#some slight gender euphoria????

[stevieharringtonwifeguy]

here's my @stevieweek offering for day 2! gender euphoria through pretty lingerie amen

wc: 282 | rating: M (eddie is But A Man but there's no explicit sexual content)

Honestly, Eddie thinks he deserves some kind of medal right now.

He’s sitting on his bed, legs crossed to hide the growing problem between his legs, as his gorgeous girlfriend stares at herself in the mirror. In a very attractive lacy lingerie set.

The outfit was ostensibly supposed to be a gift for him- his birthday’s coming up and Stevie was gonna do a sexy little strip tease or something, but more or less the second she’d gotten down to just the bra and panties she’d gotten distracted by her image in the mirror and Eddie’s been all but forgotten.

He can’t even really be mad about it. He watches as she strokes a finger wondrously over the slight swell of her bust in the lacey cup, as if she can’t believe it’s her own breast filling out the fabric. She’d apparently spent like an hour shaving earlier in the morning, and it seems like she can’t stop petting the newly smooth skin on her chest and legs, turning this way and that to examine the gentle curve that estrogen has added to her hips and ass.

It probably says something about how deeply in love Eddie is with Stephanie Harrington, that even when she’s near naked in a sexy little lingerie set, the amazed little smile on her face is the thing he can’t look away from. It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful.

So yeah, Eddie’s happy to just sit back on this one. Content to ignore the throb in his crotch that is apparently not immune to the absolute vision currently standing a mere five feet away from him. 

Strip tease be damned. Stevie’s happiness is enough of a gift for him.

[cathchicken]

One of my friends suggested that maybe Candy Queen would like to steal WK’s clothes and try them on. I think that was a very cute idea :3

She tries her best to slick her hair back to look more like him. I’d also like to think there’s some slight gender euphoria too… but maybe that’s just me projecting haha.

[librariangayballstits]

So like I get a bit of gender euphoria from my gynecomastia. It's not much, just enough for like a jiggle. Basically I can feel my chest moving when running down stairs and like feeling my chest up.

Basically if you don't know gymecomastia is breast tissue that can grow on human males (pseudogynecomastia if it's jist fat.) So what we call man boobs if they get big enough.

But yeah I like it that it's just a bit, don't feel like wanting booba (reasons to not use e for me.) It doesn't really show and almost looks like muscle most of the time if I'm shirtless.

It's like only for me to enjoy as a little personal thing. Most people don't know or care about slight gynecomastia which is kinda interesting. Cause usually men get some over time with age like at least the fat. But it's just ignores unless it's man booba size.

Anyways me like lil jiggle and it make me smile and touch my boobs :3

[verdemoun]

Hey, it's me again! Sorry for being mousey last time.

I know this is a bit recent but if I wait too long I'll either lose the idea or my nerve.

For some reason, I adore the Transfem "Kieran" Duffy HC. It's almost certainly projection, because while I was never held hostage by a roving band of psychotic Irishmen, I am shy, neurodivergent, and paranoid to the point of having escape plans I will never use.

I know you already did one for 1899 Kieran (which may or may not have cursed me with a love of an incredibly niche HC for an already very niche character) but could you maybe do one for Timewarp?

Alternatively, if you would like something different, Sean and his father learn about everything that happened in Ireland after their deaths. The 1916 Easter Rising, The Troubles, or Margaret Thatcher as a whole.

As another alternative, disregard this ask all together, and go get a snack. You probably need one.

A snack would be good rn I'll have a snack with one hand and reply with the other.

Transfem Kieran,,, beloved.

Bessie motherfucking Matthews can smell gender dysphoria like a bloodhound and would notice the second they brought the non-verbal smelly homeless former-O'Driscoll home.

Kieran's been sleeping rough for a month, just like when he was first let off the tree in Horseshoe he desperately needs a bath.

After a slight miscommunication about hot water (and the concept of not needing to share bath water), Kieran is sitting on the couch two hours later shivering in three layers of clean clothes and a blanket with Bessie very gently and patiently brushing the knots and mats out of his hair. The first thing Kieran makes close to a noise is a delighted squeak in the back of his throat as Bessie says what nice hair he has. Bessie immediately ties a little braid in Kieran's hair, to another overjoyed squeak.

Kieran absolutely latches onto Bessie as a safe person. When her husband assures her Kieran had always been around the women in camp and just seemed to prefer their company, Bessie takes note.

Innocently saying that they weren't expecting any more timewarpers for a while so Kieran has to go shopping in her wardrobe for a bit. While Hosea's clothes are in there too he picks out a v-neck and a chunky knitted cardigan and looks very content in women's clothing that still fits loose because of how scrawny he is.

Bessie also offers to help Kieran shave. Getting a close shave was still a fairly rare occasion thing in 1890s so she could easily say it was a treat to make timewarping seem less scary.

Instead Mair gets a moment of seeing herself with her hair perfectly washed and brushed and soft and clean shaven in femme-presenting clothes that didn't even exist in canon era and very quickly goes from 'yay men can be pretty in modern era' to the gender euphoria of 'wait am I a man? or am I a pretty lady? can i,, oh i can be a pretty lady!!'.

Bessie would also be euphoric because a) timewarp actually giving people a chance to explore gender identity in a way they couldn't in canon era and proving all the fear and learning to adapt to modern era is a good thing b) she finally gets a daughter because throughout all the children she has accidentally adopted over her lifetime (Arthur, John, Sean, Lenny) she is yet to actually have a daughter due to dying before the gang picked up Tilly.

Bessie would adore brushing Mair's hair and taking her shopping to get fancy nice smelling soaps and clothes. Mair would still be a hoodie gremlin but the classic oversized paired with a mini skirt but the hoodie's so long it just looks like she's not wearing anything under it.

Exception being first-time she sees a dress she absolutely must have. It very much looks like something from the early 20th century and only modern to the gang, with a bell skirt and petticoat to match.

Processing timewarp honestly takes up so much of the gang's time most would struggle to actually recognise Mair as Kieran except for the OG timewarpers who would respect times change I guess Mair is her name now. 'There's cars now and no one owns horses, and robbing banks and getting away with murder is almost impossible, you have to get an actual paying law-abiding job, also sometimes people change gender'.

Molly would absolutely fall in love with having another girl in the gang who doesn't actively hate her (her and Karen still have some beef to work out) and spend hours doing Mair's make-up with all her fancy products and Mair would adore it. Otherwise she is useless at doing make-up because that shit is hard.

She's somehow an even bigger horsegirl because she really identified with the being a girl part. People thought Kieran was obnoxious with his love of horses? Mair is worse, infinitely, infinitely worse. The few who make the connection Mair was once Kieran Duffy? The way she talks about horses.

My Little Pony backpack that goes everywhere with her.

She makes friendship bracelets for her favourite people, because she would never part with any of her precious horse figurines for any reason. She would still bite Sean for touching any one of them.

Bessie: precious darling daughter would you like to get our nails done together? Mair: yes please!! - after - Mair: yay pretty nails!! pretty!! Bessie: Bessie: it's okay if you want to take them off Mair: oh my god yes please

[ynmnrmt]

You & Me & Rhea Makes Three: Chapter 4

rhea ripley x m!reader x m!reader's girlfriend

word count: 6,348

warnings: explicit sexual content, rough sex, themes of domination/submission, dubiously consensual nonmonogamy, domestic violence, foot stuff, armpit stuff

a/n: Unlike the jokey viewer discretion warning over the last chapter, if you are disturbed or upset by any of the subjects mentioned in the warnings - and here I'm mainly thinking about the DV, not the paraphilias - then please, seriously consider whether you really want to click that 'read more' or not.

(The story so far: chapter one, chapter two, chapter three)

You are in the fully equipped home gym which was installed at great expense in a formerly unused annex of the apartment, lifting hard. It has been a journey, but you finally think you’re doing it right, these days you do not view the motions as something detached and external to you, but instead have your mind go out to the muscles, there and conscious as the weights go up, and still there as they go down too.

You check yourself out in the full-length ballet mirrors in what might be described as gender euphoria, and smile slightly. There is some muscle to your body, and noticeable, too, noticeable for other people and not just from the inside. Certainly you could do more, obviously you could, but still you think this is progress you can be proud of. And you do want to look good for Jennifer, not to mention keep fit enough for her.

A grunt from next to you makes you turn your head. Somehow you’d missed this while gazing into the mirrors, but now Rhea’s in the room. She does curls, and each of her huge biceps manages to hoist about the same weight you’ve just been benching. The veins bulge in her arms, she puffs out the effort as the weights go up again, and you gradually realise the inescapable fact that you’re staring.

With another grunt she lets the weights fall, not to the floor, just hanging in her hands. She glances at you and says “You can go another set.”

It’s not an order, not even a suggestion, just a statement of fact, because yes, you could definitely do another, and of course you want to look good for Jennifer, that is the goal here after all. So immediately you’re back on the bench and your arms tremble as you thrust the bar upward. It quickly returns to the state of mind when you bargain with yourself, this is enough, you can stop after this one, but then with a glance at Rhea you’re suddenly inspired to keep going to the end.

You emit a few undignified grunts of your own when you finally bring the bar back into rest, and then sit up slumped on the bench. Rhea turns her head to you, each curl an effort but still she manages them comfortably, and between breaths she says, slightly musically, “You can do another one.”

“No I can’t,” you gasp, and she chuckles. The sweat lashes off you as if you’re in a thick winter coat. You can practically feel it as a miasma that extends two inches from your actual body. Meanwhile the slight sheen on her neck and shoulders simply looks appetising. And much as you’d like to get in another set, with the vague idea it’d impress her even as she makes the same thing look easy, you could feel your arms ready to give way with that last press, that was definitely your limit.

