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oatmilkandvellichor · 1 year

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i am so bone fucking tired of bullshit fucking “uwu be violent towards me i’m horny” supposed compliments. i’m tired of it. i get it. i’m Intersex so i’m manly and gruff looking no matter what i do. i get it. i’m butch as all shit which just makes me seem even more mannish. i get it. all you can parse out when you look at me is Wrong White and it makes me look even angrier and more aggressive and primal in your eyes. i get it. i get it i get it i get it. i’m savagely animalistic and brutish. you cannot fathom me expressing attraction in any way that isn’t aggro and forceful. i get it. i’m supposed to stay stone cold and unaffected in the face of everything. i get it. i get it i get it i get it. idk why i ever expected anything to change. i see how the world treats my [closely related indigenous woman who is notably Less White than i am] - and she’s Very Much Not Mannish at all. her long hair, her thinness, her makeup and her nice dresses. and i still grew up to the echoing sounds of “your [relative] looks mean. she seems scary. why is she always angry? her husband married a woman just like his jackass father didn’t he.” no matter what she did. idk why i expected it to change for me. even being further down the family tree, even being Whiter than her, i swear people sniff this shit out like dogs. even when they can’t put their finger on it. it’s like they’re hunting for it everywhere and even when they still consciously view you as Just Like Them that subconscious has an axe to grind with the perceivable difference that you represent. idk why i expected the violence and harshness projected onto my soft and feminine family member to be easier on my testosterone fueled brutish fat butch self. i’ve always Known that people can see me. because they point it out to my face all the damn time. “are you asian are you asian are you asian are you asian” no. no. no. no. i’m not. i’m not. i’m not. i’m not. “what are you what are you what are you what are you” i’m white. i’m white. i’m white. i’m white. “are you sure? are you really sure? are you positive? are you lying?” fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me. do i rip the bandaid off and tell you? spend the rest of this conversation snapping at you when you won’t drop the subject of my family trauma? spend the rest of the time i know you fielding inappropriate questions and weird tokenizing as if my white skinned self could ever be the independent spokes person on sensitive Native issues. do i just keep lying till you give up and make sure you never hear a word otherwise from anyone ever so i don’t have to field this shit with another fucking person? “why are you always angry” i’m not. i’m not. i’m not. my face is just masculine. my skin has been prematurely aged by a lifetime of addiction and untreated health issues. my eyes are just slightly different than yours. i’m just fucking autistic. “oh my god you’re so hot you could punch me and i’d thank you please step on me” no. no no no no no. i don’t do that. i’ve never done that. i am capable of basic human decency and base level self control. this isn’t a coordinated S/M scene. i’m sitting in a coffee shop getting frustrated by judeo-aramaic word roots and mumbling to myself about rashi’s commentary and the overt queerness of r’ meir. i open the car door for my femme every single time we get in the car. i call them sweetheart and love and princess 18 million times a day. i text them a million times whenever i’m not home to tell them that they’re the light of my life and my soul is incomplete because they’re not with me. i hold them and lull them to sleep every night after the nightmares come. long after after they’ve rocked me to sleep because i’m a notorious insomniac. i wear a frilly apron with apples printed on it go wash the dishes after they make dinner every night. i wrestle them into their clothes every morning, and they wrestle me out of mine every night when i’m far too tired to move anymore. i say i love you as often as i breathe. i give them 18 forehead kisses every single time i am close enough to reach.

and yes i can get aggro. god i know i can. i used to fight all the time. i would slash and scream and kick and thrash at anyone and anything all the time. sometimes it still comes back to rear it’s ugly head, when things get hard. when i get so worn down i don’t know which way is up. and my femme is there with their hands firm on my shoulders, breathing with me until i collapse into a ball of tears. and i used to yell and scream and run and snap and push and push and push at the people i loved most. because the world told me i love ugly and violent for so long that i believed it was true. and all i wanted to do was push people away so i didn’t hurt them. i have spent my entire life feeling violent and predatory and out of control. feeling like i’m a caged wild animal moments away from ruining someone’s life. because i’ve spend my entire life being told it was true. being told that i had all the makings of an awful, violent person who did nothing but hurt. being told i was lying when i tried to talk about the people who hurt me. because i was too hard to be hurt so i had to be lying. because no one would do those things to someone as disgusting and belligerent as the manly girl with the angry native face.

stop pushing a violent and predatory role on me. stop describing me like every abusive piece of shit i’ve been trapped by, and then getting upset when i don’t appreciate your compliment so much i want to fuck you on the spot. “i (a non metaphorical very real person who is talking to you very casually right now) want you (a non metaphorical very real person i am casually talking to right now) to be so caught up by how cute and adorable i am in this incredibly mundane scenario that you beat the shit out of me right here and now till i’m dizzy, and immediately fuck me like you’re a deranged mindless animal with no self control or higher purpose!” die. i want you to die. drop dead right now. choke on your own vomit and die. right now in front of me. so i know that you’ll never make another person feel as disgusting as i feel right now ever again. you are not complimenting me. you aren’t complimenting anyone with that shit. you’re making me nauseous.

i see/hear that shit and i get so fucking terrified of myself that i avoid having sex with my femme for weeks. because what if that’s all i’m really capable of? because what if that’s what’s actually happening? what if all of this talked through, well communicated, thoroughly consenting play that we engage in is actually just me being a violent animal only capable of destroying everything good?

this is exactly how my femme and i ended up together. because they could see me. they could see the parts of me that full euro white queers could pick out. they saw it. and they saw the way that they talked to me because of it. and they understood, because they get that shit even worse. they saw me and they knew that i couldn’t turnt that shit on someone else. they saw me and they saw how it broke me and they reached out with their own broken feeling and we put ourselves back together again. together. they saw how my exchanges turned me stone. and i saw how their exchanges wore them soft. even with how different our experiences have been, some of y’all are so sincerely god awful and disgusting that we had so much to build on anyways. there’s obviously more to it. of course there is. but the ever present experience of growing up Very Different than the dominant group around you, it permeates so much. and so much of how we love eachother, the way we dance around eachother every day, is inevitably built on the way our souls have been worn down by years of shit and how they fit together because of it. how we can fill in what’s been eroded.

but every single time someone twirls their hair and describes me as i describe childhood abusers to therapists, balks when i don’t want to take them on the floor because of it… every time - i feel old fractures re-split. i really need y’all to understand the weight that this bullshit carries. i really need y’all go understand how deeply shitty it is. how much you’re playing in to a larger and even shittier pattern of how the world treats us. how much damage you can do in a single interaction. how insignificant you truly are in the lives of Black, brown, Indigenous, ethnic, intersex, and perceived-masculine queer folks. and how wildly inappropriate you are when you assume that much importance in our lives and in the world in general. sit with the insignificance. get comfortable. shut the fuck up for once. grow up and get over yourself.

i will absolutely be deleting this later i’m just feeling a lot right now and i need to put this into the universe. it’s been A Week and i got an inappropriate message earlier. because of course i did. of course. i’m angry and refluxy and my tachycardia is a bitch. i don’t even know anymore this is probably staying in my drafts.

#credit to my femme for the term Wrong White btw #‘idk why i get this too yeah i’m native but i’m white. the genes skipped me.’#‘yeah that happens sometimes. even still you don’t exactly have the most european features. people notice that even if they don’t exactly #get what’s off. you might be white to them but you’re Wrong White which is scary and threatening and wrong. they want to lash out #and fix you so you’re more like them. it’s brutal.’#eternally redacting exact titles of family members in relation to culture n shit #bc i’m so tired of being cyberstalked by the same three locals #that i refuse to talk openly about which of my parents is native and what state i live in and what nation i belong to let alone my clan #so have fun with me being vague cos it’s what you’re getting i guess #it always reads so awkward but i’d rather awkward than having to start all over again on all of my social media and tumblr and everything #i want to get as far away from these fucks as possible #but g-d dammit i live on the land my ancestors had cultivated for over a thousand years #i live here!!! i got to grow up surrounded by this land!!#no one is allowed to take that from me. i’m not going anywhere. so jump through hoops i will. i’m too tired.

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slutauthority · 3 years

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“Bi-Femme: On Being a Traitor and/or a Revolutionary.” by Leah Lilith Albrecht-Samarasinha

Anything That Moves, Fall 1996. Issue 12, pp. 37-39

(google drive link to scan of print.) courtesy of @anythingthatmovesarchive

(TW for: NSFW, d slur, f slur, q slur, LGBTphobia, nazi mention, racism, misogyny)

“My mama is a very smart woman. When I was 12 years old and I told her I was bisexual, all she said was, “Fine. As long as they don’t look like truck drivers.” I don’t mean that she was smart because she didn’t want me to date butch girls. She was smart because I think she knew that I was going to do it anyway. I was going to grow up to be a femme. “

Right at that moment I had bulbous acne, thick glasses with brown plastic frames and Latin-South Asian hair that my white mom tried to brush straight every day, resulting in a huge, frizzed-out ‘fro. But I also loved to swirl around in long hippie skirts and sneak on makeup and her Chanel Number 5 every chance I got. I had moments, hormone-filled ones, where I would sway and sigh and think how much I liked being a girl. As should be no surprise, I also didn’t shave my legs, was the smartest kid in my class as well as a budding lesbian-separatist, and beat up the boys who tried to feel me up on my way to homeroom. I wasn’t anybody’s stupid little girl, and we both knew it.

Mom and I both dimly knew that I wasn’t a classic, short-haired babydyke, and that there was something weird about me saying I was queer but not playing baseball. When I grew up and became a pro-sex feminist, I tried to recast it all in terms of being a classic example of young femme-dykiness.

Thing was, much as I wanted to be a true-blue Virgin Mother of the Amazon nation when I was 12 due to all the lesbian feminist theory I was reading (yes, at 12, I even had a subscription to off our backs), I knew I was still attracted to some boys, and that it was too strong to just go away. And as I got into my teens, I dated a lot of boys. All of them identified as bisexual or gay. Most of them were very, very femme. People regularly thought we were both women when we kissed on the sidewalk. At the same time, I fell and stayed deeply in love with my first girlfriend, for three-and-a-half years. I got involved in anarcho-punk for four years for a lot of reasons, but a big one I didn’t want to admit to most people was that the punk warehouse in my town where I got into the scene was the first place I encountered butch girls. My queer, feminist blood was making itself present.

I’ve defined myself as femme for the past two years, since I moved to New York and borrowed my roommate’s copies of The Persistent Desire and Stone Butch Blues and everything fell into place (thank you, Ananda LaVita). I am a feminist, woman-centered and identified woman who generally feels at my most powerful and confident when I have my eyeliner and lipstick on and am dressed in my own homemade Brooklyn-Asian-vintage-ex-punk-grrrl femme aesthetic. But throughout those two years of coming out, I kept on fucking femmy queer boys. And even though right now I’m thinking about ceasing to sleep with boys, as a period of “separatism for health”, I doubt my desire for anti-racist, anti-sexist queer boys of color, at least, will go away. So what I want to know is, am I still allowed to call myself a femme if I’m bi? Am I a traitor to the Lesbian Nation, flying in the face of all the work women have done to reclaim and celebrate femme-butch desire?

Being (and being very forceful about saying) that I am bisexual, femme, pro-sex and queer, has gotten me quite a lot of attitude. This is what it boils down to: I am really a straight girl wannabe. It’s bad enough that I wear eyeliner and say I’m a dyke. But fucking boys, too? Please, how much more of a traitor to the lesbian nation could you be? I must be one of those flaky “bi-curious” girls whose boyfriend wants to watch. Besides, goes a voice that is slightly more tolerant, femme women are supposed to stand by their butches – hell, femmes really don’t exist apart from butches. Femmes want real butches, definitely not men. Femmes are not bisexual; all the many, many femme girls who started out by fucking boys had horrible experiences with them and just didn’t know what they were missing and once they discovered girls, switched loyalties and never went back. Femininity in women is radical only when it is broken loose of men. I should simplify my life because the revolution hasn’t happened yet. I’m a freak, a slut, my head is in my pussy, woe be unto me – which isn’t too different from being called a slutty badgirl by Ralph Reed. But hey – maybe there’s something to this coalition building between puritan feminists and the radical right after all!

Basically, I could only be a success as a femme if I was as “penis-pure and proud” as a Dworkin clone. And in pro-sex discourse about pre-Stonewall North American lesbian existence, “femme” has been overwhelmingly defined as meaning a lesbian, woman-only existence. Pat Califia, in her poem “Diagnostic Tests,” says “You can tell she’s a femme/Because no man will ever/lay a hand on her again/Now that she’s with another woman.” This sentiment is repeated endlessly throughout The Femme Mystique. Activists and writers have fought for the past 15 years to reclaim butch-femme from the garbage heap lesbian feminism threw it in, to reclaim it as a “deeply lesbian language of stance, dress, gesture, loving, courage and autonomy.” In a lot of ways, I feel like a traitor pushing the boundaries they have struggled so hard (and still do) to gain acceptance for. It’s a typical second-generation anything – immigrant, pro-sex queer activist – thang.

I’m going to do it anyway because it’s not a betrayal. Joan Nestle, Madeleine Davis and Amber Hollibaugh, all queens of high femme who came out before Stonewall, have spoken of femme desire as a love for “that combination of toughness and softness, that combination of masculinity and femininity.” As Davis put it in their article “The Femme Tapes.” Davis, Hollibaugh and Nestle include both male and female gender rebels within this definition. Femme, they say, seems perhaps to originate in a feminine love of queer sexual deviance, in general, of, as I’ve put it, “the boys inside my girls, and the girls inside my boys.” In Davis’s sexual history as a femme, “some of my partners were very feminine men…Even when I was coming out, I went back and forth some. I went out with a couple of guys who were faggots, who were effeminate.” Joan Nestle affirms, “The first adult person I loved and lusted after was a gay man.”

