#i am posting this on a whim

[redstainedstars]

a conversation.

Mark lay on the bed, playing with Micheal's hair as he's snuggled up to him. "You're quiet tonight. Is everything alright my love?" Micheal asks softly. Mark sighs, knowing he can't really hide anything from his boyfriend. "I'm just....thinking about a lot of things. What could have been, I suppose." Mark replies, his voice a bit sad. Micheal shifts a bit to be able to look up at Mark. "What do you mean?"

Mark hesitates, but knows that he should be honest about what's on his mind. "Just....the life we could've had, if the circumstances were different. If we could've been together when we were younger. When we were alive the first time." Micheal looks at him curiously. "Would you like to talk about it honey?" He asks gently. Micheal was concerned about Mark, but he was also very curious what exactly he was thinking about. "Well, I remember that you always loved kids. Maybe if things were different we could of had a family. It's silly to think about, really. I shouldn't harp on lost chances." Mark pulls Micheal closer. "It's not silly." Micheal takes one of Mark's hands in his own, rubbing his knuckles in a comforting gesture. "I think it's ok to think about what could've been. Is this something you've thought about a lot?"

Mark chuckles wistfully, looking down at Micheal lovingly. "Quite a bit, yes. I think about every detail." Mark takes Micheal's silence as a que to continue. "I think we'd have two kids, a boy and a girl. I even think about what they would've been named. The boy would be Damien, obviously. I think the girl would be named Angela, after your mother." His voice is soft and fond, as if speaking of a real past. Micheal's grip on his hand tightens slightly. As if the thought didn't make him emotional enough, the hypothetical children are named after two people very important to him. "Damien and Angela...I like that a lot." He hums, continuing to gently rub soothing circles on Mark's knuckles. "I thought you would." Mark chuckles. "I don't have any family names I see worth passing down, but I like the idea of passing down Damien's name. I think his middle name would be William too, that could be more of my contribution." Micheal can feel himself tearing up. "And....what do you think life would've been like with them?" Micheal asks quietly.

"It would be wonderful. I think they'd definitely have your creative spirit, my dear. We'd all live in a nice house, I'd take them to school every morning and let you sleep in. Then I'd come home and make you breakfast, wake you up with pancakes amd coffee." Mark has clearly thought this all through many times. This is the statement that finally makes Micheal sjed tears. "What's wrong honeybee?" Mark asks in concern, seeing small tears roll down his boyfriend's face. "You...you really have changed huh?" The blue haired man responds with a smile. Mark looks at him curiously, prompting him to continue. "In this perfect world you've imagined, you make me breakfast. You don't have butlers and chefs doing everything for us. It's just you, me, and the kids." Micheal brings Mark's hand to his lips, placing a small kiss on his knuckles. "I like the little life you imagined for us. Who knows, maybe in some universe we get to live like that."

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The Quest Continues...

(part 1- part 2)

[3dsoplya]

little sister

[zytes]

b-sides

[wildechildwrites]

Relax

Shinsou Hitoshi/Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Depression, self-esteem issues, mind control (not in a bad way but it's in there)

No use of Y/N, gender neutral reader

Summary: You haven't left your bed in days, too depressed to get anything done. Shinsou stops by your apartment to check on you and helps in his own way.

A/N: Wrote this because I've been too depressed to get out of bed, forgive any mistakes or ooc I didn't even really want to post it in the first place.

AO3 Link: Relax

You think you’ve hit a record for continuous hours spent in bed, and probably permanently fucked your kidneys because you don’t even have the energy to get up to use the bathroom. The floor of your room is disgusting, and dishes are piled up in the kitchen. You know you smell, and that there’s so much work for you to do, deadlines you’ve barely managed to avoid by calling in sick to the hero agency you do secretarial work at, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

There’s a knock on your door, but you just ignore it, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You don’t want to see anyone, and you’re not expecting to anyway. 

