#specifically curated for men

[boys-fashion-123]

MTJ Mehraab Perfume

MTJ Mehraab Perfume

MTJ Mehraab Perfume proves to be a valuable asset. Its enchanting blend of notes, specifically curated for men, makes it a fragrance that embodies elegance and allure. Whether it’s for a special event or everyday wear, MTJ Mehraab Perfume ensures that you leave a lasting impression.

World of Fragrances

Fragrances are much more than a pleasant aroma; they are a form of self-expression. From floral and fruity to woody and oriental, each fragrance category tells a unique story. Oriental fragrances, in particular, are known for their richness, depth, and opulence.

A Brief Overview

MTJ Mehraab Perfume is a true gem in the world of oriental fragrances. It captivates the senses with its intricate blend of scent notes. This perfume is a testament to the craftsmanship of the perfumer and the brand’s commitment to quality.

Fragrance Notes in Detail

Top Notes:

The initial impression of MTJ Mehraab Fragrance is a harmonious fusion of red berries, peach, and bergamot. These top notes provide a refreshing and invigorating opening to the fragrance, setting the stage for what’s to come.

[sora-of-uranus]

The removal of the sexism pisses me off not because it just affects Sokkas character but because it has ruined almost every woman in the show.

Suki takes off her make up often, as if it isn't a large part of her cultural identity and personality, as if her being a kyoshi warior and her destinctly femenine clothes are something to be ashamed off or that hinders her. Because its only her that gets this treat amongst the warriors, and shes the only main kyoshi warrior for the audience.

Yue's entire character is removed. It is replaced with what I think is meant to be a sympathetic princess to the people, she joins the nans in the kitchens and make deserts for the children. Like a disney princess whose quirky and silly and held back only by her title of a princess. Gone is the battle between her desire to help and her duty to be a water tribe ideal woman. Gone is her realising that the best way to help her people is to not be an ideal woman, but to take action and to do what no one else can, to become one with the moon so that she can forever help not just her tribe but the entire world. It is depressing, it is deep, it isn't fair to her but when has the world ever been fair?

Katara aswell. Her bending is forever unlocked by men (Aang and Jet), her defiance of authority is lessened and her naievety is also changed. A lot of her motherhood role is also completlty gone since they have changed Sokkas sexism into elder brother smothering. Her fight with Paku holds a lot less significance since she has no RAGE behind her. No rage that has built for YEARS as time and time again people have said no to her face for being a woman, for being weak, for not being enough simply because of who she is. that doesn't exist for her anymore because the water tribes are just...nice. We see one bad person in the water tribe and its Hadoka and he's mean to sokka! Kataras rage comes from Paku saying no to her, and whilst thats swell, it changes her entire "I'm a master now" moment into just...lame girlbossery. Thats kinda how the entire last 2 episodes felt like for her character. A common girlboss character without the emotional depth to make it femenism.

I think my main issue is that both shows set themselves up as being femenist by nature. The og show wanted to tackle issues with sexism, using book 1 as its main demonstration with it, but the theme still follows throughout the narative. netflix's show outright said they were removing the sexist elements. When you place youself onto that pedastal, any sexist writing you have becomes emphasised.

The og show undoubtably has sexist moments! Irohs comments to June are the most obvious to me, a long with a couple comments from Zuko later on. You can certainly argue that the extreme lack of GOOD mother figures is an issue (Kat and Sokkas mother is dead, Zukos is 'dead', and Toph is awful and rather quite compared to her father). Theres other examples, although currently my brain cannot think of any since I don't often write indepth critisms.

The live actions main point of sexism is its female main characters. we literally meet Yue in the kitchen! Women can be in kitchens but that is certainly a choice! Theres this strange hatred for make up aswell, yes with Suki but also with Sokka. His war paint is removed. Its like saying make up cannot be worn by strong fighters which is rather sexist. Speaking off: not putting Sokka in the kyoshi outfit is just...dumb? If you want to show him learning the style, having him wear the outfit. Its an aspect of the style and philosophy. A man wearing make up and a skirt doesn't emasculate him yet the show makes it feel that way with the refusal to do it. "Oh but then you'd have Sokka and Suki kiss in the kyoshi outfits" who cares. "it will look like lesbians" it won't. Even if it did, who cares? you can't be 'femenist' and anti-lesbian. Putting Sokka in the Kyoshi outfit, having him respect it, is just as important as having Aang learn the other elements, or Iroh creating lightning redirection. Why? because it shows a respect of culture, and how you can blend that into your own way of thinking. It's cultural extchanged based on respect.

When you name yourself femenist, yet have explicitly sexist writing, your GOING to get dogpiled with critism based on that 'femenist' msg.

[possamble]

Ooff I see that threesome WIP. Appreciate all that warning. I don't think I have the heart in me to read that hahaha. Just feels weird to have two women in a relationship and insert a man for funsies. But hey, maybe it's just me being being into only Farcille and them being monogamous and only for each other. I'm just gonna pretend it's a separate Falin and Marcille from a little creature universe so I won't look at them differently when I read the fic hahaha. Still will be reading anything else from you though. You're one of my favorite fic writers and will be waiting patiently for updates!!

I truly appreciate you being frank with what you want and don't want to read and being civil about it-- but I have to say. I'd understand and accept if you looked at me differently for making that kind of content. Maybe I'm not the kind of creator you thought I was, or my creative priorities don't line up with yours, and maybe you enjoy my content less because of that. That's all fine and well--you have every right to curate your own fandom experience and I encourage everyone to do so.

But it's very curious that you specifically said that you'd look at the characters differently. I would understand if you wanted to separate them bc it doesn't fit into your preferred image of them and that's all. But at first glance, your wording implies that they would be somehow tarnished for you if they decided to sleep with a male friend for fun some years down the line.

I don't know you, and I won't pretend I have any standing to interrogate you on a minor word choice. But here's an unsolicited heads up, if you'd humor me: you may want to examine where that sentiment is coming from. It could very well just be a knee-jerk reaction to non-monogamous content for your favourite pairing (I get that, I'm usually the one privately bitching when I see Marcille or Falin shipped with anyone else) but it could also be coming from a place that's very disparaging to adult wlw who sleep with men of their own volition. And I hope you'll agree that's something worth being wary of in yourself.

[zhuhongs]

oh noninonononóooo

[imogenkol]

Looking to follow more blogs who primarily post sapphic/wlw content!

like or comment, especially if the sapphic content includes:

Original Characters/OC x Canon ships

Video Games

Star Wars

Gifs of sapphic relationships in movies/tv shows

[yieldtotemptation]

REPUTATION ft. Minji

minji x male reader smut

9k words

“So, you’re the one,” Minji says, an accusation to make you look up from your drink. “The one they warned us about.”

Firstly, you didn’t plan for this (you never do).

The night began, as always, with the best intentions. You promised your manager that you would follow his instructions to the letter: show face, smile for the cameras, and then slip out before the real party kicks in and you find yourself knee deep in scandal. Again.

And (if you were extra good) you would end the night by scrolling through the greatest hits on your contacts list, looking for a fellow insomniac needing to past the time, needing a bed to share.

A normal, everyday kind of night.

But yet, here you are now: cornered by the girl on everyone’s playlist, all fierce determination and pouty lips wrapped up in a tight black dress.

She doesn’t bother with an introduction—no, that would be silly—instead she just stands there, looking pretty, expecting your full attention.

You quirk an eyebrow. “I require a warning?”

There’s a smile there, just a hint, playing at the edges of Minji’s mouth, like she’s in on a secret that you’re not privy to. “Beware of male seniors. Specifically,” she adds, tilting her head to the side, raising her hand, peeling one finger off the drink she’s holding so she can point a single glossy nail at “you.”

“Hm,” is all you have to say, playing coy, like this is all news to you. Like you’re not aware of your own reputation, of the things you’ve been accused of, the things your company has scrambled to cover-up, the things you’ve actually done.

“So,” she says, so carefree, so easily charming. It’s all an act, of course, a meticulously curated ‘cool girl’ image, something well-rehearsed and played a thousand times before on a thousand lesser men, a tightrope walk between relatable and unattainable. “Should I be worried?”

You know what she’s really asking for: an assessment. Do you find me attractive? Do I tempt you? Am I the type of girl worth risking your career over?

And so, you take her invitation and do the one thing that always gets you in trouble. You look. Look at her legs, long and toned and smooth, begging to be wrapped around your waist. Look at her thighs, creamy-white and barely covered by the hem of her dress. Look at her chest, the soft swell rising and falling with every breath, her collarbone glittering with the sweat of excitement.

Look higher—at how effortlessly perfect she looks, as if she wakes up every day looking like the ideal type of every man and woman in Korea. Oh, there’s make-up, it’s subtle but it’s there, playing up her best features: the height of her cheekbones, the almond curve of her eyes, the fullness of her lips.

She’s so undeniably, obviously gorgeous: a bombshell wrapped in the guise of a girl-next-door.

It’s no wonder she’s so fucking popular.

You give her a non-answer, “Depends what they’ve been saying about me.”

Minji takes a sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving yours, her full pink lips curling around the straw as she sucks in the sugary liquid. It’s a deliberate move, so casually erotic—borderline pornographic, in fact—designed to make you want to grab her and kiss her and prove everything they’ve been saying about you right.

But she’s busy assessing you, you can tell, trying to reconcile the rumours with the reality—Can you really make a girl like her lose control? Make her beg? Make her forget about her image, her obligations, her entire life outside of your cock?

“Word gets around HYBE quick.” Minji’s eyes narrow just a smidge, she’s biting down into her bottom lip, and it has you imagining all sorts of things you’d rather she was doing with her mouth. “The girls at SM can’t stop talking about you. The guys at JYP hate your guts, so that says a lot.”  She smiles at that last point, before listing off, “fuckboy, heartbreaker, group-wrecker, industry villain.”

It’s funny, hearing your dirty laundry aired out like that, and you can only shrug, give a casual smile as if to say ‘who, me?’. It’s admittedly a practiced move, one you’ve used to get out of sticky situations before (you may have even used it as an ending pose once). “Is that what they told you?” You ask, nodding in the direction behind her.

