#idk but i'm sure not cis

[stars-on-my-bedroom-ceiling]

i've recently been thinking i'm pangender/something close to that

idk why i'm shouting this to the whole world but yeah

because sometimes i wanna be a girl

and sometimes i wanna be more agender leaning

and--yeah you get it i want to be a lot of things

maybe bigender girl and nonbinary?

[butmakeitgayblog]

Jumping in on the CI appreciation. The dynamic is just so fun and deceptively beautiful as messed up as they are. You are a great writer and have a unique way of captivating a reader. Kudos and much success however you choose to pursue your talent! Speaking of… have you written or plan on writing that blowout fight scene (post hospital release) where Lexa draws the proverbial line so to say?

CI fight 😈

///////////////////////

This is the stupidest you've ever felt in your life.

Which is saying a lot, considering the sheer amount of reckless and dumb shit you have done.

But this absolutely takes the cake you decide as your hired nurse wheels you into your lounge room, the sheets already turned back on your couch-turned-makeshift bed and the mountain of your wife's borrowed pillows that are already fluffed to within an inch of their goddamn life.

Your hip kills every time you try to stand on it and your back feels like it'd gone one too many rounds with a baseball bat, and thanks to the four fractured bones in your wrist, you can't even deal with it on your own with the use of a crutch or cane. So instead, you hang on to this fucking stranger and woddle over like a toddler, sweating through all three herculean steps it takes until you can sink down into the godsend that is your new recovery zone.

You wave her off with your good arm once she gets you settled. Tell her you're fine and to stop fucking hovering because you didn't even really need a nurse to move in with you to begin with.

But your wife had insisted and left no room for argument, and well... You're not very good at telling her no when she's upset.

So here the hell you are.

Your grousing is hushed by the sweeter notes of your wife's voice when she comes trailing in behind you with that familiar sharp clicking of her heels.

She apologizes for your lack of manners and tells RN Whats-her-name she can go get settled in the guest room that she'd already showed her - you suppose she must have gotten the grand tour at some point while you were still laid up in the hospital.

Ass out in a gown and perpetually high as a kite.

Not your finest point in life.

Not the lowest either.

At least the drugs made it a good time...

Your temple throbs when your 'guest' excuses herself and snaps the doors shut behind her, making you groan and reach to rub at the bandage taped to the side of your head.

Fingers quicker than yours catch you before you can do any damage.

"Don't," Lexa warns you in a whisper more gently than you had expected, considering she's had to remind you three times already today.

You murmur your sorries and pout because it hurts, but can't help but breathe lighter when she slips into the space between your legs.

Rather than settling in your lap as you'd foolishly hoped for, she perches on the edge of the coffee table instead. She smells so good and her gorgeous face is so serene when she gets comfortable and looks at you dead in the eye.

But then she folds her fingers together and she leans her elbows on her knees, and you already know you're in for some kind of ass chewing.

Fantastic.

She levels you with that 'wife look' she gets. The one that tells you that she means business.

Nobody warned you about that when you'd agreed to this whole 'marriage' thing.

"So," she breathes, only pausing to lick her kissable lips, "Welcome home, Darling."

You snort a laugh through your nose that still hurts where it's swollen but the good drugs kinda help you not care. "Thanks for having me, babe. Nice place you got here," you say in sarcasm-dipped words.

She merely hums and gives you a narrow-eyed grin that feels sexy and distinctly lethal.

"Yes. I've missed you in it. I've missed having you here. With me."

That softens you. Lulls you into a false sense of security.

"I missed you too, baby."

"Good. Then," she says in a quick breath that sounds not unlike ripping off a bandaid. "I wanted you to know that I've taken the liberty of finding a buyer. Well, a few of them, really. All predictably salivating over the collection. But I supposed it'd be appropriate that we talk about the logistics of this before moving forward. I'm open to deferring to your expertise in this field when it came to numbers because, frankly, I'm more than willing to just give the fucking things away. So, we should talk about this."

You smile, because you're an idiot, and you think it's hilarious that she's talking to you like one of her clients. But you also smile because you're a little high off your medicine, and she's really just so pretty, and because not one word of that made any sense.

"What's... 'this'? What're you— Talk about the logistics of what?"

"Selling your cars," she answers with an easy nod, like it absolutely should've been obvious.

The silence that rings through the apartment feels loud in your ears... before you burst out laughing right in her face.

