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sophiainspace · 3 months

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Young queer folks. I love you. I love how you play with gender and sexuality, how you embrace identities. Your definitions and microlabels have saved my life, maybe literally. Growing up in a world where there was no word for ‘demisexuality’ was a very lonely experience for me. It was when I arrived on tumblr (for fandom!) in my early 40s that I learned a word that would have changed my life at 18-21. And that’s before we start talking about what it was like not to know ‘gay’ was really a thing till I was 17. Or that when I came out as bi in my 20s I got some serious stigma for it (including from friends who told me I was greedy and meant lesbian and should say it). Just to start with.

Things got (a little) better. The queer kids are all right.

So here’s the caveat.

I guess I’ve aged into the ‘queer elder’ space, and I didn’t notice till recently. And I’m okay with it. But I would like younger queer people (who have given me so much) not to victim blame me for the world I grew up in and the queer generational culture I move in. I’d like more younger queer folk to listen and not judge me by their own generation’s standards.

Don’t tell me I should have known the word demisexual in 2011. You were on tumblr then - I was not. I was marching and meeting with my queer groups. Some of whom may have known the word. Many who did not.

Don’t weaponise folks my age for an exclusionist agenda. “You can take the word ‘queer’ out of my cold dead hands,” my friend in his 50s said, when I told him about the revisionist history some kids are associating with the term.

Don’t share misinformation and wrong history about the AIDS era/generation and then tell me I don’t know anything when I try to tell you about what happened to my friends and their friends.

Don’t tell me your generation invented gender diversity/nonconformity when you weren’t there reading Gender Outlaw and Stone Butch Blues and organising the trans group meetings and starting the conversations that shaped the world you live in now. If you weren’t there when my spouse (and many others) trailblazed ‘they/them’ pronouns in the 2000s, you won’t know how they got pushback inside and outside of the queer movement, and how far we’ve - and you’ve - come.

And while we’re here, I’d like you to remember that there *are* queer people among the Gen Xers and yes, even the Boomers. We need to be humble about how much we still have to learn, but we built those foundations that you’re standing on, looking down on us. If you tell me queer folks my age should be quicker to embrace the concept of asexuality, for example, you’re right - but you might not know about the activism some of us are doing among our generation’s queer culture to change mindsets, building on an activist history that we’ve been part of.

You may not know how hard we fought and how far we stumbled so you could pick up the baton and run.

One day, you will.

Be good to the younger generation when you get there. I hope they’re good to you in return.

#queer elder #I’m claiming it #this is mostly about discord conversations I’ve had recently #did I mention I’m nearing ‘done with discord’ stage :D #and the kids are still all right #queer culture #queer history #(barely but you know)#generational differences #asexuality #demisexuality #microlabels #gender nonconformity #queer #lgbtqia+

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atsadi-shenanigans · 1 month

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Feeding Alligators 43 - The Proposition

Astarion makes a proposition.

Warning: that shitty feeling when you're demisexual (with purity culture trauma) and someone you thought of as a friend propositions you with sex and you realize, in a survival situation, your choices are sex, or losing this friend and possible support. There's a happy ending eventually, but both of these people have serious issues.

On AO3.

“That went well,” Astarion says. He sits nearby on the unshattered stairs leading to the front door, hair dripping from the quick wash he’d given himself.

The air stinks of smoke and char and some nauseating, roast meat reek you refuse to think about. Everybody calmed down (Karlach) and most got their wounds treated. Shadowheart had conjured up a rain to put out a fire (with a fucking arrow in her hand), leaving the tollhouse a fire-gutted wreck. Fucker ain’t structurally sound in the slightest; you’ll ask Gale to thunderwave it before y’all leave to make sure no unsuspecting travelers try to take shelter and get crushed when the roof finally caves in.

Literally everybody got hurt except you. Lae’zel tore ligaments in her knee. Gale’s hands and half his face are mildly burned. Shadowheart actually got hit in the face with shrapnel in addition to the aforementioned arrow-through-the-hand. And Wyll is gashed down his side to his ribs.

Karlach is still burning too hot to be near anybody—she sits over in the road with her teddy bear.

And Astarion, who doesn’t need to breathe, inhaled smoke right after Harvey Dent gashed his head. You gave him a healing potion to help his lungs—he don’t need air to live, but he does need it to talk—because Shadowheart is triaging the magic she got left.

