#man. theyre so [limps wrist]

[writersdrug]

The beta tying them both up atp because theyre like magnets refuisng tobtouch each other

I like the way you think

The beta soldier comes back into the room where you and König are supposed to be scenting, but the both of you are still pouting and sitting as far away from each other as possible. You're on your phone, texting your beta sister and complaining about how bad it is already (she's telling you to suck it up, "not all of us get a massive military man as a partner"), and König is staring at his shoelaces, grumbling about how he has to be somewhere.

Horangi follows the beta in, sighing at the sight. "You two. Up. Come here."

You get up immediately - you have no problem listening to anyone other than König, even if it is just to get under his skin. He rises with a huff; he's not a fan of being told what to do (even from another alpha), but he'll take it from his friend.

"What's going on?" Horangi asks, arms folded over his chest. "Why are you being such a brat?"

You snickered, looking over at König, then Horangi - oh, he meant you. "Me?!"

"You." He said. "You're not exactly in a place to act like one, either. You're one of the luckiest girls in the world right now, you've got Bigfoot as your Alpha."

König's eyes narrow - he expected Horangi to be on his side, not insulting him. "Bigfoot?!"

"You're being a child, too." Horangi pointed his finger in König's face. "You should be happy that you're able to even get an Omega on base like this. Not many soldiers are so fortunate."

"I never asked for this!" König snaps.

"I never wanted this either!" You retort.

"Tough shit!" Horangi raises his voice - König growls, a sound that makes you bristle and flinch, but the other alpha knows his friend. "This is the situation."

You sigh and set your hands on your hips. König grumbles, letting his arms fall to his side. "This is ridiculous-"

"You're both here for each other's benefit." He cuts König off, glaring between the two of you. "No one's going home, and no one's getting reassigned. So - until you both can sort things out-"

Within two seconds, a cuff snaps around your left wrist, and König's right. You yelp, the both of you spinning around, just as the beta soldier is backing away as far as she can from the two of you, her hands up in defense and her eyes wide.

"Commander's orders." Horangi says, turning on his heel and storming towards the exit. The beta follows him, quick to leave the room before all hell breaks loose.

"Horangi!!" König yells angrily, barely making it to the door before it slams in his face. You're dragged along after him, protesting as your heels drag along the floor. You get the urge to launch yourself at- somebody, anybody, just to get the frustration out of your body; you glare at Kõnig and growl - it doesn't frighten him, but he's a bit shocked.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"This is your fault!"

"du kleines Arschloch- how is this my doing?!"

"You just- Ugh!!"

Meanwhile, Ridgeback and Horangi were standing outside of the conference room, listening to the bickering between you and König echo through the door. It's a wonder the walls are able to contain the sourness that hangs in the room.

"He's going to kill her." Horangi states, staring at the door.

"Nah," Ridgeback says, heading back down the hall with his hands stuffed into his pockets. "Bastard wouldn't hurt a fly, unless it was holding an assault rifle and calling him a cunt."

"She's got half of that down..." Horangi mumbles.

After two hours, Horangi comes back down the hall to check on the both of you. He pauses outside the door - finally, the arguing had stopped. He's wondering if you've killed each other, the only reason he's not tearing the handle off the door being that he doesn't smell anything accidentally. He slowly turns the know and peeks his head inside-

The scents nearly have him choking - musk and sweetness times one hundred, thick and potent in the room. You're on a chair, pupils blown wide and your entire body limp. Your hair is tucked to one side of your neck, which is still bared in submission. You've got a dazed look on your face, not even bothering to glance at Horangi. Sitting next to you is König, still handcuffed to your wrist, now holding your hand between the two chairs. He's got his head on the table, back heaving with each breath, his hood in one hand and wearing only his balaclava - he looks like he's been hit by a bus (which was accurate with how sweet your scent was to him.

He looks over at the intruder, a growl rumbling low in his chest that makes you look up - upon seeing his friend, he groans, rolling his head away. He squeezes your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

Horangi crosses his arms and cleares his throat to speak through the heady scents.

"Finally scented?"

"Fick dich..."

[dateamonster]

youre doomscrolling through twitter to try and distract yourself from your empty stomach and empty wallet when you come across some inspiration porn about a delivery driver who collapsed on a customers front porch. the homeowner turned out to be an emt and after seeing her fall with the help of his doorbell-mounted security camera he was able to perform the necessary first aid and rush her to the hospital, and even started a fund to pay for her medical bills after the footage went viral. in the end she not only raised enough money to pay her bills but enough to quit her delivery job for good.

broke and desperate, a dangerous idea begins to take root in your brain. you are not currently a delivery driver, but youve dabbled, and you do have some experience taking bad falls, as well as punches, kicks, and the occasional elbow to the sternum. you have tried worse things for less money.

you order a pizza and cram yourself into a passable looking red polo tee and khakis. googling "rich doctors near me" doesnt exactly yield the results you were looking for, but it gives you enough of a jumping off point, and in only a few clicks you have an address. the multiple conspicuous security cameras mounted around the property look promising. never mind that the couple that lives here (two doctors! how lucky can you get.) didnt actually order the pizza; you can cross that bridge when you come to it. you approach the front steps, making sure to be well in view of at least one of the cameras at all times, stagger, and then take a dive, smashing face-first into one of those decorative fake rocks uppermiddleclassers love for some reason. you try to embody an air of pitiability as you go down.

you lie there a moment, face down in a strangers rock garden, tasting your own blood as it drips lazily from your nose. after some thirty seconds have passed it occurs to you that you maybe should have done something to check that the couple are actually home first. still you dont get up just yet, and a moment later you are rewarded.

you hear multiple sets of footsteps shuffle onto the porch, stopping short as their owners catch sight of your limp body. you plan to feign unconsciousness at least until they turn you over, so they can see your face, see the very real blood and bruising. you wouldnt want them to think you were faking or anything. after what feels like far too long a pause, a soft, feminine voice says,

"theyre still breathing."

