#but im just... tired that another trans person said this to my face

[stupidlittlequeer]

Trans Tips #10!

List off parts of yourself that you DO like!

I always see "oh I don't like this or that, I don't pass for this reason or another" ect ect ect (Also I'm totally a hypocrit for this) BUT

MAKE A LIST OF THINGS YOU DO LIKE!!!

In the process of making my Pfp, I had to think about what my face and stuff looks like, that makes it look most like me out of all of these options

MAKE LISTS OF THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF

I have a mutual, I can't remember who, but somebody said they also did voice training, and (as a singer) they could no longer reach higher pitch notes

ID BE SO EUPHORIC OF THAT FACT!!! THATS FUCKING AWESOME!!!

I can change a tire! I aired my tires and had to change one recently!!! IM STILL LIVING OFF OF THE EUPHORIA OF THAT!

This post is derailing rapidly, so I'll move on to the example part of my post!

My lovely PFP in question! I used a stardew valley pfp creator to make it. I've only played a tiny bit of stardew valley, but @wizzom showed it to me months ago, and now I'm using it for my profile!

I had to select different characteristics that matched my face, and it made me think objectively about myself,

As an artist, I had to pull myself apart by my tiny details instead of looking at the big picture. Overall, I don't pass, my features work together to look at little more fem, but each characteristic made me feel better about myself

My hair is blue! Not really a masculine or feminine thing, it just is (it's also very grown own, so you can see my very long dark roots, but whatever)

My hair is wavy, very similar to my Dad's, which already makes me feel good

My hair is very long! I have been cutting/shaving my hair for the better part of 4 years, all through high school, and I'm finally letting it grow out. I feel like there's a nice punk element to it, but also, if my femininity was highlighted with short hair, may my masculinity be defined by my long, luxurious, wavy hair

I have sun kisses on my cheeks, bridge of my nose, and shoulders from repeatedly burning and peeling. Now they're very faint freckles

I am white, but I'm not super pale. I tan very good and will be outside more when summer hits. This is the closest I could get to my skin tone

I have very thick, bushy eyebrows. My fiancé jokes about them being patchy and fucked up near the ends, and that they're just very bold and wildly thick

I have a big forehead, also like my dad!

I have more of a rounded nose (Fiance calls it a snub/snoobie nose) which i get more from my mom

I have very, very dark brown eyes to the point that in the shade, people often can't tell my pupil from my iris. It's only clear in direct sunlight

I have some eye bags, I work and overnight/revolving shift at work, and just naturally have a droopy, depressed, tired resting face

I don't have a beard (YET), but in my dream post, this is very similar to the beard I had. In my dream, my beard was my natural brown, but this pfp creator wouldn't let me change the facial hair color. (Low key love the look tho)

I do have a giant brown leather jacket that I wear constantly, he's scuffed and fucked up, I got him from a thrift store, but he has personality and I love him

I wear alot of horror t-shirts, mostly black with red accents, which is why the shirt is that color

Also, all of my shirts either have a wide neck or I've stretched the neck. I have ADHD and sensory issues and can not handle shit touching my throat. I WILL throw up (same with tags, I rip them off of everything I own/wear. I just can't)

The character creator wouldn't let me add piercings, but I have 3 facial piercings. My right eyebrow, septum, and tongue ring

I have a wider/boxier/chubbier face shape, with a soft jawline. I have convinced myself that that + my big forehead makes me look more masc

I like to joke that I have those soft masculine looks that girls are jealous of (male long lashes, boys soft kissable lips, guys with big butts, ect) just to help re-frame how I think about that stuff

I have a very broad back, I'm working out more to try and build muscle, but I'm happy for my wide back

I can go on but you get the point. Everything i try and reframe into being masculine. It can be difficult with dysphoria, but I continue to try!

Anyway, please message me! Put shit in my ask box! Comment! Add your own traits that you love! Please please please please please interact I WANNA SEE HOW YOU SEE YOURSELF

[silverprism-s]

at my last doc appointment i asked about the process of starting hrt and she basically said that she didnt know much about it and wasnt comfortable doing it herself, but there were other people she could give me referrals to for it. ive had the phone number to make an appointment at one place for two weeks and ive found myself hesitating in the face of staring down the system built on denying people the care they need or want based on their own ideas of what gender identity is or means. i dont want to tell people that i "feel like a man born into a woman's body" just because that would be the safest track onto getting testosterone for myself. its simply not true. im not a man OR a woman nor do i even consider myself as nonbinary/insert whatever other trans id there is. I've worn a lot of hats, since i discovered the terminology to describe oneself as something other then "boy" or "girl" or "man" or "woman." to be quite frank, a lot of those words did help me, in my journey through life. genderfluid was once an accurate, comfortable descriptor. so was agender. and nonbinary was a hat i wore for probably over seven years. I've worn a lot of pronouns as hats over the years as well. They served me well as I wore them, I liked them, but i moved on to other descriptors when they felt more appealing and comfy. if i do reach out to someone who does give gender affirming care to other queer people, will my nebulous and vague identifying factors prevent them from giving me something that ive thought about, long and hard on, for over a year? will i once again be the person in charge of educating someone on what it means to live beyond labels, identities and boxes? will i once again be told i should "try to educate the people around me" on topics like being genderqueer or trans? I dont want to. im too tired for that. i live in such a rural area that being trans alone is enough to ostracize you from the community. to have listened to coworkers repeat right wing anti trans talking points while i sit in the room, quiet, because what if they found out that not only did i tick that box, but went beyond it? its once thing to say you want to be a man or a woman, its another to leave the boxes entirely and shrug at the idea of a label outside of simply queer. ive spent my whole life keeping quiet about these things because i dont want to be the one to educate everyone on it. my therapist telling me at 15 years old that i should try to educate people at my high school about queer issues lives rent free. those kids didnt even believe in gay marriage, which was already fucking legal. will i be "trans" enough in the right ways for a doctor to perscribe me hrt? will i be masculine enough for them to think i deserve hrt? is the fact that i kind of like having boobs but hate having a uterus and vulva too much in the wrong direction? ugh. fuck, man. i just need to make the phonecall. it doesnt matter anyways because i dont have health insurance 👍👍👍👍

[ceasarslegion]

Oh, boy! @general-luce @justfortalkingtofriends @onwardsandfourwords

So i should underline that I don't know exactly where this started, but I have a few personal theories based on what I've read of his and his online presence.

For those who don't know, years and years ago, when Twitter was still Twitter, SK had made a public statement regarding the then-new wave of book banning in the US where he said that if your school bans a book, to go to the nearest public library or book store and find out exactly what it is they don't want you to see and make your own conclusions. In this he included a graph of all the usual suspects of alt right Christian eye lasers: the hunger games, to kill a mockingbird, 1984, Harry potter, etc. JKR responded to this by saying that SK was one of her allies and said something to the effect of "im so glad that someone in our circles still has common sense" because she had equated his statement about how banning books is always bad regardless of what that book is to mean he was supporting her personal views. SK responded with a short and sweet "trans women are women" and then posted a screenshot showing she had blocked him. Objectively funny interaction

My personal theory is that this is where it all started. Because you don't exactly see the whole interaction if you follow someone and they never reply to the last thing someone said to them. If radfems had only seen the one sided view of SKs words through JKR, then they would naturally assume he was on their side.

But ever since then, there's been a weird... spike of radfems in the tags for SK works. Most notably, I've seen them hanging around the tags for The Shining, Carrie, and most often, Misery.

For those who don't know the book plots of these works, The Shining and Carrie focus a lot more on the systemic misogyny aspect of the abuse that Wendy and Carrie White face than their film adaptations do. Wendy is lulled into learned helplessness by being totally financially dependent on Jack after he saved her from an abusive family life, essentially meaning that she traded one abusive situation for another. In Carrie White's case, she's described explicitly as fat and unconventionally attractive for a young woman, which is portrayed as the main reason that she is abused by the other girls in school, and why pig's blood specifically was chosen to dunk her with at the prom. And a HUGE difference between book and movie in these ones is that in the books, SK's women have a lot more personal agency over their actions and are a lot less passive than they seem in their movies. Wendy is way more gung-ho about self-defense against Jack and Carrie White owns her psychic powers more; they drive their own story and actions rather than being people those actions happen to.

In the case of Misery, you can take that and multiply it by 100. A brief plot summary for those who don't know is that Paul Sheldon is an internationally famous author who made millions off of his victorian period romance/drama novels featuring the character Misery Chastain. He kills her off in his recent book because he's tired of being defined by what he terms as trashy romance books and wants to be a Serious Author. He gets in a car wreck and breaks both his legs, and a former nurse named Annie Wilkes drags him out and nurses him back to health. She claims to be his biggest fan and worships the ground he walks on, until the last Misery book releases and she reads her death. She keeps him locked up and tortures him into writing one last Misery novel just for her where she gets resurrected and they all live happily ever after. That's a very basic version of it, but just know that at one point she chops his foot off with a rusty axe for trying to escape and runs a rookie cop's head over with a lawn mower for trying to rescue him, and the only reason she doesnt shoot Paul in between the eyes and then herself is because he hasnt finished her book yet.

Annie Wilkes is also not described as the most attractive person in the world. This is not for any physical features beyond what you would expect from a book written in 1987, this is a combination of how Paul is a bit of misogynist with mommy issues that he ascribes to women as a group himself (heavily implied that his mother used to emasculate and beat him as a child), and how Annie doesn't take care of herself. She's described as gross more than ugly, like she doesn't bother to shower and leaves greasy dishes behind for weeks to grow mold and rot and Paul can smell it on her breath, or hear the rats scuttling in the basement. She was once also on trial for murder in Denver after a strange amount of NICU infants died under her care as a nurse, but was let off for lack of evidence. She's also very religious but in the way racist republicans are religious, so she essentially kills people and thinks it's justified because they were wicked and deserving of damnation. Many things can be read into there with the earlier things I mentioned.

Anyway, Annie has been... I don't know if "reclaimed" is the best word to use? She's been somethinged by radfems. I think most of us with basic reading comprehension can grasp why Paul's character would not exactly describe Annie in the most respectful or best of lights, considering she kidnapped and tortured him, kept him drugged up, killed a bunch of babies, forced him to write a book for her, chopped off his foot, locked him in a cellar with rats, and horrifically murdered the man who tried to rescue him. The TERFs do not grasp this very well. A common theme you'll see among them in the SK book fandom is that Annie Wilkes did nothing wrong and Paul deserved his torture and should've been murdered at the end of the book for his pretty run of the mill milquetoast 1980s misogyny. And that the way King describes Annie is in itself misogynist for describing a kidnapper and torturer in a negative light. There's many who have voiced that they actually felt bad for Annie by the end of the book and described King as "verbally battering" her. As if a few mean words towards again, a kidnapper and torturer as described from the POV of the guy she is kidnapping and torturing, are worse than the kidnapping and torturing.

There's also a few slurs within the book. I want to heavily underline here that these were dropped within the context of showing the flaws of the characters who said them in a horror novel, they weren't just thrown around for the sake of it. For example, Paul introduces a new black character in the book he writes for Annie because his characters go to Africa looking for an experimental cure for Misery's condition and most people tend to not be white in Africa. Annie actually likes this character a lot, and still very casually and without hesitation refers to him as the N word, which in the context of an otherwise relatively relaxed scene, is meant to make the reader flinch and feel uncomfortable, which draws attention to how Annie's poisonous worldviews infect the way she thinks of even the people she likes, reducing them down to inherently inferior even when they hold positive positions in her head. Also, someone like her is not exactly going to realistically use PC language. The discomfort is the point and it's additive to the novel at large. This is of course taken as though King himself approves of the use of these terms despite being vocally anti-racist and portraying racism as an element of HORROR, ie, something to be HORRIFIED by.

So here's some examples I found after 5 minutes of scrolling the Misery tags to prove I'm not fucking with you:

Why are the Stephen King tags so full of terfs when the man himself has been vocally pro trans and told JKR to fuck off

[olivereliocorcordium1983]

Okay so i feel like I need to explain what exactly is going on with me and why I have been writing and deleting stuff on here. Why I have been logging on and off etc and why I haven't been feeling like myself.

So I am going to be giving a bit a context as to whats been going on.

Here recently we are talking day before yesterday, my cousin's wife came to visit us with her baby and things were good and we decided to go to the mall to go shopping for her to get clothes for her and my cousin.

Anyway, we go to the mall and we are just about to enter when a group of people end up walking out the doors to leave and I instantly recognize them.

Now, before I continue here is something you all should know. I have family in new Mexico that I have not seen in years. I do miss them badly and wish I could see them, they do not know that I am trans.

So another thing, I have not seen my biological father in years last time i saw him, I was 23 years old at my uncle's funeral basically telling him that I loved him but i didn't want anything to do with him and was basically telling me to say hello to the new woman he was sticking his dick into. 🙄 (I say that but cause for speculation and assumption, but then again he did cheat on my mother so- i digress)

Fast forward to now I saw my family: my uncle, my aunt, my cousins, my grandma and last of all my fucking biological father who mind you, had no idea I was there and they had no idea I was there either.

So when i saw everyone my body went into shock, and I said, "dad" and then the inner child come bursting out like fucking Timmy and I hug my father 😑 now why is this such a problem?

My father is a narcissist who as you all probably have known from me talking is my emotional, verbal, and psychological abuser.

And basically the reason for why I am the way that I am.

I hugged everyone else and was happy to see them but i am highly upset with myself for hugging him. Why?

When I hugged him he goes "why are you crying? Are you okay?" High pitched voice, I "care" type thing.

Okay, so first off if I am legit crying it is only for three reasons:

1. I am really happy to see you and my heavily empathic ass can't contain myself.

2. Physical/ emotional pain/ missing twin etc

3. See professor Perlmans monologue and someone telling me something that is genuine and nice because I don't know how to take compliments such as "oh you're cute" " I think you are - " etc.

So the little kid in me is like: " oh my god daddy!!!!! "

And adult wolfie is like: "okay what the fuck is HE doing here?!"

Well long story short: he gave me his phone number and said, "if you want to talk then call me or if you need anything..."

Now let me tell you something about this "call me" business growing up my dad NEVER called me I was always the one that had to call him.

Then they had to leave and my heart broke into a billion pieces and since that interaction I haven't stopped fucking crying.

I literally switched into full on Oliver mode and sunk back into myself a little bit. Mind, thats dad guys not any of my other family.

