#doing unfeminine things

[ars-ceratinus]

The short hair is fun to draw sometimes

[lezbianz]

“i’m good at math, i don’t like taylor swift, and i didn’t enjoy the barbie movie.” <- unfortunate that this statement seems to disqualify me from being considered a girl by an unreasonable number of my peers

[ciggiestash]

my friend uses anime twinks as thinspo and evrytimr she shows them to me I feel dreadful

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

getting intense joy from painting my nails wasn’t an expected outcome of my day but it is definitely a welcome one!

[memento-mori-twilight]

You ever just see superficial takes so bad you want to physically take the person and sit them down in front of a theater screen Clockwork Orange-style and show them all different kinds of media that did the exact same thing the exact same way and nobody gave a shit because it didn't matter?!?

[gh0st-city]

Seeing terfs on tumblr makes me unreasonably angry

This is the safe space website where all the cool queer and neurodivergent folks hang out

Why the fuck are those losers on here except to spend hours of their time seeking out people to personally hate on?

I hope they all get curb stomped for infinity in hell where they belong

[orcelito]

the infinite cycle of "FINALLY we get a female character that's strong AND cute!" as if that's not like. the standard for the rare few female characters that are allowed to be visibly strong lol. like come on, i wanna see some women that r buff as hell & dont care about looking cute while they do it. dont get me wrong i love cute buff women too, but we gotta have some love for our butches out there, ok? ok.

[tirfpikachu]

the most flamboyantly "gay-looking" man/woman you can think of...

has at least one person looking exactly like them who is straight.

because gay isn't an aesthetic. gay isn't a look. it's a sexuality you're born with. and femininity in men, masculinity in women, doesn't make you more gay or less gay or whatever. that's gender roles babey! that's what the left is claiming it's fighting against!

you can make jokes about looking like a lesbian or whatever. but i could wear the most hyperfem shit ever and still look lesbian. bc i am lesbian. whatever i do, whatever i wear, however i act, is lesbian coded. because i'm a lesbian. i'm just expanding what it means to be a lesbian by being myself. and feminine straight men and masculine straight women are expanding what it means to be a man and what it means to be a woman, which is a win for feminism and fighting strict gender norms. it helps everyone. we should make the boxes of man & woman bigger, funkier, cooler. we shouldn't assume it's "queerifying" manhood or womanhood when it's just making them be neutral. it means that if you're a human being you can do WHATEVER THE HELL YOU WANT and still be whatever gender/sex/etc you are. you aren't any less of a straight man for being feminine. that's what the patriarchy wants. the rightwing hated so-called metrosexuals and goths and emos etc because of it. and you aren't any less of a straight woman for not being feminine. and you being masculine, or unfeminine, is the most natural thing in the world. it's just you being your natural self without makeup, shaving, tight clothes, etc. but some ofc find pride in being masc too. that doesn't make you more likely to be gay. it doesn't make you less womanly. there is no way that exists to make you less womanly bc it's the most neutral, irrelevant thing about you. it's a "duh!" type of thing that you don't need to care about. you don't need to do fuckall to be "good" at womanhood. and a dude can wear and do and say whatever he wants and be secure in being a guy and not being trans or gay or bi

masculinity in women doesn't make them more likely to be gay. femininity in men doesn't make them more likely to be gay.

gays & feminists have been trying to fight this shit for decades. yet mainstream qweer communities keep reinforcing that rhetoric!!! it's so fucking exhausting. there's no way to look, sound, act etc gay. there's literally none outside of saying you're into other men or other women, and being lovelydovey or having sex with other men or other women. that's it. that's literally it. free yourself from gender boxes!!!

[pinkcadillaccas]

Someone just liked this post for ages ago and I was literally talking about this to my gf so I'm reblogging it with the same tags because please shut up

If I see one more transmasc person on T talking about how gross and unexpected and new ass hair is I'm literally committing a violent crime

[sokkastyles]

I think people tend to forget when they talk about Katara in ATLA that she's a woc written by white men, and that shows in some of the ways that she is idealized by the show for her proximity to white femininity, particularly when it comes to her relationship with Aang.

I'm thinking in particular of how the show compares her to Meng in "The Fortuneteller," who is written as undesirable because she's an ethnically coded girl who aggressively pursues a boy, who remarks that she can never measure up to Katara because "her hair seems so manageable." I do think that often in the fandom, Katara runs up against stereotypes of black and brown women as aggressive and unfeminine, but in-series, Katara is expected to be feminine, praised for being so in comparison to other women, and also derided for it. She is told that she should heal and not fight. Her maternal qualities are there to make her an ideal love interest for Aang while also making her out to be bossy and irrational if she also doesn't want to kiss him.

And while I do think it's important that Katara is one of the few protagonists of color in animation who does get to be seen as a romantic ideal, who gets to be the "heart" of her friend group, in universe, Katara very much speaks out against the perception that she should be soft and nurturing at all times (but only when convenient to those around her) and take a step back and let men handle things. You can't talk about intersectional feminism without talking about both what Katara wants in universe and how she is portrayed by white American writers. So when I see people say "let Katara be feminine," mostly in defense of how the white writers used her as a prize for their hero and then shelved her, citing intersectionality as a buzz word, I have to wonder if they actually know what that means.

[tanoraqui]

Dungeon Meshi Liveblog: I thought I wasn't going to have strong opinions about the Laios-Shuro fight, but...

Laios was right about this! Yes, they had 2 physical fights first, but it's important to note that Laios was right about this!

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^ -man who would literally kill to stay in this room and observe this private conversation.

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Sir, your unfaltering little wide-eyed, amiable smile while seriously considering topics that are obviously un-smile-worth has charmed me utterly. I wish to study you like an climate-entomologist yearns for the butterfly that causes storms.

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She seems fine.

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If I start screencapping Laios's and Marcille's faces in this fight, I will never stop because literally every panel is devasting.

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Kuro has done distinctly the most damage so far this fight, just stabbing and gnawing, and I think we should recognize and appreciate that fact.

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I really miss the animation we got of Rin's lightning blast slicing narrowly past Laios.

I love how fast, if reluctantly, Laios accepts that if - not, that Falin is a true "monster", inhuman and hurting people relentlessly and unapologetically, and thus she needs to be killed before she kills them, like any other monster. I also love that Marcille doesn't accept this. Characters!