"lucky," says the man, his voice something breathless and thick with gravel.

"i'll take the legs, you take the arms."

and then you are being lifted, carried with no small effort up the steps and into the house. they must be bringing you somewhere more comfortable to treat your injuries. you crack open one eye but all you manage to see from your unfortunate position is a few glimpses of the immaculately clean hardwood, the carpet, the marble tile. your prone body swings like a hammock between them, and soon all their jostling and this blurry upside-down view combined with the iron taste lingering on your tongue starts to make you feel vaguely sick until you have to shut your eyes again.

at last you are deposited on a cold, hard surface, the chill of it seeping through your bloody polo and up your spine. youre no longer lying limp and motionless because youre still hoping to pull off this grift; any half-baked hopes have been chased out by a creeping sense of dread, and you know somewhere in your gut that the moment you open your eyes you will have to face that dread and name it.

a mechanical murmur followed by a harsh clank and the sensation of icy metal closing around your wrists and ankles wrenches the privilege of hesitation from you. you gasp and your eyes fly open. the starburst of harsh white light that greets them reminds you distantly of a childhood trip to the dentist.

"good morning, sunshine," that syrupy voice from earlier chirps at you. squinting through the brightness, you make out two figures of similar stature dressed in vomit green medical scrubs that appear to have been hastily pulled over their ordinary clothes. the man is washing his hands in a small sink somewhere off past your feet. the woman is securing a paper mask, though even with her mouth covered, you can still see the smile pushing up her high sculpted cheekbones to the point where she seems barely able to keep her eyes open.

her skin is like a smooth putty, not a wrinkle or pore or freckle in sight, as if there were a layer of pink latex pulled taut over her real face.

"you came just in time," the man, her husband, calls over his shoulder as he shakes his hands dry and reaches for a box of gloves. "we didnt know where we were going to find another subject, and then, out of nowhere, there you were." he turns and steps into the light, and the face that stares down at you is a lidless mass of pulsing purple-red veins, hairless, damp with sweat already (you hope its sweat). a narrow arrow nose with nostrils too thin to take in breath sits above a rosy sphincter of a mouth, before that too is covered by a mask.

if you manage to scream, you cant hear it over the relentless whine of whatever machine sits just outside of your periphery, just out of reach no matter how you twist and strain at the manacles holding you in place, and the ringing in your own ears.

"youre just what the doctor ordered."

[gaygxnslinger]

ofeggies​:

OFEGGIES ★ STARLORD:

In his defence, Quill didn’t know that he’d trigger the alarms, because that usually doesn’t happen when he scavenges. It just so happened that the Fallen party had gone exactly in his favour, &. he’d made a few quick bucks from the getaway. It’s not like it’s his first-time getting dirty in a holdup. He’s an outlaw—it happens.

So yes, maybe, hypothetically speaking, he did abandon Cayde. But it wasn’t out of cowardice. In fact, Peter begs that it was a noble &. heroic effort, to escape with the baggage &. for Cayde to so nobly sacrifice himself to help the bounty hunter get out.

He “didn’t think Cayde made it”, which is why he turned the bounty in alone.

Peter is taken aback by how willing Cayde is to accept the help, especially after their past collusions together. With a pat, the Exo is on the move, &. Starlord trails behind.

── ; ❝ You’re a real comedian, Cayde-6. ❞ Quill bites back at the jab. Rude. ❝ If you’re so awesome at what you do, you’d think you wouldn’t need a We– ❞

A fist hits Peter’s chest, but as he goes to retaliate, he realises it’s just Cayde holding him out of sight from the Eliksni that scurry past. He leans out the doorframe, watching the Fallen in a flurry. It almost stings to watch them be massacred &. be so evidently scared, but he tries his best to ignore it.

The Starlord slinks back, wheezing slightly as he finally regains his breath that he had been holding after the shove. His guns are in his hand now, &. he listens to the gunshots fade out. There’s nothing but gradual footsteps, the crunching of Shore dirt beneath heavy boots.

This is a trap.

But it’s not a trap if he knows it’s a trap, ergo it’s a face-off.

In a second, Peter’s face is now his mask, scanning the vague heat signature of the approaching lightbearer from beyond the wall. He clicks a button on the helmet, &. now he’s whispering through the same communications channel as 6.

── ; ❝ We’ve got him. On my count. ❞ Quill holds up one finger &., ❝ Three. ❞

He leaps out, blasting the two guns in the third Guardians face until– click click click.

Oh for the love of–

Motherfucker--

In the split second it takes for him to leap out after Quill, things somehow manage to get even worse: several rounds do go off, but all Cayde can think to do is say, “You forgot to reload?! Or-- recharge? Whatever the hell you gotta do to make those damn things shoot!” And that’s why the Ace is better! Cayde can count his shots in his sleep at this point, knows exactly when to reload, and can scavenge ammo easily from enemies.

Even if refilling mags is a pain in the--

There’s no chance to continue berating his makeshift partner because their mutual enemy has the gall to laugh before sending a smokebomb towards them, blinding Cayde for a few crucial seconds.

To prevent the Lightbearer from getting too close the Gunslinger tosses four knives in front of him, hoping something hits. From the burst of energy he gains and the grunt of pain he hears, Cayde can only presume at least one hit, but that’s good enough for him right now. A dodge to the left.

