#runeworks

one thing i want to make so vehemently clear is that i am not transmasculine. and yet,

socially in public, i am a trans man. i am currently stealth at work, i’ve only told two trusted people that i am a man. social media wise, i am open as a trans man and hint quite often that i am nonbinary but only a close couple of people know that im nonbinary but in a way no one genuinely understands (i use micro labels honestly as a means to explain my complex relationship with gender). essentially to transadnrophobes truthers, i experience “transmisandry” and “exorsexism”. so y’all can accuse me all you want that i don’t experience what you believe in and that i’m just being a dick to tmes, but i am very much coming from a place of understanding my experiences and simply view the transphobia i experience as just that, simple transphobia. and at the end of the day, transphobia encompasses misogyny, homophobia, sexism, ableism, and religious persecution. i experience it all first hand. every time i mention my husband, im asked if i cook for him. when i bring up that im queer and trans, i get asked invasive questions about transitioning and my husband’s sexuality. when i tell people i’m autistic (which is deeply entangled with my transness) they tell me i’m not, in order to placate me because they believe being autistic is a bad thing, and frankly a monolith. when i bring up that i’m trans, the first thing they’ll do is say they don’t “care how people refer to themselves.” my mother believes my queerness is because i was sexually assaulted ; my family has said i am ugly any time i’ve presented as masculine and once i started dressing femininely they assumed i had detransitioned. when i bring up the fact that i’m queer the first thing a person will say is that they’re religious. and then ask me if i am, and say that one day i may come to find jesus. my mother has spewed religious propaganda since i was a child and once she discovered i was queer it caused me to spiral in deep deep depressive espisode that had me hospitalized and institutionalized twice at 12 years old. when i came out as trans, my mother told me i was breaking her heart for denouncing my deadname. my parents refused to take me to get haircuts and obviously i had no access to gender affirming care until i made my own money. the only way i even got a binder was because my sister bought it for me in secret. i proceeded to wear that binder for two years straight, after years of wearing tight sports bras. now i am physically incapable of wearing binders. in highschool i refused to use the womens bathroom or the mens for that matter, it got so bad that i messed up my bladder and even a little amount of pee makes me feel like im going to explode. when i had to take p.e i asked to be in the mens locker room— i did my best to pass and changed in private. still my classmates refused to acknowledge that i was a man. so many times did they ask me “what are you?”. when i got my first job, i tried to establish myself as a man. the very first day people had arguments over my gender behind my back . i worked with a older queer woman for essentially two years and she still misgendered me until the very day i left. when i went to my GM, she defended her and did nothing to make me feel respected. once i got my current job i made sure that at the very least i would use my chosen name. when people discovered my dead name, despite me saying i did not use it, they used said names interchangeably for me. my dead name is inherently latino and therefore has to be pronounced with an accent, which only other latinos have managed to do. i am one of the palest people in my family, though my hair is very curly and i have plenty of ethnic features. every person i’ve talked to has told me they assumed i was asian and probably mixed white. so yes. while i might be NB, i am perceived as a poc no matter what. in fact i was bullied in elementary school for my ethnic features, despite the fact i went to a very diverse school, as in, white kids were essentially the minority.

concerning romantic or sexual relationships i always establish that i am man. despite this straight men pursue me anyway and then refuse to be seen with me. they’ve used me as sexual object, and turned around and left me when i wanted to be acknowledged. hell, one guy actually dated me but said once i transitioned our relationship would be over.

having said all of this. misandry is not real and is inherently illogical and a reactionary term used to silence and villainize women for seeking equality and being resentful and scared of men for the horrific things they do to them by utilizing the patriarchy in any way they can. and you may ask, well what about black men? and to that i say, talk and listen to black women and men. genuinely just listen to black creators. they are capable of understanding that black people, across this entire damn earth, are systematically the most oppressed class. that’s simply factual. if you do just a little bit of reading you will find that emancipation fundamentally changed the once equal relationship black men and women had.

SO. Take a moment and consider how it must have been to be a trans woman at this time. They were inherently oppressed on the basis that if they even had the opportunity to transition, they would once again be subordinate to men. Being a black trans woman is honestly the antithetical to any privilege they may have once had. To be a trans woman is to forfeit any proximity to privilege that one may have had. Consider in fact what it may have meant to be nonbinary as a black emancipated person. What possible privilege could they have held?

Now let’s consider how people have historically used any proximity to masculinity to protect femme presenting people ; In the mid-20th century, butch lesbians were often limited to jobs that did not enforce strict dress codes for women. During the McCarthy era, butch lesbians faced increased violence and discrimination, but they also played a crucial role in defending gay spaces, particularly in bars, from attacks by police and other oppressors. The butch identity has evolved over the decades, influenced by various social and political movements, including the civil rights, gay rights, and women's rights movements.

If you attempt to use this as an excuse to justify the existence of transandrophobia well, simply put, you have no respect for lesbians.

“However, these spaces weren’t entirely secure. There were laws as early as the 1940s known as the “three article rule.” They made wearing less than a certain number of gender-conforming clothing illegal. You could be arrested. you could be assaulted. You could even be killed. When modern refuters and gatekeepers say butches only existed for “safety purposes,” it’s erasure. If butches were comfortable being femme, they would’ve been. Maybe they had to pass as men in front of cops, but they weren’t men, and they risked their lives to exist as butch. To say that butches of today or, by extension, that any other lesbians can’t express themselves in a way that’s comfortable is spitting in the face of every butch and femme, of every lesbian, that survived the police raids and discrimination and violence in order to freely exist.”