Minji follows your gaze, glancing over her shoulder, the wall of noise and flashing lights of the club framing her face, painting her skin with a rainbow of neon shadows.

There’s her bandmates, doing a terrible job of spying, a trio of worry and concern and gossip: they’ve found their little bunny, and she’s been caught speaking to the big, bad wolf.

She muses, “we’ve all heard the same rumours…”

“And so you came to… what?”

Minji takes a step closer, close enough for you to get a whiff of her drink; one of those sugary mixes, deceptively sweet, but just as strong as the one in your own hand. “To find out for myself,” she answers, “to see if you’re really as bad as everyone says, to see if it's all hype, or if there’s actually some truth to the legend.”

“Legend,” you repeat, trying the word out on your own tongue (it sounds sweeter on hers). “That sounds a bit much, don't you think?” you ask, trying to ignore the way she’s leaning forward now, letting the top of her dress dip, revealing just enough cleavage to stimulate your imagination. A simple gesture, so perfectly choreographed that you'd think it was incidental if you didn't know better, if it didn't have you picturing what it would be like to rip that dress off her, to expose her bare tits, to grab, lick, kiss, and—

She’s giggling out loud now, like she can hear every single filthy thought racing through your mind. “I think I'd like to be the judge of that.”

There’s an alarm bell going off in your pocket, the vibration of your phone buzzing with messages—who else but your manager, demanding to know why you haven't gone home like a good little idol yet, begging you to please, please not make another mess.

But you ignore it and take another sip of your drink, savouring the burn of the cold liquor down your throat, giving you a moment to consider. You’ve got Minji figured out, you think. It's nothing you haven't seen before (nothing you haven't dealt with before). The dream girl, the ‘ideal type’ who’s growing tired of maintaining a perfect image, looking to see how far she can push, how much she can get away with (how much you’ll let her get away with).

Because she’s probably never been told no in her life. Because she's used to getting what she wants with a bat of those lashes or a pout of those lips.

In a way, coming to you is safe, because if the worst were to happen—if you were to get caught—no one for a second would believe that one of the nation's precious daughters was the instigator.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says, cutting through the din of the club like a knife, making you believe that she just might be telepathic. “You're thinking: she’s just another innocent idol playing at being naughty for just the night, but the second things get too wild, she’ll be out of here faster than you can say ‘Dispatch’.”

“Because you’re not like other girls.”

“Please,” she scoffs, dismissing the idea entirely. “I always see things to the end.”

“Alright then,” you say. She’s thrown down the gauntlet, and you’re going to pick it up, if for nothing else than to see just how far she’ll go. "Shall we do this here? I'll rip off your clothes, nail you in the middle of the dancefloor in front of all our friends and peers?"

She’s grinning now, not backing down, in fact she’s moving closer, like yes, that’s exactly what I was hoping for. “From what I’ve heard that would be tame for you. Is it true, what you got up to at Inkigayo?”

“That was in a parking lot.”

“And at M Coundown.”

"Under the stage.”

“Music Bank?”

“The staircase, of course.”

“See,” Minji’s whispering now, close enough that you can hear her over the thumping bass of the music, her breath warm against your ear, “you are a man-whore.”

“I have a name,” you reply, dryly.

“That’s nice.” She’s touching you now, her hand sliding up your chest, fingers playing with the buttons of your shirt. “Wanna hear me scream it?”

Your phone is still buzzing, and you know that you should be walking away. It would be the right thing to do: it’s far too public, she’s far too popular, and getting caught leaving hand in hand with her would be nothing short of an announcement that will hit the top of every social media platform by sunrise.

But it’s too late—it was over the second you locked eyes with her from across the dancefloor, when she caught you staring, blatant and unabashed, lingering on the way her ass bounced, mesmerised by how her hips swayed to the beat. 

You just had to let her know she was wanted.

"Look," Minji says, her hands sliding higher now, fingers idly adjusting the collar of your shirt. "There's no angle here, no game. I'm not looking to get caught or land in a scandal, and I'm definitely not looking for love or a boyfriend or whatever fairy tale shit you sing about. I just want what all the other pretty idols are getting."

She's forward, no shame in saying exactly what she wants, daring you to dispute it, but all you can do is cock your head to the side, and flash a smirk of your own. "And what makes you think you're my type?"

Minji laughs, her teeth glinting in the neon lights—you both know it's a very, very idiotic question. "Please," she says, rolling her eyes, "I'm everyone's type."

Another glance over her shoulder, where her bandmates have been pretending not to hover, and now there’s a new face in the mix: Yunjin. Her eyes narrowed to slits, her arms folded, and her jaw is clenched so tight you can almost hear her teeth grinding from here. Unlike the other three, she’s not playing the concerned friend card; she’s the pissed off mother bear, ready to pull Minji away from the walking, talking red flag.

And so adds to your stellar reputation.

Minji notices your eyes flicker in that direction, and looking back at the group with amusement, she takes it as the cue she's been waiting for. "We better get out of here before they take your head off."

It's inevitable, really, this is how it always ends up: the sweet, innocent idol lured into the jaws of the industry monster. But you can’t help it, not when she’s looking at you like that, like she wants to be eaten alive.

You know the score, you’ve danced this dance before, and you’ve got a role to play. The only thing left to do is to take her hand and lead her out of the chaos—through the throngs of familiar faces, not giving them a chance to register what you're doing, or who you're with, or what's about to occur, again.

Not like anyone could stop it now, anyway.

"So, this is how it happens," you hear Minji murmur as you lead her out of the club, through a hidden metal door, and into the cold, night air.

-

Minji tastes like gin and lime cordial, her lips sticky and sweet against yours, her arms around your neck, her back pressed up against the back-alley wall. There’s something in the way she’s kissing you—giggling between breaths—like she can’t believe this is happening, like she’s getting away with the crime of the century.

Her hands are in your hair now, tugging gently, the cool metal of her rings pressing into your scalp, begging you to kiss her harder, to burn the memory of your lips onto hers. Your tongues meet in a dance that’s more battle than ballet, and she’s matching you move for move, her teeth nipping at your bottom lip, her nails scraping down your neck.

She’s eager, she’s pressing her chest against yours, making you feel just how hot she is. But yet, there’s still that annoying voice in your head, the last shreds of your conscience, telling you to give her that final out, to let her walk away with her dignity intact, go back to her members and tell them she just had to get some fresh air.

So, you pull back, tearing your mouth away from hers, giving her room to gasp for air, to let the world come back into focus, and you ask her, loud and clear, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Minji’s panting, breaths coming in short gasps, little puffs of steam out into the winter air, and she smiles. It’s a wicked little grin, equal parts surprised and thrilled, like you’ve just passed some kind of test she didn’t think you knew existed. “Are you asking for my consent?”

You balk at that. Your reputation can't be that bad. “Is it so unbelievable that I'd ask?” Even though you already know, deep down, she’s not going anywhere, there’s a power in hearing her say it. Saying that she wants you, specifically, to ruin her.

“No, it’s just…” Minji starts, looking up with those big, dark eyes, and you can almost see the gears turning in her head, trying to figure out how to play this, before ultimately landing on the word, “nice.”

She pulls you back towards her, kissing you again, those soft, pillowy lips of hers meeting your mouth in a kiss that’s so inappropriately sweet, like she’s sealing a deal with sugar rather than ink.

“Yeah,” she whispers, her voice steady, sure. “I want to do this. More than anything.” Minji tilts her head back, exposing the column of her throat, inviting you to kiss it, to suck, to bite. “I want you."

You don’t need any more convincing than that. Your hands are on her body, running over the curves of her hips, the dip of her waist, the swell of her chest. And she’s leaning into your touch, needing to feel more of you, wanting you to explore her. And you do, greedily, feeling her breath hitch when you graze her nipples through the fabric, feel her hips jerk when you trace the line of her panties.

“Are we going to—gah—go back to your place?” Minji tries to ask, her question punctuated by a moan as your fingertips dance over the smooth skin of her inner thigh, the hem of her dress whispering against your skin.

You’ve already made your decision—you're not taking her home, you're not taking her anywhere with a bed, or even a chair. You're going to have her right here, right now. There’s no need to answer her, you just let her work it out for herself when you push her back against the wall, when your thumb finds the slick, wet heat between her legs.

“Here?” She gasps, turning to look down the darkened end of the alleyway, at the distant streetlights, at the crowds of people oblivious to what’s about to happen beneath the shadows.

“It’s not the dancefloor, but it’ll have to do,” you murmur, leaning into her, pressing your lips against her cheek, her jaw, her earlobe.

“B-but, what if—” Minji stammers, but you’re busy toying with the lace of her panties, nothing more than a mere formality at this point, only existing to get wetter, to be unavoidably ruined by you.

“What if someone finds us?” You finish her question, nibbling at her ear. “Then we’ll just have to make sure we leave them something to talk about, won’t we?”

She’s shivering at the thought of it—the headlines, the think pieces, the whispered scandals that will follow you both for weeks, maybe months, maybe forever. But you can feel her resolve hardening, her spine straightening, her body arching towards yours, and she replies, “Then don’t hold back.”

The challenge is clear: she’s embracing the thrill of the forbidden, the rush of potential disaster, the heady feeling of need overshadowing the fear of getting caught.

You don’t disappoint. Your fingers slip under the soaked lace, and she’s sensitive, so, so sensitive. She���s staining your fingers, needing only the smallest amount of pressure to garner a reaction. You tease her, drag your finger across her tender folds, dare to skim over her clit, torture her with anticipation.

Whatever concerns she has evaporates as you kiss down to her collarbone—you’re going to leave a mark—and she’s already asking for more, “Please.”

She’s whining, parting her legs, desperate for you to do more than just touch her, needing you to rip through her panties and take her.

“You're right—I don’t care,” she sighs into the wind, handing her fate over to you. “I need you. Now.”

That's all you need to hear, everything you've ever wanted to hear someone as seemingly untouchable as Minji say to you. You pull down her panties, needing an extra tug as her slickness sticks them to her thighs—she’s so fucking wet for you—and you draw a circle around her entrance with your finger.