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+1 to qualification to kingship! Kabru is one again surprised (you can tell by how he's not smiling) (though this might also be due to the significant injuries he just took).

I do have several emotions about how Falin immediately yanks away and kills Kabru, without touching Laios. That's her brother!!

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I really like this little cluster because it says to me that Shuro still has very good "do what Marcille says when she abruptly shouts magic-related directions in combat" instincts. He's a mirror of the "You're already on the Christmas card, buddy" meme - more like, "You're still on the Christmas card." Just like Namari: no one really stops being fond of, and battle companions with, these weirdos.

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I think the most painful part of this probably is that Marcille isn't certain. Maybe this IS her fault. At minimum, she knows she might have mixed the dragon's soul into Falin's, which enabled this even if it didn't create it. But she can't 100% rule out the possibility that it's more her fault than that - which is, of course, the absolute worst thing to say to all of these people looking at her violently askance for using dark magic.

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yeahhhhhh "Lunatic Magician" REALLY lacks the oomph of "Mad Mage"

ANGRY LAIOS! It's such a rare expression on him, it's exciting to see.

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Yesss look at my man Chilchuck use available tools in his environment and save this little goober who thinks it's cool to resent adults.

I really like how they show the social consequences of dark magic. Much beyond Shuro's anger: the other mages are now shutting Marcille down, especially where resurrection magic is concerned. She's made herself untrusted by her peers, whether or not the magic she used on Falin is truly "evil."

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I really enjoy the, like, narratively obligatory, not actually real (well, maybe to Rin) "will they-won't they" between Kabru and Rin. In the story that this isn't, where Kabru is the protagonist with his quirky gang of found family who are helping him save the island and prevent another bloodbath like in his angsty backstory, she IS the One (Human) Female on the Team who is obviously his love interest - often the first to challenge him, battle mage rather than healer ie a Strong Female Character who nonetheless doesn't use unfeminine brute force, forced by happenstance to kiss...

Alas! Kabru is not the protagonist of this story, so Rin shall remain disappointed.

Also this montage of people healing and reuniting while in the background Laios and Shuro whale on each other remains SO funny. Flawless comedic timing.

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Alright, hot take time: I feel like all the debate I've seen about the Shuro/Laios fight depict it as revealing the friendship basically shattered, and never real in the first place. Whereas I'm mostly warmed by how real it clearly was despite everything that just happened?

Shuro is operating on no food and less sleep, desperate to save the woman he idolizes without truly understanding her loves, who is now apparently a monster who nearly slaughtered his most loyal followers. In the past like 2 weeks, Laios has: watched his sister die to save his life (his little sister, whom he is supposed to protect), walked headfirst into a nigh-unwinnable fight to get her back, held her skull in his hands, got her back and held her in his arms, lost her again about 6 hours later in an even more unwinnable fight, which was proven even more unwinnable when the Mage twisted the dungeon itself against them, saw her again but as a murderous monster now (which might be due to the magic he agreed to use to resurrect her), swiftly and sternly resigned himself to fighting and potentially killing her (his little sister! whom he is supposed to protect!), had her recognize him (and no one else!) despite her monstrosity, watched her be killed (again!) in part thanks to him distracting her, except it didn't work and then she fled.

This is an immature, ignoring-immediate-needs (ie, food, healing) knock-down drag-out fight between two men at the absolute ends of their ropes, who, sure, have built-up resentments against each other and the world, and an inciting incident pushing them over the edge - but mostly neither of them can punch in the face the fact that they can't save Falin. So they punch each other instead.

I won't even address the prologue to the fight, where Laios tells him about the black magic and Shuro promptly tries to strangle him then levels a sword at him. Kabru already nailed that: Shuro was worried about Falin - that the magic had hurt her, that the social consequences would be worse. Laios knew this enough that he didn't fight back, then. But now?

The first shove is Shuro demanding, Don't you fucking DARE give me false hope.

I cannot emphasize enough how hard I would also slap someone for suggesting that I wasn't taking the death and monsterization of my younger sibling seriously.

Shuro knows it, too. He doesn't respond to this, he just punches, and Laios punches back. Shuro doesn't speak again until Laios knocks him all the way down, and

Shuro is at his absolute depth. The lowest point he (feels that he) can go. He cannot save Falin. He's shamed himself as a leader and heir by getting his people killed (they got better, but that's beside the point.) He's been beaten in hand-to-hand combat by this idiot northern peasant. He lets down his guard and pride enough to mutter this self-deprecation aloud...and the idiot northern peasant hears, compounding every shame - and it's infuriating especially because he doesn't even hear properly, just like he never hears properly - he's so frustrating in his friendly but oblivious constant irritation and THIS, Shuro can still be furious about, to avoid his grief/hopelessness/self-loathing/shame. This, he can still fight about!

So he does.

They're both wrong in this fight. They're both right. Laios was consistently inconsiderate; knowing this about himself - because it's not like by his early 20s he didn't know that he didn't Get people the way most people Get people - he should've made more of an effort, and picked up any of the hints Shuro was laying down. Shuro was too caught up in his own pride and out-of-place manners: when it was clear that Laios wasn't going to pick up on even the strongest "hint", he should've said something plainly instead of just letting his resentment build until he was effectively lying to Laios about, if not their entire friendship, certainly the shape of it.

But they were friends. They are friends. This isn't the posture or conversation of two guys who don't like each other.

It's two guys who are still, in fact, fucking exhausted, physically and emotionally - but they just got rid of a lot of extra, furious, helpless energy, so they're finally satisfied to just sit. Their posture is relaxed and casual; their conversation straightforward and companionable, if serious.

This is two guys who've sat like this many time at a campfire, in just these poses. Who've kept watch together late at night and stayed awake by talking.

Laios cares about Falin more than anyone in the world, and even after the words and blows they just exchanged, he's still willing to put Shuro's suit to her. Shuro didn't tell Falin he was interested in her until he proposed to her, but he's telling it all to Laios. Admittedly, this is because Laios is, Shuro assumes, the closest he'll ever get to being able to tell it all to Falin...but still. And he admits vulnerability, which he clearly wouldn't have done before, even to his most loyal and loved companions as they urged him to eat and sleep.

