#and at that point you become prescriptive

[grabby-smitten]

How to build a fence in 3 steps

Subjects: Sylus Qin x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k+

Content: A sad attempt at comedy, crackfic, interactions, no beta and not edited, commas placed everywhere, idk… let me know if i missed anything. Zayne, Rafayel and Xavier are main characters… sort of…

When you finally became his and how he subtly let everyone know.

Sylus is not the jealous type, but he is always sure to be very clear about boundaries and limits. He’s very meticulous about it and he likes to let people know whenever that changes. Like building fences for a new empty lot he just acquired so no one would misunderstand and try to get in. He’s defining property lines.

Step 1: Plan the layout, measure and mark.

You’ve been staying longer and longer within the N109 Zone since your relationship became sort of official. Well, official for you and Sylus and probably the twins. Nobody else could really know you were kind of dating the head of Onychinus for various obvious reasons.

Commuting from one place to another became a bit of a hassle so you would let Sylus know in advance about your schedule and let him or Mephisto escort you back safely.

And today was one of those days. You have an appointment with your primary care physician, in other words, doctor Zayne. It’s been days since you let Sylus know about your visit to Akso hospital today but he seemed to have different plans.

“Sylus,” you called out of breath, once again trying to get his attention. Which was becoming a difficult task for both of you since you were sitting on his desk, legs wide surrounding his waist as he nestled in your neck. “Sylus… I gotta- I gotta go,”

He hummed, acknowledging your words but not moving a muscle to do as you said. He has been toying with your collarbone and neck for a while and you weren’t complaining before, but the reminder for your appointment already rang twice.

“You’re not really stopping me either, kitten,” the buttons of your shirt began to pop one by one as Sylus descended to your chest. His lips nibbled at your already tender skin and your frustration began to grow… your breathing became heavier… your hands gripping Sylus’ jacket…

When suddenly he halted his movements. Leaving a final kiss on your temple, he began to fix your clothes as if nothing happened.

“I think you’re right, let’s get you to the hospital,” in a daze, you tried to regain some composure.

A smirk played at the corner of Sylus’ lips as he accompanied you to your bike, wishing you a safe ride. He added that you should let him know once you arrived at the hospital.

“These don’t look like something a wanderer would make,” Zayne inspected the marks around your neck and down your chest. They were a bit more prominent around the area where the stethoscope should go.

You sat there, listening to Zayne’s words— completely and utterly mortified once realization hit you. You had left in a hurry, forgetting the small situation you and Sylus had been in.

“It’s not what you think—“ you began to explain but Zayne cut you short.

“Sure, then enlighten me, please,” sarcasm dripped from every word Zayne uttered.

“It’s… it’s… it’s iron deficiency.” you spoke under your breath. It was the first thing that came to your mind and quickly regretted it, mentally facepalming yourself.

“You know I’m your doctor, right?” Yeah, you knew and that’s why you internally cringed at his rebuke.

“Then as my doctor, you should know,” but, of course, you wouldn’t back down at this point.

With a deep sigh, Zayne quickly took his notepad and wrote down a few lines.

“Okay, then. For your iron deficiency.” He handed you the note which you put in your jacket without checking it. You just wanted to leave fast and pray so that Zayne could forget everything that just happened.

Once you left the hospital you finally felt like you could breathe. As you walked towards the parking lot, you pulled the prescription and your eyes widened as soon as you read what he wrote. Even your step faltered. He did not just prescribe you, contraceptives. That wasn’t even his area of expertise, you thought as you crumbled the paper, fisting it and aggressively shoving it down your pocket.

Once alone, Zayne couldn’t help but go over your visit again and again.

“What is she dating? A leech?” The doctor sighed, hunched over his desk as the whole situation passed through his mind for a fifth time. Debating whether he should be concerned or not.

Step 2: Dig the holes and add the concrete

Balance is the key to everything, right? So that’s why Sylus suggested that he can stay in your place too. Closer to your work and everything you own is there. He doesn’t mind, on the contrary, it’s lovely to be surrounded by your presence all the time. He finds you in the little details scattered all over your apartment and thinks it’s cute. Very you.

Xavier, your neighbor and fellow hunter, has begun to notice things too. Things about you and well, your private life. How could he not, even your trash had doubled.

Xavier noticed that it’s no longer just your stuff that’s lying around your apartment. Every time he asked to borrow something or meet for the monthly neighborhood meeting, there was more stuff at your place.

He took notice of the new pair of indoor shoes at your entrance, too big for your feet. The dark coat at your hanger and the leather jacket on your kitchen’s stool. All men’s size.

Xavier could even smell a faint new perfume all over your place too, and it wasn’t yours. He also heard the other neighbors gossiping about Y/N’s new handsome “friend” who visited quite often. How come he has never seen him?

Today wasn’t any different for Xavier. He just came to ask if he could borrow some eggs since he already burned the twelve-pack he got at the convenience store in the morning. So why? why were you cooking for more than one person and had the whole table ready for what seemed to be a romantic dinner?

He watched you roam around your fridge in search of the eggs and couldn’t help himself. His curiosity was killing him.

“So… you’re making dinner for two?”

“Ah!” You exclaimed, hitting your head against the fridge door. His question took you by surprise. “Yeah, cooking is not my forte but alas.”

“Tell me about it,” Xavier felt bad. The bump in your head that would probably begin to grow any moment now showed how little you wanted to talk about your dinner plans.

So he took the eggs, thanked you and left.

At his apartment, he noticed the brand of eggs wasn’t the usual one you always got. This one was more expensive. Yeah, he was sure you had someone else living there and yes, for some reason that irritated him a bit.

Step 3: Attach, cap and stain

“Ah, my boss wishes to acquire this piece for his girlfriend.” The guy buying Rafayel’s painting had sent a representative. It was not unusual but it was extremely boring.

“I think that’s very romantic, don’t you think?” Thomas added. He had to because Rafayel didn’t seem to be interested in anything they were talking about.

But now he realized that he should have paid attention.

Rafayel barely remembered the words of his latest transaction. How eager Thomas looked because the buyer had offered triple the amount of the original price. Now Rafayel stood shocked, seeing his own painting on your wall never crossed his mind. Especially the one he sold to be a gift for someone’s girlfriend.

It was a pretty small frame, something he did on a whim so what the hell was it doing here? And not at the supposed girlfriend’s house? This wasn’t right.

“Hey—Y/N!” He frantically called you over, “Y/N!” Again, he shouted like he was being murdered.

“Rafayel just a second—“ you were looking for your guns. Sylus had cleaned them earlier but you didn’t know where he put them.

“No! Why is this painting here?” He was about to hyperventilate and burn down his own painting.

“I swear if you say it’s ugly, I’ll smack you,” you said, walking out of your room and joining him at the entrance of your place.

“That’s not it! It’s mine!” He pointed an accusatory finger at the framed painting.

“Clearly not, because this is my place, last time I checked.” You frowned at his outburst which by now you were used to, but not… exactly like this one.

“That’s not— I mean I painted it!” Frustration was clear in his voice as he placed his hands on your shoulders and shook you back and forth.

“Ah… well, that’s go— wait what?!” You widened your eyes as you processed his words.

You were going to kill Sylus. But first, you needed to calm Rafayel down and then find your weapons.

Yes, nobody knew you were dating the head of Onychinus but they all sure knew you weren’t in the market anymore.

And that’s how Sylus fenced his property in just three steps.

Extra:

Luke and Kieran have never seen Mephisto so tired. What kind of mission had the boss given him? There wasn’t any super important job at Onychinus today.

The twins took pity on the crow. It seemed to be missing some feathers too.

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

so agatha didnt let alice do that curse protection spell on her, right? she was just like keep playing. do you think thats bc she was like 'i dont know what Deaths Knife is gonna do specifically but i doubt im ever gonna be rid of her if i get fucking enchanted with it'

[bearofohu]

my favorite fact about the layton games that most people dont realize is that even though hershel is the protagonist every game is through luke’s POV

[purpurussy]

Ok I'm sorry but why do native english speakers always refer to € as euro? it's euros omg like 5€ = 5 euros not 5 euro. Euro is the currency, euros is the monetary units. That's like someone saying 30 dollar instead of 30 dollars, for example.