Whoever is at your door doesn’t stop, knocking harder and more insistently. You even hear your door knob jiggle, which spurs your anxiety on enough to get you to drag yourself out of bed. Your legs feel slightly wobbly, the inactivity of the last few days catching up to you as blood flows through your limbs. Catching your own reflection in the mirror makes you wince, but it’s a lost cause you’d rather not address. Whoever is knocking hasn’t stopped, and you yank open your front door irritably. If it’s some stupid solicitor–

Your jaw drops at the sight of one of the heroes from your agency, Shinso Hitoshi, standing outside your door. He’s dressed for patrol in all black, wrapped in his scarf, his voice modulator hanging loosely around his neck. His hair is wild as always, purple locks sticking in all directions, and he scans your form quickly, as if checking you for visible injuries. You remember how disheveled you look and your face heats up. 

“What are you doing here?” your voice is hoarse from disuse and your most recent crying jag, and you immediately wince at the way you sound, but Shinsou’s expression doesn’t change.

“I’ve come to check on you. I heard you were ill.” His tone is blandly neutral, as though it’s something that he does all the time, like you’re not just some stupid underling he’s contractually obligated to tolerate. His violet eyes narrow. “You’re not sick though.” 

You shrug self-consciously. You don’t understand why he’s here. You’re friendly at work, going out of your way to make conversation with the normally reserved hero, but you’ve never spent any real time together. You’re not sure what made him decide a house visit was in order. He definitely has more important things to do than checking up on you, and now you’re just wasting his time. You wrap your arms around yourself.

 “I just needed a day off.” You step backwards, going to shut the door. “Thanks for checking on me.” Shinsou’s foot shoots out, wedging the door open. There’s a beat as you two stare at each other, your mouth open in surprise.

“You’re not doing well,” Shinsou says, a frown on his face. He pushes your door open, and before you can protest, pro-hero MindJack has crowded into your disgusting apartment. You’re pretty sure it’s only because his poker face is so good that he doesn’t grimace at the mess, just stares at you, a crease in between his eyebrows. Humiliation burns in your chest. Now he knows you’re a gross waste of space, and he’ll probably tell everyone at work that you can’t even manage to keep your apartment clean. 

“Oh, little one,” he sighs. You pray for a black hole to spontaneously appear and swallow you up, but don’t get any such mercy. “You need tea,” he says firmly. “Tea, and then you’re going to tell me what’s making you depressed.”

Shinsou heads towards your kitchen with a strange amount of confidence for someone who’s never been in your apartment before, ignoring the dirty dishes piled in the sink in favor of the kettle.

Part of you knows you should protest, but you can't bring yourself to care, scraping the bottom of the well and coming up empty. You shove the pile of clothes strewn on your couch to the floor and sink into the cushions, your eyes on the hero in your kitchen. Maybe you’re just having a really weird dream.

All of your mugs are dirty, so Shinsou washes your favorite, plucking it out of the stack. You wonder if it's a part of his quirk to pick up on things like that. He even remembers how you take your tea, cradling the mug gently in both hands and plopping down beside you, sinking into your couch, his long legs sprawling out in front of him. Your fingers brush against his own, thin and unnaturally warm from the heat of the drink as he hands it to you. You're reminded of the last time you saw him. 

You've got two full trays of coffee balanced precariously in both hands, fighting a losing battle against flimsy cardboard and gravity. Your face is furrowed in concentration, your eyes fixed on your full hands when someone plucks the trays out of your grasp with nimble fingers. Your head shoots up, and you're about to protest when you see a pair of familiar purple eyes on yours. They’re beautiful up close, blue flecks making them seem almost periwinkle in the fluorescent office lights. Bashfulness hits you like a tsunami, and you try to tamp it down.

“Seems you've got your hands full,” Shinsou comments dryly. You smile and shrug, flustered by his proximity. 

“All in a day's work.” You bite your lip, feeling awkward. “I um, I got you one too, even though I wasn't sure if you'd be in today. You drink it black right? Dark roast?” Deftly, you pluck his out of one of the trays, then hold your other hand out expectantly. “Trade you?”