Yeah, they're buddies. If I had to describe it, I'd say: their relationship was built on unsteady, false foundations, but they built something sturdy on it anyway, and the sturdy thing survives even when the foundations shake and re-settle.

Lol at Shuro. "I'm going to report you to the local authorities for your crimes because it's the right thing to do. But if you survive, I'll totally use my power and influence to help you flee the country, and live peacefully on my estate beyond where an extradition treaty can reach you."

[auspicioustidings]

Dessert

Summary: You're a bit unsure about sex with Johnny as you've not slept with someone since you started transitioning, but it turns out you don't need to worry about it.

Words: 5k

CWs: heavy smut with a sprinkle of breeding kink, reader if mtf trans (no-op, on hormones), terminology used in the start for anatomy is masculine and moves to feminine throughout

If you do not like cis people writing about trans bodies, then skip this one.

You just couldn’t get comfortable with it, couldn’t reconcile your body with the expectations other people put on it. It’s not that your sex drive wasn’t there. Well for a while when you started hormones it died a death, but there was still a desire there now along with the small feminine slope of breasts. Honestly you had sort of thought you’d never get hard again, but after your second or third date with Johnny you went home and masturbated for the first time in what might have been a year or more when he had kissed you and his hand had brushed your nipple as it moved from your cheek to your waist.

--

There were a lot of things you would do before you would have sex. Skydiving without a parachute for instance.

There was a flood of shame after the fact. You and your cock had a contentious relationship. You wouldn’t mind her being there if it hadn’t been decided by the world around you that she made you distinctly unfeminine. But it was a part of your body and the thought of surgery made you feel a little sick. You had been considering it the more you saw Johnny. You just wanted him to like you so badly.

You had it right there in your bio on tinder that you were trans, so it wasn’t like he didn’t know. But then you’d been seeing him for months and you had never talked about it at all. He was the first man you had spoken to on the app who hadn’t immediately wanted to know all the intimate details of your body or made it clear you were a novelty fuck (you had went on a few disaster dates that only made your appetite for sex worse with how they spoke to you before you made excuses and fled early).

The bar was in hell, you knew that, but it didn’t stop you from falling for the gentle Scot with kind eyes. Maybe he was asexual and that’s why he had never really moved beyond chaste kisses. You were too scared to ask, too scared that it would be because he liked you as a person well enough but the idea of a trans body repulsed him. He said he was a straight man on the app after all, he’d probably not want to touch you pre-op (pre-maybe unwanted you were sort of confused on the issue-op).

You were going to his place tonight for dinner. Maybe you’d finally work up the courage to ask him about it.

—

Gaz watched Soap thunk his head against the table again and glanced around to see Price and Ghost found this just as amusing as he did. Watching him go from enthusiastic barracks bunny to repressed simp over the past months had been equal parts sad and hilarious to watch. He was arse over teakettle for some broad he had met on a dating app. His MO was to take a girl on a few dates and develop a FWB situation that suited them both until she wanted to have a full romantic relationship and so parted with him on good terms (usually). This one though he had seemed stunned when he showed up at the pub after their first lunch date. It had been months of him in a daze talking about how much he liked her, how she was funny and smart and beautiful and just got him.

Of course then the fact that he hadn’t yet gotten in her pants had come to light and they watched as Soap got more and more distressed and wound up about it. Soap as a rule was a thirsty little slut at the best of times, for him to have been getting off with only his own hand and a no doubt thoroughly abused fleshlight was unheard of and really convinced Gaz that this might actually be it, he may actually have found the girl who was going to make him want to settle down. They all knew the one time he had tried to transition into something a little hot and heavy she had flinched away, he hadn’t stopped beating himself up about it.

To that end he sighed and supposed he’d better actually give the idiot some advice to make sure he didn’t fuck this up. All he had seen were some photos of the girl and she looked pretty enough, nice little dresses but nothing that screamed religious conservative who wouldn’t be having any sex before marriage (although in honesty he was pretty sure if she said that was the case Soap may get down on one knee there and then).

“Right mate, actually give us some intel to work on here so we can provide some tactical support.”

Soap groaned, head still on the table but now flopped to the side so he could look at Gaz like the most pathetic puppy in the pound.

“Already told ye, she’s bonnie, got her head screwed on and has excellent patter but she disnae seem interested in anything physical. Fuck what if I need tae be with this lassie without pumping her? Like what if she’s just naw intae sex? Ye need tae put my wage up Captain so I can afford the metric fuckton of equipment I’m going tae need tae take care of myself for the rest of my life” he whined, really not doing much to seem less like a kicked mutt.

Gaz saw Price just roll his eyes affectionately before taking a drink of his pint while Ghost simply took about a thousand photos of pathetic puppy Soap. Big fucking help those two were.

“Seems like something she’d have put on her profile, you got it saved still?”

Soap returned his forehead to the table and blindly groped at his jeans to get his phone out, unlock it and hand it over.

“Got a folder for her, screenshot is in there” he mumbled into the table.

Gaz took the offered phone and found the folder. He winced a little because it was almost gross how obviously enamored he was based on the number of photos. Cute, but gross. He blinked a few times at the screenshot of the profile. Oh. Oh yeah ok. John MacTavish was an idiot and Gaz was not quite sure how to break this one to him gently. He didn’t have to because Ghost looked over his shoulder before smacking Soap hard on the head.

“What the fuck wis that for?!”

“Being a daft cunt. You said she flinched because you tried to feel up her tit and because of that you think she’s not into sex?”

“Well aye, what else dae I take away from that?”

“That she’s growing a set of tits and they’re tender as fuck Sergeant. Your girl wasn’t flinching because she didn’t like it, she was flinching because it probably gave her an ache that if you’re lucky shot straight between her thighs.”

“I… you’re messing wi’ me.”

Ghost just looked at him with some disgust while Gaz looked on in pity. Poor idiot Soap. Ghost and Price has shared a trans woman for a while he knew, so they would both be well aware of the basics. He hadn’t actually fallen into bed with a trans woman himself, but he had certainly had some good times with Farah and Alex. He never wanted to repeat the experience of not knowing what the fuck he was doing and accidentally hurting Alex by saying the wrong thing again, so he had made sure to learn the basics of not only trans men but really anyone that didn’t identify with their assigned gender. Soap had obviously just never even thought about it, hadn’t even considered that maybe he had to do some prep here.