I am a native English speaker technically, but I've lived in the Netherlands for most of my life so there's a caveat. I grew up speaking British English, but now my English has become very Americanized since American English is used internationally more (I almost never use British slang any more for example since nobody understands that shit outside the UK lmao) and obviously there's a big Dutch influence in the way I speak English too (I often speak dunglish more than anything when I'm talking to Dutch speakers)

I think from what I've seen English and American people tend to say "euros" plural, since you'd also say "pounds" and "dollars". I think Irish people often say "euro" singular, but correct me if I'm wrong. So it varies. I think the reason I say "euro" is because of the Dutch influence: in Dutch you'd always say "euro" singular when referring to the price of something. So a Dutch person would absolutely say "5 euro" instead of "5 euros" (I actually just checked my tags on the post where I was talking about currency and I switched back and forth in those tags lmao that's just how it is)

I don't think there's an objectively correct way to say it, and honestly I don't really care if "euro" singular is incorrect lol you understand what I'm saying so I think it's fine

[anotherpapercut]

people acting like there isn't still very much an active stigma against cannibas and cannibas users is going to be my joker origin story

when i go to the doctor they still put cannibas use under the tab "substance abuse". not even just substance use. it is fully assumed that people who use cannabis, even as a prescription medication, are abusing it. just because you're friends with a couple of dumbass stoners doesn't mean that we've abandoned the idea as a culture that weed is a bad and scary and dangerous and highly addictive drug that will ruin your life if you use it once

[warlordfelwinter]

i was thinking more about asmodeus' waterdhavian sona in the car and decided that patience is

a) a lawyer because that was the funniest imaginable thing i could think of, for asmodeus to secretly have a law firm in waterdeep (the dm came up with the slam dunk name 'patience is a virtue legal solutions' for his practice)

and b) significantly shorter than celeste

literally no one who even remotely knows celeste can figure out why they're dating and everyone agrees he's astronomically out of patience's league

[james-stark-the-writer]

you know, i appreciate the work Susan Sontag has done for people appreciating Camp and stuff but i feel like if you are still using Susan Sontag as the authority on Camp in the year of your lord 2023, using notes that were written in 1964, as if the landscape of art and our relationship to art hasn't fundamentally changed since then,,, it's like, you need to catch up babes, a lot of those points are still really relevant, i'm not saying throw it out, but like update your understandings of Camp beyond that one authoritative text that's at this point almost 60 fucking years old. Susan Sontag is not the fundamental authority on what art today is or would be considered Campy, build off of those basics, please dear gods, evolve your understanding of what Campy art today actually looks like rather than trying to apply a prescriptive label from a text that can kinda boil down to 'Camp is whatever you feel like, and you'll know it when you see it because it won't be like traditional art' because the attempt to define it is so wide, calling every non-traditional piece of art campy is fucking pointless and not how anyone is obviously using the fucking label, people are very deliberately talking about one specific feeling they get from the piece of art, and it's got very little to do with aesthetics, at least as far as TV shows are concerned (movies are a different conversation), and much more about presentation and tone and intended effects and what the whole fucking point of the piece of art actually is, which is a lot more than what is afforded to most things considered Campy, like 90% of the shit people call campy at this point is just called campy and then it's left there, because it's a "oh you can't say anything about it because it's campy" like at this point it almost functions as a conversation ender because anyone you're talking to about any aspect can just go "yeah that's meant to be that way, it's campy" and it's like. okay, where do we go from here? should the piece of art not be analyzed as a work of art? does it not deserve to be evaluated in good faith and treated like any other piece of art? i understand the urge to defend the use of the term, as like "oh we're using it because people are misunderstanding art and what it's trying to be", and as a Riverdale-truther (as in genuinely love it as a piece of art and what it says and does, it's not fucking campy i swear to god, none of you fucking know what pulp art is!), and as a TASM2 truther (best Spidey movie after ITSV, and definitely best general movie after ITSV, and i don't care what your opinion is) i understand the urge to want to defend it as camp, but like, what's the piece of art actually doing and trying to say, what are the deeper layers at play? or are you really just satisfied saying something is Campy and stopping your analysis of the piece of art there? is your soul really okay correcting someone's interpretation of a show and saying it's campy and not doing anything beyond that? what does it being campy actually change? what the fuck does it actually do for the piece of art, if the piece of art is even campy at all?

[catboybiologist]

“As a biologist, the terms biological woman and man don’t make any sense to me” okay then you’re an idiot and a terrible biologist. I swear to god, morons like you only become biologists just so you can hold it over others, when in reality, if biology deniers like you can become biologists, then being one really doesn’t mean much anyway. But this probably just gave an autogynophile like you a boner to read, anyway.

Oh fun! Haven't gotten one of these in a while. Disregarding the fact that you somehow think the qualification for being a biologist entirely hinges on defining womanhood, I do need to ask some clarification. I know I'm feeding the trolls here, but here we go: does your definition of "biological woman" mean:

Sociological woman? Eh, context dependent, I'm not fully out of the closet, but oftentimes, I am and present femme. So let's call that one 50/50.

Psychological woman? Because I am one.

Neurological woman? Because I am one [1].

Physical woman? My soft tissue redistribution is handling that well.

Hormonal woman? My blood tests are within cis female ranges.

Transcriptional woman? As a signalling molecule, the downstream effects of estrogen have broad transcriptional effects, completely changing the profile of gene expression and functional genomics of my cells. [2]

Genetic woman? I mean, see my above point- as far as my genes that are actually active, I have all of the same transcripts being produced, controlling which genes are expressed.

Karyotypic woman? I actually have a few signs pre-HRT that might point to a non-XY chromosome pair, but I haven't had a karyotype. We'll put that down as unknown. And hell, even if its XY, there's plenty of cis women who are karyotypically XY, with suppressed sry or complete androgen insensitivity. Interestingly enough, a completely androgen insesitive woman can go her whole life without knowing- and functionally, is very similar to a trans woman, actually. Fancy that. [3]

Reproductive woman? I can't produce an egg cell, but neither can significant fractions of cis women. Also, this is all gonna change soon, which is fun. [4]

There's also a lot of understudied aspects to the biology of HRT and even pre-HRT that are emerging, largely demonstrating widespread cellular and genetic remodeling of trans individuals undergoing hormone therapy. The field is a bit behind due to constant political pressure to revoke funding, but a lot of the results are extremely exciting in both testosterone and estrogen hormone therapies. I'm sure that, as a self professed biology As someone who presumably has a lot of expertise in biology, I'm assuming that you're aware of all of this cutting edge research, and are keeping up with modern papers, including but not limited to these cool findings:

Trans men on HRT exhibit significant genetic and transcriptional changes that make them biochemically male. [5][6]. It's a good hypothesis that the same happens with estrogen treatment, but those studies don't exist yet- I'm sure you're reserving judgment until more publications exist, of course.

Trans men on HRT develop male cell types and tissues. [7]

Trans women experience muscular and blood cell changes that align with cis women moreso than cis men [8]

And many, many more! This is an exciting, underserved, and groundbreaking field of research, and I'm sure you're keeping up with the latest in scientific journals about it.

I'm sure, of course, that you understand that it becomes impossible to draw a distinct line anywhere in here, and that words like "woman" are shorthand for the myriad of traits that invisibly synthesize in our mind and in society to represent a concept? I'm sure you understand that science is fundamentally descriptive, not prescriptive? I'm sure that you understand that these findings, while really cool and interesting, actually don't mean jack shit about what the word "woman" means or not?

As someone who is the ultimate decider in what a biologist is, I'm sure you know that bioessentiallism is a childish mindset that completely ignores and disregards the constantly changing, dynamic nature of biological systems, something that extends well beyond biological sex and its relation to gender.

I'm sure that also, that you understand that beyond just this, that the role of science in society is to advise how to achieve our moral principles, not create moral principles in themselves. And I'm sure that understanding means you know that trans affirming healthcare and supportive societal treatment leads to reduced mortality and increased happiness for everyone, right?

