#don't be like me folks

[hiddenmisc]

Love that it was not even two seconds before Zane practically declares he'd throw it all away for her. (Then proceeds to give her half his freaking heart not even like, 5 episodes later) if true love is not this then I don't want it

Can't believe we got this amazing ship in the same breath we got the fucking disaster that was the Cole Jay Nya love soap opera fr

[fragmented-tales]

// oh god I'm a moron and now need to hunt through all the posts to find the muse cheat sheets- wish me luck :') //

[oneirataxia-girl]

❝ i don't like most people, but you're an exception. ❞ for Mari pls!! (could even make it Midlaw, if you're feeling it, but anyone will do!)

ngl when I saw this I had the vision of the most devastating Mari moment during the timeskip - ‘twas a struggle to not write it out bc it’s a Character Development for her and therefore spoilers (and also bc I haven’t fleshed it out completely oop-). but here’s another place (not Midlaw tho 😔) I think this prompt would work

set sometime after Arlong Park, live-action friendly so psst opla girlies @auxiliarydetective, @starcrossedjedis, @xoteajays, @daughter-of-melpomene, I humbly present this offering to you (can you tell I'm sleep deprived asdjasldakj

A groan escaped Kenji as he sat down. Even after months of training, he was still nowhere near beating Zoro. The guy could at least pretend to struggle when Kenji tried to hit him, but no, he just had to yawn lazily and slam his knee into Kenji’s stomach. Now, he wasn’t one for holding grudges, but Sanji was right to have one against the swordsman, Kenji should help him hide all the booze on the ship. And some of the meat, since Luffy just kept laughing while his poor body got pummeled by Zoro, some captain he was.

“You alright?”

“Gah!” His hand felt for the handle of his revolver, drawing it out to face – “Mari?”

She answered with a thump of something landing in his lap. Something lumpy and smelling vaguely of the herbs the Marines used to ease their muscles after training.

Kenji waited for his crewmate to elaborate on the package. Mari was silent. But it’s possible she just left after tossing the stuff at him, she’s quieter than Nami and even less chatty than their navigator when she’s trying to read a new map. Plus, Luffy didn’t even have the decency to get someone else to keep watch in place of him, so Mari probably just came to grab something or another and brought that along for him.

Come to think of it, she does do stuff for him a lot – not that she doesn’t do stuff for the other members of the crew, but Mari definitely looks out for him more. If it were Usopp wincing from injuries, Mari wouldn’t bring a weird-smelling pack of whatever’s-in-this to help him; plus, she helps him get out of chores all the time. This could only mean one thing.

“Do you want help?”

Oh, She’s still here.

“With this?” Kenji asked. Then remembered that she couldn’t see what he was referring to and added, “The stuff you gave me.”

“Yes.”

Yeah, Mari would never offer to help Usopp apply medicine. Nor would she for anyone else, probably. Maybe Nami if she asked for help, but they seemed to be awkward around each other, so perhaps not.

So, who was he to turn down an offer possibly only he could get?

His crewmate was efficient in her day-to-day work; several weeks of being on the same boat taught Kenji that, but Mari was also pretty good at dealing with wounds. Apparently, Zoro’s injuries from Mihawk didn’t tear up halfway to Arlong Park because of her interventions, and after the fight there, she dealt with all the scrapes the crew acquired from kicking fishman butt and the ones the people of Coco Village, too. Kenji didn’t get to witness her abilities after that fight – thankfully – but feeling her hands applying a salve to his bruised knuckles, he had to admit, Mari was pretty good at avoiding more hurt when she pressed down to rub the ointment into his skin.

Which was good enough for him, he didn’t want to know if she could be gentle when she was cleaning cuts or snapping joints back in their places. He’d prefer it if bruises and burns and sprains were the only reason he had to ask Mari for medical assistance, thank you very much.

His non-bruised hand closed around a small bottle of something, “Apply a thin layer to anywhere you’ve been bruised, wraps are for the nasty ones.” Mari’s voice elaborated at his sound of confusion.

“What’s a nasty one?” Kenji chose to focus on that part instead of Mari leaving him to fend for himself, he could lament that later.

