#the new ones are in the back!! anyways fuck dysphoria

[scenekitteh]

i hyperfocused and read the entire sonic idw comic in 1 sitting yesterday (thank FUCK theres only 55 issues so far i was only there for like 4-5 maybe 6 hours or something. idk im a slow reader im dyslexic) and this panel gave me so much gender envy that i went to walgreens and bought hair dye and now i have 3 more raccoon tails

[raeathnos]

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[neverendingford]

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[arrow-guy]

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[freak-accident419]

High On You

Derek Danforth x GN!AFAB!Reader

Summary: You read over the statistics and analytics for Derek’s company, as he requested. Except, while you do this, you’re on his bed, lower half of your body exposed as he does lines of cocaine on your thigh—then he eats you out.

WC: 1.2k

Content: 18+ smut, MDNI, derek danforth x reader (gn!afab!reader), oral (v!receiving), no spoilers for The Beekeeper, brief (yet detailed) cocaine/drug use, graphic depictions of sex and drugs (this is probably the filthiest thing i ever wrote on here), cursing

(A/n: I couldn’t wait to write it, so here !! Haven’t watched the movie yet, but if I notice that there’s anything incorrect here once I do, I’ll go back and change it ! I’m so sorry to my AMAB readers and/or the AFAB readers who get dysphoria from this type of writing !! You can check out my other smuts that aren’t genital-specific !! Love you all!! And thanks to everyone for your support !! Anyways, I think that Derek doing coke on the reader is such a Derek thing to do.)

Tags: @thehermitsaltar @coriolanussnowswife @moonlight-rosevine @harrysflorist @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @joshhutchersons-slut

-

Your rich boyfriend, Derek Danforth, asked you to read over the statistics and analytics of his phishing center, informing him how much money he’s earned in the past week.

Except it wasn’t a very professional or orderly way.

You laid on his bed, looking at the information on your phone, reading how much millions were gained on Thursday, while your entire lower body was naked. You two were always a very intimate couple, so this wasn’t new or had invoked any feelings of diffidence, as your legs were spread out across the mattress.

He snorted a line of cocaine, pressing down on one of his nostrils to inhale the drug after spilling the white powder onto your thigh and scraping it into several thin lines using one of his credit cards. It felt tingly, to have him do this on your thigh, his head ever so close to your cunt. While this occurred, his free hand was resting on your other bare thigh.

He let out an ecstatic groan afterward, and then looked at you as his high rushed in. “What—What’d you say again, baby?”

You chuckle softly at his mannerisms. “I said that in total, for Thursday at least, UDG obtained, like, over six fucking million,” you reply, looking over the statistics on your phone again. “Business is booming.”

Derek smirked as he was satisfied to hear the news. “Damn fuckin’ right it is.”

His body slightly tensed up as he quickly inhaled another white line on your thigh through his nostril, briefly rubbing his nose afterwards. The sharp inhale caused him to feel a surge of euphoria throughout his body as the drugs entered his system. His eyes closed in pleasure, then opened, pupils slightly dilated.

You watched him do this, taking a short drag of your cigarette. “Last week’s average was five point two million dollars,” you add, observing him as he corrected the final line with the card, straightening it out onto your thigh.

“So what was the total earned in that week?” He inquired as your cigarette remained hanging from your mouth.

“Thirty-six million dollars, baby,” you answer proudly while he inhales the last line quite harshly, and heard him whoop as he gained exhilaration from both the drug and the statistics.

You finally place your phone down on the night stand to give full attention to your boyfriend. You bring your hand to his hair, tangling his soft, light curls in your fingers. “Congratulations,” you praise gently, watching Derek close his eyes in pleasure, leaving a small kiss on your thigh.

He placed the package of coke on the night stand and adjusted himself on the bed between your legs. He continued to leave soft kisses on your thigh, gradually trailing towards your untouched pussy.

“Mm, I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?” He observed, demonstrating a hint of pity. “Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking wet,” he huffs, pulling your hips closer to his face as he finally licked up your cunt in an animalistic fashion.

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers still in his hair, and you grab the cigarette out of your mouth, immediately putting it out on the ashtray.

Derek’s warm tongue caressed along your folds exuberantly, moving up and down as your breath hitched. He gripped your thighs tightly, pushing his face even further in your cunt. You let out a gasp—almost a moan—as he flicked your clit with his tongue, stimulating the sensitive nub which elicited even more intense sounds from your mouth.

“O-oh, fuck, Derek!” You moaned as you felt him suck at your clit, closing his lips around it while lightly moving his hands up and down from your thighs to your sensitive hips, thumb pushing down on your pelvic bone for a brief moment, causing more pleasure within you. “S-so good, love… Fuck, yes.”

He lapped at your dripping pussy once more, threatening to poke inside each time his tongue ran over your entrance. He incessantly licked at you, so desperately and lustfully, occasionally tugging at your flesh between his soft lips.

“Taste s’fucking good,” he mutters between his rapid licks, “S’fucking good for me Y/n…” He rubbed off some leftover powder on your thigh, messily inhaling it through his nose for enhanced stimulus.

Your thighs jolting as you let out a high-pitched whine once you felt his tongue finally push inside your wet, aching cunt. He was eating you out as if you were forbidden fruit, because he would rather die than never be able to taste you. Pleasing to the eye, he really couldn’t help it. He was practically making out with your pussy, exploring your walls with his generous tongue.

Your legs closed around his head and you brought both of your hands to his hair, tugging his curls, which gets a muffled groan out of him, the vibration causing you to feel even more pleasure. Your breath hitched and you choked out a moan as you felt his nose bumping against your clit as he ate you out. Derek felt so hazy and foggy from his high, and because everything was so sensitive for him, he could practically cum untouched from how much arousal he gained from pleasing you. Not only was he high on cocaine, but he was also high on your taste, and hearing you moan was his ultimate addiction.

“Sh-shit, Derek…” Your head turned to the side tiredly, eyes threatening to close as you felt overwhelmed with all the stimulation. Derek hooked one of his arms around your thigh so he could place his hand warmly on your stomach, below your belly button yet over your cunt, now focusing more on his precision.

You felt yourself closer to your orgasm, waves of pleasure crashing onto you each second. Derek slipped his tongue out, just to spread your pussy lips apart with his fingers, and then lap his tongue against your cunt again sloppily, making your thighs twitch, incoherent whimpers escaping your mouth. “Holy shit, you’re so fucking hot…” he mumbles.

You let out a high-pitched moan as his long, slender middle finger inserted into you effortlessly, quick, deep thrusts provoking wet, vulgar squelches while he simultaneously sucked your clit again. He pulled out his finger smoothly, abrasively running it between your soaked folds, then pushed it back in deeply.

“G-God! Fuck!” You whined, back arching as you succumbed to his touch. Abruptly, he spit on your cunt, lapped his tongue on you, switching constantly between your folds and your clit. You felt a knot in your stomach, in which Derek’s free hand had still remained resting on it. His licks were fast and rough, and you felt yourself being driven over the edge. “G—Fuck, Derek, b-baby, I-I’m—”

“That’s it, that’s it, baby,” he encouraged softly in between licks. He looked at you hungrily with his deep brown eyes, “Cum for me.”

The second you heard his command, you came hard around his finger, moaning his name loudly as he slipped it out to desperately taste your juices, him groaning in your cunt. You whimpered and shuddered uncontrollably, his insistent touch bringing you to overstimulation. He kissed it a few times, then brought himself up from the mattress to make you with you, lips moving with yours as it allowed you to taste yourself.

“Fucking love you,” he muttered in the kiss. “So good for me, Y/n, fuck.” He held you in his arms softly, being as gentle as he could, rubbing your arms up and down comfortingly. The room smelled like sex, as the atmosphere consisted of only your deep breaths and the soft, wet smacking of your kisses.

“Fuck,” you panted, and the corner of your lips curled into a relieved smile until you kissed him again. “I love you too.”

[jenthebug]

Good news: There are points during the day when all my pain meds are working and I have 0/10 pain at rest.

Bad news: Not right now, though, this is the witching hour, fuck me!

I’m like 2 hours from an oxy, too, this is horseshit! 😭

It’s late enough that my morning meds (Celebrex and lyrica) are wearing off, so Tylenol, oxy, and flexeril are trying to do it on their own.

My abdomen feels like it’s been flayed open and rummaged through like a junkyard car. Because it has.

My therapist told me to focus on the fact that this won’t last forever, and that soon I’ll be back at work with coffee and no pain. Soon (April) I’ll be running around Seattle showing off my “cozy spring” aesthetic (all sweaters all the time babey), and a year from now, I’ll be glad I did this.

(I’m not glad I did this right now)

On the other hand, Ms Therapist put into words—one small and powerful one in particular—what I was feeling about my body. Dysphoria. When I saw old men with my exact figure, I felt dysphoric. Now I don’t. I feel awful in a million other ways, but I don’t feel dysphoria anymore.

