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tsaomengde · 10 days ago

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The Interview

Content warning for explicit descriptions and discussions of sexual assault. I am not fucking around. Do not read this if you're not in a place to handle that.

Unsurprisingly, my boss, Harold, does not know who Richard Colby is. He summarizes the situation in his typical brusque fashion. “Some genre writer’s getting me-tooed and his PR team wants a puff piece to remind everyone what a funny, awkward, approachable guy he actually is. Do you want it?”

I shrug, knowing that if I come across as too eager he might give it to someone else. Harold doesn’t like go-getters. He likes solid, reliable people who show up on time, write the things they’re told to, and don’t bother him with too many ideas of their own.

“Sure.”

“You’ll take an Uber to his house. It’s in upstate New York. He wants to do the interview there. Says it’ll make him feel more comfortable.”

“Got it.”

The day of, I go full femme mode. Shave my legs for the first time in years, makeup, product in my hair, a bra instead of a binder, a suit with a pencil skirt, pumps, and stockings. Looking at myself in the mirror makes me feel dysphoric, but I shove it off. Bigger fish.

It’s an hour’s ride in the Uber to Colby’s house. I know the magazine will cover it, so I decide fuck it and take an Uber Black. Pulling up to a mansion in a luxury car while dressed for the world’s sluttiest business meeting certainly is something else.

There’s no help, no hovering PR people or gofers. Colby answers the door himself. He looks rumpled, a small older man wearing an oversized Aran knit sweater and greying curly hair. “You must be Chris,” he says. His voice is mellow.

“You must be correct,” I tell him. “May I come in?”

He ushers me into a positively cavernous room that’s all white carpet, white leather couches, and giant windows looking out onto his landscaped garden. “Can I get you anything?” he asks. “Cup of tea?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” I tell him. I pull out my phone, set it on the table, pull up my voice recording app, and make a show of pressing the red button. I also pull out my notepad and pen, sitting down on one of the couches and crossing my legs, barely remembering to hook one knee over the other instead of my usual ankle situation. I don’t wear skirts basically ever. “Ready to start?”

He hems and haws a little but eventually settles on the couch, a respectful enough distance away. There is a whole other couch on the other side of a big coffee table, though, so it was definitely a choice to plant himself on the same one as me. “So,” he says. “I suppose you’d like to discuss the current palaver in my personal life.”

I frown. “Palaver?”

He smiles thinly. “A whole lot of fuss over nothing, more or less.”

“Ah. So you’re denying the allegations brought against you?”

“Categorically. Are you certain you don’t need anything to drink?”

“Why, so you can drug it?”

Now he blinks, looking shocked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Right,” I tell him. “Sorry. That’s not your style. You prefer to take advantage of emotionally vulnerable and financially insecure people. Less money spent on drugs that way.”

His face clouds. “Miss –”

“No,” I tell him. “Not a woman.”

That definitely throws him. “I – but –”

“Oh, I know I look like one right now. But femininity is just a performance, after all. I can pick it up and put it down whenever I want.” I pitch my voice high and bubbly. “All it takes is a little practice.”

Now he’s beginning to look angry. “I think you ought to be going, now.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” I pull the last of my interview tools out of my suit jacket. He stops looking angry very abruptly and begins looking scared. This is a natural reaction to being confronted with a Walther PPK.

“Let me tell you what’s going to happen,” I continue. “If you get up from this couch, or try to move toward me in any way, I’m going to shoot you. Naturally police will get called, there’ll be a huge – what was that wonderful word you used – ah, yes, palaver. There’ll be a huge palaver and it’ll ultimately be your word against mine. After all, there are no witnesses. You let all of your staff go when things first started going sideways and it looked like money might start to actually get tight.” I gesture minutely with the gun. “Didn’t you, Richard?”

He doesn’t say or do anything.

“Not that it really matters if there were people around. Everyone you ever employed had to sign an NDA as part of their job. An NDA that threatened them with some frankly draconian consequences both legal and financial if they ever talked about you or your activities to the press.”

Silence.

“I expect you looked me up when you heard I was going to be your interviewer,” I say. “Here’s what I think happened. You started thinking about this interview, about having this little femme-ish person in your home – I mean, nonbinary people are just ‘women lite,’ right? – and filling my head with nice-sounding bullshit. Maybe you thought about how you would get a little closer to me as we talked, bit by bit, until you were able to touch me. Maybe a hand on my shoulder, or knee, or thigh? Just a little touch at first, but then you’d get more insistent.”

His face contorts in a rictus expression, but he still says nothing.

“Where did it go next?” I ask. “This fantasy version of me. Was I down? Or did I resist? Is it hotter when they say no, Richard?”

I see his Adam’s apple bob a little as he swallows. He still doesn’t say anything.

“Answer the question like a good boy,” I tell him. “Or I’ll shoot you anyway and things will go like I said.”

His eyes flick toward the phone.

“Oh, yes, it is recording,” I tell him. “But you know how it is, Richard. Things get deleted by mistake, or lost. Or, oops, silly little me, I forgot to press the button! This is why we kept women out of journalism for so long.”

“I don’t know how to answer your question,” he finally says.

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t do anything you just suggested. If my employees signed NDAs, it was my lawyers who made them do it. I certainly didn’t engage in lurid fantasizing about you before you arrived. And I let my staff go when this whole thing first started because I didn’t want them getting swept up in it, not because of financial concerns.”

“You didn’t want them talking to the press, you mean,” I tell him. “NDAs or no, you were paranoid about that. But I was able to interview one of them.”

He blinks. “Who?”

“Now now, Richard, they spoke to me under guarantee of anonymity. I’m an ethical journalist. I don’t reveal my sources.”

“The gun you’re using to threaten me would cast doubt on the credibility of your ethics, I must say.”

I raise my eyebrows in mock surprise. “A little bit of sass from the serial rapist. You love to see it.”