"What?" you choke out and chuckle, because you must've heard that wrong. "What are you talking about?"

"Just what I said, my love." She reaches out boops the tip of your nose with a patronizingly scrunched smile. "You know I don't like repeating myself."

"That's cute, Lexa," you titter and swipe at the hand that's already so far out of reach.

"Oh I'm not kidding, Clarke."

"Okay. And I'm not selling my cars."

"No, actually, you are."

You scoff and use the shoulder that isn't currently trussed up in a sling to push you hair off your neck so you can see her better. Or... something.

Because all you really see is the calm of her smile. Those eyes that are sharp. Hollow. Unyielding. And if you'd looked beyond the swell of anger that suddenly bursts through your chest, you might've seen the whispered-smoke of terror that hid in their depths.

But you do not.

Instead you focus all of your righteous indignation and stubbornness that burns white hot. You give a derisive laugh, and shake your head, and level her with a cold stare of your own.

Making sure she hears your every word, loud and clear.

"No. The fuck. I am not."

It almost feels like victory when her smile falls away.

"Clarke," she says with a deathly click to your name, "I want those deathtraps gone."

"Lexa—"

"I don't care."

"Lexa—"

"Stop saying my name, because whatever comes after it, I promise you, I do not care."

"Well I don't really fucking care either," you spit just to get a rise out of her, "because I'm not doing it, and I don't give shit what you say, Alexandria."

Her jaw ticks to the side as her eyes flash with hellfire.

She hates that name and you know it but right now you just want her to be every bit as angry as you are.

"Okay," she says so quiet you barely hear her over the hammering of your heart as she pushes on her knees to stand up and hovers over you for a moment.

And you think it's a victory because it feels like a victory...

Until it does not.

Because she just nods.

And keeps nodding.

Just this slow up and down of her head, her eyes empty and her face cold, but not in the way that you fell in love with.

This only fills your chest with dread.

So it's a shock when she straddles your hips, planting one knee on each side and sinks down to sit in your lap. Her weight is comforting after your stay in the hospital, if not a little painful in the way it twinges your fucked up leg. But you don't even let yourself flinch because God you've missed this. You've missed her, and her scent, and the way she practically drapes herself over you.

Your good arm wraps around her waist and digs fingertips into the soft dip of her spine, pulling her flush against you. You soak up the flutter of her lashes at the feel of your breasts pressing against hers; the way she fidgets not to grind down like her body's muscle memory is obviously screaming at her to do.

Instead she stares at you through those dark hooded eyes, now so beautifully filled with emotions that make your heart pound out a more pleasant rhythm than before.

"I love you, Clarke," she says. Whispers.

And your breath catches in your chest.

Same as it does each time she says those words, so fleeting and so rare as they are that they pierce straight through the mushiest parts of your heart. Because you know she loves you. You know it in every single thing she does. But there's just... It's just... Nothing will ever rival these moments when she lets them slip out, so unguarded and vulnerable with you.

And really... that should've been a warning.

"And I love you, pretty girl," you whisper right back instead, grinning as she preens under the praise, so lost in her beautiful face you don't even remember there exists a world beyond her.

You watch her throat dip in a thick swallow, her hands smoothing up the length of your neck. She cups your cheeks as her eyes trace every line of your face... as if she were committing this moment to memory.

She shakes her head. Sadly.

"I adore you," she says again, softer still and with more conviction. "Everything. I adore everything about you, Clarke. I love you more than I have ever loved anything in my entire life. And I'm always going to love you, no matter what."

When she kisses you then, in that moment, it's possibly the softest, purest thing you have ever known. She kisses you like it's the only thing she needs in this world and you hope she knows it's the same for you. Because her lips pillow and give under every caress of your lips, and her tongue slipping against yours feels like the only home you've ever known. It's one kiss among thousands you've shared. But you know you'll think of this one for years to come, and honestly if fighting gets you loving like this then you should really make a mental note to call her by her birth name more often...

She breaks the kiss with a sigh, and a shuddering breath against your lips.

"I love you. So, so much... I just want you to always remember that."

You barely have time to blink out of your haze when she extracts herself from your arms and your lap and your lips, and stands up on shakey legs.

She lets out a deep breath and smooths her hands along the front herself, rigidly primping herself free of any creases you might've left.

Her chin rises in that regal arch as she looks down at you and nods once again.

