#men feel the need to police each other's masculinity

[colorisbyshe]

the destruction and running into the ground of the term “toxic masculinity” will always piss me off because the people who were the loudest about it being a ~bad term are the ones who understood it the least

[johnbrand]

Normal, SC

With @mrrharper

Officer Justin O’Shaughnessy reluctantly hopped into his patrol vehicle. He had been transferred out of South Carolina’s capital to the tiny town of Normal, population definitely under a thousand. When Justin had enlisted to the new town, he had not dreamt of it being so traditional. Less than 45 minutes away, Columbia had a thriving queer community that Justin and his boyfriend were well involved in. Even their police force was welcoming. But this new position in Normal felt anything but.

Before Officer O’Shaughnessy had even entered the building, he already received sideways glances. He appeared nothing like the other overly manly men there, his more androgynous appearance colliding with the two genders established by the town. But through his worry, Justin did feel a sense of pride by bringing a bit of diversity to the town, at least in terms of sexuality. And now here he was, on his first assignment with his new patrol route.

Unaccustomed to the height of his new vehicle–a literal truck rather than the typical sedan–Justin took a deep breath before grabbing the keys. His job was easy today. The Chief wanted him to get adjusted to town, harmonize himself with it. “Things work a little differently around ‘ere,” the Chief’s Southern twang sticking out a bit at the end. “The quicker you learn to fit in and be like all the other men, the better.”

It took Justin a moment to figure out how to get the truck started, after all he drove a Prius–wait, a foreign car? Heck no, he only drove American vehicles. Shaking his head, Justin started the engine and pulled out of the station. He was feeling confident, the Chief’s words flashing through his mind as he began his patrol.

Unsurprisingly, there were not that many streets in town to check out. The main road, the side roads, the business versus residential roads. It was not anything like Columbia, that beautiful, expansive, expensive, crowded, woke wasteland. Nah, Justin liked the speed of this town a lot better. It was quaint and slow, everything moved at its own pace. It was not influenced by those protests or silly parades.

After a while, Justin decided to pull over to stretch. His body was already aching, although he could not explain why. He had kept himself slim over the years through marathons and–running? Justin chuckled to himself. Yeah right! He worked out at the local gym everyday, pumping each of his muscle groups to their fullest capacity. He wanted to be big after all, just like all the other guys on the force. So he must have been sore from the nightmare of a workout Chief had dumped on him earlier to get a gauge of his abilities. Justin had perfectly met the average.

Justin peered at the time from his dashboard when he reentered the truck, noticing it was already time for his lunch break. Excited, he pulled out his bag and started grabbing items. Tomato sandwich, baked veggie chips, hummus…wait, was this his lunch? He went through the items again. Thick club sandwich with extra meat, two bags of potato chips, can of cheap beer. Yeah, that seemed a lot more appropriate. A real man needed to eat a real man’s lunch after all. Justin was relieved his wife had not packed him some vegetarian or vegan bull crap.

Justin paused for a moment, demolishing his meal before starting the truck up again. He had a wife? Well sure he did! Just about every man in town had one. He fiddled with his ring finger subconsciously as he daydreamt about his beautiful bride. Eventually, Justin began fiddling with the plumper, bloated “finger” in his pants too as he daydreamt about his beautiful bride. What was her name again? Marcus…Markie…Margie! Lovely, pregnant Margie.

Justin refocused on the job at hand, he was to become a father soon after all. All the other men in the small town were already dads, and he was slacking! He was about to turn 24 and had no kids to show for it. Luckily, he was spared with some mature masculine features. Justin had grown out a beard as soon as he could, and a fluffy mat of body hair only accentuated this fact. Of course, he was not mature all the time. He had no problem roughhousing and dutch-ovening the other officers–it was just men being men after all!

Justin laughed to himself, waving to a few men as he passed by them. It was funny how all the men in Normal looked pretty similar. Even Justin was fitting the mold. All a couple of inches over six feet; those packed, muscular builds sustained by home cooked Southern meals from the misses; dressed in either similar work clothes, home clothes, or church clothes. Their interests and morals were so well-aligned too. It was like the town had its own personal standard for everyone to follow.

Registering the time once more, Justin sighed…Jared sighed disappointedly as his shift had once again come to an end. Pulling back into his spot in the station’s parking lot, he was not surprised to see all the other almost identical officers fraternizing. 

“Hey O’Shaughnessy, you comin’ to the bar for some beer with us?” one of them shouted.

“You betch’I’m comin’!” Jared confirmed in the same deep, Southern twang. Hopefully the missus would not mind too dearly, he was just being normal after all!

[olderthannetfic]

Okay, I need advice: I'm in a very tiny fandom (like less than two dozen active people and everyone knows each other) and one of the women in it is kind of freaking me out.

We became mutuals because we had some good discussions on some of the characters we liked, but I soon became sort of uncomfortable with a lot of her online behavior whereas simultaneously she's DM-ing me more and more.

She's one of those people who's a hardliner on the issues she cares about (mostly feminism- and SA-related) while talking over people when it comes to issues she doesn't care about (mostly racism and related things). And I see a lot of her trying to intrusively police how other people talk/act, derailing people's posts, arguing with people online over the most stupid shit (where not even her own opinions come off as overly coherent - this week she'll argue something along the lines of "men are evil" and the next she'll argue that people are "demonizing masculinity" - I'll add for clarification that she's not a TERF and supports trans rights but boy... Does she sound like one sometimes) and then digging through people's profiles to find and publicize minor transgressions and bad takes, passive-aggressive vagueposting, and going into mental breakdowns over the most innocuous of online interactions.

TBH she scares me. As someone who suffered through toxic people getting overly attached to me, I genuinely sometimes get a physical reaction when I see her lashing out on the dash.

And she keeps initiating conversations! And sometimes I don't reply or bring the conversation to a natural closure and she keeps at it, or sends me random fics of hers to read that I don't have the heart to tell her don't interest me or whatever. And recently when she disagrees with something I reblogged she direct messages me to rant about it - with a lot of sort of indirect language because she doesn't want to offend me but I can see the intent. The last couple of times I replied politely because I cared about clearing misunderstandings on the topic but next time I'm just gonna tell her I dislike it when she does that.

I really want this person to stop interacting with me, to be honest, and all my polite hints to the effect go unnoticed. But the fandom is so small I feel awkward and uncomfortable about unfollowing or blocking her. I don't think she's too bad of a person, she just comes off as very... Mentally ill, I guess? And since I've tried to be polite so far I feel like it might come out of left field for her?

TBH I feel like something about her behavior also triggers some kind of freeze/fawn reaction inside of me that I don't often get and consequently don't know how to deal with.

So I need impartial advice because I don't see the situation clearly myself

--

To summarize, a person who is a walking red flag wants to be friends, and you can't easily ghost her because the fandom is small.

I think you have to accept that there is no low-conflict way out of this.

That's what's holding you back, right? You don't want more drama and you know it's coming. I think you already know in your heart of hearts that you need to get away from her even if it's a pain in the ass.

Step one is to stop responding to her DMs. That will probably make her reach out more, but you should keep not responding. If she escalates and attacks you over it, block her.

The more you offer reasons or try to gently hint, the more that will encourage her. I don't think that's true of everyone, but I do think it's the case here. This is both because it doesn't sound like she's good at perceiving or respecting boundaries and because she inspires a bad lack of ability to assert boundaries in you.

I agree that it's unfortunate that you can't stand up for yourself or tell her plainly when she's out of line, but since you can't and that probably won't change any time soon, you'll need to protect yourself a different way. Sometimes, we just have to avoid people who are bad for us even when it's an us problem. (And here, whoaaaa red flags, so I don't think it's just a you problem anyway.)

There are many sad, lonely, needy people in the world. Some of them are officially mentally ill in some way with a diagnosis. Some just need things they aren't currently getting. That sucks...

But it's also not your job to fix.

[good-beans]

What do you think Kazui’s dad was like? During Kazui’s T2 QNA he said his dad was a cop and wanted him to be one and in his T1 QNA Kazui Said his family must find him embarrassing.

(Sorry this took forever to answer!!!! but) I always pictured Kazui’s relationship with his father to be that cold type of distant. 

Kazui never speaks ill about him – never painting him outright abusive or hurtful – plus it sounds like he kept his identity a secret to everyone, giving his father no reason to harass him about it. But then to mention he’s disappointed by Kazui even after getting a respectable job and wife… I think this comes together to show a relationship that was all dry professionalism. His answer about "children being distant" in his family seems to confirm there was always a divide.

Kazui’s generation was one of heightened pressure on masculinity, conformity, and repressed feelings. His father was probably not in a great state himself, but “that’s the way things are,” so he tried his best to teach that to his son. But we all know how people can pick up on what makes someone different, especially in their childhood as they’re learning to hide things better. So I think that even if Kazui never breathed a word about his secret to anyone, his parents would have guessed it. Their detachment and avoidance of anything too emotional/vulnerable would mean the family would never confront anything outright. 

Instead, his father would find roundabout ways to convey to his son that he needs to change (and be normal – acting in certain ways, making comments about others not fitting the status quo, and passing judgment on related behaviors. This, of course, destroys any chance at a close relationship, even if no insults are actually exchanged. Even when Kazui perfectly follows in his footsteps and attempts a “normal” life, there will always be those little comments and looks and expressions. His father never says he’s disappointed in the way his son was born, but both of them definitely know it. 

