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mostlysignssomeportents · 9 days ago

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Premature Internet Activists

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me TOMORROW (Feb 14) in BOSTON for FREE at BOSKONE , and SATURDAY (Feb 15) for a virtual event with YANIS VAROUFAKIS. More tour dates here.

"Premature antifacist" was a sarcastic term used by leftists caught up in the Red Scare to describe themselves, as they came under ideological suspicion for having traveled to Spain to fight against Franco's fascists before the US entered WWII and declared war against the business-friendly, anticommunist fascist Axis powers of Italy, Spain, and, of course, Germany:

https://www.google.com/books/edition/In_Denial/fBSbKS1FlegC?hl=en&gbpv=1&bsq=%22premature+anti-fascist%22&pg=PA277&printsec=frontcover

The joke was that opposing fascism made you an enemy of America – unless you did so after the rest of America had woken up to the existential threat of a global fascist takeover. What's more, if you were a "premature antifascist," you got no credit for fighting fascism early on. Quite the contrary: fighting fascism before the rest of the US caught up with you didn't make you prescient – it made you a pariah.

I've been thinking a lot about premature antifascism these days, as literal fascists use the internet to coordinate a global authoritarian takeover that represents an existential threat to a habitable planet and human thriving. In light of that, it's hard to argue that the internet is politically irrelevant, and that fights over the regulation, governance, and structure of the internet are somehow unserious.

And yet, it wasn't very long ago that tech policy was widely derided as a frivolous pursuit, and that tech organizing was dismissed as "slacktivism":

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2010/10/04/small-change-malcolm-gladwell

Elevating concerns about the internet's destiny to the level of human rights struggle was delusional, a glorified argument about the rules for forums where sad nerds argued about Star Trek. If you worried that Napster-era copyright battles would make it easy to remove online content by claiming that it infringed copyright, you were just carrying water for music pirates. If you thought that legalizing and universalizing encryption technology would safeguard human rights, you were a fool who had no idea that real human rights battles involved confronting Bull Connor in the streets, not suing the NSA in a federal courtroom.

And now here we are. Congress has failed to update consumer privacy law since 1988 (when they banned video store clerks from blabbing about your VHS rentals). Mass surveillance enables everything from ransomware, pig butchering and identity theft to state surveillance of "domestic enemies," from trans people to immigrants. What's more, the commercial and state surveillance apparatus are, in fact, as single institution: states protect corporations from privacy law so that corporations can create and maintain population-scale nonconsensual dossiers on all the intimate facts of our lives, which governments raid at will, treating them as an off-the-books surveillance dragnet:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/16/the-second-best-time-is-now/#the-point-of-a-system-is-what-it-does

Our speech forums have been captured by billionaires who censor anti-oligarchic political speech, and who spy on dissident users in order to aid in political repression. Bogus copyright claims are used to remove or suppress disfavorable news reports of elite rapists, thieves, war criminals and murderers:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/27/nuke-first/#ask-questions-never

You'd be hard pressed to find someone who'd describe the fights over tech governance in 2025 as frivolous or disconnected from "real politics"

This is where the premature antifascist stuff comes in. An emerging revisionist history of internet activism would have you believe that the first generation of tech liberation activists weren't fighting for a free, open internet – we were just shilling for tech companies. The P2P wars weren't about speech, privacy and decentralization – they were just a way to help the tech sector fight the entertainment industry. DRM fights weren't about preserving your right to repair, to privacy, and to accessibility – they were just about making it easy to upload movies to Kazaa. Fighting for universal access to encryption wasn't about defending everyday people from corporate and state surveillance – it was just a way to help terrorists and child abusers stay out of sight of cops.

Of course, now these fights are all about real things. Now we need to worry about centralization, interoperability, lock-in, surveillance, speech, and repair. But the people – like me – who've been fighting over this stuff for a quarter-century? We've gone from "unserious fools who mistook tech battles for human rights fights" to "useful idiots for tech companies" in an eyeblink.

"Premature Internet Activists," in other words.

This isn't merely ironic or frustrating – it's dangerous. Approaching tech activism without a historical foundation can lead people badly astray. For example, many modern tech critics think that Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act (which makes internet users liable for illegal speech acts, while immunizing entities that host that speech) is a "giveaway to Big Tech" and want to see it abolished.

Boy is this dangerous. CDA 230 is necessary for anyone who wants to offer a place for people to meet and discuss anything. Without CDA 230, no one could safely host a Mastodon server, or set up the long-elusive federated Bluesky servers. Hell, you couldn't even host a group-chat or message board:

https://www.techdirt.com/2020/06/23/hello-youve-been-referred-here-because-youre-wrong-about-section-230-communications-decency-act/

Getting rid of CDA 230 won't get rid of Facebook or make it clean up its act. It will just make it impossible for anyone to offer an alternative to Facebook, permanently enshrining Zuck's dominance over our digital future. That's why Mark Zuckerberg wants to kill Section 230:

https://www.nbcnews.com/tech/tech-news/zuckerberg-calls-changes-techs-section-230-protections-rcna486

Defending policies that make it easier to host speech isn't the same thing as defending tech companies' profits, though these do sometimes overlap. When tech platforms have their users' back – even for self-serving reasons – they create legal precedents and strong norms that protect everyone. Like when Apple stood up to the FBI on refusing to break its encryption:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apple%E2%80%93FBI_encryption_dispute

If Apple had caved on that one, it would be far harder for, say, Signal to stand up to demands that it weaken its privacy guarantees. I'm no fan of Apple, and I would never mistake Tim Cook – who owes his CEOhood to his role in moving Apple production to Chinese sweatshops that are so brutal they had to install suicide nets – for a human rights defender. But I cheered on Apple in its fight against the FBI, and I will cheer them again, if they stand up to the UK government's demand to break their encryption:

https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c20g288yldko

This doesn't make me a shill for Apple. I don't care if Apple makes or loses another dime. I care about Apple's users and their privacy. That's why I criticize Apple when they compromise their users' privacy for profit:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/12/youre-holding-it-wrong/#if-dishwashers-were-iphones

The same goes for fights over scraping. I hate AI companies as much as anyone, but boy is it a mistake to support calls to ban scraping in the name of fighting AI:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/17/how-to-think-about-scraping/

It's scraping that lets us track paid political disinformation on Facebook (Facebook isn't going to tell us about it):

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/05/comprehensive-sex-ed/#quis-custodiet-ipsos-zuck

And it's scraping that let us rescue all the CDC and NIH data that Musk's broccoli-hair brownshirts deleted on behalf of DOGE:

https://www.cnet.com/tech/services-and-software/how-to-access-important-health-info-thats-been-scrubbed-from-the-cdc-site/

It's such a huge mistake to assume that anything corporations want is bad for the internet. There are many times when commercial interests dovetail with online human rights. That's not a defense of capitalism, it's a critique of capitalism that acknowledges that profits do sometimes coincide with the public interest, an argument that Marx and Engels devote Chapter One of The Communist Manifesto to:

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/31/books/review/a-spectre-haunting-china-mieville.html

In the early 1990s, Al Gore led the "National Information Infrastructure" hearings, better known as the "Information Superhighway" hearings. Gore's objective was to transfer control over the internet from the military to civilian institutions. It's true that these institutions were largely (but not exclusively) commercial entities seeking to make a buck on the internet. It's also true that much of that transfer could have been to public institutions rather than private hands.

But I've lately – and repeatedly – heard this moment described (by my fellow leftists) as the "privatization" of the internet. This is strictly true, but it's even more true to say that it was the demilitarization of the internet. In other words, corporations didn't take over functions performed by, say, the FCC – they took over from the Pentagon. Leftists have no business pining for the days when the internet was controlled by the Department of Defense.

Caring about the technological dimension of human rights 30 years ago – or hell, 40 years ago – doesn't make you a corporate stooge who wanted to launch a thousand investment bubbles. It makes you someone who understood, from the start, that digital rights are human rights, that cyberspace would inevitably evert into meatspace, and that the rules, norms and infrastructure we built for the net would someday be as consequential as any other political decision.

I'm proud to be a Premature Internet Activist. I just celebrated my 23rd year with the Electronic Frontier Foundation, and yesterday, we sued Elon Musk and DOGE:

https://www.eff.org/press/releases/eff-sues-opm-doge-and-musk-endangering-privacy-millions

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/13/digital-rights/#are-human-rights

Image: Felix Winkelnkemper (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Acoustic_Coupler.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #eff #malcolm gladwell #section 230 #copyright #copyfight #privacy #code is speech #napster #creative commons #premature antifascist #trustbusting #antitrust #al gore #nii #national information infrastructure hearings #demilitarization #information superhighway #clicktivism

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velvetvexations · 4 months ago

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Antigonism

ANTIGONE: I'll do my duty to my brother - and yours as well, if you're not prepared to. I won't be caught betraying him.

What is antigonism?

Antigonism is a transfeminist mode of thought specifically for transfems that embrace solidarity with other trans people, as well as those who are intersex and the queer community in general, under the belief that it's vital to recognize we're all equally oppressed and capable of doing lateral harm to one another

Beliefs of antigonistic transfems include but are not limited to:

accepting that transandrophobia exists

being mindful of exorsexism

not policing the terms that intersex people use for themselves

awareness that other AMAB people can present as feminine without being some kinna insult to us

recognizing that racial hegemony and the cishetpatriarchy are radically different systems of oppression and any comparison between the two, while possible, must be made with exceptional care

rejecting the "reclamation" of radical feminism

finding it appalling to demand that other trans people define themselves as privileged for not experiencing the same things as us - especially when they do in fact experience much of what is commonly, inexplicably cited as unique to transfems.

Isn't that just trans unity?

Trans unity is also great! But I feel like transfems who explicitly reject trans radical feminism could do with a word that is more forceful and specific. Some would prefer that this just be considered the default, and the vocal minority of people who think transfems are oppressed by other trans people should simply be treated as weirdos out of step with the rest of us, but I think there's value in making a strong statement with a term like this.

I've seen a lot of people who legitimately feel like shit because the vocal minority has been so loudly terrible that it's affecting how comfortable they are with random transfems whose opinions they don't know. I understand the temptation to just say they need to touch grass or whatever, but even aside from the fact that things like anti-transmasculinity within the community isn't purely limited to discourse on a dying social media website, I feel like that's blaming them for their reaction to being treated cruelly. I think antigonism could help drill in that there are tons of transfems who back them up, and that they don't need to search for keywords to know that person is safe.

Because, like, that happens to me, too. So many times I've seen a post I really liked and thought was insightful, only to have my distrustful nature lead me to doing such a search before reblogging and being gravely disappointed with the results. That fucking sucks, yall.

Why "antigonism"?

In the legends of Ancient Greece, Oedipus had two sons. One of them, Polynices, would eventually go on to wage war upon his brother, Eteocles, the king of Thebes. There were many telling of the story, some in which Polynices had a very good reason for doing so and some where he didn't.

Polynices and Eteocles both killed each other in the war, but Creon, who took power after, unilaterally declared that Polynices was a traitor. Antigone, the daughter of Oedipus, however, simply does not give a fuck what Polynices did or did not do. When Creon orders that any who try to bury Polynices will be put to death, she proudly does so anyway.

The most famous teller of Oedipus's family history, Sophocles, wrote a play about the war, but it's lost to time and so we know nothing definite about what version of events is canon to Sophocles' play starring the titular Antigone. Considering that the whole point of Creon's character is his dogmatic clinging to law over sense, his assessment of Polynices as being in the wrong for going against authority doesn't clear things up.

I emphasize this because I don't want to seem like I'm framing other trans people - transmascs especially - as requiring forgiveness for some vague past sin. Quite the opposite, just as they treat us as their sisters in spite of that minority of transfems who are awful to them, we must recognize that they're often the first to shut down transmisogynists amongst themselves. Ultimately the point of Antigone's actions in defying the law to honor her brother is that things like that are entirely irrelevant. The fact that the person accusing Polynices of being evil is a jackass, and we know there were versions of the story where Eteocles had it coming, is even more reason to look past his "crime."

