I think a lot of the transandrophobia discourse stems from the idea that transfems and transmascs are parallel and inverse. If a transfem experiences one thing, then transmascs must experience the same thing but opposite. In reality, there are gonna be challenges that transfems face that have no transmasc equivalent, challenges that transmascs face that have no transfem equivalent, and challenges that both face in similar or only slightly different ways. That's not even accounting for nonbinary and intersex people who have a whole host of their or challenges outside of this rigid framework we've recreated.
Keith Haring's story is usually told as a solo rise, but that version leaves out Angel "LA II" Ortiz, a Puerto Rican artist from the Lower East Side who collaborated with Haring from the very beginning. Angel was a teenager when they met, already active in the neighborhood's graffiti culture. He taught Keith how tagging worked on the street, painted alongside him, and guided him through spaces Keith did not come from. Angel's tags, infill, and visual language appear across works that later became associated with Keith Haring's public legacy.
After Keith Haring's death, the story changed. Museums mounted exhibitions, publishers released books, and merchandise entered the market under a single name.
In that process, Angel Ortiz was framed as hired labor instead of a collaborator, even though his work remains visible on paintings, sculptures, and objects shown in major institutions today. Angel has said openly that race played a role in his erasure, and photographer Clayton Patterson has explained how institutions chose a simpler version of the story that centered one white artist and removed a Puerto Rican collaborator. Angel Ortiz is still working as an artist today, and the time has come for the art world to give him clear credit for the work he helped create…yuliaxgon
peeling those sour rainbow gummy strips into long thin strings and putting them into cheap energy drink to create something im calling battery acid spaghetti will update once ive finished it
Once upon a time in the increasingly distant year of 2026, there was a girl who had every advantage in the world.
She was rich.
She was good looking, at least objectively speaking.
She was healthy.
But she squandered all of these blessings, and became a malodorous shut-in, seldom leaving the depths of one of the manors her father had procured for her.
There, she spent all day and night playing video games and subsisting on a diet of cheetos and energy drinks that would kill most animals. Her family had long given up on her, and she had no friends to speak of. Even the media, normally chomping at the bit for any sort of scoop on a billionaire's failure daughter, had gotten bored of her severe lack of antics.
There's only so much, after all, that you can write about bedrotting and streaming middling-at-best performance in League of Heroes to an audience of 3, one of whom is a spambot.
Her greatest pleasure in life was getting a half-decent roll in one of her gacha games, where she could unlock a new outfit for some twink that would never be within 6 feet of her in real life (at least, not for free).
Her closest company was the rats that had taken shelter within her manor's walls, subsisting on whatever dropped junk food they could carry in their little paws. The rats, at least, were living well.
She was destined to die alone, remembered only in urban legends for the few times she left the house draped in her grey hoodie to go to the convenience store. Life had handed her victory on a silver platter, and she pried open its jaws with all her might and pulled defeat out of them. She was a loser.
Her investor father was (seemingly) (mostly)satisfied basking in the success of his three sons, who had become prolific influencers, entrepreneurs, and politicians in their own right. His black sheep of a daughter could be easily forgotten. But he had one last trick up his sleeve, and it had to do with an investment of his: a dating platform accessible to all, but targeting the rich as their clientele.
Founder: For most people, it's just a normal dating app
explained the founder to the disgruntled young woman slouching on the $5000 chair in front of her and cradling her coffee (2 creams, 1 sugar) with both hands.
Founder: "But ... not for you."
The founder tapped the screen onto which she was projecting her presentation with a little telescoping baton that she had brought herself.
Founder: YOU get your pick. And don't worry -- it is all consensual of course. We have our Romance AI duplicate your personality, except, um, more... charismatic and likeable.
Founder: That Romance AI then seeks matches with and talks to up 10,000 candidates at once. Once it isolates the most favorable candidates according to our criteria, you simply take over the chat from the Romance AI, and they're none the wiser. Unless they read the Terms of Service carefully, I mean, and they never do.
The founder shrugged cheekily, pointing her baton towards the ceiling like an orchestra conductor.
Founder: Normally this service costs $25,000 per week, but since you father is a prospective investor..."
The baton then came down and pointed towards the girl, less now like an orchestra conductor, and more like a fencer.
Founder: YOU get to be our first beta tester.
"Well I have been called a beta," the girl piped up, a rare small smile curling her lips. It was the type of smile she made when she thought she just made a really good joke, and said something really funny. But the crowd was a graveyard.
Founder: What?
Girl: It's...it's like, f-four chan speak
Founder: What?
Girl: Nevermind
"Anyway," continued the Founder
Founder: You can just go home for now. We already have all of your photos, posts, and internet searches to train the AI on
Girl: A-all of it?
Founder: So we should be all set on that end. OH, by the way ...