So great to talk to someone who is surely a scientist on this. You are a biologist, if you're talking like this, I assume? I assume you're not going to spit complete misreadings of scientific language from the background sections of these papers that only reveal you've never read a scientific paper in your life if you're thinking this way? I assume you have experience interpreting data like this?

Also, imagining my genitalia while writing this? Ew. Please stop projecting your fetishes into my inbox.

Works cited:

Kurth F, Gaser C, Sánchez FJ, Luders E. Brain Sex in Transgender Women Is Shifted towards Gender Identity. J Clin Med. 2022 Mar 13;11(6):1582. doi: 10.3390/jcm11061582. PMID: 35329908; PMCID: PMC8955456.

Fuentes N, Silveyra P. Estrogen receptor signaling mechanisms. Adv Protein Chem Struct Biol. 2019;116:135-170. doi: 10.1016/bs.apcsb.2019.01.001. Epub 2019 Feb 4. PMID: 31036290; PMCID: PMC6533072.

Gottlieb B, Trifiro MA. Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome. 1999 Mar 24 [Updated 2017 May 11]. In: Adam MP, Feldman J, Mirzaa GM, et al., editors. GeneReviews® [Internet]. Seattle (WA): University of Washington, Seattle; 1993-2024. Available from: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK1429/

Murakami, K., Hamazaki, N., Hamada, N. et al. Generation of functional oocytes from male mice in vitro. Nature 615, 900–906 (2023). https://doi.org/10.1038/s41586-023-05834-x

Pallotti F, Senofonte G, Konstantinidou F, Di Chiano S, Faja F, Rizzo F, Cargnelutti F, Krausz C, Paoli D, Lenzi A, Stuppia L, Gatta V, Lombardo F. Epigenetic Effects of Gender-Affirming Hormone Treatment: A Pilot Study of the ESR2 Promoter's Methylation in AFAB People. Biomedicines. 2022 Feb 16;10(2):459. doi: 10.3390/biomedicines10020459. PMID: 35203670; PMCID: PMC8962414.

Florian Raths, Mehran Karimzadeh, Nathan Ing, Andrew Martinez, Yoona Yang, Ying Qu, Tian-Yu Lee, Brianna Mulligan, Suzanne Devkota, Wayne T. Tilley, Theresa E. Hickey, Bo Wang, Armando E. Giuliano, Shikha Bose, Hani Goodarzi, Edward C. Ray, Xiaojiang Cui, Simon R.V. Knott, The molecular consequences of androgen activity in the human breast, Cell Genomics, Volume 3, Issue 3, 2023, 100272, ISSN 2666-979X, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.xgen.2023.100272. (https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2666979X23000320)

Xu R, Diamond DA, Borer JG, Estrada C, Yu R, Anderson WJ, Vargas SO. Prostatic metaplasia of the vagina in transmasculine individuals. World J Urol. 2022 Mar;40(3):849-855. doi: 10.1007/s00345-021-03907-y. Epub 2022 Jan 16. PMID: 35034167.

Harper J, O'Donnell E, Sorouri Khorashad B, McDermott H, Witcomb GL. How does hormone transition in transgender women change body composition, muscle strength and haemoglobin? Systematic review with a focus on the implications for sport participation. Br J Sports Med. 2021 Aug;55(15):865-872. doi: 10.1136/bjsports-2020-103106. Epub 2021 Mar 1. PMID: 33648944; PMCID: PMC8311086.

[nymphoniah]

come undone | logan howlett

paring: old man!logan x younger!reader

AN: i can't stop thinking about old man!logan guys, i think its turning into a problem um... but here's a quick drabble about you being needy, and him being the gruffy old man he is, you decide to take matters into your own hands <3

content/tags: NSFW, minors DNI (18+ only), old man!logan, explicit age gap (reader is in their 20's), logan spoils his girl, thigh riding, daddy kink, swearing, pet names

you find logan resting in his office, seated on his leather arm chair. his white button up is messily undone, revealing his worn out beater underneath. his chest hair peeking through the shallow neckline of the shirt, leaving your mind to wonder about.

he catches your gaze and flashes you a smile, "c'mon doll, sit in your old man's lap", he coos, signaling you to come over with his middle and pointer finger.

and how could you ever say no to logan?

you couldn’t help but approach him. curling up in logan’s lap, you rest your head against his broad chest. your fingers gently rubbing against his ribbed tank top that fits snug against him. his body isn’t what it once was before, but he still remains defined and muscular, filling the tank top perfectly.

logan’s salt-and-pepper beard tickles your rose tinted cheeks as you litter his face in kisses. you can’t help but take in his beauty, every wrinkle, scar, age spot; for him being over 200, he absolutely aged like wine.

moving your fingers from his chest to the shell of his ears, you swiftly remove his prescription glasses from his face. you press your lips gently against the crow’s feet that defined his tired eyes, making him crack a tiny smile.

“you’re so handsome, logan.” you sigh, placing his glasses onto the side table placed on his right. you rest your head back on his chest, taking a deep sigh. the scent of his cologne floods your senses, bourbon and vanilla.

you shift around, straddling yourself onto his left thigh. your legs wrapped around him like a vice whilst your core pulses for attention against his tense quad.

“looks like someone’s needy,” he teases, placing his firm hands on your hips, gently guiding you back and forth against him. “cmon baby, take it out on me.” you gently rock your hips, keeping a slow and steady pace.

with his old age, he’s lost his stamina for sure, but he always has the energy for you. making sure that you get off, anytime and anywhere. you’re his princess, and he always makes sure to spoil his sweet little girl.

your hips rock in tandem against his thigh as he rhythmically bounces his leg to match your pace. you mewl in pleasure, tilting your head back as ecstasy fills your mind.

logan places gentle, sloppy kisses against your neck, making sure to pay close attention to your pulse point. he’s nipping at the soft skin of your neck, concentrating on one area enough to leave a maroon bruise the next day.

both of your movements become more erratic. as your pace quickens, his hands move to your chest, groping your breasts, thumbs nimbly working at your buds, rolling and gently tugging on them.

you hiss out in pleasure, teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure. “so close…” you whimper, biting your bottom lip tightly to alleviate the growing tension in your stomach.

“let it out darlin', i know you can do it for me,” he grunts into your neck, his hands finding their way back to your hips, pushing you harder down onto him.

absolutely soaking through your panties, you can feel the patch of wetness you left on his light washed denim jeans. you’re faltering on the edge, not wanting to let yourself go so soon.

“c'mon, i know you want this princess," he murmurs into the shell of your ear, nibbling at your earlobe.

"let go for your daddy,” he groans as he pushes your hips down, forcing you to grind harder against him. logan utters a string of sweet nothings in your ear, ending with a you can do it darlin', and you finally tick.

you wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you, your pants becoming more and more exhausted. your hips thrust forward and hard around him one last time, and the knot in your stomach finally snaps.

“f-fuck logan, fuck!” you whine, your combined moans filling his office.

you gently pull away from him, pressing your forehead against his, your lust blown pupils meeting his stern gaze.

“yknow how to rile me up,” he says cheekily, gently molding your ass between his fingertips. “almost got me to come in my pants like a teenager,” logan snarkily adds.

“shut it old man,” you quipped, taking his glasses from the side table and placing them back on him so that they sit on the edge of his nose bridge. you press a quick kiss to his lips which soon formed into a smirk.

logan looks up at you through his glasses, hanging on the curve of his nose— a perfect sight you can never get enough of.

“now let me show you what this old man can do…”, he murmurs against your lips.

