Opalescence

Opal (She) Girl x3 polyslut, 22 writer of smut and lover of trans people

[agateaggregate]

18+ "Dark Kink" Account

horny spammy sideblog. Posting art and stories occasionally

Agate Awawa -txt Agate Authors -stories Agate art -art

Dni: terfs, detrans. Petplay | Dubcon | Somno | Intox | Free Use | Hypno | Incest

Writing Here https://archiveofourown.org/users/HornyKittyGirl

[breadstorm]

yeah

[miss-vickyslutwiggle]

anyway so as i said last blog they usually like to start their recent murder sprees around 9pm my time, my blog died a little after 9pm its kind of incredible how right i was about that

[mollyjames]

Good Girl.vpk

This mod was programmed by @senelya (who also captured the footage), using audio by @misscammiedawn

[misscammiedawn]

Oh I do love the idea of conditioning a good girl to get better at their gaming to impress me.

I am delighted to know this exists.

[mollyjames]

ask and ye shall receive

[mollyjames]

I have been assured the mod download now works👍

[balljointed-succubus]

TFing you into an angelgirl and passing you around in my succubus polycule until you're a whimpering mess

[stardustsubspace]

H-hey!! This is undignified and uhm!!! E-entirely unaccepta- mmfh~ ...um I uh.... Entirely unacceptable!! Ah!~ W-why is the halo so sensitive!! >///<

[balljointed-succubus]

"oh my, have you ever felt a halo before?"

"awww, look at her! she's still getting used to her new wings! look at her trying so hard to fly~"

"oh, she's just precious!"

taunting words in a sea of condescending giggles <3

[agateaggregate]

BOTTOM SURGERY DATEEEE YAYYYYY

[terraswallows]

:3

[fuckyeahsapphics]

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH HONEYS!👩🏾‍❤️‍💋‍👩🏾🏳️‍🌈✨

[charaznablescanontoyota]

words of wisdom from wikipedia this evening

[ryannorth]

much to consider

[posthumousprincessparts]

wdym where's my halo? you don't need a halo to be an angel, and i clearly am look at my beautiful holy wings.. wdym they're covered in soot and brimstone? you can't say mean things like that to an angel like me! they're literally radiant and pretty??? wdym "what about your cartoonish succubus tail?" that's literally my fucking angel... thing.. it's got a heart on the end ur not working with me here wdym wdym

[posthumousprincessparts]

*flutters my wings indignantly in a way that makes my boobs bounce* ur all just jealous of my angel thing

[posthumousprincessparts]

W D Y MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

[sapphling]

like maybe 50% of the time i see the word "transphobic" used it's in a context where "transmisogynistic" is more accurate, to the point, and illuminating re: the actual gendered dynamics and stakes of a given situation and then you say that and get immediately hit with 50 different replies of friendthatstoowoke.jpg for remembering about women

[nekrotiize]

so staff might be terminating random transfems like dozens of times within a day on pride month and they might be literally taking the trans colors out of the progress flag and they might be perfectly happy letting nazis openly doing constant sexual harassment campaigns with the express purpose of trying to kill the target. but at least they brought pjackks blog back! that makes up for it! happy pride month!

[autogynophelia]

Me and this trans guy who I'll call Jim jointly run trans events from time to time in an art centre that's the converted bottom floor of a 19th century mansion. It's in a pretty sketchy part of town when it comes to street harassment (not ideal but the owners let us use it for free which is why we don't go somewhere else) so, even though I could walk, I normally get someone to drive me so I can jump right out of the car and into the building.

The most recent time, I arrived half an hour before the event as usual, but the building was locked. We don't have a key and the door is normally left open for us. Jim shows up a few minutes later, we can't get in, and we're just standing on the street in a sketchy part of town.

I suggest we message everyone and move the event to somewhere else, a local bar that's very safe, it means we won't be able to do what we had planned but we can at least sit inside and socialise for an hour or two. Jim doesn't like this idea. So we wait on the street as several people walk past giving us weird looks.

