#sounds like your own transphobia my guy

[quillkiller]

Regulus is not a dyke he’s literally a man 💀 why u making him a mtf

why not

[sooniebby]

Pleek danny i am begging for dilf nanamin who cant so much as make small talk with Ijichi's son reader without wanting to grab the reader and bend him over the nearest object,,,, huuhdhjdjsh for kinks,,,,,, sir kink, impact play, brat taming,,,, also ftm reader bcs yk <3

ఌ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

꧁ 𝙆𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙭 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

w.c. › 7.1k

Warnings › reader is kinda ditzy. But also unintentionally bratty and kinda crazy. Age difference, obvs. Plot… again—Femboy-ish reader in the fact some of his clothes are more feminine. Slight transphobia but nothing terrible, just two people who suck ass. Slow-ish slow burn like the Toji fic… also just start fucking randomly

Kinks › use of pussy/cunt/feminine terms, sir kink, impact play, brat taming. Reader is called good boy.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

“Excuse my son, I need to drive him to his performance.”

“Hiii~!”

You wave at the man who gets into your dad’s car. You didn’t know what type of job he did actually. He told you, ‘driver’ and that was it. So you never thought to actually question it. Though, seeing the people he usually drives… you’re starting to think he’s a mafia’s getaway driver.

This guy looked to be a bit younger than your dad, though certainly older than you. Blonde hair that was previously slicked back and now a bit messy. He sat in the passenger seat and was looking at his phone, texting someone.

When he was walking up to the car earlier, you were pretty sure he was holding a butcher knife.. but it was dark so you decided to think you were over thinking it.

You sat in the back seat, watching the street lights fade past as your dad practically speeds down to the place you were performing today.

You played the piano. Not as a job, just as something for extra cash as a college student. It helped a lot—but it was hard to find jobs in the area, most were so far that you had to have Ijichi drive you.

The car came to a halt once Ijichi reached the house you were playing at. Some rich function happening. It didn’t matter, as long as it payed well.

“Thanks, Dad. Bye, Blondie.” You said, not waiting for any type of response as you stepped out. But much to your confusion, your dad and blondie got out of the car. Though they didn’t seem to be going towards the house you were. Just looking at the abandoned building a few blocks down.

Huh… maybe your dad really is in the yakuza business.

Shit, why didn’t that pay well?

You pushed back any curiosity to see what they were up to and walk inside the house. The performance, like always, was easy. You chose the fanciest but easiest pieces to play on the piano. It was hard doing it for hours straight with only ten minutes breaks between.

It was around two hours at the party, that your phone started ringing. You tried to ignore it, wanting to finish the piece you were playing. It was going well until the sound of something collapsing outside caught the guests attention. You heard screaming and yelling as everyone was moving around in a frenzy.

But you stayed put, knowing that if you stood up, you’d get trampled. Everyone was acting too frantic for your liking. Once there was a few people left, you grabbed your bag and walked out of the home, staring right at what looked to be a building collapsed onto itself.

It was the building Blondie and your dad was looking at. It confused you as there was a crowd of people running to their fancy cars and speeding away for safety. No one called the police —all too focused on their own lives. You stepped forward, towards the street to the now collapsed building. It was old.. but how did it just break down like that? That’s not normal. Did something push into it?

“Ijichi.”

A hand grabbed your shoulder. You shrieked and began to flail your arms around.

“Unhand me, troglodyte!!! I took taekwondo four years ago! I.. remember something!!”

“Calm down. Your father is just looking for you.”

You flinched when the hand moved to grab one of your arms, effortlessly stopping your failed attempt of taekwondo. You glanced up to see Blondie, his eyebrows furrowed while there was a small little cut on his cheek. Huh, was that always there? His clothes looked dusty, as if he was rolling around in dirt.

Was he in the building before it collapsed?

“Oh, Blondie—!”

“—Nanami.”

“That’s what I said. What happened to that building? It just fell.”

Blondie—Nanami hummed. “Old buildings can fall apart after a few years of being unkept.”

“Uh… okay.” You muttered, weirded out by his answer but decided that would be enough. “Where’s Dad?”

“The car.” Nanami nodded towards your father’s car that was parked farther away from everything. You saw your father leaning against the car, his arm looking a bit.. mangled to say the least. Feeling a sense of panic, you sprinted over there and came to stop once you got a clear picture of what happened to him.

His arm looked as if it was purposely twisted into an uncomfortable position. Ijichi gave you a tight smile, obviously taken from the pain. He used his free hand to lightly pat your head.

“What… happened?” You whispered, glancing over at Nanami as he walked over. You felt an odd sensation of protection as you quickly stood between him and your father, glaring at Nanami with a tint of suspicion.

Nanami raised an eyebrow, obviously confused on why he was being suspected as a the culprit. It was odd because he was obviously hurt as well—though to a lesser extent. The cut on his cheek wasn’t the only one as there was on his forearm that was actually still bleeding through the light bandage that was used from his sleeve.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Ijichi muttered. “Did you get paid?”

“Oh.. no. I forgot to ask for money—don’t know if she’ll pay me now though.”

“Well—as you can see, (Name), I’m badly hurt. I’ll need to go get this checked out.”

“Yeah, of course,” you smiled. “I’ll drive you. I’ve been getting better.”

“No—I need you to do me a favor.” Ijichi glanced over at Nanami before leaning in close to you. “I’m sure you know I’m not just a driver at this point—but for your safety I can’t say too much.”

You gasped, dramatically putting a hand over your lips. “No…. You’re a Yakuza member?!”

Ijichi stared at you as if you were crazy. “What—? Anyway, I’ll need you to stay at Nanami’s for a few weeks. Just so I can get better at the hospital.”

“Blondie?”

“Nanami.” Nanami cut in.

“That’s what I said,” you rolled your eyes. “Why? I can stay at the house alone.”

“It’s not safe. Someone…” Ijichi paused, as if he was wondering how much he should actually tell you. “It’s just not safe. We don’t know if he’d go after you. It’s safer to stay with a sorcerer—uh.”

You blinked. “Sorcerer? Right…” You grinned, thinking your dad was just trying to be subtle about his connection to the Yakuza. “Of course. Dangerous… gang leaders and all the like.”

Ijichi simply sighed. “Yes, sure. It will only be three to four weeks maximum. I’ll be healed by then. Nanami will drive me to the hospital and then he’ll take you home so you can pack a bag, okay?”

“Fine. Doesn’t seem like I have a choice,” you whined, pouting.

“Yes, you didn’t.” Ijichi said. He used his free hand and opened the door to passenger side of the car. You sat in the back once more while Nanami went to the driver side. As he drove, you couldn’t help but glance back at the collapsed building. While Yakuza were dangerous—you haven’t seen them collapse a building before. That’d just draw too much attention to them.

At the very least, you hoped Nanami lived close to your university. It was tiring having to rely on your dad’s car to get places since you lived on the outskirts of the city. But there was an aching feeling in your stomach. How.. did your dad’s arm twist like that? Will it actually be able to be fixed?

Right before you tore your eyes away from the building, you saw the flicker of red eyes.

𖥸

Blondie’s place was actually pretty nice. It was a nice little apartment—decorated decently. Though it was obviously done by an older man. You felt odd being in a stranger’s place but you trusted your father’s judgement so you didn’t complain a lot. At least verbally.

The apartment was on the sixth floor, with nice glass windows in the living room giving you a nice gaze into the city. The building lights kept the room bright even before Blondie turned on the lights. You checked the bag you were carrying, making sure you had your shots. Blondie was carrying the heavier bags—you had practically forced him to.

Just a couple of pouts and blinks with your long eyelashes got him carrying them.

“I have a spare bedroom that you’ll stay in. There’s no attached bathroom.” He said. He walked over to a hallway that had three doors. The left was the bathroom. The right was your new bedroom and the center is obviously Nanami’s room.

As he opened the door, the room was less decorated than the rest. But that made sense—no one would be in this room often. The room didn’t look too small—a queen size bed in the middle and a singular night stand to accompany it.

A small dresser in front of the wall facing the bed—and…

A tv that had a crack on the right side of it. Blondie noticed your shocked face as he placed your bags on the bed. “The movers dropped it.” He simply said.

“Eh. Does it still work?” You muttered, grabbing the remote that rested on the nightstand. You turned it on and what played was cartoons—but in English.

“Somehow it’s stuck on Australian cartoons. I can’t change it, it was bought second hand.” He said. He grabbed the remote and seemed to try again and see what was wrong with the settings. You wondered how he could understand the English but didn’t ask. He must’ve studied English or something.

Nanami hummed as he gave you back the remote. “You can still at least flip through the channels. A few have Japanese subtitles.” Was all he said as he left the room. You glanced over at him as he closed the door behind himself.

Huh. That was abrupt.

You placed your bag on the floor and decided to just unpack everything into the small closet. It was weird to be staying at a man’s place you literally met today but if your dad trusted him, you’d “trust” him too. But at the thought of your dad, you kept thinking of his arm. The mangled arm that couldn’t possibly be fixed. But he seemed so sure.

You knew your dad treated you a bit childish compared to adults your age with their parents. It was okay when you were a kid but ever since you started transitioning it has gotten worse. But you knew why. He just wanted to protect you… It was evident in him not trusting to allow you stay home alone.

The light clink of syringes caught your attention when you accidentally jostled your bag. You took out one syringe and one of the small bottle. It took forever for you to even get the option to take testosterone. As you prepped yourself for your shot, you thought back to the red eyes. Did you imagine that?

Did you actually see that…? Or was your eyes playing tricks on you?

As you packaged the dirty syringe into a plastic bag, ready to be disposed of, there was a knock on the door. The door opened and Blondie was holding a bowl of noodles. He placed them on the nightstand.

“I would’ve made you a proper meal.” He said, vaguely pointing to his properly bandaged arm. “But I need to be careful. When you’re finished, put the bowl in the sink. Good night.”

Then he left. Again.

Gosh, why was he so abrupt when it came to his goodbyes?

The ramen was okay. It’s as good as gas station ramen is gonna be. As you placed the bowl in the sink, you walked past the living room to reach your room when you passed by a photo. The photo was inside a glass cabinet—connected to the small piece framing around the tv. You leaned in close, wanting to see who it was.

It looked to be a much younger Nanami.

Oh wow—was he emo? You laughed to yourself at his haircut. Next to him was a girl, a guy with white hair—strange, and a guy with black hair.

Wow, another emo.

You noticed someone next to Nanami, on his left.

A guy with brown hair. He looked cute—he had a wide smile. Cute.

You hummed. Their uniform looked kinda weird. Nothing close to what you wore in high school. Hm, were they also about in the Yakuza?

Do the Yakuza hire young people?

As you thought deeply on your “profound” question, you pulled away from the cabinet. Well, it wasn’t much of your concern. If you were lucky, Blondie didn’t work for the Yakuza anymore. With a huff, you walked back to your room and went to sleep for the night.

𖥸

“Blondie?”

He wasn’t there. You checked around the apartment the next morning, wanting to simply talk—mainly ask him to make you some breakfast—but he wasn’t there. Or anywhere for that matter. You plopped down into the couch and checked your phone, pouting to yourself as your thumb hovered over your father’s contact.

“She’s always in your shadow! Why did you raise her like that?!”

“Don’t speak about my son like that! You were the one who decided to not raise him, it’s not (Name)’s fault he doesn’t want to go to you.”

“Him, him, him! It’s time you stop allowing this nonsense to continue, Ijichi.”

“Whose last name does he have? Ijichi (Name)! I’ll be the one to raise my son how I see fit.”

“Fine! Continue letting ‘him’ play dress up! When that child of yours is still living in your home while giving you no grandchildren, don’t cry about how you wished you had a normal daughter!”

“Ijichi.”

You gasped, looking up as you saw Blondie staring down at you. Your eyes felt blurry—you couldn’t really see him. Blondie kneeled down, removing your glasses as he handed you a handkerchief. It was soft in your hand, as you lightly dabbed it under your eyes before full on using it to stop your tears. You didn’t even know what happened.

You didn’t want to think about her.

That woman who carried you for nine months.

Gosh, you hated her.

But she still brought you to tears so easily.

“Th…anks… Blondie.” You whispered.

“Nanami.”

“That’s what I said.”

Blondie didn’t seem to care about why you were crying. Or at the very least, was being respectful in not asking. He was still a stranger. You continued to wipe away your tears, silently grateful he was back from wherever he left off to.

“Where’d… You go?”

“Store. I was missing a few things to make breakfast.”

You glanced over to the kitchen and indeed saw him preparing something. When did he even get back? Were you that deep into your trauma flashback that you didn’t hear him? You felt your cheeks flush hot. Fuck, that’s so embarrassing. As you began rubbing a bit harder to try and lessen your puffy red eyes—your phone began to ring.

With speed you’d question back at, you checked to see who was calling.

It wasn’t your father.

Shit, it was just some guy you had in your class. The damn leech when it came to your recent project you were doing for history.

He didn’t want to do anything and embarrassingly enough, you were doing everything at this point.

You tossed your phone onto the coffee table and sighed, draping the handkerchief over your eyes as you leaned back onto the couch. You’d speak to him tomorrow. The sound of chopping and sizzling filled the room as you slowly drifted off to a comfortable nap.

It always felt good to sleep after a cry.

When you woke up, it was dark out. Shit. You glanced around the living room—noticing you had a blanket on you. As you folded the blanket back and rested it on the couch, you walked to the kitchen. You opened the fridge and saw the food Blonde was probably making. It looked to just be an omelette.

Good enough.

After microwaving and sitting down back at the couch to eat you briefly wondered where Nanami could’ve went.

Ah.

Yakuza, probably.

𖥸

“Ijichi, why didn’t you answer my phone call?”

You sighed as you were roughly grabbed by your infamous slacker. You stared at him with no intention to really speak to him—just let him rant about how “you’re not listening to him” or “why do you hate him?” Whatever bullshit he comes up with.

“I’m trying to help with this project, really,” he begins and then just blabbers on.

You don’t pay attention. It goes on for maybe a few minutes until you see a crowd of people leaving their classroom. Perfect. You pushed slacker’s hands off of you and seamlessly phased into the group of people walking away.

It’s only been about two days but it felt like years since you’ve seen your dad.

Huh.

Maybe she was right about—

You shake your head. Fuck that lady! She’s burnt flesh now anyway.

As you walk away from your university, you came face to face with a dilemma. You don’t know where Nanami’s apartment is—you kinda just left on auto pilot to not miss class. And shocker, you never got his number to call him.

Well shit.

You aimlessly walked around the city for a bit, just enjoying the nice day. The sunlight shined down onto you as you giggled a bit. Hm, the sun is nice. You decided to just text your dad for Nanami’s phone number. So while you waited for him to answer your text—you stopped by a nearby cafe for some coffee.

Right when you left the cafe, you noticed something weird.

Red eyes just staring at you—right from across the street. Inside a building that looked to be abandoned. Wow, when did Japan have so many abandoned buildings. You instinctively stepped forward, trying to see if this was just something you were seeing by chance.

