while society demands that man must have gender, then I will adorn the gender of man. he/it pls. idk what Frankenstein was on about but if an 8 foot tall man with rippling muscles and arteries, long black hair, and eyes of death looked me in the eye, I would feel a number of emotions, fear not included.
Fuck hostile architecture, I want unhostile architecture. I want benches to be designed to be as easy as possible to sleep on. I want little places for pigeons to nest to be purposefully put on buildings. I want people designing public spaces to think about what they'd be like to skateboard on. I want "Please loiter" signs. I want people to be kind. I want...
Oh to be in a cage right now. Makeshift nest full off plush and blankets, one draped over top to keep out the light. To be non verbal for the day, just laying in my cage nice and safe. An occasional head pat and a âyou good, boy? Okay good boy.â No expectations or stress or cares in the world just puppy.
Listen. It's okay. You can be horny for my fursona. But you need to know that he's absolutely garbage at sex. He nuts after 5 minutes of motionless bottoming and plays games on his phone with the volume on max. He accidentally gets cigarette ash on your balls and sets his 800$ sheets on fire trying to put it out.
He will make you breakfast in an apron with his ass out. He will offer you a plate of what are distinctly fried eggs cooked in Gatorade and call it "ouefs d'orange." They are somehow overcooked and undercooked at the same time. He needs a stepladder to reach the stove.
Fuck Meyer-Briggs whatever typology. This INTFP shit is only for redditors up their own asses to substitute for a personality. Use my new typology instead!
(tw: noncon, paleontologically inaccurate dinosaurfucking)
consider this: you're a dinosaur. fairly big but not the biggest, carnivorous and predatory, perhaps a smaller tyrannosaur like alioramus? regardless of the specifics, you're a force to be reckoned with by prey and competitors alike.
and now consider: getting cornered by a herd of iguanodon. they're confident- strength in numbers and all that. your snarling and roaring is all bark and no bite; if you gave them a reason to fight back, you'd be trampled and murdered within a heartbeat.
the irony of your situation is not lost on the herd, and within moments you're surrounded, snout held firm in the blunt-toothed beaked jaws of one of the iguanodon while a larger bull mounts you. your legs shaking from the weight of the herbivore's mass, you're already panting and huffing into the first iguanodon's mouth and it bites down harder, shaking its head and wiggling yours along with it.
the bull iguanodon's tapered cock teases your slit, and you're too zeroed in on the inevitable to notice that a third iguanodon has began nibbling roughly on your throat and jaw.
the bull pushes in without warning, and it's huge. stretched to your limits, you're on the ground in an instant as the iguanodon fucks you relentlessly and without mercy, your haunches only held up by the tight grip of its hoovers around your waist.
it huffs and bellows at the pleasure of your tight cloaca. the bull slides in to the hilt, then nearly all the way out to grant your stretched slit a semblance of relief before plunging right back in repeatedly.
your claws dig into the ground and you yowl when the bull's grip around your waist tightens and its pace picks up, lightheaded and panting when each thrust ends deeper and deeper.
the first iguanodon releases your snout and takes advantage of your gaping jaws to facefuck you and it takes everything in your power to not snap your jaws shut and give the herd a reason to prefer their new toy dead rather than alive.
you've nearly blacked out when the bull finishes in you, letting out a bellowing groan and thrusting hard enough to lift your haunches off the ground, now allowed to grit your jaws and pant and whine to your hearts content after the first iguanodon pulls out of your mouth.
the bull pulls out, leaving your slit a gaping mess and your waist bruised and bleeding from where its thumb spikes had carelessly nicked your sides in its excitement.
after the bull leaves you there, you're too out of it to react in time when another iguanodon eagerly trots up behind you, kicking weakly to no avail when it lifts your flattened haunches off the ground with its head and wraps its own hooves around your waist. there's more of them licking tauntingly at your neck now and one of them's pinned your head to the ground with a heavy hoof while another's tongue worms its way beneath your lips to lick greedily at your teeth.
the bull's display had left the entire herd excited, eager to have a round with the now helpless predator. it's going to be a long, long night.
you have a friend who appears human, but in the back of your mind you know that isn't quite right. sometimes they know things they shouldn't. sometimes how they come and go doesn't make sense.