“They’re dead and we’re not, darling, and that is what matters,” Astarion says. He wipes his blades down again, having already inspected his bow (and found no damage).

He’s right. Y’all did what y’all had to. Karlach don’t got hunters on her tail no more, and none of the injuries are more than y’all’s resources can handle.

Except you are completely fine and none of the others are.

Astarion finishes up and slips his daggers back into the sheathes on his belt.

“We’re probably staying here for the night, huh?” you say.

“I can’t imagine the others will want to go far.” He looks to the rotting carcasses. “But I also don’t anticipate anyone, even the gith, wanting to linger amongst all this.”

You nod. You can help set up camp. That can be your contribution; you should really ask Gale for cooking lessons. Nobody fucks with the camp cook.

“Well, my dear,” Astarion says. “Shall we see what items might be left in that ruin? I’m rather sure I saw a basement.”

Bringing back presents also boosts morale.

“We probably shouldn’t go alone,” you say, and completely miss his smile turn sour. “Hey Karlach! You wanna see if they got shit in the basement?”

In the road, Karlach perks up. Woman has such golden retriever vibes.

***

Karlach ends up taking an ax to the charred hatch cover that does, indeed, lead to a basement. And then to the big doors Astarion can’t jimmy open—you let him search the ripe body y’all find down there. Must’ve been the toll collector. You got a sneaking feeling it wasn’t them dead gnolls outside that got him. Might be the way his gut is cleaved damn near in two, like some Harvey Dent motherfucker and his overcompensation sword nailed the guy.

Most of the boxes in that first room are empty, save some salvageable rags, which you stuff into your bag like there’s gonna be a shortage (you got maybe six or seven days until shark week, you suspect). Find a couple of broken weapons, a pair of frayed sandals, and not much else. But as you start into the second room, stepping over splintered wood, Astarion grabs your elbow.

“Careful darling,” he says. “There are traps about. Stay next to me, hmm?”

Circular grates dot the floor. A lot of them.

“Can you disarm these?” you say.

“Oh, I got it,” Karlach says, flexing her biceps unnecessarily (but not unappreciated). She skirts the first one, hefts up a heavy looking jar that comes up to your ribcage, and sets it over the grate. “There. Fucker can’t spew if it’s blocked, yeah?”

“Indeed,” Astarion says. “Why don’t you be a dear and go handle the others?”

“Aww, what’s a matter, Fangs?” she says, and if he were a cat, his ears would be plastered to his skull. “Can’t do a bit of heavy lifting?”

“I’d rather not dirty my hands, if it’s all the same to you,” he says, despite the fact that 1. he's wearing gloves and 2. he's still got dried blood crusted in the creases down the front of his armor.

Karlach looks at him for a second, and the both of them make weird facial expressions. Then she grins. And there’s something odd in that grin. And in the way she glances over to you.

“Gotcha,” she says. And saunters off to find more huge-ass pottery.

You start rummaging through the first box you see. Old clothes. Not moldy or covered in mildew or crusted bodily fluids, so into the pack they go. Move on to the next.

It’s quiet as you work. Karlach shuffles over to the corner, secures that vent, and starts rummaging herself.

Two boxes later and Astarion sighs. You look up, find him about where you left him, but leaning on a shelf with an arched brow.

He…hasn’t been looting?

“You alright?” you say. He don’t look injured. His arms are folded and you catch the barest flicker as he apparently resists the urge to roll his eyes.

Then he pastes on the smarm again. “I just wanted to take a moment to congratulate you. That was quite the plan, back there. Very effective.”

“Uh huh.”

He’s angling for something. And he seems to know that you know, and he leans into it. “Are all your plans going to be so vicious?”

“I’m not…it’s not on purpose. I’m not trying to cause…mayhem.”

“And yet you’re rather good at it.”

It’s still not a comfortable thought, that part of you. It’s keeping your ass alive, but if (when) you get home, you ain’t sure you’ll be able to cram it back into the box you took it out of.

“I don’t know how to fight and I can’t use magic,” you say. “If you don’t hit hard and hit first, you give them a chance to hit back and you get your ass handed to you. We cannot afford that.”

But no disgust wrinkles his face. No frown draws his brows together the way most people in this situation would.

“You know, my dear, some people might call that cowardice,” he says.