A little twist of the knife is that if they really are traditional, society-abiding people, I think they’d see each other fairly often. Kazui may have moved out, but it isn’t like he was disowned or cut them out of his life. On birthdays, holidays, achievements, police force events etc, he and Hinako would spend days and dinners visiting politely with them, talking about their jobs, lives, and all the little mundane things going on. They were content never discussing the glaring, life-altering issues going on under the surface, because “we’re men, you just don’t talk about things like that.”

[stormysapphic]

Do you have any posts on how a femme can take care of their butch? Thank you 💗

hii❣ well, this might seem a bit obvious - and i'll get to actual suggestions in a bit, dw - but i'd just like to start by saying that butch/femme interactions and "taking care of" one another in a butch/femme relationship can look very different for different people! for example, one thing that almost always comes up when discussing what femmes give to butches is recognition - being seen and loved as themselves in a society that does not in general appreciate or even acknowledge the existence of female/lesbian masculinity* such as butchness. but even something as apparently universal as that can manifest in almost opposite-seeming ways in different butch/femme relationships! for one butch, the most affirming thing a femme can do is calling them handsome and strong & letting them express chivalry or other behaviours society sees as being "only for men". for another butch, their femme cuddling them at the end of a long day & calling them cute and sweet and a teddy bear & drawing them a pink bubble bath without questioning their identity is what makes them feel seen in a world where butches are often expected to be tough and hardened and on their guard. and i think that that diversity of expression & how we communicate our specific needs to each other & craft our own lives is really beautiful! anyway, you probably are already aware of all that & are just looking for some inspiration. 💕 for me, that usually comes in the form of butch/femme writings old and new - things that capture the spirit of butch/femme for me, even when the specifics of each relationship are up to the people involved. 💞 so here are some quotes and a couple of longer texts! 💗lesbiandomesticity and considerate-butch on the aforementioned importance of femmes seeing and loving butches as they are 💗ivan coyote on a moment when a femme's recognition made things fall into place for their baby butch self 💗leslie feinberg on protecting and being protected by a femme lover (references queerphobic violence) 💗sillyfxmme on how butches and femmes belong together 💗amy fox on how femmes helped her (as a trans woman) and other butches find their butchness and feel comfortable in it (contains the t slur reclaimed) 💗susan kane's (a femme) poem on how they love butches 💗lesbianjadzia on historical the role of femmes in protecting butches and the community at large from police brutality/queerphobic violence (references queerphobic violence) 💗merril mushroom's humorous essay describing butch/femme courting rituals in the 1950s also! i'd love nothing more than for butches in butch/femme relationships - or dreaming of them - to reply to this with things their femmes do that they (would) love! (*not all butches relate to words such as "masculine" or "masculinity", but i'm using that as a shorthand here. hope everyone understands what i'm trying to say!)

[qqueenofhades]

yeah, i would say the rich, white, straight, cis, able-bodied qualifiers in front of men are needed for this conversation, because i think there is kind of an issue with generalizing that all men are treated the same and have the same privilege. as a woc, the men in my community do not get that same treatment at all, nor do trans men, gay men, disabled men, etc.

it feels like two conversations are trying to be had - marginalized men trying to speak up about the way they're treated when their marginalized identity intersects with their manhood (i.e black men's masculinity being weaponized and putting them in further danger), and white cis straight rich trump supporting men screaming about how men are actually oppressed and everything is womens' fault. those men don't give a shit about marginalized men either and will happily throw them under the bus the moment they stop being of use to their efforts. it kind of feels like both these conversations are being misconstrued to be about the same thing.

Yeah, exactly. And this is why fascism wants to erase those distinctions (because after all, in their minds, anyone who is punished by state authority, i.e. the police, must have "deserved it" somehow) and insist that only said white, cis, able-bodied, straight, Christian men are worthy of being designated as men at all. It's drawing on hundreds of years of racist pseudoscience and imperialist justifications about how everyone besides Western white men was a lesser form of the human species (and often not acknowledged as being human at all). The "white man's burden" was the supposed responsibility to "guide and civilize" these inferior creatures, be they women or non-Western colonial subjects or anyone else at all who didn't understand their place in the "hierarchy," and that's literally what's being regurgitated here, in an even cruder guise.

So yes, there are absolutely a lot of qualifiers and nuance that needs to be had in this conversation, especially when public discourse in America has become so polarized and largely consists of people yelling at each other on Twitter. But that's also the reason why large-scale, anonymous social media really is a terrible forum for it. You're absolutely right to note that there are two different things being talked about here in regard to manhood and how it's used/weaponized/thought about, and that the American mainstream is only listening to/elevating one (i.e. the rich white Trump-supporting men). Because, you know. America. Sigh.

[therubymuse]

Women's History Month 2024

While International Women’s Day has been and gone this week, we are still in the midst of Women’s History Month, which happens to be every March. That’s good for yours truly the slackass, because it means I have had some time to organize my thoughts; to sit with them and really get a feel for what needed to be said. 

It’s also worth noting that it’s been awhile since I could pickup up the metaphorical pen. The last time I shared something I wrote was last summer, a piece about how important it was for me to be a dyke. It was a good piece, but the words have been all jammed up since. Like logs in a river. The only way to get out of a rut like this is just to let my consciousness ramble, and to accept it’s output as just as valid as any authors or people I look up to. And that’s a hard ask some days.

So today, let’s talk about what being a woman means to me. And why it’s a label and a cause I’ll gladly give my life for as necessary. The first thirty years of my womanhood was denied, in equal parts by those around me who said I was an effeminate man who needed to be toughened up, and by myself, having buried those traits so I could fit in with others. It also didn’t help much that I was born with a penis, so the doctor naturally assumed I was a boy. I’ll forgive him, it was 1986. 

I believe I was born a woman, and that I’m biologically female. What we know about science backs up claims of both. Sexual characteristics do not solely present all as male, or all as female, in most of the animal kingdom, so why should we be any different? Many cultures outside of our nightmarish puritanical capitalist hellscape not only recognize genders outside the traditionally masculine and feminine exist, they celebrate our existence. 

And yet, there are those who recoil at my claim to the word, and who claim my existence is erasure. These people virulently insist that me and any of my trans sisters are in fact just delusional men. But here’s the thing. Feminism has long sought to define a woman as more than just a birthing machine. We are strong, capable, smart, creative and wise in ways that extend beyond our recorded history and agreed upon definitions. We have always been here, in all the different ways. The true erasure is demanding women occupy only a box of preconceived notions of what others think we are.  

It’s shocking to me that so-called “feminists” will fall over each other to tightly define who is allowed to call themselves a woman. Trans women have always been subjugated by this behaviour. We were at the forefront of the modern Pride movement over fifty years ago, and yet it took only a handful of years for cisgender feminists to push trans activists out of said movement, and we’ve been barred in varying degrees from doing anything like that since. Now that trans women can be visible enough to ask to be treated better, that’s seen as appropriating women’s rights for ourselves. 

But women’s rights are our rights. Because we are women. 

Cisgender women stand to lose a lot more than they gain through the targeting of trans women with hateful legislation and incendiary speech. Increased scrutiny and policing of appearances in public places will lead to mistakes ranging from the embarrassing to the traumatizing. This is already happening, with gender-nonconforming folks and butch lesbians being harassed in washrooms because they look trans, So are a lot of perfectly cisgender and heterosexual individuals who just don’t happen to dress and act in the prescribed way. 

All of this puts you in just as much danger as it puts me, if bigots think you’re a tans woman too. And it matters to me that you, me, and my trans sisters are all safe, no matter what. 

The label of “woman” means so much to me, because as it turns out, I fit the definition just fine. No matter what shape I contorted myself into, I never neatly fit into my expected gender roles. I was a mousy husband and an effeminate boyfriend. It was visible to everyone except me, and once I started knocking down the closet walls, I felt suddenly like I’d come home. When I said it out loud for the first time, I wept. I was standing in front of my mirror, in my bedroom. It was February 1st and I was getting ready for work. And I had to have a full-on ugly cry over the realization that I had known all this time, but for lack of a matching label, I had been unable to explain it to anyone.

Nobody can take that from me now. It has shaped me as a person, and I’m extremely proud of that person. I have parented my inner child, as we’re making progress on a lot of very deep, very old trauma. I have showered my body in affection and positive language, now that she doesn’t cause me such pain and discomfort via dysphoria. I have learned how to love more fully than I’ve ever known, and more patiently than I ever thought I could. I have allowed myself space to be vulnerable again. And all the while, I’ve been me; a gloriously unhinged disaster lesbian who is growing, changing, and finding a little more of herself every day. 

And, of course,  I’m a woman too. And as I wipe a tear from my cheek finishing this up, I have to admit that hits me just the same as it did all those years ago. 

Photo from Summer 2019.

[cowboyjen68]

Hello Jen,

Quick question, do you think it’s possible to be butch and femme at the same time? For example some days I feel more butch and other days I feel more femme and sometimes I feel both at the same time. It’s very confusing hahaha.

The fast answer to your quick question is no you can’t be both. But anyone who has been on my blog for longer than one minute knows I prefer long answers. 

     My disclaimer is that I am not the Butch/Femme expert or police. I am coming from my perspective and experience and from those around me. 

     Butch and Femme are two diametrically different ways of existing and they are not reliant on each other. They are not based on personality or outside aesthetics although those can certainly be influenced by them as well as on cultural expectations on “masculine” and “feminine”. 

     We don’t live in a vacuum so butches and femmes will, of course, feel comfort in things that are socially considered one or the other. 

