#unfortunately they don't tend to do well

[54625]

Every day I wish I had a drawing tablet so I could post shitty sketches that are visible rather than shitty sketches that are not visible. Anyways morning crew. They all have dimple chins i decided

[wyldblunt]

i am always thinking about that one asura in taimi's lab who, upon not recognizing the commander, snarks something like "oh, i'm sorry, i didn't bring my heroes of tyria flash cards with me today 🙄"

was he just joking or do those exist. heroes of tyria TRADING cards, even???? are children across the realm kicking and biting each other over a holographic trahearne

[mad-hunts]

this is a random late night thought, i know, but i'm just thinking about how the orderlies in arkham must react to finding barton cuddling with his bunkie in the morning if they had a nightmare orrr they both needed to get warm (like i believe i've mentioned previously on here before). like, idk what gave me this impression, but for those of them that just don't give a shit about their job rather than the abusive a-holes (i honestly feel like these are the two main categories of orderlies that work at arkham, NGL)...

i really do feel like they'd do something like place bets between themselves as to whether they think something is going on between certain inmates or not. and when they're either proven right or wrong, they exchange the money they bet on it. because these people unfortunately could not care less about the fact that in barton's case (and possibly in other's cases), he literally does it as a means of survival / to have a source of comfort most of the time because that place is god awful

[mantisgodsdomain]

Sometimes we are deeply deeply tempted to make line-ups of our AU Versions Of Characters or something of the like, but then we remember our consistent preference for AUs to be canon-adjacent at absolute minimum meaning a lot of them will look relatively same-y combined with our struggle to draw character sizes accurately to each other makes that task a lot harder than it arguably should be.

[honeydots]

how would soleil and seigbert be as siblings??

omg. well first i like to hc siegbert as the older one (usually a year but w/e works), partially bc i like the whole "im the older brother and i MUST act like one" scenario it would inevitably produce. i think he'd end up protective of soleil, but this causes issues bc soleil would also be protective of him, albeit in a slightly different way, but ultimately i think they'd end up clashing in this particular regard lol. i don't think they squabble too often (beyond siegbert chiding soleil and soleil going hehe whoops *continues skirt-chasing*), honestly their biggest hurdle to overcome imo is that dual-attempt at protection which might end up requiring xander or laslow to step in. OTHER than that tho i think they'd get along well as siblings, it's not like they hate each other in-game--they'll just also have the occasional "daaaaaaaaaaaad siegbert is nagging me again make him stooopppp" peppered in there lolol

[pynkhues]

okay. sophie. i've watched season one of the newsreader and i have so many thoughts and feelings?? the main one is frustration because this show is so close to being phenomenal but i'm constantly reworking it in my head while watching for maximum emotional impact. but putting that aside, it's just so nice to have emotional disasters on my screen again. i didn't even know that anna torv constantly on the verge of losing her shit was something i needed but by god do i deserve to watch it happen! and sam reid as a bumbling bisexual in a polyester blend is the cherry on top. thank you for the rec

Haha, I'm so glad you liked it! It's definitely flawed as a series and I think falls victim to the fact that Australian networks don't / can't afford more than 3 drafts of a script (in comparison, American and UK networks typically fund upwards of 6), but I think there's a lot to love about it too! The performances are a lot of fun, and the time period they chose to creatively operate in I think is really interesting both in terms of the stories and news it covers, but also in terms of style and sets?

My sister actually did a week's work on s3 recently for a big set piece and so I have a little inside goss about the new season too which is making me excited to see where they're taking it.

[gideonisms]

people in the replies on the prev post are all "but be clear about your intentions!!" well personally if I ever knew what my intentions were I would be clear about them

[ct-hardcase]

okay I know I said it last year but *this* is the year I finally get some cute sundresses for the summer

[bi-writes]

yeah yeah yeah 1600s au where john price's wife is your dutiful queen, and you are the doting, shy lady-in-waiting, but, today, something isn't right. (dark!ghost x fem!reader, 18+)

cw: reader described as curvier/plus-sized, mentions of war + violence, possessive!ghost, war-criminal!ghost, inaccurate historical settings probably, unprotected piv, cumplay, breeding kink, size kink, ghost is obsessed with your tits

it is not a secret that you are afraid of the king's men. there is a reason that they have a reputation of cruelty. ravagers, conquerors, unruly and untamed--they train like dogs, and they live like them, too. by accident, you have wandered to where their barracks are, and if it wasn't for the happenstance of your king hearing your screams, they would've taken your virtue that night.

that one belongs to my wife, he had said, gripping you by the scruff of your neck. spoil it, and i'll have your fuckin' heads. his queen had been much kinder when he returned you back inside, cradling your head in her lap and promising to have something fashioned for you to wear so none of his men would ever touch you again.

and they haven't. they do not bow to you, but they open the doors for you, move out of your way, try to keep their eyes off of the softness of your cleavage and the curve of your skirt. but there is one that does not, there is one that refuses, and this one you avoid the most.

you don't know him by any other name other than ghost. the right hand of the king, his most trusted advisor and his most brutal of men. there are times when he barges into the throne room, his sword dragging along the stone floor and trailing blood in its path, and he tosses the head of the king's enemy onto the floor. you clutch onto the skirt of your queen's dress, tears welling up in your eyes, and when you look up, he is staring at you, heaving in the metal of his armor, and you look away as his men yell out proudly as they crowd the room.

his eyes are always on you when you are in his presence. they track you as you move behind your queen, follow you as you eat and drink and tend to her majesty's needs. he wanders the halls, and he observes you as if you are his next meal. and maybe you are--if he suddenly decided you would be his next conquest, you don't think a refusal is in order. maybe that's the mercy he gives you; just the aggressiveness of his stare and his stare only, and not the strength of his hand or the cruelness of his demeanor.

there is always a party. always a celebration for this brute. he is praised by politicians and priests alike, because he must be the hand of god, delivering whatever the king asks for when it is asked of him. he does not lose, all he comes back with is chests full of gold and new slashes to add to the growing collection on his skin. sometimes you wonder if he puts them on himself. you wonder if he drags his dagger in a crooked line down the length of his arm, as if he is tallying his win, counting up to a number that already puts the men that came before him to shame.

he seems like the kind of man to do so--like the kind of man to do it even with the blood of his adversary still warm on the sharp edge of the blade, the kind to lick it clean when he's finished just to solidify the unease and the terror of the next man to have the unfortunate fate of ending up at the wrong end of his adrenaline.

he has no face. he has no name. and if he is coming for you, it's already too late; your fate has been sealed, and you should say your last rites. the only mercy he ever gives is that death is always quick. his sword is too sharp, and his hand is too heavy.

it is late in the evening when you hear it. there's screaming in the courtyard, yells and howls and cheers. you put down your hairbrush, getting up and padding to the window to look outside. the king's men are there, hundreds of them milling about and walking around. they share mead and wine, crusty bread in their muddy hands. they are bloody and bruised, but they are happy. they sing and chant, hold each other and crowd around fires. they left weeks ago, and they are back now, and you suspect it must be victory on account of their demeanor.

you are not surprised by this. they aren't kind, but it makes them good soldiers. they aren't afraid to die; it's a common idea in your culture that for a man to die in battle is the only way to true salvation, to actual ascension. you have always hated this idea. boys become cruel, and men become unforgiving, and it is why you are so grateful to be her majesty's lady-in-waiting because it means she is your only duty and nothing more.

you are surprised by the knock on your door. you think about ignoring it, but then there is another knock, and then a familiar, low voice mutters, "are you awake, my lady?"

you tie your robe and scurry. when you open up the door, you curtsy low and graceful, your eyes drawn to the floor as you tremble a little in the king's presence. you've never really spoken to him before, not without his queen at your side.

