#I almost made him trans one upon a time

[jazaesis]

Hi, me again, just expressing my love for the gay asthmatic Twink. He's so me, if I wasn't trans. But I still love him

Aro appreciates all the love 🫶💕💕

He’s such a self projection of me and my co I’m so thrilled that other people are able to connect with him too

[temporalhiccup]

There are many different reasons to play ttrpgs, and sometimes creative catharsis is one of them.

Certainly it's a reason's Bluebeard's Bride is one of my favorite games, or why it's fun for me to play emotionally vulnerable characters in Bite Marks and Apocalypse Keys.

A couple of months ago I started playing DIE with some close friends, and a couple of new players I haven't had a chance to play with much. But it's a group that's played with each other often, and DIE has a really emotionally rich and complex premise we were excited for: "In DIE, you play a group of authentically flawed and desperate real-world people (Personas) who are sucked into a cursed roleplaying game and take on the form of heroes, villains and power players (Paragons)."

So I made a conscious decision to create a transmasc character and delve consciously and deeply into the act of catharsis. I have played trans characters before, (arguably ttrpgs are one of the ways I explored if I was trans but that's another story), but this was the first time I wanted to pull at the threads of my own confusion and sadness, trauma and regret. To work through my grief.

In real life, it's difficult to put into words the grief I am going through with my parents. It's a complex issue, but one of them is that my parents have always seen as me as their daughter, and all three of us cannot imagine me being anything else to them. My father has always pointedly interacted with my brother as a son, and has always faltered when I failed to act like the daughter.

It's hard to grieve because there are thousands of subtle nuances—their love for me, borne from endless sacrifice and hope, also places chains on me. To break those chains is to break them, to keep those chains on is to break me. I have broken myself over the decades, again and again, and there is never a shape that will please us three.

So for DIE I created a more intense caricature of fatherly trauma. Almost cartoonish in his abuse, with no room for nuance. Somehow in describing the black and white nature of this fictional father, and how it shaped my character, it's easier for me to see the shades of grey that my real father is. It's easier to find the shadows of me there too.

I realized today that in DIE, this traumatizing figure also contains the fear I had. Conditioned to be a woman, where my very existence can trigger violence from men. There are many reasons it took me so long to know I was trans, but one of those reasons was that I could not imagine taking on the shape of an oppressor.

It didn't matter that I knew many men who were gentle, loving, and kind. It didn't matter that what men are does not have to be defined by the patriarchy. Men were dangerous until I knew better. Men could betray my trust and become dangerous once they got to know me. Why would I want to take on the shape of something dangerous and harmful?

Today I explored a part of that. As an Emotion Knight my character draws upon the emotion of loathing—what better way to draw upon an aspect of gender dysphoria? To become strong, to fight, I had to give in just enough to my father's voice, its whispers from the war hammer in my hand. I had to take on his cruelty, the loathing I had for him and myself. I described the danger of falling into unthinking violence, to protect what matters to me. I was standing on the precipice, knowing I was a breath away from going too far.

All of this made it easier to see my real father, standing at the end of a corridor I will never reach. It feels like if I walk towards him, the corridor will stretch on and on, made of all the doors of all the daughters I could have been for him. One of them, any of them, would be better than what I am now.

That moment of catharsis felt breathless. I could feel myself falling towards the doors. Then I looked at the other players, and I could see all of them feeling for my character. Feeling for his pain, for his hope. Watching him stumble towards the edge. I could feel their hearts surrounding mine.

I don't remember what I said to Sherri, in character. I know I wanted her to pull my character back into this fictional moment. I know I wanted Sherri to pull me back into this reality, with her. Away from the corridor. It was enough that I saw the corridor for what it is, that I knew all its doors. That I knew they could never be opened.

This dance of catharsis feels safe. It's hard to describe how it's still fun, and wonderful, to connect to my friends' characters. To check-in and feel out if we were still having fun, trusting in the play, trusting in each other.

The game session ended hours ago, and we'll play again next week. But the corridor is still with me, and I feel it stretching behind me. I feel all its doors. When I close my eyes, I see my father's back, walking away from me.

Maybe next week I'll try walking down that corridor. Maybe I'll call out to my father, knowing he won't turn around. Maybe I'll leave it behind. Maybe I won't do anything for now, because grief takes time. I don't know.

I just know that I'm very grateful to be here, to be loved, to play. I'm grateful for the stories we tell together, and how it can help us retell our own stories about ourselves.

This story of grief is hard, but I'm grateful. It means I chose to survive, to live, to be me.

It hurts to choose myself over my parents love for me, but I'm glad I'm doing it. I'm choosing all the people who love me, who see me when I cannot yet clearly see myself.

[mandoriana]

I imagined a story, where Arthur was born a woman, but Uther wanted an heir and forced his daughter to be a boy. However, Arthur is not trans; she is not a boy, even having muscles, wearing pants and armor, or even working with the knights. Arthur is a woman, and looking in the mirror and seeing a man is torture for her. No one besides Gaius and Uther knows about this. Morgana suspects that Arthur is gay but doesn’t know that Arthur just wants to be seen and looked at as a woman in the same way Morgana is seen. Basically, it’s a body dysphoria that many transgender people experience.

Since Arthur was always raised as a man, she doesn’t have a feminine name and hates being called Arthur, so she insists that everyone calls her Sir or Prince (I don’t know about outside my country, but Sir and Prince in Brazil are neutral names/nicknames).

When Merlin arrives in Camelot, he quickly clashes with Arthur and then saves her life, becoming the prince’s servant (Uther forgot that Arthur was a woman). At first, Merlin finds it strange that Arthur doesn’t let him help with anything, not being able to put away Arthur’s clothes, not helping her dress in normal clothes, only in armor, and not being allowed to wash her clothes sometimes (due to menstruation). Merlin also notices that the prince has strange behaviors, like staring too much at some ladies’ clothes like a pervert (Arthur was just envying the dress), getting more irritable and emotional once a month (PMS), and burning bloody cloths in the fireplace. Merlin saw this only once, and Arthur was so embarrassed that she kicked and yelled at Merlin to get out (medieval pads).

Anyway, Merlin starts to notice these details about Arthur while getting closer to the prince. One day (perhaps in the episode where Sophia enchants Arthur), Merlin needs to take care of an unconscious Arthur and decides to dress her in more comfortable clothes. When he opens the wardrobe, he is surprised to see feminine underwear and a crumpled dress hidden at the back. At first, he worries that he is serving a pervert, but he realizes there are no male underwear in Arthur’s wardrobe and starts to piece together that maybe the prince owns the feminine underwear. Merlin, always open-minded, decides it’s none of his business and grabs a soft white tunic that Arthur used to sleep in and goes to dress his prince, only to almost have a heart attack upon finding breasts instead of a muscular chest.

When Arthur wakes up and realizes someone changed her clothes, she panics and starts crying when she sees Merlin. She wanted to get angry and yell, but she can only beg Merlin not to tell anyone. Merlin approaches carefully and hugs Arthur, apologizing and saying it wasn’t his intention to hurt her and begging for forgiveness for violating her honor by seeing her body without permission. From then on, the two become even more inseparable than before. Merlin listens to what Uther forced Arthur to be and decides he will do everything in his power to make his PRINCESS the happiest woman in the world. Merlin starts spending his salary on dresses and corsets made to fit Arthur’s muscular body, starts calling Arthur by feminine pronouns when they are alone and neutral pronouns in public, refusing to call his princess by masculine pronouns. What I mean is that Merlin becomes the knight in shining armor that Arthur was forced to be, and Arthur finally gets to be the princess she always wanted to be.

I think the most exciting part I thought about this story was Merlin having the honor of naming Arthur, removing the name Uther forced on his heir and giving her a name worthy of the future Queen of Camelot. So one day, Arthur is wearing one of the dresses Merlin gave her and smiling at herself in the mirror, and Merlin calls her Astrid, making the princess cry because it was the first time in her life she felt like herself.

In the end, Merlin reveals his magic to Astrid, and Astrid reveals it to Morgana when Merlin tells her that Morgana has magic. This way, Morgana doesn’t become the villain, joining her beloved sister to overthrow Uther. It all ends with Astrid being crowned Queen, Morgana as the regent princess, and Merlin as the king

😊👐

[sreidisms]

Sweater Weather

Spencer Reid x Mid/Plussize!Fem!Reader

Summary: you wish you could be able to wear Spencer's clothes, but you wear completely different sizes. However, one day he comes home with a surprise.

Genre: ever so slight angst if you even notice it, fluff

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: insecurity, self-comparison, kissing. Only she/her pronouns are used, so trans girls and anyone who uses these pronouns, this is for you.

A/N: I read @tenpintsof-sundrop 's post about how SO many Spencer writers love the "girlfriend wearing their boyfriend's clothes" trope, and honestly as they should, but as a mid-size girl, it's not that realistic. So I took it upon myself to write a short blurb where Spencer wears one of your sweaters. Enjoy 😙

Autumn was undoubtedly your favourite season: the crisp air biting at your skin, the crunch of browned leaves on the pavement, the feeling of a freshly-made mug of tea warming your hands, and of course, wearing sweaters. Sweater weather, is what you called it.

What made it better was the fact you enjoyed experiencing all of this with your lovely boyfriend, Spencer. You could only describe it as luck that you both shared a deep love for autumn, and Halloween naturally. You and Spencer enjoyed taking walks in the afternoon dusk of October, watching obscure foreign films that only he could translate while you were wrapped up in a blanket, and baking cinnamon goods when sleep was long forgotten on the nights he was off work.

Nothing could disrupt your joy during this time - well, except maybe one thing. Both avid sweater collectors, they were all you wore during the colder months. And as usual boyfriend-girlfriend relationships go, you often thought about borrowing a sweater or two from his wardrobe. He had a red striped one which you adored, a memory of his younger self when you had met each other at a flea market and both grabbed the same vintage book. His brown argyle one was definitely your favourite though. And you would ask him to wear it if it wasn’t for one thing.

You wore a larger size than Spencer. It was always blaringly obvious to you how different your bodily proportions were. Although the taller one, your boyfriend wore trousers that you could hardly fit a thigh through and his shirts would only reach past your neck, or at least you assumed - you had never attempted to try.

It shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. There were plenty of girls who were taller or chubbier than their romantic counterpart, but it still stung. There was nothing you wanted more during colder evenings than to steal one of his sweaters and bury yourself beneath the warm wool, enveloping yourself in his smell. So you opted for cuddling up as close to him as possible, letting him wrap his arms around you - it was as good as it could get.

However, one day during November, when you were alone at your shared apartment, a very wonderful thing occurred.

The kitchen had just been cleaned after another one of your baking fiascos. Amongst many things, you knocked the bag of flour while putting the tray of odd-looking cookies in the oven, and thus made a mess of the entire floor and counter. It took a while to clean up and it was not rewarding to open the oven door to deformed, sad-looking cookies. Whatever, you thought. It clearly wasn’t your day.

You found a place in your favourite armchair, your current read in your hands. It was the ideal way to pass the time since Spencer had texted you about his mountainous pile of reports he had to finish getting through. He could surely read faster than everyone else, but it didn’t mean they would be finished in a short period of time.

As you delved deeper and deeper into the story, you were startled when you heard the front door click open. You glanced at the clock up on the wall. Almost midnight, poor boy.

“Angel?”

“I’m in the living room!” you called out.

The shuffle of shoes and a gentle thump echoed through the corridor as Spencer took off his converse and dropped his messenger bag. The sound of soft footsteps neared you until the tall man rounded the corner and appeared in all his nerdy glory.

“Hey, finally home,” he sighed.

But you didn’t listen to what he was saying because you were too focused on something else: resting on his lanky frame was your sweater. One of your warmer ones. It was obviously a little too big on him, the material slipping off his right shoulder to reveal his white button-up underneath. The dark green sleeves were always a tad too long for your arms, and you’d assume they wouldn’t even reach Spencer’s wrists, but there they were covering his knuckles, only his fingertips poking out.

“Is everything alright? You seem distracted.” Spencer’s voice pierced your bubble of awe.

“Is that my sweater?”

He looked down and pulled on the hem of the sweater, a faint blush tainting his cheeks. “Uh yeah, it seems to be so. Does it bother you?”

Bother you was the last thing the image of your boyfriend in your clothing would do.

You cleared your throat as you tried to gather your thoughts into an intelligible sentence.

“N-Not at all! You just never asked me to wear anything of mine before … did you not have any sweaters left?”

“Oh no, I did! I um- well yesterday you wore it and left it on my desk chair, and it looked so warm and it … smelt of you.” His voice went up an octave at this last part. “And I thought I could wear it. Is that okay? Did I do something wrong?”

Wrong wasn’t the word you would use. Cute, adorable, heart-warming were adjectives that fit to describe the situation.

“Far from that, Spence. You look … you look adorable,” you said warmly.

He smiled in embarrassment and lifted his hand to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He truly was the spitting image of domesticity in this moment.

“C’mere.” You urged him to walk towards you, tucking your legs underneath your body. He shuffled closer while he picked at the stray ends of wool fraying at the sleeves.

Once he was close enough, you held his face in your hands and left a tender kiss on his plump, pink lips. He whined quietly at the sudden action, but let you do as you pleased - he couldn’t really say no, he was putty in your grasp.

After stopping the sweet kiss, your eyes traced over his outfit again - God, he was such a darling.

“Please wear my clothes more often, you look cute in them,” you said while looking into his hazel eyes.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he grinned.