“I just find it’s nice to have someone encouraging you, and spurring you on,” Rhea smiles. Maybe it’s this that inspires you to shift over to one of the machines, you can at least not have to be one of those people who skips leg day. And now Rhea does squats, which turn her already spectacular ass into a vision from God, even with your blood rushing to your legs you’re getting a hard-on. She glances at you, as you watch her, and chides “Not now!”

“I couldn’t help it,” you protest. “Also, I don’t know what you mean.” She laughs away, still going, you don’t have the breath to join in. A string in your thigh has started to feel like piano wire. Meanwhile Rhea glows in front of you, she moves as if it’s nothing, and there in the mirror she shoots you the same little smile of encouragement, you half expected a superior smirk, she’s earned it after all, but no, she’s silently willing you to keep going.

When you finally crawl off the machine, that wired-up leg halfway buckles underneath you. You weren’t going to fall over, probably not anyway, but you’ll never find out – Rhea has moved fast to support you, one hand up behind your shoulders and her other in the small of your back, like she’s dipped you in the ballroom. Your erection had basically subsided, you’d dared to dream you could stop thinking about it, now it’s twitched curiously to life again and the swell in your shorts is dangerously close to brushing up against her.

“That,” she says, in close like she’s sharing a secret, “is how you know you’ve earned a break.”

“And, and I started before you, anyway,” you breathe, the words go straight into her mouth. Then she lets you hang a bit looser.

“You’re not about to get all competitive, are you?”

“I’m trying to push myself,” you gabble, suddenly the sweat on your brow has nothing to do with the workout and she doesn’t look convinced, “I don’t know about competitive – you’re stronger than me, that’s obvious.”

Rhea relaxes, and now sets you on your feet. “Sometimes men feel a bit, like, it’s upset the natural order, and-”

“Oh, come on,” you scoff.

“I know! I know, I know. I’d wanted to think better of you, I promise.” She’s let you go now, but when you brushed against her chest you felt her nipples point at you through the thin material of her tank top.

“It’s not that I’m worried about feeling emasculated,” you say, where’s this come from, you’re letting it out as if you can say absolutely anything, “just that it would, well, make me less attractive. I don’t know.”

“Some people like that stuff,” she says with a dismissive shrug that makes you feel better even though you’re clearly one of them. “And, besides, I’m sure you’re very strong.”

“Ah, stop,” you say, and wave her away. Before you can bring your arm back she’s caught it and squeezes your bicep.

“See, you’re putting in the work,” she tells you, almost dreamily now as you dangle in her grasp.

“You don’t need to – I appreciate this, really, but let’s be realistic, you would destroy me.” And at that, she cackles in a way that could have been pointed, but when she’s finished rolling her head around she looks at you with nothing but fondness. “Which I do not have a problem with, I mean, that really doesn’t bother me at all.” As you say it, your eyes rove up along the scenic vista of her arm, then back up onto her eyes, into her eyes, while her cheeks flush further than they already were.

“You,” she says, to break the spell, “are distracting me.” With one last, lingering, beautiful grin, she turns away and picks up where she left off. But the feeling’s mutual, because the way her clothes cling to her body, and the darker patches outline the sculpted shape of what’s underneath, distracts you so badly you walk into the doorframe.

*

You hit the shower – not with a closed fist, just a tap of your palm, in the vain hope it will knock some cog or valve back into place. It doesn’t, though, the head offers one spatter of rusty water then sits there, taunting you with every drip. You figure you can at least splash down the main danger zones, so you go over to the sink, but when you turn the tap that’s dry as well.

Locked in now, not physically in the bathroom but with this one last hurdle to vault before you can have a shower, you start to follow the pipes around as best you can, and have to open a few cupboards to do it. Yes, the shower and the sink do seem to be coming off the same branch line, so you fiddle with that, and then from behind you there’s the fresh burst of a running shower. But you’ve hardly even gotten your sodden shirt off before the head gives up again.

At the moment it dawns on you to try the sink in the kitchen, Rhea walks in with a towel over her shoulder, glowing and gorgeous, and says “Fuck! Have you not finished yet?”

“Haven’t started yet,” you say, and turn the dial on the shower to demonstrate. It would be awful, wouldn’t it, if it chose now to start flowing like Niagara Falls, but no, it offers up another cough of water and then nothing.

“Aw, man…” Rhea reaches out to jiggle the dial as well, and it’s surely not because she’s put more power behind it, but it does now produce a thin, unhealthy, trickling stream. “I’d – God, it sounds silly – gotten all geared up for a shower, now I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“I could,” you suggest, “fill jugs of water in the kitchen and pour them over you?”

“Forward,” she smiles, in a way that makes it clear she’s as eager about the prospect as you are. But then, moments later, you discover the kitchen sink’s given up the ghost as well.

“For Christ’s sake,” you mutter, as you give the tap another shake, “of all the days for this to-” And then the power goes out as well. The faint breeze of the air-con vanishes completely. Rhea slumps forward and laughs, because what else can you do, but then she starts to fan herself, and her look of amusement fades into a little frown of genuine concern.

“It’s alright,” you say, half-exhausted, the air in the room hotter and stickier already, “we can crack a window.”

“Yeah,” she muses, distracted, still trying to waft the temperature lower. Even when you’ve opened every window available, and you’ve both flopped down on the couch in what little air flow there is, her long, leonine face still looks more downcast than you’ve ever seen her before.

“It’s okay,” you reassure her, and touch her arm – not the one that’s fanning her, whose movements grow yet more frantic as the pink glow spreads further across her cheeks. “Probably the whole city’s like this, stewing.”

“I’m just sorry you have to see me like this,” she says, a shaft of light illuminating where the translucent material of her tank top adheres perfectly to her flawlessly wrought stomach.

“Don’t be,” you say, and mean it. “Anyway, I’ve seen you after working out before.”

“It’s just, it’s different now. If I’m going to make this work, with you and Jen, and I want to, I really want to, then I want to look sexy for you. In the makeup, with the costume on, that’s fine, of course it is, I knew you’d be into me then, but now I’m all sweaty, and,” she lifts her arm and sniffs, “oh my God, I reek, too.”

“Rhea, you’re gorgeous,” you insist, you take your hand in both of yours as if to declare how serious you are.

“You’re just being nice,” she flutters, but at least your touch, that point of contact, has stopped her sudden spiral of despair. Then she pulls her hand from yours, folds her arm behind her head and goes “Seriously, smell me”, with a nod towards her armpit.

You don’t even need to lean in. She’s right, the thick scent of her exertion is very prominent, and when her heavy, sexy aura fills your nostrils, it’s the 1960s and this is your first puff on a joint, first civil rights rally, and first ride in a supersonic aircraft, she transports you in a moment to a place you hadn’t known existed but already feels like home.

You look up at her, feeling your face slacken into an expression of dazed hunger she really doesn’t know what to think about. Now you do lean in, and reach out too, past the iron ridge of her pectoral to that softer glade where the muscles of her arm all meet and end, she giggles when you touch her damp skin and the thought of having made her feel good in any way is one more pulse-jumping thrill in this long and unending series.

“I told you, I reek,” she says, this time not quite able to keep the smile out of her voice. You take a deep whiff and fill your lungs, the word ‘pheromones’ flashes in your mind before the edge in the air arouses you far past the level of conscious thought. Your eyes meet hers again, she’s all fascinated confusion, the same way as you really, and you leap in and kiss her there on her underarm, not a light kiss either, you suck greedily on her darker, textured skin while your mind whirls at this new vista you have discovered quite by chance.

Rhea squeals with laughter. Did you know she was ticklish, had you even considered such a thing? Her arm flails and the weight of her tricep brains you, which might have been nasty if you were using any cognitive functions other than lust and kissing. Even as she thrashes about with all her might, never does she threaten to pull free of your mouth, and one shining golden thought bounces through the echoing space inside your head, she likes this too.

Eventually you must come up for air. She looks at you in a way that seems just as intimate all on its own. “I don’t think it quite replaces a shower,” she says softly, and runs the tips of her fingers behind your ear, along your jaw.

“No,” you agree, “I suppose I won’t need to do your other side, then.”

Rhea’s grin spreads until you think you see all of her teeth. She leans in, ever so slightly, then raises her other arm and with a thump lets it rest along the back of the couch. It’s probably only the lack of blood in your brain that makes it seem a heat haze rises around her shoulder. “I’m just going to sit like this,” she whispers, “and we can see what happens next.”

You chuckle, and you lean in too. The brief chill when you think she might not kiss you back, not after where your mouth has been, melts on the warmth of her tongue – and Christ, when she takes hold of you, your lungs skip a breath and you have to shift sharply to avoid pulling something.

Outside the safety of Rhea’s grasp, somewhere far far away and probably quite meaningless, you hear the door open. Then there’s a gasp, a gasp you know, and you jump like you’ve been found in a bank vault.

“Rhea?” demands Jennifer, framed in the doorway, awkwardly carrying two big bags of shopping.

“Yeah?” says Rhea, quite casual, as if this could be a question about anything.

“Are you wearing my tank top?”

“Yeah,” in the same easy tone as before. This does explain why it’s that tight on her, she bulges out from inside it, the damp material taut across her chest.

Jennifer’s about to say something. Then the bags in both her arms split, almost simultaneously, and she shouts “Fuck!” as the groceries spill all over the floor.

“Oh no!” cries Rhea, and she leaps up, you follow clumsily in her wake, immediately she moves to gather up the fallen perishables. But Jennifer steps forward, into her path.

“Can I not,” says Jennifer her jaw tight, “come into my own fucking house without finding you fucking my boyfriend?” And in one thoughtless motion, her arms empty now, not much power behind them beyond simple rage, she gives Rhea a shove.

