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averagetransman · 13 days ago

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October 29th, 2024. 9:11 PM

Oh. Oh, dear God. I was not expecting to see this again but I might as well answer since it's been 4 years.

Dear 14 year old me:

I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to endure that pain. I'm sorry to say I barely remember that moment now, but maybe that's for the best. What I DO remember is the pain, the anger, the abuse he put us through.

I remember RWBY; I haven't watched the final season but I've been meaning to do it for awhile now.

I don't think I'll ever forget those Homestuck pauses. Those were crazy times.

I remember being able to keep up with weekly let's plays. Now...I just don't have the energy for that.

I do remember my band friends, although I barely talk to them anymore. If y'all are reading this, I miss you guys 💔

I do remember the crew, but we don't speak of Ryan. He turned out to be a scumbag and was rightfully fired for it. I guess that villain "persona" wasn't actually a persona at all.

Of course I remember my best friend. I've long since gotten over him, thankfully, and we still have a healthy friendship. Even if things didn't end well between us romance-wise, I'm just glad we could still be friends. I won't cringe; you were just young and hormonal. It's normal. Feelings are normal. Crushes are normal. Don't worry about it.

Dear 17 year old me:

Are you really so surprised at our 14 year old self's cogency, considering how many books we read? I would be more surprised if he WASN'T at least a decent writer.

Yes, dad shutting power off to the entire house for not cleaning your room IS a big deal. It is not something a normal person would do in reaction to that situation. I know he's gaslighted you into thinking you're not being abused because the abuse isn't physical, but you very much are. Please, allow yourself some grace.

Rooster Teeth is no more. The AH crew have all gone their own way, but mostly still stream.

Minecraft Xbox finally ended after many years as well. Ol' Stampy is moving on to greener pastures.

The Homestuck epilogue concluded and Homestuck 2 is still going strong. I need to catch up on it though.

Believe it or not, Jet Set Radio is getting another official entry in the series. No one knows exactly when it will release yet, but from what I've seen, it's going to be great. I just hope SEGA takes the time to make it great.

And now...

Dear 21 year old me:

Yes, we married, but no, we are not in a relationship anymore. To put it simply, I fumbled the bag. Hard. She lives in Austin now. We're still on good terms and maintaining our friendship, but there's no hope of us ever being in a romantic relationship again. And honestly? I'm okay with that now. I don't know if I'll ever be in another relationship again, but maybe one day I'll make peace with that, too.

Her name is Shyloh now. She just turned 5 not too long ago. It's been a very long time since I've seen her. I miss her dearly.

I had to go off of T for awhile due to becoming homeless and because the gel is very expensive, and am now doing injections, despite how much I hate needles. Honestly, though, with mom helping me with it, it makes it much easier. I am now almost one year on T injections. I'm not on blockers, but I don't think I need them...for now.

Her name is Casandra now. She's actually working, but still doesn't know how to drive. Hopefully she'll finish her lessons and get her license soon; as much as I love driving, I really hate revolving around her schedule because she gets up so early in the morning.

And finally, the question that I've been dreading.

Am I successful? No. I'm barely alive. The accident that made me homeless ruined my life, and it's entirely my fault. I still haven't fully recovered, physically, mentally, emotionally, or financially. I don't have a job, I'm living with mom and my sister, and I feel like dead weight. I genuinely believe that if they didn't need me to run errands and stuff, I wouldn't be here typing this right now. I'm damn lucky mom is able and willing to pay for my transition. I just...hope I can find something soon.

And now, questions for future me.

What job do you have now?

Are you still single?

Do you still have your friends?

How's your transition been going?

What's your living situation like?

What has changed in the past 4 years?

That's all for now. I hope future me actually sees this.

-Mateo

APRIL 10, 2014: 10:59 P.M. To my future me: Do you remember me? It’s your 14 year old self. I’m sure by this point you don’t want to remember me, but I need someone to talk to. Remember the night that dad shut the power off because our brother and mine’s rooms were dirty? Remember the anger? The hate? Remember how you drew so many little marks on your left arm to stop you from hurting yourself? I do, and it scares me. That night is the night I’m writing this note for you. I am writing this from my bed, the soft hum of the AC and old Christmas tunes bouncing around the walls of my room. I really should be sleeping, but I’m laying here in my bed writing a note for you instead. There are a few things I want you to remember. Remember the excitement for RWBY Season 2? Remember waiting in anticipation for Homestuck to finally come off of hiatus and update? Remember the anticipation of the new Let’s Play Minecraft every week? And Minecraft XBox? Remember Katie and Mercy and Josh and Lindsay and Maddie and all the other friends you met in band? Remember the AH crew: Geoff, Jack, Ryan, Michael, Gavin, Ray? Remember Rooster Teeth? Remember JSRF? Remember Christian? At this point, you’re either laughing, grimacing, frowning, or smiling knowingly. Any one is fine, but knowing us, it’s probably not the last one. I wish I could see your response so I could know what the future holds? Have I had my first kiss? (Probably not.) Am I successful? (Maybe.) Do I still want to stay at least unmarried throughout my life? (Hopefully.) Of course, I’ve changed, but I hope I haven’t changed too much. I have one more thing to say before I go to bed: post this. Even if you don’t use Tumblr anymore, post this. I want people to see what life was like. And finally, write another note to your future self. I want to see how long this tradition will continue. Sincerely, Your 14 year old self

JANUARY 19, 2017: 12:24 P.M. Dear past me- You’re a dumbass, but I don’t blame you. It’s clear you were still in the ‘no marriage at all ever’ phase when writing this. As for first kiss…well, let’s just say you may have gone farther than that. I’m surprised at the difference in writing style, too…your thoughts are actually collected and in order, and mine, well…I didn’t answer any of your questions in order. I’d say getting upset over dad shutting the power off is no big deal (just clean your damn room) but I understand your depression was a LOT worse back then. I am now heavily medicated and have gone to multiple therapy sessions to help me cope with my mental illnesses. RWBY is in season 4, Let’s Play Minecraft is into the 200s, Minecraft Xbox is into the 400s, and Homestuck has officially ended (although I’m still waiting for that FUCKING epilogue). Yes I remember JSRF. It’s only, like, the best game ever. Yes, I remember all my friends from band, how could I not? They shaped me as a person. You’ll meet more wonderful friends later on in your band career. Sadly, Ray left Rooster Teeth, but now there’s Matt and Jeremy-those guys that made the Grifball map. They’re seriously awesome. Also, you’re fucking stupid if you think I’d ever forget Christian. He’s my best friend in the whole world. I care about him more than most anyone else. He’s like family, and so much more… Am I successful…? Well. Not quite yet. I’m getting there. Success takes time, and I’m taking small steps as not to stress myself. I’m still alive, and if that isn’t success then I don’t know what is. You’re going to be OK, kid. Hang in there. -Future You P.S. I fixed some spelling/grammar errors in your note. You’re welcome.

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softtransbf · 4 years ago

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Mister Nice Guy, part 2

part one

Summary: Shit hits the fan, and the rest of the BAU is done with it.

Word Count: 3523

Reader: he/him trans man, no physical description

Warnings: case involving targeting gay people, brief mention of a child abduction case, coming out/anxiety of experiencing transphobia (no actual transphobia though), alcohol, swearing

@aleccolocco (sorry it took so long to finish lol)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"No, that doesn't make any sense at all, doctor!" you spat his title. "He's not jealous of these couples, killing what he can't have, or a homophobe, punishing gay people for being happy. He's putting an end to their unhappy relationships. He sees it as mercy." Over the months, your cold war with Reid turned into outright conflict, and tonight, alone in the police station in Oregon, was no exception. Hotchner had tasked the two of you with presenting the preliminary profile the next morning, and it was going as well as conversations ever went.

"We have no evidence that he knows they're unhappy, though. All of his victims are clearly happy in their relationships," Reid challenged.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. "Please. One look at their social media and it's obvious that the relationships are on the rocks."

"Where do you get that? All I see are typical happy relationships. Selfies, checking into special events together, posts about kind things one does for the other. Nothing indicating a troubled relationship to me."

"The gentlemen doth protest too much. They're painting an overly happy painting on social media, hoping that some of that happiness will actually become real. They're desperate for the relationship to work."

"Let's say you're right. I don't think you are, but let's pretend for the sake of trying to see your logic through. Why? Why would they be so desperate to save a failing relationship?"

"God, straight men just don't fucking get it!" You went to grab a file, missing his small flinch. "You don't understand how limited the dating pool for men who are into men is. Look at the most recent couple in particular. The most lovey-dovey on social media, and got the most brutal deaths."

"Yes, because they were the happiest. My theory holds," Reid interrupted.

"No. Look, this guy put way more out there on social media than his partner, and look at the pictures he posted. Look how forced his smile is, look at the body language. He needs this relationship to work, because dating as a gay man is one thing, dating as a gay trans man is almost impossible. Having to start over and deal with transphobia over and over again is worse than being in a bad relationship. In his eyes, I mean." Shit, the first person I come out to on this team cannot be Spencer fucking Reid. He doesn't deserve the honor.

"That was yesterday. We haven't gotten the autopsy report yet. How could you possibly know that he's trans?"

"Testosterone vials and needles in the bathroom. Neither of them are old enough for a cis man to reasonably have issues that require testosterone injections. It's HRT, hormone replacement therapy."

"Even if you're right, your conclusion still seems like a much bigger jump than mine, that the killer sees the relationships as happy and is lashing out at that, be it from jealousy or homophobia."

"Whatever. You'll see tomorrow, when we talk to the M.E., that he was trans, and that fact backs me up. I am absolutely right about this, and you will eat your words. Then I will present my theory, and you can choke on yours."

"We? You anticipate us spending more time together?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I meant 'we' as in the team, asshat. The world doesn't revolve around you. Mine sure as hell doesn't. I'm gonna go back to the hotel, write my own damn preliminary profile, and try to get some fucking sleep. Clearly we won't agree on this."

"We don't ever agree on anything," he pointed out.

"Not true. We agree that we dislike each other and can't get along. Good night, doctor." You turned and walked away, not giving him a chance to respond.

This man is going to be the death of me, he thought as he watched you walk away.

The autopsy report came in the next day, and you were right. The tech team also found a locked notes app on his phone that catalogued his unhappiness and fear of leaving. You presented your preliminary profile to the team. Reid didn't even argue; he just sat in silence, leaving the room as soon as you were finished. Never one to pass up a chance to gloat for beating him, you offered to get coffee for the team, got everyone's order, and left shortly behind him.

You were expecting to catch up to him, his impossibly long legs be damned. You weren't expecting him to be waiting for you. He pulled you into an empty interrogation room and pushed you up against a wall, his face just inches from yours. It was only a moment before being flustered by the closeness and those goddamn eyes were replaced by anger.

"What the FUCK, Reid?"

"What game are you playing, Y/N? What game are we playing? What's your endgame?" He spoke quickly and softly, but there was an intensity in his voice that had you captivated.

"I'm the one playing games?" You pushed him back, away from you. "You're the one who decided to hate me before we even met. When I transferred, all I wanted was to do a good job and fit in with the team. But quite literally from the minute I walked through the door, you'd decided you hate me. Turnabout is just fair play, gorgeous." Oh, fuck.

"Gorgeous?" You walked past him to the other side of the room, running a hand through your hair and turning your back on him. "Fine. Yeah, okay? I wanted approval from the brilliant and handsome Doctor Spencer Reid. In a way that's respectful of your heterosexuality, of course." You turned around and faced him again. "But that doesn't matter, because you made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me right off the bat."

"What makes you think I'm straight?" He's fucking with me, now that that cat is out of the bag. Great. Fucking cishet men. Even he's no different. Thank god he still thinks I'm cis.

"Garcia mentioned in her newbie-run-down that you're 'awkward, but in a cute way, especially around women'. Plus, she mentioned that Emily is bi, leaving everyone else implied straight as even the best cishet allies are wont to do. And as we both know, Penelope knows everything.

And before you make the hearsay argument I can see forming in that brilliant head of yours, I've heard and seen too much about your impeccable memory to assume you don't remember when we all went to the bar after my first case. I was unabashedly Queer, friendly flirting with Derek and calling out cishet bullshit. When I did the latter, you literally rolled your eyes and walked away. Which is, funnily enough, some cishet bullshit.

JJ said you were just going through a thing and things would get better, but they just got worse. I'm not going to ask you to spill whatever was going on, because it's not my business, but god damn, dude. Why did you hate me so much so quickly?"

"You asked JJ about me?" He took a few steps towards you, a small smile on his face.

"That's the part you focused on? Jesus fucking Christ. Yes, I asked her about why you decided to hate me before we even met. Whatever. I hope you got whatever you were looking for by pulling me in here. I'm done. Done with this conversation, done with whatever has been going on with you and us since the day I transferred." You turned to leave, but he grabbed your arm. It was barely more than a light touch, but you let it stop you.

"Y/N. I can't-" he sighed. "God, you make my head spin. I can't organize my thoughts enough to say what I want to. JJ was right, there was something I had to work through, and I guess you'd made up your mind about me before I figured it out. It isn't an excuse for how I treated you, just an explanation. As for the more recent development of arguments… I guess I read a subtext that wasn't there. I could never dislike you, let alone hate you. I am truly sorry for- for all of it." With three long strides, he was out the door.

Make his head spin? What subtext? Since when is he unable to say what's on his mind? And what was that about not disliking me? All we've done since we met is argue or ignore each other. Why else would he act like that? Why do I even care? Why am I so knotted up about what he's thinking and feeling? Whatever. Fuck him, and not in the fun way. I've gotta go get coffee for the team. As you were getting the coffee, you couldn't get the memory of his face, so close to yours, to stop playing in your head.

The rest of the case was mostly as normal, but there was an energy between you and Spencer that was distant like when you joined the team, but there was something else to it that you couldn't quite put your finger on. It made you a little bit sad, though, for reasons you didn't understand.

"I love you, Y/N. I love you so much. I pulled away from you because it terrified me how much I loved you from the moment you walked through the door that first day. Being around you, even when we were arguing, made me feel alive in a way I never had before. You're all I think about, you're all I could ever want. I love you."

"I… I love you too." You didn't know which one of you moved, maybe you both did, but in an instant, you were kissing Spencer Reid, and you couldn't have been happier.

You woke up with a start, breathing heavily. You looked around; you were in your room, home alone, and it was 3:37 am. What the hell was that?

Four hours later, you trudged through the door of the BAU office, venti red-eye in hand. You made it about ten steps before Derek had his arm around your shoulders.

"Whoa there, hot stuff. Rough night?" You tried to shake him off, but he wouldn't budge, so you just kept walking, making him go with you towards your desk.

"So not your business, Derek. You being open with your personal life doesn't mean we all have to be open like that with ours."

"Personal life, huh? So who is he? More importantly, how was he, and should we expect more mornings like this in the future?" You rolled your eyes and playfully shoved him away. You'd reached your desk, so you sat on top of it, facing him. As you did, you made eye contact with Spencer, who was well within earshot. His face was unreadable, and you weren't sure why him hearing Morgan tease you like that upset you. It never had before.

"No, Derek. There's no one. Just some nightmares. Nothing major; I'll be fine by tomorrow." You got off your desk, sat in your chair, and logged into your laptop. Derek whistled and walked away without another word, shaking his head.

You tried to focus on the paperwork you needed to get done, but you couldn't stop thinking about that dream. The feeling of his lips on yours… it felt so real.

This is ridiculous. Love? We don't even like each other. Well… there was the stuff he was saying yesterday- 'I could never dislike you, let alone hate you', and some sort of subtext? But not disliking someone is a far cry from love. Plus, he's straight, so this is all absurd. And even if he DID have feelings for me, I sure as hell don't return them. I mean, maybe he's not as awful as I've thought, especially if he wasn't coming from a place of dislike. And he really is very pretty. Those eyes… Wait, what the fuck? This is all fucking ridiculous. I just need to get a full night's sleep tomorrow, and all this weirdness will be gone.