Anyway. Off to watch educational TV.

[tirfpikachu]

sometimes i feel like, in certain cases, "detrans woman" and "nonbinary woman" ain't too different. and could even be used simultaneously by the same person without much issue. after all, isn't processing internalized misogyny and escaping the gender roles box for womanhood also a way someone can at the same time not feel like a binary man, not feel like a binary woman, but not feel like a not-woman either? after unlearning all the bullshit male society taught us, it can be destabilizing and create distance between us and other women. we might no longer feel like a normie woman. we've been awakened. we're no longer a gender roled woman, rolled up in everything she was taught she needed to be or she would fail at womanhood. we're an unfailible woman, we can't get a bad grade in womanhood bc we don't care about gender grades. we know it's all bullshit. we took back the power patriarchal society had over us. in that sense, we're not willingly binary anymore. and i think, over time, it's only going to get harder and harder to find women who are happily into the gender roles, the gender box assigned to them.

people fucking hate that, ofc. especially male people, and doubly so cis/bio men. they hate that we're awakened women. they hate that we found feminism and sisterhood and go detrans or use nonbinary in addition to woman, bc we reconnect with our body type and our upbringing. and by they, i mean both sides btw. the patriarchy hates that we found our power, of course. non-feminists scoff at us.

and... mainstream trans activists hate that our journey got us here, and hate how we make dysphoria seem curable in unmedical ways and transness more complex than they like to think. we complicate things. they hate that they found power in changing themselves (whatever makes them feel at peace ofc), while we tried to as well, but in the process we found our power was within us all along. we found that just being neutrally sexed animals, just female humans, female animals, girls the way that one calls a cat a sweet girl, cat first girl second, human first girl second... our bodies, our gender category, don't define us. anymore, anyways. anyone who defines us by our womanhood is a bigot, and we scrubbed our brains free of all the shit patriarchal brainwashing left in us. and for us, personally, it was enough to free us. that's not the case for anymore. some folks need more than that. some folks need to modify themselves beyond recognition to feel at peace with themselves. but i do hope they know that deep down, they were always good beings all along. i hope they know that gender is bullshit and sex says nothing about anyone's worth, personality, goals, interests, etc. it says fuckall about any of that. i don't care if i get a male or female rabbit. a rabbit is a rabbit. if i feel affection for a new pet, our connection is what matters [*]. i would never assign someone gender roles based on their sex. but it's sadly done way too often by parents and male society. if you're trans, temporarily or forever, you gotta clean up all your internalized misogyny and sexism/gncphobia. find kinship with other female people, or male gnc people if you're male. just check off some boxes. clean everything up. deep-clean your mind and your heart first.

[*] insert tras here being like, "why can't you be like that about dating? you dirty close-minded terfy homo dyke? why can't you love beyond genitals? beyond just bodies?" and these days i laugh and laugh and laugh at that shit because wow they have zero clue!! they don't know the sense of peace at having my female/afab body against another female/afab body, at knowing we were born the same, at knowing we went thru the same growing up, at knowing we understand eachother so, so deeply without saying a word bc she is what i am, she is where i have been, and i have suffered as she has suffered, and we are a love born of the connection all female beings share, the connection of bio dick havers treating us as prey. not knowing we're more powerful than they could ever dream of. do bodies like ours not hold the godly powers of creation itself? are we not gods in the literal sense, born creators, who get to choose if a new life should be made? do we not hold the future in the palm of our hand? to the dismay of penised beings? and do me and my beloved not love eachother only the way two gods could love one another, knowing the struggle, knowing the power? is the patriarchy not fighting tooth and nail to control us, wrestle us into submission before their phallic altar? do they not know it's impossible, for everything in us would dry up at the sight? do they not know that we can rely on sisterhood to get us through fucking anything? do they not know we masculinized ourselves and found ourselves happily female anyway? do they not know that i'd love her with a beard and five eyes, but if she was reborn male we would not be the same people to begin with (tho ofc i like to think the bodyswapped versions of us would have a love story too, we would not be us anymore, not this timeline's love story, she would be a different version of her and i would miss our og love)? because what is anyone without memories, and aren't childhood memories, puberty memories, some of the experiences most affected by one's body type (under the patriarchy), some of the most developmentally significant memories of all? is female just genitalia and estrogen puberty to tras, to "hearts not parts" type folks?

is female just a meat suit and not also the life experiences linked to it, our upbringing, a rich female culture one is born into? trans women might be immigrants into this female culture if they pass post-transition, they might get the exact body, but they just don't know the culture the way born into it do. any transfem will admit being transfem is hard, it's hard to merge into female culture when they self-admittedly don't know much about it. anyone not having been born into this culture, not being fluent the way only a native resident of femaleness can be, will show signs of it even if it's been 50+ years. you can't just wipe someone's upbringing clean, your past always leaves traces, and a transfem wouldn't be able to bond with other female4female lesbians on basic female upbringing things... when those are the things that make being into other female ppl so attractive for many of us! we just get eachother. we understand without even saying anything. we understand female body issues. there's a warm sense of peace emanating from that knowledge in my heart, knowing me and my girlfriend were born the same. we went through so many of the same things, all the good and the bad sides of growing up female. and i find that attractive as hell, and it brings me immense joy in life. there's so many inside jokes a transfem just wouldn't get the way my gf can. and i unfortunately need to add, since people get defensive, that this isn't shaming the transfem for not having those experiences. i hope the transfem will come to terms with not being female too. she can be a woman in society, but she's not born this way, she's an immigrant into womanhood, and that's okay. she still needs to let lesbians who are only into people raised female enjoy our unique sexuality that she just can't understand. i can't understand the transfem4transfem experience either. so what? isn't lgbt or 2slgbtqia+ or whatever culture all about inclusion and diversity in sexuality and gender expression? what about those who are girls the way animals are girls? we hate gender roles but we're personally definining cis womanhood as being female animals, female humans? what's so twisted about that? what about female4female lesbians? transmasc4transmasc can exist, why not us? why make everything so stupidly complicated for no reason? why shame us for how we were born, for being into others like ourselves?

i pity them, honestly. watch them bring girldick and male upbringing experiences to female4female lesbians, watch as we'll all dry up like the dying succulents on our windowsills and sip drinks laughing at the naked male bodies before us because they're so unsexual to us homodykes. watch as we raise eyebrows at the male's lack of misogyny in her upbringing, her lack of expertise on female culture, and just... everything that's so fundamentally unappealing to us. we can be friends. we can be allies. thankfully though, sex and marriage isn't activism. you can't play woke in the sheets. if you do, that's honestly sad. love isn't political. heteros made it political, but love is just love. and the love between two female people is normal. boring at times, even. we're normies. and if mainstream tras can't see that, well, maybe they have issues to work through in therapy. idk.

if two dysphoric ppl working through really hard shit end up feeling at peace with being female animals, female humans, and loving one another, if that's threatening, if that's bigoted, if that's twisted, well...

we detrans chicks and homodykes will find our own place to hangout. and we'll be nice to your faces, of course, but behind doors we're having a blast with others like ourselves. people like us have done this for as long as humanity has been alive, anyways. we always go underground and make it work anyhow. radblr is proof of that. idc if i have to go door to door checking if any homodyke is there, or if i have to comb thru tra spaces to find cool detrans folks, i will find others like me. that's what the marginalized have always done.

we're like lizards. we'll just find a cooler rock to party under🦎✌️

[smutburn]

'my boy'

Pairing: Oliver Quick x Transmasc!Reader

Summary: Invited to Oliver's birthday party by one of your close friends, you find yourself alone in the so-called 'green room'.

Warning(s): Transphobia, dysphoria, t slur drop, but like this is all just for plot then it goes away and ur reaffirmed lol

Smut! Warning(s): Smut [p in v], praise AND degrading kink, bit perv!Oliver, dom!Oliver, uhhh fuck idk man sex?!? scary!!

A/N: first smut FANFIC guys kinda nervous

Your childhood friend, Annabel, had invited you to the birthday party of one of her classmates. You were always a huge fan of parties, but would never dare to go alone, you and her would be inseparable at every single goddamn party.

That is, until, you began to transition.

Annabel would never be transphobic towards your face, but behind your back? She'd say the most gnarly backhanded shit possible. You didn't know this of course, you had started transitioning after she left for college. She was a year above you.

Once the news had gotten to her, she couldn't help herself from secretly deadnaming you and misgendering you, often times introducing you as her "tranny friend" behind your back, whenever you had finally gotten into Oxford.

At this point of your transition, your body had grown to be more masculine, your veins became more prominent, your voice dropped octaves, and you had even grown yourself some lovely stubble. You believed to be semi incognito, when it came to transitioning.

Accepting her invite, she had ordered a driver to pick you two up and escort you to Saltburn. Neither of you had been there before, but according to Annabel? It was the party house.