“Right there,” she cries. She’s much more honest when she’s desperate—gone is the posturing, the taunting, the act—she’s just a girl who needs to feel something real. So, you give it to her—push your finger inside, gliding in smoothly, a perfect fit around your digit.

Only knuckle deep but she’s already got you like a vice, squeezing around your finger like she’s trying to keep it captive—so wet, so tight, so fucking good. Her nails dig into your shoulders as you push in another finger, stretching her just enough to make her gasp, just enough to make her fulfill her promise to cry out your name, “Fuck—!”

Her pulse is racing like a runaway train, hammering against your lips—you’re pushing both fingers all the way inside her now, sawing them in and out of her, making her groan, making her repeat your name over and over again.

You’re in her ear, “you’ve got to be quiet, Minji.”

But she’s not having it. “Make me,” she laughs, daring you, another challenge she’s putting down.

You kiss her hard, replacing the laughter in her mouth with your tongue, muffling her cries as you fuck her with your hand, you’re going to ruin her now. You curl your fingers up to hit that spot that makes her toes curl in her sky-high heels, making her gasp, her head thunking back against the wall.

She’s trying, she really is, to keep it in, but she still needs you to keep her standing, to hold her up as your fingers delve deeper; to keep her from melting into a puddle all over your hand.

Still, you’re relentless, feeling her out, learning her rhythm, her reactions, the spots that make her sigh and fall apart. You know you’ve found it when her breaths turn harsh and ragged, and she’s rolling her hips against your hand, and there’s that noise—the sweet, slick sound of her pussy swallowing your fingers whole—and she’s whining into your mouth, “This feels so—”

“Hot,” you finish for her, watching as her cheeks flush a delicious shade of pink, her pupils blown wide, those angelic features of hers contorting with every thrust of your fingers. “You’re so fucking hot, Minji.”

And she is, she’s hot, she’s so hot around you, against you, her hips bucking at the praise, and she whimpers, your name a staccato prayer on her lips. “More,” she demands, but she’s tripping over her words—“more—please—how does it feel so—”

“I’m going to make you cum now, Minji,” you state, your voice low and sure, your fingers continuing their persistent rhythm inside her. She nods, panting against your neck. “And after that, I’m going to fuck you and make you cum all over again. Until you can’t walk straight. Until you forget every other name but mine. Do you understand?”

Her eyes flutter closed, and she nods again, a whine escaping her throat, and she’s biting her lip so hard it’s going to bruise—another mark she won’t be able to explain tomorrow.

You lean in closer, whispering, “Good girl.”

You’re finger-fucking her in earnest now, her body moving in sync with your hand, the alleyway walls echoing with the slap of skin and the wet sounds of your digits plunging into her, your knuckles smacking against her clit. She’s trying to keep it together, trying not to scream out loud, her eyes squeezed shut tight as if that could hold back the orgasm that’s barrelling down on her.

Her breaths are coming out in little pants, and you know she’s close, so close, she’s nearly crying. “Just your fingers—fuck—it’s just your fingers,” she’s repeating it in disbelief, like it shouldn’t feel this good, not yet, like she needs the mantra to keep herself grounded as your hand lights up every nerve in her body.

She’s there, right on the edge, only needing that extra push, that pressure in just the right place, just waiting for your word to send her spiralling over. “Cum for me now, Minji.”

And that’s all it takes.

You hold her steady, fuck her hard with your fingers, rub at her clit, and she’s clenching down, all tiny shakes and choked gasps, her eyes snapping open and then squeezing shut as she reaches the precipice.

"God—fuck—I can't—"

It hits her hard and fast and all at once—her whole body seizing around your hand, her cunt tightening, her hips thrusting forward, needing more friction. Her mouth opens wide, but you trap her lips before she can make a sound, kissing her fiercely, tasting the sweetness of her release on her tongue, feeling the tremors of her orgasm travel from her core to the tips of your fingers.

Her hands are all over you, her nails digging into your shoulders, leaving little half-moons in your skin as she clutches you closer, her tongue dancing with yours as if her life depends on it. You keep going, not letting up until she’s fully ridden the wave, and it’s a sight to behold—Minji coming apart against a dirty alley wall, her legs trembling like they might give out at any second.

When she does finally go still, when her breathing starts to even out, you break the kiss, pulling away to look into her eyes, searching for the usual signs of regret or embarrassment that often follow these kinds of moments. But she’s looking at you with something else entirely: a mix of awe and excitement, like she’s just experienced something she never knew existed.

“You okay?” You murmur, the question more of a formality than anything, because she looks absolutely anything but okay. She looks fucking amazing, a breathless, boneless mess against the wall, her chest rising and falling rapidly with every inhale.

Her eyes are still glazed over, wide and dark, her mouth slack and swollen from your kisses. You can see her trying to process what just happened, the reality of it all, but she’s still too lost in the aftermath of her orgasm to form coherent thoughts.

“Yeah,” she breathes out finally, nodding shakily. “I’m—yeah, I’m good.”

You withdraw your hand, giving her pussy one last gentle squeeze before pulling away, and she whines, a high-pitched noise that makes you twitch.

She’s flushed, her hair a mess from your hands, her lipstick smudged, her dress hiked up around her waist, panties around her ankles. The way she’s looking at you now, it's worship, like you're a secret that she’s just discovered and is desperate to keep to herself. “I fucking knew it,” she says. “The rumours were true.”

You smirk, wiping your hand on the side of your pants, watching her struggle to stand straight. “Ready for round two?”

Her gaze flicks downwards, to the bulge in your pants, and she nods, swallows hard. “Yeah, I—fuck yes.”

There’s no hesitation now, no pretending she doesn’t know what she’s signed up for. She’s all in, and you want her, here, now, because that’s what you do—you take what you want.

You kiss her again, deep and greedy, one hand on the wall behind her head, the other gripping her tight, keeping her in place as you grind against her, letting her feel the hardness of your cock, everything she’s been waiting for.

“Please, don’t stop,” she pleads, and you don’t—you can’t.

Not now, when she’s letting you tug down on her dress, letting it pool around her ankles like a discarded secret. She’s a vision, standing in the cold, stark alley in just her heels and her underwear—and there’s her tits, perky and perfect, begging to be touched.

You don’t even bother with the bra, you just yank it down, the straps snapping and the fabric falling away to reveal her nipples—pink and stiff and so fucking tempting. You can’t help yourself, they’re practically calling for you to taste them, so you draw one into your mouth, feeling her gasp against your ear, her hand sliding into your hair, holding you against her chest.

Her skin is hot against your tongue, and you suck, and bite, and lick until she’s whimpering, until she’s pushing herself into your lips. Your hand is exploring the rest of her naked body—running down her stomach, tracing the lines of her abs, feeling her stomach muscles clench with every breath she takes. She’s so tight, so toned—it’s like you’re touching a sculpture, or a personal playground made just for you.

“Oh my God,” she whimpers, “so good, so, so good, how does it feel—?”

Her words cut off as your teeth graze her nipple—she’s so reactive to every touch, and it has you wondering—has she ever been touched like this before? Has her body every truly been explored like this, pushed to these heights?

“You want more?” You murmur into her chest, your fingers returning to her wet folds, your thumb reintroducing itself to her clit.

“Your cock,” she says, sucking a harsh breath through her teeth. “I want it, I need it—please—I’m ready for it.” It’s that word—please—how it rolls off her tongue, the desperation in it, how it makes her sound so needy and vulnerable.

“Then take it,” you command, breaking away from her chest, stepping backwards to give her room to do exactly what she's been begging for.

Minji doesn’t miss a beat, hands gentle but determined, her fingers at your belt, fumbling with the buckle, loosening the zipper. She’s hungry for it, for this moment of truth, to verify for herself—what’s been talked about in whispers and rumours, what’s been taunting her all evening.

Your pants hit the ground, and she’s staring at your cock with wide eyes, and for a second you can almost see the doubt creeping in. But she swallows it down, and with a soft grip, wraps her small hand around you, stroking you from base to tip.

“So this is it,” she says, taking the full measure of your length, her thumb smearing the pre-cum over your head. “This is the cock that ruins idols. They said it splits women in half.”

You chuckle, but she’s completely ignoring you, well, ignoring all parts of you that isn’t your cock. Her hand is tentative at first, working its way up and down, feeling you grow harder by the second in her palm. You can feel her wonder, her excitement, a hunger matched only by the ache in your cock.

It's the way she’s not saying anything, just touching, feeling. Not that you mind the quiet—it's intimate, just the two of you, the sound of her breaths, your heart beating in your ears, and the distant thump of the world you left behind.

She’s gaining confidence now, her strokes more deliberate, a smug smile gracing her lips as she watches how you react to her touch. You bite back a groan, not wanting to give away how much she’s getting to you, but fuck, she’s getting good at this. She’s clearly learning on the job, eyes keen to see just how you like it—how fast, how tight—how to make you fall apart in her hands.

It’s time to reign her in, you’re heading into deeper waters now. You grasp her wrist, stopping her, ignoring her pouts and whines. “Not yet,” you say, “I’m going to split you in half with my cock now.”

That makes her grin. She does this thing, this cute little twirl, spinning around on her heels to face the wall, and posting herself up against it. Her legs spread wide, giving you a perfect view of her splayed pussy, glistening under the dim neon light. She’s got her hands above her head—she’s putting herself on display for you, like your own private Mona Lisa.

A look back at you and she catches you gawking—eyes glued to her ass, her pussy—and she winks. “Are you just going to stare, or do I have to make you fuck me?” She says it so casually, like she’s back at the bar ordering another drink. “Hurry up, please. I need it. Inside me. Now."

No more waiting, no further invitations needed—there’s teasing, and then there’s both of you craving it, dying for this.

You’re behind her in an instant, pressing her into the wall, her cheek against the cold brick, her juicy ass up in the air. You guide your cock to her entrance, the head nudging against her—she’s soaked, pussy drooling on your tip—and she gasps, looking back at you with those doe eyes, all wide and innocent—like she hasn’t been begging for this since the moment she looked in your direction.

“Fuck Minji, you're so fucking wet for me,” you say, running your cock down her slit, coating it in her juices, “so needy for me, aren’t you?

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice strained, like every moment without your cock inside her is torture. “I want it all. Every fucking inch.”