You took a giant gulp of your coffee, shook your head, and ran your fingers through your hair. Fortunately, Hotchner called a team meeting, forcing your attention to other things.

While no case could ever be described as 'normal', this case was pretty cut and dry, once you figured out what you were looking for. No dramatic twist, no tense showdown at his arrest. There weren't many cases like that, but you were very glad that this one was. You never sleep well when on a case, and no matter what you did, you couldn't shake that dream, the butterflies it left in your stomach every time you looked at him, and the strange disappointment when, unlike before that moment in Oregon, he wasn't looking at you.

Two more weeks passed. The energy between you and Spencer, whatever force it was that had drawn you together to argue again and again, was gone. You were polite to each other, and cooperated as necessary, but didn't do more than the bare minimum when it came to interacting with each other. Your interactions were cold and low-spirited. So you were so glad for a fun night out with Penelope, Emily, and JJ.

"So, Y/N, things seem… different… between you and Spencer these days. Did something happen?" Emily's tone made it clear that the three of them had intended to bring this up long before the plan to get drinks was even made. "I appreciate y'all waiting until I had a couple of drinks in me at least before going here. I guess we just got tired of fighting? I don't know. I can't figure out what's going on in that brilliant head of his. I thought I at least knew where I stood with him, even though it was purely adversarial, but I think I was wrong. But then that leaves me with no idea what he thinks of me or why I care so damn much."

"Really? No idea at all?" JJ asked. "I remember walking by a closed door in the police station in Oregon and hearing the word 'gorgeous' being thrown around." "Oh my god. You heard that?" You buried your face in your hands, and they all laughed.

"Yeah, I did, but only that one word. I'd figured you were on the phone with someone, but then you and Spence both started acting sad. I wasn't sure, of course, that you were talking to him until just now."

"Fuck. Okay, yeah. I think he's pretty. But I'm absolutely not alone in that. Derek calls him Pretty Boy, for goodness' sake. Appreciating someone's beauty doesn't have to mean anything more."

"Y/N, really? After everything we've been through together, you're gonna lie to us like this? Whatever happened, you've both been miserable since, and it's throwing the whole team off balance."

"What do you want me to say, Penelope? That I'm in love with him? He's pretentious and a know-it-all and a nerd and funny and kind and gorgeous and oh my God. I think I'm in love with him." The three women clapped and cheered.

"Finally, you get there! Took you long enough." Emily winked. "So, what's the plan now?"

"Keep this shit between us until my feelings go away. Even if he wasn't straight, I wouldn't risk fucking things up by telling him how I felt. As it is, I stand no chance in hell, so I'm just gonna write this one off as another straight guy I've fallen for and try to move on."

"Y/N, if you tell him-" Penelope started.

"No. You, more than anyone, know why I can't even entertain the idea of trying to be with him. I can't set myself up for that kind of pain. Not here, not where things are so good." You looked at all three of them. "I know that your intentions were good, but I just can't do this. I'm sorry." You grabbed your coat and left.

Your interactions with Spencer changed yet again. Now that you knew you loved him, you couldn't help yourself from being warmer towards him. As the weeks passed, you got closer. After three weeks, you considered him to be a good friend, not that that made things any less painful. You were just hoping that Penelope, Emily, and JJ were going to respect your wishes and drop the subject of your feelings for him.

[From: Penelope]: round table room ASAP

Shit. The last time you'd gotten that text from Penelope, the team left on a serial child abduction case 30 minutes later. So, despite it being your day off, you ran out the door and were there with your go bag in 15 minutes.

But no one else was there. No files on the table, nothing to indicate that there was a new case. You pulled out your phone to call Penelope, but then you heard a commotion outside the door- you'd closed it behind you.

"No, Derek, wait, I don't-"

"Can it, Pretty Boy, and thank me later." Derek opened the door, pushed Spencer into the room, winked at you, and shut the door, all in about 3 seconds.

"Spencer. Um, hi. Is the rest of the team not going to join us? Garcia's text seemed pretty urgent." You tucked your phone into your pocket.

"I don't think so, since I just heard Morgan barricade the door." He tried to open the door and failed.

"Oh my god they're Parent Trapping us. I'm gonna kill them."

Spencer tilted his head, confused. "Parent Trapping?"

"Oh my god have you not seen any of the Parent Trap movies? Were you living under a rock in 1998?" "I was seventeen and working on my first doctorate, so pretty much, yeah," he laughed. You couldn't help but laugh, too, as you firmly ignored how his smile made you absolutely melt.

"Fair enough. The '61 one is good too, but the '98 Lindsay Lohan one is Iconic for good reason. Anyway. The point is, they've locked us in here and won't let us out until we have a conversation."

"Just a conversation? Or do they want us to talk about something in particular?" He took a seat at the table.

"I- yeah, they have a particular topic in mind. I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I was tipsy and said things I should have just kept to myself. I thought they'd respected my wishes and left well enough alone, but clearly they didn't. And they won't let us out of here until I tell you-" you hesitated.

"Tell me what?" He leaned forward, and part of you swore you saw hope in his beautiful brown eyes. You looked at the floor, avoiding them.

"Tell you that I… have feelings for you. Romantic, cheesy, butterflies-in-my-stomach feelings. I don't know why they want me to tell you this. We've just gotten to a good place as friends, and you're straight, and-"

Somehow you missed the sound of him getting up and taking the few steps over to you, because you practically jumped out of your skin when his hands were suddenly on your shoulders.

"Y/N. Please, darling, look at me?" Bewildered by the endearment, you did, and his smile was blinding. "I'm not straight. I'm bi, and I think part of me has been in love with you since your first day at the BAU. The thing JJ said I was working through? The potential problems of having feelings for a coworker. For you. As soon as you walked through that door", he pointed and then took both your hands in his, "I loved you. The night at the bar? I was rolling my eyes at myself for how much I wanted to kiss you, and I walked away to stop myself from doing something reckless. I love you, Y/N. Can I do something reckless?"

"I'm trans," you blurted. "I hope that doesn't change anything, but it's something you should know. If knowing that I'm trans changes things, now is the time for you to say something. If it's a problem and it blows up later, it might actually kill me. Because I love you, too. So much. If it doesn't change anything, then please, Spencer, kiss me."

The words were barely out of your mouth before his lips were on yours. You weren't sure how long you were kissing before you were interrupted by cheers from the other side of the door. "Shit, Spencer, they're going to be the worst about this, aren't they?" You were a bit embarrassed by how breathy your voice was, but you were too happy to really care.

"Oh yeah. We're not going to get a moment that's just us in this building ever again. Do you want to get it over with and face them, or would you prefer we stay in this moment a bit longer?"

"What do you think, doctor?" you asked, pulling him in for another kiss.

#spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #otp: pretty boys

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Backyard Boy (Gottrosenali) - Pinkgrapefruit

a/n -

special thanks to the druk discord for both their help with gottrosenali as a whole and the enby central station for their invaluable help in my portrayal of a trans character. also thanks to frey for her infinite wisdom when it comes to grammar.

i really hope you like it so please let me know how you feel!!!

Dance with me in my backyard, boy

Looking super fine in your corduroy

Drive me ‘round the block

We can go in a loop

And we’ll turn the volume up on some

Good boy band tunes

Mik leans forward, head bumping against one of the front seats as he attempts to grab Denali’s phone from the cup holder. She doesn’t notice, too focused on navigating towards the Mcdonald’s, but Rosé does, and she slaps his hand like a small child.

“I love you baby boy, but I’d rather Nali drive us into a wall before I let you play Gaga one more time.” She sounds grumpy, but Mik can search out the soft undertone and he rubs a thumb over her hand before he leans back. He sighs in relief, twisting a little to try and release some of the pressure from his binder before he sits back.

“God, someone needs to get some food into you,” he jokes and he watches as Denali places her hand on Rosé’s thigh - the pink-haired girl has always been the worst for being hangry.

It’s their lunch break, and they’ve escaped into town to get a McDonald’s before they have to sit through another hour of school. There isn’t a lesson they share between the three of them, so they relish in this time together.

“Drive-thru or eat in?” Denali calls out, her volume always a little too loud for the tiny Volkswagen she drives.

“Uh,” Mik replies, “I’m paying and I need a wee, so I reckon we go inside and then eat in the car.”

Rosé grunts, and he sees Denali’s thumb slide over her tights before she sighs. “You know I hate it when we eat in here,” she moans, but then she catches his eye and rolls her own. “But sure.”

Mik pumps his fist in triumph and, once they’re parked up, makes sure to give Denali a quick peck on the forehead before intertwining his fingers with Rosé’s. Denali wipes the Carmex off her forehead with an affectionate scowl, patting his ass in return before skipping ahead to open the door.

“My loves,” she bows her head, waving her hand in a comically large gesture that makes even Rosé crack a smile.

“Chivalry ain’t dead. He hears her mutter under her breath, and he laughs in response, loving the way her eyes brighten up when he does.

He orders for them, Rosé in too much of a grump to avoid yelling at the poor cashiers, and Nali with just a little too much anxiety. He notes down the orders on his phone like a good boyfriend and then relays them perfectly, adding on a bag of mozzarella sticks because he knows Rosé will try and steal his.

"Ladies,” he bows as he holds out the brown paper bag, and Rosé loops a hand through his arm. He loves it when she allows herself to be clingy, and Denali does too, so they let her whenever she feels it - even if it means having to guide a dead weight back to the car.

She sighs and flutters her eyes open when she’s back into the passenger seat before snorting a chuckle that makes Denali do a double-take from the fries she’d been devouring.

She points hazily at the paper bag. “Mik-Donalds-” she jokes.

“Fuck,” Mik says, leaning forward again from the back seat to drop a peck on Rosé’s cheek. “God, I love you.”

Denali places a palm on his cheek while he’s still leaning forward. “Same,” she sighs. “Same.

I can feel the fresh air

I can feel your eyes stare

And I’m not gonna lie

I get a little bit scared

My heart is on wings

I’m living in dreams

And at the top of our lungs, we sing

He lets his back hit the locker with a clang, double-checking the number because even after a year and a bit of dating he’s still never quite sure which locker belongs to Rosé. Luckily, he’s proven to be correct when Denali skips over to him, slipping her hand into his and leaning her head on his arm with a deep sigh.

"Spanish not doing it for you?” he jokes, tilting his head so it rests on top of hers, watching the rest of the students trail out of the class.

“Not last period,” she sighs, rubbing her temple with her index finger. “I’m getting a headache I swear.” She angles her head to check Mik’s watch and clicks her tongue. “Where’s Rosie,” she whines, much to Mik’s amusement.

“Rehearsals will be running late,” he tells her, enjoying the way she’s curling further into his side as the bell chimes loudly above them.

She harrumphs, mewling even more as he pulls away from her side, placing his rucksack on the ground and rummaging around for the painkillers he tends to keep. He finds them, and hands them to her alongside a bottle of water that she grasps quickly, swallowing the pills with a happy sigh. When he stands, he lets her fall back under his arm and he traces patterns on her back, muttering about his senior textiles project while she butts in with questions.

As the 3:15 bell chimes, they watch the last dregs of students trail out of the door, and Mik starts to suck at his teeth in frustration. He knows he’s done the same thing when engrossed in a project, eyes only focusing on the way the needle goes through the fabric, but he can’t bring himself not to be irritated when Rosé hasn’t even texted.

“Ah, the prophetic daughter returns,” Denali mocks from in his shirt, pulling him out of his thoughts and making him turn towards the theatre department where Rosé is jogging casually down the hall.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she calls, sliding slightly as her worn converse lack grip on school linoleum. She comes to a halt, hands on his bare arms, lips pressed against his cheek in a chaste peck. She does the same to Denali in apology, and although the girl still looks grumpy, there’s a flicker of warmth in her eyes.

“You’re driving home,” she says bluntly, handing over her keys with a scowl before turning to the door, and Rosé looks at Mik questioningly.

“Headache,” he tells her, and she nods knowingly.

“Migraine?”

“Not yet.” She sighs, shaking the keys in her hand to elicit a pleasant jingle, but Mik notices how it makes Denali wince. “Soon,” he amends before jogging to catch up to her - knowing the sun will do little to improve her mood.

“Sleepover it is,” Rosé sighs to herself, unlocking the car from a distance and watching as he helps Denali into the passenger seat - all too aware that the last time she was in the backseat with a migraine, it went terribly. She smiles, she’s not sure how she got so lucky.

Da da da da da da

Everything is perfect

Da da da da da da

All our words were worth it

Mik’s been going to the gym to cope wth his dysphoria, and it shows in the way his shoulders are getting broader and his muscles more defined. An extra bonus is the way it means he can cradle Denali in his arms, carrying her easily up the stairs. He lets her rest her head in the crook of his neck and relents when she tries to get him into bed with her, curling around her and sending Rosé off to search for Denali’s rescue meds.

She brings a glass of water and a sticky cold patch with her, which she applies gently to Denali’s forehead, coaxing a whimper out of her. They get her to swallow the pill, and then Rosé closes the curtains, padding around quietly before sliding into the bed next to them both.

Neither quite know what they would do if Denali’s migraines made her sensitive to touch as well as light and sound (they’re all too affectionate to try and withhold touch), but they’ve lived through enough of them that they know that with a dose of medication and a few hours in the dark she tends to be good as new.

They’re right, though the attack does relegate them to ordering pizza and eating it in Rosé’s ridiculously large bed (or at least this is the excuse they use on her mum when she looks at them disapprovingly).

Denali presses a kiss to Rosé’s bare shoulder and the pink-haired girl rolls over, placing a hand next to each of her shoulders and hovering above Denali with a wicked grin until Mik pokes his finger into her side and she collapses. Denali lets out a yelp, but she’s giggling while Rosé curses them both for ruining her moment.

“No funny business while Nali’s drugged up,” Mik reminds her gently - a rule they had to put into place after they made the side effects of her meds ten times worse due to some rougher activities.

It’s a situation that they’re not particularly willing to repeat.

Rosé rolls over Denali again until she’s in between them, sighing contentedly when Mik rests his head on her chest. “Movie?” she asks quietly.

“Disney!” Denali suggests, before wincing ever so slightly at the pitch of her own voice. She runs a hand through Mik’s hair and then places her head on Rosé’s other shoulder.

“I’m down for that,” Mik agrees.

“UP?”

“That’s Pixar, god, Rosie, know your animated films.”

“Potato, Potato,” Rosé replies, clicking on the title on Disney+ before tossing the remote to the side.

They don’t mention Rosé crying when Ellie dies.

They fall asleep to the end credits.

Da da da da da da

Dancing around like a clown at the circus

Da da da da da da

Backyard boy, you make me nervous

Mik wakes up to aching in his lower abdomen and it sends a shiver of fear down his spine. His boxers feel slightly damp, and he’s grateful that he fell asleep with his head on Rosé’s chest.

He flips the soft comforter over so he can see the sheets, and the sight of the blood makes him more nauseous than his cramps. He weighs his options for a second before gently stroking Denali’s cheek with a sigh.

“Baby,” he says with a quick glance at Rosé’s lit up alarm clock. It’s four am. “Uh, Nali.” Denali lifts her head from Rosé’s shoulder and blinks her eyes expectantly. They’re bleary and she lifts a hand to rub at them before she properly focuses on Mik.

In the dim room, she can see the dark patch on the white bottom sheet and she gently palms his face.

“Let’s get you cleaned up love,” she says with an apologetic smile. He nods and watches as she rolls out of the wide double and swiftly locates the pair of period pants he keeps in a hidden pocket of his duffle. She looks between them and a tampon before tossing the tampon onto Rosé’s desk and then hands them to Mik, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “Go on, love.” She nods towards the bathroom and he smiles weakly, watching her shake Rosé awake with a gentle hand.

When he gets back, the bedside lamps are on and Rosé is stripping the bed, tossing the spoiled sheets into a pile on the floor. When he looks around for Denali, she stops and walks over to him, palming his chest over his t-shirt and snuggling into him the best she can with the small height difference.