“Depends on you.”

That was not an answer, and Kenji told her so. Mari didn’t reply, so he counted that as a win for him.

“The ones swollen,” she said just as Kenji thought she left, “don’t wrap it too tight.”

“So the one on my stomach.”

Mari was silent, then said, “Sure.”

No help, absolutely none. Kenji was starting to doubt her proficiency in medicine.

“Is that everything?” He asked after a minute of silence.

Mari’s voice was a tad further away this time, “Any other injuries?”

“Yeah,” He began, wondering for a moment if it was smart to – “Can I ask you something, though?”

A beat.

“Sure.” That word was clearer, her face lit by a lantern as she stood with her arms crossed.

He didn’t get a lamp, or a candle, or anything when he settled down to keep watch.

“Where did you get that?” He couldn’t help himself as he pointed to the light in her hand.

She gestured at a wooden beam behind her. Kenji wasn’t sure if that meant the thing was there and she simply grabbed and lit it or something else. Come to think of it, when did she get it?

“Is that it?”

“Is what it?” Kenji repeated without thinking, then shook his head, “Nah, I’ve got another one.”

Mari’s head dipped slightly.

Bidding a goodbye to his preferential treatment, Kenji continued, “Why are you nicer to me?”

Mari’s head tilted to the side.

“Not that I don’t like it or anything, it’s just –” How could he say this without sounding like he was full of himself? “You’re definitely nicer to me than to Usopp or Nami or Luffy, is it because you like me or something?”

A line formed between her eyebrows, and Kenji was no master at reading faces, but was that… disgust on her face?

“No,” She shook her head, “Absolutely not.”

“I meant like in a friendly way…?” Kenji added, but it just sounded like a bad attempt at covering up, even to his ears.

At that, Mari’s face stopped looking like she was about to vomit at the thought of her liking him – seriously? He wasn’t that bad of a catch – and grew back into her normal expression. Which meant he had no idea what was going on in her mind, as usual.

“Maybe,” Came Mari’s answer after a while, during which Kenji contemplated whether he could hurl himself into the sea from his seat to avoid interacting with her ever again, “I don’t like most people, though.”

“But I’m the exception?” Kenji prodded further, then regretted it when she fixed him with the stare, the one that felt like she was looking through his mind.

Mari didn’t give him an answer for the next few minutes, just stared into his soul. Probably because she enjoys making people regret their decisions, who needs that long to decide if they liked somebody or not?

“Yeah,” She agreed, “But you’re the exception.”

Huh.

Well, that proved it, Kenji was Mari’s favorite. He couldn’t wait to lord that over Sanji the next time the cook started to wax poetic over the two girls in their crew.

His new favorite crewmember strode forward, “I’ll do the rest of your watch,” Mari told him, lifting him to his feet with a flick of her wrist, “Go get some rest.”

And since he was only human, he obeyed easily and started to go towards his warm bed.

“Himura?”

Kenji turned around at the mention of his surname.

“Don’t tell Blondie.”

So he still could brag about that to Usopp, got it.

“Or Usopp, or Nami.”

Ugh, at least he could tell Luffy –

“And especially not Luffy.”

“But I can tell Zoro?” Kenji couldn’t help but ask.

Mari finished lighting another lantern, “Peabrain only cares about being the captain’s favorite.”

Kenji shrugged. It did sound like Zoro, after all.

give me a prompt + oc and I'll write a drabble!

[lemonade-juley]

Okay yeah gonna make a proper Interceptor oc, the urge is too much

[brainrotcharacters]

the easy grip on the knife. the leg over the seat. the hand over the other seat. the sassy "come get it" move. you know the bitch is smiling behind that mask even as he said the line.

[ionomycin]

pull of the tide

[giantkillerjack]

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

[cj-the-random-artist]

Ok hear me out: Narilamb but they're both aroace and in a qpr.