Hopefully Quill isn’t too distracted with his stupid laser blasters to help.

“You really think you’re gettin’ away this time?” Cayde taunts while firing off round after round, swiftly reloading, then continuing. The Lightbearer, deciding that the Exo is the bigger threat right now, focuses on him.

Hopefully Quill takes a cue and does something worthwhile this time around. It’s a golden opportunity!

For now, he just has to keep the Risen occupied, and if there’s one thing Cayde is great at: it’s being a distraction. “Can’t wait to cash in that bounty. Might get a new ornament commission for the Ace of Spades...” more shots, he dashes out of the way of retaliation fire, “and all you get is a big ol’ disappointed look from the Titan Vanguard himself!” Truly the worst punishment.

The Lightbearer takes a moment to charge a grenade. Cayde closes the gap between them, attempting to lodge a knife anywhere he can.

[majorbaby]

to speak candidly about whiteness as the default experience even in queer spaces - you'll be shocked to know that 'limp wrist' and 'man wearing pink is code for gay' mean literally nothing to the silent majority of nonwhite gay people worldwide.

this isnt a crusade against people who say these kinds of things. i have definitely called a fictional character gay for much more niche and silly things than wearing pink or touching his buddy's waist, but the thing is, my response to someone, especially another queer person, asking in good faith "what do you mean?" wouldnt be to condescend them for not sharing the exact same headcanon as me and my friend the imaginary larry gelbart who lives in my brain. the person asking is invested, and theyre amicable to your interpretation so why not indulge that?

If this seems harsh, consider that i am not saying anything more groundbreaking than this:

[tonytonychopprano]

whumpt.ober day 6

self-sacrifice / multiple whumpees

A teenaged Vayrakhu takes a lashing for his friend.

cw: two 14yos get beaten, one is whipped. also fantasy racism.

nb: they consider themselves adults at 12 but like. theyre not LMAO these are kids. also, i havent heard a 14yo boy talk since i was 14. so.

The red earth of the Maadhe desert stretches for hundreds of miles, broken up only by dunes of rust-colored sand and scrub brush and the occasional makeshift cushion or tent for the boys to rest during the brief lulls in their training. Graindwellers scuttle across the sand--not the glimmering little ones the Empress' moneyers gather from the sacred oases; ugly fat dun-colored ones the size of wamohju-carts, the kind they haul huge sacks of grain in. A single half-dead tree sits riddled with arrows and bark scarred from months of practice with their flames. There's nothing worthwhile to distract himself with. Sangheta rolls his shoulders and shakes out his sword hand, redoubles his concentration from the unbroken horizon to the dummy before him. He'd been at it for two hours now and no matter how strong he gripped the hilt Commandant Uube had thrown it from his grasp every time, and each time she'd cursed him--a man of your age should have no problem with the kill.

He is fourteen years old. He has been a man grown since his twelfth. So why is this so hard for him?

"Tighter. Tighter--Sana, what are you doing? You look like an idiot."

He narrows his eyes. Behind him, Rakha--his best and only friend, and the only boy from the same village as he--does a mocking imitation of his swings with a stick, limp-wristed and flailing like a fool. He laughs, a bright clear sound like a bell ringing. Rakha, Vayrakhu, oftentimes just Assanananibi. He is fourteen, too, yet he towers over the other boys in their group and most of the teachers. His voice is deep, low-- the rat years, that time between boy- and manhood when the voice begins to squeak, had long since passed him by. Rakha is one of the dvekho-ro, the two-hearted giants, over six feet tall by his tenth year. Because of this thing, and others, Sangheta is his only friend as well.

It's for this reason that he edges towards him and jabs him in the ribs, smiling despite the powerful ache in his arms, the bone-deep soreness. "As if you could do better. I watched you earlier--you hit that bag like a woman."

A sharp slap on the back of his head lets him know Commandant Uube was behind him and had heard. She gives him a murderous glare, saying, "Even the littlest girls do not take as long as you to learn how to hold a damned sword like a warrior."

Rakha waits for her to leave before breaking up into giggles, bent double, snickering into his hands. His waist-length braid has long since come loose and his hair tumbles down around his face like a river of ink. Immediately his shame is forgotten. Sangheta has lost countless hours staring into the endless black well, the way it shines under the sun and fans out in silken ribbons when he fights. He's never felt like this about another person, another boy, and it frightens him. He remembered the way his father looked at his mother, before she'd died, as if she were the Daughter of Beauty herself, one of the saints, the angels. A fierce ache for her pierces him. To his people, the realm of romance is a woman's--he'd sooner tear the whiskers from a dune-cat than ask his father if he was in love.

Rakha gives him a rough shove that almost sends him into the dirt. "You should ask Tendalak to show you how it's done, baba."

Tendalak is his young sister, still on the breast. At this Sangheta does frown, shoves him back with a lot more force. Just because Rakha skipped the rat years doesn't mean he's any more a man than him. "Enough."

"I'm serious! I've seen her with that rattle. She already hits harder than you."

"Shut up, Vayrakhu."

That's one of his precious few flaws--he does not know when to stop.

"Or what?" he laughs, throwing his hands up theatrically. He's so amused he's lost control of his inner fire and his shoulders spark up and blaze. Smoke wreathes him. "I've been watching you practice--it's not like you can hit me!"

Sangheta throws his practice sword as hard as he can. It sails through the hazy air and the hilt catches a shocked Rakha square in the forehead, splitting it open. A thin trickle of blood spills down his face and he yowls like a drakeling with a trodden-on tail. His crimson eyes blaze manically.