“She’s gone to get the Nurofen and a hot water bottle,” she tells him - voice hoarse from sleep.

“I’m sorry-” Mik starts to say, but Rosé cuts him off with a steady hand on the side of his head.

“You don’t have to apologise for anything Gottlieb,” she asserts firmly. “It’s a natural thing that happens to bodies and you wouldn’t let me or Nali say shit if it were us-”

She looks sternly.

“-would you?” He nods in acquiescence and jumps a little when he feels a warm hand on his upper arm. He smells the coconut shampoo of Nali’s hair before he sees her.

“You wouldn’t let Rosie apologise when she bled on your favourite hoodie,” reminds Denali softly, handing him two tablets and a small tumbler of water before exchanging them for a hot water bottle. He sighs when he tucks it into his abdomen, and they make him sit at Rosé’s desk while they bustle around sorting out new bedsheets.

Rosé’s mum pops her head round the door at one point, causing Mik to flush red, though Denali waves her off. “Don’t worry about this, Mrs McCorkel.” She smiles wearily. “Periods.” She shrugs, and Rosé’s mum laughs, shutting the door with a low thud.

They all crawl back into bed, Rosé insisting on spooning him from behind while he holds Denali close. She presses her lips to the back of his neck, and he can feel her smile into the skin.

“You’re my favourite man, handsome,” she states, warmth in her voice. “I love you.”

He buries his face into Denali’s hair and lets the warmness lull him back to sleep.

Dance with me in my backyard, boy

Looking super fine in your corduroy (five, six, seven, eight)

Roll the windows down

Let the base drop low

And everybody’s talking

But I don’t wanna know

Denali yelps, pulling back from where she’d been straddling Mik in such a way that makes them both fall off the window seat and tumble onto the floor. Rosé looks over at them and scowls, a highlighter in her hand. She makes an obscene gesture with it and then sets it down.

“Can you two be horndogs literally anywhere else,” she asks, exasperated, and they both fall into giggles.

“I’m sorry!” Denali squeals as Mik runs a hand down her side. “Your boyfriend just gave me carpet burn from his damn moustache.”

Mik looks up, somewhere between awestruck and dazed.

“Maybe it’s retaliation for you giving me rug burn,” Rosé quips with a wink before looking at their boyfriend, who’s doing a perfect meerkat expression. Before she can blink, he’s on his feet and running towards the bathroom, where they hear a sharp squeak of excitement.

She holds a hand out to Denali who pulls her out of her chair, and they let their interlocked fingers swing together as they wander over to follow him.

In the middle of the counter, next to three empty vials of testosterone, is Mik. His eyes wide and unblinking, fingers stretching the skin of his upper lip so he can pinpoint a single pale brown hair.

Denali places a featherlight kiss on his exposed shoulder and then reaches to touch it, pulling back in mock anguish.

“Ouch!” she shouts, and Rosé stifles a giggle at her antics, rubbing a hand on Mik’s back to try and gauge how he’s feeling. He sighs into the touch and his shoulders relax a bit.

“That’s one special little dude you’ve got there, bubs,” she tells him with a look of pride on her face. “I think it needs a name.”

Denali looks at her and shakes her head, but Mik is already nodding slowly. “Jeremy,” he says, voice full of conviction.

“We’re not naming his face pube,” Denali fights back, hoisting herself up onto the counter so she can look closer. She ruffles his hair with her fingers and he swats her away.

“Two against one, love,” Rosé points out. “Jeremy the destroyer.”

She leans up and kisses his top lip. “There is now a fourth in this relationship,” she announces smugly, raising an eyebrow at Denali, who holds her hands up. Mik looks between the two of them in amusement.

“I’m not going to kiss the face pube-”

“He has a name,” Rosé cuts her off with a grin.

“I’m not going to kiss Jeremy the destroyer,” Denali responds petulantly, throwing a slightly damp flannel at her from beside the sink.

“Do you not support your boyfriend?” Rosé catches it and tries to throw it back, but Mik grabs it out of the air, holding onto it so he doesn’t get one in the face.

“Rosie McCorkel, you little bitch.”

Mik watches them, dismayed, but incredibly entertained. “Fucking lesbians,” he mutters under his breath, still smiling.

Feel the fresh air

I can feel your eyes stare

And I’m not gonna lie

I get a little bit scared

And my heart is on wings

I’m living in dreams

And at the top of our lungs, we sing

Denali smiles at him as she slips out of the glass door, wincing a little as her bare feet touch the sun-bleached patio stones. He feels Rosé flick some water at him from her place in the pool, but he flips her off, beckoning to Denali, who does an awkward little hop-scotch across the hot yard until she can slide down next to him on the sun-lounger.

He places a gentle hand on her exposed hip, but she clicks her tongue at him. “Mikkk,” she whines, and he places a kiss on her temple before he slides off the sun lounger and moves down to sit on the edge of the pool.

It’s such a hot day that even the lukewarm water on his legs feels like an ice bath, and he desperately wants to take his baggy shirt off, but the idea of sitting outdoors in a sports bra makes him squirm a little. Rosé’s neighbours could see.

She seems to catch his discomfort and she swims up to him, placing one hand on each of his thighs to hold herself up in the water.

“You’re so short,” he teases gently, but she just hoists herself up, straining her neck to place a wet kiss on his chin. She snorts into it and falls backwards, flailing in the water so he gets covered in a fine spray.

“You need to calm down,” he tells her, hearing Denali chuckle in the background.

“Come and make me,” Rosé replies as she swims further away. She tries to shake her ass at him - skimpy pink bikini bottoms pulled high up onto her hips - but she falls forward, head going under the water again.

“Did she ever learn to swim?” Denali asks between loud slurps of ice-cold lemonade, the book she was reading in the shade long forgotten.

“I really couldn’t tell you.”

He turns back to the pool and sees Rosé sitting on one of the bottom steps, hair ties in hand as she tries to braid her thick, pink hair - her fingers fumbling in an attempt that can only be deemed pitiful. He sighs, moving to sit behind her so his swimming trunks are completely submerged. She leans back into him gratefully, and he takes the hair bobbles willingly, weaving her two french braids.

He’s about to move after he finishes when he hears wet footsteps.

“Don’t run, love!” calls Rosé, paddling next to Mik so she’s leaning on the edge of the pool. Denali just scoffs, skidding on the water until she can dive straight into the deep end of the pool. He winces as she does it, hand reaching out to grip Rosé’s, but they both know that her ice-skater balance will save her. She does a messy front stroke over to her partners, her costume glittering in all of its tacky-mermaid glory.

Denali slides between his legs and tips her head back for a kiss, pouting until he gives her a chaste kiss, and then indulging Rosé, who scrunches her nose at the momentary lack of affection.

Mik sighs, pulling Denali’s long hair out of the messy bun it’s in and separating it into two. “Thank you, Mik, we love you, Mik, you’re the best boyfriend ever, Mik,” he moans, letting his fingers slide through her hair like silk.

Rosé tries to hide her laughter in a cough.

It doesn’t work.

Da da da da da da

Everything is perfect

Da da da da da da

All our words were worth it

The euphoria he feels with a pride flag wrapped around his shoulders, billowing behind him like a cape, is unreal. He feels like he could fly if he wasn’t holding hands with Denali, who’s keeping him firmly grounded, and he’s making sure she doesn’t run off and get lost while Rosé has gone to find drinks.

Luckily, they see her before she sees them - Mik is a full head taller than Denali in his platform combat boots and can just about see over the crowd, so he spots the glitter down Rosé’s parting. She’s carrying three plastic cups with straws, and she’s trailed by a sapphic pride flag that’s looped through her belt loops, so it surrounds her denim cut-offs like a skirt.

They’d had a long conversation about the flag - she and Mik sat on the porch with coffee in hand. She’d bought it before they got together and she’s right when she says it looks pretty with her hair - the shades of pink all muddling together until she looks like a ball of cotton candy. He’d smiled and taken her hand in his, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her hair that still smelled of sleep and Denali’s perfume.

“I know you think of me as a man,” he’d said, feeling her squeeze his hand in acknowledgement, “and I know you like women.”

“I just don’t want you to feel left out,” she’d said, poking her tongue into her coffee to check its temperature before taking a long sip. Denali padded out onto the porch, bare feet on the wooden slats. She was wrapped in a tartan blanket and she sat down next to Mik with a huff, laying her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes.

“I’ll survive not being the centre of your attention babe,” he’d joked. And that had been it.

It was the right thing to say because she looks radiant in the sun, and he takes the cold peach lemonade gratefully, handing off Nali-watch to Rosé as he adjusts his trans flag in a shop window.

He re-ties Denali’s bi flag while he’s at it, looping it through the straps of her dungarees so it won’t come loose in the crowd. She turns around and smiles gratefully, placing a soft hand on his barely-there stubble.

Rosé called them disgusting when she first saw them this morning, side by side in their matching crop tops and dungaree shorts. He’s got his own over a nude binder, and it’s the closest he’s ever felt to being shirtless, even with the way his chest is sweating in the summer heat. He knows Rosé’s rucksack has a spare top and bra for him - it’s a part of the reason why he loves her.

“All good?” Rosé asks, adjusting one of the pins in Denali’s flower crown (pink, blue and white) out of habit. She presses a quick kiss to the tip of Denali’s nose and then checks her braids in the shop window too.

“Am I still on Nali-watch?” Mik asks, half-joking and offering his arm for her to take, to which Denali laughs and waves her hand.

“I can get places myself, guys,” she giggles.

“You absolutely cannot,” Mik tells her, raking his hand through his sweaty curls.

“Not if we wanna get there on time,” chimes in Rosé, taking Denali’s hand and swinging it between them. “Now, come on!”

Da da da da da da

Dancing around like a clown at the circus

Da da da da da da

“We have a present for you,” Denali tells him, watching him comb hair gel through his curls in an attempt to tame them before he puts his graduation cap on. He smiles, watching her in the mirror as she curls the back of Rosé’s hair with deft fingers. Rosé flicks her eyes up from the eyeshadow palette she’s looking at, a small smirk playing on her lips, and she goes to say something, but then she stops herself.

“Well, now I’m excited,” he tells them, placing his tie loosely around his neck and leaning back against the countertop, watching them adoringly.

It’s moments like this that he just can’t believe his luck - how he’s got two beautiful women to call his own. Denali is a vision in lilac - a fitted bodice moving into a flared skirt that reminds him of the skating videos her mum showed him at Christmas. Her newly bleached hair is in a braid over her shoulder, and the loose baby hairs that just won’t submit to hair spray make him want to tuck them gently behind her ear.

Rosé resolutely told them she wanted them to die for her, and she’s really trying in a pink, bardot dress that shows too much cleavage to be appropriate for graduation. He supposes she wants to go out with a bang, and he’s not complaining, but he might need a moment before they leave just to collect himself.

“You look flustered,” smirks Rosé with one eyebrow quirked. It pulls him out of his throughs, and he flushes a darker shade of red at the comment.

“Stop teasing him,” Denali tells her, moving to put on some lip gloss before he can steal one last kiss. “I wanna get onto the surprise.”

“Impatient baby,” Mik jokes to get the heat off himself, and she bats a blush brush at him. He’s about to respond when Rosé places a hand on his cheek, guiding his body around so she can fasten his navy blue tie.

“Be good,” she tells him with a tap on the nose. “Now stay here for a second.”

He waits quietly in the bathroom while his girlfriends hurry off, coming back after a few minutes with an envelope and a tentative look on both of their faces. Denali hangs back, leaning against the doorframe with a crinkled nose while Rosé moves forward and holds out the envelope. She waves it at him and he takes it, feeling its weight in his hands. It’s light, but there’s something about it. He can’t figure out what it is.

He shoves a makeup brush under the seal and rips it across, drawing a snigger out of Denali, and Rosé rolls her eyes at them, holding out her hand for her makeup brush because she doesn’t trust him with it.

He holds it out of apprehension and he hears someone click their tongue at him with impatience.

Slowly, Mik pulls out a single sheet of paper and his breath hitches.

“No,” he exhales, feeling his tailbone hit the edge of the countertop in a way he knows will hurt later. He blinks a couple of times and the envelope falls out of his hands, grabbed by Denali who swoops in, placing a warm palm on his upper arm.

“Yes,” replies Rosé, a smile in her voice.

It’s a GoFundMe receipt printed on flimsy copy paper totalling just over $5000. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“The whole year pitched in - the school really,” Denali murmurs, her hand on him a grounding presence that keeps him tethered to this reality.

“I don’t know what to say.” He’s being totally honest, voice shaking under the weight of his emotions. It’s everything he’s ever wanted and he’d resigned himself to another four or five years without that. “It’s freedom.”

“You deserve it, love,” Rosé tells him, her smile softer than he’s seen in a while - softer than she tends to go without Denali pouting at her.

Denali reaches up and swipes the pad of her thumb under his eye to catch the tears he didn’t know were falling before straightening his tie and placing a firm hand on his chest.

“Come on handsome,” she tells him, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

Backyard boy, you make me nervous

#rpdr fanfiction #pinkgrapefruit #gottmik #rosé #denali foxx #denali x gottmik x rosé #poly #high school au #transboy mik #trans character #fluff #tw periods #tw dysphoria #its basically just cute #yes i consulted actual trans people #i fucking hate tagging oh lord #uhhhh stan V she’s great #concrit welcome but i have anxiety so be nice xo

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recurringwriter · 3 years ago

Note

OH exciting!!!! ok i've got some questions

what is Percival's relationship with Felix?

I think I remember you mentioning he might be trans? :000 is this true? if so did this affect his relationship with his family growing up?

height/build? is he as tall as rodrigue? or shorter like felix?

weapon/magic proficiencies?

did he go to the academy?

does he have a crest?

what's his relationship like with Rodrigue?

is he married or in a relationship? or single?

hopefully this isn't too many i am just Very Curious

oh this is very much a lot of quastions but that! is good! it’s why i asked and i thank you.

1. i think. percy is a lot like glenn, more on the laid-back/mischievous side. needling his family. but he's also got a more haughty exterior, so it's sort of a recipe for tension. felix can be exasperated with him at times but seeing rodrigue exasperated with percy means that felix is on his uncle's side. percy is sympathetic when he feels he needs to be and that's good. he can handle felix's dramatic rudeness, and felix appreciates percy's dry backstabbing.

2. it's my house and i say that after an initial moment of 'hmm are you sure about this?' everyone in the family came around pretty easily. rodrigue is momentarily offended and then percy says ‘fine, i will disown you’ and rodrigue is momentarily outraged and then. he laughs. their parents are like ‘whatever, rodrigue’s the heir, you can do whatever you want actually. welcome home son.’ mayybe it would have been harder for rodrigue but they still would’ve worked it out.

3. i think he’s shorter than rodrigue by like. two inches. still taller than felix but i do picture felix a liiiitle on the short king side. percy’s a little chubby and very happy about it.

4. reason and swords, but he’s not super at either, just proficient. doesn’t train as much as the other fraldariuses but yeah, he learned how to use a sword before a pen and all that. likes to show off despite not being a master swordsman. mixed results

5. went to the academy, loved stable and sky duty, tricked other students into weeding for him. walked around like he owned the place. haggled with merchants and then walked away without buying.got good grades despite never studying. rodrigue: ‘if you’d studied you might have gotten higher grades than i did’ percy: ‘which is why i didn’t, i’d hate to shatter your delicate ego’ they fight.

6. i’m still on the fence about this! if yes, then he is adamant that it’s more minor than rodrigue’s, everyone tells him this is nonsense. if he has no crest at all, then he happily tries to make the situation uncomfortable every time he sees the gautiers.