     When it comes to aesthetics  (fashion, clothes, hair etc) anyone can do whatever they feel comfortable in. If you want to wear cargo pants and flannel one day and a summer dress the next, go crazy. Feel good. Enjoy the exploration of clothes and accessories. Keep what you like and discard others as you see fit. But all that outward stuff does not change your “energy”, for lack of a better word. Butches in a dress are still very much butch and that will be evident to anyone paying attention. A femme is a suit, still a suit. Think of kd Lang in a dress and imagine mistaking her for a femme or feminine woman. Not really even possible. I frankly know of zero famous people who use Femme (sadly) so I can’t give an example on that side of things. But a femme is a suit, even a custom fitted men’s suit does not suddenly become butch and, again, to anyone who knows what they are looking at will immediately know the difference. 

     Let’s talk about personality. Humans across all spectrums of masculine and feminine have all kinds of different personality traits that align (or don’t) with specific gender roles as defined (and often quite narrowly) but different societies. Butches can be quiet or loud, shy or bold, love working on cars or prefer puzzles by the fire. Femmes can be opinionated or easy going, they can love to garden barefoot or change their own oil in work boots. Interests and skills and personalities are not perfectly tied to butch and femme. They are as diverse as any human population with jobs, hobbies and personal traits. 

     I think you are talking about feeling like you share a little bit of the stereotypical traits of both butch and femme which is just being human. Butches can’t shed being butch with haircuts and clothes, same with femmes. It is how we are perceived and how we  perceive ourselves as well as how we relate to others that can’t be removed and often it can’t be hidden. 

     Explore things. Meet other butches and femmes. Meet other lesbians who fall in the comfy middle zone. (Fun FACT: women who were neither butch or femme in the 1940-50 bar scene were called Kiki) See who you most relate to and that might help you figure it out. We need to see others of many types to figure out what is most close to our own way of existing in this world. No one should be shamed for not knowing or getting it “wrong” at first or for trying to figure out what space they occupy. 

     If you want to rock that three-piece vintage suit DO IT.  If you want to order a dress with pockets and wear it to a party.  DO IT. You will find where you fit, but you can take your time doing it. 

[mushiver]

I haven't been a movie nerd even ONCE on this account. Here's my top 10 movies in 2023

1. The Lord of the Rings (trilogy)

IT STILL COUNTS AS ONE

Can't go wrong here. There's fantasy, action scenes, friendship, romance, badass dialogue, comedy. There's refreshing masculinity where men are close friends, fight for each other, die for each other, kiss each other on the forehead, sing, etc. The Aragorn Arwen romance is sweet and isn't overblown, and the main theme is to fight for good. If you're tired of anti-heroes and want a clean good vs. evil, this is it. The downside is not having poc representation and only 3 important women, but they are extremely awesome and play pivotal roles. If you've heard about LOTR for forever but never actually seen it, here's your sign.

2. The Lego Movie

This movie sells itself, but I have seen it maybe. 40 times. And I could quote it from start to end as a kid. It's funny, has crossover characters along with the main ones (like Batman, Superman, Gandalf, Abraham Lincoln, Han Solo), lots of references, and the main message is that you're special in your own way. It's very autism coded, I think

3. Jaws

Classic man vs. monster, and it's great if you don't watch thrillers and need something "dip your toes in." While the majority of the town goes all rambo trying to kill the shark, the main characters are the opposite. The chief of police is ultimately empathetic and wants to stop more people from being hurt, Matt Hooper is a shark expert "city boy" coming along, and Quint has a boat that needs to be bigger

4. My Cousin Vinny

Vinny is a lawyer taking a case to prove his cousin didn't murder a clerk, but he's the worst lawyer in existence. He forgot everything he learned in law school, can't stop wearing a leather jacket to court, and his fiancée saves him most times. It has some of the most quotable lines and 10/10 I recommend to Alabamans for the southern jokes

5. Knives Out

A modern "whodunit" mystery that shines the most because it's a comedy. The main character Marta is the only one who thinks she knows what happened, but she pukes every time she tells a lie. Benoit Blanc is also the most iconic detective to me and one of my favorite characters ever

6. Tommy Boy

This has a very similar tone to My Cousin Vinny, but it's a road trip movie. After Tommy's dad dies, he and Richard (a jerk coworker) try to sell autoparts to save his company. They're the worst salesmen in existence, but ultimately are creative and pull some shenanigans (Tommy and Richard go from rivals to buddies). It's from the 90s and not very chill with the r-slur and some fat jokes, but it's ultimately a feel-good movie if that isn't a dealbreaker for you

7. Jurassic Park

Like Jaws, another classic pop culture movie. The score is so good, and they make a world full of dinosaurs have the same magic feel as the wizarding world. It's an adventure movie with great action scenes and characters. (This is a trope I love personally but) Alan Grant is a grump who doesn't like kids, but later he looks after them. Ellie Sattler is one of my favorite characters ever, and Jeff Goldblum lays on a table. Survival movies are fun 10/10

8. Joker (2019)

DROOLING OVER THE CINEMATOGRAPHY. It's such a well-made movie, and you never know entirely what's real with unreliable narrating. It makes you feel for Arthur and understand his actions while knowing he made the wrong decisions in the end. Some think it's negative for mental health representation, but it can be used as a cautionary tale for the ways mentally ill people are mistreated and how the events that led to the start of the film weren't his fault. Ultimately, I think it inspires more empathy, and it's a piece of art

9. Signs

I'm a sucker for the "everything makes sense in the end" trope. A lot of people didn't like the combo of two supernaturals (the existence of God and aliens), but I don't think it ruins the movie. It centers around a family struggling with the death of their mother (or sister or wife, depending on the character), and the ex-priest dad had lost connection with his faith. He happens to find it again because of an alien invasion. Normal Tuesday

10. Arsenic and Old Lace

From 1944, it's a weird movie and the acting is iconic. Mortimer is trying to get to his honeymoon, but when he visits his aunts, he finds a dead body in the house. It's a comedy involving shenanigans, avoiding the police, and an uncle who thinks he's Teddy Roosevelt. (It's a bit outdated as far as mental illness goes, but Mortimer's goal is to put his family in the care of a mental institution rather than shipping them off or telling the police.) As a drama queen, I also appreciate Cary Grant being a drama queen

10 honorable mentions: Lego Batman, Napoleon Dynamite, The Goofy Movie, Clue, Psycho, Marriage Story, Into the Spiderverse, Avengers Endgame, Dead Poets Society, Muder on the Orient Express. Swag thanks for reading

[eye-in-hand]

There's a serious issue with men running towards hate groups or gangs because it's hard for men to find community with other men. I'm not educated enough to explain possible reasons why in a lot of detail, and I'm sure there are multiple things happening here, but I really do think men aren't loved as much as women are. Toxic masculinity hurts everyone, and in men's cases it means you can't show emotion, you can't experience intimacy with other men without it being "Gay" (let alone actually being gay), don't expect genuine compliments on your achievements or appearance, and the only thing society sees from you is what you can offer everyone else.

Men aren't allowed to be people, they just have to be robots with no feelings and no intimate relationships or community. They're supposed to just save the women and children, and then die.

And so a lot of men run off to join gangs and shit because they crave a community that will support them. Gangs, the military (which is a gang), the police (also a gang), etc. Tends to be the only way men are allowed to have friendships. That or sports. Which is also just. Group of men being competitive against another group of men, so same fucking difference.

I grew up around gang culture bullshit, both inner city and other things, and the boys in my class were literally told that most of them were going to end up dropping out and joining a gang by the staff. "85% of you will probably drop out and join a gang, so we're going to try and keep you in school to keep you from doing that" and you expect teenagers to think you fucking value them?

That's what men are expected to do. Drop out and join a hate group or a gang that makes you feel valued in a way you aren't getting at home. Boys grow up without feeling valued, and turn to each other, and that fosters communities that feel slighted (incels are another good example of this), and have no where to direct this rage but at the rest of the world.

I have always hated the "fuck cis heteronormative white men" shit because two reasons: it's wrong to generalize entire groups of people and we can't have honest discussions about privilege if we just sit there contributing to the problem by alienating people. Men deserve to know that they matter, that they're loved, that they're valued as human beings.

There are genuine problems with toxic masculinity, toxic whiteness, toxic heteronormativity in western cultures (and others, but I can't speak on that myself). And constantly telling people that they're the problem, when it's not individuals that are the problem, it's the system itself, does nothing, helps no one, and further drives men into thinking that the only place they can find love is with other men who also feel slighted, angry, and alone.

The left needs to understand that the way privilege has been discussed the last couple decades is not helping. Trying to subvert the hatred marginalized people feel onto the majority does not help marginalized people, or making the majority give a shit more than before. It just causes further division. And this division and devaluing of masculinity as this inherently evil thing, and that men deserve nothing, just makes them feel less valued and more likely to engage with violence. This isn't that hard to fucking understand.

