Tori is a fucking yapper.

Extras:

Speaking as someone who's been outed many, many times, by both "allies" and homo/transphobes, some of yall are way too comfortable sharing other peoples' queer identities.

"But what if I'm trying to be funny?" Doesn't matter.

"But what if I'm an ally?" Doesn't matter

"But what if the person I'm talking to is an ally?" Doesn't matter.

"But what if I'm queer?" Doesn't matter

"But what if the person I'm talking to is queer?" Doesn't matter.

"But what if the person I'm talking about is a stranger?" Doesn't matter.

"But what if it's really obvious?" First of all, ew. Second of all, Doesn't matter.

"But what if they didn't come out to me, I just figured it out on my own?" Doesn't matter.

"But what if they're getting misgendered?" It's just as easy to say 'actually she's a girl' as it is to say 'actually she's transgender and uses she/her'. If that person is pretransition, it's also easy to just bite your tongue and not say anything.

Unless that person has explicitly given you permission to share that information, you DON'T. No matter how certain you are that everyone is accepting, no matter how noble your intentions, it's not your information to share. Getting clocked sucks, getting outed sucks, and they're both an invasion of privacy no matter who's doing it.

Being horny for mutuals is so fucking embarrassing because I’m grinding on a pillow like a bitch in heat for a girl across the planet whose saying the silliest things ever

you're grabbing lunch with a nice man and he gives you that strange grimace-smile that's popular right now; an almost sardonic "twist" of his mouth while he looks literally down on you. it looks like he practiced the move as he leans back, arms folded. he just finished reciting the details of NFTs to you and explaining Oppenheimer even though he only watched a youtube about it and hasn't actually seen it. you are at the bottom of your wine glass.

you ask the man across from you if he has siblings, desperately looking for a topic. literally anything else.

he says i don't like small talk. and then he smiles again, watching you.

a few years ago, you probably would have said you're above celebrity gossip, but honestly, you've been kind of enjoying the dumb shit of it these days. with the rest of the earth burning, there's something familiar and banal about dragging ariana grande through the mud. you think about jeanette mccurdy, who has often times gently warned the world she's not as nice as she appears. you liked i'm glad my mom died but it made you cry a lot.

he doesn't like small talk, figure out something to say.

you want to talk about responsibility, and how ariana grande is only like 6 days older than you are - which means she just turned 30 and still dresses and acts like a 13 year old, but like sexy. there's something in there about the whole thing - about insecurity, and never growing up, and being sexualized from a young age.

people have been saying that gay people are groomers. like, that's something that's come back into the public. you have even said yourself that it's just ... easier to date men sometimes. you would identify as whatever the opposite of "heteroflexible" is, but here you are again, across from a man. you like every woman, and 3 people on tv. and not this guy. but you're trying. your mother is worried about you. she thinks it's not okay you're single. and honestly this guy was better before you met, back when you were just texting.

wait, shit. are you doing the same thing as ariana grande? are you looking for male validation in order to appease some internalized promise of heteronormativity? do you conform to the idea that your happiness must result in heterosexuality? do you believe that you can resolve your internal loneliness by being accepted into the patriarchy? is there a reason dating men is easier? why are you so scared of fucking it up with women? why don't you reach out to more of them? you have a good sense of humor and a big ol' brain, you could have done a better job at online dating.

also. jesus christ. why can't you just get a drink with somebody without your internal feminism meter pinging. although - in your favor (and judgement aside) in the case of your ariana grande deposition: you have been in enough therapy you probably wouldn't date anyone who had just broken up with their wife of many years (and who has a young child). you'd be like - maybe take some personal time before you begin this journey. like, grande has been on broadway, you'd think she would have heard of the plot of hamlet.

he leans forward and taps two fingers to the table. "i'm not, like an andrew tate guy," he's saying, "but i do think partnership is about two people knowing their place. i like order."

you knew it was going to be hard. being non-straight in any particular way is like, always hard. these days you kind of like answering the question what's your sexuality? with a shrug and a smile - it's fine - is your most common response. like they asked you how your life is going and not to reveal your identity. you like not being straight. you like kissing girls. some days you know you're into men, and sometimes you're sitting across from a man, and you're thinking about the power of compulsory heterosexuality. are you into men, or are you just into the safety that comes from being seen with them? after all, everyone knows you're failing in life unless you have a husband. it almost feels like a gradebook - people see "straight married" as being "all A's", and anything else even vaguely noncompliant as being ... like you dropped out of the school system. you cannot just ignore years of that kind of conditioning, of course you like attention from men.