You used the cross walk to go across the street, getting face to face with the building. But the eyes were gone. You hummed, starting to believe maybe you were going through it. This is perhaps the longest you’ve gone no contact with your dad—you’re probably just worried. Especially with the injury you saw him with.

A mangled arm.

Anyone would be reeked with worry.

As you pulled out your phone to check if your dad answered you yet, you felt yourself freeze. There was someone watching you. No… something.

You glanced up, looking into one of the building’s window and gasped in shock at the sight of what you were seeing. It wasn’t human. And it looked like a huge centipede, staring at you as if you were a piece of meat. You booked it, immediately.

Your legs burn from running but you didn’t stop. You kept going and going until you felt a bit safe in a public area. Just… what the hell was that? When did centipedes get so big? And it was looking at you so hungrily?! What the hell?! With your thoughts focused solely on your new discovery of big centipedes, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You shrieked, ready to fight but sighed seeing it was just the slacker.

“Ijichi, man, the fuck are you avoiding me for? I’m seriously trying to get a good grade here! If I fail…”

You tune him out again. Wondering how the fuck he was able to find you. His grip was tight around your arm before it slowly slid to your back. You slightly paid attention to what the hell he think he was doing touching you so much until you felt his hand slightly slide down your waist.

“What in—”

“—look, if the reason you’re just ignoring me because you’re scared about what you really are, most people practically know and don’t care. I don’t care about that queer stuff!”

You blinked at him, wondering how he went from zero to a hundred. You didn’t care that people could probably tell you were trans so long as they didn’t bother you. But now you were about pissed off this guy was making you do more work for this damn project and now making it seem like it was your fault—not his inability to work.

“Listen here, Slacker—”

But you didn’t have to say much when he was pulled off of you. You grinned. “Oh! Great.” Slacker fell to the ground and looked up—you did the same, looking to see who was your savior of the day.

Oh.

Just Blondie.

“Oh, Blondie. I was looking for your apartment, I also need your phone number.” You said, smiling softly, forgetting all about the slacker on the floor. Blondie simply hummed as he grabbed your arm and began guiding you to his place, leaving slacker on the floor yelling after you.

Which was… two blocks from where you were standing.

Oh wow. Definitely made sense in why you got to your university so quick. Blondie’s apartment was just ten minutes away. Ahah… embarrassing.

Once inside the apartment, Blondie seemed set on ignoring you again. Which seemed to be all he was doing these few days you stayed here. But you didn’t know why. You huffed to yourself, pouting as you dropped your bag on the floor and plopped down onto the couch, ready to watch some tv.

“Blondie~!” You sang, grinning lightly. “You’re in the kitchen still, right? Can you get me something to eat? Please~?”

You didn’t get a reply back. You briefly wondered if he wasn’t going to do it so you moved to sit up but was proven wrong when Blondie gave you a turkey sandwich. You quickly took the plate and began eating, humming after having not eaten lunch. But Blondie was still staring down at you, his eyebrow slightly raised as if he was waiting for you to say something.

Your lips pursed as you thought what he needed to hear until you gasped. “Oh, thanks, Blondie.” You muttered with your mouth still full as you began eating again.

You only got a huff in response as he walked away to do whatever he usually does. As you ate, you thought back to that centipede. Was that really real? There’s no such thing as monsters, anyway. You wondered if you should tell Blondie—but what could he do realistically?

Well, he’s in the Yakuza, maybe he could find a way.

𖥸

It’s been about two weeks now. Your dad still hasn’t returned much of your texts but you had gotten closer to Blondie. As much as you could anyway. He was very cut and dry with his answers to you.

You ask him how his day went, he’d answer with a curt: “okay.”

Ask him about what he does for work: “office job.”

He seemed to have trouble really looking at you when you spoke to him. He’d glance at you and then suddenly look at whatever he was doing with such intensity as you tried asking him questions. Or even just talking to him. Boring!

You were starting to believe he had a problem with the clothes you wore. When you dressed in baggy clothing, he would look at you more. But whenever you wore a tighter top or even shorts that showed a sliver of your ass, it was like looking at you would’ve burned his retinas!

Geez, did he not like guys in tighter clothing?

Damn… you must’ve been pretty ugly to him.

As you mentally cried to yourself about being seen as ugly on the couch, you glanced at your phone. You haven’t seen that slacker after you sent in the project. Of course you told the professor you did most and if not all of the work. So, you got an A—obviously.

You haven’t seen any human sized centipedes in a while so you were set to just believe you were imagining it. As you tugged down at your shorts that were acting like underwear at this point, you heard the front door open. Oh, Blondie’s back!

You grinned and went over to him, smiling. “Blondie! You’re early, they let you off?”

Blondie hummed. “I had a half day.” He simply said, walking over to the living room as he sat down with a grunt. He looked a bit tired so you decided to just not say anything else to him. There was always a few days when he just came home with a look of dread and was totally silent.

You were really starting to believe he was a Yakuza member.

As you turned to walk to your room, you bent down for a second to pick up a pillow that had fallen when you previously jumped off the couch. When you stood back you, you turned around to see Blondie staring at you with wide eyes. You simply smiled at him and placed the pillow back on the couch. Weird, why was he staring at you like that.

“I’m going to my room. Call me if you need me.” You said, waving goodbye as you sprinted off to your room, not knowing that Blondie’s gaze didn’t leave you at all.

𖥸

Nanami rubbed the bridge of his nose as he tried not to think about you essentially just flashing him earlier. When you had bent down to grab the pillow, he saw that your shorts, that were too short in his opinion, the crotch area had kinda sort of—clung to one side. So he saw it, at least just one lip—of your cunt.

And he felt angry with himself that his cock actually twitched at the sight. Was he some damn animal? He’d certainly been feeling like that the last two weeks. He couldn’t exactly… speak well with you. You just staring up at him with your cute smile but painfully naughty clothing.

Who just wears a shirt that is practically clinging to your body that it hides nothing to the imagination! And your shorts… who wears such short shorts with no underwear?

He wasn’t sure if he could take another few weeks with you here. Not if he didn’t want to just slam you against the wall and take you there.

But no, he couldn’t do that. You were Ijichi’s son. And he was pretty sure when Ijichi said: “take care of my son.” He didn’t mean fuck his son. Though he kinda wished he did.

It’ll be fine. Just a minimum of two more weeks… then you’d be gone back at home with Ijichi.

𖥸

Nanami wished he had just gone straight to bed. He was sitting on the couch watching tv when you suddenly appeared, dressed in a stupid crop top and short shorts. You plopped down beside him before resting your head right on his lap. When he tried to push you away, you only whined, pouting up at him to let you stay.

Damn brat.

He tried focusing back on the show he was watching as you seemed to only have wanted contact with him. You hummed softly before giggling.

“Nana—Blondie,” you said, looking over at him. “Today’s my mom’s death anniversary.”

He glanced down at you, a bit confused on why you didn’t seem bothered on your mother being dead.

“She died in a car crash. Drunk driving. The hospital said she burned to death in her car… witnesses said they heard her screaming as they tried to open the car door and out the fire.” You sighed, a soft smile on your lips as you recount your mother’s death. “I was 18. It was a good early birthday gift. But Dad said I shouldn’t be so cruel to her even if she was a bitch.”

“It’s not strange,” you said, turning your face to rest on Nanami’s leg as you glanced up at him. Your eyelashes batting as your lips were pulled into a pout. “To not care about a bitch dying, right? I’m sure there’s someone everyone has that they just can’t wait to die.”

Nanami wasn’t sure what brought this out. He was actually a bit worried honestly that you were so nonchalant about death. Though he could tell that despite this act you were pulling, her death did affect you… but perhaps it truly did bring a sense of peace. Especially if her death was truly that horrible.

“I can’t speak on that.” Was all he said, deciding it was best to let the conversation die out. He’d tell Ijichi to schedule you a therapist once he’s better.

“Hm, yeah, I did bring it out of nowhere. Anyway, my birthday is in four days! Getting me anything?” You giggled.

“No. I didn’t know it was your birthday.”

“What? Blondie~! Whaddya mean? I’m practically your roommate by now, and roommates give each other gifts.”

“Are you truly my roommate when I do everything?”

Which was true. You were more like a freeloader. Nanami did the chores, cleaned up mostly after you, and paid for literally everything. You were silently forbidden on doing your piano jobs so you were kinda shit out of luck, relying on Nanami at this point.

You simply huffed. “Meanie.” As you moved your head to face Nanami’s stomach. Nanami couldn’t help but flinch as he felt your nose accidentally brush against his crotch area. His grip on the remote tightened as he so desperately wished he was rude enough to push you off of him.

It was quiet for bit, just the tv going on with the show Nanami was watching. And subconsciously, Nanami began to calm down a bit and just allowed you to stay there. Maybe you really did just want some comfort.

There was something pressing against his crotch. He glanced down to see you, purposefully, rubbing your nose against his crotch before pulling away. You yawned, acting as if you were just essentially teasing him and grinned.

“I’m going to bed, Blondie. Think about what you’re getting me for my birthday!” You winked, standing up as you walked back to your room. He was so sure you were intentionally swaying your hips. What the hell was that?

And why the hell was he horny from a freaking nose rub?!

𖥸

Blondie, Blondie, Blondie

That’s all you called him. Occasionally, you’d say, “Nana—” but then quickly switch back to Blondie. It was as if you were intentionally trying to get him upset. Nanami didn’t know how a calm man like Ijichi could have a son like you.

The only similarity you two had was the glasses you both wore. It actually was the same brand and shape—weird.

You seemed to have two pairs of glasses though. You were the ones similar to Ijichi’s often and this pair of red ones whenever you were feeling “annoying.” Nanami had come to expect the red cat eye glasses whenever you wanted to be a little brat.

And look at that, you were wearing them right now.

Nanami was sitting on the couch, checking something in his phone when you suddenly appeared behind him. He didn’t look up, waiting for you say something until he felt your arms wrap around his neck. His body stiffened as you leaned close, pressing your lips against the tip of his ear.

“Guess what’s tomorrow?” You whispered. “B-i-r-t-h-d-a-y.” You intentionally made each letter sound breathy, pausing just a split second to let them sit heavy in the air.

You pulled away and giggled. “Got my present? You gotta make up for Dad,” you went to sit on the couch and glanced over at Nanami who looked as if he would keel over if a gust of wind blew past him. His grip was tight on his phone, you were a bit worried it’d crack.

“What was that?” Nanami suddenly said, still looking straight.

“Was what? It was for dramatic effect!” You said honestly, not knowing how sexual you had just sounded in his ear. Nanami turned over to face you with a look of pure disbelief while you simply grinned.

“Aw~ poor Blondie, don’t take it so seriously!” You playfully pat his leg before grabbing the tv remote and turning it on. You were engulfed into the random Japanese drama playing while Nanami could only just stare at you in awe.

Wow. You really were a damn brat.

It was fine though. He had the perfect birthday present now.

𖥸

It was your birthday!!

Which meant no school. Why would you willingly go to school on your day? Only losers do that! You sighed comfortably on the couch as you turned on the tv to play random Korean dramas for most of the day. And that’s how you spent most of the day.

It was around noon when your phone buzzed. You expected it to be one of your very few friends that you have but much to your shock with was your dad! You squealed happily and quickly opened the text he sent.

‘Happy Birthday, 🐹, I’ve been feeling better, don’t worry about me. I’ll be able to call you soon. I hope you aren’t giving Nanami too much trouble.’

You pouted but quickly texted him back, stating that you and Blondie were practically pals at this point. It brought a smile to your lips to see the hamster emoji though. You had quite chubby cheeks even has an adult that your dad loving pinching. It always looked bigger when you ate.

It was commented more when you were a kid but there was still some people who would—lovingly—call you a hamster in disguise.

Finally having confirmation that your dad was at least alright, you felt a heavy weight lift off your shoulders. You yawned and stretched out, turning your attention back to the tv as you spent the rest of the day lounging around.

It was dark out when Nanami finally came back home. You waved from the couch, not bothering to get up. You were always lazy on your birthday. Definitely from being a bit too spoiled on these days. But hey, at least you didn’t act like this everyday.

You could see Nanami did have a small box in his hand as he moved to the kitchen. You silently hoped it was a cake as you finally sat up a bit and moved to join Nanami in the kitchen.

“So now you’re greeting me,” Nanami said, placing the box in the fridge. You pursed your lips, wondering why he seemed a bit upset. It wasn’t like you greeted him all the time when he walked through the door.

“You like that stuff? Aw~,” you walk over to him, resting your hand on his shoulder. “You like those couple stuff? So cute, Blondie!”

You hummed when you felt his hand grab yours, slowly pulling it away from his shoulder. You glanced up, wondering if you perhaps went a bit too far but Nanami didn’t seem angry. On the contrary, he seemed like his usual self. He used his free hand to fix his glasses as his grip on yours tighten.

“I’ve allowed you to continually act like a brat throughout your stay here—I know what you truly need as a birthday present.”

With sudden strength, you found yourself pinned against the wall, his body pressed up against yours. You were wearing a long shirt but your usual short shorts.

“Blon—”

“—Sir. Since Nanami is a problem for you to say, that should be easy for you.”

You blushed slightly, having never really called someone that before. But somehow, you didn’t find it in you to disobey. Nanami hitched up your shirt, grabbing the front end and pressing it against your lips. It took you a second but you bit down on it.

“Good boy.”

Oh no.

Y’know, you did find Nanami attractive, but you were always the type of person to want to stick to your age range. But this…

“You kept whining about wanting a birthday present,” his hands gripped your shorts, “do you want this?” He whispered against your ear, practically giving you an out.

You gripped the wall in front of you but felt yourself nodding, blushing in embarrassment.

“I need words, (Name).” He said. You felt your legs tremble. You wanted him to say your name again.

“Yes… keep going.” You whispered.

Nanami hummed in approval as he pulled down your shorts, making you left up your legs so they can be fully taken off. Now you were standing in the kitchen, pressed against the wall with just a shirt. Nanami’s hand traced your upper thigh, his hand ghosting your cunt but he never brought it close enough.

You whined slightly, looking back at him with pleading eyes. He gave you small smirk.

“Despite it being your birthday, you acted bad today, Baby.”

“H..huh? How..?” You muffled out through your t-shirt, a look of surprise in your eyes.

“You don’t really remember?” Nanami gripped your hips tightly as he forced you to pull away from the wall. Your hands pressed tightly against the wall as your back arched. His hands slid down your hips to your butt as he harshly gripped them, spreading them apart teasingly as you whimpered.

“You can’t have short term memory loss, (Name). Think.”

You thought for a second before humming. “Greet… didn’t greet you..” you muffled.

“Good boy. So you know you’ll have to be punished for not properly greeting me? It’s what’s brats get for misbehaving.”

“m… not a brat.”

Smack!

“I don’t like liars.” Was all he said before you felt another slap against your ass. You whimpered, your body shaking at each spanking. He wasn’t gentle in the slightest, not leaving room for a break. It was continuous spankings against each cheek, earning deep screams from you.

The spankings filled the silent apartment, swirling in symphony with your high pitched screams. You didn’t think this was really a good birthday present but you couldn’t deny that it was actually feeling a bit good in a weird way.