Need him to wear my sweaters, I swear 🤧

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Okay okay okay I read your shapeshifter Stan au and now am thinking about what if Mabel was a shapeshifter too? Why is she a girl when Dippers a boy?? She was goofing around :) but I was like “guess twins don’t run in the family” then went “what if shapeshifters do??” Also I’m in denial, Tate will be Shifty’s Base- (gets dragged away)

Love your blog btw! Post banger after banger!!

Since shapeshifters can recognize each other, Stan knows immediately that Mabel is one. He and Mabels spawner would get in a fist fight over who's mentoring her, because they might have spawned her but she's now Stan's niece, so he has dibs.

He'd win of course, then pester his nephew to come visit constantly, so that he could bestow upon her his shapeshifter secrets and teach her proper socialization, and Ford could help Dipper learn how to live with a shapeshifting sibling.

I'm thinking the gender difference could go two ways.

One of the Mystery Twins is trans, because in order to shift, they need to see what their turning into, and gender is made up for shapeshifters. Stan's male because he's more comfortable that way, but Maurice is non-binary, because they don't believe in it. Mabel might have started as a boy, then later found girl shifts to be more comfortable, or Dipper was born female, then came out as trans.

It doesnt matter which one, because the end result is still identical girl and boy twins.

The only other alternative i can think of is that because Mabel is older, she hatched before Dipper had been born, and turned into a girl, before their spawner very quickly put her with Dipper and told her to fix it, causing, again, identical girl boy twins.

Either way, they're still identical, and Stan battled for the position as her mentor and won.

Very important to note, is that Mabel is not born a silly chaos master. Its a learned behavior, because shapeshifters are all born as sorta blank slates, then learn from their base. Even Stan straight up did not like Ford until they were almost four years old. Ford was his Important Person, but all that meant was that Stan needed to pay attention to what he was doing. They had a business relationship on his end, that turned into love through Ford's (perceived) acceptance of Stan's abilities and spending time with him.

Mabel would be similar, copying Dipper, but getting more off script as she grew and formed her own opinions on things. The turning point for her would be Dipper starting the chaos, through one of his plans, then sticking through it with her. She'd enjoy the feeling, and enjoy that Dipper taught it to her, leading to their close bond as they grew.

In this scenario, Mabel's growth would be similar to Stan's, in that she learned to do the opposite of Dipper, because Dipper was boring and she didnt enjoy feeling anxious all the time.

[cultkinkcoven]

I always appreciate Lord Lucifer's bluntness and honesty even when it breaks my heart.

As most of you guys know, I am the black sheep in my family. At 18 I was more or less forced to run away due to a few things (abuse, my being trans and gay etc.)

and I have always harbored some kind of guilt for that. Every now and then I find myself asking if I was the wone in the wrong, if I made the bad decision, if I am the abandoner. And Lucifer has always been very gentle with me in this regard, encouraging me that I did what I needed to do to survive.

This morning I was having another one of those moments, and I was really melancholy about it. And Lucifer asks me what's troubling me and I tell him he already knows.

"I just wonder if I am missed as much as I miss them."

and he gets real contemplative and quiet, and then tells me to look at my phone. When I open instagram, sure enough, it seems my family had some kind of gathering or reunion, lots of nice family pictures of my mom with her new step kids, her partner of course, my aunt, my uncles I haven't seen in years. A caption about how nice it is to welcome the new additions to the family. It was almost cartoonish.

and it was abundantly clear that Lucifer was answering me. "I'm sorry, but they don't."

and I couldn't help but kind of laugh at that. It's funny y'know. I spend all this time worrying about them, thinking, of course, that this must be as difficult for them as it is for me, to be alone, but none of them really are. I'm the only one. and I spend all this time, nervously thinking I'm hurting someone, but I'm not. No one is waiting on me.

and then Lucifer, "why do you spend so much time making space for people who have never made space for you?"

*sigh*, because apathy is a passive choice and I am not passive, and I cannot hate them. My only choice is to be consumed by an unsatisfying love.

"Your ability to love like this is one of the things I value most about you. But it is also a shame that they can still do this to you. This is below you, all those who have truly loved you have risen to your level."

then why do I feel like I'm still the one being looked down at?

"You're hanging upside down and the blood is rushing to your head."

That didn't make me feel any better. I kind of just rolled back over into bed and tried not to think about it. Then, he sort of came upon me more strongly, like he was holding me.

"Part of me rejoiced at the fall," he finally whispered, "When I fell away from Heaven, my brothers and sisters whom I loved most refused to follow me. They could not follow me, for the world below was not the place for them, they could not survive as I did. Every day I watched them continue without me, their songs, their duties. I had no part in it. And when I rose again, when they could see me, they still did not glance. I was outside of their realm. I was no longer a part of the same family. But I rejoiced despite my tears, because I knew that I could fulfill my purpose, my great work, with assurance that my actions wouldn't burn them. I could continue to be myself to the fullest of my ability, knowing they are safe. and in the underworld I found others like me, and in them I had almost a family. A bond that continues to grow, even if it is different."

I saw flashes of my room mates, my boyfriend. My boyfriend's mom who basically adopted me.

"It's not the same. I don't feel the same as I once did. But I was once miserable. And while I do still know pain, while I still do struggle, I am also stronger. I also experience new joys, new ways of thinking. Without this fall, I wouldn't have known life beyond exile. Yes I would be back where I originated, around familiar faces, but it wouldn't have mattered. Never did I cherish my sisters as much as I do now, after the fall. Never was I truly happy with myself when I was there. Never was I truly known by any of them. Now they know me, they are cautious of me, they see my light for what it truly is. I rejoice, because it rejecting me, they have also acknowledged that I have changed. My boy, I would love to tell you that your mother cries for you every day. I would love to tell you to run to her right now, not to waste another second, but that's not the truth. Your mother is content, she's comfortable. She still laughs and has good days without thinking about you. I know that hurts. But I also know that is a relief."

It is...

That does bring me some solace. It almost makes things easier, even if it's somewhat more bitter.

Then I found myself asking one more question. Why us, Lucifer? Why do I keep having to teach myself this lesson? Why did I have to be the black sheep?

and he sort of hummed. "I'm honestly not sure," he answered longingly, "whatever the reason, I'm very very glad it's you and me."

Yeah. I guess I am too.

Are you happy Lucifer? with all this, really?

and he sort of somberly sighed to himself, "No, are you?"

No. At least not right now.

"Let's share whatever this feeling is with each other until we are."

Okay.

[henrioo]

°•*⁀➷ TIMELESS: MONKEY D. LUFFY

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : "Many things are taken away by time, power, money, life... But pure, genuine and true love is always timeless. Surviving every hardship that may come, and Ace and Sabo could see that clearly between you and Luffy.

꒰ WARNINGS ꒱ : angst! Ace death! Male reader! (Can be trans or not), Pre time skip Luffy! Alabasta arc, Dressrosa arc, SPOILERS!, gay relationship, Luffy and reader are clueless, Sabo still depressed about Ace

꒰ WC ꒱ : 2,5k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : So this was one of stories I had finished a long time and I now I'm posting them. It's not totally angst because nothing bad happens in the Luffy and reader relationship, but still sad. Fem dni or block and enjoy :))

Everyone quickly starts working on the tents before the terrible cold of the desert makes them freeze. You were finishing helping Nami with the girls' tent while trying to ignore Sanji cursing you for stealing his chance and calling you a pervert.

“Thank you (y/n)-kun” Nami said, satisfied with the end result while Vivi was placing the necessary items so that they would have a makeshift bed.

You just nodded and went after the boys to see what they were doing with their tents. Sanji clearly had a stable tent although it was kind of small, you thought about asking but your theories about his perverted goals made you shudder so you just ignored him and went to the other group.

Usopp was busy trying to make a tent himself and he was determined to show that he knew how to set one up, but he didn't. Zoro was lying on a sheet on the sand and using his backpack as a pillow, while Luffy and Chopper seemed to be having fun listening to the stories of the captain's older brother, Ace. “Usopp, do you want help?” You asked, approaching everyone. Since you still had some energy it wouldn't hurt to help others before going to your own tent to sleep, after all you were the first to set up your shelter which consisted more of a roof and pillow cloths and a sheet, you weren't much demanding and thought it fair that the girls had more fabric to work with.

“Hm… no… I… I'm almost there” he said, too focused to look at you, trying hard to make the poles that were supposed to hold the tent upright… obviously without success.

“Zoro?” You decided to leave the shooter alone, either he would make it or he would give up. The experience of success or failure was worth it then it was no longer your business.

“I'm fine, it's not too cold,” he said calmly. You would doubt if a normal human was truly capable of withstanding that cold, but it was Zoro and you knew he didn't think like a normal human, so you just shrugged it off.

You approached the other three boys who seemed very excited even after a long day of travel. Ace was a good guy, he definitely cared about Luffy and he had been very kind to everyone when they found out that you were his beloved little brother's crew. What bothered you was that he looked at you in a kind of strange way, especially when you interacted with Luffy.

It made you a little nervous and paranoid, but it didn't make you treat him any differently.

“Do any of you need help in the tents before I go to sleep?” You offered everyone, as always being very helpful.

“Oh! No! I’ll stay with Usopp!” Chopper declared happily and looked at his companion, but upon seeing the situation in the tent he was a little… well he was definitely something but you still weren't very good at reading emotions in an animal. He just sighed, getting up from Luffy's lap "I better help him" the reindeer said as he went towards his friend.

“I’m fine, fire advantage” Ace smiled and you had to admit he had a good charm. To prove his point he lit his own hand with his flames and you almost felt envious of the natural heat he was able to provide.

“Okay, then I’m going to get some sleep” you said, yawning, already feeling the tiredness finally catching up with you. As you turned to walk away you felt something grab your wrist and turned to see Luffy with a huge upset pout and his stretchy hand reaching out to hold you back.

"And me?" He asked in such a hurt way that he looked like a puppy abandoned in the rain.

“Huh? What about you Luffy?” You asked a bit confused.

“Aren’t you going to ask where I’m going to sleep?” He said it as if it were his duty to do it, a kind of genuine obligation.

“Oh! I thought you were going to sleep with Ace…” you said confused looking at your older brother. Since it had been a while since they had seen each other and Ace produced heat, you figured the two would just sleep together like brothers usually do.

“I don’t want to sleep with Ace!” Luffy grumbled, letting go of you and crossing his arms, he seemed almost offended by his assumption. “He snores!”

"Hey!" Ace said in protest at the small offense.

“Okay… what do you want to do then?” You looked at the boy with amusement, Luffy was always a bit clingy towards you and little by little you learned to give in to all his requests.

"I want to sleep with you!" He declared with a big smile and with so much confidence that it made your cheeks heat up and you looked away in embarrassment.

“Okay…whatever you want captain” you said shyly and practically ran to your tent to avoid hearing whatever Ace might say about that interaction.

Soon you were lying in the sand under your tent and trying to calm your racing heart, why did Luffy have to be so cute?! It only made it worse that he didn't know the effect he had on you... what an unfair life. When you were almost falling asleep you felt his warmth on your back, he wrapped his rubber limbs around you a few times as he held you tight against him, almost as if he wanted to make sure you wouldn't leave. He moved a few times, adjusting himself and then placed his head on your back, starting to sleep soon after. You sighed, deciding to follow his actions as you yawned one last time and also let sleep overcome you.

Outside, Ace watched as his brother practically skipped over to his tent with a knowing smile on his face. He wasn't an idiot, he knew Luffy very well and had good experience with romance, he knew exactly what was going on between the two of you. The way you smiled at Luffy and seemed to always be around him, the way the boy was also clingy to you and always seemed like your validation… who would know that Ace's whiny little brother would grow up enough to fall in love.

“Huh… those two then?” He laughed knowing that Zoro was the only one who was still awake, it wouldn't hurt to know more about his brother's boyfriend, after all it had been a long time since they had seen each other and Ace wanted to know all the news.

"Actually no." Zoro said quickly turning around to face Ace, he still had his eyes closed but was definitely awake.

“Huh? How not? They are literally sleeping together!” The man said, confused.

"Put two idiots together who are incapable of understanding what it's like to be in love and you get these two" Zoro yawned in his seat but he had an amused smile. “They definitely feel something, everyone knows”

“Let me guess, everyone knows except them?” Ace laughed knowingly, that was just like Luffy.

"Bingo... (y/n) is a little smarter, but I think he just doesn't want to accept that he's in love with the captain himself" that was a good theory, you always showed a lot of respect for Luffy's position and maybe you didn't want to mix things up things.

“He… huh, has problems with men?” Ace didn't know exactly how to ask if you weren't out of the closet without seeming rude, wouldn't it be weird if you didn't want to confess because you didn't feel comfortable liking a boy. Although that seemed a bit unlikely with the way you acted around Luffy.

"No, he's always made it clear that men are his type... Luffy isn't exactly the type of person who cares about gender either." Zoro pondered "I think it's just... They maybe don't think it's really love, the way they are they should just think it's a good friendship and that's it"

“No, (y/n) knows she's in love with Luffy” the third voice was Sanji's who was outside his tent smoking. "He just won't confess because he thinks Luffy is like that with everyone."

Ace sighed feeling empathy for you, Luffy could be very dense and his friendly manner probably confused you. But he knew that his brother definitely loved you, loved you in a very romantic way even if maybe he didn't know exactly what that was or how to express it.

“Well, I worry less,” Ace yawned, adjusting his hat to cover his face. “Luffy will eventually understand that he is in love with him, when that happens he will confess and make his love clear… he just needs a little time” the man laughed. He could already imagine the scene, Luffy would probably be a great boyfriend if he was already extremely loving with you now, as an older brother he felt very happy knowing that his little brother was having his first love and that luckily it was still reciprocated. You would work out, you just needed time until your feelings became clear and you could finally accept and accept them.