Femme-dyke sexuality as experienced with a man is far from a neutral category. It exists often as a place full of more conflict and danger than pleasure. For me and many other femmes, the core of femme sexuality lies in femme hunger, in a particularly femme strength of sexual openness, vulnerability and need. For me, it can be summed up by the image of “her fist/slams into my cunt up through my cervix/and grabs my heart/I don’t mind.” Femme sexuality lies in “that desperate need to be fucked senseless…(which) we have and would put up with some incredible shit to get.”

“There is no place she cannot touch me. My body is literally open to any way she infers her sexual need… My body is completely in sync with her, but I’m not deciding where she’s gonna touch me.” When I have sex, I need to feel the touching burn through the layers of numbness I have wrapped around myself. I need intensity; I need to get filled up and fed. To open up, give it all up and be loved, not hated for my intensity, for how much pleasure I can feel and how vulnerable it makes me. And I am doing this as a cultural woman. It is vulnerability that can be both incredibly powerful and incredibly terrifying. I should be hated for this.

Giving this deep vulnerability to a man is not an easy or uncomplicated act in a society of patriarchy where men, to various degrees mediated by their race, class, disability and sexuality, hold the power of sexual violence over women and attempt to deny the power of sexual self-determination over us. In a world where the slut, the whore and the shameless hussy are pissed on, it is in many, many ways much saner to give that gift of womanhood to a butch woman who won’t hate me for it than to give it to a man I may never be as sure of. Davis, Hollibaugh and Nestle speak of desiring faggots and butch women equally, at first, but coming to realize that this vulnerability was only safe with women. They went on to live, by all accounts I have been able to find, exclusively lesbian lives. Did the potential remain?

I do not believe that in all cases these women’s desires was “just a bisexual phase”. Some of them probably did just wake up one day and not want boys any more. But I think many might have needed to make a bargain among limited choices. Many might have still retained a desire for sexually rebellious men, but needed to assert total loyalty to butch women to help them survive.

A lot of that bargain centers around issues of visibility and the privilege of passing. The argument goes that no one seeing me or another femme on the street (long hair, nails, vintage dresses and combat boots and all), holding hands with my boyfriend (even if he’s a lisping faggot wearing a Tribe 8 t-shirt and magenta fishnets) will know that we’re queer. All the passerby will see is a boy and a girl.

The argument goes on to say that my femininity allows me the privilege of passing as heterosexual in general, at all times in which I am not with butch women or in queer spaces defined by their presence. These people defined queer as butch women or femme men – people who they saw as gender rebels, whose gender choice was an inversion of hegemonic standards.

I have problems with this argument. First of all, it equates “dyke” with “butch” and “queer,” something that’s as common as mud in queer communities. “In the lesbian community, butches are our image of dykes,” writes Arlene Istar in her article “Femme-dyke.”

“Lesbians are never described as women who wear dresses and high heels, or have long nails or hair…Oh, we all know there are lesbians like that, but somehow they are different, not like “us”, somehow not authentic.”

But butchness and femmeness, is and of themselves, have nothing to do with how many women a girl’s fucked, how much she prioritizes men over women in her life or how “good a feminist” (however you want to define that) she is. This ideology of dykeness conflates “femme” with “heterosexual feminine,” and “not really queer.” Well, I’m sure as hell nobody’s “spritzhead girlfriend,” as Hothead Paisan would put it. And femme is queer. Drop a femme into a straight bridal shower and she’ll stand out, believe me. I walk the streets with dyke attitude, scanning faces, staying alert, able to face harassment and give it back.

Second, at the core of this argument lies the idea, put forth by writer like Michaelangelo Signorile, that being “out” is the strategy to end all strategies of fighting homophobia. This idea doesn’t cut it for me. It’s an idea that comes from a place of unexamined privilege, where one can be shielded from knowing the limits of individual, personal strategies for change. I agree that those strategies are important. But I also believe in the necessity of talking to people, and doing mass political organization to counter their homophobia.

And I want to ask: What about myriad ways of being? What about the fact that “the standard of queerness” I’m most aware of – shaved head, leather jacket, big boots – can read as “Nazi skin” and is also an overwhelmingly white aesthetic? I believe in outness as a politic of asserting the right to walk down the street looking like what one is as a gender rebel – no matter what that is. And I am part of that.

I want a world liberated from the blood and shackles of imposed, false sexes and genders and the differences in power and privilege awarded those genders. People would play with gender there, but one could choose one’s own gender switch after a while, make it up as s/he went along. What sexual organs one had would be very little, if anything, to do with one’s gender expression. In that world, I could fuck partners who might have penises they were born with, might have ones they’d gotten surgery for, might have bought, or might not have at all.

People tell me that we’re here – we’re not in that world, and I should take what is allowed me by the queer hegemony. But I say that the revolution isn’t gonna come in a big, one-shot, dramatic confrontation with “the enemy”. It’s being birthed out of the struggles we do right here, right now. It’s specific, personal and dirt. And it’s not going to be helped into existence by anything less than the raw, honest, specific truth of what we need and desire.

The truth I have discovered of my desire, in this Asian mutt’s middle-class passing slut 1996 New York body, is that femme is an attraction to queerness in any form that satisfies hunger. I believe that understanding this is crucial to opening up femme identity to independence from butch identity – as standing separate from our more visible partners. Butch girls can fuck boys casually, without threatening their dyke identities? Well, I want that right too, as well as the right to define what that sex means to me. Butches have historically written and spoken the stories of their identities and desires much more than femmes. Femmes have written too few of our own stories and when we have, our loyalty to women has pressured us to simplify and lie.

So this is the beginning of a new story. It starts like this: me saying that no, honey-girl, fucking girls and boys in silver platform heels and liquid eyeliner doesn’t make me a traitor. It means I’m continuing in the tradition, taking the sexual and gender rebellion of my femme foremothers one step further, to what I need it be.

-- Leah Lilith Albrecht-Samarasinha is a student, writer, anarcho-feminist, student activist and all around fantabulous babe. Her work has appeared in Riot Grrrl NYC, Notes on the City, Release and various xines. She lives in Brooklyn. “BI-Femme” has been accepted for publication in an upcoming anthology entitled “Femme: Generations/Histories/Visions.

#butch/femme #bi safe #butch/femme discourse #bi tag #love that this was published in 1996 tbh #I was born and this article unknowningly modeled my life lmaooo #wlw tag

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fruitcoops · 3 years

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If you're still taking requests, could you do one where someone is making Remus really uncomfortable and someone from the team helps him out? (Preferably Sirius, Leo, Logan, James, or Dumo but everything you do is so good so it really doen't matter 😂❣)

Yep! Please take a look at the TW below before reading, since there are parts of this that are a bit intense. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

Combined with protective Sirius and Leo/ Loops friendship!

TW for a super creepy guy, unwanted handholding, unwanted flirting/ not taking no for an answer, innuendo, moderate panic attack, and alcohol

The folding chair next to Remus creaked as a tall man in a perfectly-tailored suit sat down hard in it. He was clearly a drink or two past tipsy, and something in Remus’ throat itched at the way the man’s eyes flickered across his chest and arms. “You’re Lupin, right? The new Lion?”

Remus set his drink down. “That’s me.”

“Stan Martin, nice to meet you.” Stan held his hand out and Remus shook it; his palm was clammy, and he held on just a second too long. Remus was the first to pull away after he felt a light squeeze from wrinkled fingers.

“Pleasure’s mine,” Remus said with a polite smile. Sirius was nowhere in sight, and everyone else was occupied in their own conversations. He swallowed hard. “Do you own a team?”

“Nah, I just fund ‘em,” Stan snorted. “Too much work otherwise, not enough time for play, if you know what I mean.”

Remus forced a laugh. “Right, yeah, totally. Are you involved with the Lions? I’m a bit new to the whole administration thing.”

“Even after being a PT for so long?” Stand gave him an incredulous look, but beneath it there was a shadow Remus didn’t like.

“Yep. I was pretty contained to my tape pallets and charts.” Joke it off, Lupin.

A hand, heavy from alcohol and lack of inhibitions, fell on Remus’ forearm with a few clumsy pats before settling on his wrist. Stan looked directly into his eyes. “If you ever need someone to, ah, show you the ropes, give me a call.”

Remus cleared his throat and tried to pull his arm away, but the hand didn’t budge. “I don’t think that will be necessary, but thank you for the offer.”

“No, really. The NHL is a complicated world. I’d be more than happy to take some of that weight off your shoulders.” Stan leaned closer and Remus tensed as his eyes roved his face. “Your freckles are much more striking in real life, Lupin.”

“Please let go of my arm, Mr. Martin.”

“Call me Stan.”

“Let go of me, Martin.”

An awful little grin spread over his thin lips. “You’re a spitfire, aren’t you? Too much for Captain Solitude, I bet.”

He jerked his head to the side of the room, where Remus saw Sirius making polite conversation with a woman in a long dress. A spike of fury bubbled up. “Are you talking about my fiancé?”

“Easy, tiger, I’m just saying—” He hiccupped and Remus tried to pull away, but Stan’s grip tightened by a fraction. “—I’m just saying, you could do better with someone who knows how to handle you.”

“I can handle myself just fine. If you don’t stop talking shit about my fiancé, I’ll—”

“What? You’ll do what?” Stan leered at him and Remus paused to shove down his nausea. “You know, you were much prettier before you tried to be like the rest of these jocks.”

“I’m leaving now.”

“I’m just being honest,” Stan huffed, never releasing Remus’ arm from his hold. Remus could feel his shoulders starting to shake. “You’ve got those cute little cheekbones. Very delicate, like—almost feminine. Those training regimens they put you on ruined it, in my opinion. Look, Lupin, when you get tired of tall, dark, and boring over there, gimme a call and you can be pretty aga—”

“What’s going on over here?” a falsely bright voice cut in. The chair on Remus’ other side clicked at its joints as Leo sat down, looking between them with icy eyes. “Am I missing out on all the fun?”

“Hey, Knutty,” Remus managed, wincing as his voice cracked. Stan leaned back in his chair and Remus quickly yanked his arm away, tangling his fingers together.

“Lupin and I were just having a chat,” Stan said, glancing back down at Remus’ lap until he tucked his hands under his thighs. “Nothing big and important.”

Leo’s knee pressed against his own. “Sirius was looking for you a minute ago.”

Stan’s jaw tightened. “What, we can’t finish our conversation?”

“No.” Remus channeled all his roiling discomfort and the urge to knock the creep’s teeth in as he stood up. “No, this conversation has been done for a while. Have a nice night, Mr. Martin.”

Leo’s arm was steady across his shoulders as they walked away; Remus’ vision tunneled, sparkling black at the sides. “Are you gonna be alright?” Leo asked under his breath, his accent soothing. Remus nodded. “You’re shaking, Re.”

“No, I’m not.” He grabbed a plastic cup of water off a nearby tray and nearly sloshed it all over himself. “Jesus fucking—”

“Re.” He could feel his teeth starting to chatter and sweat rolled down the too-tight collar of his shirt. Leo’s hand closed loosely around his own and took the cup. “C’mon.”

“Sirius was looking for me,” he protested as Leo led him down a side hall.

Leo shrugged. “Probably.”

“…he didn’t talk to you.”

“Nope.”

“You came to get me anyway.”

“Yep.”

The clog in Remus’ chest grew and he nearly tripped over his own feet. “Thanks, Knutty.”

A sharp puff of air cooled his burning face. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

“I tried to leave.” The words tangled around his tongue as Leo pushed open the bathroom door and led him to the sinks, dampening some paper towels. “I—fuck, Leo, I’m stronger than him but he was holding my arm so tight and I was so fucking freaked.”

“Easy, Re.” Leo sounded like he was trying to calm a spooked horse.

The towels were a balm in Remus’ hands and on his face as he pressed them over his mouth to muffle the wheezing noises. “I’d rather be called a slur to my face than have that happen again.”

The gentle circles on his back stopped for a second. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t—no. I just wanna go home.”

“Deep breaths.” Leo handed him a new towel to blow his nose, then pulled his phone out.

“Has anyone told you that you’re a kickass friend?”

A weak smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, but his face was still troubled. “Once or twice.”

Remus’ lungs were tight with a mix of fear and disgust; he felt a little like he wanted to throw up, and while Leo’s hand on his back was an anchor to the world, the rest of him screamed ‘don’t touch me’.

Barely two minutes later, the bathroom door swung open. “Honey? What happened?”

“Holy shit,” Remus managed as gray eyes swam into his field of view. Sirius. Sirius meant safety. Reality zoomed back at double speed and the dam broke—tears poured down his cheeks as his whole body began to shake again. “Holy shit.”

Sirius shushed him softly, pulling him close with a kiss to the top of his head. “D’accord, mon loup, je t’ai.”

“I love you,” Remus sobbed. The fabric of Sirius’ suit was probably wrinkling under his tight grip, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “I love you so much for exactly who you are, okay? Don’t ever doubt that.”

“I know.” Confusion edged his voice, but he kept it low and gentle. Remus loved him for it, wildly. The door creaked as Leo left, and then there was silence.

He finally pulled his face out of Sirius’ chest, kissing his jaw, cheek, and lips before resting his forehead in the curve of his neck. “Thank you.”

Sirius’ hands eased through the curls above his ears as he cupped Remus’ face in his hands. “What happened, Re?”

Remus shook his head as revulsion rose again. “There was this creep and he wouldn’t let me go. Said some shitty stuff.”

“He was homophobic?” An angry furrow appeared between Sirius’ brows.

“I wish.” Stan’s words rang in his ears and made his mouth bitter with shame. Remus closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see Sirius’ face during his confession. “He, uh—he propositioned me. Kind of.”

“He what?”