a quiet day, you two are seated on your bed, and they lean in to touch you. kiss you, perhaps. they hesitate. and then, they tell you to close your eyes: you mustnât look.
you comply, and they guide you to lay down as they strip you down. your clothes seem to phase out of reality, only to be there again when you hear something soft be dropped on the floor. you should try stay still, they tell you. makes it easier to not hurt you by accident. you bury your face in the pillows and almost hold your breath as they move to caress you, and carefully take you.
you try to map out the real shape of them based on what you feel and hear. very little is constant apart from them inside you, fucking you slowly; you feel parts of their body press against you, but where exactly, that changes. their hands (how many? you aren't sure) wander all over your skin. nothing holds a shape quite like that of a human. you experience all-new sensations where you can feel the boundary of what is there and what seemingly isn't. you hear their breath, sometimes next to your ear, sometimes further away. sometimes you don't hear them at all.
you are not still, but they seem to be managing. certainly they aren't stopping.
when you are both spent, they withdraw, and the room is awfully quiet for a moment. as if you are alone. the strange static in the air is gone. then, someone sits by you on the edge of the bed. and your friend tells you you can look again.
used to be jump scares on youtube videos was the sudden demon or the screaming woman. now jump scares in videos is the nordvpn or the betterhelp. really makes you think. really makes you consider. really makes you believe. really makes you investigate. really makes you bifurcate. really makes you spiralize. really makes you shiver and dance. it makes you shed your skin. it makes you engage in futile acts. it really makes you partition the hard drive. it makes you cut apart the hard drive. making you dissect the hard drive. making you reconstitute the hard drive. making you fill the hard drive with a glue-like substance. making you fill the hard drive with a glue-like substance that is derived from beans. i am making you fill the hard drive with a glue-like substance that is derived from beans.
Sometimes, oftentimes, all the time, people will ask me, âWhy did you do that to yourself?â when I tell them how proudly and valiantly I have weathered the storms of abuse and bigotry in my life. I tell them how I sat in a room or on a train or in a call and butt my fucking head against some brick-for-brains, a whole group of them if thatâs what the day called for, and stood my ground as stubborn as a moose. The people I regale with these tales, so proud of my willpower and grit, look at me every time with so much sorrow and ask me, âWhy did you do that to yourself?â and I feel that gentlest, smallest implication there. That I am hurting myself. That I am doing wrong to myself. That I am a glutton for the pain, suggesting out of sincerest concern that perhaps, just maybe, I hate myself. It makes my heart so⌠heavy. And so hauntingly alone. Some days it almost feels as wrong as the people who call me a freak, because of just how damn lonely it can feel. I know they beg me to run because they love me. I understand why, Iâm not a fool. No one wants to see harm come to a loved one. No one wants to watch a loved one stand beneath the sun-blotting, sky-sickening rain of slings and arrows, not even bearing the hardest shield nor the finest armour.
But even just my skin is enough for their most nuclear words. Everything these bigots say just washes off me like the rain. Never have I hid from lightning, nor found my spirit cowed by rolling thunder. I know far too well that I am loved. I am loved by the sun and the moon and all the people within whose chests they dwell. When I am tired of being wet, I return to my warm and waiting home so I can dry myself at the hearth that she and I made together. That is my privilege. I am privileged because I have somewhere safe I can go, somewhere I am loved and somewhere I am warm. Itâs not much, but itâs enough to let me heal and rest. Still I am told I should never go where rain decides to fall. Where angels fear to tread. I am looked at in horror, and pity, and confusion, like surely I am mad, or worse, self-loathingly sane. âI wouldâve just left,â they always say. Always thinking that surely I mustâve sought the rain. That vile downpour simply cannot bear to watch me live in peace. It cannot even suffer knowing I dare to partake openly in the world it has so carefully beaten bloody and scared.