“He’s not messing with you. It’s different for everyone but generally if you’re growing out some tits then there is going to be tenderness” he said gently.

“They can get real puffy too. You give them a good sucking and she’ll mew real nice for you. Got to take advantage of when they’re at their most tender, ” Price added, clearly reminiscing.

Soap perked up then, sitting up properly in his seat and looking at his team to make sure they were serious. He clearly found in their expressions that they were.

“Right, what dae I need tae ken so I can give this lassie enough orgasms tae fall in love with me?”

—

The atmosphere at dinner felt a little off. You put it down to your own nervousness, but Johnny seemed out of sorts as well. He was over-attentive and couldn’t seem to sit still, knee bouncing and hitting against the kitchen island you were sat at.

“Dinner was really nice” you said carefully, trying to get things back on track.

“Can I eat you for dessert?” he blurted.

Speech was not coming to you easily through the surprise. Nearly a year of very little happening between your thighs and now something was certainly happening. You were mortified, not willing to look down to see what was probably visibly poking against your little cotton dress. Johnny misinterpreted your reaction.

“Wait, naw in a cannibal way! I’m naw intae that. It’d be too much a pain in the arse tae cut ye up anyway and human isnae supposed tae taste that nice. Not that you widnae taste nice! I think ye’d taste lovely. But I’d never eat ye. Well naw, I want tae eat ye, but like out. I want tae eat ye out. Fuck I’m making a pure arse of this” he rambled, getting louder and louder as he started to pace the kitchen.

If there was anything to get you out of your own head, it was watching Johnny have an absolute meltdown in front of you. You bit back a laugh and stood, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop his pacing and then quickly turning into a blushing mess when his full attention turned to you. You chewed on your lip as you thought of what to say.

“If ye need your lip bit, let me dae it” he said, looking almost dazed as he stared at where your teeth sunk into plump flesh.

You blushed harder and squirmed under his attention, letting your eyes drop away from his and instantly making a choking noise when you caught sight of his incredibly prominent and impossibly large cock trying to punch a hole through his jeans. Your own throbbed in response, excitedly bouncing up against your stomach. You tried to shift your hands, give yourself some coverage.

“Tell me what words tae use” Johnny groaned, his nose nuzzling into your hair. “We dinnae need… if ye dinnae want tae do anything then we can just cuddle and watch a film, but fuck darlin’ I’ve been fucking my fist to the thought of you since I first laid eyes on ye. Want to ruin you bonnie girl.”

Your heart nearly exploded out of your chest. He wanted you. He wanted your body. He hadn’t seen it yet, but there was no way he could have missed what was going on downstairs with how close and eager he was. His hips had shifted forward and you could feel the tip of his hard cock brush against the arousal sitting hard at your stomach. You let out a tiny whine at that.

“Please” he groaned, strained.

You had never had a man beg for you before and it made delight spark through you.

“I.. um… well I’ve not, uh, had any work done” you said, mouth dry as you tried to work through the words and reel in the shame trying to drown out your arousal.

His hands settled on your waist and flexed a few times like he was trying to hold himself back.

“I’m naw going tae be able tae keep my mouth shut if I get tae have ye, so I just need tae know what words ye want me tae use. I’m naw much for the clinical kink but I can try using biological terms if ye want” he offered, although you could hear the distaste in his voice.

You didn’t think you would find Johnny spouting the words penis, testicles or anus very hot either, but you had thought… well you had thought you were sort of limited to using masculine terms for male biology. Only wasn’t the whole point that biological sex and gender were different things? If he was willing to try it out, you wondered how it would feel to use different terms.

“Fuck baby, where did your mind just wander off tae?”

When he whined at you, you only then noticed you had started rutting your hips against him at the thought of him eating you out. The thought of him getting his tongue on your clit and sucking.

“Would it be ok to use uh�� for words I mean. You could, if you wanted, um…” you stuttered, too embarrassed to actually say the words out loud.

One of his hands moved from your waist to creep up underneath your dress and you nearly saw stars at the first touch of another person against you in a long time.

“Let’s start here, nice puffy pussy lips for me tae bury my face in?” he asked, fingers brushing across what you had always thought of as balls but now with a revelation were lips.

He was watching you carefully now, looking to see your reaction to his words and waiting for a nod before moving his hand up to where you were throbbing for him.

“I’ve been cruel, getting your pretty wee clit all swollen and throbbing this whole time and naw giving ye any relief haven’t I?”

“I- fuck, Johnny please” you moaned, sure he would undo you embarrassingly quickly.

“Aye? Ye like me playing with her?” he said, running his fingers over the very top. “Fuuuckk” he groaned, “fucking soaked for me, good girl, perfect fucking lassie.”

You wanted to scold him about his bad knee when he thumped down to the floor, but his head was beneath your dress and he was mouthing desperately at your panties before you could articulate the thought. He latched onto your clit through the wet cotton and sucked messily while one hand sunk into the meat of your ass and the other played with the sensitive lips of your pussy that were now spilling out around your panties. You could do nothing but grip his hair like a lifeline.

He slurped and sucked and drooled loudly, and the idea that he was doing this because it gave him a heady rush rather than purely for your benefit made you weak at the knees. He loved this. He was turning into a fucking dog at your feet for a taste of you. His fangs latched onto the cotton of your underwear and tugged until they were pulled down to your knees and gravity did the rest to pool them at your ankles before he left bites all over the inside of your thighs.

“Taste so good, fucking perfect, going tae make me cum in my jeans” he rambled, his words spoken into wet skin as his tongue just couldn’t stop long enough to properly speak.

He couldn’t stay in one place. He was at your lips, your clit, he was licking the seam of where your legs met your groin to drink the sweat that had gathered there as if he was dying of thirst and you were an oasis. His nails were clawing into you, fingers sinking into the soft pillow of your stomach only to leave their marks before moving to your ass and then your thighs and then back between your legs. It was like he didn’t know where to start, couldn’t focus on just one thing because he wanted it all at once.

“Let me eat you out, I’ve got tae eat you out bonnie, I’ll fucking die if I cannae get my tongue up your arse” he begged as his mouth started to make it’s way past your lips and to your tight hole.