"y-yes, your majesty? i'm sorry for my appearance, i--"

"it's quite late," he says gently. "you don't have to apologize. is it alright if i come in?"

you stand from your curtsy, blinking up at him. you think for a few moments before you nod, widening the door. he settles himself at the seat by the window, looking down into the courtyard. he has a hint of a smirk on his face as he looks down at his men, still singing.

"i have a request of you," he says finally. you take a seat at the edge of your bed, wringing your hands nervously in your lap. whatever his request is, you don't know why he's putting it this way. you're not exactly allowed to refuse. "it is time for my most decorated men to receive their titles. they deserve it, after what they have done for me these past few years."

you swallow, "yes, of course. you have such a fine army, your majesty. you must be...v-very proud."

he turns to face you, and he nods.

"these titles come with land. money. responsibility. and it comes with other things they might request," he explains. "one of these things can be a bride."

"they are most fortunate," you say softly, trying to smile. he stands, turning back to look down into the courtyard.

"you are to be wed tomorrow," he tells you. "i know you gave up much to accept your role at my wife's side, and for that, i have arranged for a sizable dowry on your behalf. congratulations, my lady." he turns to smile at you. "by sunset, you are to be a duchess."

you're shaking when he goes. you clutch the sheets, sinking to your knees, and you cry. you cry because you know who asked for your hand. you know who wants you, you know who it is, because every time he comes back from war, he cannot take his eyes off of you. he eats you with his gaze, he violates you and has never even touched you, he takes from you, and you've never spoken to him, but you know it's him, you know it, you know it--

your queen is ecstatic. she lends you diamonds to wear, and she fusses over the embroidered silk and cotton dress they've sewn for you overnight. she tells you she's so proud, that you will make such a beautiful bride and a beautiful duchess, and it takes all of your strength not to cry, to choke back your sobs. your innocence will be gone by the next morning, you know this, and yet here she beams about colored fabric and your new, unwanted title and all of the duties you have never, ever wanted for yourself.

marriage will be your prison, and you will never be free. you'll be hidden behind closed doors and forced to carry loud, chubby babies.

you are not the only bride that afternoon, but you feel like the most important. your veil is the longest, your dress is the most intricate, and you are wearing the queen's diamonds. not to mention, you are to become a duchess, and the rest will be lords and ladies, nothing more. you have always hated the hierarchy that society fits themselves into, but you've never despised it more than this moment.

he is waiting for you when you make it to the throne room. he wears his armor, polished and without blood, his face covered and his hood up to shadow his dark eyes. he wears his telltale insignia with pride, the skull motif of his belt gleaming and the paint of his mask fresh. he stands tall and menacing, a reaper in human skin, and you are so close to tears as you make your way to him. your eyes find his, and he holds out his hand for you to take. you slip a delicate hand into his gloved one, letting the rough fabric warm you as he brings you to stand in front of him. he purrs, you think, a low rumble as his eyes look you up and down.

you are a prize. a trophy. nothing more. a gift given for cutting the heads off of your king's foes, and that is all.

the ring on your finger is gold, and the ring you slip over his is silver. and then he gives you his first gift as your husband--a tiara, made of emerald and gold, and he slips your veil off to tuck it between the strands of your hair. the intricate pattern on the tiara matches the patterns along the iron of his armor, and you want to think of this as a gesture of good will, but you know it is given with possessive intent, a brand of ownership.

because that is what this is. not a ceremony of love, but an exchange, a transaction. you've been bought with blood, and there is nothing you can do about it.

but one day he will grow bored of me, and maybe then, i'll feel myself again.

he narrows his eyes, glares, and your lips part, trembling, you are terrified. his response is to growl with delight, his eyes falling to stare at the laces that hold in your cleavage. you observe this fact--the fact that you have things that other ladies do not. you are not tiny like them, not thin nor delicate. you are warm, soft, and the squeeze of your breasts in your dress draw him in.

you are a prisoner, now. but perhaps, if you play this game correctly, you can be in your ward's good graces. this is the hand you've been dealt; perhaps there is still a way to win if you steel your bluff.

the party is lively. there is music, gold coins tossed haphazardly on tables, so much dancing and enough food to stuff yourself for days. there is endless wine, and there are brides seated in laps, hungry new couples kissing and whispering soft nothings into each other's ears. the king blessed you all, told you to enjoy your new lives, your new titles, to make your country proud and raise pretty, fat babies.

you sit aways from him. you don't speak, just stare at your dinner plate, sipping wine absentmindedly as you think about the rest of your life and how miserable you will be. you think about the control you have never had, the choices you have never been given, and you wish so badly that you were a man.

men simply ask for, and then they receive. women simply hope that their eyes don't meet a flame too hot to handle.

his eyes bore into your head. when you catch his gaze every once in a while, all he does is tilt his head to the side and observe you. the beauty that you are, the woman that no one can have, the supple tits that belong to him, and the perfect cunt he knows that you have under the multitude of skirts you hide it under. your skin glows, your hair is healthy, you will give him everything that he needs, that he craves.

you'll look so beautiful carrying his heir. you'll look so perfect when you begin to wear the dresses he will buy you, when you sleep in the bed in the house that he gives you, when you stand in the kitchen that he builds for you. although, a woman like you deserves to do nothing but relax, be pampered, to lay down on a bed of furs as he eats your sweetness and fucks you stupid.

when the morning is early, you sneak out. you scurry to your bedroom, closing the door behind you for a moment of peace. you take a seat on your bed, the bed you aren't sure you will have for much longer, and you sit there and stare at your feet until the door opens.

you know who it is right away. coming in unannounced, because now he is allowed to, because everything in this room now belongs to him, from the thread holding your dress together to the very breaths you take.

you sit up straight, turning your head. ghost slips through, taking up the space by the door as it shuts behind him. you watch him as he stands poised just like the soldier he is, looking at you illuminated by nothing but candlelight. his gloved hands rest at his sides, but he squeezes them in and out of fists, clicking his tongue. you hear the leather of them move.

you have never spoken to him before. you've never heard him speak. you wonder if he really knows how to; you wonder if he has a voice or if he's been whittled down to nothing but the sounds that a loyal mutt makes. you know why he's here, you know why he's come. you can't tell him no, you don't think, but he doesn't move from his place, so you aren't completely sure of what he wants.

but you have an idea.

