#just why. why does it need a gendered pronoun at all. what’s wrong with “it”

[aptericia]

ok I’m gonna be honest, it REALLY grinds my gears when people refer to all creatures as “he” by default. Yes I know people are taught to use “he” as the official gender-neutral prononun (I think??? I didn’t go to school 🤷‍♀️). Yes I know it’s a dumb thing to get hung up on. Yes I know people have a zillion justifications like “oh we’re all girls here so it makes sense to call this cute bug we found a he instead”. But MAN it just rubs me the wrong way.

[comicaurora]

I'm sorry that the terfs made their way onto your blog but it does feel good to see you support trans people. Thank you for that

Always.

I think, charitably, that the discourse going down on that post is an extrapolation and over-focus on one element of the point I was making: that for me, determining with certainty that I was cis was a rather fraught process. I was presented with many alternatives, but underlying their imposition on me was the oddly regressive idea that the things I liked, the principles I valued, the parts of myself I was proud of were not permitted of women. My whole life I got smacked with the background radiation that I couldn't like being strong because women aren't allowed to be stronger than men. I couldn't like being loud and boistrous because women aren't allowed to take up space. I couldn't be a math geek because women aren't smart. It was all deeply regressive misogyny from day one, but I started getting hit with it slathered in a fresh coat of paint - all those assumptions still held to be true, but now there was the out that I could do all those things if I just wasn't a woman.

Concluding that the underlying bioessentialist premise was wrong was very important. Absolutely none of those statements were true, and were only ever maintained by cultural saturation, goalpost-readjustment when they were actively disproven, and the occasional bout of lying with statistics to pretend they weren't just Shit All The Way Down. The core premise that certain things were only permitted of or possible for men was bullshit, and I didn't need to surrender the gender I liked best in order to play in the spaces I wanted to. I could simply exist the way I was already existing. I didn't need anything else.

The misinterpretation is the assumption that this being true of me means this is everybody's relationship with gender. I turned out to be cis, so for me, feeling that holding onto my assigned gender wasn't allowed was distressing - just another invocation of the same bioessentialist bullshit I'd been dealing with since the preschool playground. This is because misgendering is fundamentally denying that a person has the right to express themself the way they want. When aimed at me, it says I'm not performing traditional femininity well enough to deserve my pronouns. The same disrespect is the root of misgendering when aimed at trans people. "Perform your gender to my satisfaction or I will confiscate it."

The problem is, bioessentialism is 100% ingrained into the terf playbook, which is why, for instance, all their shitty talking points about trans athletes eventually boil down to "no woman can ever defeat a man in any contest because we are simply naturally weak and stupid and there is nothing we can do about it" and quite frankly nothing disgusts me more than the defeatist acceptance of the very lie that feminism is dedicated to overcoming. Instead of accepting that the paradigm of bioessentialism is a false dichotomy right from the jump, they embrace and weaponize it against the people whose existence proves the dichotomy is a lie. If gender essentialism is fundamentally false, then it is nobody's fucking business what anybody does with their gender. If the lines don't exist, nobody needs to enforce them. And yet there the terfs go, hunting down people whose lives are none of their business and trying to argue that they represent some great and terrible evil, some downfall of society made flesh, something that makes it totally correct and normal for them to spend so much time thinking about strangers' genitalia. They want this to be a noble crusade so badly they won't even examine what flag they're flying.

I love and support the trans people in my life and will always, always stand on the side of your right to exist, but alongside that, terf rhetoric especially disgusts and infuriates me because it is, at its heart, utter cowardice. The world told them they were weak and stupid and inferior and they fucking believed it. And now they think Fighting The Good Fight For Women means turning around and using the same paradigmatic weapon that hurt them to hurt the people whose existence outside the binary proves the weapon is a lie. They're the same shithead schoolyard bullies who made me believe my entire existence was foundationally wrong for years of my life and I will never, ever side with them or the shitty, cowardly rhetoric that contributed to the loneliest years of my life.

Figure out who you are and do it on purpose. Find the real source of the misery in your life and try fighting that instead of the other crabs in the bucket. Trans rights.

[kechiwrites]

gentle touch

könig x massage therapist!reader kinktober countdown day 5 (body worship)

synopsis: oh, the military boys were your favourite.

wc: 2.8k

cw: massage therapist reader doing bad medical-ish practice, body worship, light sub!konig, mentions of edging, hand jobs, a little oral as a treat, biting, konig being petnamed as he should (honey), size kink, hints at touch starvation, groping, begging, uncut konig, afab!reader, no gendered pronouns or language.

author's note: i know his dick hex code and it's glorious. mdni.

He’s your last appointment of the day. And what a fucking day it had been, ten hours that should’ve been eight, cinnamon scented candles instead of eucalyptus, a rushed lunch because a client had shown up early, not taking “I’m on break” for an answer.

You knock on the faux bamboo door, waiting for your appointment to allow you entry. When he does, so quietly you almost miss it, you open the door, only for your eyes to land on a broad, strong back, still wrapped in a dark grey long sleeve. He turns slightly, just enough for you to see the thin stubble on his chin, cheek and jaw.

"Hello! I didn't catch you undressing did I?" This time he turns all the way around and you are sure your swallow is audible. Hell, you hope it's audible, you want this dude to know just how impressed you are with what you're seeing.

"No." He shakes his head, rubbing his aquiline nose against the inside of his wrist. It must’ve been broken once before, if the uneven bump on his bridge is anything to go by. Why is that hot? That shouldn’t be hot. You eat up the motion, eyes tracking every twitch or movement of his massive arms.

“Oh…" you're ogling him. You need to stop ogling him. "I actually need you to strip down.” The words burn on your tongue. You must say that a thousand times a work week, but this time, when you say it to him, it sounds…dirty. Like a shitty porn set up. Makes your clean white polo feel vacuum sealed to your skin. He takes a step towards you and you shudder a breath, tensing until you realize he’s getting closer to the lockers to your left.

He’s huge, you think, and when he still doesn’t look up at you, content to let the strands of dark brown hair, nearly black hair, hang in his face, you figure he’s shy too.

Cute.

“And you can use the towel to maintain modesty, Mr. König.” You get the inflection of his name wrong, you know because you’d googled it prior, held your phone to your ear in the staff washroom and listened to a soft spoken German man lilt it to you. There’s a hard ‘g’ on the end where it shouldn’t be, and you apologize, trying again to master it. “König.”

“Right.” He murmurs, “Just around my waist, yes?”

Or it could go on the floor and I could rub my clit on your abs.

“Yes, sir. Around your waist.”

You exit the room, closing it softly behind you. You figure you’ll use the few minutes you have to get a bottle of water, or a sedative. Something strong enough to bring you back down to your customary professional detachment.

When you return, he’s where you expect him to be. Face down on his stomach, his head in the cushioned hole. “S-sorry.” He speaks, voice muffled by his position. The apology comes immediately upon the sound of the door closing and you worry his large frame has cracked the massage table or something. You peer around him, looking for any chunks of polished wood or loose screws.

When you don’t find anything you realize he’s apologizing for his scars, the pit marks of bullets dug out in haste and healed with spite, lacerations haphazardly stitched, then redone a second time with the careful, practiced hands of a doctor in no rush.

“Oh, please don’t be. We get military boys all the time. Nothing I haven’t seen before.” You murmur, and it’s a lie of course. Not that you’ve seen scars, of course, you’ve seen some really storied skin in your time here, being near a base and all. No, it was the man who was an oddity. Mandy at the front desk told you that he’d had to duck through the front door.

His skin is also ultra pale in a way military men usually aren't. Near transparent, the sprawling blue lines of his veins thread underneath his skin, and you can see yourself getting distracted tracing some of the pathways with your fingers.

He hums, and you hope you’ve put him at ease a little bit. You haven’t even touched him yet and the tension in his back is glaring. Anxious people tended to hold a lot of stress, anxious soldiers? You’re just glad he’d booked a two hour instead of the customary hour and twenty.

The oil is cold straight from the bottle and you warm it between your palms before you make contact. He’s warm to the touch, bridging on hot, and he flinches when your hands meet his skin. “Was that too cold?” He groans, but doesn’t affirm or deny it, so you figure it must just be the contact. Slowly, you begin with his calves, tending to and pushing on knotted muscle and tense areas, working out kink after kink, soothing his compounded aches. The oil smoothes down his leg hair and you must be going insane because even that is hot to you. His thighs are even worse, strong and muscled and dimpled in the sweetest places. He shivers when your palms glide over his inner thighs, and he clenches them together when your fingers brush the hem of the towel shielding his ass from your greedy view. As quickly as it happens, he relaxes, murmuring another apology. You hum your own response, and push your thumb into an adorable cluster of moles you see just under the towel.

By the time you get to his lower back, König is almost purring, his gentle breathing often interrupted by drawn out, guttural moans. Whines and whimpers that make your blood hot. He’s holding the worst of his tension there, and you have to lean almost all your body weight into the motions of the massage. His hips jerk up and then down just as sharply when you crest your palm over her shoulder blades, and you don’t imagine the keening noise he makes as he grips the massage table. You’re used to military clients being a lot more stoic but it seems Mr. König is most assuredly not the sort. You reach his neck, framing his throat with your palms and using your thumbs to rub firm circles into his nape. His breath hitches and you find yourself cooing. “Breathe for me, I got you.” The soldier’s hips snap downward again, this time hard enough to shift the table beneath him. Which is more than enough to make you pause. 

No.

It couldn’t be.

The soft music and sound of the water feature on the wall nearly drown out the curse König whispers, but you catch it, and can’t stop your lips from curling into a pleased little smile. This was just too good. You start to finish up his neck, brushing some of his hair out of the way so you can rub your fingertips into the skin just below his earlobes. You guide him to turn over and when he doesn’t respond, you wonder if he’d fallen asleep.

“Mr. König?”

He makes a wordless groaning noise low in his throat, laying motionless.

“I need you to turn over, honey.” You don’t even realize you’ve pet-named a grown man you don’t know. Which is just as well, because it seems to be what the soldier needs, and he rises from the table, clutching the towel in a tight fist to maintain his scant modesty.