After a few more slaps, Nanami began rubbing your sore butt cheeks, pressing a wet kiss into your shoulder.

“Good boy. You handled that perfectly.” He said, leaning close as he grabbed your left leg and lifted it up. Your back was now pressed against his chest as you tried to keep a steady balance with now just one foot.

“Th…ank…you.. Sir.” You muttered out, tears staining your cheeks as you looked up at him. Nanami cooed, wiping away a few of your tears with his free hand.

“Now, do you think you deserve your present?”

You nodded, “yes.. yes! Please..”

Nanami seemed to take a bit of pity on you as he simply nodded. He wanted to tease you a bit more but he decided that since it was your first time and birthday, he’d be nicer. Though next time he’d be much more cruel.

You whimpered as you felt his hand graze your cunt, teasing one finger against your wet folds. It had been a minute since you even touched yourself down there. You were always too anxious that Nanami would be able to hear you or he might come home earlier than expected.

Just feeling his finger teasing you could bring you to an orgasm, but Nanami had different plans. He slipped in two fingers, earning a soft mewl from you. His fingers were large, easily stretching you out as he got you ready for his cock.

It wasn’t until you felt yourself close to an orgasm was when Nanami finally pulled out. Damn tease.

The feeling of a cock rubbing between your folds caused you to flinch as you gripped at the wall as some type of support. This position wasn’t the most comfortable but you were way too horny to walk to the bedroom or couch. You wanted him now.

Nanami was slow as he thrusted his cock inside your tight cunt. He grunted as you gasped, trying to get used to the large stretch. His fingers didn’t compare to it! Even though you were prepared, it took some effort for him to fully be inside of you.

You shivered, suddenly thinking that you were essentially fucking your dad’s ‘coworker.’ Fuck, well, maybe a few pouts and batting of the eyelashes will get you off with minimal punishment.

“Fuck… I’m sorry,” Nanami suddenly whispered.

“Mhm?”

With great force, your whole body was suddenly shoved against the wall once more as Nanami’s hands were on either side of your head, effectively caging you in. You felt him almost pull out fully until he slammed right back inside of you, causing you to cry out in shock.

You helplessly gripped at the wall for some sort of purchase as Nanami fucked into you like an animal. His hands gripped your hips tightly, moving you as if you were a fleshlight on his cock. The only sounds coming from his was animalistic grunts.

Your cunt clamped tightly around Nanami’s cock, as you tried to babble something but only moans left your lips. Nanami seemed so heavily into chasing his own orgasm at this point.

“Si…Sir… ‘m com..!” You tried to say but could only cry out as you felt your orgasm wash over you like a waterfall. Your fingers dug ineffectually into the wall as a way of purchasing yourself against Nanami’s harsh thrusts.

He continued going even after you came, his hips slapping against your sore ass. As his grip on your hips tightened to were it felt as if his fingers was digging into the skin, he slammed his hips one last time. His cock was deep inside when he finally cummed, coating your insides.

You shrieked, shocked that he came inside. The warm cum slowly seeped down your thighs as you felt your knees collapse but Nanami was quick to hold you up.

Nanami leaned against your back, breathing heavily. “Sorry… I didn’t mean for that happen..” he muttered. “Just lost control.”

You hummed, gently wiggling your butt. “Maybe I’m just that pretty.” You teased, looking back at Nanami. You giggled slightly, enjoying his unimpressed face.

A moan left your lips as you felt his cock slowly slide out before pushing back it. You stared at Nanami in shock, surprised an older man seemed to have a quick reload. He simply grinned.

You were screwed.

𖥸

You hummed softly as Nanami rubbed your sore butt cheeks, rubbing some cream on it to stop the pain. It had been just a few days after your birthday and now this “spanking” thing was constant.

And fucking. Very often.

Nanami was always cool and collected during your punishments but whenever he got his dick inside your pussy, he could never control himself properly. It was honestly funny. And a bit scary that he could do more than one round so quickly.

The most you two have done so far was three.

And that was just a few minutes ago.

“Hm, Blondie,” you still called him that outside of sex, “did I tell you about this huge centipede I saw in this abandoned building? It had red eyes and everything, it was like… human sized!”

Nanami’s calming massage suddenly stopped. You looked back and raised an eyebrow, wondering what was wrong. He was looking at you with wide eyes—which was shocking, Nanami never looked at you like that before.

Maybe being a Yakuza member didn’t mean he could handle it.

Well, shoot.

But you couldn’t help but think Nanami wasn’t shocked about the centipede.

More about that you saw it.

Huh. Yakuza members are weird.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

I think I made reader a bit weird lolol. Way longer than I thought it was going to be. I hope I did nanami justice, I have trouble writing him for some reason

Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @remdayz @flurrina @iwishtobeacrow @smellwell @kiiyoooo @chill-guy-but-cooler @tomoeroi @mello-life69 @rhetorical-conscience @tehyunnie @ofclyde

[lycandrophile]

Songs sung in T voices? You mean just regular male voices because trans men are men

imagine being so miserable that you see a post about trans joy and pride in transmasculinity and the first thing you think is “i’m going to find a way to see this as transphobia instead”.

i have a t voice. my voice is distinctly different from most cis men’s voices in a way that a lot of other trans people’s voices are distinctly different after being on t. a lot of us have voices with a unique quality to them. the claim that me, a trans man with a t voice, talking about voices like mine somehow implies that my own gender isn’t real…is just fucking wild, honestly.

i think t voices are BEAUTIFUL. i love them so much, having my own voice sound like that was genuinely one of the things i was the most excited about when i started t because to me, that voice is the kind i heard when i watched videos made by other trans guys that taught me about what was possible for me and met other trans guys irl for the first time and got advice on transitioning or just life from them. it’s such a comforting sound and so important to me.

nothing about recognizing that distinctive quality implies that trans men aren’t real men. i have a t voice just like i have a deep voice, a quiet voice, a tonally expressive voice — it’s just a descriptor for one of many things that can make a voice unique. my voice is a “male voice” and it’s also a t voice because i’m a man whose voice has been affected by going on t in a distinctive way. the two aren’t in any way at odds with each other.

if i described my chest as a post-op chest, would you come into my inbox saying “you mean just a regular male chest?” i have a feeling you probably wouldn’t because on some level, even you get that talking about unique parts of living in a trans body doesn’t invalidate who we are. it’s fine if you personally wouldn’t want to describe your voice that way because it makes you dysphoric or isn’t applicable to your voice or isn’t as meaningful to you, but that doesn’t mean it’s morally incorrect for me to do so.

trans bodies are wonderful. visible (or in this case, audible) transness is wonderful. it’s not a bad thing to have features that are distinctively trans, and having those features doesn’t make you less of a man. we don’t have to reject our transness or be exactly like cis men to be real men because cis manhood isn’t the gold standard, it’s just one of many ways to be a man.

(also, not everyone who goes on t is a trans man, so not every t voice is a male voice. it’s funny how the people who get mad at me for being proud of my t voice are always the same ones who have really gender essentialist and binaristic views on transitioning.)

so no, i don’t mean “regular male voices”, i mean fucking t voices because that was a post about unashamed in-your-face proud transmasculinity, not transmasculinity that tries to make itself indistinguishable from cis manhood. please keep your assimilationist bullshit away from my trans joy, thank you very much.

[slamminslamminmcgill]

please. please i need house to call me a faggot and a tranny while balls deep in me. please.

YES ANONS GLORY TO THE LAW OFFICES OF SLAMMIN SLAMMIN MCGILL 🫡⚖️

warning: transphobia, homophobia, slurs, degradation, humiliation, fucking medical ethics violations i guess, hair-pulling, drug abuse, mentions of pregnancy, misgendering kinda, not to doxx myself but im using my own medical info for ease of writing specifics

anatomical terms: vagina/pussy/cunt

“Okay, current medications. Let’s see what’cha got…”

Clinic duty was never enjoyable for House. It was really just a slew of NPC’s for him to verbally abuse until someone showed something interesting. A weird rash, an inexplicably high fever, or, in your case, a discrepancy in your suspected genital anatomy.

“This… says you have a birth control implant. So either someone fatfingered your actual prescription on the computer, or—“

“It’s… accurate.” You replied sheepishly, lifting your arm to highlight its location. “I actually do have one.”

The doctor looked perplexed, almost angrily so. Like you’d just spat in his face and dared him to call your bluff. He aggressively limped towards you and gripped your arm entirely too hard. With his other hand, his two fingers prodded around for the implant until he got it.

“Well!” He scoffed, rolling the stick underneath your skin, pressing on either edge to seesaw it within you. “Thank god you’re not reproducing. Imagine some poor preschooler having to bring your fruity little ass in for Mother’s Day. Kid would get turbo-bullied on the playground. Good on you for being responsible.”

He hobbled back over to the computer to return to your file, leaving you stunned, speechless, and sputtering. What is this guy’s fucking problem? What in the actual ever-loving fuck did he just say to you? And why was it... kinda hot, in all honesty?

“Ah, there it is. Testosterone cypionate. Jumped the gun on that one. If only I had scrolled down. Alphabetization makes fools of us all…” He continued reading the details of your dosage. “0.6 milliliters biweekly, self-administered intramuscular injections. Ooh, so you’re a masochist too.”

Your reaction was an unfortunate reflex, on par with if he’d tapped your knee with that dinky little hammer, only much more embarrassing. You had no chance of stopping the pathetic whine that escaped your vocal cords. “Mm~!” You gasped, then coughed, hoping to sufficiently cover the sound, and shouted, “What?! N-No, no I’m not!”

“Oh, please, you are not a good liar.” House tapped his cane on the exam table, right between your legs. Not touching you, not even close. He just wanted to imply that he could. “To administer a masculinizing dose of testosterone in patients assigned female at birth, they can either self-inject, or they can rub themselves with what’s essentially lotion. So why would you choose stabbing yourself in the leg unless you want to stab yourself in the leg? And why would you want to stab yourself in the leg? Because you’re a pain slut. Am I wrong?”

No. No, he was not. Well, that isn't why you chose injections, but you were a pain slut. Of course, you didn’t wanna admit that to him. That’d just make you even more pathetic. Oh well, it’s not like you needed to say anything anyway. The mortified look on your face was proof enough.

“So! What brings you in today? Bruised butt-cheeks from your Daddy taking you over his knee too hard?”

You rolled your eyes at his snarky comment, trying to stick up for yourself and what little shreds of dignity you had left. “My STD test results.”

“Oh, sure. Figures you would need to know that. Can’t have Typhoid Mary taking backshots at the circuit party. What types of sex are you having?”

Used to these questions every time you get tested, you rattled them off nonchalantly. “Vaginal, oral, and anal.”

“Not letting anything go to waste, huh? I like it. How many sexual partners do you have currently?”

Wait a minute. You just needed to hear the results. What’s this guy doing? “Uh… didn’t the nurse already ask me these questions?”

“I’m sure someone did. I just want to hear you answer them.”

You crossed your arms and stared straight through him, silently, baring an expression that sufficiently said cut the shit without the need for any verbal assistance.

Dr. House pouted. “You’re no fun.” He opened the folder he had came in with, what he was initially supposed to give you. He had just been dilly-dallying to kill time. “All negative. You’re clean. Well, in this one aspect, you’re clean. Morally, you’re about the furthest thing from it.” Again, he smacked his cane on the table, in between your legs, this time in rhythm. “Just. My. Type.”

You squirmed, trying to shimmy backwards away from his cane. You cast your eyes downward, obscuring the profuse blush on your face. He didn’t need to know that he was getting to you. Still, it was flattering. You cleared your throat. “Uh… Thank you? I guess?”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and one more thing. I saw that your chart lists recreational ketamine usage. Is that true?”

“Yeah, actually. Why do you ask? Are you gonna tell me to quit?”

“Ugh, please. I’m a doctor, not a narc. Here, watch.” Dr. House reached into his pocket and took out a jar of pills. He opened it, poured a ridiculous amount of pills into his palm, and dry swallowed them. “See? Now we’re both junkies! But, you do have a point. It’s my Hippocratic duty to look out for my patients’ well-being. The street supply of ketamine can be mixed with dangerous additives like fentanyl or crack, which would put you at risk for overdosing. You want a scrip for the good shit?”

Oh? On god? Ethics and potential felony charges be damned. The weirdly hot doctor wants to hook you up with substances? Weapons grade ketamine? You’d be an idiot to pass it up. “Oh! Sure, thank you!”

“It does come with a pretty hefty co-pay though.”

“Oh…” Your face dropped. “How much?”

“Bend over.”

—

“Ahhh, modern medicine is amazing, isn’t it?”

Dr. House sighed in pleasure as he rutted into you from behind. Your legs were cramping, held apart in an awkward position. Your arms were cold against the metal slab of the table, and so was your face, buried within them to cover your shame and soundproof your moans. Apparently, that “copay" he mentioned was just a euphemism. Some dumb excuse to get you to trade pussy for premium drugs. And you were dumb enough to do it. Just his lucky day. Keep your face down, keep your mouth shut, and just let him use you. The high will be well worth it.

"Hey, faggot," He spat, and yanked you up out of the darkness by your hair. Your eyes stung, shocked by the fluorescent clinic lighting. "I'm talking to you. Are you always this rude to everyone who fucks you?"

"S-Sor—Sorry! I'm sor—fuck! Fuck!"

"Shut the fuck up, whore," House clamped his hand over your mouth, holding you even tighter against him. You couldn't move, you couldn't speak. Your only function was getting him off. "If we get caught, you don't get your ket. Now, mmm, fuck yeah, tell me... Isn't modern medicine amazing?"

Without the ability to verbally agree, you nodded.

"Do you know why I'm saying it's amazing?"

You shook your head.

He chuckled devilishly before growling in your ear,

"Because I can blow my load in a tight little tranny boy's cunt without worrying about knocking him up."

[gonzo-rella]

Headcanons: Being Wallace Wells' Trans Boyfriend

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

EDIT: Although this fic was written with a more binary trans reader in mind, I'm hoping this fic will also be suitable for AFAB nonbinary people who are masc or male adjacent, which is where I might be at. I'm currently working dating hcs for Wallace with a nonbinary reader (which will be suitable for both AFAB and AMAB readers).

Relationship(s): Wallace Wells x transmasc!reader (romantic)

Warnings/info: Trans typical stuff, like dysphoria, transphobia etc. etc., sexual remarks, he/him pronouns for reader, headcanons were written in one sitting, when I was feeling not great. (Let me know if I need to add any)

(A/N: I've been reading a lot of Succession fics over the last few days. Last night I read a Roman Roy fic and for some reason it gave me this overpowering wave of dysphoria that I still have yet to fully recover from. Annoyingly, I have yet to actually watch Succession so this could have been avoided; I just think Kieran Culkin's hot and very gender so I couldn't resist pretending that someone with his face was my boyfriend. Reading about Roman made me think 'oh shit. Maybe I'm a flawed and pathetic little guy on the inside. But I just look like a woman who likes to kiss women and everyone treats me like a girl and uses my girl name and girl pronouns and that feels super gross and makes me want to live in a hole. Now I'm going to feel bad about that for the next few days.' So, yeah, I'm having another transmasc crisis that I'm using fanfiction to get me through. I figured Kieran Culkin started this, so I might as well write something featuring a character of his that I can actually write for. This is a self-indulgent and self-explorative treat for myself, but I hope that transmasc readers can enjoy this, too. If you'd like more Wallace stuff, trans stuff or Wallace AND trans stuff, feel free to send in a request. I really want to provide more fics for transmasc readers because you guys are super underrepresented (and, y'know, Papa Gonzo-rella wants to explore his gender a little more). Also, I swear that I will get around to watching Succession, and I more than likely will end up writing for it when I do.)