Now you have a real chill. Rhea is frozen, stock-still. Jennifer clearly already regrets it, and the colour trickles out of her face, as if she now remembers that Rhea is twice her size. “That was not okay, Jen,” you say, you step forward, ready to throw yourself between them if you need to. Then Rhea staggers back, her eyes turned glassy, she drops back onto the couch and hides her face in her hands and weeps.

Immediately Jennifer looks wretched – she flings herself to the floor in front of Rhea and reaches for her, but in one jarring movement Rhea throws up a hand. Not a blow, just to keep her away, quietly Rhea says “Please don’t. Not,” she chokes on her tears, “not now.”

“I’m so sorry,” pleads Jennifer. “I should never have done that.”

“No, I – I’m sorry,” sniffles Rhea. “You’re right, it’s a fucked-up thing to walk in on.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Jennifer insists, clutching Rhea’s hand. “I just get so jealous, because you’re pretty and sexy, and those aren’t the same thing but you’re still both, and it’s too hot today, and,” now she’s on the verge of tears too.

“If you’re jealous,” you say, crouching next to your girlfriend, no clue what kind of depths this might open up “then I don’t know if this whole, this dynamic, is really healthy.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she says while she looks at the floor. It’s not as bad as you expected, just a little disappointing that you won’t get to – well, that doesn’t matter. “I’m sosorry, Rhea. I never meant to hurt you.”

“You,” Rhea’s eyes are still red-rimmed, but now she manages a little chuckle, “you didn’t really hurt me.”

“And I wasn’t jealous like that, either, I was jealous because, because you’re everything I want to be.” The sentiment seems eerily familiar. “I was the one who wanted us to be a thing in the first place, and – please don’t let me have ruined it, please let me make it up to you.” By now she’s favouring Rhea’s hand with tiny, penitent kisses. Rhea looks a bit alarmed at how quickly this has turned around, or maybe that’s simply how you feel.

“Clean up the groceries,” she finds herself saying, “and I’ll think about it.” Jennifer springs to her feet in delight and gets busy. You’re about to help her, but Rhea has a finger hooked around your collar, there’s no realistic way to resist that, so you end up back on the couch with her. “And you’d better not stay on your high horse about me wearing your clothes,” she calls over, as Jennifer scoops up some battered fruit and shoots you both a fragile, tentative smile. “Remember, I know what you were doing with mine.”

“How’d you know about that?” you ask Rhea, trying to keep it good-humoured, and she just laughs. Then you add, “Are you okay? I figured you weren’t physically hurt, but, still.”

“It just caught me by surprise,” she says, and you can see that beneath the veneer she’s still shaken. “Like, I didn’t expect that, at all. You – you wouldn’t do anything like that, would you?”

“Of course not.”

“Promise?” A winsome little smile, that seems too small from anyone her size. You give her a hug, you want only to reassure her and make this better. But when you break apart, she’s giving Jennifer a wicked glance, and you see, and she sees that you see. “I think she’s learned her lesson,” says Rhea, her eyes still puffy and pink. “How about you?”

“I-” Your voice catches in your throat. “It’s not up to me.”

The groceries on the counter, Jennifer now approaches nervously. “I don’t mind you wearing my clothes,” she says, softly, not willing to get too close as if she doesn’t trust herself, “not really.”

Rhea arches an eyebrow. “You don’t mind that,” she says, and slips a beefy arm around your shoulders. “Do you mind me kissing with your boyfriend?” Before you can react or protest she bangs her mouth against yours. Now you definitely can’t say anything about it, there’s not even that much tongue, but she has your lips completely occupied.

When Rhea finally releases you, and moves her head away, Jennifer’s unbroken gaze is there to meet you. Her expression is one of longing, you hope and pray not longing for revenge. Then she looks to Rhea and shakes her head.

“See, I don’t believe you,” says Rhea, not accusatory, if anything slightly sad. “I really think on some level this still bothers you.”

“I think I still feel a lot of shame around sex,” Jennifer blurts out.

Rhea nods sagely. You’re just appalled, not with Jennifer but for her, and stutter out “I had no idea you felt this way.”

“It’s not your fault, it’s...being caught on the horns of being pushed into it but also being shamed for even thinking about it,” she explains. Maybe you did have some idea she felt this way, the residual background radiation, you’re slightly disappointed with yourself when you think how the other half live. “And then there’s the whole business of what to wear, and – oh God, this is no excuse, I’m sorry, Rhea, really.”

Rhea extends a hand, the one that isn’t resting by your neck. Jennifer kneels again to take it, and smothers herself against it, and mouths slightly at Rhea’s fingers. “You only hurt my feelings,” Rhea reassures her. “I’m glad we can talk through this stuff.”

“You don’t need to feel any shame about this situation,” you add, and she grabs for your hand too. “Not with me. With us.” That hasty correction came out sounding oddly poignant.

“I still want to do something, to show I’m sorry - what if I kissed her feet?” Jennifer asks you. “It’s an internationally recognised gesture of supplication.”

And you look to Rhea, who just looks startled. “Interesting suggestion,” she says eventually. “I mean – you don’t have to, we were just,” she laughs a little, “we weren’t actually having sex when you came in, we’d just finished working out.”

“Oh yeah, also the water’s cut out,” you add.

“So we haven’t showered, but – should we tell her what we were doing?”

“Oh jeeze,” mumbles Jennifer, her eyes flashing from Rhea, to you, down to your mouth, as if she already knows.

“Come here,” Rhea offers, and Jennifer crawls up between you, along the length of your bodies, lower and closer than she needs to be or is really practical. Even after having struggled home with the groceries she seems fresh and unblemished, at least by comparison, as if the crawl up onto the couch will taint her as well. Then Rhea turns her head and whispers softly in Jennifer’s ear. Now it’s Jennifer’s turn to look startled, in fact her face twists through all kinds of conflicted feelings. Rhea lifts her head, and concludes “What do you think?”

“W-would that really make you feel better?”

“Yeah, it would.”

With surprising force Jennifer leaps forward, face-first under Rhea’s arm, the side you hadn’t gotten to yet. From the centre of this frenzy you hear loud sounds of kisses and smacks and slurps.

“Well! That solves that, then,” Rhea notes idly, as she turns back to you with a cheesy grin. When she shows her teeth like this, you don’t feel especially intimidated. She pulls you in close, this time there is some tongue, since you’ve been walked in on once already again you wonder how some stranger would take this, an established couple all over their pretty young roommate.

*

Initially this had seemed like a diversion waiting for the basic amenities to work again, but the lights don’t pop back on, before you know it the shadows are longer and it’s darker in the room. Jennifer wriggles up, she tries for a kiss too, but Rhea pushes her playfully away.

“You’re showing you’re sorry, remember,” Rhea chides her, and she nods in acceptance, she seems to bear it with the same playful spirit. Then she slips back down your bodies, and goes after Rhea’s feet. She peels one sock off, and takes entirely too long about it, it’s a sock, not a pair of handcuffs, but someone none of you seem to mind this absurd display of her clumsily rolling the fabric past Rhea’s ankle and then over her heel. Even though you’ve long since cooled down, at least from the workout, her skin is still flushed pink, it glows in the lower light.

Rhea’s sock is still halfway on her foot when Jennifer leans in to kiss her, aimed roughly for the centre of her sole. Then it becomes a lick, Jennifer’s tongue following the sock the rest of the way. It occurs to you the taste is probably like that of Rhea’s armpit, plus general foot aura, topped off with stray fibres from the sock.

“I think you’re enjoying this,” gloats Rhea. Jennifer mumbles something in reply rendered incomprehensible by now having three toes in her mouth.

“If this really is you wanting to explore, in, in ways,” you say, “then honestly I’m relieved. I know this is stupid but I was really worried there was some kind of unhealthy dynamic going on here."

Rhea’s toes pop from Jennifer’s mouth, and she tells you “Of course not, I’d have said.”

“Like, if you felt you were somehow obliged, or forced to do any of this-” Rhea thrusts her foot forward, and Jennifer parts her lips to accept it. “Yeah, alright, I get it.”

“She is such a sweetie-pie,” Rhea tells you, hanging on you with both arms now, her mouth perilously close to yours, when she speaks it grazes your cheek.

“I know it’s still ridiculously early,” you say, the hard-on in your pants really starting to make itself known, “but since everything’s off, why don’t we get an early night?” When she hears that, Jennifer trills with delight around the foot in her mouth.

“I thought you’d never ask,” intones Rhea. You rise from the couch and hold a hand out to help Jennifer up – but as she climbs awkwardly to her feet, suddenly Rhea has physically interpolated herself between the two of you, and she says “Well, hold on a second, if you were enjoying getting your tongue all over me, I don’t think we can really call that an apology, can we?”

You’re about to say something, to object, when in delicate tones Jennifer suggests “I could kiss your ass, too?” and then you can only think Christ, leave some for me.

“I don’t think so. I think your punishment is that you’re not allowed to sleep in your bed any more.”

“Oh!” Jennifer trembles as she tries to hold Rhea’s gaze.

“You have to go and sleep in my bed. And you just get to listen. That way you’ll know how it felt for me, all those sleepless nights I had to hear you two banging.”

Jennifer actually wrings her hands. She told you, if she was bothered by any of this, that she would say so. “I hadn’t even thought about that. You’re right. I deserve this. I’m trying to learn my lesson, I promise. I want to be better for both of you.” Then she bats her eyes at you, it’s a clumsy gesture but the meaning and sincerity are unimpeachable, and she adds “Will you at least tuck me in?”

“I love you,” you tell her, as you lay the duvet over her, despite how thick it is you can make out the shape of her body beneath it, yes, you really do still love her, “you know that, right?” You kiss her on the forehead, then she gives a sharp intake of breath as Rhea draws the covers tight across her.