The first push is a slide into heaven—she’s tight, so fucking tight, so, so wet, like she’s never had anyone else—like she’s been waiting just for you. She’s teary, gasping, and you feel her body tense, but she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t dare ask you to stop. Instead, she arches her back, pushing herself back onto you, urging you deeper.

“God,” she’s chanting now, feeling inch after inch sliding into her, “it’s so—it’s already making me so—”

It’s slow, deep, fucking, stretching seconds into an eternity, stretching her pussy out with your girth, stretching her to fit you, to keep you, to never let you leave. It’s careful, almost tender at first—let her set the pace, let her show you how much she can take.

She’s moaning, low and guttural, and you wrap one hand around her waist to hold her steady as you thrust into her, let her get comfortable with your size, make her tits bounce with every pump, make her legs shake beneath her. And then there’s that lip bite again—she’s trying to keep quiet, but little moans are escaping her, getting lost in the night.

You ease out, then push back in, setting a steady rhythm that’s got her rocking back onto you. Minji seems like a delicate little thing, but there's a strength to her, a suppleness—she’s meeting you thrust for thrust, her pussy like pure velvet around your cock, gripping you tight, trying to milk you.

Hand finds her chin, tilting her head back so you can kiss her again—long, deep, tongue-filled kisses that make her whine and buck against you. She’s slowly, but surely adjusting to you now, her body learning the rhythm of your cock, getting used to being so completely filled.

It's in the way she's moaning into your mouth, like she's never been fucked like this before, never had someone so big, never had a cock so demanding of her tight little cunt. But she's so eager for it, her pussy so warm and welcoming, swallowing you up with every thrust.

It’s not normally like this—you’re not normally like this—but something has you asking between kisses, “You okay?”

She laughs, pushing herself back against you, pushing her cunt down on you, taking you deeper, burying your cock to the hilt. “I’m not going to break, I promise,” she says, looking over her shoulder, needing this. “I need you to fuck me—no holding back—I can take it all—everything you’ve ever given anyone else, all those other girls. I can handle it.”

“Show me.”

It’s throwing gasoline on a fire—she's asking for it, burning for it. You fuck her like you mean it—pull out all the way, force it all the way back in, hard, deep, rough. A shriek and she's wailing now, true to her word she’s taking it, taking it all, utterly lost in each perfect push into her cunt. She’s so beautiful like this, so open and raw—gone is the perfect idol, she’s just another girl getting fucked in an alley by some guy she just met.

Both hands are gripping into her hips, holding her in place, holding her upright, feeling her walls clench and release around you. Marks are going to be left there too, your fingerprints on her skin, bruises that she’ll have to hide with makeup tomorrow.

“So good—so fucking good—just—“ Minji can barely make out full sentences, let alone words as you fuck her, as you own her. “Harder! Fuck! Rougher!"

It’s like a drug, this power, watching her come apart for you, knowing you’re the one making her feel this way, knowing she’ll let you do whatever you want, whatever you need as long as it makes her come apart. And you’re feeding off of it, her words pushing you closer to the edge, letting her need for you drive you, unlock that primal part of your brain. Fucking her like this, so filthy and wrong and everything you love about this life.

You pick up the pace, driving your hips forward—"harder—fuck—harder"—until she’s shaking, her legs giving out, and the only thing keeping her on her feet is your cock and your arms.

“Fuck—I know what they said but—fuck! Is this what they all felt?” She gasps out, “is this how it always feels?”

Your lips on her neck, her hair sticking to your face, the scent of her perfume, of her, intoxicating. “It doesn’t always feel like this,” you answer, you grunt. “But you do. You feel so fucking good, Minji. So fucking perfect for me.”

“You're so big,” she says, her voice trembling, “I feel so—fuck—full.”

It’s not just the way she’s clenching around you, how she’s now able to take every inch of you like she’s been fucking you her whole life—it’s how she says your name, like you’re the only one that could ever make you feel this way, like you’re the one who ever will.

You grab her tits, squeezing them, seizing them, pinching and twisting her nipples between your fingers. All it does is make her beg, “fuck—I love it—how rough you are—” needing more of everything you have, “your hands—your cock—please don’t stop, don’t ever stop—I can take it please—rougher please—fuck!”

Something cracks inside you, and your hand comes down on her ass, the sound bouncing off the walls like a gunshot. Minji jolts, yelps, but the noise is quickly swallowed by a moan, a squeezing of her cunt around you.

“Fuck that felt—”

You do it again, and again, each slap a little harder, a little more punishing, the sting making her flesh jiggle deliciously with every impact. She doesn’t retreat, she’s slamming her ass back down on you, slapping her cheeks against your waist, needing to feel more.

“Gah—fuck—harder!”

She can’t help herself, minutes ago she could barely handle your size, now she can’t hold back from crying out for more pain, more excruciating pleasure.

Each smack, each groan, each breath that’s ripped from her lungs is a declaration of your power, of her need. And you revel in it, your hand coming down on her ass, leaving a trail of red marks against her creamy-white skin.

“More, please, more,” she calls for it, calls for the sting, the heat, her pussy clamping down on you, walls pulsing with every hit, her body needing the release that’s building up, inevitable and intense.

Her ass is nothing but a canvas painted by the strokes of your hand and the relentless pounding of your cock, and you can’t help but admire your handiwork, you're struggling to suppress the urge to lean down and kiss each spot you’ve marked.

“You’re going to be so sore tomorrow,” you say, your teeth grazing the shell of her ear.

“I know,” she answers, her voice a whine, a plea, a moan. “But this is what I wanted—to feel—to remember this—this moment—getting fucked like you own me—because you do—so don’t hold back—don’t ever hold back.”

You’re both sweaty, panting—you can feel her orgasm building, like a storm in the distance, thunder rumbling closer and closer until it's right above you, ready to break. And there’s your own, too, that delicious pressure at the base of your spine, the promise of release, coming at you just as quick.

But you’re not going to let her get there—not yet—not when you’ve got her like this, pliant and open and so in need. You lean forward, your chest pressing against her back, and slide your hand down, reaching around to find her clit.

It’s slick and stiff and wanting, and Minji screams—a high, keening sound that you want to hear again and again. You’re playing with it, swiping it with your thumb in tight circles, feeling her clench around you with every pass.

“I’m almost—God that feels so good—I’m almost!”

But you stop, pull out of her, abruptly, making her cry out, making her turn around, a mess of emotions on her face—desire, confusion, awe.

“What are you—” Minji tries to ask, but you’re spinning her around and pressing her back against the wall. Her leg comes up, wrapping around your waist, but you take it and lift it higher, testing the extent of her flexibility, throwing it over your shoulder.

She’s right on that edge, you can see it—her pupils dilate, her mouth opens in a silent scream, her body tenses, her cunt melting around you. But you weren't going to let her cum like that, not without watching her face, not without seeing the moment she cracks and shatters.

Now you’re face to face, chest to chest, her eyes needing yours to anchor herself to, needing to know what you’re going to do to her. No time for breaks—in one, deep thrust you're all the way back inside her, making her scream with the suddenness of it, the shock, the bliss of being so perfectly filled.

She groans, weeps with each pump into her, and she’s smiling through it all. “So—” she asks, struggling to form intelligible sentences. “How do I—fuck—how do I—mmmph—compare to the others?”

You grunt, barely registering the question, your mind clouded by the spasms of her cunt around you. “What others?”

“The other girls—God—the other idols,” she says, strained. “The ones you’ve fucked before—the ones you’ve ruined—how do I—aah—compare?”

You kiss her again, a bruising, punishing kiss that steals the question from her lips. You don’t need to answer that. You’re showing her. You’re fucking showing her how she compares, how she’s the best, the tightest, the wettest, the most eager. You’re showing her how she’s going to be the one they whisper about in the halls of HYBE and beyond, she'll become the story that will be told as a warning, about the sweet, innocent idol ruined in a dirty alleyway.

Your world is spinning around you now—there’s your hand on her throat, a gentle squeeze, just enough to make her eyes water, to make her breath catch. But she’s not scared, not with the way she’s grinning, not with how she’s grinding her hips to meet yours.

“Fuck—make me scream—” It’s a plea, a demand, she’s so stunning, so tortured in her need for it, “do whatever you want to me, whatever you need—just—make me cum harder—God please—harder than any of them ever did.”

Any care you had for getting caught, about the consequences of what you're doing—where you're doing it—dissipates into the ether. Nothing exists outside of the race to her orgasm, outside of your hips recklessly pounding into her, reducing her to moans and shakes and trembles.

“Cum for me,” you growl, “right here, right now, Minji—cum for me again—show me that you’re mine.”

“I was made for you,” she says, and it’s not just the heat of the moment talking, it’s something else, something deeper. She’s not just saying it to get off, she’s saying it like it’s a revelation, like she’s been waiting for you, for this exact moment.

“Prove it.”

It hits her like a fucking truck, and Minji’s screaming, filth belted from her mouth and into the night, her pussy quaking around your cock, her whole body entering into seizure. You keep going, riding out her orgasm, feeling her cum on your cock, feeling her body go rigid, her muscles tense, it’s those abs, so tight, it’s those absurdly strong contractions that have you falling after her.

“God—fuck, I—can’t believe—can’t believe—”

You’re fucking her through it, not giving her a moment’s reprieve, not letting her come down from that high, because you’re not ready for this to end, not when she’s so helpless. You hold her tight through it, let her shake, rattle against you, let her nails dig into your arms, let her cum drench you.

“Fuuuuuuck!”

It’s too much for her to take, and once the storm has finally subsided, Minji is just a ragdoll in your arms. Her legs are limp, held up by your grip alone, still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her makeup is ruined, a mix of sweat and your kisses, leaving dark streaks on her cheeks. Her hair, plastered to her forehead, her eyes half-closed, and there’s her body—marks of your teeth on her chest, her breasts, the bruises of your fingers around her hips, the mottled red of her ass, a map of your dominance painted on her perfect skin.

It’s not just the physical marks you’ve left on her; it’s the way she’s looking at you now, awe, desperation, realisation that it’s all true, every rumour, everything they’ve said about you—and she’s the latest filthy chapter in your story.