“I didn’t catch on until he already had my arm.” Remus sniffled, pressing the heel of his hand below his eye to stem the tears. “He followed it up with some bullshit about you, and then some bullshit about me, and just wouldn’t shut up. I just froze. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, mon amour.” Sirius’ touch was so gentle on him, warm and broad compared to the crushing discomfort of Stan Martin. His hands were heavy, but they let Remus move however he liked.

“I love you,” Remus said again.

“I love you, too. Are you ready to go home?”

“I need a minute.” He rubbed his face against the soft lapels of Sirius’ jacket, desperate for comfort around the guilt wedged in his chest; his next words spilled out before he could choke them down again. “You still like me, right?”

“I love you so much—”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. You—am I still nice to look at? Now that I’m not, y’know, pretty and kinda twink-y.” There was a long stretch of silence. “Is that a yes?”

“Sorry, I had to take a second and stop myself from putting that fucking idiot through a table.” Sirius took a step back and met Remus’ eyes, fixing him with a hard look. “First of all, I love everything about you, and you will always be the most beautiful man on earth. Second, your muscles are the hottest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen. Third, you’ve never been—what word did you use?”

“Twink-y. It’s like…delicate. Femme. Etcetera, etcetera.”

More anger sparked in Sirius’ eyes. “Yeah, and you’ve never been delicate. You are the strongest person I know, Re. Whatever he said to you, it wasn’t true.”

“Can we go home now?”

“Absolutely.”

The ballroom was still crowded with high-end management and people Remus never wanted to see again when they finally left the bathroom; thankfully, the throngs of sparkles and dark suits made it easy for them to slip away with minimal human interaction. Stan Martin was over by the water cups, dabbing uselessly at a large wine stain across the front of his crisp white shirt—Remus saw Leo watching him like a hawk with a suspiciously empty wineglass in his hand and internally vowed to give him the biggest hug of his life at the next practice.

Remus slowed down to take in the fresh nighttime air, holding Sirius’ hand tight in his own as they crossed the parking lot. He paused at the passenger door and tugged him in for a slow kiss. “I love you,” he mumbled, breathing in the scent of his shampoo and cologne.

Sirius’ arms wrapped around him and Remus melted into the hug. He felt him trembling slightly, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t from the chilly breeze. “You are the best part of my life, Re,” he whispered, his voice thick. “The best part, no matter what. I’m so sorry for what happened tonight.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t yours, either.” Sirius kissed the top of his forehead once before giving him a squeeze and going to the other side of the car. “I’m sure Hattie will agree with me once we’re home.”

Two hours, one hot shower, and thirty minutes of puppy cuddles later, Remus curled up against Sirius’ ribs and felt his chest rise and fall under his palm. “I love you,” he said quietly.

Sirius let out a slow breath and entwined their fingers, kissing the inside of his wrist. “Love you more.”

“Love you most.”

“Impossible.”

He could hear Sirius’ smile, even in the darkness of their bedroom, and fell asleep to the steady sound of his heartbeat.

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retrogalwrites · 3 years

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Aizawa Shouta x Yandere!fReader

Title: “Kiss me as if you are punching me” / view on ao3

summary: Aizawa is kidnapped by a villain obsessed with him, who hopes to finally make the hero hers.

Warnings: dubcon, coercion, unhealthy relationships, drugging, kidnapping, yandere reader, hate fucking from Aizawa's side, delusions, masochism

Other contents: creampie, orgasm denial, dom/sub dynamic, spanking, rough sex, fingering, masturbation, name calling, a twist because i like twists

Words: 2917

When Aizawa opened his eyes, he was not surprised by the tight rope around his body that kept him viciously tied to a bulky chair. He had been held hostage before, more than once even, it just came with the job, you know?

However, typically, he'd expect some decaying dirty room, some dark, gloomy basement that smelled like shit, just the usual imagery you expect from situations like these.

Instead, his surprise—utter shock if you will—came from the smell of roses and cinnamon that filled his nostrils, the vibrant color red of opulent velvet wallpaper around him and fluffy carpet under his feet of matching color. The room was dimly lit by a varied array of candles carefully placed on expensive-looking furniture, even a fancy bed, it was a very girly and sensual atmosphere that completely crushed his usual expectations of being kidnapped by an enemy. It was one of those rare times that Aizawa felt at loss of words.

"Guess who~?"

Suddenly a saccharine voice, suggestive and obscene, called from behind as a pair of hands playfully covered his eyes. Aizawa froze, of course he knew that voice very well, he groaned at the feeling of round, soft breasts pressing against the back of his head, it gave him annoying goosebumps.

Of course he recognized that voice, even the feeling of your body. For months you had roamed the streets committing mostly petty crime with the sole purpose of getting the hero Eraserhead to chase after you, like some obsessed psycho. Like a little pest, you'd pop up to cause trouble while he was on his nightly rounds without fail, always dolled up, flaunting your assets like a harlot and provoking him shamelessly. Always boldly declaring your insane love for him before managing to slip away into the shadows...

It was such a bizarre case that other heroes had started to tease him about it, laughing about the femme fatale villain that had a crush on him. He despised it, your existence did nothing but to bring yet another thing for him to be tired and annoyed about.

At least, you were a low tier threat, basically harmless really, or so he thought. Being kidnapped by you was the last thing he had expected, and that only annoyed him more, the thought that he had underestimated the situation and how unhinged you really had been.

Aizawa uttered your name under his breath like a cursed word, and you giggled delighted against his ear.

"Yes, it's me~! As expected from my darling."

"Don't call me that." He refuted your pet-names as always, mustering his most stern voice to mask the fact he was still trying to process his own shortcomings that had lead him there. "What the hell is this?"

Removing your hands from his eyes, you remained behind him, placing them instead on his broad shoulders, reminding him of the lack of his scarf-his only offensive weapon- on them.

"Well, what does it look like? I abducted you, silly." You hummed amused, tone far too casual for his liking. But with your fingers digging into the muscle, massaging his soreness, he almost gave in and sighed in relief. "You've been playing so hard to get all this time, and trust me I do love the chase but...I just can't bear with it anymore."

"Then leave me alone." He managed to say instead, as he struggled on his seat, testing the tightness of the binding around him.

"No, can't do." You replied, fingers digging into his shoulders with a more vicious grip that made him wince. "How many times do I have to repeat myself? I love you so much, I need you so bad, I may just die."

"Then die." With a deep, angry tone, he growled. " I don't have time for none of this bullshit."

Of course, you only gushed excitedly, throwing your arms around his neck and embracing him from behind so lovingly, he could feel the heat of your body. "Oh baby, I love it when you are mean!"

"You're delusional." He said.

"Well, yes." You replied. "But I'm still going to get what I want."

As you pulled back, Aizawa felt the sharp tip of a blade pressed against the back of his neck, threatening to cut through if he didn't stay put. He broke into cold sweat.

"Open your mouth."

"..."

"Open your mouth or I'll cut your head off, I really don't want to do that, dear."

You had never threatened him like that before, he hesitated for a second before spitting back, expertly to not let his tumultuous feelings show.

"I'll bite your hand off."

"You know, I wouldn't mind if you did that." You giggled again. Aizawa sighed deeply, feeling powerless against what was someone who clearly couldn't be reasoned with.

You took advantage of that to bring your fingers to his mouth, slipping inside two white pills before forcing his jaw shut with your hand so he'd have to swallow them. Aizawa tried to spit them out, but you weren't having none of it, in the end he had to swallow the dissolving drug into his system.

"What the hell...did you give me?!"

He demanded as soon as you let go of him, drool dribbling down his scruffy chin.

"Relax, it will make you feel good. I would never poison you, baby."

But it was a little too hard to believe you, of course. His silence said as much.

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you...it's an aphrodisiac."

It was like you had actually stabbed him with that knife, the severity of your words weighing on him, an understanding of what you were planning to do with him filling the hero with dread that was almost as big as his self-hatred for having stupidly refused to take you as a bigger threat sooner.

With a soft, feminine laugh, twirling gracefully, you quickly moved around to stand in front of him.

Finally getting to properly look at you, Aizawa jaw almost dropped.

Dressed in a black nightie babydoll, all lace and ribbons, showing off the perfect curves of your body, supple skin of your breasts and nipples behind see-through fabric. The edges fluttered delicately just above your upper thighs, giving him full view of the crotchless panties you wore, your slit shamelessly displayed for him to see.

His body felt as though it was on fire, eyes glued to the glistening wetness already smeared over the pink skin of your folds, even more stickiness clinging to the skin of your inner thighs showing just how fucking wet you had to be.

It was work of the aphrodisiac, he realized, how his heart began racing madly in his chest with pumping blood, a dryness in his mouth and a heat in his abdomen that was making it hard to breath properly.

Aizawa's entire willpower worked harder it ever had just to try to look uninterested at the lewd sight of you. "Well, it sure is a shame you went through all this trouble for nothing."

You pouted at his comment almost childishly, something that gave him a sense of satisfaction despite his situation still being far from improving. But Aizawa had to remain calm, because knowing his colleagues, they would be out to look for him soon enough, all he had to do was to endure ...to endure...to endure what exactly? He still wasn't completely sure, and yet that only made him shiver with unwanted thrill.

"So you say, but you seem to be a little excited already."

Drawling your words, your eyes fixated on his crotch. He looked down as well and cringed, a bulge straining against the fabric of his pants, his cock swelling up simply by looking at your own depraved arousal. He reminded himself it wasn't his fault, it was the drug, he still could fight off the effects.

"You are pathetic, forcing yourself on someone like this." He said with a groan, because his hardening cock was starting to feel uncomfortably tight inside his pants. You rolled your eyes, and laughed.

"Oh no, I'm not going to do that."

Your answer, simple and honest, took him by surprise that Aizawa couldn't conceal.

"I'll simply stand here and enjoy myself, give you a little show. I won't touch you unless you ask me to, my darling."

Before he could respond, you were soon taking one step back from him. Standing on a pair of impractical high heels and stockings, Aizawa watched as you began to sway your hips side to side with hypnotic rhythm, the fluttering edges of the lacy babydoll bringing attention to the ripe shape of your plump thighs, he could even imagine grabbing them with his large hands...fuck, dealing with you would've been far easier from the very start if you weren't so infuriatingly gorgeous.

Aizawa groaned, lips tightly shut, refusing to give you any sort of satisfaction from this.

But as if you could read his mind, you turned around playfully to give him a full view of your backside. The roundness of your fat ass, perfect to grab and force against his aching cock and rut against until he was shooting his seed all over your asscheeks, fuck...his dirty thoughts kept pulling up.

Aizawa's throbbing erection twitched with need, and he tried to rub his thighs together for just a little bit of friction. You didn't notice it in that exact moment, because you were too busy leaning forward to show off your pussy at his hungry gaze, your fingers moving to the crotchless area of your panties to spread your folds with your fingers, giving him a perfect view of your pussy's tight hole.

Even with his dry eyes, he was having a hard time blinking, unable to part away from that obscene view. Your needy little hole so wet for him right there in full display, only a whore would have such little shame and modesty, a crazy whore like you.

Aizawa didn't realize his lip had started to bleed slightly from bitting it too hard.

"God, knowing you are looking at me makes me so excited, baby." You moaned softly, voice full of adoration, looking at him over your shoulder. "Like a dream come true."

Aizawa turned his head away just to try spite you, using his messy long hair to shield his vision, an attempt to dominate this bizarre game of yours, but uncaring to his resistance, you simply continued enjoying yourself for him to witness. Slowly, you slid one finger into your dripping cunt, your legs trembling as you moaned Aizawa's name outloud.

The fire in his blood was reaching a fever pitch, the sound so obscene of his name on your tongue, accompanied to the squelching noises of your finger pumping in and out your tight walls quickly had him looking back at your depraved little show.

As soon as you felt his gaze back on you, another finger was inserted, making yourself mewl dramatically with your back arching like a cat's, then a third finger testing the stretch of your hole around them. You were taking them so well, his breath hitched. Watching how you were fucking yourself like that ignited that primal urge in him to tackle you to the floor and replace those fingers with the thickness of his cock...

"Oh, Shouta...aahhh I love you so much...!!" You started mumbling, like begging, and it made him pitifully buck his hips into the air before he could stop himself.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Aizawa was losing his mind with the drugs maximizing his lust. His cock was so swollen and hard that it was painful, his balls begging to be emptied, just any sort of relief.

Another loud, slutty moan from you that turned into a cry, as your wobbly legs gave out and you slid onto the floor slowly, still fingering yourself you switched positions. Facing him with your legs spread as you sat on the floor, you continued fingering yourself. Now your free hand massaging your own breast, punching the nipple over the fabric of the top.

"I'm so close...ahh...." you panted, looking directly at him, your little pink tongue poking out your gaping mouth. "I'll let you go once I cum, promise."

That was what broke his control, the power of the aphrodisiac too strong to fight. In that moment Aizawa knew he had lost his sense of reason. He struggled violently against the binding rope, a gutural growl erupting from deep in his chest.

"Don't you dare finishing without my permission, you damn bitch."

The commanding tone, the brutality of his voice, you froze in place as you stared at him with wide eyes. He spoke again, glaring at you with unfiltered lust and anger he hadn't felt before. "Untie me now, I'm going to fuck you. That's what you want isn't it? Then bring your pussy over here."

The look on your face was of absolute delight, almost childish in excitement. Before he knew it, you had severed the ropes tying him to the chair with the knife you had kept tucked by the elastic of your stocking.

The sequence that followed happened so fast he barely registered it, when he roughly grabbed you by the arms with his freed hands, forcing you to drop the knife as he pushed you down onto the floor. Crawling on top, Aizawa crashed his mouth against yours, lips violently molding against yours in a desperate, almost animilastic imitation of a kiss, sloppily inserting his tongue into your eager mouth, and you returned the gesture in kind. By the time he realized what had happened, he was already rutting his erection against the gash of your pussy, groaning and whining at the delicious friction.