They love me so much that after they found out what my dad did to me, they literally cut his face out of every single family pic they got of him! AND IT IS HIS FAMILY!!!! HIS BROTHERS, SISTERS, MOTHER!!! All of them did that for me and my mom who isn't married to him anymore and has my stepdad. So what does that say about them? THEY ARE FUCKING AMAZING!

So it is because of this interaction the adult in me and the child in me are fighting back and forth with each other and my emotions are all over the place.

Child:

One hand: he gave me his phone number, which makes me "think" he is trying/ benefit of the doubt and is daddy!!! He loves me! ❤️

Adult:

Other hand: if this is another fucking game you are playing im not playing. Get away and stay the hell alway, my life hasn't gotten much better but I don't need another shitty person in my life!

Im tired of the users and abusers finding me.

Then I want to hear whatever he has to say before I throw the daddy Perlman monologue at him watch the entire thing and be like "you see this! THIS IS THE WAY YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN! THIS IS BEING A REAL PARENT! you want me in your life so goddamn badly put in the fucking effort for once! I'm tired of being second to everyone! If you can't put me first, if you can't be alone for an entire year without having some poor women hanging off your pathetic words then I want nothing to do with you period no second chance!

This is exactly what i have been saying guys from day 1 the people who I don't want in my life always find their damn way back! 😑

Basically father is the Elizabeth to my Armie and a wound that i took all that time trying to hide, trying to fix has opened back up and out into the open for everyone to see.

[meat--grindr]

another trans man fixated on Martin here!! 💕

could i request some NSFW of an ftm S/O teasing Martin while hes on the phone trying to do another interview as The Count? not a lot of talking from the S/O while hes on the phone, mostly physical stuff & feeling him up thru his clothes. the rest is up to you >:)))

(def going to use as a drawing prompt im just so so embarrassed to request off anon 😔😔😔)

Alright, so, this prompt has been living in my head rent-free ever since I first read it and I am so freaking excited to finally get to it. I’m sorry it took so long. I will admit this was a bit of a challenge for me because I am notoriously bad at writing dialogue. But I feel like it was good practice. Sorry if it sounds a little stilted in spots, I’m still learning.

Please, please, please link me to that art if you ever get around to it! You knocked it out of the park with this prompt and I’d love to give the art some love if you’re comfortable with sharing!

The Count Didn’t Count on This – Martin Mathias (Trans-Masculine Reader) – NSFW.

·       It’s late, and for once, you’re exactly where you feel you should be at this late hour—not sprawled across a chair reading, or gazing out of the window, watching the cars pass and counting the neighbours’ lights as they flick on and off in lieu of stargazing. And for the first time in at least a week, you’re not trapped at your desk, frantically typing the final draft of a paper, hindered by the slow keys of a typewriter that does not care a whit about the deadline steadily hurtling toward you. No, thankfully, this night has brought with it far more comfortable circumstances—you find yourself in bed, tired bones sinking into the plush mattress, consciousness caught in the bleary space between sleep and not.

·       Even better, you aren’t alone.

·       Tonight, your bed is warmed by another body, long and thin, curled tightly against your own, as though it were some sort of crime to leave even an inch of space between you. A bony hip digs into your thigh and you’re sure the press of your head and shoulder against his chest must make breathing difficult for him. But he’s made no attempt to shrug you off or shift your weight to a more comfortable spot, so you likewise let it be. In all honesty, you’re simply too comfortable to bother and you feel it’s safe to assume the same is true for Martin too.

·       The slow, even beat of his heart pulses against your cheek, and his long fingers stroke absently over your bare shoulder. The rough texture of burgeoning callouses catches against your skin—the sensation, though not wholly unpleasant, makes you shudder. Sometimes, you forget Martin works with his hands. When you hold them, they seem so delicate—his long fingers better suited to playing the piano than tightening screws or hammering nails. But he’s good at repairs and more importantly, he seems to find enjoyment the work. It certainly keeps him busy enough on the few afternoons that Cuda isn’t running him ragged in the shop, much to your personal dismay. But his nights—the nights like this—belong to you and you alone.

·       Your eyelids flutter closed, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, maybe even longer, you feel like you can rest. Really rest. Dimly, you find yourself wondering if it had more to do with finished papers and diminished responsibilities, or the reintroduction of the physical intimacy you’ve been missing so dearly. Though you can’t say for certain, you have a sneaking suspicion it’s the latter.

·       The longer you know Martin, the more you’re convinced that there is a preternatural bubble of calm that hangs around him. You can feel it in the way even the grouchiest old women in the store seem to soften toward him—hiding small smiles behind their sleeves, sometimes even calling him ‘dear,’ or in the way Cuda’s volatile temper deflates when his cruel words slide off Martin’s back as though he’s heard it all before from people who frightened him far greater. You’ve seen it at work on the feral cats that roam the neighbourhood—while they hiss and swipe at the children who chase them through the dusty streets, they sit willingly at Martin’s feet, rubbing against his legs with a familiarity that borders on friendly. And it’s in the way he looks at you—looks into you with those dark eyes that seem far too old for that handsome, youthful face—intense and all-seeing, but never judgemental. He is a point of unflappable calm in a world which never seems to slow for even a second. That calm has settled into you now, seeping into your bones as you lay there, listening to his heart thumping in the darkness.

·       The low crackle of the radio hovers at the edge of your hearing, a burst of static cutting through the droning voices. You’d stopped listening properly ages ago—the third time the DJ had made an attempt to dismiss his latest caller. It was an old man who was seven shades of pissed about the ‘teen-age hooligans’ who were ‘tipping over his bins every night and eating his trash.’ Of course, everyone with half a brain, including the host himself, knows it’s an animal—probably a raccoon, or a family of raccoons, but this old geezer has somehow convinced himself it’s a gaggle of ‘Satan-worshipping teenagers who have been brainwashed by heavy metal music and Pepsi Cola.’

·       Okay. Sure.

·       It’s utterly ridiculous, and just the sort of thing you’ve come to expect from the people who live in Braddock. Or the ones who call in to a show like this anyhow.

·       In a way, you feel bad for the poor DJ. Sure, he welcomes strange callers of all kinds, from alien abductees and bigfoot hunters to bereaved parents who teenagers are ‘just growing up too fast,’ or ‘a little too interested in the works of William Shakespeare.’ He even encourages them at times, but you’ve got to draw the line somewhere, and in your mind, this, funny as it may be, is probably it. You’re sure whatever the station is paying the guy, it isn’t enough to suffer through being called a ‘brainless sack of human garbage’ by a crazy old man.

·       “And that’s about all the time we have,” Despite his cheery tone, the poor guy sounds exhausted. “Thank you for calling!”

·       Another burst of static drowns out the old man’s reply, but you’re sure that whatever he’d said, it was not ‘radio-friendly.’

·       “…our next caller. You are on the air, Sir!”

·       “Yeah, uh…hi, Barry.” The man sounds young—probably not much older than yourself—and very nervous. He must be a first-time caller. As he and the DJ share opening pleasantries—what’s your name, how old are you, where are you calling in from tonight, is that a cat I hear in the background? —your attention begins to drift again. You teeter for a moment on the edge of sleep, the clean scent of your linen sheets and Martin’s shampoo filling your nose.

·       “I was just wondering if you’ve heard from the Count again since last time?”

·       And just like that, you’re awake again, attention fully focused on your radio and the funny little show that whispers through it.

·       The caller is asking about Martin. A cold shiver rumbles through your body. People ask about Martin on the show all the time—of course, they don’t know that’s who they’re asking about, but you do. It’s so strange, to hear a stranger talk about someone you know so well—even worse when they speak about him like they know him too. Sometimes, they make you laugh with their outlandish theories, but sometimes they make you sick—sick with worry: when he’s threatened with violence or exposure, sick with fear: when they make guesses that hit a little too close to home, and sick with jealousy: when they claim to have had an ‘encounter’ with him, or worse, try to set one up on air.

·       You know about Martin, of course—that he is a vampire, or at least he thinks he’s a vampire. Whether or not you believe him is another question entirely. He certainly does not abide by the ‘vampire rules’ as you know them from stories and television—he doesn’t sleep in a coffin, filled with dirt from his homeland or otherwise, rather he sleeps in a bed (curled up beside you more often than not these days). He cuts a handsome figure in mirrors and the photographs that you have pinned up above your desk. He walks about in the sun most days without complaint despite his pale complexion, and though he may not be a sleek. Predatory creature that oozes confidence, grace, and sex appeal, he’s no slouch either—lithe and handsome in a boyish sort of way, all knees, elbows, and wide dark eyes.

·       In fact, the only requirement he seems to meet on the proverbial ‘vampire checklist’ is his fixation with blood—and the need to consume it. Maybe that means something, maybe it doesn’t. You’ve come to the conclusion that what you think really doesn’t matter in the end—your opinion isn’t going to sway him on the subject one way or another. This is a truth about himself he believes perhaps more deeply than anything else. Who were you to try and change that?

·       So, you do your best to take everything in stride, and when you can’t, you humour him. Still, every once in a while, something will trip you up—you still can’t quite decide if he’s joking about being over eighty years old or not. But you do your best. You had even let him feed on you once. Though only once. In the end, it was Martin who had decided the experience was not one he would like to repeat.

·       He had laid you out on your bed, “I don’t want you to get hurt if you faint.” Though you’d told him nearly a hundred times that you’d be just fine, that you’d had blood taken before at the hospital, he had insisted.

·       You had expected things to be different. For a start, you had expected him to climb into your lap, to press his lips against your neck, seeking your pulse the way it’s done in the movies. Instead, he’d taken out a little white kit from his bag. He had unzipped it and laid it out on the bed, revealing a little bottle of clear liquid, a row of sterile, hypodermic needles, and a pack of fresh razor blades.

·       His long fingers fell upon the needles, caressing them lovingly one by one. Much to your relief, he did not pick one up. As if he could sense your apprehension, he’d said, “Don’t worry, I won’t need these.” He’d glanced up at you, measuring your reaction, “I won’t need them because you’re not going to fight me. Are you?” It wasn’t really a question. You shook your head, and the corners of his lips quirked up into a smile, “Good. It’s so much easier when they don’t fight me.” Those words had made you shudder. He really had done this before, then. Part of you hadn’t believed him—he seemed so…harmless

·       He’d picked out a single blade from the package, meticulously removing the white paper wrapping, taking extra care not to tear it, or let the blade cut into it. When he was through, he folded the paper into a neat square and dropped it onto the comforter. He lay the blade flat on his palm for you to see. “I don’t have pointy teeth, you see.” He took your hand, opening his mouth and guiding your fingers along the edges of his flat, dull teeth. “They aren’t sharp, so they don’t cut deep enough. You understand?” You’d nodded and he had kissed your fingertips gently, one by one.

·       “I’ll be careful, I promise,” He’d said, “I’ll only take a little. Just enough to take the edge off.” Despite the hungry glint in his eyes, you’d known he was telling the truth. He didn’t need to reassure you of that. You trusted him. Besides, you had asked for this. At least, he’d stopped asking if he still had your permission every five minutes. Of course he did.

·       And yet. Your heartbeat had kicked up, jittering like a frightened bird when you’d seen the needles and the razor. It was as though actually seeing them had made the whole situation feel more real. There was no denying you were afraid, but you didn’t tell him to stop—you didn’t want to. You had made up your mind. You wanted this; wanted to help.

·       He’d held your hand in his own like it was a thing made of glass. His fingers gripped the razor with a practiced grace as he held it just above your palm. Watching him, you were struck for the second time by just how rehearsed this seemed. How many times had he done this, with or without permission?

·       “Take a deep breath for me, okay? There’s a good boy.” Did he talk to the others too? Even the ones who fought back? You could picture him, chattering softly against the skin of some poor soul, sprawled limp across the floor.

·       Limp or lifeless?

·       The thought unsettled you, but you did as you were told, filling your lungs nearly to capacity as the sharp edge of the blade bit into the meat of your palm just below your thumb. As promised, he had been quick, pressing only as hard as was necessary. Even so, the sting of it made your flinch, your hand jumping in his own. His fingers tensed around yours, the tightness of his grip reflected in the grimace that flashed across his face as he bent his head to seal his lips around the wound.

·       You had expected to feel him pulling the blood from you, but he simply let it flow into his mouth, the coppery taste heavy on his tongue. He exhaled through his nose, long and low—a pleased sound. Something about that set you more at ease. He hadn’t recoiled or wrinkled his nose at the taste of your blood. You hadn’t even realized you were worried about how you tasted until that moment.

·       You had started to feel dizzy beneath him—dizzy not from a loss of blood, but the wet heat of his mouth against your skin. Your heart had stuttered in your chest as his tongue probed gently around the edges of the wound, soothing your sparking nerves, even as the blood continued to drip down his throat.

·       When at last, he pulled away, his face was flushed, and his breath came hard; his chest heaving as though he’d just run a great distance. Immediately, his hand shot to his front pocket, fingers searching for the roll of gauze bandages he’s swiped from Cuda’s first-aid kit.

·       He’d wrapped the clean white fabric around your hand with such care it made your heart ache almost as much as the wound itself. When he was finished, he’d flipped your hand over and pressed a gentle kiss against your knuckles. Then, he spoke. His voice was small, barely more than a ragged whisper, “Thank you.”

·       “Was that…was it okay?” Your skin felt feverish, as though the heat of his mouth had seeped into your flesh and was burning you from the inside out. And the dizzy feeling had only grown worse, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut for a long moment.

·       Martin was still struggling to get his breathing under control, “Yes. I-It was good…better than good, actually. But…”

·       “But?” Had you done something wrong? Had you tasted bad after all? You cracked open one eye, then the other. The spinning had mostly subsided, but you still felt unsteady. “What can I do better next time?”

·       He’d gone stiff all over then, and his reply had come sudden and sharp, “No!” He cringed, the force behind his words clearly surprising himself as well. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, “No ‘next time.’ I…I can’t stand hurting you like that. I won’t do it again.”

·       You’d gazed up at him, blinking in confusion for a second. Then you realized what he’d meant—you had flinched when he’d cut you. Oh.

·       You reached up, cupping his cheek, “Oh, Martin. You didn’t hurt me. Not really.” It wasn’t strictly true—it had hurt a little, but you had been prepared for it to. You brushed a stray droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth with a careful swipe of your thumb.