"y'abhor me," he says finally. he speaks. you swallow. at least he isn't stupid. it's rare that you see a brute with brains. although, with all the battles he has won, you know he doesn't lack intelligence. he is seasoned, worldly, knows how to convince the politicians and to rile up the uneducated men that kill for him. he must have a quick tongue and a strong vocabulary. a leader bred for killing, a man taught to know his audience and how to deliver a persuasive message.

but has he been taught to tame a cat? how to please a woman? how to love her, how to have her?

love. what a silly dream.

"not as much as i fear you," you admit. he hums, his eyes crinkling a little, as if he's smiling. you watch him carefully as he finally moves, rounding the bed before he stands in front of you.

"wot is it y'r afraid of?" he asks. his voice comes low, from the bottom of his chest. you tilt your head up to look at him.

"that you'll hurt me," you whisper. he shrugs, shaking his head.

"a beaten wife is no good t'me," he tells you, very matter-of-fact. "need strong heirs. which means i need y'fed and happy."

"i'll never be happy."

he grips your chin, shutting you up. a part of you wishes he would be meaner. that he would be the angry, possessive ghost that he truly is and show the kingdom that there is no part of him redeemable or salvageable. you want to sport his bruises and tell the queen he is an animal, but his touch is firm and nothing more. if anything, he's gentler than you expected him to be.

"we'll see about tha'."

your eyes water, and you stiffen at his touch.

"i know who you are," your voice cracks. "i know what you do. you're a pillager. you take women, and you kill men."

he tilts his head to the side, smoothing his thumb along your bottom lip. you aren't wrong. since he was small, most of what he has known has been the smell of blood in the air and the sound of screams when he shows up at their doors. he's never been particularly gentle when he ravages. he takes, takes, takes--it tastes good and strengthens his bones. it puts medals on his chest and pretty, thick women in his bed.

but you are no village in an unfortunate land. you are the gift that his king has given him. the forbidden treasure that he had his eye on since he saw you standing there beside his queen. poised, elegant, graceful, timid, untouched, perfectly soft. ghost has never known this kind of thing, and if you had been any other lady, he would have married you long ago, but he had to wait. he had to be patient, win and kill enough that his king could not refuse his request--no, his demand--to have you.

he did not do the king's bidding for the glory or for the honor. he did it so he could bite into you, so that even if you screamed, you belonged, and no one would care.

"just a matter of war, dear wife. they matter little," ghost mutters. "let me look at ya..." he tilts your head side to side, observing you. he guides his hand down your throat, arching you back so he could trace his fingers along the swell of your breasts. he hums with approval, reaching lower and squeezing the fat of one breast with one big hand. his eyes flash, and he fondles the other.

you are surprised by the sensation. no one has ever touched you this way before. it feels...good. his hands are warm, even under all of that leather, and you find yourself feeling rather sensitive. you lean back a little on the palms of your hands, looking down. you watch as he traces a finger around your nipple, and you bite your lip when it pebbles under his touch. he uses both hands now, cupping both of them, growling. ohhh--it feels so nice.

"gonna be so nice when they're full," he murmurs, mostly to himself. "all for our babe."

you don't know what comes over you. you don't know why you do it, but you do. you lift your hand, gripping the edge of the laces that tie the front of your dress closed, and you pull. the weight of your breasts unravel the ribbons, and ghost groans audibly when they spill out of your corset. there is a tickle that you feel, some sort of sick satisfaction, knowing that you've pleased him in some way.

"tha'sit...my beautiful bride..." he smacks his lips together under his mask, as if he's hungry, "tits of a fuckin' angel."

you squeeze your legs together. you know what it is to feel aroused, but this is different. you feel wet, so wet, as if it's wetting the skirt of your dress. you've never felt it this strong. you whimper a little, and he chuckles, so mean.

"y'like tha', my bride?" he asks. he reaches up and cups your cheek, bringing your soft eyes to his. the praise, it itches you nicely. "y'r m'prize, swee'eart. i killed over a thousand men, and y'are what m'reward is, did y'know tha'?" he hisses. "cut the heart out of a man's chest, like a fuckin' pig, just to 'ave this cunt."

why does it feel so good? why are you getting wetter and wetter, why are you whining, why are you giving into it? why do you want it so bad, why do you ache?

it hurts, it hurts--

"'s olright," he coos, so condescending. "shhhh..." he puts a palm on your chest and pushes, making you lay back. you swallow, letting him put a finger between the laces of your corset and tug. it barely budges, fastened so carefully, and you gasp sharply when he uses two big hands and grunts, ripping your corset apart. you hear the crack of the whale bone give away under the strength of him, and it's a reminder of just how dangerous he is, how strong, and you know when he looks between your thighs, he'll find you wet and needy and captivated.

the corset comes loose, and he tugs, taking your skirts with it until you're naked underneath him. you want to feel shame, but you can't. you're so desperate, for whatever he will give you, and instead of covering yourself, you let your knees fall open. the groan he lets out makes you leak even more, and he watches with awe as your puffy hole pulses. he moves to shove his trousers down, but you stop him, putting a hand on the chest of his leather armor.

"wait--" you meet his eyes. your eyes flutter. "b-but...but i want..."

he eyes you curiously, narrowing them.

"want wot?"

you swallow.

"i-i..." you reach down and slip your fingers gently through your folds. the squelch makes his eyes widen, and he's mesmerized by what he sees. "i want...your mouth..."

he snickers, "y'think a man will eat it so easy?" he raises a brow. "doesn't work tha' way. besides..." he shrugs. "i don't reveal m'face."

you sit up, blinking, smoothing your hands down his chest and tracing them along the hem of his trousers. his dark eyes follow you, and you realize he doesn't really say no. you need to remind him that you are not one of his men. you need to be kept happy, and he needs to give in, even if it hurts his fucking ego.

"please?" you whisper, taking his hand and putting it back on your face, kissing the palm of his glove. killed a thousand men to have me, so show me--show me, show me, show me. you nuzzle into it, giving him those eyes, and he stares for a long few moments. "please..."

he sinks to his knees almost immediately. his armor stretches a little, the leather and metal moving rigidly with him. your eyes widen a little at the position--the thing that he is knelt down in front of his wife, an act of submission.