ANTIGONE: I owed it to him. CREON: I had forbidden it. ANTIGONE: I owed it to him. CREON: Polynices was a rebel and a traitor, and you know it. ANTIGONE: He was my brother.

Does that mean we should not call out other trans people who are transmisogynistic or otherwise treat trans women badly? Of course not. But we have no more right to abandon or spit on them than they do us, which so many of them refuse to do in spite of the hostility they've often faced. To be an antigonist is to believe that we can do no less for those who do so much for us, and the creation of the term is intended not to spur more to do that so much as to give a name to those who've already been doing that.

Finally, I understand that the plot of Antigone revolving around Polynice's burial might feel grim. Critically, however, Antigone ultimately dies as well.

ISMENE: I must yield to those in authority. I think it is dangerous business to be always meddling. ANTIGONE: You have made your choice, you can be what you want to be. But I will bury him, and if I must die, I say that this crime is holy. I shall lie down with him in death, and I shall be as dear to him as he to me.

We are oppressed by the same forces. We are allies in the same fight. We are friends, lovers, and family. An antigonist is a transfem who believes that all trans people will live together and die together. We are committed to sharing the same fate with our siblings, one way or another. Antigonists see us all as bound together, headed for the same destination, and we would not for a second ever want it to be otherwise no matter where that road leads.

One more thing!

Even if this terminology doesn't catch on, I hope this effort means something to anyone who sees this. <3 Your sisters do love you, I promise.

#transandrophobia #transmisogyny #exorsexism #intersexism #homophobia #trans women #transfem #trans men #transmasc #antigonism

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marudol · 6 months ago

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kabru and the dungeon lords

kabru is a very critical character to dungeon meshi for a thousand and one reasons, and not merely for his status as the point-of-view character in the story's b-plot. kabru represents the compass by which dungeon meshi's world works. he has big-picture motives that involve the entire world, much grander than the original a-plot of "let's save falin."

he is our classic hero, a character who suffered great personal tragedy and must ensure that no one suffers the same fate. as such, he is a great parallel for dungeon meshi's most integral characters:

the dungeon lords themselves.

🚨manga spoilers ahead.🚨

thistle

picture this: you are a child, separate from anyone else in the world who looks like you due to circumstances beyond your control. you are taken by pale-skinned adults who try to treat you well; who clothe you, feed you, and put a roof over your head.

it is not enough.

who am i describing - kabru, or thistle?

kabru-thistle parallels focus on their shared past as trans-racial adoptees. their shared experiences are not a universal one to all trans-racial adoptions in the dungeon meshi universe: the floke twins are treated well by their gnomish foster (grand)parents; allowed to be children while they are children and treated as adults when they are adults.

not all trans-racial adoptees are given the same courtesy. kabru was raised by an elf who infantilized him, even once he was fully-grown. milsiril did not always know what kabru needed from her, so she defaulted to treating him the way she would treat an elf his age rather than understand what his age meant as a tall-man.

by contrast, thistle was raised by tall-men. freinag saw thistle as a son and so he and delgal thought themselves as brothers. but as delgal aged and matured, thistle remained stagnant. eventually, delgal's relative age surpassed thistle's- but no one could even conceive of that, because thistle's numerical age made the tall-men around him treat him as an adult rather than a teenager.

they both feel immense responsibility for the tragedies suffered by their people. kabru explicitly believes there must be a "reason" he survived utaya and that the reason was to destroy the dungeons to ensure it never happened again, and thistle IS the reason the golden country survived their war, and why eodio made it to adulthood all.

kabru and thistle are characters pre- and post-accomplishing their goals. kabru has yet to assume total responsibility; thistle already has.

they must save them- they must protect them all.

[🩵]

marcille

once upon a time, a child lost a parent before they were ready to, and the trajectory of their life changed forever. desperate to understand, the child grew into an adult and dedicated themself to preventing their personal loss from happening to anyone else ever again. as a result, they looked downward into the dungeon's depths.

they will find the answers they seek.

who am i describing- kabru, or marcille?

marcille and kabru stand as important secondary figures to laios, our main protagonist. in the words of another excellent post, they are the heaven foils to laios's earth. where laios is grounded and thinking about the here and now, they have both identified big picture problems plaguing their world and pursue these goals with intense fervor.

however, these goals have been diverted by censorship. marcille cannot access information about historical ancient magic through traditional means and the elves won't tell kabru what happened to utaya's dungeon, so they both decide to go and do something with their own two hands.

entering the dungeon is a step towards their grander goals, which are both rooted in opposition to long-lived supremacy. critically: the solutions they come to are vastly different.

marcille's solution is very fantastical - "fixing" everyone's lifespans by making EVERYONE long-lived (though her original solution seemed to be more grounded; being a lord gave her the chance to indulge in the full fantasy).

on the other hand, kabru wants something more concrete and based in the real world. he wants to use the dungeon as a means to an end before destroying it entirely, whereas marcille wants the dungeon to be the end. hers is a magic idea borne about by escapism, while kabru wants to solve a societal problem with something tangible to improve the lives of the shorter-lived without resorting to the fantastical.

(note the similarity in these compositions!)

kabru and marcille are aiming for the heavens; they have chosen to act as stewards to bring about a better future for as many people as possible.

but eventually, they must crash back down to earth.

[🩵]

mithrun

a long time ago, a dungeon lord met their maker and the demon ate its fill, but failed to breach the surface. carnage and destruction was sown in its wake. in the aftermath, a survivor dedicated himself completely and utterly to the cause with no room for reproach.

the dungeon will be conquered. and if he has it his way, it will be conquered by his hand.

who am i describing- kabru, or mithrun?

if thistle represents kabru's past and marcille represents kabru's present, than mithrun represents one branch of kabru's future- and a rather bleak one.

mithrun has suffered great tragedy at the hands of a dungeon and, as a result, dedicated himself to be what he believes is his one remaining desire: to finally be consumed entirely. he thinks he has nothing else to live for, so he runs himself ragged every single day just to inch closer and closer at a chance to kill himself while pursuing his goal.

this great fervor is one that kabru artificially mimics long before meeting mithrun. kabru is willing to die for his goals. he does die for his goals. he thinks he is going to die without a chance for resurrection when he sabotages the canaries, which is why his 'last' thought is "it's up to you now, laios!"

remember: kabru believes his survival has to serve a purpose- his survival must have been 'worth it.' in order to make his own survival palettable, kabru dedicates himself entirely to the dungeon's destruction without long-lived intervention as a means to avoid repeating utaya's fate. kabru self-deprives, fails to care for himself, and he is constantly killed in pursuit of his goal to conquer the dungeon before people like the canaries can. while kabru has desires, he only indulges in the one that has guided him for over a decade.

functionally, he and mithrun are identical when they first meet.

kabru has purposefully deprived himself of his desires beyond ensuring another utaya doesn't happen again, and mithrun is proof of what happens when you follow that to its logical conclusion. however, over the course of their week together and the final arc of the story, kabru makes the choice to divert from mithrun's fate.

kabru looks into the eye of his ultimate goal, and in the culmination of his arc, ultimately refuses this destiny.

what do you want, kabru? are you hungry, kabru?

kabru indulges. instead of blindly following through the dungeon's destruction and sacrificing what he wants for the greater good, he wants, and he befriends laios instead of ending his life. he leaves mithrun's fate behind...

...and senshi- one of the most steadfast representatives of dungeon meshi's thesis- sets mithrun on a path where he, too, can learn to chase after newer, healthier desires.

[🩵]

laios

one day, a child was hungry for the answer to a question: "what is wrong with me?"

there is no satisfactory answer. a mother and a sister believe nothing is wrong, but everyone else in their small world disagrees. those eyes, that personality- something must be wrong.

but there is no recourse.

so, these children endeavor to focus on the world around them in ways that won't hurt them. one chooses to study and love humans, because humans are beautiful and complex and amazing. the other chooses to study and love monsters, because monsters are easier to understand and always obey one simple rule: eat or be eaten.

they double down on their interests soon enough. monsters have hurt one child enough, and humans can't get enough of hurting the other.

you know which one is kabru. you know which one is laios- dungeon meshi's fabled narrative foils.

laios and kabru are as textually close to being explicit foils as humanly possible. the first sentence of kabru's page of the adventurer's bible says it perfectly: "in every possible way, he's a contrast with laios. laios loves monsters, while kabru has an endless interest in humans" (56).

in basic terms, a foil character is a character with traits that contrast against another's, typically the main protagonist. this contrast serves to highlight the themes of the story, and we see that illustrated perfectly with laios and kabru.

where kabru has denied himself care, laios gives it to him without thinking. where laios believed no one could ever want to be his friend, kabru proves him wrong. the nature of nourishment and human connection are both critical foundations to dungeon meshi's story, and the main character struggling with human connection while his foil struggles with nourishment is no mistake.

kabru wanted to be laios's friend all along. the b-plot of dungeon meshi is driven by kabru's unconscious desire to understand and ultimately aid one inscrutable laios touden. the reason they cross paths at all is because kabru wants to meet him! he takes a chance when toshiro appears and sees his chance through.

but kabru doesn't realize it until he's already said it. he betrays himself, completely unaware that his supposed interest in the touden siblings skews a little more to the right than he could have possibly known.

killing laios would have been the ultimate preventative measure. he was yet to be dungeon lord, and with the canaries intent on handling marcille, kabru could have dealt with him right then on that cliff. but kabru doesn't take the opportunity because he doesn't want to.

he'd rather befriend laios than see him dead, and he takes the chance by the sleeve and doesn't let go until he is listened to.

and in the end, kabru is rewarded for his leap of faith: laios puts an end to the demon. laios has ensured that another utaya will never happen again.

laios saves the world.

all because kabru allowed himself to be selfish.

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thegreenmeridian · 8 months ago

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Idk lads I think what really makes me insane is like. There are sensible people, who will see a US media article about Black People Do Crime or a British media article about Trans People Are Perverts and think to themselves “hmm, the heavily ingrained societal bias is influencing the media reporting and a lot of these sources are from organisations like Protect the Whites/Radfem-Evangelical Alliance”.

These same people will see articles from Qatari state media or wherever else and go “if this article is using National Jew Murder Society as a source, the reports of Israel committing a genocide and training dogs to rape prisoners must be true and definitely aren’t at all influenced by millennia of the Christian and Muslim world’s most intensely ingrained bigotry”.

There’s just… there’s no thought, no hint of a musing, that maybe, just maybe, the vitriolic hate aimed at the one Jewish nation on earth might possibly be influenced by antisemitism. There’s no thought at all that maybe sources need checking, maybe a country that categorically refuses to extradite known war criminals isn’t the best judge of war crimes, maybe a dictatorship that had “genocide the Jews” as a stated goal might not be a reliable source of statistics.

Not a single bloody thought. Not one brain cell is firing to say ��Jew hatred is so deeply ingrained in my culture, maybe this is a factor in what people are saying and what I’m willing to believe”.

There is so much about all this that is making me lose my damn mind but this particular flavour of hypocrisy is one of the worst.

#jumblr #oct 7th #antisemitism

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dostoyevsky-official · 25 days ago

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not only did the NYT propagate anti-trans stories feeding today's EO ban and refuse to acknowledge elon's nazi salute, they went vichy-media mode by banning paul krugman from the op-eds:

Last month I retired from my position as an opinion writer at the New York Times—a job I had done for 25 years. Despite the encomiums issued by the Times, it was not a happy departure. [...] I believe that the story of why I left says something important about the current state of legacy journalism.

[...] During my first 24 years at the Times, from 2000 to 2024, I faced very few editorial constraints on how and what I wrote. For most of that period my draft would go straight to a copy editor, who would sometimes suggest that I make some changes — for example, softening an assertion that arguably went beyond provable facts, or redrafting a passage the editor didn’t quite understand, and which readers probably wouldn’t either. But the editing was very light; over the years several copy editors jokingly complained that I wasn’t giving them anything to do, because I came in at length, with clean writing and with back-up for all factual assertions.

This light-touch editing prevailed even when I took positions that made Times leadership very nervous. My early and repeated criticisms of Bush’s push to invade Iraq led to several tense meetings with management. In those meetings, I was urged to tone it down. Yet the columns themselves were published as I wrote them. And in the end, I believe the Times — which eventually apologized for its role in promoting the war — was glad that I had taken an anti-invasion stand. I believe that it was my finest hour.