You both arrive to the front stairs of the estate. Music blaring from inside the place, despite its large size, somehow reeking of booze and weed. You two walked into the party, with flashing lights and the place packed to the brim, you could only imagine how many people were in one room alone.

Annabel took your hand, and quickly found your ways towards to bar. This was her secret talent, always identifying wherever the fuck substances could be found. She grabbed a bottle of Malibu Pineapple for herself, and Malibu Watermelon for you. You two had always bonded over Malibu in high school. She knew you so well, didn't she?

As she walked away, you felt no choice but to follow her. You didn't know anybody at this party, so who would you have gone to anyway? You trail behind her, closely, as to not lose her, taking swigs of your Malibu as you go. Stopping abruptly when she meets her friends. One of them notices you behind Annabel, and yells to you.

You feel like your world stops as you hear your deadname drip from the lips of this girl you've never met. The music is too loud to make out the rest of her sentence, but no music can drown out the syllables of your deadname. Your heart drops to your stomach, Annabel's head whips around, looking to her friend, then looking to you.

You smile weakly and shout an excuse along the lines of, "I have to use the restroom", before quickly walking away. You feel your heartbeat inside of your ears as you exit the main party room. You continue going through this labyrinth of rooms before stopping in a green room and plopping on the couch.

You could still hear the music, but luckily, you felt more of the vibrations than the music. You bring your knees to your chest and bury your head in between them. Stifling your sobs, you try to breathe as you recollect what just happened. Questions were swirling through your head at 180mph that your brain felt like it was larger than your skull.

"Hello?" A low voice says, causing you to look up as the room becomes so silent you could swear you heard your blood stop pumping.

Your eyes meet with a boy who's kneeled in front of you and the couch. Your instant reaction is to put your feet on the floor and sit up. This changes your eye level, which then causes the boy to look up at you.

"Hi." You mutter. You clear your throat before looking back down at him. The only shred of light on his face being the moonlight from the window.

"Are you alright?" He replies after a beat. You can't bring yourself to lie to this man, so you simply try to smile and nod. He places his hands on your knees and continues, "Are you sure? You can tell me y'know. Wouldn't want anybody that isn't me to be having a bloody bad time at my party."

"Are you Oliver?" You manage to say without thinking. "Yes, I am, so you've heard of me?" He chuckles to himself, as if he's the funniest guy alive.

"Yes..? Kind of.. I mean, this is your party, it'd be a lil embarrassing if I'd show up to your party not knowing at the very least, your name."

"I suppose so, dear." He looks up at you as he slides his hands further up towards your thighs. Your face flushes as your body instinctively twitches at the sudden change of touch.

Oliver looks down to your thighs, and back up to you. "Some nice jeans you've got here. Not quite on theme. Expensive?"

"No, I.. I'm not like rich.. Or anything..." You break the eye contact, looking to your side. "I know you probably think that's like.. Lame.. I mean you're having this cool party in this mansion and I'm just, here."

"Oh no, no darling. This isn't even my home. I'm not quite rich either."

A beat.

"Oh."

"Oh what?" He stands up in front of you, holding your chin up to look at him.

"I just.. I didn't- know..." You stutter out, feeling flustered from his bold advances.

He leans in closer to you, bending over to almost, barely, touch your lips to his. In less than a second, he's able to scoop you up, turn himself around, placing you on his lap as he takes your seat on the couch.

"You're quite handsome, you know that?" He states, trailing kisses down the side of your neck. Biting and nipping gently, sliding your white tank top down your shoulders as he gets to your collarbone area.

You're unsure how to react to this, but there is one thing you are sure of. You are enjoying this.

You open your mouth to speak but he quickly hushes you.

"Ah ah ah, let me adore you." He places an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. A hand begins traveling south, first visiting your thighs before reaching towards the zipper of your jeans.

"Oh- Uh- Ollie.. Stop.." You quickly spit out. He immediately moves his hand away from your zipper and rests it on your shoulder.

He kisses your neck and whispers into your ear. "What's wrong darling?"

"Nothing I just... I'm not.." You can't find the words to tell him who you are. A tranny, Annabel would probably say.

A man is showing interest in you for the first time since you've transitioned to male. He knows you as a man, and only a man. He doesn't know the 'girl' you used to be. Revealing this could ruin it all. You've never gotten the surgery, you never planned to, which you knew was okay. But would this boy still continue to pursue this experience with you if you had told him?

"If you're not ready, I understand dear. We don't have to." He turns your cheek towards him and gives it a peck. "I just thought you're quite cute." He taps on your left thigh.

"I- No I.. I want this I just.. I'm..." You let out a sigh before muttering your reason. "I'm not.. a real guy"

"What? Of course you are dear, how could you not be?" He plants a kiss along your shoulder line.

"No it's.. Oliver I'm.. Trans I..." He shushes you again.

"Do you really think that's something I'm concerned about?" He nibbles at your ear.

You hear your heartbeat in your ears. You've got no idea how to react to this.. Besides reaching for his hand and placing it back towards the zipper of your Goodwill jeans.

Undoing your zipper, he reaches down tugging at the elastic of your boxers. "Is this okay?" You nod in response, but he doesn't move.

"Yes." You confirm verbally, causing him to slide his hand down into your boxers, placing his fingers onto your wetness. You gasp out of shock.

He begins using the pad of his fingers to rub up and down your wet folds.

"What a good boy.. So wet f'me already, hm? I've barely touched you, slut." He whispers as he slips his middle finger into your entrance. Causing you to mewl in pleasure, adjusting your hips as he hooks his finger inside of you. "Aaah.. O-oliv..er..."

He plunges his ring finger inside of you without a warning, slowly sliding his digits in and out of you. He adds his thumb, rubbing soft circles on your clit. You grab for a pillow. You release a loud moan as he plunges his fingers inside of you, hooking against your walls, sending your hand straight to your mouth to muffle the sound. Oliver moves your hand away and holds it down.

"Bad bad boy. You need to let people know how much of a dirty fucking slut you are f'me. So let whoever passes by hear your beautiful moans. You're mine right now, alright?" He whispers against your skin, almost threateningly.

"Ha..aaa.. y-yes.. fuck-" You agree. You begin grinding yourself against his fingers, essentially riding his hand to increase the pleasure you're feeling. You can feel as Oliver grows beneath you.

"F-fuck.. Oh.. Who's a good boy? Hmm? Who's my good slut?" He mutters into your ear, your grinding against his fingers is also rubbing his hard-on he has. You whimper in response as he continues to fuck you with his fingers even harder.

"Speak up, I don't understand whimpers and grunts."

"Fuck- I... I am.."

"Good boy."

As you feel that familiar knot form in your stomach, you clench around his two fingers, riding the feeling even harder, causing him to pull out. You mewl in response, your body instinctively chasing for his fingers again. "O-oliver.."

He pats your thigh twice, signaling for you to stand up. You stand in front of him.

"Take them off." He leans forward and tugs at your waistband of the jeans. You push them down off your legs as quickly as you can, then following with your boxers, discarding them somewhere to the side.

You watch as he pulls down his white suit pants, which you've now noticed has golden embroidery, and boxers, his hard cock springing out against his stomach. Leaking with pre cum, he uses his hand to gesture you closer.

"Sit down baby."

You follow his orders. Climbing onto the couch with your knees, you line your wetness with his tip, before slowly plunging down. You hiss in pain as he guides your hips down.

"I know, I know, but I promise it'll feel good." He continues to lower you down before your cunt swallows his length.

"F-fuck... Yeah.. That's my boy." He allows you a moment to adjust to his size. "Go when you're ready."

After a few moments of you digging your nails into his shoulders and burying your head in the crook of his neck, you begin to push yourself back and forth. He holds you by your hips, guiding you and he throws his head back.

"Ahhh... Yeah.. Fuck... God, you're such a slut f'me. Just fucking yourself on me, hm?" He teases. He places his other hand on the back of your neck, almost to your head, and pulls you in for a kiss. It's intimate, passionate, hot, and every other possible word you could think of to describe a good kiss. The way he glides his tongue against your bottom lip, asking for permission to enter your mouth before you part your lips. He plunges his tongue in, exploring your mouth and the tastes of you. He can taste the rum you had earlier.

Placing both hands on either hip, he rocks you on top of him even faster, causing him to groan out of pleasure. Which then, in response, causes you to mewl as his hard cock twitches inside you.

Like earlier, he picks you up swiftly, without breaking connection, he lays you on the couch, propping your ankles up above his head, as he continues fucking you. The new position allowing for more pleasure for the both of you, a new stimulus hitting your g-spot, you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to release.

He picks up the pace, both of you moaning harmonically, to where it sounds almost scripted. Using a hand to hold your head up, he forces you to watch as he slams his dick in and out of you. Throwing his head back, he becomes a moaning mess, his cock throbbing and twitching inside of you, he feels his own release on it's way.

"Fuck... You wanna be a good slut for me? Hm?" He looks down at you predatorily, you nod and try to get out a yes, but it's interrupted by another slam inside of you, which you then moan out in response.