Your fingers tightened in his hair just a little and almost instantly his head popped out from under your dress. Fuck. He was an absolute mess, your slick all over his face. It wasn’t limited to just his lips because he had been eager, he had pushed your fluids into his skin at every angle he could get. His big liquid eyes were glazed as he stared up at you from on his knees.

“What’s wrong?” you rasped, surprised that you could even speak right now.

“I didnae ask” he said, frowning and looking at you like the Goddess that could forgive his sins. “Need tae know where my tongue is going, if ye still want it. Where my fingers can sink intae ye. Please, need it, fucking need it.”

Jesus fuck. He was rutting against your foot, humping it with a whine in the back of his throat. You had never felt so powerful as you stared at him and ran a hand through his hair only to have him nuzzle his cheek into that hand.

“I want to see your cock Johnny” you said, no, ordered.

He fumbled to get his jeans off and there was a dull thud as his cock finally sprang free and smacked against his stomach. It was the fattest cock you had ever seen and you could already feel yourself go cross eyed at just the thought of the stretch. The thought of taking it in your cunt.

“Use your tongue and fingers to stretch out my pussy Johnny, stretch it out for your cock.”

There was something transcendent about being able to say it, being able to ask for your pussy to be fucked and for him to light up like you had just handed him the stars and the moon. He all but tackled you, another one for the bad knee you’d scold him for later, and threw you over his shoulder.

He didn’t really pause to get properly out of his jeans, just kicked them off on the way which nearly caused you both to tumble to the ground more than once. You couldn’t help the burst of laughter at his antics. You had been so scared of this for so long, but this was your Johnny. He was a goofball and loyal and desperate to please, you never needed to hide from him.

He did trip once you got into the bedroom, just about managing to toss you off onto the bed with a bounce while he went tumbling onto the floor and smacked his face on the mattress on the way down.

“Oh! Come here, let me see” you laughed, crawling to the edge of the bed and grabbing his head in your hands to find a dopey, dreamy smile on his face as he looked at you.

God, he was such an idiot. You leaned forward to kiss him, trying to pour your adoration into it but quickly finding he kissed your mouth much like he had kissed your clit earlier, sloppy and all over the place. He broke off just long enough to get his top off, tossing it without a care. He was a work of art fully naked and for a moment you balked at the thought of being naked next to him, but you didn’t have much time to consider it before he was on top of you and his mouth was latched onto your tit through you dress.

Your hips bucked up and you screeched in surprise. So fucking tender, my God your tits were so fucking tender. He wasn’t gentle, he was a dog with a bone and he was not about to let go.

“Fuck, oh my God fuck Johnny it’s so much, it’s too much!”

He slapped gently at your thigh.

“You can take it, strongest lassie in the world, need tae have your pretty tits in my mouth” he said, now straddling you and sitting up to just stare at your tits through your dress.

Now that he had gotten one side of the material wet it was sticking obscenely to your puffy nipple. You couldn’t wear bras. Your chest wasn’t big enough to need them yet, but they also were too much for how tender you were. You always had to wear looser fabric around your chest. He was fully fixated, his mouth open and slack and his eyes glossy.

“Need tae see them, let me see my girls” he said, starting to peel your dress up and over your head.

You let him. You couldn’t believe it, but you let him get you fully naked under him. You watched him carefully but there was nothing like disgust or disappointment in his face. There was fucking rapture there, there was disbelief as if he could not believe his luck, couldn’t believe that he could ever do anything to earn this privilege of seeing your body all swollen and aching and flushed under him.

He tweaked your nipple and then finally his eyes snapped to yours when you whined long and low.

“We’re going tae get clamps for these. I want tae tie you to the bed one night and spend the whole time torturing these fucking glorious tits before drowning them in my cum. Fuck. Fuck you’re so perfect. Play with them, please please fucking play with them while I eat your pussy. Need tae hear you make those noises again.”

“Yeah?”

“Aye darlin’, want ye twisting those nipples until ye cannae see straight.”

Your hands dutifully went to start playing with your tits, gingerly at first but a little rougher as you gained confidence and his head settled between your legs to start lapping at your cunt. The pain mixed with the pleasure was exquisite and you could feel your clit throbbing angrily with the need to cum.

“Johnny, want to cum with you inside me. Please” you groaned.

“Shh, got tae be patient for me bonnie girl, let me get ye all nice and stretched. Such a tight little cunt, needs some love tae get ready for my cock.”

“You’re so big, are you going to fit?”

You thought that was probably not a very sexy thing to ask but you genuinely had some doubts. He let out some feral noise and pushed his middle finger against your hole, using his tongue to relax the muscles enough that it popped in and sunk deep making your head thump back against the bed as you moaned.

“Ye’ll fucking make it fit. Strangling my finger, your cunt wants it. Fuck she wants my big, fat cock in her, I can tell with how wet ye are.”

You were wet, liquid drooling from your clit and his saliva everywhere, but he was quick to get a bottle out of the bedside table and absolutely drench your hole with lube.

“That’s it, fucking drooling for me aren’t ye girl?”

You glanced down to find he was not looking at you because it wasn’t you he was talking to. His full attention was at your twitching entrance as he pushed another finger in and started to scissor them to stretch you. His eyes flickered up to catch yours and he gave no warning before he smacked your clit hard to make you yowl.

“Get your fucking hands on those tits, dinnae make me ask again.”

You nearly came right there from the dominance in his tone.

“Yes, sir.”

It was torture playing with your sensitive tits while Johnny stretched you open. If you got distracted by the sensations and stopped playing with yourself he gave a warning slap to your ass to get you going again. You weren’t sure you had ever seem him so utterly concentrated on a task as he was opening you to take his cock.

He was so thorough and efficient that he had four fingers jammed into you before you even realised he had moved up to three. There wasn’t any sting to the stretch, or maybe you were too busy feeling the sharp ache from your tits to notice. He curled his middle finger and hit a spot that made your whole body convulse.

“Fuck baby that’s it, knew I’d find her didn’t I? Nearly got ye squirting from that g-spot. Going tae get my whole fist inside one day, going tae fucking get it in wrapped around my cock and wank off inside of ye” he said, clearly delighted with himself. “Need tae be inside ye. Fuck I need it.”