·       “Yes, I did. I saw it.” You had tried to protest further, but he’d cut you off, much to your surprise. Martin almost never talked back like this, though perhaps you’d simply never given him a reason before. “I saw you flinch. I won’t put you through this again.”

·       And he hadn’t. Though you’d brought the idea up more than once, he had dismissed it each time with the same stubborn shake of his head. If Martin was anything, he was true to his word.

·       “…and it’s been such a long time since we heard from the guy.”

·       The DJ hums in agreement, “It has indeed, my friend. Maybe we’ll hear from him later tonight. If you’re out there listening, Count, don’t be a stranger! Give us a call,” He begins rattling off the stations toll-free number. “We’re all dying to hear from you again!”

·       You feel Martin stiffen up against you. You knew about the interviews he had done; you’d even heard one of them, back when Martin was little more to you than a silent, sullen face behind the counter at Cuda’s shop. And even when he’d started talking to you, he sounded different over the radio—his voice was deeper, and he sounded so confidant, so sure of himself when he talked about his ‘sickness.’ He almost never sounded like that in day-to-day life. You weren’t embarrassed to admit you found it attractive.

·       Martin on the other hand, was mortified to know you had heard him. He had known that people were listened to him, obviously, but they were supposed to be strangers. You actually knew him, and he’d talked about sex. Of course, reminding him you’d done a lot more in your time together than simply listen to him talk about sex did little to lessen his horror.

·       Of course, you also knew he’d been doing fewer and fewer interviews now that he had you to talk to and share his life with. But on occasion, when the pleading from the DJ gets too desperate, or he was simply that bored, Martin could be coaxed back onto the other end of the phoneline once again.

·       You glance up at him, but in the darkness, his expression is unreadable, eyes cast down toward the end of the bed, long lashes throwing feathered shadows across his pale cheeks. From the very beginning, he’s been hard to read. As you’ve come to know him better, you’ve needed to get comfortable with the idea of asking when you want to know something you could easily intuit if speaking to anyone else. He’s very good at hiding his thoughts and feelings behind a neutral expression and placid silence, but he would tell you almost anything if you asked him directly; so long as he had the words to explain it to you.

·       Do you want to make a call, Martin?”

·       For a long moment, he’s silent, turning the idea over in his mind a few times. You had never actually been with him when he’d done an interview in the past. He’d usually wait until you were three days deep in an assignment with no quick end in sight, or out of town with family. Maybe he would be too embarrassed to do it with you here or maybe he’s just not in the mood tonight. But, after a minute, he tilts his head down toward you and says, “Why not?”

·       The radio crackles out a jaunty tune—a commercial for some small business or another. “I’ll call in a few minutes. He doesn’t seem busy tonight.” Martin sits up, bracing his back against the headboard of your bed, and dislodging you from your perch. You grumble a little, irritated by the loss of your comfy spot, but you crawl into his lap anyway.

·       You press soft kisses into his skin, beginning at his hairline, and trailing down over his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks—the right then the left—the very tip of his nose, and finally his lips. He smiles against your mouth, leaning into the kiss with his whole body.

·       When you pull away only a moment later, you can practically hear the pouty turn of his mouth. He whines softly, but you pay him no mind, trailing kisses down his chin. “Are you nervous, Martin?” The question comes out muffled by the soft curve of his jaw.

·       “Not really, no…” He trails off, eyes cast to the ceiling, “I like the attention, I s’pose.”

·       You pull back to look at him, barely stifling a snort of amusement, “Don’t I give you enough?”

·       His eyes slide from the ceiling, falling upon you dark and wide. For a moment, you think he’s taken you seriously, but the pouty turn of his mouth breaks into a blinding grin, “You give me lots, sure, but I’m a creature of the night, remember? We always want more.”

·       The two of you sit there for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes, the silence stretching on into the night. Then, you collapse into each other in a fit of giggles. Martin buries his head into the crook of your neck, shaking with quiet laughter. Sure, when he’d said wasn’t untrue, but when he put it like that, it was hard not to laugh.

·       “Welcome back, everybody. It’s almost the top of the hour at 01:57! I’m your host Barry…”

·       You hadn’t even heard the ads end! Martin scrambles for the chunky landline phone that rests on the beside table, nimble fingers punching in the numbers at speed. Though his calls had become less and less frequent, he evidently kept the number somewhere in his memory.

·       Martin’s voice is hushed as he speaks to whoever manned the phones down at the radio station, muttering something about ‘the Count.’ As he speaks, he winds the coiled phone cord around a delicate finger. It’s a simple, distracted habit of Martin’s but it makes your heart flutter whenever you catch him doing it.

·       You stretch your arm as far as you can, reaching for the radio, unwilling to give up your perch in Martin’s lap for even a second. Your fingertips brush the cool metal—once, twice—then you manage to curl your fingers around it. Pulling it into your lap you turn the volume down low so only you can hear it.

·       “I’m just getting word that we have a special guest on the line,” the DJ sounds positively elated, “Folks, it looks like the Count is back in town. Hello, Count! Where have ya’ been?”

·       Martin hesitates for a moment, his jaw working as he searches for the words, “Around.”

·       There is a definite lag between the words in his mouth, and those same words coming through the radio. The dissonance confounds your ears and makes your head ache in a dizzy sort of way, but you want to hear both halves of this conversation, not just Martin’s.

·       “So, what trouble have you been getting into since we last spoke, Count? Murdered any pretty ladies recently?”

·       There’s a smile in Martin’s voice, “Not ladies, no.”

·       “Oh really? Any men then?”

Martin glances down at you, though he makes a non-committal noise. The DJ takes a breath, as though he’s going to say something, but Martin cuts him off, “I wouldn’t call what I do murder, anyhow.”

·       “No? But you still need to drink blood, right?”

·       “Oh, yes.”

·       “How have you been getting your food, then? Don’t vampires uh…kill with every strike?”

·       Martin laughs, a soft, breathy sound that sends a shudder through you. “I’ve been managing.” His tone is damn near conversational. You gaze down at him, marvelling at how easy this seems to be for him. The Martin you’ve come to know and love rarely (if ever) speaks to strangers, and when he has no other choice, he’s never this talkative. It’s strange, but by no means an unwelcome change. You nuzzle against him, letting his voice thrum through your skull as it vibrates around in his chest.

·       “Enough talk of blood and guts, Count. What about your other problems, huh? Tell me, are the streets of Braddock safe at last from the real terror stalking them? Have you…” He pauses conspiratorially, “Found yourself a girl yet?”

·       Those words drive an icy spike of hurt deep into your guts. No, he had not found himself a girl. Martin must have felt your jaw clenching, as his free hand begins to card through your hair—soothing and soft.

·       “I’ve found…someone.” The implications of that word settles you almost as much as his touch. ‘Someone.’ Not a woman, but someone of significance, nonetheless. He bends down to press a quick kiss into the crown of your head. “Someone special.”

·       The DJ gasps, sounding scandalized. “Someone special! Well, I never. Good for you, Count.” You can’t say you’re a fan of the man’s tone—pleasant enough, but with a sharp edge that borders on condescending. But there’s little you can do but grit your teeth and bear it. “How long until you suck this one dry and move on?”

·       Wow. Fuck this guy. On some level, you’d known he was an asshole—sure you felt bad for him when people were rude, but he could dish it out just as well as he could take it. Every once in a while, he’d push a caller too hard or make a snide comment the conversation could have done without. You didn’t like hearing it when strangers were involved, and now that you were the subject of such a comment, you like it even less. He makes it sound like you’re some random conquest, or worse, little more than a meal to Martin. How wrong he was.

·       Suck this one dry and move on? Fat chance, Buddy. Though, his wording did give you an idea…maybe you could make this night just a little more interesting for the both of you.

You sit back, uncurling your legs and dropping your knees to either side of Martin’s hips, straddling his lap properly. Settling your weight back into his lap, you pull a face, pointing to the radio in your lap and mouthing, ‘What a jaggoff!’

·       Martin’s lips press into a thin line as he tries to stifle his laughter. He nods sympathetically but doesn’t say anything about it to the DJ. He’s slow to anger, preferring to divert the conversation rather than cause a scene. You can’t help but admire him for that. You lean forward, stamping a kiss against his collarbone.

·       “I…uh…try not to eat the things I love.”

·       “Ooooh, so it’s love, huh?”

·       You roll your eyes at the DJ, though you can’t deny hearing Martin say he loves you sends a little thrill through you—it was the same thrill you’d felt the first time he had said it to you, and the same thrill you hoped to feel for years to come. You trail little, open-mouthed kisses up the column of Martin’s throat, your mouth feverishly warm against his skin. A shudder jolts through him like an electric shock as your teeth scape across his Adam’s apple. You grin against his flesh, sliding up to nip along the underside of his jaw. There is a sensitive spot at the very corner that you love to exploit, and now seems like the perfect opportunity to do so.

·       Your teeth graze over the spot and his body jitters beneath you. His voice catches in his throat, though if the DJ notices, he doesn’t comment. You nip gently at the spot, reddening the pale skin as you worry it with your teeth. You long to suck a bruise there—the purple-blue hue would doubtless look stunning against the pallor of his skin, but you knew Cuda would have a conniption if he saw it, and you didn’t want to put Martin through that again. Not after last time. The pair of you had agreed that perhaps in future, it would be better if any hickeys you left remained under your clothes.

·       Pressing one final kiss against that spot, you pull back to look at him. You can tell he’s getting flustered—there’s a flush beginning to creep up his neck from beneath the collar of his t-shirt, deep pink and blotchy. You know, given time, it will reach his cheeks, the colour blooming high on his cheekbones. When you get him worked up enough, you could make Martin blush to the very tips of his ears. It was adorable.

·       Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt as you drag your nails down his chest. His teeth catch his lower lip. You can almost hear the whine trapped behind those pearly teeth.

·       “Why don’t you tell us a little about this special someone, Count?”

·       Martin hesitates, “I don’t know about that.”

·       “Nonsense! You can tell your good ol’ pal Barry. Who am I gonna tell?”

·       Martin isn’t that stupid. He knows Barry doesn’t need to tell anyone anything—he’s live on air, he’d be telling them himself. His eyes flick down to yours, searching for something, be it permission or resistance. He pulls the phone away from his ear, resting it against his shoulder as he waits for you to make up your mind. You know he’d hang up in an instant if you asked him to—he’d likely do you one better and never call in again if the DJ was just going to ask questions about you all night long. But you trusted Martin not to give too much information away—he’d managed to stay hidden all this time, after all.

·       You nodded at him, smiling and thumbing gently over a nipple. Though your touch is light, and the sensation is dampened by the fabric of his shirt, Martin makes a sound as though he’s been punched in the stomach. He shifts beneath you, tucking the phone underneath his chin as he moves.

·       You grip the striped fabric of his shirt, working it in your hands. You lift it a little, fingers slipping just beneath it to splay against the flat plane of his stomach. His skin is warm and soft beneath your hands. You look down at him, arching a brow and asking for permission with only your eyes.

·       “Fine.” He says, and though the word is an answer for the DJ’s pleading, he’s talking to you, looking directly into your eyes—granting the permission you were so hoping for.

·       “Great! So, how long have you been together?”

·       You fall into him, hands pushing the soft cotton of his shirt up over his chest. Your lips are on his skin in a matter of seconds, trailing kisses across every inch of exposed skin—stomach, ribs, hips, and everything in between.

·       “It’s been ahh—” His words are cut short by a tight little moan as you bite down hard just below his left nipple. However, he manages a solid recovery as your tongue laves over the spot soothing the sting, playing the whole thing off as though he had needed time to stop and think about it, “—bout a year, maybe a little longer.”

·       Clever boy.

·       You drag your tongue a little higher, flicking over the sensitive skin of his nipple. He arches into your touch, hips canting up against yours, threatening to buck you from your perch. He tilts his head, trapping the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, reaching for you with both hands.

·       He takes your cheeks into his hands, pulling your head away from his chest. You grin up at him, taking in his expression—his pupils blown so wide with want they swallow all but the slimmest ring of brown iris, his lips parted and shining in the semi-darkness, flushed to the tips of his ears.

·       You surge up to kiss him, remembering only at the last moment, he needs to keep his mouth free to carry on the conversation. With a huff, you divert your course, and fix your lips back against the skin of Martin’s neck.

·       He swallows hard as you press your lips back against his pulse, pushing his hips back up into yours. You can’t keep the grin form your face as you feel him pressing up against you—the outline in his pants far more noticeable now.

·       His hands tremble slightly as they search for yours, dragging them down to the front of his jeans. You grin widens as you press down. Even through the thick denim, you can feel his cock throb under your palm. Someone’s excited.

·       You look down at him and he turns his head away, flushing a shade darker. He was so easy to wind up like this, it was almost unbelievable. A few kisses here, and gentle touch there, and he was a blushing, whining mess spread out on your sheets for you to enjoy however your pleased. You had chalked the over-sensitivity up to a lack of experience, and had expected it to fade after a few months, but it hadn’t. He was just that reactive, not that you were complaining.

·       With deft fingers, you pop the button of his jeans, quietly dragging the zipper down. He lifts his hips, wriggling helpfully as you drag his pants and underwear down over his thighs.

·       His cock bobs free, flushed and leaking already. You ghost the pads of your fingers over the soft skin of his shaft, and he shudders, his whole body tensing. His knuckles are white where he grips the phone, and his jaw is tight with the struggle of keeping quiet.

·       You wrap your hand around him, stroking gently from base to tip. His back arches off from the headboard, and he falls forward, burying his head in the crook of your neck. The phone receiver bumps against your collarbone, hard and hollow. The plastic is pleasantly cool against your feverish skin.

·       “Is it different being with a…uh…forgive the expression, normal person?”

·       “They’re a…” His laugh is breathy, almost a moan as he glances down at you, “a real handful.”

·       You barely stifle a laugh. You glare down at him in mock disapproval, and he sticks his tongue out at you. Cheeky little bastard. Though the colour still sits high on his cheeks, and his breathing comes through parted lips in short puffs, he seems to have adjusted well to your pace.

·       “Nothing you can’t handle though, I’m sure. Do they know about your…condition, shall we say?”

·       “They are aware, yes.”

·       The DJ laughs, “And how did that go? Can’t be an easy thing to hear—that your boyfriend might vamp out and eat you whole!”