[transandrobroism]

notes/replies on that last post (about Florida moving to ban all HRT for adults) suggest it was struck down by a judge, which is a relief obviously. but i do wanna pick up on the response being "set up DIY networks for HRT! organise and help each other!" which is cool and all but... as the latest reblog comment points out, T is a controlled drug.

some quick and dirty googling confirms testosterone is a Schedule III controlled drug in the USA, with most legal sources suggesting possession and/or distribution of Schedule III drugs is a 3rd degree felony. conviction can mean up to five years in prison and a $5,000 fine. crucially, in Florida (where this law was intended to come into force), selling or distributing a Schedule III drug to minors pushes it up to a 2nd degree felony with a harsher fine/sentence.

i make this point because the response to HRT being restricted is often some variation of "mutual aid DIY network" or just flat suggesting DIY to people as the solution. which is cool if you're on estrogen, but possessing testosterone without a prescription is a literal felony in the USA. T is also a controlled drug in the UK, where trans people face long waiting lists for HRT - it's not illegal to possess T for personal use, but it is illegal to get them sent to you from abroad (importing a controlled drug) and to give them to other people (supply). to legally get T you need a prescription from a doctor.

in a hostile transphobic environment there is no guarantee that prosecuters will decide not to charge trans people for DIYing HRT. "set up DIY networks" for transmascs basically translates to "set up an illegal drug ring".

this is a form of transphobia that affects transmascs but does not affect transfems. it also affects nonbinary and intersex folks seeking or using testosterone HRT. in fact it could potentially impact some nonbinary trans folks worse because the medical gatekeeping around trying to transition as nonbinary is already an uphill struggle.

it is not easy for those of us on T to just DIY it and fuck the system. without a valid prescription our HRT becomes a banned illegal steroid that can land us in serious legal trouble if we get caught, especially if we're distributing it to other people as part of a mutual aid setup. i know we're all very "be gay do crime" for the memes but we are talking about an actual factual go-to-jail-irl crime here.

the fact that our HRT is an illegal drug unless prescribed by a doctor is a form of transandrophobia that affects trans men, transmascs, nonbinary people on masculinising HRT, and intersex people who want or need testosterone. it means that:

we cannot DIY transition without committing a crime, and have to weigh up that risk when considering DIY as an option

setting up a mutual aid testosterone DIY network is even more of a crime, especially if you want to use it to help trans teens

we are thus more dependent on placating medical practitioners and convincing them to prescribe us HRT

we will always be more impacted by any moves to restrict or delay access to HRT because we don't have an easy, legal DIY option

when access to HRT is limited for transphobic reasons, the DIY option comes at much higher risk

where access to HRT is severely delayed (as it is in the UK by years-long waiting lists), it is easier for transfems to start DIYing while they wait than it is for transmascs to do the same thing. in fact in the UK they've started selling estrogen HRT over the counter for menopause, so here if you want to start estrogen DIY all you have to do is get a cis lady friend to ask a pharmacist for menopause treatments. if you wanna start T you have to go on the fucking dark web (I'm exaggerating but... not a lot)

none of this is intended to suggest that transfems don't experience medical transphobia or gatekeeping and this isn't a "trans men have it worse universally across the board" post. there are undoubtedly some areas where it's harder to be transfem. however, this is one area where it is clearly and demonstrably harder to be a trans man. i am pointing this out because i keep seeing people saying that transmascs have it easier or there's no systemic or structural transphobia targeting trans men or we only ever experience misdirected misogyny or whatever. here is your proof that that is not true. this is a form of structural and systemic transphobia that impacts trans men and not trans women. and there is no possible world in which you can argue that testosterone being a controlled drug is somehow misogyny.

[wolfisland]

hi. please help me get out of an abusive living situation. like please. lol. please.

tl;dr: i'm dylan. i'm a disabled indigenous australian bisexual trans person and i have to get myself and my pets out of a physically, verbally, and emotionally abusive house. i have reached an agreed upon date of the 8th of november at the latest, but there's no guarantee this won't be changed as circumstances here are extremely unstable. more under the cut if you care for specifics.

rbs help more than you can imagine. thanks.

❤️‍🩹

i've had my belongings trashed, my animals threatened (as well as my dog neglected severely), things pelted at me, punches thrown, threats made, i have been prevented from accessing medication and medical care, my car withheld, i have been forced into circumstances of dependency on this woman that have been used against me as justification for further abuse, and while i was hoping to make it to early next year here til i saved enough to find a better place, it literally just isn't safe for me to do so.

previously this woman has choked me out and hit me in the face before in front of family, thrown glasses and mugs at me, smashed my things, taken my money. this is why i desperately tried to leave earlier before i was kicked out previously, and i'd been forced to move back as a last resort as i would've been otherwise homeless.

i was in the icu for a suicide attempt after the loss of my job and an incident with another predatory and abusive family member, an attempt that has caused lasting cognitive issues, caused a burn out that left me mostly bed and house bound for that 6-8 month period, intense and debilitating flare ups, and has contributed to significant mental health episodes that cause me to lose time.

i had been convinced over a period of 6-8 months that i would be safe to return and that things would be different. please do not think less of me for being stupid enough to believe her. i had no one else to turn to and nowhere else to go, she begged me to come home. after so much time apart i made the mistake of believing her. i won't again.

the stress that i'm under here has caused my mental and physical health to tank, and left me struggling to take basic care of myself let alone manage tasks around the house, which has only further provoked abuse. it's essentially been a cycle of abusing me to a point of being unable to function and then abusing me as a punishment for being unable to function. i can barely keep track of where and when i am let alone keep track of the majority of a house.

i came here as a last resort and it has caused me far more damage than any good. i'm in an isolated rural area and have little to no support system aside from my caseworkers who are trying to help me leave again.

i would appreciate help to rent a storage shed for my belongings as anything i leave will be tossed, as well as a spot for my car as i'm unable to drive it yet without a fully licensed driver supervising. i also have medication to pay for, one of which is $120 per prescription and part of my pain treatment plan. this is something she has used against me, many times before. everything else will be saved and put towards rent if i can find a place in time (and motel fees if i can't) food, transport, and toiletries etc.

i have had more breakdowns and episodes here than i can count. i can't keep living like this. it has set me back in so many ways. i have tried to proofread this multiple times but my brain's not fully functioning right now.

thank you for your time.

[visionsofcarnality]

can we get headcanons for gilf!Joel maybe? his slicked back hair in tlou ep3 stirred something in me 🥵🥵🥵

i like the way you think…

Silver Fox ! Joel Miller Headcanons NSFW!!

Traditional old man in every sense of the word, he doesn’t make cheesy comments when you grab a door handle but he does give you a scolding little glare that totally doesn’t light a fire in your panties.

Self conscious about his somewhat saggy skin around his chest, middle, and extremities even after you’ve assured him until you’re blue in the face. You do help him though. Watching how attracted you are to his body even aged as it is definitely strokes his ego.

Has an online refillable prescription for Viagra that gets delivered to his apartment, and when he takes it he becomes an absolute fiend.

Usually without the Viagra he still is able to throughly satisfy you with ages of foreplay and a nice thorough fucking, leaving you both satisfied after one climactic round.

But when he takes Viagra-

You better clear your schedule and invest in a massage gun for your legs afterwards because you are going to be SORE.

I’m talking several positions, screaming until your throat hurts, your pussy feeling raw and used, daylong marathon sex.

Joel doesn’t seem to soften even a fraction until your body is wailing in protest and you can’t feel your thighs anymore.

You don’t think he could possibly have any more left in him until he’s once again emptying his heavy, full balls into your cunt; adding to the previous loads from the past six rounds he’s already shot into your body.

When he’s not fucking you stupid with the assistance of his little blue pills, he’s treating you like the princess you’d expect he would.

Don’t even think about carrying your own groceries, what are you, crazy?

Speaking of groceries…

If you aren’t living together yet best believe he’s on your doorstep every Sunday at 11AM with a truck full of groceries, dropping them off after church let’s out and he’s free to go to the store.

He makes you sit and continue sipping your coffee/tea while he puts them away, simultaneously checking the sell-by dates of everything in your fridge and pantry like a man obsessed.

Like a true old fashioned southern boy, he won’t tell you he’s in love with you. But he will point out the amount of things expired in your house.

“Come on, now. You’re gonna get sick, this is ridiculous-“ As if he hasn’t brought you your favorite brand of cereal and all your preferred snacks. Even all those “Shitty, organic, cardboard crap” things you love.

Never had a good plate of grits? He’s making them meticulously for you the morning after a hookup. “Eat, you need it. That stuff’ll keep you goin’ all day.”

Is all too supportive of your flimsy little sundresses. The gauzy fabric floating around your legs like a visualization of your perfume, nearly beckoning him closer. Even when you’re looking like a good little church girl in your soft, flowy dresses… all he can think about is how easy it would be to bend you over and have his way with you.