You looked at him to see he had a hand strangled around his angrily throbbing cock. He was kneeling up now, his fingers still inside of you as he looked at you for permission. Even now he still wanted to make sure he wasn’t fucking anything up.

“Johnny. Fuck me.”

He pulled his fingers out with a squelch and lined his cock up. The first push against your hole met resistance as it tried to keep the blunt head of him out, but with a few rocks the muscles gave way and he was inside you. Both of you sucked in a sharp breath and froze. He wasn’t moving yet, his cock only half way inside, but it was fucking life changing. It was right. It was so, so very right to have this man inside you.

“Fuck. So tight and hot and wet and perfect. Could stay inside this pussy forever” he whined, straining hard to keep himself still.

You rocked your hips up and he groaned, pulling a little out before thrusting back in, getting a little more of himself inside you each time until finally his heavy sack was smashed up against your pussy. He looked at you and you nodded.

“Hands above your head now darlin’” he said, wrapping his hands around the backs of your knees once you had complied and pushing so that your knees were up around your head. “Told ye that she’d make it fit, now I’m going tae fuck ye until you’re ruined for any other cock but mine.”

With a grunt he pulled out to the tip and drilled forward to bury himself fully inside you in one hard thrust that had you squealing and bucking your hips up. He only growled and pressed harder on your legs to get you pressed flat to the bed before he really started fucking you. Your hands met the headboard as you were shoved up the bed with the force of his thrusts.

You felt like you were having an out of body experience, like you were watching yourself get impaled and finally seeing yourself as every bit of woman that you had worried you weren’t all this time.

“Not going tae last, need ye tae cum for me. Want it all over the fucking sheet, want ye tae squirt everywhere” Johnny growled above you.

You were so fucking close with him hitting the spot with every thrust. You were already drooling with arousal and everything was swollen and throbbing and ready to burst.

“Then I’m going tae give ye my cum, going tae fuck it so deep, fucking drown your cunt and get ye round with my fucking kids.”

You whined and felt yourself tense, ready for your whole body to let go, but his pace stuttered and you pulled back from the edge. You wanted to cry.

“Fuck fuck fuck, we didnae talk about that. I didnae ask” he said, horror on his face.

He was back to that pleading puppy, so scared he had hurt you as he released your legs. He had just ruined your orgasm and his by the looks of how tense he was and how his cock throbbed inside you because he was worried that a breeding kink was going to distress you. Oh fuck, you were so in love with this stupid, wonderful idiot. You grabbed his face in your hands and brought it down to yours as your legs came to settle around his waist with your heels crossed behind his ass.

“Johnny I’m fine. It’s hot. I love you for checking, but if you don’t fuck a baby into me right this second and make me squirt then I’m going to go in a shower and take care of myself.”

“Hold on then gorgeous lassie” he replied with a grin and what you swear were teary eyes before he started fucking into you again.

It wasn’t as frantic or aggressive as before, it was a sensual roll as he held you tight. It was intimate and loving and perfect and when he reached between you to play with your clit you broke beautifully and felt your release streak hot and sticky against your stomach.

“Good girl, now take it” he moaned as he thrust hard three more times before emptying himself deep inside of you.

The collapsing weight of him was suffocating but comforting and you just laughed in disbelief that this had just happened and hugged him to you. After a moment you groaned as your tits were overstimulated from the skin contact and your cunt was feeling sore as he rutted even while softening. He chuckled to himself and lifted off of you. His cock leaving you caused a bit of a wince, he really was huge.

He propped himself up by your side and lazily played with his own cum oozing from your cunt, scooping it up and pushing it back inside. After a few moments of you both catching your breath he leaned over and kissed you softly.

“You’re the most perfect woman I’ve ever met. I love you, bonnie lassie.”

“I love you too.”

—

Soap had barely walked into the pub before Ghost and Price swore up a storm and handed over a tenner to Gaz. He collected his winnings smugly. It might have seemed a safe bet to them that Soap would fuck it up, but if there was one thing that Gaz knew for certain it was that even a mutt could be trained when they had the right motivation. And the dopey grin on the 141 mutt’s face told him that he had indeed found that motivation in between the legs of his pretty girl.

[femsolid]

Do you think there is any meaningful difference in how self-improvement is sold towards men and women?

Self-improvement for women typically means being available to men and practicing artificial femininity.

When a girl lets go of her "tomboy" personality, it's considered self-improvement. In movies, the nerdy or tomboyish girl always transforms into a generic feminine and "well-mannered" (passive) girl who surprises everyone at prom and finally gets the attention of the boys who don't even recognize her. Cinderella. It's sold as self-improvement and maturity. Any of us former "tomboy" girls can attest that these stories are not entirely fictional.

When a lone woman marries and has a child, it's considered self-improvement too. A doctor recently told me, "Don't you want to make something of your life, to have a husband and make a child?" To her, as long as I have not done those two things (give myself up to the patriarchy, essentially), I have not done anything of value. Needless to say, I was incredibly offended. My point is, if I came back to her, pregnant from a boyfriend, she would consider this self-improvement.

When a woman stops crying about her trauma, when she gets up from the dirt and smiles through the pain, it's considered self-improvement. Martyrdom is sold as self-improvement to women.

Self-care is taking a bubble bath, getting your nails done, putting on a new dress, applying some lotion, and journaling. If you're not engaging in artificial femininity, you're an unfeminine slob who doesn't care about herself.

Self-love and self-confidence are expressed through our willingness to wear revealing clothes, post bikini pictures on social medias and engage in one night stands. Otherwise, you're clearly lacking in self-esteem, or you're a prude.

When I was 19, I got really sick and spent the night vomiting. I had an appointment with a social worker the next day. Obviously, I looked like crap. She said I looked like I had given up on life and had no motivation. When I saw her again, I was deep in the pit of suicidal depression and had no self-esteem, which is why I put on a lot of make-up and spent time on my hair, etc. This time, she very cheerfully said, "I can tell that you're doing better and have regained your motivation. Well done, keep it up!"

A woman's self-improvement is in showing that she cares about others more than herself. Self-care and self-love are about pleasing others. The irony.