But you’re not done yet, you haven’t finished. You’re pulling out, and she’s whining, making your cock throb with her pleas. You guide her to the floor, to her knees, her dress puddled around her, the cold concrete biting into her skin.

You’re standing over her, looking down at her like she’s a prize, your prize. “Open your mouth,” you tell her, and she does, without hesitation, without question.

You grab your cock, still slick with her juices, and stroke yourself, watching her tongue dart out to lick her lips, watching the anticipation build in her eyes.

It’s the sweetest, most erotic sight you’ve ever seen—Minji, the girl that's everyone's type, the girl who could have anything she wants, anyone, on her knees for you—tongue out, mouth wide open, waiting eagerly for your cum.

And then you do it—you let go, shooting ropes of hot cum, painting her face, letting it dribble down onto her chin, onto her chest, onto her toned stomach, covering her until she’s a sticky mess of lust and desire. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away—she loves the feeling of it, shivering as your hot cum hits her skin.

She holds position through it all—knees on the ground, eyes closed, a serene smile as if she’s just been blessed. And when you're done, when your cock is finally spent, she looks up at you with a grin that's pure sin.

Minji takes a finger, dips it into the mess on her chin, and tastes you. It's a bold move, it’s messy, it’s wrong, it’s perfect. There’s the glimmer of triumph in her eyes, the knowledge that she's made you do something so raw, that she made you lose all control.

For a second there’s nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, the come down from your euphoric high. Minji speaks, still shaky from the orgasm that ripped through her. “That was—” she pauses, searching for the right word. “—incredible. Fuck!”

There’s a rush of arrogance, a smug smile of satisfaction at her confession. “So, do I live up to the legend?”

Minji wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing your cum across her cheek. There’s a glint in her eye, like she’s got a secret that she’s dying to share. “More than I could have ever imagined. You’re not just a man-whore, you’re a fucking artist.”

You laugh at that, as you tuck yourself back in, smoothing down your shirt, trying to compose yourself, pretending like her words don’t mean anything to you, like you don’t take pride in the validation of every girl you fuck.

“How do I rank?” she asks, the question coming out of nowhere, and you blink down at her, your brain trying to catch up. “I mean, out of all the idols you’ve fucked?”

“Rank?” you repeat. "I don't keep a list, that would be..." You trail off, realizing what you're about to say, and now it’s her turn to laugh.

“Crass?” she supplies. “I know, but I’m just curious.”

“You’re fucking fantastic, that’s for sure,” you reassure her, making her giggle, the laughter bubbling up from her chest like it’s the best compliment she’s ever heard. “Why—do you keep a list?”

Her smile falters for a moment, but then she’s grinning again, looking even more wicked with the cum pasted across her face, and it makes you want to bend her over and fuck her all over again. “Of course I do. And you’ll be happy to know that you’re number one.”

“That’s good to know.”

But then she says, “Of one.”

And you freeze. The air around you turns to ice, and she’s looking up at you with those big, dark eyes, and you realise what she’s saying, what she’s just admitted to you. You’ve taken her virginity, and she’s looking at you like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

“You were…” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Don’t,” she says, her voice firm. “Don’t make this something it’s not. I wanted this, and I wanted it to be with you. I told you: I can handle it all.”

But that doesn’t stop your mind from racing, trying to process what she’s saying. You had your suspicions—she was so tight, so new, so untouched—and now she’s yours, in a way that no one else can claim. You wiped away her innocence, and she’s not running, not crying, not regretful.

The weight of it settles in your stomach, a strange cocktail of pride and guilt. You’ve ruined her, in the best way possible. You’ve claimed something precious and pure, and she’s given it to you willingly, eagerly.

“Fuck, Minji,” you start, trying to find the words. “If you had told me, I would’ve—”

“You would’ve what? I lost my virginity by having filthy, mind-blowing sex in a dark alley with the best cock in all of Korea,” she says, pridefully, with her entire chest, fully believing every word she's saying. “Can you really tell me your story was any better? I bet whoever it was with didn’t scream like I did. Or cum so hard she couldn’t see straight.”

You cast your mind back to the past, and you have to concede the point. “I see what you mean. But still—” You feel like you should say something, but what? It’s not like you can apologize, not when she’s looking at you like that, like she’s just won the fucking lottery. “How does it feel?”

“A-ma-zing,” she draws out, rising to her feet. “Everything I’ve ever heard about, multiplied by a million. You might’ve ruined sex for me completely.”

You watch as she puts herself back together, sliding her panties back on, tugging her dress over her head and down her hips. She’s smoothing her hair back, trying to fix the mess you’ve made of her; wiping at the cum on her chin, her cheek, trying to erase the evidence of your encounter, trying to put the mask of the sweet, innocent idol back on.

But you know better. You know what’s hiding beneath that polished exterior.

“Come home with me,” you find yourself saying before you can think better of it.

Minji turns to you, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and there's that hint of challenge again. “Why?” she asks, tilting her head to the side. “You want to cuddle and fall asleep together? Wake up, have breakfast in bed?”

“Yeah,” you nod, honestly. “After I’ve fucked you senseless again, of course. But yeah, come home with me.”

“That would be nice,” Minji says, a soft smile on her face. It's surreal, this moment, so at odds with the grimy alleyway and the smell of sex sticking to her skin. She looks so pure now, in complete contrast to how roughly you were fucking her just moments ago. Her innocence wasn’t lost, it was just painted with a fresh coat of your sin.  “But—you know I can’t. They’re waiting.”

“Worth a shot,” you shrug, not bothering to hide your disappointment.

And then she produces your phone, holding it out to you. “You need to be more careful with your things.”

“When did you—”

“Now you’ve got my number,” she says. “You’re welcome to do whatever it is you want with it. But I’m hoping you use it.”

You take it out of her hands, swiping away the string of missed calls and messages, the digital proof of how much trouble you’re going to be in come morning. But for now, it’s irrelevant. For now, there’s only Minji, and the way she’s standing there, looking up at you, smiling like she’s just stepped off the stage.

“You’re going to go back to them?” you ask, gesturing towards the club entrance, to where the rest of her group are probably still gossiping, plotting your downfall.

“Of course,” Minji says. “They’re my friends. They care about me. They’ll want to make sure I’m okay.”

“And when they find out what we just did?”

“Oh, they’re going to want to kill you,” she answers, with a giggle. You’ve had enough of these types of conversations to know she’s not joking. “Except Dani, maybe. She’ll probably want a shot at you too. If I let her.”

"Noted," you say, trying to keep the image of Danielle, splayed against the wall like Minji before her, out of your head. "What exactly are you going to tell them?"

Minji pauses, thinking, before landing on a succinct summary. "I’ll just tell them that you fucked my brains out and then ditched me in an alley.”

You sigh, “sounds brutal.”

“Well, it is what it is,” Minji says, and she’s pressing a kiss to your cheek, her lips still sticky with the residue of your cum, the last traces of what's just happened.

You watch her go, watch as she turns away, walking back towards the club, a little stumble, a little trouble keeping steady. You should be feeling guilty, you should be regretting this, but all you can think is how good it felt, how right it felt. And you know you’ll do it again—you know it deep in your bones.

Minji turns back to you, catching your eye, catching you staring again, and she smiles. “You better go now. You do have a reputation to maintain, after all.”

[selkymaiden]

Are you blonde? Because then we might be working with something here

I still think it's tragic that genuine misandry seems to be dead on here. I should be able to say "I'm sorry for being a man" and then have multiple people will tell me that my crimes can't be forgiven

[self-loving-vampire]

I think the idea that TERFs don't actually hate men based on the idea that they are generally dishonest kind of misses the specific form their lies and general ideology take, even if it's also obviously true they're willing to trade all other possible values in favor of more transphobia and have a particular hostility for trans people going far beyond anything they may feel towards men. These are not mutually-exclusive ideas.

TERFs are profoundly gender essentialist and have very conservative views of sexuality. Their lies on this are more in the form of denial (denial that they are essentialist, denial that they are transphobic) rather than just switching out who their actual target is. It's not simply that they use "men" as a code for "trans women" but that they classify trans women as a particularly depraved type of man.

A lot of their behavior does not make sense if you persuade yourself that TERFs do secretly view trans women as women and are only pretending to hold any hostility towards men.

For one, because of the above-mentioned essentialism TERFs have convinced themselves that women are fundamentally benevolent and safe. I have seen TERFs outright say women cannot be rapists and rely on archaic UK laws for support on this. They think the genders are "predator" and "prey" (which is a binary Serano has written about before as actually being disturbingly common in mainstream society) and assign practically magical properties to penises.

I'm pretty sure that if essentialist transphobes actually saw trans women as women then their #1 stereotype for trans women would not be that of a violent and depraved sexual predator. In fact, when they encounter news articles of cis women committing those sorts of crimes they immediately jump to the conclusion that the criminal is actually a trans woman and start the transvestigaton.

But you don't have to just trust me. You can just check what they say to each other (rather than just what they present to outsiders) in their own reddit clone. They have an entire tag that is just a curated selection of news stories (mainly from stuff like the Daily Mail) that they use to mutually radicalize each other by maintaining constant fear and anger. Many of these stories don't even involve trans people (though unsurprisingly they do go out of their way to feature them disproportionately).

Many of them are standard carceral stuff about how society is too lenient on rapists and how porn is genocide.

(Not even hyperbole.)

So yeah, I do think radfems sincerely hate men and that denying this requires a lot of reaching and conspiratorial thinking. They just hate trans women even more and are willing to make political alliances with even abusive religious conservatives if it will help them attack trans people.

[femaletobitch]

💖About Miss💖 (18+)

Hello everyone, I'm a confused girl that was finally brave enough to make a blog for misgendering instead of pretending to be something I'm not!! I'm a 20 year old fakeboy cis woman here to be misgendered, deadnamed, humiliated, and feminized by anyone who wants to teach me my true nature.

Sometimes I like asking people to call me he/him (in-kink) or to stop calling me my deadname, but when this happens this should not discourage you!! It only means you need to misgender me more because I'm very confused. (And because the resistance and refusal to gender me correctly is extremely hot to me.)