That's Rakha's other problem--the rage.

With a bestial growl he's on top of Sangheta throwing punches with both fists and a crowd of boys surrounds them, cheering, throwing rocks and handfuls of red dirt at them and goading them into hitting harder, fighting longer. One of them, the smallest runt in a crowd of them, shouts break his nose and Rakha hauls back and sinks his fist into his belly. The little boy barks out a breath and lands in a whimpering heap on the ground.

"Stop!--that's enough! Enough!"

Uube takes a fistful of Rakha's hair and tears him backwards, digs the point of her dagger into his neck. A bead of blood swells there. Rakha stills immediately, the light snapping out of his eyes like blowing out a candle; where moments ago his face was twisted in fury it is now an expressionless mask, fractured by trails of blood, fixed on nothing.

"What is this? Why is he bleeding? Speak, or you'll be whipped until you do!" she bellows at them.

"Sangheta started it," the boy Rakha had punched wheezed. Uube gives Rakha's head a brutish shove and helps the boy to his feet. "He threw his sword."

It's like swallowing ice. Sangheta briefly, stupidly, looks for a river or lake to drown himself in. Crumbling to ash and dying painfully would be preferable to whatever Uube is going to do to him. He's still swivelling his head like an idiot when she strides over to him. Her hand flies back and cracks across his face before he can brace himself; the pain is explosive and makes his ears ring, but he bites back the cry and straightens immediately. She backhands him again and a whimper escapes him. You're a man grown, he tells himself firmly, shoulders shaking. Be quiet. Your father would be ashamed of you.

"Are you so weak you let that half-man get to you?" she asks, striking him again. He can't help it; he yelps. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Rakha flinch. "You're ten times what he is! His people are miserable highland dogs!" Another slap. "You come from an unbroken line of sakhaabati--your ancestors watered the fields of his with their blood!"

Commandant Uube's breath comes in hard, slow bursts like a bull drake. She reels back again, and then huffs angrily. Drops it. Sangheta heaves an inner sigh of relief.

"Undo your brace," she says, motioning to the leather-and-catwool padding strapped around his waist. "Twenty-five lashes. You dishonor yourself, your family, the Kha-Teh-Ri. Assanananibi will burn out and die like his worthless ancestors. You have no such excuse."

"B-but--"

Sangheta's knees shake. Around him the boys gasp, shrink away lest she decide anyone else need to learn the same lesson.

Rakha stands, forgotten until now, scratching at the blood crusted on his cheeks and in his eyebrows. "Commandant." His voice is clear and carries across the sand. He looks almost bored.

"Don't speak," she hisses.

He's so quick with it, Sangheta doesn't catch it at first, sees only the movement of his lips. Uube’s eyes blow wide.

"What did you say?" A vein is throbbing in her forehead.

"I said you're a whore. What, did you not hear me?" He takes a step towards her. He is two heads taller, nearly a hundred pounds heavier, twenty years less experienced. A hatred radiates off him, clouds the air and electrifies it. Levelling his eyes at hers, sneering, he repeats himself. Loudly. "And so is he"-- he jerks his thumb at the boy he'd hit. "He lied. I started it. I hit him first."

"Did you now."

He nods.

Uube is the first to break eye contact. She smiles, gesturing towards the other commandants in the further fields working with their groups of young warriors. She sticks two fingers in her mouth and gives three shrill whistles--the call to regroup. Sangheta flinches with each sharp sound; Rakha doesn't even blink. He tucks a strand of his hair behind his ear and keeps his eyes fixed to the dirt.

He doesn't look up even when they lead him to the post. Rakha is so tall he dwarfs it. They don't even have to stretch to tie his hands. He simply holds them out at chest height. One of the men rebraids his hair--even Uube affords him enough respect to look away--and throws it over his shoulder. Sangheta takes quick shallow breaths, not enough to feed the fire within him, and it leaves him dizzy and weak-kneed. His face grows cold; he has to surreptitiously brush his fingers over his lips to ensure they haven't withered to ash, that he isn't dying.

"Count each lash, Assanananibi."

He smirks. "Zero."

Terrifyingly, Uube does too.

The whip sails through the air. It arcs as if it will fly forever, and then it slices deep into his back with a vicious snap. He seizes like he's had water splashed on him, grimaces, grips the ropes and presses his head against the flat top of the post. The cut there reopens and oozes blood onto the wood. Sangheta's head spins the moment he sees the blood trickling down his back.

"One."

Again.

"Two."

Again.

"Three."

Again.

Rakha moans.

"What number?"

"Four!" he roars, turning. "You--you're no warrior, you hit like a bitch--"

The whip cracks down on him seven more times before he breaks. With the last lash he jolts, tries to wrench free of the ropes, kicks furiously at the post as if he could tear himself free. A scream--a shriek, high, horrible--pierces the air. Still Uube hits him, grunting with the effort of it, until finally she's merely beating him with the handle, roaring like one of the war-dragons, and two of the other commandants have to take hold of her arms and throw her into the red earth to stop her. She pants, chest heaving, wiping the sweat and sand from her face. Rakha hangs limp, head lolling, bare knees dragging in the soil. His back is a lattice of angry slashes that gush blood every time he takes a breath. One cut in his side has sliced so deeply Sangheta imagines he can see the pulsing of one of his hearts and he has to press his hands to his face to stop himself crying out. The image burns behind his eyelids.

"Take--take him down." Uube says. She stands cautiously. She does not meet anyone else’s gaze. “Back to Maadhe-Vuur, to the Sisters. He…don't bring him back until he's healed."