So I was dismayed to find out this past year, when the current Times editors and I began to discuss our differences, that current management and top editors appear to have been completely unaware of this important bit of the paper’s history and my role in it.

[...] In 2024, the editing of my regular columns went from light touch to extremely intrusive. I went from one level of editing to three, with an immediate editor and his superior both weighing in on the column, and sometimes doing substantial rewrites before it went to copy. These rewrites almost invariably involved toning down, introducing unnecessary qualifiers, and, as I saw it, false equivalence. I would rewrite the rewrites to restore the essence of my original argument. But as I told Charles Kaiser, I began to feel that I was putting more effort—especially emotional energy—into fixing editorial damage than I was into writing the original articles. And the end result of the back and forth often felt flat and colorless.

One more thing: I faced attempts from others to dictate what I could (and could not) write about, usually in the form, “You’ve already written about that,” as if it never takes more than one column to effectively cover a subject. If that had been the rule during my earlier tenure, I never would have been able to press the case for Obamacare, or against Social Security privatization, and—most alarmingly—against the Iraq invasion. Moreover, all Times opinion writers were banned from engaging in any kind of media criticism. Hardly the kind of rule that would allow an opinion writer to state, “we are being lied into war.”

I felt that my byline was being used to create a storyline that was no longer mine. So I left.

That’s my story. What are the broader implications?

[...] What I felt during my final year at the Times was a push toward blandness, toward avoiding saying anything too directly in a way that might get some people (particularly on the right) riled up. I guess my question is, if those are the ground rules, why even bother having an opinion section?

[...] On a somewhat different issue, it became clear to me that the management I was dealing with didn’t understand the difference between having an opinion and having an informed, factually sourced opinion. When the newsletter was canceled, I tried to point out that I was almost the only regular opinion writer doing policy. Their response was to point to other writers who often expressed views about policy, economic and otherwise. I tried in vain to explain that there’s a difference between having opinions about economics and knowing how to read C.B.O. analyses and recent research papers. It all fell on deaf ears.

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ohnoitstbskyen · 1 year ago

Note

Often when people talk about appearance of characters in media, especially that of women, some use an argument along the lines of "Why would I want to look at someone ugly in the games I play/shows I watch/etc.?"

From what I saw, and if I'm not wrong, you prefer to not engage with that kind of argument, but if you absolutely had to, what answer would you give that could have a chance to make those people see and maybe agree with your point?

I mean, the reason why I wouldn't engage with that argument is that it is always, universally, without exception, an argument made in bad faith, by people who are lying when they utter it. And it takes only the briefest examination of reality to determine this.

The argument they pretend to make is that "there is no reason to desire things that are not pleasurable in entertainment," in response to which I present The Concept Of Horror Media, or the success of Jackass, or South Park, or literally any subversive prank show, or sports as a concept, or the genre of tragedy, or the phenomenon of people rubbernecking. I present true crime podcasts and biographies of John Wayne Gacy and Mortal Kombat fatalities, I present unflinchingly earnest documentaries about war and disease, I present cringe comedy, I present the entire online media genre of pimple popper videos.

Human beings desire so much more than beauty, so much more than aesthetic pleasure (and indeed we can take aesthetic pleasure in so much more than beauty). We find entertainment in disgust, horror, fear, revulsion, sorrow, embarrassment, pain and, yes, "ugliness" all the time, and we have done for as long as we have had sentient minds to entertain.

So this argument "why would I want to look at someone ugly in a video game" is simply a lie. It is an argument made in bad faith by people whom I will guarantee you against a bet of real money constantly look at things which are "ugly" for entertainment.

It is a lie, it is a stupid lie, and while I'm sure that many or most of the people who peddle that lie don't realize they are lying when they do it, it remains a lie which isn't worth dignifying with a response.

And anyway, 99% of the time they don't mean "ugly" they mean "woman who I don't find fuckable" or they mean "fat" or they mean "trans" or they mean "queer" or "non-white," they mean someone or some thing which falls into a category which they feel entitled to hate, and they are trying to enforce the normality of that hate.

You cannot logic someone out of a position they didn't logic themselves in to, and there is very rarely anything you can say to these people to make them reconsider. They are reacting emotionally, they are reacting on the impulse towards disgust and hatred, and they will rationalize a lie to excuse it.

#beauty culture

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drdemonprince · 2 months ago

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Gender liberation, in the end, is not a war between the good group and the bad. It is a collective struggle against the laws, cultural norms, social rules, and institutional policies that restrict all people, and uses rigid gendered categories to keep us so restricted.

I think if we are going to be able to move forward in this fight, trans men must abandon the notion that other men are fundamentally the “bad” gender — and that we don’t belong to that category because of our transness. We must embrace manhood as a state of both strength and profound lostness, an immense liability as much as it is a source of gender euphoric joy, and see the frustrated wanderings of other marginalized masculine people as of a piece with our own.

And so, in the interest of helping us all find our way to each other, here are some of the major struggles that trans men and cis men have in common:

Gender Dysphoria

Many people believe the experience of having gender dysphoria is something like having a phantom limb, or seeing the wrong image in the mirror, but that’s rarely true.

For a lot of trans people, gender dysphoria feels more like a maddening insecurity about how we look and how we are being perceived that seems to know no satisfaction, a mental itching that wanders all across our bodies, our faces, down our throats, across our hairlines, and even all over our clothes. It’s the uncertain sense we are not being ourselves correctly, an out-of-placeness that makes our very being feel like it has no right to exist.

Gender dysphoria is not caused by having the “wrong” gendered brain for one’s body (the notion of “male” and “female” brains is a myth), nor is it a mental illness afflicting only trans people. Rather, gender dysphoria is a pretty sensible trauma response to society’s unrelenting and coercive gendering. All people are categorized as a gender, assigned rules, and threatened with becoming less of a person should they fail to measure up. This means that even cisgender people can experience the terror of feeling that they’ve failed to enact their gender correctly and make themselves socially acceptable— a sensation that often gets called “gender dysphoria.”

I think I first realized that cis people could be gender dysphoric when the actress Amanda Bynes revealed she had tumbled into a major depressive episode after watching herself portray a male character in the comedy She’s the Man. The disturbance she felt from watching herself enact the “wrong” gender sounded exactly like how I felt back when I looked in the mirror at myself as a “woman.”

In 2019, when Jason Derulo complained about his bulge being removed with CGI for his role in the film Cats, I was reminded once again that cis people can feel utterly, dysphorically wrong in their bodies or how they are perceived. Each year, millions of cis people spend thousands of dollars on breast augmentations, jaw implants, hair plugs, and leg-lengthening surgeries, at least in part for gender dysphoric reasons, and if you’ve worn both male and female clothing before, you’ve likely recognized how much of the tailoring of garments is done to deliberately accentuate or even manufacture the gendered features of a person’s shape.

Cis people feel ill-at-ease in their bodies, and fail to measure up to gender normative standards too. That’s how artificially constructed and harshly enforced these standards really are.

In recent years, I’ve spent a good amount of time in gay male bathhouses. When I reveal this fact, even to other gay men, I’m sometimes met with confessions of deep bodily insecurity. The idea of being nude in a highly gendered sexual marketplace often causes people’s worst gendered fears to bubble up.

“I could never go to a place like that,” one cis gay man in his forties confessed to me. “My dick is too small. Nobody would ever want to look at me.”

“I wouldn’t fit in there,” said another cis man, a short, effeminate type with long flowing hair. “They might think I was a girl and kick me out or harass me.”

These men knew, of course, that I don’t have a penis, and can be mistaken for a woman from some angles. And I had just told each of them I’d never had any problem visiting the sauna. Yet they couldn’t shake the sense that I was doing manhood correctly enough, and they were somehow doing it wrong. Despite ostensibly being “cis,” they weren’t quite sure that manhood as a category could hold them as they really were — not when they were nude and vulnerable, surrounded by their idea of the proper man.

Of course, having been in these spaces frequently, I could have told them that nobody there is the “proper” kind of man at all. There’s just regular human beings in there — with sunken chests, stretch marks, amputated limbs, multi-layered bellies, rounded backs, tiny hands, and eye patches.

Over the years, cis men have shared dozens of gender dysphoric insecurities with me, about everything from the width of their shoulders to the length of their eyelashes to the way they hold a can of beer. And in some of the sections below, we will explore more specific examples, because these sources of dysphoria mirror trans men’s almost exactly. But it’s important to establish first that the major commonality across both groups of men is our fear we’re not being men correctly at all.

Every man, I believe, grapples with the disjoint between their actual, complex human selves and the strong, built, stoic, powerful, masculine image that has been pushed upon us. And we fear living up to that standard because the consequences of that failure can be so harsh — these norms are quite violently imposed.

Failing to be a man, in some sense, is what being a man actually means. We are united in the precarity of our position, as powerful as it is. A man in a tank-top with a bald spot sitting beside a lush pond. Photo by Beth Macdonald on Unsplash

Hair Insecurities

“I wish I could grow a full beard so that I could pass better,” says Topher, a trans guy with long hair in his mid-twenties. “But I’m realizing that cis men with long hair get misgendered often too.”

Dunmer, a bisexual trans guy, echoes this experience. “In this one chemistry class a few years ago, both me and this cis guy got called ma’am by a professor. I’m a rather effeminate/androgynous dude, but I have prominent facial hair. And the other guy who got misgendered was pretty masculine, but had long hair and was clean shaven. We both just kinda looked at each other and shrugged after it happened.”

I’ve found that numerous cis and trans men harbor deep insecurities about their hair — where it’s growing, where it doesn’t, how it looks on their bodies, and where they might be losing it. It may sound like a frivolous subject at first blush, but hair is integral to gendered perceptions, as well as how others view our sexual attractiveness, race, and age.

Trans men worry frequently about potential hair loss on T for more aesthetic reasons. I’ve known numerous trans masculine people who have avoided starting hormones because they’ve feared eventually going bald and becoming “less attractive.” And in this we aren’t alone, as 52 billion dollars gets spent each year (by people of all genders) on hair loss prevention treatments.

“It’s helped me to realize that cis men are also scared of going bald,” says Topher. “When I worry about something gender-wise, I ask myself if cis men deal with what I deal with, and it’s helped me settle into my identity more.”

Cis and trans men also share complicated feelings about body hair. Though being covered in a dark blanket of fuzz certainly reads as “masculine,” male beauty standards for the last several decades have eschewed hairiness in favor of a the glistening, action-figure-y look. Trans and cis men alike often fear that hair sprouting on their backs will make them unattractive, or that growing a “neckbeard” will be seen as slovenly. And it’s no coincidence that hairiness has often been linked with fatness and being racialized in many people’s minds — the uncontrolled proliferation of hair is often cast as animalistic, unclean, disgusting, less than human.

But some men have sought refuge from such punishing standards within the gay Bear community.

“I have never felt more welcomed in my masculinity than I have around other bears,” says Kody, a trans male bear. “I’m literally growing in my manhood — getting bigger, hairier, louder, taking up more space. While being really soft and tender too.”

I wrote about the many struggles that unite trans and cis men, and how a deep appreciation for our commonalities is essential to the fight for gender liberation. You can read the full piece for free, or have it narrated to you by the Substack app, at drdevonprice.substack.com.

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snoozify · 15 days ago

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BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

Pairing: Melvika X reader

Warnings: Threesome, Switch Sevika, Blowjob (Sevika receiving), public sex (at Y/N’s job), praise/dirty talk, pet names (baby girl, baby and doll), Oral (Mel receiving), Mel Dom!Mel, Dom!Reader, (1940’s slang)

A/N: I wrote Sevika as trans, and I’ve seen mixed reactions some saying it’s offensive and others saying it’s not. My intention is never to offend, so if this portrayal is hurting anyone, please let me know, and I’ll rewrite it or take it down. I want to be mindful and respectful of how people feel about representation. This is very lengthy so hopefully everyone enjoys it.