You turn towards the side table, pouring more oil into your palm. When you return to face him, you witness why exactly he was so reluctant to face the ceiling.

He’s at least half-hard, a very noticeable ridge lifting his towel. You can’t stop staring at it, even though you know König is trying his best to ignore it. You circle around him, and begin at the foot of the table, going through the massage cycle again; feet, calves, thighs, arms. You zone out, following through your motions, listening to the man beneath groan and sigh his contentment. You reach his chest, spreading your hands over his pecs. They’re big, just like the rest of him, you think and it’s hard not to fucking drool on him. He’s firm but soft, still pleasantly warm, despite being exposed to slightly below room temperature air. He shifts again when you hit a stubborn knot right below his collarbone, and you pause to check in.

“Still good?”

His breathing is uneven, shuddering and laboured. His hands clench and relax from white knuckled fists.

“Yes.” he hisses through gritted teeth, and you’re worried he’s undoing every bit of relaxation you’ve tried to bring him. It’s painfully clear where the stress is coming from, hidden underneath a paltry white towel, the enticing elephant in the room. You put your hands back on him.

Still got 45 minutes left, after all.

You try your best not to look smug, and you fail miserably.

Every stroke and rub you perform across his chest makes his cock jerk and twitch under the towel. You can practically see the cloudy drops of precum that’d be beading as his tip. Your thumb nail skates across his pectoral and catches his nipple and the whine he makes is so sweet you just have to do it again. Soon, you’re barely massaging him, groping the poor man under the guise of your job. A weak grunt snaps you out of your reverie, and when you glance down his abdomen at that godforsaken towel, you can’t stop the quiet gasp of shock you release at his erection. “Ah, I’m so sorry. Very sorry” His flush spreads from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, a gorgeous stewed cherry colour that overwhelms the pale skin you’d worked into submission. His eyes are screwed shut when you can bear to drag your eyes from his cock to his face. His soft, pink mouth is pulled down at the corners, and the heavy, dark slashes of his eyebrows are furrowed together, creating a wrinkle between them you want to smooth out with a kiss.

“It happens all the time. Are you alright to continue?” Your voice is deceptively calm, serene and soft, when all you really want to do is snatch the towel off the battering ram he’d smuggled in here. Your blood thrums, and you ache at the sight of it, at the mere thought of the ungodly stretch he’d put you through.

You will yourself to keep your hands where they are, force yourself to look literally anywhere else. The faux waterfall ahead of you, the wireless speaker droning pleasant, melodic mood music, fuck, you even try staring at the dimmed light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. But every cry and whine forces your eyes down, tempts you to catalogue every inch of flushed skin and threaded muscle. You gnaw on your own lip, and find your hands drifting down, back around his abdomen. You’ve worked through the area already, there is no excuse to be down there, to slip your finger tips under the towel, to push your digits into the skin around his pelvis. “Is this okay?” You have the gall to ask, when you push your fingers lower still, and basically sign your own severance package. Oh but it’d be worth it, to get what you want, to make this big strong man sob with pleasure, to have his mouth on your throat while you stroked him to completion. The memory of his cock in your hand will keep you warm in the unemployment line.

König nods, turns his head towards you but doesn’t open his eyes. His hips cant upwards again, and his towel shifts, parting to reveal his angry, desperate hard-on. He raises a hand from the massage table, letting his mammoth paw land on your hip. He squeezes you, and exhales sharply through his nose when his thumb touches your bare skin, skating over your flesh underneath your work shirt. “Say it.” You mutter and his eyes crack open, just wide enough for you to spot the crystalline blue of his irises between his inky black lashes.

“Please.”

And that’s all you need.

He’s uncut, and the veins blanketing the length of his cock are visible under his foreskin. Pretty in a way you aren’t used to, a denser blush than the rest of his body, but still quite pale. It feels like your hand is moving in slow motion towards it, your fingers twitching in anticipation. The heat of his dick warms your skin before you even make contact, and when you do, wrapping your fingers around the root of it, your fingertips can’t touch. You press your lips together and try not to squeal happily, glee crinkling your eyes.

God is real and he’s an uncircumcised cock on a shy giant.

König’s erection is searingly hot. Soft skin and hard core, jerking in your palm, leaking steadily, nudging at your hand, insistent. Your brain is working full steam and connections necessary to utilize common sense are still not being made. Slowly, you tighten your hold on him, the weight of it is so imposing, you wouldn’t be surprised if imprints of the veiny surface were branded onto your hand once you withdrew. If you ever withdrew. You should fucking withdraw.

You do not withdraw. Instead, you slide your hand up slowly, choking up on the head of his cock before dragging your grip back down. You chance a glance up at his face, watching his Adam’s apple bob with each laboured swallow. The poor man’s jaw clenches and relaxes while you slide your palm over his flesh again and again. Somehow, he hardens further and your eyes widen impossibly larger, the pit of your stomach doing somersaults at the idea of where you want that thing to go, what you want it to do. You get fevered flashes of König bending you over the massage table in your mind, hands on your hips, rutting without sense or logic into you, so hard the surface scrapes against the floor, all while he sobs, his overwhelmed, overstimulated tears splashing against your back while he rearranged your insides. The head of his cock is exposed every time you slide your hand down towards his pelvis. By the third peek, you’re dragging the pointed end of your tongue over the tip of his dick, licking against his head, and coating your mouth with the taste of him. He grips at your side harder, his fingers digging into your hip as he chases the warmth of your mouth. He keens loud, almost mewling when you pull off him, using your spit to ease your hand’s path. By this point, your handiwork is audible, noisy and wet, König’s voice filling the small room. You use your free hand to guide his head to your chest, letting him bend toward you, press his nose into your tits while he begs for you to finish him.

“Are you gonna come, Mr. König?” You thread your fingers in his hair, letting your nails scratch against his scalp, drift down to his nape and up to his crown again.

“Yes, please, please. Fuck.” His voice is reedy and thin, and he wraps his arm around your waist, burying his face deeper in your chest. And then his whole body trembles, and his hips roll towards you, and for a fleeting minute you consider edging the poor bastard, sliding your hand completely off his cock and watching it twitch violently, uselessly in the air.

But he begs so sweetly. And his next session was already pre-booked.

The hand you kept on his head leaves his hair, and you rub the head of his cock with your flat open palm, jerking him off with firm, fast strokes. He bites down on the curve of your breast, and you’re grateful he still managed to retain enough brain cells to not break skin.

“Do it then. Come, honey.” You trill, feeling his tears wet your skin through your shirt. It’s almost instantaneous, so fast it’s kind of impressive. His body goes bowstring-tight, and he squeezes you so hard it almost hurts. Ropes of sticky white seed shoot from his cock, covering your hand and his spasming abdomen. You slide your hand up, milking just the first two inches of him through his orgasm, until he stops your movements himself, covering your hand with his own.

When you finally break contact, you stare at your hand for what feels like ages, thick beads of his cum rolling down your palm, sliding to your wrist. You extricate yourself from his hold, using your clean hand to brush his sweat damp hair from his forehead. You press that kiss you wanted to the space between his brows. Why start restraining yourself now? His body shivers periodically, and you turn to the sink, to wash your hands clean, clenching your own thighs together, his moans and sighs echoing in your mind. You turn to face him, grinning wide and cheery,

“So...I’ll see you next week?”

hoe, you are getting fired! at least you got a man outta it though.

support city girls who love gummy worms, reblog what you like.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids,

Recently, someone complained to me that you can't tell women and men apart anymore. You could walk past someone on the street and have absolutely no clue what their gender is.

Maybe you have heard something similar before as well. It may have been an explicitly transphobic talking point, or maybe they just thought about cis people who don't fit into gender stereotypes. We could discuss either (or both) points in many ways - but I want to focus on an easy question here:

Why do we need to know the gender of a random stranger on the street at all?

Now, of course you could argue that it can be the opposite of transphobic or close-minded to want to know - don't you need to know, so you can make sure you address them correctly and don't misgender them? But this assumes a situation where you will address them.

In any situations where you two end up talking for long enough that it becomes important for you to know their name and pronouns, you will automatically learn them at some point. They will introduce themselves with their name or you'll get the chance to ask for their name, or maybe they'll simply correct you if you accidentally address them the wrong way. Either way, if their gender is relevant for you, you will find out their gender (or at least their name and pronouns) at some point. You don't have to be able to assign them one by just looking at them.

But you don't end up talking to every stranger you see on the street. You don't end up talking about most of them, either. It's really not important to know the gender of the person next to you on the subway, or the cashier at the supermarket, or the stranger walking past you - so it also doesn't matter if they present in a way that leaves you entirely unable to guess their gender. It's none of our business anyway, and if it does become our business at some point (because we interact with them regularly enough that we need a way to address them), we can just ask for their name.

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

[hyperfixatedbastard]

one must grab the titty

Soft!Adam x AFAB!Reader

It's no surprise that Adam's big on physical touch, but you expected it to be - well, sexual. Turns out that this clingy, hypersexual douchebag actually likes innocent, nonsexual intimacy. Like holding your boobs just 'cause they're nice to hold.

Word Count: 926

WARNINGS: SFW (I think?), AFAB!Reader with gender neutral pronouns, mentions of sex, no sexual content, nonsexual intimacy

A/N: I kinda hate this but I'm tired of working on it, so here ya go! Apologies if you have no tits, but let's be honest, that wouldn't stop this bastard.

Dividers

Adam has some… odd habits, at least by Heavenly standards. Sometimes you wonder just how exactly he’s an angel, but you’ve learned to not question it. He may be a douchebag and an asshole, but he has his moments. He’s sweet with you, at least. You never expected him to be a doting, clingy boyfriend, but he certainly proved you wrong.

No matter where you are or what you’re doing, he’ll have an arm around your waist, or one of his wings loosely wrapped around you. Adam is a possessive guy (after hearing about the whole Lucifer debacle, you can’t really blame him), and he makes it clear with the way he interacts with you in public. And in private, he’s arguably worse—you’re lucky to sit down without him draping an arm over your shoulders to pull you in close, or practically pulling you into his lap. He’d never admit it, but you think he needs the reassurance that you’re still there, that you haven’t left him.