·       Martin sighs, “I already told you, I don’t eat people…” His voice is much steadier now, even as your fingers brush along the sensitive spots on the underside of his cock. That means its time to switch things up. You can’t have him getting too comfortable. Where would the fun be in that? You tighten your grip—something that usually makes Martin thrash against the sheets and sob into your pillows—and begin to swipe your thumb gently over the tip of his cock with every upward stroke. He almost drops the phone as he yanks it away from his mouth. He covers the receiver with a shaking hand just in time, as a soft whine slips through his teeth, “Oh, fuck…”

·       You press a finger up against your lips, reminding him to be quiet. He presses up into your fist, his hips stuttering as your thumb traces a lazy circle around his head. His free hand flutters nervously about his mouth, as he tries desperately to keep quiet. His breath comes sharp and quick though his nose as he struggles to keep control. You shift your weight, pinning his hips back down with your thighs, and though he tries to buck back up against you, you hold him firmly in place. He whines high in his throat, shooting a pleading look up at you, but you just shake your head and point at the phone, ‘Keep going.’

·       Slowly, Martin brings the receiver back up to his ear. His tongue flickers out over his lips and he lets out a shaky breath, “S-Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

·       “I said, ‘let’s circle back to what you said before,’ about not eating what you love. Why not? If you don’t need to kill to feed, why not feed on this special someone? Surely if they love you back, they’d be willing.”

·       You slow your hand, wanting to give Martin a fighting chance at answering. You were momentarily intrigued by the DJ’s line of questioning. You knew why Martin didn’t want to feed on you, but you were curious as to what sort of excuse he would give.

·       “W-Well…it’s come up mo-ore than once but…” Martin goes silent as you squeeze down on him, his posture going rigid, his head thrown back against the headboard.

·       The DJ lets the silence hang for a moment, but when Martin doesn’t finish his thought, he cuts in, “But…? You still there, Count?”

·       You let up, and Martin takes a big gulp of air, as though he had only just remembered he needed to breathe. “Y-Yeah, I’m here. It’s…it’s complicated.”

·       “Oh yeah? How?”

·       “Well, it’s not about whether they’ll let me or not…” He takes a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he steadies himself. When he speaks again, his voice is low, barely more than a whisper, “It’s that I want more.”

·       He tries in vain to buck up into your fist, his hips rolling in shallow, abortive little thrusts. His teeth are sunk into his lower lip, his eyes boring deep into your own.

·       ‘I want more.’ Those words were meant for you.

·       You blink down at him, momentarily dumb founded. Then a grin spreads across your face, sharp and hungry. If he wants more, you’ll give it to him—you’d give it to him until he was begging you to stop.

·       Sliding down his body, you know this is risky. Martin has never been good at keeping quiet, especially not when you’ve got your mouth on him. But the idea is simply too enticing to pass up on. When were you ever going to get the change to suck his cock live on air again? Besides, this might be good practice for him in the art of keeping his voice down—not that you didn’t love to hear him, it just might be nice to keep your…activities a secret from the whole neighbourhood for once.

·       You wriggle down onto your stomach, bringing your face level with Martin’s cock. Settling yourself into a comfortable position between his knees, you bend your head, pressing a gentle kiss against the tip of his cock.

·       He makes an involuntary choking sound in the back of his throat. You look up at him, resting your chin on the tops of his thighs. You want to give him the time he needs to make up his mind. If he tells you ‘no,’ or pushes you away, you’d gladly go back to stroking his cock and kissing his neck. You would get just as much pleasure from the shivers and whimpers you could wring out of him that way.

·       But he doesn’t tell you no, rather he pushes his hips up against you, pressing the tip hard against your lips. You flick your tongue out, ghosting for only a moment over his sensitive flesh, but it’s enough to make his eyes roll back, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. You do it again, and his mouth falls open. Though no sound escapes the look on his face is just as glorious.

·       This is going to be fun.

·       You crane your neck, opening your mouth and gently taking the head inside.  Martin’s free hand shoots to his mouth, and he bites down hard on the meat of his palm to stop himself from sobbing out loud. You press your tongue flat against him, dragging it slowly against his hot flesh. He thrashes beneath you, jostling the phone against his cheek.

·       Carefully, you sink further down on him, taking him in inch by inch. He lets out a long sigh around a mouthful of palm.

·       “What was that, Count?”

·       “Oohh…nothing,” Martin grinds out, “Just…closing a window.”

·       The lie was flimsy, but the DJ, despite his skeptical tone, didn’t seem interested in pressed him on it further, “…Right…so how is your control around this person, huh? Do you ever get the urge to just go to town on them?”

·       Martin’s laugh comes out as a low purr, and he bucks into your mouth once, “Mmm, sometimes.” Ever so slowly, as you’ve sunk down onto his cock, he’s been curling in on himself. His head now rests atop your own, and you can feel the heat of his cheek radiating against your scalp. If that heat is anything to go by, he must be positively scarlet.

·       “And what does that entail for you exactly?”

·       With a little jolt, his cock brushes up against the back of your throat. You swallow down a little choking noise, breathing steadily through your nose in an attempt to calm your gag reflex.

·       The warmth of Martin’s cheeks is suddenly gone as he straightens up again. His head hits the headboard with a thump. “I-I just wanna…” He swallows thickly, his breath coming hard, “Push into…p-push my teeth into their throat and just,” He bucks up into your throat, either unable, or simply unwilling to stay still any longer, “just take what I want.”

·       “Their…blood?”

·       You swallow around Martin and his back arches so far he practically lifts off the bed “Yes! Yes, everything they have to give!”

·       “Right…for a moment there it sounded a bit more, uh, sexually motivated than that.”

·       Again, your throat contracts around him, and a hiss of air escapes through his teeth, “No difference really…”

·       The DJ is silent for a moment, “Now that’s an interesting tidbit about you, Count. I’m sure all the ladies out there would love to hear more about that.”

·       Marin fucks up into your throat again with a soft groan, “I’m…I’m sure they would but,” His breath is coming harder now, “unfortunately, I’m taken.”

·       The DJ laughs, “Hear that, Count? That’s the sound of hundreds of hearts all over Braddock breaking. Sorry, folks but it looks like you’re out of luck.”

·       Oh. He’s taken alright. You can just imagine the anguished looks on their faces when you learn he gets taken almost every other night by another man.

·       Though you’d love to keep him in this position, you’re struck by the sudden, possessive urge to have him on his back. You tap his thigh thrice in quick succession and Martin withdraws almost immediately. He’s always so respectful of your wishes, even if he whines a little when his cock slips from the wet heat of your mouth. The sudden chill of the air on his wet cock sends a shiver through him.

·       You scoot back, grabbing Martin by the calves, and pulling him down into a more horizontal position. He fumbles with the phone, as it slips from his grasp, landing on the bed near his shoulder.

·       “What’s going on, Count?”

·       “S-Sorry, I just…I just dropped the phone is all. I’m…I’m feeling awful shaky these days.”

·       “Oh, yeah? How long has it been?”

·       Martin’s tone is distracted, “Ages.” He is far more focused on you, his dark eyes trained on yours as you loom over him.

·       The DJ asks another question, but you’re not listening as you slip Martin’s slick cock into your mouth, wasting no time in taking him back into your throat where he belongs.

·       Though you can’t make out his words so well over the rushing in your ears, Martin’s voice sounds strained, slightly higher than usual. He’s fighting the pleasure hard.

·       His free hand fists itself in your hair, pushing you down tighter against his cock. You swallow hard, trying desperately not to gag as he rolls is hips into your mouth. He’s come such a long way since the first time you asked him to fuck your mouth. He’d been so nervous that you did most of the work, bobbing your head faster and faster until he’d spilled deep into your mouth. He had apologized for almost an hour after, thinking the rasp in your voice was all his fault. Now? He’s practically asphyxiating you, and you hadn’t needed to say a word.

·       Martin is shaking—his thighs tremble on either side of your head, and the phone in his hands nearly slips from his grasp again with the force of the tremors passing through him.

·       You hollow your cheeks and he’s forced to cover the receiver again as a series of whimpers tear free from his lips. You press your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, and he sobs, his hips canting up off the bed.

·       “I-I’m close,” His frantic whisper comes tight through his teeth, an edge bordering on panic creeping into his voice. You grip his thigh and redouble your efforts, gaining a high whine in return.

·       “Hey, Count? Count there’s a lot of interference on your end…I can’t really hear you. I think this is where this conversation has to end, but call back another night, huh?” Martin doesn’t even respond, he simply slams the receiver back into the cradle, ending the call.

·       Almost as soon as the call has disconnected, he’s a whimpering mess. “Oh, fuck! Your mouth…I-I can’t! Is it okay? Is it okay if I…?”

·       He can’t bring himself to say it, but you know what he means and hum a soft affirmation around his cock. He cries out as the sound vibrates around his over-sensitive flesh.

·       With a whimper, he fucks up into your mouth, once, twice, then he shudders, his whole body going rigid as he cums. His knees clamp around your ears, squeezing your head as he shakes with the pleasure. His fingers pull at your hair, any tighter and you’re sure he’ll pull some out. But you press on, hollowing your cheeks, letting him ride the high for as long as he can.

·       The sound he makes as you swallow around him is nothing short of wrecked. His fingers claw the sheets as though he’s trying to drag himself away from you, from your mouth, but his body remains locked in place beneath you.

·       His cock twitches against your tongue as you slowly pull back, the wet drag of your tongue digging raw little whimpers from his throat, and a shudder passed through him when you pull of and his cock is again exposed to the chilly air of the room. His hips press forward, seeking the tight heat of your throat again. It would seem almost desperate if the motion wasn’t so sluggish, almost sleepy.  

·       He reaches for you then in the dark. His hands, hot and sweaty from exertion and gripping both the phone and the sheets for so long, grasp either side of your face as he pulls you up for a kiss.

·       The salty taste of his cum still coats your tongue, but he doesn’t seem to care as he presses his lips against yours with a desperation you rarely see in him.

·       Pulling back, you whisper against his lips, “Was that enough attention?”

·       He smiles, “For me? Yes.” He presses another soft kiss against your lips. “But now it’s your turn.”

[cottoncandyjester]

What would the boys do if they found out their partner is trans? Like y/n hasn't started taking hormones when they got together, but obviously it's been their plan. How would the boys react to them taking/wanting to take hormones?

Love the question Z!

Honestly please send more trans Requests!

This contains: lots of wholesome moments! Just fluffy fluff

Theodore

He is ready

Will research endlessly

You wanna do this? He got you

Of course he supports you

Will do whatever he can to make you happy

But also wants you to be safe so he is monitoring everything

Writes down your process

Theo let's out a small sigh as he checked your heart rate once more, his eyes serious as he did so before writing the information down.

"all normal, though your heart is beating extra fast are you okay?"

Theodore moved closer before he planted a soft kiss on your cheek

"kidding, sorry shouldn't tease my dear"

Theo glanced at his notes before he looked up at you, his smile faltering causing you to worry but before you can say anything he simply got up and stretched

"let's do something fun hmmm?"

Theo held in his concerns about the hormones he hoped you truly were happy doing this, it made his heart flutter everytime he sees you excitedly notice changes in your body.

Hikaru

The man crossdresses quite often so he has no room to judge

He wouldn't be one to judge anyways cause he is supportive af

Takes you shopping

That's one topoc he doesn't bully you about

It's a close topic cause his twin brothers are both transgender

He is the type to stab someone if they dates to make fun of you

Will pay for whatever he has to in order for you to be happy

"baby! Sweet piggy! I'm home and I've come bearing gifts!"

The male stepped into the house with an expensive shopping bag in his hand clearly having bought you something new and shiny.he watched as you walked to him before your eyes looked over at the bag

"hikaru, I don't nee-"

"shhhh! Don't say anything I don't wanna hear it now come on get dressed we have a date! "

"what's the occasion?"

Hikaru Simply grinned before giving you a wink

"well, I figured I should spoil my baby, plus I have a surprise"

You simply grabbed the bag and hikaru simply smiled as he wondered if you would be happy when he tells you that he paid for the surgery you needed to transition

Axis

He is super supportive!

He also asks like 100 questions

He doesn't wanna be rude he's just curious

He wants to know how hormones make you feel

He already worships you so now he just extra worships you

Will see to it that you are absolutely comfortable all the time

Is the type to wear pride clothes and carry pride flags everywhere

He himself is pansexual so he is just super prideful

"sweetie! Look look!"

Axis came rushing into the room with a trans colored shirt with both Braille and words on it that said 'im married to a trans person and i love it'

"axis.."

You felt nothing but love as you saw how exciting he was about it, he was so happy and that in turn made you just as happy. You gave him a soft kiss on his cheek and he laughs softly now wrapping his arms around you

"we should go to pride again this year! Last year was so fun! Ooh and maybe we can have a one year anniversary since you've started taking hormones!"

"you just wanna eat cake"

Axis let out a fake dramatic gasp now pouting at you and pretending to be offended.

"baby! How could you think that!? I want to eat cake and celebrate you so it's a win win!"

You couldn't help but laugh at him before giving him another kiss watching his milky white eyes sparkle slightly at the affection

Prince

He is bad at supporting others but he tries

"well you look hot as either gender"

Forgive his ignorance he isn't used to caring about people like this

He made a signature drink in your honor

He is ready to fight whoever bashes you

He isn't crazy out there like axis but he does want you to know that he cares

He asks a few questions to better understanding

"so, how do you feel today?"

"gross"

Prince gave a small hum as he leaned against the bar and leaned close planting a kiss on your cheek, he sadly had to work but you paid him a visit at his job to keep him company as he worked.

"want a drink? I have a new drink I want you to try"

"sure, I could drink"

Prince grinned as he got to work and even showed off by flipping the shaker and catching it, once done mixing he poured it into a glass and you quickly picked up on the drink being trans flagged colored.

When he slid it to you he looked nervous but you took a sip and instantly melted, it was perfect.

"it has everything I like in a drink, this a signature drink?"

"spent all night crafting it for you"

Your eyes softened as he gave you a wink before planting a kiss to your lips before hearing a loud cough and prince growled lowly at the rude customer and pouted ad he pulled back

"asshole, I'll feed you eat poison"

Prince's dark grumbling made you nervous but you gazed at the drink before a soft smile returned to your face.

Yuki

He isn't good with showing support

Showing emotions in general is hard but he tries so hard

He makes sure you are feeling okay while on hormones

He tends to steal you right after for naps and cuddles

If you were to had mood swings as a side effect of hormones he will just take it

You wanna hit him? Do it.