If I actually don't wish to be misgendered anymore, I will specifically tell you in a way that you'll know it's out of kink. But likely if I don't want to be misgendered anymore, I'll just log off lol.

I'm not actually transphobic and I don't think trans men are women. When I say something in-kink that's feminizing towards trans men, it's not meant to be directed towards the transmasc doms into this kink or transmascs out of kink. I just say things that turn me on, if it makes you uncomfortable then just assume it's not towards you and move on. IRL I am happy with my life as a man, but on here I love to be invalidated and disrespected for being a confused girl instead🩷🩷

Kinks (a few of them):

Hucow

Detrans/misgendering

Tradwife/misogyny/patriarchy

Breast/nipple growth

Pregnancy

Birth

Deadnaming

Forced feminization

Rape kink

Large insertions

Exposure

Humiliation and degradation

Bimbofication

Limits:

Posting about me without getting explicit consent

Screenshotting my posts posting them other places without my username visible (just give me credit)

Asking me to shave, but sometimes I like shaving in a fantasy scenario

Actually detransitioning

Expecting me to do difficult tasks for you without asking or talking about it first

Asking me to use another app

I don't have a lot of limits on here because I curate my own experience online. If I don't like something I just avoid it, but I like almost all kinks that have to do with feminization. I'm not great at intros but I hope I can be the perfect girly slut for you to abuse and violate as you wish 💕💕

[ustulia]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ The Archives ˖ ࣪ ⊹

A curation of creators and creations that I highly recommend. Will be continually updated as I get more time to work on it.

18+ content warning

My Works

Processing….

Series that I absolutely adore ♡

Painted Smile, @worldofkuro

Summary: You couldn't wait to meet new friends. What you didn't expect was this smiling little boy, only one year older than you, that would take such a big place in your life.

Taking Care, @valerie-is-in-the-cupboard

Summary: After Alastor comes home injured, you tend to his wounds. Despite his attempts to hide this dark side of him, you eventually learn to accept it.

Zoologist Series, @inuhalfdemon

Summary: Reader has a degree in zoology and is a menus to the residents of the hotel, specifically to Alastor

Caught, @redvexillum

Summary: You wake up in Hell one day with memories holey as swiss cheese. Despite your disadvantaged state, you're determined to challenge Heaven's judgment. But as time ticks on relentlessly, your memories slowly return, and you fight tooth and nail to prevent your faith in redemption from tarnishing.

Until...it does.

If Music Be The Food of Love, @deafsignifcantother

Summary: Reader is a deaf ex-overlord who has shut herself in her home away from society until on of her overlord friends, Alastor, reappears after seven years.

A Misdemeanor of the Heart, @redfoxwritesstuff

Summary: Fading away in an abusive marriage, each day passes just the same as the last. Painful monotony eats at you until a pair of warm brown eyes sparks the idea that you could have something more. When a business deal between men sparks a torrid affair, how long can you keep things going before the fire either leaves you a burnt out shell or burns up everything around you? And what becomes of the radio host who thought he was above the fickle fires of the heart when the match he strikes burns his hand instead? Can he possess what rightfully belongs to another man without leaving everything he has fought for in ashes?

Creators that never disappoint ♡

Writers: @alastor-simp, @fraugwinska, @hazelfoureyes, @klttn, @lurochar, @6esiree, @whatswrongwithblue

Artists: @az-roser, @notherpuppet, @oxavane, @re-unknown, @strawijuice

For more broad recommendations, please use the tags under this post to help navigate through my blog

[amartianonmars]

I was really enamored with all the fem Dethklok designs I saw around but I myself have a very specific vision for each girl, all described under the cut.

Natalie 'Nat' Explosion: She's taller than the average woman at 5'11 and has maintained a strong build from high school field hockey (most high schools I know don't really do women's football). She doesn't really go too heavy on the makeup besides stage makeup besides her signature black lipstick (which is just an overused eyeliner pencil) for that 'demon gurgling blood' look

Pickles the Drummer: She left her house after her mother didn't accept her transition into womanhood and joined an all female glam metal band, and while she has left that behind she can't help to do her makeup like the good ol' days. Usually its 3 days old and just cleaned up with a fresh coat of lipstick, her black nail polish reapplied usually when Nat does hers. She's pretty tall at 5'8" but still only the third tallest in the group. Her womb tattoo is a play on Snakes N Barrel's (there's a 'snake' in my 'barrel' so to speak) and she wears low rise jeans and shirts she cut herself to show it off. While the estrogen has kept the 'male pattern baldness' gene at bay, she still a white woman with dreads so she is still balding .

Winona 'Winny' Murderface: She's the shortest female member at 5'5", and she has the Napoleon complex to match. She rarely showers and shaves (the hair keeps coming up in weird patches) and has five identical outfits she cycles through. She never wore makeup growing up as an ugly duckling, every attempt shut down by bullying classmates and a conservative grandpa who claimed she looked like an 'ugly harlot' so Murderface usually goes bare face. Though every once in a while, Pickles and Seeveya will find a missing tube of lipstick in her bathroom that she claims to have 'never seen before'. Despite her 'masculine' interests and pick me behavior, she has bad luck with men, though her interests don't really seem fixated on them (she's gay AND homophobic)

Seeveya Skwisgaard: It's not actually her name (Svea, meaning literally 'from Sweden' according to Google), she pronounced it when introducing herself and everyone made assumptions on how it was spelled until it was bastardized to hell and back and she's too deep into fame to change it by the time she made it to Dethklok. The tallest member over Nat, she stands at 6'0" and is essentially built like a Swedish supermodel with the ego to boot. While she likes to keep her hair short and her appearance androgynous, she is extremely self conscious of being perceived as masculine due to her strong facial features and her small chest. Her makeup style is specially curated over years of trial and error, and she wakes up extra early despite her drug and booze fueled partying to make sure she's still the most beautiful woman in the room.

Toki Wartooth: Toki is the second shortest member of Dethklok at 5' 7", though the way she carries herself makes her seem much shorter. She's not the makeup type and lacks the patience for nail polish, though her natural beauty gives her no need for it. Despite this she does play dress up with Seeveya's (very expensive) products from time to time (including secret makeover sessions with Winny) and does love fun accessories, especially if she makes them herself. Despite her cute interests and fun demeanor, her build is strong from years of working in building in her old country. Her being used to hard labor means that when she's pent up she's usually at the gym for a few hours to relieve stress. Otherwise she's building planes, making bracelets for her band sisters, or working on her model planes.

Charlotte 'Charles' Offdensen: She's 5'6" (5' 8" with the heels) and is usually seen with a power suit and business ready makeup no matter the time or hour, her bun as tight and high strung as she is. Her strong energy and confident voice makes her an opponent as a business woman, though her glasses seem to be missing, well, the glass? Her plain-Jane appearance overlook her as the threat she truly is on the battlefield.

[luxuryandlilacs]

Manifestelle

On a dream girl journey, we want to basically brainwash ourselves to be the best version of ourselves. One way to do that is watching specific content to curate that dream girl. One youtuber I’ve been loving is Manifestelle. Here are some notes I’ve been taking so far:

Broke men love to project their insecurities and negativity on you. Don’t let them have access to you.

You shouldn’t be friends with men. Men look better when they are seen with you. They need to invest in you if they are to be seen with you.

As a woman, you are valuable just by existing.

Listen with your ears, not your triggers.

De-centering men is centering yourself and your desires.

Don’t get mad, get paid.

Abolish low effort men, 💅

Men want the high maintenance.

Stop playing life on hard mode.

Use the patriarchy to your benefit.

[rimouskis]

could you explain more about what you view as the before era and what you view as the after? i need to learn my herstory

I think this requires a more detailed and educated/researched answer than I can give after an exhausting workday and an after-hours work event, but I'm going to do my best and also open up the floor in reblogs for people to chip in their thoughts

foremost: a DISCLAIMER that this post does not aim to shit on writers from the "before" era. there are many classic fics that I love and enjoy, even if I consider their characterizations to be "less accurate"* than the ones we have in the after era.

*aside to say: accuracy is based only off of literal media accounts we have of these men; we do not know them, we should not claim to know them, and they have had different comfort levels with the media knowing selective truths about their lives [sid out of choice, geno out of media xenophobia] than they did when these early fics were being written.

"before" fics (which I tend to refer to as "classic" fics, and had their heyday in 2012-2013 but continued up until 2016ish) tended to have more regimented roles for sid and geno. sid was usually the protagonist; geno was the love interest.

this came with a cascading set of characteristics assigned to each guy. sid was poor-little-meow-meow'd. geno was the pursuer in the relationship. sid usually bottomed. sid had the whole spacetoaster moment (he was the inspiration for the term, haha). there wasn't much a/b/o fic but sid was, like, the omega-fied one and geno was alpha-ized.

something I've been thinking about more recently is how 2012-2013 era sidgeno displayed signs of Migratory Slash Fandom. I don't think of MSF as an inherently negative/condemning thing, but I think it's a phenomenon that deserves to be mentioned/analyzed, yeah?

