Hi, I'm Jack (he/him), a chronically poor trans hooker trying to keep his head abov… Jack Parker needs your support for Help a Trans Sex W
This fundraiser would allow me to take a few weeks break from this intense work schedule, pay off what I owe to friends, and to manage a slightly lower work load for the month after until I can begin selling sex regularly again to increase my income once my baby becomes eligible for 2 days a week of government funded childcare. Without this I cannot make next month's rent or bills.
I hate having to share so much person information to be considered worthy of support, but at the same time I know people are wary of being scammed and would rather not donate to people with other options besides fundraising. You can read the full details of my current situation at the GoFundMe link.
Please do not feel obligated to support if you cannot afford it and prioritize yourself first. I hugely appreciate any help and assure you that I will continue to pay it forward to the best of my capability in my work and with my own finances once things improve.
a short snippet, opening my new fic that will be *five* chapters max I swear.
the touch of rain (snippet)
Thor wakes choking, the fabric of his sleeping tunic winched hard enough around his gullet as Loki hauls him up from his bed that his face is rapidly turning red.
Fists clenched tightly in fine Asgardian sleep clothes, Loki pays this no mind where he looms, straddling over the god's lap in order to maintain best leverage. Instead, he shakes the Prince of Asgard hard enough his long blond hair flips over his face, his two—whole—blue eyes going wide with shock.
"What in the name of the Norns have you done, Thor?" Loki all but shrieks in his face, then sneers when Thor finally seems to break from his shock, laughter spilling from the man's too young, unlined mouth.
Disgusted, he shoves Thor back down against his luxurious cushions hard enough to bounce.
"It worked, it worked!" he chortles, not paying a bit of attention to Loki's violence. Already, the magic that gave him away as another time traveler, displaced by some vast power, is starting to dissipate from Thor's aura. Fury bubbles under Loki's skin—at being ignored, even so close as they are. At being here, back in Asgard when he'd been the conductor of its destruction. At being alive, breathing in the night air while all but Heimdall and the Einherjar on patrol sleep peacefully.
The last thing Loki recalls is his neck breaking under the force of the purple Titan's fist, the source of all his nightmares for nearly half a decade.
"Shut up, you dolt! Give me some damned information or I'll bring out the knives next."
Thor merely laughs some more and wipes away the tear in his eye.
"Am I to be silent or to speak? It's not like you to give warning. Perhaps you are losing some of your edge," Thor teases.
He notably does not toss Loki off of him, or try to wrestle away the grip Loki still has in his sleeping tunic.
Only after the third time Thor swipes at his eyes does Loki come to realize that Thor may, in fact, truly be crying. Loki stares down at the tableau, his rage sieving away as fast as the tears that Thor has already given up on trying to stem. Instead, Thor covers his eyes with his forearm.
Back at this age, Thor had not known the meaning of shame. His emotions were all loud, as unfettered as the wind in a howling gale. Every thing from laughter to anger boasted easy display, and tears were a rare yet genuine em
Shame, here and now, has no place.
"Thor," Loki scolds, jostling him again. "Why am I here?"
Quite possibly the last thing he is prepared for is the god of thunder reaching up lighting fast, strong hands gripping him by the shoulders. Loki tenses, already reaching for a knife he has tucked into one soft-soled boot. But rather than being thrown into a wall or rolled over as he expects, he's yanked down hard.
His breath wooshes out in a strangled whine as thick arms wrap around him in a crushing hug. One part of him hates the restraint with a seething fury, ready to stab Thor for his audacity, for the less than pleasant memories such an encompassing hold inspires. The other part of him—the part that reminds him he has been touched with little but violence in far too long, makes him freeze in Thor's grasp rather than lashing out.
He is pressed end to end against Thor's chest, his head pillowed against the crook where Thor's collarbone meets his neck. A deep inhale, he's surrounded—sweat, the herbs the servants press between the sheets, Thor's musk…
Loki tries to fight the hold, to jerk away. But while this younger body of Thor's may not have his honed edge, it has corded muscle that refuses to relent. It takes all he has not to flinch when there's a soft touch to the back of his head.