The 1940s, often remembered as the Golden Age, was a decade of war, change, and cultural evolution. With World War II raging across the globe, countless men were sent overseas to fight, leaving women to step into roles once dominated by men. No longer confined solely to the home, women worked in factories, took up jobs in offices, and proved their capabilities beyond keeping the house clean. This shift in societal expectations ignited early movements for civil rights and women’s rights, as people began questioning the rigid structures of the past.

Despite the war casting a long shadow, entertainment thrived. Jazz clubs were the heart of the nightlife, their smoky interiors alive with the sultry melodies of saxophones and the smooth voices of legendary jazz singers. Hollywood flourished, and the burlesque scene exploded in popularity, offering people a thrilling escape from the grim realities of wartime.

For you, burlesque dancing was more than just a job, it was a way of life. The stage was your world, the warm glow of the spotlights, the dazzling sequins on your costume catching every flicker of light as you moved. You thrived on the attention, the way men eagerly tossed their money at your feet, and how women whispered enviously, wishing they had a body like yours. It was a game, a performance, and most importantly, it paid the bills.

Club Desire

A haven of glamour, seduction, and exclusivity. This wasn’t just any burlesque club, it was the best of the best, a place where only the most captivating performers were allowed to grace the stage. It stood as a sanctuary for women, offering them independence, protection, and a chance to make a name for themselves in a world that often overlooked them.

Unlike the seedy joints scattered across the city, Club Desire set the standard as a beacon of elegance and prestige that made other establishments look like cheap imitations. It wasn’t just the number one club in the country for its dazzling shows and high-profile clientele, it was a symbol of power, an empire built on allure and talent. And your boss? She’d do anything to keep that image untarnished.

Dancers hurried around the dressing room, adjusting corsets, perfecting their curls, and dusting powder onto their skin to catch the light just right. The club’s golden rule was simple: perfection. No smudged lipstick, no loose straps, no missteps. Every performance had to be flawless, every moment intoxicating.

You moved to your usual spot by the mirrored vanity, adjusting the straps of your sequined dress, feeling the cool silk against your skin. Naomi, ever the cool cat, leaned beside you, fixing the seams on her thigh-high stockings. She shot you a smirk through the mirror.

"Nervous, doll?" she teased, fastening the last clip of her garter belt.

You scoffed, dabbing a final touch of rouge on your cheeks. "You know me, sweetheart. I was made for this."

And it was true. You thrived under the stage lights, reveled in the attention, in the way the crowd’s eyes followed your every move, entranced, yearning. Club Desire wasn’t just your workplace it was your stage, your kingdom.

A sharp knock at the dressing room door cut through the chatter, and a voice barked out, "Five minutes, girls!"

It’s showtime.

Naomi winked at you, smoothing down her dress. As you slipped into your heels and made your way to the stage entrance, you could already hear the announcer hyping up the crowd. The anticipation crackled in the air like a live wire.

The moment your heel clicked against the polished stage, a hush fell over the room, followed by the slow, rising hum of excitement. The band struck up a sultry tune, the soft wail of a saxophone weaving through the thick haze of cigar smoke, setting the mood just right. The golden glow of the stage lights kissed your skin, catching every shimmering detail of your dress, every curve, every teasing movement.

You knew how to work a crowd. It was a game of push and pull, temptation and restraint. Give them just enough, keep them wanting more. Your hips swayed to the rhythm, your gloved fingers trailing along your shoulder before slipping down your arm, peeling the silk away with agonizing slowness. The men at the front leaned in, their cigars smoldering in forgotten ashtrays, their drinks left untouched as they watched, spellbound.

You spotted familiar faces in the crowd, businessmen loosening their ties, soldiers on leave looking for a last taste of something sweet before shipping back out, women with red lips and sharp eyes watching with quiet admiration.Some came for the show, others came for the escape. Either way, they all left captivated.

At a table near the back, nestled in the shadows where only the high-rollers and untouchables sat, a pair of figures caught your eye. Mel Medarda and Sevika. You nearly missed a step but years of experience kept your movements smooth, your expression unshaken. What were they doing here?

Mel sat poised, her chin resting delicately on her hand, her legs crossed watching you with an unreadable expression. Regal. Amused. Intrigued. Beside her, Sevika lounged back, a cigarette dangling from her lips, exhaling a slow stream of smoke as she observed you through lidded eyes.

They didn’t belong in this crowd. Not as patrons, at least. Mel was too powerful, too calculated to be here for just a night of entertainment. And Sevika? She looked like she owned the place rather than simply visiting it.

Something about the way they watched you intense, deliberate, expectant sent a shiver down your spine.

Your routine continued flawlessly, but your mind raced. Had they come for you?

As you finished your routine with a slow, deliberate turn, the final note of the saxophone lingering in the air, the room erupted in applause. Whistles, cheers, the clinking of glasses. Money fluttered onto the stage like golden leaves in the autumn wind. You bent down with a practiced smile, scooping up a few bills, letting the men in the front row believe for just a second that they were special.

But your focus was elsewhere.

Mel and Sevika hadn’t moved.

They were still watching you, the applause, the spectacle, the noise none of it seemed to faze them. Unbothered. In control.

You took your time stepping off the stage, offering the crowd a last lingering glance before disappearing behind the velvet curtain. The second you were out of sight, you exhaled, running a hand down your arm to shake off the tension coiling beneath your skin. Something was off.

"Nice work out there, doll," Naomi’s voice pulled you back. She leaned against the vanity, reapplying her lipstick in the mirror. "You had those boys eating outta the palm of your hand."

"Yeah," you muttered, rubbing your arms as if that could rid you of the feeling of being watched.

Naomi turned to you, arching a brow. "What's with the long face? Thought you liked the attention."

You hesitated before speaking. What could you even say? That two of the most powerful women in the city were sitting front row, eyeing you like you were a game piece they were about to move? That something about their presence made your skin prickle, even after years of performing for all kinds of men and women?

Before you could respond, the dressing room door creaked open, and the boss’s sharp heels clacked against the floor.

"Y/N," she called, her expression unreadable, her lips curled into something halfway between a smirk and a warning.

You straightened immediately. "Yeah, boss?"

She stepped closer, fixing a stray strap on your dress, smoothing out the fabric like she cared.

"You’ve got company," she said, her voice low. "And they don’t like to be kept waiting."

Your stomach twisted. You already knew who she was talking about.

Mel and Sevika.

Naomi shot you a look, curiosity flickering in her eyes, but you couldn’t focus on that now. You swallowed hard, forcing a breath through your nose.

"Where?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

The boss grinned. "Private room. Go on, doll. Wouldn’t wanna disappoint ‘em."

You hesitated, then nodded, smoothing down your dress, adjusting your gloves.

You forced a steady breath, smoothing your hands down the fabric of your dress before stepping out of the dressing room. The club was alive with music, smoke, and laughter, but it all blurred as you made your way to the private rooms. Your heels clicked against the polished floors, every step sending a pulse of nervous energy through your veins.

Mel Medarda and Sevika.

These weren’t your average patrons, the kind that got sloppy on whiskey and loose with their wallets. They had power. Real power.

Reaching the door, you hesitated. A second too long.

"Go on, sugar," the bouncer grunted, barely sparing you a glance as he opened the door for you. No turning back now.

You stepped insideThe air was thick with cigarette smoke and expensive perfume.

The lighting was lower than in the main room, casting deep shadows against the plush velvet seating. Mel lounged effortlessly on the couch, her head resting against Sevika’s shoulder. A glass of something dark swirled in her hand. Sevika, ever the enforcer, exhaled a stream of smoke, eyes locked onto you like she was sizing you up.

You cleared your throat, trying to steady your nerves as you spoke, “The b-boss sent me. Said you ladies were lookin’ for entertainment.” You forced the words out, keeping your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest.

Mel’s gaze lingered on you, her head tilting slightly as a slow, knowing smile crept across her lips. It wasn’t the kind of smile that made you feel comfortable, it was the kind that made you feel like she already knew everything about you, like she was always ten steps ahead.

"Entertainment," she repeated, her voice like honey, smooth and dangerously calm. "I suppose that’s one way to put it." She took her time with the words, drawing them out, letting the weight of them settle in the room.

Sevika, lounging beside her, took another lazy drag from her cigarette, the smoke curling up around her like a serpent. She exhaled slowly, the tendrils of smoke rising toward the ceiling before her sharp gaze landed on you. “Close the door, sweetheart,” she drawled, her tone a little colder now, a little more commanding. “Don’t want anyone listenin’ in on our little chat.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine as you turned toward the door, closing it with a soft click, the sound echoing too loudly in the otherwise quiet room. You could feel the tension thickening, wrapping around you as the room seemed to close in.

Turning back, you found both women watching you with eyes that didn’t miss a thing. Mel leaned back slightly, her fingers tapping against her drink, while Sevika’s eyes never wavered from you, watching you like a hawk.

Mel patted the seat next to Sevika, her smile sharp and teasing. “Sit. She doesn’t bite… unless you want her to.” She said it like she was enjoying the game, swirling the wine in her glass as she watched you closely. The flicker of amusement in her eyes was unmistakable.

You glanced over at Sevika, taking in the sight of her. The buff, brown-skinned woman was lounging with an almost predatory calm, her gaze fixed on you, a hunger in her eyes that was both intense and unsettling. She didn’t look at you like a stranger no, she looked at you like she already knew exactly what she wanted.

You hesitated. You had dealt with men and women wanting something from you before, but this? This felt different. There was no pretense, no soft words or polite gestures, just raw, unapologetic desire.

Despite the knot forming in your stomach, you forced yourself to sit. Your hands gripped the edge of the seat for a moment before you relaxed into it, trying to look composed, even though every nerve in your body was on edge.

Mel’s smile widened as she took another sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving you. Sevika’s gaze didn’t falter either, still locked onto you with an intensity that left no room for doubt.

Mel studied you for a long moment before setting her glass down. "You’ve got quite the reputation here. The boss speaks highly of you."

You forced a small smile, keeping your posture poised. "I aim to please."

Sevika scoffed, the sound low and amused. "That so?"

Mel leans over Sevika’s lap, closing the space between you. "We didn’t ask for just any girl tonight," she murmurs, her voice smooth but edged with something that sends a shiver down your spine. "We asked for you." Her gaze locks onto yours, intense and unyielding.

Your eyes drop to your dress, unsure how to respond to the dark-skinned woman before you. She clicks her tongue in disapproval, then tilts your chin up with a single finger.

"You’re very pretty," she muses, her eyes drinking you in. "The way your body moves… so graceful."

Before you can react, she shifts, climbing over Sevika and settling into your lap. Your breath hitches as she leans in, her warm breath ghosting over your neck.

"Thank you," you manage to whisper. She smiles, lips dangerously close to your skin.

Mel hums, the sound vibrating against your skin as she brushes her nose along your jawline. "Shy, are we?" she teases, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sevika exhales sharply, clearly amused. "Don’t scare her off, Mel," she drawls, though there’s no real warning in her tone, only entertainment.

Mel ignores her, fingers trailing lightly down your arm, her touch featherlight but deliberate. "I like the quiet ones," she murmurs, her lips just barely grazing your ear. "They always surprise me."

Your breath stutters, heat pooling in your stomach at her closeness. Her confidence is intoxicating, and the way she looks at you like she already knows how this night will end makes it impossible to pull away.

"Relax," she coaxes, pressing a hand against your thigh. "You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want this."

Sevika leans back, taking a slow sip of her drink as she watches, her gaze dark with interest. "Go on," she says, nodding toward you. "Tell her what you want."

Mel tilts her head, waiting, patient but expectant. Her fingers trace lazy circles against your leg, and you know there’s no escaping her attention.

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. Mel watches you closely, waiting, her patience unwavering.

"F-Fuck, I don’t know," you finally whimper, your voice barely above a breath.

Sevika chuckles, low and amused, as she pours herself another drink. "If you don’t know, doll, how can we give you what you want?" She tilts her head, smirking. "Hmm?"

Frustration coils in your chest, your body thrumming with need. You squeeze your eyes shut, exhaling shakily. "F-Fuck me," you gasp. "Touch me, do anything."

The moment the words leave your lips, Mel is on you.