"I'll have our lawyer draw up the divorce papers in the morning."

Your hand snaps out when she turns to leave and catches her shirt cuff before you even have time to think, gritting your teeth to try and bite back the sudden shock of pain that slices up your arm and explodes through your shoulder.

"Wait, what the fuck did you just say?" you practically yelp.

Her icy glare drops to the hand that holds her, jaw flexing as she watches how bad you tremble.

"Let go of me."

"Uh, no—"

"If you don't," she cuts in, enunciating with lethal precision, "I'll have to rip my arm away, and that will hurt you more, and I don't want that. Now stop acting like a child, and let go of me."

You grit your teeth and fist her cuff harder through the cold sweat of pain. "I guess you'll have to hurt me then, because I'm not letting go until you repeat what the hell you just said."

"You heard me perfectly well, my love."

"No, I don't think I did."

"Then you'll figure it out tomorrow, won't you."

You let out a strangled sound and collapse back on the couch - both from the pain and the sheer terror ripping through you. "Lexa, what is this? What are you playing at? Why are you doing this?"

"I'm not playing at anything, I'm telling you that I'm not doing this with you ever again, Clarke," she says in her crisp business voice. "The hospitals. The sitting at your bedside. The wondering if you're ever going to be able to paint again. Watching you limp around for weeks, just to turn around and do it again. I'm done."

You roll your eyes at her dramatics. "Oh my god, are serious? It was just an accident—"

"One that could've killed you."

"It wasn't even my fault."

"That's not the point," she nearly growls, all fire and fangs. "This is your third accident in four fucking years. I can't keep doing this."

"And what exactly is 'this'?"

"Waiting around to lose you!"

Your ears ring at the volume of her shout.

You swallow as she takes a moment collect herself.

Feel the lump grow in your throat as she mindlessly fiddles with the diamond on her finger.

You know it's a habit that calms her when she's feeling particularly out of control. A tick she picked up and never seemed to kick somewhere around the third year you were married.

"I trusted you," she starts again, sounding calmer. Less shaken, but still frayed at the edges. "I told how I feel about you. I told you I wouldn't— Couldn't... survive without you."

"So your solution is to divorce me now?" you scoff. "Tell me, how does that makes sense?"

"Because I have loved exactly two people in my life, Clarke... And this way? At least I won't have to bury one of them."

It's like a bucket of goddamn ice water has just been upturned over your head.

You can't help but stare at her, dumbfounded.

Because you are... so fucking stupid.

Your heart twists and it pounds and for a split second you wonder if you're having a heart attack, or if maybe this is what they mean when they talk about broken heart syndrome. Because nothing has ever hurt this bad. Nothing has ever devastated you as much this tidal wave of guilt. Nothing has ever scared you; made you feel this kind of shame so deep in your bones.

And when she drops her hands like she's given up and turns toward the door, you almost feel like you're going to throw up with the way your stomach clenches in a fresh wave of terrified dread. You want nothing more than to pop up and run over to her and explain and just fix this, but your hip and your leg and you just—You just...

You did this.

You did all of this.

"Okay," you damn near yell, sounding distinctly like a wounded animal to your own ears.

She pulls to a stop and snaps back around, "Okay, what?"

"I said... okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, I'll fucking get rid of them," you bite right back again, desperate and annoyed and shaking so badly it's making your shoulder ache.

She stares at you, placid and unmoved.

"All of them?"

You grit your jaw and blow a breath out. "All of them... The dangerous ones at least."

She clicks her tongue and starts to turn away when you yell—

"You have to compromise with me here!"

She wheels back around with thunder in her eyes and a snarl already twisting her lips.

You know you have never needed to talk faster in your life.

"The ones that aren't street legal, they're gone, okay? Nothing that is actually dangerous stays. But I'm not getting rid of the ones that are perfectly safe, and, Lexa, I'm not getting rid of my grandfather's car. It's the only thing I have from my fucked up family that means anything to me, and it's mine, and it's not fair of you to even consider making me get rid of it."

"You hate that fucking thing—"

"I don't hate it, I love that car! That car changed my life! That car got me you."

You watch the rage bleed out of her as she slumps at the shoulders.

She runs a hand through the controlled chaos of her hair.

"That car did not get you me, Clarke," she strains out in a sigh, sounding tired and beautifully frail. "We're married because I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Because I fell in love with you. Because I'm in love with you."