“Do the other side,” Rhea tells you. You obey without thinking, and wrap the bedclothes around under the mattress, now you can definitely see the shape of Jennifer’s body with the fabric tight over her, now she really is tucked in.

“I hope Rhea makes you feel good,” Jennifer gently invokes, just a talking head on the pillow. “I hope you make her come, a lot.” By now you have no doubt at all she is enjoying this, but still it makes your heart ache a little. Then Rhea lends over and gives her a smack on the forehead too. Jennifer beams snugly up at you as Rhea links her arm with yours, and while she uses no force you can still feel her sheer raw strength when she leads you from the room.

Instinctively you move for the bathroom, only to remember that with the water still off you can’t brush your teeth. But when you say this Rhea just replies “Oh well” with a smutty smirk, and yes, suddenly it hardly seems like a concern.

In the bedroom, she strips off Jennifer’s tank top and then the rest of her clothes in neat and practised fashion, like she’s gone skinny-dipping, but it’s the bed, your and Jennifer’s bed that she dives into. Is it absurd to think of it as halfway to the marital bed, that this is some additional layer of betrayal on top of the already-complex levels of it you’ve racked up together? Rhea lies on her side in a pose more like a lingerie model, and pats the mattress, inviting you in. You fumble with your own clothes, and she stalks you with her eyes the whole time.

When you get under the covers, now it feels like a betrayal, Rhea lying there where Jennifer should be, smiling at you the way she would. “It was so sexy when you went right in on my pits,” she confesses. “I thought you’d be disgusted.”

“Come on.”

“At work, after – well, that is what it is, but I wouldn’t go out in public like that.” In the semi-darkness of your bedroom, the sheen of sweat that’s still on her skin glows with unlikely-seeming inner light, the kind of thing that could so easily be mistaken for angelic.

“Rhea-”

“If you smelt me fresh off a match, you’d probably never want to touch me again.”

“Rhea, you don’t need to give it the self-pity, everything about you is sexy.” For a moment you feel her hot breath in your mouth, then her lips are on yours. She didn’t seem to shift in the bed but suddenly you’re pressing against her belly.

“Do you think we could do something special, tonight?” she asks you, and glances away shyly halfway through.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Could we, um,” she swirls her finger cutely on the pillow, “could we have rough sex? Like, really rough, and loud, so Jen can hear it? I don’t want her to feel left out.”

Your mind spins, half of it trying to negotiate what ‘feel left out’ could possibly mean here, the other frazzled by the idea that some of the things you’ve done together didn’t count as rough sex. But she is here in your bed and so close, so you say “Yeah, sure we could.”

“Cool,” she glows – then rolls up on top of you and grabs you by the elbows. Immobilised completely, your cock ready to burst out of your underwear, you reflect she really knows what she’s doing.

For some reason you had been teeing yourself up to get on top, and to be the rough one. In a moment of the insecurity borne of being genuinely desired you ask, because it’s the kind of thing that you cannot shift from the back of your mind, “Would you like me better if I was stronger than you?”

“See, you assume that because I’m a woman, I naturally want to be in second place,” she says, with an air that demonstrates she’s thought about this stuff too. “Try to conceive of the fact that I might have exactly the same impulses as you do, and on some level want to be top dog.”

“Yes. That’s fair enough. Sorry.”

Rhea immediately turns playful again. “I forgive you,” she flirts, and squeezes your biceps. “And I understand that on some level, there’s more of an impetus for you to – well, never mind that. We don’t need to worry about that stuff.” She rolls her hips over you, and glides her pussy back and forth, over the flimsy cloth that’s all that keeps your erection out of her.

“Rhea,” you try to keep the painfully aroused whimper out of your voice, “if you keep hold of me like this, I can’t pull down my underwear.”

Rhea does not reply. She simply brings your arms up against the headboard, so gentle with that immense strength, then manacles your wrists together with one hand – and reaches the other down to your waist. You shiver when she takes hold of your cock, and then you gasp when she slips it into her.

“Oh, fuck!” she booms, and shakes dust from the ceiling. It’s exaggerated, you should know what noises she makes when she likes it by now, but your dick doesn’t know and finds itself buoyed by the sound. “Fuck, yes! Ngh! Fuck me harder!” But of course she’s the one who fucks you, propped up where she grasps your wrists while her hips slam down against yours.

Does the sound travel in here? Did Rhea really spend nights alone, listening to you, dreaming of this? Too hard to imagine now as she looms over you in motion, in her element, that one sculpted arm stretching over you like the vault of heaven, and there where it meets her torso the place Jennifer had kissed her what seems like only moments ago, you fancy you can still see the wet mark Jennifer’s lips left on her skin.

When you wriggle your hips, only to reposition yourself, she bursts out with “Yes, yes! Give it to me!” At this point you think the neighbours must be able to hear it too. So with nothing left to lose you now thrust up into her like you mean it, and prompt a “Yes, there, right there! Fuck!”

“Fuck,” you agree with what little breath you can exhale. She’s so wet, but so tight, if it was your throat she had a grip on you’d be going blue. And looking up at the undignified expression of pleasure on her face, her mouth hanging open, hair out of place over her eyes, you’d probably enjoy it, too.

When there’s a crack somewhere below you, you figure it must be a rib – but there is no pain, not beyond the heated pressure that surrounds you the way nature makes diamonds. It’s only when one corner of the whole bed drops that you realise it’s giving way beneath this onslaught.

“Fuck, ye-he-hes,” Rhea croons, spanning three different octaves. “Fuck, you’re so big, it hurts, but I want you to keep going, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.” No thought in your head that you would not obey. The wood splinters under you while you use any and all leverage you have to push back, every lunge of her body is like a punch in the face only you crave more each time. “Fucking-” She punctuates this with one of her fiercest kisses, even without any teeth it feels like it’s left a mark. “Come on, come on baby, I’m nearly there.”

“Mnuh,” is the best you can respond. Your mind is beyond any romantic witticism or sweet nothing now. You may even be beyond a mind, beyond a body, you float free-form in the shattered void of the bedroom, and all there is in existence is Rhea, every fibre of her body illuminated with that dark sheen, every motion irresistible.

Your orgasm streams out, and you barely notice – until the clutches of her vagina go past blissful to unbearable, all your nerve endings protest at the continued stimulation. You thrash about in an instinctual hindbrain attempt to get away and she laughs, her beautiful carefree laugh, which turns into a scream as she seizes up around you. Her movements get shorter, tiny little jerks, until with one final cry she freezes completely – then topples off you and crashes down onto the ruins of the bed.

When the blood rushing round your skull calms down enough for you to hear again, to perceive any of the world around you, Rhea is curled up around you, and she gently asks “Was it good for you, too?”

“Yes,” you whisper, spent in a way that makes you really understand the word. Even though you were hardly moving compared to her, there is no energy left in your body, and you are all ready to sink into sleep when you hear a tiny little knock on the door.

Jennifer peeps in, for a moment she just takes in the scene, the broken bed, the swirling mess of the blankets, then she asks “Can I come snuggle up with you guys?”

“Of course you can,” you say, before Rhea can start with any more business about punishment – but Rhea whisks the blankets aside, to let Jennifer get in on your other side. She settles in contentedly, Rhea sweeps the blankets back around you, and all the dark warmth suddenly seems perfect.

“That sounded so hot,” Jennifer secret-whispers to you, but there’s no way Rhea won’t hear it as well. She caresses your face and adds “I got turned on listening, and, um, I ended up, um,” as her fingers brush your lips you can tell that yes, she certainly did.

“In my bed?” Rhea responds in sleepy mock-outrage, that’s turned into a low chuckle before she’s even finished saying it.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it too,” you say, and immediately worry you’ve said too much.

“Of course, her punishment was to sleep in my bed,” muses Rhea. “And now she’s disobeyed.” You can feel her hand grip Jennifer’s arm. “So we’re going to have to punish you again tomorrow night, and maybe the night after that too, and maybe even all the nights after that.”

By now Jennifer’s kissing at your neck, at your jaw, and she lifts one corner of her mouth to dopily mumble out “Every night”. On your other side Rhea kisses you too, and before you know it this becomes you all kissing each other, and then you sink beyond the wall of sleep.

[perplexingluciddreams]

i have some darker hairs on my top lip, naturally, without taking testosterone. mostly just at the corners/edges, but still there and slight shadow is visible!

was not always there, but develop naturally and notice more and more over time. i wonder if it will get more...?

i love my baby moustache!! 🥰😁

best gender euphoria feelings for this gender-confused transsexual

:D

[epithet-beloved]

what about Naven comforting a trans reader through a rough dysphoria day?? it can be platonic or romantic, or whatever you think best fits the story you want to tell :))

Naven + Reader with Gender Dysphoria

synopsis… Headcanons on how Naven helps out a reader with gender dysphoria!

ft. Naven Nuknuk

tags… epithet erased spoilers, but only if you squint, platonic, slight hurt/comfort, gender dysphoria, reader identity kept vague, headcanon content

word count… 661

a/n… Naven is so trans to me. Trans masc? Trans fem? No one knows. (I’m personally a genderfluid Naven truther). ((Nyoom/Zapped Apples is actually sapphic if you pretend real hard)). Comfort character writing to ward off the malaise lesgo!! ✧ 🦝

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Epithet God bless this guy i mean it

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He feels so deeply for you.  If he could, he’d wipe away any indication in your mind that you had to transition, that you simply are how you identify.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 But, alas, he cannot, even if he really really desired it.  That’s not how life works, he so begrudgingly knows.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 But… that doesn’t mean he can’t try.