Sanji had already retired again, leaving Zoro to be the only one awake, he lay on his back facing the starry desert sky. Yes... You two just needed time, everyone could see how much you both loved each other much more than friends and mainly cared about each other. It would definitely be very interesting to see this unfold, he was just glad that both of his friends were in love with good people who would take good care of them.

You stroked Luffy's black hair, he was lying with his head in your lap recovering after the difficult battle against Doflamingo. You were all at Kyros' house so that Law and Luffy could have more time to recover, soon you would leave for Zou and then for Wano, so all the time to recover was essential now.

The straw hat on your head cast a certain shadow on your eyes, you didn't want to fall asleep, too worried to take your eyes off Luffy. But it was obvious that tiredness was also taking its toll on you, after all you also participated in your own battles to help the entire city from collapsing, now all your body and mind wanted was a little rest.

“Hey! Bro, you should get some sleep, you look like a zombie” Franky laughed as he continued the repairs on his body, you laughed weakly believing his words.

“Don’t worry, this one won’t wake up anytime soon” Zoro said, assuring you that you could take some time for your own rest.

“Okay… wake me up in case anything happens” you yawned, leaning better against the wall and finally resting completely, the straw hat fell against your face giving you greater coverage. You couldn't feel it, but Luffy turned a little, laying on his side and using his elastic arms to wrap himself around you, holding you close to him.

“It seems I came to say goodbye at a bad time” Sabo smiled entering the house, he would really love to spend more time with Luffy to recover everything they lost, but the revolutionary army needed him and it was time to go back. "It seems like some things never change, Luffy was always sleeping as a child."

“This one just doesn't sleep more than he eats,” Zoro said, making the other members who were there laugh a little.

"That's good, I'm glad he's still like this..." he smiled nostalgically, a part of him was happy that Luffy had managed to recover after Ace. A guilt still lingered in his chest for not being there, but they would have plenty of time in the future to come together again.

The blonde boy was going to say something else before starting his final farewell, but that was when he stopped to pay a little more attention to his brother and the man who slept with him. Luffy's precious straw hat resided on the man's head while his brother was wrapped around him in the same way he was wrapped around Sabo and Ace as children. No, it wasn't the same way, there was something different. The smile on Luffy's face, the way he was snuggled up to the boy Sabo knew was called (y/n)... Oh, he knew what that was.

“So both?” Zoro's eyes widened in surprise, it seemed that the brothers were much more alike than he imagined. He smiled nostalgically thinking that Luffy's two brothers really care about him a lot, it seemed like a great déjà vu from that same night in Alabasta years ago.

“No, not yet” he laughed looking sideways at the two “But they are already better than before.” That wasn't a lie, now that you and Luffy were reunited you were much more open to his displays of love, probably due to being apart for so long. The only thing “missing” was a label, but it wasn’t like you and Luffy seemed to care about that.

“Ah, I see… Luffy is more dense in these things” Sabo smiled happily, looking at his brother so comfortable.

“I'm happy that it's reciprocated, for both of them... I'm sure they'll work out, they just need a little time.” He was sure of it, it was obvious how much you liked each other, a little time would be enough for the two of you to take on whatever was necessary and nothing else would come between you “Well, I need to go, thanks for looking after my little brother, I promise we’ll see you again soon.” Sabo turned to leave but was stopped when he heard Zoro's voice.

“Huh… Ace said the same thing” Sabo's heart stopped for a second. "Not just about taking care of Luffy... About the two of you, you two were pretty confident that with a little time they would work out..."

Sabo had to hold back his tears, taking a deep breath to keep his control. He said happily without looking back "Then that must be a good sign, big brothers are never wrong." That was the small blessing for his brother's future relationship, he knew it would work out, Luffy could be dense in romantic relationships but Sabo knew that the day he fell in love with someone and was reciprocated he would never let that person go.

Leaving the small house he faced the sunny day feeling the wind on his face, wiping his tears and ruffling his golden curls.

“Hey Ace… It looks like our little brother grew up huh?” he said excitedly looking up, could his brother see him now? “I'm glad you had the chance to see them too... (y/n) is a good guy, I'm sure he'll be good for Luffy” he smiled confidently, after all he had seen how you took care of your brother when he passed out after the battle. “Luffy will also be good for him… Ah… I wish you had the chance to be here to see them finally together” he bit his trembling lip, unable to stop himself from crying “But it's okay, I know you can see us there, so please take good care of them… Our little brother deserves to be happy.”

And inside that house Luffy was still hugging you tightly, you yourself were smiling with your hand in the boy's hair, patting him even though you were sleeping. You might not have admitted your feelings, but that didn't matter, you and Luffy both knew that you loved each other and that you would never let anything happen to each other. And everyone around you, especially those two proud older brothers, knew that nothing would stop you two from enjoying a beautiful romance.

[nonnieapple]

Afk journey, Sinbad, trans male/gender neutral reader, nsfw fanfiction. (I love this man very much)🤍

⛈️☂️Hook, Line, and Sinker☂️⛈️

• (Sinbad x trans!male!Reader)

• r a t i n g: e x p l i c i t • 4 1 4 0 w o r d s

• p o s t e d: 01.11.2024🌧️ navigation

n o t e: sinbad is so hot, i wish men were real :( s u m m a r y: sinbad walks in at the worst possible time, and the following events complicate your relationship further.

It was nearing night, and the hamsters were fast asleep as well as most guests of the inn. 

  When Sinbad walked into your room, you were staring out of the window with a wistful look, like the look his mothers had when they gazed out at the sea, remembering their husbands, lost forever to the fog and unrelenting waves. He wondered who you longed after, if anyone. Maybe you longed for home. Or for something he couldn't possibly imagine. 

  Before he closed the door, you broke the silence. 

  "You dare disturb my rest?"

  Even turned away, you heard him. Your voice sent tingles up his leg. The room veered towards cold, the windows open, making the curtains flutter like sails. 

  "You're really living it up in here," Sinbad remarked, inviting himself to sit down on the fancy armchair flanked by another and a couch in the west of your room. 

  He hadn't ever been in it yet, and he was sure you wouldn't mind if he just sprawled out a little, he stretched, his boots hitting the leg of the short table. Lit candles sitting upon golden thrones flickered on it. Two glasses and a bottle were there as well. 

  "As I should, I was to have a vacation, and I'm still getting it, Cedartown or not." You made your way to the couch, your visage somewhat blurry from all the glamour swallowing up your form, the air around you swaying. 

  If he looked at you too long, he could see something was terribly wrong. It was not something anyone could notice at first, or at second sight, only those looking for it might begin to pull at the thread. He stopped examining you. He wasn't sure what he'd find. 

  You were like the fog that had almost killed him- leading him in mental circles until he went mad trying to get himself out of it. 

  Sinbad's leg jerked when you approached. You stood, close, your robe made of small, black, and knitted net. It should've revealed everything you wore under it- instead, everything around your chest and hips darkened and blurred. 

  The magic that wafted off you made his head spin. Or maybe it was that he drank too much. Sinbad sighed shakily as you ghosted your touch over his face, your eyes sharp and inhuman. The next second, they turned warm. 

  "Did you drink that swill again? Here, drink something good for once." 

  He barely caught the bottle you threw into his arms, and he thought, somewhat incredulously, You're too kind.

  But, really, Magister- I don't know what to think of you. One second you wanna kill me and the next you're my savior. 

  I'll never know who you are, will I?

  His eyes skimmed over the label. Dark liquid sloshed within darker green walls. "Woah! Fancy stuff. It's actually red."

  The wine he was used to at most establishments was pale, watered down to save costs. You shrugged. You must've been used to good wine, good food, good people. He envied you. 

  "It's from an... old friend."

  The way you said that with so much hesitance made his heart drop. 

  "They must be rich."

  Sinbad popped open the bottle and poured himself some. He might as well indulge, and your room was a good place to do that. Upon second thought it might be questionable. 

  He had to hold back on drinking. He couldn't afford to do something stupid.

  "Beyond that, and a massive drunkard I could never deny, but as I don't drink I have no use for his gifts." You took up the whole couch, propping up your head with a hand, the other playing idly with the belt of your delicate robe. 

  If he was to be mean, he'd liken you to a fish caught in a net, but he couldn't lie, you were more of a siren. 

  You hummed.

  "I guess I could have a glass."

  You poured yourself nearly half the bottle, and swallowed a third of the glass, drinking like a fish. He struggled not to gawk at you. 

  "Old friend... bet you have plenty of those. Not like it bothers me," he tacked on at the end, scratching at his scalp lightly. 

  The fireplace crackled and sputtered red. Strange, it gave off no warmth. Was it magic? Sheesh, what about you wasn't magic? 

  The rug beneath his boots was sure real, and a real good rug, too. If he were to get piss drunk he'd choose the rug over the street to pass out on. Oh, there were even pillows on the floor. Perfect. 

  "I mean it. We were friends, he isn't an old flame- as far as I know."

  As far as you knew?

  "You sure about that?" He raised a brow. 

  "Quite. Though one actual old flame, I wonder how she's doing. It's been a while, I last saw her in Holistone, it has been months since then. Damn Hogan for sending me on this "vacation", now I'm stuck in the middle of the sea with no idea when I'll see him or Valen. He should've gone with me."

  Pushing aside his slight offense at the Rustport slander, you had mentioned General Hogan and Valen a few times. One was a Magistrate and, guess what, General of Holistone, the other some swashbuckling knight who, as he understood it, was hitting on you. 

  "Well, I'm glad he didn't."

  "Hm? Why is that?" You smirked, your eyes glimmering like the wine you swished in your hand.

  If Sinbad was pale, you would've seen his face lose color in an instant. 

  "I mean- I meant- he would've drowned in his armor, is all! It would've been worse than what happened to Chippy." 

  He drank quickly so he couldn't see your gloating expression.

  "You're holding your glass like you're throttling a neck." 

  Even if he drank and drank, he still heard your voice, and if he plugged his ears, you'd get into his mind, too. 

  He couldn't tell if that was a way to hint at his discomfort or point out his terrible manners. 

  "I'm not much of a wine drinker."

  You, on the other hand, held your glass between your thumb and forefinger ever so lightly. That fucking hand was calling him poor just at a glance. 

  "This better?" He emulated the way you did it, though it was nowhere near as graceful. 

  "Much better. The wine compliments your shirt." 

  The red, satin shirt, an illusion you cast, felt good nonetheless, and the wine was divine. It was bright, just sweet enough, and with a hint of berries and zest. It tasted more like the few fruits he had tried than the usual- as you put it- "swill" he drank. 

  It settled warmly in his chest, with the occasional sour tingle in his cheeks. 

  Sinbad didn't want to leave your room. It was fancy, and more importantly, it had wine AND you. 

  "How've you been?" You said between sips, your expression softening. 

  "Good. I've been spending a lot of time poking around the ship, avoiding going to Brineville so I don't have to explain myself. Things are better than before I met ya, anyway, I can finally do what I want, and... everything's so calm." 

  It was strange to not have to think about every little expense anymore for the village now that no one threatened its safety, and he was essentially a "hero". Sure, he still had to make money somehow and Rustport was as rusty as ever, but so much had been lifted off his shoulders. 

  By you, no less. 

  He'd said he'd repay you. That nagged at his mind sometimes. What could you possibly want? 

  It was nothing to worry about. It wouldn't be worse than what he had gone through. 

  "Planning on leaving soon?" 

  If he wasn't mistaken, he saw you frown ever so slightly. 

  "Not yet. I've got a lot to do here before I leave. What about you?" 

  You threw back your head and let your hair spill over the edge of the couch. 

  "You know, been here and there, helping people as I do, went fishing with my familiars. I like helping people and spending time with them but I do need alone time." 

  That was why the hamsters were in another room. Sinbad had to admit, they were cute and had grown on him. You truly were the most precious thing he had ever found washed up on the beach. He'd be no one without you. 

  "Are you leaving soon?" 

  You shook your head. "I want to stay a bit longer, until you leave, I suppose. I won't have much to do then. I'm dealing with people's problems rather quickly." 

  Of course, you weren't staying only for him. You were busy. 

  "I'm glad you're staying a bit longer." He couldn't imagine being without you now. You were the closest friend he'd had. Everyone wanted something from him, and you had asked for the least, always generous, if quirky. 

  You smiled, returning his giddy expression, which he hadn't noticed himself pull. 

  He felt his face get warmer. Must've been all the wine. 

  He and you listened to the crackling of the fire, finishing your glasses. You lounged like a cat. You were the image of peace when you closed your eyes. He rolled up his sleeves, feeling somewhat hot all of a sudden. He waited for you to kick him out, it'd happen sooner or later.

  You watched from under your lashes. 

  "I was surprised that you had tattoos, though they are common here," you said. 

  He had helm tattoos on each forearm. "Funny story, I got them when I was drunk, like, extremely. I don't remember where or how exactly I got them." At least they healed fine and he had not felt much pain. He hadn't felt much at all.

  "They suit you well." Your eyes lingered for a while. 

  "I have more that you haven't seen." He smirked, putting on that smooth-talking persona again. 

  "Although tempting, you won't smooth-talk me, Sinbad," you said sternly. 

  He sighed. A guy had to try. You were so damn hard to scam and trick, it was annoying. You were one of the only people immune to his charms. You were looking at him like he was a helpless animal. Again. 

  Instead of words of pity, he was hit with: 

  "You look upset. Mope in another room, I'm exhausted," you said, yawning and turning away from him unceremoniously. 

  He left with a huff. 

