i vote that next year instead of reading Dracula we do a Jeeves & Wooster Book Club. those two never got the rabid tumblr shipping fandom they deserved (disqualified for the sheer technicality of being published a century too soon). we must correct this injustice

while i get where this comes from and it’s true to an extent, i reeeaaaally don’t like how people try to explain “trans men don’t [necessarily] have male privilege” with things like “some trans men don’t pass”.

like sure that’s the most obvious example (someone who is seen as a woman won’t have the privilege that comes with being seen a man) but you’re still acting like being a passing trans man is just a free opt-in to male privilege which is………kinda the issue.

poem: "accident report in the tall, tall weeds" by ada limón

me: all sanji fics are the same! it's always sanji having a breakdown over liking a man and going into an identity crisis and a spiral of internalized homophobia-

also me every time i read a sanji fic: OH MY GOD SANJI HAVING A BREAKDOWN OVER LIKING A MAN AND GOING INTO AN IDENTITY CRISIS AND A SPIRAL OF INTERNALIZED HOMOPHOBIA THIS IS SO GOOD AWKEBFNALKEWNFLKANELKN

Apocalypse Dad Uniform™ Rick Grimes - The Walking Dead | Joel Miller - The Last of Us

live laugh choso

hear me out

who do i know this man

Comic book writers who still make Bruce hit his kids even after years of mass criticism from fans who TELL you it's a bad creative choice that pushes them away from the fan base and comics in general,,, you did this for what?

did you guys know that the woman who coined the term “final girl” is actually a scholar of Icelandic medieval poetry? I don’t know why this particular fact is standing out to me so strongly but just imagine, being an expert in 70s and 80s slasher films and writing a seminal work on gender and the horror audience...

and then going home and thinking about the Njála for the rest of the evening.

amab masc!reader x switch!soap

Letting rottweiler!hybrid!Soap ride you as you do some paperwork. He's been following you around all day, even more touchy than usual: resting his chin on your shoulder whenever you're not moving; clinging onto your hand or arm constantly; crawling onto your lap and nuzzling his face into your cheek if you sit down. Pouting at you that he's hungry or cold - knowing that you'll give him a snack bar from your pocket and wrap him up in your jacket at his first complaint.

He follows you into your office, his hand clutching yours as he whines that he's bored, headbutting your bicep affectionately as if he were part-cat rather than part-dog. You turn to him, watching him kick the door shut then pulling him into a hug, lifting him up a couple centimetres off the ground to make him laugh, his tail wagging. Giving him a quick scratch behind the ears first, you pull his face to yours, kissing him tenderly, hands moving to cup his cheeks, your thumbs stroking against his stubble.

Feeling him kiss you back with much, much more intent than what you had initiated, his tongue prodding at your lips eagerly, little whimpers against your mouth prompting you to part them. Gentle kisses quickly turn into making out, Soap's fingers shaky as he tries to undo his belt, fiddling with it until you had enough and moved your hands from his face to swiftly do it yourself, unzipping his jeans and tugging them down his hips, breaking away from the kisses to help him out of them - and his boxers - fully. Your heart beats fast at seeing how hard he is already.

"Gotta do paperwork, love," you faux an innocent smile, pressing a tiny kiss to his cheek and leaving him standing in the middle of your office to go sit behind your desk, sliding a file to the centre of it and flipping to the page you need. Surprised to not hear a chorus of whines and incoherent protests, you glance back up at him - feeling your heart melt a little at the sorry sight in front of you.

He's standing there half-undressed, big, sad puppy eyes fixed on you with the most pitiful expression on his face you think you've ever seen. His tail is slightly tucked between his legs and his sweet floppy ears are slack. He lets out a soft, low mewl upon catching your gaze.

"Here, pup. Didn't mean to make you upset," you apologise, leaning back in your chair and patting your thigh, smiling gently at how his tail immediately starts wagging as he trots over, straddling your lap and nibbling at your earlobe adoringly. Your breath hitches as he starts to grind against you, letting out tiny, needy sobs, trying to free your own aching cock from your trousers.

Kissing his jaw tenderly, you take off your belt, then unbutton and unzip your own trousers, pulling them down only enough for your hard-on to poke out of the slit in your boxers. His tail wags eagerly, whacking against your knees a little, and you put your hands on his hips, guiding him to slowly sink down on your cock, both of you groaning at the feeling.

"That's it.. good boy, puppy," you murmur almost absentmindedly as he adjusts, his head falling to rest on your shoulder. You slide your hands up his body til they're resting under his t-shirt on his ribs, gently rubbing up and down to soothe him. "Stay quiet now, love, alright? Let me get on with these documents."