7. god. i want them to have a strong bickery ride-or-die sibling relationship. rodrigue is like ‘hey can you watch the territory while i go join dimitri invading the empire?’ and perce goes ‘that’s not very responsible of you :/ i’ll have to check my schedule i’ll get back to you in a month.’ and rodrigue gives him this warning ‘Percival..’ and percy grins and punches rodrigue’s arm and says ‘of course i’ll watch the territory and i’ll do a better job than you, anyway. idk why you didn’t ask me sooner.’ rodrigue rolls his eyes. they’re literally bros? as children, percy knows how to push all rodrigue’s buttons and get him in trouble while avoiding all consequences.

8. percy is single and so ready to mingle if anyone’s got an idea for a canon-percy pairing or even what his partner could be like if they were an oc, let me know and they might make an appearance in either a later chapter of crescendo or the nebulous epilogue i have not planned, but thought about in vague terms.

#oh when i made my question request post i should have made the tag 'i have a favour to ask of you' in seteth's voice #oc: percival narcisse fraldarius #long post #maybe

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comicreliefmorlock · 4 years ago

Text

A Reader’s Guide to Writing: Lesson #2

I... expect to get shot for this.

-sighs and puts on a helmet- Body shots, fine, but I’m trying to avoid taking a headshot for what I’m about to say.

The Constant Reader... does not give a fuck about flat, cardboard-cutout “representation.” We just don’t. In fact, it’s downright insulting to your Readers to assume that labeling your character “insert woke points here” will automatically endear them to us.

(...god I’m going to get in so much trouble for this...)

When I see a book described as “it has two lesbians in it!” or “these characters are transgender!” my immediate and automatic thought is “...okay, but what is the story about? will I give a fuck about these characters?”

And that, right there, is something that can actually carry a weak plot (to a Reader’s mind) or absolutely drag a good plot into “well, I might as well finish reading it.”

Do I give a fuck about your characters?

Now this does not mean your character has to be Wholly Unproblematic or an Adorable Cinnamon Roll, Too Good, Too Pure for This World.

What it means is “do I respond to your character like they’re fleshed out well enough for my brain to read them as a person?”

For Comparison-- Two Characters:

Here’s an example of what is honestly a really well-written character (in a... very... ugh, look, the pervasive racism makes it terrible to read now and I just kind of wince and groan at it and wince even harder knowing how well it was received) because the character has caused Emotion in a Reader.

Scarlett Fucking O’Hara.

I hate her. I’m not even kidding, I just hate this self-absorbed bitch. She drives me nuts. I’d love to yeet her off a literary cliff and watch her drown.

...but I consider her a well-written character because she inspires emotion. I react to her. I legitimately read a page of “Gone With the Wind” (*again, I know, I’m sorry, the book’s slimy feel of ‘but... slavery was good!’ is just... horrific) and I want to grab the nearest heavy object and slam it onto her empty skull. She has obvious flaws--and they’re explicitly spelled out in the text--and those flaws totally fuck up her life. Scarlett doesn’t get what she wants because she is her own worst enemy in a lot of ways. And watching her make decisions based on what She Wants and then dealing with the aftermath feels legitimate. It feels pretty real to watch someone make a decision based on a want only to see them struggle with the result OF that decision. Not to mention the moment of realization that came too late, as let’s be fair, hindsight is 20/20 and a lot of us have had that ‘Ohhhhhhhhhhh...’ moment ourselves.

What Scarlett has a lot of, however, is Emotion. And I don’t mean she has a lot of emotionally wrenching scenes. What I mean is Scarlett is actively driven by or affected by An Emotion at nearly every part of her story, even when that Emotion is just some self-absorbed Glee at how she’s gonna one-up this whole town.

Let me compare my reactions to Miss “I’m So Self-Absorbed I Should Be Taxonomically Classified As A Sponge” O’Hara to a character that I... honestly couldn’t give less than a fuck about, despite having read six whole books she’s the main protagonist of.

Ayla of “Clan of the Cave Bears” Jean Auel fame.

In the first novel, Ayla is... actually kind of interesting. A Homo Sapien child found by Neanderthals and raised in their society, there’s a bit that can be read into just how hard it is to fit into a culture and how sometimes that involves more self-repression than is mentally healthy. And in the second novel, “Valley of the Horses,” all the parts with Ayla before her Male Perfection Love Interest shows up are also fairly interesting.

She’s alone, she’s fighting to survive with only her hard-earned skills to carry her. It’s great!

And then... Jondalar arrives and we see her through His Eyes.

I’m not sure exactly what happened here other than the novels (and Ayla) turn into a constant Display Of How Amazing Ayla Is. Everyone loves her! (And the people that don’t are Obviously Flawed and So Empty Inside.) She can do anything! She invents the needle! Horseback riding! Domesticating dogs! The travois! She’s drop-dead gorgeous, an accomplished healer, wants only to be a Good Wife (it’s a little icky, but considering the time period these books are set in, I give it a pass on that) and is always so confused as to why people seem amazed by her.

She becomes basically a Perfect Woman and to be honest, all her struggles after that just feel like they’re directly tied to how Perfect She Is. Ayla suddenly doesn’t have An Emotion behind her. She’s just a vessel for everyone’s awe that such a “perfect woman” exists. And it just... turns her completely fuckin’ flat.

What I’ve found after doing a LOT of reading is that a Writer should keep one big thing in mind.

(And this goes triple for stories that tote themselves on the representation platform.)

Emotion--the experience of it, the sharing of it, the looking for validation of it--is one of those defining things that make what we’d call the Human Experience.

People who are looking for representation in media are looking for actual representation. For a Person like them on the screen or page. Maybe you don’t know what it’s like to be a teenager struggling with a realization of sexuality, but you can ask people who do. And you can relate YOURSELF to that on some level.

Everyone in the world has had a moment where they’re trying to reconcile something about themselves with what the world expects or with what they expect from themselves. You can take that seed, that memory of sitting in your bedroom and listening to the same song on repeat while thinking wistful thoughts of what life could be like if This Was Different or imagining a future where What You Want is accessible, acceptable and within reach. You can find the Emotion and appeal to it.

I know that the experience of being gay or disabled or neurodivergent or trans or a minority is not universal; everyone has a different life, different experiences, different fears, worries, hopes, dreams.

And I say this in full awareness that someone could very rightly be angry at me for paring off societal issues and cultural problems to make this accessible to writers who may want to write a specific character FIRST and THEN find sensitivity readers to help them refine it*.

There’s a “but” to the whole “different life” thing.

Humans have felt the basic range of emotion across the board, across the world, across time, regardless of where or when or who they are. And a Character that makes you Feel is a character that you can give a fuck about. Pare off the labels and start with the tinest, most concentrated idea of who this person is so you can find their emotions to use in the story. Are they a dreamer? A fighter? A creator? An explorer? What Emotion drives them? Hope? Curiosity? Anger? Sorrow?

Because I personally have seen myself in characters that I have absolutely no surface experience in common with whatsoever, but I responded to the Emotion that drove them because I recognized it. I’d felt it. Maybe what created the Emotion was different (wildly so!) from what created it for me, but I had the Emotion. The character is having the Emotion.

And that makes me give a fuck about the outcome of their story, whether the personality carrying the Emotion makes me want to cut a bitch (fuck you Scarlett) or see them succeed in every aspect of life.

[*You will want sensitivity readers to refine the character because representation should actually represent and not be A Writer Getting Woke Points.]

#A Reader's Guide to Writing #On Writing #Reading is life #Writing is life

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years ago

Text

Survey #461

“this city looks so pretty, do you wanna burn it with me?”

Have you ever wanted a Nikon camera? Or do you have one already? My camera before the one I have now was a Nikon D3200. I use a Canon now. Who was the last person (if anyone) you said Happy Birthday to? A friend. Do you have Photoshop? If so, how often a day do you use it? I have it, but I barely use it nowadays. I use it to edit photos for character profiles or profile pictures, add a watermark for my actual photography, and I used to make Mark-oriented gifs like crazy. They mostly did really well, so... I might wanna get back into that and get That Sweet Validation. Do you watch any shows that you know your parents wouldn’t approve of? No. Have any of your exes gotten married or had kids since your breakup? None, I think. Do either of your parents have a mental illness? My mom has depression. Can you tolerate children for a long period of time? NO. Have you ever lived with someone you felt thoroughly uncomfortable around? No. Are you into dubstep? Yeah, I tend to enjoy it. Zelda or The Sims games? Can I pick neither? lol I don't feel very much at all for The Sims, and Zelda games have always looked... boring to me? Like I've watched most of the Game Grumps' playthroughs of all the games, and they make it hilarious of course, but the games themselves? Nah. Are you terrible at assigning bands their proper genre? YES YES YES YES YES YES. Even in my preferred category, that being metal, FUCK if I know the sub-genre. Have you ever made out in a closet? No, that shit sounds claustrophobic as hell. Have you ever been to a laser tag place? Yeah, on a triple-date once! It was SO fun. How do you wanna celebrate your next birthday? Have a couple friends over, pig out at The Cheesecake Factory. o3o Do you tease your parents about them being old? No, especially not Mom. She's self-conscious about getting older. Are you in love with someone? "In love" is a bit too far, buddy. But I love someone. Have you ever ridden a unicycle? No. Have you ever wanted a pet bunny? I was VERY serious about getting a lop-eared bunny for quite a while, but we just couldn't afford to adopt one (even off Craigslist) and get a cage for it, toys, etc. Are the bottom of your feet clean? I HATE seeing the bottom of my feet. Not because they're dirty, but because it's Callus City. I ain't even fuckin jokin'. Do you like really salty food? Yeah. :x When’s the last time you bled a lot? Well, I just recently finished my cycle after not menstruating for three or four MONTHS, so you can figure that one out. Have you ever watched a needle go into your own skin? Yeah. I like to know exactly when it's coming. Have you ever seen someone get a piercing/tattoo? Yes to both. When you’re done eating finger foods, do you usually lick your fingers? Usually kasdjlf;kalsdjf shut up ok I like food. What’s the most racist thing you have ever said? As a little kid, when my really good friend (a neighborhood kid, even) asked if he thought we'd be a good couple, I told him no because "blacks and whites don't date" or something like that. It was an idea I'd never been exposed to before; the idea was so foreign to little kid me. I had no idea I was being racist. It ended in a small fight and we didn't talk for a few days 'til he came to my house telling Mom that he had to "be a man" and fix this and if that ain't the cUTEST SHIT RIGHT THERE. We were friends again after that. He's still on my Facebook, and he actually semi-recently got married! :') Do you know someone that is mute, deaf or blind? No. Have you ever spent more than two weeks in a wheelchair? No. Does weed smell good? Or no? Ugh, no. Where do you see your closest friend in ten years? Successful and happy she kept pushing. Mama to so many reptiles that are blessed with the best lives possible in human care. Got at least one amazing book out there. If she's reading this, you've fucking got this. <3 Would you like to have twins? Mother of fucking god, no. Even if I WANTED kids, do fucking not give me twins. Who was the last person you got into an argument with? My mom. Want to have kids before you’re 30? Once again, I don't want kids, but IF I did, that'd be preferable before the risk of birth defects and other issues climb with age. Does anybody have a tattoo with your name on it? My older sister has my initial. Do you think somebody’s in love with you? No. Do you think you and your best friend will be friends in ten years? Yes, I genuinely do. Who were the last people to hang out at your house? Miss Tobey, our friend and landlord. Does anyone like you? Welp... I hope he still does. Guess we'll figure that out soon. What person on your Facebook do you talk to the most? VIA Facebook? Probably my friend Lyndsey. She likes to comment on stuff I share. Do you want to fall in love? I do, but I'm also utterly horrified to and risk being hurt again. Are you interested in more than one person at the moment? No. Once I realized I was so deeply into Girt, all other romantic feelings kinda just... poofed. How was your last break up? Civil and done with both of our best interests in mind. What is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to say? Probably the first time I admitted I needed to go to the hospital for suicidal thoughts. I was so, so scared of what it was going to be like. What is the hardest thing you NEEDED to hear? That if Jason wasn't happy with me, he had every right to move on. She was right. Do you treat yourself well? No... but I'm trying to change that. What was the last song you sang out loud to? This "Set Fire to the Rain" cover. Do you take good pictures? I think I do? Have you ever done any internship? No. What’s a topic you’ve drastically changed your opinion on? Holy shit, so much, especially when it comes to morality and political stances. I am now a massive supporter and member of the LGBTQ+ community, I'm pro-trans rights, pro-choice... I've done like a dozen 180s in a lot of topics. Do you know anyone who has a PhD? I mean, some doctors, but no one in my truly personal life. Do you know anyone who works as a lawyer? Yes: my cousin. Have you ever experienced sleep paralysis? LAKSDJFKLA;JWD NEVER AND I PRAY TO THE HOLY LORD THAT I NEVER DO. Does the thought of having wrinkles when you’re older upset you? Not massively? Like literally everyone gets them and is natural and inevitable. Do you know anyone who’s struggling with addiction? I know one alcoholic, and one that's probably borderline. I also have two friends who are extremely addicted to weed. Look me in the eyes and say it's not an addictive substance and I wouldn't believe you one bit. Is there a video or computer game that you can get lost in for hours? Eh, sometimes World of Warcraft. Some days I'm really into it, and others I barely touch it. What’s your favorite Disney Channel movie? I have no clue. I don't even remember movies that were made *for* Disney exclusively. Do you ever have to do yard work? No. We have a friend from the dance studio mow the lawn. Do you have any live versions of songs in your music software? My iPod has a whole live album of Ozzy. Did you or do you listen to Britney Spears songs? Both did and do. Britney is a boss bitch. Does your favorite band have a male or female lead singer? Male. Have you seen the movie Moulin Rouge? No, but I've seen some of that P!nk music video of the song and it brings out the Gay in me. Do you have a key to anything besides your house? No. Could you ever complete a 500-piece puzzle? I've done that before. I miss doing puzzles... Have you ever been to any sort of convention? I went to a reptile expo with Sara!! I REALLY want to go to another when my legs are stronger and can handle standing and walking so much. Is your mom or dad the older parent? Mom. Have you ever tried to walk on a moving vehicle and fallen over? No????? What is your favourite kind of bread? Is there any of that in your house? Pumpernickel. No. Are/were you in the school band, and if so, what instrument did you play? I played the flute all through middle school and I wanna say half of HS. Have you ever ordered an unusual drink at a bar? Never even been to one. Have you ever been pulled aside by security at the airport? I think once for some reason I don't recall? What is your favourite seasonal candy? (only available at certain times) Gingerbread men, probs. Or chocolate bunnies!!! :') How do you feel right now? My stomach is KILLING me. I'm super excited though that Girt is coming over tomorrow. Have you ever had surgery that kept you in the hospital for over a day? No. What would you like your generation to change? How we treat nature. Is there anyone that you truly could not live without? No. I learned that is a very unhealthy mentality to have. Do you like carrots more if they’re raw, or cooked? I just hate carrots. What restaurant did you last go out to dinner at with friends? With friends? I couldn't even guess. Does your refrigerator have an ice maker or do you use ice cube trays? It has an ice maker. Do you have a favorite sibling, if any? No; I love them all. Do you have a favorite brand of clothing? I STAN CLOAK. How’s the love life? Something new might start tomorrow. I think it will. Do you watch the news? No; that shit is depressing. Who do you admire most? Mark. Do you have a favorite album? Black Rain by Ozzy Osbourne takes the cake and always will.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''city'' by hollywood undead

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hecksupremechips · 3 years ago

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I’m gonna have a nerdy rant about video games please excuse me (zero escape spoilers)

K so my fave game series I’ve become obsessed with is zero escape, aka a weird bullshit series where the fandom is both small and dead as shit. Yay. And I just finished the last game, zero time dilemma. I wasn’t initially gonna play this game just cuz I heard it was kinda bad, but the ending to vlr had me curious. Plus it had Junpei in it and, well, I think he’s neat :)

But aaaaaaa

Yeah it was bad. Ill go over the good things though. I thought the escape rooms were like challenging without being toooo challenging. They were a good medium between the 999 and vlr puzzles. I liked them. I also really liked the D team a lot. Luna was one of my favorite vlr characters so it’s kinda natural I liked Diana a lot too. I also thought Sigma and Phi were really good in this game. I wasn’t to crazy about either of them in the second game but like. They’re cute in this game. And even though they’re "getting together" situation was kinda iffy, I think Sigma and Diana were cute together. The only valid het couple in this series. I’m kinda indifferent about the whole twist where Phi is their daughter. I don’t hate it, and I think it was cool how it was foreshadowed in vlr, but I think it makes some dynamics weird. Personally, I think Sigma and Phi would have a better siblings relationship but eh

Now let’s get into the bad, even though there’s so much that I physically cannot go over all of it. Idk where to even start. First off, the art style and designs had like no heart. Like everyone has interesting designs (one might even say too interesting) in the first two games. In ztd though, everyone was boring as shit. Junpei went from cool Marty McFly trans king to emo middle schooler. HE WAS LITERALLY IN JUST A BLACK SHIRT AND BLACK JEANS GOD. I’m gonna save him for later though. I’m just disappointed. Also the art style was bleh. I thought it looked nice on the cover, and I was also really excited cuz I read that there were "animated cutscenes". Y’all. Ugh. The cutscenes ended up being like the whole game. I was just watching it all go by and I couldn’t skip any dialogue without accidentally skipping important stuff. Not only that, there was no heart in it at all. I’d argue that the 3D models looked better in this game than in vlr (I’m personally not into how they changed to 3D but that’s a rant for another day), but the models in vlr had GREAT emotions! They had zero emotion in this game. I hated it. Thankfully the voice actors were able to add emotion but damn

Next is the characters. Needle to say, I didn’t enjoy most of them. I liked everyone on D team, the end. First of all, freaking Carlos. Talk about boring. Like god maybe I would’ve liked his design if he wasn’t wearing the button up and also maybe wore like any other pants aaaa. Also like hm. He uh, sure liked his sister. In a concerning way. Like it wasn’t a super obviously bad thing but every time romance was mentioned he’d be like "I don’t need romance, I have my sister!" Do you see what I mean? It’s sketchy to me.