Wanna yell? Please don't but okay.

He just wants you to know that he isn't going anywhere.

He loves you and will love you no matter what

He just wants you to be comfortable in your own skin

Yuki let's out a gentle sigh as he felt you brush his hair out of his face, you had just come back from an early doctor appointment and we're desperate for cuddles, yuki opened his eyes and reached out softly grsbbing your arm and pulling you into the bed

"how was it?"

"tiring."

Your one word response showed him just how you felt and he simply hugged you close now nuzzling his face into you as he locked you in place.

"Mmm, just sleep..."

You laughed soft at his tired demand but it made you feel better, you closed your eyes before feeling a kiss against your forehead and you melted at his touch

"love you"

"..love you too"

[illusionlockarchive]

pazam: a mess, truly a mess

so i usually dont do these kind of posts, i guess you could say its a call out of some sort? but i never liked that word, i prefer rather to just compile sources on WHY people would believe that a certain person is not truly as nice and understanding as they seem. consider this more of a psa post, detailing on whats going on with pazam on the sfm community, why so many people are against them.

So, a while back, tumblr user jymble made a post on the main tag stating that pazam was transphobic. they linked back to this post, which contains screenshots of pazam in a group chat stating that they do not feel comfortable with the idea of trans people. now, this did happen 9 months ago, true. however, for the record, pazam is already an adult, 24 years old, so they should have some tact. and as further and more recent events will show, they actually havent changed that much at all, at least not as they claim.

the screenshots should be in the post, but here is a transcript

[Screenshot one]

Pazam:

What????? Why?????

I literally HAVE NOT been doing ANYTHING malicious to them

And if it did I apologized

Yes I do have discomfort about them but I keep it to myself

Why are you doing this????

[End screenshot one]

‘Them’ here refers to trans people in general. Notice the defensive and victimizing stance they almost immediately take upon being confronted about their feelings on trans people.

[Screenshot two]

elliott:

of COURSE you dont

sammaku:

Like specifically

Elliott hush

Pazam:

This whole concept of transness and changing your gender physically

I hate to say it again but it weirds me out and it makes me question my own gender which flings me into anxiety, depression, and obsession

sammaku:

Its fine to not understand but are you willing to learn about it

Pazam:

I don’t want to talk about this anymore

sammaku:

That depression anxiety and obsession just comes with gender issues

(the rest of the text is cut off)

[End Screenshot two]

notice once summaku asks them if they would at least be willing to learn about it, pazam immediately deflects it by saying they dont want to talk about it anymore.

[Screenshot three]

Pazam:

Seriously??? That’s all it takes????

Wow I’m a moron

I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused to you

@.aziraphale @.elliott @.sammaku

I just don’t get this stuff period

And I’ve gotten into trouble with this stuff before

I’ll probably never understand it for the rest of my life but I’ll try to be more tactful around y’all

Especially since you’re all young

And I’m like an adult

[End screenshot three]

While at first this would seem like they had finally learned their lesson and apologized, the things they add on after the @s become quickly worrying. Not only do they admit to ‘have gotten into trouble with this stuff before’, meaning they have probably shown their transphobia in other places and been called out, but they also stand firmly on the fact that they will never understand it or ‘get’ it.

And of course, as jymble points out, the implication that the people they were talking to were only acting like that because they were young.

A while after this post was made, Pazam had posted an apology, and went onto contact jymble asking for the post with the evidence of their transphobic to be taken down. The reason? They were afraid people would see it and think they were still transphobic and not give them a chance.

In this more recent post, you can see the conversation play out between Pazam and jymbles. Long story short, Pazam feels that it’s unfair that that post is still up after they apologized, and jymble of course said they would rather not take it down, people deserve to know what they did and take their own conclusions, even if that involves avoiding them. How does Pazam respond? By flat out deleting the apology post. I’d love to show the apology post to give you both sides of the story but I cannot anymore, because Pazam in a very bizarre move just deleted it because they got mad a trans blogger wouldn’t take down their post with proof.

Here’s the transcript of the screenshots:

[Begin Conversation]

rebloggidy (Pazam’s personal):

I’m by no means transphobia-free after learning what I’ve done but at least I know my actions and am making an effort to be a better person towards trans people.

rebloggidy:

Hi again. So I hate to be that person but would it be ok if you took down that post about the transphobia claims? I know it took me 9 months to apologize but if people only see your side of the story and not realize the post I saw they’ll take it out of context and still think I’m transphobic. Do you understand?

jymble:

... i already told you im not taking down the post.

[jymble sends a screenshot of her own message in a previous conversation, the screenshot reads as follows:

however, i dont think im taking the post down, nor am i entirely comfortable with you interacting with me either. people deserve to know how you acted with this stuff, until youre really and truly *better* with it instead of just trying, and i was a direct target of it]

jymble:

you oughright told me "im by no means transphobia-free", word for word sorry, but i told you before. im not taking the post down.

rebloggidy:

I remember that. But what I'm trying to say to you is that if people who read it out of context will immediately think I'm still transphobic without the other side of it (my comment)

And I don't want people to think that in the future

jymble:

if people make assumptions without looking at the entire situation, thats on them

i am not deleting the post and thats final. people have a right to know what youve done, and they have a right to be uncomfortable

rebloggidy:

I'm ready to take down my post because frankly, I'm sick and tired of having to justifiy something that I did 9 months ago, and that people grow and learn even not 100% during that time and I'm ready to move on.

I'm still into smile for me and feel free to make a blacklist of my name so anybody who rbs my work on your dash can have it hidden or something.

Take care.

[End conversation]

a lot to unpack here, but perhaps most notable is when jymble simply stands her ground and tells pazam she wont take down the post, pazam straight up decides, without being told to or anything, that they should take down their apology. later on, they made a post stating why they deleted the post, and saying they had ‘been forced to’.

I also would love to link it here, but as of now of writing this, like, not even an hour or so after I had seen that post, it got deleted. The only memory I have of it is a conversation I had with my boyfriend about Pazam, in which I copypasted a fragment from that post that read:

“ So for those wondering where the apology post went, I was forced to delete it. I wanted to archive it in some way so I could pull it up for reference, but there was no way I could. Also I didn’t really want to see it every time on my blog because quite honestly it’s upsetting to look at.”

There are some lies and twisting of truths here. Pazam wasn’t forced to delete it, they decided they should do it as a way to somehow get back at jymble. And the excuse that it was upsetting for them to look at is just inexcusable, what matters most, letting people know of what youve done and that youre sorry, or just never addressing the situation?

But, well, I’m just hoping you’ll take my word for it. As you see, Pazam has officially deleted ANY traces of acknowledging this situation on their blog.

This worries me. If Pazam is truly as concerned that they will be seen as transphobic as they claim, why are they deleting anything that could give them a chance of showing their own side of the story?

Now, that is the end, for now, of Pazam’s history with transphobia. However! It is not the end for some other very shady things.

Namely, Pazam has consistently whitewashed characters from Smile For Me, specially Kamal, and when called out on it, simply deletes the asks.

Want to know how I know this?

I sent them an ask myself. I had come across this picture of Boris and Kamal:

And I knew that this wasn’t right. I can understand using light colors and doing watercolor, but if they can make Boris’ hair brown and vivid enough, why not Kamal? He looks like another character completely, or like he’s deathly sick! 

So I sent them an anonymous ask, perhaps a bit exhasperated, true, and my wording could be better. It went something like: “i am begging you to draw kamal with darker skin”.

I waited, checked. But nothing came of it. They never answered it.

Pazam flat out ignored when they were told they had drawn a canonically brown man with skin way too light. Not even a lone text post saying ‘hey anon, i dont agree with you’ or ‘hey anon im sorry it wont happen again’. Nothing. No word, no opinion.

And with this situation going on with them evading responsibility, I can’t say I’m fully surprised.

And, yet another thing. People had expressed concern over the fact they had drawn their Flower Kid, who is 17, in very intimate and close positions with Dr. Habit. It included nuzzling faces, cuddling in bed together, wearing his coat...

And they did hear the claims this time. As of now, their Flower Kid is 24, according to them.

Except... They do not look 24. At. All.

this is a 12 year old. at best. short body, stubby legs, big head. those are all attributes of a very young character, usually children. like, legitimately, thats how childrens anatomy is in real life. the younger the person, the bigger their head is in proportion to their body.

We have already had an adult trying to justify drawing their flower kid who barely looked like an adult if at all in intimate situations with Habit. Let’s not let it slide by again.

And yes, I’m aware Pazam claims that those pictures were not supposed to be interpreted as romantic, ‘only platonic fluff’ and that they intend to keep it that way, but I have talked to my boyfriend who is a survivor and he said it very well could be a case of someone just trying to cover their tracks.

BUT, all that being said, maybe this one particular instance could be just us being wary. Still, it does not diminish all that they have done, specially ignoring the whitewashing claims.

What you are going to do with this information, I do not know. Maybe you don’t care and will keep reblogging their content. Maybe you’re disgusted by them. But I’m just here to give you the facts. Personally though, I’m not willing to give them much of a chance after the way they’ve behaved. They are 24 years old, three years older than me, and I think I could do a better job of handling a situation like this, frankly.

[someone-always-cares]

[image description: a q&a for the webcomic someone always cares. full desc under the cut because its long and wordy sorry]

post chapter 3 Q&A

first - previous - next

thanks for yalls questions!! it was fun to answer! if anyone still has questions feel free to ask whenever i am always 100% down to ramble. even if i did go slightly off topic in some answers

additional: went off topic with the hair question a bit. their bright hair is all part of the transformations. regular hair dye does exist though. best way to tell is that if the eyebrow matches the hair its probably not dyed. also, quartz’s hair is naturally ginger.

also for more on ages, check out the character bios here

also was gonna keep this in the tags but thought i might as well actually try to answer it: the question i found it hardest to answer was someone the song one. my taste in music is. a mess really. ive been listening to like the same 5 songs on repeat all day. more under the cut because i was rambling again and now its uhhh half 1am

if it helps at the time of answering that specific question i had home by cavetown on repeat, and that song reminds me of both rami and lewis. but that may be because i project onto those two a lot, and as a aro trans dude. who sucks with people skills, yeah of course i love that song.

specifically the vibes of like not knowing how to communicate (rami is fine with his friends but other people are different), the lines “ Turn off your porcelain face, I can't really think right now and this place, Has too many colors, enough to drive all of us insane” idk what the porcelain face line is supposed to mean but im picturing it as like. a mask. that you need to take off and stop hiding and rami does tend to hide when hes feeling upset, and the next two lines kinda could tie into that, like the feeling of when youre overwhelemed and just want the world to stop so you just hide somewhere. also the colours could go with chapter 3 with the chromatic abberation.

also the bit with “ my eyes went dark, I don't know where, my pupils are, But I'll figure out a way to get us out of here” just kinda sums up ramis whole hero thing with his powers and all. anyway this has turned into less what songs rami would like and why this particular song reminds me of him and lewis (lewis specifically has the hair cutting/chest hiding, [big transmasc mood], and also messy haired trainwreck who doesnt know who he is yet. also the ghosts bit)

i did end up picking upbeat songs because ramis a dude who like to try and be upbeat even if things arent. even if hes not really feeling it he will pretend to.

[full description: Anonymous said to someone-always-cares: “hi ily!!! do characters like quartz who have colored hair have that naturally or did they dye it?”

“its both natural and not! while most supers can do a magical girl ish transformation, including a change in hair colour, there are some exceptions.”

theres two small full body drawings of rami, one in civilian clothes, one fully transformed.

“if a superhero were to have a biological child, the child will inherit the powers of the parent(s). however, the child will not inherit the full transfromation. they do inherit any physical transformations, but not the outfit.”

theres a drawing of a woman in blue, quartz’s mother, fully transformed, holding her mask in her hand, smiling down at a much younger quartz as a child. hes smiling back up at her with the same blue eyes, pointy ears, and blue hair, but hes still in normal clothes.

“in the case of quartz, both of hisparents had superpowers, and he inherited those powers and the physical transformations.he can also pick and mix whatphysical traits to change.“

next is a headshot of adult quartz, his face split down the middle with one side having hair and eye like his mother, the other like his father. theres a list of traits from each parents, blue hair and eyes and pointy ears from his mum, and purple hair and eyes and pointy teeth from their dad.

 “Anonymous said to someone-always-cares:  Are all the characters the same age? If not, how old are they? Are they irl friends or just superhero friends?”

theres some headshots of rami and his team lined up with ages labelled: cam is 15, rami himself is 17, lin, mateo, and dante, are all 18, and cap is 20.

“rami and xandra were somewhat friends before she got superpowers, so when, after the incident with her old team, she found rami had developed powers, xandra stuck close to him. their other teamates started off as superhero friends but soon turned into irl friends too”

theres a headshot of lewis and jade. theyre both 17

“when lewis first decided to start being a vigilante,jade quickly found him and decided to help train himand offered to be a mentor of sorts, as they both have similar powers. that quickly derailed.”

“ cinder5555 said to someone-always-cares: How long does it usually take to make a comic page? I'm curious because they're so freaking good that they must take FOREVER”

theres a drawing of myself, a fluffy hair tired bastard in a hoodie, smiling

“Thanks! Ive been doing this shit since like 2017 and i still have no idea how long it takes me. i can get a page done in a day if i have nothing else to do or if its a simple page, but if i have work then maybe 2-3 days? i spend like, most of my free time doing this.“

another drawing of me, now looking frustrated muttering “how the FUCK does time work”

“but i can never do it all on one sitting.i will inevitably get distracted and zone out daydreaming mid drawing so its very hard to get an accurate read on how long it takes. so however long a piece of string is i guess“

the only qustion not from tumblr is a discord message from RuneStone Cabin:

“Q: Can you talk about the incidence of superpowers in this world? Like many people are supers, which powers are more or less common, how long they've been a thing for, stuff like that. Also does Omen know I'd die for them “

theres a drawing of omen pointing at a date circled on a calender marked “decembuary”, theyre saying “i know. i already wrote your death in my calender.”

then a giant wall of text reading: “Supers have only existed for a relativly short time, since the early 1940s. momento mori was the second person to have ever gained powers.