“Oh, I love that outfit on you!”  Naven would compliment you as you pass him one day, wearing something you feel particularly brave about for once.  His bright grin is infectious, and you can’t help but feel flattered when he says, “it suits you very well.”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 I personally headcanon that Naven had a great fascination with the rise of the punk scene and ideology, especially when he was a teenager.  Thus, he always sort of had a loose relationship with his gender, preferring to present himself exactly how he wishes.  As he grew older, he felt it would be more professional to be a bit less brazen, but he still wouldn’t care if you refer to him with she/her or something.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 His experience of transness is a little bit outdated compared to young trans people today, but Naven hopes he can validate you in any way that he can, from the subtler things to the widespread action.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 If you frequent STEM, he’ll push for gender neutral bathrooms, for example.  Actually, considering certain people he’s worked with, I don’t doubt that he already has some in the building!  He does all he can to make things as welcoming as possible.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 On a more personal level, Naven checks in on people face-to-face quite frequently.  If you bring up your gender dysphoria to him, he smiles sadly and tells you that he understands, and sort of guessed, based on your tells.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He offers you to tell him if there’s literally anything he can do to help.  Your comfort is his priority, after all!!

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He’s a secret sucker for clothes shopping for others.  If you’re close enough, he’s totally here for shopping with you and buying aaaaannnyything you want (cause let’s be real he’s probably loaded).  He doesn’t care if it’s expensive, he’ll get you that gender euphoria!

“How about this?”  Nave points at a certain belt from your selection of clothes on the fitting room door.  From where he’s seated, he makes a great judge of your new outfits, and he’s always clapping and chittering gladly about how something looks on you. He stands up to pick up the belt and compares it with what you are wearing.  “Yes, this would go great with your style!  Let’s give it a shot, hm?”  You can’t deny his eagerness to see what the belt looks like, as you turn and go back into the changing room.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 If you’re transfem, Naven actually likes to help you with vocal training!  His voice is rather effeminate himself, so he has some tips on how he gets his voice sounding more like a woman’s.  (How does he have this knowledge?  You always forget to ask.)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 If you’re transmasc, Naven likes giving you jobs that kind of makes you feel more ‘manly,’ as it were.  He’s the teacher that asks “are there any Strong Boys who like to carry these chairs? :)” except he picks out the girls (or repressed trans mascs) to help instead.  He really well and truly is a teacher.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 If anyone, anyone, were to question whether you “really are” a certain identity… Oh, you should see the glare Naven gives them.  Despite his squinted eyes, his furrowed brow and tight frown really makes your blood run cold.  Trust that person will get a stern talking to later… Maybe a little more. ^^

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Also entirely separate note if there are any artists out there PLEASE give Naven a cute long skirt i’m on my knees he deserves to be pretty PLEASEEE 🙏🧎

[star1117-archives]

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐲𝐬𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚 - 𝐊. 𝐇𝐉

Part of the Mental health comforts series

♕ pairing: kim hongjoong + ftm!reader

♕ genre: angst + hurt/comfort

♕ w/c: 629

♕ cw + tw: gender dysphoria, periods, crying, period cramps, negative thoughts, gender euphoria, intimacy

♕ a/n: definitely a personal one, please dni if uncomfortable with such themes

YOU HELD YOUR STOMACH AS YOU LOOKED AWAY FROM THE MIRROR, WIPING YOUR TEARS AS YOU SNIFFLED QUIETLY.

The door closing, signaling Hongjoong’s return home, had knocked you out of your crying fit on the bathroom floor, slowly staggering to a stand with a pained groan.You hated your period, more than you’d ever let on to your boyfriend despite his caring and nurturing nature. It made you think horrible thoughts about yourself, your body, your gender. Your confidence from mere days before had been woefully shattered, as had your self-esteem.

It reminded you that you weren’t handsome, and despite your best efforts to prove to yourself you weren’t, you were still a girl.

A quiet knock on the door made you stand tall, trying to pull yourself together once again. You quickly washed your face and took a deep breath, opening it when Hongjoong called your name out quietly. He took in your appearance, noted the painkillers on the bathroom side and just opened his arms, which you gratefully walked into. He pulled you close and shushed you as you sobbed in his arms, hand massaging your lower back just how you liked him to every month. Just his presence alone lifted some of the weight off of your shoulders.

“Did you just start?”

You nodded into Hongjoong’s neck, clinging to him harder as your tears soaked his collar. He didn’t mind one bit, bringing his hand up to now stroke your hair, then letting it fall to your neck, playing with your baby hairs. Pressing a kiss to the skin behind your ear, Hongjoong gently pulled away from you, pointing to a small bag on the nearby table. You looked at it with slight confusion until he spoke.

“It’s for you.”

Letting out a little ‘Ah’, you gave Hongjoong a quick kiss to the forehead before walking over, turning the bag around a few times and feeling it before finally opening it. Your brows furrowed when inside was a smaller, velvet bag with golden drawstrings. Turning around, you gave Hongjoong a look, but still complied nonetheless when he gestured for you to continue.

Carefully, you prised the bag open and slipped your hand in, fingertips grazing a glass bottle. You pulled it out and gasped, a hand to your mouth as tears welled once again, this time from joy. It was an expensive aftershave that you had been wistfully looking at whenever you went into the inner city with Hongjoong, living vicariously off free samples to get you through the week.

“I knew it would be that time soon, so I thought I’d get you something to boost your mood. Good timing, huh.”

Giggling, you ran back over to Hongjoong and hugged him tight, squeezing the male slightly before letting him go and taking the cap off of the aftershave. You brought it to your nose, inhaling deeply and sighing from pure bliss. It smelled like pine and something else you couldn’t quite grasp, it smelled manly, it smelled handsome.

You quickly sprayed a bit on your wrists and the sides of your neck, offering your hand to Hongjoong so he could smell it. He merely pressed a kiss to your wrist however, instead resting his face in your nape, taking a deep breath and chuckling to himself as a thought came to mind.

“I’m sorry, but this is our aftershave now. It smells too good.”

Laughing quietly, you nodded and pressed a kiss to his head, hugging him close and squeezing him once again.

“You don’t know how much this means to me, Joong.”

Hongjoong merely tutted and pressed a kiss to your neck, making your heart flutter and your cheeks warm.

“You don’t know how much you mean to me, Y/N.”

♕ SFW Taglist !! ♕

@agustd-essert @hyuckilstan @a-soft-hornytiny @like-a-butterfly1026 @artemis-in-your-area @violetwinters @lynnsqueendom @galaxybambam @yunhobabygurl @multidreams-and-desires @starlightracha @deja-vux @itbecina @anpanseok @mingitheii @vilavixg @mrcarrots @the-answer-is-love-yrself @effulgentfireflies @ateezbabysitters @meowmeowminnie @soft-teddybear @reaperhwa @a1sh1teruu @fantasy2wonderland @xuxibelle @dazzlingligth @simeonswhore @neocuddlytechnology @greenymar @owjohny @xye-weirdo @jwnghyuns @plutoneu @m4rsluv @anowamij @minkysmilk @softkpopplace @yeosxxx @k1ayla @jinsfavoritedoll

Apply for the taglists here -> ♕

[coochiequeens]

I already posted about this guy but this article goes into more detail about his fetishes

By Genevieve Gluck November 5, 2023

A trans-identified male academic who was previously criticized for stating that it “would not matter” if women were killed as a result of gender identity policies has been appointed to devise ethical guidelines for therapists. Sophie Grace Chappell, a Philosophy professor at the Open University, is now playing an integral role on the core team tasked with reworking the British Association for Counselling and Psychotherapy’s (BACP) national ethical framework, reported The Daily Mail, despite apparently lacking qualifications in psychotherapy or counselling.

News of his role prompted criticism from therapists. James Esses, co-founder of Thoughtful Therapists – an organization of clinical psychologists and psychotherapists from across the UK and Ireland “with a shared concern about the impact of gender identity ideology on children and young people,” said that Chappell should be “nowhere near devising therapeutic ethics.”

An unnamed female counsellor told The Daily Mail: “Professor Chappell is completely unsuitable to be deciding what form our ethical framework should take. I fear this person will insert gender ideology into our professional guidelines.”

Chappell first drew outrage from critics in 2021 when, during an interview for Radio Scotland, he told host Kaye Adams that it “wouldn’t matter” if gender self-identification policies led to a “slight spike” in the murders or rapes of women.

“I think we can rightly dismiss that as scare-mongering. It doesn’t matter… It wouldn’t matter if there was a slight spike in those statistics,” he said.

In the online community Mumsnet, women discussed Chappell’s comments with reactions ranging from anger to shock.

“Sophie laughed while making the point, and then rambled about human rights, seemingly forgetting women have human rights too, one of which is not to be murdered,” said one commenter.

Still others took to X (formerly Twitter) to express their outrage. Some pointed to Chappell’s habit of dressing in a style resembling a young girl.

Aspects of blouses and skirts worn by Chappell share similarities with a genre of pornography wherein men dress as and pretend to be little girls. In some cases, men practice “sissification” in public and record their interactions with others as a type of user-generated pornography.

In a 2022 article on the topic of “being transgender” and “growing up,” Chappell wrote, “Secret time spent dressed feminine was time off from public [sic] being masculine. And that was always a huge relief. Dressing masculine was a weariness to the spirit: it made me feel tired, ugly, constrained, trapped, suffocated, awkward, wrong. It still does. But dressing feminine was, simply, a delight: it brought a sense of serene, calm, happy, relaxed, floating-away euphoria that nothing else gave me, a simple and straightforward innocent childlike joy; just a sense of rightness. It still does.”

Chappell added that the future of feminism, in his view, should focus on concepts such as “live and let live,” “play nicely,” “love is all you need,” and said that he believes women should not “forbid or condemn anything at all unless you really need to.”

In June 2020, Chappell wrote an open letter in response to renowned author JK Rowling’s essay addressing her concerns regarding the gender identity movement. In it, Chappell refutes her expressed concerns on issues involving safeguarding, and advocates for sex self-identification.