It makes your heart squeeze tight all over again.

"Maybe, but you wanted that car before you ever wanted me—"

"That is not true," she cuts you off in a hush of a whisper.

She stares at you with eyes clouded with devastation and hurt, and for the life of you, you don't know how to fix it.

You never seem to know how to...

The air between you feels frozen for a long moment before she seems to make up her mind about something all at once.

She shakes her head as she crosses the room in quick, elegant strides and drops to her knees right in front of you.

"Listen to me," she says, and tenderly - so tenderly - takes your least injured hand and folds it into her own. "There are so many things I regret about my life. But making that bet, and losing it, are not included. Half of the reason I ever even wanted that car to begin with was because of how attracted to you I was whenever I saw you in it."

Your scoff is loud enough to give your concussion addled brain another headache. "You are such a liar, Lexa."

Your belly swoops when she flits that damn eyebrow up in challenge.

"While I appreciate your assessment of my moral virtues," she practically purrs, "on this, darling, you happen to be wrong... All that windswept blonde hair? The way you looked like you owned everyone and everything in those shaders that you'd so carelessly slip down before pulling away?"

You wonder if you even still have those sunglasses as she bites her lip and lets her eyes run the length of you.

You'll have to check the next time you can walk properly.

Maybe have them make a reappearance at your next brunch date.

Just for old time's sake.

The hand holding yours squeezes gently.

"You were so damn cocky. The way you'd throw that thing in park and hop out. You'd just toss your keys at the doorman like you didn't care about anything. I hated it so much," she laughs with a rueful grin that slips into something entirely more fond. "And yet I could never seem to make myself stop staring at you, darling."

Even after all these years of marriage, the thought of younger her having wanted younger you...

You shift at the throb that weakly pulses between your thighs.

"So... You made the bet because... you thought I was sexy in my car?"

"I made the bet because I thought you were entirely too full of yourself," she corrects, "which I still believe. But I wanted the car because I'd envisioned getting fucked in it more times than I could count."

God you love it when she gets vulgar.

She reaches up and brushes a curl away from your forehead.

"It just took me a little while longer to realize that the person I had been imagining fucking me was - annoyingly - very much you."

You know your smile is kind of dopey right now rather than the teasing slope that you're aiming for, but later when you look back on this moment, you'll definitely blame it on the drugs.

"So our marriage is based off you wanting me to top you in my grandfather's car?"

Her faces pulls up in distaste. "No. It's based off the fact that you are—"

She pauses and exhales something from deep in her chest, her eyes closing under the weight of whatever it is she's feeling as she finally trembles out,

"That you are everything to me."

You really really really kind of hate that you're injured in that moment, because when she opens her eyes they glisten with a lovely wet sheen. And you just want nothing more than to scoop her up and hold her in your arms. Because it's where she belongs. It's where she's always been meant to be...

"You're everything to me too, baby," you say because she is and she should know it, and you really need to remember to say it more often. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Lexa, I didn't— I didn't mean to..."

She nods when you can't find the words and kisses the bruised ridge of your knuckles.

Rests her forehead there for a moment as though in prayer.

When she looks at you again she's already pulled herself back together.

That's part of why you love her so much.

Always unbreakable.

Except... when it comes to you.

You have no idea what to do with that knowledge, but you know you'd give up anything just to keep it.

And you love her so much that it makes you smile. It makes you smile, because you just want to see her smile at you again. Always.

"Hey," you say, tossing in a lazy wink because you know she hates it. "You totally had a crush on me."

She rolls her eyes. "You're an idiot."

"You had a cuh-ruuuuush on me."

"Clarke. I am married to you—"

"Still," you snort. "Loser."

Her sigh of resignation is so weary it fills your heart close to bursting with how much love you have for this woman.

Because she doesn't fight you on that. Just leans her forehead against yours and nods, kissing your lips soft enough to not make the cut on them bleed again. Her nose brushes against yours in a sweet moment of aching tenderness, and when she pulls back to look at you beneath the fall of her lashes, the whole world is once again nothing but her.

"We'll go through each one together," she says somewhere between a question and a statement.

You nod in agreement, just to be safe.

"Anything remotely questionable, goes."

You heave a sigh but dutifully nod again.