"turn around," he snaps. "on y'r knees."

you do as he says. you turn on the bed, your face squished against the cushions, and he yanks you back by your hips. you fist the sheets, sucking in a shaky breath, and your eyes squeeze shut when he puts two hands on your ass and spreads you wide. he plants a kiss on your folds from over the mask, and then you hear the shuffle of fabric before his warm tongue prods at your entrance.

he eats slow at first. just drags his tongue through the slick there. he's exploring you, learning you. but then he is all-consuming. he hisses, gripping you by the thighs and suckling at your clit before tracing his name into the folds of your cunt. you can't help how wet you are--drooling, wetting his mask, crying so soft as he bobs his head and eats you, starving. he did not expect you to be so sweet, so soft. every part of you is soft, and he associates the taste of you with the sound of your pleasure, and it's like a trigger. his brain ticks just the right way when he hears you moan for the first time. not even battle quiets the tinnitus, but the ringing is nearly gone now.

he wonders if you're sent from heaven, even though he doesn't believe in it. but something had to have sent you, something had to have given you to him, because it's too much, it's too good, it's too real.

what he wants is in his hands, cumming on his tongue, crying because of his touch. too real, too real, too real.

he pulls away. he smacks his lips gently, smirking, and then he pulls his mask back down. he stands up straight, watching you, still on your knees, squirming. he tuts, turning you onto your back easily. you're languid and a little breathless, and you giggle a little when you realize how easy it is for him to manhandle you, for him to move you. you've never felt very small, but he doesn't even strain, not even a little.

he's so scary, it makes you sick, but you can make this your own--you could make him love you, couldn't you? someone this twisted, someone this insane, you could make him obsessed, you could drive him crazy, you could have the loyal dog you have always been yourself.

killed a thousand men to have me, so i'll put you on your fucking knees.

it's what you're owed. for all the years of serving, for all the years of submission and pain and kneeling and curtsying, you're allowed to have something, you can have something, even if it's this monster of a man. he may have paid for you, but you won't let a thousand men die for nothing.

you will make him love you. you will make him love you. you will make him love you.

you sit up, a bit dazed. you're swimming in your own head, a little insane from the orgasm. you know what a man like him wants. you have doted on men like him all your life. you know what it is that arrogant people crave, what it is they desire, the things that keep them up at night, you know because you've soothed those fears all your life.

you just need to know how to make him purr. you need to know what clears the thoughts in his head.

"my husband," you whisper, meeting his eyes, and there's a little twitch in his eyes. he likes that title. "i--"

"did y'like that, my bride?" he murmurs. "your husband's mouth on y'r cunt, 'n now y'r singin' for me, eh?"

you bat your lashes, sliding your hands up his forearms. you drag your fingers over the sleeves of his armor, whimpering. the smell of leather is overwhelming, but you suppose you must get used to it. you have a feeling you'll be polishing it for the rest of your life.

"i've always been...terrified of you," you whisper. "the way you come into court...the way you fight...seeing you in all those places, you have always scared me..." he hums, his eyes intrigued. he smooths his hands up your thighs, gripping onto your waist as he tugs you closer to him. "but, i..." you reach for his shoulders, pulling on him until he bends, leans over you, crowds your space and shadows you like the eclipse he truly is. "i-i want more..."

he chuckles, "i know y'do," he echos. "could see it in y'r eyes, darling girl," he sighs. "a pretty face like this one...wasted on her majesty."

"i don't think we're allowed to say that."

"i deliver entire countries at john's feet, i'll say wot i bloody please," he snaps. you just blink up at him, before smiling a little.

this disgusting, murderous, possessive, immoral, treacherous piece of shit that is your husband is really the most beautiful man you've ever set your eyes on. strong, resilient, unable to be killed, adored by his king and his men alike. he is everything a man is supposed to be, but nothing like how a gentleman should behave. he is built for war, built to take, so how can you get this nasty thing to love you?

ghost does not seem the kind of man to bend to the desires of ordinary men. he may want to fuck you, but he has self-control. he may enjoy the praise of his men, but he doesn't require it. he may ache for the soft press of a woman, but he is self-sufficient and easily deterred.

so you do what servant women do best. you appease, because at the end of the day, ghost is still a man, and men are all the same.

"a baby..." you whisper, holding onto the backs of his hands firmly. you dig your nails into the skin there, arching your back to get closer to him. he growls under the mask, metal biting into your soft skin as he grips you even tighter. "want a baby..."

he cackles, so mean, and he leans down to kiss along your ear, down your throat, biting at the supple skin through the mask. he's still got all of his armor on, he hasn't shed one lick of his gear, but you cling to it like a parasite. he is one with it, and you realize this now, his second skin made of durable steel and patent animal skin, singed at the edges. he's such a fine soldier, too strong for his own good, too rough around all his edges to be anything but a masochist, but he's yours. he belongs to you as much as you belong to him, and it isn't until he slides the warmth of his length through your folds that you realize this, too.

you reach up with trembling hands, high enough to cup his masked face. he flinches, nearly throwing you off, but you shush him gently, cooing softly as you nuzzle your nose against his.

"i'm sorry," you whisper there. it's so intimate, this position, and you know that he has never let anyone touch him this way by the feeling of his body under your hands, stiff and unable to move. you roll your hips gently, up against his, and you let out a soft keen at the squelch of your slick against his cock. "it's...it's everything i didn't know i wanted..."

he grunts, metal creaking as his nostrils flare.

"i don't understand," he murmurs. affection, it's so unfamiliar that it startles him. that someone can be kind to him, something other than a hard hand and an impossible order, it's not something he knows, and he's not sure how he feels about it. his instinct tells him to distance himself, but his cock guides him closer.

"you," you whine. "so big--" you reach down between your bodies, pumping his cock gently. your fingers barely meet around his girth, a true testament to his size, he lacks this largeness nowhere. "--there's nothing to be afraid of, is there?"

ghost snarls a little, gripping your thighs tight and securing them around his waist. you lock your ankles around his hips, pulling, and he hums as the head of his cock sinks into you easily.

"naughty lil' girl," he laughs, standing straight as his thighs meet your ass. you whine, your back bowing like a taut string, and he slides his tongue over his teeth with a menacing click. "not a virgin, are ya?"

"i-i am," you gasp, clawing at his forearms, and he hisses when you clench.

"mm. not a stranger t'this feelin' then, aye?"

you shake your head, and he nods, hoisting your legs up and over his shoulders as he gives you a firm thrust.

"good," he mutters. "don't much feel like pettin' ya."

and he doesn't. he's a menace. he snarls like a beast under his armor, his gloves squeezing your plush thighs as he pounds into you with no words to soften the blow. he isn't gentle by any means--he gives, and he expects you to take, and your legs shake as you try and crawl away from him. he doesn't let you--his fingers spread around your waist and he tugs, spearing you back onto his cock before he leans over you and starts putting his back into it.

despite the roughness, he looks down at you, eyes focused on yours, and he doesn't look away. your arms flail a little until you reach up and wrap them around his neck for stability, but it only draws his face close to yours. your hand falls to grip his jaw, and he leans into it just enough that you know you have him.

"you'll make such a good little babe," he grunts, groaning when you tighten just that much. he's securing his place, making room inside of you so you can take even more. "cunt was made to bear m'children, m'lady..."

"that so?" you squeak, and he smiles under the mask--you're falling apart on his cock, a good girl, just for him, just like you always are. "have to finish what you started for that to happen, don't you?"