I learned young that there are no ends to the earth that cruelty wonât follow you to. To be vulnerable a moment, as if Iâm ever not in all these writings, when I was bullied, I was often bullied in what Iâd consider a shockingly trans way, in retrospect. I was a lonely kid. Easy to pick on and tease. Isolate. Calling me names and using their words to get as far under my skin as they could just to watch me explode. It often made me wish my bullies were the kind who would try to beat me up, but a bully knows not to fight you in a way they know they canât win. Worse, the smart ones know to bully you in a way that looks just enough like it isnât breaking any rules. As many of you will surmise, yes of course I got in trouble for beating their asses to the ground once I had enough. That constant, dogged hounding, always trying to make me lose my temper because it was funny. The same way some ghoulish bigot thinks he can âtriggerâ me and show everyone what an angry freak I am. My teachers, my parents, my adults and gods would tell me, âYou just have to ignore them. You need to learn to just walk away.â Where? Where can I go where they wonât follow? Where do their feet refuse to fall, where is the line theyâre too scared to cross? I searched that recess yard for years, teacher. All I learned was that even if there were no end to the horizon and infinity were real, even if the town were big enough for all eight billion of us and kept stretching on and on into forever, they would stop at nothing just to follow me a little longer. Iâm not asking for a homeland to fight for or an eden of my own. I am telling you, they would not even let me have the rubble or the camps if they thought I could find the briefest reprieve from them there. They would take the wasteland from me if thatâs where I ran to to hide and live in isolation, just trying to carve myself a peaceful life and for what, what is my sin? I am asking to live, and worse yet, because I am human, I dared to try to do so unalone.
I have been threatened in front of my mother as we rode the train together. I remember how I shouted back at the man how I just wanted to be left alone, to be left in peace, how I didnât deserve this, any of this. I remember the way every passenger looked at me then looked away, because they couldnât bear to have their own peace disturbed. I remember the one teenage girl that started to lay into him too once I yelled loud enough to the rest of the car what this man was doing, bless her rage. But I also remember the way my motherâs hand gripped my arm. I remember the fear in her eyes. I remember the pleading look, donât fight this, donât let him hurt my baby, donât put yourself in this danger. She thought I would die that day if I decided to defend myself too audaciously and for me, it was just another Tuesday. I looked at this man and I knew he was easily a weight class or two above me. He looked so deeply unwell in his vile rambling. Of course I could die if thatâs what he wanted. If I were all alone on that train, maybe I never wouldâve stepped off or maybe it would still be just another Tuesday. I chose to become a woman knowing of the men I could meet in the woods. I made this choice knowing both what it would cost me and the risks Iâd face by choosing this life. Never once have I regretted it. But I still canât shake the look I saw in momâs eyes. How that paralyzing animal fear rose up in her that she was going to watch her daughter die in front of her. How lonely I felt, looking back at her. Shouldnât it make you so angry that you start shouting too?Where would I even run, mother? I donât want to run. Donât I deserve the train too? Donât I deserve the bathroom and the computer and the workplace? Donât I deserve my pound of flesh or at least a little peace? If no one else on that train was going to shout and fight for me unless I did, why shouldnât I make a scene? Donât I deserve to be fought for? I want more than courtroom justice. I want more than pride parades. I want more than basic fucking decency. I want to be fought for. If Iâm the only one thatâs willing to pick that fight then Iâll gladly do it for my sake alone. Thatâs the very least I deserve.
Sometimes Iâll sit for over two hours arguing, yelling at people on discord about how fucking stupid and illiterate they are. I donât seek these people out, I just have the audacity to use a mic as a woman and the gall to have an androgynous voice. I donât leave my online games and I donât mute people after I report them, not unless theyâre especially tiring and noisy or I myself am exhausted that day. Iâd rather fight and tear into them or even just piss them off as hard as I can til I teach them that theyâre the ones that are going to have to learn to shut the fuck up. That they canât say whatever they want without someone biting back, hard. I know what a stubborn woman I am. No, I wonât laugh it off and jokingly call myself a fool. It is simply me and I take that very seriously. What if thereâs someone like me watching in the wings, wondering if itâll be safe to come out? Watching like I used to, if it was a safe place where others like me felt okay being seen in. Iâll give you a tip: there always is. Call it a sick kind of fun, call it heroic, call it unstrategic, but itâs who I am to live this loud and headstrong. Iâve made the world better for it, by inches or less probably, but even just those small victories give me the confidence and willpower to reach for the greater ones. But when I tell friends how I made things better in the end or at least how I neither bent nor broke while I made a fool of them all⌠Iâll admit, I can still sorta tell how they never really get it. I donât blame others for not wanting to expose themselves to the shit thatâs on my shoes. In case the above paragraphs werenât clear, itâs not like itâs fun. But it does get⌠lonely. Itâs easy to say âI wouldâve just left,â or âYou need to learn to just walk away,â when youâre not angry enough at the world. Itâs easy to say that as long as you donât think about how lonely it feels to have to do that again and again and again while everyone around you gets to do what you canât. Itâs easy to say that if you donât want to get to do the same things men can do or feel the same safety when you choose to speak in the same public spaces. Isnât it?