Respectfully, Wallace does not give a shit that you’re trans.

Of course, he doesn’t flat-out ignore it, because it’s part of who you are, but it isn’t an obstacle in your relationship by any means, and it doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

If you’re feeling dysphoric and/or otherwise insecure about yourself, he’ll pinch your cheeks and tell you how handsome and sexy you are.

If you’re feeling especially bad, like ‘not getting out of bed and hiding from the world’ bad, he’ll keep you company and say what he can to reassure you.

Being mushy and sincere truly isn’t his thing, so whatever he says will sound either slightly insensitive (but still pretty sensitive as far as Wallace goes), facetious or like he wants you to get over how you’re feeling so he can fuck you.

But, he genuinely doesn’t want you to feel bad and you can tell he cares, because otherwise he wouldn’t be there for you when you're feeling your worst.

Wallace is very affirming, but in his own Wallace way.

He lovingly refers to you as his lameass boyfriend.

If Scott ever compliments you about anything, Wallace will call him gay.

He will shout ‘gay’, like the Senor Chang meme.

"Hey, man, I like your shirt-"

"Ha, Scott's gay!"

"I-I'm not gay! I just like his shirt."

"What's wrong with being gay, Scott?"

"Nothing! There's nothing wrong with being gay!"

"You really need to work on your internalised homophobia, Scott. To think, my gay lover and I share a bed with a bigot."

If you’re doing anything that he knows will make you dysphoric or exacerbate your dysphoria (for example, scrolling through social media and looking at cis dudes that give you gender envy) he’ll shut it down.

Using the aforementioned example, he’ll snatch your phone off you and close the app, saying: “Nope. Make better decisions.”

And, while you’d initially be annoyed at him for grabbing your phone, you will appreciate it in the long run.

If you have testosterone shots but you’re not a fan of doing them yourself, he’ll begrudgingly help you with them.

He will make a very Wallace comment, though

“Stabbing? I didn’t know you were that kinky.”

If anyone’s a dick to you about being trans, Wallace is always ready to go with a snide remark about the other person, because of all the things you could possibly mock his lameass boyfriend for, being trans is at the bottom of that list.

(He should know, as the person who makes fun of you the most.)

Also, he cares about you very, very much and he doesn't want people being transphobic to his boyfriend.

If you’re cool with it, he will make trans jokes, but nothing ‘attack helicopter’ or ‘attack helicopter’ adjacent, because he’s too clever for that and he can come up with better material that isn’t just derivative, transphobic garbage.

If you get your period and it makes you at all dysphoric, be prepared for this exchange:

“Don’t worry. Scott pissed blood last month and cried about it and he’s still a man.”

“Did-did he go to the doctor?”

“I don’t know. He seems fine now, though.”

If you still have boobs and don’t mind them being touched or otherwise acknowledged, he will use them like a pillow.

If you decide to get top surgery, he will make the following request:

“Well, if you’re not using them, can I have them? I need a pillow that Scott won’t steal. And, he wouldn’t steal your tits, because he knows I’d call him gay for it.”

“Why are you like this, Wallace?”

“Selfish.”

Being trans doesn’t make your relationship much different from any of Wallace’s other relationships.

You’re just, for better or worse, another one of Wallace’s boyfriends.

[flyin-shark]

Well now you know I have to ask- why do you hate liberals?

Ok so the main issue is their support of capitalism. Capitalism exploits workers, greatly exploits the global south, gives capitalists (the people that own capital not the supporters of capitalism) way more than they could ever hope to work for. Literally look up the numbers on bezos and other billionaires it’s ridiculous. There’s a LOT more on capitalism but that’s enough for this post.

Besides their support of the system that exploits us, they fail to understand the connections between capital and the state. They’ll say things like “vote with your dollar” without realizing that people with more dollars get more votes. On a larger scale this means governments are going to side with capital. The nature of power structures is to centralize like this.

Liberals will say they support bipoc and queer folk without caring to change the power structures oppressing us. Sure they’ll sell rainbow pins on Etsy but they aren’t going to address the structural changes that need to be made to protect queer people. Sure they’ll support black artists but we can’t do anything about the prison industrial complex. Maybe putting even more cops on the streets will help /s

So much of what they do is performative. Look we painted Black Lives Matter on a street. We solved racism. Look all the corporations used rainbow logos for a month. Homophobia and transphobia have been defeated. Like at least you sound like you want change but only enough to keep enough people happy so the status quo doesn’t change.

Last point I’ll mention is that liberals always expect compromise. One side is fighting for their rights and the other wants that side dead. Liberals come in saying come on guys let’s be civil here. Surely there’s some compromise we can come to. My existence and the rights of others are not up for debate. Compromise is what got us the three fifths rule where African Americans were counted as 3/5 of a person. Compromise gets us the 13th amendment which outlawed slavery except in cases of s crime. Which then leads to the prison industrial complex and the prison population of today. Compromise is what gave the right the Supreme Court, ending abortion rights for millions of people.

That’s a good portion of why I don’t like liberals. Thanks for coming to my Ted talk.

[pawberri]

I guess it’s like…not having a word isn’t bigotry, yes this is true I agree. But it seems like a lot of people take the stance that having a word IS bigotry. Why? (Idk what other anon’s beef is with cause their wording definitely make it sound like protecting trans women is a bad thing)

I think that theoretically just “having a word” is not bigotry, but there’s more to the impulse than just convenience. Defining transmisandry as a separate concept implies that trans men have oppression separate to the system all other trans people are subject to. While transmisogyny is a compound of two oppressions, transmisandry either must commit to the idea that cishet -white-privileged-in-every-other-way men are oppressed simply for being men, or that trans men are oppressed in an exclusive, unique way. It’s dismissing the existing concept of intersectionality as offensive and inadequate only by virtue of not centering trans men. If another trans guy started saying we needed to talk about “transheterophobia” I would roll my eyes because I, as a bi trans dude, have seen how heterosexual trans men still benefit from the privilege of heterosexuality while gay trans men deal with both homophobia and transphobia. The transhet dude is suffering expressly because he is trans, and pretending there is an intersection of “transphobia” and “heterophobia” is just an attempt to avoid accepting any amount of systemic privilege. I WANT to engage with that trans man about how much it sucks to be excluded as a trans man, but he’s choosing to distance himself from me and center his own experience.

This same thing happens in all minority groups. This is a classic pattern, not a new bit of linguistic inclusion. A follower of mine on twitter discussed, for example, how white natives often speak over their brown native siblings. White natives experience genuine erasure and racism and systemic oppression, but they can also weaponize those experiences against the more marginalized in their community. The manosphere on YouTube has plenty of men of color who discuss how they can’t possibly be privileged because they experience limited privilege, all while throwing women of color under the bus. Etc etc.

And there’s also this disconnect where people think “privilege” = happiness. Patriarchy, transphobia, capitalism, all these systems make us all suffer. Maintain privilege often even involves suffering. A closeted person might stay in the closet for fear of losing their privilege at the expense of their happiness. A person who is forced to face significant systemic oppression might be happier on an individual level because they have community and support etc.

I love trans masculinity. I love being a trans man. I suffered so much to accept this identity. I was told I was disgracing womanhood and being evil. Transphobia is a plague. No man with an oppressed identity has FULL access to male privilege, and full access to male privilege doesn't guarantee happiness. But it is a privilege. It exists. It's a concrete, quantifiable experience. It's a system. It doesn't mean you don't suffer, because you suffer a ton. It doesn't mean your voice doesn't matter, because it does. But that was all true without the word "transandrophobia." So I necessarily have to question the impulse to make up a word that denies that your experience is part of a continuum of experiences.

Tl;dr You think you just fell out of a coconut tree? You exist in the context of everything that came before y

[forwhump]

Bite Me

a/n: another random little whump drabble that nobody asked for featuring my special little guys <3 some proper whump for this one for no reason

tw/cw: implied rape, torture (physical, mental), guns, gore, misgendering, transphobia

human weapon whumpee, creepy whumper (kind of)(he’s creepy in this one I think), aftermath attempted escape

How did it come to this?

How is this happening?

Silas used to be human.

He doesn’t remember it, but he knows that he was. He knows he lived a life outside of this place.

So had Wren. And Wren remembers it, and Wren misses it with a yearning that Silas can’t fathom. His brother had been dragged into hell with him, but he talks about missing his mother. His friends. His car.

All Silas had wanted to do was get him back to that. All Silas wanted to do was get Wren home.

He was just trying to help. He just wanted to help.

Kneeling on the concrete, he coughs up blood and his back molars and Wren screams like nobody else Silas has ever heard.

He’s screaming words, Silas realizes too late, but he can’t make any of them out because his ears are ringing.

They’re holding him there. So many soldiers, so many hands on Wren, holding him there by his hips, his waist, his braid. He’s screaming, his face shimmering with tears, but he disappears into the darkness that blurs Silas’ vision as Silas loses consciousness again.

He comes to as his head is wrenched up from his chest by a fistful of his hair.

Point stands over him. Point. The soldiers all use nicknames, codenames, because their real names are a secret, because their real names are not for the assets to know. Silas doesn’t care enough that he’s ever been curious, but he would roll his eyes if he could; he’s going to be executed by a guy called Point.

“You’re becoming more trouble than you’re worth, asset,” Point tells him.

Silas used to be human, but he isn't anymore; he doesn’t know if he counts himself lucky in that regard. He feels pain just the same as anybody else, but it takes a lot more to kill him.

Anybody else would be long dead.

Point had shot him twice in the face.

It hasn’t killed him, but there’s a bullet lodged in his left eye and another in the back of his jaw. He can’t stop drooling, blood and saliva soaking the front of his shirt, sticking his hair to the sides of his throat. His tongue is swollen. He slurs, “bite me.”

Point’s hand leaves his hair and Silas’ chin drops back down to his chest. He doesn’t have the strength to lift his own head anymore, so he can’t see Wren, but he can hear him, clearer now, the ringing in his ears had quieted to the shrill sound of his screaming and how frantically he sobs, “please. Please!”

Silas just wanted to help.

Did he make it worse?

He was prepared to die — a hazard of breaking Wren out. He was ready to do whatever he needed to do, his own life be damned.

But Wren wasn’t supposed to see it. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be out.

How much worse did life just get for Wren? What has Silas done?

“I’m sorry,” he tries to say, but he can’t say much of anything and it comes out as a low, wet groan. He drools down his chest. He can’t lift his head.

“Silas,” Wren sobs.

He couldn’t do it. He just wanted to help, and he couldn’t fuckin’ do it.

“Wren,” he tries to say, but he doesn’t say anything.

Point clicks his tongue, and when Silas’ head is lifted from his chest again, it’s with a different hand. Point is crouched in front of him, dressed in the uniform of the soldiers, their guard, full black tactical gear. He pulls his mask down his face so Silas can see his grin. “It was a very honourable thing you did,” he says, mocking. “Trying to save the girl.”

Silas does his very best to slur, “don’t touch him.”

Point smiles brightly. “I will,” he promises. “With your blood on my hands.”

Silas sucks in the biggest breath that he can, and it rattles in his chest. He spits blood and another one of his teeth in Point’s face.

Wren screams again, bloodcurdling, awful. “Please,” he sobs, “please,” and it’s only now that Silas realizes that he’s pleading with Point, straining against the other soldiers to get away, to get closer, and he breathes, “Darren, please. Please. Don’t kill him.”

Point doesn’t look at Wren, but he tilts his head thoughtfully. “No? What are you going to let me do to you if I don’t?”

No, Silas tries to say. No!

Wren’s voice is small. The silence rings with the absence of screaming. “Anything.”

“Anything?” Point repeats. The way his grin spreads across his face is cartoonish and evil. “Did you hear that, big guy?” He asks, leaning in closer to Silas, smug. “She said anything.”

“No,” Silas grits out.

Point grins a little wider. “She must care a lot for you, you know,” he says. “She knows some of the things I want to do to her are just vile.”

No.

“And since you get to live,” he tells Silas, “you get to watch.”

“What?” Wren breathes.

No.

Point pats Silas’ cracked jaw and Silas gurgles in pain. “Consider this your lucky day, big guy,” he says. “We usually put down dogs once they start to bite.”

No.

“No,” Wren breathes, but Wren is so small, and these men, these fuckin’ soldiers, they’re all so much bigger than him, they drag him across the concrete as he struggles, they force him to the ground before Point. “No!”

“You’d rather I put down your dog?” Point asks, pinning Wren to the ground with a knee between his shoulder blades. “The choice is yours.”

“Please,” Wren sobs. “Please. Don’t do this.”

Point clucks his tongue. “How else will you learn to behave?”

[romanarose]

About a Girl: Chapter 7

Beautiful header by my beloved @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

Joel Miller x Trans!Fem!Reader (Nickname, Blue)

Series Masterlist : The Last of Us Masterlist : Full Masterlist

Summary: No specific week but I needed this chapter to keep things straight.

Warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter: 18+ ONLY!! I cannot warn against everything, but these are major themes. Joel is a lil ignorant but not out of hate. He just doesn't know. He's trying his best. There will be smut. Penetrative sex, all of the anal play, oral. There will be transphobia from other people. Addiction and alcoholism. QUICK child neglect not by Joel but I promise, Sarah is fine and is having a great time in life. Fetishization of women attracted to women by a shitty guy. Will update as needed. Again, this is adult content. Expect adult content.

Immersivity: Reader is transgender, AMAB female, reader has had gotten bottom surgery, not top, and is on hormones. reader has visible hair and a blue streak in hair, but not described. Could be braids, could be natural hair, whatever. Header is for aesthetics only. Reader is about Joel and Tommy's height. Let me know if i miss anything!

A/N: Okay heavy on the drug use and abuse warning

TRANS LIVES MATTER! TRANS YOUTH MATTER! TRANS ELDERLY MATTER! TRANS WOMEN MATTER! TRANS MEN MATTER! NON BINARY TRANS MATTER!

Kayla watched Joel, Tess, Tommy, and a woman she could only assume was Tess’s ‘girlfriend’ laugh on the other side of the bar. Of course, none of them knew she was here. Last time she saw Sarah was 2 months ago, Joel refusing to let her see her own daughter. He didn’t have the right to do that, then just leave her at home while he went out drinking. Kayla stood in the corner near the entrance. That’s when she saw her. She was hard to miss, tall like an amazon and blue in her hair walked in. Pushing herself off the bar, Kayla walked right into her, spilling her drink all over Joel’s whore girlfriend. She looked like a skank with her tight black clothes and crop top. 

“Oh shit!” She didn’t sound too irritated at first, but when Kayla shoulder checked her and made an exit, Blue shouted after her. “What’s your problem?”