Shinsou stares at you intently, his expression unreadable. An odd shiver runs down your spine, like cold water dripping through your veins, and there’s a beat of silence before he finally responds, like he had to reboot. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs softly. He hands you one of the trays and accepts the warm cup from your hands, fingers brushing against yours. Despite your protests, Shinsou insists on helping you with your errand, trailing behind you to the meeting room you’re headed to. 

You pass out the drinks quickly, ignoring the odd stares that come with having a purple haired shadow lingering behind you, obediently holding the tray as though it’s the most important part of his day. 

Shinsou doesn’t speak until you're both out in the hallway. 

“You didn't get yourself anything.” There's a slight crease in between his eyes. It's adorable, the singular sign of concern in his placid expression. You’d like to reach out and smooth it out with your thumb. 

“They ran out of the tea I like,” you say, trying and failing to not sound like you’re pouting. Shinsou hums in acknowledgement. He’s suddenly distracted, his mind obviously elsewhere as he shoots you a vague goodbye before abruptly turning on his heel and heading in the opposite direction. You smile to yourself. Sometimes the heroes were so odd.

After your lunch break, a cup of tea appears on your desk. You don’t see Shinsou again, but you can’t keep the smile off your face for the rest of the day.  

You’ve sat in silence for at least twenty minutes, unsure of what to say. You wish Shinsou would just leave, but you’re not brave enough to say so. You just want to be left alone. The idea of talking about your pathetic problems with someone who has real responsibilities is mortifying. Shinsou seems content to remain unnervingly quiet beside you, relaxing on your secondhand couch.

“I’m not even sad, really. I’m just bad at being a person,” you finally say. “I fuck up everything and I'm going nowhere.” Your head thunks back against the couch cushions. Shinsou is staring at you, and you wish you could just disappear, but the floodgates have been opened, everything that’s been weighing you down spilling out.

 “It’s so exhausting to even just be alive. I feel so overwhelmed and stressed constantly about the most miniscule things. I wish someone would tell me what to do because I seem to be incapable of making decisions, even with little things like what to eat and how to organize my closet. Every choice I make is the wrong one.”  You sniffle, desperately fighting back the threat of tears. 

There’s a quick change in the placid expression on Shinsou’s face, a ripple in the still waters of a pond. 

“I could help.” His voice is hesitant but his gaze is sharp, lilac eyes pinning you down. You run a hand through your greasy hair absentmindedly, confused.

 “How?”

He stares at you with a deadpan expression until you realize what he’s implying. Duh. 

“I could… make some decisions for you. Help you be productive.”

You've never seen a mind altering quirk in action. Your curiosity sparks, and you push yourself to sit up.

“Can you just tell me to… not? Be depressed?” you ask.

Shinsou tilts his head, a small frown on his face. “It doesn’t work like that, unfortunately. But I might be able to make you feel better. At least temporarily.”

The silence while you mull over his offer is tense. You don't want him to use his powers superfluously. You're not sure if his quirk has limitations, but you don't want to exhaust it for a stupid reason like this. 

“I can't ask you to do that.” You say.

“You're not asking,” he replies firmly. “I'm offering because I want to help. It'll–” he hesitates, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I've heard that it's not bad, the sensation of it.”

You stare at him, absentmindedly chewing on your lip. Nothing can make you feel worse than you do right now, you reason. Maybe you can get him to make you clean. Or fill out bills. 

“How do we start?”

Shinsou looks surprised, then pleased, his eyes warm. He shifts closer to you, and you catch the scent of cologne, light and clean. Your heart gives an odd stutter.

“Are you going to be good for me?” His voice is barely a whisper. Heat rises to your face at the question, warmth kindling low in your stomach. You ignore your own reaction, focusing on his question.

“Yes Shinsou,” you reply. His mouth curves up, his demeanor changing instantly, slipping on intensity like a glove. A long arm drapes across the back of your sofa, boxing you in, closing the gap between you. He's bigger than you realized, so close like this, wiry muscle covering his slim form. His eyes are dark and deeper than you've ever seen them, like a twilight sky. You can't look away, a rabbit caught in the hypnotic gaze of a snake.