"I want you to come on my cock. Can you do that? Can my boy do that for me?"

"Y-yes O..Oliver..."

"Good."

He continues to slam himself in and out of you, the sound of his skin hitting your skin, your moans filling the room, you arch your back as you feel yourself finally release for him. Your legs twitching and your back arched, he fucks you slower, allowing you to ride out your high, before he pulls out, and comes onto your stomach.

"Fuck..."

Your breathing is heavy, you've only just noticed that.

He slides his finger up your stomach through his cum, and plunges the white substance into your mouth.

"Good boy. Cleaning up my mess f'me. Slut."

You nod as he continues feeding you the white ropes he let out onto your stomach. He stands up to leave for a second, before returning with a warm rag, rubbing your stomach, core, and thighs down.

"You did so good for me." He praises you as he continues cleaning you up. Using a dry towel to dry the sweat thats collected in areas of your body. He plants a kiss on your forehead before helping you into your boxers. He picks you up and leads you to a bedroom, tucking you into the bed, he climbs in next to you.

He cuddles up to you, and plays with your hair until you've fallen asleep. Planting gentle kisses onto you and whispering sweet nothings.

"Goodnight y/n," is the last thing you hear before you've fallen victim to a deep sleep. The only thought you had last was how he could've known your name? You don't recall sharing it.

[kimyoonmiauthor]

NB posting about cultural differences between gender, more personal

When I came to the US as a kid barely speaking English well, (about 5 years old, adopted), one thing that bugged me endlessly was gender. US standards of gender are WEIRD man.

I struggled unbelievably hard with the "new gender standards" which kept telling me to wear certain colors or you don't fit in, that you can't pick up bugs unless you're a BOY. That you can't WEAR certain things unless you're a GIRL. That you can't be or DO certain things.

'cause to me, I didn't have any of those disciplining factors when I was in Korea (of the time). I was allowed to go out and explore and be a fucking kid. But to face such rigidity and not be able to CHOOSE bothered the hell out of me.

And then in my ear I had my Mom who was hardcore Second wave whispering into my ear other gender ideals. And Fuck it, like why did it matter sooo much when often it contradicted so deeply?

So I'm supposed to like FLOWERS but hate bugs? I can't like camping, but I'm supposed to appreciate a butterfly. I'm saying this as someone who grew up in the US, but your gender ideals are fucked. I still don't get them. Your columns make no sense.

Girls are supposed to like ponies? WTF I thought you said girls are supposed to hate camping. And horses were for men? Ponies are for girls?

I suppose being an outsider I saw how fucked up your categories are while people tried to press into me their fucked up ideas of gender and maybe this is why I'm more NB. I never could perform the US's idea of a woman well, and I never liked the definition of man either.

This isn't to say I hate people who perform these things, but really, for me, I could never do them to the US perfection. I also feel a tiny bit isolated since apparently I'm supposed to perform NB in a certain white commercial standard too (White queers in dating apps What the hell is with that?). Fuck that too. Just because I'm AFAB, I'm not going to perform more European masculinity for you white queers to be recognized as NB. I rather fuck around with the Asian presentation of gender which allows for a lot more flex anyway.

In my WIP I am totally trying my best to fuck with gender at its core so you get the outsider feel I had when I first arrived with one of the cultures I set up. I really, really want to emphasize a few things with this:

This will not change your "real world gender" but it will try to challenge the idea of a fixed gender presentation across all cultures. Something that my sibling also struggled with going back to Korea and other people have reported to me.

That if I fuck with gender, I have to fuck with sexual orientation, but this doesn't change your orientation. But I've know cultures where people had both change and they struggled with how to define it in US terms. I changed the masculine ideal. I messed with the whole patriarchy binary.

Yeah... my point is that queerness is not stable across the globe and I don't wish you the dysphoria and confusion I had coming to the US, but you might encounter it if you get out of your tiny bubble, probably especially if you are Cis. I thought it would be safer to do it in fiction, though.

[treeofnonsense]

So I'm going to preface this by saying: I am cis as all hell. I'm not any form of trans or nonbinary, I have never been any form of trans or nonbinary, and thus I tend to stay pretty quiet on that front over here. Ain't my place to tell people who know better what to do, and I'm not trying to do that here. However, after having made a lot of friends under the trans umbrella, after being lucky enough to have some of those friends share with me some of their struggles, their joys, their lives, and after noticing a couple of patterns in their journeys... I think there is one message I would like to share that may help some of you to hear, if you'll give me a minute of your time, and I think it may have to come specifically from a cis person.

The message is this: If your cisgender friends are good friends, you being your true self is not a burden to them.

For the people in the back: If your cisgender friends are good friends. You being your true self with gender. Is not a burden to them.

I didn't know my friend in high school was trans until he transitioned socially and I heard his new name. He didn't tell me first because I was raised fundamentalist Christian and probably did not look like a safe person to tell; when I pulled him aside in class so no one else could hear us, told him he could tell me to buzz off if he was uncomfortable, and politely asked for confirmation on pronouns, I remember the surprise and joy on his face. It took me about five minutes of chanting his new name and pronouns in the shower to get it to stick in my brain. That tiny amount of effort was nothing compared to seeing him pull himself out of the depressive funk dysphoria had put him in, of celebrating senior year when he legally changed his name, of drawing him a snowflake dragon for Christmas and hiding the trans flag colors in the shimmer of the ice so it would get past our conservative school's radar. We became closer friends after he came out because I knew him better and he knew he could trust me. He got me my first ace ring. I was not only supporting him, but learning from him, and sharing in his joy.

The genderfluid roommate in college took me a little longer to adapt to, I'll be honest, I was still learning, but hey - it turns out it's not really that hard to check the pronoun pins on a lanyard before you address someone. It's pennies when that person comes along to teach you the wonders of thrift shopping and takes you to meet a drag queen for the first time. I've met so many people online whose identities I do not always intuitively understand, but who I support anyway, and who have made me consider so many new things. It's not a burden to know about my friends' journey when it comes to gender, it's a privilege to know them more deeply and be trusted in that way. It's a new dimension to this person I already love, that's all.

Look, I am not saying that all your cis friends are going to be perfect, that we're not going to fuck up occasionally because we don't know better or we had a bad day, that we understand everything - we're not, we will, and we don't. I am not saying that everyone is a safe person to talk to either - god knows that's not true, unfortunately. But. If your worry about expressing yourself is of being a nuisance, of burdening someone with your problems or needs, of being too much or too out-there or too confusing, consider this: Your friends may not only be willing to learn and help you, they may be happy to. In a true friendship, both people benefit from one person's joy. If you're happy because you're able to be your honest self, they'll be happy too. Suddenly that weird shyness and sadness they saw from you but didn't know the cause of has gone away. Heck, maybe they'll learn from you and start following in your genderfunky footsteps. Or maybe you'll just have a cis friend who texts you celebration emojis when you have a good gender day, or is there when you wake up from surgery, or goes shopping for new outfits with you, or even brings over ice cream when you're having a hard time. And then you both get ice cream. Come on. This is what friends do.

Be safe, of course. Trust your judgment when it comes to sharing information. But if you're simply scared, try to balance out the fear of what you may lose with the thought of what you may also stand to gain. Don't let the anxiety beast turn your identity into a problem. It's not a burden, it's a part of you, and the people who love you will love to meet it.

[againstme]

idk man i’m just thinking about against me! and transness, especially cause we’re coming up on ten fucking years of transgender dysphoria blues, on the 21st.

lyrics have been swimming in my head lately.

“what god doesnt give to you, you’ve got to go and get for yourself.”

“if i could’ve chosen, i would’ve been born a woman. my mother once told me she would’ve named me laura. i’d grow up to be strong and beautiful like her.”

“you wouldn’t think something like gender identity would complicate something like asking for some company.”

“she spent the last few years of her life running from the boy she used to be.”

“standing naked in front of that hotel bathroom mirror, in her dysphoria’s reflection, she still saw her mother’s son.”

“agitated states of amazement, never quite the woman that she wanted to be.”

“you want them to see you like they see every other girl, they just see a faggot, they hold their breath not to catch the sick.”

“chipped nail polish and a barbed wire dress. is your mother proud of your eyelashes? silicone chest, and collagen lips. how would you even recognize me?”

“no more troubled sleep, there’s a brave new world that’s raging inside of me.”

“all my life, wishing i was one of them. there will always be a difference between me and you.”

“what’s the best end you can hope for? pity fucks and table scraps?”

“all the young graves filled, don’t the best all burn out so bright and so fast?”

“sometimes at night, i pray to wake a different person in a different place.”

“i don’t want to hang around the graveyard, waiting for something dead to come back. i know you think you’ve got one up on me, that you can see something i can’t.”

“i wanna be so real, you can see the difference.”

“dig up your bones, early graves are not homes.”

“come on, shape shift with me! what’ve you got to lose? fuck it!”

