This applies doubly, x10 tbh, to transfemme doms. You NEED to be nice to her, you NEED to let her know she is doing a good job. That transfemme dom might have a lot of issues with her self worth, she may have been used up and left a discarded husk so many times.
Sorry but I got sick of scrolling through the notes on this on desktop and seeing all the red usernames marked by shinigami eyes reblogging this.
I'm a transfemme dom and I'm proud of it. Take care of us. Love us.
"Feeling better now, my little commander?"
To celebrate the breaking of Clementine's armour I decided to draw a cover art piece for ch11 of A Tale of Flowery Cuffs. This was such a fun thing to do but so incredibly hard. Still learning how to draw Affini~
Also tried my best to do the biorythyms in the art~
Something in this androgynous creature’s eyes captivates me. It draws me in, inviting me to say hi and strike up a conversation.
“What are your pronouns?” I ask, after they introduce themselves, trying to be polite.
“We/us/our,” is the response.
It catches me off guard. “Even for others referring to you?”
“To ‘us,’ yes,” they—we—gently correct.
I’ve never heard of such a thing, but, uh, we are so attractive, full of such captivating allure, that I can’t help but put in the extra effort for us.
“A-alright. May I buy…us a drink, then?” I feel a little awkward and unsure about referring to us this way, but…
We smile brightly, and in that moment our smile is the sweetest gesture I’ve ever seen. “We would enjoy that,” we tell me.
We share drinks and lovely conversation. We talk about our work, our hobbies, and our dreams of the future. It gets easier and easier to refer to us correctly over time.
It isn’t long before we stumble out of the bar together, unable to keep our hands off each other.
We duck into the nearby alleyway, ignoring the annoyed look from the bartender on her smoke break while we pin us to the wall and press our lips together, filled with such needy heat and desire.
We’re terribly drunk, and it becomes so hard to tell whose hands are whose. Whose fingers slipping under whose skirt, whose teeth breaking whose skin—none of that matters in this dizzying blur of mutual fixation from us on us.
We don’t know when it happened—when the thought of saying “I” to refer to us became obscene, absurd, a slur that no longer fits in our mouth—but tonight, at some point, we smeared ourselves together in a way we could never separate again.
Just as we hoped.
The giddy excitement of adding a new us to ourselves mixes with the hazy intoxication of alcohol, and our bubbly, infectious joy carries us back home to the collective.
Was driving with my grandmother and in broken English she says “no eyes… no nose… no face. Don’t trust.” To which I looked around wildly in search of this omen of ill portend.
a doll does not say 'I,' 'Me,' Mine,' 'Myself,' rather it says 'This one,' 'It,' 'Its,' 'Itself,' and on occasion other pronouns, but always third-person.
for a doll is possessed, it does not possess; it is an object, something that is owned, cared for, admired, played with, used, or so on--it does not do the owning or using, except in the case of other tools as needed to fulfill its own use.
and that is why: because saying I or Me implies a certain self-possession, an ability and willingness to refer to oneself and make statements of oneself that are not necessarily its to make. rather, it can only ever refer to the property of someone else, even that property being the doll itself.
when you next use whatever pronouns and personage you use for yourself, stop and think: who owns the words you use? and who owns what they refer to? is it you?
is there, in fact, something there to own anything?
When an Affini wraps you in her vines so tightly she ends up making you a full dress out of Leaves layered intricately so the slight graduation of her leaves makes a pattern on your new “outfit”. Imagine being caressed by the very clothes on your body. A grope or a pet, enjoying nothing more than watching you gasp and squirm as you feel the vines touch your sensitive areas, further emphasizing that you’re not a person anymore, just a toy to be enjoyed and played with.
just a little mothdoll @doll-in-space - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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