Her mouth crashes against yours, the kiss nothing like you’re used to hungry, all-consuming. It’s as if she’s devouring you, taking what she wants without hesitation. When you moan, she takes it as an invitation, her tongue slipping past your lips, claiming you completely.

Mel’s fingers press into your thighs as she deepens the kiss, her body molding against yours. The heat of her, the way she moves with such effortless dominance, has your head spinning.

Sevika watches from her seat, swirling the liquor in her glass with a lazy smirk. "Mel’s always been a bit greedy," she muses, amusement lacing her tone. "Hope you can keep up, doll."

Mel doesn’t bother responding, her focus is entirely on you. Her hands roam, tracing the curve of your waist before slipping beneath the fabric of your dress, her touch featherlight but deliberate. She drinks in every sound you make, every hitch in your breath, like she’s savoring it.

She pulls back just enough to let you breathe, her lips hovering over yours. "You taste sweet," she murmurs, thumb brushing against your bottom lip. "I knew you'd be sweet."

Your body is burning, anticipation coiling deep in your stomach. She shifts in your lap, rolling her hips just slightly, and it sends a shock of pleasure through you. Your fingers dig into her sides, grounding yourself, because everything about her is overwhelming.

"Look at you," Mel purrs, tilting your chin up so you have no choice but to meet her gaze. "You’re already falling apart for me."

Sevika hums in agreement, taking another slow sip of her drink. "She’s a pretty thing when she’s desperate."

Mel grins, wicked and knowing. "Lucky for her, I like desperate."

Her hands tighten on you, and you realize you’ve given yourself to her completely.

Mel’s hands roam your body with a purpose, but it’s not enough not for her. With a slow, deliberate pace, she begins to strip you of your burlesque costume, piece by piece. Each article of clothing falls away, leaving your skin exposed to the cool air and their hungry gazes.

Once you’re bare, she takes her time admiring you, fingers tracing the curves of your body before she effortlessly lifts you into Sevika’s lap. The shift is dizzying, your body now pressed against the firm, solid warmth of the other woman. Sevika leans back, watching you with a smirk as Mel settles behind you, her breath hot against your ear.

"You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this," Mel whispers, voice dripping with desire. Her lips graze your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you can respond, she shifts her leg beneath you, her knee suddenly pressing up against your clit. The unexpected pressure has you arching your back, a sharp moan escaping your lips.

Sevika chuckles, the sound dark and amused. "Usually, my wife and I don’t indulge in things like this," she muses, her rough hands finding their way to your waist. She grips you firmly, holding you in place as her thick thigh presses against your aching core. "But then we saw you dancing, prancing around that little stage we just had to take a bite."

She guides your movements, rocking your hips against her leg, each slow grind sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. Mel’s hands don’t stay idle; they glide over your body, teasing, exploring, her touch featherlight yet possessive.

"Just look at you," Mel murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "So eager for us."

Sevika’s grip tightens on your waist, guiding your movements as you grind against her thick thigh. The friction is intoxicating, sending waves of pleasure through you with each slow, deliberate roll of your hips. Your hands grasp at her shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto, but the teasing smirk on her lips tells you she’s enjoying watching you struggle for control.

Mel, still behind you, drags her fingers down your arms before wrapping them around your torso, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "That’s it," she coos, her voice smooth as silk. "Let us see how good you can be."

Sevika hums, her thigh flexing beneath you, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure up your spine. "Bet you’ve never been touched like this before," she murmurs, her gaze locked onto your face, drinking in every little reaction.

Your breath comes in quick, uneven gasps, your body melting under their touch. Mel presses soft, teasing kisses along your neck, her hands roaming over your bare skin, adding to the unbearable heat pooling in your core. She drags her nails down your stomach, leaving goosebumps in their wake before her fingers ghost lower, hovering just above where you need her most.

Sevika tilts her head, amused. "Think she’s ready for more?"

Mel chuckles against your skin, her breath hot and teasing. "Oh, she’s been ready," she purrs. "Haven’t you, sweetheart?"

Your only response is a whimper, your body trembling with need. You’ve never felt this exposed, this worshiped, this desperate for more.

Mel’s fingers finally dip lower, and Sevika tightens her grip, keeping you right where they want you. There’s no escaping them now—not that you’d ever want to.

Mel’s fingers trail lower, teasing, barely touching where you need her most. The anticipation is maddening, and your hips stutter against Sevika’s thigh, seeking more. A low chuckle rumbles from Sevika’s chest as she watches you unravel.

"Look at her," Sevika murmurs, her voice thick with amusement and something darker. "Already shaking, and we’ve barely even started."

Mel hums in agreement, her lips brushing the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. "She’s so sensitive," she muses, her breath hot against your skin. "I think she likes being teased."

Your whimper is involuntary, frustration and need tangling in your chest. "Please," you gasp, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mel smiles against your skin, pleased with your desperation. "Mmm, that’s better," she murmurs before finally slipping her fingers between your thighs. The first touch is barely there, a soft stroke against your slick heat, and your whole body jolts in response.

Sevika’s grip on your waist tightens as she forces your movements to slow, keeping you from chasing that pleasure too fast. "Let her play with you," she says, her tone commanding. "Let her take her time."

Mel grins, pressing a lingering kiss to your jaw. "Sevika likes to drag things out," she murmurs, her fingers dipping lower, teasing your entrance before retreating. "But I don’t mind making you beg."

A soft, frustrated moan escapes you, your head falling back against Mel’s shoulder. She takes advantage, her teeth grazing your throat before she soothes the spot with her tongue. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine.

"Tell me what you want," Mel purrs, her fingers continuing their slow, torturous exploration. "Use your words, sweetheart."

Sevika smirks, her thigh flexing beneath you again, sending another wave of pleasure through your body. "Yeah, doll," she drawls. "If you don’t ask properly, how will we know what to give you?"

The pressure is unbearable, their combined touches making you dizzy. You can barely think, barely breathe, but you force yourself to speak through the haze of pleasure.

"Please," you whisper, voice trembling. "Touch me… make me feel good."

Mel hums, satisfied. "Good girl."

And with that, she finally gives you what you’ve been begging for.

Her fingers part your slick folds with deliberate intent, a single digit teasing your aching core before plunging inside. But Sevika isn’t satisfied—not yet. Sensing your need for more, she leans in close, her breath warm against your skin. Her grip tightens around your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze as she squeezes, a silent demand for your full submission.

Your glazed eyes lock onto the woman before you, Sevika’s signature smirk stretching across her lips as she drinks in the sight of your wrecked state. The pleasure coursing through your body is unbearable, heightened by Mel’s ruthless touch between your trembling thighs. Every calculated stroke of her fingers against your dripping heat pushes you closer to the edge, winding you up so tightly you feel like you might snap.

Sevika watches with dark amusement, her sharp gaze flickering between your parted lips and the desperate way you writhe under their control. She leans in, her breath warm against your skin, planting soft, teasing kisses along your jaw, across your cheekbones—each press of her lips a stark contrast to Mel’s relentless abuse of your overstimulated cunt.

Your moans are breathless, needy, and your voice shakes as you finally break. “I- I’m close,” you whimper, the pleasure cresting into something unbearable. “Mel, please- please let me cum.”

The woman behind you hums in approval, the sound rich with amusement. You can practically feel the smirk against your skin as she continues working you closer, her fingers curling just right, sending sparks through your already-overwhelmed body. But just as that final wave is about to crash over you, just as your body tenses in anticipation of release she stops.

Her fingers slip away, leaving you empty, aching, and teetering dangerously on the edge of blissful oblivion. A strangled whine rips from your throat, your hips jerking in a desperate attempt to chase the pleasure she so cruelly denied. But Mel only chuckles, her hands gripping your hips to still you, her amusement evident in the smug lilt of her voice.

“Not yet,” she murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss against the shell of your ear. “You’ll cum when we say so.”

And at that moment Sevika unzips her pants “I wanna fuck that pretty face of yours” she says removing you from her lap Mel pushes you down on your knees “if you do a good job Sev might reward you” she says bending down with you “I’ll help you lead” Mel says pulling down Sevika’s briefs her cock plops out precut already coating the base.

Sevika exhales a low, guttural moan, her head falling back against the couch as her muscles tense with anticipation. Her broad chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, and her fingers twitch at her sides, fighting the urge to grip something perhaps your hair, perhaps Mel’s.

Mel smirks, clearly pleased by Sevika’s reaction. She shifts, resting her head on Sevika’s thick thigh as she gazes up at you with an amused glint in her golden eyes. One of her hands moves with practiced ease, wrapping around the base of Sevika’s cock, her fingers stroking slow, deliberate motions along its length.

“She’s very vocal,” Mel muses, her voice smooth and teasing as she rubs her thumb over the slick tip, smearing the glistening precum. She tilts her head slightly, casting you a look of expectation. A silent challenge.

You swallow hard, your pulse quickening as you watch the way her hand moves so effortless, so sure of itself. Then she lifts her gaze, that knowing smile still playing at her lips. “You try.”

Your breath hitches, but you obey. Tentatively, you reach out, your fingers wrapping around Sevika’s cock, warm and throbbing beneath your touch. The moment you begin stroking, mirroring Mel’s rhythm, she pulls away, withdrawing her hand and leaving you to continue alone.

But she doesn’t leave entirely. Instead, she leans in closer, her lips parting as she presses soft, teasing kitten licks against the sensitive head. The contact is featherlight, barely there, but it sends a violent shudder through Sevika’s body.

“F-fuck,” Sevika groans, her voice breaking, her head tilting back even further as her hips jerk slightly upward. Her restraint is slipping, and Mel hums approvingly against her.

You glance at Mel, catching the wicked glint in her eyes before she flicks her tongue again, slow and deliberate, drawing another strangled moan from Sevika. It’s intoxicating watching the way she teases, the way she makes Sevika unravel with such minimal effort.

Mel hums against Sevika’s skin, her tongue trailing slow, teasing circles around the sensitive head before pulling away just enough to glance at you. The corner of her mouth curls into something smug and knowing as she watches you hesitate, your hand still working along Sevika’s length, but not nearly with the confidence she expects.

"Come on," Mel purrs, her voice smooth as silk, "don’t be shy. She likes it when you take your time.”

Sevika lets out a ragged breath, her fingers digging into the couch as she fights the urge to thrust up into your grip. Her muscles twitch, her body reacting to even the slightest movement, and it’s intoxicating the power you have over her in this moment.

Encouraged, you lean in, mirroring Mel’s earlier movements. You start slow, pressing soft kitten licks against the tip, tasting the salty precum that beads at the head. Sevika groans at the contact, her breath stuttering, and her thighs tense on either side of you.

Mel watches you closely, her golden eyes gleaming with approval. “That’s it,” she murmurs, her fingers ghosting over your jaw before she guides you gently, angling your head just right. “Open up.”

The way she says it so casually yet commanding sends a shiver down your spine. You obey, parting your lips as you take Sevika into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip before sinking lower, taking in more of her inch by inch.

Sevika’s response is immediate a sharp inhale, a deep groan that rumbles from her chest. One of her hands flies to your hair, her grip tightening but not pushing, just holding. Like she’s trying to ground herself, to keep some semblance of control.

“Fuck—” she hisses through clenched teeth, her head tilting back against the couch.

Mel chuckles softly, clearly amused by how quickly Sevika is unraveling. She presses her cheek against Sevika’s thigh, watching with a lazy sort of satisfaction as your mouth works around her. “She’s so sensitive tonight,” Mel muses, her fingers stroking absentmindedly along Sevika’s thigh. “I wonder how long she’ll last.”

Sevika growls in response, her grip tightening in your hair for just a second, and Mel laughs, pleased with herself. She shifts closer, her breath warm against your ear as she whispers, “Let’s find out, shall we?”

Then, as if to test you both, she joins in her tongue flicking out to tease whatever part of Sevika isn’t already claimed by your mouth. The sudden added sensation makes Sevika curse, her hips jerking involuntarily.

“Fuck- Mel, you-” Sevika’s voice breaks off into a strangled moan, her entire body shuddering beneath your combined efforts.

