My Happy Fem-ding

even if she doesn't "try to pass" she still deserves the same basic respect you give everybody else.

even if she's done something bad that doesn't excuse you misgendering her on purpose.

i'm so sick of people treating trans people's pronouns as some kind of reward you get if you've been a good tranny.

this goes for those who use neopronouns too i dont care how "weird" you think it is especially if you're trans yourself.

introducing the misandrist pride flag!

the dark plum represents every boring conversation with a man the mid plum represents men’s ugliness the light plum represents men’s shitty, dull, and boring opinions the white is walking into the sunlight after dumping a man the light red is loving annd supporting women because women are awesome and funny the mid red is anger at the misogyny and belittlement of women the dark red is just general misandry

Social radicalism is the idea that we need to defend the rights of adults to love one another. The idea that humanity's global decision on what makes a relationship "good" or "bad" is flawed and has never been one-size-fits-all. The idea that nobody should be judged for being in a consensual relationship. And recognizing that the patriarchy has exacerbated every single one of these issues to a point where even "progressives", "punks", and "radicals" are choosing to fight against the very things they claim to stand for.

The pearl-clutching liberalism that has become the norm feeds into the patriarchal pipeline that defines every relationship under the "normal" cisgender-heterosexual terms, without recognizing that love is a spectrum. How can people call themselves leftists and stand for the oppression of love? If two adult siblings are in love, they deserve the right to be treated just like any other couple. Yet still, consang is illegal in 47 states, and in almost every nation outside of the Middle East. There's nothing "radical" about a consensual relationship, it's societal norms around familial bonds that have made this idea controversial. There's not a single nation on Earth where two siblings could legally marry one another. While marriage in its current form is an outdated, patriarchal institution, it's still used as a measure of queer rights. The same could be said for consang rights.

I'm curious how you keep it from everyone. I'm interested in a relationship with my sister and she seems to maybe also be interested (I've been making subtle moves and stuff), but I'm worried about other people finding out because we both live at home.

Best of luck with your sister ☄️, hopefully she is interested!

For us, we primarily only do anything when we are home alone, which isn't too hard because she works remotely and I'm in college so my schedule isn't your typical 9-5, while my aunt and cousin are at work and school during the day.

Other than that, we also just do things late in the night, in the shower, and occasionally even at a hotel to completely eliminate the fear of finding out. If we aren't home alone, we always make sure whoever is around knows that we are going to be together doing our own thing (playing a game or doing nails or whatev) and to knock because we'll be having personal conversations. We're really close and do legitimately do those things for real, so it works nicely for us.

We never touched during the day unless the house was completely empty. Parents both at work, maybe a grocery run or a doctor's appointment that took both of them away for an hour or two, no surprise visitors expected.

We'd pick one bedroom, usually hers because the door was farther from the stairs, door shut, blinds down. Everything stayed quiet, clothes stayed mostly on at first, took us years to feel comfortable enough to take them off. If the garage door rumbled early, we'd freeze, separate, fix hair and shirts in three seconds flat, then scatter to our own rooms like nothing happened.

Nights were our real space. After midnight, living room light turned off, house dead quiet. I'd ghost down the hallway avoiding every creaky spot, lifted handle on her door so the latch didn't click, slow push so hinges stayed silent. We'd slide under her covers, bodies slotting together like puzzle pieces that had always known the shape. Mostly missionary or spooning because those positions kept the mattress quietest; we moved in tiny rolls, hands clamped over mouths when it got intense.

On the rare nights I was bold enough to sleep with her, I'd slip back to my room early in the morning, before anyone stirred, leaving nothing behind. Pick up and fold any discarded clothes. Crack the window for five minutes to let fresh air circulate and dissipate any combined body scents, sweat, or the faint musk that lingers after closeness—then close it before leaving. Phone already back on its charger like I'd never left. Paranoia turned precision over the years.

Showers were the other loophole, our dirtiest secret and cleanest cover. Door locked (even for solo showers), water blasting, steam thick. Quick, intense, gone in under ten minutes. Using the exact same body wash, shampoo, and deodorant so our smells wouldn't stand out as mixed.

What's more... White noise machine became suddenly needed for better sleep. During night, we'd position it near the door to bleed sound into the hallway. If parents ever commented, it was just "you kids and your insomnia fixes". Also, before slipping back to my room, I'd stand in her doorway's and check in the hallway mirror for flushed cheeks, swollen lips, messy hair, hickeys (we avoided those entirely after one near-miss). She did the same thing with her phone in her bed.

My girlfriend helped me a lot to cope with the taboo. We told her we were incestuous as soon as we started, as she was my best friend at the time. She never flinched and treated it like any other part of me: complicated, real, mine. When paranoia hit, she'd talk me down over late-night messages, letting me talk it out without ever pathologizing us. Her emotional distance from the whole thing let her guide us through the anxiety we carried, and see it clearly for what it was: a deep worry about manipulation that came from mixing up consensual incest with the horror of incestuous abuse (a conflation widespread in the feminist communities we were involved in). She dug up a ton of accounts and research on real abuse dynamics, and reading them side-by-side with our reality felt like a weight lifting, as none of it matched what we shared.