“Perhaps you, Ms. Rowling, think that there’s something dark and terrible – and monstrous? – about trans women. You certainly seem to frame us as a threat,” Chappell wrote. “Trans people are one of the most discriminated-against groups in the world!”

He continued to undermine the position that allowing men to access women’s intimate spaces would result in harm. “Women of every kind should be and feel safe in the public toilets. Of course they should; everybody should. But trans women are simply not a threat to women’s safety,” Chappell admonished.

“If we google hard enough, we can find bad anecdotes about trans women attacking other women in the toilets; the tabloids go to town on such anecdotes whenever possible, and so do some trans-unsympathetic feminists. But anecdotes aren’t data.”

He then recommended that JK Rowling seek out educational materials from a trans activist organization which creates “transgender toolkits.”

Previously known as Timothy Chappell, he began claiming to identify as female in 2014 after marrying a woman and fathering four daughters.

He has also been known as Christian Sophie Grace Chappell, and served as the director of the British Association for Counselling and Psychotherapy (BACP) from 2015 to 2018.

But Chappell is not the only trans-identified male with an apparent affinity for age regression and sissification who has been associated with the BACP.

As previously revealed by Reduxx, a prominent psychologist within the Gender Identity Clinic at Tavistock has called for normalizing “age play,” “infantilism,” and “sissification.” Dr. Christina Richards, a trans-identified male and an Accredited Psychotherapist with the BACP, is responsible for a publications which seek to rebrand extreme fetishes as “further sexualities.”

In 2013, Richards co-authored a professional guide on sexuality and gender, in collaboration with Meg John Barker, a senior lecturer in psychology at the Open University. In the writing, Richards places extreme and violent sexual practices on the same spectrum as heterosexuality, homosexuality, and bisexuality.

In the guide Richards introduces age play, which involves “an adult identifying as a baby or young child, and is also known as adult baby/diaper lover (ABDL) or infantilism. There may be a sexual aspect… associated with humiliation.”

Richards goes on to describe how adults who engage in ‘age play’ accumulate various objects and apparel associated with childhood, including children’s clothing. Often one adult will roleplay as being any age from infancy to teenage years, while another adult participates in a dominant sexual role.

“Terms which may be encountered here include daddy’s little girl (DLG) in which an older male top treats a younger female bottom as a nurtured child,” Richard elaborates. “The term ‘sissification’ intersects with age play as it is where an adult male is consensually ‘forced’ to don the clothes of, and behave as, a young girl as part of a BDSM scene. The humiliation the adult male feels at being dressed as a young female is the source of the eroticisation.”

He boasts several other affiliations and titles, such as serving on the Executive Board of the European Professional Association for Transgender Health (EPATH), and as Board-Member-at-Large of the World Professional Association for Transgender Health (WPATH).

Before becoming a board member, he was selected by the executive board of the WPATH to be Lead Chapter Author for Adult Assessment in the Standards of Care Version 8 (SoC v8) revision, the drafts of which were finalized in the fall of 2022.

In addition to his work with the Gender Identity Clinic, Richards serves as the chair of the British Psychological Society and oversaw guidelines that advise mental health professionals that it can be acceptable to refer to a client as a “slut.”

Ok speculation on my part but I found his bio

and based on his dates of birth and marriage he likely came out as trans when at least some of his four daughters were still teenagers. I think this is another case of a man becoming trans when the attention was on the women of the family, they were the ages to start dating, discussing colleges, etc

I so want a mental health surgery of Trans identified people just to see how many come out when the attention is on others near them. It would fit with the higher levels of narcissism in the TQ+ community

[lovelybunn]

lgbtqia+ headcanons !ㅤㅤ– feat. stan, kyle, cartman, kenny, n butters !

warning(s): swearing, some homophobic themes, slight mention of sex

author's note: since its gay month, wanted to post this (and its been rotting in my drafts) so here yall go, ya skittles !!!!

stan marsh .

he/him –ㅤㅤhis parents have taught him (mostly randy) that there are only two genders, female and male, and he identifies as cis. so if you tell him you use any pronouns other than she/her or he/him, and/or ask him for his pronouns, he'll look at you funny. although, he'll try and respect them anyway.

bisexual –ㅤㅤwhen he first met wendy, of course he thought he was straight, but then he started gaining weird feelings for kyle that he couldn't explain. so of course, with the help of useless buzzfeed quizzes and google, that's when stan found out that he's bisexual.

demisexual –ㅤㅤeven when stan hit puberty, he never was interested in the topic of sex in general. one time kenny showed him one of his magazines, and he didn't even bat an eye. of course, as he got older it was a lot more appealing, but he felt like sexual attraction was pretty much pointless. he rarely will refer to himself as "demi", though.

ㅤ

kyle broflovski .

he/they –ㅤㅤkyle has never felt quite whole with the labels "boy", "male", etc... he had always felt there was more to it, he just never took the time to really think about it. he found out what he was missing while walking to class. two openly queer kids had complimented his outfit for that day, "man, i love that dude's shirt!" "yeah, they're totally rocking that fit!" those simple words sparked a sense of euphoria deep inside kyle's core, yet, since he knew up to nothing about queer culture at the time, he couldn't figure out why. after school he did some extensive research on his situation, finally giving a label to how he was feeling. kyle broflovski was a demi-boy.

bisexual, masc leaning –ㅤㅤkyle never thought too much about his romantic/sexual preferences, he was too studious to even have something like that on his mind. although, one day at school stan had shown up with his hair dyed blond. kyle's poor heart pounded so hard he started sweating.. he had always thought almost every girl was pretty, but that day made him realize that boys could be pretty too.

ㅤ

eric cartman .

he/him –ㅤㅤhe has a male superiority complex so bad and he thinks "pronouns" and "more than two genders" is dumb ("my pronouns are U/S/A *bald eagle screeching*")

homophobic closeted homosexual –ㅤㅤhave y'all seen the gay ass shit he's pulled on kyle? that boy is obviously in denial. but he uses the word "gay" as an insult, so of course he's homophobic.

secretly a drag queen –ㅤㅤremember when he wore that cheetah/leopard print shirt and embarrassed his mother on live television? yeah, and the time he wore that blond wig? he has an entire closet dedicated to his craft. more than once has he walked around his room in full drag acting like he's walking down the runway. (he can't do makeup for shit tho...)

ㅤ

kenny mccormick .

he/she/they –ㅤㅤidk, kenny just gives very enby vibes. he doesn't mind being referred to as "he/she", it's just they like being perceived as androgynous. kenny is a #1 "clothes have no gender" believer.

pansexual –ㅤㅤthere have been many times in the show itself that point to kenny liking more than one gender, and them being bi doesn't really work and neither does omni, cuz they don't really have a preference, pan is the best assumption.

ㅤ

butters scotch .

any pronouns –ㅤㅤ"oh, you use xe/xem? me too!" this lil child just loves collecting pronouns like pokémon cards, butters' autism feeds on it. a lot of times, if someone tells him that they use a pronoun that she hasn't heard of, that shit will get snatched so fast, it's not even funny.

gender-fluid –ㅤㅤy'know how butters was misdiagnosed with multiple personality disorder? yeah, that was just them flowing between genders. one day butters will feel extremely masculine, the next hyper-feminine, and the next neither or both. sometimes he'll even switch within a day, it depends.

polyamorous –ㅤㅤbutters is very open both romantically and platonically. he believes there is no such barriers or limits to love, that love should be given to everyone fully and freely, without discrimination. ( + more people, more cuddles !!!)

[fvckyouimaprophet]

cherry lips and black curls

summary: James tries on overalls for the first time and loves them. Of course, it doesn’t hurt to have a boyfriend who’s always there to tell her how hot she looks.

length: 1,666

tags: Transfem James (she/her), Transmasc Regulus (they/them), Gender Euphoria, Dirty Talk

a/n: For @420maraudersfest. These are the overalls James has on. This is my first attempt at Jegulus. ✌️

Read on Archive of Our Own.

James grins and turns, staring at herself in the full-length mirror in the corner of her bedroom. Lily had promised overalls would suit her, but she’d been so resistant, worried that they’d make her shapeless or fit her awkwardly. She’d waited until she found a pair she loved before trying them on. Now, as she looks at herself, she can’t quite understand her hesitation. Pastel flowers dot the burgundy fabric, and when she bends over, she watches the way it highlights her curves.

“You look hot.” Regulus sprawls out on the bed, joint dangling from between their fingers. The summer air is thick, and their hair sticks to their forehead. Their eyes trail down James’s body, and they wet their lips. “Your ass looks great in this.”

“I know, right!” The words come out louder than intended, and she groans as her cheeks heat up. “Too eager?”

“Nah, it’s cute when you get like this.” They smile up at James and blow her a kiss. “Come here.”

“Alright.” She takes one final glance in the mirror and turns, sticking her hands in her pockets and striking a pose. A smudge makes her right hip look blurry. “I really should clean this.”

Regulus rolls over on their back, and their head dangles over the edge of the bed, staring at James upside-down. They lift the joint to their lips and breathe in. For a moment, James stares at them affectionately, watching as smoke curls around their mouth, and then she walks over and perches herself on the bed beside them. Regulus makes no move to sit up.

“I’ve been loving how much you’ve been feeling yourself lately,” Regulus says, running their fingers absentmindedly up James’s arm.

“Well, when you have a boyfriend who can’t go three minutes without complimenting you…”

“Oh, did you want me to stop? ‘Cause I can.” 

“No.” James plops down and dangles off the bed beside Regulus. From this angle, the room looks different, bigger. She hums and presses a kiss to Regulus’s jaw. “Can I have some of that?” she asks, nodding toward the joint. 