But I wish to go where I please. I wish to live, just like you, in sunlight, on crowded streets, in online forums and public facing workplaces. I wish to live in these places with a pride and love for myself so deep it crushes all my doubts under the pressure. I am willing to fight for that small and profound social privilege I once had as a young man but I do not bereave others who find my way too harsh, too direct and forceful. Itâs ugly and itâs messy and damn can it ever be a burden on the soul wondering if youâre doing and saying all the right things, riding the razorâs edge of high running emotion and calm, coherent rhetoric. But Iâm also privileged enough to live somewhere Iâm loved, somewhere I have a home and close community that has accepted me even after all the wrong Iâve done in my life. I have somewhere I can go when Iâm tired. If I want to go somewhere new, I know Iâll have to stay hyper vigilant. If I donât want to be called sir Iâll have to put on makeup and not dress too butch. Iâll need to steel my heart against any flaw I hear in my voice. I know the sheer energy it takes just to be strong and how exhausting it is to feel safe. But I know I can do at least a little good with this strong heart of mine, not just for others but for myself. I deserve to be fought for too. I deserve to be fought for and I am strong enough to fight so I will fight until itâs safe enough for you and me and all those we love to rest at last in the peace we deserve. When I am tired I will rest and heal and dance and sing and rise again unbroken. I am loved and love in kind; it makes me gentle and nurtures my hope. My deepest scars were always healed by love. Oh, what an ugly, rare thing it can sometimes be to find your strength hiding in the callouses of your heart. But oh, what an honour I feel to use it for the sake of those I love.
Suffice it to say, I have never feared what may fall upon my head from on high. And they are not the rain. They are men. Bigots. They are not calamity, they are not disaster and there is nothing natural about the way they think the world ought to be. If I were to run, the storm wonât follow but men always will. If they both fell upon me, the rain would heal my nature but the men would burn it all, just another harvest for their vile machine gods or a light chuckle for their circuses of ridicule and humiliation. There is no amount of space they will ever be satisfied with taking. You can walk away and walk away and walk away and one day there will be nowhere left to go and when you face them again, you will have forgotten the rage you have to grip with two hands just to say, âNo, this is where I belong, you are the one that is going to leave,â because rage is a muscle that must be exercised. Learned and learned from, but never feared. If you learn how to use it, it will protect you. It will save you from the fear that holds your hands and the darkness aching in your deepest regrets. The first weapon you ever held in your newborn fists, now yours to form against those who would dare to come for you and the people you hold dear. The first step, and the only step, is to just keep trying, no matter how many times youâve failed before. To try and speak up, to challenge the wicked whenever you can and even if it never gets easier, even if it doesnât do much, know that you still changed my world for the better. For people like me, just seeing that someone else tried for me is enough to keep me going. Weâll rage for love and weâll rage for pride. That is enough. There is no victory too small to matter when you fight to make your world a kinder, softer place.
So you can tell me how you wouldâve just left or how youâd never do that to yourself but donât you dare dishonour my wish to live. Tell me how you could never do what I have no choice but to do every time I merely wish to exist unalone, but pity not my beautiful, angry life. Fight for me, fight by my side or love me from afar from wherever it is safe, but donât you dare call me a fool. I know what privilege means and I gave that up gladly to live as a woman. Now Iâm going to take it back, by wrathful pride and righteous love because that is what we all deserve.
One day, we will go where we please and feel as safe as our fathers. One day, we will live without needing to fight our way out of the creeping dark just to touch the smallest daylight anymore. One day, the callous of strength will fade and hope will find its long sought rest in peaceful tranquility.
I love asking friends, without context, "what are you really into this week?" I'll go first. this week I'm really into mouthwash and sudoku. Last week I was into peaches.
everyone quit reblogging with "investing" and "making this blow up". that only happens to blogs that are already big. my posts sit squarely at 2 notes apiece and so it shall remain
Just a Guy (18) @gayforkrampus - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