Kayla just kept walking. Clearly, she didn’t recognize her. They were very different; Blue wasn’t Joel’s type, she was probably just a phase. Something to distract him, to stick his dick into. She’d never be her.

*

Joel saw you walk across the bar, joining him, Tommy, Tess and Talia for drinks. Max would be here, said he was introducing a ‘friend’, which probably just meant a woman he was sleeping with behind his wife’s back. Joel had once tried to out him at a work party, mentioning a lady friend of Max’s he’d met to his wife.They got in a fight, but she didn’t leave him. She was a sweet lady, didn’t deserve his shit but with their kids and being a stay at home mom, she had no options. 

Joel noticed you were cringing, waving your hands as if drying them. Were your clothes wet? He couldn’t tell in your all black.

“Baby?” He stood up from the booth, walking to you. “You okay?” 

“Yeah.” You rolled your eyes. “Some bitch just spilled her drink on me?”

Talia stood up now, looking you over. “What? Why?”

“I dunno.” You shrugged. “But it was full, now I’m fucking soaked.”

Joel began to take off his flannel, white tee shirt underneath. “Here-”

“Oh no, cowboy,” You chuckle. “I’ve stolen enough of your clothes.”

Talia and Tess ushered her to the girls bathroom. “C’mon, we’ll swap around.”

When you come out, you’re wearing Talia’s tank top and Tess’s brown jacket, and looking damn good in it.

 You snuggle up to Joel in the corner as his phone buzz’s, showing Tommy’s name. Joel flips it open to see a text and a pic after a little notification that he was being charged extra for said picture. It’s the babysitter, Jess, and Sarah at the park, eating pop tarts. Joel smiled.

You lean in, smiling too. You and Sarah had grown close, sweet girl that she was, and you were even added to the approved pick up list at daycare, a list only Joel, Tommy, Tess and Frank were on. Kayla was not on that list, you thought to yourself smugly as you looked at the happy picture.

Joel had tried, he really did, but he had to lay out a few rules. Kayla cannot have Sarah over night, and she can’t leave town. No home visits until Joel is sure Sarah is safe. This lead to some fights, some names being called. Blue was once next to Joel during one of these, where Joel said he wanted the first visit supervised. He offered to let Kayla come to his home, to go to a park, hell he’d pay for Chuck E. Cheese, but she wasn’t taking Sarah alone. The things Kayla called him caused you to try and take the phone out of Joel’s hands to cuss her out, but he remained calm and refused. He was far more reasonable with her than you’d be. Joel had complete and total rights and could legally refuse to let Kayla anywhere near her if he wanted to. But he didn’t want to. 

Still, you’d stepped in as a mother figure in a lot of ways. You were careful not to overstep or make the girl uncomfortable, nor to ut yourself in a position that would devastated her if you and Joel broke up. Still, she was a special kid. She was sweet, packing things in her lunch for Ellie because she said Ellie just gets sandwiches, no treats. She brought you home art she made just for you. Once, when you picked her up to take her out to the farm, Sarah made a hanging suncatcher out of tissue paper and gave it to you. You hung it from the mirror in your car, and the next time you picked her up, when Sarah saw it was still there, she was bouncing so excitedly you’d barely gotten her buckled in. You valued the things she gave you.

You loved how she cared for everyone around her. Frank clearly adored her, sweet man that he was. They worked on art all day, and sometimes you drove out to the farm to find them playing soccer. She would tell you excitedly what she did with Frank all day, or that Bill let her sit in the tractor and ‘drive’. Sarah adored ‘auntie Tess’ and had been growing close to Talia. Talia barely had any family and mentioned Sarah would be a cute flower girl.

 Nothing compared to the shenanigans shed get into with Tommy. Sometimes they’d come home with scrapes and bruises but always smiling. Once they burst into the door soaking wet, saying theyd decided to jump into the creek even though it was fall. Joel always fussed over the little things with her, like warming her up after the cold of the creek, but it was harmless fun, the little girl was having the best life possible. 

But there was no one in the entire world Sarah loved more than her daddy. It was always “Daddy says-” and “Daddy thinks-” and her little face lighting up whenever she sees him. They frequently fell asleep on the couch together when you came over for movies, cuddled up under blankets and snoring. It was sweet.

“Here comes Max.” Talia mumbles and you and her lock eyes. She didn’t like Max either and honestly you weren’t sure why Tess kept inviting him places. It was the end of harvest, so they all were out celebrating so I guess it would be rude not to but fuck, you didn’t like this guy. “And his new lady.”

Tess looks up. “Oh shiiit. Joooooel?” 

He’s with the bitch who threw her drink on you, but Tess didn’t know that… who was she to Tess? She was pretty, medium dark skin, long, long hair. It had a little curl, like Joel’s but without the premature grays.

“What the fuck?” Joel mumbles and now you're confused.

You grab his hand. “Baby? Do you know her?” The way his face gets hot and chest rises, you get a bad feeling.

“Yeah, that… Kayla…”

You head whips over to Joel. “What? She’s the one who spilled a drink on me?”

“What-”

But Tess was already getting up to confront them, despite Talia trying to hold her back. 

“I fucking told you if I saw your bitch ass face again I was gonna pop you!”

Max’s eyes go wide, but makes no attempt to protect Kayla. “Hey! What the hell is going on!”

Tess turns to him with a harsh glare. “Do you seriously have no idea who she is?” Max’s head shaking looks convincing enough, because she points a finger in Kayla’s face. “This is Joel’s shit ex-wife, who I’m willing to bet seduced you to get back into Joel’s pants!”

By now, you and Joel were stood up, so was Tommy who’d made his way to the others. You wanted to give Kayla a piece of your mind, but you could tell Joel needed you.

“He never married ‘er” Tommy corrected. “Purposfully got pregnant and got close, but no cigar.”

Kayla crossed her arms at Tess and Tommy. “Our baby was a gift from God. and you need to mind your fucking business.”

“Don’t you fucking-!”

But Max shoved Tommy, yelling at him not to talk to his ‘woman’ like this. This briefly created a scuffle between the men, but Joel left your side, getting between them.

“Hey! Hey!” He grabbed Tommy’s shoulders, whispering harshly for him to stop. Joel turned to Kayla. “You planned this. I know you fucking did, what do you want? Sarah ain’t here.”

Joel could be so smart, but so naive sometimes. She didn’t want Sarah, Sarah was a product of her obsession. She wanted Joel.

“Nothing, I’m just seeing Max.” She continued, arms still crossed,

Tess huffed. “Yeah, his wife know about that?”

Kayla ignored her.

Joel left Tommy, walking up to his ex. She was smaller than him but quite a bit, Joel towering over her. Made you aware of the height you had on her. You didn’t usually mind that you and Joel were the same height, but right now it was stark how different you looked from the cute, petite ex. 

“I just find it funny you’re here instead of with Sarah. So she can have a baby sitter, but can’t see her mom?”

Joel was clearly trying to keep an even temper. “Kay, I told you, you can see her but the first visit gotta be supervised and no-”

“I HAVE A RIGHT TO SEE HER!”

“No you don’t, the courts took that-”

Then you saw it. Before you could move, Kayla balled up a fist and punched Joel right in the throat. Tess caught him as Joel stumbled back, Talia jumping out of the booth to check on him. Tommy looked ready to throat punch her back, but Tommy wasn’t the kind of guy to hit a women.

You, however, weren’t a man.

You jump her, grabbing a fistpull of her shirt and punching her once, twice, three times before she got a hit back, kicking you between the legs. You begin to fall to the floor, but grab her hair and take her down with you, using gravity to your advantage. Surprised by the fall, you use the fact she’s coughing on the ground from the impact to climb on top of her. Kayla gets a punch or two in, but for every hit you get three. It’s not until you feel arms around you, Tess and Tommy, and you’re pulled away that your realize you’ve broken her nose.

Max helps her up, and despite taking a beating, Kayla is still screaming at you and Joel. “You fucking cunt! He’ll never love you, you gangly skank!” You almost go to hit her again when Talia places a hand on your shoulder. You turn your head, seeing her and then seeing Joel. He’s holding his throat, still coughing and struggling to breath. You want Kayla dead.

Tess shouts at Max, who stood dumbly at the sidelines rubbing his two brain cells together to try and process what was happening. “Get her out of here or I swear to god, I’m gonna let Blue kill her!”

Max does as he’s told, looking confused as he pulls a still-shouting Kayla away.

You all get kicked out of the bar.

*

After making sure Joel wasn’t dying, Tess and Talia said their good byes, driving off to Tess’s place that Talia had just moved into. Tommy fretted over Joel’s throat, but once Joel shooed him away, humiliated, Tommy said he’d go home and watch Sarah so you two could talk, but expected a conversation tomorrow.

You sat in Joel’s truck, parked near a pond. Your Nirvana cassette was playing quietly, a few honks of geese in the background as well as crickets made quite the orchestra. 

“She ever hit you before?” You ask, quietly.

He sighs. “Sometimes, yeah. But not like that.”

Blood boils in your chest, fists clenching at the idea of hurting such a sweet, good man. She knew, she fucking knew he’d never stand up to her, that he’d never ht a woman none the less his girlfriend or the mother of his child. She knew he was too gentle, too loving, too good.

“What… how else? If you wanna tell me. Don’t gotta, I swear.” You needed to know. Really, you wanted every single detail so you could make him pay… But admitting this sort of thing took time.

Joel wouldn’t look at you, shame on his face as he fidgeted. “Mostly slapping, some pushing. Nothing that left a mark.”

Of course not. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Joel.”

Joel huffs out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head and you see wetness in his eyes. “Of course it is! I let a woman hurt me, I let her cheat on me, I let her neglect my daughter, I let her- Blue I’m a shit dad and a shit boyfriend and I probably had it coming and-”

“Stop!” You said, a little louder than you meant to. The vein in his neck bulges in tension and you feel bad for scaring him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry just…” You reach for his hand. “You didn’t deserve it, Joel. Please look at me? Please?” When Joel turns to face you, the tears threaten to spill over but never quite do. Still, his face is red despite is tan skin and his hand is shaking, jaw clenched. “You could never, ever deserve someone hurting you, especially someone who was supposed to love you. You don’t ever talk bad about her, won’t let Tommy or Tess talk bad, you’re respectful even after everything. You deserve better than her.”

He swallowed thickly. “I have better. Better than I deserve.”

You can’t help shaking your head. “You deserve everything good in this world, Joel Miller.”  You kiss him gently, tender, softness in his lifes a contrast to the abuse he suffered. You sweet, sweet man… “And you are not a bad dad, Joel Miller. You’re the best dad that little baby could ask for, don’t you ever let me catch you talking that shit again, okay? You’re a good dad.” a kiss, a soft whimper from his abused, sore throat. “A good brother.” A kiss, his chest rising. “A good friend.” A kiss, his teeth gently biting your bottom lip as you pull away. “And the best boyfriend I could ever ask for. I love you, cowboy, with everything in me, so does all your family. And you deserve all that and more.”

*

Joel and you let the evening slip away like that, innocently kissing by the pond while In Utero played on repeat, but Joel didn’t mind. Sometimes, you’d stop to explain a song to him, why songs like ‘Rape Me’ are not what he thinks they are about. These conversations lead to him opening up about more in his life. It was easier with you.

He told you about Kayla, how it wasn’t just the physical. That would almost be easier. The way she’d accuse him of cheating if he didn’t want to have sex, making him feel obligated to never say no to avoid a huge fight. He confessed, for the first time out loud, that he thinks Tommy has PTSD and thats why he’s turning to drugs and alcohol. He says it's getting worse, and while Tess was always a casual user in a club, Tommy was using more and more even as Tess quit. He said how he thought Talia was so good for Tess in that aspect and he was so happy for them, but he was also worried because now no one was there to watch Tommy. He quickly followed this by reiterating that he didn’t mean he wanted Tess to use again, it was simply his thoughts from the perspective of a brother.

He told you he was worried about Sarah’s friend, Ellie. That they’d had a play date as his house, that Joel and Tommy had to have a background check before it happened. He said he was worried about Ellie, that when he cooked up some chef boyardee, she devoured it down so fast he made another can because she seemed so hungry. Said her clothes were dirty and her hair messy. You promised to check on her the next time you picked up. You were a mandatory reporter, and although this could just be an off day, or she had been out playing before the playdate, if she still looked a mess you’d make an anonymous report. He felt reassured after that. You always knew what to do.

As for you, you told him about how your family rejected you when you came out as gay, kicking you out on the streets where you met Talia. You tell him about the hard times in homeless shelters, scrambling to find food and work when your parents held your social security card hostage. How, just when they’d finally begun to allow you back into their home occasionally, you’d realized you weren’t actually gay, you were trans, and it all started all over again. You tell him about Jeff, the older man in the Austin gay scene who took in homeless youth, how you held his hand as he took his last breath, Joel pulled you close, sliding you up right next to him as you cried at the memory. 

By the time you and him drove home, he felt like he knew you on a whole other level, a way he’d never felt with Kayla. You knew him like no one else did.

And then you and him walk into his house, and that happy bubble pops.

“Tommy?” Joel calls. “Sarah? We’re home, sorry it took so long- SHIT! Blue!”

*

Tommy was on the couch, band around his arm and a needle on the floor.

“SHIT SHIT SHIT!” Joel runs over to him, moving the needle out of the way and smacking him on the face. “Tommy! Wake up!” Her turns to where you are standing, frozen and scared. “Find Sarah, please…” Joel’s voice cracks even as Tommy gains consciousness.

You run outside first, to the backyard. If she’s inside you can find her easier but if she’s outside, you needed to get to her before she got to a street. When you get there, you find Sarah happily playing with her Furby and barbie dolls in the grass.

“Hi Blue!” She smiles at you, and you run down the deck to hold her. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Sweet, empathetic girl. You bury your face into her hair, your heart racing with relief that she was safe. “Yeah baby, everything is great.” Tommy. He had started getting conscious when you left the room, was he okay? You knew he did club drugs, just jesus christ, heroine? You check the yard. It was secure, safe. She wasn’t getting out. “Stay here Sarah, okay?”

“Mhm.” She was preoccupied with her games, unaware as to what is happening inside.

You get inside, running into Joel in the hallway. “She’s okay, she’s just sitting in the yard.”

Joel opens his mouth, about to go outside to check on here when he hears Tommy mutter something about I told you so. His face hardens with a darkness you’d never seen before, and Joel turns around to storm at his brother. When he raises a fist, you run up and catch it, preventing Joel from hitting the wobbly, out of it younger man.

“YOU”RE DOING HEROINE IN FRONT OF MY DAUGHTER!” He bellows, screaming at Tommy in a way that is making you nervous. Once Joel lowers his fist and you feel safe, you quickly pull out your phone and text Tess ‘Joel’s house NOW. 911.’

Tommy puts his hands up defensively. “Relax, man, she’s not here, she’s outside.”

His large chest rises, posturing, but when he talks you can here his voice breaking. “You’re supposed to be watching her! She’s 5, Tommy! Five! She’s just a baby! You can’t leave her alone she’s just a baby! I’m supposed to trust you! Of all people, I should be able to trust YOU! BUt you leave my baby alone!” 