Breaking the kiss, leaving you with bruised lips, he plopped himself onto his knees and started unbuckling his pants, pulling out his cock that was red and raw, drooling precum like it was about to burst.

"Don't get it wrong, this is only because of your damn aphrodisiac..." He hissed above you, boring his smoldering gaze into yours, stroking his member in one hand.

Then, to his still surprise, you blurted out a hearty laugh. Deviously looking at him like the cat who got the cream.

"Oh, baby...that wasn't an aphrodisiac. It was just regular aspirin."

You admitted so honestly, and Aizawa couldn't do more than stare at you completely dumbstruck for a second. But only a second.

Immediately, you helped loudly as Aizawa unceremoniously turned you over, pulling your hips up so your perky ass was up in the air, and impaled you with his thick, hard cock in one brutal thrust. You cried again, face forced flush against the carpet floor by Aizawa's hand. His hips ruthlessly starting a furious peace, drilling himself into your tight walls without mercy.

"You...damn bitch...are you trying to make a fool of me?!"

Aizawa panted, hissing each syllable with every thrust, his heavy balls slapping against your pussy mound over and over, the dry sound mixing with the wet squelching of your sex being abused.

"Apologize. Apologize for all the trouble you've caused me."

His other hand came down on your ass so hard, the stinging pain making you scream, leaving an raw imprint of his palm on your skin. And he hit you again, and again, as he fucked you relenthlessly.

"Yessss....I'm sorrryyy!!! I'm sorrryyy!!"

You moaned and cried, pain and pleasure too much to bear, words barely making sense. Tears streamed down your cheeks and yet the expression on your face couldn't be anything but pure happiness and adoration for Aizawa. "I love you so much darlin'...aaahh!!! I couldn't help myself!!"

You were so tight and snug inside, your slippery walks tightly squeezing his cock like you didn't want to ever let go of it, he could barely keep himself from cumming too soon with how fucking good you felt.

"You don't deserve to cum." He pushed himself against your back, her larger muscular frame easily pressing your entire body against the floor as he kept fucking you.

"Say it!"

"I...don't deserve to cum!!"

"I'm going to pump you full of my seed and you are going to be grateful for even that."

"Yesssss....!!!!"

Aizawa was soon shooting a heavy load into you, all that accumulated lust from all your teasing, all your annoying chase, all the undying love you proclaimed for him and he had no idea what to do with. He responded to your feelings the only way he knew how, and thick jets of white cum shoot into your womb, painting your walls with his semen until his balls stopped throbbing.

You were full of his cum, a babbling mess looking like you had seen heaven.

Aizawa wasn't sure himself, if he was in heaven or hell.

————

"Hey! Just got a call from the police, guess which wacky villainess is causing trouble downtown today?" The voice of Mic rang into the teacher lounge, peaking his head through he door.

"I don't want to guess." Aizawa muttered softly, quickly getting up on his feet and adjusting his googles, ready to head out. "I'll take care of it."

"Why, Shouta! If I didn't know better, I'd think ya rush to go see her quite a lot these days." A teasing smile, Mic tilted his head curiously. "Did something happen between you two?"

A pause, and the hero turned around to leave.

"Don't be ridiculous."

#aizawa thirst #aizawa x reader #tw dubcon #tw kidnapping #tw drugging #tw yandere

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shinyphantomsalad · 3 years

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Back from hiatus + updates

Hey yall I'm back! I know the hiatus wasn't that long but I decided to cut it short from how long I previously had intended it to be because I finally came with terms with myself. I started to question my gender identity and my sexuality going from "am I lesbain" to "am I a trans guy" over and over and I have concluded that I am trans. There is no doubt about it. Ever since I was a child I always beloved I was a boy and I always thought I was one. I always viewed myself as a boy and I feel more than comfortable being referred to as a man. Previously in middle school I used to identify as a lesbain and I was outed in school which lead to me experiencing pretty harsh homophobia. Back then I thought I was just a butch lesbain so I dressed pretty masculine and for that I got called derogatory names, got pushed into girls locker rooms and some girl even tried to sexually assaulted in gym once. During the hiatus I started to ask myself am I really trans or am I just calling myself one because the word lesbain triggers me and by calling myself a straight man I'm just protecting myself. I ask my other trans friend who was 5 months on t about this and he said that no real lesbain has done this, if a real lesbain were to went through what I did she would still call herself a lesbain nonetheless. He also said that just because I used different lables in the past past doesn't mean I'm faking being something else right now. He helped me a lot along with other trans mutuals who also helped me come to my true trans self. Now that I'm finally back online i want to talk about something else. I realized that spreading an old very harmful ideology (truscum) was very wrong from me. Gotta be honest I mostly did it for nostalgia. During thr rough times in middle school I used kalvin garrah, flop accounts and lgbt discourse as my coping mechanism and considering I'm not not doing so good aswell right now I thought I could do the same thing to cope. I now realized that it was wrong and that I should find new ways to cope instead of arguing over who's more valid or not. So instead of making this a truscum/discourse blog I was thinking on remaking it into a trans journey art blog where I talk about my experiences and struggles as a trans guy. It would be a much better improved from my previous posts and it would be less problematic. I want to sincerely apologize to everyone that I have maybe hurt. I know that I mostly argued with terfs but I do realize that my introduction post has maybe invalidated some users. For that I am deeply sorry and I should have known better instead of forcing discourse in fandoms where people turn to for comfort. Those upset by my previous ignorant content don't have to forgive me if they don't wish so but for those who do please understand that I only did it out of ignorance and by blindness from nostalgia. I invite you to join on my new journey of positivity and trans acceptance. I want to move on from my truscum phase and finally mature as a trans person.

One more time, for all of those terfs who tried to convince me I was actually a lesbain and who misgendered me and called me a gi you are no longer welcomed here. I was a fool to think I can have civil debates with you people and possibly change your minds but all you guys do is purposely make fun of trans people by misgendering us and when we get angry you play the victim. Maybe if you guys just let trans women and trans femme people live their life freely from harrassment maybe you wouldn't have to whine about "mean" trans women calling you out on your transphobia. I'm so glad I had my trans friends to help me bring me back to my transness because I was literally about to start calling myself a lesbain (no offense lesbains) and maybe start listening to terf and radfen bs. Luckily I didn't fall to their trap.

Anyway if you have read through all of this thank you and have an awesome day 🏳️‍⚧️

#trans #transgender #ftm #mtf #truscum #tucute #trans discourse #trans guy #lgbt #lgbt discourse #terfs dni

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tylerromeo · 3 years

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I guess I kind of just had my egg cracking moment about 16 days ago

Did I use that right?

(Edit to add: last night I had 3 separate dreams after waking for toilet each time and in every one I was transitioning and was a boy

When I woke up i had to post something because I feel like I cant ignore it and push it away anymore)

I was talking with my partner about my childhood and how i remember certain things

Such as:

- I hated wearing anything girly dresses skirts or frills

- I never wanted to play with the girls I only ever had friends that were boys and

remember being SO jealous of them

- my one good friend Joshua gave me a pair of his batman jocks so that I could have some boy underwear to wear (I cherished them so much)

- i remember the first time my mum let me wear jeans and a button up shirt and converse to church and I was so elated and excited. I was running along the street, watching myself running in the windows of the shops and feeling like THATS ME!!!

- I distinctly remember at my friend's parents wedding i was so jealous of Joshua's suit/tux. I watched him and the other boys playing in their suit pants and shirts and bow ties feeling so ugly and stupid in my frilly dress

- as a teen I never got into the regular stuff girls liked make-up and boy bands and spice Girls etc

- I was into punk music and the pop punk scene and I loved dressing in that attire because it was so gender neutral and masc

- I remember when I went behind my mums back and cut my long hair off (it was down to my bum)

My mum was so angry at me but I was SO HAPPY I couldn't stop looking at myself with my short hair

- I remember praying every night that I'd wake up with a penis

- I uses to stand to pee ALWAYS when I was a kid

- whenever we would play pretend games I always played as a boy ALWAYS

- I used to get so.angry when I was told I was pretty or beautiful

- I had a flat chest for a long time and never wore a bra until I was bullied for it in year 8

I remember when I woke up and my chest had grown substantially and I cried and cried and refused to go to.school.

- I am very dysphoric about my chest but I thought it was okay with my downstairs parts but I was definitely asexual because yuck!

But now I believe i have bottom dysphoria and that's why the penetration part made me feel so gross all these years?

Being on the autism spectrum made growing up difficult because I learnt to mimic social things and realised ok i have to be more girly so I would force myself to be feminine but it made me so miserable

I thought I had to be a straight female as thats how I was born physically and the men I dated pushed for my femininity to be more prominent and so I did just that and I never felt happy.

I felt like an imposter in that costume.

I went through many transitions from femme to masc and back again throughout my young adult years settling somewhere in the NB spectrum

I've always stated to friends "I'm more masculine than feminine" as a way to establish my masc presence among the as "one of the boys" and I hate being singled out for example when they'd say "hey guys and Jess" or hey lads and girls just because I was in the chat on a game or whatever I HATE THAT

Never did I realise that these things could mean I'm trans until recently at 33 years old

I feel angry and upset that I have wasted all these years I guess?

I also keep talking myself out of it like im 33 I can't just realise now that I'm a trans man that's also gay, like how could I NOT know that?!

But I guess maybe I always did but no one heard me

I hope this can help someone else who is questioning and I guess I'm looking for advice if you have any?

peace and love

Tyler

#trans #ftm transition #transgender #ftm positivity #ftm pride #ftm transman #gender struggles #gender identity #genderqueer #gender crisis #ftmover30 #trans stuff #trans life #transgender problems #questioning #am i trans?#im a real boy

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missingartist · 4 years

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The Witcher’s Mate Chapter 17

Adva woke to the birds singing cheerfully outside. It was far later then she would normally wake, the sun now perched high in the sky and a few rays broke through the chinks in the heavy blue curtains that shielded the room from the offending brightness. She was one her side, but behind her, there was a heavy heat blanketing back and legs with a welcoming warmth. Groggily she turned her head to find the sleeping Witcher contently slumbering behind her. As impossible as it was, he looked even more gorgeous, silver hair fanned out across his pillow as lightly he snored. The events of last night came hurtling back to her, causing to bite her lip and cast her eye over the man beside her. Never did she think the night would end with Geralt confessing his feelings or the dry humping, her face redded as she moved to squeeze together her thighs and felt the sticky wetness that dripped from her core. Turning slightly she gazed at the mans sleeping face, he looks peaceful and happy, the corners of lips tugged slightly upwards, the dark circles under his eyes were nearly gone and the fever mostly absent, just the gentle warmth that cocoons him.

Hissing slightly, she felt the strap of her bodice dig further into the dress. Sliding quietly off the bed, she slipped from Geralt grasp and to the little chamber off from his room. The room was illuminated by a wall rectangle window at the top of the room, just enough light to allow someone to care for their daily ablutions but not big enough that anyone could look in. Adva could barely face her reflection in the mirror without a giggle; her lips were red and slightly bruised, hair a wild nest of bed head which she managed to smooth into something a little more presentable, she was sure her eyes look bluer. Her dress was ruined, totally unsalvageable. The netting of the skirts had been ripped and pulled from the bodice; the bodice has been mauled by Geralt explore hands, but she could bring herself to care that much.

Moving behind the screen, careful hands peeled off the tight bodice, sighing in relief. Pouring the water into the washbasin, she dapped the damp cloth across her skin the best she could. Washing the mess from her thighs was the most laborious task, but it gave her time to contemplate what she should do. Should she quietly return to her room? Or slip back into bed with him? Or breezily announce she was leaving. Having limited experience of this left her at a loss, the whole ettiquict was not something she understood. The woman mind cast back over the confession. Geralt seemed genuine hurt when he thought he disgusted her.

‘I. Adore. You.’ The word repeated again and again in her head. What did they even mean? Did he just want a light and casual thing, or was it serious?

Her head hurt, rolling her eye she slipped on her dress, pulling a face as the bodice refused to do up, she pulled one of the Geralt shirts from on top of the dressing screen and pulled it over the top of the running dress. With a deafening, screech jostled her from her thought to reveal a frowning Witcher.

‘Arghhhh Geralt doesn’t do that you frightened me.’ Adva squealed, pulling her cloth tighter around her.

‘You left the bed.’ Scowled the Witcher

‘Is that a question or a statement? Generally, its what people do at some point in their life.’ Adva laughed awkwardly, franticly attempting to fastener borrowed shirt around her while keeping her eyes trained on the man in front of her

‘I mean you left the bed before I woke up.... that not very becoming for a young lady to leave her lover in bed….’ Geralt pulled away and sniffed the air. ‘have you washed’ he growled stepping forward and encircling his arms around her, burying his face in her neck ‘hmmm I don’t like that you washed the scent of us off.’

‘Well maybe we could do it again….’ Adva shyly offered to pull back to. Geralt smirked and leaned forward. ‘After I have a bath.’

‘Woman, you tease.’

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

God bless Triss. The bath had been already prepared. The fact that Triss knew she would need a bath and did not make it back to her room was not something she wanted to entirely think about, but it was welcome. Tossing a handful of baths salts, she pulled a pile of clean clothes from the closet and set them on a chair. Looking at the marks on her skin, a small blush flushed against her cheek, and her heart swelled, this was the happiest she had felt in a long time, hell the happiest she had ever been. Pulling the various oils onto the counter, she sorted through them. The oils where a collection that Triss had presented her with when she first arrived, along with several dresses and perfumes. Laying out the rest of her provision on the counters, she caught sight of a pair of violet eyes staring murderously at her in the mirror.

‘Well, well well, you are not what I expected. So, you are the Witcher Wife. Aren’t you a pretty thing? But not pretty enough. I don’t have all day; tell me the enchantment you use.’ A bronzed skin woman spat at her.

‘What enchantment? Who are you? Get out!’ Adva span around, eyes are running over the woman in front of her.