Which he does the second he brings you home from his cousin’s cookout in the suburbs.

Did I mention that he got a vasectomy after his divorce? Still, seeing you with his now adult daughter makes him daydream about getting you pregnant.

Which he finds insane… He doesn’t want any more kids, he physically can’t have any more kids… But the only thing he can think about right now is burying his cum in your pussy and keeping you pampered in his house with your belly full of his babies.

That vasectomy won’t stop him from trying his damndest, though. Especially after Sarah (who he had young) has her first baby and he watches you hold the six month old infant for the first time.

This man is a GENTLEMAN in the most old fashioned sense of the word.

Like, I cannot stress that enough.

If you’re an independent person, prepare to be thoroughly pampered.

His old fashioned chivalrous ways may be frustrating sometimes but it really does come from a place of just wanting to show his love.

Like when he insists on driving you everywhere whenever you go places together, or when he always finds a way to move you to the side of his body furthest away from the sidewalk when you walk, or when he automatically picks up your purse when you meet so that he can carry it for you.

But you forget all about those minor annoyances when he bends you over your kitchen table and pounds you into next week, muttering nonsense about how you’re too young for him or how you’re such a dirty girl for wanting him and his old man cock.

You moan his name when he grips both your hips in a tight but loving hold, all too willing to forgive him for his incessant door opening when you’re all dumbed down on his cock, the cock which is now way too hard and blood filled because he definitely popped one of your favorite blue pills a while ago.

But much like the gentleman he is, after he fucks you into a blissed-out stupor, he carries you to the bed and wipes your spent pussy clean, cuddling you into the mattress and running his hands through your hair while you both come down from your highs.

When he does get insecure about the age difference between you, all you can do is kiss his leathery, stubbled cheek and wrap your arms around him… Convincing him with your actions instead of words that his age is only a factor in your attraction to him… And that you love him for what makes him him.

this post got way too long but NONNIE I HOPE I DID YOU JUSTICE!!

[12percentspider]

Info time: Diabetes and related issues [this is long but I highly suggest reading]

Do you ever see something and you go "that doesn't sound right, but I don't know enough about diabetes to dispute it"? Well, I can help you there. I can help you know enough about diabetes to dispute it if need be. Especially because well, there are seemingly a lot of scams going around where people claim to be diabetic [in my experience it's maybe 3 scammers that just remake] and the information is not very correct in most cases. Not to mention this type of scam pisses me off because I am in fact diabetic, and not only are people preying off of others' lack of information about the chronic condition, but it's also trivializing a serious lifelong condition that can be fatal. If you have now or have lost a loved one to diabetes complications, you are already aware of how dangerous it can be as well as how dangerous misinformation is as well.

What is diabetes? Diabetes is a chronic condition related to the endocrine system- the pancreas specifically. However, if complications get serious enough other parts of the body will be affected. In type 2 diabetes, the body's cells have become resistant to insulin, which is a hormone produced by the pancreas that allows cells to use glucose from the blood- your body's energy it needs to function. When someone is 'type 2', the food that person is eating is not able to fuel them, regardless of caloric content. Glucose is commonly called "blood sugar". It's a type of sugar that is processed and then transported via the circulatory system to your cells where it's needed. With type 1 diabetes (which used to be called "juvenile diabetes"), the pancreas does not produce any/enough insulin for some reason or another, generally because of autoimmune or other damage. [For me personally, I was diagnosed as an adult and had to have it confirmed as type 1 due to the presence of autoimmune antibodies, also apparently my pancreas hadn't quite given up at that point.] As we've seen before, insulin allows your body to use the food you are putting into it. As a double whammy, you can have type 1 with resistance, so not only is your body not producing any/enough insulin, what's there can't be used properly. [RIP Spider who has this] So to explain the effects, think about what happens when you're literally starving. Now imagine that's happening no matter how much you eat. Your body may go into starvation mode and store fat. This can be misleading, which when combined with fatphobia has people concluding that "well, you have diabetes because you're fat, duh". Heck, I have/had diabetic relatives who believed that eating too many carbs will automatically cause the condition because that's what everyone is told/assumes. Eventually, you'd starve and your body would start deteriorating as so. HOWEVER because you would have so much glucose that just sits there because it can't be used, your kidneys are going to work overtime to try and correct this- and they can't do it alone. Your liver can also suffer severe damage. That's not to mention a whole host of other complications that can occur.

So what about it? Well, obviously there are treatments. Insulin injections have existed since the 1920s. There are also medications that can help your body actually use the insulin it's being provided, be it naturally or artificially. So yes, people with diabetes are dependent on prescriptions to survive. My grandma lost a sister in childhood due to insulin treatments apparently not being available in the extremely rural area they were living in at the time. More recently, the israeli occupation has banned insulin from being distributed to Palestinians. [Insulin has also been used historically in psychiatric hospitals to force low blood sugar in psychiatric patients, but that's a whole other rabbithole about psychiatric abuse.] There are resources for the US and beyond if you or someone you know and/or love are in dire straits financially and need help with insulin or other diabetes medications/ related medical help. That's only one aspect of treatment, though. Because pain, stress, hormone changes, other medical issues, and plenty of other factors can raise your blood sugar to dangerous levels, other kinds of treatment to manage other factors may be necessary.

Now that that's out of the way, let's get to specifics. So the most common problem you're going to see mentioned is high blood sugar. We've already covered what the effects are, but what is considered high? For the most part, "high" is 200 milligrams per deciliter. My CGM (continuous glucose monitor) lists "high" as anything 181 or higher but stops giving an exact number after 350. This is why I had a good laugh that time I saw a scammer using an image of a meter reading glucose in the 120s- that's good blood sugar. If you're going to get even more specific you want your pre-breakfast blood sugar to be 80-130. So when you see an accompanying image reading in the 500s, that's extremely dangerous. That's "you're in danger of going into a coma" dangerous.

Insulin pricing? How come I'm seeing people saying they need $300? In the US, pricing cap was set to $35 somewhat recently. What this means is that per insulin pen (as far as I've experienced, the above-linked resource post should have links with better clarification) it's $35. Can't be more than that for one pen. How many doses that provides is very up in the air. It absolutely varies from person to person. I have relatives with type 2 that have to inject a dose of very long-acting insulin weekly, one has gone back and forth with daily doses on top of that. I'm type 1 and have to take one dose of long-acting nightly with injections of a short-acting insulin before every meal, with the exact dosage amounts varying per meal. Insulin is measured in units (there's probably an actual mL amount, both of mine are 100 units per mL with a 3mL pen). How many units someone needs is determined with their medical provider (or care team? When I went to 'diabetes education' after diagnosis I was set up with a "care team").

Edited:

["...pharmacies can refuse to split boxes of insulin pens depending on company/store policy. so if someone lost their insulin and needed to get a replacement because insurance wont pay for more, the pharmacy could make them get a full box of three or five pens."]

via: anon ask (thank you much!!!) So it turns out that yes, with $35 being a cap it would very much likely be for EACH pen, with 3 being $105 in this case and 5 being $175.

But at any rate, if someone is in an emergency situation in the US should be able to get an insulin pen for $35 pretty much when they get to a pharmacy [again, from edit: no, not every pharmacy]. Yes, I get that this can be difficult in some situations, but that's outside the concept of insulin prices.

If someone's blood sugar is over 500 though, they almost certainly need a hospital more than they need an insulin pen. Yes, alright, the actual real single mother on twitter who was the source of the profile images/meter images that whatever the current url for vero-og has stolen and been using for months... that was actually months ago and I'm sure she doesn't need to be told to go to the hospital right now. [That said, if you get an ask from someone and the url is a variation off of 'vero-og' that is a confirmed scammer.] And then on top of that, yes, why would you block people that can get you free or discounted insulin? If someone was offering to save your life for free or find you what you need for far less than what you were expecting to spend, why wouldn't you take it? Unless what you're actually after is money.