This time you get to roll your eyes. “Bet you those people die young.”

He barks out a laugh. Doesn’t seem to mean to, but his eyes are wide and sparkling in the dim torchlight. Karlach pauses her rummaging, and then begins again in earnest.

“I like you,” Astarion says. “It’s refreshing to talk to someone with a modicum of sense, for a change.”

Insulting the entire rest of the group. There’s a tactic that should work to do…whatever he’s trying to do here.

“Neat,” you drawl, using that extra second to try to get a fucking read on him.

“Honestly,” he says, and his voice drops. “I’m beginning to like the whole package. And you clearly like me, too, so…?”

You stare. After a moment, you realize he’s waiting for a response and you’re just standing there. You should probably put on a facial expression. You’re doing the blank face thing again and that tends to piss people off (you look like an idiot, you stupid girl, ohh I’m a stoic Indian hey-ya-huh-huh). You should really stop. You should stop right now.

You can’t stop.

“…so?” you finally manage.

“Come now,” Astarion says, expression dripping smarm. “Don’t be coy. Your body’s already given you away.”

What in the fuck is he talking about? What is this? The man flirts literally more than he breathes. He’s fucking with you, somehow, trying to get a reaction. You’re just not sure which one.

But his eyes widen in what really looks like a genuine smile. No malicious smirk, no smug, just…a man smiling at you.

“I could feel it, you know. As I was getting…” He steps towards you and you ain’t sure when he got that close. His gloved fingertips brush down your neck where he bit you, so featherlight, you ain’t even sure he actually touches you. “Getting lost in your neck. Your little shakes of excitement. You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

He is entirely too close. You can smell iron on his breath. That strange, almost electric charge that hugs his skin crackles against yours.

“Um,” you say.

He was this close when he bit you. His soft lips on your neck. His fucking tongue. And the noises he made slurping on your wrist. You ain’t never heard those kinds of noises outta someone before.

It’s his spit. It’s that memory effected by his goddamn vampire spit. Of course you had a physical reaction. That was normal.

But you barely know the man and having a chemically induced reaction like that don’t mean you want what you think he’s alluding to.

“I…I was trying to help, is all,” you say.

Thank fuck he steps back. Only to throw out his arms to show himself off. “And look how well it’s worked. I’ve never felt better, all thanks to you. So let me repay you for your noble sacrifice.”

Is it just you, or does his voice take on Wyll’s cadence over that last bit? (Yes, much better. Analyze that and not the situation unfolding here. So much better.)

But then he leans in again, lids all heavy.

“We could take an evening to ourselves,” he says, voice low and…and melty. “Get away from camp—get some privacy. I know somewhere quiet. Somewhere…intimate. Somewhere we can indulge in each other.”

He waits. You stare. Cause it sounds like he’s suggesting…?

He sighs. “And I do mean sex, to be clear.”

…no. No. He’s not. He can’t be. It ain’t the first time somebody joked like that with you (against you, using you as a prop to make their buddies laugh). But he don’t got no audience to play to. And he ain’t never took the joking this far. The others wouldn’t find that funny, would they? You want to look over to Karlach—suspiciously loud in her searching—but don’t think you can break his eye contact.

“You really don’t owe me for that,” you say. “I’d do it for anybody.”

He lets out that soft, high giggle. “But you didn’t do it for just anyone, darling. You did it for me. And that’s hardly the only reason. It’s more of an excuse, if anything. Assuming…you want that too, of course?”

Your chance to get the fuck out of this. But then he tilts his head down and what you suspect might be actual lust (might have been this whole time, oh god, you didn’t see, you never see until it’s too late, until it’s printed on a big, plastic sign some high school kid twirls over his head outside a roadside sandwich shop).

“But we both know you do,” he purrs.

Oh god. Oh sweet jesus.

You been friendly. You shoulda known better. People—men especially—always take it wrong. Why do they always take it wrong. Why is he targeting you for—

Oh.

Yes. That makes sense, don’t it.

A pile of lovers. That’s what he’d told Shadowheart he had. Man likes sex. Nothing wrong with that, but now he’s stuck out here with all y’all and who is the easiest target? Who has no backup? It’s the same reason he picked you to bite in the first place. You look as you do, so he probably pegged you from day one as the most desperate. The easiest prey. He wants a quick, no-strings lay, and who better than the fat girl with no connections to anybody?