The strange woman was dressed elegantly. The finely embroidered dress clung to her slim, willowy figure, a clash of black and white was woven into a stunning dress fit for a queen. Yet for all her beauty, they were a murderous look etched on her face, make her look bird-like, with her gaze unmoving and unwavering.

‘Don’t give me that you little bitch’ The woman snarled, and a blast of energy burst from her sending her crashing through the floor.

The flesh of her back slammed with use force she though he had been split in two. Blood rushed through her ears like the sound of a ranging ocean.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jaskier curses the Witch with all his being. He has awoken with a feeling of great relief that the plan had worked, that Adva and Geralt were together. Jaskier was not proud, but he had slipped into the house a while after Geralt had left to hear the soft moans of pleasure drifting through the house. Now he was having to carefully peel a dazed Adva off a pile of rubble all because of that demented Harpy. Pale blues eyes watched as bruised has started to bloom against her pale skin and cuts wept a crimson that smeared across her skin.

‘What happened? Adva blinked up, ‘If Geralt alright?’

Jaskier stared down her with sadness, with Yennefer around he knew Geralt would not be able to withstand her predatory charms and Adva would be cast out. A bubble of anger gripped down in the pit of his stomach. It honestly he had thought Adva would be different, but it hadn't been, it was the same as it would always be, Yennefer would whistle, and he would come chasing after her, he was a fool for believing it would be different. At that minute he hated Geralt, he should just whisk Adva away and pray their paths never cross again.

‘Yennefer blasted you through two stories of the house.’ Ciri broke in as came to stand in the doorway, looking down as the tattered women laying on a pile of stones and splintered wood.

‘Yennefer?...Why?…Help me up.’ Adva coughed, a trickled of blood escaping from her mouth. Jaskier looked worriedly over at Ciri who hung back, undecided whether to interfere.

The small was not what Ciri was expecting, not at all. She expected some tall slinking femme fatal. Instead, she was presented with the plump curvy figured woman with deep blue eyes. She also thought that she would have Geralt tied in some dungeon in a stupor, but he wasn’t. He was with Triss Merigold, in her home while both of them tried to calm a very aggressive mage down. Ciri’s light blue eyes run over the woman again in curiosity, never had she seen Geralt use any signs on Yennefer. He usually let her rage and rant till she stopped, but now he was throwing every spell he knew to calm the rampant mage from a second attack on the dazed girl.

Limping slowly, she was relied heavily on Jaskier to support her as she moved. Her whole body ached as she moved. The house was messy; walls where broken, furniture shattered and the marble of the tiled floor drug up in giant patches. Had she lost consciousness? Adva brain was foggy, and she could focus on anything for more then a couple of seconds, she would have remembered this happening surely? The noise alone at least.

‘Yennefer stop! Stop your going to kill her. She his soulmate’ Triss screamed at the top of her voice.

Lifting a very heavy head, she glanced the scene in front of her. The violet eyes woman was pinned against the chimney stack, the mage and the Witcher either side, crowding her submission, for the moment at least. The sound of Triss’s voice ricocheted around the inside of her head with such force she thought she might shoot out again through her ears. Wincing, her tentatively touched her head, bright red blood smear across her fingers. Sucking in a breath, she recoiled with sickness as she forced her misty eyes to focus on the conversation ahead of her

‘You can’t be serious! That creature? She has enchanted you!’ Yennefer chortled her beautiful face twisted in disgust.

‘Yennefer. Listen to me she had not enchanted Geralt. They are soulmates; I checked their bond myself. I used the blood trace Yen; there is no way she could create something that powerful to connect them in that way.’ Triss countered.

‘It not possible.’ Yennefer gritted out, a burst of wind crashed through the window sending papers Triss was holding flying across the room. It was such a force that it pushed her and Jaskier back, papers getting struct to their bodies.

‘We don’t know how or why but Cersi brought these two together. We think it about something to do with her book. Adva is important. She has an Arcana to protect her…we know that Adva is not human just don’t know what. We have spent the last Goddess knows how many weeks trying to find that out. We think that it has intensified the bond somehow. I know your hurt but stop; you kill her you kill Geralt.’ Triss pleaded to throw Adva red bound journal to the mage.

Geralt had her book all this time, and she was his soulmate. Soulmates were partnered souls, Adva brain hurt but she could vaguely recall something in a book Triss had made her read. If Geralt was her soulmate if such a thing truly existed, why not be with her a less he didn’t want to be because he wanted to be with Yennefer. Then why keep her around. Was everything just an attempt to sleep with her even though he clearly had feelings for Yennefer. A thousand thoughts passed through her head, and it made her feel weak, her leg slackened at the feeling and Jaskier grunt under the extra weight.

‘Yen I tried but I can’t… you have to understand…. Just stop.’ Geralt grunted.

The pain in his voice was evident. It was broken and tired. A surge of nausea washed over her; she was stupid and foolish; she should have gone with her first instinct. Of course, he didn’t want her. Of course, he couldn’t when he had someone like Yennefer. He was being forced. A pang of raw guilt knarred at her, he had tried to fight it. He probably resented her. Adva both hated and pitied him at the same time. For making her think that he could want her, for lying to her and for wanting to be with someone else. For bring her to Triss to be taught when she was really just being kept amused. Sheer panic rose in the pit of her stomach; bile rose in her throat.

‘You are really picking her over me. Someone you are forced to be with.’ Yennefer sniffed.

‘It’s not like that Yen, and you know it.’ Geralt spoke calmly but clearly.

‘It doesn’t have to be’ the willowy women whipped across the short distance between them and planted her lips on his.

It was short and passionate. For a brief second, Adva thought he would pull away in disgust, but he didn’t. From where she was standing, she could only see the back of Geralt, but it was enough. It was enough that he didn’t move away. It only lasted seconds, but to Adva it said everything that she wanted to know. Yennefer pulled back; her face was pinched and dejected as she backed away her violet eyes coming to focus on Adva.

‘You little bitch.’ Yennefer bite out lowly as she fingered the red book, looking over at the woman in defiance.

‘Adva…’ Geralt grunted out as he pushed his way passed Triss, his face was a swirl of emotion, which seemed so strange against the usual blank expression.

‘Adva wait’ cooed Triss.

But Adva ignored them, pulling her body away from Jaskier and back out the doorway they had been standing in. Tears weald up ran down her face before she turned and limped away, Jaskier shot a scathing look at the trio as he rushed off in chase of her, Ciri gave the three a lingering look before following.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adva fingering a fading cut on her palm, she knew it had been to clean to be from that night by the fire, but from a knife to draw blood for whatever spell they need to cast. She should have questioned it along with several other things, but she was too caught up in the sheer thrill of learning proper magic that she hadn’t wanted to. Signing, she squared her shoulder and glanced around her room. It was in chaos. The very little she had was destroyed, it broke her heart to see all the clothes she had accumulated in the last couple of month in tatters. Even the leather under corset was ruined. Torn in half by some stray fragment of wood.

‘Are you okay?’ Jaskier asked, cuddling his lute to his chest.

Both Jaskier and Ciri watched as Adva picked through the ruins of her belonging

‘Yeah, I am fine.’

‘Are you sure as I think if I had just found out, I was not human, Geralt was my soulmate, and Yennefer had tried to murder me, I think I would be freaking out. I mean when Yennefer tried to kill me, I think freaking out was an understatement.’ Jaskier pondered.

‘I am just an idiot…foolish girl.’ Adva wavered and gave a watery smile. ‘I will be fine….just a little banged up.’

Ciri shared a look with the bard; it was a knowing look. If she had been Adva walking in at the precise moment, she would have been upset too. She had been there the exact moment Yennefer felt their bond break, she was enraged calling Geralt every name under the sun but as they travelled word of the Witcher Wife spread which fuelled Yennefer to find out what sort of enchantment could break a Jinn’s magic. Love was a very strange thing. But Ciri gave the girl a sorrowful smile as the woman held a ruined bundle of clothes to small cut at the side of her head.

‘I haven’t introduced you to Adva of Brightwater this is Princess Ciri….’ Jaskier merriness died on his lips as Adva blankly blinked at them still pressing the tattered scraps of her material to the side of her head.

‘You're not going to blast me through the wall, are you?’ Adva slowly asked, wincing at the pressure she applied the cut.

‘No…I am sorry about Yennefer; she can be a little bit of a…’ Ciri hesitated, unsure what to say or do, glancing for support at her friend.

‘Harpy? Bitch? Murderous Hag?’ Jaskier offered causing Ciri to laugh, eyeing the other girl in the hope of a reaction but nothing, but return to her searching.

Ciri watched the woman shift through her belonging. She was very pretty, with a very satisfying body, different from Yennefer but she had seen Geralt go through all types. However, in her long relationship with the man, his women always seemed to be…outspoken and forthcoming. The Witcher was not one for teases and disliked the chase. Adva seemed innocent and untouched, very much the virginal type that Geralt didn’t normally go for. Maybe there was something in this whole soulmate thing she pondered.

‘I need to have a bath.’ The curly hair women winced as she bent down to gather the little pile underwear. ‘Could I use you bathroom Jaskier? Mine is a bit…destroyed.’ Adva gestured to the collapsed floor as a door swang clumsily on one hinge.

Jaskier nodded silently, and two pairs of eyes followed her as she scurried away.

‘Right Jaskier explain everything.’ Ciri snapped.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The marks on her skin were still visible, she remembered the tenderness of his touches, and the painstaking sweetest that he lavished on her was excruciating beautiful, but now looking at them made her feel hollow and empty. Slipping off her clothes was harder than anticipated, the dried blood coated her skin and pulled as she attempted to rid herself of the clothing. If the dress hadn’t been ruined by activity last night, it was now. Glancing at the mirror she was reminded of what had happened, the feelings she felt, the way Geralt had felt. The way he acted towards the morning after made her feel wanted, to think it was all fake burnt her. Why didn’t he tell her? Was she really that bad he did not want to tell her? Adva knew the answer, and she refused to dwell on it a moment longer.

Removing the last of her clothes she pulled a stray page that had stuck to her from the pages that the had been in Triss’s hand from the shirt she had borrowed from Geralt, Cersi messy scrawled smeared across the page. It detailed placing her it ‘suitable accommodation’ and how she reacted to her placement in a brothel. Her whole life had been an endly string of manipulation, of being prodded and poked and used. Bitterly she thought she had gotten away from that with Geralt and Jaskier, escaped to a place where she was just Adva, but she was wrong. Her sole purpose was because she was Geralt’s mate or soulmate whatever that meant when he clearly would have preferred Yennefer, the honeyed skin siren. Her mind replayed the scene in front of her, his tone when he talked to the other mage and the kiss. The kiss broke her. She didn’t know who she was the angriest at, Geralt for lying to her or herself for falling for it. Geralt hadn’t really wanted to be with her. They even looked good together, both tall and statuesque; she didn’t fit in with that.

Climbing into the cold water, she was too exhausted to heat it and scrubbed her skin raw till she could no longer smell any of his scent on her skin she wanted to erase any reminder of their night. But the scent still lingered, throwing the cloth against the wall Adva screamed into her hand. It was the kind of silent scream; an angry scream as invisible sobs wracked her body. A sadness waged within her, along with an undercurrent of repulsion. It was quite clear that Geralt preferred Yennefer to her. For a while she allowed herself to wallow in self-pity. The whole revelation that she was not human was a surprise but not something unexpected that was always something different about her something that Tradi took great joy in exploring, her mind went to Cersi notes she most probably knew something about her she was the reason she was placed in the brothel, the reason Geralt took her. A swirl of resentment toward Cersi swelled. Why should she been controlled and manipulated for the whim of mages who didn’t care for her, she was worth more than that. If she could survive Tradi, she could survive anything. Yes, it hurt and would hurt for a long time, but why should she be the one wallowing in self-pity. If Geralt wanted to be with Yennefer he could, she would be okay whatever happened she knew that. That what she thought as she curled up to on the side of the tub and buried her head into her knees.

Sorry this chapter was late! Very busy week with birthdays and work.

So what do we think? I know I am a horrible person but blame Yennefer!

Some interesting chapters coming up so please stay tuned- I promise that Adva will be kicking ass soon.

@ayamenimthiriel @uncoolcloudyhead @multixwolf @shesthelastjedi -Your comments made me so happy

Please let me know what you think!

@sageandberries-png @wastingmypotential @luxyash @whitespring21 @ayamenimthiriel @crazynocturnalkiki @wonderlandfandomkingdom @shesthelastjedi @broco8 @introvertedmouse @threepupsinapuddle

I hope everyone is safe and well. With all the terrible things that are going on the world seem terrifying and uncertain place but please remember. Three things Faith, Hope and Love. But the greatest of these is love.

#the witcher #witcher netflix #thewitcher #netflix the witcher #witcher 3 #geralt x reader #witcher geralt #geralt smut #Geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt oc

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jdeowrites · 3 years

Text

Baby’s First Book Deal

Sooo… about that YA contemporary I’ve been working on.

(x)

As a young teen, I devoured countless books, TV shows and movies where girls living in fantasy worlds were forced into skin-revealing dresses; where girls in dystopias and apocalypses shed clothes for romantic scenes; where girls in contemporary settings changed into swimsuits for an impromptu swim, all without any warning beforehand. And I couldn’t help but wonder, didn’t they ever worry about their body hair showing? Did they get waxed in between chapters and it just wasn’t worth mentioning by the author? Or was this something that didn’t matter to most people? Or did these girls just not have body hair? I remember reading The Hunger Games and thinking it was a breath of fresh air when Katniss was waxed and plucked to be deemed pretty for the Capitol. Finally it was on the page. So maybe it wasn’t all in my head after all.

But I knew it wasn’t just in my head, because the only other time I saw body hair on femme people was when it was played off for laughs. Understandably, this all really screwed with me growing up. So maybe it’s no surprise that eventually I would decide to write a book about it.