“Relax,” he orders, his voice silky smooth but impossibly firm. The words have an immediate effect, melting into you, tugging at your brainstem. A shiver runs down your spine, and you feel the tension in your body unfurl, like you’re slipping into a warm bath.

There’s a part of you that’s panicking, a jerk of animal instinct that fights against the downy sensation that’s settling into your mind. You try to quiet the protest. You want to be good for Shinsou, want him to think that you're good. He sees the conflict in your expression and leans impossibly closer, a gentle hand reaching up to tip your chin towards him. Your eyes drop down to his mouth, and his breath catches.

“You’re doing so well,” he says quietly. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but I’d never hurt you.” He cocks his head, voice slipping back into a more authoritarian tone. “Now, go take a shower and brush your teeth.” 

The words have an instant effect on you, pulling an invisible string. You jerk to your feet, unsteadily beelining towards the bathroom, his little marionette doll. Shinsou rises as well, heading towards your bedroom. 

The first time you meet Shinsou is in one of the many break rooms of the agency you work at. He strolls in, and you have to make a concentrated effort from keeping your jaw from dropping. He's tall and handsome, his surprisingly delicate features thrown off by the dark circles under his eyes. The coffee you're pouring overflows onto your hand in your distraction, and you curse quietly under your breath, spinning around to grab some paper towel to clean your mess. 

“Careful, the coffee's hot,” a dry voice speaks from behind you. It's low in an unexpected way, appealing despite his lack of inflection. You let out a scoff at his comment. You go over a mental list of the heroes at your agency, trying to pinpoint who he is.

“You're MindJack, right?” you finally ask, turning back to face him, your curiosity getting the best of you. He looks surprised. 

“You know who I am?” 

“Yeah, I guess. I’ve seen what you can do, read your file and stuff.” You're desperately trying to come off as nonchalant, throwing your shoulders up in an exaggerated shrug. Hopefully he doesn’t think you’re a stalker or anything. You clear your throat. “You’ve got a pretty interesting quirk.” 

“Interesting is a kind way to put it, I believe.” His tone is light, but there’s an edge to it. You read the sudden tension in his shoulders, the way his lips thin. “Most people think it’s a villainous quirk to have.” 

You roll your eyes. Morons. 

“People are just shitty about it because they’d probably be evil if they had your power,” You say, trying to sound matter of fact. “If anything, it just proves you’re a better hero, you resisted the pull because you’ve got strong morals.”

 You smile at him, and he returns it, a quick crescent moon flash of teeth that has you ducking your head.

“I guess I’ve never thought of it that way,” he murmurs thoughtfully.

Shinsou found your stash of clean sheets and is making your bed when you walk into your bedroom after your shower, squeaky clean and wrapped in a towel. He turns to you, and you see his cheeks go pink, his eyes trailing down your form before shooting back up to your face with a guilty expression. Shame rushes through you, disturbing the detached serenity you feel. You should've told him you needed to change, instead of barging in practically naked. He's being so nice, and you’re ruining things like always. You can feel the corners of your mouth turning down, anxiety fighting against the artificial calm Shinsou has coached your mind into.

He clicks his tongue, matching your frown with one of his own. “I’m sorry, I lost focus. You’re alright, relax for me.”

It’s an odd sensation, a roller coaster drop and then you’re back to tranquility. He smiles at you with that half crescent flash of teeth. Your knees feel weak. 

“I’ll go start the dishes while you put on some fresh clothes and start some laundry. Sounds good?”

The sun's dipping low in the sky, the shadows growing long as you and Shinsou fold the mounds of laundry you've finished. Time feels strange, chores that normally take hours slipping by in moments, the sound of Shinsou's voice filling the silence and echoing in your head. He tells you about becoming a hero, about training and about work. You like the way his voice sounds, the lack of inflection giving way to little tells, peaks and valleys in his speech pattern that you’ve never picked up on before.

He's propped himself against your bed, making quick work of the pile of socks he’s folding, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as he concentrates. You're struck with the soft domesticity of it all, the compassion of Shinsou taking so much time to help try to pull you out of the hole you’ve found yourself in. Gratitude overwhelms you, your chest tight with it. 