  "Good night to you too, Magister Merlin." 

  ...

  "Good night." 

  He should've been asleep.

  Sinbad crept across the hall towards your newly luxurious room, careful not to make a sound, like he was escaping from a dungeon (like he had many times). 

  Sinbad cracked open your door. Strange, he left it unlocked, he thought. The room was dark and silent except for the sounds of the breeze coming in through the windows, like breaths.

  You seemed to be asleep, as far as he could tell. He was sure he had heard something from your room. Maybe it had been the wind.

  "Magister?" he said into the black, closing the door behind himself. It was not entirely dark, he noticed as he moved towards your canopy bed, as there was a lone candle burning close to the window. 

  The fireplace had no remains of smoldering wood. 

  The windows- they were closed shut. The sound was not from there. Had it been the draft instead? If this was how noisy the good rooms were, he'd go complain to Bols later. 

  Sinbad pushed past the closed curtains of the canopy bed, the fabric heavy and lush, a velvet he hadn't even dreamed of touching before, with much trepidation, his heart tense, ready for a beast to lunge at him any moment. 

  He didn't see what happened, it happened swiftly, the shape in the bed shifting loudly. The sound of the breeze halted. 

  "Ah, Sinbad. I was just thinking of you," you said, and it was undeniably you, your voice quiet yet clear, a little exasperated, your breathing so shallow he would've believed you if you said you had run around the whole of Rustport in a minute. 

  He would've believed you if you hadn't been in your bed all this time.

  "Why aren't you asleep?" he stammered with wide eyes, gaze lost as he adjusted, making out your fuzzy shape. It was leaner than usual. He sensed none of your usual glamours on you.

  "I could ask the same of you." 

  He leaned his knee on the bed, and you moved away. 

  "Some noise woke me up, and I thought it came from your room. Was I right?" He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, seeing that you lay rigid and didn't want him to come near you. To him, it seemed that something had happened, and you were uncooperative as to what. 

  One of his jobs was to get information. Clearly, he wasn't much good at it with you around. 

  "Did something happen, Magister? You're worrying me." His brows lowered over his honey-brown eyes. 

  "You didn't knock. You should leave my room." The light brightened against your face. Your skin was dewy and your hair was disheveled, the bedsheets in disarray. You were a mess. 

  The Merlin, a mess? 

  "I did know- and- you can't kick me out again!" He leaned over you as you leaned against cushiony pillows.

  You pushed on his chest to get him away, your hand hot and humid. 

  "... Are you dense or what?" you snapped. "What do you think I'm doing in a dark room, alone, in my bed, gasping for air?" 

  His face transitioned from bewilderment to horror. 

  Oooh.

  Embarrassment hit him like a wave. Holy Tritonus, he had heard you moaning. In this case, he was dense beyond belief. And the reason you were recoiling wasn't because something was wrong, it was, because, well. He chose the worst possible time to intrude. 

  And the reason your frame seemed leaner now was because you had no glamours concealing your body indeed, and no clothes besides that robe. He could see your bare skin between the fabric you held together with a tense hand. 

  He had trouble not looking. And it wasn't the wine, that had long left his system. 

  "Shit, I... I didn't..."

  He had no excuse, and so close to you, caging you in, neither of you could escape, captured in the world's most awkward stalemate. The words drowned in the depths of his mind.

  "You said you were thinking about me earlier. Do you mean...?" he trailed off, his voice mumbling and strained. Everything felt like a dream. He'd pinch himself if he wasn't frozen. 

  "I left the door open for you. I didn't expect you to come." 

  Sinbad's breathing had accelerated. He had already had thoughts about you. He couldn't possibly resist anything you asked him to do. That hint of servitude remained in him, and he was all eager to please. 

  "I'm here." He tried to smile, but it came out rather strained. 

  You pulled him in by tangling your hands in his freshly dried hair. Your lips were one push away. 

  He had already gotten ready for bed- his skin infused with whatever fancy soaps he managed to snatch this time. It mixed with that woody scent of a faraway home that clung to you no matter how many times you got drenched with rain or seawater. 

  "So?" 

  He felt your every breath. Berries. 

  "So..."

  You kissed him first. 

  You were far from a reserved, shy mage. You nipped at his lip and broke the kiss just to piss him off. 

  He cursed like the sailor he was. Next thing he knew, his boots were lost in the dark along with his scarf (it felt like sacrilege to wear it during this), his shirt untucked and partially unbuttoned by your nimble fingers. You traced over the anchor tattoo between his collarbone and shoulder. 

  That wasn't how he expected you to find it. 

  Your hips were fuller than they appeared, filling him with thoughts he couldn't possibly speak, and your waist was small, perfect for holding when he-

  Your chest wasn't quite... flat. That made him stop. His silent question hung in the air. 

  "I'm trans," you said, amused at how he was surprised by you again and again. You had hidden your chest to a point where he couldn't have guessed. 

  He had never been with someone like you (in any sense), but he didn't mind. 

  Your chest was soft, each breast perfectly fitting into his hand. At each caress and pull you reacted accordingly. It was his turn to be amused, and he was enjoying it immensely. 

  Your face and voice did not falter, the only thing betraying your feelings being your shallow breathing. Would your breaking point be easy to reach, or would he reach his first? 

  Goosebumps raised on your thighs when he felt them up with his calloused fingers. Only the richest of the rich could have pristine hands in Rustport. Sinbad spread your legs with little resistance from you, his hand wrapping around most of your thighs' circumference. 

  His hand dipped between your legs. You were wet, the wetness covering parts of your inner thighs. The hotness ignited a fever in him, a fever he hadn't felt in a long time, and never so strongly. Most of his prior fucks were hookups, and sometimes, to get out of uncomfortable situations in his jobs. They didn't happen often and he hardly looked forward to them. With you, he could hardly stop his hands and other body parts of his from thrusting right into you. You were by far the hottest guy he'd been with.

  At the rough touch on your clit you jolted with a soft sigh, your legs closing on instinct, but they were stopped by Sinbad being in the way. 

  The thought crossed his mind that you were surrounded by others from all sides, and at any second, anyone could walk in. He didn't mind- he liked a bit of danger. 

  "How are you feeling?" he whispered close to your ear, hand exploring all the places that could feel best for you. He would make sure you'd remember this as a positive memory, and even if you left and never saw him again, the scene would stick in your mind.

  "I've been better," you said with a shortness of breath, but impressively coherently.

  "Don't you think this is a bad time for jokes?" Would you still talk like that if he filled you up? Would your face still be so serene? 

  "It's a perfect time for-" he interrupted you as he slid his finger over your clit over and over again, making your legs tremble and your brows lower. He might've not been experienced, but he was a quick learner.

  After he got you to a point where you were panting and your pulse hammered relentlessly, he lowered his finger to your entrance, teasing it. You covered your mouth. A thin string, like fishing line, followed his hand as he withdrew. 

  Sinbad began with one finger, your tight walls even hotter than your wetness. Fuck. It felt amazing on his fingers. It might've made him cum instantly if he tried fucking you like that. 

  "Relax your muscles, there's no need to be tense," he said soothingly. 

  You visibly stopped straining and let him push his finger in fully. It circled your smooth cervix. You were pretty shallow inside. 

  He was clueless at that point, unsure of what to do for you. 

  "Curl your finger towards yourself."

  Now you were the one close to his ear, leaning on his shoulders so he could have better access and less lewd sounds would be heard. 

  When he curled it as you said, he felt a spongy tissue that gave way under his prodding. You bit into his shoulder with little regard for how much that shit hurt. It would leave a mark, or even better, a scar. Yay. One more to the arsenal. He would have a hard time explaining that one, as it was in a visible place between his neck and shoulder muscles. 

  He groaned at the pain, pulling you halfway onto him. One hand of his rubbed your clit, and the other, inside you. You must've been leaving a hickey judging by the slight tingle on his neck. It made him harder than he already was. 

  Feeling every little groove inside and outside you couldn't be replicated by just ramming his dick in, and he thanked you that you had made the choice, since he was unwise- in general. 

  "What would your love-struck Knight think, Magister?" He pressed his lips into your shoulder. Slim, but surprisingly muscled from carrying every situation you got into on your shoulders. 

  You'd look good on top of him. With other people, his mind veered into nonsense and mundane thoughts of what he'd have for breakfast. Right now all he could think about was you, you in every way, in every angle, his. Everyone was right- he was greedy. Just not about money. 

  "Getting fingered by someone you met, what, a month ago? If even that?" Sinbad smirked, making sure you saw his expression. You bit your lip and gazed at him like you were oh so woeful. Would you tell the Knight what you'd done tonight? He didn't care if you did or not, but if you did, Sinbad would've loved like to see his face. 

  "He'd be jealous, I bet," you stuttered out with each thrust and curl of his finger, and when he added a second, you were reduced to adorable huffs and sighs, far from the virtuous Magister Merlin out in Rustport streets, a man of class and poise. A man who was now gasping for air with Sinbad's fingers deep in his cunt.

  He kissed from the swell of your chest, up to your collarbones and neck. You were not a man, not a human, you were a dream, a fog a foolish sailor like him would lose himself in.

  Screw him trying to make you never forget him. He'd never forget you, as he fell for you hook, line, and sinker, a fish falling for bait. He would never find someone like you. Someone who so easily saw through his tricks and had him willingly serve. 

  He could do it every night, sneaking in, fucking you whichever way you wanted him to, and acting like nothing was afoot. 

  You got him. 

  He kept gently fingering you as you gasped in an orgasm, one quite notable, your body going soft against his, your skin sticky and heart pounding. 

   What he had done felt automatic, like his body wasn't entirely his, his rhythm mechanical in nature, following your every whim and whine. He had just gotten you off, willingly, giddily, even, and enjoyed it. 

  That had been a first for him. 

  The first thing you said to him once you regained your breath and composure was: "Go wash your hands." 

  What a sweet way to snap him out of it. 

  It was fortunate that you had a bathroom attached to your bedroom. He didn't feel keen on doing a walk of shame through the halls. 

  The mirror revealed to him how hard you'd bitten him, leaving not only a hefty tooth mark, but even a hickey, too high for his scarf to hide. He cursed you inside his mind. All things considered, it was expected to have him do whatever he wanted to you, not the other way around. If you told him to jump into the sea right this second he probably would've done it. A flush was blooming across his face, not too obvious, but there. 

  You were next in the bathroom, and when you returned, Sinbad was on your bed, grinning. He did not budge a muscle.

  "You're not kicking me out again, Magister. This handsome face needs its beauty sleep." 

  "I'll allow it," you said, tucking yourself in on the other side. Sinbad lay curled to take up as little space as possible. It wasn't exactly comfortable. You neared him, tugging his arms around your back, and you entwined under the thick blanket. 

  Hook, line, and sinker. 

  He didn't want the morning to arrive and so cruelly take you away. He'd savor every moment he had with you. For once in his life, he did not feel bound to you by duty, but by the call of his heart, similar to how he felt about the sea. Like the sea, you'd pull him in, and keep him wallowing in feelings so alien. 

  Did you know what you did to him? He didn't need you to. He just needed you close. 

  "Good night," he said. 

  "Seriously this time?" 

  "Seriously, I promise." 

  The lone candle flickered out.

[writersblockworks]

Pretty face Sova x Male!reader

F/N- Fake name A/N- Assassin name

Does this have anything to do with recent events? Maybe, prove it

Also thanks to @brainrotsova for the unofficial request/idea

You are a highly trained assassin hired by an unknown client to take down Sova.

Cw: mild NSFW. Smut at the end, Blood, Getting hurt. MDNI

You check the burner phone for anything from your client. Someone hired you to assassinate a man they called ‘The Hunter’. It was almost poetic how the hunter would soon be hunted. It has been exactly 25 hours since you got hired and you heard nothing. Still, you wait. You stand outside a bakery, tapping your foot in anticipation.

Well you got told one thing, upon hiring you they said this man was strong and highly trained. That gave you a rush, sure you took lives, but this seemed like it might finally be an actual challenge. Sure people fought back but you were trained maybe too well and won fights with ease. Now there was a possibility of a man being able to fight back, you would still kill him however. As you’re lost in thought someone bumps into you, causing you to fall to the ground.

“Oh I’m so sorry.” A man says in a thick Russian accent. He bends down to help you up. You look to see a tall blond man. He had one odd looking yet dazzling light blue eye, and the other eye was a darker blue that reminded you of the lake outside your old house. He was tall, maybe over six foot, though he had a coat on, you could tell he was strong from the way he grabbed your hand. It left you speechless.

“Oh it’s all good.” You say, making sure none of your gear flew into the open. The man notices you looking around.

“Did you lose something?” He asks in a warm tone. Your heart skips a beat.

“O-oh no just making sure I didn’t drop anything.” You respond. He smiles.

“My name is Sasha, what’s yours?”

“Oh I’m.” You trail, thinking of a name to give him. “My name is F/N.” You say. All though he nods, something tells you he doesn’t believe you. With how you delivered it, you didn’t either.

“Well F/N. I have to get going, sorry for bumping into you.” He says before running off. All you can do is watch him leave and give a weak wave goodbye. That was the most handsome man you have ever met, you felt as if your stomach was turning and your heart was pounding. Your trans is broken by the burner phone buzzing. You pull it out.

‘I’m sorry A/N for the wait, I had other business to attend, I hired you because you’re the best of the best. You kill humans and radiants, but especially radiants. This man, Sasha Novikov, aka Sova, isn’t radiant, but he works with a group of radiants. He is ex Russian military, so he will fight back. Try to catch him alone maybe? His blue is robotic, and it’s connected to his weapons such as his drone and dart. I want this done by tomorrow morning, that’s not a problem for you looking at your record.’