I love men. I value masculinity in all the healthy ways it can be expressed and experienced. Men deserve to feel beautiful, and to feel loved, and to feel like they're a complex human being like anyone else is.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

[tallmantall]

James Donaldson on Mental Health - Conversations are opening up, but we still need to shed the taboo of discussing suicide’

Attitudes have changed in the decade since Jessica Davis' father died, she says. Still, it's vital to keep challenging the stigma BY JESSICA DAVIS It's a sticky July afternoon and I'm stuck between lilies or tulips. Normally, I only buy my mum a bouquet for her birthday or Mother's Day, but today – a random summer Wednesday – I feel an instinct to pick some up. I'd later find out that this exact pocket of time, as I stood glancing from flower to flower, was the point at which our family's life would change forever. Those minutes in 2014 drew a line under our past, plunging us into a future of grief, missed milestones and unanswered questions. It was the time in which we lost dad to suicide. I recall what happened next as a whirlwind, yet I remember it with such clarity. I arrived home, stems in hand, to see a police car parked outside. Upon entering the house, the news was broken, by my mum, to my younger brother and I. It felt like I was living someone else’s truth, playing a character in a film. After, days and weeks blurred into months. It all seemed like a cruel joke; part of a game show. I remember saying out loud ‘you can stop now’, imagining him bursting in with a camera crew in tow, revealing a twisted prank. They never came, though. Over ten years later, I’m still waiting. ‘It all seemed like one big cruel joke; part of a game show’ In the wake of his death, a huge weight to bear was using the word ‘suicide’. ‘He killed himself,’ I’d say, numbly updating friends, family or explaining to the landlord of my local pub that I wouldn’t be working my shift, as though I was hungover like any other 18-year-old. In truth, I didn’t understand it myself. Why would he do this? What about us? He’d suffered with depression for my whole life, however he came across as one of the happiest people to all that had the pleasure of knowing him. He was infectious; someone who lit up the room, made you laugh uncontrollably and was always the centre of the party. That’s the thing about mental ill health, though. While external words and behaviour are visible, none of us truly know the contents of another's mind. When we, his immediate family, told those in our extended circle about dad, we were met with disbelief, puzzled faces and questions we certainly didn’t have the answers to. How could such a vital character have secretly battled such sad thoughts? ‘None of us truly know the contents of another's mind’ This conversation started to change slightly the next year, when news broke that actor Robin Williams had taken his own life in 2014. Reading about this sad, sad reality, I found myself taking in a narrative that was all too familiar; the big warm joker who loved to make everyone laugh, but sheltered a darker internal life. It helped, I think, cement the general understanding that even the seemingly happiest of people might struggle. The author as a child with her dad Over the decade since dad's death, many high profile names have ended their own lives, from television personality Caroline Flack to musicians Chris Cornell and Avicii. Each is a tragedy; each generates headlines. Even so, suicide remains an intensely difficult thing for many to speak about. ‘The way we talk about grief and bereavement is beginning to change as we talk about death more easily,’ psychotherapist Juliet Rosenfeld tells me. ‘The general conversation around mental health has certainly opened up, but suicide is still a difficult area for people to talk about.’ ‘Suicide it’s a very difficult area for people to talk about’ But talk about it we must. The latest stats show that 5,642 deaths happened by suicide in 2022; around three-quarters being male. I often think if there was less stigma against men showing their emotion and feelings (a big middle finger to toxic masculinity) at the time of dad’s death, perhaps he would have felt more comfortable to have broken down, to have received help, rather than pretending everything was fine. A decade on, despite these tragedies filling our newsfeeds and scary statistics, there’s still so much misunderstanding. ‘I'm always struck by the language we use when it comes to suicide, as it’s so denigrating,’ Rosenfeld says. ‘Take "committed suicide." The use of ‘committing’ is extraordinary as it implies criminality – the use of ‘attempting’ and ‘successful’ also does such damage. Suicide sounds like ‘homicide’ or ‘infanticide’, so it’s put into that category and makes people deeply uncomfortable. It’s worrying that given how prevalent it is, we can’t talk about it in a way that’s helpful and preventative.’ #James Donaldson notes:Welcome to the “next chapter” of my life… being a voice and an advocate for #mentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention, especially pertaining to our younger generation of students and student-athletes.Getting men to speak up and reach out for help and assistance is one of my passions. Us men need to not suffer in silence or drown our sorrows in alcohol, hang out at bars and strip joints, or get involved with drug use.Having gone through a recent bout of #depression and #suicidalthoughts myself, I realize now, that I can make a huge difference in the lives of so many by sharing my story, and by sharing various resources I come across as I work in this space.  #http://bit.ly/JamesMentalHealthArticleFind out more about the work I do on my 501c3 non-profit foundationwebsite www.yourgiftoflife.org Order your copy of James Donaldson's latest book,#CelebratingYourGiftofLife: From The Verge of Suicide to a Life of Purpose and Joy www.celebratingyourgiftoflife.com Link for 40 Habits Signupbit.ly/40HabitsofMentalHealth If you'd like to follow and receive my daily blog in to your inbox, just click on it with Follow It. Here's the link https://follow.it/james-donaldson-s-standing-above-the-crowd-s-blog-a-view-from-above-on-things-that-make-the-world-go-round?action=followPub ‘Talking about death or knowing the "right thing" to say to the bereaved brings such dread’ Generally, talking about death or knowing the ‘right thing’ to say to the bereaved brings such dread. Understandably so, despite it being the only true certainty for us all, we are all scared of our own death, and that of our loved ones. But when it comes to suicide in particular this squeamishness is amplified. It's hard to comprehend something that goes directly against the human instinct for survival. ‘From birth, we have a drive to survive at all costs,’ says Rosenfeld. ‘People cope in horrific danger, suffer accident or disease, they make it through. That’s the difficult thing about suicide as it "goes against" this. It means it can be difficult for people to conceptualise.’ ‘And, the reality is, we won’t understand it from the outside, because, how can we? We don’t know how it feels. This is why it’s so important to change how we talk about it and lose that judgement. We do have the power to change things; to change the narrative and help those who need it most.’ Detecting the signs that someone is in crisis early on is paramount. Polly, a 43-year-old Somerset-based volunteer with charity Samaritans, says it’s never a one-size-fits-all approach. ‘Struggling to cope with everyday life is a common feeling and isn’t the same for everyone,’ she says. ‘Some signs include lacking energy, feeling exhausted, finding it hard to think clearly or concentrate, feeling restless and agitated, wanting to cry all the time, not wanting to be with people or do things you would usually enjoy, finding it hard to cope with everyday tasks and experiencing "burn out"’. ‘It’s important to remember that it’s okay to feel any of these things,’ she continues. ‘You’re not alone in feeling like this, as many people struggle to cope at one point or another. Talking about how you’re feeling can help put things into perspective and help you to feel more positive about the future.’ It's true that society has become more compassionate towards those who die by suicide. Before 1961, it was illegal in the UK, meaning that if someone ended their life, they wouldn’t get a funeral or headstone. We’ve definitely moved a long way on from that – but there’s still such a way to go. Having these honest conversations, better mental health education, sharing stories, squishing the stigma of shame is all part of bringing it forward. I hope with everything I've got that over the next decade, we see those heartbreaking statistics shrink. Two women who contemplated suicide share how having someone to listen saved their lives Bella, 45, from London: In 2019 I was diagnosed with bipolar and struggled badly with depression, which ultimately led to me becoming suicidal that same year. One evening, things got way too much. I felt I'd had enough; I wanted to go – but something in me caused me to phone Samaritans. Being truly listened to and having a space where I could say anything was so helpful. They made me feel like I was somebody. They made me feel I was worth it. Sometimes I think to myself my life was saved by the person who picked up the phone that night. If they weren’t there, I may not be here. I share my story as a mental health speaker to show others they aren’t alone. At that time for me I felt so overwhelming lonely and had no safe space to share how much I was struggling. It felt like the outside world wouldn’t have cared if I went; I didn’t think I’d be missed by anyone. I couldn’t remember any achievements or anything I wanted from my future. Of course, I still have very bad days – and that’s okay and so important to share, too. With social media, it can look like everyone else is living a perfect life, but that's not true. I love sharing with my audience when I’m feeling low and what I’m doing to help myself, like getting outside in nature or journalling. Struggle is all part of the journey and nothing to be ashamed about. Emma, 35 from South Yorkshire: I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression in my early twenties. I struggled on and off and was keen to find coping mechanisms outside of medication. I’ve felt quite up and down over the years; the pandemic lockdown was hard. I’d been plodding on, but my mental health took a dip. I felt stuck, I was in a relationship that wasn’t very good for me and I just felt...lost. Working from home made me feel so isolated, things were getting worse and I couldn’t see a way out. I felt I had no one to turn to. One night, it was really bad. It was the early hours so I couldn’t call anyone, but I’d seen an advert for Samaritans in the train station early that day. I didn’t really know what I wanted to say, I just wanted someone to be there so I didn’t feel so alone. I was scared and contemplating ending my life. The volunteer listened, let me cry and asked all the right questions without pushing me. We were on the phone for hours, until I felt truly safe to hang up the phone. She saved my life. I remember thinking that I didn't want my life to end, rather just for that chapter to close. That night I decided I can fight to live. It’s still so emotional to talk about, but it feels like a distant memory. To look at me today, you’d never know. I’m so grateful to be here. I rebuilt my life, reconnected with friends and I’m now am in a new healthy relationship: we’re getting married this autumn. I know it's possible to come out the other side. To anybody who maybe feels how I felt back then, please know that when they say it gets better, they aren’t lying. Anyone can contact Samaritans, free, 24/7, by calling 116 123, email jo@samaritans.org or visit www.samaritans.org Read the full article

[vamptastic]

If trans men are men, why should they be writing feminist literature?

...Because the vast majority of us lived for at least a decade as a woman, and thus have lived experience on the matter? And because men can write feminist literature in general, you don't need to be a woman yourself to understand why gender equality is a good cause, you just need to give a shit about other people. Also, many of us were identified by peers as gender nonconforming from an early age, even before consciously knowing it ourselves, and I think it lends us some valuable insight on how women police gender roles on each other.