SO TO RECAP: Insulin does not cost $300, $350, $370, whatever someone is sending you an ask about. In the US, it is federally capped at $35 per pen, with further resources available, as well as further resources being available internationally. If you need help, please be honest about it. I promise there are people who care, you don't have to try and explain yourself- but it absolutely does not cost that much and if it did, there are ways to lower the cost by quite a bit if there aren't resources to make it free. Diabetes is a lifelong chronic condition that is not caused by "being fat" or "eating too much", it is caused by your body not functioning right and your body can starve no matter how much food you eat. Unfortunately, people have been lying on this site for months if not years claiming to have type 1 with an insulin emergency. These people cannot possibly have diabetes, or they would be well aware that they do not need hundreds of dollars to get their insulin. They are counting on you not knowing this so you will donate to them. The 'vero-og' scammer had been harassing someone who donated and threatening them with the intention of bullying more money out of the donor.

[rememberwren]

A Dichotomy of Thought || 1

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts You move next door to a disabled veteran and his troubled partner.

Warnings and details: disabled!Johnny; established Ghoap future Ghoap/reader; domestic abuse (not Ghoap); heavy themes of suicide, violence, abuse, poor coping mechanisms, prescription drugs. I’m not sure if I have anything here, let me know if anyone is interested in this series.

#

A helicopter goes down in the mountains of Kazakhstan and it takes a piece of Soap with it. They never recovered the arm—nor the three service members who lost more than their arms in the crash. The thought is one that Johnny’s mind cycles back to often, in moments of quiet or while he lies awake at night feeling tremors in an arm that’s no longer attached. Suddenly he’ll wonder: what are those bones up to, buried in snow and ice so deep the sun will never touch them again? Do they miss me?

Fuck, he misses them.

#

After the accident, the world is very black and white. Mostly it’s black. Blackness at the edge of his vision threatens to creep in when he stands too long, when he stands on his own, when he turns his head too fast. Anytime his blood pressure rises over that Goldilocks number of 120/80, it threatens to drop him faster than Simon used to during their first weeks of training together in the 141.

The doctors say that he’s a miracle. The traumatic brain injury had his brain swelling and pushing at the confines of his skull like water freezing in a bottle. Give him a little longer in the cold and maybe his cap would blow off. Except it hadn’t; he was still dealing with swelling all over: in his thalamus, his hypothalamus, in his cerebrum, all the words he’d never bothered to learn in school and couldn’t fucking remember now no matter how hard he tries. He gets the point. Simon does too. Johnny should be dead.

Instead he just wishes he were.

Even now, when he can remember his name and Simon’s and even (more often than not) the name of the waitress who serves them chicken and waffles at the local diner every Saturday, there are still more bad days than good. Still more darkness than light. Still more nights waking up to the sound of helicopter blades slowing, the relentless hum becoming a deafening chop chop chop like the thrum of his heartbeat. There’s that moment of weightlessness when the helicopter goes down and he has yet to go with it that makes him wake in a cold sweat, nauseous and looking for something to be sick in.

Through it all, Simon is there. Simon is the light. He’d laugh if he heard Johnny say that—though a laugh is probably too generous. Simon doesn’t laugh much these days. Not when he spends three fourths of his time taking care of Johnny and the other fourth thinking about how better to take care of Johnny. If it weren’t for Simon, Johnny would have done himself in by now. There’s a thousand ways to do it; plenty of arms and munitions in the apartment they share together. Or there are the pain pills, if he wanted it to look like an accident. A few too many of those and he could crawl right through that darkness in his vision and find out what’s on the other side. As soon as the thought crosses his mind (and it crosses his mind more often than that fucking chicken crosses the road), the guilt comes, like anyone and everyone can read it on his mind: his mama rest her soul, Simon, Jesus on the cross. After all of the work that has gone into him, into saving his broken body and mind, into rehabilitating him, how can he even think of throwing in the towel?

Turns out it’s pretty fucking easy to think about it.

As a matter of fact, he’s thinking about it the first time he meets you, when you nearly do the job for him.

It’s spring, cool, and he’s working up a goddamn sweat anyway. Simon stands in the alleyway, smoking and pretending not to watch as Johnny hobbles up and down the length of the parking lot with his forearm crutch. His armpit throbs. His knee throbs. His head throbs as he continues along, beating out a strange little rhythm on the concrete—thum-thump, thum-thump, thum-thump. He says all the curse words he knows and dreams up a few new ones too. It’s supposed to be getting easier, but Simon just pushes him harder to make up for the ground he covers. That’s one of the shitty parts about loving an ex-military man; he never goes easy on you.

Johnny’s thinking about the tub upstairs, just big enough for him if he curls in on himself. Sometimes a hot bath helps the knots in his muscles, but sometimes when Simon leaves the room to get a washcloth Johnny will slip beneath the surface of the water and see how long he can hold his—

Then you come out of absolutely nowhere in your shitty little four-door and nearly hit him. As a matter of fact, you do hit his crutch, sending it sprawling out of his hand and sending him clattering to the ground on his bad side. For a moment, he thinks: this is it. This is how I die. Not in a helicopter in Kazahkstan but here, now, today, and he can’t tell if it’s relief in his belly or regret. Then your tires squeal like pigs on the pavement, the smell of burnt rubber thick in the air, and he is face to face with you and your horror, close enough that the air from your hasty turn brushes along his body and sends his heart pounding.

“What the steaming bloody fucking Jesus do you think you’re doing?” he finds himself shouting, pain lancing all along his side from his fake knee to the stump of his arm. Simon is there all at once, cigarette abandoned to smolder to ash in the alleyway, putting his hands under Johnny’s armpits and lifting him like a child even when he yelps in pain like a kicked dog. Johnny leans against him heavily. The edges of his vision are turning black. He bangs his fist against the hood of your car. “Did Jesus send ye? Did He tell ye to finish the fucking job and do me in? ‘That’s the cunt right there, beam him with your car’? Did he tell you that?”

You reluctantly get out of the car, not even wearing a goddamn seatbelt. The car’s soft, insistent alarm begins to remind you with unending politeness that the door is open and your seatbelt is off while you stand there, pallid, eyes huge and watering in the face of Johnny’s shouts.

He sees then that one of your eyes is swollen almost completely shut, blood turning the white sclera pink like the fine mist of blood over the snow when they finally pulled Johnny free from the helicopter. No wonder you didn’t see him coming, with a single functioning eye. He’s opened his mouth to tell you so (and to tell you a dozen other fucking things) when he nearly swoons, the rug of the world being tugged under his feet by the hand of God.

Simon slips a firmer arm around Johnny’s waist.

A man gets out of the passenger side. He begins to berate you for not paying attention, for nearly killing Johnny. Johnny agrees, but is annoyed all the same. He’s the one who almost died; leave the shouting to him.

“I’m so sorry,” you choke out, tears dripping near-constant from your eyes. “I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry. Let me get your—”

“Done enough, haven’t you?” Simon asks cooly. It sends you reeling back into the car where you sit with both hands over your mouth, chest hitching with your panicked sobs.

“Hey, is he, like, okay?” your partner asks.

“Fuck off,” Simon says, deftly ushering Johnny over one shoulder and holding the crutch in the other. He carries them back to the elevators without breaking a sweat, and Johnny cries on his shoulder from the pain of it, the sheer embarrassment of it the whole way home. The day before Kazahkstan he couldn’t have been able to tell you the last time he cried; now he cries every fucking day from one reason or another.

“I’m fine,” Johnny says when they make it back to the apartment and Simon eases him down into a chair. They arrange his knee in the one position that has it throbbing less, but then Johnny bats Simon’s hands away. “Go. I’m fine. I don’t need you hoverin’ over me.”

“Alright.”

“Fuck off with yer alright.”

Simon doesn’t say anything. Johnny hears his footsteps leading toward the bedroom they share—hardly a bedroom, how long has it been since they slept there together peacefully? Since they fucked? Johnny can tell you how long it’s been. Since before things went black and white. The footsteps stop then.

“You stepped in front of her, Johnny,” Simon says, his voice low but not quiet enough to count as a whisper. “I watched you do it. Don’t think you’re so fucking slick.”

He shuts the bedroom door behind him.

[occamstfs]

Those Holi Days

It's a tad early but so is the Spring, Here's a Holi inspired racial TF ! -Occam

Robert is beyond nervous about going to the city’s Holi celebrations. His best friend Pranav begged him to come and have some fun but Robert absolutely hates sticking out which he is sure to do. Pranav swears there are always other white people there but Robert remains unconvinced as he looks through his closet getting ready. Shuffling through he sees dress shirt after dress shirt of a wardrobe meticulously designed not to stand out.