“confessing childhood secrets of dressing up in women’s clothes, compulsions you never knew the reasons to.”

“i’m sick of feeling like i’m losing my mind. sick of doing the same things most nights after night. sick of self loathing and self absorption, self destructive narcissism.”

some of these are directly referencing transness, some just alluding to it. some are just ones that i relate to as i’ve grown up struggling with my gender and sexuality and accepting my own transness and dealing with self harm and self destruction and relying too much on drugs.

finding myself buying baggies of coke and just stuffing them in my wallet while i walked downtown, feeling this immense guilt at the bottom of my stomach for essentially just wasting 25 dollars on a drug that wasn’t doing much for me besides making me feel like i was feeling something different than what my life was. getting scared shitless while in the line at the convenience store after picking up, seeing cops come into the store, and the small tied up bag filled with what was more baby powder than coke in my back pocket felt like the the heaviest and most obvious thing in the world.

and then i’d find myself on calls with my friends, with my camera turned off or pointing at the ceiling, suddenly muting my mic holding a cut up piece of a straw in my teeth as i crushed shit up with my library card from a city i wasn’t planning on living in again. just having them talk while i was racking baby lines, tilting my head back and rubbing it on my gums after. i was sniffling all the time. sometimes my nose would bleed when i would wake up. and i wasn’t even really feeling much; i didn’t know at the time that this would be because of having adhd and just basically spending money on overpriced shit that was just like taking an adderall, but it was a drug in front of me, that gave me the idea or the false hope of running away from my life during the short lived high.

“before you know it, here i am again, fucking 6 o’clock in the morning, rolled up dollar bill in my hand.”

“what the fuck are you cutting this with, anyway?”

“how low can you go before you can’t turn around?”

i don’t think that when i was 14 and getting into against me! that i would ever actually get to a point of fully relating to those lyrics. of running away from such a huge part of yourself or your problems, trying to fill the void with drugs that you’d plow through so quickly, faster than you thought you would every time.

the thing is, was that at this point, i had already started my transition. i was already “passing.” but i never got to the root of it. sure, i’m trans, but who am i? and i didn’t know how to answer that question. so i just pushed it away, pushed it under the rug.

“you can pray all night and day, but you’ll still wake up the same person in the same fucking place.”

against me! has been there for me for ten years. throughout so many transformations of myself, so much shape shifting, so much dysphoria, so many late nights wishing i was a different person in a different place.

i found solace in their lyrics. it gave me some small bit of hope, some realization that i didn’t know that i needed; that trans people always have been and always will be here, that being able to be trans and be alive is possible, and that i don’t have to be digging my own grave, spending late nights staring at the mirror and seeing the girl who i used to be.

against me! gave me the courage to be alive.

[avelera]

Headcanon: ADHD Hob and Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria

So I went down the rabbithole on ADHD and rejection sensitivity dysphoria (and found this lecture that legit made me tear up if you have or think you have ADHD, go listen to it here) and it got me thinking, as everything is wont to do, about Hob Gadling and how if he had ADHD, which I think there's lots of fun in-text hints at that at least allow that interpretation, what are some other ways that could manifest besides his ebullient and never-ending love of life in all its endless variety?

So as sufferers of ADHD know, it's not all fun and games. The flip side of living with a dopamine-starved brain that's always seeking out new experiences and seeing the world through that lens is that other emotions slam us hard too, like rejection sensitivity dysphoria aka, "the most minor criticism can feel like an actual knife in the chest, no I don't mean mildly bummed out, I mean full on fight-or-flight brain meltdown because someone told you a comma is in the wrong place in your manuscript (not that I'm speaking from personal experience yes it's that dumb)".

ANYWAY, so I'm thinking about Hob and RSD and specifically 1789.

Specifically the line, "It's just how it's done," referring to horrific practice of human trafficking and how Hob basically shrugs while, to his minor credit, looking suddenly uncomfortable and guilty, about the fact he actively profits from this industry, and the way he cringes in on himself when called out kinda seems to indicate that he knows it's a vile practice and isn't super comfortable with being reminded of his fact by someone he respects, like Dream.

A couple notes on that little exchange between Hob and Dream:

1 ) The face Ferdinand Kingsley-as-Hob makes in that moment is absolute textbook adult ADHD rejection sensitivity dysphoria. Namely, the point where you know criticism hits you like a knife in the heart, particularly from people you respect, and you just have to cover that flinch of literal physical pain with a careful poker face.

The way Hob's tone suddenly goes cold and with his very genteel, received-pronunciation manners he levels Dream with perhaps the closest he's ever come at this point to lashing out, "You're giving me advice...?"

I'm not saying that canonically it's RSD, or that neurotypical people don't suffer pain and disappointment when receiving disapproval, but to my eyes at least, Ferdie Hob takes Dream's comment very seriously, much more so than the comic counterpart did (who needed multiple nudges before he even realized what Dream was trying to tell him about getting out of the shipping business and still seemed a bit clueless about why Dream would want that or care by the end).

2 ) Going into proper headcanon territory, I personally chart Hob's journey from destitute to wealthy slave trader as the product of someone who stopped giving a shit about others after everything he suffered in the 1600s. To be perfectly clear, this is not a fucking excuse for it, it's an examination of motives.

Because technically, after everything Hob suffered in the 1600s, he could have emerged with more empathy for the plight of others. But clearly that didn't happen. From an entirely human motivation level, that leads me personally to the conclusion that since no one helped Hob when he was at his lowest (not even Dream, though I dearly wish it was otherwise and wrote extensively on what would have happened if he had) that led him to the belief, put simply, that fuck the world so long as he got his. Why should he care about anyone else if no one cared about him?

But to go back to the topic of this essay, RSD, there's an additional element to that theory on why and how Hob leaned into not giving a shit about others, and that missing factor from what's described above is the element of everyone is doing it. Specifically worded as, "It's just how it's done."

Another really fascinating lecture I listened to on ADHD talked about how the most common trauma reaction ADHDers have to their sense of rejection, shame, and guilt that comes the way our brains react to the world is by hiding. And that also got me thinking about 1789 Hob in this context.

Because Hob as we see him in 1589 is loud in his happiness. He's sitting there, bold as brass in the middle of the White Horse, showing off his wealth with a banquet, loudly declaiming about how he pretended to be his own son twice, worked in the Tudor shipyards (what would have been 50+ years before) and just how he spent the last 100 years working his way up to his knighthood. The man does not have an ounce of caution in him. But, he is also by far the happiest we ever see Hob (up until Dream ditches him in the middle of their date).

This is important because to my eyes, Hob is living openly and unashamed and with only the barest hint of caution typified by pretending to be his own son every couple decades. The way he describes his last 100 years sounds like an ADHD dream, basically getting a boat load of money from Caxton's printing press (basically the first tech startup unicorn of the modern era) and then running around wherever his interests took him where he also made money hand over fist, kept climbing, and eventually reached the point where he could purchase the acclaim and regard of a member of the (albeit minor) nobility. All of this after being born a peasant. That's just validation and money and prestige and getting to pursue your special interest and live as your authentic self all over the place. And I do mean authentic, Hob doesn't even seem particularly worried about talking openly in the White Horse about being 200+ years old, a strong case could be made that he's not that careful in his personal life either.

So anyway, Hob has this amazing century literally followed by the worst century imaginable, filled with the sort of horrors that can tear a man's soul asunder. Losing his family, his beloved wife in childbirth with their new baby, his adult son, his home, his money, everything he spent a century building. His title and name are gone too because of the nature of how he lost it with the accusation of witch craft, which also means he can't just fake being his own son again to get it all back because they're explicitly going to notice that this time.

And how did this all happen? Because Hob got noticed. He lived there 40 years, overconfident is his own words. Which is a wild thing to say about a bunch of witch hunters showing up at his door! He blames himself for being drowned as a witch. On the one hand, I imagine he has to think that way because otherwise he has to admit to the sheer brutal randomness of life, so in a way he's trying to take control of the narrative by blaming himself.

But it also smacks of ADHD again because ADHDers very commonly shift the blame onto themselves after years of their unique nervous system response making them a round peg in a square hole of wider society. We learn over and over that the mistakes we make are our fault, because of "laziness" or "apathy" which isn't apathy at all but deep agony over our inability to accomplish tasks in a neurotypical way without the support we need, but I digress. But it sure sounds like Hob may have been paralyzed by grief for literal decades and then blamed himself for not getting the mental spoons together in that context to move on and reinvent his life after losing his wife and child. Which would be a very ADHD thing to do.

So after this absolutely brutal smackdown by reality for living too openly, too loud, too ADHD, getting paralyzed by the powerful emotions he felt (if we follow the headcanon) over the grief and loss in his life, what is Hob's next step?

Hiding.

Blending in.

Not rocking the boat.

