#a signifier of gender

[livecrow]

Gundog!Soap's errand gets derailed when he catches your scent.

A retriever "retrieves" a plump bird.

Shifter/Hybrid Dark!Soap x fat reader

(cw: kidnapping)

Soap’s popping down to the shops.

He just needs to pick up an ingredient for dinner last minute. Ghost isn’t home yet, so he’s off the lead. Unsupervised. Normally, they’d get the messages together, but he only needs one thing. He could manage it. It wouldn’t be more than a wink.

But as he mills about, he can’t help feeling off.

Like he really is a dumb dog wandering around without his owner, his lead might as well be dragging on the floor behind him, collecting lint and stray bread ties—

It’s turning into one of those days where he feels far more mutt than man. 

Without Ghost’s firm hand grounding him, the place is a cacophony of input. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many colors, too much movement—all melding together into a murky emulsion of stimulus under the glaring LEDs. 

He squints down the vast row of isles for longer than he’ll admit.

Eeigit.

He should have written a note.

Thought he could have remembered one bleedy thing. You dinnae need a list for one thing—

Feeling frustrated and dafty, he resigns himself to traipsing down each aisle and hoping something jogs his memory. Pride wouldn’t let him call up Lt. He’d never hear the end of it. He’s a birddog for chrissake, proper braw at findin’ things—when he knows what he’s fuckin’ looking for. 

Least he can skip the sundries. He knows that much. Soap’s more than happy to avoid the detergent aisle. Stuff is bowfin. Stings his nose, makes his heid ache.

Lot of good his heid was anyway, feeling fuzzy, like it was packed with cotton. Might as well be. Nothin’ else between his ears. Certainly not the one fuckin' thing he pulled on his gutties and left the house for—

He let's loose an irritated huff and it's probably a bit too close to a growl than is wise.

Soap's trying to make good time, but he's a solid four isles in and hasn't had any luck. Eventually, he finds himself staring down a sea of tins. Fruit and veg, beans, and the sort. His eyes scanned the labels, but even readin' was a real Herculean task when he's feeling so out of sorts.

The canine part of him can't be convinced deciphering rows of little lines and squiggles is a proper use of his time. Especially when he could be usin' his nose instead.

Some wee bairn has starts greetin’ a few aise down.

—Green beans, peas, sliced carrots, corn, diced potatoes. Nae, that wasn't it—

....who in their right mind buys tinned tatties?

A passing trolley is making an awful racket. Discordant shrill squeaks and clunks of a stuck wheel scraped against his ear drums.

—It’s definitely not the asparagus—shites mingin’, and that’s fresh. Wouldnae faff about with a recipe that called for that. Cannae think how foul tinned would be… 

Soap sighs in exasperation. As he goes to abandon this aisle, he steps back to turn and bumps into something.

Soft. Soft, soft, softness presses into his hip—

The kind of softness that cradles, that molds around him. Softer than any of his toys. Soft an’ cozy as his own bed, maybe—nae, softer. His bed didn't have the same give, the same wobble. It was a softness that sent a literal shiver up his spine, saliva pooling in his mouth. That smell—

Not something, someone then.

An incidental collision, a bird had been trying to slip by him just as he stepped backwards.

The touch was there and gone in a second but he was mournful for its absence. The scent lingered at least, soothed the whine that crawled into his throat. There was no artifice to it, no acrid chemical edges that came with any fragrance found in a bottle.

You had actually managed to catch him off guard. The shiver that rattled through him began with a slight jolt of surprise at the two of your union. He must have been more out of it than he thought, he hadn't even noticed anyone else in the aisle. He'll never get used to being startled, but he wouldn’t hold that against you.

“Oh, sorry,” you muttered apologetically as you stepped back, embarrassment coloring your face. The contact clearly ruffled your feathers a bit.

Soap’s mouth shuts with an audible click, he hadn’t realized his lips were parted. He hurriedly swallows a completely unadvisable pant in your direction.

“Nae bother, hen,” he blinks. Finally finding his human voice, responding like he's supposed to when he's out and about on two legs. It’s a little breathier, a beat later than he should have responded, lower too. There's a rasp there that chafes the very air. 

...Maybe his head wasn't packed with cotton.

Maybe it was your soft, downy feathers that was muddling him up, making itself a sweet little nest in his cranium—

The bird sends him a polite, restrained smile as it scurries off.

His world narrowed, like he was watching through a spyglass. Or was it a scope? Regardless, everything else but you dissolved into blur, even his peripheral was swallowed up. Framed you in a vignette. Every tiny aspect of the minute interaction seared painlessly into his mind.

A pretty, fat partridge.

Wandering too close.

Game like that, ambling by all round and plump, right under his snout? Feathers close enough they almost tickle his nose—

It's instinct, ya ken?

Mind, for a dog that retrieves quarry, it’s in his nature. Cannae help it anymore than the shade of his coat. So, is it the dog's fault then, when he lunges? Snatches the bird up, into his warm mouth? Firm and soft all at once. The delicate control from a pup that can cradle a raw egg without fracturing the shell. When he brings it back to his master, tail waggin’ as he’s done a hundred other times?