You got the feeling this was half about Tommy, half about the fact Kayla left an infant Sarah alone to scream while she cheated on Joel. He never forgave himself for that, and he’ll never forgive himself for this.

Tommy looked sick, like he wasn’t paying attention. His eyes kept crossing. You leave Joel’s side to grab him, guiding him to the couch where you sit with him. You’d seen plenty of heroin use back in the day. “You need to sit. How much did you take?”

Tommy mumbles an answer, and you sigh in relief, looking up to Joel. “I think he’ll be okay, it’s not a lot.”

He blinks at you. “Oh good, Blue, that’s just great. Just a little bit of heroine, no big deal-”

“I didn’t say that-”

“Who cares that he’s a coked up, alcoholic addict who left Sarah alone to wander off! Who cares about that!”

“Don’t shout at me!” You yell, still holding Tommy. “Don’t you dare imply I don’t care about Sarah! I’ve seen people die from heroin and I’m just trying to tell you your brother won’t be one!”

You expected him to start apologizing, like he usually did if he snapped at anyone, but instead, he surprised you. Joel turned around, pulled at his hair and shouted. It wasn’t at you. You weren’t scared he’d hurt you and it didn’t seem like he was trying to scare you. He wasn’t even shouting at Tommy. He was just… shouting, like everything had been building, and building and it was now an involuntary action. Watching in quiet, you and Tommy can see his body shaking as he breathed deep. You wanted to hold him but you didn’t think it was the right time.

Slowly, Joel steadies himself. You can tell he's doing the breathing you taught him. When he turns around, he’s crying. “I’m sorry.” That’s all he says. You don’t want to say it's okay, because it's not. But it will be. You love him, and you knew him well enough that this wasn’t an intimidation tactic. You’d work through it. “I texted Tess, she’s on her way to get Tommy to watch him.”

He nodded, then turned, muttering about getting Sarah to bed. It’s dark.

*

When Joel came down stairs, Sarah fast asleep, he saw Tommy sleeping in your arms with you fingers to his neck, Tess and Talia sitting with him. “He okay?” 

“Yeah.” You nod. “I’m just making sure he stays okay.”

Joel nods, then looks to the other women. “”M sorry you got dragged into this.”

Talia promises it’s okay, but Tess stands to be by her friend. “It’s alright, Joel. He knows he wasn’t supposed to do this shit at home.”

Sucking in a breath, Joel reminds Tess tha this is heroin, and he shouldn’t be doing it at all. “He needs help, Tess. He need rehab and therapy and-”

“Joel, you know damn well he ain’t gonna go.”

Joel breathes in, then breaths out. “Well he can’t come here until he’s clean. Heroin, coke, molly, all of it-”

“Joel-”

“I’m not doing it, Tess! I can’t! There is a needle in my house where Sarah plays, what if she walked inside and found it!”

Tess was silent. She had taken the needle and wrapped it up, putting it in her purse for proper disposal, she knew how dangerous they could be.

Joel continued. “What if Kayla came here and saw him? I could lose my parental rights and she’d be up, she could gain full custody after that and she would be right too! Jesus! I don’t think you guys understand what happened here!”

“I do.” You spoke up. “I understand Joel, i think we all do. And I think it’s a good idea for Tommy to go to rehab and get help. I’m just trying to focus on making sure he’s okay right now, alright?” You speak gently, calmly. Like you’re explaining these to your school kids; clear, not condescending.

It was all becoming too much for Joel, you knew. He opens his mouth to speak when you hear the pitter patter of bare feet on the floor. “Daddy?” Sarah appears in a little onesie, scarf in her hair, rubbing her eyes. “I heard yelling.”

Seamlessly, Joel going into parent mode, picking her up in his arms and speaking soft words. “Sorry baby, that was the TV, we had it too loud.”

Sarah surveys the room, clinging to her dad. Kids often can tell when something is wrong. “I wanted to say goodnight to uncle Tommy… is he sleeping?”

Wincing, Joel responded. “Yeah baby. He’s asleep.”

“Oh… can I give him a goodnight kiss?”

Joel walked Sarah over to Tommy with a nervous energy. He knew nothing could hurt her, but it didn’t help him. He let Sarah lean over. “Uncle Tommy’s gonna leave for a little bit, so say goodbye.”

“Why?”

“He just has to take care of things, don’t you worry your pretty head about it.”

Sarah kissed Tommy’s sleeping forehead, whispering sweet dreams. Then, she sang twinkle twinkle little star while stroking his hair. She looked at you when Joel pulled her back up. “That’s what daddy sings to me.”

You smile. “Good job, Sarah. I bet uncle Tommy will have-” Your voice breaks, and you hide back tears. “Sweet dreams.”

“Alright baby girl, time for bed.” Joel began to take her off to her room again, but pointed at Tommy, then at the door.

*

Tess and Talia and you all put Tommy in Tess’s car, Talia pulling you aside. “You wanna come with us? We can get your car in the morning.”

But you shake your head. “No, no Joel and I are gonna talk.”

She gave you a sympathetic look and a hug. After thanking her and Tess, and one more look at Tommy, you head back to the house. 

Joel is already standing there. He speaks before you have a chance to.

“This isn’t gonna work.”

Tommy tommy tommy.... what ar you doing with your life...

For the record, we are NOT shaming addicts here. I worked in social work AND if I am being honest I delt with a pretty fucking awful alcohal addiction. I got it together and now I can drink casually but genuinly it was rough for a while. So no, im not shaming tommy for being an addict. But, putting sarah in danger is NOT okay.

And

JOOOEEEELLLLLLLL

LMK your thoughts ;-;

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[johannestevans]

Okay so similarly to last anon about topping as a trans guy/trans masc, how do you build the confidence within yourself to top someone with a penis? Cause my partner is super kind and willing to let me learn but I struggle with my own mental barrier of lime not being "manly" enough or confident enough for topping. I know a lot of it is internalized transphobia but I just wasn't sure if you had any past experiences that helped you over come that or other fears surrounding newness and such.

my directory of work / / tip jar

That sounds like a tough set of feelings that are all mixed up together!

I'm gonna unpack some gender stuff and ungendering things first, and then specifically get onto feelings of masculinity, because I think those are two separate mental processes that are (understandably) tangled up.

Before I go on, though, there's a lot of thoughts and exercises I'm going through in this essay, and I just want to say that more valuable than anything I'm about to say re: your sexual relationship with your partner, is to talk to them.

]Everything below is ontological gender thoughts and then feelings about your own confidence and masculinity, but given that the important thing here is your sexual chemistry and dynamic and relationship while the two of you fuck, their feelings and thoughts might well be super valuable here!

Even if you just say, "Hey, I asked this pretty writer fag for advice because I've been feeling these feelings and it's been tough for me, would you also like to read what he said?", that might be very helpful and valuable!

All these big feelings and big problems often feel less big when we share them with those we love and are intimate with. A problem shared is a problem halved - an insecurity shared with a trusted someone is one that can be soothed and be specifically treated with gentle gloves. If your partner doesn't know about it, they can't do that!

Anyway, on to me talking too much:

Me and my boyfriend were at a kink event yesterday that was very straight-dominated, and one thing that sort of occurred to us that we don't tend to think about, because we're not really in community with cishets and their sexual culture, is that for a lot of cishets, "pegging" - a cis man being penetrated with a strap-on, by a woman or by someone else without a cock, is in itself considered a kink.

And Lewis was like, "And that's ridiculous because it's just like... It's the woman topping. It's not special or important because it's just two people in a relationship and she's the one topping, but because they're straight, it becomes about him being humiliated and her dominating him when it's literally just normal."

And he's obviously right, like...

People often assume that in a sexual dynamic:

the top = the dominant partner = the more masculine partner

the bottom = the submissive partner = the more feminine partner

But the act of topping or bottoming (which I'm using in this context to refer to someone being the penetrating or penetrated partner, although "top" and "bottom" are often used to refer to a partner acting versus a partner acted upon, which is explored and discussed a lot in this glorious piece, Top or Bottom: How do we desire? from The New Inquiry a few years ago) is not in itself an act of domination or submission.

You mention not being confident enough to top, and link that confidence with your masculinity - do you think of topping as an inherently more confident act than bottoming? Is there a certain security you associate with topping, or a certain certainty of thought or intention, that you might not ascribe to bottoming, because you think of bottoming as passive and topping as active?

To be penetrated is not to be subjugated, nor is penetration in itself an act of subjugation, or emasculation, or even domination.

But while we still think of penetration as domination, we automatically association that act of domination with masculinity, with butchness, with being (as in the essay) the brute, with being the actor upon the acted, with being the "active" (as opposed to passive) partner, etc, because in cishetero ideals of sex, sex is something done by the man to the woman.

But you know trans girls that top, do you not? Whether that's them fucking boys or girls or other people entirely, there are trans woman who top. They are not less feminine for doing so, they're certainly not less womanly.

And you know cis men that bottom, yes? And not just twinky, effete, fairy boys who are fruity with lisps and grabbable hips and pretty eyes - there are big, hypermasculine butch men with glistening muscles and thatches of thick hair on their tits who just stepped out of a Tom of Finland poster who love to be fucked. It might well be those ethereal fairy boys who are doing the fucking.

Perhaps they like to be bent over and fucked - perhaps they like to lie back and cup the faces of their partner and coax them into fucking him, smiling sweetly, saying, "That's it, come into me, you're doing so well, yes," and treating it as an act of love and tenderness, but also, one in which he is still undeniably in control and the dominant party, but not by way of typical masculine, patriarchal performance. It can be anything it wants to be, depending on what the parties involved are intending, what they're thinking, feeling.

What the fucking signifies and what it means is in the eye of the fucker.

Is a cis woman topping her cis man boyfriend masculine? Is she actually taking away his masculinity, or is she having any for her own? Is she less or more feminine because she uses a strap-on? Is it more or less so if it's matched to the colour of her flesh?

What if it's pink?

And all of what I've just said really assumes a binary of tenders, of the transfeminine and transmasculine as extensions of the cisfeminine and cismasculine, as parallels of their gender thinking that in themselves are, you know, constructed by the dominant culture - white Western imperial culture, where that binary was constructed and where those boxes exist to oppress and to control, through a flimsy defence of "biology" and also through constructed social roles.

How much do you believe in that stuff?

Play it out as a mental exercise - make a list (you don't have to write it down, you can just think about it in your head) of the sex acts you and your current partner do together, and the sex acts you've done with other partners, and other sex acts that you've dreamed about or fantasised about, and ask yourself...

Do I think of this sex act as more masculine or feminine or is it gender-neutral, or do I think it's genderfucky in some way? If it's genderfucky, in what ways is it genderfucky?

Is it genderfucky because it particularly adheres to or particularly subverts certain gender roles in or outside of the bedroom? Is it genderfucky because it exists in some way outside of the gender binary for you, whether that makes it genderless or genderful, or abstracts it to some entirely different kinds of gender?

For example, if a cisgender man is penetrated by someone else's homegrown cock, how does that feel, genderwise? What if it's someone else's cock as a strap-on? Does the colour or consistency or size of that cock matter in the equation? What if the person penetrating him is an android, and their cock is part of their body, but it's metal or silicon or otherwise matched to their robotic body? What if the person penetrating him is someone who's had a phalloplasty, and their penis was made via surgery and a cool skin graft from their arm? What if it's a fantasy universe where the person did have a clitoris, but they drank a potion and it turned into an average or more-sized typical cock? What if the person penetrating the man is a tentacle monster or some other kind of alien creature, and they do not conform with the bipedal constraint of the human form?

What if all of that is the same, but the cisgender man being penetrated is now a transgender man? What if all this happens to a transgender woman? What if all this happens to a cisgender woman? What if all that happens to a nonbinary person?

If that nonbinary person was assigned female at birth, or if they were assigned male at birth, does that change your feelngs or your assumptions? Why? If that person has had different surgeries of their own - phalloplasties or vaginoplasties, penectomies or mastectomies, metoidioplasties, or any other kind of genital reconstructive surgeries? Does that change anything?

And that's just the act of penetration, but you can think of any other kind of act that you do during sex or as a lead up to sex - kissing, massage, biting, frotting, using a vibrator, nipple play, spanking, dressing up, etc etc. How does gender play into it? What are you gendering, and what are you not gendering? What about the language you use? Say, calling a cis man's chest his tits or boobies or breasts or his mommy milkers, but calling a cis woman's chest her pecs or her chest, or even her man boobs?

What acts do you see as adhered to specific gender identities or presentations or ideas of gender, and which acts are more flexible or unattached? Why are they different? What makes them different?

So that's part one of this, yes?

And all of that is. A lot of thinking and a lot of ruminating, and by no means am I saying you have to sit down and get it all done tonight like it's homework due tomorrow - that's more a set of thoughts and ideas that you can start unpacking as they come to you? As you think of new things, you can play with those thoughts and unpack them, and compare them and contrast them to each other, and see how much actively thinking about and deconstructing them in your head changes your feelings about them - and how much your feelings stay the same.

No matter what thoughts come up as you go through this, no matter what biases you find you have, or thoughts you find that you don't agree with once you start examining them, that is okay. There is nothing wrong or bad about how you think or feel.

None of the above is intended to lecture you, none of the above is intended to make you feel bad or insecure or like you've done wrong by having different thoughts or feelings about the different genders of things.

You have not transgressed by holding a bias, or by thinking of a sex act as masc or fem rather than neutral, or anything similar.

You have not transgressed. You have not sinned. You have thought thought bad thoughts, and subsequently are a bad person, or a bad queer, or a bad trans person.

This business of unpacking and untangling gender and sexuality from specific sex acts, of ungendering things or adjusting our lenses of gender, is hard and difficult and complicated work. Many thousands of essays have been written on this subject by other queer people, by BIPOC, by disabled people, by trans people, by intersex people, by everyone who has not been written into the constructed white imperial gender binary and its associated ideals of sex (which themselves have been escalated and fine-tuned and commercialised because of capitalism and other forms of white cultural supremacy), because it is hard and difficult to do. Because these are things we all have to unlearn, which is difficult!

A lot of these feelings, when we start unpacking them, cause us pain and make us feel discomfort, nausea, dysphoria, shame, uncertainty, fear.

They make us feel that way because by our existence, we are transgressing - because we exist in the way that we do, outside of this constructed binary (and unwilling or unable to conform to it, or at least feign / perform conformity), we disrupt it and we break its rules and we twist it and we bend it. Simply by being, we do those things.

And then when we start to look inward and really start doing that work, it can feel insurmountable and impossible and agonising, because how are we to unpick a framework which we've been sewn into our whole lives? How can we unpick our threads from a tapestry when we're sewn into it with surgical thread?

It's not our fault. It's not your fault or my fault, it is not our partners' faults, it's not even our parents' fault or our teachers' fault or any individuals' fault.

But it's a process.

So. Coming away from the broader thought exercises and zeroing in on your personal feelings about your own body, your own gender, your own role during sex.

How do you feel more manly? How do you feel more confident? How do you get past that barrier and feel "ready" to top?

If you want to top while feeling in control...