They cut him free, lay him facedown on a litter, and Sangheta doesn't see him again after they leave, or for the next month.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Sangheta visited him later, once they'd all finished their training. Two months had passed. He can fight against the other boys, and a few of the commandants too, and win. That was, of course, the first thing Rakha had done when he'd swung the heavy catwool curtain aside and stepped into the cool dark air of the clinic--asked if he could hold his sword any better.

"Than you ever could. Especially two months out of practice."

"Put money on it?" He'd smiled. "Twenty husks says I kick your ass up and down the desert."

"You're a stupid asshole and your family doesn’t even have half that," he'd replied, but he'd nodded. "Soon as you can walk."

"It has to be now, Sana. You can't beat me at my peak."

"Peak? You're talking like you're already a dragonrider."

"I'm gonna be!" he'd said, eyes flashing. He propped himself up on his elbows, wincing as his scabs cracked. "You wait. I'll be the best these people have ever seen.”

Sangheta had left the tent later, after hours of laughing with him over games carved into the hardpan, planning their military careers deep into the small hours of the night. He’d been thinking: he won’t need to ask anyone--not the Empress' women, not the Mother Goddess of Love, not even his father--if he was in love.

He knew.

[bucksbisexual]

that’s Pretty gay wei ying....

+ but so is lan zhan

[rainbowgod666]

HERE IS THE LIST OF SHIPPING THAT I KNOW HAPPENS IN OP YOU GOTTA BELIEVE ME A-

Zolu: they are so dumb they just... got toghether both as a joke and as a "why the fuck not

Bolu: tentative name for Boa hancock × Luffy, it was his first time with a woman and... Boa somehow became LESS unhinged for our rubbery boy. Probably because idk she realized his love trascends all romance and platonicity

Lawlu: they kissed once, and the one time they actually banged was when they got drunk. Considering theyre both lightweights... also law cannot remember that night without feeling a pain in his rear. SO

Kobylu: the flustered one~☺️ sorry i am a total sucker for these soft things (especially the gay ones aaa)

Ronami: turns out robin is kinda freaky and DAMN. Girl really said "imma use these hands in ways no Man could imagine" and uuuuh... yeah nami enjoyed it

Robanky: OH COME ON THIS IS CANON

Zosan: its less of a ship and more of a "ok seriously y'all must be starting to realize rn how weird is it that all we do ends up being vaguely homoerotic right?" And i dont blame them like- they are rivals??? But also friends??? Why is anything resembling Human Decency reduced to "hehe they gay" (no fr this is how it is for them they cant exist toghether in any definition because someone INEVITABLY GOES "gay cook and gay swordsman and they KISS-" and honestly i think there are so many limp wrist jokes one can take before insanity sets in). Cant two people with Y chromosomes be nice to eachother or does it HAVE to be shipping?

Ship wars? Nah, man, my boys deserve to suck every cock they want.

[pinkconkonut]

just realized i drew ford in such a gay stance in tht one color palette piece 😭

[pinkbrand]

I've always been too afraid to ask this question until it was too late, but what's a limp wrist?

oh it slang for gay men. there’s also spongebob meme where it’s like “is he... you know...”

[jinbeizametsune]

It’s strange how I can remember my very christian teachers talking about how you should judge someone based on who they are on the inside rather than how they appear, yet I can also very clearly remember my old english teacher talking about how lady gaga “Isn’t even beautiful, she has a big nose, she’s not pretty.” and kim kardashian “what’s with her sticking her butt out all the time? Shameful.”

[iamyelling]

ok what do u all think of this.

and here’s what i typed out but then deleted and did NOT send bc i was gettin too heated. i instead said we can talk later about this. this is the friend i believe very much needs to read SBB.

well i don’t know why a cis man would call himself a dyke that just doesn’t make sense to me.. and why do you keep bringing up someone’s birth sex assignment i don’t understand what that has to do with anything. it feels to me like you are using “femme” to mean girl/woman/female and “not femme” to mean male/man/boy?? which i .. find confusing to say the least. why not just say what you mean? also i really disagree that like anyone can call themself a dyke bc it just simply doesn’t make any sense. it obviously is a slur rooted in lesbophobia so wouldn’t make sense for people who don’t have ties to sapphic/wlw/lesbian DYKE community. not that theyre like not "allowed" to say it lmao it just holds no meaning and it doesn't make sense. like the "limp wristed" thing being applied to ALL gay people.. when it literally refers to the effeminate gay man. doesn't make sense for me to use it as a symbol of my gayness. it's not like i'm not allowed, it just doesn't make sense! and honestly it feels pretty.. uncomfortable that you’d consider you and annah (two very masc people) “femme” but then.. not the same to a similarly masc nonbinary person who happens to have been designated “”male”” like. in what world does it make sense to call afab masc people femme but not amab masc people - it doesn’t! bc masc and femme shouldn’t be about assigned sex and it shouldn’t be brought up. if you wanna invite [person] do that! if you wanna invite gay guys do that! if you want it to be any queer people in general go for it! but say what you mean bc it’s fuckin confusing. especially when in the context of lesbians and dykes. one should fuckin HOPE that non-femmes (whether you mean mascs or butches or studs or whoever) are included to a damn dyke party omg .

so. obviously not super well written but. ugh. dealing w irls is hard. it’s weird how this shit comes up.