Certainly, we often tend to have different experiences and feelings on gender than cis women do, especially if we realize we're trans early on, but you're bound to develop some relevant insight. I think cis men tend to treat us about the same as cis women, with some additional homophobia and maybe some more physical violence mixed in (because they think masculine people are OK to fight) but that cis women tend to have had very different experiences with each other than I have had with them.

But regardless, we all have certainly had to deal with misogyny at some point, if not in social situations than in the medical field, and feminism of course benefits us. I think if we're going to be affected by a movement, we deserve the ability to express an opinion on it. Whether you value that opinion or not is kind of up to you.

[star-anise]

I'm up around 3am, thinking about incels and tradwives. (Note: If these are movements you're a fan of, or if you just want to fight with me generally, I will block you if you annoy me, and even if you behave there's a $20 fee if you expect me to actually reply to you in any way.)

This got started because of Khadija Mbowe's and F.D Signifier's videos about Black patriarchy, which has led me to pick up bell hooks' 2004 book The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love.

The thing that hooks says that really knocked my socks off in a "how dare you notice that" way is that a lot of people, men and women alike, are angry not just because of the male violence they've experienced, but because of the lack of male love they've experienced.

Which like, part of being human means that being seen and cared about is pretty viscerally equated with survival in our brains. We want it, we need it, we suffer when it isn't there. To be seen and genuinely loved by the people in our lives matters, so we are always affected when there's someone important to us who doesn't seem to see us, to love us, to care about our wellbeing, or to be proud of our accomplishments. It matters to be disregarded, rejected, or shamed by someone we want to love us.

But no power in the world can compel another person to give a shit about you—a truth most of us spend our lives frantically suppressing because being unloved is terrifying, so we work at being better, more attractive, smarter, more accomplished, more charming, sexier, or to be brutally honest, more lovable. But when we do experience a lack of love, a lot of us take that anger and decide to opt for second best. If we can't be loved, we can at least be powerful. Power can take a lot of forms, but because the lack of male love often goes hand-in-hand with violence, people who face it generally want, at the very least, to not be hurt anymore.

But there's another element in play. Patriarchal gender roles divide behaviours and skills in a very particular way: Boys and men are expected to use power to dominate, and girls and women are supposed to use emotions to tend and nurture. Anyone who fails to perform those roles gets harshly punished. Terrence Real talks about how this leaves men with very limited knowledge of their own emotional needs or how to communicate them to other people, and Paul Kivel talks about how boys are taught that this is women's work—that if they are masculine enough, they will attract a woman who will make sure that they feel loved and cared about. How a great deal of men's anger towards women is the feeling that women are witholding this essential service, or failing to fully handle men's emotions (which is pretty damn common, since humans aren't telepaths so it's basically impossible to reach inside someone's head and change their emotions for them).

So hooks notes that women are just as likely to uphold patriarchal gender roles as men, and one element of that is women's anger when men are emotionally vulnerable. Men who confess to their partners that they feel lost and ashamed and unworthy of love are doing exactly what women keep saying we want men to do, but the reaction many women have is a kind of incredulous frustration—"You want me to handle all this? Fuck no, I'm busy!"

Part of that reaction is that in patriarchal gender roles, it is a woman's literal job to completely soothe and manage her male partner's emotions—to diligently praise him, make him feel more accomplished, and to reassure him of her ongoing love and admiration in all things. And that is a lot of work that is quite likely not to succeed because it's really hard to talk someone out of a self-hating funk. (There's also an element of just plain sexism. Even without the implied demand for help, some women just think men's vulnerability is pathetic or laughable.)

The feminist response to this that hooks, Real, and Kivel advocate for is to spread the load a little more evenly; to work to reduce the violence with which gender roles are policed, to allow men to be soft and emotional, but in the process, give them the emotional skills to handle the shame and dread we all feel sometimes about not being lovable or or worthy, and empower them to form many different emotionally fulfilling relationships.

So the thing about incels is, they tend to be obsessed with finding a woman who will make them feel worthy, sexy, accomplished, admirable, and dominant, like a "real man". The prospect of getting a woman is the single potential oasis of love and support in an incredibly bleak desert landscape in which a romantic partnership is the only possible source men are permitted to seek love and care from. A man who hasn't gotten a girl is a pathetic loser whose life is meaningless.

What that entire worldview takes for granted is how the desert became a desert in the first place. How boys learn to fear the violence and rejection that comes from stepping out of their gender role by being emotionally vulnerable or by emotionally nurturing somebody else; how emotional knowledge and expression are punished by a system that says men should always seek to dominate. The desire for a female partner rests on a bedrock of learned fear and contempt for the idea that men can or even should have the kind of emotionally close and supportive friendships among themselves that women tend to have with each other.

Incels are the fucking allegory of the long spoons in action. They gather in huge numbers to discuss their pain, frustration, and disappointment about their difficulty attaining a relationship that provides emotional fulfillment, but it's impossible for them to try to seek or offer that kind of relationship with the many many people right there also looking for love, because violating the gender rules means inviting violence and ostracism. Affection and mutual esteem between men is super gay and doesn't count, especially when it's provided because of a mutual vulnerability instead of admiration for achievement. So it's incredibly hard for incels to in any way break out of the mental cage that says the way to be loved is to be as masculine, as stoic and unemotional and successful and admirable and dominant as possible. And because being dominant tends to require people to be better than, incels spend a lot of time criticizing each other for failing to be masculine enough, and therefore not worthy of love.

Meanwhile... tradwives.

If you're into men, the dream of being truly loved by a man who will take care of you and make your life materially better is fucking amazing stuff. That's just... that's just The Dream, okay? The romance industry's extreme popularity decade after decade will tell you what bell hooks also notes: Women who are into men want to be loved by men SO MUCH.

So it really seems to me that the basic appeal of being a tradwife is managing to be submissive enough to get the men they love to genuinely show up and fully commit to loving them. If conflict in relationships happen because men feel threatened in their masculinity or not fully loved by their wives, then gosh darnit, these women will plaster themselves over the cracks to make sure there are absolutely no problems. That will earn them a relationship where they are truly loved and appreciated.

(It's a trap. I hate to say it, but we're not a telepathic species, and you will never manage to be good enough to actually change what someone else feels. No matter how hard you submit, your husband will still feel moments of doubt and fear and inadequacy, because he's human and we're built like that. It's the cross we have to bear as a species. And it does not go well at all if both of you are used, in those moments, for blaming you for whatever you "did" to "make" him feel that way.)

[nothorses]

it also feeds directly into messaging we've already internalized from broader society:

regular-ass transphobia that tells us trans people are worth less, are making things up, and are "choosing" to be the gender we are, and

regular-ass misogyny that tells transmascs perceived female that we are hysterical and overreacting, that we're too loud and must take up less space, that we're worth less and deserve less, and that we must police each other and conform to a certain standard.

and to be extra extra clear, transfemmes and other trans people experience these things as well; most importantly, misogyny is something pretty much every trans person experiences, but the ways in which we experience it differ. it's counterproductive to try to compare who experiences "more" or "worse".

these experiences also overlap with the experiences of a lot of cis men in queer and feminist spaces as well, and with a lot of transfemmes who feel pressured to distance themselves from any connection to masculinity or boyhood- lest they be viewed as predatory by the rest of their own communities.

but this stuff is really fucking hard to challenge in transmasc spaces, and a lot of transmascs ascribe to the idea that they need to self-flagellate, make themselves small, deny their own realities, and keep each other in line- and a good chunk of that comes from the misogyny many of us are raised with.

people get introduced to the idea that transmascs are Lesser trans and suffer Less and are entitled to Less as they first start to explore the queer community and just. absorb that as truth, because theres not much available to them that says otherwise. and a lot of them ARE transmascs who become convinced the only way to be a “good trans” is to make sure no other transmasc steps out of line. thats why this rhetoric is so difficult to combat. to suggest otherwise is to ostensibly be a Bad Trans(tm).

[gender0bender]

Happy Halloween enjoy these excerpts from my trans man vampire story I’m working on and some additional pieces of intrigue.

Fake Dick Fake Fangs by Gender0Bender / Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu / Hate the Day by Behind the Scenes / Transgressive Lust by Michael M Hernandez, from From The Inside Out: Radical Gender Transformation FTM and Beyond / Fake Dick Fake Fangs / Genderfusion by Juan-Alejandro  Lamas, from From The Inside Out / A Trilogy of Horror and Transmutation by Ali Cannon, from From The Inside Out / Fake Dick Fake Fangs / Monster Trans by Boots Potential from From The Inside Out / Hearteater by Eliza Temple from Unspeakable: A Queer Gothic Anthology.

Transcript:

Image 1: He watched the men leaving the bar. He stared at an older, stockier man in a tight flannel shirt and frayed jeans, his beard cropped and mustache grown thick. The man walked the way other men were too afraid to, he swayed his huge hips and kept the thumbs of his hairy hands tasteully in his belt hooks. He seemed like when he laughed the sound rippled through his entire body and made him into one wave of infectious pleasure. Clay saw him and recognised him and loved him. Gay masculinity was such a bewitching thing, like the sea. So strong and so feminine. He thought about leather daddies with their caps pulled over their eyebrows and tight leather pants, their police officer fetish costumes, the way they carved up the macho men that hated them with their crossed legs and limp wrists and devoured their bodies through the communal lust of a gay bar. Ate their enemies by fucking each other. Though they would never recognise him as one of them he felt like he had done the same thing. That when he slipped the fang of his needle into his thigh, he was sucking men dry. Taking their life force from them, and using it to sustain his own. That without testosterone he was a hollow, thirsty shell. Maybe it wasn’t such a big transition for him after all from gay trans man to vampire. Maybe he couldo do this. Cut a man’s veins open with a knife and lap it all up, smash his skull in with a bat and use it as a cup, poison a boy until he coughed the blood up into his mouth, and then kiss him. Kiss him kiss him kiss him. 