Nae. Noone’d blame him.

He can already practically feel the pantomime thumping of your frantic heartbeat in his mouth—echoing his own excited pulse. 

Soap’s keen eyes never left his prey, even as your back was foolishly to him. His hind paws were already ahead of his brain, he followed, trailing at a distance. Stalking.

Thing should know better, he might have been a wolf. You’d have waddled straight into it's gaping maw, mistake the canines for stalactites and his tongue for a cozy spot to lay your little head.

But no, he’s no wolf. He’s safe. Won't take a bite out of you. He's a good boy— 

Good dog.

Bird dog. A Gordon Setter, Si says.

A jack of all trades, proficient at tracking, pointing, and retrieving. A soft-mouth breed. That’s very important. Most dogs cannae do what he can. Pick up a bird without pricking it. Ghost has been working with him, trainin’ him up. Helping him be more patient, learn new tricks.

Your scent—it was so hard to describe, but he luxuriated in it, nose twitching. It was warm, but not torrid. Sweet, but not cloying. Rich, but not heavy—

Familiar, somehow. Like a childhood lovey. Cheek-worn and supple as a lamb's ear. 

He’s struck by a piercing déjà vu.

It should have confounded Soap—but it didn’t. It just was. The strange mix of familiarity and unfamiliarity that shouldn’t normally coexist. He didn’t know you, nae. But it felt like he should. Maybe he’d seen you in a dream? Some sticky remnant from a past life? Nothing else could explain the strength of the reaction that gripped him by the scruff. Commanded him to “fetch”.

...He’s doin’ so well. Being so, so careful—game’s normally still, after all. Not wriggling about anymore. Is much more effort to control his grip on a bird thas tryin' to fly away.

Thing squealing like a squeaky-toy doesn’t help, zaps somethin' in his brain, even though he’s hardly pressing. Ghost will look at you an’ see there’s no teeth marks on you. He’s being good. Knows better. Not even a tiny nibble. 

Soap's so pleased.

Only wish he'd had his tail out, so he could articulate his excitement properly.

He’ll take you home and keep you. Rest a heavy paw on you when he wants you to stay put. Carry you round the house with him. Share his food with you. Show you his other toys. Only roughhouse gently, like he would a puppy. Bat you around a bit. Paw at you real gentle like. This soft, living squeaky-toy that he can nap with. Even let you nest in his own bed, tucked under his chin. He’d only ever mouth at you gently, you'd learn you wouldn’t have to fear his teeth. He’d rasp his tongue over you, help you preen yer pretty feathers.

He ached to sigh happily against you, rut his face against you. Wanted all the rest of his sighs to be against you, pressed into your skin. Nose at your crown, in your soft neck, on your squishy belly. He’s curious where on you that scent would be the strongest.

Ghost will be so proud when he sees, when he proudly lays you at his boots—

You'll like his owner. He'll pet you real nice. Ghost always knows the right spot, even before you do. Thoughtful.

So thoughtful that he won't even mind that he'll have to sort something else out for dinner.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

[memingursa]

ANYWAY. Casting a wide net to then talk about Palestine.

@abdalsalam1990 has been a teenager trying to support their family in the midst of struggle you and I cannot imagine. Nader has been so kind and empathetic talking to me, showing a strength I know I do not have. Please help them if you can, and donate. If you can’t, please try and spread Nader’s fundraiser. https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-abd-al-salam-and-his-family-get-through-this-war-ingaza

And I linked these channels who I know have active communities. If you can spread word there (on discords, email links etc) for Nader and other Fundraisers you might have found I’m sure alot of progress could be made. Please try and help these people, and get word out.

[whetstonefires]

I know I talk about mdzs modern AUs a lot, but it's just somehow become a fascinating adaptation process to me, all these people making their personal calls about the nature of reality.

And a thing I keep coming back to is all the people who deliberately decide to give modern!wwx Mo Xuanyu's build.

To preserve the strength contrast that's leveraged for horny, which like, yeah that's fair, horny is an acceptable reason to make a story choice. I respect that, sometimes grudgingly.

But as a result of noticing this being done, oftentimes it seems without any reflection about why, I've developed this minor obsession with the fact that wwx in his own body at its adult height was fractionally shorter than lwj.

And this was the height he reached after a multi-year period in childhood living on scrounged garbage, plus the three months starving in the mass grave toward the end of his growth period.

Meaning that by all normal logic, a modern AU wwx who did not experience these periods of intense privation--which is most of them; it's quite rare for children to experience that particular form of total neglect in modern developed nations and modernAU!wwx's life ruining circumstances only occasionally involve intense physical torment--is going to be significantly taller as an adult.

Like. Add a few inches on there.

Where are all my adequately nourished six-foot-four Wei Wuxians???

[abalidoth]

I hate that there's a fundamental incompatibility between social mores that suit

1) a binary trans woman who wishes to be gendered solely on her gender signifiers, and

2) me, a nonbinary transfem who will get he/himmed no matter fucking what because I have a beard and don't bother to voice train, even if my wardrobe and makeup is completely fem

I actually find it relatively affirming when cis people ask my pronouns, because otherwise they are one hundred percent guaranteed to get it wrong.