I've been rolling around in my head for like a long long time this idea that Narinder and Lambert could both be aroace and (after like. A couple of centuries or so) end up in this like very comfortable very close relationship that neither of them define as anything specific other than calling it a "companionship". But on the other hand most of the cult thinks that they're dating in secret or something despite the fact that both of them have said they don't take lovers, because they are clearly very tight but maybe not super openly so, so maybe the cultists thing they're being secretive and hiding something or something like that. Idk but my aroace brain loves thinking about extremely close (mostly) platonic relationships and for some reason my brain decided hmm. I'm going to take this and throw it at Narilamb and see how I like it.

So then I decided to make a ridiculous joke comic about Narinder asking Lambert's hand in marriage specifically because he wants to get out of paying taxes. Because like, I know that spouse followers do actually still have to pay taxes in the actual game but. Hey Narinder and Lambert have presumably never married so they probably don't know that...? Honestly the only reason I made this was because the concept tickled me and I spent too much time on this for no one to see it, so. This comic and all it's absolute ridiculousness be upon ye.

While there's a tiny part of me that's been thinking about making this into an AU (which I'd probably call something like the "Strictly Platonic AU" or something), I know for a fact that I would blatantly not do anything legitimate with it so. It's an unofficial AU I guess?? But. Anyways. I thought this would be funny. Enjoy my ramblings and I hope you enjoy this thing that I spent. Actual time on. Lol

[doberbutts]

I always think it's funny whenever I post about an issue that directly affects me and someone responds with "you're an idiot that doesn't know what you're talking about" and I have to be like. Hello. This is my demographic. Do you see this label here? Guess who falls under it OH RIGHT it's me. Maybe I like. Have some amount of idea of what I'm talking about considering this is sampled directly from my life experiences. Just a thought.

[uncanny-tranny]

This might seem like an "old man yells at cloud" situation, but it's just wild growing up and being told how dangerous distracted driving is - how, at highway speeds, you can traverse the length of a football field (100 yards, 91 meters) in a matter of seconds - how one split second sending a text while driving could result in a potential fatal crash, and then getting on the road as a driver and being surrounded by billboards. Their entire purpose is to catch one's attention, so they're lining major roads, which tend to be highways. How is it that you're told how important it is to never be distracted while driving, but still being advertised to?

At best, this type of advertising is an eyesore to pedestrians and motorists and a general waste of electricity to light it, and at worst, it is an active danger considering they are there to advertise and therefore, must catch people's attention.

I'm not even against advertising in theory, but this particular mode bothers me so much and I hate how pervasive it is - especially in large cities or highways.

[thottybrucewayne]

I think what I want to get into with the "Anyone can do harm." thing that I keep beating yall over the head with is that literally anyone, anyone at all can do harm it's not "in your DNA" to be an abuser or written in the stars that you'll be a predator. Whatever image you have of an abuser in your head, drop it and replace it with your favorite person in the world and you'll probably be closer to the truth than you realize. It's easy to address harm when it's coming from someone you already hate. I see it happen all the time. Someone you couldn't stand for no real reason does something heinous then all of a sudden here comes the avalanche of "I always knew they were a fucked up individual." No, you didn't. There is no possible way you could have known, you just already didn't fuck with them before they started doing something you could use to justify your hatred of them. I'm guilty of it too! I'm petty, mean, vindictive, and yes! I'm way quicker to believe something bad about someone I hate versus someone I love because I'm human. Still, y all gotta learn to move past that initial "Well, they were always nice to me!" gut feeling and understand that nobody truly knows anyone and anyone can be capable of anything. Even victims. Even you.

[sun-snatcher]

If you're writing for dp3 then Hiraeth from your prompt list would work SO well since they're all stuck in the void! 🤲🏽😭 We need Gambit fics its a DROUGHT HELP

♧ ⎯ LUCK O’ THE DRAW !

summ. You find the Devil himself at the end of the world. Surprisingly, it isn’t the first time you have. It is, however, the first time it hurts. pairing. Void!Gambit x f!Anomaly!reader (established relationship. Kinda. Multiverse be funky like 'dat.) w.count. 1.8k a/n. Because Channing deserved that Gambit all those years ago, and I've come to (attempt to) deliver what the the people have asked. Masterlist here.