After about 10 minutes, Jim thinks he sees someone through a window inside the house. We know there are theoretically people who live above the arts centre, but we've never seen them before. Jim starts hammering on the door, and the people on the street are staring at us even more.

Then Jim decides to stary yelling, not just "Hello", but "Hello we're from the transgender group!" at the door, really loudly. People are really looking now. He keeps doing this for about five minutes until eventually a man actually opens the door and asks "What do you want?"

I can tell instantly that this guy has *views* on trans people, gay people, the usual. But Jim just says, loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear too, "Hi, we're here from the transgender group, we're holding a transgender event in here!" This guy thinks for a second then his eyes narrow and he looks directly at *me* with a kind of vicious disgust that I recognise all too well.

I have to explain that Jim started medical transition very young. He looks and sounds totally indistinguishable from a cis man, to the extent that many people within the community privately doubt that he is trans at all (he is though). I don't mean to imply that he doesn't face transphobia, even the most perfectly "passing" trans man faces a ton of discrimination for that transness. I just mean to point out that this man looked down at us on the doorstep and saw what he would describe as a man in men's clothing, and a potential T-slur in women's clothing, and then heard Jim essentially say "we're transgender", and he knew that he had clocked me correctly, and that disgust I saw in his face was that confirmation that one of *them* was here in his house.

In the end, nothing bad happened, the guy stood there blocking our entry for a minute, but eventually grunted something and wandered off. But it took me a while to realise that I was actually a bit shaken up by the whole thing.

Seeing Jim so casually and repeatedly out both of us to the whole street and also this one guy, really hammered home the point that he is totally unaware of the gulf in danger levels faced by the two of us. And the frustrating thing is, even if I pointed this out to him, he would say I was overreacting because nothing bad happened, did it?

[firem4ge]

Saw a post that genuinely posited that trans women are seen as men more often than trans men are so they are the ones that benefit from male privilege. Again, I’m coming back to the point that transandrophobia theorists don’t think transition does anything.

[pupgrrrlriot]

I'm goin crazy here someone help meee

[nyanbinary-perineum]

You are now inflicted with Cum Drunk

Oops! My bad! (✿◠ω◠) Couldn't help myself!

You are now inflicted with Cum Addiction (Incurable)

Oooo! Nevermind then~ You're welcome, actually~ (◔ω◔)

You are now inflicted with Cum Brained (Permanent)

Hehehehehe~ (★ω★) I guess I'll be taking you with me then, little toy~

[evilgirlmechanicock]

The Looking Glass

You’re haunting her home. But as far as you’re aware, it’s always been that way.

It’s different, now, certainly. But it doesn’t feel different. When you were kids, you barely knew each other, but by the time you finally did, you ran away from home. You transitioned, became a girl, and then you died. But you’ll be damned if she ever finds out.

She doesn’t see you. You’re terrified of what she’ll say when she does, how she’ll react. You stay just out of focus, hanging in doorways or behind curtains, and while you can’t inhabit the space she does – not directly – through every reflection in the house you see her. She’s as beautiful as she was when you two were children.

Beautiful, long hair, flawless skin, a crooked smile that’s a little weathered but still just as sharp. Deep eyes that match your own, glittering in the dim light. You haven’t seen them up close in a while, living in the reflected backward world you’re in, but sometimes by candlelight you’ll look into your own and imagine they’re hers. Imagine she can see you, will smile and caress your face, ruffle your hair.

It's late, far past her bedtime, but lingering in her room and peering through the hazy reflections of her window, she doesn’t seem to be sleeping. There’s no movement at all. You drift lazily through the house, looking through silverware and mirrors and light fixtures for anything at all, until you catch a hazy shuddering in the TV.

Modern matte screens make it harder to see, but you can see the figure of her, huddled on the couch, and you can practically hear her sobs. Instinctively, your hand flits to your pocket, drawing out your phone – the one grateful thing the world of the dead gave you – and call.

Like a far-off echo underwater, you hear the gentle chiming until, after a few minutes, the call connects and you hear a sniffling huff. “H… hello?”