He nods, wrapping his arms around your neck and clinging to you, muttering out a "yes sir" and pressing small kisses to your skin. You reposition yourself so that you can see your desk again, one hand picking up a pen and the other resting on his clothed back, fingers curling to grasp his shirt when he starts to move. Muffled whimpers and moans seep into your neck from where his mouth is attached to it, sharp dog teeth nipping slightly to get you to buck your hips a little.

"Can't concentrate when you do that," you breathe out, eyes flickering as he sucks a hickey into your skin. He hums in response, moving faster on your cock, lips still latched to you. "Fuck- Soap, love-" voice becoming gruffer as you get close to your climax. Hands move to hold his shoulders so you can kiss him again.

"C'mon, sir-" he pants, and your eyes snap open before immediately rolling back as you cum, hips twitching upwards as you sigh out a moan. You can feel his tail bashing your legs as he rides you through your orgasm, then shakes and collapses onto you as he has his own.

After a moment, you crack open an eye, catching his as he looks up at you, still sitting on your cock, his head on your chest. "Been a while since you called me 'sir' during sex, puppy," you smirk, reaching a lazy hand up to pet his mohawk. He grins in response, reaching up to give your jaw an open-mouthed kiss.

"Aye, sir," he flirts, squeaking as he feels you start to harden inside of him again.

You mentioned before that the people who would have access to Machete's bedchamber would likely already know about Vasco. How did that come up in your mind? Did they get caught in the act or was the subject broached with enough trust? How did those people handle it? Sorry if this is a bit vague but I thought about it today and I'm very interested. :)

I think it just has to be the case, I can't imagine how they could manage to hide the fact Vasco is bunking with him from everyone, for years and years. Machete doesn't live alone, he has staff and servants who do his housekeeping and run his errands. Even if Vasco didn't stay there for any extended periods of time and snuck out the back door to avoid attention, I'm assuming at least the people who do his laundry and change his sheets would eventually detect that some sort of funny business had happened. But the number of people who are in on it is still very very small and tightly controlled. His assistant Vittorio definitely knows and helps to manage this situation, so does his personal doctor, and on top of that maybe a handful of most trusted high-ranking emplyees, which he has vetted extremely carefully and pays handsomely for their discreetness and prudence.

The thing about the "fridged" trope is that obviously you can't have a female love interest dying as a defining moment for a male character because that's not feminist, but you also can't have a male love interest dying as a defining moment for a female character because then she's just going to have an arc revolving around her relationship with a man and that's also not feminist, and you also can't kill off a love interest from a gay relationship or a relationship involving a nonbinary person because that's burying your queers, which is at least as bad as misogyny if not even worse, and now suddenly you can't kill off romantic partners at all in stories because no matter the demographics, it's going to be problematic somehow, which is... a pretty ridiculous limitation to impose on storytelling.

And, like, it would be satisfying to have a solution other than "it depends on context if not straight-up vibes, and it's usually very reasonable for audience members to have a range of opinions on the execution of one specific instance," but. Yeah, you do kind of have to just vibe check it in a deeply subjective manner sometimes.

Drinking Buddies :)

I will say this once because I'm tired of seeing stupid discourse: anti-transmasculinity is not about being treated bad because we clock as men, it's about being treated as stupid little girls because transphobes think we've been tricked into this.

It's kind of the opposite of transmisogyny- instead of fear and revulsion, it's constant condescension, the implications that we've been whisked away from femininity by scary bad guys, that we're going to cause 'irreparable damage' because we don't know what's best for ourselves, somehow. People fearmonger a lot about the "ugliness" of transfem people, but for transmasc people that 'ugliness' is used as a warning- you'll look like THIS! You'll go BALD! Your top surgery scars will leave you MUTILATED! A lot of aesthetic concerns. Worry about our 'beauty'. Because it comes from that same stupid reactionary 'we gotta SAVE the WOMEN' shit, but this time they have to save them from getting 'stolen away', as if we're being seduced or pressured into this. As if we can't make our own decisions.

For TERFS specifically, they're losing one of their own. We're 'gender traitors', willingly aligning ourselves with the half of the population they consider unilaterally dangerous and evil.

We aren't REALLY trans, we just want the benefits that men get. You don't actually want to transition, you're just trying to avoid misogyny.

You aren't actually a man, you're just a self-loathing lesbian.

Why can't you just be a butch girl? Why can't you just be a tomboy?

Why can't you just be something that I don't think is icky?

Anyway. Like all things, it boils down to misogyny. Women stupid and gentle, dont know what best for them, evil men trick into taking man juice, must save because lady stupid and dont know what best for them (having babies and being Feminine).

Theres like. Obviously more to this but I'm just a Transmasc Rando explaining this from my perspective, and I'm not the best with words. Anyone is free to hop in and add on to this