"Forgive me, brother," Thor grinds out as broad fingers comb through his hair. The short length of it feels strange under these hands. "I searched every afterlife and underworld for you but… you were nowhere to be found. Even the soul stone could not point the way."
Loki had been dead, not even the embrace of Helheim a comfort in the dark. Then he had woken, in his chambers years in the past and entire worlds away from the person he had once been.
He'd known instantly who to blame.
For a long moment—far too long, really—Loki allows that contact, Thor's hands upon him a familiar comfort he hadn't quite known he required.
But the time comes where he is far too aware of his position, even if he is loath to change.
Finally, Loki falls to the side, sprawling out but with his head still pillowed on Thor's outstretched arm. He is reluctant to be parted even for a moment, as if all this would dissolve like one of his own illusions under a stray touch.
"What do we do now?" he asks, tentative. He's not sure how much he wants a concrete answer, let alone to take direction from Thor of all people.
"Change things." Thor says this as if its a forgone conclusion. Loki swallows, the possibilities finally allowed to unfurl before him. Whatever Thor had done—and there was no doubt Thor had done something—this was real, and it seems they are here to stay.
"Not until we have more information. Such as exactly when we are," he finally bites out.
"I thought you would have figured that out by the time you got here."
Loki sniffs.
"Perhaps I was preoccupied by being dropped in my past body after suddenly dying." That immediately takes the wind out of Thor's cheery sails. A moment of silence passes, both of them staring up at the ceiling of the opulent room for perhaps longer than either of them wants.
"Find out, then," Thor says, voice edging on tired. Loki waits for more. Any futher blubbering, perhaps. But it does not come.
"Is that an order?"
"Since when have you ever listened to an order?"
"Since Father last told me to leave you on Midgard," he snips.
"And that, only because it served you," Thor says, his voice full of a warmth that Loki has very little idea what do with now it's been handed to him. He shifts, sighs with an exasperation that is more habit than true feeling—a well-worn groove he falls into will ill-grace. Myriad questions burn on his tongue, each jockeying for a position.
But he is fresh from death, raw and scraped inside, with only a hasty overcoat thrown over his sleep tunic. It takes an effort comparable crafting a treastise for Mother on the effect of star wavelengths to magical strength—but Loki pulls himself away from the welcoming beacon of Thor's warm side.
"Perhaps," he smirks, making it stretch across his face when Thor only snorts and attempts to shove him off the side of the bed. He leans out of the way, years of their honed reflexes and more experience than their bodies currently hold all coalescing into Loki's roll over the edge and smoothly onto his feet.
"I will find answers, since you're so dedicated to remaining abed," Loki mocks. He shoots one last look over Thor, still supine but following Loki to the door with his gaze—the whites of his eyes still a bit red from tears.
"Do not take to long to get yourself together, Thor. No matter what time we may find ourselves in, people will be waiting for you soon."
And with that, Loki vacates the room of Asgard's golden prince before he can say another word, slipping past the guards patrolling the outside of the royal wing with nary a glance at each other.
Loki pointedly ignores where every single plane of skin that was in contact with Thor's warmth still tingles.
