Trans men and women tend to get viewed as either disgusting male freaks or perfect feminine female goddesses based entirely on identity and vibes alone, forcing trans men to either detranstion to talk about the issues faced, or shut up and hate themselves and grovel at the feet of their "betters", and trans women are forced to preform the highest standards of femininity or be shunned and live in fear of being cast out and not being "woman enough" facing the constant need to prove themselves to avoid being seen as interlopers.
these things are similar, these problems overlap, and yet people go on to pretend that one is the most victimized victim and the other is the "subjector and oppressor" (Interchangeable) and neither can truly understand the other. these ideas being perpetuated by others within and outside of these groups. It drives me up the wall that there are people pretending this helps anyone, that either benefits from the others oppression in anyway.
Personally, from what I've seen a lot of it comes out as like gender insecurity, from the inside groups, which is pretty sad, but also extremely frustrating to be lashed out at for being unwilling to accept this gender essentialist false binary
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it is hard to explain without sounding vain or stupid - but the more attractive others find you, the more you're allowed to do. the easier your life is.
i have been on both sides of this. i am queer and cuban. i grew up poor. for a long time i didn't know "how" to dress - and i still don't. i make my sister pick out any important outfits. i have adhd in spades: i was never "cool and quiet", i was the weird kid who didn't understand how "normal" people behave. i was bullied so hard that the "social outcasts" wouldn't even talk to me.
i got my teeth straightened. i cut my hair and learned how to style it. i got into makeup. it didn't matter, at first, if i actually liked what i was doing - it mattered how people responded to it. like a magic trick; the right dress and winged eyeliner and suddenly i was no longer too weird for all of it. i could wear the ugly pokemon shirt and it was just "ironic" or a "cute interest."
when i am seen as pretty, people listen. they laugh at my jokes. they allow me to be weird and a little spacey. i can trust that if i need something, people will generally help me. privilege suddenly rushes in: pretty does buy things. pretty people get treated more gently.
i am the same ugly little girl, is the thing. still odd. still not-quite-fitting-in. still scrambling. still angry and afraid and full of bad things. of course it became my obsession. of course i stopped eating. i had seen, in real time, the exact way it could change my life - simply always be perfect, and things can be easy. people will "overlook" all the other things. i used to have panic attacks at the idea others would see me without makeup - what would they think? even for a simple friend hangout, i'd spend a few hours getting ready. after all, it seemed so obvious to me: these people liked me because i was pretty.
i worry about how much i'm being a bad activist: i understand that "pretty" is determined by white, het, cis, able-bodied hegemonies. if i was really an ally, wouldn't i rally against all of this? recently there's been a "clean girl" trend which copies latinx aesthetics: dark slicked-back hair, hoop earrings. i almost never wear my hair like that; i can hear the middle school guidance counsellor advising me that i might fare better if i toned it down on the culture.
the problem is that i can take pretty on and off. that i have seen how different my life is on a day where i try and a day where i don't. i told my therapist i want to believe the difference is confidence, but it's not. and when you have seen it, you can't unsee it. it lives inside your brain. it rots there; taunting. i get rewarded for following the rules. i am punished for breaking them. end of story.
pretty people can get what they want. pretty people can feel confident without others asking where they got their nerve from. pretty people can be weird and different. pretty people get to have emotions; it's different when they get aggressive, it's pretty when they cry with frustration.
of course people care about this. of course it has crawled into you. of course you want to be seen as attractive. it's not vanity: it's self-preservation.
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They’re Beautiful
time skip!Iwaizumi Hajime x afab!reader | 18+ content | 1,137 words | established relationship, kinda rough sex, kind of hand fetish i guess, very mild choking. Iwaizumi finally understands your obsession with his hands.
Iwaizumi Hajime never had the largest frame in his social circle and he was well aware of that. Yeah, he was muscular with broad shoulders and it wasn’t like he was short either, but there was always someone taller or broader than him. What he did have though, was the largest and prettiest hands that you’d ever seen; something that you’d never neglected to remind him. Truth be told, the ‘big’ part was the thing you’d told him most often, but he knew you found the pretty as well.
He never really understood your obsession with his hands though. They were just hands after all. Of course, without them he wouldn’t be able to play volleyball, something he very much loved doing. So yes of course he liked them too. But it was clear to him that it was for very different reasons that you liked them. And to a very different extend. You’d always make sure to tend to his hands after a game. You played with his fingers when the two of you were hanging out, relaxing. He even noticed you taking pictures once or twice, when he’d held your hand in his.