"fuckin' brat--" ghost snaps, but he presses his face to yours, needing to be closer, needing to have you, needing to make you his from the inside-out. a ring is not enough, no, he has to bind you to him forever by making you bear his kin. he will give you many, he's going to keep you fat and beautiful and pregnant, and his children will know that their father hungered for their mother so much that he destroyed a generation of men to covet one of his own.

ghost has known since the first moment he laid his eyes on you that you would be it. you had to be his wife, no one else would suffice, because no one else could bear the weight of his name the way you would be able to. no one else would be able to carry his babies without dying, no one else could make the sun fall and the moon rise and the fire wane just long enough for him to feel human again, no one.

you start to think the same. you've never felt this way, so out of your body and so aware of it all at once. you're floating--you're somewhere else, you think. there's a pleasure so searing, that you can barely breathe. his cock is deep, touching places inside of you your fingers could never dream to reach, and there's a place that he touches sometimes that makes your eyes blur and your mouth make the most pathetic whining sound. you're crying, begging, asking him for more, please--! nnghh--please!

he's never had a woman so wet. he has always had them for his own pleasure. he has never paid attention to what they feel or tried to make it nice for anyone but himself, but he knows he will never want it the same ever again. there's something so satisfying about the heavy plat, plat, plat that his cock makes every time his hips meet yours. he can feel his trousers sticking to his thick thighs, knows that there must be some thick, creamy slick coating his length and sticking to your skin that he suddenly wants to scoop up with his tongue and savor the tang of his bride, his wife, his pretty, pretty girl--tha's it, just right, like tha'--

"i...i-i--!" it's more intense than you've ever felt it. a crescendo of pleasure that is starting to grow in your belly, an unwavering warmth that he keeps flooding you with, so good that you can't stop crying for it. you're sputtering, drooling, clawing at the hood around his back because it's so fucking close, it's right there, it's mine, you're mine, mine, mine--

"fuckin' hell--" ghost groans, cradling your head against his chest as he stills his hips against yours and fills you nice and warm. you go cross-eyed, you think, shaking as you latch your mouth onto his masked jaw and suck. you need to put your mouth around something, need to fill it with the taste of him. he doesn't move, body heavy and suffocating over you, but you don't tell him to move and make no effort to push him off.

you think you want this. you think you want him to keep you here, just like this, underneath him, full of him, drooling from more than just your mouth from a fucking too good and the promise of something more.

he moves to take a seat on the bed, and you chase after him. you keep your arms around his neck, shuffle into his lap, and he chuckles under his breath as he wraps one big arm around you and tugs you close to him.

maybe it isn't so bad to be bound to someone like this. maybe it isn't so bad to belong, maybe it isn't so bad to be wanted this way, maybe it isn't the most unfortunate thing to not have the autonomy of yourself anymore in favor of being this thing's wife.

you slide your hand down his chest before smoothing it over one masked cheek. his eyes close for a moment, and he leans into it for just long enough that you recognize the gesture as one of need. ghost aches, too--maybe not for the same thing you ache for, but he aches, and maybe it's for this.

something gentle. something soft. something to bury himself into because the flames have burnt too hot for too long, and the voices in his head give him no reprieve. his hands are too dirty, too unclean, and you think maybe that's why he doesn't take his gloves off anymore--there is no cleaning agent enough for the blood caked under his fingernails.

he's more human this way. less beast, more man, but you see that flicker of humanity disappear entirely when he sees the trickle of his cum slipping onto the fine sheets of your bed.

what a waste. what a loss. he has to fuck you again.

he will never be bored of me, i don't think. ghost will want me forever--even when we are dead, because he cannot die, because he's already rotting inside.

you don't seem to mind your new position. no kneeling, no curtsying--your duty is on your back and on your side and on your stomach, presented for your husband, just for his pleasure, just for your own.

in all your life, you have never wanted this. you endured the burden of serving because you were at least needed this way. marriage to you looked akin to death; when the veils fell over girl's faces, you never saw them again. they would be confined to their houses, made to spread their legs, forced to carry children they didn't want and die the slow death of giving their husbands everything they wanted while their dreams were buried alongside them.

your dream is freedom. it always has been. your dream is to do as you please, to go where you want to go, to say the things you want to say. there is an understanding here that you have, an opportunity that you could not see before. before you had ghost, you saw him as the thing in your way. he was the quicksand that would pull you under, the tide that sunk the earth, the dog that guarded his bone. but you know now, you understand, that ghost doesn't have to be the wall in your way.

he is more animal than man, and in that fact alone, you feel power in your toes and something hungry knocking at the bone of your ribs, just waiting to come out.

ghost will hold the sword. and you will hold the leash.

[forgwater]

"Ah, yes. Me, my beloved Prefect and my lookalike tsum from another dimension."

Twst Boys and their reactions to you cuddling their tsum instead of them Headcanons

part 3 part 2 part 1

Deuce Spade

He's exasperated.

Ace has already been making fun of him and how you seem to prefer the plush and how his tsum is completely whipped. just like the real Deuce.

He's at a complete loss.

Has no idea what to do.

He's staring holes into his tsum.

He's flustered, but also annoyed.

You look so cute! And you're holding his lookalike! What is he supposed to do in this situation?!?! He wants cuddles too!

Physical fighting is not an option here!

He tries bargaining with his tsum when he thinks you're asleep.

You hear his attempts.

Deuce is mortified.

Azul Ashengrotto

He's flattered that you like his tsum that much.

He's not happy to see you lavishing all of you attention and affection on it though.

He must move fast before it is too late.

Azul tries being civil at first.

Attempts to talk you into letting go of his lookalike and hugging him instead.

He'll start listing pros and cons in his attempt.

If none of this works, then he just tries to rip the plush out of your arms when you least expect it.

He really hoped it would not come to this.

His tsum is not letting go.

Azul is very much not happy about this.

Jade Leech

Ah, Prefect don't you look just so adorable holding his tsum in such a tight embrace.

He'll play nice this time and share with his tsum.

Only for tonight.

You are far endearing to disturb.

But, that's enough of that. He needs his cuddles too.

Jade tries to hug you, ignoring his bean version until it does the unthinkable.

It slaps his hand away.

He's stunned.

Then, right after that, Jade starts planning his own tsums murder.

How unfortunate.

He really did like the little critter.

Well, he's got new feelings about it now.

So, how should he start his revenge on that plush?

Kalim Al Asim

He's trilled!

Why would he be upset about you loving his lookalike just as much as you love him?

This calls for a pajama party!

When you finally go to sleep at Jamils exasperated insistence, you more or less get sandwiched between Kalim and his tsum.

How cute!

Unfortunately, both of them tend to cling to you in their sleep.

There's a lot of moving around.

Kalim ends up falling of the bed.

Rook Hunt

Ah! Beauté! 100 points!

How could this hunter of love not appreciate the scene right before his eyes?!

Your adorable visage, partially obscured by his own tsum that you hold so dearly in your arms.

Really, he couldn't have asked for a better!

The only problem this heartwarming scene is the empty spot in his arms.

He also attempts to play nice and hug you as you are hugging his tsum.

Rook tsum makes a quick more to thwart his human counterpart.

Ah. So this is a challenge.

Throughout the night Rook attempts to remove his lookalike plush from your grasp.

They are locked in a quiet battle for your affection.

Lilia Vanrouge

Awwwww!!! How adorable! Lilia will allow his tsum to get some cuddles from you.