Fast forward to early 2019: I emailed my agent with a couple of new book ideas including: “high school debaters (I used to be on the debate team and there's so much potential drama!) and body hair beauty standards for girls. Possibly both in the same book?”

I held my breath when I sent that. I needn’t have worried; she was really into the idea. I started writing it in June 2019. Which was also the start of what I suspected was going to be a very challenging school year (I was right about that for more reasons than I knew at the time). I did this on purpose because I thought it would be a light, fun book to escape into. I was partially right. It was really fun to write all the high school drama, debating, and romance. It did help me through some hard times. But it was also unexpectedly painful.

Because it was so personal. In order to confront the issue of body hair, I had to confront the shame and stigma and subconscious biases drilled into me my whole life. I had to analyze my own concept of what beauty is, and its significance to a person’s self-worth, their worth in the eyes of others, and how those things overlap. And digging so deep into my own trauma was excruciating. I had to force myself to do it sometimes… and to write it without a filter. There were times that I’d re-read a passage and think, "This is too much. I should tone it down a bit." But those were the times it was most important to me to keep going.

It was March 2020, the early days of the pandemic, when I had a draft I had run by betas and felt good about sending to my agent. I was so nervous. Was the subject matter too cringey? Would it be too unrelatable for most people? Was it even marketable?

Well, my agent loved it a lot. She said it made her cry. Which made me cry. It was just such a relief to know that someone else could identify with this book I had been so honest in, that I had poured some of the most personal parts of my soul into.

We went on submission that summer (for the uninitiated, that means your agent submits your book to editors at publishing houses. AND THEN YOU WAIT.). I had a good feeling about it, but as always I tried to manage my expectations. That didn’t stop me checking my email every 5 seconds but, you know. An effort was made.

We were nearly two months into sub when It Happened. I won’t bore you with the details of my life, but I was in the middle of a 26 hour shift when I got an email from my agent: “Call me!” Is all she said (oh the suspense). I sort of knew at that point. I stared at that email for quite a while, debating whether to wait until the next day when I was off work to get in touch, because as it was I knew I could become busy at any moment. But I couldn’t wait, of course. Patience? I don’t know her. Anyway, I called my agent.

She told me we had an offer, and proceeded to read it out loud. Cue me crying silently in a tiny windowless room. Literal happy tears dripping down my chin as she talked, which has never happened to me before. I didn’t know how to process it. It was a surreal night after that.

Then we let other people who had the manuscript know, and suddenly there were more editors from different houses who wanted to talk! The next week was… a lot. Along with having a series of calls with a bunch of editors, all of whom I loved to pieces, I was also dealing with a 50+ hour work week, prepping for an exam, writing the exam (in the middle of which a preempt offer came in), an 11 hour road trip, and moving to a new city. I’ll probably remember that week for the rest of my life for the utter chaos it was… but hey, it all worked out. (also, funny thing: my deal announcement came out in the middle of a cross-country road trip. publishing stuff only happens when I’m busy, apparently!).

And now I get to say words I’ve only dreamed of: My debut novel will be published in summer 2022 by Viking, an imprint of Penguin Random House! Although it’s been a long time since I received this news, every so often I remember that it’s HAPPENING—that I get to go on this journey of publication, of being a debut author—and it feels brand-new and exciting all over again. There’s so much to look forward to! And I have so many more stories I’m excited to tell.

But I’m glad this book will be my debut. Somewhere along my process of research, writing, learning, and discussing with others, this story changed the way I viewed myself. I had not thought that would happen—I set out to write this story for other people, not for me. But it happened anyway.

My singular hope for my debut novel is that it can do that for someone else. If just one hairy girl picks up this book and understands there was nothing ever wrong with them, everything was worth it. Everything. I hope that happens.

And if not, well, this book has already changed one person’s life: mine.

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antiyourwokehomophobia2 · 3 years

Note

You said we can ask you questions so here goes( hope they arent invasive)

-at what age did u realise u were lesbian?was it easy/hard to accept?

-how was your coming out like? How did your family and friends react?

-were you ever/are you religious?do u believe one can balance between being homosexual and religious?

- were you always masc or is it something that came with accepting your sexuality?

-do you call yourself a stud?

- how hard/easy has it been being an out and proud black lesbian?

- thoughts on the stigma against stud4stud/butch4butch lesbians

-were you ever a TRA/libfem? If yes, what made you peak?

-ive had ppl talk about how masc lesbians being touch-me-nots is problematic/toxic and how its more about upholding a "status" than it is about preference. What do you make of that?

Not invasive at all! I'm happy to answer and thank you for asking :).

- I realized I was a lesbian at age 12 when I developed a HUGE crush on my gorgeous English teacher. I also got a small crush on a girl in one of my classes. I didn't grow up around much homophobia so it wasn't hard for me to accept that I was gay but what was hard was the absolute intensity of my feelings towards my teacher. I used to pray to god to have my feelings for her taken away because they were just so intense and I didn't know how to handle them (she was my teacher so I clearly wasn't going to ask her out. There was literally no outlet for what I was feeling so I kept it bottled.). My parents never brought up gay people in any positive or negative way and the kids I grew up around didn't really either. So me being gay wasn't something I beat myself up over. Once I accepted that I wasn't an overly invested straight ally, the road to acceptance was a peace of cake tbh.

-My coming out was... Well. I first started coming out to my friends when I was 13 and they were accepting of it. It honestly wasn't that interesting to tell you the truth 😅. All the peers that I gave a shit about never gave me shit for being gay. I never lost a friend for being gay. Coming out to my parents took me until I was 16 and the reason for that is because I genuinely didn't know how they'd react. Like I said, they never said anything about gay people point blank period. However, I was kind of forced to come out one particular night because my heart had been fucking shattered by a girl I was strongly crushing on at the time. I was pacing up and down my house, my best friend wasn't answering me, I could hear my dad's TV playing, it was late, I was tired, I couldn't sleep, I had school tomorrow, I was freaking out, I was devastated... I wanted to be comforted so I went to my father, threw my head into his arm and started telling him how my heart felt broken. He asked me if I had a boyfriend and when I said "nope" there was some silence and he was like "it's okay, I've known for a long time". I never actually said the words "gay" or "lesbian" during my coming out but I guess I didn't need to. The next morning, my father asked if it was okay if he could go tell my mom and I said yes. Long story short, my mom was even less surprised than my dad and she's the more progressive of the two so it wasn't really an issue (though she did tell me to keep an open mind in terms of liking men 😅 she seems to think I'm bisexual which is whatever because she never bothers me about it).

-Hmm. I don't like to completely cut out religion from my life. My father was extremely religious and now that he's gone, I feel it's disrespectful for me to say God doesn't exist. Like, "dad, you spent practically your whole life believing wholeheartedly in God but guess what! It was a waste and the thing you dedicated your life is something I think is a fairytale!" that doesn't sit right with me at all. I've been baptized and I used to go to church when I was younger. I think that there's no reason to shake my head at the possibility of a God. In terms of being gay and believing in God, I once watched a video by a devout Christian gay man who went through all the homophobic stuff Christians love to quote from the bible and gave the actual meaning behind them. I, personally, do not think that God is homophobic. I think that God's love is not something we have the capacity to understand. So, I, personally, think Christian gay people are perfectly fine and are already balanced. Here's to hoping that they stay away from homophobic churches!

-No, I wasn't always masc. As a child I was a huge girly girl. Like, legit, I wasn't a tomboy in the slightest lmao. I'm not sure when I started being masc. But what I do know is that I've grown far more masc over the years. I used to not want to dress too manly (no tuxedo's and no clothes from the men's section and no boxers) but nowadays I love all of those things and that's genuinely what I want in my wardrobe so I have no problem going into the men's section for my clothes.

-No, I don't call myself a stud. Love those guys though. The label I feel that's most accurate for me is masc.

-Um, I'm not sure how to answer this since I don't have experience being any other kind of lesbian. I guess it's just kind of tiring. I'm black, female, and homosexual. That's a LOT of different topics to give my attention to. The hardest part of being a black lesbian is knowing who to give my camaraderie to. Do I give it to black women? Black women AND black men? Lesbians? Only black lesbians? The lgb community as a whole? It's just a lot to think about. I will say, though, I think that it's a lot harder to be a masc black lesbian than a white one. Black women are already perceived as manly just based off of our skin color. So for me to willingly present masc can often be... A non-pretty picture in the eyes of society and I'm hyper-aware of that which is why I often have trouble going all out with the wardrobe I truly desire. That's my biggest challenge navigating the world as the black lesbian that I am. On a more positive note though, it's great being a black lesbian because I can have an opinion on everything and nobody can tell me I'm being racist/homophobic/sexist or stepping outside of my lane 😂. I'm on a three-lane road motherfucker and I'm not afraid to use all of them.

-my thoughts are that you should leave people alone. I will say though, I once read something that was like "if you call yourself a femme but the idea of being with a butch disgusts you, you're not a femme, you're just a feminine lesbian" and that rang true to me so it feels hypothetical (and nonsensical) if the reverse wasn't true as well. If a butch/stud shits on femmes and assumes they can't be as feminine as they are and ACTUALLY gay then I do have a problem. Butches and femmes have a history that's damn near inseparable from each other so for a butch to shit on femmes... I'd argue that they're probably not butch but instead just masculine lesbians. However, I don't care if two butches or studs want to date lmao. All the power to them, I hope they're happy.

-I definitely used to support trans rights more than I do now. I would correct people who misgendered others. I thought trans women were women. I was in support of bathroom laws. I never made posts about it, but I very much did believe it. Magdalen berns made me peak. I started realizing that gender makes no sense. I did some research and came to the conclusions I hold today. Even when I want to go back to my ignorance, I can't because I've seen too much by now.

-I honestly don't know. I think that some masc lesbians don't want to be put in that "feminine" position of being touched by their partner. It could stem from upholding a status but at the end of the day, sexual boundaries are sexual boundaries. What are you gonna do? Force your touch on to them? Yikes. Leave them be. If you're upset about your partner not wanting to be touched by you then get a new one. Clearly you're not sexually happy so leave. I don't think it's necessarily toxic unless they think there's something inherently demeaning in being touched by their partner or they do want to be touched but won't allow themselves due to trauma or feeling like there's a certain persona they must uplift. Other than that though, I don't see the issue.

Thanks for the questions, buddy ❤️

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thetranstraveler · 3 years

Text

2 days till school and some of my insight on my gender identity

Hi travelers, welcome back to the chaotic blog of a trans teen.

I am more excited than nervous for school now, I am feeling like I am myself for the first time ever. Before I never wanted to go back to school, I didn’t know it at the time but it was because I presented myself as male and had to do it for months on end. On top of being misgendered and using my brith name for everything. But this year is different because I have finally realized who I truly am, I do want to talk more about this because I know people who are struggling with their gender who don’t feel trans enough or who question it.

I feel that gender is a spectrum like many people feel, you can’t just be fully one thing. For me it feels like there is this little compass inside of me and the poles are masculine and feminine. Most days it will be leaning towards feminine with a bit of masculine, but there are times when it will change. The days when I feel more masc* it will change everything from the way I talk/walk to the way I dress and present myself, this is the same with days when I feel more femm*. Then there are the days in between, where I don’t feel either or feel both at the same time. The compass inside me doesn’t always point at one pole, it’s ever changing like the tides. Sometimes it will stay on one side for days at a time but will change in the middle of a day, I have come to accept this fact. Even thought it changes I am still the same person, I am still Quinn and use She/Her pronouns but how femm or masc I feel will change. This doesn’t invalid who I am or how I feel, nor does it invalidate the fact that I am still trans. Just because some days you don’t feel good doesn’t mean you are ill, it’s just a different day. This is the same for gender identity, it can change and should change. No one should for themselves to be the same forever, forcing yourself to stay the same no matter what is how you get hurt. Believe me I have been there and done it, don’t want to repeat it.

Gn Travelers, stay safe and love y’all -Quinn <3 (She/Her)

*using from now on as short hand instead of writing masculine/feminine

#txt #txtpost #not a shitpost #lgbtq #trans #transgirl #staysafe

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coldshrugs · 3 years

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I WANT TO ASK THEM ALL FOR ALL OF THEM AAAAA but i shall restrain myself; 10, 14, 21 for ulysse bc I neglect her in these memes. [optional bonus round] divvy up these between any other characters you wanna talk about; 1, 5, 19, 27. Yes, this is restraint.

OKAY I’M FINALLY GETTING TO THESE! Thank you and you know I would never ask you to restrain yourself 😂

10. What energizes and drains them most?

Ulysse is energized most by solitude. As a ranger, she enjoys the time spent alone in the wilderness; it’s where she feels most at ease. She’s one of those people that’s never bored with their own company and often prefers it over the mediocre company of others.

Ulysse is drained most by Astarion.

14. What do they care deeply about? What kind of loyalties, commitments, moral codes, life philosophies, passions, callings, or spirituality and faith do they have? How do these tend to be expressed?

This is tough because Ulysse is like... incredibly neutral. She cares about her own health and safety, and that of her friends and loved ones (she has few of those). Her morals change depending on the situation but she tries to go with whatever feels right or interesting at the time.

Still, when she does feel a streak of loyalty to someone, she’s all in. It’s expressed with 100% trust. She’ll always have their back.

21. What kind of relationships do they tend to intentionally seek out versus actually cultivate? What kind of social contact do they prefer, and why?

In case it’s been left to doubt, she doesn’t intentionally seek out relationships 😂

That doesn’t mean she hasn’t had to cultivate any. She’s on good terms with many hunters and druids. She speaks with animals and enjoys the bonds she forms with them. As for preferred social contact, she prefers it to be good-natured and temporary.

She has family back in Baldur’s Gate that she sees on her occasional stops into the city. She loves them but they’re not enough to keep her from her solitary lifestyle, and they’ve never tried to stop her.