You can say no. Logically, you know this. You don’t think he’s the type to hurt you for refusing (none of them ever seem like they would in all those crime stories, do they?). And Karlach stands right there. You’ve refused people before (it’s all you ever done).

But that was back home. You had a stable job and a couple of hundred bucks in a savings account and your own, one-bedroom apartment. You could stand on your own, two feet back then. Back there. If anybody tried to give you shit, you could call dad’s side or Sasha (who carried a baseball bat in the trunk of her car).

Here?

You’ll die without Gale’s blood potion—and it needs all of them to make. You can’t even ask for help without the dirt potion. You got a brainworm, and your best chance of not turning into a space monster is a band of people you keep leading into danger while you sit your fat ass in the background and take not a single fucking scratch.

What happens when you make a bad call? What happens when they get sick of covering for you? Coddling you? You are wholly dependent on their good will for food and a…and a fucking allowance.

You been trying not to think of that for a week. Of just how defenseless you are. How you worked so hard, and yet you are right back where you started, poor and helpless and vulnerable and staring down the barrel of fucking someone you don’t know.

Except you ain’t some twenty-year-old kid this time. Now you know what’s happening to you. Your body is on the market, and there’s no Sasha to swoop in with her pickup truck and whisk you away into the night.

“You’re…you’re not joking?” you rasp, throat drier than a salt flat.

Astarion blinks. “Darling, I would never about this.”

He wants to fuck you. Whatever reasoning (easiest prey, the lamed deer) he actually wants to fuck you.

You can’t feel your hands.

You’re not…possessive of your “virginity.” It ain’t some commodity (Mother). You know, intellectually, it’s an activity just like any other: riding in a hot air balloon, scuba diving, eating one of them lollipops with a bug inside (crickets actually don’t taste too bad, once you get over the leg barbs dragging on your tongue). You ain’t opposed to trying sex sometime.

It’s just…you barely know this man. You barely know any of them.

God, you’re being fucking precious. It’s just sex. People have sex all the time. They been having sex they weren’t enthusiastic about for thousands and thousands of years and they all survived just fine. This ain’t no different. And you can use this, right? Forge a…a…

(Relationship, and your stomach clenches.)

An alliance with him. That’s just good interpersonal insurance, right? He’s damn good with those knives. He’s even pretty—not that that part really matters to you; it’s the same category as “his shirt is white” and “his hair is white” and “his face is symmetrical and he’s got fangs.” Just an observation.

He watches you. Waiting. He expects an answer. He expects a yes. Possibly a gushing “oh me oh my, lowering yourself to offer me??”

It probably won’t be bad? Somebody with a pile of lovers in the city has to know what he’s doing? Orgasms feel great and other people really like sex. It’s just an activity. You were probably gonna do it at some point, anyway. This is just sooner than you anticipated. It probably won’t even last all that long, right?

It’s the smart move.

“I, um, yeah,” you say and now you can’t feel your face.

“Wonderful,” Astarion says, lighting up. “Once we have a chance, I promise you a night of passion you’ll never forget.”

You certainly won’t be forgetting your first time, you’re sure.

You can’t throw up on then man’s shoes. That would be the height of rudeness. God, you’re such a mess. Your body is wigging out for no reason. It’s not that big of a deal; there’s no reason you should be this light-headed.

“Oi! You two!” Karlach pops her head out of an aisle. “Think I found a secret door!”

Oh thank fuck. You want to hug Karlach. Swoon into her arms. Except she’s still on fire and you just told Astarion you’d have sex with him.

Astarion lifts his eyebrows and makes an intrigued noise. He starts past you, but pauses and leans in to whisper, “See you later, lover.”

Your heart lurches. It’s not a good feeling. The pit in your stomach only grows when Karlach—behind Astarion’s back—catches your eye and gives you a grin and two thumbs up.

She knows. Oh sweet christ.

You smile back and hope it doesn’t look as weak as it feels.

***

Notes:

Next chapter will contain trigger warnings. Saturday's update: Dance with the Devil in the Pale Moonlight

#feeding alligators fic #these two shitheads #astarion fic #bg3 fic #astarion x tav #tavstarion #purity culture trauma #demisexual trauma #demisezual tav #plus size tav #the sadness arc #angst with a happy ending

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scretladyspider · 1 year

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Let’s talk about what demisexuality is not.