He didn’t really understand it. At least not until the two of you started getting more intimate. That’s when he suddenly started seeing his own hands in a different light.
He had big hands alright. He noticed it the first time he cupped your breast in his hands. The way his fingers pressed softly against your skin made his mouth dry. He’d swallowed hard as he drank in the sight. He really had big hands, he noticed again, once when he held onto your hips when you were on top of him, clothed pussy riding his jean clad thigh.
Iwaizumi started actually understanding the liking you’d taken to his hands, but he didn’t entirely get it, before that one time when you grabbed the base of his hand with both of yours, lifting it to your lips. The two of you had been intimate more than once at this point, but not once had he experienced anything quite like watching you guiding his hand to your lips. Like watching the passionate way you wrapped your lips around his fingers. Your gaze had locked on his and kept him in a delirious chokehold as your tongue swirled around his digits, effectively covering them in saliva. His cock jumped at that point. His hand looked good in yours. It looked good against your skin. It looked so utterly delicious in your mouth. Maybe he actually began to really get it.
“I bet your hands would look good around my throat,” you told him once and forcibly suppressed a chuckle when his eyes widened and his adams apple bobbed in his throat. You’d crawled up in his lap as he was sat on the bed after a shower. Both of your lips were swollen from heated kisses shared. “Do you want to try?” His eyes searched your face even as his cock throbbed underneath you. He wanted to, that much was clear, but he wasn’t just going to assume. He wasn’t like that.
“Are you—“
“Sure?” You finished his question for him. “Hajime, please. I want to feel it. Don’t be shy, you can be a little rough if you want,” you said and took his hands in yours, guiding them from your hips and up. Up. Up. Iwaizumi watched in awe as you placed his hands against your throat.
“I—“
“Hajime,” you all but whined, rolling your hips against him. And at that point, Iwaizumi’s gaze flickered to his hands as he let them slide up further against your skin. Yeah. His hands were big. And you were right. They did look good against your neck. At that moment, Iwaizumi thought he finally completely understood. They were beautiful. But not because they were his or in themselves. They were beautiful in unity with your body. As if they were made for your body. It got it. He understood. That’s how it started.
Now he had you on all fours on the bed, cock buried inside of you. His rhythm had your eyes rolling back in your head and his gaze fell on his hands against your hips. They were beautiful. His gaze flicked up to where you threw your head back against a particularly harsh thrust of his hips.
“You said I could be a little rough, didn’t you?” Iwaizumi asked. Even now, as he found it so hard to resist, he wanted to hear you say it.
“Y-yes—“ your voice broke off and a moan tore from your throat. “Haji— Please—“ and that was what it took before you felt it. Iwaizumi saw himself moving before he realized that he was. It was as if he was in a trance when his fingers threaded through your hair and pushed.
“Haji—“ Your arms gave out as Iwaizumi forced your body to bend further, face smushed into the pillow. Your loud moans filled the air around you, as Iwaizumi changed the angle of his thrusts, to go even deeper.
“Fuck,” he cursed. “Look at me,” he urged and loosened his hold to let you turn your head further. You looked up at him, out of the corner of your eye, and even in this state, you couldn’t get past how beautiful he looked. His eyes were curiously fixated on his hand now resting against the side of your face.
“Hajime,” you babbled and he swore he could have cum right then and there. He didn’t. He managed to hold back, even as a low groan rumbled in his chest and he pressed down a little harder. “Harder.”
Iwaizumi obliged. Happily at that, with his gaze locked onto your face on the pillow and his hands against it. He rocked into you harder. Cock aching for release when a little cripple of drool slipped from the corner of your mouth. Iwaizumi relentlessly fucked into you, and watched up come undone by him. He watched your eyes rolling back, your tongue lolling out and your saliva slipping down on the pillow. He bullied his cock into your tight warmth until the both of you reached your climax and through it. Even then, his fingers twitched against your face.
With his thumb, he swept the drool off your chin, and he knew that he finally understood. He really did understand your obsession with his hands after all. And after that one time, Iwaizumi was never able to see his hands the same way again, because whenever he tried, he pictured them against your skin. He pictured them pushing your face into the mattress. He pictured them around your throat or with his fingers in your mouth. But he had to admit, that that truly was a beautiful sight.
tags: @prettyiwa
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