way,” which isn’t really the way he usually talks, and ties to his problems with masculinity during this era. Then they have an argument over whether it’s yellow or green, which I don’t think it’s a direct metaphor but feels like bisexuality and heterosexuality. Phil pushes for the “hetero” one while the shopkeep tries to push the “bisexual” one on him, sure that he is queer? Also the discussion of language over queer identities still being more relevant than ever is funny lol. Phil finally accepts the “green” one, which is a kind of mirroring of a lot of gay people using the bisexual label before they are ready to come out as gay, to hang onto the idea of straight relationships. (which I have my own thoughts on but this is not the place for it). To make the queer reading more compelling, the shopkeep then says he will definitely secretly order the blue one online, almost as if that is a shameful thing. SO IDK it does feel like an either deliberate or subconsciously presented work of struggles with queer identity and a story of being “clocked” as a closeted person to me.

FOLLOW UP SNOKOPLASM MENTIONS IN OLD AMAZINGPHIL VIDS

ChristmasPhil- Him thanking people for thinking the one from the previous video IS yellow… interesting… 

“You can get blue as well obviously but… you know I wouldn’t buy that ever” in a shy persona is the main nail in the coffin for me. It’s like a if you know you know thing.

Philorida- I think him having blue snokoplasm and saying he bought it for a friend furthers the whole argument further. Even if Phil didn't intend this to be an allegory at first when he made it, it definitely did gain a meaning through these extra mentions.

Life without the internet!?- He briefly mentions snokoplasm and uses the red one. Red is never clearly defined, so I think it’s kind of an extra in terms of themes, but I need to watch more to be sure. Kind of supports snokoplasm not being an intentional metaphor but a successful accidental one.

TUMBLR STUFF ABOUT SNOKOPLASM

Right after writing this I did go on tumblr to see some older posts and this green/yellow argument also made sense to me and it strengthens the argument. 

This video response of a girl from the time also does make me think that we are right and this is a direct metaphor of sexuality. ("Phil, if you feel ashemed that you like blue snokoplasm you don't have to feel bad about it" “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, just come out and say it”, “I know it would be hard to say at first," "It's your choice") And Phil replying to this saying "Best video reponse EVER" makes me feel very emotional because it just reads as solidarity to me!!!

ALLLSO this!

[leighsartworks216]

Hello!! Hope you're having a good day first and foremost :))

👉🏼👈🏼 honestly, just saw that reblog of you not minding people writing fanfic about your fanfics, or discussing lore and characters...

And I'm just popping by to say that I'd love to hear you ramble or or have a discussion sometime about your Raven x Sylus au, because... the way I eat that concept up... like it could keep me up at night daydreaming honestly. 😩 Raven might be one of the most interesting characters I've ever read about in a fanfic.

Put this off for a few days cuz school is killing me, but now feels like a good time to ramble lol

I feel like the best place for me to start yapping is with like their backstory? Cuz I know I briefly talk about their childhood or the Devil in fics, but idk could be more lol Just a forewarning that nothing is fully thought out ever I just wanted to make a selectively-mute badass and the lore came after

Raven grew up on the streets of Linkon, either abandoned or orphaned. They very quickly had to learn how to survive, how to beg or steal food, how to boil soiled water in a can, how to stay safe. The other homeless were kind for the most part, taking pity on them because of their age. They're used to the feeling of hunger, the lightheadedness of dehydration.

As a kid, they would be forced to watch the people around them die. Relief programs didn't reach far enough in time, and lack of medicine and clean living takes its toll in time. One time, they got so sick they couldn't even move. Laying in a heap in the cold and damp, in a puddle of their own sick, prepared to die. They were terrified, of course, but they never imagined any future from here, anyway. Everyone dies in these slums in the end. It was through sheer will and the help of some other homeless that they survived.

While homeless, growing up, they discovered a sort of language used by the others to signal to others if places are more likely to give out food or shelter, pointing out safe places to hide, stashes, etc. They learn how to read much later, but for a while this is the only language they know. (The basis for this is actually the Pigpen cipher which I ahem may have learned for fun bc it's very simple) On the streets they also taught themself some self-defense. Mostly where to hit or stab someone to get them to let go so they can run.

In their late teens, the Devil takes notice of them. They're hungry, desperate. He offers them food and shelter in exchange for working for him. They're dubious about it, asking about the work. He says it's just dancing and singing - it's fun! They accept. And he does what he said, giving them food and water and a roof over their head. But he limits their food, keeping them fed enough that they won't starve, but keeping them from gaining weight, keeping them thin and ideal for customers. They've never danced or sang before, but that's easy enough to rectify, and no one's really expecting much from a new performer anyway.

They very quickly become the Devil's favorite. Expectations for them become higher and higher. They have to perform well or they could be stripped of food as punishment, or be put on display for the Devil's friends. Embarrassment and belittling became the name of the game, the tools used to try keeping them beneath his feet. He'd bring them with him anywhere as eye candy, in all sorts of skimpy outfits. Make them sit on his lap, his grimy hands rubbing their exposed sides or legs or back. He liked to tell the story of how he found them to his clients and buddies, expounding on how desperate they were, "pleading" with him to save them. Their body is never taken advantage of - anyone who tried would be met with their survival tactics, stabbing or hitting them somewhere delicate so they can get away - but they were abused, with cigar burns and open hands.

Their escape wasn't an act of bravery or courage, it was a bid of survival. They'd been toted around by him enough to know the Devil's bank details, and the other dancers working at the Second Circle taught them how to read. They regret every day they did not go back to save those dancers. But they managed to get away, to steal as much of the Devil's money as they could and run, run, run, all the way to the N109 Zone, to somewhere they could almost feel out of his reach.