“I am not –”

“What is it about anal rape specifically that you like, Richard? The fact that it’s easier to make someone bleed from their ass, or the fact that the angle’s better when you’ve got them pinned on their stomach so you don’t have to see their face?” When he just sits there gaping at me, I continue, “Is it both? Neither? Oh, I forgot about the allegations that after you anally raped some of your victims you made them clean off your cock with their mouths. Do you just like making people eat their own shit, Richard? I’m sorry, I mean, ‘my Lord.’ That is what you insisted people call you, whether they wanted to or not.”

He still sits there and says nothing. He just stares at me. He doesn’t even look angry.

“The thing I keep seeing,” I tell him, “more than anything else, is the grief. Millions of people loved your work, Richard. We grew up with it. We drew comfort from it. We loved the way you insisted on depicting the stories of the marginalized. The unseen. People of color, women, queer folks, trans folks, immigrants, convicts. Victims of systemic discrimination, of assault. We saw ourselves in those stories, some of us for the first time. And you’re so outspoken, Richard. You’re so quick to call yourself a feminist. To tweet about hashtag believe women. To go to bat when famous dickheads go on a twitter rant about men wearing a dress so they can go into women’s restrooms and do vague sex crimes. You talked the talk so well, Richard, and for so long. It really was easy to believe that you were walking the walk.”

His mouth is pressed into a thin line. There are tears in his eyes.

“So, on the record, Richard. Are you sorry for what you’ve done?”

A tear runs down his cheek. “Yes.” His voice is hoarse.

“Do you regret it? If you could, would you go back and change it?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a good boy,” I tell him. “And listen, I believe you. I believe that right now, in this moment, you feel like an absolute piece of shit and wish you’d never been born. Humans are extremely reference-dependent, Richard. When we’re in a hot state, when we’re angry or horny or high or some combination of all of them, we have a very hard time thinking about anything more than what we want to do right there in that moment. Regret happens when you look back with clear eyes and really objectively evaluate what you did.”

He nods, still weeping silently.

“So,” I continue. “We’ve established that you regret it, Richard. You regret all the terrible shit you did. You are, in fact, capable of feeling regret, is my point.” I raise my free hand palm up, fingers curled, in an inquiring gesture. “So my next question would be, why’d you keep doing it?”

Back to silence. He has nothing to say.

“We have sworn testimony from five or six women now, Richard. Over a period of years. Decades, even. One or two data points could be coincidence, mistakes, misunderstanding. But there’s a pattern here. And more people are coming forward. My point is, only you – maybe not even you, it’s been so long – know how many people you’ve sexually assaulted. So why, at no point, did you just… stop doing it? Why didn’t you say, I regret this and would like to change it if I could, so I’m not going to do it any more?”

The quiet from him is deafening. The gun is heavy in my hand, but I don’t let my aim waver.

“I’ve read a lot of think pieces about this,” I say. “A lot of very educated people holding forth on generational cycles of abuse and trauma begetting more abuse and trauma. People are talking about how your parents were part of a very wealthy, very powerful cult. About some of the stuff you were obviously subjected to as a kid. That kind of stuff fucks you up, I agree. You don’t live through trauma like that without the brain doing weird things to try to cope.”

I lean forward toward him, lowering my voice a little. His eyes stay fixed on the gun.

“But between you and me, Richard? I don’t care. Your brain isn’t you. Your traumas and triggers aren’t you. You’re you. At the end of the day, you’re the one who controls your actions. You might be predisposed to them, you might even find it overwhelmingly hard not to do them, but the bottom line is that the buck stops with you and no power or force in the universe can change that. You took advantage of people. You violated and hurt people. And you just kept doing it! And the whole time you kept getting up on your little soapbox and telling everyone how good of an ally you were!” I can hear my voice rising and getting shrill and at this point I’m beyond caring. “Fuck, I’m surprised no one twigged to your bullshit much earlier! It’s so obvious in retrospect!"

It is at this point, of course, that he decides to go for the gun. It’s only natural, after all. I’m getting closer to him, I’m agitated, I’m caught up in the moment and ranting. There will never be a better time, and he knows it. One hand seizes my wrist and twists, the other comes around in a solid blow to my jaw. I see stars and feel the weapon fall from my fingers.

When I can see and think again, only a couple seconds later, he is standing, pointing the gun at me, screaming, calling me a crazy bitch, et cetera. I massage my jaw. “Richard, that wasn’t very nice.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” he says. “That wasn’t very nice of me? To disarm the psychotic cunt that came into my house with a gun to threaten me? I am so very sorry I hurt you! Is that what you wanted to hear? That I’m sorry your little parasocial fantasy relationship with me had its bubble burst when it turned out I’m just another disappointing fuckup?”

“It doesn’t hurt to hear that, no,” I say. “But no, honestly, what I wanted was to make you feel the way some of your victims did. To be paralyzed with fear and impotent rage as someone made you feel like a worthless bag of shit. Didn’t enjoy it, huh?”

“I don’t know how many times I need to explain to people that I’m sorry things went the way they did!” he shouts. “I’m not a comic book villain, I don’t have some evil master plan that I already executed thirty minutes before you got here. I’m just a man who has made bad decisions and wants to put them behind him! I didn’t kill anyone, for Christ’s sake!”

“It’s true,” I say. “You haven’t killed anyone. Yet.”

I make as though I’m going to spring at him. He screams and pulls the trigger.

Nothing happens, of course. There aren’t any bullets in the gun’s clip or chamber.

He stares at the weapon in shock for a long few seconds while I just sit there and go back to rubbing my aching jaw. That’s going to bruise for sure.

“No, it didn’t jam, it’s just not loaded,” I say, finally. “And look on the bright side, Richard. You only pulled the trigger once. You didn’t keep trying after the first time. That’s the difference between manslaughter and murder, right there.”