MSF thrives on big character differences.... like, grumpy/sunshine, sarcastic/broody, genius/empath. it's all about emphasizing disparate archetypes to create natural tension in a story. this works really well in most romance novels! I love it!

the issues arise when people try to make characters fit into these preset dynamics. and, frankly, when sidgeno first got big, we straight-up didn't know as much about sid and geno. I mean that. despite sid being EXTENSIVELY covered by media from age, like, 14, he was really tight-lipped compared to what we have now.

and geno was.... there. I don't mean that as a diss—he was INCREDIBLE, but the media totally passed him over again and again. or they helped contribute to stereotypes of him being a dumb oaf who didn't know english.

aside: ironically I think that helped in creating sidgeno and not, like.... sidflower or sidtanger. geno was so "DIFFERENT" from sid (aka: russian, characterized by media as not knowing how to speak [in comparison to sid's highly curated media soundbites]) that it meant he was the best candidate for A Ship with sid.

a lot of the really big writers who got into sidgeno were fandom veterans with lots of experience in other big fandoms. to me, that means MSF had a hand in all this. and we should be grateful, because it led to the BOOM of hockey fic, and of sidgeno fic specifically. modern hrpf wouldn't exist without it.

that being said, those template ship dynamics, plus the media's attitude then towards sid and geno in its coverage, led to those characterizations of whiny soft sensitive boy sid who needed to be rescued even though he was the best hockey player EVER, and geno as the lumbering tall strong alpha not-that-bright Love Interest Man.

this isn't to say every fic was this way, or that this is BAD. I, uh, love poor-little-meow-meow-ing sid and omegafying the hell out of him. what I'm saying is that it was a near-ubiquitous characterization across the board.

that all changed in 2016-2018. I personally wholly credit sevenfists, though I imagine it's more nuanced than that, but: my blog, I make the rules here. I don't know if sevenfists was psychic or just highly observant and absolutely excellent at reading people (and that's basically the same thing, right?), but characterization shifts began taking place in fic....

and the coolest thing happened, in that those characterizations were seemingly reinforced by more media coverage. the back to back cups brought with them TONS of interviews with and media about the team, and sid and geno in particular. the coolest part of it was that sid had loosened up a LOT and geno had gotten more comfortable (and had gotten a reporter firmly on his side).

the interviews about sid post 2016 were just SO different. so much information started coming out, and a LOT of it conflicted with Ye Olde Characterizations. as it turned out, sid was deeply one of the boys. he was funny. everyone liked him. he loved hosting. he was insanely comfortable around almost everyone, including strangers, because he's a little freak who's kind to everyone. he can make smalltalk like no one's business. he's kind of gross. he likes to giggle and be in on jokes and get into the thick of it. he isn't some blushing virgin bride sold off of mario's doorstep, yeah?

and geno, too, was finally getting the coverage he deserved. and his personality was both fortified by age and better shown to us through media. as it turns out, he isn't some happy go lucky oaf. he's mercurial and intensely aware of what others think of him (and he CARES). he's sensitive and thoughtful but also can lash out at random times. he has a wicked sense of humor that he uses as a defense mechanism and as a surefire way to get people to like him, which matters to him. and, as everyone says, he is SMART.

if you had to boil it down, I'd say that post-2016, it became clear that SID is the confident one and GENO is the insecure one. and fic caught onto that with a miraculously fast pace. also: they're more alike than they are different, but I still think romance inherently feeds off of difference and tension, so we still exaggerate things to make the stories ✨WORK✨.

I'm not going to give examples of pre- and post- era fics, because I don't want to point any fingers and say someone was doing characterization "wrong." that's not the takeaway I want anyone to have here.

fandom attitudes have changed. it's been 10 years since that first wave of fics, and while I don't think that's very long, it's a hell of a long time on the internet, and in a niche internet community. what was once the standard for fics (and what was well-read, and what people gravitated towards) was different. not worse—different.

I think it's fair to say the "after" era of fics is more "accurate" to what we know of sid and geno. it's also fair to say that this is only the case because we have a WEALTH of information, character-revealing interviews and videos and anecdotes, that Ye Old Authors could only dream of getting.

I really love the story of how everything has changed, and it's a fabulous microcosm of fandom evolution and how approaches to fanworks have changed and grown with fandom, and I think it's all so so cool.

[r3leee]

wild heart

HEY CHAT!!! guess who’s backkk 😎 so uh there’s absolutely ZERO towa content on this app and i know my girlies are hungry so this is what we’re doing now!!! take it or leave it

pairing: towa bird x fem!bsf!reader

summary: you’re falling messily, horribly, sappily, all around in love with your best friend, towa. thinking she doesn’t feel the same, you stay quiet. little do you know, you should have higher expectations…

warnings: RPF!! don’t like, don’t read, friends to lovers, kind of slow burn?, cursing, established towa and reader crushes (KISS ALREADY, MY GOD), reader likes/liked men at some point, really just fluff

word count: 2900, should take about 22 minutes to read (whoops)

listen to: wild heart by towa bird

“you say i got a reckless streak in my snakeskin boots and levi’s jeans”

YOU’D ONLY MET her a few months ago, but if you knew anything about towa bird, it was that she was an absolute ladykiller.

“how do you do it?” you remember asking her over coffee. towa finished her sip, looking at you with a puzzled expression.

“do what? sip my coffee?” you snickered.

“no. have so many girls fawn over you.” a look of realization came on her face. in response, she just shrugged.

“i don’t know.”

“what do you mean?! there’s gotta be something,” you said, shocked. all she did was laugh and shake her head.

“charm? don’t know what you want me to say.”

the moment you met, she had actually just gotten broken up with by her most recent ex. you remember that day so clearly; how you both ran into each other on the sidewalk, the coffee stain on your shirt, how she apologized so fast you thought she’d explode out of fear.

she insisted she give you her number, take you out for lunch sometime soon as an apology. you thought she was cute.

turns out, the real towa was just hiding under her misery. she was funny, jarring, bold.

and you didn’t know why, but every time she showed up at your apartment after a night out, or you two were out in the city and she told you about the amazing girl she’d met the night before, you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. not even just that; hurt. jealous.

there was no reason to even be as upset as you were; really, they never lasted.

towa would show up at a party, get drunk, find some girl, they’d fuck, then a few different things could happen: towa would forget to ask the girl’s number, the girl would have a boyfriend (ouch), the girl would barely remember the night before, etc.

the most charming part of it all, though? she’d regain her composure so quick, it was almost like nothing happened. you admired it, even celebrated a little when it happened. even if it was bad, you wanted her, and that’s something you couldn’t deny.

“i think you got a wicked smile, and those angel eyes with timeless style”

even if you didn’t know it, those feelings were mutual. heavily.

honestly, towa didn’t even know why she still did this. this constant cycle of fuck, forget, repeat. well she did know why she was doing it, but she hated the reason.

she wanted you. all of you. she had a good sense of detecting crushes, and the second she felt her heart pang looking at you, she knew she was a goner.

the day she knew she liked you, you were at the beach. the both of you went together with some friends. while towa was swimming in the ocean, you had just wanted to tan. you looked gorgeous, laying on your back, reading a book you specifically curated for that day.

but your beauty wasn’t stopping her from getting you in the water.

towa had told one of her friends in the water with her she'd be back in a second as she stepped out and onto the shoreline. she pulled her hair out of her eyes as she glanced at you, eyes fixed on your book. she smiled unconsciously at it.

once she walked over to the umbrella the group was at, the group greeted her. she said hi back before leaning down to your level. "you should get in the ocean," she mumbled.

"mm," you scrunched your face. "it's cold."

"and it's hot out here. come ooooooon," she whined, almost similar to a kid being refused dessert. it made you giggle.

"towa, i love you, but i'm just not feeling it." she sighed, shaking her head and standing back up.

"alright, fine." she glanced at you one more time, pretending to walk away, before she quickly snatched the book out of your hands, dropped it on the sand, and picked you up.

your friends laughed as you shrieked, laughing a bit too. she slung you over her shoulder, walking as fast as she could to the sea as you pleaded her to stop, both of you laughing so hard your stomachs hurt.

once she was in deep enough, she threw you into the cold sea. you screamed as you fell, but quickly regained your composure to splash towa in the face with salt water.

the way you laughed, how your wet hair looked, and how your gorgeous eyes reflected in the sunlight told her enough to know she was gaining a silly, high-school crush on you.

“i could smoke you out for fun in my leather vest. i love you 'til the death, you’re a bullet in my chest”

surprisingly, you had no idea towa even did music until a while after you met. you were at her apartment for dinner, when you asked, “what do you do for work?”

she’d mentioned needing to do stuff for her job a few times, but never exactly what she did.

when she told you, you were shocked. “why didn’t you tell me?! that’s so fucking cool!” you exclaimed.

“cause i don’t think it’s that good!”

that night, you looked her up on spotify and listened to her full discography, even if it wasn’t the biggest. you had no idea how she could think it wasn’t good. it was amazing.

against her wishes, you were there, front row at her next show. she was playing a festival and you stood at the front of the stage for three hours before she came on.

you caught her eyes almost immediately. a small smile spread on her face and she softly shook her head, quickly continuing the song.

when you looked at her outfit, you were taken aback. she was wearing a new leather vest you’d never seen with a long-sleeve black shirt, her usual levi’s jeans, and her usual jewelry. but it was her shoes. these snakeskin boots. you gave them to her for her birthday and she’d never worn them until today. you thought she didn’t like them.

after the show, she led you backstage. she was laying back on a couch, sweaty, gulping from a water bottle you brought her. you nervously tapped your hands on your thigh. “you did great.”

she finished gulping, wiping her mouth. “thank you. it wasn’t my best show, though. kind of embarrassed you saw that.”

“i thought it was great.”

“i messed up a bit, though.”

“i didn’t even notice,” you reassured. she sighed.

“you sure?”

“100%.” she let the topic go, nodding her head. you sat in awkward silence for a second. the tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. “you’re wearing the boots.” she glanced down at them.

“oh, ya.”

“thought you didn’t like them.”

“no, i do, it’s just…didn’t have a good time to wear them. until today. thought they’d look good with the outfit.”

you nodded in understanding. “i mean, they do look good. but boots? on stage?

“mm, wasn’t thinking. just thought it looked nice,” she lied. truth was, she wanted a reminder of you to be on her, no matter the pain. you just shook your head.

“fuckin’ dumbass. you look nice, though.”

“awwww, thanks, darling,” she teased, suddenly leaning over to kiss your cheek.

this was a banter you two had; acting like a couple jokingly. anyone with eyes could see it wasn’t casual for either of you, but you two were just oblivious and doubtful.

you smiled and blushed. “of course, honey,” you said through a giggle. she patted your thigh, kicking off her shoes.

“come on, let’s get you home.”

the next morning, videos of the performance scattered the internet. there was one particular video you saw: it was when she noticed you in the crowd. the text read “OMFG DOES SHE HAVE A GF??? WHO IS SHE LOOKING AT LIKE THAT WHATTTT”

the whole rest of the day, you were smiling and giggly, happy someone thought you two were more than just friends.

little did you know, towa had seen the same video and felt the same exact way.