“Sure thing.” Regulus brings it to James’s lips, and James breathes in and closes her eyes. They hold it steady between hits for James until she waves her hand to gesture that she’s done with it.

“Are you still meeting up with Barty soon?” Despite her best efforts to contain herself, James scrunches her nose.

“I saw that.” Regulus rolls to their side and scoots up the bed so that they are no longer hanging off. They hold the joint between their index and middle finger, and with their thumb, they pick at the chipped black nail polish on their other hand. “You can think what you want of him, but you know our rule—you don’t shit-talk my friends, and I won’t shit-talk yours.”

“To be fair, my best friend’s your brother.”

“Exactly. Makes it even harder to be nice.” Although Regulus tries their best to sound like they’re teasing, there’s a slight, defensive edge to their voice.

“Fine.” James sighs and sits up. “I guess your rule’s fair.” She doesn’t entirely think so, but she understands the supposed logic behind it.

“And yes, I’m still seeing Barty.” Regulus follows suit and grunts as they prop themself up and turn their body to face James. If James’s gut tells her anything, it’s that Barty isn’t good news—impulsive and reckless, with few lines he’s not willing to cross. It’s admirable how loyal Regulus is, but coupled with their stubbornness, there’s little she can do. She chews the inside of her cheek and finds herself lost in thought when Regulus interrupts.

“I got the strap we were eyeing.”

They’ve always had an uncanny ability to catch her off-guard by talking about things like this when she least expects it. She’s not naive. She knows that’s the thrill of it for them—watching her eyes go wide as she squirms. Now is no different. James’s pulse quickens, and any concerns about Barty slip from her mind. “Which one?” she asks.

“The thick one.” With a small smile, Regulus drops their hand to James’s thigh and traces up along the inside. “You know what that means?” They keep their voice low, just quiet enough to make James have to lean toward them to make out the words.

The world around the two of them falls away, and James’s mouth goes dry. It’s impossible to concentrate on anything other than the heat and weight of Regulus’s hand through the cotton of her overalls. She imagines their hand inching higher until— 

The room closes in around them. Her chest feels tight, and she swallows hard. Just as she lifts her hips, Regulus removes their hand. James groans, and Regulus’s eyes darken. They straddle her, their legs warm and soft around hers, and splay a hand on her chest. James hardly has time to adjust to the new position before they push her backward, and she falls to the bed with a slight oof. 

“What does it mean?” she breathes. They both know that she knows, but she wants to hear Regulus say it. Her voice trembles, and she sucks in a breath.

“After I get home, I’m going to fuck you until your ass is sore and you can’t stand straight.” A smug edge slips into their voice, and they lift the joint to their lips. “We have to break it in, after all.” The tip burns orange. “I can’t wait to see you take it. To watch as I sink into you. To see your face when you’re stretched, full.” A cloud of smoke hovers between them for a moment in the stagnant, bedroom air, and a bead of sweat drips down the back of James’s neck. Regulus reaches down to James’s hair and wraps a curl around their finger.

A bit of ash breaks off and falls to James’s new clothes. Under other circumstances, she might care more, but now, it hardly feels important. She shifts, and her hand moves to Regulus’s side, pulling them down on top of her, careful to give them a warning tug first to let them set the joint down on the ashtray on the nightstand. Regulus lands face-first on her chest—something James suspects isn’t entirely accidental.

“Wait, are those naked women on your overalls?” Their voice is muffled by the fabric.

“Yeah, they’re kind of hidden unless you’re looking closely.” She laughs as Regulus props themself up and stares again at the design. Her body still hums under theirs, craving more, but Regulus has always been easily distracted.

“This may be your gayest outfit yet.”

“You know what would be even gayer?” James asks.

“Hmm?”

“If you fucked me now.” There’s a certain pleasure in being able to surprise Regulus and watch a flush enter their cheeks. It’s so rare she can pull it off. “We can see how many times you can make me come.”

Regulus groans. “I would love to, but I have to leave in—” They check their watch and curse under their breath, “—five minutes.”

“Coward.” James props herself up on her elbows and presses a kiss to Regulus’s lips. It’s the sort of moment she could sink into—the quiet of their room punctured only by the sound of Regulus breathing in sharply through their nose, their lips soft against hers, the smell of their cologne and sweat and the lingering smoke blending together until James floats in a haze. She reaches a hand up. Regulus’s boxy button-up is already undone down to the middle of their chest, but James fiddles with the remaining buttons until they pop open too and leave their chest on full display. James runs her tongue along Regulus’s lower lip and licks into their mouth, marveling at the way Regulus melts into her touch.

Slowly, she places a hand on their stomach, fingers spread wide, and runs it up, over the twin scars on their chest, tracing their collar bone. Even with her eyes focused on Regulus’s face, she’s memorized their body and knows it by feel alone. Her finger finds the freckle at the base of their neck, and Regulus moans into her mouth, nothing but hot breath and rumbling vibrations.

And then they pull away, their lips swollen and shiny with her lip gloss. “I can’t. Barty and Evan are going through a rough patch, and if I’m running late because I got caught up with you, I’ll feel like a dick.” James deflates like a punctured balloon. She’d never been good at keeping a poker face anyway.

“They’re always going through a rough patch.” The words come out angry and bitter, a jab she immediately regrets when she sees Regulus’s face. The electricity in the air fizzles out until it feels stale, and Regulus’s eyes harden into something unreadable.

“I’ll be back later,” they say, standing and reaching for the buttons of their shirt.

“Regulus…” James stands and grips their hand as her stomach plummets. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

Regulus stops and stares into her eyes, unblinking, until James is certain she will melt into the floor. And then they nod. “I’ll be back later.” Although their posture stays stiff, something in their face softens. Regulus has always been exceptional at holding onto anger, but something tells her that this time will be different. 

Her heart pounds against her chest, and she wrings her hands as she watches as Regulus smoothes out their hair and walks over to the shoe rack to grab their black, combat boots. “Tell Barty that I hope he and Evan will be alright.”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.” Their chuckle punctures the tension in the room, and James’s shoulders drop. “You should finish the joint while I’m gone.”

It’s not a half-bad idea. “Thanks.”

“And James?” They cross the room once more. “I love you.” When they smile, James returns it, closes her eyes, and leans their foreheads together.

“Love you too.”

[thatonesapphicfilipino]

OMG GUYS GUYS OMFG

ok so background i come from a very religous family and like some of my extended fam is homophobic/transphobic and in addition im in this charismatic worship group that’s also homophobic/transphobic AND OMFG

SO THIS LORNING ME AND MY DAD WERE TALKING ABOUT HOOTY FROM THE OWL HOUSR (TOH) AND MY DAD WAS LIKE “wait is hooty a he?? is hooty he she it??? it’s fine if hootys a she” or smth AND IM LIKE “i think hootys a guy” WHILE TRYING NOT TO LIKE EXPLODE LIKE WODJRJJSF (btw hooty is he/him)

AND THEN JUST A BIT AGO WE WERE WATCHING AND EPISODE WITH RAINE WHOS NON BINARY AND LIKE MY SISTER HAS GROWN UP WOTH TONS OF NON GENDER BINARY CONFORMING EXAMPLES IN THE MEDIA AND IM SO HAPPY FOR HER LIKE SHELL SEE A NON BINSRY CHARACTER IN TV AND BE LIKE “DADDY DID U HEAR THAT THEY THEM” AND LIKE SKDJJFG BUT LIKE ME AND MY SISTER HAVE BEEN LIKE KEEPING MY DAD UP WITH THE GENDER THINGS LIKE WHEN HER NISS GENDERS CHSRACTERS AND STUFF AND TODAY IT ALL PAYED PFF CUZ WE WERE TALKING ABT HOW LIKE ALL THE CHARACTERS OF TOH R LIKE FUCKING UNWELL MENTALLY AND HE WAS LIKE “can’t she (eda) see they’re not ok” AND IN JUST LIKE WORJHDIFIF AJD TRYING NOT TO CRY SND THENN AND THENN HES LIKE “… he they…” AND I AM INTERNALLY CRYING MENTALLY I AM NOT HERE I AM PN THE FROUND CRYING SEND HELP LIKE OKFG LIFE IS FINALLY GOOD

but then i went from gender euphoria to panic attack like that so slight improvement but a win is a win

[mushroom-for-art]

Height tracking lore stuff

Axel - 9'6"~ - due to his unstable genetics from having human genes forcefully spliced into his mew genes a lot of his genetic formation information got screwed resulting in his current mewtwo appearance for one taller humanoid-ish and such unfortunately in the mess of his genes trying to stabilise from the new information and damages the gene for growth in all areas height bone growth muscle growth ect got left on, and by the time Axel even remembered/figured out how to manipulate his own genetic coding to turn those genes off and stabilise himself he was already massively tall and he absolutely hates it. He wishes he was 6 foot odd, the tall hurts both in memory of his past self and also oh god being this tall is suffering, especially when you've got metal armor screwed into your bones causing probably bone fractures and splintering as you grow and the metal fixings don't. Having a horrible time, he's gonna maim me just stupid big mewtwo who wishes he wasn't stupid big

Prototype - 8'8" - it's just a nice number to me fam lmao and also with the slight damages to his dna from being a clone of axel he loses some height and his genes were probably fixed during development to cap his height before he entered the suffering giant height range

Scribe - 7' - due to the Smeargle genes his height got cut otherwise he would've been a similar height to his brother, he is very embarrassed and angry that he's shorter than some of the later generation mewtwo

Dusty - 8' - as an adult he's only a few inches of his papa! Prototype would be so proud of him, not many clever thoughts here just liked him being the same height as Imp

May - 5'4" - #sorry, no height for u it's too iconic your short ass is too iconic May and canonically you are literally stunted because of the tainted with synergy mega stone implanted in development you're physically and power wise stunted I'm afraid assigned runt of genetic litter