You’re not so sure about that theory once the touches go past cuddling.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

"Adam," you begin in a suspicious tone. "What are you doing?"

The angel in question blinks back at you owlishly. His mask and robes have been traded out for some sweatpants and a t-shirt that reads ‘I Got ADHD’ with the subtitle ‘A Damn Hard Dick.’ The two of you are cuddling on the couch in your shared apartment, with some shitty action movie playing on the TV as you sit wrapped up in his arms and wings with your back to his chest (you didn’t think that action movies would be allowed in Heaven considering the murder and whatnot, but once again, you don’t question it).

"Hm?" he hums innocently. "I'm watching the fuckin' movie, babe."

You glance down to where his hand is shamelessly groping your boob over your shirt. You debate whether or not to even confront him about it, considering he isn't actually doing anything other than just holding your tit, but you ask anyways.

"Why is your hand on my boob, then?" you prompt, your eyes shifting between his face and where his hand is idly groping your chest.

Adam chuckles and breaks out into a smug grin. "What? Can't a guy hold his partner's tits?" He gently squeezes your boob for emphasis.

Your face heats up at that, and your eyes narrow in confusion. "Why do you want to?" 

"Uh, because they're fucking great," he answers incredulously, like you're the weird one here. He then brings his free hand up to hold your other boob. He gives them both a gentle squeeze, but doesn't do anything more than that. The lack of a sexual innuendo, joke, or proposition doesn’t make sense to you—it feels out of character for Adam, even after learning about his love of cuddling.

You just look at him, confused. Sure, you've always known that he's a boob guy, but this doesn't strike you as Adam's usual horny antics. But if it’s not sexual (which you still find hard to believe), what the fuck is it? 

He seems to realize that his original explanation isn’t good enough. "Look, hot stuff, boobs are just nice to fuckin' hold, y'know? All soft n' squishy n' shit."

You raise a brow at that. It’s a fair point, you suppose. "So, what, my tits are like stress balls for you?"

Adam laughs—not that loud, boisterous laugh he does when pranking some poor soul, but that more genuine, softer one few people ever got to hear. "Yeah, pretty fuckin' much, babe. They're comforting!"

You roll your eyes at him, albeit fondly, as a smile pulled at your lips. "Whatever works for you, I guess."

His smirk grows, and he squeezes your boobs a little firmer this time. "Oh, these beauties are fucking workin' for me, sweet cheeks."

You scoff, albeit lightheartedly, and swat at his shoulder. "Shut up and watch your damn movie."

Adam doesn’t respond, but he pulls you a little closer and gives your tits one last good squeeze before returning his attention to the TV—for the most part, at least. His hands don’t leave your chest, but they don’t really do much either. They’re just resting there, occasionally groping or giving a light squeeze. Damn, this really isn’t a sex thing for him, is it?

You’d already been shocked when you’d first realized how clingy Adam is. You were even more surprised to discover that he’s a fan of nonsexual intimacy in general, like cuddling and hugging without it leading to something more. And here he is, surprising you once again by doing something that should surely be sexual in his mind, yet treating it casually and barely even making sex jokes about it. 

A few more minutes into the movie, you can’t hide your curiosity anymore. “This really isn’t a sexual thing for you?”

Adam’s eyebrows raise, and he looks puzzled at your question before breaking out into a smirk. “Why, do you want it to be?”

You scoff and shake your head. “No, I’m just… surprised, is all.”

“Hey! I can appreciate some nice boobs without it being sexual,” he protests, and he sounds at least partially serious.

“Okay, okay, I believe you,” you assure him with a soft laugh. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

“Good, ‘cause I fuckin' like this,” Adam remarks, once again squeezing your boobs for emphasis. You just fondly roll your eyes at him and go back to watching the movie.

Having a clingy boyfriend is pretty nice, actually.

Taglist: @3sire-777

[kanelia]

Questions impossible for trans ideologists to answer:

If trans women are women and trans men are men, then what makes them trans? What is 'being trans' based on?

What makes trans women women and trans men men? If your sex does not determine if you are a man or a woman, then what does? Is it

Maculinity/femininity. Wouldn't this mean feminine men and masculine women are 'born in the wrong body' too and should go by the pronouns of the opposite sex? How can defining manhood and womanhood through masculinity and femininity be justified when these terms are just personality traits, interests, and style choices associated with stereotypes about men and women? What if I told you that almost all the positive attributes are associated with masculinity? Are we all men for not relating to femininity?

Inner feeling. What is this feeling, and how can it be defined? What if you have no inner feelings about your manhood or womanhood? What if most people do not? Wouldn't that make us all non-binary? What if you just think you are a man or a woman because your body is a male or female body?

Nothing. If it is "nothing" then why do you throw a hissy fit if someone refuses to play along when you claim to be a man/woman/none?

If sex does not determine if you are a man or a woman, then why do trans people seek to change their secondary sex characteristics to mimic those of the opposite sex?

If your sex does not determine if you are a man or a woman, then why can't a female be a trans woman?

Why is being trans gender 'valid', but being trans race is deemed offensive? What makes gender different? Is it

Oppression. If you can not be a trans transgender woman or a trans black person because these are oppressed groups, then why can a man claim to be a woman? Why can a heterosexual claim to be a gay or a lesbian? Why are poc rightfully upset over racist caricatures, but women are bigots for finding Dylan Mulvaney offensive?

Lived experience. If I can not be a trans trans woman or a trans black person because 'I could not possibly know how this lived experience would feel', then how come a man can be a woman or a heterosexual a gay or a lesbian?

If sexual orientation is not based on the attraction towards either male or female sex or both, then what is it based on? Attraction towards masculinity/feminity? What if I am attracted to both feminine and masculine human males? Does it make me a bisexual?

If there are no bodily differences between men and women, or not even such a thing as sex in the first place, then what are things like fgm, female infanticide, sex-selective abortion, and child marriage based on? Do they mutilate little girls because they go by she/her pronouns? Do they observe a newborn baby's gender identity? If a family has a little boy and a little girl, how do they determine which one of the children will have to marry an old man? Do they draw straws?

If there are no bodily differences between men and women, or not even such a thing as sex in the first place, then why should anyone even receive 'gender affirming care'? Why can't we just save money by telling people they do not need to transition at all because 'any body can be a man's or a woman's body' already?

And maybe the most importantly:

Why is asking these questions considered 'hate'?

[pray4byron]

HEY MIO!!! can you do Adam, vox, lucifer, and husk headcanons with a genderfluid reader?

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐯𝐨𝐱, 𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐦, 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐤, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐢𝐝 ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

a/n: omg i read lucifer as “alastor” and wrote a ton of hcs for alastor only to realize you didn’t even request him BAHAHAH

warnings: gender-fluid!reader

proofread: no

tags: genderfluid, hazbin hotel, alastor, husk, vox, fanfic, x reader, adam

𝐯𝐨𝐱

despite the fact that this might be a surprise, he is extremely helpful and respectful during whatever transition period you’re going through for you coming-out

vox is well-versed in all sorts of lgbtq+ labels, due to him being online so much, and having made business deals with a variety of folks

without hesitation, vox will ask what you need, whatever it is, he’s got it covered. haircut? on it. binder? he’ll have voxtech start making binders just for you. new wardrobe? that’s why he has velvette

he doesn’t go out much, due to his fame, but he’ll go out with you and watch you try on outfits for your new wardrobe, all for you…

𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐦

i think this goes without saying that adam is gonna be a bit confused at first, he was the first man ever, he’s old school, he doesn’t know shit

he may unintentionally crack a disrespectful joke here and there, that’s just adam for you, no offense intended

but after awhile, he does try, he’ll do his research, ask around heaven, he’ll probably ask molly, since angel’s gay

at the end of the day, if you want adam to do something specific, you’ll have to tell him, adam can catch on quickly, but not with this stuff

𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐤

although husk isn’t the most modern man alive, he is apart of the community, so he knows a thing or two

he’ll straight-up ask you what you want him to do, just so there’s almost no room for mistakes, he understands this is hard for you and doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable

remains very accepting and respectful at all times, and is probably the best out of the four at remembering your preferred pronouns/gendered terms

𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫

the most uninformed out of the four, as we can see in episode five with his first reaction to finding out charlie was queer, i mean, don't get me wrong, he's supportive, but he doesn't quite get it - like adam, their both quite old school

by far does the most research, he's the most uninformed, and he definitely cares the most about the situation, so he's very hard on himself to make this perfect

also side note, he probably throws you a 'coming out' party XD

i do not permit for my work to be reposted, translated, or stolen. all rights go to signedmio. characters are not mine, unless stated, and belong to their rightful creators.

[genderkoolaid]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[capricornlevi]

on the edge of a blunt knife

mid-shibuuya incident, nanami decides he needs some serious stress relief

(wc 2.9k, 18+ mdni. cw rough (but v consensual) sex, semi public sex, cursed energy as sexual tension lol, no gendered pronouns but reader has a vagina)

Nanami: Need you to come here.

Nanami: {location shared}

Nanami: As soon as possible. 

You blink down at your phone once, twice, three times, still unsure whether or not you actually understand the texts that are displayed clearly on the screen. 

His directions are straightforward – blunt, even. It’s not that you don’t understand what’s being asked of you. 

It’s just that you don’t understand why he would send texts like those; completely out of the blue, you can’t even guess the context. You haven’t heard from him for three days now.

For the past year or so, your relationship with Nanami Kento has been casual – in the most extreme sense of the word. A few hook-ups at his place, even more at your own, twice in a hotel he was staying in for ‘business’. You’ve met for coffee, shared some meals, never so much as toeing the line of anything more committed.

Sure, you know certain things about him, have garnered some understanding of his personality, but there’s so much you don’t know. More than you’d care to admit. 

You’ve never actually asked him what he does for a living, for one thing. 

You’ve caught glimpses of enough blood-soaked shirts to hazard a guess that it’s something sketchy, which does make it easier to avoid asking questions.

Still, he’s not your boyfriend. You don’t care what he does as long as you don’t get dragged into it. It actually helps things, you think, this barrier between the two of you, keeping either one from getting too attached.