And again, not excusing it, there's plenty of other industries he could have gone into to blend in that didn't involve human trafficking. That said, if he went to sea, which we know Hob did on many occasions from the comic, it would be seen by his peers there at sea as a normal way to make one's fortune, and then.... well, we have as evidence that this is his current peer-group the sort-of pride with which Hob announces how he's making his fortune these days in the "shipping business", as if he's expecting Dream's approval.

That to me, reads a bit like the people pleaser/social chameleon aspect of ADHD. Hob is expecting to be praised for being successful by Dream the way he would likely be praised by his peers in the shipping business or among the wealthy privileged men of England. He's so steeped in that world now that he's clearly taken aback when Dream takes the (at the time more radical but not uncommon) stance of, "This is wrong."

And Hob knew it. But he was blending in. He was going along with how things are done. He wasn't rocking the boat. He has other hints at trauma responses too, "salting money around the world" in case there's political upheaval, for example. This is not the loud, boisterous Sir Robert Gadlen untouched by loss or trauma. He has been humbled and tempered and, indeed, made afraid by what happened to him.

This sort of wild swing towards protectiveness? Again, also ADHD. As the lecturer I linked first noted, ADHDers are textbook defenders. They are always defending themselves from the world that can suddenly, unexpectedly, plant a knife in their heart because of a perceived rejection. From a world that wants their brain to work in a way it doesn't, so they have to come up with myriad painful coping mechanisms to fit in, blend in, mask, and function. Hob was forced to protect himself after the 1600s, so he did, with money, and with not caring about other people, and with insulating himself from privilege, and becoming a social chameleon.

1589 Hob tries to earn back Dream's interest, but he doesn't fawn. Dream shows interest in Shaxberd and Hob, already starting to get irritated, tells him no, Shaxberd is crap.

And you can tell in 1789 that Hob is thinking about that day again when he gets Dream's disapproval, because who does he reference? That lad, Will Shaxberd. He's fearing rejection and abandonment again, or at least it's crossed his mind after Dream's admonishment. But this time, Hob is fawning more, very nearly flirting. He's trying to play the game better this time, trying to keep Dream's interest, social chameleoning the subject onto safer topics, things he thinks will interest Dream, as Shaxberd so clearly did, so let's talk about him if that's what you care about. Again, another ADHD social chameleon, people pleaser aspect. We are nervous empaths, we are constantly picking up a bazillion signals both real and imagined. And we're so fucking terrified of that RSD knife in the heart, we become people pleasers to avoid it. After the shipping business brag fell through, Hob pivots to talking about Dream and what, in his experience, Dream seems to like and talk about favorably.

So anyway, many many ADHD-esque rambling words later, there's a few more little details I'd add to the list of "possible ADHD behavior, not just the fun parts" for Hob Gadling. Is it canon? Maybe not. But it does make for a great headcanon, in my opinion.

[everybodyshusband]

@crimsonclergy's headcanon post got me thinking and i just had to try my hand at writing it out as a little ficlet !! go read his post first, it's awesome <3

1.7k words of aurora gender fuckery, a little dysphoria and a lot of euphoria under the cut >:)

The piece of fabric she's pulled out of her laundry basket is unfamiliar. It's an unassuming little garment, a tight, white, cropped tank top of some kind that she thinks must belong to Cirrus. She stares at it for a while before deciding fuck it. She could do with a new shirt, and if it suits her well enough, there's a possibility Cirrus won't even care that it's gone missing if she gets to see Aurora wearing it every so often.

She tosses it onto her bed in preparation and struggles to unclasp the clip of her bralette—a lacy thing picked out for her that morning by Cumulus, the air ghoulette purring in her ear that the colouring suits her complexion and the laced edges frame her little chest so perfectly—groaning in annoyance when, as usual, she can't quite figure out how to get it undone and has to resort to pulling it over her head. She throws it on and ground and glares at it in frustration before turning her attention back to the top on the bed.

She picks it up and starts to slip it on like it's a normal top but it's tight; tight enough that it has her wondering if it even belongs to Cirrus after all. She gets her arms and head through the openings, but beyond that, she had to twist and contort her body awkwardly just to get the top down past her chest. It makes her weirdly self-conscious about it all. At least, she thinks she's feeling self-conscious. The exact feeling welling up inside of her as she struggles to get the shirt on, and again as she has to adjust herself inside of it so her chest isn't sitting uncomfortably inside the fabric is a foreign one; a tightness deep inside her chest that's different from the tightness the top is providing—this feeling is one that makes her skin all itchy and legs wobbly and she decides right there in that moment that if this is how the shirt makes her feel then she never wants to put it on ever again. But, she reconciles, it's worth taking a look in the mirror before she takes it off and returns it to whoever it's supposed to belong to. After all the effort it took her to wriggle into the garment, it'd be pointless not to take a look.

The first glance of her reflection has her mouth dropping open in surprise and that funny, gross feeling dissipating within seconds. She lifts her hands and smooths them down the plane of her chest. It's... flat? She turns to the side and cranes her neck to catch her reflection.

It's flat.

She can't stop the delighted giggle that bursts from deep in her chest, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet in excitement. This is cool. This is different. So different from how she normally looks. So different from how she looked mere minutes ago in her silk sleep shorts and matching lace-y bralette. Her eyes drift to the reflexion of the laundry basket sitting on the bed behind her and she can't help but wonder what she might look like with something over the top of this new garment.

She turns away from the mirror and grabs the first thing on the pile, one of Dew's oversized shirts advertising some band that Aurora hasn't heard of yet; it reminds her that she really should ask him about it sometime, he seems to like it a lot. Underneath the shirt is a pair of boxers and some careful digging through the rest of the basket reveals that, oh. This is Dew's laundry. Oops. After some deliberation, she decides that what Dew doesn't know won't hurt him and once again decides fuck it, she should try the shirt on anyway. For some reason she can't quite pinpoint at the moment, none of the shirts in her wardrobe feel right to wear over the top on her chest anyway.

She slips the t-shirt on and turns to look in the mirror and–

Oh.

Oh.

She looks like Dew. Like Mountain.

The flat angle of her chest even reminds her of Aeon or Rain, and the way Cirrus explained in the simplest of terms that to two of them are shaped more like the boys than the girls, even though they don't fit into either of those categories. The same way Dew is shaped in almost the same way as the girls, even though he's not one of them. And Aurora, she... Well, she's coming to some kind of realisation about all of this and what that might mean for her. She knows that part of her thought process right now is probably quite significant, but she can't quite get a solid grasp on the abstract thought that's floating tauntingly through her head.

She runs her hand over her chest again, marvelling at the way she doesn't encounter any bumps all the way from her collarbone to her belly button. That funny, good, happy feeling in her chest is back and once again, she can't help the disbelieving giggle that bubbles up out of her mouth as she continues feeling the flat, angular plane of her chest unburdened by her anatomy for the first time.

She fishes Dew's boxers out of the basket and quickly swaps out her pyjama shorts for them, throwing the silk garment on the floor alongside her lace bralette and in her head promising to Dew that she'll rewash all his clothes she's worn later, but right now she just needs to experience this.

The way the feeling in her chest expands when she turns back to the mirror and almost mistakes herself for Dew. The way the boxers sit high on her waist but still reach her thighs comfortably and cling to her skin in a way that makes her want to shout out in happiness. The way she can imagine tying her hair up in the same messy updo that Dew prefers in the morning and walking down to breakfast in this exact outfit and starting her days off feeling good instead of just fine. The way her chest sits flat in the shirt and the more she takes in her reflexion the more the elated feeling grows and grows until it's buzzing through her limbs and she can hear her heartbeat loudly in her ears. The way that the closest comparison she can think of is that this is how she feels when she performs; a rush of excitement and adrenaline mixed with doing things that make her feel free.

She spends the best part of the next hour digging through Dew's laundry, trying on his clothes and staring at her reflexion in the mirror. She tried a few of her own clothes too, but although most days she doesn't mind them, today they made her skin crawl enough that she shoved them all back in her cupboard without even folding or hanging them up again—she'll deal with the mess later, but right now she needs to focus on that incredible feeling of happiness that's pulsing through her entire body and keeping her face from displaying anything but a wide grin.

All too soon, there's a knock on her door that makes her jump and rush to wrap a blanket around herself, just in case someone comes in—it's not that what she's doing is wrong, everyone swaps clothes all the time, but something about how she's feeling right now in Dew's clothes feels almost private and for now, she'd like to keep it that way. Cumulus doesn't come in though, instead talking to Aurora through the door and calling her down to lunch, explaining that Rain's put the ingredients out for make-your-own salad sandwiches, so if Aurora wants any of the good stuff in hers, she'd better be quick before Dew and Sunshine take them all.