these folks are really. wishy washy therapy speak and it’s frustrating i just wish they’d say what they mean. i feel like i’m always needing to be careful, handle with kid gloves like be gentle and stuff. bc they’re sensitive and all anxiety and stuff . so i feel this is too harsh with all the swears ugh. whatever. i just want to be able to fuckin talk without having to censor myself or step on eggshells bc i’m concerned they’ll be sad or like be needing all this reassurance and affirmation and validation. i just want to be able to talk yknow.

it just . is so frustrating the way people use these words in bizarre ways. wtf do you mean by "femme"?? like its obvious to me they are using these words in. uh sus ways. how do they not see how this is fucking confusing. especially in a lesbian context oh my god. DYKE hello. wtf. wtf!!! wtf!!! am i going insane like whattt is he talking about its nonsense

i’m so tired of feeling like i have to check my lesbian identity at the door to have friends. why can’t people just not be shitty and clueless about lesbians for once

[woundjob]

sirius having a complicated relationship with gender sirius feeling stuck between not being a woman and not being a man sirius only feeling comfortable claiming gender terms when theyre in relation to a man, like wife or boyfriend sirius presenting as a gnc man and feeling okay with that but cringing when roped in with men and manhood sirius enjoying things about traditional masculinity (sports, outdoors, facial hair) but feeling like an imposter doing them sirius enjoying things about traditional femininity (hair and makeup and housewife roles) but feeling like an imposter doing them

abd uhhh talking to anyone about this feels like pulling teeth so he just doesnt hes a faggot hes a fruit hes limp wristed and all those things feel like compliments anyway so who cares but sometimes he talks about it with james because he doesnt understand but he wants to and he never thinks sirius is weird for it and sometimes he talks about it with remus because remus doesnt know how to be a man the right way either remus has always felt bigger than a man too remus has always felt something outside of human too

[imeverywoman420]

what do you think about people who are fully funded by their families (post secondary, therapy, rent, personal expenses, i mean the whole thing) who are hypersensitive to other people's impatience with them/their lack of ability to pursue true independence because its like, rude & not maybe factoring in depression & etc? i too have a pisces bff and its just so hard to listen to him complain about money but never actually try to work while im poor and in debt and dont talk to my fam lol. jw

I mean im p much fully funded by my mom except for nicotine and weed loll but ive worked a lot either in impossible 12 hour shifts st my bs marksting job or for that nightmare bougie restaurant so i guess im like. More self aware abt that and not as limp wristed as i would be if i had NEVER worked. And like i dont have that many expenses lol she spends more money on her bf than me so i mean im basically freeloading in the way someone living in ur walls is freeloading lol.

I meaj honestly it can be super annoying like dealing with friends who are of a different class like when they come from money. Sometimes its natural to just kinda be like Wtf Man. I cant exactly relate to ur specific situation but ive DEF dealt with annoying rich and umc friends and the Out Of Touch-ness just kinda comes with the territory.

And idk their specific case but sometimes Mental Illness really can be like. Dehibilitating. There were certain times in my life where i Couldn’t work because i was too mentally unstable like. Having huge freak outs and melt downs and alm that. So maybe if its like. Truly ur brstie or whatever kind of examine or investigate like is their mental illness actually That Life Ruining bc you never know. Sometimes u think u know everything abt a person but theyre spending hours sitting in one place chainsmoking staring at their wall frozen in place like a baby deer.

[albertserra]

kind of funnier the more i think abt it bc the whole limp wristed thing ties into the (stereotypical) image of swishy effeminate gay men. but if a women is effeminate thats just like. theyre a woman ,.... so what would that even mean if not for the context of the gay male stereotype lending it meaning. ukwim. and then theres the added layer of like bc that is a stereotypical image of a gay man ........ lmao. i mean a lot of ‘us’ including myself have kind of ‘reclaimed’ that image like idk how much of my literal limp wristing is an intentional reclamation or just literally me being f slur-y or some subconscious combination of the two. but anyways. dont know how to end this post

[occultruby]

i did this a while ago but heres my imscared white face gender transing theory diagram. putting explanation under the cut for... courtesy? the amount ive thought about this is kind of embarrassing

ok first off i think wf is genderless because its not human or even corporeal, its just a terrible little computer curse. if anything i honestly think its more aligned with the feminine. idk its weird to me that most people gender wf as a man when ivan zanotti (hello sir if youre reading this im sorry) at least from the perspective of an english speaker, has pretty much done everything to avoid gendering wf at all (only ever having used “it” pronouns for wf! hello!), besides the only other appearances of humanoid forms (also wf) being coded as women/images of womanhood/concept of womanhood/whatever

down to business. maybe it isnt as specific as this but a potential idea is the entity being made and intended to be female or at least read as female. since it clearly is sentient and keeping in line with the knowledge that wf is not human and isnt the ghost of the deceased, i dont think its hard to believe wf would not only not understand gender, but also feel constrained by it. if the question is “why would it give a shit” my answer is 1. throughout the game its pretty clear that wf doesnt like being constrained, literally or metaphorically and 2. the same reason any actual person would feel trapped and uncomfortable with their assigned gender or any gender. it comes with expectations for how you should act, look, talk, where you should go, and what you should do there.

the sketch labeled “original” isnt really literal, more of an idea of “someone made a computer virus and its a girl i guess”. HER i think is what white face perceives itself to be, and therefore becomes, as its world is essentially made of its own imagination

everything about HER screams “caricature of womanhood” just straight up This Is How Dysphoria Makes You Think You Look. her huge [REDACTED] and hips/thighs, cinched waist, exaggerated limp wrist, and absurdly long hair. her name is literally “HER”. HER is white faces experience of feeling “this is all i am”, an embodiment of unwanted expectations.