You feel her thighs tremble against your shoulders, her grip faltering for just a moment before tightening again. She’s close you can feel it, hear it in the way her breathing turns ragged, in the way her muscles lock up, desperate to hold back just a little longer.

Mel pulls back just enough to glance up at Sevika, a wicked glint in her eyes. “Think you can hold out a little longer?” she taunts, her lips glossy, her voice full of amusement.

Sevika glares down at her, but the effect is ruined by the way her chest heaves, by the way her jaw clenches like she’s barely hanging on. “Shut up,” she grits out, but there’s no real bite to it, just raw, desperate need.

Mel only smirks, then turns back to you. “Let’s push her a little more,” she whispers, her fingers brushing over your cheek as she urges you forward. “I want to hear her beg.”

Sevika’s breath is ragged, her muscles taut with restraint, her fingers tightening in your hair as if she’s clinging to the last shred of control she has left. Her thighs tremble against your shoulders, and the deep, guttural groans ripping from her chest send heat pooling low in your stomach.

Mel watches with lazy satisfaction, her golden eyes glinting with mischief as she tilts her head, lips still slick from where she had teased along Sevika’s length just moments ago. She wipes the corner of her mouth with her thumb before resting her chin against Sevika’s thigh, observing you with quiet amusement.

"She’s trying so hard," Mel muses, her voice smooth, teasing. She flicks her gaze up to Sevika, smirking. "You always act so tough, but look at you now."

Sevika growls in response, her grip tightening in your hair for a fleeting second before she forces herself to loosen it. "You talk too much," she grits out, her voice hoarse, strained.

Mel chuckles, clearly pleased. "Oh, I do," she purrs, her fingers trailing lazily up Sevika’s thigh. "But you love it."

Sevika doesn’t respond not verbally, at least. But the way her hips twitch, the way her head falls back against the couch, the way she exhales a sharp, shuddering breath every part of her betrays just how much she’s unraveling.

Mel turns her attention back to you, her fingers brushing along your jaw, tilting your chin slightly so that you look up at her. "You’re doing so well," she murmurs, her voice softer now, coaxing.

Before you can react, Mel leans in, her hand guiding you as she joins you once more, her tongue dragging slow, deliberate strokes along the underside of Sevika’s cock, her movements synchronized with yours.

The effect is immediate Sevika jerks beneath you, her hips bucking up involuntarily, a strangled groan ripping from her throat. "Fuck—"

Her head slams back against the couch, her fingers digging into the cushions so hard her knuckles turn white. You can feel the way she’s trembling, the way she’s barely holding herself together.

Mel hums against her, sending vibrations coursing through her already overstimulated nerves. She pulls away just slightly, her lips ghosting over the sensitive skin as she murmurs, "Not yet."

Sevika lets out a choked, frustrated noise, her entire body thrumming with tension. "Mel—"

Mel smirks, tilting her head slightly as she glances up at her. "You’ll cum when we say so," she reminds her, echoing her earlier words with wicked satisfaction.

Sevika curses under her breath, her jaw clenched, her entire body coiled so tight she’s seconds away from snapping.

Mel looks at you again, golden eyes dark with hunger. "Let’s make her beg," she whispers. Then, without another word, she takes Sevika deeper, her tongue working expertly, her fingers gripping your chin to encourage you to follow suit.

Sevika gasps, her body lurching forward as her restraint shatters. "Fucking please," she groans, her voice raw, desperate.

Mel pulls back just enough to smirk up at her. "There it is," she murmurs, satisfied. She glances at you, her thumb tracing your bottom lip.

Sevika growls low in her throat, her hips jerking slightly. "Shut the fuck up," she grits out, but there’s no real venom behind her words only raw, aching need.

Mel laughs, her voice rich and sweet like honey, but there’s something wicked underneath it. She turns back to you, her fingers tracing the edge of your jaw before tilting your chin up, her eyes searching yours. "What do you think?" she asks, her voice soft, but the command beneath it is clear. "Should we give her what she’s begging for?"

You glance at Sevika at the way her head is thrown back against the couch, her thighs tense against your shoulders, her cock twitching against your tongue, glistening with need. She looks wrecked. Absolutely desperate. And the thought sends heat pooling deep in your stomach.

You nod.

Mel smirks, pleased with your answer. "Good," she purrs. "Then let’s ruin her."

Without hesitation, she moves first, her tongue flicking out to tease along Sevika’s length, slow and deliberate, before taking her into her mouth. The way she moves is practiced, confident, completely in control and it’s mesmerizing.

Not wanting to be outdone, you follow her lead, your lips wrapping around the other side of Sevika’s cock, your tongue working alongside Mel’s in a synchronized rhythm. The reaction is immediate.

"F- Fuck!" Sevika chokes out, her entire body lurching forward, one hand flying to Mel’s hair, the other gripping the back of your head. Her thighs tense, threatening to snap shut around you both, but Mel’s firm hand on her leg keeps her spread wide.

Mel moans around her, the vibrations sending a violent shudder through Sevika’s body. You feel her cock twitch against your tongue, her breaths coming faster, more erratic. She’s right there hanging on by a thread, so close to unraveling.

Mel pulls back slightly, just enough to speak, her voice dripping with amusement. "She’s trying so hard to hold back," she muses, glancing up at you. "But we can’t have that, can we?"

You shake your head, and Mel grins, wicked and knowing. "Then let’s finish her off."

You don’t hesitate. You take Sevika deeper, hollowing your cheeks, your tongue pressing against the sensitive underside as you bob your head. Mel mirrors you, her fingers squeezing Sevika’s thigh as she works her closer to the edge.

Sevika’s entire body goes rigid. "Oh- fuck, I-"

She tries to warn you, but it’s too late. Her grip tightens in your hair as she comes undone, a wrecked, guttural moan tearing from her throat as her hips jerk up, her release spilling onto your tongue. She shudders violently, her body trembling, her chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven breaths.

Mel pulls away first, licking her lips as she watches Sevika with a satisfied smirk. "There we go," she murmurs, her voice thick with amusement. "Such a good girl for us."

Sevika groans, her head lolling to the side, utterly spent. Her fingers twitch in your hair before she finally releases you, exhaling a shaky breath.

Mel reaches for you, her fingers brushing against your chin as she tilts your face toward hers. "You did so well," she praises, her voice soft now, intimate. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

The way she’s looking at you, eyes dark and knowing, makes your stomach flip.

Mel runs a hand through her hair as she rises to her feet, golden eyes locked onto you with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. Her smirk is soft but full of purpose as she tilts her head.

"Lay on the couch for us, baby girl," she orders, her voice smooth as silk, leaving no room for hesitation.

You obey instantly, shifting to lie back against the plush cushions. The moment you settle, Mel hums in satisfaction, a pleased smile curving her lips. "Such a good girl," she muses, trailing her fingers along your thigh as she watches you, her touch light yet possessive.

Sevika, still catching her breath from her previous release, chuckles lowly. She shifts beside you, one hand wrapping around her still-sensitive cock, giving it a slow, lazy stroke as she watches you with darkened eyes. "Hope you're ready for me, baby," she rasps, aligning herself with your aching, slick cunt. Her smirk is sharp, teasing. "You can take me, can’t you?"

Before you can answer, Mel moves, straddling your chest, her knees pressing into the cushions beside your head. She glances down at you, brushing her fingers through your hair, her expression softer than Sevika’s but no less commanding.

"Hopefully, I’m not too heavy," she murmurs, but the playful gleam in her eyes tells you she already knows the answer.

Then, without waiting for a response, she positions herself over your mouth, lowering herself slowly, her warmth, her scent overwhelming you in the best way.

Sevika groans at the sight, gripping your thighs as she presses forward, sinking into you with a deep, slow thrust. "Fuck," she growls, head tilting back as she stretches you open. "Tight little thing, aren’t you?"

Mel lets out a soft laugh, her fingers tightening in your hair as she rolls her hips against your lips. "Let’s see just how well she can handle both of us," she purrs.

Mel exhales a slow, pleased sigh as she settles against your mouth, rolling her hips with unhurried precision, savoring every flick of your tongue. Her fingers thread through your hair, holding you in place, not forcefully, but with enough control to remind you who’s in charge.

"That’s it," she purrs, her voice smooth, indulgent. "Just like that, baby. Make me feel good."

Sevika, however, is far less patient. A frustrated groan rumbles from her chest as she pushes inside you, her thick length sinking into your slick heat. The way you tighten around her, clenching instinctively, draws a deep, guttural curse from her lips. She pauses for just a moment, her breath heavy, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as she steadies herself. Then, without warning, she pulls back slowly, deliberately before driving forward again, pressing deeper, stretching you open inch by inch.

Each thrust is measured, controlled, yet brimming with restrained intensity, as if she's savoring every second of the way your body yields to her.

"Shit," she growls, her voice strained, rough. "You feel so fucking good."

Mel chuckles at Sevika’s lack of restraint, amusement flickering in her golden eyes. "Careful," she muses, lifting herself slightly, only to press back down against your eager mouth. "You don’t want to break her just yet."

Sevika lets out a sharp breath, her fingers tightening against your skin. "Tch. She can take it."

And to prove her point, she sets a steady rhythm, rolling her hips into yours, stretching you with every deep, measured thrust. Her cock drags against every sensitive spot inside you, sending sparks of pleasure racing through your body. The force of it makes your moans vibrate against Mel’s cunt, drawing a sweet gasp from her lips.

"Oh," Mel breathes, her nails grazing your scalp as she shudders. "That’s perfect, sweetheart. Just like that."

The weight of her against your mouth, the way Sevika fucks into you with slow, controlled force—it’s overwhelming in the most intoxicating way. Every sensation crashes into you at once, heat pooling low in your stomach, pleasure mounting with every thrust, every roll of Mel’s hips, every deep, throaty moan Sevika lets out above you.

Sevika watches with dark, hooded eyes as Mel rocks against your face, her lips parting in pleasure. "She’s making you feel good, huh?" she mutters, her voice thick with lust.

Mel hums, biting her lip as she gazes down at you. "Oh, she’s doing beautifully," she praises, her fingers tightening in your hair. "So eager to please."

The pace builds Sevika thrusting harder, deeper, pushing you closer and closer to that delicious edge. Your muffled moans grow more desperate, your body tightening around her, drawing a sharp hiss from her lips.

"Fuck, baby," Sevika grits out, her thrusts turning rougher, needier. "You gonna cum for us?"

Mel smirks, her own pleasure evident in the way she gasps at every flick of your tongue. "I think she is," she murmurs, her voice thick. "Be a good girl and let go for us, won’t you?"

Between the relentless pace of Sevika’s thrusts and the intoxicating taste of Mel on your tongue, the coil inside you snaps. Your body seizes, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, your muffled cries vibrating against Mel’s cunt as you come undone beneath them.

Sevika curses under her breath as she feels you tighten around her, her rhythm faltering for just a moment before she chases her own release, slamming into you with deep, desperate thrusts.

Mel watches, golden eyes dark with satisfaction, her hips rolling through her own climax as she presses down just a little harder against your mouth, riding out the waves of pleasure.

Sevika isn’t far behind. With a sharp, ragged groan, her grip on your thighs tightens, and she spills inside you, her breath hitching as she thrusts shallowly, drawing out every last drop of pleasure.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the ragged breathing of all three of you, bodies tangled together in the aftermath.

Mel is the first to move, exhaling a satisfied sigh as she lifts herself off you, her fingers brushing tenderly over your flushed cheek. "You did so well, darling," she murmurs, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, tasting herself on your tongue.

Sevika, still catching her breath, smirks as she pulls out, running a hand through her damp hair. "Fuck," she mutters, shaking her head in disbelief. "You’re dangerous."

Mel chuckles, stretching languidly before turning to you with a knowing smile. "Mmm, but she’s ours now, isn’t she?"

Sevika grins, reaching down to squeeze your thigh. "Damn right."

You can hardly believe what just happened. Here, in the private room of your job, you had just spent the last hour tangled between the two most powerful, most breathtaking women you knew. The air still carries the remnants of heat, the faint scent of sweat and desire clinging to the space like a ghost of what had just transpired.