He drops the gun onto the floor. I lean over and pick it up, putting it back in my jacket. I also collect my phone, which is still recording. I press the red button again and turn that off.

“Naturally, none of this is going to be admissible in court,” I tell him, putting away my notepad and pen and starting to straighten out my outfit, which got rumpled in the tussle. “Confession under coercion, real or imagined, never is. But that was never the point, after all. I just came here to write a story.”

He stares at me with hollow eyes. “It sounded to me like you came here for more than that.”

“Catharsis is nice, sure, but it doesn’t pay the rent, Richard. But the waves this whole thing will make – the two weeks of discourse about whether what I did was okay, the yea-sayers and the nay-sayers fighting on twitter, the long screeds on Medium and WaPo about whether it’s morally justified to bully a bully, et cetera et cetera? It’s all going to add up, Richard. You can take some comfort in the idea that you really are being a good ally, finally, by helping get a queer writer’s career off the ground.”

His mouth quirks in a bitter smile. “So much for the moral high ground.”

“I never laid any claim to that, Richard.” I turn and head for the door.

But I can’t resist looking over my shoulder one more time. “Oh, but just to point out – if I had, I would still have it, because I haven’t raped a bunch of people and then made them sign NDAs to keep them from talking about it.”

He doesn’t say anything. I don’t look back at him again as I leave.

My Uber Black is still waiting for me in the driveway. The driver glances back at me in his rear-view mirror as I slide into the backseat. “That was fast,” he says. “I was expecting to be waiting out here for, like, at least an hour.”

I shrug. “We got to the heart of the matter pretty quickly.”

He nods, putting the car in drive and starting the trip back. “So,” he says. “Did he do all that stuff? Like, for real?”

“What do you think?” I ask him.

With a shrug, he replies, “Probably, yeah. But you know how this kind of thing goes. There’s a bunch of court stuff, a lot of people fighting on the Internet about it, and maybe he gets house arrest and a fine. Maybe. More likely they let him off. He’ll be back to writing stuff next year and talking about how he got unfairly canceled and now he’s trying to just come back and do his thing but the liberal media won’t let him.”

“Yeah, probably,” I say. I’m already drafting my statement for when my phone gets hacked and the recording gets leaked without my consent or knowledge. I also send my girlfriend a message confirming I’m still good to crash at her place for a while so I’m not home when the crazy people show up to threaten me in person after I get doxxed.

I know he’s right, though. Life isn’t story-shaped. There isn’t going to be a nice, fitting end for Richard Colby. He’s going to keep living a very comfortable life with his millions of dollars and he’ll die of old age in his sleep.

That’s what gets me, at the end of the day. That he’s the one who made me believe that life should be story-shaped. That, in the final account, the world should work the way it does in books and television. Bad guy gets caught, gets punished, happily ever after.

Fuck him for that. I’m so tired. I can’t even be angry.

I’m just disappointed.

#writing #my writing #neil gaiman #neil gaiman allegations #i'm not blazing this because it would never get approved #so if you read it and it speaks to you please give it a reblog #i'm so tired

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totally-not-agirl · 8 days ago

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anyway I like detrans kink the same reason I like my breeding kink and my cnc kink, both of which are “more acceptable” when they’re like. the same thing.

It’s taking things that scare me and make me uncomfortable (dysphoria transphobia sexism assault, societal pressure to have children and the body horror of pregnancy) and making it a silly sex game instead. And processing shit at the same time.

I’m less afraid of going to the gynecologist because I’ve reframed it as kinda sexy (without involving unconsenting strangers or my doctor). I’m less dysphoric about being forced to use the women’s bathroom because it’s a silly sex game to play with myself. On days I don’t want to wear a bra I can reshape my shame so I don’t have a fucking breakdown at work.

If you don’t like it, block the tag. Block the blogs. Whatever. Posting in it will bring more of the content to you. And that’s weird if you hate it so much. All of us deserve peace, so just take it off your tumblr experience to you don’t have to worry about it?

Thought crimes don’t exist. Kink has been used to process trauma for literal centuries. And also just for fun, which still isn’t harmful. I’m literally on testosterone with a gender studies degree I’m a trans man with a silly kink blog. And my therapist also says it’s healthy and fine like? Spreading your judgment in the tag and as angry anons (not accusing it of being the same people, it’s just both happening and it’s ridiculous) does not make you morally righteous and will not save you from the white supremacist patriarchy.

#fake boy #fakeboy #detrans kink #ftmtf kink #misgender kink #ftmtf girl #r@pe kink

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toybreaker-kr · 11 months ago

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Thinking about a big tiddied dom leaning severely dysphoric pre-op trans boy taking me home after a nice innocent date (m4ftm).

You’ve never hooked up with anyone before, wary of being misgendered. But we’ve had a few dates and I’ve been sweet and respectful, so you invite me to your apartment, affecting confidence you don’t really feel.

We’ll start kissing immediately after we enter your apartment. I’ll crowd you against the wall like in the movies and you’ll think it’s romantic, if a bit corny. I’ll strip you of your clothes and when I reach to pull off your binder you’ll try to protest, try to say something along the lines of “Hey, actually I’d rather keep it on”. But I’m still kissing you whenever I can reach your lips and you let the moment pass, loathe to make it awkward. I told you I was gay, so there’s no way I’ll see your chest as anything other than masculine, right? You try to tug off my clothes but I kneel and moan that I want to suck your cock. You like the way I worded that, so you let me pull your pants and briefs off.

I’m completely clothed and you’re completely naked when I yank the door open and pull you out into the hall.

You freeze for a moment in shock, then try to scramble back into your apartment yelling “what the fuck-”. I grab you from behind and shush you. You don’t want your neighbour to come out and investigate, do you? You really want them to see you like this? Tits and pussy out?