Then we got Eric 👺👺👺. I hated this guy. First off he’s like a ripoff of Kristoph from frozen, without the fun himbo personality. And the whole time he was thirsting after Mira which ughhhh. They were worse than Junpei and Akane in 999. Maybe I’m just too gay for this shit but ughh. Also it was a thing that was pretty well established thing that his father was abusive but like. It didn’t really...mean jack shit? Honestly nothing about Eric’s character mattered, he was pretty irrelevant. Also he was super super shitty to Sean who was literally a fucking child

Then Mira. How disappointing aaaagh. Like they were literally just like "oh here’s this chick that has committed murder, this isn’t relevant at all :)". Like damn they really just had her be completely unnecessary huh. It was super obvious to me that she was the one who killed Eric’s mom and I thought that would’ve come up but. It just didn’t. I was also curious about their relationship in general since it seemed like she only got with Eric so she could kill him. And god they could’ve at least done something like idk. Make her like Dio and break into the game to cuz trouble. Or she could’ve been zero. Maybe that’s lazy but it would have been better. But no they literally did nothing with her. There was a timeline where she brutally murdered Junpei just like, for no reason I guess??? Jesus

Sean and Akane were characters I’m just meh about. I didn’t hate Sean, but I didn’t really like him either. Akane was never really my gal in 999 in the first place so hm. I think she’s funny but she’s done some sketchy stuff and idk I’d probably like her better if the games weren’t always trying to put her with Junpei every five minutes

Then there was Junpei. Ughhhh. They were trying something but ughh. He was very emo and kinda douchey and I just wasn’t into him. Which is a massive shame cuz I liked him a lot in 999, and especially in vlr. Like all I can say is that it’s a real disappointment for me

Now onto plot holes and things that didn’t get covered that should have. As previously mentioned, they didn’t do anything with Mira at all. They also didn’t properly go over Sigma and Diana’s relationship that Sigma had vaguely talked about that happened in another timeline. Carlos’s sister was not important at all and they threw in some "she’s got the mind abilities" bullshit in without really doing anything with it. The timeline shit made my brain turn into goo aaaa. We dont get closure on how the pandemic was stopped, which was the reason I played this fucking game. We didn’t learn jack shit about the third nonary game. And then of course, there’s fucking DELTA

This filled me with so much rage y’all. The game was just like "oh yeah btw there was this random old man who was just there the ENTIRE TIME that never got acknowledged ever and he’s the big bad villain of the game. Not just that, he’s the founder of the crazy cult from vlr. AND he’s Diana and Sigmas kid!" Like wow you know I don’t think words can describe how bad that was. I think things would’ve been better if he just like wasn’t there yeah. Also I guess he’s supposed to be like, the player cuz he mind controls the characters into making certain choices. Ugh. IT WAS SO STUPID MAN. And I guess the only ONLY reason he made the second nonary game was to make sure he was born which is just eghhhmm. That is too messy for me. That’s some bad time bullshit. And weird reason but okay. God

There’s literally so much more I have to say but if I don’t I’m gonna pass out so I’m just gonna take a nap and die. Moral of the story is that I’m pissed a series I loved ended so shitty and don’t play this game unless you hate yourself. The end

#dont look at me at all #i hate this shit so much i need to watch spongebob or something so i can recover from bad game #zero escape

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innuendostudios · 5 years ago

Video

youtube

The newest installment of The Alt-Right Playbook - Endnote 4: How the Alt-Right is Like an Abusive Relationship - is a little different. This installment was presented live at Solidarity Lowell, and includes a bonus Q&A section. This video expands on the ideas put forth in How to Radicalize a Normie.

If you would like more videos like this to come out, please back me on Patreon.

Transcript below the cut.

He is intriguing, yet unpredictable. He demands unconditional loyalty. He seems to have an intuitive understanding of what people want to hear but no actual empathy; he treats others as simply bodies or objects. And he’s surrounded by a network of subordinates but the personnel is always changing.

Does it sound like I’m describing The President? Because these are, according to Alexandra Stein, qualities of a cult leader.

Hi. My name is Ian Danskin. I’m a video essayist and media artist. I run the YouTube channel Innuendo Studios, the flagship endeavor of which is currently The Alt-Right Playbook, a series on the political and rhetorical strategies the Alt-Right uses to legitimize itself and gain power. And, if that sounds interesting to you, and you haven’t already, please like share and subscribe.

The most recent episode of The Alt-Right Playbook is about how people get recruited into these largely online reactionary communities like the Alt-Right, a subject which, as it turns out, is real fuckin’ hard to research.

What I want to talk about with you today is how I go about studying a population that is incredibly hostile towards being studied. It involves finding the bits and pieces of the Alt-Right that we do have data on - the pockets of good research, the outsider observations, the stories of lived experience - as well as looking at older movements the Alt-Right grew out of, that have been extensively researched, and spotting the ways the Alt-Right is continuous with them, and trying to extrapolate how those structures might recreate themselves in the social media age.

So it’s… a lot. And, in the process of researching, I found a wealth of interesting perspectives that, by focusing the video on recruitment specifically, I barely dipped a toe in. All that stuff is what I’d like to get into with you today. But I’m trying to thread a needle here: you don’t need to have seen my video, How to Radicalize a Normie, to follow this talk, but, if you have seen it already, I will try not to be redundant. This talk is one part making my case for why I think the conclusions in that video are correct, one part repository for all the stuff I couldn’t get into, and one part how I’ve come to look at the Alt-Right as a result of this research, including some pet theories I wouldn’t feel right claiming as truth without further research, but I do think are on the right track.

This talk is called Isolation, Engulfment, and Pain: How the Alt-Right is Like an Abusive Relationship. We’re going to cover a lot of ground, from information processing to emotional development, but we’re necessarily also going to cover racism and violence and abuse dynamics. So this is an introduction and a content warning: if some of these subjects are particularly charged for you, no offense will be taken if you at any point leave the room. I have to research this stuff for a living, and it is rough, and sometimes I have to step away. We don’t judge here.

Now. Requisite dash of self-deprecation: don’t give me too much credit for all this. I am proud of the work I do and I think I’m genuinely good at it, but much of this video was compiling the work of others. Besides research I had already done and my own observations, the video had 27 sources: three books, five research papers, six articles, one leaked document, three testimonials, four videos, four pages of statistics, and one Twitter joke. I also spoke to four professional researchers who study right-wing extremism and one former Alt-Righter.

Without all their hard work, I would have nothing to compile.

OK? Let’s begin.

We’re gonna center on those three main texts: Alt-America by David Neiwert, a history of the Alt-Right’s origins; Healing from Hate by Michael Kimmel, about how young men get into (and out of) extremist groups, be they neo-Nazi or jihadist; and Terror, Love and Brainwashing by Alexandra Stein, about how people are courted by and kept inside cults and totalitarian regimes.

I began with Kimmel. The premise of Healing from Hate is that extremist groups tend to be between 75 and 90% male, and that you cannot understand radical conservatism without looking at it through the lens of toxic masculinity. Which makes it all the more disappointing that Kimmel has been accused by multiple women of bullying and harassment. I found the book incredibly useful, and we’re still going to talk about it, I just need to caveat here that retweets are not endorsements. Also, if I spoil the book for you then you don’t need to buy it, give your money to someone who isn’t a creep.

Kimmel’s argument is that extremism begins with a pain peculiar to young men. He calls it “aggrieved entitlement.” I call it Durden Syndrome. You know that scene in Fight Club where Tyler Durden says, “We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires and movie gods and rockstars, but we won’t, we’re slowly learning that fact, and we are very, very pissed off”? Yeah, that. As men, the world promised us something, and the promise wasn’t kept.

Some men skew towards social progressivism when they realize this promise was never made to women, or men of color, or queer or trans or nonbinary people, and recognize the injustice of that. Some men skew towards economic leftism when they realize that every cishet white man being a millionaire rockstar movie god is mathematically impossible. But they skew towards reactionary conservatism when they feel the promise should have been kept. That’s the life they were supposed to have, and someone took it from them.

Hate groups appeal to that sense of emasculation. “You wanna feel like a Real Man? Shave off your hair, dance to hatecore, and let’s beat the crap out of someone.” Kimmel notes that the greatest indicator someone will join a hate group is a broken home: divorce, foster care, parents with addictions, physical or sexual abuse. The greater the distance between the life they were promised and the life they are living, the more enticing Real Masculinity becomes. Their fellow extremists are brothers, the leaders father figures.

The group does give them someone to blame for their lot in life - immigrants, feminists, the Jewish conspiracy - but that’s not why they join. They’re after empowerment. According to Kimmel, “Their embrace of neo-Nazi ideology is a consequence of their recruitment and indoctrination process, not its cause."

But once an Other has been identified as the locus of a hate group’s hate, new recruits are brought along when the group terrorizes that Other. Events like cross burnings and street fights are dangerous and morally fraught, and are often traumatic for a new recruit. And experiencing an emotional or physical trauma can create an intense bond with the people experiencing it with him, even though they’re the ones who brought him to the traumatic event in the first place. The creation of this bond is one of the reasons some hate groups usher new recruits out into the field as early as possible: the sooner they are emotionally invested in the community, the faster they will embrace the community’s politics.

This Othering also estranges recruits from the people they are supposed to hate, which makes it hard to stop hating them.

So there’s this concept that comes up a lot in my research called Contact Hypothesis. Contact Hypothesis argues that, the more contact you have with a different walk of life, the easier it is to tolerate it. It’s like exposure therapy. We talk about how big cities and college campuses tend to be liberal strongholds; the Right likes to claim this is because of professors and politicians poisoning your mind, but it’s really just because they’re diverse. When you share space with a lot of different kinds of people, a degree of liberalism becomes necessary just to get by. And we see that belief systems which rely on a strict orthodoxy get really cagey about members having contact with outsiders. We see this in all the groups we’re discussing today - extremists, cultists, totalitarians - but also religious fundamentalists; Mormons only wanna send their kids to Brigham Young. They are belief systems that can only be reliably maintained so long as no one gets exposed to other people with other beliefs.

So that’s some of what I took from Kimmel. Next I read Stein talking, primarily, about cults.

Stein’s window into all of this is applying the theory of Attachment Styles to what researchers calls totalism, which is any structure that subsumes a person’s entire life the way cults and totalitarian governments do. Attachment is a concept you may be familiar with if have, or have ever dated, a therapist. (I’ve done both.)

So, for a quick primer:

Imagine you’re walking in the park with a three-year-old. And the three-year-old sees a dog, and ask, “Can I pet the dog?” And you say yes, and the kid steps away from your side and reaches out. And the dog gets excited, and jumps up, and the kid gets scared and runs back to you. So you hold the kid and go, “Oh, no no no, don’t worry! They’re not gonna hurt you! They were just happy to see you!” And you take a few moments to calm the kid down, and then you ask, “Do you still want to pet the dog?” And the kid says “yes,” so they step away from you again and reach out. The dog jumps up again, but this time the kid doesn’t run away, and they pet the dog, and you, the kid, and the dog are all happy. Hooray!

This is a fundamental piece of a child’s emotional development. They take a risk, have a negative experience, and retreat to a point of comfort. Then, having received that comfort, feel bolstered enough to take a slightly greater risk. A healthy childhood is steadily venturing further and further from that point of comfort, and taking on greater risks, secure in the knowledge that safety is there when they need it. And, as an adult, they will form many interdependent points of comfort rather than relying on only one or two.

If all goes according to plan, that is Secure Attachment. But: sometimes things go wrong when the kid seeks comfort and doesn’t get enough. This may be because the adult is withholding or the kid doesn’t know how to express their needs or they’re just particularly fearful. But the kid may start seeking comfort more than seems reasonable, and be particularly averse to risk, and over-focus on the people who give them comfort, because they’re operating at a deficit. We call that Anxious Attachment. Alternately, the kid may give up on receiving comfort altogether, even though they still need it, and just go it alone, developing a distrust of other people and a fear of being vulnerable. We call that Avoidant Attachment.

Now, these styles are all formed in early childhood, but Stein focuses on a fourth kind of Attachment, one that can be formed at any age regardless of the Attachment Style you came in with. It’s what happens when the negative experience and the comfort come from the same place. We see it in children and adults who are mistreated by the people they trust. It’s called Disorganized Attachment.

According to Stein, cults foster Disorganized Attachment by being intensely unpredictable. In a cult, you may be praised for your commitment on Monday and have your commitment questioned on Tuesday, with no change in behavior. You may be assigned a romantic partner, who may, at any point, be taken away, assigned to someone else. Your children may be taken from you to be raised by a different family. You may be told the cult leader wants to sleep with you, which may make you incredibly happy or be terrifying, but you won’t be given a choice. And the rules you are expected to follow will be rewritten without warning.

This creates a kind of emotional chaos, where you can’t predict when you will be given good feelings and when you will be given bad ones. But you’re so enmeshed in the community you have noplace else to go for good feelings; hurting you just draws you in deeper, because they are also where you seek comfort. And your pain is always your fault: you wouldn’t feel so shitty if you were more committed. Trying to make sense of this causes so much confusion and anguish that you eventually just stop thinking for yourself. These are the rules now? OK. He’s not my brother anymore? OK. This is my life now? OK.

Hardly anyone would seek out such a dynamic, which is why cults present as religions, political activists, and therapy groups; things people in questioning phases of their lives are liable to seek out, and then they fall down the rabbit hole before they know what’s happening. The cult slowly consumes more and more of a recruit’s life, and tightly controls access to relationships outside the cult, because the biggest threat to a Disorganized Attachment relationship is having separate, Securely Attached points of comfort.

And at this point I said, “Hold up. You’re telling me cults recruit by offering people community and purpose in times of need, become the focal point of their entire lives, estrange them from all outside perspectives, and then cause emotional distress that paradoxically makes them more committed because they have nowhere else to go for support?”

Isn’t that exactly how Kimmel described joining a hate group?