But as cute as his tsum is, he is just as cute if not more.

Do let go of the tsum and hug him instead, would you?

When you make the executive decision that the tsum will sleep with you, he's... fine with it.

But only as long as he gets cuddles as well.

He's too old and mature for jealousy. (he says, like a liar)

Lilia attempts to hug you, but his tsum keeps getting in the way, moving in such ways that will not allow the bat fae to get his hands on you.

Lilia's not too fond of this.

You wake up in the middle of the night to Lilia locked in a deadly stare of with his plush lookalike.

His lips are moving.

He's whispering threats to the tsum.

The tsum does not seem bothered.

[stellacendia]

I've got a complicated history with the concept of romance. I had a relationship in high school that, while technically romantic, was more or less "I like you the same amount as my other friends except we kiss sometimes." I've always had friendships that were incredibly intense, at least on my end. And when the person on the other end of that friendship was single, I felt that intensity was... more or less returned enough for me to be content. Not everyone values friendships like I do, I get it. Good enough for me.

Then that friend would get a romantic partner, and suddenly it felt like I mattered way less. And, god, I've always tried to be reasonable about it, I've tried to be understanding and nice. Of course my friend wants to spend a lot of time with their partner, especially when the relationship is new. Of course the partner is important too, of course romance is important to my friend. I can't be selfish and deny my friend time with their partner. I should try to be friends with the partner so that we can all spend time together. No, it's definitely not third-wheeling, not when we're all friends with each other!

But yeah, I felt replaced. Also horribly guilty for feeling replaced, but to me.... that friend was the most important person in the world. I'd do anything for that person, no questions asked. Follow them to the ends of the earth, let my entire universe revolve around them. (Is this healthy? Maybe not. Probably not. Did it anyway. Don't know how not to.) And it just fucken sucks when that person simply won't offer the same devotion in return. They'll offer it to their romantic partner, because the romantic partner is always more important than any platonic relationships. They'll offer it conditionally to me, when they're between relationships, only to drop me again the moment they start up another romance.

It's this messy cycle that keeps me endlessly questioning whether or not I'm really aromantic. Cause most of the time I feel like I am! I do not and have never needed romance. And then I catch myself daydreaming about a future where I have a partner that acts in all the ways a romantic partner does and have a mini identity crisis.

And I think, I've figured it out. I don't actually want a romantic relationship. What I want is for someone to finally offer me back the same kind of devotion most commonly found in romantic relationships, the same kind of devotion I offer my closest friends. For once I want to be somebody's most important person, instead of always being second best.

[pomefioredove]

a-yo there, Claudette! how ya' doin'? could I ask a request with the overblot gang like this: they are flirting with reader, in some case is more boldly, another is smoothly or a 'smart'/well thought out flirt, (because i'm SURE that leona and vil don't flirt the same, or blue and idia, for example). reader blushes a lot and looks away. after a second of silence, reader flirts back just as smoothly, slyly or boldly. how do the 7 primors react? 💗💗

thanks in advance! take care<3

oooh- yes, of course!! I had fun with this. it also occurs to me how bad most of them would be at flirting...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ the boys do a flirt

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, jamil, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

anyone here familiar with Victorian courting rules?

well, Riddle is

he is alllll about etiquette

literally "no hand holding before marriage"

the boldest he gets is with... flowers

for what he can't say or do outright, he can convey in floriography

daisies for loyalty, pink camellia for longing...

if he's feeling bold, he may add a lavender sprig or two

now, imagine his surprise when you send him a red orchid...

his face blushes the same color as the flower and he gets all giggly

going around Heartslabyul, saying he's got to send you a red rose back

...as if anyone knows what that means

(everyone in his dorm thinks you're both crazy)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona is the god of avoidance

he would rather crawl on his hands and knees through sewage than be honest with himself about his feelings

so, what does he do when he knows he's falling for you?

bullies you

like, lovingly

it's just easy for him to banter and push you around

he will call you short no matter what your height is, let himself into your room to sleep on your bed and make direct eye contact with you while he knocks your things off your desk

like... petty cat behavior

he was not anticipating you to reciprocate

man, you have a mouth on you

the things you say... color him impressed

honestly, he likes you even more than before

...which now makes avoiding his feelings impossible... crap

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

unfortunately I think Azul's best attempt at flirting is staring at you across a crowded room

he's a flatterer by default, but, like, he actually likes you

he knows how to get someone into a contract, but not how to ask you out on a date

funny, right?

well, not for him

it takes all of his courage just to say you look nice

Sevens, what is wrong with him?

you make him feel like an utter fool... so, of course, he has to compensate

now, when he's around you, he becomes smarter, more interesting, and about three times as pretentious

to impress you. obviously

then you match his energy and he's right back to square one

who knew he could get so easily flustered?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jamil doesn't "flirt"

...at least, that's what he tells himself

before you, he'd simply never had a reason to. now...

how hard can it be, right?

and, well, he's not half-bad at it

Jamil knows how to keep his cool, and flattery is his second language

and he gets a chance to show off a little...

perfect, right?

well...

he can never seem to surprise you

every hint he tries, every subtle compliment and little smirk, you have something equally as crafty

...not what he had in mind, but, hey

the psychological warfare makes flirting much more interesting

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil is, perhaps, the only person here who actually knows what he's doing

not that he's used to flirting

he just... knows how to talk to people

he's always quite subtle about it

forward advances are tasteless, if you'd ask him

he tends to flirt in subtle, but meaningful ways

that is, he makes his intentions known through touch

nothing aggressive, of course

a gentle squeeze of your shoulder, a brush of his hand against yours, an arm around your waist...

just enough to fluster you (which he so enjoys doing)

imagine his surprise, then, when you start touching him back

wordlessly holding his hand, sitting close enough to him to feel your shoulder against his...

he'll admit, he admires your boldness

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

the only "you" that Idia is flirting with is a chat bot he programmed to talk like you

I mean WHAT who said that

he DEFINITELY does not have that. haha... that'd be like, super creepy...

on that note, he also definitely DOES NOT obsessively study your words and mannerisms to better understand you

...well...

listen, he just doesn't know how to approach you!

you're so... you! and he's so... him

so, he'd much rather watch your every move and fantasize about being able to actually... talk to you...

he is, understandably, terrified when you approach him

...even more so when you seem to know about him and all his interests...

???

...you know what? he's not even going to think about it

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Malleus can be a little... old-fashioned

and by that I mean Briar Valley old-fashioned

he was taught how to court by Lilia, of all people, so you know whatever he's doing is...

...strange

and he's somewhat aware of it, too

he just thinks it'd be even stranger for him to flirt with you like...

well... you get it

everyone else

he is, however, pleasantly surprised when you seem to know what he's doing

you've been reading up on Briar Valley customs, and recognized his courting rituals pretty much right away

...not that you're going to tell him that

reciprocating his flirtations is more fun when he doesn't see it coming

he makes that one surprised face every time

like this -> o_o

[astrosamara]

Astrology Observations #4

🩵Sun in 8th & 12th house are incredibly talented individuals with unique gifts to share with the world, but a lot of the time this potential is unseen to them and they can struggle a lot with their purpose. These people can also attract a lot of jealousy from people who don't want to see them win in life.