You tremble as I push you closer to your neighbour’s door until you’re practically peering into their peep hole. I lazily hump your bare ass and you can feel my hard on through my jeans. You can’t quite believe this is happening. I grab your fat tit with my left hand and snake a hand between your legs, ignoring your clit to play with that feminine hole you so loathe. My fingers just shy of entering, press just enough to burn a little. Deliberately stretching you out.

“You know,” I say conversationally, “I’m actually straight. It’s hilarious that you thought a gay man will ever want you. Your tits were practically bursting out of that sports bra you call a binder.”

I jiggle your breasts and laugh. “Do your neighbours know you’re a woman pretending to be a man? I mean it’s pretty obvious. I bet they won’t even be surprised if they open this door right now. Not surprised that you have huge udders, just shocked and disgusted by how much of a perverted skank you are.”

With a hushed and shaky voice, you demand to be released. I pull out my cock, rub the length against the underside of your pussy and you freeze again. ‘Absolutely no go zone’, your bio had said. I press a smile against your cheek and amuse myself by smacking your pussy with my cock. I adore how much you hate it. I can’t wait to break you in until you love it.

You’ve changed your tune, quietly begging to stop instead of making demands. Despite everything, you’re getting wet. The slap of my cock against your labia makes it obvious to anyone who might hear. I squeeze your tits affectionately when you start to cry.

I wriggle a finger in your vagina, then two. You act like a bug has crawled up there instead. I reach in as far as I can and feel the brush of your cervix on the tip of my middle finger. “You feel that? That’s the entrance to your womb. A man can just press his cock head flush against this and breed your womb with his cum. Then a fetus will grow inside you until your belly fills with water and gets bloated and heavy with a baby ‘cause that’s what you’re designed to do.”

You try to twist away in revulsion but I press you harder against your neighbour’s door and you have to still to stay quiet. I pull out my fingers and stroke my cock with your cunt slick. I kiss your ear. “I won’t breed you if you do as I say. I don’t particularly want to take care of a baby either, but I’ll have to if you disobey. So for the both of us, you can be a good girl, right?”

You hate yourself as you force yourself to nod. I make you say it. It feels like something in you dies as you whisper against the door, ‘I’ll be a good girl’. Then, you’re biting back a scream as I force my cock inside you.

It’s a tight fit. It feels absolutely wonderful to force myself inside your virgin cunt. With firm presses and sharp jabs. It feels the opposite of wonderful to you. You’re desperately trying to suppress the sobs from the pain and violation. You Can’t be seen like this, you just can’t.

I give you some respite once I’m hilted inside you, taking a moment to luxuriate in your warm tight insides. I pull your hips back with me, walking backwards until you’re arched, hands and forearms braced against the door for support. I pull out a little, then thrust into you, satisfied when your heavy tits swing forward and smack against the door. You gasp and try to cover your tits to reduce the noise but I pinch your ass hard in warning and tell you to resume the position. You swallow down your protests and obey.

For the next ten minutes, I fuck you roughly, the sound of my balls slapping against your thighs are drowned out my the smack smack smack of your tits knocking on your neighbour’s door. There is no way your neighbour hasn’t heard by now. Maybe they’re standing on the other side of the door, shocked and frozen with indecision. Maybe they’re watching through the intercom, guiltily pleasuring themself to the sight of a girl with big fat tits being raped against his front door. Or maybe they haven’t noticed, headphones drowning out all other noise. Maybe they’re not home. You have no idea, and that makes it worse somehow.

My hips stutter as I get closer to coming and you beg for me to pull out. I say I will if you say you’re a girl and beg for me to breed you. You cry. It’s a trap. You know it. I know you know it. But there’s no other option than to try. So you sob ‘I’m a girl’ and you beg. Force yourself to omit the ‘don’t’ as you beg ‘please breed me’.

And I do. I press my cock against your cervix with one last thrust and fill your womb with burst after burst of cum. You didn’t know you’d feel it all. The twitch and pulse of my cock and the hot sticky wetness filling parts of you you wish you never had.

You feel empty when I pull out. In more ways than one. But don’t worry, something else will fill that emptiness soon.

#assume I’m amab here for convenience #btw if u suddenly can’t message me it’s a tumblr bug — I didn’t block u #forced detransition #dysphoria play #degrading k1nk #rough k1nk #ftm correctional therapy #misgenderingkink #ftmtf kink #fake boy #forced detrans #rapekink #forced impreg #exhibition kink #toby

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reorientation · 11 months ago

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Condition me to find playing with my breasts relaxing. Start by massaging them along with my back after I come home from a long day, while talking softly to me, reassuring me that you'll always help me through rough times. 'It feels good, doesn't it?' Then slowly transition to making me do it myself, you'll take care of my back and shoulders, and I'll handle my breasts. This is something I can do any time I'm stressed out, any time I have a private moment. It's ok, I don't have to think of this as feminizing, its just basic bio-chemistry. Breast massages cause a release of oxytocin, one of the feel good hormones. Lie to me when I notice my breasts start getting bigger. Just buy me better, more restrictive binders as gifts. When I start lactating, comfort me, and shower me with adoration and appreciation. Buy me a breast pump, so that I can empty my tits before work every morning, it would be embarrassing for me to leak at the office, wouldn't it? Hold my hand as you guide me into this spiraling catch 22. I need to milk myself to pass at work -> milking increases my milk production -> I have to milk myself more and more in order to squeeze into my binders. What a cruel cycle you've tricked me into. -sleepy anon

I wouldn't be a good partner if I didn't do my best to help you relax. Before even suggesting the breast massages - knowing that they might make you dysphoric - I'd have already gotten you some herbal supplements to help with anxiety. You know, chamomile, fenugreek, blessed thistle, that kind of thing.

Once they started, though, I'd be sure that we made it a habit. It would be so kind of me to set aside part of every day to massage your back (is it feeling a little more strained than it used to?) as you took care of the parts you could reach. And I'd remind you that you needed to do that, to help your body relax after you were wearing a binder all day - so many people hurt themselves with those.