But these unprompted texts, this uncharacteristic urgency … it all makes you deeply uneasy. As you reread them for the fifth time, your gut twists with a sense of foreboding.

... and perhaps the tiniest hint of anticipation.

Still wanting to cover your bases before diving into the unknown, you type up a quick response.

You: Is it safe?

You don’t have to wait long before your phone buzzes in your hand.

Nanami: For you, yes. 

The location pin he dropped you is based in a metro tunnel just outside of Shibuya. 

It’s dark out, you’re not familiar with the area, the October air is bitterly cold. There are a thousand reasons for you to stay home and wait until Nanami just comes over to yours as he usually does.

The other side of the argument has far fewer points in its favour.

But against all logic you slip on a jacket, shoving your phone into your pocket as your apartment door slams shut behind you.

___

The journey is unusually quick. Glancing at every side street as you pass them by, you see they’re all virtually abandoned, with no traffic to hold you up at the street crossings. 

You shrug it off; it has no connection to your meeting with Nanami, so why waste time worrying about it?

However, your concern only deepens when you arrive at the metro station. On a night like tonight it should be bustling, packed with crowds of partygoers and drunken salarymen singing the wrong lyrics to pop songs, but as you slowly descend the concrete steps, you soon realise that there’s not a single soul waiting by the platform.

It’s quiet, too. Eerily so. All you can hear is the low drip-drip-dripping of rain trickling onto the tile from the grates above, mixed with the occasional screech of the tracks. It’s cold down here, smells of damp and stagnant water, and you can't see Nanami anywhere.

You wait, but no trains appear.

The air is heavy with mist, even underground. You hug your arms to your chest to keep warm. 

You’re just about to reach for your phone to text Nanami, demanding to know what the hell is going on and why he’s dragged you into it, but before you can do so, you’re distracted by the sensation of a strong hand on your shoulder.

You nearly choke out a scream when you’re the grip on your shoulder releases, the person pulling you in by the waist instead.

Nanami.

Though you held off on screaming before, you want to shout at him for startling you anyway, for giving you the fright of your life for no good reason.

However, as your mouth opens, you find yourself unable to do so.

For just a moment, you forget about how insane this all is; how he’s dragged you to an abandoned metro platform in the dead of night, with all sorts of other weird, unexplained shit happening just a few feet above your heads. Without a word of explanation as to what he needs from you. 

You forget about it all, instead letting yourself get lost in the feeling of being pressed up against his chest. 

The only thing to cut through your hazy train of thought is when you see –

“You’re hurt,” you murmur, lifting a hand to ghost your fingers over the scrapes on his face. 

“Not very.”

“How did you – what is – what happened?”

“It's a long, long story,” he answers softly, gentle despite the strength of his touch, the protectiveness in how he holds you against him. “Too long to tell in one sitting.”

“Then why did you bring me here?”

Nanami doesn’t answer at first. He takes a hand and tilts your chin so that you have no choice but to meet his eye, to watch as he scans your face, lingering on your lips.

“Remember New Year’s?”

Now it’s your turn to pause, brain processing the hidden meaning buried in his words.

This past New Year’s was the only other time Nanami had visited you in a state like this; exhausted, injured, but bursting with a sort of power and intensity you couldn’t begin to understand.

He put it down to adrenaline, a busy day at work leaving him pent up, but you knew there was something more to it. He crackled with an energy that you had never seen before. Something about him felt electric, a live wire, you could almost feel it against your fingertips as you ran your hands over his muscled chest that night, taking it all in. 

He came to you needing relief. It was an unspoken request that you happily answered; perhaps the energy he emanated during that visit was infectious. 

After he called to your apartment that night, you didn’t leave your bed for the better part of three days. Relief was all he sought, but it was never enough until he has burnt the last bit of energy from his body. It took time. 

Now, he searches your face for signs of recognition, any indication that you know what he’s asking of you.

You know he would respect your answer if you refused, if you got the hell out of this dingy tunnel and ran back to the safety of your apartment. He would never bring it up again. 

It would be so easy to refuse, to turn around and take the more sensible option.

But the only issue is that you really, really don’t want to. 

“I remember.”

The tiniest crack appears in Nanami’s facade – his jaw tightens, the sharp angles of his features looking almost pained.

“You do?”

Your nod confirms it.

“So you know what I’m asking of you?” he elaborates carefully, grip tightening in the fabric of your jacket.

“Yes. And yes,” you hastily add, sensing his follow-up question. “I want to.”

At that, Nanami lets go of your waist, lifting his hands to fist in your hair as he drags you in for a crushing kiss. 

He kisses you so hard it almost hurts but you give as good as you take, dragging your teeth against his bottom lip to the point it could nearly draw blood. 

It’s messier than it’s been before, even more so than New Year’s. You gasp into his mouth as he keeps you flush against him with one arm, barely able to take a breath before he slips his tongue against yours, ravenous in the way he’s capturing your mouth with his. 

He mumbles something against your lips, utterly incoherent, and you don’t bother asking him to repeat it. 

He kisses you, running his hands over your body as though he’s never had the chance to do it before now, mapping every inch of your frame even over your clothes. 

Soon you’re being guided away to somewhere more private – a nearby bathroom, just as abandoned as the rest of the platform, a place where he can take what he needs for as long as he needs it. 

You watch silently as he leads you there, feeling that energy radiate from his palm to yours. 

Inside the bathroom, you see that only one of the lightbulbs is still working; this bathes the room in a warm, dim light, a glow that’s just enough for you to see the transformed expression on Nanami’s face.

Your breath catches. 

In almost any other setting, he’s the picture of control. He’s polite, reserved, and keeps his emotions well-guarded from the outside world, never showing his secrets of vulnerabilities to anyone. 

But when this sensation overcomes him, his face twists into something unrecognisable. Hungry, primal, something that would send a bolt of fear through you if you hadn’t experienced something like this before; now, you find yourself wanting to spur it on. 

Before he loses himself in it, you take the chance to start undressing, your clothes dropping to the floor as your mind starts to swim with thoughts of what will happen next, what you know he is capable of doing with those hands.

His eyes darken until they’re almost black as you bare yourself in front of him. 

Back home in the safety of either of your apartments, this would undoubtedly take a lot longer. He’d use his mouth on you until your cries of his name disrupted your neighbours. You’d take him in your hand and stroke slowly, meanly, building him up to the edge until his knuckles turn white and broken swears echo around the room. 

That sense of languidity is gone now. It’s urgent, both of you needing this as much as you do oxygen, fearing you’ll die without it, and so you waste no time in bending over the sink and looking up at the mirror to meet his eye in the reflection. 

Here you are, in public, where anyone could just walk in off the street and see you bending over for him, completely soaked and utterly shameless – though for some reason, you’re almost certain you’re not going to be interrupted.

Nanami unbuttons his shirt, revealing the pinks and reds of bruises blossoming on his skin. Your brow furrows; somewhere in your pleasure-addled mind you think to ask him about it, press him on the cause of his injuries … on what he’s gotten himself into …

But once his hands reach for his belt, you refocus your attention on gripping the sink’s countertop to prepare yourself. 

He won’t hold back. One word from you and he’ll stop, but until that word is said then he will be merciless.

He tosses the belt to the floor and undoes his suit pants, stroking himself slowly.

You look to the mirror; a short nod, you skin already prickling with goosebumps, and you’ve started something you don’t know how to finish. 

He takes your ass in his hands and squeezes, spreading you open and running his length up and down, the reflection of him mumbling something to himself as he stares, transfixed at the sight of your folds ready to suck him in without so much as being touched yet. 

His throat bobs, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead glistening under the low light; he slips inside with one smooth thrust. 

Your spine arches as you take all eight inches of him, thicker than anything you’ve had before, pressing in at such an angle that you worry it will render you a babbling mess before the hour is out. 

Already his name is spilling from your lips, voice breaking at the crescendo of each thrust, gasping for air as though he’s somehow hitting your lungs. You feel the fabric of his pants against the backs of your thighs as he fucks you half-clothed, too desperate to feel you wrapped around his cock to even fully undress.

It’s full, it’s a lot, but it doesn’t hurt – it never does. It’s why you think this … thing, this state that takes over him, that it has some sort of transferable nature to it. You need this relief just as badly as he does.

You feel the fingers of Nanami’s right hand fist in your hair, pulling you back to keep your eyes fixed on the mirror. The left stays gripping your waist, pulling your body back against him to meet the snap of his hips. 

You let out a breathless giggle which only serves to spur him on further; a tug at your hair prompts a pathetic-sounding mewl of pleasure to take its place, his hold on you as unmovable as it is possessive. 

It makes no sense for you to enjoy that feeling so much, to enjoy being his when you can count on one hand the concrete facts you know about this man.

You’re not thinking straight, though, not when you’re being bounced on his cock like this, no coherent thought staying in your brain for longer than three seconds.  You gush around him, wet and lewd sounds bouncing off the tiled walls of the bathroom.

The mirror is blurry with condensation from the mist and the once-cool air, but you can still make out the sight of Nanami holding your hair tight in his fist, the veins in his hand prominent as he speeds up his movements.

He pauses only to help you hike your knee up against the counter. Once stable, he’s back inside you again, telling you how good you’re taking him, how you’re the only person he needs for this, leaning down and pulling your hair back up so he can press a kiss to the nape of your neck.

You, on the other hand, are far less talkative. The change in angle is hitting that spot in your core that has you fluttering around him already, short little half-groans catching in your throat and dying before you can even breathe them out. 

The feeling of being wanted by him, of being the one who he seeks out to help with this ache, it is something you struggle to put into words. 

He’s so powerful, but you are too. It’s how he knows you’re perfect for this – he told you as much last time, when he thought you were too fucked-out to even comprehend what he was saying. 

His gaze meets yours again and you marvel at how he maintains such a solid grip in your hair, never slipping even as his rhythm turns more erratic and uncontrolled.

He seems to enjoy having you in his grasp, his lower lip bitten between his teeth as he holds you, adjusting the position when he needs to. His thumb smoothes soothing circles against your skin, a pleasant contrast to the unrelenting sensation of being filled.

This is a side of him only you can see.