*sent image.*

You look at the image and your heart sinks. It was the handsome man you saw earlier, god of all people it’s him? Still, you thought about the debt you were in, sadly a pretty face would have to die by your hands. Well not the first time this has happened, and it’s not the first time someone’s fought back. But it’s the first time someone with a pretty face fought back. You glance back to hopefully find the man again, luckly he’s walking. You pull out the small tracking device, then look at the fallen donut on the ground. You take a deep breath before running to him.

“Hey Sasha!” You yell he stops and turns around. God you wish you didn’t have to kill him, he was so strong it made you wonder if you could take him. It made you wonder if you could take him.

“Oh hey F/N, we meet again.” He chuckles. He walks and looks back at you, wanting you to follow him. You walk beside him, carefully placing the tracker in his coat.

“Let me buy you another donut, as an apology.” You say walking backwards in front of him. You peak his interest.

“Oh no I have to return to work, though I wouldn’t mind grabbing a drink after my work.” He says. You feel your heart skip again, like it was playing fucking hopscotch. Still, you have to keep cool. You should say no, you should tell him you have to leave town tonight. If you guys head for drinks, what if he knows what your plan is and takes you out first. If you went on a date, what if you got soft and he kills you first. What if you can’t kill him, what will your boss do? Just say no.

“How about at seven we meet at that bar?” You say, pointing at the bar across the street. Oh fuck, why did you do that.

“Great, see you a seven.” Sova says, walking down the sidewalk.

“I’m so fucked.” You mumble.

You are lucky he’s in your city, but you don’t go back to your apartment. You knew your boss was there, well you didn’t, but you could guess. Also, going back to the apartment could be risky, you learned that the first time. You almost got caught due to fingerprints and cctv, you remember the beatings that old man gave you.

At your hideout, you put together your sniper. Maybe while he is walking to the bar, you snipe him? No no he’s trained, you’re trained. You know better than to do it in public. But if you did it in public they would be worried that the shooter was in the crowd, maybe it would cause people to trample each other. The perfect cover up, that you won’t do.

You didn’t want to become this, you didn’t want to be an assassin. But the old man had offered you and your sister food and shelter when you needed it. He got her a cure for her sickness, he helped you get stronger. Now, you’re in his debt and you had two options, become their toy, or become their assassin. You’d take killing one man over taking old men.

You hatch a plan. Well a rough draft of a plan, it was definitely going to be messy. You take in factor that he is military trained, and he is in some sort of military organization. You can’t sneak up on him, apparently he has equipment in case someone tries to. This would have to be up close. Hell you might even get caught, but you couldn’t get caught. If you get caught your sibling has to pay off the debt and that includes either becoming their sex toy or become their assassin. You’d have to clean up, clean better than you ever have cleaned.

You have to make a good plan, but not a complicated one. The more complicated it is the easier it is to get caught, yet it’s also so easy to get caught if it’s under planned. Finding that sweet spot was hard, but you ended up making a plan. Get drinks he will most likely get typsy, take him to a back alley, then complete your job. Drugging was out of the question, it felt immoral to do. Then again you kill to pay off your debt. What is immoral then. You had a few hours to kill, so you got all your gear together. You can’t get that man out of your mind.

It seemed like seven couldn’t come fast enough. Walking around the place, taping your foot, you even tried to sleep. Once it hit six thirty time seemed to slow, this never happened before. You had been nervous before hits, but it’s never like this. Hell you feel yourself getting hard just thinking about, his stupid muscles, his dumbass laugh, his long hair, his gorgeous eyes, oh. Oh you were fucked. Once seven hits you fix your self before heading out. These weren’t too nice, but they were nice clothes. You head to the bar you had pointed at this morning. You check a device in your pocket to locate the tracking device you put on him this morning. Good, he was already there, at least you wouldn’t worry about being stood up. Not that it matters if you were. You get to the door, checking if you were dressed well enough, casual yet nice. You show to bouncer your ID and you walk in.

“There you are I thought you wouldn’t come!” The Russian man said, walking towards you. You felt your heart pound faster and faster the closer he got to you. Once he reached you he pulled you in for a hug, you felt as if you could melt right there. His strong arms wrapped around you, you felt for once you were being protected. All these years you were protecting your sibling, but you didn’t realize you needed to be protected. You needed to be protected by him. He pulled away.

“Let’s by a drink, on me.” You say pulling out your wallet. He nods and you two walk to the bar. The man orders vodka coke, it’s a basic choice for sure. You decide to get an Americano, to match his basic energy at least.

“Not a big drinker?” He asks.

“No not tonight.” You chuckle. He raises an eyebrow.

“Why not tonight?” He asks.

“Oh I have important business to attend to in the morning. I can’t be hung over. Besides I have get drunk when I am out with a new friend, it’s bad manners.” You respond. The bartender hands you guys your drinks, you take out the wallet to pay with cash. He must have gotten a peak inside, you two found an empty table.

“I saw a picture of a person in your wallet, is that your partner?” He asked. He looked like he was still happy and smiling just as he was a second ago, but his tone said otherwise.

“Oh no, that’s my sibling, they mean a lot to me. Our parents died a few years ago, we were taken in by a.. a friend.” You say, taking a sip.

“Oh I’m so sorry.” He replied. “Well let’s drink to you and your sibling being here.” He said. You smile and tap your cup against his. You took a sip, while he drank half of it. You set down your drink

“You don’t have anything tomorrow?” You ask.

“Oh I do, I don’t get breaks. I’m just muscle, I can drink more than you.” He said with a chuckle. You look at yourself.

“We are just built different from each other.” You playfully scoff. You were muscular from all the years of training, you were just shorter. He smiles

“You do look like you can hold your own. Do you go work out for fun or is it for work?” He asked. Your heart stopped for a moment, the way he asked you, the way he looked at his almost empty drink then you with those gorgeous blue eyes. Did he know? You calmed yourself quickly then took a drink, you almost slammed your cup down.

“Most of it was from work, we lift a lot. But I just started going to the gym to keep the body it gave me.” You replied, which it wasn’t really a lie. He nodded, not taking his eyes off of you as he took a drink. The rest of the night went well, you guys talked about almost anything that came to mind. Still you had no idea how to kill him, maybe you would try to lead him to the back ally. Still you didn’t really want to kill him, they said he will fight back, what if he kills you first? You two finished up and walked outside.

“Let’s walk a little more, I feel like we have more to talk about.” You say, you didn’t mean to have a flirty undertone, but it happened. You held your breath, but he just smiled.

“Should we go somewhere private to talk?” He asked. Your heart stopped again, your face flushed, if you didn’t quickly look away he would notice. Still, you heard him chuckle, you glanced up to see his face was red too.

“Like where?” You ask. You couldn’t take him back to your place, or your hideout. He stepped closer, you could feel his hot breath against your ear. You could smell the pine on him, made you wonder what he did for work

“Well, I have a hotel room.” He whispered before pulling back. Now you were breathless, he was just standing there like he asked to go get ice cream. You were pissed, how could be be so calm? Yet he looks so perfect in the light show.

“Well, lead the way” You said, walking away. You looked back expecting him to follow, and you could almost see his face turn red. Once you two were walking you almost forgot why you were walking with him. Hell how were you even walking, now lightly flirting with such an attractive man. If the circumstances were different, oh you wish they were different. The way this night was going he could be your boyfriend, you sighed. Then it hit you, cameras, from when he said earlier, now leading you to his hotel. No this wasn’t flirting, he knew. And even if he couldn’t kill you somehow, your face would be on camera.

“Are you okay?” He asked, you let go of the breath you didn’t know you were holding. He grabbed your hand and smiled, and you wanted to die. How could you kill him, shit how could you kill him. He was so much bigger than you, talk, muscular, handsome, long beautiful hair, hell his hands were soft too.

“Oh yes I’m fine just lost in thought, it’s just so cold out tonight, being the first snow of the year and all” You respond. He smiles and leans into you, he got so close if you moved slightly you would kiss him.

“You’ll be warm tonight I promise.” He whispers. If he wanted to play this game, you’d play it too. When he tries to back up, you grabbed his jacket and you pulled him back in.

“I don’t think warm is the word for tonight, maybe hot.” You whisper, you didn’t expect a reaction, that was the worst line, but you see his cheeks turn red. He smirks and grabs your hand tighter.

“Let’s hurry so you can show me what you mean by that.” He says. First you guys walk a little faster , then job, then sprint. You guys raced each other to his hotel, luckily he’s in front so he can lead the way. You guys end up laughing as you two move through people. First the lobby, then the elevator, finally you two are trying to catch your breath outside of his room. He looks in his wallet for his key card. Once he found it he opened the door and he guided you in. He was so warm. He turned on the light and oh my god. This was the best hotel room you’ve seen in a long time.

“So-“ you start but he pushes you into the wall and kisses you. It catches you off guard, but soon you kiss him back. After a minute he pulls away and pins your hands above your head with one hand, then reaches to your pocket. You felt your heart sink as he pulls out your gun.

“So A/N, who sent you to kill me?” He asked, yet it felt lighthearted. Didn’t he realize you were here to kill him?

“I don’t know..” you mumble, his grip gets tighter. That sounded like a child getting caught, but looking at him, now after you guys have shared a moment together. You genuinely didn’t know.

“All you have to answer is who sent you. Then maybe I can forgive you for trying to kill me.” He says with a shrug, throwing your gun behind him.

“I don’t know, I just got the job from my boss.” You say through a hiss. You desperately started to look for an escape, you were sure he was going to kill you. Quickly, you lift up your legs and kick him in the chest. He stumbles back causing you to fall to the ground, you take out the small knife in your pocket. You lunge at him, taking in his features one more time. Once you’re on top of both struggle for a minute. You struggle against him, you also struggle with yourself. Did you really want to kill him? What was so dangerous about this man? After a moment he finally gets the small knife out of your hands, then rolls your around, now he was on top. He pinned your hands to the floor.

“You know, when I was told I had another assassin after me, I thought it was a joke. After I found that small tracker on my jacket, I had my friend so some investigating on you.” He said. You fight against him, trying to lift yourself up or buck him off of you. “You have so much potential to be great, but you use it for this? Not even your sibling knows what you do. It would be a shame if they knew they were the reason you went into a life of crime.” He adds. You’ve had enough of this Russian man.

You use your strength to snatch one of your arms out from his hand using his thumb to break free. You punch him in the face then roll over to where the gun lay on the floor. You reach for it, but he grabbed a small gun from the nightstand. You both take aim at each other this two seconds feel like hours, both of you have guns aimed at each others chest. You were breathing heavily, blood ran down his face. God you hoped he didn’t look down.

“What’s your real name?” He asked, still pointing his gun at your chest, yet his shoulders relaxed. You stay silent for a moment. “Please, I want to put a name to a pretty face.” He whispers, it almost comes across as begging

“Y/N.” You mumble.

“Y/N, let’s talk.” He said, lowing his gun, you keep yours aimed. “We found where your sibling was being kept, I know you’re doing this for them. Lower your weapon.”

“How can I trust you? You took me here you mislead me.” You whisper shouted, still not lowering the gun.

“I didn’t mislead you, put the gun down. That back there? That was real, please love let me up.” He asked, this time it was calm. You don’t know what came over you in that moment, it could have been the death of you. He could be lying to your face, this is the thing you were first taught and it’s never trust your victims. Still, you got off him, but you didn’t lower the gun. He stood up and placed down his gun.

“Shouldn’t you grab that, in case I shoot?” You ask, but he just shakes his head.

“You don’t want to, and I don’t want to shoot you.” He says sitting on the bed, tapping the area beside him inviting you to sit.

“What if-“

“If I wanted you dead, you would be dead.” He said this time his voice was lower, more rough. You couldn’t speak, all you could do was listen. You sit next to him.

“Y/N, they sent you to your death.” He said.

“What?”

“You’re not the first assassin they’ve sent, I’ve killed every one of them. You were sent to your death, from what my friend found, they wanted your sibling. Your boss is loyal to the deals he makes, so he worked with a company that wanted me dead, and they sent you, that way if I killed you he could get your sibling, but if I died then, well that would be a huge paycheck for your boss.” He explained, he used a very calming voice, he was very quiet. You could just sit there, they knew you were going to fail. You were the best of the best, right?

“Why didn’t you kill me?” You asked. He gently put his hand over yours.

“You were different. You didn’t try to kill me right away, when I read about you more, I knew this wasn’t what you wanted. It was either this or a sex worker, all to protect your sibling from the man who gave you two a home. The second reason is a little more selfish.” He says. You could only look at him, nothing came to mind, you didn’t know what to say. But you asked.

“What were the selfish reasons?” You asked

“Well, I thought you were the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. The way you carried yourself when you ran to me this morning, your soft hands, your smile, eyes, body. To me it was all perfect, I’ve never felt this about a man the same way I’ve felt about a woman. I want to hold you close to me and keep you safe. That’s the selfish reason.” He whispered. You were lost for words, he felt the same. You didn’t even realize you had cupped his cheek. He leaned into your hand.

“What do we do now?” You manage to ask.

“It will take a while, but we can rescue your sibling, that is if you let me live.” He whispered. “I want to recommend you for the group I work for. I can’t say much, but we save a lot of people. You have potential and you are strong. I just want you to be by my side.” He said, this was all too much at once. You sit back, then fall to the bed. He stands up

“This is happening all at once, can I think about it?” You ask, while you like how it sounds, nothing that simple. No one just lets people off the hook.