Does your partner normally top you? What positions do they usually top you in? Are there any positions they top you in that make you feel more vulnerable in some way, more controlled by them, in a way that you enjoy? Do you think that using those positions, you would then feel more like you're in control?

Would you feel more confident, for example, topping doggy style rather than in missionary?

Have you considered fingering your partner first and penetrating them not while fucking them, but during some other activity? So, blowing them while also fingering them, or using toys on them? Using a vibrator or a dildo on them while giving them a handjob? Even watching them fuck themselves on a vibrator or dildo while you give instructions - so not touching them or moving them down on it, but they only move as instructed by you?

All of those are playing with you being in control and dominating while they're also being penetrated, but is not necessarily topping them while fucking them with your own cock - you can use them to ease yourself more into the mental role or more of the confidence of what you want, rather than plunging directly in (pun intended).

There's roleplay, where you could play out a specific fantasy or wear a particular costume or outfit or something similar, that lets you feel more or at your most manly and confident, so that it's easy to really lean into a butch persona if that doesn't normally come naturally to you?

If you think you'd be more confident topping while ceding some control, have you thought about different positions for that? For example, you lying back and your partner riding you, and easing themselves down onto you?

Or you topping them while they instruct you exactly how to move, or you're being guided by them, acting more in the service top area?

Another option is double-ended dildos! I'm not sure how comfortable you are bottoming or being penetrated, but if you do enjoy such things, a double-ended dildo means neither of you are topping, but you're both bottoming, and that can be somewhere interesting to start that's focused on the sensation and experience together.

All of the above you can then use to transition into topping your partner more the way you first envisioned, or first fantasied about.

Sorry that's a lot to chew on, Anon, but I hope it helps and I wish you love and luck! Like I said to the other guy that asked about topping, so much of this is like...

Because it's new and because you haven't done it before, it can feel like it's a huge and impossible thing, and then once you do do it, a lot of that mystique and that sense of infinity (infinite things that can go right, infinite things that can go wrong, infinite emotions one way or the other) fades away a bit!

[you-matter-dear]

If you have felt chronically invalidated or don't trust your own decision making skills and want to feel more confident in your own abilities, I would suggest trying some or all of these things;

Find someone you trust and respect to be your sounding board. NOT the person/people who make you feel small and incompetent! The point is to teach your mind and nervous system that your invalidator doesn't have some sort of secret higher knowledge nor a monopoly on logical thinking.

Sit with your decision privately for a while. Don't ask others opinions, don't look for outside validation, don't give yourself the opportunity to be immediately discouraged by the invalidating person/people. Sit with yourself in your quiet moments. Wonder about what that decision might look like and how you might feel after. What do you want? Will it make you happy? Will it make your life better, even a little?

Try recognizing the small, safe decisions you make that end up going right. You tried a new sandwich place and it ended up being really good. You took a chance on that book and you learned a lot. You took a different route to get to work and saw a cool house. You make a TON of decisions every day--there are plenty you have already made that were a good idea!

When you're ready for outside input, start with your trusted source or other supportive environments. Tell someone you trust to not immediately shut you down or dismiss you--a therapist, an online friend, a respected community leader, a kind relative, or even that friendly barista you chat with. Give someone a chance to respond with enthusiasm, thoughtfulness, and reciprocation. There are people who will delight in your successes and support your ideas. Find them in your life!

No self defeating language!! No 'i probably can't do it', no 'but I'm not good at that', no 'i always fail'. Talk about how you feel, not defining reality before it even happens. 'I'm really worried I won't meet my own expectations' or 'in the past, this has been really hard for me'. This opens the door to solutions, support, and reflection with the people you're talking to. It invites them into a conversation about times when they didn't feel confident or let's them suggest things that have helped them in similar situations in the past! You open a dialogue for yourself instead of entrenching yourself in old stories that might not even be true. Don't stop yourself before you even start.

Pay attention how much YOU notice/don't notice other people in public. Chances are, you are sensitive about feeling judged or silly. You might think that that cashier is rolling their eyes at you, that guy that looked up when you walked in is annoyed you're here. Pay attention to how much YOU think about random strangers. That janitor you saw the other day: do you remember their shoes/hat/nails/etc.? Are you studying and judging the people walking by you on the street? As a general rule, other random people in public are paying about as much attention to you as you are to them. Everyone has stressful lives, a list of things to do, and songs stuck in their own heads. (This is barring things like transphobia, racism, sexism, and other micro/macroaggressions, of course. I acknowledge that this is not a privilege granted to everyone.)

Ask yourself 'what is, realistically, the absolute worst that can happen from this decision?' Especially if the decision is fairly low stakes and non-permanent, like getting a daring haircut or color, trying those new, loud earrings, trying to grow/shave your facial/head/body hair. I find it useful to follow up fearful thoughts with, 'okay, and then what?' (ex. "What if it looks terrible?"-- "Okay, then what?"-- "I'll be embarrassed and people will think I look weird!"-- "Okay, then what?" --"They might stare at me or make a mean comment!"-- "Okay, then what?" "I'll feel bad!"-- "Okay, then what?" Your hair will grow back, people whose opinions you care about won't be cruel and life will move on.)

THEN ask yourself; 'What could go right?' Balance! If you're spiralling or panicking with 'what ifs', try to make the opposite just as proportional and realistic. Even if it's hard to envision yourself succeeding, if your brain says something like; 'I could fail and then lose all my friends and I'll die alone!!' you can always make sure to counter with 'or I could succeed SO well that someone falls in love with me on the spot and I get a million bucks and move to my own private island'. Illustrate how ridiculous both sides of the spectrum are! Put into perspective the likelihood each of these scenarios.

Remember, no one else is you. Other people have knowledge of what worked for them, ideas and world views they are operating on that they will be convinced is the ONLY and BEST way. They. Are not. You. They can advise and suggest and caution, but only YOU can live your life. You will be affected. You know what works and what doesn't (or you can learn). You are the only one you spend every moment of every day with. You are your own closest companion. There is no one who knows more about you than YOU. Other people may have different insights and observations that may help you know yourself better, but they can ALSO have false, ill fitting narratives that have more to do with their trauma or internal story than they actually do with you. Question the stories given to you about yourself. Question when someone defines you, labels you as something that just feels bad--lazy, sloppy, loud, annoying, ditzy. Something in you just balked at that story. Find out why!

Accept that you might not be able to convince/change your invalidator. Look. This person or people might well be someone you love dearly, live with, or has some sort of power over you. You might not want or be able to cut contact. They may be unpredictable, sick, struggling with their own stress, from a completely different culture/mindset/generation. They may even acknowledge that this is something they need to work on but then never do. The only thing you can be certain to have control over changing is yourself. You cannot wait for them to decide that it's important enough to change their behavior because they haven't so far. You don't need to harbor anger or resentment in this process of healing (though, if you do, that's perfectly valid and normal). You don't need to feel like you're gearing up for a confrontation with them. It doesn't need to be about them. This is about you trusting yourself. It's about you living the life that settles you, fills you, grounds you. It's about getting to a place of being comfortable with uncertainty and expansion. You deserve to grow, heal, and change. It's not about them. This isn't about them.

Feel confident in your decision before you tell your invalidator. When you have a network of trusted sounding boards, go to them, talk out the pros and cons, the logistics and your worries. Talk through the logic of it so you know your plan and you feel comfortable (or as comfortable as you can) with your decision. If it's something your invalidator needs to know, make sure you aren't looking for their approval; you're telling them your decision. Be unassailable. Feel calm and confident. Be at a point in your decision that even their worst, most invalidating or dismissive reaction will not sway your resolve.

[medfetabdl]

Rules of my blog and about me

About me:

I am a 20 year old virgin straight male. I’ve been into medfet and age play for a while and I love it. I have a lot of hobbies but they all mainly revolve around my love for making stuff. I am a jack of all trades, I can do electrical work, carpentry, plumbing, small electronics (design, repair, and building), sewing, embroidery, welding, machining, lock picking, lock smithing, CAD (computer aided design), 3d printing, automotive repair, and a whole lot more! My career background is in the entertainment industry, I’ve been doing lighting, sound, and video since I was 12 years old.

I love to play with medical equipment as I find it really fun to play with and find it absolutely fascinating. I love to be hooked up to my Philips Intellivue monitors and I love buying stuff for them and playing around with their infinite configurability. I also really enjoy making my own medical toys to play with, I’ve slowly perfected a diy ventilator over the last two years.

I suffer from several mental disorders including ASD, ADHD, BPD, severe anxiety, and chronic depression. I am very sensitive to loud and busy environments. I find meeting new people awkward. I tend to like to talk a lot about the stuff I’m into.

I’m in search of a woman who is around my age and shares my love of medfet and age play and who understands the struggles I go through everyday.

Rules of my blog:

-I do not RP unless under specific circumstances, I am a bit more willing to RP with women under the right circumstances, I am absolutely not interested in RP with men.

-I am happy to make custom content for people but I expect to be paid for it, I’m not just going to send you custom content because you asked nicely for it. I accept payment via PayPal.

-Do not message me asking to see specific pictures of me or parts of my body. I’m just not gonna respond to men asking to see my privates or other areas of my body. If women ask I’m more willing to send a sample pic but I’m gonna expect a pic from you in response.

-I have absolutely nothing against gay people and I definitely support LGBTQ+ but I’m not the slightest bit into men.

-Feel free to use the ask me anything button, if I don’t like the question then I just won’t respond.

-I love to talk about my projects so feel free to ask me questions about them.

-I don’t tolerate homophobia, transphobia, sexism, racism, or hate of any kind, if I see this behavior from your profile you will be blocked.

-When messaging me for the first time please try to get right to the point about what you want to talk about, just saying hi or hey means I’m probably gonna ignore you.

-My profile is 18+ only, I don’t support minors being publicly involved in fetish communities. Fetishes are an awesome thing to explore and people tend to find out about them in their teens. I think it’s perfectly okay for teens to learn about fetishes and to experiment, but do not interact with fetish or sexual communities until you turn 18. I started being apart of fetish communities when I was 17 so I understand how you feel like you’re old enough for it but trust me when I say that waiting until you’re 18 is for your own safety. The internet is full of creepy people and unfortunately there are plenty of bad eggs in fetish communities who will try to take advantage of you, so it’s best to wait.

-I don’t show my face in my posts for a reason. I am not super comfortable showing myself in pics right off the bat. It’s also for my safety, I don’t want anyone I know to stumble onto these pics and hiding my face makes it significantly harder to identify me.

-I run on a one strike policy, if you break my rules once I’ll let it slide but do it again and I’m blocking you.

-If I don’t respond to your messages it’s probably because I’m not interested in talking to you, nothing personal and no offense but I’m not really here to make guy friends I have plenty of them already, I want to meet women with my ultimate goal being finding a life partner.

-I’m more likely to respond to your DMs or interact with you in general if you actually have content posted on your profile.

-I am more than happy to take requests for content you want to see me post, a full list of all my equipment is in several posts, just leave a comment on one of my posts or use the ask me anything button to make a request.

-If I buy equipment I don’t need all of or buy something to replace some of my other equipment I will definitely be giving it away to the community and the details and rules for giveaways will be in specific posts.

[vampiricgaz]

Denial | Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x Transmale!Reader Oneshot

Warnings/Tags : Brief mentions of sex, internalized transphobia, anxiety, vomiting, angst and fluff

A/N : This would be my second one shot that I’ve posted, I hope y’all like it :3

AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/55254895

The footsteps in the living room echoed throughout the hall—a sound you’ve memorised so much it’s ingrained in your head. The steps get louder and louder, and when they stop, you then hear a sudden knock on the door of your room. The door opens slightly, the light from outside shining into the darkness of your room. You see his shadow cast on the walls, the outline of his handsome features, and his body highlighted by the soft light of the hallway.

“I’m going out now; I'm probably going to buy a few snacks from the 7-11 nearby. You want anything, mate?”

There it was the familiar voice of the one who made your heart race—the one that made your feet turn cold and made the butterflies flutter around in your stomach. Kyle Garrick, your college roommate, the one you were lucky enough to have instead of any other roommate.

“Maybe a bag of crisps and some chocolate, thanks.” You answer with a warm smile, trying to hide the fact that your heart is about to pump itself out of your chest.

He was the perfect man, you thought. He was smart and sweet, a gentleman when he needed to be, and dammit, the tiny fangs of his teeth peek out when he smiles cheekily at you, making you feel giddy and lovestruck. He’s taken care of you when you were ill, and he’s always been by your side, platonically.

You were mere friends with him, something that always hit you hard and shattered whatever fantasies you had about him. Everything you had done together has been platonic—something roommates do for each other—and that it meant nothing more than just being good friends. Whether it be the cuddling sessions you both would have on the couch while the television was on, sleeping together on the same bed when you both needed the comfort, cooking each other food when the other was in a bad mood, kissing each other everywhere on the face except the lips, or borrowing each other's clothes. All of it was platonic, or so you thought.

You sat there on your bed as you thought about your crush on Kyle, the dark room hiding your flushed expression before you plopped back down on the bed. You squeal into your pillow at the small interaction, your cheeks turning warm when you remember his mellow voice. You’ve fallen for the man hard, and it was only time until you confessed to him. But you couldn't—not when you’re a girl to him.

Kyle was gay, something he’d known for a long time. He came out to you, and he trusted you fully to tell you that. It took a lot for him to gather up the courage to tell you, and tears were shed the day he did. You hugged him tightly and let him cry on your shoulder. The poor guy feared you were going to hate him for it, but you accepted him with open arms. You reassured him that you were supportive, that you liked him regardless, and that him being gay was not going to ruin your friendship. And things have been alright since then, with the two of you being closer than ever and having a great friendship overall.

That was until you had to sleep through countless nights hearing loud bed creaks and various noises of Kyle getting fucked by other men every other night, and it haunts you knowing Kyle was having fun with other men and not you. Sometimes you met the men in the mornings, seeing Kyle be all lovey-dovey and affectionate with them while you simply tried to get a bowl of cereal. You would catch a glimpse of Kyle smiling softly as he laid his chin on the other man’s shoulder, hugging the man from behind while pressing kisses to his neck. And at first, you coped by knowing Kyle was finally happy after years of hiding his true self and that his happiness mattered more than your desires. But it soon turned into resentment and jealousy, wishing that those men were you and that Kyle loved you as much as them.

Soon you snapped out of your thoughts when you heard the front door open, and you rushed out with your hoodie and smiled when you saw Kyle’s presence.

“What’cha got there? Got me the crisps and chocolate that I wanted?” You asked cheekily before you went rummaging in the plastic bag for what you wanted.

“Of course, I got your favourite ones too.” He pulled you out by the scruff of your neck like you were a cat before handing you the stuff he bought. “I figured you were hungry and bought you more stuff; you're welcome.” He smiled as he also gave you a cup of noodles and a hotdog, kissing you on the temple before he went back to his room.

Your heart raced again, the familiar thumping of your heart as the kiss lingered on your temple. It was a platonic kiss; that was all that it was, and you knew that better than anyone. He was affectionate with you, but it wasn’t the same; those small cheek or temple kisses weren’t the same as the ones he gave to his flings or ex’s; it was all platonic.