Image 2: She used to place her pretty arms about my neck, draw me to her and laying her cheek to mine, murmur with her lips near my "Dearest, your little heart is wounded; think me not cruel because obey the irresistible law of my strength and weakness; if your dear heart is wounded, my wild heart bleeds with yours. In the rapture of my enormous humiliation I live in your warm life, and you shall die - die, sweetly die - into mine. I cannot help it; as I draw near to you, you, in your turn, will draw near to others, and learn the rapture of that cruelty, which yet is love; so, for a while, seek to know no more of me and mine, but trust me with all your loving spirit.' And when she had spoken such a rhapsody, she would press me more closely in her trembling embrace, and her lips in soft kisses gently glow upon my cheek.

Image 3: Like a lover, like a beast we catch you in your sleep The lips approach your neck again Her skin smells so sweet, it smells so sweet Despair after the deed as I've been the beast again Each night the raid repeats Our nature drives me on We kill what we love

Image 4: Lust is about passion. About desire. About satisfaction. Lust, for me, is an intense feeling most easily triggered by smell, materializing in the pit of my belly. The smell of a new leather jacket; the pungency and muskiness of sweat exuded during fear or intense excitement; sandalwood, sage, or a particular cologne. Smell alone can be enough to set me off. It's a purely chemical reaction to stimuli, fraught with an almost obsessive desire to taste, smell and feed the intense craving that usually manifests when I least expect it.

Image 5: It was better than sex, they were one need, one body, one singular desire pointed at his shaking, sprinting legs like a razor. They descended upon him like a chariot of blood soaked fur and mangled bone and sharp, alien teeth. In the frenzy they were like sharks, where the blood in the water hides the feeding animals until they are just shapes and outlines melting into one another. Once they sank their teeth into him it was like a cycle was completed, like an ouroboros had taken its tail into its mouth, they became one being- the eating and the eaten, and there was no way to tell where he ended and they began. Who was feeding on who. They gorged themselves on flesh until all that was left were wet bones, and a warm core inside each of them where the hole that had been there was now filled with human blood. 

Image 6: GenderFusion: The (he)art of physically, mentally and spiritually fusing one's gender with education, selfknowledge, and passion. The state of fusing oneself into a singular physical body. An occurrence that involves the production of a union of the self.

Image 7: when I get my first testosterone shot I'm lying like the creature on the slab my ass in the air awaiting that small stick which all my needlephobic anxieties rest upon Jessica tells me sweet romantic highlights of our life together While I squeeze my FTM dad's hand the injection is brief and after the nurse leaves I break down in the arms of my loved ones it being a huge relief to have placed myself upon that slab the medical moment standing for so much in the scheme of monster making

Image 8: As he drove back in his car they passed through a bridge, and he remembered being a child who passed in cars through other bridges. The cars outside were smudges of red light, and the stars were all gone, hidden behind thick concrete. It felt safe to be so insulated, with the tarmac road flying past underneath while he watched the white lines go blinking by. Sometimes a feeling came over him in public, or out with friends, or with family, but mostly when he was in a crowd- “I am the only trans person here.” And it was like physically he was there in the shopping centre, or the square thronging with people and stalls selling cheap food and homeless people begging for change, but he was also completely alone. He existed as a double- part of him there, and part of him here. Never truly moving into either. Now as the cars went by, he felt for the first time his body separate into a third hylic. “We are the only vampires here.” But the truth was that trans people were everywhere. Hiding. A part of him was there in the crowd like a buried jewel, and he couldn’t see it unless it was shown to him. He wondered how many other monsters there were out there. He now inhabited a world of vampires, maybe out there were demons and werewolves and zombies and other creatures that had never been captured, never been named, been erased and killed and buried but which had dug their way out again and again. They were hiding too now, out of sight. He just had to find them. 

Image 9: The most hopeful and beautiful thing about monstrosity-as-gender is the fact that once you become a monster, nothing looks “normal.” Everyone is a monster waiting to happen, they are just choosing, at the moment, to cohere to an arbitrary and fictional set of rules and regulations as to what they are supposed to be. You start inhabiting an entire world of monsters. And nothing looks better.

Image 10: "No," she said. "But if people assume, I don't correct them. It doesn't matter to me whether people think I'm a man or a woman. And when they think I'm a man, they don't ask me to wear dresses. But...” Kat leaned back in her chair. "...no one likes finding out they were wrong. It's not the first time it's happened-once, before, I was actually run out of town, with pitchforks and torches. Like some kind of monster from a story." She frowned. "You're not a monster," I said I would know. Kat smiled at me, so gently that her whole face seemed softer. "If I'm not a monster," she said. "That means you aren't either."

[pleasantanathema]

Reiner Braun | Instinctual Invitations

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: ABO Dynamics (Alpha Reiner x Omega Reader), Breeding, Marking, Mating, Knotting, Heats, Ruts, Frenemies to Lovers

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Part of my Nine Muses Event to celebrate 9k! Follow the link to read other fanfics I’m writing to celebrate. This was definitely a labor of love. I’ve fallen back into my appreciation for ABO dynamics, and Reiner just screams “perfect mate” to me. 💜

          No one made suppressants stronger than Hange. They never divulged just what was in their special concoction, but all you knew was that it was damn near impossible for someone to discern that you were an Omega.

           You’d even fooled that naive, arrogant, hubristic Alpha partner of yours for years. There was a particular disdain you held for Reiner. You could never really name it, but all you knew was that working with the giant man made your instincts sour. He seemed so good on the outside, all prideful charm and heavy pats on the shoulders of his peers, but when the two of you worked cases alone, his charisma always had a bite to it.

           Maybe it was because he could tell there was something equally off about his “Beta” partner, maybe it was because he had some pent up rage inside him he only let seep out around you. You didn’t know, you didn’t care. You were patiently waiting for him to be re-assigned to the Behavioral Science Unit like he’d requested last month, but Erwin’s dawdling with the request had you worried he wasn’t about to separate his most successful Scout partners, even if they didn’t get along.

           “Is my bow tie straight?”

          Reiner asked you to hold his drink while he fiddled with the offending cloth.

           “Yeah.”

           “You didn’t even look.”

           The whiskey from his glass was expensive, sliding down smooth when you took a drink. Rei let out a very frustrated noise, so loud and huffy it had the guests of the award ceremony glancing toward him. The hotel ballroom was crowded, filled with elites from Military Police, Scouts, even the fucking Garrison. There were too many people here to watch you and Reiner stumble over the acceptance speech; there were too many people here to judge that Scouts were being awarded this time around.

           “Now your fucking lipstick is all over it.”

           “Oh please, it tastes like cherries, you’ll get over it.”

           Both of you were nervous, flattered but timid about being given a Meritorious Achievement Award for all your fieldwork done killing and documenting titans around the outer-wilds of the city. Fighting for survival in the trees was less stressful than trying to make a good impression on the brass as you received one of the highest honors.

           You took another gulp of his drink before passing it back, trying to stave off the very worrisome nerves twisting in your gut. Sweat was forming at the nape of your neck, staining your palms. You shifted uncomfortably in your heels, feet feeling heavy.

           It made you feel some better that the usually proud Alpha next to you was just as worried about giving a speech in front of Dhalis Zachary. The Premier was known for being strict, for demanding that military appearance be of the highest standard in front of donors.

          Reiner was still fucking with his tie, angry muscles about to rip the threads of his tuxedo.

          “You look fine,” you sighed, toning back the bitterness. You moved away from the balcony railing, wrapping your fingers around the black polyester ribbon and tightening it into sitting straight under his square jaw. But for some reason, you couldn’t let go, nails gripping into the fabric.

          “Are you okay? You looked scared to shit,” Reiner plucked your hands off his tie, holding a wrist in each burning hand, “I can do all the talking, you know. You can just stand there and look pretty.”

          “Y-yeah, I’m fine.” You weren’t. You knew this feeling, it was old and familiar, a churning pain laced with need slowly brewing in your belly, making you sick.

          But your suppressants would take care of the issue, surely it was just your nerves that were making those heats you’d forsaken start to claw at you.

          You hadn’t gone through a heat cycle in three years. Hange had suggested you take time off once a year to let your body go through it’s natural process, but you’d been so damn busy that you’d neglected to do so. Besides, you never had any issues, just a few flare ups when a particularly good looking Alpha close to their rut got near you.

          This time was different, though, you could feel it. This flame wasn’t going to be extinguished once it got started—you’d have to go home after the gala and curl up, stop taking the suppressants in the morning so your heat could come to life in the next few days.

          God you dreaded that feeling, cunt always quivering and squeezing around nothing, sweating in a blanket nest that only carried your scent and maybe a lingering, nameless male scent from a one-night stand.

          “Hey,” Rei moved his hands to rest on your shoulders, shaking you, “get your shit together. We’ll be awarded in a few hours and then we can go the fuck home. Tired of being around your bitchy ass anyways.”