“I need to know when you leave this hotel.” He says. You lift your head up, about to argue with him when you notice something pressed against his pants. He sees you looking and tries to cover his pants with his jacket.

“So back there, that was real?” You ask, sitting up. His face turns red.

“I-it was.”

“Well if you want to pass the time. While I think. We can continue.” You offer, your heart is pounding. He smiles and takes off his shirt then starts to walk to you. The next second he’s over you and you’re laying on the bed

“Alright then if that’s what you want.” He smiles. You nod, god this is what you want. You take off your best and Sasha crashes his lips onto yours. As he deepened the Kidd and pulled off your shirt. You knew your answer, but this felt too good to stop.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Guys sorry this is kind of long I did my best tell me if I cooked or not.

[cartooncreep]

ATSV SPOILERS!!!

(It’s all allegories and metaphors I know I know but I can only say it that many times until it takes away from the point I’m making. She is trans tho shut up.)

Okay so we all know Gwen Stacy/Spiderwoman is a trans allegory (is trans) right? Right.

I rewatched ATSV today, and I’ll watch it even more no doubt about that. But I’m here to talk about the part of the movie that made me gasp and go “ohh.”

So we already know it’s GWEN who’s trans NOT Peter cause that takes away from her whole allegory AND I don’t care how much of an ally you are - you’re not hanging the trans flag in your room. However, the person I actually wanna focus on here is Peter.

Peter isn’t really introduced to us as someone we should care about, we care about Gwen and her pain of losing Peter but Peter himself? He wasn’t built enough as a character for us to care. He’s shown having dinner with Gwen’s family throughout the years, someone who is implied Gwen isn’t really ever without. Then one day he dies. As he dies in Gwen’s arms he reveals he knew who she was and tells her everything will be okay. Gwen flees the scene upon the arrival of her dad who finds Peters dead body.

Gwen’s father is fixated on the death of Peter, absolutely convinced Spiderwoman killed him. Gwen herself tells her dad that she doesn’t think it was her, a conversation they’ve likely had many times over the years considering. Despite Gwen’s efforts her dad remains almost obsessed over arresting Spiderwoman specifically for Peters death. This sort of thirst for revenge would be better placed if it was his own personal connection who was seemingly murdered, but it wasn’t, it was his daughters best friend. His daughter whom holds no ill will against Spiderwoman and actively encourages her Dad to not try and arrest her. He becomes angry and is convinced he’s correct. This is a lot of anger and DEVOTION (as it’s been years since Peter’s death) to catching someone who only you is convinced killed your…daughter’s…best….friend?

It then culminates with her dad facing her, Spiderwoman, with a gun. In a desperate attempt to save herself she reveals her identity. Her dad is horrified and wavers, but doesn’t fully lower the gun. And then she says the line that made me gasp, “I didn’t kill Peter.”

Peter isn’t her friend in this allegory he’s her dead name, the person she used to present as. Her dad is fighting for the son he thinks he’s lost to a daughter that’s killed him. Peter was there with her throughout her life because it was in fact her that was with Peter, Gwen was always there, Spiderwoman was always there, Gwen just finally came out of hiding.

It’s never explained as to why Peter knew Gwen’s name as he died. What it is is him knowing Gwen is there as the truth, as Spiderwoman - Him AS Gwen, her letting him go as he dies. Leaving Peter, Gwen staying. Him saying “Gwen, it’s all gonna be okay.” Because he knew, he IS Gwen, she IS Spiderwoman, and it IS gonna be all okay.

Idk I just have a lot of feelings

[iheartsillys]

i feel the need to yap about my sonadow au…

its based in ancient rome cuz im in a class on rome and it is devouring my brain

[theres mentions of misogyny cuz transmasc sonic so beware]

shadow is the son of mars (god of war and agriculture), but he was ditched almost immediately when he was born. gerald finds him near his home, and takes it as a sign from the gods (which it is lol), and takes it upon himself to keep him. at this time, maria is just starting to show signs of illness. which only gets worse as they age.

by the time shadow is pretty much grown, she is practically bedridden, and she needs treatment. but gerald is *far* from rich. hes pretty lower class- science wasnt very appreciated at the time- and so they are *broke.*

heres a fun fact, roman gladiators, when favored by the crowd, made honestly a lot of money. it was pretty typical for people to throw gifts into the colosseum, which the gladiator was allowed to keep. as well as whatever they were paid for winning.

and shadow is strong. a capable fighter. so he turns to the gladiator lifestyle. if thats what he needs to support maria, then so be it.

and then theres sonic.

(now heres where my ideas diverge becuz im still tryna decide if hes gonna be trans or not, but for now imma talk about the trans version becuz thats honestly the stronger one story-wise)

he was born to a noble family. not quite part of the council, but they had their fair share of influence. and sonic *hates* it.

he was a ‘woman’, and not just that, but a *rich* woman. no reason to work, to fight, to do anything. just expected to let himself be married off, to listen to the men around him.

and then. his mother took him to the colosseum. and it was *everything* he wanted. the gladiators were viewed as powerful- strong men who could *fight*, could do as they wished.

and he wanted that. *had* to have that. and so he ran from home. disguised himself, and became a gladiator at whatever place would accept him.

…and thats all for now!!! ofc theres lots of little things im not including here, and im still working on it, but yea!!! hopefully will actually finish the first chapter soon, but im just kinda dumping ideas to inspire myself rn :3

….maybe later ill post about the scene that is occupying my brain, i dunno

[absolutebl]

Began Beginning - Myanmar's first BL 

Not So Quick Pitch (or is it a pitch?)

Cause I got a lot of thoughts

8 eps 25 min ea YouTube

Began Beginning feels very much like a first timers BL. Which it pretty much is. There’s a lot of explaining and info dumping and information that we really don’t need about the characters (or the family) especially in the first couple of episodes.

Here's your hlepful breakdown:

Mani = main boy workaholic, probably gay, acts ace 

Hlyan = cute flirty bestie, smoker, closeted gay (for good reason) in love with Mani (becomes main character about 3/4 way through) 

Walar = openly gay visitor recovering from a breakup who enters their codependent dynamic and things happen as a result

Thae = Mani & Hlyan’s other bestie, trans 

I was tempted to say this reminded me of early Vietnamese BL, but in actuality what it reminded me of most was the stuff we got from way back in the early 2000's out of Hong Kong, or more recently from the Philippines (I'm thinking about something like The Boy Foretold by the Stars).

There is a grungy sticky authenticity to these works, of which Began Beginning is now a part. They have their own tarnished charm. For all their hiccups in storytelling and absurdities, there is an almost documentary feel to them, partly as a result of the inferior quality of production and filming (which is entirely economic). But that itself also somehow adds to the appeal.

This kind of BL is entirely the opposite of something out of Korea or GMMTV. And if you like that BL best, you aren't gonna like this product. But as much as KBL wins top ranks from me pretty consistently these days, sometimes I enjoy this kind of BL too.

The range itself keeps the genre vibrant and healthy.

So what is Began Beginning about?

Childhood best friends must come to terms with their own identities and true feelings for each other when a new boy comes to town, putting them into conflict with their families and ultimately, each other.

For the first half of this show there’s a lot of sitting across from each other and talking about life choices over yummy food and then going to tourist spots (mildly boring and not particularly important to the plot). 

It changed tone about 2/3 in to be way more of a coming out family drama about forced marriages and homophobia.

And then at the very end it changed again, becoming a full on soap opera with kidnapping, crazy characterization shifts, and rescue missions.

All in all? It was a wild raw creature to consume as a binge. No kisses since this is Myanmar, but a very romantic end, so I think maybe actually worth your time? I'm certainly glad I watched it.

Recommended with lots of reservations but great respect. I’m going with a 7/10.

There is a particularly important part at the end when Hlyan talks about asking Thae to dress him as a girl to see if he was third gender because he had these feels for another boy. And how unpleasant that made him feel. I thought it was hugely impactful as a window into the boxes same sex loves in modern society forces upon us. No matter what options our culture provides for us, if the boxes are limited we feel limited too. Also, drawing a distinction between gender identity and sexual identity. Lovely bit of storytelling.

(see comments, turns out this is not the first one)

(source)

[into-deepspace]

like lovers do

zayne/mc • trans (ftm) mc • ~2k • ao3 link • requests open

romantic fluff || mildly suggestive || established relationship || brief mention of weight {zayne notices that mc has not been eating well because of a busy schedule}

notes: my first lads fic, so be gentle! hope i did zayne (loml) justice here :)

It’s with heavy breaths and a mildly aching head that Teagan enter’s Zayne’s office.

Well, Dr Li’s office, since he’s technically on the clock right now, but that’s never deterred Teagan and isn’t about to stop him now. He knocks briefly to give his boyfriend a moment’s warning before stepping fully into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Now, yes, it would usually be frowned upon (at best) for a doctor to treat his own boyfriend, but this was a special case. Between Teagan’s Protocore Syndrome and Zayne’s firm title as the best cardiac surgeon of his generation, exceptions were to be made. So, there Teagan was, hopping up onto Zayne’s desk and leaning forward to smirk at him.

“Good evening to my favourite doctor,” he says, his smile only growing with his words. Zayne sighs good-naturedly.

“Good evening to my most troublesome patient.” He jots something down on a form that Teagan can’t even begin to make heads or tails of. Without looking up, Zayne motions vaguely to Teagan’s torso.

“Off,” he intones. Teagan places a hand against his chest and gasps dramatically, leaning back.

“Doctor Li,” he admonishes. “We are in your office. How can you be so forward?” With a breath that Teagan’s come to recognize as a laugh, Zayne shakes his head.

“The binder, you menace. I know you’ve been wearing it for too long, not to mention through several hunting missions. You are well past the safe wear time.” Teagan grumbles because Zayne’s right, as usual, and begins the awkward process of pulling off his binder without completely stripping bare.

It’s not that Teagan doesn’t trust Zayne. Hell, he trusts the man so much that he’s literally placed his well being and life into Zayne’s very capable hands. It’s just that there’s an almost tangible divide between being home with Zayne and being in the office with Dr Li. Something about the difference stops Teagan from simply peeling off his hunter’s uniform and freeing his ribs from their daytime prison.

After a bit of twisting, turning, and odd contorting, Teagan manages to pull off the binder fully. He takes a deep, loud breath, making a face at the odd feeling of his work uniform against the skin on his chest. He folds the binder and stuffs it in one of his many pockets as Zayne closes his computer for the day.

“Have you been feeling fine?” Zayne asks simply as he pulls his stethoscope from his neck and places the appropriate parts in his ears. With one hand, he takes Teagan’s wrist, pressing two fingers to the pulse point there.

“Amazing as usual,” Teagan replies, though he shudders as the metal of the stethoscope touches the thin fabric of his shirt. A combination of Zayne’s ice Evol and the general chill of the office is enough for Teagan to feel the cold metal even through his clothing. “Bit of weirdness yesterday, but I felt fine as soon as the protofield I was in dissipated.”

“Hm,” is the only response from Zayne. After a moment, he pulls back, placing his stethoscope back around his neck. “Not surprising, since your condition is protocore related. Do try and avoid that class of Wanderer in the future.”

“I will,” Teagan smiles, hooking his legs around one of Zayne’s playfully. Something in those hazel eyes softens, and before Teagan can fully process what’s happening, Zayne runs a hand through Teagan’s hair, front to back. In one smooth motion, he then brings his hand forward to Teagan’s jaw, tipping his face up to kiss him briefly.

And then, as if nothing has happened, as if he didn’t just leave Teagan’s heart fluttering and breath catching and face burning, he turns to take off his white coat and hang it up on the hook on the office door.

“You’re awful,” Teagan chokes out. Zayne glances over his shoulder with a smile.

“I know.”

They decide to go to Zayne’s place that night, the car ride quiet and comfortable. Zayne keeps one hand on Teagan’s knee as he drives, the other firmly on the steering wheel. Teagan had tried, as usual, to get Zayne to backpack on his motorbike, because just once he wants to zip through the streets with his boyfriend’s solid warmth against his back. But nooooo, Dr Li is adamant as ever that the bike is nothing more than a death trap and he’s got no interest whatsoever in sitting on the damned thing.

But, Teagan supposes, this is good too.

He twines his fingers between Zayne’s, lifting his hand up and planting a kiss there. With a soft something in his gaze, Zayne glances at Teagan out of the corner of his eye.

“You shouldn’t distract your driver,” he says, voice hardly above a whisper, taking on that breathy quality that never fails to make Teagan feel a special brand of loved.

“Both hands on the wheel, then,” Teagan says, teasing. He uncurls Zayne’s fingers and guides the hand firmly back to the steering wheel with a pat.

“Hands to ourselves?” Zayne says in a tone that Teagan just knows is going to spell a bit of trouble. “I can do that.” But Teagan’s not to be outdone, and just nods, relaxing further into the seat.

“Yup. And feet. And mouths.” Then, with a joking wiggle of his eyebrows, “And other appendages.” Zayne hums.

“Well, that puts a damper on some plans,” he mutters, tone flat. Teagan feels his cheeks burn as his head whips around to stare at Zayne.

“What plans?” he demands. “We didn’t have any plans.”

“No plans now,” Zayne says evenly. Teagan can’t tell whether or not he’s teasing. He crosses his arms to sulk in his seat as Zayne makes another turn.

“You’re the worst,” Teagan pouts. “Have I told you that?” Zayne laughs, a soft and breathy thing.

“And yet here you sit, in the passenger seat of my car, wearing my jacket and playing with the necklace I gave you.” Teagan blinks. He hadn’t even realized he’d been fidgeting with the thin silver chain around his neck. He drops it back under his shirt with a huff.