She calls out a hasty "Thanks, Lus!" and pointedly ignores the way her voice feels slightly wrong in her own ears—she just hasn't been speaking for a while, that's all it is, right? She pulls the shirt, pants and boxers off, pulling her regular underwear and sleep shorts back on, but she can't for the life of her get the tight top off. After a long while of wriggling and struggling that results in her having to wipe sweat off of her forehead with a towel, she yanks the top off and is immediately overly aware of the way her chest moves freely now it's unrestrained by the tight garment. She's never particularly minded the feeling before—she hasn't known anything different—but now that she knows the way the tight top makes her feel, she doesn't think she likes the regular feeling very much at all.

She pulls the bralette back on and grabs Dew's shirt, reasoning that she can give an excuse of the feel of soft fabric or the smell of freshly washed clothes if anyone asks why she's not wearing any of her own shirts, and makes her way to the kitchen.

Lunch passes without much fanfare, and thankfully, one asks why she's wearing Dew's shirt of a band she doesn't even know. As she's rinsing her plate off afterwards though, Dew sidles up beside her and strikes up a conversation, small talk about her vocals and his guitar in one of the new songs that Papa is working on. As she finishes rinsing the plate and moves to leave though, he stops her.

She draws a breath in, waiting for the inevitable—because she doesn't know how, but he must know about the tight top and the clothes and that's what he's going to ask about—and ends up wholly surprised when he asks, genuinely, if she knows where his basket of laundry is.

She tells him she thinks it made its way to her room, but she's not sure. "I'll check," she tells him, as if she can't recall every item of Dew's clothing that's currently sitting in the basket.

He smiles his thanks and turns away from her to rinse his own plate, which Aurora takes as her signal to return to her room, refold some of Dew's clothes and put them in his basket of clean stuff, put the rest back in the dirty laundry basket and return to clean clothes to him later that day.

When she finally does knock on Dew's door with his basket of laundry under one arm, there's a hesitance in her eyes that he's never seen before. She asks if she can come in and when he nods and moves aside to let her in, she sits on the bed, chewing bottom lip nervously.

"Um, Dew?" She starts, hands twisting over one another in her lap. "Can we– Can we talk?"

[suzukiblu]

For your ask game, what’s your favorite thing you’ve ever written?

. . . god I don't even know, man, that's a LOT of things, hahaha. And like, that answer definitely changes depending on the day/year/phase of the moon. So you're getting a couple answers here! Also I'm gonna keep this mostly to DC and only include finished fics, because me picking between WIPs would take a thousand years and also probably kill us all, lol (ignore the fact that a couple of these fics have sequels in-progress right now, STILL COUNTS OKAY??).

everything happens for a reason. sometimes that reason is that you are stupid and make bad decisions. is one of the funniest fucking things I've ever written, full stop. Lex is SO fun to write, seriously, I could write him all fucking DAY.

I'm really proud of blondes really do have more fun, both because of how much it seems to have affected/touched people who read it and because I think it was my first experience with writing gender euphoria as a major thing and writing, like, an actual explicit trans narrative? Like, I definitely wrote genderfuckery and implications and metaphors before that and probably even some trans characters, arguably, but that's the first story I really remember deliberately just making about being TRANS. And also holy shit, man, did I ever love writing gender euphoria for the first time, especially because I'd mostly only seen gender DYSphoria as a focal point in other stories and it just didn't/doesn't resonate with me the same way. I'm not trans because everything else makes me miserable, I'm trans because that's what makes me HAPPY. I don't remember if I was intentionally thinking that at the time, but that's the story I wanted to write for that one.

one day this will all be yours and you found me when no one else was looking are both concepts I love and found really cathartic to write and was very pleased to finish. I love that they're sort of "families of choice" fics about, like, actual BIOLOGICAL families (like, in the context of the fics, anyway), which probably sounds weird but is a concept I'm sort of painfully fascinated by--like, about the fact that you CAN choose your family, obviously, but sometimes you're lucky enough to find out that you had someone worth choosing already and just didn't necessarily know it, or to both grow into people who CAN choose each other even if you had problems or lashed out due to outside traumas or didn't always understand each other. That's, like, very personally relevant and meaningful to me, the idea that maybe the thing that got all fucked-up and the choices you made when you didn't fully understand the consequences of them can still be worked through and repaired and made into something new and better.

Also, special mention because this one is back a few fandoms but zero humble on it: best friends means you get what you deserve is just really, really good, and I did GOOD on it, hah. I took a three-word prompt/concept and turned it into 17k of "hey, doesn't this make more sense for why this character is the way he is, and isn't this what the main character actually wanted??" in genre-savvy explanation of why the sidekick character might stick around for the antisocial asshole hero and seem perfectly happy to base their life largely around them no matter how said hero treats them, and then I made the Consequences(tm) happen to Jaskier and Geralt, both bad AND good. I am just SO dang proud of that one, UGH I love it. ❤️❤️❤️❤️ FRIENDSHIP, AND THE CONSEQUENCES THEREOF.

[ijumpbridges]

Hi! Just a tip, try advertising that you take requests in a pinned post so people know!! But, anyway, can I get Alto Clef, Jack Bright, Benjamin Kondraki, and SCP 035 with some kind of demon/hybrid/scp reader? Basically, they're pretty dangerous and chaotic, but see them as their mate and basically just instinctively give them gifts, feed them, and protect them LMAO

Scp 035, Jack Bright and Benjamin Kondraki x Demon/Hybrid/Scp!Reader

Omg, it publish while it was unfinished im a dumbass, and i can’t take down.

Scp 035:

At first he knows what’s up with you and your feelings for him.

He is going to play around with your feelings sometimes.

“You brought me a gift?” *Gasp* “For me? You shouldn’t have bother”

He doesn’t need protection but having you around to help him wont hurt him.

Will manipulate you into doing some bad stuff around.

“You know, we could try to kill that guy and run away together”

Might as well randomly abandoned you in a breach containment.

Might as well to come up with excuses to leave you.

Might as well leave you at a gas statin in Chicago at 1:00 in the morning with a cigar and a jacked.

Of course you can teleport and appear in front of him and scared him for his shitty attitude.

Will flirt with you and others in front of you.

The foundation will probably separate you from him since he is bad influence in you.

He is a bad influence but sometimes takes out the best of you

Sometimes will try to get you to host him, of course you don’t fall for it but you get to give him a new one.

Sometimes you two have conversations through telepathy.

Shows you his acting skills.

Somewhat of a chaotic duo.

He might as well tag along 049, who also tells you to stop hanging out with him.

Jack Bright:

The one who is most grateful among the three.

He struggles with depression, so cooking for him and bringing him snacks is the best thing for him.

Sometimes will go up to you to cuddle since he also need some comfort.

Might as well have some sexual intercourse with you.

The one who is less afraid on getting closer while also everyone knowing it.

Chaotic duo.

You always protect him and his body as well as the amulet he wears because you know how bad dysphoria he has.

You are the one who is after him making sure he doesn’t accidentally kill himself.

“You want to see what i can do with a bottle of gasoline?”

He had present you his brother scp 590.

You kinda adopted him.

Now, you also take care of him and visit him too, as well as to take him into the chaotic adventures too.

One time you three were barefooted outside on a hill looking at the foundation while a helicopter flew by with a water because you three decide to cook something especial for the anniversary of you two being ‘together’.

Another time was that you two ran away and a helicopter chased both of you, so you two go inside of it and drove it around of a texas highway, and park it on side walk next to a wendy’s.

Benjamin Kondraki:

He is annoyed it by it at first.

“The fuck do you want?”

Will tell you to stop.

He is an alcoholic you taking care of him is a big thing.

Draven coming back to check up to his Dad and find his place clean and no bottles, as well as food on the table.

Konny will have to explain to him that it wasn’t him, even if it disappoints his son.

He will be very wary of you.

Draven is kinda grateful for what you do for him.

Even so Draven is also as wary as his dad, you are a scp so don’t take it personally.

Leaving him snacks he ins grateful for it, but wont take it.

After a month he will start to take the snacks.

Not much of an affectionate guy, so if you try to hug him he will push you away.

“Listen, this can’t work, i appreciate the snack and everything, but we cannot be together, its against the rules”

He had said that you thousands of time, even so you still stick by his side, you never meant harm to him so he stop saying that.

He doesn’t like chaos since he is already chaotic, so you will have to step down in the making chaos around, unless is use to help him if something happens and he needs to step in to stop it.

[ghoultrifle]

There's a First Time For Everything Chapter 2 - Fighting With You

WC: 1.8k

Summary: Dewdrop buys the toys he's been so curious about, with only a few breakdowns along the way. Set immediately after the previous chapter.

Notes: Fun fact! The toy reviews are almost all verbatim reviews from the lovehoney website :) isn't that fun! thank you to the unnamed friend who reignited my passion for reading sex toy reviews ashdfklhsg

I'm going to give a very slight warning for dubcon. Nothing happens, but Dewdrop gets in his own head about what might happen. Of course, Rain would never.

And a big thanks to @everybodyshusband for proofreading and hyping me up <333

Read below the cut or on AO3

“‘m ready,” Dewdrop whispers into Rain’s neck, pushing the larger ghoul off his lap, “Wanna get the feeling back in my legs,” he chuckles.