MOST PEOPLE MEET THE DEVIL at a crossroads, but you meet yours in— quite literally— the back end of fuckin’ nowhere.

It hurt more than it should.

Your heart practically stutters. 

“Remy.”  

Then he turns, and you wait for the flash of recognition in his eyes.

Nothing comes.

And then. And then.

Realisation— logic. The cold, hard truth: This isn’t your Remy LeBeau. Your Remy had died long before, in a Universe that was pruned and erased into nothingness by the TVA. Your Universe. The joke? That the Gambit before you is merely a variant amongst a million. The punchline? He looks exactly the same as the day you’d lost your own. 

“Well, this is awkward. You know off-shoot Hawkeye here?” Wade says, astonished, before his eyes widened. “Ah. Tragic exposition time for the readers, I see.”

Your mind is still reeling. It feels like someone’s just jammed a chisel straight into your gut. “I— Knew a version. Variant, I guess,” you manage to correct yourself, distracted by the skirting trenchcoat and the all too familiar sound of shuffling cards. 

Christ, it’s like he’d stepped right out of your memories.

Remy’s eyebrows shoot up as he studies you. Something in your chest pulls taut, threatening to snap as he speaks. “Apologies, mon ami. But as far as I remember, I ain’t never seen you before.”

“Ouch,” Wade winces, looking between you both. “What a classic trope! This is like, me talking to my past Mom in The Adam Project. Funnily enough, my Mom was you!” He snorts, pointing to Elektra. 

You ignore Wade and offer Remy a wan smile. “I figured. It’s okay.”

…It is obviously, in fact, not okay. 

You avoid him like a plague shortly after the entire commotion; it’s almost comical. Wade had managed to come up with a plan with the rest of the group, albeit a ramshackle, flimsy one, but you’ve hardly been able to pay attention through the bloodrush of shock rocketing in your head, anyway. 

Being around this Remy is stunningly stifling. 

The lilt of his accent, the sharpness in his smile; the flourishing of cards and the faint hum-drum of kinetic charge against his fingertips. 

You’ve seen it all before, once upon a time. You never thought any of it could ever bring you to this bad of a heel. 

It hadn’t taken long before you’d tried drowning yourself at the end of a bottle of brandy Logan had handed you that night. (The whiskey tames his mordance and makes him uncharacteristically civil. He’d said something along the lines of: Y’need this more than I do, bub; look like you’ve just seen a fuckin’ ghost. Shit, I guess you did, huh? )

“Mais la,” comes a huff. “Ain’t that mine?”

A frisson runs through your heart. 

“Sorry,” you say, barely glancing up from the barrel fire tucked outside the team’s hideout. You’re not quite sure you can handle meeting his gaze. “I know I should’ve asked.”

A playful hum. Remy settles on the log adjacent to yours. “S’alright. No harm done, chèr.”

It takes everything in you not to flinch at the endearment. If he’d noticed, well— he’s smart enough not to mention it. He’s curious and it stands to reason; afterall, he’s never quite seen someone look at him as weathered as the way you do. It’s as if the effort itself to do so would be unbearable.

“Y’kno’, I been told I’m easy on the eyes. Not for you, tho’, eh?” Remy shoots you an amicable smile. It’s charming, if a little compelling. “Guessin’ I made bad on you where y’from? You done been boudéin’ since y’first got here.” 

You let out a laugh. It’s the most brittle sound he’s ever heard come from someone. 

“No, no,” you shake your head. “It’s… You just make me a lil’ homesick, is all.”

Remy bristles with his deck of cards. A Charlier cut; a One-handed shuffle. It’s a mindless tic; your variant used to do the exact same with the exact same ease.

(Such a miracle, you remember thinking once, that there could be symmetries in the Multiverse. Now you learn, perhaps, it’s far more a curse. Either way, you can hear Remy’s doting voice in a distant memory, dimpling coyly at you: “S’just the luck o’ your draw, chèr.” )

You tamp down the memory before it could sink its jowls any deeper in you. 

“You’re curious,” you say.

He makes a noise of assent. Revolution cut; One-handed shuffle. Repeat.