It's so good, teetering dangerously close to being so good that you're ruined for anyone else, unable to take anything inside you that isn't Nanami's cock.

You feel yourself burning, that familiar heat starting to coil in your lower stomach, your limbs starting to lose strength as you brace yourself for the waves to wash over. 

Nanami keeps you steady, never faltering as he fucks you through it.

You gasp, clenching around him as it bursts within you, spreading like wildfire through every nerve in your body. Your body trembles beneath him and he slows mercifully. He moves slowly, careful not to overstimulate you too soon, waiting for the waves to subside before he fucks into you again, chasing his own pleasure with the closest thing to a clear mind he can hope to have in this situation. 

It doesn’t take long for him to follow you over the edge, spilling over the small of your back with a gutteral moan that makes you clench around nothing, only releasing his hold on your hair and waist once the rise and fall of his chest has steadied.

Sweaty and boneless and satisfied, you wait as he cleans you off before turning to him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Did it help?” you ask quietly, knowing he’ll understand.

His lips curl slightly, the divot in his brow having disappeared – the edge has been taken off momentarily. “Yes.”

His pupils are still blown out, though, and his demeanour tells you there’s more to come. 

“Is this … is what’s happening outside … is it over?”

He shakes his head once, twice. “No.”

He reaches for his pocket, fishing out a silver keychain which he immediately presses into your palm.

“Go to my place. Go there and stay there, and don’t open the door for anyone but me.”

You take the key, cold against your clammy skin, and look up to him again.

“You’ll come back later?”

“I’ll come back later,” he replies immediately, pressing a chaste kiss against your forehead while running a hand through his own hair. “Just wait there for a bit.”

Though still in the dark, you figure that it just might be worth the wait. 

[bg-brainrot]

Day four of Astarion x Rogue!Tav winter fluff for the BG3 Winter Holiday Challenge!

Prompt: Mulled Wine

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Premise: Astarion walks into you making mulled wine. He doesn’t understand why you must ruin wine for the sake of winter. When he refuses to see your point, you find another way to show him.

Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Holidays, Alcohol, Kisses, post-cannon

Word count: ~1k

“Darling, what are you doing to that red wine?” Astarion walks into the kitchen, turning his nose up at the concoction you’re stirring.

“I’m making mulled wine,” you say, turning to smile at him. “What do you think I’m doing?”

He gives a single sniff and turns his lips down into a grimace. “My nose tells me that you’re ruining a perfectly good bottle of wine.” You drop the smile and give him a glare.

“What do you mean ruining?” you ask, incredulous. “I’m following the instructions that Gale gave me to the letter. Though I guess I am skipping over some of his longer-winded tangents…” A quick glance over at the notes on the counter confirms your accuracy.

The vampire shakes his head at you and walks up to the stove where you’re still stirring. “I have no doubt that you’re executing it perfectly, dear. You’ve made poisons that require more finesse than this. However, adding all of those spices– and oranges? What was wrong with the original wine?”

“Nothing was wrong. I just wanted to make something seasonal,” you say, feeling the need to defend your creation. You look down at your mixture, at the various pieces of seasonal flavors swirling as you stir, and you’re almost positive that it will taste perfect on a cold winter’s day like today.

“Why not a nice buttered rum? I don’t mind if you torment the rum.”

You roll your eyes at this, knowing full well now that this line of questioning was meant to be entertainment for Astarion. He was likely just bored and wondering why you were spending so much time in the kitchen. “I don’t want buttered rum. Why are you so against mulled wine– when was the last time you even had mulled wine?”

A moment of silence passes between you, and you turn away from your pot to look at him, suddenly fearful that you accidentally struck a nerve you hadn’t meant to. However, he just looks pensive, a single finger tapping his chin thoughtfully. When his answer finally comes, he just says it with a sense of awe, “You know, it’s likely been over 200 years.”

“Oh,” you respond, pursing your lips. You gesture at him with the spoon you’re holding. “Maybe it would be like a brand new experience?”

“It could be,” he responds, and while there’s some hesitation to his tone, he does sound more amenable to the idea now. He wafts the steam from the pot toward his nose, as if a better sniff might change his mind. Instead your lover physically recoils and places a hand over his face. “Gods, what are these spices?”

“Let’s see... cardamom, cinnamon, and star anise,” you recite, looking back at the paper Gale wrote you.

Your lover makes a face at you before he chokes out, “Star anise? That’s where the pungent smell is coming from. Darling, as the resident connoisseur of scents, you should have asked me for your spices.”

“Ah,” you breathe out, understanding dawning on you. You point the spoon at him excitedly, “I got it!”

“Got what?” he says, staring at you blankly. You can feel his assurance in your ability to make mulled wine deteriorating by the second. No matter– you know how to fix this.

Scooping up a bit of your brew in the stirring spoon, you blow gently on it to cool it down and hold it out to him. “Try it.”

“Oh no,” he immediately says, taking a step back. “I refuse to be your test subject.”

“Fine then, let me try it first.” You sip the mulled wine out of the spoon, savoring it on your tongue. It’s sweet, it’s spiced, and it tastes just like cozying up to a fireplace– your face breaks into a wide grin at its rich flavor. As you suspected, the star anise only gives it a subtle note, none of that strong licorice smell it typically has. Astarion wouldn't remember that after hundreds of years away from drinks like this. “Mmm, it’s perfect.”

Astarion looks at you for a second, as if waiting for your composure to crack, your body to convulse with disgust. When nothing happens, he only asks, “What does it taste like?”

“Would you like to try it?” You’re beaming at him now, absolutely certain that this will change his mind about mulled wine.

He still seems cautious, probably wondering if this is all some ruse devised by you and Gale.

Sensing his worries, you scoop another spoonful for yourself, take a drink, and close the distance between you. “Mmm mm,” you say to him, behind closed lips.

“What?” the man asks, raising a single eyebrow at you.

“Mmm mm!” you repeat, pointing to your lips, which you’re emphatically puckering at him.

Your request clicks in his head a moment later and he can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “My love, have I told you that you’re utterly ridiculous lately? Because I feel like you’re overdue.” Nevertheless, he takes a step forward, placing his hands on your waist and pulling you close as he meets your pursed lips with his.

The kiss, much like the mulled wine, starts off sweet but quickly comes with a kick of spice. Astarion’s tongue traces your bottom lip and you open your mouth to allow him in. One of his hands finds your face and angles it to deepen the kiss, locking his mouth with yours to try to keep the wine from spilling.

You feel a few trickles of liquid fall down your chin, but you find that you don’t mind– in fact, the only thing on your mind is the way Astarion’s tongue is relishing the mulled wine. The vampire gives a low hum as his tongue circles yours, tasting the liquid fully. He has yet to run away in revulsion, so you’re pretty sure he likes it. Or at the very least likes kissing you.

When he finally pulls away, a bit short of breath, his lips stained with wine, he gives you a smirk. “I think I finally understand the appeal of mulled wine.”

“So does that mean you liked it?” you ask him, equally breathless.

Astarion swipes his thumb down your chin, wiping away the wine that dribbled down before bringing it to mouth. He gives you a dark, lidded look as he licks it off and gives a rumbling hmm. “I’m not sure yet. You’ll have to give me another taste.”

It’s slow going, but you enthusiastically ensure that your lover gets his fill of mulled wine.

[outivv]

— what about your own world? —

Synopsis: they ask what your life was like in your own world

Warnings: ehhh semi angst? Semi fluff? Crying, and Idk if I should put a warning for this- but a single mention of death in sebek’s Part, But, as always not proofread :p

Characters: deuce, idia, Sebek, And malleus

Pronouns for reader: gender neutral/ not mentioned

A/n: hello hello!! I’ve been on big idia and Sebek brain rot recently, I may honestly weite another thing for them later too HEVJEEG. Theyre both one my favorites what can I say. Anyways, hope you enjoy!! Have a great rest of your day <3

— Deuce —

“What was your life back… you know… back home?” Deuce asks. You’re supposed to be fetching ingredients for a potion you need to make in class, but deuce has seemed… distant, or maybe distracted, this entire time. Now you know why, of course. “Why do you ask that.” You dont look at him, reaching for a jar full of specific bird feathers, which are very important for this potion. The rows and rows of bookshelves full of jars, full of ingredients, were the only audience to hear your conversation, so you didn’t mind telling him what your life was like, however, you wondered why he would ask such a thing.

He thought for a moment, as you climbed down the ladder you were on, and handed him the jar of feathers. “Well I was just thinking. Cause you’ve been here for almost a whole year, Crowley must be close to finding a way for you to go back home.” Deuce walked down the row of shelves to the next ingredient you needed as he spoke. He’s right, you’ve been here a long while, and Crowley must be close to getting you home by now… (but you’re not too… trusting of that. Despite what Crowley may say.) was deuce worried about you going home?

“Well, even if he does find a way for me to head back home, I’m not so sure I’d take that opportunity.” Deuce whips his head around, almost dropping all the jars He was holding. You quickly put you arms around his own, to secure the jars, giving him a look that screams ‘oh my god- please be more careful’. He looked away embarrassed, “why not?” Referring to what you said before. “Hmm, well, I like my life here. And back home wasn’t all that great so. If I could pursue something here, be happy… keep all my friends, stay with you, then I’d rather do that than be somewhere where I wasn’t… enjoying myself I suppose.” Deuce teared up at that, he can be very dramatic at times… “are you crying?” He quickly turned around hiding his tears as he kept walking “no! Just allergic to whatever is in these jars.” He said in between sniffles. You sighed trailing behind him. If you had any doubts before you certainly don’t now, as it’s clear you can’t leave deuce alone.

— Idia —

Idia is insecure with your… relationship. God he can barely even call it that. He feels like he barely even does anything… why would you put up with him? He’s sure that the moment Crowley found a way for you to go home, that you’d be jumping at the opportunity. He holed himself in his room even more than usual, and you, as his partner, of course noticed. A few days into his depression spiral, Idia heard a familiar knock on his door, followed by a voice, “idia? Can I come in.” It was you, of course. The only people allowed in his room are you and ortho, and ortho doesn’t really knock. “Yeah…” He Said Just loud enough for you to hear.