Only a small number of the population are supers! the chances are higher in more populated cities, but unusally london has oneof the higher percentages of supers. while nobody in universe has any idea of the origins of superpowers, it does seem that powers are more likely to occur in people who would actually use their powers.

as for what powers are most common, after making a badly catagorized spreadsheet of every superpowered character ive made for this world (70% of which will probably never even be seen), turns out that elemental powers are the most common. although not all elemental powers manifest as the straight up 'controling this element' as seen in characters like lin or tsunami. for example, iris's powers would fall under shadow elemntal powers, but theyre a lot more weird that just controlling shadows.there are some abilities that have never been seen before,such as ressurection or full on time travel (aka anything that could bring a character back to life), but powers are certainly allowed to toe the line eg healing, powers involving undeath, immortality, pausing or manipulating time.

aside from that, anything goes. you could get plain old superstrength, but you could also get the ability to create dogs with your mind. other not quite rules, more guidelines are that supers are immune to their own powers hurting them (unless they were pushing themselves too hard), although the way the imminuties occur may be inconvinient to the super.

while some powers may be 'more powerful' than others, powers dont really get to be way underpowered or overpowered in comparision to others. sure being able to talk to animals may feel a bit useless compared to someone who can lift 4 tanks at once, but nobodys going to end up with a power like 'can turn into a goose but only once' or 'can grow toenails twice as fast' or 'if i sneeze i can change my hair colour'. at the same time, youre not going to get someone with the power to snap their fingers and level a city, or instantly blow up the moon or whatever.

“Anonymous said to someone-always-cares: I love rami PLEASE tell me his favorite song(s) and why. I will die for you”

a drawing of rami saying out loud “i dont really have any specific favourite song, really? i just listen to whatever sounds catchy and then listen to that on repeat for hours until i hate it. i guess i do like upbeat songs? ones that make you feel happy even if the lyrics are sad”

“ un1c0rnhh said to someone-always-cares: tell me,,, please,, cam,,, are they a cat person or a dog person?? ily"

theres a drawing of cam a metre away from a cat lying down. she has her arm out and is making ‘psspsspss’ noises at it. end id]

FUCK i am so glad i didnt hand write all of that, it would have been a major pain in the ass to write it all and then have to transcribe all that next. but nope i could directly copy paste the asks and word answers. cheers if anyone made it this far down. if anyone wonders why this is uploaded late, you know now.

[whatamidoingqueer]

DISCLAIMER: JULIE AND THE PHANTOMS NEGATIVITY, rant about lack of lgbt rep in hollywood (i love the show, and i love what kenny ortega did with alex and willie, and i thought it was a beautiful story, and this is just me projecting my frustration that there isn’t more media like this. really its more of a rant.)

jatp really did the bare minimum for gay rep, and it’s still a million times better than pretty much every show out there.

like, we got two cis teenage dudes who like each other. one of them’s a white twink that loves dancing. they flirt, hold hands, hug. they get some cheesy lines that melt my soul. there’s no homophobia that they’re facing (internal or external). the word “gay” is said once throughout the show.

why does it have to be revolutionary???? why does this have to be such an anomaly???? we’re in 2020 and i feel like any show with a gay main character is a “gay show.”

im so fucking sick and tired of movies like the kissing booth 2 acting like they’re doing shit for gay people. two white boys kissing when neither of them are complex characters is not representation. it’s the producers trying to get “woke points” and cater to an audience who is trying to feel inclusive. it feels exploitative and shallow- i would have rathered they just didn’t put any gay people in there at all.

and even when there is a gay character with depth, they are usually still a skinny white cis teenage boy. their main character arc is usually either coming out or dealing with homophobia. and if it’s an adult show or movie, they usually die. and this is considered good representation.

i am supposed to be grateful for this.

like, what the fuck?!?!?

and a lot of the time, especially with kids’ shows, that kind of representation had to be fought for extremely hard. the writers had to fight the studio to show this much. and then, after the “gay season,” where any kind of semblance of representation is shown, the show gets cancelled.

just fucking show me a trans character, man. one who’s entire arc isn’t being trans. give me a bisexual girl, a lesbian grandma, a black enby. let a fat person be gay. show me a queer person of faith.

julie and the phantoms just gave me some of my favorite queer representation. there’s only 2 gay characters, and kenny ortega says he has 3 seasons planned out. and yet, i’ve already resigned myself to the fact that there’s most likely not going to be another gay character, especially not a main one. reggie won’t be confirmed as bi. luke and alex will never be canonically exes. julie, flynn, carrie, ray, carlos, bobby, nick: all going to be canonically cishet. and if you headcanon them as queer, fuck you- it’s already a gay show.

[faemytho]

ds // onebizarrekai

so uh. tobin has some really nice headcanons.

tags: transphobia, homophobia, implied sexual assault, implied murder, coming out story, internal misgendering, unintentional misgendering

this is also very unedited bc im Tired, gay, and pls look at these trans boys i love them

-------------

The seed of a thought first planted itself when Dream had talked about her to the villagers. He'd been gesturing gently, spine ramrod straight and poised into the perfect picture of composure. A particularly nasty one yelled loud enough for Nightmare to hear.

"She's a witch, and she protects nothing but trouble!"

Nightmare had hidden under the covers the whole day after that, squishing her chest uncomfortably against the mattress and feeling sick to her stomach.

Dream didn't bother her.

----

She cursed, stumbling over the uneven pavement, her cape flying out behind her. Stupid fucking guards. Stupid fucking justice initiative. Where was her justice, huh?

"Did you think of that, Dream?" She muttered, slipping around a corner and inside the building she'd just rounded. She didn't stay long, fleeing out the back. She hated her voice, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why. She didn't exactly have time to either. You didn't have time to sit and dawdle when your best fucking friend was trying to hunt you down with his freaky ass wings and new glowing eyes and spouting off the same nonsense she'd heard from the villagers her whole life. She figured it was something that would happen, Dream turning against her, but she never thought he would go this far, to this degree. And it hurt.

Holding her breath, she pressed herself against the wall, peeking around the corner. Clear.

She'd live another day.

----

"Oh, Margaret, did you hear what happened at the Stonewall Inn?"

"Of course I did, everyone's heard of it by now."

Nightmare paused, listening in. She wasn't exactly sure why. But the two women sitting at the outside café said nothing else about it, and eventually went on their ways. Nightmare watched one of them reach out to squeeze the other's hand, gently, before they left. Lesbians, then. Not that Nightmare had a problem with them, but it was dangerous to be affectionate in public if you were queer.

She meant to forget about it, but Stonewall Inn nagged at her mind, and she went to go find it herself.

She learned a lot about herself that day.

----

Nightmare felt comfortable, for once. That was saying something. He hadn't felt very comfortable in his own body since that day in the village. At least the name 'Nightmare' wasn't gendered. He didn't want to change it.

He kept his hair long at first, only binding when he went out. He was proud of himself for even going this far in his presentation.

The first time it happened, the person was drunk and handsy, and Nightmare had frozen up, his skin crawling and no longer feeling like his own.

He cut his hair after that.

But it kept happening, more people, different places.

He didn't keep count.

----

How his skin prickled. Dream had caught him, but there were alarms going off, and for once it wasn't his fault. When all the guards left, he fled the cell, and ran right into a face he only just barely recognized.

"I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from JR!" He snapped, grabbing them by the hand and dragging them with him.

He'd met Cross that day. Cross didn't ask him questions. Cross was useful.

Most importantly, Cross was a friend, and when Nightmare came out to him, he understood.

Most of it.

Error was the same way.

----

"Yo, Night, your binder's clean."

"Thank fucking god, you're a lifesaver Error, my lifeblood," Nightmare declared, his voice still light and floaty, and in his opinion, undermining his very important announcement.

Error muttered obscenely under his breath, tossing the fabric at him haphazardly from where he sat buried on the couch in blankets. Cross sat on the floor in front of him, mashing the buttons on his controller and hardly paying attention. Error sat down next to him, and Nightmare took the opportunity to shuck his top off and slip the binder over his head.

"You really shouldn't wear it at home," Error muttered, not looking at him while he pulled his top back on.

"Where the fuck else am I gonna wear it? Running for my life? Can barely breathe correctly after that, y'know," Nightmare snarked back, reaching out to gently flick the back of Error's head. His friend gave a little start, before turning his head back to face him.

"Well," Error started, unsure of himself now. He crossed his arms, huffing. "Still."

Nightmare snorted, burrowing back underneath the blankets. Life was good.

----

"You are going to come quietly, and you will not make a fuss."

Dream looked strangely cruel in that moment, and Nightmare hated it, his aura flaring lowly. The guards behind him held his wrists behind his back, and the guards beside him gripped his forearms tightly. He'd given up on struggling, figuring that it'd just be easier go and break out later. Error and Cross had gotten away, after all. They'd come back for him.

Dream turned away from him, calling back to the guards.

"Make sure she's properly restrained."

Nightmare felt as though he'd been dunked in ice cold water. He hadn't been called 'she' for a long time. It sunk down his chest like a stone, growing heavier and heavier, and he was suddenly very aware of his binder around his chest.

Ink, by Dream's side, watched him. Not that he noticed.

----

"I'm not sure why you thought changing your appearance so drastically would keep me from finding you."

Nightmare huffed, glaring at Dream from behind the bars on the door. He sat on the bed provided, his knees pulled up to his chest. He'd never hated his body so much before.

"I'm not sure why how I choose to appear is any of your freaking business, Your Highness," he snarked, and Dream's stoic expression twitched momentarily into irritation.

"It hardly matters much now, Nightmare. You've always been this way," Dream sighed, turning away from the cell.

Nightmare put his head down, tears burning in the corners of his eyes.

"Guard her cell."

Dream's footsteps faded, and he was left alone with his thoughts, hoping Error and Cross would come soon.

They did.

They always did.

----

"You're trans, right?"

Nightmare stopped in his tracks. He knew it was dangerous to keep his back turned to Justice Reigns's top mercenary, but he was too shocked to do anything but freeze up.

A hand rested on his shoulder and he whacked it off, turning to look up into Ink's eyes.

"Why do you want to know?" He snapped, his voice that light and reedy tone he hated. Feminine. Not what he was.

"Figured it was worth asking." Ink shrugged, sliding his paint brush into the holder across his back. He shoved his hands in his pockets and Nightmare took a step back, tensing up. He didn't like how relaxed Ink was, half expecting an ambush from Justice Reigns guards.

"... Yes, I am. What's it to you?" He snapped, and he cringed silently, hating how high his voice was.

"Same hat. What pronouns?"

Nightmare stopped, blinking stupidly. "He, him. Why."

Ink shrugged again, a ghost of a smile twitching against his mouth. "You on hormones?"

"Uh, no? Nowhere to get them. Nowhere safe, at least." He gripped his staff tighter, knuckles turning white.

"I can fix that."

"You're not safe."

"You think Justice Reigns isn't safe?" Ink paused. "Don't answer that. My point is, I can get you hormones. I already get my own testosterone, nobody'll suspect if I'm the one to smuggle you some."

Nightmare breathed out slowly, hating the feeling of hope bubbling in his chest.

"I literally meant you, shitwit. Why would you help me anyways?"

"Not being able to pass isn't fun. It's free at Justice Reigns, you know. Binders, hormones, surgeries. All that shit. Not very 'just' to exclude you."

It didn't make sense to him, why Ink wanted to help. Maybe somewhere in there, Ink had made some alternate connection that Nightmare couldn't understand, because Ink had actually shown up the next week, handed him the case he said he would, and left. No ambush, no Justice Reigns guards, no Dream.

Life was great.

----

Life was, decidedly, not so great.

Dream stared down at him, eyes wide.

Calloused hands cupped his face, and Nightmare couldn't breathe, couldn't move as Dream's eyes flickered over his features, confused and uncertain. It was almost unbearable, seeing Dream without the spark of recognition in his eyes for him.

Nightmare coughed, and the sound came out deeper than it ever had before. His voice had changed, finally, thanks to the testosterone shots Ink was supplying him with. He didn't actually care who they were from, as long as he had them in the first place. Ink had been trustworthy in one regard.

"... Nightmare?" Dream started, and Nightmare took a step back, away from Dream's hands, reaching up to rub nervously at the stubble that had started to grow. Dream's gaze hardened.

"Nightmare-"

He fled.

Dream didn't chase him.

----

"Why wouldn't she tell me?"

"He."

"Why wouldn't he tell me?"

Ink shrugged, flopping on one of the couches in Dream's office and pulling out his phone.

"I mean, not like he could just waltz up to you and say 'hey Dream, guess what I'm trans', you know?"

Dream let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"And just how long have you been meeting up with her- him, to supply her- him, with these hormones?"

Ink snorted, looking vaguely amused at Dream's furious attempts to correct himself.

"A while now. I mean, dude's on the run, where else is he gonna get hormones he knows are safe?"

Dream sighed and dropped his head in his hands, slumping in his chair.

"I need to go through all his paperwork," he muttered, sounding vaguely horrified. Ink snickered, looking up from his phone.

"See? You're getting it."

----

"Stop him!"

Nightmare skidded around the corner, laughing gleefully and dodging a swipe from Ink's brush. Black paint splattered the wall beside him, and he hooked his staff into the building ahead of him and vaulted on top of it.

"Do not let him and his accomplices get away, Nightmare must be detained now."

From the rooftops, he could see Dream, giving orders in a voice that easily carried over the buildings. Dream caught his eye, and he grinned. He hadn't ever felt so euphoric before.

Dream raised a brow at his smile, a smile of his own rising from sheer disbelief. It made Nightmare cackle and continue running.

Error was just below, and Cross was fighting off the guards nearby.

"Nightmare man, c'mon!" Error shouted, ripping open a portal. Cackling still, Nightmare tumbled down from the roof, kicking against the wall and rolling to the ground. He knocked the last two guards over the heads and rushed for the portal.

"Nightmare, stop!"

"Shit," Cross swore, raising his knife and backing up slowly. Nightmare turned, and Dream stood there in the mouth of the alley.

"You can all come quietly, or we can take you back by force."

Nightmare snorted, unable to keep the smile off his face.

"Sorry, got plans and my boyfriends said I can't. Maybe you can take me out another time, though. Dinner and a movie?"

Error snorted and Cross burst out laughing, and Dream, to their surprise, huffed and sheathed his sword.

"Insufferable. Very well then," Dream spoke, his face carefully blank. "Though I am choosing the movie."