“I ain’t gon’ axe if y’ain’t wanna answer.” 

It’s kind of him. 

You forgot he was like this.

Witty, yet gentlemanly. The way Remy always has been.

Underneath the blanket of the night, the crackle of the flames limn the planes of his face in flickering, hazy saffron. The look in his eyes is sincere as they meet your red-rimmed gaze. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him, and in this light no less: tall, cutting, strong.

Lively.

The last you’d seen Remy, he’d been drawn out and battered by the war. Not that he’d ever admit it; he always insisted on keeping up his sunny disposition despite the constant losing battles happening. (Sometimes you think you resent him for doing that; it’d felt like he’d taken the light of the world with him when—)

You thank your lucky stars the variant Remy doesn’t make a comment on how you must be staring so openly. It’s a feeble attempt to committing every detail to memory, you suppose, in case you don’t get the chance again.

“In my Universe, a war was waging against mutants.” Your nails tinker against the empty bottleneck of the flat whiskey you’d nursed, thinking of how to cut a bloodshed of a story short; to get your point across before you falter and lose your footing.

“There was a mission sanctioned, and during it— a decision had to be made at that moment. So… you chose. Easily.” Your brows pinch tight against your will. The molten burn returns to the back of your eyes. “You saved so many lives the day you died.” 

Something catches in your throat when you realise your mistake, find yourself amending instantly, “He. He died.”

(It had been swift. A small mercy, all things considered. There wasn’t even a need to check for a pulse when you finally managed to reach for him.)

You’re fidgeting, too, with something in your other hand. Remy catches sight of it only now: a card, sitting pinched between your ringed fingers. Nine of Hearts. Its edges are torn and creased across the face, singed an ashen black. 

A proverbial piece of Remy’s heart, carried to the end with you.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a cold rush over his body at the sight. 

“…I’m sorry, chèr,” he offers quietly, inadequate as it is. He hadn’t expected that. 

He can’t imagine how haunting it must be to look at someone you’d shared a lifetime with and be met with a complete stranger instead. 

A living, breathing, ghost.

That unbiddable feeling of longing had always seemed to accompany the sight of him; but now it’s different. Now, there’s a blistering, brutal pain to come with; All-encompassing grief, thick as molasses in your lungs, overturning itself like a phantom from wherever you thought you’d buried it a long time ago. 

The only way to smother it would be to reach out, to hold him like you had once before, and isn’t that an ironic inconvenience? 

“No, no. I’m sorry,” you tell him, sigh coming out as an awkward laugh. A breeze passes and you inhale deep to ground yourself. Press your eyes shut momentarily to will away useless tears. “It must be so weird to hear all of this from me about— well, you, technically.”

“Mais, can’t ‘ave all been a bad memory, tho’, right?”

Right. No. It hadn’t been. There’s something else too. An undercurrent. Beyond the grief, the deep ache in your marrows— you think it’s nostalgia. Hiraeth. More bittersweet than it is painful.

It’s… It’s watching mutant schoolkids teaching him UNO for the first time. It’s the bickering over the beignets for breakfast, or your feet on his lap at the couch in the lounge after dinners with the rest of the X-Men. Lazy banter. Conversations that go everywhere and nowhere.

“Yeah,” you agree, feeling something bloom in your chest you thought long lost. “You taught me everything about your home, too. Down South. Told me about the bayou, the cypress trees. Your Cajun, your ways. We used to play Bourré.”

Talk of home has him ducking into a laugh. Remy had been in the Void far longer than the rest (he figures, at least)— he’s very nearly lost most of his fragmented memories to time by now. “Did I? Oughta’ play a game or two wit’ you.”

You buckle at that. “Ah. You were always the better player.”

Then:

He makes the leap before he runs out of steam. “Was we…?”

His finger darts between the space you two share.

“Oh, no,” you override, sheepishly. “No, we, we were good friends and stayed good friends. I was—” Your breath scurries; a reconsideration. “I was glad with that. You had a Southern belle named Anna Marie. A powerful mutant called Rogue. You two were good for each other.”