I hope it would be during one of those sessions that you got the first drops. I'd be there to reassure you, to comfort you, to take your mind off of it by fucking you full of cum (when did I get so hard?), and to lovingly lick the milk off of you so that you didn't feel like your new bodily functions made you undesirable.

From there... It would be simple, wouldn't it? You just need to pump more. A girl AFAB person can only produce so much milk, you know - you just have to get it all out. I'd support you with the logistics. I'd buy you new binders... or nursing bras, but only because it'll make things easier for you at work, babe. I'd be so supportive, compassionate, loving.

I'd even try to stifle a laugh when you leaked milk from your swollen teats as you came on my cock.

#kink interactions #reorientation writing #reor: anon ask #ftm misgendering kink #ftm detransition kink #ftm girl #reor: sleepy anon

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archangeldyke-all · 1 year ago

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Hey ! It's my first request ever, so I'm not sure how it work. If you're not confortable with it, feel free to don't respond. I'm kinda obsess with an AMAB Sevika, can you write reader discovering a surprise pregnancy with a sex friend/flirt/crush Sevika ?

I like the way you make her express her feelings, it's pretty accurate with Arcane. Feel free for them to keep the baby or not. Thank you so much and thank you for your work. ^^

sure!!! i got another very similar request too so i'll combine them :)

Amab sevika really be curing my depression

Maybe reader and vika are married and trying for a baby? 🥺🥺 amab sevika is my beloved and I'd die for her

men and minors dni

you guys have been trying to get pregnant for about six months now.

a lot of it's been fun. flipping through baby books together in bed, sending each other videos of cute babies on social media, and the actual baby making process is a blast.

but some of it's hard.

sevika's stopped taking her estrogen to get her sperm count back up. as a result, she's been horribly dysphoric.

you've caught her crying several times, standing in front of the mirror with a pair of tweezers in her hands, her chest irritated from the plucking and picking she'd done. she's become obsessive in shaving her face, doing it two or three times a day. her metabolism's gotten faster without the estrogen, and the 20 or so pounds of extra padding she'd put on her thighs and hips since she started e years ago is starting to fade away.

you try your best to make her feel better, insist that you guys could always try ivf instead, but she's determined to do it 'the old fashioned way.' so, you just hold her when her dysphoria takes hold, pressing kisses to her hair, reminding her you'd love her with a full beard just as much as you love her now.

it's been hard on you too. the more time that goes by without a successful pregnancy, the more you feel like your body's betraying you.

how many times did you and sevika have a pregnancy scare at the beginning of your relationship, before you were ready for kids? hundreds. but now that you're actively trying, your period is as regular as it can possibly be.

you've decided that if you go another month without any success, you're going to throw in the towel and ask your obgyn about ivf. you can't take much more disappointment, and you don't like seeing sevika so depressed all the time.

but then, something happens.

it starts with your tits getting sore.

for a week straight, they're tender to the touch, sore by the end of the night when you take your bra off. you know it's one of the earliest signs of pregnancy, but you don't say anything, not wanting to get your hopes up.

but then you start getting sick in the mornings. you can't hide this from sev, and she's squirming with excitement beside you as she rubs your back while you spew your guts into the toilet below.

"this is amazing." she says, giddy. you groan.

"real amazing sev, i'm feeling great." you say sarcastically. she giggles and presses a kiss to your head.

"i'm sorry, honey." she whispers. you giggle and reach out to hold her hand as another bout of nausea overtakes you.

your period is a day late.

and then two.

you know this. you know sevika knows this. but neither of you say anything, too scared to jinx it.

but when two days becomes three, and then three becomes a full week, you start getting excited.

you don't tell sevika you buy a pregnancy test-- not wanting to disappoint her if it's negative. but you do buy one, and you take it an hour before sevika's meant to get home.

it's positive. you nearly pass out from excitement.

sevika comes home to dinner on the table and flowers in the kitchen.

you sit on her lap the second she sits down, swinging your arms around her shoulders.

she's smiling like she already knows, but she's biting her lip-- worried that she's wrong.

"i got two surprises for you." you say.

"two?!" she asks, her hands clawing into your hips. you smile.

"two." you say, nodding.

you reveal the syringe full of her estrogen to her, raising your eyebrows at her. she blinks.

"what's that?" she asks. you laugh.

"'s only been a few months sev, y' already forgot what your e looks like?" you tease her. she blinks and gulps as you wipe a cool alcohol wipe over her bicep, pinching the skin and bringing the needle up to her arm. you smile at her.

"but what about--"

"don't ruin the second surprise." you scold her as you inject the needle into her muscle, pushing her hormones in and watching as her eyes go wide and sparkly.

she doesn't even notice the sting of the needle-- she's usually such a wimp about it, but tonight, she's got all her attention focused on you.

"does that mean-- are you--"

"pregnant?" you ask as you gently place a bandaid over the tiny puncture wound. sevika's breath catches in her throat and her eyes get watery. you place a kiss on top of the bandage, keeping your eyes locked on hers. sevika's breathing is shaky, tears already streaming down her cheeks. you lean up to kiss them up. "you're gonna be a momma, sev." you whisper against her cheek.

at the words, sevika bolts out of her chair, holding you in her arms and running you to the bedroom. you laugh the whole way.

sevika slams you (gently) down onto the bed before jumping on top of you. one of her hands goes to hold your stomach, the other comes up to cup your cheek.

"are you serious?!" she whispers. you smile and nod, your own tears welling in your eyes.

"took three tests. all positive." you say. sevika whimpers, then swoops down to kiss you.

she fucks you like she's trying to get you pregnant again.

and then, when you're done and she's holding you in your arms, her hand still on your stomach, the both of you catching your breaths, the first thing she says is, "what do you think about athena as a girls name?"