Upon entering, you could see idia wasn’t even gaming at his desk like usual, instead sitting in his bed, curled up in blankets upon blankets, scrolling on his phone. His room was dark without the light of his computer, you could barely see him, as his hair was mostly hidden in the blanket, and his phone was the only thing illuminating his face. “Idia? What’s wrong.” You said walking over to sit on the edge of his bed. You moved the blanket off from over his head, revealing some of his fiery blue hair, and running your fingers through it. “What was your life like back in your own world.” His cold tone made you widen your eyes. He doesn’t ever take that tone with you, only before your relationship started, and that was mostly because he was so anxious around you, being cold was kinda his default.

“What do you mean?” You tilted your head, And He quickly sat up his blue hair turning bright orange and red, as he screamed “your own world! Your home! When Crowley finds out how to get you back you’ll leave me, because that is your home. That is where you belong!” His words sounded harsh to anyone else, they sounded like he wanted you gone, like he wanted you to leave because you didn’t belong. But that wasn’t the case and you knew it. You could see how small he looked, his blankets open, revealing his shaky hands. Looking up at his face, surrounded by flame, you could see the tears welling in his eyes, his dark circles deeper than usual. Has this been bothering him for the past few days?

“Can I hug you?” You ask, as to not overwhelm him in a very intense moment for him. He nodded, and you slowly wrap your arms around him, he grips onto your jacket, and resting his head on your shoulder, wetting your uniform as tears start flowing. You don’t care about that though. “My life, in my world had It’s ups and downs. I have people there that I miss.” You started and he sobbed, and screamed harder, his mind spiraling, thinking your words confirm all that he’s been feeling, and thinking, the past few days. His hair reflecting his thoughts, as it started burning brighter, wrapping itself around you, but it never hurt, or burned you. “But. I love you more.” You start again, and idia grabs onto your jacket with both hands, one clawing at you back, while the other holds onto your front. He doesn’t want to let you go. “I know that no matter what Crowley finds, if I can’t return to you, then I won’t ever go back to my word.” Your arms wrap around him almost protectively, as he sobs out his feelings that he’s been keeping to himself for the past few days. Except, he knows you won’t leave him.

— Sebek —

Sebek loathes humans, he believes they are weak, and would pity them if he had the time to. But after meeting you, he’s found that humans aren’t weak, magicless or not, you have stopped 6 (almost 7 heh) overblotted students. That is quite a feat that even must admire. “You know [name] may return to their own world eventually right?” Lilia said, snapping Sebek from his thoughts of you. “What?” He furrowed his brows, Lilia cant believe that right? I mean… with the life you’ve built here and all… and with how close you two had become you won’t leave him right? “I’m sure [name] misses their family, friends, you know.” Lilia truthfully brought up this conversation because he wanted to see how Sebek would react.

Lilia knows that Sebek harbors feelings for you, whether sebek wants to admit it to himself or not. Lilia knows he is deep in denial. Sebek Looks down at the lunch table he’s sitting at, pondering. “I must go speak with them.” He suddenly Said, grabbing his bag, and lunch tray, to go search for you. He found you in the courtyard, you usually eat lunch there with grim, deuce, and ace. “Human!” Sebek shouted as he approached your Little group. Ace almost dropped his lunch at Sebek s booming voice, while deuce instantly looked ready to fight if Sebek made a single wrong move. “I need to speak to you. Alone.” He Said staring down at you, a very apparent scowl on his face. You looked at him like how he imagines a small animal looks seconds before death. “Uhh yeah for sure.” You respond, as you grab your bag, and put your lunch away. Leading inside, to a quiet hallway is when he starts asking questions, “are you planning on going back to your own world when Crowley… finds a way back for you…” straight to the Point as always, but you don’t miss the meek tone in his voice. A very sharp contrast from what he was portraying mere seconds ago.

“Uhhh I’m not sure yet, why?” You question, very very confused. Sebek puffs his chest out, almost smug, as he says “no reason. Goodbye now.” And walks away. You stand there absolutely confused out of your mind, and when you return to your friends, you just… sit there… for a moment. Later in the day however you overhear a specific someone talking to another specific someone “I told you [name] wouldn’t be leaving.” Sebek’s booming and prideful voice could be heard even though you were outside the classroom, “well you never specifically said that, but a win is a win I suppose.” Lilia said with a sigh, faking defeat, “but does them considering staying mean that you’ll be asking them out? May solidify their decision to stay here.” Sebek is frozen at Lilia’s words, to which Lilia only laughs. And when you walk into the classroom sebek’s face turns into a deep frown of shame, surprise, and absolute despair, to which you and Lilia absolutely lose it over.

— Malleus —

You cant leave him. You shouldn’t leave him. Malleus wants the one person who he has ever loved this way, to stay by his side, to rule with him, to love him as he loves you. Of course you aren’t… dating… yet, so he doesn’t have any way of telling you these feelings without sounding scary as hell, and Even he knows that. So he expresses it in a… less… obvious way I suppose. “[name]?” He asks, while you’re on one of your late night walks together. Usually he’s rambling on about the gothic architecture of the school, but Today he’s been unusually quiet. Until now of course. “Yes?” You ask, looking over at him where he was already looking right at you.

“What was your life like? Back in your realm, I mean.” He simply asks. You have to think on that for a minute actually, It’s such a strange question that you truthfully didn’t expect from malleus. It’s to the point where you wonder if there’s hidden meaning behind it. “Well, it was good for the most part. I mean… I miss my family, and friends, so that must show how good it was Haha” you say with a sad smile. You really have been feeling homesick these past few days, and malleus’s question kinda sent you over the edge. Before long, tears start falling from your face, malleus stops dead in his tracks to embrace you as soon as he realizes your crying.

He realizes you miss your own life, in your own realm, but He cant help but feel upset, and possessive. He wants you to stay with him, he wants you to love him the way he loves you, he wants to hold you like this forever if that’s what it took to keep you by him. “It’s alright, child of man.” Is the only thing that slips past his lips. He bites his tongue as to hold back all the words he wants to spew, about how he loves you, how you can stay here with him! And how he would miss you ever so dearly if you left… “I’m sure Crowley will find a way back for you.” His mouth grows dry at his own words, and his voice shakes. You look up at him, to see him not looking at you, but straight ahead, tears falling down his face. He wants to scream how much he loves you, how much he wants to protect you, but he can’t. He knew that would break your heart, and his own if he did.

[autolenaphilia]

So I do literally have my pronouns in bio. Now it should not be a requirement or anything. If you don't want to put your pronouns in bio, don't put them there, and I'm totally okay with that.

I didn't put pronouns in bio until my egg cracked because I was uncomfortable with the thought, turns out I was uncomfortable with gendering myself for a reason.

But if someone does put pronouns in bio, if they are easily accessible, I do think you have the responsibility to respect them. It feels like a fairly basic social media courtesy. To do otherwise is textbook misgendering.

Of course I presume here you are not a transphobe who thinks misgendering is okay or even obligatory (as some of them explicitly claim). If you are, fuck off, i'm not that interested in litigating my value as a human being or my status as a woman. My assumption here is that misgendering is bad and I don't particularly need to establish why.

Referring to someone by the wrong pronouns when said person has made their pronoun preference very clear, there is no other word for it but misgendering. In fact, misgendering someone with their pronouns in bio on social media is often less excusable than many accidental misgenderings in meatspace, because we often don't make our pronoun preferences that clear and obvious in meatspace.

it does take a few seconds to check the bio of a social media user, but being polite and courteous sometimes requires effort, which is not a blanket excuse to be rude. If it is too much effort to look it up before writing something about someone, then save all your effort and just don't write anything at all.

And using singular they/them about a specific person is misgendering, if said person has made their non-they/them preference clear, by for example putting their actual pronouns in their bio. You are not being "genderneutral", you are just misgendering and being rude.

This is a well known tactic of transphobic misgendering. Like if a writer wrote an article about Chelsea Manning and consistently they/themed her, the fact that said writer is a transmisogynist who is misgendering her wouldn't be in much dispute. They/them is often just the acceptable form of misgendering.

And also "dude/bro/man" are not genderneutral, I will barely dignify such nonsense with a response.

Being gendered correctly is not a privilege of the famous either. This applies even if the person in question is a random tumblr user and you are another random tumblr user writing about them. You should check their bio before writing about them. You should especially check if that person is likely going to read what you write, if it is a reply or tags to a post they made. It's not nice to get misgendering of you in your notifications. This feels like fairly basic courtesy on social media.

Failure to check is at best rude and impolite, and people have a right to object to being misgendered. And then ask for a correction and an apology. And really, all you have to say in such a situation, is something like "I'm sorry, I didn't check" and then maybe correct the misgendering post by editing it. Unless you are really committed to being able to misgender people without pushback, it's likely not the end of the world, and the person being misgendered will likely accept a sincere apology.

And this applies even if you don't like the person in question, if you are writing something that disagrees with their take. Being gendered correctly is not something that you have to earn, it's not a privilege for good behavior, of having the correct takes, of never making a mistake. And it can't be taken away for perceived and real transgressions. It is still unacceptable to misgender an unpleasant person.

Pronouns in a social media bio are not there for a person's friends, it's there so that random strangers interacting with a person's account will hopefully read them and gender the person correctly. The pronouns are there for you to read and respect.

(before anyone tries to be clever on the reading incomprehension website, , I'm using a generic singular they/them in most of these sentences. If you are talking about a specific person, who uses she/her or he/him or any pronouns that aren't they/them, it's msigendering to use they/them for them)

[vodika-vibes]

*Slides 50$ in Monopoly money*

Could I possibly get a smutty fic with Kix x GN reader in which reader has a crush on Kix and they end up missing a medical appointment and Kix has to chase them down? Btw love your writing!

The Physical

Summary: When you get too absorbed in your work, you tend to forget everything happening around you. You’ve forgotten to eat, to sleep, and, on one occasion, your own boyfriend. So no one is surprised when you don’t show up for your required physical. That doesn’t mean that you don’t need it though.

Pairing: Clone Medic Kix x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1932

Warnings: Smut, oral (m receiving)

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I hope this is close to what you wanted. I was pretty careful to make the story as gender neutral as possible, in the sense that the reader has no gendered pronouns attached to them at all. Also, I made a divider for this story.