Nightmare sputtered, and Cross immediately hooked his arms underneath Nightmare's, proceeding to haul him back through the portal.

Dream let them go.

[mars-the-4th-planet]

Jukebox gets drafted into the longest, bloodiest, most desperate war in American history.

Isaac Munger from the Isaac Munger show network and Ko™ were back from the library. "Trolli! You would not believe what happened!"

Trolli the troll wiped his cheeto hands off on Kos shirt and got up. "Oh, did you see your letter? Sorry, I made it a little orange." He said.

"Trolli, no I just washed her shirt... And no thats not it at all... What is that?"

He opened the letter while Ko chased Trolli around trying to slap him for dirtying her shirt again. "Huh... A letter of draft? But why- oh right, I am 18 now... Darn... But what war?"

The War on Christmas

"this has to be a joke." He said. But it did seem to have official documentation and was signed by General Eisenhower III of the Californian State Militia Enterprise.

"I guess we will have to go down to the military base down the road in a few minutes. Ko, are you coming?"

Ko sat down, tired if trying to catch the weasely Trolli. "Why would I come? I didnt get drafted. Im a girl, box idk if you NOTICED. I guess anime girls can get drafted but I am clearly 3D. Go ask Sakura if she got a letter."

"Sakura? Trolli?"

"No Master."

"Nah br0 I marked myself down as a girl too. What are they gonna do, check? Hahaha. By claiming I am a girl they think im trans and trans people are banned from the military so I cannot get drafted!"

"No Master."

"Dammit, thats how the law works... Wait. I thought I only had one person in this house who called me Master. Which is frankly one too many."

Eji slithered down the stairwell and snuggled up to the box.

"Are you drafted too Eji?"

"No, I am a resident of the UK here on a servitude visa. I cannot get drafted or join the military."

"A servitude visa... Oh my god..." Isaac face-palmed. "Eji you are making this weird."

Eji just grinned. "Where are you going master?"

"Oh I got drafted into the war on Christmas..." Isaac said glumly.

The grin disappeared. "No!! Tell them it was a mistake!"

"Sorry Eji, the Californian State makes no mistakes. You know this."

"Noooooooooo!" Eji cried out clutching Isaac's leg. "I cannot lose you!"

"Ko tell him he is being ridiculous. Ko?"

Ko was clutching Isaac's other leg.

Jukebox sighed. "Fine. I will kiss you goodbye first."

"Yay!"

"Not you Eji."

"Aww..."

After kissing his business partner and girlfriend, both of which were the same person, he headed out in his father's military uniform and a sack on a stick full of his belongings. He had a picture of Ko in his pocket as well.

-Later that day-

Isaac was lined up with two dozen other boys in military uniforms. They had varying degrees of clearly not wanting to be there, except one named Todd Ichabod who seemed gleeful.

The Sergeant was an elderly woman named Callispo Marximillian. She was wielding a cane made of untreated iron and it clanked when she walked around the cement floor. The lights overhead were hot and buzzed with unfeeling anger. One flickered with each clank of the cane.

"Listen up butter boys. We have seen way too many Happy Holiday cups in this blessed state. Liberals spreading their anti-christmas nonsense are everywhere, but they are strongest here in California. We must take back the holiday season no matter the cost, for the dignity of the West! We will bring back the spirit of Christmas stronger than ever before!"

"While I like Christmas myself ma'am, is a military operation really necessary? I mean, we arent being forced to not celebrate Christmas they are just trying to be inclusive by saying happy holidays..." Isaac pointed out, a bit nervous.

"Shut the fuck up private munger. All of you, I will not tolerate this kind of behavior. Now here is the protocol: Tomorrow we will go to Starbucks after Starbucks, and store after store, and spread Christmas cheer all across the town. Say merry Christmas to all of em and make em say it back. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am!" they all said in unison.

"It is actually SIR, boys. I am a woman, but all Sergeants are to be called Sir. I am not your mother, I am not your teacher, or your wife. I am your military commander and you will address me appropriately. Got it?"

"Yes sir!" they all said in unison.

Callispo had one last thing to say "Now remember, if any of em give you trouble you are permitted to use aggressive force. You have belts on, and if that fails you may put em in a headlock till the say Merry Christmas with a smile!" She grinned.

"But Sir... Wouldnt a headlock put pressure on their throat? Which makes it difficult for people to talk and say 'merry Christmas' like this all seems a little..."

Callispo pressed her cane tip against Isaac's chest. "A little what, private? A little AWESOME? Because it is not. It is a lot awesome. We are doing gods work young man, and I do not want to hear another whiny hippy peep about it. Now go take showers yall, you all smell like kicked ass. Except private munger, who smells like a prissy princess who takes bubble baths. Are you a prissy princess boy?!" the other draftees giggled.

"No sir." Isaac said, irritated.

"Louder!"

"NO SIR!!" He shouted as loud as he could.

"Good. Now go clean up, eat, and watch a God's not Dead and a Christmas movie. We got a busy day tomorrow!"

-Meanwhile back home-

Eji paced back and forth, openly distressed. "Ko, do you know what box means to me?! He is the only reason I am still alive... He is the only reason I WANT to still be alive... The world is a hell hole and he is the angel stuck in it."

"Eji please calm down." Ko said. "I know him. He will come marching back like he always does. Remember the trip to Arizona? If he can survive that, he can survive the war on Christmas."

The brit sighed. "I should volentarily signed up... Pretended to be an American... Then I could go protect him... Ohh he is too innocent for war. This could destroy him in more ways than one, oh god.."

Trolli continued eating cheetos and watched them fret. "Guys, I am sure your lover boy will come home. I mean, what could happen, a 5'2 Starbucks employee wastes him? Hah! No."

"You fools keep it down. I am trying to record."

"Spookbox!" Sakura gasped, jumping seemingly out of nowhere. "What are you doing here?!"

"I will be using Isaac's channel while he is away. It is going to be a spooky Christmas. AND I will be reviewing good western cartoons not that anime trash. Oh hey Sakura remember that skit where you killed me? I think it is time I repayed the favor."

"H-Huh? But-"

Spookbox grabbed Sakura and brought her into the recording room while she struggled. "Nooooo! Dont kill meeeeee!"

The others tried to help her but seemed to bang against the black edge of the screen. He had blocked them out.

"Poor Sakura..." Said ko, looking extremely concerned.

"War hurts those at home too." Said Eji, quite astutely. He was pretty smart when not being completely thirsty.

"My Saki... No..." Trolli for once looked genuinely upset like he might cry. "We used to troll Isaac so much together... I will always remember her bathroom prank... What a clever girl... Why cant real girls be that funny and awesome."

"Hey!"

"I did not mean you Ko. Jk yeah I did!" He once again ran around the room with Ko chasing him angrily, trying to find some humor in the situation despite there being none.

"Trolli deals with loss by trolling? Figures..." Eji said. He sighed and sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall. "How will I deal with loss, if Isaac does not return?"

~~to be continued~~

[nebuvoid]

and the funny thing is that its not even that thats been making me lowkey spiral, its the fact that i heard from my irl who started the work rehab im also gonna go to soon, that the people there are the most rancid dipshits,

think casual sexism, harassment, transphobia, racism and the management there says it 'cant do anything about that :)' and it made me feel so hopeless about ever connecting with people irl again and its so fucking lonely and hopeless. like just because its a place for the social outcasts, getting low pay and apparently also no antidiscrimination law enforcement there because why bother right, and its like. this is all i got. this is the only option i have to get eased back into normal work life and possibly eventually start living among the 'normals' again, because as much as the full working force wants free time, too muhc free time makes you feel so isolated and outside. and its just. maddening. everything is a dead end. not to mention that with my avpd that ive been fighting to reduce for years, every reaching-out is a fight in itself. i know theres decent people there too, theres no way there isnt. and they have other locations besides the one my friend is in. and ive also very tentatively started contact with the lgbt community too as another attempt of making connections. but its just. so tiring. so so tiring.

did i even tell you how i went to their trans meetup? it wasnt bad, they all seemed like lovely people, but funnily enough there was an enby person talking about a different work rehab hes in where he faces microaggressions constantly. and mostly these people talked about their trans struggles in life in general, lots of depression and fear. lots of insecurities about their identities too. and on one hand it was lovely to see people sorta like me, but on the other ive dealt with so much personal misery already that i just dont have the energy for others' misery too. it sounds so douchey. its nothing on them. it just. is you know. and its like. of course the ones that go to a place like that have the issues to go with it. a well adjusted gay in a good spot in life wouldnt NEED to go to the community center for it. ive said i wanted to try the other stuff still and i do but im also so fucking tired

the options for an adult in general to make new connections are just so??? what are you supposed to do?? 'oh join a club' as if its that easy as if everyone has the access and money for it. you meet people in school and at work. if you dont go to either youre fucked

i dont wanna turn my personal emo rant into a statement over society but man isnt this just the core of it all. the internet really does reflect it doesnt it, that desperate need for connection by everyone. were all so fucking lonely

idk man. in the end ill keep trying. ill bitch and moan but ill try. what else is there to do? jump into oncoming traffic? way too troublesome

[togrof]

TW; Sexual Assault; Abuse; Manipulation

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I’ve typed and re-typed, I’ve deleted and hit the undo button so many times. I’m so tired. I’m exhausted. And I can’t live in silence anymore. I have spent the last two years at Lawrence trying to overcome and survive someone I loved who is also my abuser. For the last two years, my friends have watched her gaslight me, emotionally manipulate me and go out of her way to isolate me. She has ostracized me even in my own town, she has pushed me away from my family and she did everything in her power to make sure I would always come back to her.

We, together, have spent the last two years trying to get back to what we were when we were in high school, to find the goodness. We were so volatile to a point that our friends had to step in a peer mediate us until we came to an agreement that we couldn’t be alone together.

When we broke up, I needed space as every one does, but she wouldn’t give it. In public she’d sit down next to me and act as though we were okay when things were anything but. She texted me so much to the point that even after asking for space, I couldn’t be alone until I was off-campus finally. She broke up with me, but then guilted me into hanging around her because I “chose someone else” over her. She called me in the summer on what would have been our 2 year anniversary to let me know I threw it all away. She has maintained a presence in my life that grew to be unsettling and dangerous.

Sophomore year she showed up at my door after relapsing, looking to me to take care of her, putting me in a corner I’ve been trying to get out these last years.

There were so many times that she guilted me into sex with her, saying that I was the reason she wasn’t good enough, after spending so much time telling me how awful I’m doing and how much better she’s doing without me. This has fucked with my head, and she’s done it so many times. I can hear it in my head even now, “you’re miserable and you’re not even trying to hide it, I can see how sad you are and the people around you don’t seem to care…” emotionally manipulating me into believing my friends weren’t there for me and the family I made on campus wasn’t worth shit, and that at the end of the day she was the only person I could rely on. She was the one who knew I was trans before I did, before anyone else did, right? “I was waiting for the day you’d realize, I just always though it was going to be with me” So many times she said, “We know each other best on this campus, I know the real Chandra, you’re not yourself anymore when you’re with these people.” All of it thinly veiled good intent, when what lay behind was just someone scared to be alone, trying to maintain control over me.

When Ashley texted me this summer telling me I was her perpetrator, I didn’t deny her story because she was saying all the things to me that I felt. That she felt she couldn’t say no and that I took a part of her that night - Ashley is my abuser and I believe her, just as I know her as my perpetrator. She has assaulted me verbally, and guilted me into having sex with her over and over.

Once she invited me over on the pretense of us just being friends, and hanging out and watching the office. I had a girlfriend at the time. We kissed and I tried to change the direction of the night by putting on a tv show. She kissed me again, while were laying in bed and that was the first time, I felt a no and even said no, and for the time being is stopped her advancements until she tried again a short time later that night. I felt like a prop. I felt sad, I wanted to to want to have sex with her. I wanted to want her, I wanted to be in love with her all over again, but the pain and hurt she caused in my life has always broken that bridge. With her second attempt, I just let it happen, despite my no earlier in the night. I just laid there and let it happen. I just fucking laid there. Later on, she would complain about how I never reciprocated, never returned her favor and that it furthered her belief that she would never be good enough and that I was using her for sex, but I couldn’t return the favor I could barely be okay through all of that. I couldn’t make myself do anything more than just be a body for her, and I stuck around because I wanted so badly to make things work - to be the person she met in high school. That was the first time I got sucked into this toxic back and forth. I was scared, she was the only true love I knew, she knew me before college, she was the one who go me to apply to college, she was the one that helped me understand my gender. She has managed me and I gave her that power because I needed guidance.

The next morning, it weighed heavily on me all day and I told my girlfriend what had happened. I even said I had said no, I was confused, I was distraught, and I hurt my girlfriend in the worst way possible because this was the first time I had cheated, even if it was coerced. I told my friends I had said no, but because we still had sex, I recanted because I couldn’t face the possibility that a person I loved and spent that last five years knowing could ever assault me.

I feel used up. I feel messed up. I feel like I can’t ever love properly ever again and every day I walk on this campus I wish I had gone through with killing myself this summer. I wish I had taken my father’s gun because I just wanted to stop hurting. I wanted to be done with all this pain. I want to be done with all this pain. This campus has made up their mind about the truth and pushed into a space of silence. A space of isolation, and I just don’t care anymore. I don’t. I just want to graduate and go, but you can’t even let me graduate in peace. I can’t even sleep anymore, all I think about is what she’s done to me and how my trauma surrounds me everywhere I go on this stupid fucking campus.

Despite all of this, I don’t tell this to deny Ashley her voice, I do this to share my voice as a victim. That night that Ashley and I slept together, neither of us wanted it but we didn’t know how to say no because it was erased from our language of us. It was also my final straw, as she had said things about the changes my body had gone through since hormone replacement treatment that rings in my head today, that boils in my gut and reminds me that she’d gotten to experience that virgin part of me before I could trust it with the right person. This is why I cut her off in Winter term and why my life at Lawrence had improved ten fold in just a term. And now im back at square one, clutching my cat for comfort and trying to focus on a capstone when there’s all this shit in my head.

I’ve been in abusive relationships since I was 15. I have body dysmorphia because of exes complaining about my body hair and my vagina with one stating that “I just think it’s ugly, no offense”, I couldn’t let myself enjoy sex after that, It became about pleasing others and my relationship with sex has always centered around me being useful to someone else.

I have to relive these traumas every time I have sex now, I have to mentally talk myself down and let myself be okay in that space.