"goddess of war!?" you ask, laughing. "absolutely not. i'm not dealing with another little fighter in the house." you say. sevika giggles.

"but it's badass! nobody'd fuck with her." she says, pouting at you. you laugh. sevika gasps. "she just kicked!" she says, pointing at your belly. you laugh even harder. "she loves it! we have to name her athena now!" she says, teasing.

you groan and push her face away as she chuckles. "you're fuckin' ridiculous." you say between your giggles. sevika grins.

"i love you so much." she whispers, tears forming in her eyes again. your laughter ceases, a sweet watery smile taking its place.

"i love you too." you whisper.

sevika grins and swoops down to kiss your stomach.

"love you too, little fucker." she whispers to your belly.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika #oh also! disclaimer i am cis! (...mostly) so if i got anything about the hormone process wrong lmk!#i did a little bit of reasearch but it was only about 10 mins #so any corrections are welcome and will be made asap!!

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lottyeh · 1 year ago

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hey everyone! i didn't realise i hadn't properly been on here since june so i wanted to make a little update post to say how i'm doing. if you're new here, none of the stuff i'm talking about here is fantasy. i'm just a bit weird and am exploring real detra.nsition using kink hahaha

i've been off T for 255 days, or over 8 months, now! i've not got any changes that stuck around, thank god, so i look completely female, like i was never on T at all.

i haven't worn a binder in just about as long, i don't even know where in my room it is anymore. i've been wearing bras every day and any chest dysphoria i had is totally gone, i've taken to showing them off and showing cleavage and stuff which has been really fun! i also wear skirts or dresses much more often than i don't and wear makeup every day. none of this, surprisingly, has made me dysphoric at all?

i've started a new college course and haven't introduced myself to anyone using he/him so they're all using she/her for me! i've taken the pronouns out of all of my bios and "accidentally lost" my pronoun pin so there's literally nothing to correct them.

literally the only thing between me and being totally detran.sitioned is telling people i know. that probably won't come for a long while yet but otherwise i'm presenting totally female. it's a lot of fun! you should try it if you haven't <3

update: hi again! adding onto this a little while later to say i've started coming out as detran.sitioning irl!! kind of. i'm letting everyone new i meet assume she/her and telling everyone i already know that i don't care about pronouns anymore. everyone i've told that to so far has immediately defaulted to she/her. it's felt great! i still need to confront my birth name but that's a task for later me. i'm just celebrating what i've managed so far!

#detranskink #detransitionkink #fakeboy #misgender me #btw if you're here lurking in tags: PLEASE do not screenshot this and share it to other groups. i don't care if you frown on what i'm doing #or how i'm doing it #but all i ask for is for you to not share this because this is genuinely how i feel best to explore this #ty <3

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kerosene-saint · 1 year ago

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I'm gonna start having a fucking meltdown in the middle of the grocery store

#not been feeling well + chest hurts + i have to wear a sports bra that is too small for me and hurts my chest more + it makes me dysphoric +#i am wearing a white shirt which means you can see my bra through it + i am going on a girl scouts outing which mean I'll get called a girl #+ i have to smile and act like I'm okay + I'm going have pictures taken of me #i feeling I'm being fucking tortured.

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my-castles-crumbling · 2 months ago

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what websites or places would you recommend getting a binder from?

Hey!

A couple people asked this, but the others were anon so I hope they all see this!

Here's a few that were recommended to me when I was first looking:

Binders:

Tri-top (I know this one ships to many different countries)

GC2B

Tape:

transtape

I've used both TransTape and a Tri-top binder.

The binder was relatively inexpensive, shipped in a package that didn't seem suspicious, and fit as described. The only problems I have are that it's a bit high-necked and it bubbles a bit by my armpits.

The transtape is great but doesn't bind as well for people with bigger chests. If you have a bigger chest, it's great to use if bras make you feel dysphoric and has the advantage of not creating lines/showing as much like a binder would. You can also wear it in the heat, and for multiple days. but it won't make you as flat as it would for a smaller chest. Make sure to look up advice for how to put the tape on AND remove, as I damaged my skin the first time I tried to take it off. It's also more expensive overall because it's not reusable.

#asks #ask #ask cas

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urhoneycombwitch · 6 months ago

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like a fern

foreword: this feels super vulnerable to post but maybe that’s the point!!! pls check cw before reading. obviously, non-binary+genderqueer folks existed in the 80’s, but I’m writing from the POV of a reader who does not have the language to describe their dysphoric feelings. proceed with gentleness and take care of yourself. this one’s for the queers <3

cw: AFAB reader with breasts (non-sexual mention), reader is non-binary but doesn’t have the words to self-describe as such, discussions of gender and sexuality, Eddie is also queer, love and understanding from an also-queer partner <3

wc: 1.4k

Indiana summer is in full swing, record-breaking temperatures keeping everyone indoors and away from the punishing sun.

Eddie and you are sprawled on the trailer’s twin mattress, well-used to making the small space fit you both.

He’s flopped on his back, rambling about the woes of trying to align ten different busy schedules for a night of D&D while you half-listen. An ancient box fan leans against his dresser nearby, pointed at the foot of the bed and doing its best to circulate the muggy air.

You’re stretched out on your stomach, arms curled in, hands tucked into the hollows of your shoulders. In order to maximize air flow over warm skin, you’ve stripped down to just a sports bra and cut-off denims, Eddie in similar fashion with just a pair of cotton boxers slung low on his pale hips.

He’s currently cursing capitalism and the jobs that keep his friends too busy for play, a familiar rant that’s less fiery this time around as his voice is muted with heat-sleepiness; dark curls spill around his face and shoulders, fanned out against the pillow behind his head, long lashes sweeping with each blink.

You’ve never known a boy so pretty in all your life. Didn’t even know that boys could be pretty, until you met Eddie.