You’re a bit…scatterbrained.

You know it. Your parents know it. Your teachers from school knew it. 

Your coworkers know it better than most.

It’s not intentional. It’s not. You just get so absorbed in your work, that you forget anything else.

Unfortunately, for you, anything else really means everything else. You’ve skipped meals, you’ve skipped sleep. You’ve missed holidays and birthdays and everything in between.

You once forgot about a date that you planned and scheduled and paid for. 

And you try. You do try. You set reminders and calendar alerts, and it doesn’t matter because when you’re really absorbed in your work you just won’t hear them.

Luckily for you, the people you work with are unendingly patient with you and make a lot more allowances for you then they really should. It helps, probably, that you’re very good at what you do.

And that the men of the 501st genuinely like you.

You step out of your room, a private room close to where you work, and you nearly jump out of your skin when you see Kix standing there. “It’s about time you woke up.”

You stare at him for a moment, and then you look at your chrono, and then look back at Kix. “It’s barely 6. I can’t possibly be late to anything!”

“What? No. I’m here to remind you about your physical.”

“...oh. Right. That’s today isn’t it?” You glance at your comm, and make sure that the alert is saved, “I have alarms set, you don’t have to worry about me forgetting.”

“How many alarms?”

“...Four. Across two devices.” You admit.

He sighs, “That should be fine then.” He glances at his own datapad and frowns at something on the screen, “Why did you schedule for 12:30?”

“That’s the time I was assigned.” You reply with a shrug, “Is it a problem?” You ask as you lean in to get a glimpse of his datapad.

Kix quickly moves the datapad so you can’t see the screen and shoots you an amused look, “You know you’re not allowed to look at this.”

“Right, right. Sorry.” You lean back and flash a small grin at him.

“There’s nothing wrong, but the later in the day your appointment, the more likely it is that you’re going to forget.” Kix points out, and then he sighs, “It’s fine. You set alarms, so you’ll be there.”

“Right!” You pause and shoot him a curious look, “Will you be doing my exam?”

Part of you wants him to say yes. You’ve been crushing on him since the day you met him and having him touching you would be a dream come true. The rest of you is adamant that he absolutely does not do your physical because you’ll do or say something embarrassing.

“No.” Kix replies absently, seemingly not noticing your disappointment. “I’m the CMO of the Resolute, I don’t do physicals unless we’re really short handed.”

“Then why are you here reminding me?” You ask, genuinely curious.

“What, you don’t like chatting with me?” Kix asks with an amused grin. “I was heading this way anyway, and decided to take a moment to remind you.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“It is, isn’t it.” He claps your shoulder, “Anyway, I’ve distracted you enough as it is.” He pauses, “If I have to hunt you down because you forgot your physical after I came and reminded you, I’m going to be very cross.” He warns.

You fold your arms, “Honestly, it’s like people expect me to forget everything.”

“You don’t have the best record.” Kix points out.

“You’re not wrong but you don’t have to say it.” You mutter, and then your chrono chimes, “I have to go. Thanks for the reminder, Kix.”

“Sure.”

And then you both go separate ways. Your mind is already locked on the different projects that are waiting for you, and Kix to go and do whatever medical things that CMO does.

Later, you’re not really sure how much later, the door to your workshop slides open and a hand slams against the door panel, shutting and locking the door. 

You’re only half aware of it, as half of your body is bent in the engine compartment of a speeder. “Whatever is broken, put it on a table over there.” You say, your voice muffled by the screwdriver in your mouth, and you wave vaguely in the direction of a table on the other side of the room, “Make sure you leave a ticket.”

There’s the sound of something being dropped on a table, and then silence, so you go back to trying to figure out what’s wrong with the speeder. 

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Unfortunately, you’re not able to pick out clones by their voices yet, especially when you’re only half paying attention. “I’m sure there’s a working chrono over there somewhere.” You mumble in reply.

There’s silence again, and you’re almost sucked back into your work, when strong hands grip your hips and you’re physically lifted away from the speeder and set several feet away.

And then you’re roughly spun so you’re facing Kix.

You stare at him, wide eyed, more than a little startled. And the harshness in his gaze softens slightly, as he lightly plucks the screwdriver from your lips, and sets it on a table, and he sets his hands on your shoulders.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“...no?”

He closes his eyes, as though he’s asking for patience, “When were you supposed to go to the medbay for your physical?”

Your face falls, “...I missed it, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.”

Your shoulders slump, “I’m sorry.”

Kix stares at you for a moment, and then he releases you, “Kriff. I can’t even stay mad at you.” He runs his hand over his head, “Look, I rescheduled your physical for first thing in the morning. You will be there, even if I have to drag you there myself. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Kix.” You won’t meet his gaze, “I am sorry.”

“Forget it.”

“...why’s your kit here?” You ask, noting that his medical kit is sitting at your desk.

“I was worried you got hurt since you generally work by yourself.”

“Oh.” That’s fair, you decide. You stare at the medkit for a moment and then you clap your hands together, “I have an idea!” You hurry over so that you’re standing in front of Kix, “How about you give me my physical. Here. Now.”

“What?”

“You have all of the stuff you need, right?”

“I…technically, yes.” Kix says slowly.

“And this way there’s no worry about me missing another appointment-!”

“Wait, hold on. This is not something I can do.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” He falters and very pointedly doesn’t look you in the eye, “Because it would be inappropriate.” Kix finally admits.

“Come on, Kix. You’re the Chief Medical Officer, how could it possibly be inappropriate?” 

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he sighs, “Because my feelings in regards to you make it inappropriate.”

“...come again?”

Kix’s gaze is even as he scans your face, “Surely you’ve noticed how much time I spend with you? How much I talk to you?” His hand comes out to rest against your cheek, and his thumb brushes your lip, “How I worry about you all of the time?”

“I thought you were just being nice.” You admit.

“No. Well, not only. I-” He trails off, “Kriff, I want you so badly.”

You wrap your hand around his wrist and pull his hand away from your face, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Didn’t want to pressure you.”

You don’t reply, you just lean in and catch his lips in a deep kiss, and Kix responds immediately, his arms sliding securely around you. He walks backwards and settles on your stool, and you move to stand between his legs, not breaking the kiss.

You break the kiss first, and you press light kisses across his face, “I’ve wanted this since the day we met.” You admit as you trail your lips across his cheek.

He chuckles, “I’ve been fantasizing about you for the same amount of time.” There’s something roguish in his eyes, “I think…my first fantasy about you was you, on your knees, with your lips wrapped around my cock.”

You laugh softly, “That right?”

“You always have something in your mouth. A pen, a screwdriver, a fork, that one time I caught you with a wire in your mouth and nearly had a heart attack on the spot-”

You gaze at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then you grin at him and drop to your knees between his legs, and you lay your head on his knees.

“W-wait…I didn’t mean-” but he trails off and licks his lips, “You don’t have to.” He finally says.

“I want to.” Is your simple reply, “How do I remove your codpiece?”

“You let me do it.” Kix replies sounding slightly breathless, as he swiftly removes the piece of armor and sets it to the side. 

You sit back slightly as he does something, and his half hard cock pops free. It’s pretty you decide as you shift closer to him and lightly take him in hand, giving him a few strokes, until he’s completely hard in your hand. 

You glance up at Kix, who is breathing heavily, his gaze locked on your face. His pupils are blown wide, and you flash a small smile, before you lean in and lightly lick the head of his cock. 

You hear Kix release a groan and a curse, and that’s all you need.

You wrap your lips around him and slowly, painfully slowly, take him inch by inch, until you can’t take anymore of him in your mouth. And then you start a slow pace, you want to take your time and you want to hear as much of his groans and moans.

He sets his hand on your head, not pushing or trying to make you take more than you're comfortable with, but to encourage you. He strokes your hair, praises falling from his lips as you work him over with your lips and tongue.

“Kriff,” Kix groans, “This is so much better than my imagination.”

You pull off of him completely, using  your hands to continue the easy pace that you set, “Is it?” you ask.

“Kriff, yes.” Kix strokes your cheek, “Cyare…I-” He trails off as you take him back in your mouth, and his hips buck towards you. You’re not sure what he wants to say, but you’re pretty sure, whatever it is, can wait.

Kix’s praises start becoming more rambly, and you pull back so that you have your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, while using your hands to continue stroking him.

And then he groans, low and deep, as he spills his release in your mouth. You keep him in your mouth until he’s done, and then you swallow his release and sit back on the floor, using the sleeve of your shirt to wipe your lips. 

“I probably need more practice at that,” You murmur thoughtfully.

Kix doesn’t reply, he’s staring at you, a sly smile on his lips. 

“What?”

He slides off the stool to the ground and tugs you closer, his grin never once fading and a mischievous grin on his face, “I’m not done.” He breathes out, as he lays you back and hooks his arms around your thighs, “It’s only fair if I return the favor, don’t you think?”

[evilwickedme]

When I was in twelvth grade my school brought in a trans man to talk about his experience and I wanted him to know so bad that I had changed my name and that I accepted him and I was weirdly jealous in a way I did not understand bc I was perfectly happy being a teenage girl, right? In eleventh grade I decided I wouldn't shave my legs for a year because I was sick of beauty standards and then my dad time me I was hairier than him so obviously there was something wrong and when I got diagnosed with pcos my parents dragged me to laser hair removal, and then reminded me I needed to keep going every few months. I kept going, even though I hated it. I miss my leg hair. When I was 15 I changed my name. When I was 18 I shaved my all the hair on my head off even though I'd always loved my curls because they were too damaged to deal with anymore, and when a haredi man approached me to ask me if I wanted to put on tefillin, mistaking me for a boy, I spent the rest of the week strangely giddy and entirely unable to take it out of my mind, even though he'd immediately taken it back. I used to say before I came out as bi that I was an ally and didn't want to speak over queer voices, and I said the same thing about trans people, but I kept feeling like I had some much to say, like this mattered in ways I couldn't put into words. I've wanted a hysterectomy for years, and was devastated to learn it's incredibly unlikely that a doctor would agree to perform the procedure, since I was a young woman.