He sighs as he throws on a white t-shirt as recommended by his friend, best thing to wear for the chalk. He sighs thinking of how confident Pranav is as he ensures his shirt sits so no one can see his small gut underneath it. Feeling a pit start to grow in his stomach about going he rushes out the door before he convinces himself to stay in.

On the brief walk over he fights with himself in his head weighing pros and cons. He does not like how intimate it is sure to be, Robert does not like crowds or parties. He read up on Holi of course and this is sure to be quite a hectic event. He starts writing up paragraphs on his phone to chew Pranav out for getting him out of his comfort zone to go to something he’s so sure he will not enjoy.

As he approaches the park he hears some kind of Indian pop music blaring from speakers set at the center of festivities. He must have been quite absorbed in his phone as only now does he notice how thick the air has become from the colored chalk in the air. His heart freezes in his chest as he sees he has already arrived at the outskirts of the Holi block party.

As Robert looks out across the crowd however, he can’t hold back a smile seeing just how much fun just about everyone is having. Technicolor powders are flying through the air creating a storm of vivid blues and dazzling reds above the crowd. Dust begins to settle in Robert’s hair as he looks for Pranav at the event.

He doesn’t immediately find his friend, although to Pranav’s credit there are a not insignificant amount of other white guys present in the park, some of them even seemingly dressed in traditional kurtas. He even sees another one of his friends, John, out there seemingly having an absolute blast. John was always a quiet guy but is almost moshing in the middle of the colorful crowd. Robert almost starts to get his attention before second guessing himself, when did John start growing a beard? He was always the clean cut type but under the blue powder covering his cheeks there is some clear stubble. It almost looks darker than the hair on his head even which must from the powder staining it. 

Robert continues watching his friend have a blast smiling as the jubilee feels almost contagious before realizing, shit? Was he supposed to bring chalk for this? Pranav didn’t mention anything- As soon as his mind turns to Pranav however, orange powder is slammed on his head as if it were an Easter confetti egg and his vision is obscured. 

“Gotcha Robert!” Pranav shouts in a jaunty manner having successfully snuck up on his dear friend. He ruffles Robert’s hair shedding the powder down onto his clothes as he wipes the powder off his eyes as he switches into his prescription sunglasses. Pranav continues to shout over the music as Robert cleans himself off, “you’ve survived your first color attack friend! How are you liking the festivities so far?”

Finally able to see again Robert blushes as he is standing far closer than usual to Pranav to hear him over the crowd replies, “well I haven’t done much so far but it does seem like a lot of fun!”

Pranav smirks, hearing his friend inch closer to agreeing that he was right. He puts his arm around his friends shoulder and continues, “Ah! Sounds like a chance for me to say told ya so is approaching, my friend!” He starts to point around showing Robert all the stands and activities going on around the park though Robert subconsciously tunes him out as the din of the crowd rises in his ears.

He’s not anxious? Red chalk splatters the pair, Pranav laughs as Robert is suddenly feeling adrift in his own head, but not uncomfortable. It’s almost like he's sluggish which should be off putting at such a high energy event.  He should be incredibly anxious right now. But all he can focus on is the raucous revelry of the crowd ahead and Pranav’s arm resting on his back, even this intimacy should be causing him alarm.

The hair of Pranav’s arm brushes Robert’s neck and he stops just sort of moaning in response. Keeping quiet he continues to find his head increasingly groggy. Looking towards Pranav’s face as he sees his friend beam talking about pani puri as he wipes chalk from his beard. God, he’s just so hot, why can I not be more confident like him.

There’s a beat before Robert out loud says, “what the fuck,” catching Pranav off guard. “Oh sorry Rajert? Did you-”

“What did you call me?” Robert asks quickly.

Pausing, worried about his friend, “Robert? Your name?”

Now embarrassed as he was clearly ignoring the friend who invited him to take part in his own culture he quickly apologizes to Pranav and imploring him to continue. Which he does, “I was just saying, I told you that there would be other white dudes here dosti!”

Fighting off his fogginess to keep up Robert agrees, “Yeah you were right! I just saw my friend uh? My friend, uh, Janat?” He stares confused at the crowd scanning it to see his friend once more as Pranav glances down at Robert with a sly smile, eyebrows raised in questioning, “Janat is Bengali, Robert?” At this moment Robert finally sees him, no surprise he didn’t recognize his friend who in the few minutes since seeing him he has ripped off his shirt.

Janat who Robert would have sworn was a guy even more milquetoast than himself is now absolutely covered in chalk as it creates patterns down his now muscular back, sweat creating rivets of dye only seeming to increase the vascularity. Robert stares at a man he will never know as John again, as he creates a torrent of dust in the air, twirling t-shirt he must have ripped off above his head. The crew cut that once rose above his head has grown into a thick ponytail as a moustache pushes itself into existence. Robert cannot look away from his friend as he shows off his muscular body as powder continues to flow through the air. He tosses his shirt to the floor keeping his arm raised as he starts waterfalling some drink from his friend. Robert’s eyes trail down his veiny bicep to see his now-exposed pits. Knowing Janat constantly shaves to keep body looking tight, he watches as hair begins to poke out from under his pits.

Pranav, almost out of jealousy, speaks up to get Robert’s attention away from their friend, “Ah yeah Janat is a real party animal huh? But we don’t need to do all that eh dosti?” His beard, tanned skin, and of course red Holi powder hide his blush as he blocks Janat from view and starts rubbing Robert’s shoulder. Robert in turn looks back to Pranav and smiles. Before hearing his Pranav speak up once more “Woah Rajert! When did you start growing out your own little beard! It looks nice” Both men move their hands to feel Rajert’s face as he freezes up feeling stubble on his hitherto perpetually clean shaven face.

Rajert reaches for his phone to see his reflection but doesn’t even need to as he sees his new appearance in his lockscreen. Now a picture of him and Pranav, which is in and of itself odd, he sees the two of them standing at a pier looking like he always does. Save for the stubbled face that will now always greet him. But, that can't be right? He’s blonde? Or at least brown right? His eyes dart again to his face in the photo and sees not only does stubble now darken his cheeks but the hair rising above his head is similarly black.

Rajert reaches to his head, once more shaking powder out as he tries to rip a strand of his hopefully blonde hair free. Pranav shouts seeing this, “Woah yaar! What are you doing? Is everything alright!?” The two of them see a long strand of midnight black hair between Rajert’s fingers. Pranav suddenly worried that Rajert is entering a state all too familiar starts to try and lead him away from the crowd before he starts hyperventilating. “I’m so sorry Rajert! I was wrong, this is too much for you here, let's go get you some shade!” Pranav grabs his hand and starts dragging him out of the crowd.

Rajert knows the crowd isn’t the problem though. He was having a good time, but something happened? It was something about his hair right? He struggles to audit why he has suddenly frozen up as he is pulled through the crowd. There is a buzz in the air as the music and cries of joy continue to crescendo. Rajert feels a warmth in his chest, as well as in the hand now clasped by Pranav. He smiles as he is led and looks at the arm pulling him feeling safer by the moment.

Neither of the two notice as Rajert’s arm begins to look starkly similar to the one dragging him. The hand begins to grow in Pranav’s grasp as the thin blonde hairs dotting Rajert’s arm begin to grow thicker and darker. It begins to spread up his forearm, curling as they look and feel remarkably like the arm that brushed his neck oh so recently. Neither notices though, as Rajert remains firmly in his own mind. Stuck with the image of Janat dancing in the crowd, he seemed so free. His shirt above his head as he shows everyone around just how much of a man he is. Rajert’s eyes start to glaze as he thinks again about his pits, man. I wonder what he smells like?

“Chod!” Rajert shouts as he again feels his mind drift to such horny thoughts. Neither man noticing as Rajert has just defaulted to a Hindi swear. Pranav in his part is just concerned about his friend. Yes, just a friend. He leads Rajert to sit against a tree, hiding how much tanner his arms have gotten in this short trek as he checks in. “Yaar? Do you want me to go get something to drink?”