As he talks, you let your eyes drop from his face to his bare chest, something like envy unfurling as you note the smoothness there, the near-concavity of the space above his ribs.

Not for the first time, you wish you were matching.

There’s a deep pit of yearning that quickly spirals into longing, whenever you think about how Eddie fits into tank tops or goes shirtless with ease- something that has recently taken shape into something less about wanting to be similar to the love of your life, and more like self-applied jealousy.

As if in psychosomatic answer, your breasts begin to squish uncomfortably from lying on your front; when you shift to change the pressure, bare arm unsticking tackily from Eddie’s, he stops mid-ramble to look down the slope of his nose at you.

“Everything okay?” He stretches a ringed pointer finger to coast over the skin of your neck, lightly and soothing. “Sorry it’s like a goddamn oven in here. If I was rich I’d build you an ice house just for sitting in.”

Your eyes flutter at his touch, smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. “Nah. S’okay. It’s not the heat.”

“Then what?” Curiosity piqued, Eddie props himself up on his elbows. The silver chain around his neck slides over his pec; he catches you staring, then gives you a wolfish grin, misinterpreting your look. “Ah. Right. Of course. Feelin’ a little hot and bothered?”

“Only because it’s hot and you’re bothering me,” you snip, squirming uncomfortably again when the band of your sports bra digs in. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. What were you saying about burning the workforce to the ground?”

Eddie’s not so easily dissuaded from the source of your discomfort. Childishly, he pokes at your cheek, emphasizing each demand- “Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me or I swear to god I’ll start screaming my head off until you spill your guts and Mrs. Trainer will call the cops again and it’ll be a whole thing-”

“Christ, Eddie.” You swat his hand away, and he recedes, triumphant, boring a hole into the side of your head with expectant watching. “Ugh. Fine. It’s-”

Words tangle in a confusing jumble at the forefront of your mind, twisting and warping around each other. Your throat feels dry so you clear it, burrowing the side of your face into the pillow for comfort, brows pinching together as the simplest words of the lot spill from your tongue like a midnight confession.

“I don’t think I’m a girl.”

Your pained expression is obscured by the pillow, so Eddie’s still playful, mattress jiggling as he flops backwards again. “Not a girl, huh? So what are you… man, mollusk, or mammal?”

He quiets when he realizes you’re not laughing. “Hey...”

Since your eyes are still obscured, your sense of hearing and touch fill in the gaps- Eddie looping an arm around your waist, ends of his hair tickling your upper back as he leans in to nose at your ear- “Talk to me. Tell me again, I won’t poke fun. What’s up?”

The tightness in your chest eases some as the steady weight of his arm works as a grounding force, enough to coax part of your face and mouth out from the confines of the pillow to repeat, “I don't think I’m a girl.”

“Okay,” Eddie responds, immediate and caring, thumb stroking soft against your spine. “A boy, then?”

“No.” You mirror Eddie’s earlier movements, propping up to your own elbows, grateful when he doesn’t move his hand from you but still keeping your eyes fixed on the faded floral pattern of the pillowcase. “Not a boy. Something… in between? Or maybe neither…? I dunno yet.”

The more you try to give a name to the feeling, the faster it runs like water through a fist. You’re just about to make another bid to drop the issue when Eddie uses his free hand to snap his fingers, dark brows nearly touching his fringe in an expression of a lightbulb moment.

“Adiantum pedatum.”

This time when you frown, it’s from bewilderment. “…what?”

“Adiantum pedatum,” he says again, fingers trailing mindlessly up the length of your back while he explains. “Well, that’s the scientific name, at least- the five-fingered fern. It’s native to our region, was reading about it in one of Dustin’s nerdy plant books. They reproduce asexually, can’t be labeled as male or female ‘cuz they’re in their own category. Rad, right?”

He’s sparkling with the idea, chocolate eyes lit up the same way you’ve seen after a successful campaign or a band session that ran long with an abundance of artistic flow.

“Kinda like you,” Eddie says, softly, smiling easily up at you. “In your own category. Can’t be contained, sometimes.”

“But-” There’s still a sticky, confusing feeling attached to the idea, one that you’re trying to parse out as your fingers dig into fabric. “What if it wasn’t just some times? What if I felt like this all the time?”

“That’s cool, too,” Eddie affirms. His hand tracks a path from your lower back up to your neck, rings cool against your skin as he swipes a thumb against the apple of your cheek. “Sounds lonely to carry all by yourself, though. I’m glad you told me.”

There hasn’t been any room in your complicated introspection for excitement or joy, thus far, but the way Eddie’s talking about it causes a wave of tension release, of gratefulness, overwhelm in the form of tears pricking at your eyes. “And you don’t think it’s… weird? Like, it doesn’t freak you out knowing I feel this way?”

“Psh.” He rolls his eyes, dismissive, humor leaking back in. “Freak me out? Me? Did you get heatstroke and forget who you’re talkin’ to? I wear your underwear for fun. You call me beautiful and it turns me on. I’m no stranger to the Weird and Devious.”

“Fair point,” you muse, forehead dropping like a magnet to press into Eddie’s shoulder. He wraps you in a brief, sweaty squeeze of a hug before dropping it to let the fan air breeze over the both of you once more.

“You’ll tell me if you don’t like one of my girly nicknames for you, right?’ Eddie asks, contemplative but already returning to that faded, sleepy tone. “Angel and princess and sweetie. That kind of stuff. I’ll have to get more creative but it’s worth it for you.”

“Don’t ever stop calling me angel,” you whisper, breath hushing warm against the curve of his shoulder as you settle into the solid security of his body. “Think I might wilt like a five-fingered plant.”

The width of his palm spans the back of your head as he pets you with the last bit of pre-nap energy he can muster.

“You’re hot like a fern,” he murmurs, with tender finality. “Pretty like the forest.”