Now, these are commonalities, not a one-to-one comparison. A cult is far more organized and rigidly controlled than a hate group. But Stein points out that this dynamic of isolation, engulfment, and pain is the same dynamic as an abusive relationship. The difference is just scale. A cult is functionally a single person having a very complex domestic abuse situation with a whole lot of people, #badpolyamory.

So if we posit a spectrum with domestic abuse on one end and cults and totalitarianism on the other, I started wondering, could we put extremist groups, like ISIS and Aryan Nations, around… here?

And, if so, where would we put the Alt-Right?

Now, I have to tread carefully here. There are reasons this talk is called “How the Alt-Right is Like an Abusive Relationship” and not “How the Alt-Right is Like a Cult,” because the moment you say the second thing, a lot of people stop listening to you. Our conception of cults and totalitarianism is way more controlled and structured than a pack of loud, racist assholes on the internet. But we’re not talking about organizational structure, we’re talking about a relationship, an emotional dynamic Stein calls “anxious dependency,” which fosters an irrational loyalty to people who are bad for you and gets you to adopt an ideology you would have previously rejected. (I would also love to go on a rant puncturing the idea that cultists and fascists are organized, pointing out this notion is propaganda and their systems are notoriously corrupt and mismanaged, but we don’t have time; ask me about it in the Q&A if you want me to go off.)

So I started looking through what I knew, and what I could find, about the Alt-Right to see if I could spot this same pattern of isolation, engulfment, and pain online funneling people towards the Alt-Right. And I did not come up short.

Isolation? Well, the Alt-Right traffics in all the same dehumanizing narratives about their enemies as Kimmel’s hate groups - like, the worst things you can imagine a human being saying about a group of people are said every day in these forums. They often berate and harass each other for any perceived sympathy towards The Other Side. They also regularly harass people from The Other Side off of platforms, and falsely report their tweets, posts, and videos as terrorism to get them taken down. (This has happened to me, incidentally.) I found figureheads adored by the Alt-Right who expressly tell people to cut ties with liberal family members.

We talked before about Contact Hypothesis? There’s also this idea called Parasocial Contact Hypothesis. A parasocial relationship is a strong emotional connection that only goes one way, like if you really love my videos and have started thinking of me almost as a friend even though I don’t know you exist? Yeah. Parasocial relationship. They’ve been in The Discourse lately, largely thanks to my friend Shannon Strucci making a really great video about them (check it out, I make a cameo, but… clear your schedule). Parasocial Contact Hypothesis is this phenomenon where, if people form parasocial feelings for public figures or even fictional characters, and those people happen to be Black, white audience members become less racist similar to how they would if they had Black friends. Your logical brain knows that these are strangers, but your lizard brain doesn’t know the difference between empathy for a queer friend and empathy for a queer character in a video game. So of course the Alt-Right makes a big stink about queer characters in video games, and leads boycotts against “forced diversity,” because diverse media is bad for recruitment.

Engulfment? Well, I learned way too much about how the Alt-Right will overtake your entire internet life. There was a paper made the rounds last year by Rebecca Lewis charting the interconnectedness of conservative YouTube. (Reactionaries really hated this paper because it said things they didn’t like.) Lewis argues that, once you enter what she calls the Alternative Influence Network, it tends to keep you inside it. Start with some YouTuber conservatives like but who’s branded as a moderate, or even a “classic liberal.” Take someone like Dave Rubin; call Dave Rubin Alt-Right, people yell at you, I speak from experience. Well, Dave Rubin’s had Jordan Peterson on his show, so, if you watch Rubin, Peterson ends up in your recommendations. Peterson has been on the Joe Rogan show, so, you watch Peterson, Rogan ends up in your recommendations. And Rogan has interviewed Gavin McInnes, so you watch Rogan and McInnes ends up in your recommendations.

Gavin McInnes is the head of the Proud Boys, a self-described “western chauvinist” organization that’s mostly known for beating up liberals and leftists. They have ties to neo-fascist groups like Identity Evropa and neo-fascist militias like the Oath Keepers, they run security for white nationalists, and their lawyer just went on record that he identifies as a fascist. And, if you’re one of these kids who has YouTube in the background with autoplay on, and you’re watching Dave Rubin? You might be as few as 3 videos away from watching Gavin McInnes.

There’s a lot of talk these days about algorithms funneling people towards the Right, and that’s not wrong, but it’s an oversimplification. The real problem is that the Right knows how to hijack an algorithm.

I also learned about the Curation/Search Radicalization Spiral from a piece by Mike Caulfield. Caulfiend uses the horrific example of Dylann Roof. You remember him? He shot up a church in a Black neighborhood a few years ago. Roof says he was radicalized when he googled “Black on white crime” and saw the results. Now, if you search the phrase “crime statistics by demographic,” you will find fairly nonpartisan results that show most crimes are committed against members of the perpetrator’s own race, and Black people commit crimes against white people at about the same rate as any other two demographics. But that specific phrase, “Black on white crime,” is used almost exclusively by white racists, and so Roof’s first hit wasn’t a database of crime statistics, it was the Council of Conservative Citizens. Now, the CCC is an outgrowth of the White Citizens Councils of the 50’s and 60’s which rebranded in ‘85. They publish bogus statistics that paint Black people as uniquely violent. And they introduce a number of other politically-loaded phrases - like, say, “Muslim fertility rates” - that nonpartisan sites don’t use, and so, if Roof googles them as well, he gets similarly weighted results.

I have tons more examples of this stuff. I literally don’t have time to show it all. Like, have you heard of Google bombing? That’s a thing I didn’t know existed. The point is, the same way search engines tailor your results to what they think you want, once you scratch the surface of the Alt-Right they are highly adept at making it so, whenever you go online, their version of reality is all you know and all you see.

Finally, pain. This was the difficult one. Can you create a Disorganized Attachment relationship over the internet with a largely faceless and decentralized movement? I pitched the idea to one the researchers I spoke to, and he said, “That sounds very plausible, and nearly impossible to research.” See, cults and hate groups? They don’t wanna talk to researchers anymore than the Alt-Right wants to talk to me. Stein and Kimmel get their data by speaking to formers, people who’ve exited these movements and are all too happy to share how horrible they were. But the Alt-Right is still very young, and there just aren’t that many formers yet.

I found some testimonials, and they mostly back up my hypothesis, but there’s not enough that I could call them statistically significant. So I had to look where the data was.

My fellow YouTuber ContraPoints made a video last year - in my opinion, her best one - about incels (that’s “involuntary celibate,” men who can’t get laid). Incel forums tend to be deeply misogynistic and antifeminist, and have a high overlap with the Alt-Right. If you remember Elliot Rodger, he was an incel. Contra’s observation was that these forums were incredibly fatalistic: you are too ugly and women too shallow for you to ever have sex, so you should give up. She described a certain catharsis, like picking a really painful scab, in hearing other people voice your worst fears. But there was no uplift; these communities seemed to have a zero-tolerance policy for optimism. She likened it so some deeply unhealthy trans forums she used to visit, where people wallowed in their own dysphoria.

And I remembered the forums I researched five years ago in preparation for my video on GamerGate. (If you don’t know what GamerGate was, I will not rob you of your precious innocence. But, in a lot of ways, GamerGate was the trial run for what the Alt-Right has become.) These forums were full of angry guys surrounding themselves with people saying, “You’re right to be angry.” And, yeah, if everywhere else you go treats your anger as invalid, that scratches an itch. But I never saw any of them calm down. They came in angry and they came out angrier. And most didn’t have anywhere else to vent, so they all came back.

I found a paper on Alt-Right forums that described a similar type of nihilism, and another on 8chan. What humor was on these sites was always shocking, furiously punching down, and deeply self-referential, but it didn’t seem like anyone was expected to laugh anymore, just, you know, catch the reference. I found one testimonial saying that having healthy relationships in these spaces is functionally impossible, and the one former I talked to said, yeah, when the Alt-Right isn’t winning everyone’s miserable.

So I think it might fit. The place they go for relief also makes them unhappy, so they come back to get relief again, and it just repeats. Same reason people stay with abusers. I wanna look into this further, so, I’ll just say this part to the camera: if there are any researchers watching who wanna study this, get at me.

Finally, I read Alt-America by David Neiwert, a supremely useful book that I highly recommend if you wanna know how the Alt-Right is the natural outgrowth of the militia and Patriot movements of the 90’s and early 2000’s, not to mention the Tea Party. Neiwert also does an excellent job illustrating how conspiracism serves to fill in the gap between the complexity of the modern world and the simplistic, might-makes-right worldview of fascism.

Neiwert also provides an interesting piece of the puzzle, suggesting what people are actually looking for when they get recruited. He references work done by John Bargh and Katelyn McKenna on Identity Demarginalization. Bargh and McKenna looked at the internet habits of people whose identities are both devalued in our society and invisible. By invisible, what I mean is, ok, if you’re a person of color, our society devalues your identity, but you can look around a room and, within a certain margin of error, see who else is POC, and form community with them if you wish. But, if you’re queer, you can’t see who else in a room is queer unless one of you runs up a flag. And revealing yourself always means taking on a certain amount of risk that you’ve misread the signals, that the person you reveal yourself to is not only not queer, but a homophobe.

According to Bargh and McKenna, people in this situation are much more likely to seek online spaces that self-select for that identity. A fan forum for RuPaul’s Drag Race is maybe a safer place to come out and find community. And people tend to get very emotionally tied to these online spaces where they can be themselves.

Neiwert points out that the same phenomenon happens among privileged people who have identities that are devalued even as they’re not actually oppressed. Say, nerds, or conservatives in liberal towns, or men who don’t fit traditional notions of masculinity. They are also likely to deeply invest themselves in online spaces made for them. And if the Far Right can build such a community, or get a foothold in one that already exists, it is very easy to channel that sense of marginalization into Durden Syndrome. I connected this with Rebecca Lewis’ observation that the Alternative Influence Network tends to present itself as nerd-focused life advice first and politics second, and the long history of reactionaries recruiting from fandoms.

So I can see all the pieces of the abuse dynamic being recreated here: offer you something you need, estrange you from other perspectives and healthy relationships, overtake your life, and provoke emotional distress that makes you seek comfort only your abuser is offering. And I found a lot more parallels than what I’m sharing right now, I only have half an hour! But the thing that’s missing that’s usually central to such a system is, an abusive relationship orbits around the abuser, a cult around the cult leader, a totalitarian government around a dictator. They are built to serve the whims of an individual. But I look at the ad hoc nature of the Alt-Right and I have to ask: who is the architect?

I can see a lot of people profiting off of this structure; our current President rode it to great success, but he didn’t build it. It predates him. It’s more like Kimmel’s hate groups, which don’t promote an individual so much as a class of individuals, but, even then, their structure is much more deliberate, designed, where the Alt-Right seems almost improvised.

Well… one observation I took from Stein is that cult recruiters often rely on two different kinds of propaganda: the winding diatribe and the thought-terminating cliche. The diatribe is when someone talks at length, sounds smart, and seems to know what they’re talking about but isn’t actually making sense, and the thought-terminating cliche comes from Robert Jay Lifton’s studies into brainwashing. So, I went vegetarian in middle school, and, when I would tell other kids I was vegetarian, some would get kind of defensive and say things like, “humans aren’t meant to be vegetarian, it’s the food chain.” Now, saying “it’s the food chain” isn’t meant to be a good argument, it’s meant to communicate “I have said something so axiomatically true that the argument need not continue.” That’s a thought-terminating cliche; something that may not be true, but feels true and gives you permission to think about something else.

Both these techniques rely on what’s called Peripheral-Route Processing. So, I’m up here talking about politics, and, Solidarity Lowell, you are a group of politically-engaged people, so you probably have enough context to know whether I’m talking out of my ass. That’s Direct-Route Processing, where you judge the contents of my argument. But if I were up here talking about string theory, you might not know whether I was talking out of my ass because there’s only so many people on Earth who understand string theory. So then you might look at secondary characteristics of my argument: the fact that I’ve been invited to speak on string theory implies I know what I’m talking about; maybe I put up a lot of equations and drop the names of mathematicians and say they agree with me; maybe I just sound really authoritative. All that’s Peripheral-Route Processing: judging the quality of my argument by how it’s delivered.

Every act of communication involves both, but if you’re trying to sell people on something that’s fundamentally irrational, you’re going to rely heavily on Peripheral-Route tactics, which is what the winding diatribe and the thought-terminating cliche are.

I noted that these two methods mapped pretty cleanly onto the rhetorical stylings of Jordan Peterson and Ben Shapiro. But here’s the question: cults use these techniques to recruit people. But can I say with any confidence that Jordan Peterson and Ben Shapiro are trying to recruit people into the Alt-Right?

The thing is, “Alt-Right” isn’t a term like “klansman.” It’s more akin to a term like “modernism.” It’s a label applied to a trend. In the same way we debate the line between modernism and postmodernism, we debate the line between Right and Alt-Right. People don’t sign up to be in the Alt-Right, you are Alt-Right if you say you’re Alt-Right. But the nature of the Alt-Right is that 90% of them would never admit to it.

So are Peterson and Shapiro intentionally recruiting for the Alt-Right? Are they grifters merely profiting off of the Alt-Right? Are they even aware they’re recruiting for the Alt-Right? Part of my work has been accepting that you can’t know for sure. It would be naive to say they’re unaware; when they give speeches they get Nazis in their Q&A sections, and they know that. But how aware are they? I suspect Shapiro moreso than Peterson, but that’s just my gut talking and I can’t prove it. Like 90% of the Alt-Right, it’s debatable.

I don’t know if they’re trying to be part of this system, I just know they’re not trying not to be.

A final academic term before we say goodnight that’s been making the rounds among lefty YouTubers is “Stochastic Terrorism.” There’s a really great video about this by the channel NonCompete called The PewDiePipeline. Stochastic Terrorism is the myriad ways you can increase the likelihood that someone will commit violence without actually telling them to. You simply create an environment in which lone wolf violence becomes more acceptable and appealing. It mirrors the structure of terrorism without the control or culpability.

And I hear about this, and I look at this recruitment structure I see approximated in the Alt-Right, and I remember something I learned much earlier in my research, from Bob Altemeyer in his book The Authoritarians. Altemeyer has been studying authoritarianism for decades, he has a wealth of data, and one thing he observes is that authoritarianism is the few exerting power over the many, which means there are two types of authoritarians: the ones who lead and the ones who follow. Turns out those are completely different personality profiles. Followers don’t want to be in charge, they want someone to tell them what to do, to say “you’re the good guys,” and put them in charge of punishing the bad guys. They don’t even care who the bad guys are; part of the appeal is that someone else makes that judgment for them.

So if you can encourage a degree of authoritarian sentiment in people, get them wanting nothing more than to be ensconced in a totalist system that will take their agency away from them, putting them in the orbit of an authoritarian leader, but no leader presents themself… can you just kind of… appoint one?

Like, if you don’t have a leader, can you just find yourself an authoritarian and treat him like one? And, if he doesn’t give you enough directives, can you just make some up? And, if you don’t have recruiters, can you find a conservative who speaks in thought-terminating cliches just because he thinks they win arguments; find a conservative who speaks in meaningless diatribes because he thinks he’s making sense; and then maneuver those speeches and videos in front of people you want to recruit? If you’re sick of waiting for Moses to come down the mountain with the Word of God, can you just build your own god from whatever’s handy?

Every piece of this structure, you can find people, algorithms, and arguments that, put in sequence, can generate Disorganized Attachment whether they’re trying to or not, which makes every part plausibly deniable. Debatable. You just need to make it profitable enough for the ones involved that they don’t fix it. This is a system created collaboratively, on the fly, with the help of a lot of people from hate movements past, mostly by throwing a ton of shit at the wall and seeing what sticks. The Alt-Right is a rapidly-mutating virus and the web is the perfect incubator; it very quickly finds a structure that works, and it’s a structure we’ve seen before, just a little weirder this time.

I’ve started calling this Stochastic Totalism.