You don't realize there are tears running down your cheeks until Shinsou looks up at you, and lets out a soft gasp, abandoning the pile of socks.

“Are you alright?” he asks, concern lacing his tone. “Did I push you too much today? Did we do anything you didn’t want?” He’s so close to you, hands hovering hesitant around your face, desperate to comfort but afraid to close the gap. You shoot him a watery smile, wiping your eyes before you pull him into a tight hug. He freezes at the contact, a heartbeat of surprise before melting against you, long arms wrapping around your body.

“You're just so nice,” you say, voice muffled against his chest. You feel his lips brush against the top of your head softly. You don't feel better, necessarily, the empty hole in your chest still present, but you feel less heavy. Your apartment looks great, and your to do list is down to an almost manageable level. He’s done so much more for you than you can express, so you just hug him tighter, burying your face into his neck. 

You want to stay like this forever, huddled on your bedroom floor, cradled in each other’s arms. The warmth of the moment is shattered by the ring of his phone. 

Being a hero is a ceaseless calling. He answers, and you try to convince yourself that the curt note in his voice is disappointment at the interruption. You pull back and pretend not to eavesdrop, schooling your face into a neutral expression for when he hangs up, regret coloring his features.

“I have to go,” he says, and you muster a smile.

“I’ll walk you out.” 

MindJack stands in your doorway for the second time tonight, lingering in the warmth of your apartment. You’re back to feeling stressed, hyper aware of the vulnerability he’s seen today. You hope he doesn’t say anything to anyone. You hope he still likes you after all of this. His next sentence catches you completely off guard, your own self doubt totally off base. 

“I'll stop by to pick you up for work tomorrow morning,” he says, his voice almost casual. There's a soft pink to his cheeks, and you feel an answering heat rise to your own. “Unless you’re planning on calling in sick again.” 

“You really don’t have to do that.” You feel like you’ve put him out enough tonight already.

“I’d like to.” Those purple eyes have you pinned again, and you feel yourself nodding without thinking. Before you can blink, he leans into your space, wrapping a long arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him and pressing his lips to yours in a fierce kiss. His mouth is warm and soft. He nips at your bottom lip and you quietly gasp. He takes advantage, deepening the kiss, pulling you impossibly closer, his tongue sweeping against yours. You reach your hands up, weaving your fingers through his hair, and he lets out an appreciative groan when you tug him closer. His phone buzzes again and he pulls away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he says breathlessly. You don’t know how to tell him what a difference he’s made for you. You’ve got so much you’d like to say to him, but you know he has to go. He’s stayed longer than he should already.

“Thank you,” you say simply. You hope he understands the true weight of your appreciation. You gaze tenderly at each other for a moment before he reaches a hand out, fingers ghosting against your cheek, then slips out of your apartment.

[vividviolence]

@elementcattos halloween's coming up so here's a large variety of spookier (or strangier?) kitties. also featuring designs from @thanatiawashere, @shardthefuckingwhajje, and @baltdev (that should be everyone?)

bonus alt based on the one luigi image

[minstrel-in-the-gallery]

Why YOU should get into jethro Tull!!

You’ll never run out of things to listen to, with over 200 songs and 23 studio albums!

Each album has a slightly different genre to the last, you can go from blues to prog to folk to hard rock!

Every single member is so darn cute 😭 that’s like an added extra bonus

They’re pretty too 🥰

They have about 1,034,264 line up changes, so you never run out of new musicians to obsess over!

You gain a new friend (me!) and a close knit community on tumblr of regular Tull posters (again, me!)

No one else knows them, yet somehow they were one of the top ranking bands in the 70s. Flex on your family and friends with your cool knowledge! For example, did you know Jethro Tull is in fact not a the lead band member, but rather the name of the band? Cool stuff right 😎

1979 😐

They have amazing musicianship! They’re insanely talented, and absolutely blow your socks off in live performances. Give “Bursting out”, their live album from 1978 a listen, or chuck on a concert from YouTube!

Where should I start?