I thought, again and again, about that man. He thought he was a lesbian for the longest time. He used to avoid gendering himself, even in an incredibly gendered language, had gotten so used to it it came naturally. His partner considered herself a lesbian, except for him. I didn't know how to feel about that. What does it mean to keep your identity static when the people you love change around you. Is it easy to accept?

I changed my pronouns to she/they, then they/them, then in Hebrew I said please pick either she/her or he/him but stick to one or the other, then I said stick with he/him in Hebrew, then I switched to they/he. I said I was a demigirl, then I said I was nonbinary but didn't feel comfortable being called trans, then I started applying the trans umbrella to myself, then I said was transmasc. Around me so many of my friends were transitioning, mtf, ftm, exploring using gender neutral pronouns before settling back on their agab, exploring gender neutral pronouns and stopping there. A friend of mine told me that they were jealous of me because I was so sure of my identity as a person in their early twenties, while they were thirty and only just discovering themself. Did I know my identity? I wasn't sure. Another friend told me, they're currently nonbinary but they could see a future where they detransition. I cannot understand why my mtf friend was so sure she's a girl, when I didn't know, I had no clue, I didn't know where to go from here.

I thought of that man again.

I wanted to take my tits off and put them back on again and take them off again, just to see how it felt. I bought a binder, I told my parents it's just to fit into my button up shirts. I hadn't worn a dress or a skirt since the year after I graduated high school. I stopped wearing bras. I wore a button up shirt and a blazer whenever I could. I tried to find myself in the performance of gender.

I changed my named when I was just about to turn to fifteen, and a teacher followed me from middle school to high school, and she asked me if I was still going by that, cause she wasn't sure if I'd meant it, if it would've stuck. It stuck for ten years, even as I asked myself, is this really what I want? Is this my name? Would it be okay if I changed my name again, is it allowed? I told everyone who'd listen it's okay to changed your name for any reason, at any time.

I don't remember that man's name. I don't remember most of his story. I remember picturing him walking around, remember wishing I could pretend I wasn't a girl just for an evening. I wanted...

Well.

[sp1drrthwips]

✷ COMING OUT TO THEM AS TRANS .

꩜ platonic! peter parker(s), miles morales, gwen stacy, hobie brown & pavitr prabhakar x trans! gn reader

𖦹 cw : one mention of accidental outing !!

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎

ꨄ︎ marvel studios! peter parker ;

⋆ supports you from the moment the words leave your lips. definitely hugs you and tells you he loves you either way <3

⋆ will definitely ask about how you want to be referred to as now, like completely, not just name or pronouns, he checks for other gendered words / phrases too !

⋆ lets you explain more on the topic yourself, but also does additional research himself to understand more !

⋆ is totally ready to support you through any transition stage you're in,,, change in style, puberty blockers, hrt, etc,, he's right there supporting you <33

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎

ꨄ︎ tasm! peter parker ;

⋆ doesn't really know what to say at first,, will probably stay silent with a slight smile on his face while trying to think of what to say and end up on “i don't mind, that's- that's cool.”

⋆ exactly like marvel studios peter he'll ask about all the ways you would like to be referred to as now !

⋆ doesn't change the way he is around you at all, aside from being a little tense from not wanting to slip-up and possibly hurt your feelings, he stays the same !

⋆ he doesn't know much other than the basics, so he'll start to dedicate parts of his free time to researching more on trans topics to try and support you better <33

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎

ꨄ︎ miles morales ;

⋆ very chill about it, and makes sure you know that it doesn't change his view on you whatsoever

⋆ probably asks who else knows, and depending on what your answer is will ask how you'd like him to refer to you as when around people you aren't out to !

⋆ he shows his support through not really acknowledging it, just making sure you still feel normal and not making you feel uncomfortable is the way he knows to support you best <3

⋆ for sure the fastest to come up with shortened versions of your new name ( if possible ) / new nicknames to match the new you !

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ꨄ︎ gwen stacy ;

⋆ absolutely supports you 100% immediately <3 ( and definitely goes for the same approach as miles' second hc !! )

⋆ the most educated out of everyone here for sure,, and she's very very mindful of her words, so slip-ups are extremely rare !

⋆ she is so so excited to help you explore whatever new style you want, and will tag along with you to go shopping nine times out of ten !

⋆ always encourages you to talk to her whenever you're having dysphoric days,, she may not understand, but she still wants to be there to listen and try her best to cheer you up and affirm you <3

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ꨄ︎ hobie brown ;

⋆ will most likely answer with “cool.” afterwards, and continue whatever he was doing,, but he if realizes you need extra reassurance, he'll tell you doesn't care ( in a –– he ‘still thinks you're awesome’ way ) and asks about your new name and pronouns !

⋆ he's pretty familiar with breaking gender norms, so, just like gwen, he'll be extremely helpful while you figure out your new style !

⋆ also like gwen, he's pretty mindful of what he says, so slip-ups are rare with him as well !

⋆ the most likely on this list to knock someone out for purposely deadnaming / misgendering you ....

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ꨄ︎ pavitr prabhakar ;

⋆ like miles, he doesn't really acknowledge it because he doesn't understand why he should, you're still his friend and he loves you either way <3

⋆ like tasm peter, he doesn't know much more than basics, so there is a chance he'll tell people you aren't out to yet that you're trans to correct them ( good intentions, wrong execution ),, but will apologize and stop if you tell him you don't like it and want to tell people yourself !!

⋆ will mostly likely stop at libraries throughout the multiverse to try and find out more about the topic, and if that fails, he'll finally turn to the internet !

⋆ i feel like once he starts to learn more about you being trans he'd want to have a celebration of some kind,, like a small hang out with you, him, miles, gwen and hobie to make sure you feel appreciated and know they all still love you <3

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. . . hugs for all the trans readers here <3 🫂🫂🫂 happy trans awareness week !!! hopefully everyone had the sweetest and happiest week ever !! 🫂🫂 make sure to take care of yourself, you're all so so important !!! 💌💌

p.s. sorry to any trans tobey spidey fans reading ,, since his movies were so long ago i didn't really know how to write for him and just left him out :(

[nychthemeron-rants]

Butch Chilchuck AU Pt2

(Pt. 1)

As I mentioned in my previous post, the only real difference in this AU is that Chilchuck is a butch woman who uses he/him pronouns instead of a man.

No one in the main party knew he was a woman because he couldn’t be bothered to correct their assumptions about his gender when he’s busy trying to be treated as an adult.

He revealed that he was a woman after the bicorn when Marcille accuses him of keeping more secrets. “Its not a secret but I guess I should clarify that I'm a woman since I don't think any of you have caught on yet.” type thing. Cue everyone's shock, especially Marcille.

Since there's been at least one woman in the party who's been uncomfortable with Chilchuck bathing with other women (because they think he’s a man), and he's doesn't give enough of a shit to argue, he’s been bathing with the men instead (because again, he simply doesn’t give a shit)

Senshi thought he was trans (though I'm not sure he knows about trans people as like an actual identity, he just saw him bathing with the men and being treated as male and ran with it. Thats Chil's business after all.)

Laios just thought half-foots had internal “equipment” until it was needed. Wanted to ask about it but even he has the social grace to not question co-workers about that.

Shuro fully suspected Chilchuck was a woman but was too awkward to say anything

Namari knew almost immediately and has been the only one in the party to fully understand whats up with Chilchuck because she was respectful and understanding. (Plus they're drinking buddies)

Falin thought he was a man but also didn't really give a shit when he tried bathing with the other women. It was the marriage seeker who threw a fit before Marcille.

Post reveal, Marcille is just pissed he didn't say anything so she didn't have to go through this adventure up until Izutsumi joined the party feeling like the only woman.

Laios asks if he needs to change anything about how he treats him in the same vein as asking if he should call him Sir when he revealed his age

Senshi is just trying to process how wrong he was about literally all of his assumptions about Chil, as he is a middle aged woman and not a little boy. Feels embarrassed about his misunderstandings, no judgement towards Chil.

Marcille has questions post reveal. She gives me the vibe of a sheltered cis woman who has never questioned what makes her a woman, so when she’s presented with a woman who is more comfortable with mostly masculine presentation, uses “male” pronouns, and has even voluntarily removed his breasts as a woman, she is confused. She initially struggles to understand how a woman can be so against femininity and still be a woman. Chil, while reluctant to answer questions about his personal life, explains that he isn’t against femininity but simply feels more comfortable presenting more masculinely. And that he simply can’t be fucking asked to correct people when they guess wrong. He also ends up helping Marcille understand that gender isn’t expression and connect to her womanhood in a new way that isn’t necessarily linked to her femininity.

Laios does ask why he had facial/ body hair as a tall man and dwarf. Chil gets annoyed about him basically asking about his medical history but answers that he has PCOS and is also menopausal.

This causes Senshi to get annoyed that he didn’t mention this earlier as those conditions can lead to different nutritional needs (I.E. PCOS diet to manage symptoms or extra calcium and vitamins after menopause.)

Senshi and Laios start getting weird around Chil, no longer worrying about him being a kid, and are instead trying to be respectful of the fact he’s a woman (such as being less touchy, trying to give him privacy when changing as if they hadn’t bathed together before, etc.) Chil gets annoyed because while he appreciates the lack of touchiness and the added privacy, he’s pissed that they’re acting different after discovering he’s a woman and overthinking how they interact with him. They also start fucking up his pronouns because they’re ingrained in “women = she/her” mindset and feel like they need to “correct” themselves.

Izutsumi doesn't care and fails to see how Chilchuck being a woman instead of a man changes anything. Chil really really appreciates this.

Chil has to sit them down and explain that LITERALLY NOTHING has changed. They get better after this. (Senshi decides to go ahead with making sure he adjusts Chil’s meals to his needs.)

Post canon, Chil and his family goes to a dinner at the castle, and he shows up in a dress because A.) he wanted to match his wife and B.) kinda wanted to fuck with his friends. He succeeded as everyone was very taken aback by the sight of Chilchuck in a dress and “actually dressed as a woman for once” (a comment that annoys Chil because he is always dressed like a woman because he is always a woman who is dressed.)