Still when I was 19, I participated in a workshop for unemployed women, proposed by the local job centre. The first day, they taught us about fashion and which colour suited our skin best, making us stand in front of a mirror one by one. They said that, at the end of the week, we'd get a free haircut, which let us know that the entire week was going to be some relooking experiment. Now I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that the workshop for unemployed men wasn't about posing in front of a mirror and discussing fashion advice. It was supposed to last a week, but I never went back. Self-improvement was, once again, artificial femininity.

I don't know what's promoted as self-improvement to men, but I know it's not artificial femininity, martyrdom and impregnation. So yes, I can guess it's pretty different.

[inkskinned]

there is something deeply, unfathomably cruel about the fact that something called the clean girl trend is actually only accessible with perfect skin and hair and nails and bodytype. that if you simply use enough products and time and genetics you too will be able to be filter-flawless. it isn't just about being pretty, it's about being naturally pretty, with perfectly ethnocentric features that absolutely make a mockery of the poc they stole their techniques from.

something about this not just being a fashion trend but directly positioning any alternative as being "unclean" - if you use visible foundation to correct your skin in a desperate attempt to fit in, that's cringe. if you draw your eyeshadow and eyeliner in a way that feels personal and full of expression, i was told this looks "cheap" and "unfeminine." if you do not endlessly adhere to a nigh-impossible routine of beauty and sacrifice; you simply aren't one of those girls, girls that are better than you and deserve their good life. if you were not lucky enough to be born with this, no worries; it can be sold to you. it will be sold to you.

the women of color who made half of these things popular - hoop earrings, slicked back ponytails, oiled babyhairs - they do not get credit. they are not included in the trend. they are ostracized as being too different, too hispanic. because it's not clean when we do it.

no, if you're not perfect (and perfectly white), you're dirty. you're basically a slob. i actively like doing my makeup, and i've been told a lot - it's just a few basic products, it's really not that hard. nobody seems to get what i'm saying - we absolutely should not be linking makeup to hygiene. that linking cleanliness with rich white girls in yoga pants and glass waterbottles is incredibly bigoted.

she rolls her eyes. "okay, we get it. it's literally not that deep. you just hate makeup. i mean, it's fine. just say that you're ugly."

[neyafromfrance95]

I’ m going to be super honest here: I don’t give two flying f*cks about Celeborn, I don’t care about Celeborn, I don’t need Celeborn in this show. He literally has no character, not even in the books; his character is “Galadriel’s husband”. Even in the books he and Galadriel spend centuries apart, doing their own thing. In the end, Galadriel leaves to Valinor with Gandalf, Bilbo and Frodo, and Celeborn actually stays behind in Middle Earth, he doesn’t go with his wife. That’s real love soulmates right there 😂 so no, Celeborn is not needed in RoP to cheapen Gal’s arc.

yeah, this. but in a way that's why i like him, just don't want him in trop.

i have read someone say that they think tolkien really loved galadriel and wanted her to be this solo character who rules on her own, has her own important adventures (unlike other female characters), her very "unfeminine" ambitions for leadership. but he needed to get to arwen so he gave galadriel celeborn & celebrian who are basically non-entity background npc characters (they even have the same name, lol) not getting in a way of galadriel doing her own thing or impacting her storyline much.

which i love! i love it when a female character's arc doesn't revolve around her being a wife & a mother. bc it's almost never the case.

but we don't need the baggage that tolkien basically discarded for galadriel in his works unnecessarily watering down her storyline in trop. we have already read and seen her story with celeborn, what's wrong with exploring something new?

it's especially interesting how galadriel confessed to frodo how "alone" she felt (even though she had a husband/child/grandchildren/friends/kingdom). and she was tempted by the ring as sauron groped for her mind. i know it's about galadriel's ambition for power and glory, but i think her relationship with sauron was quite ambiguous from what we were given. so why not explore that? like really explore that in trop? it's something new but gives an interesting perspective/spin to the old.

[joannechocolat]

On why women’s rage is a superpower

My mother hates my new book. I gave her a proof just a few days ago, and although she’s still only halfway through, she can’t wait to tell me all the ways in which she hates my novel.

“Is this science fiction?” she says. (She detests science fiction.) “Were you ill when you wrote this?” (I was.) And repeatedly, she says: “Why are the women so angry?”

I get it. She’s out of her comfort zone. At 83, with no internet, no interest in pop culture and a deep-rooted hatred of anything close to horror or the supernatural, she wasn’t my target audience. And yet it’s never easy to hear such criticism from a loved one. But in some ways, she isn’t wrong. Broken Light is an angry book. It came from a time of lockdown, when social media was my only window onto the world. It came from a place of trauma, when I was fighting cancer. It came from a place of corrupt hierarchies, self-serving politicians, anti-vaxxers, Covid deniers, victim-blamers, and those eager to blame all their woes on minorities. And of course, it arose against the background of the #MeToo campaign and the Sarah Everard murder – a murder that shocked the nation, not least because the murderer turned out to be a serving police officer with a reputation for sexual misconduct - which unleashed a collective howl of protest, as well as an ugly, misogynistic backlash. Even so, my story came as something of a surprise to me: the story of a woman’s rage, and, on reaching the age at which women often feel least valued, her coming into her power.

It surprised me, most of all because I wasn’t an angry person. At least, I didn’t think I was. Those who know me describe me as someone who tends to flee conflict, who generally tries to find common ground, who gets upset when people fight. And yet, writing this story, I found myself saying and feeling certain things on behalf of my heroine, Bernie Moon; things I might not have said for myself, but which felt right and urgent, and true, and strangely liberating.

Anger has a bad press. A woman’s anger, especially. While men are encouraged to express feelings of justified anger, women are often criticized when they try to do the same. Angry women are often portrayed as “harpies,” “banshees,” “Furies.” It suggests that a man’s rage is righteous, but that a woman’s is unnatural, making her into a monster. Male anger is powerful. The God of the Bible is one of wrath. Seldom is he ever portrayed as expressing any other emotion. In the same way, men and boys are often led to believe that expressing emotion is weak - except for anger, which is seen as acceptably masculine.