You couldn’t blame him at all; it was your fault that you’re like this. Maybe you could’ve had a chance if you wore masculine clothes and tried to ‘look like’ a man, but no, you were feminine and wore feminine clothes to cope with the fact that you’ll never be the boy you want to be, especially not a boy Kyle would ever love. Makeup and girly clothes were all you’ve known, never having the guts to come out to anyone, so you remain the girl that everyone knows and loves—except Kyle would never love you.

For a while, things were normal, and you barely cared about Kyle and your problems since you were drowning in a pile of assignments and projects that needed to be done. But then it happened again; it was another one of those off days where nothing went right and those thoughts came back. You couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror without having to see the person you’ve become; you couldn’t recognise yourself under all those frilly clothes and pinky makeup. You hear laughter out the door; it was Kyle and probably another one of his flings again. “Great.” You mumbled, knowing what kind of night this would be. It didn’t help that you were spiralling as it is, your dysphoria and anxiety spiking the more you thought about Kyle and yourself. You were on the brink of tears, your body didn't feel right and you wished to tear your skin right off. This wasn't you, or well a version of you that you despised.

Wanting to get some fresh air you tried to leave your room, only to be met with the sight of Kyle kissing another man with a smile on his face before waving him off as the stranger left the apartment. Jealousy surged through your veins, and then the sudden realisation hit you hard. You're never going to get this, not when you're like this. Your stomach churned, and you suddenly felt sick. Of all things, this wasn’t what you needed for tonight. And without even acknowledging Kyle, you rushed back into your room and straight to the toilet, where you retched everything into the bowl. Kyle ran to you immediately out of concern, kneeling beside you and rubbing your back as you emptied out your stomach.

“What’s wrong? Did you eat something bad? Are you sick?” Kyle asked frantically, panicking while he helped wipe your mouth and walking you to your bed. You sat there, faint and weak, leaning against Kyle’s body. You couldn’t get the images of Kyle’s flings out of your mind—the man you’ve loved for so long, knowing the love would never be reciprocated. The jealousy was eating you inside, and it wasn't just jealousy that Kyle had eyes for other people, but the people Kyle liked were attractive looking. You could never look like them.

“M'fine…” You mumble inaudibly, trying your best not to show Kyle that you were having almost going to have an anxiety attack. Kyle looked down at you, placing a hand on your forehead to check for a fever.

“You’re warm; are you sure you’re fine?” Kyle frowned as he saw your weak state, keeping you comfortable on his body as you weakly lean on him, head beside his shoulders. You nod your head, but Kyle didn’t believe that you were fine.

The way Kyle held you, his soft and mellow voice comforting you at your worst. You couldn’t help but fall for him even more. You hated yourself for being so vulnerable in front of him. You mumble to him, “Would you ever like me?” Kyle blinked in confusion at the question, an awkward silence taking over the room.

“I do like you, though.”

“Not in that way; you know what I mean.”

Silence filled the room again, and Kyle shifted nervously.

“You know I’m gay, right? I’m not into women.”

“And I'm not a woman!”

.

.

.

“Forget it. Just leave.” You groan and push yourself away from Kyle, lying on the bed while turning away from him. Kyle didn’t say anything; he simply stood up and left the room like you asked him to.

Weeks went by, and you both haven’t spoken to each other since you’ve avoided him even when he wished to speak to you. Locking yourself in your room all the time, only ever coming out when you had classes. You noticed that Kyle hadn’t brought anyone over, but you didn’t think much of it. You were rotting in your bed and barely eating these days, but as you were deep in your thoughts, you heard a knock on the door.

“Mate, please let me in.” Kyle pleaded, and you could hear the desperation in his voice as he continued to knock on your door. And for whatever reason, you lazily woke up and opened the door.

Kyle’s face held a worried expression, frowning when he saw your dishevelled appearance and your messy room. He knew you weren’t taking care of yourself. Your eyebags grew deeper and darker, face paler and duller than before, Kyle could tell you weren't alright. There was a plate of food in his hand—something he cooked up just for you.

“You can’t keep avoiding me, love.” He said this as he barged into your room, sitting on the edge of your bed with the plate set down on the bedside table. “I care about you; please talk to me. I can’t stand not talking to you.” His eyes pleaded with yours, begging you to take care of yourself even with just a simple plate of food. He took your hand into his, his thumb gently tracing circles at the back of your hand. You missed the feeling of his soft hands touching you affectionately, or maybe you just missed him.

“I ruined it, didn’t I? I didn’t mean to ruin our friendship.” You spoke, and Kyle’s expression softened when he heard your faint voice speaking to him.

“You didn’t ruin anything; it wasn’t your fault.” He smiled softly as he sneaked his arm around your shoulder, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. You looked up at him in confusion.

“I shouldn’t have confessed. I’m sorry.” Kyle laughed as you said that, but he wasn’t laughing at you. He looked at you and smiled widely—the kind of smile that makes your heart flutter. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, his hand rubbing on your arm as a way to reassure you.

“You know, when I say I care about you, I mean it. I care about you way more than I should, and I think you know what I mean. So there's nothing to be sorry about lovey, I'm glad you confessed. ” Kyle’s words made you freeze, your mouth agape as you wanted to speak, but no words were coming out.

“You don’t have to say anything; just believe my words, yeah?”

“But I’m a woman to you, aren’t I? You don’t like women.”

“You’re not a woman to me; you don’t have to keep pretending that you are one from now on.”

"Kyle-"

“You’re a man; you always have been and always will be, especially to me. You got that?”

For the first time, you felt comfortable in your own skin, as if the mask you've worn for so long had just broke and fallen from your face and you'd been laid bare in front of Kyle, and he loved you regardless. Tears brim your eyes, a small pout forming on your lips before you plant your face against the fabric of Kyle’s shirt to absorb the tears. He chuckles at the sight and hugs you tightly, kissing the top of your head.

“I’m a bit sad you didn’t tell me sooner; you didn’t have to hide it from me. I trusted you with my secret; now it's your turn to trust me.” He said as his hand cupped your cheek, a gentle look in his eyes as he made you look at him. Your glassy eyes stared at Kyle’s, and he gently wiped away the tears that stained your now-warm cheeks.

“I don’t look like a man; I feel ashamed to even call myself one when I wear dresses and put on makeup. How can you call me a man?” You replied as you rubbed your eyes, leaning comfortably on Kyle as you spoke.

“You’re still a man even when you wear dresses and make-up. You've seen me wear skirts and put on some make-up before, didn't make me less of a man, did it?”

"That's different, Kyle. I look like a woman; I just don’t understand why you like me.” You said it bluntly, and he could only giggle at how blunt you were being.

“Maybe I’ve always liked you; I just thought it was platonic.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“I’m not, I swear!”

You whacked him on the arm while he continued to laugh, in turn making you crack a small smile at him.

“Look, maybe there was a part of me that denied my attraction to you when I thought you were a woman. Now that I know you’re not, I feel more comfortable liking you. Does that make sense?”

He explained while you continued laying against him, your smile widening the more Kyle spoke. Your cheeks were red, and your body became warmer. The thought that Kyle had always liked you made you happy.

“What about those men?”

“You mean when I bring people over? I knew I was gay for way too long, so when I started liking you, I thought I was wrong about my sexuality. I started sleeping with more guys to distract myself, I guess. But rest assured, I’m still gay, and I like you.”

You fell into silence, thoughts swirling in your head while you listened to Kyle. Kyle knew you were deep in thought; he could see how much you were struggling to believe him. You still had doubts and insecurities yelling at you that 'this was all some big prank. Or that Kyle was actually bi and he sees you as a woman. He couldn’t have liked you. How could he have liked you? You look nothing like a man, and Kyle liked you. Does he like women too, then? Maybe this is all a big joke, and Kyle is just playing with you. What if he pities you and he’s just pretending to like you? Are you just trapping him in a false queer relationship? Maybe-'

You felt a sudden warmth on your lips, snapping you out of your thoughts as you felt Kyle’s lips on yours. His hands cupped your face lovingly, tilting it up so he could kiss you. His lips were soft and warm on yours; it was addicting. You closed your eyes and savoured the moment, reciprocating the kiss with the same gentleness he had.

“You think too much, lovey.” Kyle mumbled cheekily as he pulled away from you, smiling before gently kissing your forehead. But this time it didn’t feel platonic; no, the kiss was romantic and one you’ve longed for since you met him.

“I love you.”

[the4n4juggalo]

redoing this because i accidentally deleted it lol

hiya, my name is anon! with the help of my friend em and another friend on the inside, we expose predators on edblr and report them to our predator masterlist.

to be clear, while we are pro-recov, we donot post ed content we only really post when we find another predator. which you can find from our #whoop whoop tag (cos, thats the sound of the police, and i guess we're the police?)

you can report a predator by going into our inbox or by going into our dms, preferably with screenshots. it means a lot to us to see this community come together to help people and this account wouldn't be what it is without yall so i am eternally grateful to everyone who even interacts because it really boosts the blog to those who need it

outside of that, if you ever have just any questions in general, hit us up in our inbox. it'd be interesting to get to know each other!

blog content

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this blog is a safe space for

any variant of ED havers (ednos, b.e.d, ortherexia etc.)

every race

lgbtqia+ people

girlbloggers (love yall)

therians

systems

every valid minority, i suppose

dni list

pedos and pedo-sympathisers (obviously)

blank blogs - i'm sorry but it makes you look like a coach and we have to be so so careful

any sort of anti-ed/sh person - this is a safe space

if you want a coach, this place it not for you "what if i like the attention" then block me, seriously

racism, homophobia, transphobia, etc.

rcta, acta, etc. yall are not a valid minority

love you guys!!

- anon and em

p.s. if you are ever dming or just generally interacting it's me (anon!) who'll respond. em doesn't own the account and also doesn't rlly look at the dms cos it'd be kinda weird if you're dming and you dont know who it is your talking to, so im the one who does all that

btw, im deleting all the ignorant comments on here, im not gonna correct yall or block yall, im just gonna delete them bc aint noone got time for that

if you twist my words to turn this post into me being an asshole i will not bend over backwards so you understood what i very clearly said

[drdemonprince]

i’ve been pretty much completely 180 turned on my idea of identifying with transandrophobia truthers because of your recent post about it. but you focused a lot on the idea that transandrophobia is hinging on the androphobia being real to be intersected in, when i’ve never believed misandry/androphobia are real in any systemic way and i wasn’t thinking about it as an intersection of those with transphobia but as its own thing? was i baseless? i have felt like i have lived and understood the specific hate trans men and transmasc people face, not because we are men but because we are trans men, and i don’t know how else to talk about it, does that make sense? the word made sense and was useful? //very autism guy, i don’t want to be doing something wrong

Thanks for your curiosity. An intersecting oppression by definition has to consist of two otherwise existing forms of oppression: misogynoir, for example, is where misogyny and anti-Blackness meet. We don't have a word for the experience of racism Black men face, even though it is different from what Black women face, because none of their suffering is caused by men being oppressed. None of the prejudice trans men face is because we are men. It is because we are trans.

When the prejudices that trans men face look different from trans women, that's in part because transphobia by definition involves misgendering. Of course the misgendering of a man will look different from the misgendering of a woman. It's still transphobia though.

And on top of transphobia, trans women also experience transmisogyny -- where transphobia and misogyny intersect. It's an insulting men's rights activist move for some populations of trans men to claim they are overlooked -- essentially saying that men's issues arent taken as seriously as women's. That kinda sexist bullshit should sound familiar. And when someone talks about transandrophobia thats what they are signalling they believe in -- that men are oppressed for being men.

That said, don't agree with me because of some fawn response or because you don't want anyone to be mad at you or think you are bad. This is a contentious topic with deeply entrenched sides. Someone WILL be mad at you no matter what your stance on this is. So accept that. And then inform yourself and choose the side you actually believe in and have the courage to defend and to let guide your actions. I recommend reading up on transmisogyny to start. Best of luck on your self-reflection journey!

[ali3nboyfriend]

last anon here, i'm transmasc and have had maybe the worst time possible on tumblr trying to find community here wrt my gender without accidentally falling into discourse and transphobia over and over again. in the face of feeling like i don't have anywhere i belong and that everyone else fuckin hates me for no reason, your blog is just so refreshingly Normal. i don't think you're particularly extraordinary or anything but it was just nice to see you rb that post about trans guys who get pregnant after me having a weird gender morning, so thank you. i can still kill in your name if you want though

i love you so much and i'm holding your hands.

i try and look at the discourse and stuff i see re: trans men especially with like... as much empathy and compassion as i can. a lot of the vitriol slung towards us on this platform are from our fellows who are hurting just as much as we are. sometimes it's because they don't realize what they're saying is hurtful, and sometimes it's because it is an unfortunately very human compulsion to try and grab control of whatever you can when you feel like you don't have anything you can control in your life. this isn't excusing some of the stuff i've seen said by any stretch, but it does kinda keep me from getting like........ doom spiral upset or angry about it. (not that i think that's what you're doing! just that it's how i process my own feelings about it)

i also think a lot of marginalized folk never really learned how to properly unpack their disgust responses to certain situations. we live in a society 🤡 that's very reactionary (at least, a lot of western societies are reactionary by nature, esp the United States), and it makes sense that when you've been geared up to React on a dime to something you don't really feel that you have the time to sit and deconstruct what it is you're actually doing. a lot of us haven't been taught to dig through why we feel the ways we feel about different people in our community, about why some other people would want to undergo their journey w their sexuality or gender differently from us, about why other people would think about things differently from us at all. and i know that can feel contradictory, because it is, when being in the queer community is entirely about transgression against strictly adhering to what's considered "normal" or "standard" in sexuality and sex and gender. but honestly i think so many people don't realize that coming to terms w yourself and walking away from your oppressive or stifling upbringing is only step 1, and step 2 is unlearning everything you were taught. my personal motto is "if it's not hurting anyone in any tangible way, or if the people it might theoretically be hurting are of sound mind and consenting to that, why should i actually care?" i try not to reblog discourse-type posts in general unless i 100% back what they're saying.

anyways point being is that like. it's not your job to teach anyone what they're doing and saying is wrong but it helps me, personally, to understand that a lot of the time they don't really realize they're being harmful and in fact think they're being helpful and advocating for the community. and i know it's a meme to say "people need to log off and go touch grass" but i honest to god really do think a lot of the really dumb and frustrating discourse i see on this site would just disappear if everyone spouting it logged off and talked to another queer human person face to face. which i understand is not something everyone can do. does not mean it would not help them lol.

people in the community IRL often just aren't talking about the things we see from the community online. they're all fuckin living their lives and using whatever labels and naming conventions they think feel right without caring about, like.... defining them. if you have a queer presence in your area at all and you're able to go to in-person things it might help a lot of the frustration and hurt you're feeling to see if they have any meetups you can attend? literally just googling like, "lgbt [CITY NAME HERE]", you can usually find some kind of pride alliance or LGBT org, and those things are almost always doing movie nights and meetups and stuff. you do have a place and you are wanted and i'm sorry you've been subjected to seeing shit that's made you feel in any way otherwise.