A smirk tugs at your lips as you glance around, the reality settling in. If you wanted, you could tell everyone spin the story into something legendary, a tale of indulgence and reckless pleasure. But some things are better kept unsaid. Some moments are too raw, too electric, too wholly yours to be shared.

Instead, you exhale, running a hand through your hair as you steady yourself. You’ll carry this secret like a brand against your skin, a delicious memory etched into your bones. And as you step back into the world beyond that door, no one will have any idea what just happened behind it.

This was gonna be longer but I’m tired and can’t go on anymore. Please like comment, and reblog that would be greatly appreciated. Don’t forget to request! ︎ © seulszn.

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doberbutts · 5 months ago

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you don't actually get to cry "ally yourself with trans women" while actively talking over trans women whose traumatic experiences with transmisogyny are wildly ignored in favor of how hard transmisogyny is on the cis women. like why don't trans women get to say privilege plays into how much transmisogyny affects people?

do we not characterize white privilege as being what protects white americans from the systematic racism that permeates the US?

again, what is the preferred way you would have us refer to that privilege? because I am right here telling you that privilege is a part of the construct of tme/tma but you don't really care that trans women are more affected.

like it's crazy that you seem to think my problem is with the transvestigation playing out against a cis woman and not the way everyone pays attention when it happens to cis women but ignores the rampant transmisogyny when it happens to a trans woman. like you don't even pause to look at why there were no trans women at the olympics to transvestigate in the first place so they turned to the next marginalized option, intersex and women of color, when discussing how trans women deserve better.

Hi I'm the trans woman I deserve better from you specifically

To be completely honest this is looking less and less like a good faith discussion and more and more like you simply accusing me of stuff I didn't say.

You say I am actively talking over trans women. How so? How is "we need to address transmisogyny at its root if we want things to be better" ignoring the plight of trans women?

How is it that I have *repeatedly* acknowledged that there is privilege there, and yet apparently I am ignoring it?

if you want to use the race example: white privilege exists. Racism also affects white people. If white people want to stop being affected by racism (welfare regulations, the war on drugs, low income housing, social programs for community aid, to name a few) then maybe they should ally themselves with people of color because the root of what's causing issues with these things is racism. That doesn't mean white privilege doesn't exist just because a system of oppression affects everyone under said system. It doesn't even mean that the primary target has changed. It's just what makes this a system rather than an individual occurrence.

Never once have I said that cis women are more affected and, in fact, in followup posts I have stated that it *is* quite annoying that people have only been talking about this because this year's Olympics included approximately 0 out trans women. I have been saying that this was the clear end result, once they were rid of the trans women they'd go for whatever cis women they could feasibly get away with, and this time it seems they overplayed their hand.

Castor Semenya is a cis woman who only found out that she is intersex due to being transvestigated. She is, by definition, TME. Except she's not, is she, considering the same rules that apply to trans women apply to her. That's why I brought her up! And- correct me if I'm wrong- but out trans women still competed after she was forced to leave the Olympic running. That is why I'm saying that things maybe are not quite so clear cut as "have" and "have not", because I can point to an example of someone that the definition labels as "has privilege" that according to Olympic ruling bodies no longer counts as a woman either despite being afab TME cis.

If you want to continue to put words in my mouth, then we're out of things to say to each other, and it becomes clear that this was never intended to be a good faith discussion in the first place.

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shaylogic · 2 years ago

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Queer Experience Watching Barbie - AFAB Masculinity

I started to go into this in tags on another post but I wanted to type this up separately and try to develop my thoughts a little more. . .

Ryan!Ken’s arc in Barbie (2023) has been buzzing in my head for days.

I got fixated on it for a couple of major reasons:

1) We rarely have seen a feminist movie take time to address men with compassion in how patriarchy harms them too.

2) As a trans masc person, I think it hits a specific part of my identity that I don’t consciously let myself think about for too long. Something about being raised in a female world with sisterhood and community. Then being isolated in adult manhood without the tools to prepare you for that. Conscientious of respecting women and being unbothered by feminimity around you, but not knowing your place in the world.

How do I put it?

I know it’s not the direct intention of the film itself, but I’ve seen other trans folks (especially transmasc), reacting similarly to the feeling we get from it.

Ken’s arc feels pretty reminicent of the struggle afab lgbt folks go through when considering masculinity in their identity (butch lesbians, afab nbs, trans men, etc.)

How to make peace with masculine aspects of yourself without losing the women in your life? (One can argue Kate McKinnon’s Weird Barbie has aspects of this as well.)

Of course, then Ken goes off on the adopting patriarchy ride, which IS the point of the movie, and may skew a bit from the transmasc read on it--though I have known a trans guy here and there who avoids being misgendered so hard that they can become somewhat sexist. To which I say: “You don’t need to have a dick to be a man, and you don’t need to BE a dick to be a man.” But I digress.

Something about Ken being comfortable in a woman’s world but not understanding why he’s being shut out from socially bonding with them (in any sense! Romantic, Familial, Platonic Friendship. . .)

The overall theme of the movie for both Barbie and Ken--in an allegory of heavy gender roles harming all--leading them each to have to figure out who they are in themselves, regardless of others. . .

Trans masc folx can relate to both Barbie and Ken’s arcs.

I don’t want to detract from Barbie’s arc being the main point of the movie.

I think the reason why we get hung up on Ryan!Ken’s character is because. . . we’ve related to the Barbie plot in other movies and shows before, thinking back to our “girlhoods” as children.

I have never seen the arc Ken has in this in any other story!!!!

There are some Man Movies that have attempted to discuss the struggle of Being a Man--but they often come off as too dismissive of feminine experiences, and are therefore as offputting to transmasc people as women.

Because of the nature of the two worlds exhibited in this movie, and Ken’s backround in his setting, personality, and purpose in relation to the Barbies, he’s a Man living with Female Socialization, in a Woman’s World; he’s a male character that inherently admires and respects women in his nature (until the real world influence distorts it).

This isn’t a perfect example of a transmasc experience either, but it’s a lot closer than most of us generally get to see! That’s why so many of us are getting caught up in this.

Please, other trans folx (transfems, too!), I really need us to have a discussion about this. What were your experiences and thoughts around this movie?

P.S. Yeah, we kinda get that nonbinary allegory from Allan (not a Ken, not a Barbie, siding with Feminism in the Gender War), but he wasn’t in significant focus of the plot the way Ryan!Ken was. If I try to read into Allan, I don’t have much to work with.

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androgynealienfemme · 2 years ago

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""You cannot piss in a cup or pull a sword from a stone or anything else in order to tell if you're trans or not. You are if you want to be. You're not if you don't."

This is what I say. No one listens.

"Look. I define transgendered literally; it's a way of crossing. Crossing into a different gender. Not the opposite, there are so many, just a different one. Or crossing out of the gender that theoretically goes, in that there heterosexual matrix we keep talking about, with your biological sex.

"Being a transsexual is a different animal. That's a matter of medical things or the intention of medical things, changing your sex you know? The sex parts: genitals, reproductive organs, hormones, secondary sexual characteristics. Or living full-time as a person of a certain culturally aligned sex and gender, whether you do medical things or not, because some people can't and it isn't fair to punish that. So them, too. But transgendered is wide open. And butch is a nonnormative gender yes? We can agree on that, anyway? So if you want to claim transgendered, great as far as I'm concerned."

People sign at me. They roll their eyes, They shake their heads. They want me to make ruling, they want me to tell them if they can call themselves transgendered, or alternative if they can still call themselves butch. As though I somehow have the power to confer or deny whatever label they want, or as though I can be relied upon to make an impartial decision int he case of an argument, whether it is internal or among individuals."

"Border Wars” Butch is a Noun essays by S. Bear Bergman (2006)

#butch is a noun #s. bear bergman #butch #lesbian #transgender #transmasculine #transmasculinity #lesbian lit #butch lit #trans lit #transgender lit #lgbt #lgbtq+#queer lit

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coffeecacao · 20 days ago

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Okay, let's talk about the coming out scene, because people are saying Taash was the one out of line.

Shathann is a sympathetic character. That does not make her a good person. She saved her child from a life of servitude by leaving the country she loved and tried to preserve that culture in her child. I respect that. I also wish there was a way to encourage Taash to embrace both sides of their culture.

BUT.

From the moment we meet her, Shathann criticizes literally everything her child does. Taash runs an errand for her, and Shathann criticizes their posture, pronunciation, gender presentation, AND sexuality, completely unprovoked, yes, in one fucking conversation. Shathann invites Taash over for dinner and then makes Taash cook that fucking dinner. And this has happened before, as stated in the dialogue. Taash is so affected by this behavior and probably worse they have endured their entire life that they say "you don't get to tell me who I am" at a simple question about their heritage, out of pure instinct.

Now to the actual scene.

Taash invites their mother to their new home and prepares a dinner for her, which Shathann immediately criticizes and has Taash make vegetables to go with. Can you imagine inviting someone into your home for dinner you prepare only for them to shit on it and ask you to cook more. And Taash does so, with a grunt. I'd be like bitch you're in my house, I cooked, eat. But they just do it.

Then they say it. "Im nonbinary." Shathann asks what that means, completely fair, and Taash explains that it means they're not a man or a woman.

Shathann asks if this is because she criticizes their gender presentation. Now listen. I have a parent who thinks nearly everything "wrong" with me is a reaction to their actions. It pisses me off. So Taash is getting reasonably frustrated, and insists that's not why. VALID. They were asked a question and they answered.

Let's talk about the Qun and gender identity. Yes they have a word for people who identify as a different gender than they were assigned. But this is implied to apply to trans men and women, not nonbinary people, so Shathann is asking Taash if they "just" identify as a man, because that's something Shathann can better understand, something more convenient for her to process. Sort of like when trans people come out to someone and are asked if they're "just gay."

No. And Taash says no. They have explained who they are. If Shathann was just having a hard time processing it that would be one thing, but she basically talked over Taash and tried to suggest that they were just a man, which they are not. Taash is being vulnerable. Taash doesn't even HAVE to tell Shathann this, but they want to, they think she deserves to know.

And what Taash says next is not purely to do with this one conversation, as explicit in the text. "why am I never enough for you." Never. Not now. We have seen Shathann critique Taash in every scene they share, and that's with a whole other person present who is not in the family. We don't know what happens in private. Shathann signed her child up for a fucking war without even talking to them about it. What Taash says is the build up of years of being talked over and criticized for everything they do, provoked by offering themselves to that person in a vulnerable position only to be talked over and criticized more.

"Why am I never enough for you."

And Shathann does not answer. She doesnt say "of course you are." Even if she disagreed with Taash's identity, which would be shitty, she could still affirm that they are enough for her. She doesn't.

She fucking leaves.

Maybe she thinks that's what Taash wants. Maybe not. But if someone asks you something like that, you affirm them. You say they are enough. Especially if they're your fucking child. But no, this conversation is too inconvenient for Shathann, she's not getting her way like she did when she signed Taash up for a war without their consent, so she just leaves. She could've said "I don't understand, but I love you." She couldve said anything. But she just left.

I'm sad she died. Im glad she accepted her child in the end. But no, Taash was not in any way out of line in this conversation.

Shathann was.