Founder: Your father informed us that you don't have much relationship experience, so
The girl choked a bit on her coffee.
Girl: I sl, um, slay mad pu--um, di-- COUGH COUGH
The Founder waited for her to finish coughing, and then smiled wryly, clasping her hands together with the telescoping point between them.
Founder: Good for you, girl!!
Founder: But ... we still do need to abide by your father's request. See, we're targeting men of status here -- men of decorum, worthy of being in a relationship with one like yourself. Not just getting, um, slayed
Founder: So we'll be sending someone over to your place to give you the boyfriend experience. Well, not the FULL boyfriend experience. Just take you on a couple of dates and converse with you, you know? You wanna look like a BABE, not a BABE IN THE WOODS, right?
She winked.
Founder: If we need to contact you, we will text, and then call if you don't respond. If you need to contact me, then ... Here is my card.
The Founder stretched her gloved hand out towards the girl. In her fingers rested a thin, blank metal sheet.
As the girl inspected it in her hand, she noticed letters and numbers appearing on the sheet where she touched it.
Founder: Heat activated. Pretty cool, right?
Soon after that, the girl was on her way.
CHAPTER 2: CONDESCENSION
While the girl maintained her composure in the meeting, after she descended on the elevator and exited the glass-palace-esque tech office, her expression soured.
The condescension.
The absolute CONDESCENSION of her father.
He never bothered to even TRY to understand her and what she wants out of life. And now he, without her permission and without her even directly looking at the options, was trying to find her a partner??
Why??
Did he not have enough???
Was it such a thorn in his side that his daughter remained a "stain" on the family's reputation? Just disown her then, cut all contact, and be done with it. But no -- because to disown someone is to give up control of them, and he would never do that. Instead, she gets this condescension.
Infuriating.
When she got home, she would numb this feeling in the way that she usually does: with 5 hours of League of Heroes.
This time though, when she was playing, she heard a knock on her front door.
However, she was in the middle of a game, so she didn't answer. Once the game was finished, she had forgotten about the knock, and queued in for another game. However, when she was in the middle of the next game, she heard another knock
followed by a muffled
???: E-excuse me, I'm not authorized to leave.
She huffed and yelled "JUST A SECOND, I'M FINISHING UP A GAME."
The game wasn't finishing up. There was like 15 more minutes in the game.
But then after that she let out an exasperated sigh and went to open the door.
He stood slightly shorter than her, with messy hair partially covering a pair of big, nervous eyes with dark shadows underneath. He wore a formal shirt with pants just a little too short and wide for his frame. He took out a small card and began reading off of it.
"Hello! This is your temporary boyfriend,"
"Th-that's me," he said, looking up at her from the card for a moment, pointing at his face, and making as good of an attempt at a smile as his general wet rat appearance would allow.
"He will accompany you while are patented Romance AI creates a selection of ideal, high status partners for you to choose from.
Do not worry if he is"
The guy paused for a second.
"... if he is short and slash or ugly. The temporary boyfriend is merely a placeholder so that you can get accustomed to the social experience of having a significant other. He will soon be replaced by the man of your dreams.
With love,
Romantech Staff"
The guy put down the card, having finished reading it, but did not look up to meet her gaze. She stood there, looking at him for a few seconds, and then closed the door.
From inside the house, the Temp heard crashing and yelling. It sounded like this:
Girl: THE ABSOLUTE NERVE!!!! THE NERVE OF MY FATHER!!!!
*CRASH*
Girl: HOW HUMILIATING. HOW RIDICULOUS!!!
*TUMBLE*
Girl: TRYING TO SOCIALIZE MY LIKE I'M SOME SORT OF FERAL CAT
*THUNK*
Girl: OW!!...ssst...
30 seconds after the crash stopped, the Temp knocked on the door again gently.
Temp: Excuse me... Um... I'm sorry... I'm not allowed to leave ...
The door opened again. The girl was now standing on one leg and rubbing her shin with her hand with a pain expression. As she put down the leg, her expression slowly morphed from pain to anger.
She grabbed the Temp by the wrist and pulled him into the house. He was pulled through maze-like dimly lit corridors lined with delivery boxes, trash bags, and cords. Left and right and left and right, deeper and deeper into this realm, until at last they came upon a room with curtains drawn, a dingy couch facing a TV in the middle, and a PC setup in the far corner. The TV was clearly intended to be mounted on the wall, but instead just sat on the floor leaning against it.
She swung him onto the couch and he fell into the seat, raising both regular dust and cheeto dust and coughing.
Girl: What are you orders?
Temp: Cough cough... I... cough... can't tell you that. I signed an NDA.
Girl: WHAT ARE YOUR ORDERS??
Temp: I SIGNED AN NDA!!
he blurted out in a way that came off way whinier than he intended.