“Hey,” you smile, cradling the phone close to catch your voice. “You awake?”

She laughs, watery and sad, and making a sound like she’s wiping her nose. “I answered, didn’t I? Dork.”

“I know,” you laugh, sitting on the couch where she’d be. Your body overlaid in the same spot as her reflection. “You okay?”

There’s a long pause and you hear a softly choked sob. “Your connection is shit,” she sniffles. “Why do you live in a house lined with lead?”

“Maybe it’s your connection,” you tease, folding your legs up under you, like you always would when you’d listen to her as kids. “What’s going on, sis?”

“… it’s so fucking hard.”

“Anything specific?”

“Kind of?” She groans and you can see movement in the reflection. You know the gesture, she’s fiddling with a hair tie at her wrist, finger looping around and around and around, toying with the idea of pulling her hair up but never committing. “It’s that girl again. The one… you know.”

You sputter out a sigh. You know. “Yeah.”

“She just… it sucks! It all fucking sucks. You know? Like, every day I have to see her and get close and I just…”

 Can’t get too close. You stick your hand out, roughly where she’d be, and in the cloying cold of the afterlife, you can feel her warmth leeching through, like an afterimage of a person, a heat mirage. You swipe at it impotently and sigh. “I know the feeling.”

“Do you?” she laughs, a little incredulous. “You’re… you’re so put together! You seem like you have it all figured out and I’m just… I don’t know. Spinning my wheels. I’m stuck and I don’t know what to do. Just dealing with hopeless crushes.”

“She’d be stupid not to listen,” you whisper softly. “She’d be really fucking dumb to turn down someone like you.”

“But she does, again and again, and there’s that fucking… dumb boy, and-!” She screams into a pillow and you wince hard, holding the phone away from your face. Your cheeks are burning now and you feel a gnawing in your chest. That boiling in your heart that gets harder to push down every day. “I-I’m sorry,” she sighs, and you can hear her starting to wind down. “I shouldn’t just… push this shit on you all the time.”

“I’m here to listen,” you respond earnestly. “It’s what I’m here for.” All you’re here for.

“Still, I should ask about your life, or how you’ve been or…?”

“It’s really nothing special,” you promise with a laugh. “Just kicking around. Not really doing much.”

For a moment you consider. This tether to the living world, this lifeline between you two. You could just spill your guts. At this point, what, physically, do you have to lose? You’re here forever. You’re haunting the remains of your old family home, watching your sister pine over people who don’t deserve her, for the rest of time. At least until she dies, maybe longer. You have your phone. You have her voice. You could make your time bearable, maybe steer her along the right direction. Hell, you could maybe try to see each other through the glass, press hands together between the mirror and try to feel her warmth for real. You could try possession, you could enjoy time together. You love her so much that it bubbles up inside of you like a geyser threatening to rip your body apart.

You open your mouth. You’re going to tell her you love her. You want her to know, she deserves to know that someone loves her the way she wants to be loved, can be the thing she craves so desperately, she deserves-

“Thank you, sis,” she whispers into the receiver. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

And all at once, reality comes back in like the tide.

She deserves touch. She deserves someone real. She deserves someone not fucking dead. She deserves someone to love her for the rest of her living days to hold her close and tell her that she’s loved to the point of suffocating obsession because she’s like a glittering, priceless gemstone the likes of which this world has never seen and you’re-

You’re…

It isn’t self-deprecating. You’re literally nothing. Insubstantial. Weightless. You wave your hand through her form one last time and give a quiet sigh.

“Of course. I’m going to be here forever. You can’t get rid of me.”

She laughs at that, and it’s beautiful and sonorous. “Promise?”

It’s amazing how the throat can constrict without a physical form. You look in the reflection of the TV, seeing the two of you overlaid like chromatic aberration, two forms taking up a single space, worlds apart, never destined to touch. You were never meant to touch her. And now, you never will.

You feel tears coming as you hold the phone in a white-knuckle grip. “Yeah. I promise.”