But he’s not got any time to try and give Zayne a (half-hearted) silent treatment, because they’re already pulling into Zayne’s driveway. Teagan waits until the car is both in park and has the manual brake locked to unbuckle his seatbelt, knowing that if he doesn’t he’ll get a miniature lecture about ”the car could shift back” and ”it’s just a second to ensure your safety.” It’s not annoying, endearing if anything, but it’s still something Teagan has to keep in mind.

As Teagan leans over into the back seat to gather the bag he’d left in there before coming into the hospital (Zayne had put Teagan’s fingerprint into the lock on his car when they started dating, good heavens does Teagan love his boyfriend), Zayne comes around to open the passenger’s side door.

“Getting a good view?” Teagan jokes as his hinges snag the strap of his back, knowing good and well Zayne’s getting an eyeful of his backside. Zayne only gives a noncommittal hum in response. As Teagan sits back up and shifts to get out of the car, Zayne leans forward as if about to kiss Teagan’s head, but then straightens up abruptly.

“Ah,” he says. “Hands to ourselves.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Teagan spits, and in the next moment he’s dragging Zayne down by his stupid, perfectly-pressed shirt collar for a proper kiss. 

It’s not a particularly sensual thing, just a hard press of lips–to-lips to satisfy the swirling mix of frustration and longing and ImissyouImissyouImissyou that burns in an eternal fire inside Teagan’s chest. It’s not Zayne’s fault, not anyone’s fault. It’s just a byproduct of the insanity of life. Teagan’s job as a Hunter often has him running days-long missions with no contact to anyone but his mission partner and maybe his team captain. Zayne’s work has him on call more often than not, sometimes missing date nights for emergency surgeries or getting interrupted in the middle of a quiet moment or a meal together because Akso needs him right then and now.

They pull back at the same time, a tiny testament to how well the two know each other. Zayne smiles, a rare, soft thing, and leans in to press his lips to Teagan’s hair, providing the kiss he teased with just moments before.

“What do you want for dinner?” he asks, voice soft. Teagan gives him a pointed look-over, which earns a flick to the forehead. “You’re insatiable,” Zayne scolds.

“And? You like it.”

Zayne Li is the type to buy packs of instant ramen, only to add all his own seasonings and dump fresh vegetables into the broth.

Of course, Teagan isn’t complaining. He happily scoops noodles into his mouth, hardly waiting for them to cool. Zayne is much less eager but enjoys the meal no less, giving a satisfied hum when he takes his first taste.

It's nice, a treat almost, to get to sit in comfortable quiet and just have an uninterrupted meal together. Teagan goes back for seconds, his lack of concrete schedule having left him with no time to eat since he was dispatched that morning. 

(“You’ve lost weight since becoming a Hunter,” Zayne had commented with a frown several weeks back, a gentle hand laid over Teagan’s side. His thumb brushes across the skin there in circles, bringing the slightest pleasant haze over Teagan’s thoughts. “You need to fuel yourself better.” Since then, Teagan has been especially conscious about making up for missed meals.)

Afterward, Teagan pulls Zayne into the living room, two spoons and a pint of ice cream in hand (coffee flavored, because Zayne loves the stuff). They sit on the couch, with Teagan leaning back against the armrest while his legs are slung over Zayne’s lap. Between mouthfuls, they catch each other up on their days.

It’s pleasant. It’s a contrast of quiet and comfort from their hectic days. They talk about everything and nothing until Zayne is glancing down at his watch with a resigned sigh. They both need to be up early again tomorrow, and need to go to bed accordingly.

They eke out the last bit of time in the day. Teagan sits on the counter while Zayne showers, and purposefully leans into his boyfriend while they brush their teeth for the night. When they crawl into bed, both having foregone shirts in the warm Linkon night, Zayne rests his head on Teagan’s bare stomach.

“Gross,” Teagan laughs, pushing him away without an ounce of seriousness. “Your hair is still wet! Get off!” Zayne, the bastard, just hums, hands coming up to grasp Teagan’s sides so he can pull himself even closer. 

“If you fall asleep quickly, you won’t feel it,” he smiles, shifting ever so slightly to press a kiss to Teagan’s skin. That earns him an involuntary shudder, and a very voluntary slap to the shoulder.

“Zayne,” Teagan chides. “That tickles.” Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “And don’t start things you know you’re not going to finish.” Despite his words, Teagan threads a hand through Zayne’s dark hair, ignoring the moisture now in favor of having his hands on his boyfriend.

“I can’t believe I’m being the responsible one here,” he says as Zayne peers up through dark eyelashes. “Sleep.”

“Sleep,” Zayne agrees, thumb moving soothingly back and forth across Teagan’s waist where his hand lays. In return, Teagan scratches at Zayne’s scalp minutely, the other hand resting on his back.

They sink comfortably into the quiet darkness, tiny motions slowing to a stop as they both drift off. The next morning, they’ll rush around each other, hastily getting ready for their days once more. Zayne will lose his badge, and Teagan will realize he doesn’t have a uniform shirt that’s ironed and ready. They’ll laugh at both instances and solve each other’s problems with an easy, loving laughter.

But for now, they sleep, warm against each other’s skin even under the thin bed sheet. For now, they think only of the lovely moment they’re in.

[folcanta]

i'm trying to summarise the way i engage with the fiction i really enjoy, like, the divide between enjoying its presentation at face value and enjoying pulling it apart to see how it works. in trying to talk about it through text it's sorta hard to avoid coming off as pretentious instead of earnest, so just know the crux of this is that i'm both fun funny and whimsical and also deadly fucking serious.

contains spoilers for escaflowne and jjba. and i guess metal gear?

i love to feel. i love melodrama. i love art which seeks to consume you, to share a body with you, briefly, to remind you what it is to feel a feeling. not in literal form (and melodrama is usually taken to mean "flat", lacking subtlety) but a fantastical representation of an ache deeply felt— and in that way it becomes more real than anything. the desperate dejection of the father in INTO THE WEST. the hard and physical, breathless, and then suddenly floating, drifting mood at the end of HEAT.

i've never been much of a shipper or whatever because most of the time, with the stuff i really love, focusing on that feels like a distraction. i don't enjoy Ace Attorney through the lens of phoenix/edgeworth, because i find their canon (and implications therein) friendship (along with larry) so riveting, i want to follow that thread to its many conclusions. if that makes me sound like a joyless crank, um... well, i'm not.

my JJBA OTP, namesake of this blog lol, is a personal delusion yes, but the reason why it struck me the way that it did is because it's based on a moment in JJBA which is then repeated with other characters going forward— a turning point between two people (this is key to it also, that it suddenly turns intimate) which expands the story right out from under you, a painful rugpull, a literary move. it's not solely about the plot expanding— the plot of stardust crusaders remains the same— but the entire work expands because the author has suddenly revealed that there was always more going on, and to stay on your toes. shaking your foundation. everything is the same and everything has begun to change. that's what grips me about it, that's why i find it so romantic, and i mean that in a classical sense too.

going back to Ace Attorney, most of those turning point moments are expressed/developed by the story of the familial bond between maya and phoenix. because that is/coincides with the actual plot, i don't really find myself inventing new "what if?" relationships because i'm so satisfied by the presentation of the facts.

i think the storyline of MGS3: Snake Eater falls into this too. you know what your mission is, and can expect what will happen, but the heartbreak of finally fulfilling what it promises feels completely new once you reach it. the Boss is like the peak example of characters who are aware of their narrative, aware of the role they're made to play by forces beyond their control, and despite being correct, must suffer for it. in my own work i tend to call this The (trans) Male Cassandra, because that's the type of guy i keep writing, almost like i have a vested interest in doing so. it's in this one way that i think characters like n'doul and jotaro are similar, and that's not only rare, but the way it's presented is rare too. especially for a story like stardust crusaders. but from there on, because of it being in stardust crusaders, i can see the future more clearly, and i can hold the story to a higher standard, because it's also holding me as a reader to a higher standard.

spoiler | the way n'doul reacts to jotaro, what he says about him, admires about him, laments to him, tells us more about how we should see jotaro. the way jotaro reacts to him does the same thing. in this singular fight, first jotaro is freaked the fuck out, then they're both having fun and mutual respect is earned and acted upon. when we realise jotaro means to keep n'doul alive, the reader is abruptly put in a position of knowing what's about to come before jotaro does. he should, but he doesn't, because, for this one moment, he thought something else was possible. even the type of death is different (suicide) and jotaro's reaction is different (shock/horror.) we saw rules, we suddenly see exceptions to rules, we knew what to expect, suddenly those expectations are changed— and the immediate tragedy of possibility denied. watching him try to do something we know isn't going to work out also serves to make him seem younger, and putting this in sometime before the fight with dio is a good reminder that he's human.

spoiler | it's a big part of what compels me about folken, as well as what i find bottomlessly heartbreaking about him. death seems to be a necessary component of the role of the seer/cassandra, but escaflowne shows us how desperate and dire the escape from fear and violence is. this being folken's ultimate aim above all else (to free van from the cycle), and hitomi pleading with him saying if he dies, then van will be all alone... hitomi is telling me why it doesn't make sense, and the story then sets it up such that it lacks even the paltry comfort of closeness, if not catharsis, for van. at that point in the story, i can't help but find it cruel in a way i don't find n'doul to be, or even the boss. cruelty is done to the boss in the storyline, the internal world is cruel to her. you can critique the "fridging" or whatever, but it isn't a departure. it doesn't unravel the story, it's key to it, for all time.

i was telling my partner that when it comes to something like Metal Gear or Ace Attorney, the quality of the thing imo speaks entirely for itself. if someone doesn't like it, or focuses on only some minute aspect of it, or goes off on a mad one interpreting signs and symbols that imo aren't there, the thing speaks for itself so loudly and plainly that any difference of opinion rolls right off my back.

then with JoJo's Bizarre Adventure it's similar, where i think araki's career and evolution of maturity in his storytelling and contemplation speaks for itself too, but my experience in the fandom (going way back now) was of people who claimed to enjoy it admitting they neither read nor even watched it, and were in no way capable of or interested in taking it as a piece of art. instead it was something to consume through someone else's summary, as fast as possible. which made having genuine conversations about it difficult when i'd try to talk about textual aspects of the series. conversations were dominated by moralising and headcanons. so compared to the above, i do feel more moved to defend it on that basis.

there's a nasty habit of presuming araki is a fucking slapdash idiot and that none of his choices have any internal coherence, which is plainly wrong, rude, anti-intellectual, and past a certain point, probably racist. the man has written books about his approach to writing manga and there's decades worth of interviews for more. but the game of telephone people play with JJBA in lieu of any sincerely felt relationship to it is a barrier i have a hard time talking through. so while it bothers me and i still try to talk it up, ultimately i have to shrug this off. we're having two different conversations.

then with Escaflowne i feel like i have to defend her with a knife LOL.

i know this isn't literally true, but having seen and read and talked a lot over the years, it seems like a huge chunk of people on earth are coming to it with either preconceived notions and expectations or preconceived notions in the form of feelings crystalised at grade school age. the latter isn't a criticism, it's life, it happened to me. if your feelings crystalised simply but positively, i do believe it was for a reason; you felt something and couldn't make heads or tails of it then. or you attributed it to something which then becomes something else later.

i'm not going to pretend there's no alternative to liking escaflowne, lol, i understand disliking it. however, dislike shouldn't preclude one from respecting it/taking it seriously. i talk about this below, but designating a piece of art— particularly from a time period in which art was funded, lol— valueless, especially foreign art, isn't something i personally want to be caught doing.

preconception of any kind is hard to disentangle because it must be tested. i think it was like that for me, and now with my adult perspective i can really easily point to what about it stirred and stuck with me because i have a map of creative work from then to now which points to it. (particularly in writing, if not art, though i think the film particularly informed my sensibilities.) and i'm still surprised by many things i missed. even if emotionally they landed, conceptually they didn't. which is why i really believe that in key respects it Is that deep.

i see people compare it to magic knight rayearth, but it's simply the truth that escaflowne sought to accomplish different things than rayearth and for a different audience. rayearth's narrative in the manga and anime is furibund in a way escaflowne isn't. escaflowne's masterful approach to pacing means episodes can fit a lot in them without being hectic— what frenzy there is, it's sustained only within the scene for which it's appropriate. but it doesn't have the same bounce as rayearth. there's breathing room. it differs structurally. escaflowne's story is in great part shown not only through character parallels, but scene parallels, done back to back in direct poetic contrast. so from that, i understand it's only being compared in terms of genre, but in terms of genre, escaflowne defies shorthanding. and as time goes on, that's more and more impressive to me. elevator pitches don't do much for me, and "[IP] meets [IP] x [trope]" takes me out instantly. inability to summarise it concisely (without ignoring some key component) is to me a credit to its form, not a shortcoming.

the problem is, like JJBA, it takes time to show someone what makes escaflowne's deft feats of emotional storytelling stand out. even though everyone agree the soundtrack is beast mode, for some reason it's harder to believe that escaflowne deserves that soundtrack. deserves its all-star team of artists. deserves its film. as if to say, you, the viewer, also don't deserve to witness (and are encouraged not to think about) this great joint effort, this great coalescing of ideas.

its staying power isn't immediately recognisable in still images. among things i'll mention further down, lack of time/patience and preference for secondhand experience is a real problem which affects art as much as anything. the art may not appeal to everyone but with how much art i hope fellow artists (in particular) have been exposed to, i need them to come to grips with the possibility that outright aversion to style might be a juvenile bias relative to where they're at in their creative career. if you're a professional artist, and the most technically skilled you've ever been, and you can't recognise or value work different from your own, or amateur work, there is a gaping deficiency in your skillset. unwillingness to engage in "low culture" is as tedious to me as unwillingness to engage in like... theory or whatever.