Now, again, I’m not a professional researcher; I do my homework but I don’t have the background. I have an art degree. This isn’t something I can prove so much as a way I’ve come to look at the Alt-Right that makes sense to me and helps me understand them. And I got a lot of comments on my last video from people who used to be Alt-Right that echoed my assumptions. But don’t take it as gospel.

Mostly I wanted to share this because, if it can help you make sense of what we’re dealing with, I think it’s worth putting out there.

Thank you.

#video essay

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a-flickering-soul · 4 years ago

Note

Reigen, bc I too am unwell. was severely tempted to say dimple though, just to be a nuisance

Well joke’s on you I WILL do Dimple! I will be a nuisance!!!

REIGEN

Sexuality Headcanon: GAY I saw his hands go swoosh swoosh swoosh and watched him sweat and bullshit and be a good role model for children and was like “This Man Is A Homosexual”

Gender Headcanon: Trans dude!! I have seen so many headcanons abt trans Reigen and it is GOOD!!!

A ship I have with said character: SERIREI serirei genuinely makes me so gentle like...these are just two guys!! They are just hanging out!!! I love them so deeply they are such a gentle ship and it’s highkey like one of the few things from 2020 that was like a reliable serotonin up for me it’s just....they are so funny and gentle idk!! It’s good!!

A BROTP I have with said character: I do think he and Dimple are kind of like friends. At first maybe it was just like the weird solidarity of being the only two adults in a room full of middle schoolers but I think they have a compatible sense of humor and after a while they become very odd weirdly close friends.

A NOTP I have with said character: Hhhh. Take one look at the AO3 page for MP100 and you can probably guess a couple that I don’t feel like naming explicitly.

A random headcanon: God. Full stop completely serious--random Reigen headcanons can literally make me cry from laughing because he is Just Some Guy. He Is Just A Guy. Anyways sometimes the cashier at the grocery store bags his items too fast and he has to rush to grab all the bags and it stresses him out. This combined with another headcanon (2 for 1!) that he is great at clipping coupons but forgets to use them because he’s horrible at organizing them makes me really question the romance of a Serirei grocery store date but want to write it anyways.

General Opinion over said character: I literally love him. I’ve talked with @starlitsequins literally so fucking much about how Reigen is genuinely one of the most unique characters we’ve ever encountered. He really quit his job, thought “Hm. Okay. I’m good at lying so let’s roll with that” and created this weirdly fulfilling life out of it. He really said “your life is your own and anyone can be a good person because being good is a choice and not a trait and that you aren’t better or worse than anyone else”. He makes me go wild. He’s so sweaty but also so right all the time. I genuinely can’t say anything like. coherent about Reigen because it’s all just “I love him! He’s so right! He’s so interesting! Funny little man!” He’s great 10/10.

DIMPLE

Sexuality Headcanon: Asexual? I guess? I don’t think (I hope) Dimple has sexual attraction. I’m like 99% sure that’s canon.

Gender Headcanon: No gender. He just vibes. I’m pretty sure that’s also canon.

A ship I have with said character: None. Absolutely none. I can’t think about him in a sexual way or I’ll cry. Fuck. Dimple/Disneyified version of Dimple that’s pink with eyelashes because that’s probably what they’d do.

A BROTP I have with said character: Gonna roll it back to the Reigen and Dimple weird BROTP I think they have going on. At first Dimple just needles Reigen incessantly then they mutually realize the other is Very funny and just riff off of each other nonstop. Makes working with them hell.

A NOTP I have with said character: Hm. I see a lotta Reigen/Dimple and like. I get it but also I Don’t. No shade but uh. Hm. Not for me.

A random headcanon: I read a fic--I think it’s called “House Ghost”? About Dimple being the Kageyama house ghost and doing odd little chores around the place. I like that a lot.

General Opinion over said character: God. When I first saw him I hated him because he was so ugly and now I’m like “I swear to god if you make fun of Dimple it’s onsight.” He’s ugly but he’s funny and I like it when he possesses Mob and turns him into a Cirque de Soleil member. He’s a fun lil guy.

send me a character and i’ll give you some takes!!

#mp100 #answered #thank youuuuuuuu i still got mp100 brainworms somewhere in here this was so fun to do!!!#Anonymous

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elsewhereuniversity · 5 years ago

Text

Trans-form

You are ten when you encounter the fae. Coincidentally (you do not realize until later that they found you BECAUSE of this realization) this is also the day when you understand that you are a girl. The idea had been flitting through the background of your mind for awhile now, but you had thought that the vague wrong-ness that you felt when called a boy was just normal. But then you voiced this idea to one of your friends and she gave you a funny look and said that that wasn’t how God did things, which confuses you, since she’s Christian, and you’re Jewish so your Gods are different, right? She had run off to play with other girls after that, leaving you to wander the patchy grass at the edge of the playground.

It’s spring, so you’re looking for the click beetles that sometimes come out this time of year, when you hear someone clearing their throat. When you look up, a tall, lithe teenager is standing in front of you. They are framed by the distant Hill and buildings of the university, somehow still wreathed in mist this late in the day. You freeze.

“Hey, kid,” the figure says, and grins widely. That’s when you notice that they are not human, because no human has ears so long and pointy, or so many needle-sharp teeth, “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to wander alone?”

You shrug, but your mouth is dry. You think you know who, or what, this person is, and it seems best to proceed with extreme caution.

The figure nods, as though they understand precisely what is going through your head, “Good move, kid. But here’s another question: what if you could be a girl, and everyone knew it right away? What would you give, for that?”

You forget yourself momentarily, “How do you know? How would I–?”

The sharp-toothed grin widens, “Ah, no, no, no. Think on it, kid. I’ll be back.”

****

They do come back, three years later. By this time, the vague feelings have turned into an unceasing assault on your being. I’m a girl I’m a girl I’m A GIRL I’M A GIRL I’MAGIRL. Your girl friends started drifting away from you, excluding you from what they call “girl talk”. You aren’t even aware of it, but your body language has become more like theirs’ and the bullies notice. They notice that you don’t try and fit in with the boys and that you flinch easily. You retreat inside yourself. You hide the feelings from everyone, your family included. The one time you try and broach the subject with you parents, you end up saying you like wearing boots and could you go to the thrift store to find a pair? Your mom asks if there’s anything else you want to talk about, but…no. You can’t. You can’t even do it to ensure you’ll have a bat mitzvah instead of a bar mitzvah.

So you’re reduced to sneaking to the thrift store in a hoodie, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. You drift towards the girls’ clothing, looking longingly at boots and skirts and jeans, and you quite nearly run into them. They could have stepped directly from your elementary school playground into this dimly lit thrift store, they’ve changed so little. You glare at them, and their grin is just as sharp and full of danger as it was before.

“So, kiddo, you thought about my question at all?” Their voice is silky smooth.

“Maybe,” you grunt, avoiding eye contact, “Stop calling me ‘kiddo.’”

“Oh? Would you prefer Dav–?”

“NO!” You hiss loudly.

“Well alrighty, then,” they smirk, “So what’s it gonna be? What are you willing to give up for me to make you a real girl?”

That stumps you. You are a real girl already, right?

“Why do you even care about this? Why does gender even matter to, uh, the Fair Folk?” you mutter, pretending to be looking at the dress pants.

“Why, it matters to all of us! I know it would cut me to the quick if anyone were to call me anything other than the spritely man that I am!” he says, waving a hand.

“Then why put a price on it for me?” you challenge, hating how your voice breaks. It’s getting worse every day, and you can feel the hair on your face getting stiffer already…You touch your iron Magen David, tracing the points of the star absently, and you notice that he steps gingerly away. You had heard that there might be people who could help at Elsewhere. Mysterious methods by which your dreams can be achieved, for a cost. Maybe that is what he means?

“Ahhhhhh,” he smiles, almost sadly, “Nothing exists in a vacuum, no? The question really is: what is your identity worth to you?”

You clam up, more unsure than ever. You want to be a girl with every fiber of your being, but what does that actually mean?

“Perhaps you need some more time…don’t wait too long, now, tick-tock, tick-tock…”

He vanishes in a flash of teeth.

****

You think about his deal every single night. The changes that had started making you uncomfortable at thirteen are roaring at full throttle now, consuming your thoughts, making you want to slip out of this inhospitable skin and dissolve into nothingness. Every “sir” and “man” and “he” makes you want to curl up and cry, but you can’t cry, not anywhere, not even alone because if your parents hear, they’ll know something is wrong and you CAN’T tell them, not now, maybe not ever, it’s too much, it’s too much–

You’re sitting on the steps at the back of the high school, picking at a bag of grapes, reading a book about people like you who are, you think, far braver than you will ever be. A light rasping of flesh against concrete signals to you that someone is there.

“I’ve thought a lot about what you said,” your voice is small, trying to hide how low your voice has gotten, “I want it, more than anything else I have ever wanted. But I don’t understand what it is you’re going to take from me.”

He sits next to you, plucks a grape from the bag, and pops it into his mouth, “It’s whatever you want it to be. Is your girlhood worth this grape, for example?” He picks up another and squeezes it.

You stare. Of course who I am is more important than that, right?

“I’m–will you change me for a grape?” The question sounds stupid the moment you voice it.

His laugh is like ice cracking, “If you have to ask, then you know the answer, I think. What about this book?” He gestures at the novel in your lap, “Your violin, perhaps? Or, oh, I know, how about your sister? Your grades? What little sense of innocence you have left? Or maybe your conception of who you are!” His voice gets louder and louder, distorting, filling the stairwell, wrapping itself around you as you curl into a ball, tears forcing their way out of your eyes despite your best efforts.

“Just give me who you are,” he suddenly whispers, “And I can change everything, exactly as you want it. Make you normal.”

You don’t uncurl. Suddenly everything is clicking into place. Your hands tighten on your knees.

“Who I am is a girl. A regular girl,” you whisper. There’s a hiss from above.

“Really? That doesn’t seem to be what everyone else says, does it?” His voice sounds smug.

“I’m a girl. I love birds, and magic, and getting my hands dirty, and being in the woods, and reading,” your voice is getting stronger now.

“And who will ever believe that?” He snarls. You can feel him, looming close.

“I’m a girl, and you will never take that from me. You, or anyone else,” you say loudly and firmly and look straight into his flashing, cat-like eyes.

The smile that twists his face is terrifying. “Is that so? Would you like to bet on th–”

“I don’t think so,” you smile as you stand, feeling the tears drying on your cheeks, “Do you want to go for a walk?”

He stops mid-hiss, “What?”

“No? Shame, really. It’s just starting to get warm again. Ah, well, see you around, then.”

And you walk out the door and into the watery, wintery light.

****

You see him at prom, which, ironically, takes place at the University’s convention space. It’s almost 11, and you’ve slipped your heels off because damn if it isn’t hard to dance in them, especially with how frilly your dress is. You’ve sat down at one of the tables salted around the edge of dance floor while your girlfriend runs off to find sodas. As you’re massaging your feet, you see him. He is not grinning and seems somehow…diminished? Aged, even? You smile at him and wave. He bares his teeth. Your girlfriend returns.

“Got any more dance left in you, girl?” she asks, handing you a soda. You laugh and she kisses you.

“I might,” you say, taking a sip, and when you look back into the corner, he’s gone.

You never see him again.

#transroadwarrior #stories #long post #trans-form #dysphoria #submission

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goodnightallwhites · 4 years ago