And of course, lately, she has had to cultivate bonds with her ragtag group of companions. She finds things to respect in all of them, even if she can’t find things to like about some of them.

I’ll answer the rest briefly for my four current head tenants!

1. How do they move and carry themselves? Pace, rhythm, gestures, energy?

Effie: Walks with a steady, confident gait; not quite a swagger but she’s not afraid to really take up the small space she occupies. Her energy varies wildly between a bit gloomy or bright and chipper and depends entirely on the company. She doesn’t really gesture with her hands, but her face often betrays her true emotions unless she’s in Swindle Mode.

Cleo: Bouncy, bubbly quick steps. Light on her feet. Emotive and quick to smile, and gestures with her hands when speaking. She’s touchy as well, so she’ll reach out to her conversational partners or even grab an object for a prop.

Io: She’s so lanky but moves with THE MOST grace you’ve ever seen. There are no wasted actions with Io. There’s a certain restraint there, too, because she’s almost never totally comfortable around others. Her hands are often still, arms usually crossed.

Ulysse: She’s got a VERY quiet footfall and a sort of danger about her presence. There’s a cat-like element to her movements. She’s not very emotive, but her eyes are always busy, always taking in her surroundings. Often, her hands are on her hips, ready to grab a dagger or an axe.

5. How do they dress? What styles, colors, accessories, and other possessions do they favor? Why?

Effie: A blousy top and dark corset-y jerkin, fitted but stretchy pants, and black lace-up boots that hit just above the ankle and probably have a small heel. Or at least, that’s what she’ll wear once she’s in Velantis and can afford to dress in clothes for the aesthetic. Think like, slightly more femme Renfri from the Netflix version of The Witcher and you’ve got Effie’s look. She likes muted, dark colors; burgundy, navy, plum, and black. As for accessories: she has a few ear piercings on both ears and she prefers silver jewelry in those; sometimes she’ll wear a scarf (in case she needs to wipe away blood), and then she’d consider her dagger and sword accessories too.

Cleo: Cleo's style is all about breezy fabrics, simple silhouettes, and rich colors and patterns. She's not afraid to show skin and the weather usually permits it. To accessorize, she adds layered necklaces and a staple pair of earrings, sometimes pulling sheer patterned tights into a less busy look. When the weather cools, her usual wardrobe just gets a sweater or cardigan thrown on top and she might consider adding thick solid black tights under her skirt and boots. Cleo doesn’t own pants tbh.

Io: Oh man, Io’s gone through a few style changes in her time. I like to think the more comfortable she becomes with her place in Eorzea, the more comfortable she dresses? She’s not trying to impress anyone at this point in her journey, so she’s in drapey fabrics, practical boots, and her legs are mostly free. It’s a look she can fight in if she needs to, but it’s also something she can wear around the Rising Stones with her friends and show off her personality. She’s currently decked out in chunky jewelry as well.

Ulysse: Hmm, Ulysse doesn’t really have “style” tbh. Everything she wears must be practical. She’s got no use for anything less. She favors earth tones- greens, yellows, browns. But her clothes are sturdy, warm, and allow her to move quickly and quietly.

19. How do they behave within a group? What role(s) do they take? Does this differ if they know and trust the group, versus finding themselves in a group of strangers? Why?

Effie: She’s going to default to a Follower With Opinions unless forced into a leadership role. She’s might be confident in her abilities, but she isn’t confident about how others will react to her. With Aeran, they’re often on equal footing and will just throw ideas back and forth until something they both agree on sticks. In all groups, she’s a bit of a peacekeeper but likes to share her sense of humor.

Cleo: Oh she’s immediately going to turn into the Mom Friend. Cleo’s extremely nurturing and wants everyone around her to feel cared for. In a group of strangers, she’s probably not going to be as talkative but she’d still find a way to check in on someone feeling even more awkward than she does.

Io: Please don’t make her talk. Please don’t make her lead. Please don’t notice when she quietly slips to the back of the group and then out of the room and into the comfort of the local library.

Ulysse: She does not want to lead, but she will step the fuck up if she has to. She doesn’t really get why people want to follow her when the only thing she’s been in charge of for decades is herself but oh well. Ulysse has a bit of a problem with applying the correct amount of gravity to any given situation and in a group, she’s very “that’s rough, buddy” when someone really needs a deep emotional conversation.

27. What do they strongly like and dislike, in any category? Why?

Okay, I’ll do weather 😩

Effie: HATES rain after that year in Rona. Or hates how she’s just gotten used to feeling soggy. Really likes that sort of cold autumnal sunny weather that’s crisp and comfortable.

Cleo: Doesn’t love snow from the few times she’s experienced it. She doesn’t really feel strongly about the weather otherwise. Likes rain, besides the way it makes her hair frizz.

Io: Coerthas is her favorite place in Eorzea and she loves snow. She’s not a fan of the warmer climates, her ears get too hot and it’s just very uncomfy.

Ulysse: Loves warm balmy weather. She’s another that doesn’t care for rain. It washes away tracks and scents.

#asks #ilmhist #ulysse #ephyra metaxas #io laithe #cleo espree

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thelittlepalmtree · 3 years

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Hey guys let’s talk about something now that it’s Lesbian day. I’m a lesbian, and I technically identify as “Femme” but I identify as a femme lesbian because it’s the closest approximation to how I feel, not because I model myself after that label. And there’s something else about me that’s relevant to this conversation: I’m fat. I have a wound in my soul that runs deep when it comes to my body image. I literally spend every waking moment thinking about how disgusting I am because I’m fat. So when I say that what I wear, the make up I put on, and my style are very personal to me, I mean it. I never feel confident in my body, but at best, my clothes can allow me to feel like I’m not embarrassing myself by existing. And I usually wear dresses and leggings (or just a dress if it’s too hot for leggings).

So it’s really frustrating to me when being queer is equated to fashion. I don’t look like a lesbian, because most of the lesbians you see are a) skinny or b) butch. I will never be comfortable in a button up and slacks. I will never be comfortable in doc martens. I’m not going to be comfortable with hair shorter than my regular style (about chin length). I would describe my style as “teacher” (because I am a teacher). I have never had a straight person question my sexuality, but queer people do it all the time. And even the passive “oh this looks good on everybody” or “women in [male clothing item] are so hot” memes make me feel like I’m doing it wrong because I will never be able to “present” as gay and feel even mildly comfortable. Not only that there is this constant discussion of why femmes are different from straight women, how every femme is supposedly playing mind games with the patriarchy. I once saw an entire post about how the length of a femme’s nails tells you exactly what she’s willing to do in bed. And all of these claims seem to be written by people who don’t identify as femme.

If your journey as a lesbian led you to embracing more traditionally masculine traits, I’m happy for you. I would never ask someone to dress in a way that made them uncomfortable. But I just want that courtesy to be extended to me. My wardrobe has changed over the years, but it’s never correlated to my sexual identity (I’ve actually gotten more femme the closer I came to my identity). Just because you identify as queer, it doesn’t mean that you aren’t homophobic. And it’s homophobia to assume that any aesthetic is more or less queer than any other. I shouldn’t have to be cottage core or vintage to justify being a lesbian in a dress. There’s another post about femininity being demonized by the people it was forced on and how that is ultimately harmful in my future, but please: Challenge your preconceived notions about what a queer person looks like, and don’t assume people’s sexualities.

#lesbian day of visibility

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metellastella · 4 years

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Mao Mao Pride Week Prompts, Part 3

A continuation of the prompts put out by @maomaosmother Part 1 https://metellastella.tumblr.com/post/621726687992872960/hello-everyone-happy-pride-month-to-all-of-you Part 2 https://metellastella.tumblr.com/post/621834183114932224/mao-mao-pride-week-prompts

7. Marriage

“But first,” Mao’s sister clapped her hands together, “I wanna talk weddings some more!”

“Right on!” the badger agreed. He whooped.

“Oh good grief,” Mao rolled his eyes. “Fine. You two can chat with the king about the possibility. And I reiterate. Possibility. When you’re ready to make good on your promise, come find me.”

She clucked her tongue in disapproval. “Fine. Be the usual stick in the mud. Don’t know why I’m surprised.”

He grabbed a few more things off his plate and left.

“So,” she sat back down, “I guess if you favor men, the animals here didn’t have to petition for marriage laws to be amended, huh?”

”Correct.” the lion replied.

“Though some thought I was … ironically … being ‘biased.’ Oh well. Can’t help that. Royal power is absolute, for better or worse. I’ve traveled to other nations and, during debates, have suggested that they not use the term ‘marriage’ as I have. Law is, at least in some peoples’ opinions, supposed to be ‘secular,’ and not ‘religious,’ anyway, so why cling to a specific term that isn’t? Simply afford all the exact same rights to civil unions or domestic partnerships. Or make up a third designation. Much easier to get it passed that way. Bypasses a whole lot of entrenched resistance. People can hash out in their own communities what to do with the non-legal angles and rituals and what to call it. But for a ‘marriage’ certificate? What, after all, is a rhetorical difference, in the end?” the diplomat and statesman snapped his fingers. “And like that, less angst for absolutely everyone involved. It’s not always that easy to reconcile or find middle ground. I can’t think of practically any other issues where simply altering one single word could have that effect. Despite a couple of decades worth of rhetorical experience under my belt.”

He sat back, and interlaced his paws contentedly. “Some countries insisted they were still going to adjust tax breaks because of the very unlikely event of children. Unless surrogates are involved, and properly registered as such, to try to avoid wrangling over child custody. That’s a whole other kettle of fish to get into, obviously.”

She nodded. “Well like Mao said, I’m not here to talk politics. Let’s hear your fantasies about the most important day of your life!”

The badger shook his head. “Well it’s not like that for everyone, but don’t get me wrong, I wanna hear, too!” he said excitedly.

“Erm … “ the lion looked down.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“It’s just … I’m more enthusiastic about the idea than Mao, but I’m still a long way off from that myself. So, I don’t want to insult you by making you think I’m further along, just because I have envisioned a marriage … regardless of who the groom is.”

She frowned a little, thinking. “All right then.”

“But I would love to hear about some of your customs, in that event.”

Her face fell some more. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea.”

“Oh?”

“The homeland, though the majority is plenty accepting of pairing in general, has not approved marriage between men,” she said, “so any customs you applied to each other or one of you … might be seen as disrespectful. For example. Would Mao dress as the woman, since he’s chosen to sub? Not only do I think he would never, ever do that …” she looked at the badger for confirmation.

He shook his head, “Oh most definitely not.” He thought for a second. “Maybe that’s why he got up out of here, for that matter. He thought we were gonna suggest doing that. We’ve been to weddings like that. Again, a little like misgendering, no? Even in the rare cases where he gets a mind for it, he’s not at all like a typical sub.”

The badger paused.

“He doesn’t really fit in when I would hang out with other subs. One panda I met just could not wrap his mind around Mao. It was kinda funny. Irritating for him, though. I would be totally down for dressing like the female counterpart in a wedding, if it were me. I’ve pictured it both ways. Maybe even a costume change in the middle?” he waggled his eyebrows. “Or whatever my partner wanted? If a polar bear gave me any direction I’d melt under his strong paw,” his gaze unfocused, and he hummed appreciatively. “Tuxedo? Coming right up. What color? What style? White wool tunic and stole, as is customary for you big guy? I’ll match you! Usus? My Ursus. My dear ursine. Coemptio? Confarreati? Gown? Dress? You got it, my bae bear. I’m male, sure, but a lot more loosey-goosey in that way. But. It’s not me.”

He sighed romantically.

“If I understand Mao,” the lion said slowly, “in general, he’s less sentimental, at the very least in expression, so maybe it’s simply that he doesn’t get as wrapped up in it as you or I would.”

The badger shrugged.

“Also, women tend to get more excited about wedding planning. Not a hard and fast rule of course, but I think we’ve established that you and I have a lot more in common with women, so it makes sense we’d be more enamored, even if it didn’t necessarily need to be that way.”

The badger slapped his forehead. “Oh yeah, wow. How could I not think of that!” He put his paw down and gestured towards her. “I mean this whole conversation we've had a vibe and Mao has seemed the odd one out, gender wise, but I didn’t consider that.”

The badger went on, “Even without a wedding on the table, which is usually headed up by women in this part of the world, it’s often awkward in the first place for a typical guy to be in a room with all women and vice versa … so this visit has kinda been like that for him, I think. I mean, Mao’s always eager enough to go to a wedding, excited about hitting on and dancing with some ladies, and all, but that doesn’t mean he’d necessarily enjoy planning one. He might even leave it all up to you even if he was totally ready for it!”

The three femme animals spent the next few hours discussing flower arrangements, color palettes, the band of tolerant aristocracy he would invite, and who among the clan would approve enough to come. That was hard for the sister to get through, as she thought of those she loved who would refuse to give their blessing and ‘miss all the fun.’

8. Self-Acceptance

Mao threw up his hands in exasperation. “This was different than anything anybody knew of. Other clans’ elders who had wielders hurt badly were brought in to consult. We wielders can be slammed around by dragons, can be thrown into the ground and make craters, and walk away. With lesser wielders, bruises could be shrugged off and healed. But SOMEHOW, the universe had, like a homing pigeon bent on mouse’s blood, found one little chink in our armor. . . . Delicate tails aren’t resistant enough to damage to withstand direct crush force. Some of the visiting canine elders spoke of a time when groups of semi-sapient non-magical hunting dogs had their flowing, floppy ears or long tails surgically cropped to keep them from injuring themselves on hunts. To potentially avoid something like this happening again … by cave-ins, like mine, by boulders hurled by some types of dragons, even just being stepped on by a dragon big enough … Should all wielder animals, intending to fight these beasts … should every species with long tails start doing this removal with our children, they asked? With consent, of course. Like removing tonsils or primates removing the appendix? Lizards probably couldn’t do it, because their slanted gait was too dependent and their tails too heavy. So maybe just the tips? Surely the thicker parts of their tails withstand something like this? They asked. The elders of felines and canines and rodents and otters … the later they waited to dock tails in a trainee’s life, the more they would have to adjust to the missing counterbalance just as I was. They swarmed me and questioned me about it relentlessly. They were asking among themselves … What age would this terrible offered choice be appropriate?”