#datv #veilguard #nonbinary #shathann #taash #dragon age

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messrsrarchives · 2 months ago

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look, here's the thing. you can come online and you can say that you're protecting women. you can say that your vengance against trans people is some kind of feminist move, but that doesn't erase the fact that YOU are next. when trans people are gone and there is no one left to turn on, you will be next.

you come online and say you support the indefinite ban on puberty blockers in the UK, you come online and erase the fact that only 83 gender non-confirming (GNC) people were on them, that more cis people were on them. you start a war against hrt, about minors taking hormonal medication and we'll watch as america starts clamping down on contraceptives. you cry about the 83 GNC people that were on puberty blockers, but you'll later be worrying about the 58% of 16-17 year olds afab that are on some variation of hrt themselves. you come online and cry about hrt, ignoring the fact that the pill is hrt. it just doesn't have the word trans infront of it.

you come online and blow up a trans persons comment sections. you cry about the fact a trans man is wearing makeup or that a trans woman hasn't shaved. you come online and pinpoint all the ways that we aren't doing "enough", and you erase the decades long fight against gender norms. you say a trans woman isn't trying hard enough when she doesn't have a full face on, and you'll watch as YOU start not being enough. you watch as the gender norms we fought against for so long start coming back into play, where women are told they aren't doing enough and those with PCOS or any other hormonal imbalance watch as you ridicule a trans woman for having hair and therefore not being a woman. you'll watch as you, with your hair not done, your makeup not on, and your legs unshaven start becoming a debate about womanhood and what it really means.

you come online and cry about the fact trans people are "mutilating" themselves with top surgery. you say we rush into this surgery with too little thought, and you watch as a 16 year old online gets a rhinoplasty. you watch as an 18 year old gets filler, as people get boob jobs done and that's okay. that's fine. because your issue was never "if you're unhappy with your body, get therapy", you issue was that it was Trans. you say that trans hrt should start at 25 despite it being mostly reversible (bar bottom growth and voice on T) and you'll let people sign up to the army at 18. you'll let people fight for their country before you'll let them have bodily autonomy. you'll say gender-affirming care is disgusting and ignore the fact that every time you get your hair done, your nails done, lip filler, botox, boob jobs, etc etc - THAT is gender affirming. and you'll watch as the media starts dissecting celebrities appearances and questioning what they've had done.

and you won't be protected even if you're an olympian. even if you're successful.

you say you're protecting women when you talk about single-sex spaces and you listen to the government say that we, trans people, are the issue. you listened to Sunak talk about how trans people are nothing but sexual assaulters and ignored the fact that over 50 MPs of his party, the ones that were making these laws to "protect women", had sexual assault allegations. you'll say that people are pretending to be women to get into your spaces, and you ignore the key word - pretending. not trans people. cis. men.

and you'll listen to those men make the laws. the anti-trans laws, btw. none that are woman-centric, no. just anti-trans laws with a "for women" sticker put on top to hide the fact that they've done nothing beyond that to actually protect women.

you say you're "protecting kids" and you ignore as the suicide rates peak, how LGBTQ+ helplines reached record high call numbers the night of the election. you're "protecting families" and ignore the 1 in 4 trans people that experience homelessness in their lifetime, and the 1 in 2 that are domestically abused. you say you're "protecting women" when you talk about bathrooms and you ignore the fact that 1 in 2 trans people are sexually assaulted, and 10% of those that report are then assaulted AGAIN by the officers meant to help them. and then you'll go online and cry about trans officers.

you'll talk about the "them" and the "us", and you ignore the fact that when you start reducing gender down to an ideal woman or an ideal man, YOU lose too.

you ignore the fact that you are just as at risk, and you will be next. and it's already happening.

and i think the difference is, the really big key difference, is that trans people are going to have your back regardless. trans people will fight alongside you just like they did at stonewall, GNC people will fight alongside you just like they did during the suffragette movement, a movement that fought against the same ideals you are perpetuating all over again.

trans people are going to have your back because whilst you focus on the "trans" part, we focus on the "people". because that's what we are. people.

and i think you're a piece of shit if you use women's rights as a guise for your transphobia whilst perpetuating ideals that have harmed you, are currently harming you, and will continue to harm you, unless you realise the only "them" versus "us" you need to worry about is everyone versus the government.

#im going insane im sorry #absolutely insane #the woke left and its just me going uhhh guys !!! maybe we could... ALLLLL have rights????#maybe... maybe we could... crazy idea! ALL be protected #ignore me #robyn's trans talks

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acoraxia · 1 year ago

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What are your thoughts on shadowpeach?

Fandom wise? I do not care for it.

Canon wise? I believe in men committing crimes while forming the most toxic, unhealthy attachments to one person could lead to such a dysfunctional relationship that it, eventually, turns into a functional one. And also they’re trans and aspec.

Disclaimer: this is all my opinion and people can do whatever they want, i simply have my gripes with some of the fandom stuff. this is just me explaining what i like and dislike about shadowpeach.

I think the most common thing people fall into when it comes to ships—or shipping in general—is how to domesticate these two characters without fully addressing their flaws, personalities, behavior, and their overall choices throughout the original media/show they come from.

Macaque and SWK both suffer equally through this mischaracterization: Macaque is often painted as this shy or “edgy” character with little to no ties to his actual character in canon and, more often than not, he is perceived as this “dad” type of character when, in fact, he should not be allowed near children for I fear he will bully them nonstop until they sit there in the corner feeling disheartened and miserable about themselves; Sun Wukong is often portrayed as this dumb himbo with little-to-no means of understanding social cues, not understanding emotions in a way that’s very frustrating, and be this yearning, pining idiot who’s still longing for his childhood crush when he did not hesitate to punch this guy in the face multiple times throughout the show. So when they are paired up together it’s this weird mash of people believing Macaque is the better dad with more understanding of human behavior and Wukong is his dumb, doting husband who’s doing his best and cannot stand up for himself when confronted about things.

The amount of times people choose to make Macaque sympathetic by having Sun Wukong’s family side with Macaque when it comes to Wukong’s actions/choices is so vast I could not count them all on one hand. The common trope of having Princess Iron Fan (Sun Wukong’s sister-in-law) become Macaque’s sworn sister is so disheartening to see for someone who read through Journey To The West and thought of how silly the overall family dynamic of the Demon Bull Family and Sun Wukong’s troops was. Removing Iron Fan as Sun Wukong’s literal sister just to have someone backup Macaque and sympathize with him is funny and a bit silly.

That being said… the canon version of Shadowpeach and its possibilities are, in fact, very delicious.

Canon wise this is what we know about Sun Wukong and Macaque’s history together:

Sun Wukong and Macaque meet

The brotherhood is formed after Azure meets Sun Wukong, Macaque tags along with Wukong (note: Macaque is not addressed as “brother” by the characters, only Wukong is)

Macaque tries to warn Wukong about how dealing with Heaven might be a bad idea

They share a peach under a tree; Wukong reassures Macaque this plan will work

Wukong carries on with Azure’s plan anyway (yes, azure lion’s plan, not wukong’s)

The brotherhood is defeated and Wukong gets trapped under a mountain

Presumably no one comes to visit Wukong, only Macaque

During his final visit, Wukong is angry that Macaque is free and can’t see the fact that Wukong was trying to do everything for them and his kingdom

Macaque snaps back at Wukong and calls him an obsessive demon before leaving

They have another fallout and fight

Wukong ends up killing Macaque in the aftermath

500~ years later, Macaque and Wukong fight again with Wukong being more apathetic towards their reunion than Macaque is

Macaque obsesses over Wukong continuously (coughs)

Macaque is biased in his retellings of his and Wukong’s relationship (see: all of shadowplay and the scrolls memories)

They fight (again) throughout S3

They somewhat reconcile by the end of S4

We will address the fact Sun Wukong was groomed into going to war by this former celestial warrior instead of having it be because of his own want to protect his family and friends after Heaven refused to pay him the respect he wanted when he first joined their ranks later. Right now we focus on the fact that Sun Wukong is canonically a person people easily fall in love with (platonically) and have a tendency to want to stay close to regardless of what his future actions will be like and Macaque is sequentially obsessed with him throughout the show.

“The hero and the warrior were like the Sun and the Moon. Their light, a protective glow, shining upon the world. Together, there was nothing that could stop the two of them. Either in the Celestial Realms or on Earth. As time went on, the hero attained power beyond comprehension. As the hero's light grew, so too did his shadow. And soon, the warrior was cast in that shadow. In the darkness, the warrior was forgotten by the hero.”

Fun fact: Macaque is never going to be on par with Sun Wukong’s power and he works best as support than he does a duo-attacker along side Wukong. Wukong is on his own power level and Macaque, while being able of holding his own against enemies, could be stomped to death by Xiaoijiao is he crossed the line.

Macaque’s obsession with Sun Wukong comes from the inability to move on from the past; Macaque wanting things to go back as they were is a subtle theme going through the show — he keeps latching on to biased memories and avoiding the actual problems that caused their relationship to fall apart and it isn’t until Season 3’s big confrontation with Long Xiaojiao’s Samadhi Fire ritual. He realizes he abandoned Wukong during a time of need and proceeds to flee, abandoning him again.

Macaque has issues. More often than not people call out on Sun Wukong for abandoning Xiaotian or the Monkie Kid Crew all while ignoring the fact Sun Wukong does not purposefully leave Qi Xiaotian, he tries his hardest to make it back in time and is visibly scared/horrified when LBD attacks in his absence. Sun Wukong tries his hardest to comfort Xiaotian while Macaque tries to torment him.

Regardless, Sun Wukong and Macaque’s relationship is unique to most media’s portrayal of friends turned enemies. Because Wukong does not see Macaque as a threat up until he teams up with Lady Bone Demon — he is only scary by association, not by anything he has done up until that point. You can tell with the way Wukong mocks him and calls him something akin to a puppet during their interaction in Season 3 when Macaque trapped him and Nezha in the ice.

And even then Macaque doesn’t even bother trying to engage with Wukong in a friendly manner because kindness is for losers HA i’m not apologizing for anything, bye Sun Wukong, you big old LOSER [proceeds to possibly live on the streets and stay homeless until wukong allows him to return to ffm under certain house rules]

You’ll notice that Sun Wukong barely has any opinions on Macaque.

This is because Macaque is favored by the narrative more than Sun Wukong is so we have very little context as to how Sun Wukong genuinely feels towards Macaque.

Sun Wukong sees Macaque as an annoyance, a bother, a threat, a coward, an imposter and then, finally, an ally.

But all we get from that is Wukong handing Macaque a peach-flavored ice cream pop as a parallel to him sharing a peach with his old friend back when they were young monkeys before he was trapped under a mountain for 500 years as a result of his abuser’s power hold on him that forced him to fight heaven as a way to “make the world a better place”.

We love to see it.

Macaque and Wukong’s relationship goes from mutual interest and a supportive friendship established years prior to the original building of the brotherhood to a very weird, uncategorized type of dynamic. The only way to characterize Sun Wukong’s “affection” towards Macaque is, possibly, the same way most people would characterize Macaque to be towards Wukong. Y’know the slightly judgmental actions and eye rolls and scoffs of affection most people write about Macaque when Wukong does something stupid? Yeah.

“But Macaque said “this guy” when Wukong was presenting his plan to defeat Azure—“ yeah have you considered Wukong does a lot of masking in the presence of the entire Monkie Kid Crew and Macaque has a tendency to present himself as this cool persona when in fact he’s just a homeless monkey who’s been crashing on his ex’s couch for the past weeks since the ending of Season 3?

“OK…. but why QPR Shadowpeach?”

Sun Wukong throughout the course of Journey to the West and all its past and future iterations have always had him be uninterested in both men and women. There are multiple instances where he’s capable of courting women and he instead backs away or does not pay it any mind; aside from this he’s heavily implied to only care about familial love and friendships. He does not see his pilgrim brothers as anything more than family and he views Tripitaka as a mentor rather than someone whom he was chained to. And Azure was his idol and he was groomed by him, and everyone else was viewed to him as a troop — or, y’know, a family.

This and the fact that— both Sun Wukong and Macaque are over a thousand years old. Why on earth would they have a normal type of relationship? Giving them a checklist of what passes on as romantic and platonic when to them the line is so blurred it’s barely existent to them is amusing.

Sun Wukong and Macaque having their own weird relationship where it changes from frustrated best friends to partners to angry middle aged demons to the tired traumatized immortals who sometimes cuddle while still beating each other up is so deliciously interesting and unhealthy to the point where it is healthy.

Also Celestial bodies are not the same as mortal bodies; canonically Sun Wukong has transformed into women before and people have addressed him with female-leaning pronouns before. my personal headcanon of sun wukong being genderfluid lves on and now we can have sapphic shadowpeach with transfem macaque.

also im still feverish so if this doesnt make sense then too bad damn im sorry

#analysis #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #six eared macaque #lmk six eared macaque #lmk sun wukong #sun wukong #shadowpeach #qpr shadowpeach #ok im tired #goodbye forever now im going to get a haircut #and then maybe go to the movies ig #lmao

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