"That means anything without the right mirrors, or proper turning signals. Engines that might blow up for no reason. Anything that was recalled decades ago. Anything with brakes that have a habit of failing... Anything that doesn't have fucking seat belts."

As her list grows you mentally tick off a good two-thirds of your collection.

You glance at her lips and remember how they feel against yours first thing in the morning, and simply nod again.

"Fine. But also? You can't just start threatening divorce every time you want me to do something, you know," you murmur still, because while you're compromising here... you really feel the need to remind her that she's not domesticating you or anything.

She doesn't seem remotely affected by your pout when she just shrugs and grins and leans forward.

You feel distinctly like a puppy on a leash when she pecks a placating kiss to your lips.

And then another to the tip of your nose.

"We'll see."

[ricciardo133]

July 2018

maxiel, Daniel genderswap, pining, drunken hook-up alluded to

-

Max wakes up slowly, feeling a girl cling to his side in the hotel bed. He can't remember Daniel and him inviting girls over to their shared room to unwind after Silverstone, but they did drink an inadvisable amount. Daniel had drank some noxiously sweet wine that some fan had gifted him. Idiotic, Max had thought. Max stuck to gin, a drink that normally doesn't leave him feeling this discombobulated. He feels wrecked, sore, and achy. He doesn't even feel ready to open his eyes.

The woman beside him stretches and sighs. "Rough night, eh, Maxy?" she says in a familiar Australian lit.

They both freeze.

Max sits up, slapping around the hotel lamp until he finds the switch. He stares wide-eyed at the woman lying beside him, her mass of dark curls against tan skin. Her wide, familiar eyes with that distinctive nose set between. Her hands are flung over her mouth, but Max can still see the right tattoos in the right places, only against different curves.

He glances down at perky, bare tits and soft, wide hips, and then back up in embarrassed shock.

"Daniel?"

"Yeah."

"You're a girl."

"So I've noticed."

Max gets up, starkly aware of his own nudity. He fumbles in the morning light for clothes, glancing at his reflection in the mirror as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants.

He's still quite himself, but the hickeys are new. He didn't know his face could feel this hot. He mentally feels memories from last night brush against his psyche in frustratingly fleeting snippets. Biting down on soft thighs. Warmth and tightness. Hard nipples in his mouth. God, he thinks, we finally did it and I can't fucking remember shit.

He looks back, seeing Daniel is gone. He panics and hustles to the bathroom where not-Daniel-but-still-Daniel stands and assess his body.

"Wow, kinda thought girl-me would have a bigger rack."

"You're taking this well."

"Well, obviously, we're dreaming."

"Hm."

Daniel twists in his spot, watching his reflection as he gives his ass a smack. Max is immediately hard.

"Daniel."

"Max," he echoes with faux shock. "Relax, this is, like, a seriously vivid dream. A horny one at that. I think we boned last night."

Max can't utter a word. He just watches as Daniel feels up his own body, smaller hands drifting over smooth skin. His nails skate along his thigh's tattoos, upwards to drift along fine hair between his legs. Max squirms and feels anything but asleep.

"So real," Daniel whispers.

"Can you maybe put something on?" Max begs. Daniel cocks an eyebrow and smirks. Max feels unnerved seeing his expressions in a feminine font. Daniel's refreshing confidence always made Max feel... too much. Like if he wasn't careful, he could spill over with it all. Watching Daniel now fondle his chest, pressing the small mounds together as he assessed himself in the mirror, Max felt ready to burst.

And they fucked. He turns and heads out to the hotel room.

Life is cruel and this dream sucks and he wishes he could remember.

"Hey, Max, hey," Daniel soothes, coming up behind him and blessedly covered in a hotel towel. "I seriously think this can't be real. Just like...what's that DiCaprio film?"

"Huh? Inception?"

"Yeah, that one. Just a really, really good...weird dream."

"Okay, then hit me." Max walks up to Daniel. He's not used to being this much taller. He feels dizzy again with need, wanting nothing more than to pin the older Aussie down on the bed. To hike his soft yet strong legs over his shoulders. Maybe it'd be fine if they did it again, since it maybe is an impossible dream and Daniel's not a boy right now. Not that it mattered normally. Max didn't care, he just wanted to feel him all over again.

"What?" Daniel smiles, eyebrows knit in confusion.

"In dreams, that's how you wake up. Like, a kick to jolt you awake, right?"

"Oh, right. Yeah, we should wake up."