“Are you sure, Dewbug? We can wait if you want, I’ll still love you even if you never end up buying anything.”

Dewdrop grabs the water ghoul’s chin, bringing his head down to eye level, “I’ve never been so sure in my life, especially with you here,” it isn’t entirely the truth, but Dewdrop is feeling better than before, “Anyway, what is your opinion on what I sent you?”

Rain pauses before dragging a stack of filing boxes next to Dew’s chair, perching on them to watch the screen. As Dewdrop logs back in (his password is rainisgay69, ironic for someone who on some level of his dysphoria-ridden brain believes rain is secretly straight), their eyes are accosted with the bright screen illuminating the now dark room, a lilac dildo front and centre on the screen. The description reads, “Realistic Silicone Suction Cup Dildo - Perfect For Beginners”. It’s veiny, a respectable length and girth, nothing that would rip the ghoul open, but enough for him to feel the stretch, to feel full. It looks respectable, with the bonus that Dewdrop could definitely throw it into a strap on the rare occasion he does want to top; he could finally stop stealing from Cirrus.

Dewdrop flicks through the photos, capturing the length, girth, and the size comparable to a hand. Rain’s cock begins to stir at the last picture, remembering that one day he may be lucky enough to hold it, to fuck Dewdrop sweetly and gently with it while he rubs and flicks at the fire ghoul’s small dick, wringing out the most lascivious moans as Dew finally experiences divine pleasure. But this isn’t about him, so Rain wills the blood to return to his head so he can give a coherent response to his mate.

“Fuck, baby, it looks perfect,” he coos, planting a chaste kiss on Dewdrop’s cheek. He can’t help the sly comment that leaves his mouth before his brain can catch up, his mind preoccupied with the image of the toy against Dewdrop’s auburn curls, “Gonna look so good against your dripping cunt, heard ginger and purple go well together.”

The darks of Dewdrop’s eyes widen, and Rain’s face drops as he realises what he just said, “Shit- fuck- I’m fucking- I’m sorry Dewy that wasn’t the right time. I promise I’d be fine if you bought this and it just sat on the shelf forever. Or- or if you didn’t even buy it. Actually, I’d be fine if you banned all sex toys. You coul-”

A firm but gentle slap to the face interrupts the water ghoul, “Alright, wrap it up Sappy Steve. Save it for when I’m actually panicking, okay?” he chides, “And I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

He briefly glances at the top reviews, struggling to believe what he’s reading:

“I have recently celebrated my 70th birthday and this gave me the best orgasm of my life.”

“This is amazing. I can't believe how satisfying it is for a transgender person. I love to sit on it.”

Dewdrop laughs so hard he has fresh tears spilling down his face. That’s a new hobby unlocked: reading sex toy reviews online.

“See!” Rain exclaims, pointing at the screen and nudging Dewdrop’s shoulder, “You’re not the only trans person who wants to get fucked nasty with a toy,” the water ghoul is beaming at the review, hoping it will ease Dewdrop’s apprehension about it all. They’re having fun but Rain won’t pretend he hasn’t noticed how the other’s hand has been trembling as he navigates the website, how Dewdrop’s taking deep yet rapid breaths, his free hand worrying the ring on his middle finger.

The basket icon lights up as Dewdrop’s informed he only has to spend £15 more to get free delivery, “Might as well get the vibrator too, then?” he shrugs weakly, voice catching in his throat as he navigates to the second link he sent Rain earlier. “POWERFUL Vibrator - For Internal and External Use” it reads. Dewdrop re-examines it, looking at each photo in turn, breath turning shaky as he thinks about using it, putting it inside him, where no object has ventured before. As he thinks about the hard plastic sliding in, surely cold and rigid, perhaps he’ll be so dry that it will hurt, and he’ll just have to grin and bear it for his Rain.

The desk begins to shake slightly as Dewdrop’s knee bounces up and down with a fevered pace. His thumb is in his mouth, biting at the skin around his nails, leaving it red and sore. It’s getting to him. This is real. In just a few days he’ll be laying with Rain as he freaks out about it all. Now he’s told the water ghoul he wants it, he feels pressured, like he can’t say no anymore. Because if he says no, then he’s clearly leading Rain on for something that will never happen, and Rain really will break up with him this time. Why would he be with someone who is clearly never going to get over his fear of penetration? Perhaps Rain is straight and just waiting for Dewdrop to realise he is a woman after all, and when he finds out that Dew is just a man who’s scared of dick, he’ll run to the mountains, screaming a warning to everyone: Don’t Date Dewdrop.

A third set of tears begin to tumble their way down his cheeks, a small waterfall flowing with each blink the ghoul makes. His eyes are glassy, he can no longer see the offending toy on the computer, just a set of blurry white pixels laden with illegible text, Rain must have scrolled it down. Rain brings the fire ghoul into the warmest hug he can muster, peppering kisses to his neck. There is no sexual element to it, just pure love for his mate. His mate who he wishes he could take all the dysphoria from and suffer through it himself if it would mean a better life for Dewdrop. His mate who loves Dewdrop in a way the fire ghoul cannot even begin to fathom.

He truly believes he’s unlovable on a fundamental level, that his identity makes him some freak in between man and woman, that no guy would want to fuck him or be fucked by him, and no woman would take his pathetic excuse for a dick, even if he did want to top. It’s solidified in Dewdrop’s mind that Rain is only with him for his own sexual gratification, and now that Dewdrop wants to explore his own pleasure, he’ll be left to figure it out on his own. The image of him weeping as he forces a dildo into himself, cold and alone in his bedroom, is being seared further into his brain with every second that passes. Until he’s brought back to reality by Rain’s shuffling arm.

Rain decides against a tissue; Copia clearly had no regard for his own skin since the tissues in his office may as well have been constructed from sandpaper. Instead, he brings a bunched-up sleeve to Dewdrop’s eyes, catching the tears as he calms the sniffling ghoul beneath him, rocking them together in a soothing motion much like his mother would do in the pit. Words wouldn’t do Dewdrop’s pain justice; consolation would feel inadequate and pity, well, is just that and Dewdrop deserves better. He’s sure that if he reached inside the fire ghoul’s mind for just a moment, it would be more than he could ever bear. So, Rain opts for silence. The kind of silence you could sit in for eternity. The kind of silence where the world is at peace; there’s no buzzing of electricity, no shuffling in the quarters, just the sound of a gentle breeze creeping its way in through the poorly sealed windows, whistling hello as it sings its song. Rain rocks them for what could have been hours, Dewdrop isn’t sure, the sun had already set by the time he started.

Fresh air stings Dewdrop’s eyes. The flood has stopped, Rain’s sleeves near-soaked as the fire ghoul blinks the last of the hot tears from his weary eyes. His own sleeve is drenched in a thick layer of snot as he wipes his nose, the water ghoul looking on in a weird adoration for his mate. If Rain could watch him do that and still love him, then maybe there was hope. As he squints his eyes to focus on the screen, Dewdrop’s confronted with the reviews for the vibrator:

“My clit is tingling like a mo fo!! Thanks lovehoney. What a piece of cum equipment.”

“It took longer to get the item out of the packaging than it did for my wife to cum.”

Okay, maybe it isn’t quite so serious. As hilariously honest as the reviews are, it does spark something in Dewdrop- the curiosity at what these toys feel like, at how they’re so much better than just a set of hands. There must be a reason the vibrator gets a 4.7/5 on the ‘orgasm rating’. Dewdrop hesitates over the button that would add it to the basket, “I’m scared, Rain,” he admits with a sigh of relief, finally putting words to it.

“Then do it scared, spitfire,” the water ghoul replies, “Want and fear can coexist. If you truly don’t want to then I support you, droplet, but it sounds like you’re just conflicted. I think when the time comes, you’ll be glad the toys are ready for you, just like I will be.”

Dewdrop melts into the larger ghoul’s embrace. Rain has somehow managed to reach into Dew’s brain and lay his feelings bare on the table, raw and sensitive. But he’s right, about everything. Dewdrop does want it, he is scared, and he should buy it anyway. “Fuck it,” he smirks, stifled only slightly by a sniffle, as he adds the item to the basket, heading to the checkout page, a fuck you to his dysphoria. Copia’s bank details autofill and Dewdrop doesn’t complain; he’s not been left with much money since being charged with sourcing the pack’s weed on tour. Before he gives himself a chance to second guess his actions, he completes the order.

The thick tension that had filled the air dissipates in an instant, Dewdrop slumps in his chair as Rain idly braids a loose plait into hair, whispering praises to his love, “So proud of you, droplet. Whatever comes of this I want you to remember how brave you are for getting this far, okay?”

“Brave? In what world?” Dewdrop huffs.

“In this world, my love. In this world where every day is a fight between your mind and your body. In this world, where today, your mind won. And in this world where your mind won’t win every day but where I’ll be here, always, fighting with you.”