My twin moved to another city for a while, leaving my girlfriend and me to build our life together in our shared apartment. When my sister returned, running from a controlling, violent boyfriend, she ended up crashing with us long-term. Listed as a roommate on paper. Given how close the three of us had always been, practically attached at the hip since early childhood, it sure raised a few eyebrows but never crossed into anything people questioned out loud. And now, the three of us were in love!

Hiding shifted from constant vigilance to selective truth. To most people we met (neighbors, classmates, comrades, coworkers, new friends), we presented as a straightforward throuple: three partners living and loving openly, no mention of blood ties. We held hands in public, kissed goodbye at the door, shared affectionate glances over coffee without second-guessing. The apartment itself became our haven. Small but ours, with one big bed we all piled into.

Only a small circle knew: some close friends we'd tested with gradual truth, and the rest of our polycule who'd been told before starting a relationship with us. They took it more or less in stride, but ultimately accepted us. Everyone else got the surface version and never pushed.

Since last summer, though, the last weight lifted as we severed the parents completely after years of enduring emotional cruelty and control from them. No more obligatory calls, no more forced visits, just a clean break. We only stayed in touch with one cousin, someone safe who already knew about the reality of our lives and had lived in the same taboo for far too long—harder, even, as hers was marked by loneliness. The relief was physical, like breathing deeper for the first time.

Now our new apartment feels truly free. Sunlight pours through bigger windows onto the same kind of cozy setup we dreamed of: comfy couch with soft plaids, shelves overflowed with books, soft rug for when one of us wants to lie flat. And still the same big bed, with too many pillows, and a weighted blanket folded at the foot. Space to just be without calculation.

Are we really doing this? Concepts being fascist simply because fascists did them? Guilt by association? Correlation as causation?

Renaissance art is fascist because Nazis uncharitably worshipped it and criminalized everything else. Trains are fascist because they enabled the rapid transfer of marginalized folk to death camps. Coffee and toast are fascist because Nazis ate breakfast in the morning before murdering Jewish people.

"Fascists liked incest" is not the same as "Incest is fascism" and even then, you all do know that Hitler sent consang people to the camps... right? Like, thats a pretty easy thing to find out. Consang love was lumped in with other "social degeneracy" and made criminal under Nazi Germany law. Consang people very much died in those camps. That is a thing that happened.

⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅

“Again!” Your voice reaches across the training area, and your fellow knights resume their drill once more under the yellowing sky. Fatigue shows through as their movements lose their refined edge, as on a normal day training would’ve ended an hour ago. The Princess’s gaze flits across her subjects, the reason for the extended training today. Under the pretence of observation, she sits under the shade of a nearby building, far enough from anyone to notice her bored expression. To her, this is pointless. Boring and monotonous, she couldn’t care about in the slightest; her real reason is you.

The princess fixes her gaze on you as often and as long as she dare, taking in every detail of your being. You’re used to the weight of her eyes on you, doing little to interfere with your own efforts. Being her personal guard, along with the head of the Royal Knights, you have an example to set and so you train. Sweat falling off your toned and muscled form with each swing of your sword in practiced, honed motions that are engraved into your very bones. Out of the corner of your eye you see her hand slide down between her legs, visible only to you from this angle, but you haven’t the spare focus to dwell on it any further for now, doing your best to ignore the heat between your legs and the tightening of your lower garments.

The horizon threatens to swallow the sun entirely by the time your voice once again cuts through the grunts of effort filling the air. “That is all. I’m sure the Princess appreciates your efforts to impress her,” You call out, a practiced giggle following from beside you, “As do I. You’re dismissed.” The knights salute you in unison before slowly filtering off to rest and recuperate, weary conversations breaking up the serious atmosphere.

“You know,” the Princess walks over to you, “It never gets old seeing my darling sister at work”, her honeyed words a salve to your exhaustion. “I couldn’t help but notice you were having some fun without me”, you say, turning to face her. She reaches up and takes off the mask covering the lower half of your face, and after quickly glancing around to make sure you’re alone, caresses your jaw and places her finger in your mouth, and then a second. You taste her on her fingers and feel your brain hone in on her with singular focus. “That’s my girl”, she coos at you, noticing the look in your eyes, and it takes everything in your power not to sling her over your shoulder and head straight for her chambers.

“You and your dangerous game, Delphine”, you say teasingly, removing her fingers from your mouth, “And what if someone happened to approach me? Happened to see you?”

“Doesn’t that make it fun?” she replies, eyes slowly moving down your body, biting her lip. Her eyes linger on your waistband and you swear you can hear her heartbeat pickup. You place a finger under her chin and tilt her gaze to look up at you. “We can’t have your highness be seen debasing herself out in the open, can we?” you say, then leaning in, “You’re mine, after all.”

--

The walk back inside the castle feels torturous, your interlocked hands doing little to abate the lust pulsating between the two of you. Captain of the Royal Guard you may be, you’re foremost the second daughter of the King, and with which come certain responsibilities; such as the near daily council meetings you’re both forced to attend.