          His hands were too hot. They were sweaty like yours, making you feel dizzy.

          “I’m gonna be sick.”

          You could feel it. Reiner could smell it.

          “What the fuck is wrong with y—”

          He dropped the last syllable, golden eyes turning into molten amber the moment your scent hit him full force. You thought he’d take his hands off, that he’d give you some space, but those instincts to protect must have taken over because he was pulling you closer like that would help.

          “You’re a Beta, you don’t go into—”

          “Omega, Rei. I’m a fucking Omega and I don’t need you telling anyone about it.”

          You whispered your confession, eyes going glassy as you looked around the room, saw faces turning in your direction. Most of the old men here were mated, but that didn’t mean the building brew of the heat of an unmarked Omega wouldn’t catch their attention. Your neck throbbed, scent glands betraying you and pumping beneath your skin.

          You felt like clawing at Reiner’s chest, digging your fingers into the perfectly pressed designer shirt and burying your face into it to be overwhelmed by Alpha presence. You thought you could stave this off, but the nerves, this proximity to an Alpha...you needed to get the fuck out of here.

          “You’re going to have to take the award for-for both of us,” oh now you were stuttering, you were losing it, Reiner’s deeply masculine scent making you feel like a puddle. You hated these instincts, hated how it made you feel weak, hated how he smelled like the most inviting bakery and familiarity and how it made you want to fall to your knees and beg for the aching hole between your legs to be stuffed.

          “You can’t get home on your own, do you know how many Alphas would kill for—”

          You were pulling away from him, grabbing your purse so you could scrounge for those emergency suppressants to hopefully curtail this heat.

          The pills were absent, your resolve fading as you felt like crumpling into the floor and clutching your stomach. You knew people were starting to notice, noses in the air to find out where the overly sweet smell of an Omega was coming from.

          “I don’t need your help.”

          “Who else knows?” You didn’t like how the rumble of his voice made your skin tingle, made your panties feel too tight, wet.

          “Hange, Levi, the higher ups. They know, they saw it on my app-application. Said it would be…” you were starting to lose your train of coherent thoughts.

          “...best if no one knew?”

          Omegas were scarce. Omegas were weak. But you’d proven yourself in your training, you were too valuable for Commander Erwin to deny your approval into the Scouts.

          “Just—just tell people I got sick. That the stupid little shrimp hors d'oeuvres... f-fuck me,” you meant to say something else, something like they fucked with me, but all you could think about was how those strong hands felt on your shoulders and how they would feel so good pawing at your hips as he plowed into you to relieve your stress.

          Making a beeline out of the ornate, crowded ballroom, you had to excuse yourself as you bumped into a few backs and sides, stumbling over your feet as the clawing need in your stomach made you lose focus. You just had to get home. Grab a cab. Hope it’s not an Alpha driving, just get home to your nesting pillows and bury your fingers into your—

          Reiner was calling your name. If he was your Alpha you’d be stopping in your tracks to listen to his commands, but he wasn’t. He was your terrible, annoying...strong, capable, definitely had a fat cock…

          You didn’t know what you were thinking about when he finally caught up to you, pushing you outside the front doors. You wished it was winter, but it was a hot summer night, which just made the heat in your body worse, made your scent heavier, floating on the humidity. And there were people around, lobby boys taking in bags and tired families dragging their feet inside. Still the fresh air felt good, or at least it did, until Reiner invaded it with his scent again.

          “I’ll get you home,” he placed his hand on your lower back, palm touching bare, tender skin from the low cut of your dress, and you came undone. You pressed yourself into his thick chest, wrapping your arms around him and fisting them into the back of his shirt. You could hear him grunt at the contact, the two of you never the type of partners to go beyond a pat on the back or a punch to the arm.

          “N-not gonna make it home…”

          “Fucking shit I always knew there was something different about you.”

          He was dragging you back into the hotel, firm hand around your wrist.

          “I can’t help how I was born.”

          “Yeah but you could have fucking told me.”

          You quit your bickering as Reiner paid for a hotel room, you pressed to his side and trying to mask the scent of ripe, ready to fuck Omega underneath simmering Alpha. You snatched the key card on the counter from a very concerned concierge, listening but not really as she explained there were special rates for those in heat.

          “I didn’t want you to know.”

          People were staring now, the smell of Omega becoming so heavy it even bothered you. Rei tucked his arm around your waist, leading you toward the elevators. There was a sour, thirsty taste in your mouth as you listened to your heels clink upon the marbled floor. The scent of arousal was on him, but it wasn’t his fault, just his biology reacting to yours.

          You straightened your shoulders as you saddled up next to him in the elevator, watching the doors slowly close.

          “Reiner—”

          “Shut up.”

          He was on you in an instant, heavy body pressing you into the mirrored wall.

          “I should have known,” his voice was low, like he was divulging a secret, “a little Omega under my nose all long.”

          You gasped as one of his hands skimmed up your thigh, thumb swirling circles upon your skin.

          “D-don’t do this here, I can’t—” you couldn’t take it, you were putty in his hands, already looping a leg around his thigh and fussing with the buttons on his shirt. You needed to feel his skin, needed to drown in the scent of an Alpha.

          You were half way through peeling his shirt off his pectorals, that goddamn bowtie still in place, when your throat began to hurt. Reiner actually laughed at you when you paused your hasty undressing, having to cradle the left side of your neck as your scent glands throbbed, begging for teeth to be sunk into the sensitive skin to be marked, claimed.

          “Don’t you dare think about m-marking me,” god you wouldn’t be able to stop stuttering until you were stuffed with something, until you were able to chase away the aches before they returned again in a few hours.

          “But isn’t that what little Omegas want?” He was toying with you, grin so cocky you felt like sinking your thumbs into his smile and hurting him. His fingers were under your dress, dangerously close to your aching sex. His hand was so hot against your skin, so calloused and strong. You felt like Icarus, like you were flying too close to the sun. The pad of his index finger curled against your panties and you could have sworn you were already burning.

          You lifted your lips to catch his, only to have him turn his cheek as the elevator chimed, signaling your arrival to your floor.

          You followed in his steps, tracing your dress hem from where his giant palm had touched it, your fingers moving it even higher to try to alleviate the warmth stemming from between your legs. The keycard was heavy in your hand, like it was about to open a door to something wicked.

          “I-I can take care of this myself,” your placed your back against the door to your room, “and I’ll pay you back for the fees, just let me—”

          “Just let you what? Go fuck yourself in misery for the next five days?”

          God he looked so tempting, so big. He towered over you, scents of sex and earth and spice, like black cardamum and the bitter burn of peppers. You wanted to sink your fingers into his blonde hair and pull, pull him down to you, into you.

          But you reminded yourself you’d be patiently waiting for him to leave your life. Mating with him could have him sticking around, could have the two of you fucking up and getting attached.

          “Y-you have to accept the award,” you were literally slipping into the floor, gut twisting so badly that it felt like you were being ripped apart, your heat bursting into full bloom after his teasing touches. Reiner caught your upper arms to keep you up, making you whimper, and you knew the last thing you wanted was to be alone, even if it meant ruining yourself on Reiner’s cock.

          “Your scent has made me harder than I’ve ever been in my fucking life. I paid for the room because I’m staying in it, sweetheart.”

          He took the card from your weak fingers and shoved it into the reader, a big, heavy palm pressing against your stomach and pushing you into the open doorway. He kept his fingers on you, twisting his knuckles into the fabric of your dress.

          “Rei, don’t—”

          “I’m so fucking tired of playing games with you.”

          The threads snapped with a twist of his wrist, the delicate front of your dress parting as the heavy hotel door slammed shut. His hands were rough, quick, tearing and pawing at your dress, your bra, and all you could do was moan and kick your heels off to be forgotten on the floor.

          He pulled his crisp black jack off his shoulders, tossing it onto a desk chair, trousers and everything underneath following.

          “I-I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” You were already on him, pressing your naked chest to his and standing on your toes so you could bury your face into his neck. You couldn’t help but to purr, that soothing musk of Alpha encompassing all your senses. Fingers sunk into his body, your tongue hot against his skin as you laid kitten licks to his throat.

          “No wonder I can’t stand you,” Reiner’s hands were gliding down your back, admiring smooth, willing flesh, “why you make me fucking crazy.”

          “Please shut up and fuck me.”

          His tempting hands found your neck, thumb petting at the sore, pounding spot on your throat. It only made your scent stronger, made you keen and practically fall into him.

          “Kiss me first, like you mean it.”

          You didn’t have to be told twice.

          Any fight you had left dissipated when his tongue slipped into your mouth, hands still encased around your neck and keeping you pliant for him to taste. Your nails sunk into his shoulders, toes hurting from strain as you pushed your mouth up into his. God he tasted so good, like the first taste of food after starving, and your body had been starving for years. Unknotted, unmarked, your body was screaming for him, looking for an Alpha to fill you in ways that your measly attempts over the years never could.

          Violence was on the tip of his tongue, you could taste it, feel it in the way he started to squeeze the delicate column of your throat. Rut was kicking in, the overwhelming pheromones of Omega making his body respond, ready to knot, ready to devour.

          Slick was pouring down your thighs as you kissed him, body overly ready for him. Your stomach was twisting in coils, so painful that it made you gasp and pull away from his kiss, ready to fall into the floor if his hands didn’t keep you on your feet.

          “H-hurts, so, so bad,” you whined, trying to focus your breathing.