Well, that depends on you! Because each album is so different, it can be hard to choose. Here are a few helping notes to consider

The 70s were their peak era, any album from this time is gold! Songs from the wood, Heavy Horses and Stormwatch are known as the folk trio. Thick as a Brick and A Passion Play are proggy concept albums. Aqualung is super rocking, Minstrel is acoustic and This Was is blues. Venturing into the 80s and beyond may not be wise for the first time, unless you really like your synth.

Whose who? What’s all this I hear about lineups?

Jethro Tull went through a lot of personnel. Some names you might keep hearing are

Ian Anderson. He’s the main guy, and he’s on every album. Does the flute, singing and weird faces

Martin Barre. Guitarist for almost every album except the first! (And the last 2 but we don’t talk about that.) literal cutest person in the world. His middle name is Lancelot, for crying out loud

Barriemore Barlow. Drummer from ‘72-‘79, insanely talented, loves his short shorts and singlets (in red). Was favoured as a replacement for Bonham in Zeppelin.

John Evan. Piano player, half insane half beautiful mermaid person thing??? His fursona is a rabbit and has a habit of chucking stoves out the windows.

Basically, you can’t go wrong! Enjoy this train wreck of a band <3 (and if I don’t see any Tull dedicated blogs popping up in the next 24 hours I’m hitting someone over the head with my flute)

[otaku553]

Do you post weekly or bi-weekly? Also i cant imagine how scary for sabo it must be to not even know the cause of his fear. Makes it more terryfing in a way

At present the posting schedule for spade pirate sabo is practically nonexistent, anywhere between every 1 and 3-4 weeks. I tried to keep up with the weekly schedule but found that I just couldn’t when I was trying to plan the chapters a bit more

And YES *slaps sabo’s head* this bad boy can fit so much unresolved trauma and unexplainable fear

[exoscreamsoda]

i recently fell into a superbat rabbithole and i have many plans brewing in the sims

[ikenoklasm]

i was planning to finish this, but the past few days had been so hectic, that I can't help but post the unfinished version just to make it in time for Saint-Just's birthday. Happy birthday Saint-Just!

reference below the cut

I saw this and thought of Saint-Just heh

[iknowwhereyousnoozeatnight]

this one's for all the yuri enjoyers out there — nsft under cut

meronia event prompt(s): scar

[ahollowgrave]

hi its me again!!! Thank you to everyone who participated in my birthday silliness! If you didn't take a screenshot but sent in an ask, or just joined in on all the reblogging, this last thank you is also for you. I've gotten a few last entries all queue'd up to be shared and I'm officially done checking the tag for any stragglers. Maybe we'll do this again next year, who knows!

Your characters are beautiful and your screenshots delectable and your writing scrumptious.

[pittsburghpenguinsaffirmations]

IT’S GAME DAY ONCE MORE

since technically now the geno goal drought is over it’s time for 3/3 on @tawnyow-l ‘s affirmation ‼️‼️

LET’S GO DREW YOU CAN FIND THE NET I BELIEVE IN YOU

fun op fact! last time we played the red wings this season i was at the game with my college roommate who’s from michigan. both of us walked away with points for our teams so it was a win in our books 🤷‍♂️

[aibouart]

btw that photo of my fursuit my sister took on halloween, and she submitted it to a fursuit group as an entry for a contest for your photo to be featured as the group's banner and it fucking won and i had no idea she did it at all she was like "hey uhm i didn't think it'd win but your suit is the banner of this group now" and i was like wHAT ???

[arminsumi]

ohmygod milkman!gojo got on the front page for the gojo smut tags lolol i'm so shy 🫠💗 thank u for the love everyone

[intersex-support]

Something that has been helpful for me when having conversations about what counts as intersex is to really engage in enquiry about what the label means and how we're using it. To me, it's been more helpful to think through questions like:

What purpose does labeling a variation as intersex serve?

In what ways is societal understandings of "typical" changing?

Why was the label of intersex created and has our use of the label shifted?

What ways are we building intersex community? What do we want intersex community to look like?

How do our experiences of oppression impact our understanding of intersex as a term?