Guess it's just my fault for being nonconforming and I'll just go fuckin' be misgendered about it, though, because given the volume of posts I see about how evil and transmisogynist asking pronouns is, I'm clearly in the wrong on this one.

[itswhatyougive]

PSA: just because someone enjoys crossdressing/being gnc doesn't make them trans and you shouldn't comment "EGG?!?!?" "EGG!!!" "EGG 🩷" at them

[whiskerknittles]

Y’ever go so nuts over a fic it’s literally all you can think about

[technoxenoholic]

too many people don't understand that you can also be gender nonconforming in a way that theoretically "aligns" with your gender, and you can be gnc even if your gender has few to no widespread societal expectations to conform to (you can refuse to conform to your own internalized expectations, or the expectations of individuals and communities around you).

hyperfemme and hypermasc and any nonbinary genderfuck ideas you can possibly come up with can all be valid, legitimate forms of being gnc. you cannot reduce being gnc down to "butch women and femme men" because while those are both valuable and important they are only two out of a myriad of ways to be gnc. there is no gnc binary; that would defeat the entire point.

[doecrossing]

every time I see a post from an adult woman about "girlhood ♡" that's just a set of loose aesthetic signifiers designed to provoke a sense of nostalgia in a very specific group of other adult women I puke in my mouth a little

[joelletwo]

[whiskerknittles]

Me: I need to start listening to new audiobooks because it’s good for my brain and introduces me to new concepts and storytelling techniques

Me also: I should listen to Murderbot again

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

taking notes

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads // twitter thread

Stars, Hide Your Fires

fun sapphic YA space opera mystery

a girl from a small planet steals from tourists to survive, but still can’t make enough to save her ailing father, learns about a ball for the galaxy’s richest, and sneaks in disguised

but when the emperor is murdered, the station’s locked down she has to find out who the real killer was so she’s not blamed, and ends up working with another imposter - a mysterious rebel - and in their investigations they uncover secrets that could change the fate of the empire

[uraandri]

today is 21 years since Merlinka, one of the first completely out in the open trans woman in Yugoslavia, was murdered in Belgrade. the two men accused of killing her were never charged due to the supposed lack of evidence and a monument dedicated to her last year was quickly vandalized after it's reveal. she was an icon of 90s pop media and starred in three movies: Beograde, dobro jutro, Lijepe žene prolaze kroz grad and Marble ass. she also wrote an autobiography Terezin sin shortly before her untimely death at 44 years of age

[magical-xirl-4]

the way that i truly am just non-binary still... idk, surprises me? like, i forget that i am, so i have to remind myself that while i am trans, i'm not a man. at the same time, i'm not a woman. i'm just floating out as something else. something totally new.

but that's why it's so hard for me to affirm myself. there is no exact language to describe me that truly encapsulates my experiences. there's very little representation about what it means to be non-binary. it's why i think about it so much, it's why i fixate on it.

the world is extremely binary, and it's influence over my thoughts is still very strong, despite my gender identity.

it can be lonely. it can be confusing.

my bodily dysphoria is so strong but my social dysphoria is ten fold. to a vast majority of people they will never see me as non-binary no matter how many times i say it, and that haunts me.

i know not everyone will be able to instantly see me as my true self wherever i go and whoever i talk to, but the two binary genders are something that we are innately trained to recognise.

if a person recognises me as 1 or 2 and never 3 instantly, it feels. wrong.

why can't you see me as that? no matter how hard i try; why?

maybe HRT and top surgery will get me there, maybe, hopefully, one day. i want to be seen as androgynous, ambigious, first and foremost. someone who perfectly toes the line of masculinity and femininity. i feel like i am that as a person already but i just want people to be able to see that as soon as they see me.

but ultimately what i truly want is reformation of society. i want- no, need, trans acceptance, and abolishment of gender roles and heteropatriarchy. it's the only way i'll ever be able to thrive and feel comfortable. it's easy for you to people to see man and woman, but i wish it were different. i wish it were more that that.

i still haven't changed my name legally, or moved away from my family, so i'd say i'm in the worst of it. i'm just barely getting enough air to breathe. when i change my name, when i move out, when i go on HRT and get top surgery i will feel better.

but those systems put in place to hold up cisheteronormativity will still exist. i'm not sure how i will feel once i'm up to that point. i'll definitely have more air to breathe. but i can't even picture it right now. i'm still looking up from the well. why do i still have to endure more darkness once i'm fully free to be me?

i really hope for a day where that well won't exist and we'll be able to be on equal level a plain and open field. where we'll get to sit next to each other in the warm gaze of the sun, feeling loved, safe, protected and cared for. where we don't have to fight to exist and feel like ourselves. no conflict, no fighting, no hardship. just ourselves and the purity of it.

[officialpenisenvy]

you'll never be a real man. you don't have a napapijri anorak or even a north face winter jacket