like great people, great works of art are often reviled in their time, then smoothed out and rebranded, defanged, resold. discussing art and examining ones own responses to that art is i think essential for the spirit and those around you. it's infectious and influential. it's actually, like, good and important to be self-serious sometimes. there's a totally insufferable cowardice in refraining from emotional indulgence. not just making "weird art," but feeling it. admitting your influences. admitting what you wish you could do. and trying.

and i really think even if you don't like the art, there are other aspects that succeed. i'm interested in film enough that i can point out all the camera work, shifting of perspective, timing, that make the series uniquely filmic, utilising techniques we associate with live action. that should be interesting to you not just on its own but because it isn't something we tend to have reason to expect from anime (because anime can tell a story through other means) nor expect it to be carried throughout so consistently as a crucial part of what we're meant to understand. if you don't like the plot, i still think the means of the plot expanding are executed with clever creativity. but it's the same problem: this requires time, and this comes through in motion. the visuals of the series are informed, altered, recontextualised, by the sound and the silence. someone has to be willing to see it, not past it.

escaflowne is a huge exercise in inference.

and it rewards for that reason— it rewards care and attention. because it doesn't beat you over the head with exposition, there's room for more nuanced storytelling. i think that is The enduring magic of it, what it demands from the viewer as a participant in the experience. it's not passive. or, its seeming passivity as a story/experience is a deception. i have full faith in the writer and team that the metaphors, symbols, parallels are exactly as intentional and significant as they are, because they are what sells the meaning of the story— but even at the time it stood apart for the same reason it's difficult to get people into it now, which is that we've since rapidly moved into such an age of western literalism and graceless lore and total lack of respect for art as craft, as work, as language. art as not simply aesthetics, but art as communication. when what's being communicated becomes simpler and done through simpler means, in as simple a process as possible, and only references the aesthetics of the past to imply history/thought without having to think, and in turn buries history.

one has to deeply, earnestly want to communicate something. and be willing to work to accomplish it, risks and all. the risks are necessary. failure is a teacher, and in that way, failure ceases to exist. and i don't say this stuff because i think it's easy. i am bad at working. i am bad at staying afloat. the same qualifiers as always: the work is hard, making time is hard, the work you like may not be what you're naturally inclined to make, not all forms of work are accessible/possible for all people, communication comes in many forms, and it's not only work to communicate, it's also work to learn how to become fluent/familiar with someone else's communication style/method. but that process fascinates me. it's a challenge. i'm not always up for it. but i can't help wanting for connection. i value the time i allow myself to sit inside something for however long it takes to process. if i dislike something, i want to understand my reaction and see if i can understand the method and motivation in which it's told, and if that clarifies something. i'm always hungry to understand. art is also fearless for me— the craft, the labour, if nothing else, makes me closer, more familiar, with the world, including the people i admire. sentiments like this mean so little to me. i don't imagine my inspirations/aspirations in defensive RPF like this and if i were treated poorly by someone i admire, i wouldn't admire them, because i don't admire that behaviour. and, their disapproval of my work wouldn't sway me. but i also don't approach art, or artists, even my favourites, with the goal of permission-seeking.

bearing in mind how much physical and mental effort it takes to create art, i am completely comfortable meeting/respecting it when it's shown to me, and, completely comfortable ignoring something disingenuous and soulless. escaflowne does not need a remake, no matter how much more "content" you might want. look at the anime remakes of recent years, they're horrifying. the source of your nostalgia already exists— it doesn't justify a hollow reanimation.

in a similar vein, i also don't need or yearn for it to be gay or trans just because i am, because my identity comes from myself, and the experience of being me is expressed in the art/stories i make. absent of my response to it, the media i enjoy is, to others, as representative of me as a blank sheet of paper. i don't cultivate my interests based on what i think will best represent me As Gay. i don't cultivate my interests based on the checkboxes of a scene i'm trying to fit into. transness is inextricable from me, but the things that look and feel like transness to me do not to other people. this doesn't make it lesser.

folken's narrative could effortlessly be explored as a transsexual one even if just because it mirrors what in my own life feels intrinsic, inseparable from transness, in the only way i've experienced it. but it's my own art that i hope speaks loudest to the nature and quality of my soul and ethics/ethos. you should demand better. but knowing when to demand that of yourself, not others, is important and affirming. shipping etc. is your own imagination, so you've already accomplished part of the work of creation. not all, but some!

it feels too easy and unfair to insist the series would be "better" if it were less heterosexual, as if profound pain and romance can only affect you if it's a 1:1 recreation of yourself. you are always bringing yourself into what you love. and you can aspire to it. you can be shaped by it. you can be dissatisfied and seek resolution, but eventually you're going to hit a wall where there are no more answers, because they were never intended to be answered in the first place. what's your next move?

i like thinking about art and i like making it. i have insane, baseless faith in my motivations and, if not my execution, then my interest in learning how to execute them. it isn't enough for me to have my interests, ideas, inspirations floating around in the realm of the hypothetical. i demand more. at the same time, i should settle for less, and i'm making a serious effort to learn how so i can avoid burning out (if that's even possible when capitalism is designed to be punitive and disabling.) but i also know i won't be satisfied by languishing. art has been the singular constant in my shitty, chaotic life— by making, i'm also making myself more real.

i'll always be able to laugh at Ace Attorney as much as i'm able to be held in the cinematic grip of, in particular, the drama of the last case of the 3rd game. and i'll always be able to think about eli snake hanging out with his 3 dipshit dads and whipping machine parts off of mother base and zipping around in heelys til he eats shit. as well as thinking about how beautiful it is that david snake fulfills the role/will of the boss in a way of which the same dipshit dad is incapable. i'm invited to play and also to contemplate the critique of the american war machine. i'm not saying this because i think this is a unique ability, lmfao! this is very simple, this is the baseline.

what i AM saying is... what a treat it is to love escaflowne. to enjoy such well-considered art, indulging in the wholeness of the vision. it can't be overstated just how much effort went into its creation— to have not only a series but a chance to revisit in the form of (possibly? definitely?) one of the most lavish anime films ever made. even my ample critiques come from a place of trying to meet and respect the art from its position, in its own internal context, its place in the world, and in my life. if i'm a good artist/writer, it's because i saw escaflowne when i was 12.

and that's why i wield the knife. lmao

[wolfertinger]

The way Salem talks about trans men while simultaneously identifying as one is baffling and borderline tragicomically hilarious, to say the least. It's as if he's trying to be some kind of pick-me misandrist trans man and I find it so fucking funny how he deliberately tries to stick up so close to the transfem community claiming he "feels shunned and isolated from transmasc spaces". Like wow, it's almost like calling trans men "self-hating losers with internalised misogyny who are ruled by their dysphoria" is gonna result in them being hostile to you because you literally fucking spit in their faces and reduce their struggles to nothingness under the guise of "trans-inclusive" radical feminism, which, in fact, doesn't differ very much from classic radical feminism pioneered by your average cis white woman, only that it projects gender essentialism onto trans people, which is surely the dumbest idea ever. It only shows how shallow his understanding of gender, masculinity and feminity as concepts is and it's not like there aren't more people out there that parrot this "trans men are just as bad as cis men durr-hurr" bullshit, but it's strange coming from him considering he constantly presents himself as this exemplary beacon of a very specific subset of trans people, especially GNC trans people.

Also, regarding his ever-so-thoughtful-and-inspiring "transmascs should embrace feminity and overcome their internalised misogyny" narrative:

No, Salem, transmascs and trans men being uncomfortable with femininity and their bodies does not mean they are misogynists or that they "struggle with internalised misogyny". In fact, I can guarantee you that if something that makes a person very uncomfortable is forced upon them 24/7 during all their life, I think it's very logical that their natural response to that very thing that is being forced upon them is incredible hostility, fear, anxiety and overall negativity, as it is proven times and times again that gender dysphoria is a real fucking thing and that medical transition is the only life-saving option from that hell most of the fucking time.

If gender dysphoria wasn't as bad as he claims to be, why would gender affirming care, HRT and other things like that even exist? Hmm?

Also, I will never forget about one of his truly wonderful comments on one of his artworks that said "he let his boobs hang and his dysphoria went away :3", because WOW. You really couldn't have gone any fucking lower than that, could you? And of course, let's not forget how his art made tons of transmasc people uncomfortable and even worsened their dysphoria, but fuck them, it's only his fetishistic egocentrist ass that matters here. /s

And if you already hate trans men (and men as a whole), just say it out loud. It's really not an unpopular opinion here or anything, since the TIRFs have always been loud about it and still are, and there are tons of them here (and Twitter too, especially). Because let's face it, 99% of his posts about trans men and transmascs is basically "trans men are just self-hating women who hate their bodies and femininity and that's why they mutilate their bodies with surgeries and testosterone and become ugly, stinky misogynistic men", but in a "woke" and "progressive" way.

Spoiler alert: there is nothing wrong with being a feminine trans man and if you wanna be one, I say: go for it! But: do not be toxic about it and force it upon other transmasc/trans men! Just respect each other and everything is cool.

But yeah, anyways. Coming from one pre-t and pre-op trans dude to another: stop it. Get a grip. Go read a book or do something useful other than being online 24/7. I am telling you this as a friend, Salem.

.

[mariacallous]

T. Thomason’s US touring visa doesn’t expire until June—but the Canadian pop artist is pulling out of a festival appearance in Belfast, Maine, next month because he doesn’t want to be targeted at the border as a nonbinary trans man.

Last week, Thomason, 30, who splits his time between Toronto and Wolfville, Nova Scotia, announced he had dropped out of the All Roads Festival, which takes place May 16-17. He tells WIRED he made the decision after seeing President Donald Trump’s executive orders targeting the trans community, including one proclaiming that the US government will recognize only two sexes, male and female. He’s also been increasingly fearful after hearing stories of visitors, US visa-holders, and applicants being held at the border, including a Vancouver woman who told The Guardian she was detained by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) for two weeks.

“I just thought if that’s happening to cis people, I really feel worried about what could happen to me,” Thomason says.

Toronto- and Montreal-based singer Bells Larsen, a trans man, also announced Friday that he is canceling his spring tour because the gender on his passport, male, does not match his assigned sex at birth, potentially disqualifying him from being eligible for a US visa under the Trump administration's new rules. Aya Sinclair, a London-based musician and trans woman, told Pitchfork she’ll be avoiding American shows “until anything changes.” Even Neil Young, a dual Canadian-American citizen, has said he’s worried about being “jailed” upon returning to the States, due to his criticisms of Trump.

But the decision not to play in America means foregoing touring income and the opportunity to build one’s fanbase in the largest music market in the world. And simply rerouting to Europe or elsewhere abroad, particularly for Canadian artists, is a costly endeavor.

The American Federation of Musicians of the United States and Canada, a union that can petition the federal government to grant touring visas, told Canadian members in late March that the updated immigration rule “runs afoul of our shared values. At this time, it is unlikely the US government will pivot from this objectionable position.”

Los Angeles–based entertainment attorney Dani Oliva, a trans man, tells WIRED “there’s been a general panic” among his clients in the past few weeks. Oliva, who is Thomason’s lawyer, notes that Canadian musicians who want to play in the US have two options for visas, one of which costs up to $8,000 and is “extremely onerous.” He says processing times for his clients have jumped from three or four months to eight to 10 months without paying for expedited processing.

He says he does a risk-versus-benefit analysis for each client looking to come to the US. But he’s worried that trans clients’ visa requests could be denied on the grounds of “misrepresentation or fraud” if the gender on the identifying documents they submit doesn’t match up with their assigned sex at birth. That finding could result in a person being banned from the US for life unless they successfully apply for a waiver—a cumbersome process.

Despite the headaches of getting a US visa, there’s a reason people do it: money and cultural cachet.

“Let’s be real. I mean, so many artists only find their breakthrough if they tour in America,” says Kurt Dahl, a Vancouver-based entertainment lawyer. “There’s 10 times the population; it’s just more likely to get press and get attention.”

While he says almost every Canadian he knows, artist or not, is reevaluating taking trips across the border, some of his clients’ fanbases are 80 percent American.

“I just see them sort of scrubbing their social media, scrubbing their cell phone of anything that might be considered controversial, and then sort of rolling the dice.”

There’s also the geography. In Canada, he says, sometimes a band is driving 10 hours to the next city, whereas in the US they might be able to hit 30 cities in a much shorter span.

Thomason says Trump’s border crackdown has forced artists like him to rethink goals they’ve been working toward for “years and years and years.” He says he won’t be entering the US as long as Trump is president. Even if he wanted to tour here, he believes any of his new visa applications would be denied because he’s changed the gender marker on his passport to male.

“The end goal for a lot of artists is to end up in places like New York or LA and build their careers out from there. It’s kind of taking your dreams and completely changing them.”

He says he’s “really, really sad” that his connection to his US fans is being “severed” at a time when he was just starting to build it. His friend and fellow artist Larsen, meanwhile, noted on Instagram on Friday that he was hoping to play his album Blurring Time “for queer and trans people in the US who saw their stories reflected in my own.” The album blends Larsen’s vocals both pre- and post-transition.

To help make up for the income loss, Thomason is advocating for Canadian arts groups to develop new funding streams for trans artists. But he also says this is an issue that will go far beyond trans artists in Canada, or trans people around the world.

“This is a country undermining the validity of a government-issued document by another country,” he says. “If people think that starts and stops with trans people, they’re wrong.”