Darkness - 7'6" - height restored, this girl has been hassling me for AGES for extra height when she realised 6'9" is probably not actually that big for a mewtwo, like way back since March I think? She realised she was not the big mean bitch she thought she was and she wasn't having it XD so she finally successfully bullied me into giving her extra height and she's quite happy knowing even with Mays souped up Mega evo that adds 2 foot she's still taller than her sister normally

Matt: 6'2" - he came into my office and also bullied me into giving him height, pointing out rightfully that Mays stunted height isn't genetic but was purely environmental soooo he still has the potential to be tol and also lore wise he wasn't immediately terminated for his missing limbs as he was going to be spare parts but if he was only 5'9" his organs would probably be smaller than a normal twos and this kinda shitty spares so he gets height and it also provided him with gender euphoria but in exchange he is losing a kidney reduced to one slightly bigger than average one and losing some eyesight benefits because nope you need more issues from genetic degregation and hes losing his implanted mega stone he's getting a mega stone accessory later in exchange. He tries to get pushed to 6'4" but after being told I'd make him only 6' he shut up

Imp: 8' - big girl!!!! When she first comes out she's fully developed mentally and her body is fully developed organs reproductive system ect but she was intentionally kept in a more cramped tube and kept on strict nutrition which means when she first emerged she was only about 6'3 still rather big but kept smaller easy to handle than say Prototype or Scribe, after she escaping and getting to eat as much as she wanted and not being hungry and having actual space to exist her more prominent fossil mew genes went 'hello!!' and her growing hormones reactivated to let her become her full potential in height and body so she's probably a bit stockier as well that her first image having gained them muscles too

AI: 7'5" - unlike her parents AI is intentionally given access to foods to grow big and strong as an adult (as a teen she's likely about 6'7") with the intent of having her body incubate larger stronger mewtwo offspring that could be transferred to growing tanks or raised, the theory being bigger body bigger womb and growing space and while technically true with Imp having the size and capability to potentially produce a large egg (due to having more other pokemon genes) and MIA likely able to produce a large baby if she desired one AI will obviously be removed from there before they can use her

MIA: 7'9" - being out on the battle fields a lot MIA had room to keep growing and would scavenge food whenever she could devouring down berries and even other pokemon meaning she grew much like her mother had despite the facility trying to restrict her. Also MIA may have been made using Axels dna as well as Imps explaining the coloration change from creams to more purples and the persistence of tall genetics despite them being restricted, this also potentially explains the then jump from purples and pinks to Blue with AI as Axel is a holder of blue gene tho this is usually as a stripe something in Imp/MIAs genes likely had blue stripe gene turned on all the way making it blue fill, this makes MIA Axels daughter as well as Imps.

Important note: Imp and Axel share no genetic relation from their mew donors or human gene donors, though later they may refer to each other as Cousins which will then become siblings as Imp longs for familial connection with anyone like her and Axel can see she needs that and isn't gonna be a "well actually," jerk to her about it. He sees no harm in saying they're family even if by all means they're not. When they find out about MIAs existence and shared genetic relation to them both neither of them see it as weird cause they know there's no relation, despite the hatred of his kin Axel is probably a bit more open to acting as father with MIA (until he realises she doesn't want that in which cause he quickly steps off). So don't be weird about it alright

[cipheramnesia]

response to that anon re: finding self appealing sexually. I've noticed a few trans friends come off...almost vain, until I realize, oh, this is the body and presentation you want and went through a shitload of effort to get, this is euphoria and that's awesome! It tracks that it extends into being turned on by the way you fuck! (I'm the "trade bodies with a trans woman" anon *cough*) anyway! Judging by that one person bemoaning hearing about people's masturbation habits on a post they made, getting off to yourself is common. Cis people usually just don't get the extra kick of "damn I WORKED for this and this is RIGHT" I think

For some of us, yeah there's, "I worked for this" but I think there's still nuance insofar as it's like not necessarily struggling, laboring physically, obtaining medical transition etc that's part of the whole gender euphoria self-appreciation. It's an okay stand-in term and fits my personal experience (the amount of squats I put in for this ass, fuck), but for some examples:

Agender person who has the lightbulb moment of "wait gender doesn't have to be attached to this physical body, I don't even need it," could just as easily have the same sort of feelings.

Or like trans masculine person who isn't dysphoric, just comfortable in being nonbinary masculine sorta deal, and sometimes zero is needed but the slight change mentally and he's feeling sex as fuck.

I thought I had more examples but anyway hopefully that gets the general idea. It's like, a little self introspection goes a long way.

I also forgot where I was going but I do lean into my own vanity for those kind of reasons, I stake my own claim to being a hot trans lady for my own damn self.

(I am not sure what the "trade bodies" thing was, not in a malicious way but because I use writing to scoop thoughts out of my head in order to no longer have to experience them in my head and then they are basically gone from my brain for ever.)

[mothrite]

Something inside me

REFER TO FOR REQUEST

SUMMERY; Max and Lucas both come to realizations that change their relationship for the better <3

WARNINGS; Slight Internalized Homophobia and transphobia, Billy Hargrove is the worst but he slays in this fic, trans he/they bi max, poly bi Lucas, Lumax, Byclair, Lucas has a crush on this friend and freaks out over it, Max experiences gender euphoria for the first time

AN; I’m so sorry this took so long Anon!!! I really wanted this to turn out well because I fell in love with this idea! Proof read by me againl!! (Btw this takes place pre season 3, post season 2) Ok so like, i started this in late 2022.... it's now late 2023. didnt have the energy to finish this and I want it OUT of my drafts

Max hated it. Max hated every time someone would call them “pretty” “beautiful” or any other term of the sort. They just hated it. They hated being a girl and being told that they should wear more skirts and put their hair up more. They especially hated it when they were told to wear dresses to events. They just wanted to be free and be able to wear what they want. Max didn’t want to be seen as a girl and they weren’t really sure why. They didn’t know how they wanted to be seen

That was until mid June. Max had been forced to go out with their mom to some kind of meeting since Billy and Neil were both out. They had been wearing a hoodie and pants with their usual red vans, the hood covered the top half of their face and their hair was tucked into the back of the hood, in two braids. They weren’t exactly paying attention, mostly just reading random signs that scattered the hallway they were in with their mother when one of their mother’s recent friends approached them. They hadn’t really been listening to the conversation until they heard something that struck a flame in them.

“Oh and your son is so handsome! He just has the most amazing blue eyes!” Max’s head quickly turned to the woman in question who had long black hair and was clad in a flowing blue dress. A smile crept to the corners of Max’s mouth and they tried to cover their now red cheeks that had flushed in embarrassment and flattery. She thought I was a boy? But I look so…ugh.

The smile dropped and their fingers went cold when their mother had spoken up.

“Oh no no no, this is my daughter, Maxine.”

That day as Max was on their way home with their mother they kept thinking about it. Could people truly see them as a boy?

He wasn’t supposed to. He wasn’t supposed to like him and think of him the way he does. Lucas beat himself up for it but he couldn’t deny the fact that he found his best friend, Will Byers, attractive. He couldn’t deny the fact that he gets butterflies when he sees Will smiling and talking to him. His heart would skip a beat whenever Will invited Lucas to hang out. He hated himself for it cause it felt so wrong. He knew he still loved Max. And he knew that it was wrong for a boy to like another boy that way.

He sat in his room, some music playing lowly on a radio that stood on his desk. He forced himself to get up and walk to the phone in the kitchen of his home, though his body resented the action after laying down and doing a whole lot of nothing that day. Just as he was dialing in Max’s number the phone rang and he picked it up.

“Hello-?”

“Lucas! I didn’t think you’d pick up so fast!”

“Will? Is that you?”

“The one and only! I was wondering if we could hang out at your place for a bit? You know just us without Mike and Dustin”

Lucas’s heart beat had quickly sped up at the words and his cheeks became dusted with a shade of dark red.

“That sounds great Byers, see you in 15?”

“See ya! Bye!”

“Bye..”

Lucas Sinclair had a dilemma. One he couldn’t figure out on his own. He knew who he had to speak too, Eleven Hopper.

(MY ASS IS NOT FINISHING THIS GOODBAI.)

[doing-something-unholy]

I think I understand. I actually remember the exact moment. I was in 7th grade and I decided to try on an old sports bra that was originally the wrong size, and when I put it on I looked down and felt… I know the term is gender euphoria but that doesn’t really communicate how I felt. I ran to get my grandpa’s old hat and tucked my hair into it, taking pictures on my phone that looked masculine. And I got so excited. I struggled with reclaiming femininity after that when my dysphoria got bad but I learned about drag and genderweird communities and started to play more with it, with it being an art like my paintings or drawings. And finding out what parts of me cause dysphoria and what I would want to have in a perfect world to find out what I wanted to do with my body helped.

-🌌

[There's a slight smile on my face as they speak, happy for them. But I can't help but wonder if what they're describing is how I feel when I think of my cassock as a skirt. I decide to ignore that for now, I don't know what to do with that potential.]

That's really nice, I'm happy for you. That's actually around the same age I realized I wasn't straight. There was... a boy, in one of my classes. He had a reputation for being trouble but I think our teachers just didn't like that he was goth and had long hair. He... he was always nice to me.

I'd never noticed anyone like that before, so I thought I was gay. Well, after panicking a little, if I'm honest. I didn't know what to think when I realized I still liked girls, too. I didn't hear the word bisexual until I was 14, and then finally I knew.

It still seemed like a moot point though, nobody was ever interested in me. That's another little factor why I joined the priesthood, didn't figure that anyone would be disappointed I was "off the market."

There must be some appeal in "forbidden fruit" though, I swear I've gotten more attention from this collar than ever before.