His green eyes widened in horror at these questions. As if he needed any more psychological stress after being temporarily crippled, he seemed to have altered the entire course of history with the way clans viewed preparation for wielder heroes.

“Inwardly, I felt like …” he once again tried to force the words out he had started before. “I felt like I was causing an implosion of the whole clan. The tranquil meditation spaces were overrun with visitors. Children still hid from me. Our elders argued over whether they should move me for the duration of my recovery, from the clan’s circle. They argued over what to do about the little ones. But didn’t I deserve to feel safe, too? Of course I was ripping everyone apart! It was what always happened when I was around! When we were all younger, and my sisters occasionally came to my defense from one another or dad, I felt it was somehow my fault they argued, too.”

Even if the elders made these new procedures for children voluntary, he would still be virtually ‘responsible’ for possibly unneeded selective surgical alteration of innocents.

“Blue says that’s common, for bullied children to feel like it’s their fault.”

He looked towards the door, probably thinking of the dog’s unruffled voice of reason.

“I try to listen to him. I try to like myself. B-but I … it seemed l-like my family w-was disintegrating because of m-m-me. And my stupid ‘mistake.’ The whole world of wielders, even! Sometimes it still does, when they visit …! Arguing over father’s treatment of me. Remember when my sister said she wasn’t sure starting arguments over lesser wielders was worth unsettling future heroes? Now imagine what I was thinking when the little ones didn’t feel safe in the circle of the clan because of me. I was drowning in self-blame and the only way I felt I could escape it was to work harder, push myself more, and get away from there.”

Could Blue even help him out of this? The lion pictured him like a seeing eye dog this time, trying for all the world to lead the black cat out of such darkness.

Bonus:

From my second story, Outnumbered. Tanya sashayed around the red-caped cat. “Hello Mittens.” “Tanya I swear if you do not stop calling me that, I’m going to use the wrong pronouns for you,” the cat threatened. “Touchy, touchy,” the tanuki tutted teasingly, but her normally chipper attitude got a dent in it. “As if that’s an even trade, anyway.” The masculine magic cat said gruffly, “Maybe not. But I’m tired of you mocking me without consequences. Just because that’s the only thing that ever gets under your skin is no fault of mine. Perky little miss.” She rolled her eyes. “So, you try to make gendering me correctly even sound derogatory. No wonder I broke up with you.” The cat’s fists tightened, but he spoke cooly. “If you can’t handle all this. I’ll just find someone who can.”

“Like the king you’re serving as a bodyguard to?” the fox-like animal said in a silken tone. “The only kind of lion with no birth mane. Are you a chaser, you dog?” “First off. No. How dare you. Targeting gender non-conforming animals may not be officially dishonorable, but as a concept, it is,” the samurai bristled, “We’re not involved, and we’re never going to be. We’re not attracted to each other, as my nose could clearly tell if he was. Second of all. Since when do you have something against dogs?” “It’s an expression.” “An expression that’s derogatory towards dogs,” the cat sneered. “I can’t imagine the blue therapist dog could be less like that. It’s like ‘sexist pig.’ The yellow pig back in Pure Heart would be crushed if he ever heard someone utter it. Yet outside that nice little paradise, it’s a common saying. King Snugglemagne is having to adjust mightily to the outside world. You may be used to it, steeped in it, but for magic’s sake, stop teasing him about it.” “Oh, a king can’t take a little hardship?” she said lazily. “Of course not, he’s been ensconced in his fancy-pants palace. Now that he has an idea of how it is for everyone else, he crumples at the slightest trouble. Sorry I can’t muster up enough energy to care.” “You should care. Given that he has the same problems you do.” “With pronouns? Puh. Since I’m a roaming outlaw,” the orange animal said flouncily, “I don’t expect either other crooks or enforcers I encounter to respect that my gender doesn’t match my body’s smell. The former doesn’t even respect the law, so why should I take that personally? And the latter are more focused on getting me behind bars. So, no, not my problem. Too much of a bother.” “If you settled down, and got a respectable job,” the cat pointed out, “Established yourself as a constant presence, people would probably collectively accept you.” She laughed derisively. “Oh no, I value my freedom far more than that, Mi-” she swallowed back the nickname. He laughed just as derisively. “I see you do value my word on the matter, though,” he said suggestively. “Are you just not as tough as you make out, or do you still harbor some feelings for me, my sweet little illusionist?”

She opened her mouth, but then shut it again.

“You slippery mirage master,” he said “you do, don’t you?”

He paused. “Hm. ‘Master,’ maybe I should say ‘Mistress’?” he amended. “There’s . . . really no good choice there,” she chuckled hesitantly. “There are ‘Head Mistresses’ at some schools in Snugglemagne’s kingdom,” the cat pointed out.

“Yes but . . . still has connotations. I don’t break the law that way,” she said, normally carefree attitude wobbling. “Even I have standards.”

“Hasn't stopped you from dangling the offer to get what you want,” he said.

She blushed.

“Yeah, word gets around,” he went on blithely as she uncomfortably gripped one of her arms. “Don't know why I should be surprised that playing with hearts isn't beneath you. But more to the point. I know you’re ultimately reasonably principled in that arena, if really flirty. You ever want to get back together, babe, the invitation is open,” he winked.

“And endure your jealous behavior again? I think not. I’ll file that away with other useless knowledge,” she said icily.

“Oh that’s not like you,” he said in a low baritone. “You’re sweet to everyone, even if they can’t catch the mocking tone sometimes.” “Not everyone’s as smart as you, cupcake.” He looked caught off guard by the compliment. “She brushed her fingers under his chin. “I guess you’ll just have to miss me.”

She somersaulted away from him, waving goodbye and blowing a kiss. He said under his breath, “As if I’d ever misgender you. You may play a lot of mind games, love, but you didn’t catch that bluff.”

Comic page: https://metellastella.tumblr.com/post/621837213819437056/mao-maos-specific-trigger-should-not-be First chapter of Piercing the Swordsman https://metellastella.tumblr.com/post/617045879413719040/piercing-the-swordsman-chapter-1

@beesechurguer @king-himbo

#maomaosprideweek2020 #mao mao heroes of pure heart #mao mao snugglemagne #snugglemao #badgerclops #mao mao sisters #fanfiction #LGBT Pride Month #piercingtheswordsman

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little-bard · 4 years

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So I have this idea for gender fluid in the witcher universe. So humor me if you will.

So I’ve seen the idea floated around the community how there could easily be trans people because they could just do the same thing as Yennefer. But obviously, you give up fertility to live in the body you should have been born with. I was thinking traditional non-binary could do it to appear more androgynous if that’s what they wanted as well. But then I started thinking of myself. I’m technically non-binary but I’m gender fluid. And sometimes I want to present highly masc but can’t because of my body but I would also be depressed if I couldn’t present femme anymore on the days where I felt that way.

So here’s my fantasy solution. You can go through the same spell but it’s ever-changing. Whereas Yen’s is a permanent appearance change this is one that changes with your true inner self. You obviously give up being fertile but I’m not sure if it would require more yet. It would obviously mean no casual sex as you don’t want the man you just bedded as a woman to wake up next to a man. Or reverse. And it would be hard to maintain friends because you could have two lives almost but once you maneuver telling the people you’re close to I think it would kinda be like a superpower? Like you can be a wanted criminal as a man and a queen as a woman. I also don’t imagine there being a lot of people who would be gender fluid in the universe. So it’s odd and many people don’t even know it exists. I think I would write a binary gender-fluid character with male and female. But they could be any genders. And it’s not like shapeshifting (I mean kinda but also no?) like strictly still their race and usually still similar looking.

I kinda have an original character in mind, obviously friends with Jaskier because I feel like the little bard draws special people to him. Maybe an Ex-lover? No definitely because Jaskier is bi/pan as heck and being able to love one person who’s both man and women and amazing and sweet. And ATTRACTIVE that’s amazing! Also, this person probably felt the most comfortable letting their pent up sexual energy out with the man Because let’s be honest, Jaskier is a sweetheart and treats them exactly the same no matter if they feel like a different gender in the morning. (Also they’re both huge sluts and enjoy the same things sexually.) And that’s exactly what they needed, someone who cared about them and understand they were one person, just someone who experienced 2 genders and needed to be both to be happy and fulfilled. But they realized they weren’t right for each other and remained best friends.

I imagine them meeting the gang in a female form. Short and curvy, long flowing wavy brown hair a beautiful dress and a soft almost doll-like face all tied together by their piercing green eyes. Jaskier sees them at a random event at court and invites them to travel with the crew to the next town as they’re all heading that way. At first, they’re weary but they agree, as it’s Jaskier there’s no way he would travel with anyone unaccepting of who they were.

Geralt is almost jealous when they arrive to begin the journey with their own horse (a bigger bag too. Normally one person didn’t need that much) and even lets Jaskier ride with them. Jaskier begins playing his lute and singing a song that Geralt isn’t familiar with but they certainly are, as they sing along to his song bird-like voice with a soft and beautiful voice of their own. At camp later too, the two were inseparable. Geralt tried to not stare at them. Jaskier had always been a flirt and could get any person in bed if he wanted to. But it was the familiar feeling between the two that put Geralt on edge. Nobody but him was supposed to those soft smiles on Jaskiers lip or having Jaskier sing them songs only they knew. Geralt felt the Magic on them but he and yen agreed that it was just like the spell on her. Appearance-based nothing more. The two old friends put their bedrolls basically on top of each other and Geralt often heard a small giggle from either one of them throughout the night. He kept his eyes looking up at the sky as to not know if his bard was bedding another.

In the morning Geralt stared shocked, as where there once was a small woman the night before there stood a tall buff man maybe even two inches taller than him. The man had on a simple tunic and leather pants, his hair was longer then Geralt’s and brown and wavy but was pulled up in a bun, he was broad-shouldered but still seemed to have a clumsy air about him, most importantly, he had green piercing eyes. Jaskier was basically hanging off the mans arm as he begged for the man to make him breakfast. All the man did was let out a low deep chuckle. Geralt forced a cough and that alerted the pair to his presence.

“Jaskier.” Geralt basically growled. He was demanding an explanation but the bard was busy trying to shove a pan into the taller person’s hands.

“You didn’t tell them?” The man said as fear ran through his eyes. “Jaskier!” They said in a deep roar. “You always do this”

“I didn’t think it was any of there business Cass! Who you are shouldn’t be that much of a big deal.” Jaskier responded. Geralt was almost hurt that he was being ignored but at least they weren’t being close like before. Somehow them fighting calmed him. “Also I don’t always do this.”

“Oh yeah? What about that time you basically demanded we have a threesome with that warrior woman? We bedded her as two men. You remember how you promised me, you would make sure I got to our room that night before the morning in case I wasn’t the same and it put our lives in danger? You know I get sleepy after sex! But you wanted another round so you let me fall asleep then and then you did after. Remember her reaction when she woke up and a woman was curled into her side? She almost killed us for ‘tricking’ her!” This statement did not calm Geralt. Especially coming from the beefy man in front of him. Jaskier definitely had a type. By now yen was awake and listening intently. It’s almost as if you could see the popcorn in her hand. Both of them were slowly piecing, where the women had disappeared to, together though.

“I thought you liked when I demanded you. You know you could have always said no. I only did that because of both of our enjoyment.” Jaskier genuinely looked worried and stepped closer to the other person before him, resting a soft hand on their arm.

“Jask, you know it’s not that. I did enjoy it...” they suddenly got quiet, becoming more aware of the others around them. “...can we not discuss my sexual desires in front of a witcher and a sorceress, please? I was saying you normally forget how hard it is for people to understand who I am. Not everyone is you Jaskier. Some people like a heads up that the women they met yesterday is now a man who looks like he weight lifts 3 cows every morning.”

“I know I’m sorry. I just forgot it’s not normal. You’re one of the most important people in my life, I just assumed others would judge you on character, not gender.” Jaskier apologized in a soft voice.

“It’s fine. I know you don’t mean harm.” They smiled and picked up Jaskier for a strong hug. Jaskier let out a giggle and hugged them back.

Geralt coughed letting them know of his presence once more. The taller person pulled away from the hug with a deep blush.

“Oh, I guess I’ll formally introduce myself as Jaskier didn’t. I’m Cass. Born Lady Cassandra. Jask likes to joke it’s actually short for Casanova. I have a similar spell as Yennefer if what Jaskier tells me and what I know about sorceresses is true. But mine is a bit more complicated. I don’t feel one gender or the other. I feel both but normally at different times. I settled mine with changing each day based on how my true self felt when the sun rises.” They extend their hand for Geralt to shake. He grabs it hesitantly.

“So your Jaskiers lover?” Yennefer asks bluntly.

“Ex-lover. No need to fear dear sorceress, I’m very much free for the taking.” They said with a chuckle and wink. “Me and Jask work much better at friends. So you need not worry either Witcher! I promise to not lay an ill-intentioned finger on your little bard. But if you don’t soon someone will. I mean unless you're not into small boys, if that’s that case I’ll over myself then” They laughed and it was deep and jolly. It felt like it could shake the whole forest.

“Cass!” Jaskier lept back into the conversation and slapped the other. “Stop flirting with my friends. They’ll start to like you more than me. Go make breakfast, Geralt always burns it.” He shoved the pan at them while pushing them to the fire.

OKAY IM STOPPING THERE.

Basically, I needed to get this out of my system to focus on actual fics. But it was really cute in my head. I hope you enjoyed 💕

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