🩵So many Pisces suns I know radiate this effortlessly cool vibe and people naturally want to be around them. Unfortunately for Pisces, their energy gets depleted around people quickly and they require a lot of alone time or their vibe can turn sour fast.

🩵Earth suns, especially Capricorns, unfairly get labeled as being too boring and practical. These people can make great friends who are grounded and reliable though. This energy gets taken for granted in friendships I feel like.

🩵You might find yourself frequently getting crushes on people with their sun or moon in your 5th and 7th houses.

🩵Moon in 6th house are more sensitive than others to their environment and daily routines. They can struggle feeling grounded in their emotions, since their environment is so strongly connected to their inner world.

🩵Saturn in 1st can be insanely critical over their physical appearance. They might not take pictures of themselves very often, but when they do, they can obsess over how they look in them. I have this placement and I don't have that many pictures of myself when I was a teenager because I hated getting my picture taken. My entire day would be ruined if I saw a bad picture of myself.

🩵Venus in 1st is a placement I've always been jealous of, they just radiate feminine beauty and can have a strong interest and understanding of fashion. I've also noticed that there can be something unique about their beauty that really makes people notice them.

🩵Scorpio Venus can struggle a lot with limerence. They frequently mistake obsession for love. They might not even be interested in someone unless they feel like they're obsessed with them. Crushes in general can feel all consuming for them.

🩵Scorpio's are also great at hiding things from people and will only show a side of themselves that they want to portray. They understand the importance of keeping things private and will truly take their secrets to the grave.

🩵Pisces mercuries will blurt out the most random things in a group conversation that will leave everyone speechless and confused. I swear their minds are just tapped into a different dimension lol. Also incredibly funny.

🩵If you have any planets conjunct your chiron, there can be a great source of pain within the themes of this planet, but if you focus on healing this energy it can become a great source of power for you. I have chiron conjunct my mercury and I grew up extremely shy and afraid to use my voice. Now, I've found that journaling and writing about my pain has become incredibly therapeutic for me and it's strengthened my ability to communicate about my emotions.

🩵Mars in 6th house tend to be really passionate about trying to maintain a healthy lifestyle. They feel great when they prioritize their health and when they follow a schedule. I have this placement in Virgo and I can get so grouchy and irritable if I don't eat well and get some sort of movement in for the day.

🩵North node in 6th house can really struggle with being an active participant in their life. With their south node in the 12th house, they feel most comfortable observing other people's lives and blending into the background. Learning to embrace the spotlight and be seen by others will be very important for them in being on the right path.

🩵Sun in 1st house people can literally or metaphorically have a shine or glow to them. They radiate this light, warm, welcoming energy that makes people just want to look at them and be around them. Also, natural entertainers. They're meant for the spotlight in some way or another.

🩵Mars in 3rd house are constantly traveling and seeking adventure. They're always down to try new things or go somewhere new. I have a friend with this placement that is seemingly always traveling, in a new place, or trying a new hobby every time I talk to them. They don't like being stagnant.

[felinefractious]

Do you consider brachycephalism in cats as serious as in dogs? I'm in veterinary medicine but I don't encounter many brachy kitties and would love to hear your thoughts on it.

Brachycephaly is a problem.

Schlueter et al (2009) categorized brachycephalic head shapes into four categories randing from mild to severe.

Moderate brachycephaly is where we begin to really see problems and profound or severe brachycephalic cats are going to have a real issue.

The British Shorthair (left) is a breed where mild brachycephaly is part of the standard compared to an Exotic Shorthair (right) where profound - severe brachycephaly is desireable.

On the left with have a British Shorthair, in the center an Exotic Shorthair and on the right a Persian.

One of the problems we see with brachycephalic breeds is stenotic nares, which are narrow nostrils. You can’t even make out the nares on the Persian shown above and, as one may expect, this affects how much air they move through them.

We can see similar obstructive effects in cats with nasopharyngeal polyps, masses or reconstruction due to scarring from chronic rhinosinusitis problems.

Due to their inability to breath normally through their nose these cats tend to be heat and exercise intolerant and can run into trouble more quickly during high stress events.

Stenotic nares can be surgically corrected but I don’t think this is as common in cats as it is in dogs, at least I haven’t encountered many cats who’ve undergone the procedure. I don’t know if it’s not as necessary, if cats don’t respond as well or if cat owners are less likely to seek treatment.

Or maybe it is as common and my lack of experience is the outlier.

Brachycephaly is also associated with malocclusion and dental disease, chronic epiphora, facial dermatitis related to the chronic tearing and ocular issues such as conreal sequestrum or entropion related to the protruding eye structure.

I know globe proptopsis is a problem in some brachycephalic dog breeds like pugs but I haven’t heard of this specifically happening in brachycephalic cat breeds.

Exotics and Persians are obviously the worst when it comes to brachycephaly in cats but the Bombay and (American) Burmese are also offenders.

There are other breeds which don’t call for a brachycephalic head shape (or even default it) or call for only a mild version but certain breeders are selecting for extreme typeing anyways because even though their cats might not win any shows they can sell them as designer variants for more.

On the left we have a Sphynx and in the right we have a Devon Rex both with an extreme head type contradictory to the breed standard.

So yes, unfortunately the brachycephalic head type is a problem in cats. Some try to argue that brachycephalic animals often live long lives which means the abnormal structure isn’t a problem… but longevity is only one measure of a breeds ethical soundness, quality of life and history are also important in my opinon.

[x-brik-x]

I'm seeing a lot of people say that punk fashion is expensive and inaccessible, which is very wrong. here is a list of some ways you can make punk fashion easier, cheaper and more accessible for you, since that's... kinda the whole point.

others are encouraged to add onto this!! (just don't recommend corporations like amazon. not cool.)

1. patches!! you don't need to buy them. DIY patches are not ugly or boring. in fact, they are encouraged here!! DIY, in my opinion, is always the best thing to do when it is an option and is safe to do so.

2. speaking of DIY, spikes!! you can make them!!

cut the top and bottom off of an empty can. cut down the middle of the cylinder and flatten it, so it's just a flat rectangle of metal.

cut out a shape that is kind of a third of a circle, but around 3/4 of the curved edge is taken up by triangle shapes. (I'm not very good at describing, so here's a badly drawn picture)

roll it into a cone, leaving the 4 triangles sticking out at the bottom. this bit is optional, but you can fill it with hot glue to make it more sturdy, just be careful touching the hot metal. I tend to hold the cone by one of the triangles with a bit of fabric wrapped around my fingers for this bit. cut 4 small holes in your fabric in this kind of shape:

and put the spiky bits of triangle through the holes. fold the triangles in on themselves to secure the spike in place. boom. spike obtained. this is one I made and attached to a little piece of fabric to test this method out:

3. battle vests!! (like the base jackets). the best places to buy these are charity shops and second hand websites in my opinion, but if anyone else knows any better options, please reblog with those!!

a good trick I find works well on eBay is to filter search results to your country (or state? can you do that in the US? idk) so that a: fast delivery because local, and b: all the sellers of everything that shows up are in YOUR TIME ZONE.

why is this important? when people sell something for really cheap, it goes FAST. check eBay at like, 2am or something. all the scalpers in your area are asleep. grab the cheap stuff while they can't.