You must have given yourself away somewhere, though, the way Remy is reading you with a pinned gaze. It’s the same, levelled look you’ve seen before— the kind he gets in a game of cards. 

Something discerning eclipses in his eyes.

He’d gotten the measure of you in an instant. 

“Gambit musta’ been blind blind not t’see you.”

Ah.

You smile. It’s windswept. Resigned. “Well. Doesn’t matter now, does it? My Gambit’s gone. No matter how much I wish I can see him again.”

Remy’s eyes dart to your hands.

“Y’kno’, chèr,” he begins, something spirited in his tone. “In the world of cards, each a’ these and they suits hold a meanin’.”

He flourishes his deck, hypnotisingly smooth with every elegant cut, fan and spring. Every shuffle cascades as smooth as liquid in the sleight of his hands.

“Some of my folks back in New Orleans I remember, they learned me to read ‘em. Now, outta the whole deck? What you got there; the Nine of Hearts is also called the Wish card.”

The small laugh that punches out of you is bell-like. “Really?” 

It’s warm. Bright. Musical to his ears. It washes over him, and he can’t help but hang on to the peal. He wanted to hear it again. 

“Yes, Ma’am.” Remy clicks his tongue as he shoots you a sunny look. “Would never lie t’you, chèr.”

The cracks in your soul don’t disappear, but they surely lighten as you look gently at him. “Huh. Well, I guess I got my wish, didn’t I?” 

He chuckles. 

“Mais, I ain’t your Gambit but—” 

He leans. Reaches out behind your ear with an empty palm, playfully revealing a gilded card from seemingly thin air with a sharp flick of his wrist:

Another Nine of Hearts. His. He hands it over to you, by way of meaning—  I’m here, now.

New beginnings.

You take the card with a smile.

[ineffablemossy]

Good Omens Fandom assemble! It's that time again...

Another Amazon Prime poll that we need to turn around. You know what to do:

https://www.youtube.com/@PrimeVideo/community

Currently at 25% in 3rd place, but I know we can change that quickly. NOTE: if you're on mobile open the link in your browser and choose 'desktop mode' to view the community tab (shoutout to everyone who put this tip in the comments of my last poll post!)

[trans-androgyne]

Believing that trans people afab benefit from transmisogyny as a system is absolutely wild. Having privileges from not being the main target of it is one thing. But you really think that if the systems making up transmisogyny (transphobia, sexism, racism, and white cisheteropatriarchy in general) went away, things would be worse for me as a transmasc instead of better? We're in this fight together. Trans people can weaponize transphobia against each other, but we are not each other's oppressors. We did not build this system and it is not good for us. Direct your rightful anger at perisex cis people; otherwise, you're not punching up, you're just punching.

[bunnyboy-juice]

NO MORE ASSOCIATING THINGS WITH FEMMES ONLY BECAUSE THEY ARE PINK!HYPERFEM FEMMES ARE GREAT AND I LOVE YOU CAMPY FEMMES WHO EMBODY PINK BUT ALSO JESUS CHRIST CAN YOU GUYS NOT GO MORE THAN ONE DAY W/O TRYING TO SHOEHORN FEMMES INTO BEING ONLY PINK UWU BABIES. I AM FEMME AS IN GRASS AS IN DIRT AS IN TREE BARK AS IN WEEDS SPROUTING THROUGH THE SIDEWALK CEMENT. FEMME AS IN GENDER NONCONFORMITY AS IN FUCK YOU MY FEMININITY IS WHAT *I* SAY IT IS. FEMME AS IN DEPTH AND DARKNESS AND WARMTH AND TERROR. FEMME AS IN CAVES. FEMME AS IN LIGHTNING. FEMME AS IN AN AMALGAMATION OF TRAITS THAT I HAVE DECIDED ARE FEMININE REGARDLESS OF WHAT SOCIETY SAYS. FUCK IS IT THAT HARD TO UNDERSTAND?!???

[fennthetalkingdog]

This is a neopronoun/xenopronoun positivity post! If you see this, tell me what your neos are!! >:3

I mostly just go by he/they but I also go by xe/xem/xyr and other canine-themed neos!