I have spent the last two years feeling crazy. Feeling like the bad guy, feeling like I deserved all of this abuse. I said the sentence "I survived Ashley, she is my abuser" for the first time out loud in therapy last week.

Here’s what I want you to understand. I’m tired, and I don’t want to fight, I don’t want to dig up everything that’s happened between Ashley and I because I’ve started to in therapy and I’d rather just not remember all the things she’s said to me and done to me, I want to graduate and go away and move on with the tools to be a better person. But I have to, I have to give my truth. I don’t doubt Ashley, I don’t deny her story, and I never did, because it makes sense to me, the reason why we always came back to one another over the past two years despite our horribleness was the desire to get back to what we were. That night brought me my clarity at a cost that we would only continue hurting one another pretending to be the people we weren’t.

I’m so tired. I’m so fucking exhausted and I don’t give a shit what any of you think anymore. I'm a survivor and I'll move forward from this somehow.

[vtori73]

Hmm... you know that post that I did recently about Intercommunity problems within Queer community? Well, I would say the same sort of complaints can probably be directed to another thing I keep seeing that Ive become more "educated" on by various people effected.

I won't go into it though (yeah... THAT was/is a lie, lol)... BUT what I will say is that again, I don't fully trust someone speaking over a group like they are an authority and thus have a final say on what is "actually" discriminatory towards them or what actual discrimination they face/don't face.

Like I said not going into it fully(liar) but this is specifically about trans man or more specifically tme trans people and the bigotry they face/the problem they have with their issues actually being talked about/taken seriously. I follow plenty on Twitter who have expressed the sentiment of being tired of having their problems talked down, erased, and told are nothing more then transmisogyny. & the ones I've seen aren't doing this "making trans woman out to be some boogywoman" thats being claimed, the closest to this I've seen is specifically BLACK tme trans people talkinb about white trans woman and the problems of racism within the community from them & other white trans people & how that intersects with them being tme and thus treated/seen as "scary Black man/people." I'm not saying it never happens, BTW (the whole making trans woman out as the enemy/aggressive from tme folks), because that would be wrong BUT I word it the way I did because I HAVE seen this used as a blanket statement towards all tme people regardless of how they talk about the issue.

The intersection that race plays into transness just makes it hard for me to believe in people who claim the whole "oh what non-transwoman face is just misdirected transmisogyny." Maybe it is for WHITE tme people but maybe don't try and claim the same phenomenon for POC who experience gender differently from you because like everything else race plays a part in it!

Also the whole "trans man just face transmisogyny because discrimination toward men isn't a thing" REEKS! I will NEVER claim cis (white) men face discrimination for being men but AGAIN this is can NOT be said for MOC ESPECIALLY Black men! And I don't even mean Black trans men only I men CIS Black men face actual discrimination because of how racism/anti-blackness works. But even NOT taking that into account I still can't fully believe in this argument because it intentionally or not equates cis men & trans men as having the same amount of privilege, power, etc which... doesn't make any sense at all.

Cis (white) men do have privileges and DONT face misandry or an equivalent because it doesn't exist, it's basically equal to reverse racism, it's just not a thing! BUT transmen aren't cis men, they face their own problems, sure some pass but that's not limited to trans man/tme folks & "passing" has its own drawback/setbacks & conditions in order for it to work like that. And REAL quick want to add that im not saying what transmen/ tme folks face isn't ever transmisogyny because that would be a lie, Ive seen tme folks say the same but it's definitely NOT the only type of discrimination they face.

Anyway... that's my two cents, from seeing BOTH sides of the argument discussed by both various groups effected by these sorts of things. And, as always I'm open to being wrong of course because I'm only human and thus can make mistakes!

Also want to add that this isn't necessarily my own fight, as someone still trying to grapple with my own gender I don't personally id as trans (or at least not now/yet because again still questioning so I don't feel I can claim that yet) but I have been sticking different labels on and seeing what sticks (genderqueer being the current one, my gender/gender feels don't really seem to LIKE to stay the same... tricky bastard).

(also sorry if it starts to become harder to follow near the end, I was running out of steam so I hope it's at least gets the point across decently and I probably could have worded a lot of things better)

[wastedtalents]

Hannah,

I think this may be the hardest part to process, or not process. I have no intention to leave her here with everyone and everything else but she’s pivotal.

I’m just processing this shit and leaving it here, if you haven’t figured that out.

I’m tired and I don’t want to carry it anymore. I’m going to rebuild it here and hopefully walk away.

Hannah will always be with me I think, I just can’t put her down because, she changed everything.

I broke free because of her, for her.

The song by the cure “just like heaven” is playing in the background.

You move just like angels.

She was the first person to love me for the right reasons.

She was so pure, a little hippie angel from the vineyard.

She was flawless and I was immediately clay in her hands. Her mom was so animated, I think she was from New York, maybe ? Dad was French…. Idk. I remember her parents seemed to float around the house. It was so surreal, so foreign. Her father’s smile was enchanting.

She was an artist, a photographer an angel from haven.

I was a drunk, a pot smoking steel fabricator. Messy on the inside dirty on the outside. I have nothing because I’ve spent everything on keeping myself alive and dead, numb with drugs and alcohol.

I’m that alcoholic, just like my parents and I’m 18.

I can’t bring her home to John.

I can’t have the whole relationship in a car.

I called my mother to possibly get me out of the mess she left me in 2 years ago.

John Doe and I are starting to have a violent relationship. I’m done, and how dare I refuse him after all he’s done for me.

I ran ……

I left my little brother behind.

I quit drinking, the drugs stopped being put in front of my face.

Im back in the attic, another step parent.

This time I’m on the 3rd floor with a choice of bathrooms and staircases along the way.

He’s old guy, but he’s actually kinda cool?

I was educated in proper dining, which fork to use and when. Soup was a complete turn around and no we don’t drink from the bowl. I learned how to play the piano. Classical music was bellowing about the house.

Pictures of ships hang on the wall.

Huh….

Go figure

Normal people stuff?

Idk?

I’ll just be whatever it is you need me to be.

I had the entire 3rd floor for myself, well

The two of us.

If that sounds a little like a predator.

I’m not a predator.

We survived a massive hurricane together in that room.

We created the most romantic relationship I’ve ever had. The art, long walks taking pictures, thousands of pictures. The rocky horror picture show at the playhouse cinema.

I remember talking about the mural on the ceiling. Watching you look up, so beautiful.

I took a photography course and a third year of psychology at a community college, it helps me understand myself a little I guess. Everything was perfect, she was absolutely perfect and I adored her. We did everything together and we almost never disagreed.

We were out one day,

driving around in my Pontiac trans am

Loud ass hot rod, blood red with black interior.

I remember picking her up.

At some point she told me she had this small relationship with another kid at work, one of the boys at the playhouse got to her.

It was one night after a show. She was so into the arts. She worked at a very unique playhouse. Some very respected artists have come to perform here. It’s a small town, old charm thing and the mood can be very captivating I guess.

I remember her slapping my face

Hard, because she missed the first time.

I remember her getting out of my car in her driveway, so mad I dumped her.

More walls go up around me and I’m messy someone get a towel.

We have talked once since, 12 years ago now

She said she was married, kid’s, said she was fat. Mostly she sounded like she was happy.

Really happy living in a little artsy town with her beloved family.

Good for you baby, you got away.

I know now will never love anyone like I loved her.

Still got your picture I stole from your portfolio…. Xoxo

[ourinnergalaxy-blog]

Landmark Day 1 - Documentation

Well first things first, I guess it’s not a cult after all. Lol It is def a self-help, self-altering experience. They present the forum as a “conversation”. A lot of the time, you are asked to share your experiences with people; maybe not the whole group of 90 people, but at least with the person sitting next to you.

I started out my day being asked what I want to get out of Landmark. And I said I wanted to have a better understanding of myself because it would give me a better foundation moving forward in my life. (also, the guy I was sitting next to at that point and had to speak to had the MOST GORGEOUS HAZEL EYES AND HOLY SHIT IM SO FUCKING GAY I GOT SO LOST IN THOSE EYES. hashtag blessed) As we went on, the question came up again and I was asked to tell three people instead of just one. And without me really realizing it, I began to open up about being transgender and the way that affects my life and the way I’m living it. (At this point, I got to hear the story of a guy who made my eyes light up like Christmas lights when he casually spoke of his fiancé and how HE went to Landmark. I FOUND THE GAY. HES SO COOL AND FUN AND CUTE AND I DEF WANT TO BE HIS FRIEND FOREVER. I’d probs be trying to date him if he wasn’t already in a relationship, no lie. Ahem, anyway, it was good to find the fellow LGBTQ person in the room.)

After lunch time, I guess that’s when it clicked... they don’t really tell you what areas you need to work in on a specific level as much as they tell you that the places where you feel like you have no power, freedom, or self expression are areas where you aren’t living your life as authentically as you could be. And I found I was focusing on the fact that I felt a loss of self expression around the topic of my gender. They told us that we work things up in our head to be this big thing and we mix up our idea of what happened with the actual factual events that took place. (now, in some areas I can see this not really applying as nicely, say in the face of abuse. Like, yeah maybe your idea of what happened is different than the actual happening, but that still has lasting effects that aren’t something that’ll just be better by being more aware that we’re seeing things in a different way than they truly are.) But on the topic of being trans and not correcting people on my name and pronouns out of fear and spite, it fit pretty neatly.

People stood up in front of the group and shared their stories. Willingly, mind you. And soon I found I wanted to be one of them. And I actually did. I actually got up and I shared my story. I told a group of strangers (who could have all been transphobes for all I know) that I am a trans guy and I’m not living my life the way I should be because I haven’t been honest about who I am. I told them that my not being honest has caused my interactions with the people I love to feel false and disconnected because I was allowing them to use the wrong name and wrong words for me. I was trembling the whole time. From the moment I stood up and went to that mic, in front of all those people... my body would not stop shaking. People had shared stories of loss, and unfulfillment, potential divorce, etc... and here I was complaining about not being seen as a boy. And these people! These people who had shared their tales of misery all looked at me with concern evident on their faces. They looked worried. Shocked. Saddened. I hated it. I hated that feeling that I was being pitied. I didn’t want to be pitied. I wanted to... I don’t know what I wanted! I don’t know what I expected! It made my eyes hot with tears I could only barely hold back. It made me shake more and more. I stopped looking at them eventually. I couldn’t look at them. The forum leader told me to create a new possibility for myself and my life. What could I do now, now that I’ve opened myself up to all this stuff. And my answer was the same as many answers: being open and honest. With myself and with others. And soon enough, I was free to return to my seat and the shaking stopped soon after. We moved on and spoke to the next gentleman.

Afterwards, people sought me out. They introduced themselves as they shook my hand and told me how brave I was, or how inspiring I was, or how well I did. I got pats on the back, hugs, fist bumps, a supportive hand on the shoulder. I just... I mean, I didn’t do it to be an inspiration. I didn’t because I felt I needed to, in a way. I needed to practice being open and honest in front of these strangers before I could be that with my family. Like, literally there was a woman who shared her experience having three miscarriages. And people were telling me I was brave? THAT WOMAN HERSELF CAME TO ME AND SAID I WAS BRAVE! I couldn’t believe my ears. It didn’t feel brave when my body wouldn’t stop trembling. It didn’t feel brave as I was slowly walked through to the answers I had to find for myself (though, sometimes I feel like they try to lead you to results that aren’t necessarily true for you personally at times, and I had to kind of stress to the forum leader that there wasn’t another “and...?”) It didn’t feel brave to spill my baggage on a bunch of strangers and then refuse to meet their gazes. But here these people were, moved so much that they had to seek me out in he crowd to tell me. Heck, I even have a lunch scheduled with an older woman tomorrow because she said she wanted to have time to sit with me and talk! Also... the forum leader told me I needed to make a call to my parents to address this.

I did, mostly because I knew I’d only give myself room to talk myself out of it if I didn’t. I called my dad. Told him I’m his son (it still feels weird to say). He didn’t freak out or get upset. He was actually open and receptive, and told me we’d have to discuss this more so everyone could be on the same page as far as how to address me moving forward. He told me he still loves me, and that I’ll always be have an important role in the family as the first born.

I talked to my mom in person afterwards. Since the conversation didn’t have as much of a time limit since the day was done, i got to be more thorough. About what my plans are for my self and my body. That I still like guys so I’m basically going from being a straight girl to being a gay guy (well, in their eyes; also this doesn’t address my attraction to some women and non-binary people, but I’m trying to keep things LGBTQ 101 for my folks right now). I told her I want to be seen as her son and be called he and him, rather than she/her. She was also receptive and open, though she has a difficult time letting go of “Well how do you know?” and the “Why?”. But I calmly explained that it doesn’t matter why, and that it feels wrong to be called a girl vs feeling right being called a guy.

I didn’t go into how I feel like non-binary guy is a more accurate way of looking at it, but again, that’s advanced LGBTQ material and not something I want to split hairs with when I know it’ll only make this transition harder on us all.

But idk... I’m in bed now, and I just wanted to get this all down before I go back tomorrow and have way too much on my mind to get it all down. They gave us a lot of buzz words: transformation, possibility, the “Story we Tell ourselves vs “What Actually Happened”, “Already/Always Listening, and Rackets. A bunch of stuff that sounds like junk when you hear it. And maybe it is junk. Idk. But I guess it makes sense... Obviously I’m not really digging into the total thing as to what these all mean in context but that’s mostly cuz I’m tired and I have to get up early. But they say today was the hardest part and tomorrow we get to take more control of the conversation and that the dots should start connecting. So, I’m not dreading it like I was dreading coming this morning. I’m not excited (other than to see my brand new gay friend who is an absolute PEACH AND ID FIGHT ANYONE FOR HIM IF I HAD TO) but I’m not fearful.

I feel like I’m still in charge of certain areas of my life; areas I feel need to be worked through in long term therapy, rather than mental boot camp. But I feel I’m willing to make this transformation in my general social, financial, and career areas of my life. I don’t feel brainwashed yet, so that’s good. I still question things, and I’m not about to just go forgive my father for the shot he put me through (especially since I don’t even think he realizes how much he fucked me up). But I’m open to seeing brand new possibilities in other important areas.

Woo hoo, I guess. This probably makes little sense to anyone who’s never taken the Landmark course. But this is for me mostly. Lol Well this whole blog is, really.