“I’m really not in the mood for this, Em”, your sister says, pulling you aside from the door you were moments from pulling open. You take a step forward, backing her up to the wall, “Would you rather be doing something else?” you say, sliding your knee between her legs and pushing upwards slightly.

She lets out a moan, quickly covering her mouth and trying (and failing) to shoot you a glare. “I would’ve said Someone but now I’m not so-“, her words catch in her throat, her breath hitching as you slide your leg backwards. She lightly punches your arm, “And here I was trying to be diplomatic.” You stop yourself stumbling backwards as she reaches up to kiss you, lips hungrily reaching for yours and meeting their eager partner. You abruptly pull back to quickly scan the hallway for any sign of a witness, before turning back to a more unhinged Delphine. “Phi, you have to be-“, she cuts you off. “You’ve been having me for a fool this evening”, she says, her demeanour changing from that of a prey to predator, “and enough is enough.”

She spins you around and swaps positions, your back now up against the wall entirely at her mercy. Her hand trails up the inside of your thigh mercilessly slowly, anticipation clouding any shred of reason or control you might’ve had remaining, just as her fingers graze your bulge.  You twitch involuntarily into her touch. “How the Knight has fallen so easily”, she teases, the last word drawn out and dripping with lust. You may be the physically imposing one, but you’ve always been under her spell – she was just reminding you of your place. Her fingers dance across the top of your crotch, stopping at your waist. Your brain is overtaken by your sister’s form, and every neuron is screaming to reach out and show her how much you love her between her legs. Your breathing increases, causing a smile to grace your sister’s face, and she leans up to kiss your neck ever so delicately. “You’ll always be my little sister,” she trails kisses down your neck and onto the exposed part of your chest and collarbones, “and I have ab. so. lute. control.” she says as her fingers reach down into your underwear and wrap around your cock. “There’s my favourite toy.” She locks eyes with you and begins to slide her hand up and down. All your senses snap to the attention, and your hands push back against the wall as you’re overcome by the sensation. Delphine takes great pride in how easily she can succumb you to her whims and her pace increases as she stares lovingly at your face. Your hands reach out and grasp her face as your lips find hers, kissing her deeply as if your life depended on it, your right hand letting go and finding place between her thighs as she moans into your mouth, eager for your touch. Your tongues meet and playfully wrestle, each trying to show the other how much they mean to them, each other’s hands picking up the pace all the while. She breaks away from the kiss, dazed and with spit trailing between you, and goes to kneel, her mouth already open and ready before stopping herself and returning upright. “Gods, I need you. It’s taking my all to resist I love you so much.” Another moan leaves her mouth and she doesn’t have a shred of care to spare at this very moment. You lock lips again to stop any more sound, a small fragment of rationality clinging on in the back of your mind. Your fingers grow sticky as your sister soaks through her panties and into her dress, a coy smile spreading across your face upon realising. Your left hand intertwines with her hair and you grab a fistful and pull back slightly, forcing her head back and up, your lips kissing the sound escaping her lips back into her. “I love you I love you—Ahh! I love you”, you desperately say into her mouth, a prayer from your lips to the altar of your devotion. You rut into her hand, feeling your climax building, pushing you to your limits, hands aching to have her here and now on the floor, with nearly every important member of the kingdom but a wall away.

The sound of approaching footsteps reach Delphine’s ears as she immediately tries to pull back, words rushing to escape her mouth. “Someon-“, but you refuse to let her go, leaning back in, before she pushes you harder and finishes her sentence, withdrawing her hand. “Someone’s coming!”, she quickly smoothes out her dress and pretends to be having a conversation with you, doing her best to hide her hand coated in your precum, while your completely overwhelmed brain races to remember how to even be a functioning member of society let alone one of your echelon. “And that’s when I said—“, she talks animatedly at you, fleeting panic in her eyes. “Oh! Minister! Good evening”, your sister turns and curtsies as the irritated looking man approaches, the deep furrow of his brow visible already. “Hurry up then, don’t just stand outside gossiping.” He gives the two of you a dirty look that would belie your own statures; his eyes gaze you both up and down before turning away, muttering under his breath, “God save us.” The door swings open and disappears him inside before you have a chance to retort. Phi looks utterly indignant, and you give her a quick kiss on the top of her head. This has the effect you wanted of dissipating her anger and returning her attention to you. You kiss the top of her nose and nudge your head in the direction of the door. She grins and brings up her wet hand and licks it slowly, keeping eye contact with you, cleaning you off her fingers one by one, before taking your fingers and licking herself clean from you too.

Your sense of reason on the verge of abandon, its returns as your sister wraps her arms around your torso, giving you a tight, desperate hug. Your arms do the same to her, finding purchase around the love of your life. It lasts only a moment until you release each other and sigh in unison, helping each other return to a modicum of presentability; her delicate hands helping return the mask to your face. “There. Only I get to behold your beauty in its entirety.” she plants a kiss on the side of it, fingers lingering a heartbeat longer.

The two of you enter the room, hands and cloaks precariously positioned to cover any evidence, and take your respective seats, side by side; the contents of the meeting standing nary a chance to break through to either of your psyches. Hands held out of sight, you both torturously count down the seconds till you can be alone with the only person that matters.