i do want to say, if you use AI in any step of your art process i do not want to associate with you. i don’t want to see what you make. you’re dishonest and relying on the stolen works of thousands of real, accomplished artists to fake a skill you do not possess. be ashamed and do the work your damned self like the rest of us
it's always "you gnawed off your own leg to escape like an animal caught in a trap" and never "why didn't anyone try to help you out of the trap" or "why weren't you provided with any other resources to escape the trap with except for your own teeth"
one of the "these can and should coexist" things to me is "there are numerous fat people who eat healthy and exercise and could beat the average skinny person in a hike" and "fat people who are fat and arent athletic and dont eat super healthy and do get winded walking up hills also are apart of fat liberation and deserve love too"
both of these are true and both deserve love and to be able to be accepted and get proper healthcare
there's a lot of talk about reading comprehension and one thing i think is the biggest barrier to people on this site getting better at it is simply... rushing. rushing to share something you haven't understood, rushing to have an opinion without taking the time to think about it, rushing to declare that you don't understand something
take these tags, on somebody else's post (condolences pip)
the thing is. this is what i would call an inside thought. nobody would have known you didn't get it if you didn't tell them that. if you recognised that it was important but didn't have the headspace to process it, you can reblog without commentary for others, or to come back to later. or you can save it somewhere and wait until you DO have the capacity to read it over a few more times, ponder it, consider what it might mean, figure out how to understand it, and THEN reblog it
but no. rushing to reblog while it is still opaque. rushing to admit to ignorance rather than spend the time to achieve understanding. perhaps hoping that somebody will break it down for you more simply, though to my mind it was quite simply phrased in the first place. never stopping to take the time first
comprehension is not always instant! sometimes it takes a bit of time for something to percolate after you read it; sometimes you need to read it a few times; sometimes you realise you don't have the context for it and either go and get the context or accept that it's not for you right now
please just simply slow down. you don't always have to respond to everything within a second or two. it is okay if it is not an instantaneous understanding. we all need to get more comfortable with thinking more slowly and more deeply and more carefully, and not letting our instant split second responses drive us all the time, because they are a barrier to genuine reflection
all the rights that come with marriage you should be able to have without marriage btw. you should be able to designate a person who can visit you in the hospital regardless of your relationship to that person.
a short snippet, opening my new fic that will be *five* chapters max I swear.
the touch of rain (snippet)
Thor wakes choking, the fabric of his sleeping tunic winched hard enough around his gullet as Loki hauls him up from his bed that his face is rapidly turning red.
Fists clenched tightly in fine Asgardian sleep clothes, Loki pays this no mind where he looms, straddling over the god's lap in order to maintain best leverage. Instead, he shakes the Prince of Asgard hard enough his long blond hair flips over his face, his two—whole—blue eyes going wide with shock.
"What in the name of the Norns have you done, Thor?" Loki all but shrieks in his face, then sneers when Thor finally seems to break from his shock, laughter spilling from the man's too young, unlined mouth.
Disgusted, he shoves Thor back down against his luxurious cushions hard enough to bounce.
"It worked, it worked!" he chortles, not paying a bit of attention to Loki's violence. Already, the magic that gave him away as another time traveler, displaced by some vast power, is starting to dissipate from Thor's aura. Fury bubbles under Loki's skin—at being ignored, even so close as they are. At being here, back in Asgard when he'd been the conductor of its destruction. At being alive, breathing in the night air while all but Heimdall and the Einherjar on patrol sleep peacefully.
The last thing Loki recalls is his neck breaking under the force of the purple Titan's fist, the source of all his nightmares for nearly half a decade.
"Shut up, you dolt! Give me some damned information or I'll bring out the knives next."
Thor merely laughs some more and wipes away the tear in his eye.
"Am I to be silent or to speak? It's not like you to give warning. Perhaps you are losing some of your edge," Thor teases.
He notably does not toss Loki off of him, or try to wrestle away the grip Loki still has in his sleeping tunic.
Only after the third time Thor swipes at his eyes does Loki come to realize that Thor may, in fact, truly be crying. Loki stares down at the tableau, his rage sieving away as fast as the tears that Thor has already given up on trying to stem. Instead, Thor covers his eyes with his forearm.
Back at this age, Thor had not known the meaning of shame. His emotions were all loud, as unfettered as the wind in a howling gale. Every thing from laughter to anger boasted easy display, and tears were a rare yet genuine em
Shame, here and now, has no place.
"Thor," Loki scolds, jostling him again. "Why am I here?"
Quite possibly the last thing he is prepared for is the god of thunder reaching up lighting fast, strong hands gripping him by the shoulders. Loki tenses, already reaching for a knife he has tucked into one soft-soled boot. But rather than being thrown into a wall or rolled over as he expects, he's yanked down hard.