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Ms Croft by Zenalite

Lara hid in the cover of the bushes. She trembled with anger as she watched the rebels pulling up and getting out to inspect the downed plane. She had finished all her business and already took off with the rest of the crew when the missile hit the plane and blew the back to smithereens. Thankfully, the pilot still managed to land them safely. But most of the crew had been left behind, too wounded to be transported. "Ms Croft!" Except Jeremiah. "What?" snapped Lara. Somehow, out of all the people that could've come out unharmed, it was only the wimpy languages expert that made it. He was stringy and as pale as curdled milk, and dressed in a kaki outfit that was better suited for a parody of adventure movies than a job in Africa. Wort of all, he kept trying to flirt with her the time they were here. At first Lara tried to let him down gently, but he soon began to get on his nerves. Didn't they know that a girl like her had no interest in tiny white dicks? "Ms Croft, they're going to kill them..." To her horror, the rebels had brought out the crew and began to shout at them while pointing the AKs in their dazed faces. Eventually, one of the rebels came out grinning and showed the others the prized artifact. It only took months of research, two weeks in the festering heat, and two days of trekking through crumbling ruins to get it. Now they swooped in and took it in five minutes. Brilliant. But even as the artifact went into the truck, they lined up all the surviving men from the crew and executed them. Lara stared, gaping with horror. For Christ's sake... The very reason she had left the artifact behind was to ensure the survival of the crew. To give them no reason to start trouble. And now... The rebels picked up the screaming and moaning women from the crew and threw them over their shoulders, taking them as spoils along with the artifact. Lara looked around for anything she could use to go out there and rescue them... but there was nothing. Not even a knife. She wept with rage as she saw the pure evil that befell them all, in spite of her efforts. Those bloody animals. "Ms Croft..." Lara whirled around and grabbed Jeremiah by the collar and shook him. "WHAT!" she screamed in his face, a sputter of her spit landing all over his weakling face. "They're d-d-dead..." "I'm aware, you good-for-nothing imbecile." "How are we going to get out?" "Get out?" Lara laughed grimly. "We're going to kill every single last one of those bastards." "But--" "You speak the tongue of a few of the tribes around here, don't you? Then you'll be useful. Maybe they can lend us a hand." But as she made to go, Jeremiah stood motionless. "Are you coming?" "I d-d-don't want to..." Lara sighed and crossed her arms. She locked eyes with him and held his gaze until he lowered his. "What do you want?" "I came all this way to meet you and... I hoped you would like me as much as I like you. I'm a great admirer and... I think we'd make a great team!" he cried with enthusiasm. Here he was, struggling to present his feelings on a plate before her. But Lara found the taste disgusting. It might've been charming, if he weren't such a bloody nitwit, and if he weren't a grown adult that behaved like a child. Not that I would date a white guy ever again. "Well, I don't think so, and I feel I've made my antipathy towards you clear. So, what do you want?" He swallowed audibly, as if struggling to get his Adam's apple down. His eyes bulged behind the glasses as he struggled to speak. "I want a... a kiss." "A kiss, is it?" Lara strolled over to him, swaying her child-bearing hips. For the flight home, she had only put on a pair of jean shorts that left the bottom of her round and shapely bums hanging out. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Then she raised her leg and sent her knee right into his stomach. As he fell to the ground in groaning pain, she said, "Enjoy your kiss." They had no food and no water. While Lara could be resourceful in most situations, there wasn't much to be done in the middle of the savannah. They ended up encamping without fire for the night, hoping they wouldn't be mauled by anything while they slept. Lara attempted to sleep, painfully aware of the way Jeremiah watched her every movement. What a bloody nuisance. She turned on her back and looked up at the bright stars, feeling the breeze move across her skin and rippling across the blades of grass. As dreadful as the day had been she really wanted to get fucked right now. Or perhaps it was exactly because it had been so bad. The grass passed over her skin and sent tingles all the way up to her pussy. Lara spread her legs instinctively and let her hand come down to rest over her aching pussy. What I wouldn't give for a big black cock right now. It was, after all, one of the main benefits of being in Africa. Every guy from the hotel clerk to the cab driver had a stunning body with a throbbing cock. A white girl's paradise. Yet as she gazed up at the Milky Way, thinking about all the black cock she'd be getting once she finished retrieving the artifact, Jeremiah's disgusting pale face hovered into view. "Ms Croft?" Lara sighed. "What do you want, cretin?" "I've been thinking about it, and I really think we should turn back. This place where we are is bad. When I worked with the Red Cross to help the other tribes, they always spoke of how the people from this area weren't like the others. They're dangerous - they prey on other tribes and even cannibalize foreigners." She turned to her side, unwilling to look at his pasty face even longer. Out of all the people that could've made it... "Ms Croft..." "Yes!" she yelled. She rose into a sitting position with rage. Though she had the height disadvantage and only made it up to his crotch, Jeremiah squirmed as if a god off of Olympus had castigated him. "What do you want from me, you vile worm? Can't I get some rest? Stop being so worried and let me get some sleep. If anyone can protect us, it definitely won't be you. So begone! Begone from me!" Lara closed her eyes, hoping she would open them to find herself alone. But she didn't even have the chance to finish her experiment, because she immediately heard him go, "Ms Croft." He's making me hate my own name. As she sat face to face with his crotch, she wondered out of curiosity just what he could possibly keep inside there. There were the occasional weirdos that had a massive cock but still behaved as if they were beta losers. Still... hoping to get a white guy with an even decent dick was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Except that my haystock's gone up in flames and I've only got a melted down drop of a needle. "Take your pants off," she ordered. "W-W-What?" His soft, breaking voice could barely make itself heard. "I said take them off, you useless boy. Let me see what you're carrying." "But--" "Oh, for Heaven's sake!" Lara grabbed onto his safari shorts and sought to unbutton them. Jeremiah struggled... rather ineffectively. He ended up going down. Lara jumped on top of him and paralyzed him with a knee to the stomach, then finished lowering his shorts and trunks. At first, Lara felt horrible. All she could see were the pale thighs and the yellowy pubes, and she genuinely thought Jeremiah might've been a girl all along, perhaps a trans going by a male identity?... But as her eyes stayed down, she could finally see the tiny worm of a cock dangling there, too small to even come out of the pubes properly. Disgusting, concluded Lara, tearing her gaze away. This is what you get for putting hopes up in white guys. "Ms Croft!" "What?" snapped Lara. "Please... Help me..." "God, no." "Ms Croft. I have a feeling I won't make it out alive out of all this. And I... You're the only thing I've ever loved. I trained in this and got this job only in the hopes of getting to meet you..." In the end, he wore her down. Not because she felt bad for him or pitied him in any way, but because she needed him to shut the hell up so she could get some sleep. Lara sat beside him and brought her hand down to his pinky dick. She cupped it along with the barely existing balls and gave it a squeeze, then took the clitty-sized head and rubbed it between her fingertips. Ugh, could this be even more appaling? Jeremiah moaned and, within seconds, he had come and gone so soft for his pinky dick to disappear completely. Lara couldn't imagine how anyone could be so much of a loser. Though, in truth, what could he do? What could that little thing ever hope to accomplish? Lara felt thankful that more and more of them were going north into Europe, ready to satisfy the needs of white girls like her. Lara pulled away and got down to sleep again, this time passing out before he could say anything and ruin her slumber. In the morning, she found Jeremiah where she had left him, looking almost dead. Had a three-second handjob really done him in? How pathetic. Since he was asleep, Lara took the opportunity to wash herself. She went over to the nearby creek and divested herself of her sweaty clothes, then stepped inside, letting the warm waters rush past her toned body. She ran her soft palms over every inch of her tanned skinned, letting them linger as she caressed the tender lips of her pussy and massaged her hefty and perky chest. Ever since she had fantasized about black cock the night before, her nipples remained permanently erect and made her quiver from the simplest touch. Soon, she told herself. Soon… She dipped into the water a few times, and when she came out she saw Jeremiah standing in the grass by the riverbank. “Go away!” But the pale, lanky loser made no move, nor did he reply. He only stared at her. Ahhh, what a nightmare he is! Lara decided that she would stab him as soon as she came out. Just grab that little dick and rip it off. But as she wallowed out of the creek, she could see that Jeremiah trembled. Lara stood before him, her tight body glistening in the morning sun, the beads of water rolling across the curves of her breasts and the hard muscles of her stomach. He’s not alone, she realized. Before Lara could make a move, Jeremiah stumbled forwards screaming and toppled them both, his stinky body falling on top her. Lara had twisted her arm in an attempt to brace herself and cringed with pain. Idiot! Now, a black warrior appeared above them, pointing a spear less than an inch from Lara’s face. His completely ripped body was covered in red and white body paint, and tribal earrings stretched out his earlobes. From his neck dangled a tribal token of some kind. But what made Lara’s breath catch was the big black cock that dangled between his strong thighs. Even in its softened form, she could’ve measured it against her forearm to find it both longer and thicker. The tribesman spoke in a harsh language but she couldn’t make out anything. His face remained impassive. “He said we’re his prisoners,” said Jeremiah. Lara’s eyes flickered with sunlight as she gazed up at the well-endowed African. “You can tell him I have no problem with that.” She and Jeremiah got up and were made to walk ahead, while the warrior directed them from the back. Lara had no chance to get her clothes, and figured it was probably for the best. As the tribesman followed from behind, she did her best to show off her wide hips and her dimpled butt. “They’re going to kill us,” whispered Jeremiah. “You worry far too much. Just let me talk to them.” “I’m going to make a run for it.” Lara wanted to punch him but dared not given the situation. “You better not, or else I’ll flay you alive.” With the loser gone, she would have no way of communicating with the tribe at all. Any chance of finding the artifact, and even of surviving, would be drastically reduced. Though they spent most of the day trekking, the tribesman took many breaks and seemed in no hurry. The sky darkened and night descended upon them and they were still in the middle of nowhere. “Ask him how much longer it is.” Jeremiah shook his crazed, scared face. “N-No…” At some point the warrior got up and planted his spear in the ground. He said some rough words, then took off. Jeremiah trembled. “He said that he has to take care of something. He said that if we leave that spear out of sight, he’s going to cook us for dinner.” Lara smiled at the tribesman. “Lovely.” Only when he had gone out of earshot did she turn to Jeremiah, “Listen, you need--” “I’m going to die,” he said, shuddering. “You won’t die! Stop saying that.” “I’m still a virgin.” His hand came up to his heart as if he were about to have a heart attack. “I… I…” He swallowed hard and seemed to choke. “You need to let me make love to you.” Lara laughed darkly. “Oh?” But his face remained stark and gloomy. “I can’t die a virgin. Please, please, please… I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll accept my fate. Just please let me have you just this one time. I promise I’ll give it my all.” I have no doubts. It’s just that your all is useless. The last thing she needed was for this idiot to try anything though. Considering he was right in the grand scheme of things, and that such a low lifeform as him would be wiped out in the near future, making the petty exchange to guarantee the artifacts return seemed worth it. All those people can’t have died for nothing. Lara took a deep breath and spread her legs open. “Well, come on, I suppose…” Jeremiah got up and fumbled with the buttons as he tried to take the shorts off. She stood by casually as he grabbed onto his tiny dick and tried to shove it inside. Lara offered no help and kept her gaze averted. She could feel him struggling to find the right place to put it, completely confused by the female anatomy. When at length he managed to put it inside, she could barely feel it, while he groaned and lowered himself on top of her. He went back and forth a few times, till she could feel it slipping out and rubbing against her lips. The loser seemed completely unaware of it. He seemed so amazed at the prospect that he was fucking her that he could focus on nothing else. “Does it feel good?” he asked breathlessly. Lara chortled. “It doesn’t feel like anything.” On the other hand, just thinking about that warrior’s beautiful black cock made her giddy and wet. A thrust later Jeremiah managed to come. At least, he sounded like it. When Lara attempted to clean herself in disgust, she found no trace of his cum at all. Do men this weak even have cum? Jeremiah plopped down next to her, grinning wildly. “My life is complete.” “What life?” asked Lara. When the warrior returned, Lara finally had Jeremiah translate a few things for him. But without even listening, the warrior shook his head and said that she would talk before the elders the following day. She slept peacefully for once, without being bothered constantly. The next morning they started off at daybreak, this time with the tribal warrior leading the way, no longer worried that they would attempt to escape. Lara followed closely, her eyes lingering over his buff back. “How could you ever compare with a man like this?” she teased Jeremiah. Though he had been quiet and behaving now, the fact that he had dared to penetrate her at all irked Lara deeply. His eyes bulged. “W-What?” “Just look at him. Those rippling muscles and that deep dark skin. Not to mention his horse cock. How could a little white bitch like you compare?” Jeremiah lowered his eyes and went in silence. Maybe he had finally learned his place. The tribal home of the warrior proved to be a few ramshackle huts that formed a rough circle. What surprised her the most was just how many women there were in the tribe. Young and old, all of them seeming to comprise the vast majority of their numbers. Where are their men? The question came to be answered soon enough. Three other men joined the warrior that had brought them to this place, all of them equally masculine and well-endowed. Out of the hut that squatted closest to the center, a elderly man came out. He was lankier than the others, with a shade of even darker skin, and a shawl thrown over his shoulders. His magnificent cock was decked out in rings of gold, while the lovely balls sagged freely, looking heavy with seed. The others formed a barrier around Lara and Jeremiah while the old chief inspected them. His eyes lingered over Lara’s sumptuous physique. He spoke in a low tone, interpersing his words with some lazy clicks. Jeremiah’s Adam’s apple bobbed nervously. “He asks what we’re doing in the territory. He asks if we don’t know that for anyone to travel here without permission is a crime, and that for whites it’s an unacceptable sacrilege.” Lara only went on smiling happily at the chief. She adjusted the few strands of hair that came over her face. “Tell him I want his help. Tell him…” Jeremiah struggled to translate at the speed that she talked. Afterwards the chief spoke in response. “How would you repay us for this help?” Lara grabbed the old man’s gnarled black hand and placed it over her creamy and soft breast. “However I can.” The chief, seemingly taken by her act, looked at her with new eyes. He palmed at her chest, lowering his hands down to her hips and finally upon her bubble butt. He squeezed and massaged her ass, boring into her eyes intensely. This is all I wanted, thought Lara, already dripping wet. Just a strong black man to use me for his pleasure. Relic hunting might’ve been her job, but being the slave to superior black men and worshiping their huge cocks - that was her real passion and purpose in life. As it is for all white women. She dropped down to her knees instinctively, feeling unworthy to stand as a white bitch when surrounded by such beautiful black studs. Her eyes found the judging one of the chief. Hoping to please him, her soft white hand went up to his sweaty balls and caressed them with all the love in the world. They’re so heavy… The old man seemed content enough to let her continue. Lara leaned forwards and kissed his swollen cock down the shaft, leaving the final deep kiss for his engorged head. Then she came up and tried to fit both his balls inside the small space of her mouth. She did it, just barely, then let them rest in the welcoming warmth of her wet mouth as she massaged them with her tongue, moaning eagerly. As a child, her father had always challenged her to fit as many candy drops in her mouth as possible. At the time, it only seemed like a game, but now… Was this what you were preparing me for, Papa? She only wished he could see her little girl now, fitting these old black balls in her mouth with all the know-how of a proper BBC slut. You would be so proud. The chief took a step back, nodding vigorously. “He says you have his approval,” Jeremiah translated, shocked at what he was seeing. “But his warriors must put you to the test as well.” Lara grinned. “Please.” Though they were from a world away, these Africans behaved in the exact same way all black men did when dealing with a white whore. They formed an impenetrable circle around her, then grabbed their BBCs and slapped them against her face while Lara held her tongue out and smiled. I’m so ready to submit to you… she thought, looking up at the severe dark faces surrounding her. She took a cock in each hand and used her mouth to move around between them, slurping at each one in turn. The warriors grabbed her by her ponytail and fucked her face as roughly as they could. Lara choked hard on their throbbing cocks as they assaulted her tight throat. They held her nose and spit down on her face, clearly intent on making her suffer as much as possible. But that’s what white women deserve. And wanted. Only when she began to gag on their cocks and cry in earnest did they start to exchange smiles between them. They made her deepthroat each one of their cocks down to the very base, holding her down in an ungodly lock as her body began to spasm on its own, trying desperately to draw breath. Lara got passed from one to another, and every sign of hesitation was rewarded with a ear-ringing slap that sent her mind reeling. Thank you… Discipline me, masters! When they were done she lay on the ground, panting, barely able to think. Her eyes wandered up and she saw Jeremiah staring down, stroking his white pinky dick he watched the love of his life get dominated by real men. Black ones. One of the tribesmen got behind her and shoved her face down into the mud, while he sent his cock in the deepest reaches of her pussy. Lara screamed from the pain, unable to suppress it in any way, feeling her the walls of her tight pussy getting stretched more than they were ever meant to. These men didn’t just want to fuck her. They wanted to ruin her. The only response of her body, however, was to melt in submission and give itself over to this superior breed of men, no matter what the cost. I need to serve them. Her pussy gushed with her juices as the tribesmen switched places behind her, slapping at her ass with all the force they could muster till Lara could feel the blood trickling down her abused asscheeks. But her screams soon turned to low moans that could’ve been mistaken for guttural growls. She had just lost all control of herself. An orgasm ripped through her and left her legs quivering and her lungs unable to take in enough air - rather than stopping, the warriors went at her even harder. Slowly they began to gangbang her in earnest, slapping her around to attentive wakefulness and forcing her to stroke their cocks. Another warrior got under her while the one behind now took her ass, with the third went back to facefucking her mercilessly. Lara took their abuse with joy in their heart, knowing she only did what came natural to her. Being a cumdumpster and a cocksleeve for big black cocks. The most honorable thing for any white woman to do, and the one that held the greatest pleasure as a reward. She came again and again, now not even able to scream. All the terrified and agonized screams that followed as her tight ass got torn by their cocks and made to gape wildly were choked back down by the pulsing BBC that dumped hot seed right down her throat. In short order, every single part of her got filled up, from her pussy to her ass. When they were finally done with her, she lay on the ground shaking helplessly, with seed spilling both from her nostrils and her mouth. Her whole body writhed in the mud as the relentless orgams combined with the torture of her insides combined to ravage her young body with all the force necessary to punish such a little white cumrag. Just when she thought she was about to pass out, two of the warriors brought her up on unsteady feet. They held her and helped her go on unsteady feet towards the waiting chieftain that sat on a stool. His gnarled and bumpy cock had been undressed of all rings except one at the base. Thick seed dribbled from the top as he held it up. No… Lara thought, trying to get out of it. But she was too weak to move a single muscle. Later, I-- The two impaled her on the old man’s cock in a single savage movement. The old man reached up and locked her in a full nelson position, clicking with excitement in his native tongue as his massive BBC rammed her insides. Lara shrieked at the top of her voice, shaking without control. A moment later, a shower of juices shot out of her raw pussy, and her eyes rolled back, blank in absolute pleasure. Her slutty mouth hung open, tongue lolling, waiting to be filled by more delicious black seed. The old man took the last unexplored corners of her body, sending her on a ride she would never forget. Lara slipped in and out of consciousness, and each time she came back she could hear her tits slapping against her chest and the fire spreading inside her body as the chieftain filled her with all the seed from his colossal black balls. Through her half-closed eyes, Lara could see Jeremiah getting stripped down by some of the tribeswomen and dragged off. They fucked her. Not for the day, not for the night, but for days to come, until Lara lost all track of time. She fed only on their seed and the pleasure that wracked her entire body. The tribesman seemed content with her too, and in the final days went to far as to teach her the name they called her by (which Jeremiah translated as “pale dog bitch”) and paint her body in a pattern that they reserved for the lowest of the low within their society. They accepted me, she thought happily, with tears in her eyes, as her tits flew wildly from the nonstop assfucking she received. Jeremiah, however, had not been accepted. They correctly deemed him too useless, and unworthy of manhood. The only way they could accept him among them was as a pet and not as a white guy - Jeremiah needed to leave his identity behind. The tribeswomen covered him in a mix of coal and mud, and forced him to trail on all fours in service to the chieftain. He would serve as a translator when they needed one; but most importantly, as an example of what losers white men were. “Everything worked out great, didn’t it?” Lara glanced down at him, her legs shiny with several rivulets of warm seed. The time to depart was nearly upon them, but she couldn't stop stroking their gorgeous black cocks. "You're so lucky you get to stay behind." Annoyed by his constant stares, she put her foot on his head and lowered his head into the mud. Redeemed or not, he still didn't deserve to gaze upon her.

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