First off: what is demisexuality? We have to establish what it is to talk about what it isn’t.

‘demisexuality’ describes not experiencing sexual attraction until a close bond is formed. This doesn’t mean demis are attracted to everyone we bond with, and we can have differing desires towards sex. Demisexuals may or may not be demiromantic — they’re not one and the same.

While demisexuals can also be demiromantic, this isn’t true as a rule. Just like being asexual doesn’t necessarily mean you’re aromantic. It’s possible to be both, nothing wrong with that — but they’re not inherently synonymous.

*For some people who are aroace, include demi aroaces, their sexual and romantic orientations are deeply intertwined and there isn’t a big difference between the two. Other people use the split attraction model, which recognizes a difference in sexual and romantic orientations.

Many people think that “everyone is demisexual” because they read the definition and say “oh, that’s just being normal”. They’re confusing not experiencing sexual at ALL with waiting until a relationship is serious to have sex.

Demisexuality is a sexual orientation. The thing people confuse it with is a decision regarding sexual behavior that can be made regardless of orientation— the decision to wait to have sex until you’re emotionally close. That decision can be made by anyone, demisexual or not.

Often people read the definition and say “I’m demisexual, I wait to have sex until it’s not just sex. I want emotional fulfillment too.” When it’s explained that demisexuals rarely have sexual attraction and only under certain conditions does it occur, one of two things happens:

they misunderstand and assume that demisexuals are also experiencing sexual attraction without the bond and just not acting on it, or

they begin to understand that there’s a difference between sexual attraction and action.

More often than not it’s the former.

It’s interesting that this misunderstanding happens when demisexuality is described because allosexuals (people who aren’t ace) abstain from sex all the time but still feel sexual attraction. There’s this underlying assumption that everyone experiences sexual attraction.

But… just imagine that feeling of not being attracted and expand it. It’s doubtful that you experience sexual attraction to every person you see is physically attractive. Just expand that and there you go. Or imagine it like not seeing a particular color until you suddenly can.

Demisexuals aren’t all cisgender and heteroromantic. But there’s nothing wrong with demis who are! If ace isn’t enough for you to respect someone is LGBTQIA+, you don’t understand or accept asexuality or the orientations under its spectrum.

Demisexuality is NOT “just being a woman”. Demisexuality also isn’t “the patriarchy convinced young girls not having casual sex was a sexuality”.

There’s so much wrong with both of these, and they tie together, so I put them together here. Not only does this thinking see cis women and feminine people as being inherently “more” asexual, it robs allos and aces alike of bodily autonomy towards sex and sexuality. It bleeds out from conservative Christianity — it’s the same ideas that lead us to abstinence only sex “education” and that women must be sexually available at all times or their husband will cheat to “get his needs met”. Saying that cis women & feminine people are just all demisexual or ace removes the bodily autonomy of those who want sex and those who don’t by assigning a culturally acceptable narrative as more important than lived experience. But sexuality isn’t limited by cisheterosexism.

The truth is there are still a lot of people learning they’re under the asexual umbrella as educators and advocacy groups get education out there, and even in queer spaces asexuality isn’t always accepted, let alone its spectrum. A lot of people don’t even know it’s an option!

In addition, and partially because of, tropes like this, asexuality and everything under it are considered more “feminine”. Sex is seen as a symbol of status and depending on your gender and presentation, that status gets lowered or raised depending on the number of partners had.

Cis men and masculine aces exist, and also have to contend with cultural pressures to “perform” sexually, whether they want to or not. Erasing these experiences doesn’t help further acceptance towards asexuality or just sexuality in general.

And! Cis women and feminine people can have and enjoy casual sex! Others don’t but still experience sexual attraction regularly. Being allosexual isn’t limited to the masculine. Libido can also exist without sexual attraction. Human sexuality is just not as narrow as you think.

That’s where I’ll leave this one. Remember, it’s okay to be demisexual. It’s not okay to dunk on a group of people you didn’t bother to try to understand. Keep an open mind. There’s room at the table for learning, not bigotry.

#lgbtqia #queer #demisexual #Demisexuality #asexuality #ace #demi ace #text #sexuality #purity culture #heterosexism #asexual #acespec #asexual spectrum

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