what in general we know to be “white face” is the same entity, named for its appearance as a floating head. i read this as wf hiding its body (something that could be done by editing its own code to make it invisible) but i visually represent it as a black cloak. i also thought a neat but kind of odd idea would be wrapping itself up in its own long dark hair?

on the events of the game. the important part lies in the transition from the first part into BURY HER, in which wf changes into HER, making its body visible and adopting somewhat different behaviors (which seem to communicate a more depressed demeanor and an instinct to self isolate/hide). wf if pretty clear with the player that it makes this change to keep the players interest. personally i have known other trans people who, despite knowing they were trans and going through some levels of social transition, will go back to performing their assigned gender in an attempt to please someone whose approval they desire. and like in real life, wfs practice isnt sustainable. wfs monologue before shooting HER has SO much to dig into. of course it established that it made this change for You. but then, the rain turns to blood as it bitterly remarks that it hates what it became (knowing that wf feels like the mask of HER takes the players interest away from itself, meaning that even if HER and wf are the same entity, wf does not identify as HER. in the end its just an act to impress you). the part that gets me the most about the grave level is that she specifically tells You to “bury [HER] in front of [HER] birthplace”. she was already dead and buried. wf dug her up for You. even though You are the one playing the game, wf is the one seen with the gun. in the end, it was about wf once again burying this past version of itself that it cannot stand any longer.

i dont think it hits as hard as the main events of BURY HER, but im going to come back around to the concept of all figures in the game being coded as women. in the labyrinth we see the various portions of womens bodies (which some people use to theorize that wf is a serial killer but this is nothing to me because. it wasnt a human person lol) that lead into/are portals to a “dark world” (the whole thing with having to reconstruct shards of a broken mirror also kind of screams dysphoria, the whole dress thing! idek how to put this into words im just feeling it), the portrait of a girl in the house (maybe an “original vision” for what wf was intended to be? wfs one source for what a “woman” is?). you could argue that the weird little things with the long arms when youre trying to break the gramophones arent female but 1. literally whatever and 2. theyre essentially extensions of HER made to be mini jumpscares and 3. i think they parallel the “you shouldnt be here” area where HER is seen hanging from the sky by weird distended limbs.

we know wf is entirely unreliable and likely s completely lying on occasion. but i think lies, especially in a game like this, can be dissected to discover something truthful in the narrative. something so specific is the story wf tells about having a brother that it had horrible thoughts about getting hurt in an appliance store, only to reveal that it never had a brother. this is in one of the more vulnerable text files in the game. im gonna go on a limb here and say the story isnt literal, but also does hold significance. no one is reading at this point and its 2:30 so im going to word this more abstractly because thinking is getting harder and i have a 9am class. brother/not real brother is about an imagined person, who wf wants to be or how it perceives itself to be. like it is metaphorically the brother that it doesnt have because it WANTS to be that. honestly if you wanted to you could argue this point works towards the idea that wf is a trans man because of the idea that it wants to be a man but doesnt perceive itself to be a real man so it tells the story of a brother it does/doesnt/is/isnt/wants to be. the whole thing about being injured in the appliance store probably means something about the fragility of the concept or identity or whateverless complicated idea came to me like two paragraphs ago. and its that imscared is about coping with the loss of a sibling by trying to recreate their identity as a program but that its inherently impossible (program saying “i never had a brother” because the brother MADE u to be his sibling but you ARENT because you are just a little game file) but like i got too invested in white face transgender ANYWAYS SO IMSCARED IS OFFICIALLY ABOUT GENDER DYSPHORIAAAAAAA

[im-just-trying-to-survive-man]

ok so i feel like telling the world my bias list (kpop) for no reason and i was a little scared to but oh well lol

im gonna do this in parts. this list is my bias’ in boygroups pt.1

soo yeah if you wanna see some beautiful asian men you can keep reading lol

kinda turned out long oop

imma do nct on another post bc thats fucking loonngggg

1. kim hongjoong; stage name: hongjoong (leader of ateez, rapper, lyricist, producer and composer (i forget if those are the same thing) )

king of the lesbians

personally i think hes SOME type of gay but, y’know, you do you baby (’good lil boy’ is the song he wrote on their new album akjsdl)

prince of mullets in kpop (king is minghao from seventeen)

so?? pretty???

he paints his nails for the polished man campaign!!! (this was before the group became ambassadors.) v socially aware as well

his voice is very high for a rapper but i rly love it

wanna hear what he thinks of atinys?? (the fandom) listen to ‘aurora’

korean big minion 

very very good at english, despite what he says

is so caring for his ‘children’ ugh such an amazing leader

also a little brat sometimes but we dont talk about it

a MAN

fuck gender roles

5′7 skirt guy you’ve probably heard of in the kpop tiktok community

the official campaign pic:

2. han jisung; stage name: han (main rapper of stray kids, lead vocalist, producer and composer, lyricist, ult bias uwu)

heres the tea

this man literally saved my life

he has been through so much and i relate to that. seeing that he made it through the worst gave me hope.