4. sewing!! want patches, but can't sew for whatever reason? I've heard of a lot of people with joint conditions like arthritis complain about the inaccessibility of patch stuff, and that does sound extremely annoying, however:

safety pins!! while they are still a little fiddly, they're much less work so you don't have to fiddle about for long. if you can, you could even ask a friend to help, since it doesn't take long at all I'm sure someone will be willing to help out!! (I know I would, but that's just me, and I love this kind of thing). safety pins on clothes are also widely considered to be a symbol of solidarity, so if anything, you're adding some extra love and meaning to your patch pants/battle jacket.

if that's still too fiddly, fabric glue is always an option. unfortunately this means you won't be able to remove/reposition patches, at least without leaving a massive patch of residue, but if you're ok with that then fabric glue is probably your best bet.

for people who prefer sewing: as for where to get the thread, I've heard a lot of people recommending dental floss, as it's apparently much cheaper and works just as well. I haven't tried this myself so can't confirm that, but I thought I'd share it regardless.

5. where to get fabric!! old clothes. rip em up. you don't need any kind of fancy fabric from the craft store. my patches are made of old jeans that I grew out of.

don't have any old clothes and you don't want to waste any good ones? I'm not sure about other countries, but in the UK, as long as you're not on private property (trespassing), dumpster diving is perfectly legal.

I definitely ;) do NOT encourage ;) trespassing rich people's land ;) to steal from their dumpsters ;)

or tbh it doesn't matter too much how rich the person is, since it's all going to landfill anyway. if it's in the bin, it's free game, but you didn't hear that from me. ;)

please add onto this where you can!! and if I missed something or got anything wrong, add that on too!!

[ghelgheli]

i would actually like to hear more of your thoughts on whipping girl, whenever you feel ready enough to talk about it. i've only ever heard positive recommendations for it. i was thinking of reading it. i've read one or two introductory 101 texts on transmisogyny as well as some medium/substack posts, and always looking to read more as a tme person. ty!

thanks for asking! I'm gonna try to be concise because I'm stuck on my phone for the month, but here are my thoughts on whipping girl:

serano is at her strongest in the book in three areas: manifestations of transmisogyny in media (e.g. how trans caricatures pervade movies), the history of medical institutions developing a pathology of transsexuality (like the diagnostics of blanchard et al. or how trans people seeking healthcare were and continue to be forced into acting out prescribed expressions and manufacturing memories), and the construction of her own transition narrative (telling the reader what it was like for her to grow up desiring femininity in a way that confused her, the experience of crossdressing, the effects of hrt for her)

whenever she's just sticking to this, I think she effectively communicates a lot that the unaware reader could benefit from—even many trans women/transfems/tma people who are otherwise in tune with the history of medicalized transsexualism and our popular depictions could probably benefit from her own personal narrative, by nature of how variegated our experiences can be.

unfortunately I think the book fails at its primary—stated—goal, which is to theorize about transmisogyny. in the big picture this is a bifurcated failure:

on one branch of her argument, she remains committed to there being something biologically essential/innate about gender. this manifests thru multiple claims: that we have "innate inclinations" toward masculinity/femininity and "subconscious sex" rather than what I believe, which is that the latter are constructed categories imposed on different matrices of behaviour/expression/desire in different cultural contexts; that there is "definitely a biological component to gender" (close paraphrase) after a discussion of how she believes E and T tend to affect people (thus equivocating gender with dominant hormones!); that we have such a thing as "physical sex" which is the composition of our culturally decided "sex characteristics" (don't ask me how the dividing line is drawn) even as she says we should stop using "biological sex" as a term; that there is "no harm" in agreeing that "sex" is largely bimodal with some exceptions; that social constructionism is necessarily erasure of transsexual experiences in early childhood... altogether she is unwilling to relinquish arguments about the partial "innateness" of femininity/masculinity and gender. this is at tension with her admission on several occasions that these are neither culturally/geographically nor temporally stable concepts! but that doesn't seem to be a line she can follow thru on.

on another, intertwining branch, she engages in what I think is a deep and widespread mistake in the theorizing of transmisogyny: reducing it (mechanistically) to what she calls effemimania* or essentially anti-femininity. it is her stated thesis at the start that masculinity is universally preferred to femininity. she doesn't offer a definition of either term until one of the final chapters, where she defines them as the behaviours and expressions associated with a particular gender. but I think this reduction just misunderstands transmisogyny. it is even in tension with an observation she makes early on, that trans women are often punished for their perceived masculinity! but again, this is a thought she seems unable or unwilling to follow thru with.

my problem with the thesis is that masculinity and femininity do not float free of gender—it is not possible to speak of their valuation in the abstract. anyone who grew up as a masculine cis girl and never "grew out" of that "phase" can attest to the violence wrought upon expressions of masculinity from women. and this applies doubly so to the subjects of transmisogyny! not only are we punished for any perceived bleed-through of masculinity from our supposed "underlying male selves", those of us who are willingly masculine and thriving as mascs are punished for our failure to conform to the rules of the normative womanhood that is imposed on us (just as we are punished for any willing femininity as "false" and predatory upon cis womanhood—observe that transmisogyny is reactive degendering in every case!).

on both branches serano makes only perfunctory remarks about the intersections with race, class, and colonialism. "sex" as such was made to only be accessible to the "civilized", most of all the white european! for a racialized person and particularly a Black person navigating gender the waters are just not the same; the signifiers of sex neither available in the same way, nor granted the same medical legitimacy. what is the "physical sex" of someone who is de-sexed altogether? how can gender have a "biologically innate" component when its expressions between the bourgeoisie and the working class are at total odds with one another? this all goes for the masculine/feminine distinctions as well. what sense is there in the claim that we have innately masculine/feminine inclinations when globally (and transmisogyny has been made global!) what is feminine and masculine can be very nearly mirrored? nor is "masculinity is always considered superior to femininity" innocent of obviating race. transmisogynoir adds yet further degendering thru the coercive masculinization of someone as a Black woman—masculinization as punishment, again!

and as a final point, the account fails to be materialist. there is no attempt to place transmisogyny in its role as an instrument of political economy or, as jules gill-peterson might say, as a tool of statecraft. it is just a psychological response to the way the world is, as far as serano has anything to say about it. but how did the world become that way, and why?? serano's solution, the abolition of what she calls gender entitlement, is naive to the fact that gender entitlement is necessary to the maintenance of the capitalist state, which is structured thru patriarchy and built on colonialism. it is not possible to reskin this into something innocuous!

this is why I cannot recommend whipping girl as a work about transmisogyny except at the most shallow level. it could be a helpful critical read, but imo, it is just wrong about transmisogyny.