Max leans closer and turns his cheek.

"I'm not smacking you, Max. Here," Daniel takes Max's hand in his. All Max wants was to knit their fingers together, to feel the way his palm is finally bigger than Daniel's. "We'll do it to ourselves, okay?"

Daniel places Max's hand against his own cheek. He watches the gorgeous woman in front of him mirrors him, hand raised gently, fingertips against the curls that fall so, so long down to the middle of Daniel's back. He'd look so good with hair like that even as a boy. Max thinks to tell him this and stops himself.

"On three, yeah?"

"Okay."

Daniel counts down, in that singsong voice that's his but not his pitch. Max tries to commit it to memory as he gives himself a just-too-painful slap.

And nothing changes. The only thing that changes is now Daniel panics.

"Holy fucking shit, Max."

"Daniel-"

"This is real."

"We'll fix this," Max tries as Daniel starts tearing apart the hotel room. Max glances at the clock on the nightstand while Daniel goes on a heated search for something. "We don't have to leave for the flight for two hours."

Christ. He pictures telling their team anything. Daniel can still race, of course, Max thinks. He'll just need a new suit that fits better. And some adjustments to the car's seat fit. And a good PR statement that, yes, something impossible happened overnight but no worries we'll be set for Hockenheim so don't worry about how this happened.

"This!" Daniel says, leaping up to Max and putting a small card in his hand. "This is why! Read it. It came with the wine that hot girl gave me."

Max rolls his eyes and reads it. He narrows his gaze. "A change, temporary, good for two? What's that mean?"

"Beats me, but read it again. Temporary." He sighs, letting his head knock back. Max stares at the line of hickeys down Daniel's thinner neck, too faint. "I do kinda miss my dick."

"How does it feel?" Max asks despite himself. "To be a girl?"

"Good, I guess." Does Daniel press his thighs together reflexively, Max wonders. He feels pent up and horny again. "Like, I don't mind it, but it'll be hell to buy a whole new wardrobe," he attempts to joke through shaky laughs.

"Maybe that note meant 'two' like in two times," Max says, voice quiet.

All he can hear for a moment is the whirl of the hotel aircon. He watches Daniel's feminine frame, his big eyes and wet lips.

"Can you remember any of it?" Daniel asks, voice barely registering above the whirl.

"Not much."

"And it kinda doesn't count, right? Because I'm not really me right now, so its okay? And you don't mind?"

It can count, Max wants to beg. It can. It can be okay after, too. It can be okay all the time.

"I don't mind. You're hot as a girl." The last three words feel too final. Daniel's shoulders fall as he nods.

"Yeah, a stunner, huh? So, well, we'll take her for one last ride."

Finally, Daniel walks up and pushes Max onto the hotel bed. Max's mind reels as Daniel lets the towel drop. Two breasts in Max's face as he feels thighs straddle his waist. His hands fly up to trace eager lines up Daniel's spine and rake gentle tracks back down with his nails. They both shudder.

"Last time, right?" Daniel says between kisses down Max's neck. Max feels his eyes water. It doesn't have to be. But he doesn't say anything. He flips Daniel over on the bed, body tenting over the smaller frame. And this time, he focuses. He wants to make Daniel feel good. He wants to come inside. He wants to etch every moment deep in his mind, so he'll remember every gasp, every touch, every sigh.

[symphonyofsilence]

At all times, I'm thinking about how Mu Qing who for almost 800 years thought that Xie Lian despised him, who was always prone to misunderstanding and when not a single heavenly official would believe that Xie Lian's third ascension's incidents were unintentional & not even Ling Wen believed that Xie Lian really didn't recognize Mu Qing, he must have been certain that Xie Lian threw the clock on him and pretended not to know him in the communication array on purpose, mere hours later the moment that XL asked for aid volunteered to help him! In disguise! Because he just wanted to help! He expected nothing in return! No gratitude, no forgiveness, no making amends, and even though he wanted to be His Highness' F word for 800 years (HIS NAME LITERALLY MEANS TO YEARN FOR AFFECTION!), no friendship. In fact, he must have been sure that his help was unwanted & made an extra effort to make it anonymous since the last time he tried to help XL he got chased out by a broom (& still he left the rice with them). But none of it mattered because he didn't want Xie Lian to go on a mission alone & without his spiritual powers. he wanted to make sure that XL was safe. he just genuinely wanted to help! As he always does!