his music and lyrics just speak to me (wanna see me cry? send me the song ‘19′, its written by him)

on to the happier things

his s q u i r r e l   c h e e k s

hes honestly so pleasing to look at ugh

vocals????? fricking great???? listen to ‘hellevator’ and ‘district 9′ for his vocals

jEoGiYa NoOnA HoKsI nAmJaChInGu IsSeOyO (’wow’ 3RACHA)

part of 3RACHA, a rap group between him and two other members

his american name is peter and he loves nat geo wild and cheesecakes and honestly if thats not amazing idk what is

lived in malaysia??? for 6 years???? lovin the melanin y’all

THE FUNNIIEST MAN ALIVE Y’ALL WAIT PLEASE WATCH THIS VIDEO IDK WHY BUT ITS SO FUNNY TO ME

3. im changkyun; stage name: I.M. (lead rapper of monsta x, sub-vocalist, maknae (the youngest), producer and composer)

fam im WHIPPED for this man like honestly i dont like subbing or sex in general lol ace things but i’d let him r a i l me

lived in america for 3 years and israel for 4; speaks fluent english and its SEXY

rapping skills??? on point???? both in english and korean ugh

LOOK AT HIM HIS DIMPLES AND HIS FACE AND UGH

is one of those people that does n o t like to be touched but then he’ll kiss your cheek out of nowhere

babie

VERY SOCIALLY AWARE LIKE HE SAID FUCK TOXIC MASCULINITY AND MISOGYNY 

confident in his own skin and super open about it

“For IM, ‘Wearing a harness is just to express our song concept. Showing the audience what we want to show is the most important thing. We’re not ashamed. We’ve done a lot of sexual items, like harnesses and chains. We’re comfortable.’ “ 

“But, for argument’s sake, where does your own sense of masculinity come from? IM pauses for a long moment. ‘Having a dick,’ he says bluntly, sipping coffee as his bandmates’ jaws drop and shocked laughter ripples around the table.”

that interview is here 

kinky lil bitch

i can go on and on about this man but im just gonna stop there

i lied he has tattoos (one on his wrist [ :): ] and the one on the nape of his neck, it reads “the one who wants to wear the crown must bear the crown”)

i like this picture bc its his hands and theyre pretty and fuck gender roles from a kpop idol

thats enough of him 

4. kim wonpil; stage name: wonpil (pianist, synthesizer, and keyboardist in day6, lyricist, vocalist, also a a dj and mc for a podcast)

Y’ALL LOOK AT HIM UGH

was the maknae but then dowoon came along and now hes not lol

Unbothered™

honestly like hes such a good pianist and is really great on the keys

is really good at making song lyrics out of thin air

like, he can hear the sentence “i really want chicken rn but i can’t have it im on a diet” and he’ll get “i crave your taste, but there is a wall i built myself blocking you from my love” like literally

im pretty sure he wrote the chorus for their song ‘zombie’

honestly bruh his vocals are so good

like pls go listen to ‘emergency’ and ‘congratulations’ (theres an english version for that song alsjdk)

guys hes just a big babie honestly

so pretty to look at omg

HES SO FUNNY AND HE DOESNT EVEN KNOW IT 

“i dont really care what my spouse looks like or what gender they are, as long as we’re happy and they love me” (wish i could find that photoset)

5. kim namjoon: stage name: RM (leader of bts, main rapper, sub-vocalist, lyricist, producer and composer)

literally the reason im into kpop, so thank you namjoon

a 5′11 babie, tbh

i remember finding out he had his own like, mixtape (’mono.’) and iT WAS SO GOOD AND IT STILL IS KAJHDJ

an amazing rapper and leader

can sing and i do not CARE what anyone says

so as you can see by now i kinda of have a type (except wonpil, idk wtf is going on there with me biasing him laksjk #no regrets)

anyway yeah he was the first kpop boy i found, and it was on his birthday

so every year on september 11th 11:50 p.m., i start i planting a tree in my backyard (bc then its on his birthday in america and korea lakajs so quirky i know) also bc its the day i started listening to kpop so its an anniversary for me lol. 

mOoNcHiLd

very very psychological

also very inspiring and loving (to the fans)

doesn’t really show affection, hes better with words than actions, and i really relate to that

dimples aGAIN

and last but not least for this list bc its already so frickin long

6. byun baekhyun; stage name: baekhyun (main dancer of exo, main singer, sub rapper, pianist, actor)

he’s so talented???? and amazing???? and overall just kinda perfect??????

AMAZING FUCKING VOCALS LIKE Y’ALL GO GO GO GO GOGOOG OG LISTEN TO HIS GROUPS SONG ‘ONE (MONSTER AND INFINITY)′ BECAUSE THAT SHIT SLAPS UGH

AND LIKE GROWL??? BRO????? MY VOCAL CORDS SNAPPED

dated another idol in the past but personally i think he’s a little *hand goes limp* if you know what i mean

my sister (4) calls him bacon he said it in an interview one time and it stuck to her

chesticles

MONSTER ERA UGH GOT ME DEAADDDD

is a solo artist too!!!!!!! go listen to his albums!!!! theyre really good!!!!

hes so frickin funny omg like i can laugh at with him all day

understands english but refuses to speak it

honestly kokobop baek was amazing idc what anyone says

is in like 3 different groups damn (like two of them are sub-units of his group and the other one is superm lol)

pls go watch the ‘men on a mission’ episodes with exo bc hes so fucking hilarious i will never get over it

a clown ass bitch that is always ready to square tf up a caring and v nice person that wont fight anyone ever

AN AMAZING ACTOR OMMGGGG BABIE GOT SKILLS

can also tapdance

lots of video games

very very very very very loud when playing video games

another man i endlessly love

well. if you made it this far, congrats!!! and thanks!!! i honestly dont care if no one sees this lol i just kinda wanted to do it, so, yeah lol. theres still more groups (superm, nct (seperate post), seventeen, vixx, pentagon, the rose, annnd oneus)then like idk if i’ll do a soloist one, so yeah. this kinda gives me something to do its one big infodump and im sorry lmao. yeah, love y’all !!!