What sources are we drawing from when we develop definitions of intersex?

What is the history of the way intersex has been used?

What ways has intersex community been exclusionary in the past, and is that in line with our current values?

Definitions of intersex have always been tied up with what the medical world decides to classify as differences of sex development, but especially in the past twenty years as intersex community has grown more connected, we've started to have a lot more self-determination in our communities. But I think a lot of people still really have a misconception that intersex is a biological "third sex" that is strictly medically defined, and that there are clear cutoffs between intersex and endosex.

Instead, I'd like to bring in the concept of compulsory dyadism to introduce a framework where intersex is an intentional political label used as a way to build community for the people whose variation of sex characteristics are most impacted by the stigma and violence associated with compulsory dyadism.

Sex diversity is not just limited to intersex people. Even within the boundaries of dyadic/endosex bodies, people have variations like different amounts of body hair, penis size, hormone levels, breast size, as well as things like disabilities affecting any of those traits. For example, very few people actually have all the "ideal" traits that line up with this constructed idea of an endosex body that has the exact "correct" amount of estrogen, the right size chest, the ability to bear children, "normal" periods. Many endosex people might have a variation in one of those aspects at differing times during their life, such as during menopause, for example. And this framework can help us understand how diagnoses such as endometriosis are not intersex, but people might still notice overlaps in certain experiences.

But the reason that not everyone is considered intersex and the reason that having a separation between endosex and intersex is important is because of the stigma and violence associated with straying further and further from that dyadic norm, and intersex is a label used to describe people who are the most impacted by that stigma and violence. We have been socially labeled as "deviating" the most from the "normal" sex binary, and consequentially face intersexism both on a systematic and personal level. Our collection of sex variations becomes located entirely outside of the sex binary, and as a result, we often face curative violence, social stigma, and systematic exclusion from many parts of society.

This definition isn't a perfect definition. I think we need to have room to develop more nuance around the fact that many intersex people might not feel like their experience of being intersex has brought them any personal stigma or violence, as well as understanding that there isn't going to be a universal intersex experience. Even when discussing how intersex people are the most impacted by compulsory dyadism compared to endosex people, I think it's important to recognize that within the intersex community, our additional intersecting identities are absolutely going to influence our experiences with oppression and that it's vital to intentionally uplift the members of our intersex community who are most impacted by oppression. In the United States, the creation of the sex binary was an explicitly racist process, and racialized intersex people are subject to additional layers of stigma, violence and scrutiny. (Check out chapters 4-6 in the book Cripping Intersex by Dr. Celeste Orr for a really in depth discussion of how antiblackness and compulsory dyadism are forces behind why the Olympic sports sex testing has pretty much exclusively targeted Black women from the Global South, regardless of whether or not they are actually intersex. Also recommend reading The Biopolitics of Feeling: Race, Sex, and Science in the Nineteenth Century by Dr Kyla Schuller.) I also have talked with many intersex people who are tired of us always being represented through trauma narratives in the media, and who want us to be able to build a definition of intersex that isn't based around violence or tragedy. And I think that's really important that we also share our stories of intersex joy, and pride, and healing. I think that claiming intersex can be something really radical, and that's super valuable to me.

Overall I think that if we build our discussions around who is intersex on concepts to do with our social and political location, and take into consideration concepts like compulsory dyadism, sex diversity, and disability, we are going to be able to understand why any of it matters better than if our determinations of intersex identity are based solely in medicalized concepts of a third sex.

TL;DR: Although endosex people also have diversity when it comes to sex traits, intersex is still an important label that not everyone can claim. Compulsory dyadism is a force that affects all of us, but intersex people are the most impacted by compulsory dyadism and face intersexist stigma and violence for our intersex variations. As a result, intersex is an important label for us to claim so that we can build community and solidarity around our experiences. I think it is better understood as a sociopolitical label that describes the relationship between our biological bodies and the cultures we live in, rather than as a medicalized term that described a coherent "third sex."

other intersex people feel free to add on to this post-I'm only one person without all the answers, and would love to hear other perspectives!