In comparison, women are often criticized when they show aggression. Angry women are hysterical, shrill, out of control, unreliable, unattractive, unfeminine. A perceived lack of “femininity” makes a woman less valuable, less worthy of respect and of protection. The Press coverage of women victims of violence is a case in point. A victim of violence needs to be attractive, white, gender conforming and virtuous in every way if she is not to be overlooked, or worse, portrayed as somehow having contributed to her misfortune. When trans teenager Brianna Ghey was stabbed, the Press were very quick to state that her murder was not thought to be a hate crime, whilst at the same time obsessing over – and questioning - her gender. When Nicola Bulley disappeared, police felt obliged to divulge details of her struggle with the menopause, as well as her alcohol issues, even though this was privileged information and of no public relevance. When Emma Pattison, the Head of Epsom College, was murdered alongside her daughter, the Press immediately assumed that her husband George must have felt “overshadowed” and “driven to distraction” by his wife’s prestigious job. In all three cases, the victim falls under the hostile scrutiny of the Press, while the perpetrator is given an excuse. In all three cases, the victim – one trans, one hormonal, one better-paid than her husband - is effectively portrayed as “unnatural”. Subtext: Unnatural women do not deserve the protection of the patriarchy. Unnatural women come to bad ends.    

Once you start to acknowledge it, rage grows at a surprising rate. Over the past three years, I have found myself growing increasingly angry. Angry at the injustices committed by our Government; t the greed of corporations; angry at the prejudice extended to those who are different.

Connecting with others on social media has made me more aware of the lives and experiences of those from different backgrounds to mine, and with different levels of privilege. For a long time I’d been resistant to calling myself a feminist. Feminists are angry, I thought. What right have you to be angry?

Growing older, I realize that this was my mother speaking. A woman of a certain generation, who although she was aware of the challenges of living in a patriarchy, still had a level of privilege that many women do not share. White, professional, cishet women can sometimes have the luxury of choosing not to be angry. White, professional, cishet women can sometimes have the illusion of equality. But feminism isn’t only for just one kind of woman. A feminist must look beyond the limits of their own experience. And that’s where the anger really starts: anger at injustice; anger at corruption and lies. Most of all, anger at the prejudice against certain people for just being themselves; for being transgender, or Black, or old, or simply not conforming to what a white, patriarchal society expects and values. And once you start seeing injustice, you start to see it everywhere. It’s like an eye, which, once opened, cannot unsee inequality.

My anger flourished in lockdown. A time of growing divisions. Masks are invaluable in a pandemic, and yet they inhibit connection. They serve as a kind of reminder of who can speak, and who is to be silenced. While Boris Johnson was urging the public to trust the police, a vigil for Sarah Everard was broken up, with violence, by officers citing lockdown laws. While elderly people were dying alone; while I drove for four hours just to go for a half-hour walk in the park with my son; while I sat alone in my chemo chair, politicians were partying. Billionaires were enriching themselves. Behind the mask, the eye opened wide. I caught myself making faces behind my disguise at strangers. There was something weirdly liberating about this; as if, behind the piece of cloth, I could express myself at last. Not unlike writing a book, in fact. On screen, the eye opened wider. Bernie Moon, my heroine, was unlike like me in many ways, and yet anger connected us. The anger that comes from helplessness; from seeing others mistreated. Anger at a society that propagates inequality. And the anger that comes from hormones – those mood-altering chemicals that everyone produces, and yet which allegedly make women erratic; unreliable; hormonal.

In his novel, Carrie, Stephen King tells the story of a girl, whose telekinetic powers are unleashed by her teenage hormones. Carrie is unpopular, bullied, isolated. Her rage finds an outlet in her power. Driven to breaking-point by the bullies, she becomes a monster. Of course she does: after all, the author of this tale is a man, writing from the perspective of a couple of thousand years’ worth of patriarchal inheritance. In literature, a woman’s anger is unnatural; monstrous. It leads to terrible, unnatural things: makes murderers and infanticides of Clytemnestra and Medea; monsters of Medusa and Scylla. Unnatural, monstrous women are always punished in literature, even while acknowledging that they are often the victims of men. And unnatural women are often seen as physically repulsive – a reminder that, to be valued and loved, women must be young, and pure, and conform to the standards of beauty set out by their society. In literature, just as in life, those women who do not conform tend to be less valued, less seen, and when they do appear, do so as wicked witches, evil stepmothers, ugly crones and hideous travesties of womanhood.

But what would happen if a woman took control of the narrative? In recent years, we have observed a number of retellings of Greek myths from the point of view of the monster. Stone Blind, by Nathalie Haynes; Medusa, by Jessie Burton; Circe, by Madeline Miller. In both cases, the monstrous woman is seen from a different perspective; her rage absorbed and justified; her narrative reclaimed from a patriarchy that seeks to tame and subdue a woman’s rage, even at the cost of her life.

My new novel, Broken Light, comes from the same process of reclamation. It owes a debt to Carrie, but I have avoided the explicitly paranormal theme of the original, as well as the girl-on-girl bullying and the psychopathic mother. In my version, Carrie lives; marries her childhood sweetheart; internalizes all her rage and suffocates her power. Until the menopause – a topic which until recently has been largely misunderstood and taboo – at which point her power returns, and with it, a new kind of freedom. Freedom from the male gaze; from the responsibilities of motherhood; from the largely impossible expectations of society. Unlike puberty, menopause is triggered by a lack of certain hormones; and yet the symptoms can be just as dramatic and isolating. Loss of libido, exhaustion, depression, emotional outbursts as well as unpredictable and alarming hot flashes – my version of Carrie’s pyrokinesis. Whether my heroine’s powers stem from any kind of paranormal source is very much up to the reader to decide – after all, paranormal is only a step away from unnatural. And what counts as unnatural is in the eye of the reader – an eye that has been opened, I hope, to a series of new possibilities.

One is that rage is natural. Living in a patriarchy, women have a right to their rage. In fact, it seems more unnatural to me when women are not angry, given how much misogyny remains in our society. And growing old is natural. Being hormonal is natural. Differences are natural; so are disabilities. All women matter; whatever their age, or colour, or sexual orientation, or marital or reproductive status. The value of a woman’s life should not be defined by her popularity, or her age, or her looks, or her kids, or her value to the patriarchy. And no-one else gets to decide what a woman ought to be. A woman is not what, but who - a person, not an object; an active participant in her world. Women have lived too long behind the mask. They deserve their own stories. Stories in which they are allowed the full range of human possibility. So, to answer my mother’s question: Why are the women so angry?

Because it’s a superpower.