#brought to you by Gender Spiral™️#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x gn!reader #gn!reader #nb!reader #eddie munson x nb!reader

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realgirl-fakeboy · 2 years ago

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Reminder to all ftm(tf)s!!! Don't wear your binder when you work out! And its really better to wear a nice thin, breathable top. Sports bras are pretty much like binders so stay away from them!

I know it makes you dysphoric but you should really work out with nothing under your shirt. I mean since you're a guy it'll be fine, right?

#fakeboy #detrans kink #ftm correctional therapy #ftm girl #ftm nsft #ftmtf #ftmtf kink #forced detrans #ftm detrans kink #ftm misgendering #detrans me #misgender me

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steifel · 6 months ago

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HERE TO ASK YOU ABOUT UR TRANS JOHNNY AND SODA HEADCANONS 🫡

I may have gone a little over bord with these

TW: self harm, suicidal thoughts, transphobia, gender dysphoria, talks of body parts. Everything is very minor but please protect your peace

Sodapop

-first off She cam out to Johnny first on accident Darry had taken Pony to the doctors so nobody was home Soda wanted to test a theory. She was dancing around the house in a mini skirt and a stuffed bra Johnny walked into the house and was like "you wanna talk about this? You don't have to"

-soda literally broke down telling Johnny everything

-poor Johnny has no idea how to comfort people but he just sat there listening and understanding

-she told Pony next they were laying in bed one night and the conversation went like this

S: hay Pone? You know how Johnny was born a girl but hes really a boy?

P: mhm

S: well sometimes i feel like i might be your sister even though ive always kind of been your brother

P: *pulling Soda into a big hug* ok

S: thats it just ok

P: um okay.... I love you?

S: love you too pony

-she told Darry next and he required a lot more information than ponyboy did.

-how long have you known

- she/her?

-who all knows

-is your name still Sodapop

-how do you feel

-do you want me to help you tell anyone

-is there anything i can do to help you?

-after Darry got all the information he needed he just hugged his sister and said "i always wanted a little sister"

-she told Steve next

-he was actually kind of excited

-after she told Steve she started living as a girl 100% of the time

-Twobit and Dally were super confused but they eventually figured it out

-Soda is a woman of extremes she is ether so eurphoric shes ontop of the world or so dysphoric that she can barely get out of bed

-her bad dysphoria days just about kill Steve

-he knows that she's the most beautiful girl in the world and it hurts him that she doesn't know that

-when she's dysphoric he always gives her one of his long shirts to wear and then holds her in bed as long as she needs just telling her shes beautiful and playing with her hair.

-when she's super euphoric you bet your ass Steve is gonna take her out and show her off (if anyone says anything bad they get jumped)

-if/when she goes on E she wears push up bras every day and that makes Steve go crazy

-if you think Soda was hot as a guy than you'll think shes a goddess as a girl

-Steve feels so lucky

-its not all fun and games though

-she gets jumped a lot

-the socs can be very vilont with her

-she tends to silently cry herself to sleep a lot

-her and Johnny get really close

-they actually trade pre transition cloths

-johnny teaches her all of the "girl" stuff he learned in childhood and she teaches him the "guy" stuff

-believe me when i tell you that Soda is a MASTER at tucking

-she wears super tight pants and skirts

-Soda is suuuuper fem

-she loves doing her hair and makeup

-this pisses pony off because she takes forever to get ready in the mornings

-the one bathroom thing starts to become a problem now that Soda takes an hour to get ready

Johnny

-was absolutely terrified to come out to the gang

- he put it off for a long time

-came out to Dall first

-and he only came out at this point because Dally could tell something was bothering his little buddy

"So you gonna tell me whats wrong or am i gonna have to guess?"

-dall was genuinely so mad. Not because he's trans but because Johnny had the gaul to ask if Dally hated him now

-when he told Pony he had a shit ton of questions

-this is mostly the reason Pony didn't have a lot of questions when Soda came out

-johnny is one of those lucky bastards that naturally looks masculine so he passes almost immediately

-he never gets out of his baggy clothes and flanels phase (me projecting)

-every single member of the gang makes him take his binder off after 8 hours

"Comon Dall just a little while longer? Please"

"Jonnycakes we can do this the easy way or the hard way now it dont matter to me but i gotta fealing you're not gonna like the hard way"

-eventually Johnny starts to feel more comfortable around the gang without it

-if he's in public though he doesn't give a fuck what dallys "hard way" is he will be wearing that binder

-while Soda usually experiences her transness through euphoria Johnny usually experiences his through disphoria

Another TW for SH and Suicidal thoughts ill let you know when it ends

-he has a tendency towards SH

-one time dally found him attempting to give himself top surgery and he had actually gotten pretty far

-Dally was horrified he's no stranger to blood and violence but it was really bad

-Johnnys gotten a lot better but there was one point where they hid all the knives and did there best to have somebody with him at all times

-Darry has had to grab his hands and hold him super tight before

-Dally had a really hard time sleeping during this time he made Johnny stay with him and he just watches Johnny sleep.

-Dally was just terrified he was gonna lose Johnny over something as stupid as how the world sees him

Major TW over

-on major dysphoria days he really just wants to be left alone.

-he mainly just sleeps on those days

-the whole gang tries to help but sometimes you just have to feel your feels you know

-he cries because of it sometimes and that just makes the dysphoria worse which makes him cry more (me too me too)

-Johnny absolutely loves it when the boys roughhouse with him cause it makes him feel like they really see him as a guy

Ok i feel like if i keep talking about Johnny im ether gonna start crying or just spill every bit of information about my transness. anyway i hope you enjoyed

#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #dallas winston #johnny cade #dally winston #sodapop curtis #s.e. hinton #darry curtis #the outsiders musical #that was then this is now #trans masc #trans femme #trans #transgender #trans johnny cade #trans sodapop

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