          Reiner started slowly moving you back toward the bed, thumbs now petting at the apples of your cheeks as tears started to form in your lower lashes.

          “Shh, shh, it’s okay, Alpha will take care of you.”

          Normally, the thought of Rei referring to himself as Alpha would repulse you, make you gag at how arrogant he was, but in this moment it made you so weak, made you moan as he crawled over your body on the bed. You were so little under him, dwarfed by brawn, small prey begging to be snatched and taken.

          His title was on the front of your mouth, ready to fall out, for you to call him what he was to you, but the sliver of sense you had left kept it at bay. You knew calling him Alpha could put you in a heat induced headspace you might not be able to come out of, might have you making lusty, hasty decisions that you’d regret once this god forsaken heat was over.

          “Rei-ner,” it was forced, he could tell, the syllables stuck to your tongue.

          He nuzzled into your neck, purring as he fell into the intoxication of your scent glands. Hands raked over your body, each touch jolting you like electricity, the webs of nerves under your skin coming alive as he toyed with you. Your legs spread instinctively to make room for his hips, but he kept his weight off of you, propping himself on his elbows.

          “So fucking perfect,” he mused, thumb trailing along your swollen lips, smearing the lipstick he’d complained about earlier, “should’ve told me sooner. I would’ve fucked you through every heat.”

          His words made you coo, made your fingers weave into his blonde hair and pull him down for another kiss. You couldn’t get enough of his taste, whiskey and fire and something sickenly sweet, like pure honey over powdered sugar. Reiner was still holding back, you could practically feel growls stuck in his chest when your hands eagerly wandered over his plush pectorals.

          So big. He’d be such a good protector. Such a good mate.

          “Need you, need you, Rei, p-please,” you shifted your hips as you spoke, ready to flip onto your stomach so he could take you from behind. It’s how you got through all the heats you ever had before; face down in pillows, letting some Alpha fuck you senseless like nature intended. But his hands stilled you, pinned you down below him.

          “Wanna watch your face as I take what’s mine.”

          The tips of your ears felt scorched from his words and the blood in your body flushed under your skin.

          His. You wanted to be his, fuck, you wanted your Alpha, needed him, need him to knot you and—

          “Take me, f-fuck, I hurt so bad,” you were crying again, the pain in your womb like a knife sawing through flesh, twisting and turning.

          “Gonna take such good care of you.”

          And you knew he would. That’s the way Reiner was. A protector. A provider. Arrogant to mask the sweetness, prideful to hide the humility.

          Big hands cupped your cheeks as his cockhead brushed through your folds, sending your neck flying back as you screamed just from the relief of feeling him spread your overheated slick.

          “Gonna fill you to the brim with my cum.”

          That broke you. Your last little grip on your sanity was remembering that Hange’s suppressants didn’t mix well with birth control. You hadn’t been on the pill for years, and with how strong this heat was, how repressed your body had felt, you were probably more fertile than you’d ever been.

          “Fuck,” your hands found his face, and when he looked at you, you sailed away in the gold currents of his gaze, “breed me.”

          His massive cock started to sink into your tight hole, the copious amounts of slick gushing from inside of you making his penetration easier. But even still, he was so engorged with blood and hormones ready to knot that his fat cock struggled to breach that first tight ring of muscle. You hissed, not from pain, but from relief, so ready to be full that no amount of stretching would detract from your pleasure.

          Heavy hands were on your hips, pulling you down to take all of him in. He was finally growling, your walls constricting around him and making him go absolutely mad.

          “Gonna breed you, Omega, give you my babies, f-fuck yes, have you dripping with cum.”

          The blinding pleasure was almost devastating, making you feel numb, making you feel like this was all you ever needed in the whole goddamn world—all you needed was Reiner’s cock to bring you rapture, to have you ascending to the holy planes that zealots coveted.

          “Move,” it was a quick plea, your legs curling around his waist in encouragement, “please, please fuck me, breed me.”

          He started a slow pace, but was enough to have you spiraling, eyes fluttering shut as you got lost in him. One of his hands swatted at your cheek, just enough to sting.

          “Eyes open. Watch me, be with me.”

          You tried your best to obey, but the drumming of his cock in your cunt had you seeing dark spots even as your eyes opened again. Reiner kept his hand on your face, locking it around your jaw so you watched him as he fucked you, his beautiful, defined cheekbones tinted pink as he became overwhelmed with his rut.

          How many times had you looked at him before? How many days had you spent working alongside him, doing your best to avoid looking at him? He got under your skin, made you feel weak. Maybe this was why, maybe you were repressing just how much you wanted him. Maybe he was meant to be your—

          “Alpha,” you breathed it out, let it fan over his ears, let it sink into his psyche.

          The word felt like a relief, like a sin. That attachment you feared was already caging you in.

          His pace kicked up to something brutal as you acknowledged not just his biology, but his title to you.

          You screamed so loudly that it hurt, had your throat burning as your moans bled into whines and mewls as he took from your willing cunt.

          A cacophony of sex filled the hotel room, the sound of primal grunts, shrill little screams, of flesh against flesh, balls slapping against your ass, his cock ramming into your squelching, drooling pussy.

          “That’s right, fuck, you’re mine, Omega. Mine.” He repeated the last word a few more times as he bent your legs farther back, straddling your thighs with his muscular legs as he folded you into a mating press. His cock began to stroke that sweet, spongy spot inside of you at the new angle, drilling into you at just the right curve to have you cumming before your body could even enjoy the build up.

          You shattered, cunt clenching and as you were so pleased to orgasm around a thick Alpha cock. You were babbling nonsense, even thanking him for letting you cum. Just a string of pleas and AlphaAlphaAlpha pouring off your tongue and melting into his sweaty skin.

          Your orgasm had your scent fresh in the room, had your neck fucking pounding with the need to be bitten, to be claimed.

          Reiner could smell it, could smell your insatiable need, instincts picking up on words you just couldn’t say.

          “Let me have you,” he demanded it between kisses to your shoulder, lips trailing up and stopping at the saccharine reek of your scent glands just below your jaw.

          He wouldn’t claim you without permission, he wasn’t that kind of man, wasn’t that kind of Alpha.

          You fell into a symphony of moans, neck tilting back in instinctual insinuation, but mouth still unwilling to make that plea. But then his scent overwhelmed you again, like spicy hot peppers and the sweetest sugar flooding over your body. You knew that scent by heart, had smelled it in smaller increments every day for years, had tried to ignore it, but now you couldn’t.

          His cock was swelling inside of you, his ruthless pace and your lingering orgasm edging him closer to release. The hand on your hip had bruised your skin, perfect indent of his palm, his long fingers, etched into your skin. The other was pulling at your neck, pushing your face to the side as he skimmed the bridge of nose along your skin, waiting, wanting.

          “Omega,” he purred, calling you, begging you, “please, yours, mine.”

          He was losing his thoughts too, drowning in instincts and euphoria.

          Your fingers laced in his hair, pulling his mouth closer to what he wanted.

          “Yours, Alpha, f-fuck,” your acceptance was loud and clear, even through the fog and sounds of sex. One bite was all it took, teeth barely sinking into your skin. You cried from how good it felt, that ache finally silenced as his tongue lapped over that patch on your neck that could now only belong to him.

          A bond was tightening, something scientists still couldn’t fully explain—being marked, claimed, it tethered you to someone beyond all comprehension. It was like making a deal with a devil, selling your soul, and for you, it was an admittance to attraction and acceptance of intimacy that you felt with Reiner.

          The act of marking had his cock swelling inside you, knotting you and spilling his seed into your depths to stay. That overbearing fullness had you tumbling over the orgasmic mountain again, had you clinging and screaming, colors you’d never fucking seen before bursting in the corners of your eyes and traveling over your body like fireworks. You shivered in his arms, quaked, fell apart, and he held you. Purring, comforting, like he’d finally brought you home.

          Time didn’t seem to exist, lines between pleasure and pain so blurred that you couldn’t even feel the burn in your legs from being spread open for so long. You stayed in that mating press for what felt like hours. Reiner kept kissing at your neck, letting his scent blend in with yours.

          You’d never smell the same again. You’d always be tainted with him, carry bits of his scent with you forever. The thought didn’t even bother you, just brought you comfort, made you purr as your fingers lazily threaded through his hair.

          Finally, his cock became soft enough for him to pull out of you, lines of cum dripping from your abused pussy as he fell on his back next to you.

          The love hormones kicked in, had you curling around him even as you stretched out weary muscles. You were ready to sleep, ready to rest until the next wave of your heat came in a few hours and had you pleading for him again.

          But a pesky thought plagued your mind, a jealous one, one you’d never had about another Alpha before.

          How many other Omegas had wanted what was yours? How many of them had Reiner denied a claim to before you?

          “Why me?” you murmured into his heaving chest, fingertips drawing aimless circles in his downy chest hair.

          “Could ask you the same thing.”

          You sat up to look at him, to let him cup your cheek as his eyes flickered over your face.

          “How many Alphas have wanted you?”

          There was solace in knowing he had the same questions.

          “Haven’t had a heat since I met you.”

          Concern flashed across his face, that intensity you were used to seeing in his brow coming to life.

          “You won’t do that again.”

          His command made you feel warm, had your belly already pulling and churning and wanting again.

          “I won’t. Because even though you’re a shitty partner, you’re my mate.”

          That realization swept over him hard and fast, a range of emotions painting his features before he settled on a smile.

          His thumb petted your skin, bringing you in for a kiss.

          “You’re the only award I needed tonight.”