“oh you, i can’t believe that you could tame my wild, wild heart”

even if crushes weren't that unusual for towa, this was to a new extreme. you were always somehow there, in the back of her mind.

when she was trying to go to bed, when she was watching a movie you mentioned you liked once, when she had any time to herself, her thoughts always drifted to you. it was eating her alive.

suddenly, to your surprise, the nights she spent out decreased. she started to take care of herself more, becoming less hungover and more energetic.

you two hung out more, making it almost a weekly ritual to meet up for dinner at one of your apartments. you would either cook or order dinner, catch up on the latest gossip, and laugh as the warm glow of the kitchen lights illuminated your faces.

you both always wanted to reach out, feel the other's skin on their palm. but you never did. you both opted for scooting a bit closer when the other wasn't looking and hoped that was enough. it made towa’s heart pound and she didn't know why.

you were making her crazy.

"i'm pretty quick, shoot from the hip with words that whip, but i'm in your grip"

it didn't take long for her to tell you how she felt. that's kind of just how towa was; quick. just like a stereotypical lesbian.

you always teased her about it, saying you'd never agree to go as fast as she did. and you always believed that. until it happened to you.

the two of you were having breakfast at a restaurant (towa paying for part of losing a bet.) you were just chatting and cracking jokes, like usual.

you took a bite of your food, but after you swallowed, you noticed your best friend staring at your face. "what? did my makeup smear?" she just laughed and shook her head.

all of a sudden, she was leaning over the table. "got a bit of food right...here." she wiped the bit of crumbs away with her thumb. she could feel your skin heat up under her fingertip, and honestly, she couldn't blame you; she would've been doing the same.

in fact, she was doing the same as she finished off with a soft "there" and sat back down.

what followed was an awkward silence as you both looked everywhere except the other's face. you looked back down and tried to start eating again, but there was an undeniable lump in your throat.

you heard a soft laugh from the end of the table. "you're cute when you do that." you almost choked.

"i'm sorry?"

"you heard me," she stated, taking a sip of her juice before continuing. "you're cute."

you didn't know how to respond, just sitting with your mouth hung wide open. "uh- thank yo-"

"do you wanna go out?" she cut you off. again, a few seconds passed. "like, uh, you know, to just, like, a museum or something...later...like, in a few days."

"as friends?"

"as whatever you want it to be."

that was all the clarity you needed. you immediately said yes.

"throw your lasso, come and catch me, babe. i'm indiana jones, you're my last crusade"

you weren’t sure if the museum counted as a date. you absolutely wanted it to, but the whole event was a little friendly.

you just walked around like you two normally would with anything, albeit a little awkwardness. she offered you to stay the night at her place, and of course, you couldn’t turn that down.

the both of you ended up on her couch, you in her clothes, watching indiana jones. “it’s for nostalgia,” towa had told you.

after being out in the chilly winter air, you and towa were wrapped in one of her blankets. she only had one, since the others were in the wash, so you had to share.

the contact was killing you; you could barely pay attention to the movie. every time towa moved to make herself more comfortable you felt shock waves through your body. it was almost kind of pathetic.

she noticed this but didn't say anything, simply continuing the tease the shit out of you.

at a certain point, she spoke, causing you to jump. “you know, if they were hot enough, i’d let somebody betray me and send me down into that firey pit of hell any time they wanted." you were confused.

"what?"

"i mean, if they were hot enough." you snorted.

"seriously? that's like, a death wish!"

"okay, imagine the hottest person in the world. if you let them do anything to you for a chance of them liking you back, would you?" you thought for a second.

"no."

"bullshit! fucking bullshit," she exclaimed.

you just rolled your eyes, defending yourself. but, when you thought about it that night, you realized you maybe would've let towa do that. maybe.

"gravel in my throat and sweetness on my tongue. this ain't my first rodeo, my bad, i should have known."

when the two of you were going out, before you were officially "girlfriends," towa was trying to gauge you. when you two were together, walking down the street or looking at clothes, she'd ask you "do you like this shiny material, or like, soft?" "okay, i know you think her hair makes her hot, but is there anything else there? at all?" "do you think he's funny?" to a comedian on tv.

you barely even noticed the sudden questioning since it was so spaced out. i mean, she did things like this constantly. she always wanted to get to know you better.

but, since you started going out, her questions turned from funny and lighthearted to trying to figure out if a certain pair of pants would make you like her more. she just wanted to be perfect for you, even if she already was in your head.

as time went on, the questions started to get more and more obvious she wanted to set a precedent of what you liked. which was what led to surprising news to her.

you two were sitting on a park bench after a walk. taking a sip of water from your water bottle, you looked around. towa examined your face, smiling at its natural beauty. your eyes darting around were angelic to her. "you said you had a relationship in college?"

you turned to face her. "ya?"

"what was she like?"

"oh...uh, it was a guy..."

"oh." she sat for a second. "really?"

"really."

"have you ever been with another girl, then?" you shook your head. "woah." she had to process that for a second. in her head, you were kissing girls left and right in your younger years, but you weren't. "so like...when did you find out you liked girls?"

you recalled the memory in your head. "a few years back. i don't know, i just saw two girls kissing on the subway and i was like, 'i kinda want that,' y'know?" she nodded.

"have you ever been kissed by a girl?" okay, this conversation was taking a huge turn. you quickly shook your head.

"i mean, no, but i always thought it'd be...kinda nice..." you trailed off.

all of a sudden, she was scooting closer to you. "come here," she mumbled, before quickly adding, "if you want to, of course."

"yes," you replied too quick. she smiled and cupped your cheek in her hand. then her lips were on yours and it was beautiful.

it was only for a quick second, but when she pulled away, she had a bit of your lip gloss on her lips and they were so soft, you were spiraling. "you want anoth-"

you didn't even let her finish before you went back in. she giggled into the kiss, keeping her hand on your cheek.

“the open road is the loneliest, come ride by my side into the sunset”

it took months to get to this point, but here you were; on a picnic on a date in the city, staring off into the sunset. your head was on towa’s shoulder as you stared off at the sky, full of vibrant oranges and pinks.

her hand was unconsciously stroking your hair, admiring with you. “hey,” she mumbled. you looked up at her.

“hm?”

“so, uh…i know we’ve kind of like, been going out for a while now…” oh my god. was this it?

“i was just…meaning to ask you if you’d maybe want to like…be my girlfriend?” you were so happy you thought you could explode. when you didn’t respond within a couple seconds, she quickly added “and totally not to like, rush you or anything, i was just won-”

you quickly shut her up by pressing your lips to hers. when you pulled away, you said “towa, oh my god, yes.”

her cheeks were softly tinted red as she fell back on the blanket. “okay! good, i thought you’d say yes, i just wasn’t sure-”

you quickly leaned down to kiss her again. “you ramble when you’re nervous,” you teased with a smile.

“shut up.”

[none-house-left-grief]

can i say that as a butch lesbian seeing so many people turning a butch character into a trans man or giving her top surgery feels very invalidating its like people connect being a masculine woman with being a man and it's not a good feeling. i know its not done to hurt me or women like me but y'know. why aren't as many people turning non butch characters into trans men? y'know what im saying? we're not the same thing

Hey, fellow butch here. I personally like to see and draw Gideon with top scars because I myself have chest dysphoria and it feels good to see something I want for myself in a character I already feel really connected with. I understand the feeling of frustration when people characterize or see characters in a different way that just doesn't resonate with you, but personally, I haven't seen a single instance of people making Gideon a trans man specifically. Trans man is not the same as transmasculine, which a lot of butches identify as/with.

I don't understand the purpose of sending me an ask like this. Are asking me not to draw or reblog art of Gideon as transmasc? Are you just venting out a frustration you have? In either case, just go touch grass. I'm not your dad, I'm just some guy with a blog and like 2000 followers. I don't want to come off as mean but you are responsible for curating your online space and for regulating your own thoughts and emotions. I won't tell you not to be upset but I will say this: I have never seen a character in popular media that has top scars and is also butch. I like seeing people do this because it is a representation I simply just don't get. It's okay not to like it or agree but you need to understand that people do it for a reason. It's not to invalidate you and your identity, but to make themselves feel seen.

Btw, cis women can get top surgery too. It's not specifically about making butches into men (which feels a little TERF-adjacent to say ngl), it's that many butches (who are by nature gender non-conforming) do irl get top surgery (and HRT, bottom surgery, etc). A lot of us use masculine names, pronouns, etc, but that doesn't mean we're trans men. That also doesn't mean if you do feel connected to womanhood, feel at home in your own body, or are in general the more normative cis butch that you're not a real butch. Groups aren't monoliths and butches are very diverse and unique. Nobody can tell you who you are or what to do with your own body, so it feels unrealistic to tell others what to do in a similar regard (not to mention Gideon is not real so it literally doesn't matter)

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

It's a little funny how I could immediatly tell you're TME because meanwhile that copypaste was used mainly at transfems speaking agaisnt transmisogyny and they took it as what that shit is: Sexual Harrasment, Transmisogyny and downright rape threating (forgot various lesbians and at least one child where victims too?) That has all of them rightfully angry. Meanwhile you're taking it as a silly haha joke about not fucking other trans men 😒

Not to shit on you specifically bc I get it's stupid and bizarre for someone who had nothing to do with the context. It's just... Damn, we trans women truly are alone by ourselves in the Queerest Website™ huh

Do you genuinely think I would have not joked around about it if they said tgirls?

I don’t take sexual harassment on this blog seriously because you people don’t know what I look like or what’s in my pants and I think the assumptions made are funny. An anon cannot stalk or do violence to me due to the level of anonymity I curate for myself online.

I’m not going to read your whole anime villain monologue, but I will say it’s weird for you to assert and insist that I was born with a pussy. Because I mean. There’s no way I can prove you right or wrong without breaking TOS and it’s weird that you’re this obsessed with it.

It’s honestly giving TERF energy, ma'am. Why are you insisting you know what genitals I have/had and also insisting that I have some inherent privilege based solely on that. Me telling you that infighting in the trans community is regressive isn’t indicative of me having a vagina, and you’re honestly a bit of a freak for acting like opinions and experiences are based on what your AGAB is.

Me not considering myself a victim of a rape threat just because someone spammed me with a sexually aggressive and transphobic copypasta on tumblr doesn’t mean I have XX chromosomes.