"so let's talk boundaries." he orders more wine for you, gesturing with one hand like he's rousing an orchestra. sir, this is a fucking chain restaurant. "I am not gonna date someone who still has male friends. also, i don't care about your little friends, i care about me. whatever stupid girls night things - those are lower priority. if i want you there, you're there."

he wasn't like this over text, right? you wouldn't have been even in the building if he was like this. you squint at him. in another version of yourself, you'd be running. you'd just get up and go. that's what happens on the internet - people get annoyed, and they just leave. you are locked in place, almost frozen. you need to go to the bathroom and text someone to call you so you have an excuse, like it's rude to just-leave. like he already kind of owns you. rudeness implies a power paradigm, though. see, even your social anxiety allows the patriarchy to get to you.

you take a sip of the new glass of wine. maybe this will be a funny story. maybe you can write about it on your blog. maybe you can meet ariana grande and ask her if she just maybe needs to take some time to sit and think about her happiness and how she measures her own success.

is this settling down? is this all that's left in your dating pool? just accepting that someone will eventually love you, and you have to stop being picky about who "makes" you a wife?

you look down to your hand, clutching the knife.

No time to play. You are being sent away.

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unspoken truth

the canon of dunmeshi makes it easy to imagine farcille with marcille as the perpetually pining party ready and willing to violate the most fundamental laws of nature for the woman she is utterly, irrevocably in love with. but.

the idea of marcille doing everything she does under the impression that falin is just her dearest most special friend that she loves with the normal platonic intensity of all girl besties while newly re-resurrected falin is shaking laios in their shared bedroom at the earliest opportunity trying to spark their two brain cells together to figure out if marcille, who she has been desperately crushing on since magic school, is actually in lesbians with her and just denser than a neutron star is infinitely funnier so that's the version of reality i subscribe to

(to sweeten the pot this makes marcille being obsessed with romantic drama and effortlessly spinning a character study of chilchuck's wife based solely on two sentences, her knowledge of him as a co-worker, and the power of her own delusions so much funnier too. too busy working that maxed out delusion stat on her unfortunate partymates to look inward for two seconds)

I’m sorry but THIS is one of my favorite scenes to hyperfixate on. Why doesn’t anyone talk about this? Wednesday follows Enid without a single word. Did Enid say “come with me” no, her girlfriend is simply on a leash. She follows after Enid immediately as she starts to leave without prompting because they’re GIRLFRIENDS case closed, its all the proof I needed

when i picture carpenter silt verses i am picturing a woman in her late 40s with the same physique as jason voorhees and hair that she's been washing with motel bar soap since she was 18 btw. this woman looks like if a long haul trucker occasionally had to perform ritual self-flagellation. like if a man with a single bottle of dawn dishsoap in his shower was a middle-aged woman who feared neither pain nor death. we're talking dry skin, resting bitch face, and something of the classic slasher villain in her sheer size and resilience. someone who could break an ankle and still not stop trying to kill you with an ax, genuinely frightening.

i believe in scary, gruff, aging women's rights.

Feeling freaky sexy!!!!! 😋😍

"This fandom is so queer friendly!" This fandom literally hates, bisexual, trans, nonbinary, and aspec people but ok.

Tamaras day got a bit better after that.

now i have this in my gallery

I don’t know who the clown is. However I do feel threatened.

More trans butch belly since it's Tuesday!!

Tags for the mutuals and the legends (Let me know if you wanna be tagged or not) @catboybiologist @xenasaur @nixiecat @k1nky-r0b0t-g1rl @godless-of-the-hunt @glowingemberz @birdsspicythoughts @estrogenesis-evangelion @whalesharkcat @puzzlecatt @badwitchlena