The girl kicked the back cushion next to him and left his foot there, leaning into him and looking him unflinchingly in the eyes.
Girl: Listen, dork. What are you more afraid of right now? Some shitty little, far away piece of paper you signed? Or me, who is right here in front of you.
The Temp searched her eyes, looking for any indication that this was all just a big joke. He found none.
Temp: I ... ... ...
She leaned in farther, causing the couch to creak, and bringing her glare ever closer to him.
Temp: I have to take you on 3 dates. And I have to report on your behavior on them. I also have to ...
The Temp looked up at her for a moment, widened his eyes at how close she was and how intently she was staring, and then looked down.
Temp: I also have to be here every day to teach you to not live like. Well.
(He glanced to the side, perusing the room.)
Temp: Like the way you do. I'm sorry.
She stared at him for a few more seconds and then finally took her foot off the couch.
Girl: Sounds like you were telling the truth. I could always tell, you know. (this was a lie) So just make it up. Report that everything went smoothly, and don't bother me again.
Temp: I can't. They want photos too.
Girl: Then fake the photos with AI.
Temp: They can tell. They're an AI company. Plus, there aren't even enough public photos of you to do something like that. You're blurry in all of them, or it's just half of your face peeking out from behind a curtain.
Girl: Look. I don't care. I'm sure you can figure it out.
Temp: B-But I'll get fired!! I'm already on thin ice. That's why they put me on this job!!
Girl: What do you mean?
Temp: I'm a programmer at Romantech. I think they sent me here as a joke, because they said I completed the least amount of tickets. Bu-But they... they put all the hardest tickets in my queue. They're going to force me to resign.
Girl: Oh wow! That's really sad. But not my problem. Get out.
She pointed towards the door out of the room.
The Temp sighed, stood up without looking at her, and left the room. She heard him stumbling down the hallway, and smile just a bit hearing him hit his shin on the very same box she hit hers on. She looked over at her PC setup.
Now she would go back to playing League of Heroes for a few more hours, then do her gacha game dailies, then doomscroll in the pile of clothes at the other corner until 4AM, at which point she would pass out until around noon the next day. An average day for her.
Maybe a little below average because of that interruption.
Oh, and because she had lost literally every round of League of Heroes that day. God, nobody knew how to play anymore. She was an experienced tank player, but there wasn't a decent healer or DPS to be found in queue, and she could only do so much. Everybody not when everyone ignores comms and just dives in like a neanderthal.
If she couldn't get at least one win, she'd be pissed.
The Temp made his way out of the house, already thinking about how he'd update his resume and start applying for new positions. He let out a sigh. This was inevitable. The guys in the office didn't like him from the very beginning. The other dude he got hired already knew several people in the office, but somehow, he just didn't mesh, and eventually that evolved into a subtle bullying.
Oh well. It wasn't the first time he had been an outcast, and it wouldn't be the last.
He heard a creak behind him.
He turned around.
The door was open again, and the girl was standing in it.
im being so serious when i say this but we need to bring back the "my genitals are none of your business" "if gender is whats in my pants then my gender is some loose change" mentality from the late 2010's because too many people on here are openly flirting with exclusionary people who spout enbyphobic rhetoric. stop caring about what people's agabs are you assholes. they literally mean nothing. they're not a zodiac sign or indicative of people's character. you are not wholly pure or wholly evil because of your assigned sex. you're just a person.
both trans men and trans women are punished for our proximity to both feminity and masculinity. people decide when we are men or women based on what is the WORST option at the moment. we both get treated like women only when someone needs to infantalize us or call us bossy, bitchy, stupid, vapid. we both get treated like men when someone wants to demonize and paint us as violent, predatory, abusive, perverted. NONE of us are benefiting from any gendered privilege, because we are always treated like the worst of either gender depending on the scenario. this is something all trans people experience, regardless of agab, both trans men and trans women. so why do we assume that the other side has the opposite experience as us?? why do you think that because your life as a trans man or a trans woman is painful, that a trans person of a different gender must have the opposite experience?? like i just dont get the preschool level understanding of gender like "well boys and girls are opposites so of course our experiences are opposites too" we are living the same transphobia and if you cant see it you need to listen to other people more
I actually don’t mind that “dead dove” has become conversational shorthand for “fics with heavy themes where you REALLY need to pay attention to the warnings”. such is the nature of language. what i do mind is when people tag their actual fics with dead dove and then give no indication of what they’re actually warning about. that is useless. that helps no one. that is completely against the spirit of the meme. i will not be reading that
#in order to emphasize that someone needs to pay attention to the warnings #you must provide warnings to pay attention to (@words-writ-in-starlight, summing it up)
kianamaiart
2087
jbbartram-illu
yousharknotpass
romaincrisis
areudirty
janainaart