[pinkyjulien]

.

[bestmutt]

this is a win for the men 🙏 but do you consider non binary folks?

thats a toughy.. I mean. probably. idk i've never really thought about it

[aachen404]

Am I the only one who isn't understanding this label discourse bullshit?

I keep seeing people trying to justify their hate against [insert label] because [insert more established label] people are uncomfortable and how it invalidates their spaces.

I do mean this in the nicest, politest, with the most worried-looking face I can muster: have you gone outside recently? Have you been to these so called queer spaces outside of online spaces?

I can assure you that besides the very few butthurt idiots, no one in their right mind will give a fuck how you choose to use the labels you happen to find. Most people will just not care that much because their label, as a fully personal thing, will mean different things for different people, and thus a different thing for them, than for you.

And if a label doesn't make sense to you, there's a very simple next step: ask the person about the label, and if you're not an ass about it, there's a good chance that they'll tell you.

[aeide-thea]

still thinking abt the tumblrinx i encountered a while back whose pinned post said they were transmasc… and also demanded that men dni

like—i’m not confused by the convoluted not-like-the-other-boys doublethink that gets you there, i can follow the chain of illogic just fine, but i sure am deeply wearily depressed by it!

[butchfriend]

the older lady i’ve been gardening for has only referred to me as he and today finally asked what my pronouns are (despite having known each other for a year now) and i was like “oh anything is fine” and she has continued to only use he for me... i love when my gender around little old ladies is just “nice young gentleman” to the point where they ignore literally everyone else using she for me lmfao

[woniebat]

Just curious tbh

[unionizedwizard]

man idk that "detransitioners" are even a thing. as in "oh god i made a terrible mistake and mutilated my perfect female body forever" like yeah some people who fit this description probably exist (but are definitely used by transphobes & also are transphobic themselves) but 1) there is immense pressure (social, economical, familial, medical, and otherwise) about not transitioning, and i hardly think that the fictional group of Malignant Militant Transgendereds Bwainwashing Ouw Poow Weetle Giwls Online would have any power compared to the overwhelmingly anti-transition pressure coming from Literally Everywhere 2) most "detransitioners" that i've personally met or heard of (ex-transmasc people, haven't met any transfem detransitioners - FOR SOME REASON HMMMM!) are like. you know. nonbinary lesbians. a demographic most notably known for their complicated relationship to womanhood & gender in general & blurring the frontier between butch lesbians & trans men. you know who personally brainwashed me and persuaded me that i was a "confused" butch lesbian and not a trans man and that it would be morally corrupt of me to transition tho? a close friend who turned out to be a full-blown TERF only a few months after i'd stopped seeing her & who kept parrotting terf rhetoric at the time (not that i noticed back then). that would have made me a (social) detransitioner at the time and it took several years to repair the damage she did. you can't say that trans people are the ones who brainwash and manipulate innocent cis people into transitioning when the exact opposite is often happening for real

[vulpinesaint]

gender is so funny. y'all really identify yourself with one thing or the other and actually feel connection to those two constructs? that's fucking crazy

[concerto-roblox]

honestly i cannot explain the gender feelings i get sometimes. like i see a picture of a man and i think "god i wanna be him" or "god that's so me" but not like. i don't want to look exactly like him or be percieved as a man at all (like not even in a butch or gnc way i skew pretty femme most of the time)... but it's like if i was that man but also a woman that would be epic... or if that man was a woman he would be so me but also if he was still a man?? what is gender.

[hellhorsedotjpg]

I got anon hate on my fandom blog for the first time in a long time and I find it really fucking interesting that the only prominent cis dude in this primarily female/NB ship is the only person who goes around being a fucking asshole, everyone else is cool

[mynameisbillandimaheadcase]

My mental health is deteriorating bc I kept thinking that I'm a terrible person but then I realized that

Starting the conversation with "hey I feel like you sometimes don't respect my identity as a trans person" isn't actually starting shit with someone

It's just that all the people around me are cis so they feel super upset when I question their allyship especially when those people are also queer bc for some reason think that the can't be transphobic so I'm obviously the one creating problems

And also when I tried to express my distress about this argument all I got back as response was 1) the "argument" I started was unprovoked and 2) I shouldn't complain bc the rest of my friends find it difficult too (to change my name and pronounce depending on who's around)

[the-heaminator]

.