His breath wooshes out in a strangled whine as thick arms wrap around him in a crushing hug. One part of him hates the restraint with a seething fury, ready to stab Thor for his audacity, for the less than pleasant memories such an encompassing hold inspires. The other part of him—the part that reminds him he has been touched with little but violence in far too long, makes him freeze in Thor's grasp rather than lashing out.
He is pressed end to end against Thor's chest, his head pillowed against the crook where Thor's collarbone meets his neck. A deep inhale, he's surrounded—sweat, the herbs the servants press between the sheets, Thor's musk…
Loki tries to fight the hold, to jerk away. But while this younger body of Thor's may not have his honed edge, it has corded muscle that refuses to relent. It takes all he has not to flinch when there's a soft touch to the back of his head.
"Forgive me, brother," Thor grinds out as broad fingers comb through his hair. The short length of it feels strange under these hands. "I searched every afterlife and underworld for you but… you were nowhere to be found. Even the soul stone could not point the way."
Loki had been dead, not even the embrace of Helheim a comfort in the dark. Then he had woken, in his chambers years in the past and entire worlds away from the person he had once been.
He'd known instantly who to blame.
For a long moment—far too long, really—Loki allows that contact, Thor's hands upon him a familiar comfort he hadn't quite known he required.
But the time comes where he is far too aware of his position, even if he is loath to change.
Finally, Loki falls to the side, sprawling out but with his head still pillowed on Thor's outstretched arm. He is reluctant to be parted even for a moment, as if all this would dissolve like one of his own illusions under a stray touch.
"What do we do now?" he asks, tentative. He's not sure how much he wants a concrete answer, let alone to take direction from Thor of all people.
"Change things." Thor says this as if its a forgone conclusion. Loki swallows, the possibilities finally allowed to unfurl before him. Whatever Thor had done—and there was no doubt Thor had done something—this was real, and it seems they are here to stay.
"Not until we have more information. Such as exactly when we are," he finally bites out.
"I thought you would have figured that out by the time you got here."
Loki sniffs.
"Perhaps I was preoccupied by being dropped in my past body after suddenly dying." That immediately takes the wind out of Thor's cheery sails. A moment of silence passes, both of them staring up at the ceiling of the opulent room for perhaps longer than either of them wants.
"Find out, then," Thor says, voice edging on tired. Loki waits for more. Any futher blubbering, perhaps. But it does not come.
"Is that an order?"
"Since when have you ever listened to an order?"
"Since Father last told me to leave you on Midgard," he snips.
"And that, only because it served you," Thor says, his voice full of a warmth that Loki has very little idea what do with now it's been handed to him. He shifts, sighs with an exasperation that is more habit than true feeling—a well-worn groove he falls into will ill-grace. Myriad questions burn on his tongue, each jockeying for a position.
But he is fresh from death, raw and scraped inside, with only a hasty overcoat thrown over his sleep tunic. It takes an effort comparable crafting a treastise for Mother on the effect of star wavelengths to magical strength—but Loki pulls himself away from the welcoming beacon of Thor's warm side.
"Perhaps," he smirks, making it stretch across his face when Thor only snorts and attempts to shove him off the side of the bed. He leans out of the way, years of their honed reflexes and more experience than their bodies currently hold all coalescing into Loki's roll over the edge and smoothly onto his feet.
"I will find answers, since you're so dedicated to remaining abed," Loki mocks. He shoots one last look over Thor, still supine but following Loki to the door with his gaze—the whites of his eyes still a bit red from tears.
"Do not take to long to get yourself together, Thor. No matter what time we may find ourselves in, people will be waiting for you soon."
And with that, Loki vacates the room of Asgard's golden prince before he can say another word, slipping past the guards patrolling the outside of the royal wing with nary a glance at each other.
Loki pointedly ignores where every single plane of skin that was in contact with Thor's warmth still tingles.
I actually really like the term genderqueer, because the only thing it specifies about your gender is that it's queer in some way. Does that mean you're nonbinary? Binary trans? Cis with some freaky cool gender presentation stuff going on? None of those or all of those? It doesn't matter and I think that's beautiful.