The N109 Zone's lawlessness wasn't unfamiliar, and they actually navigated it all pretty well. With all the money they got, they were able to get a hotel room to start. A hot shower, fresh clothes from one of the stores, room service with foods they've never even heard of before. They stay in that hotel for a while, just trying to piece together what next. Where do they go, what do they do. It takes a week before their freedom actually sets in and they break down crying. It's really there that they decide not to share their voice anymore. The Devil took advantage of it too much, putting false words in their mouth. They swear not to let someone steal their voice again, by keeping it to themselves.

As the years pass, they find a way of living. They train themself to better defend themself. They never really settle anywhere. They get into information smuggling, for the most part. Stealing info from places is easy for them, and their memory has always been strong. If someone needs info, they're told to contact the Raven, a strange figure that never speaks, but always delivers.

They start attending auctions here and there. They almost never buy anything. But the first time they see a protocore - vibrant red, crystalline, jagged with energy - they buy it. It's not worth much, considering the usual quality that passes through, but it's theirs. What to do with it now? Who knows. But they keep an ear and an eye out for the next time a red protocore finds its way into an auction, and there Sylus is, enthralled with this mystic figure and putting up a bid.

This was LONG oh god. I started and couldn't stop expanding. I think in The Raven story I made it so Raven has a special interest in protocores for an unknown reason, but idk what deeper reason there could be. Maybe they have a job from someone who needs info about them, idk, they weren't very formed yet lol

ANYWAY, if you have questions (and I mean if any of y'all have questions), go for it, cuz I really do love them so much <333

[velvetvexations]

transemasculation: for when you think freud was right about penis envy but ONLY for dirty little trannies (but seriously what the fuck is with this term? who thought this was a good ide- oh, right, ASSHOLES!)

it's really funny because I would make jokes about how TRFs don't want transmascs to make their own language without sending it in for approval to the Transfem Council and now the famous self-identified transradfem is like "here you stupid little boys I made you a word to use if you want one so bad."

That transemasculation shit is the most obvious set up to just keep making fun tmascs because people generally think emasculation is a funny and harmless nonissue maybe even #feminism. Like whats the bet if we did start using it how they want us to people would just immediately start connecting it to our “toxic transmasculinity” to dismiss it / continue to paint us as whiny MRAs anyway ?

it's so fucking belittling

One of the most frustrating parts of when a trans fem posts transandrophobic stuff openly for the first time is how any disagreement harsher than silence gets taken as "men abusing women" and held up as proof that she was right to be wary of trans mascs all along, because look how quickly we will turn on a trans fem and attack her—any negative feelings she has over the incident are just more evidence that she is a victim under siege and right to feel this way.

the wounded gazelle gambit is very popular

The thing that bugs me about transmasc on this site who called themselves TME is that I never see them doing any actual activism for trans women, they specifically just talk down on other transmasc users. Like it comes off so fake-

that's Feminist in Bio men for you

Kinda crushed to see bee/movie/erotica post that? Like??? Yeah white trans people can hold power over me but what the fuck do you think you're doing calling my maness the same as whiteness. my maness cant be the same as whiteness because I am not fucking white. hellworld.

I'm very sorry they let you down, anon. <3

You can tell TRFs are terfs because they do the same thing that terfs do where they point to people who call them baeddels and say that their critics are calling them slurs, and then a few days later will self-identify as baeddels again

they complained so much that I very generously got people to almost entirely saying TRF instead and immediately they just go "TRF is a slur to silence me :("

"the nefarious genderqueers think they're so much more radical and valid than us while the whole queer community actually caters to them, we need more representation for Real Binary Transsexuals" is a recurring theme in Whipping Girl so no wonder it's a common refrain for the "read a singular book" crowd

they do as they are taught

i really like your sense of humour btw

Thank you!

anyways all this patricia taxxon stuff is kinda just making me more motivated to make autistic transmasc therian video essays.

as you should honestly

because i love answering questions not aimed at me, re: is cheating abuse no, but it's a dick move that can be a part of abuse. abuse in a relationship is, for the most part, long term and actively emotionally/physically harmful to at least one person. cheating can be a part of abuse (for example, the fact the abuser cheated in the past, can be held over the abusees (? idk if that's the right term) head.) but alone it isn't. i hooe this made sense. i woke up two minutes ago and have thoughts! i would love to hear yours, because peoples opinions differ a lot in subjects like this

I think I agree with that.

Tall fat hairy women <3

<3

WOOFWOOF... HELLO BEAUTIFUL

;)

I’ve seen a few of your anons discussing the proposal of ‘transemasculation’ to replace ‘transandrophobia’ but I’m not sure that anyone has shared this info yet: https://www.tumblr.com/weepingfireflies/770239720162738176/im-not-even-transmasc-or-transfem-but-the essentially, ‘transemasculation’ was coined years ago by a transmasc user alongside other terms for related and adjacent discrimination/bigotry/etc.; the user who is trying to speak over transmascs about our our terminology and experiences apparently didn’t even bother to do a cursory check that what she posited was actually a new concept

I think it's been brought up but that is very funny, in a cosmic sort of way.

"trans men are men first!" gender essentialism is going to ruin us all like yes you're quite right if you're born a man no matter what your life experiences are, you are inherently more likely to be self-absorbed assholes who hate women. absolutely. the only thing terfs are wrong about it who counts as a man and who counts as a woman yep 100% i see no issues with this clearly our Man Brains make us evil

it's like yeah people who identify as men clearly have skull shapes that show an inclination towards misogyny

i rly appreciate seeing someone else who uses similar referential terms b/c i'm bigender and i honestly really like calling myself a male manwoman. it just feels right in a way nothing else does

I'm glad!