Rajert nods as he responds, his throat feeling dry, easily attributed to the significant amount of chalk inhaled. “I’m a little lightheaded Pranav.” Concern is immediately painted across Pranav’s face even thicker than the dye as he plans to run off to get his dear something to drink and eat, it must be a blood sugar thing right? “I’ll be right back Rajer!” He watches as Pranav quickly makes his way through the crowd in search of the cure for his condition as his mind begins to swim even deeper. 

Rajer watches floes of Holi powder stream above the crowd, trying to distract himself from how weird his clothes feel against his body now that he’s sitting down. He feels his sleeves pushing against his biceps as if he’s ever lifted something heavier than a textbook. He pulls at his shirt to relieve the tightness, catapulting more dust into the air. His eyes glaze over as he watches the colors dance in the air. Across the pavilion Pranav nervously watches Rajer, easily noticing that he seems to be filling out his clothes much better. He reprimands himself for thinking with his dick while his friend(?) is in such a state, though this is the Festival of Spring after all with all that implies.

Back at the tree Rajer feels a thought burst through the fog to the forefront of his mind which he immediately puts to words. “Ah, this reminds me of my first Holi.” But no, this is my first Holi right? He sifts through his memories to assure himself. What he finds inside is impossible. 

He remembers being a young boy traveling into Delhi for the festivities. He remembers seeing the colors dancing in the air as millions of hands toss dye in the air. As he does he feels his feet begin to grow in his powder covered shoes. 

He remembers moving to the states with his older brother in late December. Feeling totally apart from hsi culture until that magical day in the Spring. Finally having Pani Puri once more with his community as he did his best to keep the chalk off the dough, laughing with his brother. He kicks his shoes off while he still can as he sees his larger feet start to rip apart his chalk-stained socks. 

“Offo!” He shouts as he strains to pull off his socks, revealing tanned feet covered in thick black hair, his soles already wider than the shoes he removed in the nick of time. Well it is certainly not his first time being barefoot at Holi! He laughs remembering how crazy he has been in the past! In fact, he was barefoot at the big Holi festival in college, the one where. The one where he met his yaar, Pranav?

At this Pranav returns and upon seeing Rajer now barefoot he forgets the dire state that he was left in. Instead Pranav eyes his thicker thighs straining the jeans. His calves seem to be sticking out farther than they should, Pranav wonders why his yaar has put on clothes so tight on a festival day before suddenly finding the most strained part of Rajer’s clothing, his crotch. It’s almost like he’s stuffed something in his pants. Pranav quickly changes the subject to avoid creating a similar bulge for all to see, “have you been working on your tan Rajer?”

Rajer smirks before answering, “Well only one way to see!” As he struggles to get his larger body out of the small shirt he put on this morning. Unable to even raise his arms without tearing he instead opts to rip the shirt off in its entirety. As soon as his sweaty skin meets the air it shows the same dark brown tint that Pranav sees when he looks in the mirror. Pranav stares at Rajer’s tight muscular torso as he flexes to show off. He doesn’t notice as Rajer’s eyes quickly darken from the light blue eyes once magnified by his glasses, to a brown dark enough that they may as well be black. “See! Same as I’ve always been Pran!”

Pranav reaches down to help Rajer to his feet, finding him far heavier than when he was dragged by Pranav to this spot earlier. With a heave he gets Rajer up, only to find he is now looking up at him. Suddenly Pranav finds himself adrift in his own mind, the sight of the man before him immediately causing his cock to pulse in his pants sa he tries to reconcile what has happened. Seeing the confusion Rajer asks, “haan Pran? Everything alright?” Pranav hears a thick accent that he would have sworn Rajer didn’t have this morning. “Rajer, you are feeling better now?”

Rajer stops his flexing as he takes this in and answers in perfect Hindi, “did you call me Rajer? ‘S a weird pet name for Rajesh yaar.” Rajesh reaches to wipe chalk off the face of a man he can only describe as his love as he notices the growing bulges in both their pants and smirks, asking in Hindi. “Ah! Do you want to find our own way to celebrate the spring Pran?”

In a reversal of this morning Rajesh puts his arm across PRanav’s shoulders and puts some of his weight on, which Pranav now struggles to carry. This knocks him out of his stupor, “Chod Raj you are so heavy!” Rajesh smirks and moves behind Pranav, pressing his bulge into his lover’s back as he whispers into his ear in Hindi, “why don’t we head back to our place eh? Maybe we could have Janat over?”

Pranav blushes at the idea and pushes Raj back as he eyes him hungrily. “Well we should certainly get out of here before your cock bursts your zipper off.” The two begin to head off back towards their now shared apartment, their pace increasing as the excitement in the air continues to get them going.

Pranav looks up at Rajesh’s chalk covered smile, “Glad you came after all eh yaar?” As they enter their apartment careful not to get chalk over everything they own they finish the little disrobing they have left to do as Rajesh replies in his true mother tongue, “wouldn’t miss it for the world.” As they forcefully begin smear chalk between their bodies, creating new colors as they celebrate Holi in a far more primal way than dancing in colored powder. 

They feel each other as if it were the first time they had fucked, not knowing it truly is. Rajesh feels his body continue to grow as he pushes Pranav into their bed. Pranav runs his hands across Rajesh’s powerful thighs as his hands are increasingly impeded by ever thickening hair as he prepares for another round of celebrating new beginnings.

[thiccsys]

can u dump random error facts.. maybe..

FACTS?? cracks my little knuckles

TW FOR SUICIDE MENTION!

okay. im gonna go off memory. so if i get anything wrong someone correct me.

- Error’s glasses have been around since Aftertale! Geno got them from Alphys with the wrong prescription. Because Geno is.. well, himself, he decided that the shitty prescription was “good enough” and rolled with it.

- Error is nearsighted. In the askerror comic Swap paps is seen standing far away. He is blurry. The closer he got to Error, the clearer his image became

- Error’s REAL name is Gaylord Scooter Brighton (im not making this up)

- Contrary to popular belief, Error can feel guilt. Guilt is hinted at in CQ’s summary of what could’ve been (a completed Error comic much like Aftertale).

- Error Papyrus and Error Undyne are canonical characters within his story. I, however, don’t enjoy them as much as I enjoy Error himself, so they’re irrelevant to me

- Errors are literally some sort of species. Error isn’t the only one (Circuit, Proferror, the ones mentioned above, Blueberror). My memory might be failing me but I remember hearing that an Error’s “last thought” before becoming corrupted is very important. Why? I forgot. Is this actually true? I forgot, but i cant be bothered to check

- Error IS suicidal. After destroying all fhe AUs, he will kill himself. In addition, Error would kill himself if he ever became mentally sane enough to understand how hypocritical he is.

- Error has a sensitivity to Papyrus. He doesn’t like being asked about him, or “his brother.” In addition, he struggles to kill them, shown in the AskError comic as well. Geno’s still in there and it’s sooo so amazing to think about

- Error’s very insecure. Although the idea of him being this slay girlypop feather boa wearing king is amazing, he could never. I remember seeing a comic where he indirectly says he dislikes himself. Which makes sense— his narcissistic characteristics definitely stem from insecurity. “i feel like i’m the worst so i’ll act like im the best” mentality (we genuinely relate too much to this).

- Error canonically has five blue tongues

- Error’s glitches temporarily blind him at random. Yes, it happens when he is agitated or upset, but it also comes and goes as it pleases.

- Error’s glitches are painful. Crashes are painful. The scene of him first pulling strings from his sockets was likely EXTREMELY agonizing (i’m pretty sure he said it hurt himself while showing it all to blue).

- Error’s portals do seem to have some sort of replay ability. After all, how else could he have shown Blue what happened to himself?

- He’s very lonely. He wants friends. Living friends.

- CQ stated that Error is INTENTIONALLY made to make no sense. His character doesn’t make sense to you? Good! That’s the point! He’s an enigma that doesn’t even understand himself.

- Error can see and read code as if he were looking at a computer screen. He likes picking through the code of an AU before he destroys it

- Error loves Outertale and Undernovela. He will never finish his little job.

okay thats all i remember ty for asking :3