This oppression, whether you like it or not, was not because of misandry. Butches were strictly NON-MEN. Well then what was it? Simple, basic transphobia and misogyny.

Now, i implore you to read this essay concerning the experiences of black transgender women and gnc woc. In full transparency, i have not read the full essay yet, unfortunately just writing out this essay has taken too much time out of my day.

My ending sentiment is this. Misandry has not and never will be a systemic issue. Therefore i have no interest in engaging with said concept.

“The term misandry originated in the late 19th century as an epithet for first-wave feminism, drawing an equivalence between hatred of men and misogyny, the hatred of women.The term re-emerged during the 1980s in men's rights literature and academic literature on structural sexism. In the internet age, use of the term has become common within the manosphere to counter feminist accusations of misogyny as part of an antifeminist backlash.”

IN MY ROOM (TINA X LOUISE) ;

She settled on writing about it. She bought a whole new notebook for the affair, one she was determined to keep secret from her nosy family– especially Louise. She wasn’t the biggest concern but, if perhaps their Mother saw what she planned on writing, it might not go over too well. Tina has a very very accepting family but.. Even they might have their limits. A part of her is hesitant, and guilty, because how could she not be? What she desired from her sibling was so atypical that the mere concept of it could tear their family apart. And then where would she be– with nobody? Lonely in a way she had never experienced before? She couldn’t take the risk.

So, she tore every piece of paper out, folded them up and scattered them in her room. Knowing that might not be enough, she chose aliases to represent herself and Louise in her stories. They were Elsa and Anna from now on, in the deep depths of her imagination. Their relationship in blood could never be divorced from their love for each other but.. At least there could be a magical element to it. A fictional world and fictional characters and a completed story she could alter however she’d like. And that she did. 

Some writings of hers simply placed the pair in the story of Frozen, where they played their roles beat by beat. Others were placed after the second movie, and contained admittedly unrealistic and dramatic interpretations of a familial relationship between a little sister and her big sister. 

The story Louise discovered– well, it was the first one she had written that contained explicit intent. 

“Tina. Look at me–”

Tina does not, gulps furiously, frantic and–

“Breathe Tina. C’mon I’m not upset, OK? I just want to talk.”

She takes in a breath of air, “You promise? You won’t.. Tell?”

Louise sighs, grabs her sister’s hand and squeezes. It’s so soft but Tina can tell it wasn’t meant to be. Guilt pools in her stomach.

“Mom and Dad don’t have to know. I don’t want them to.” 

BLUE HAIR (RILEY X VAL)

maybe rileys just misinterpreting her actions, looking way too hard into how val looks at her, but the way she’ll move riley’s bangs to the side when they’re getting particularly long or how she holds her hands before nerve wracking matches makes it seem like there’s something there. something more than the friendship she holds with her two best friends. and she doesn’t exactly understand it and despite the bit of shame she carries with her— val excites her. haunts her at night endlessly, makes her little dick throb uncomfortably and leak with a wetness she can’t explain. sometimes, she goes to touch it. rubs it gently and the feeling that rushes through her body is far too overwhelming and scary for her to handle. if she’s particularly desperate, usually after a late hangout with her team  —but mainly val— she keeps rubbing through the.. pain? that probably isn’t the right word; she just knows it's inexplicable and uncomfortable and somehow addicting all at the same time. usually, she cums (she had to look up white liquid coming from penis to learn what it was after the first couple of times she gave into her temptations). it's hard to look at val the next day after those late nights— but it's even harder to rip her eyes away from her all the same. 

they’re having their first sleepover and holy shit was riley nervous from the moment the idea even sparked in conversation between the two. at first, riley assumed it was with the rest of the team as well, but then val practically invited herself over and riley instantly understood this was meant to be.. private between the pair. that felt so so good to realize and if she hadn’t been so terrified she would’ve been riding on that high for days.

…

“you’re so.. small,” val breathes out. it's subtle but it comes out more like a stifled gasp with a hint of desire in the mix. her unusually low voice is not lost on riley and it ignites something warm in her, somewhere deep and her dick throbs in response. embarrassment and lust seem to go hand in hand when it comes to val which— honestly makes sense. 

INFRUNAMI (POPPY X BRANCH X FLOYD)

It’s.. intriguing to say the least, to notice how her boyfriend gets all flustered over someone that isn’t her. No, this Troll being a man comes of no to surprise to her (she knew of Branch’s tendencies even before he did) and no, Branch showing interest in anyone else wasn’t particularly shocking or even hurtful (she’s aware she has no room to talk) but for that Troll to be his own brother? Now that– that was quite the surprise to realize. It honestly made her excited to know they had another tendency in common and also quite frustrated when Branch was trying his very best to keep this a secret from her. She knew it wasn’t because Branch thought she may disapprove or that she may not like this certain Troll. No! 

She loved Floyd, she loved all of his brothers. But she knew Branch wasn’t ready to accept that he may love them too, in a different, some may call taboo way. Though she can’t exactly pinpoint whether or not his newfound emotions may extend to all of his brothers, it’s very clear that Floyd is his main object of affection (besides her, of course). 

So, she’ll be taking matters into her own hands. She’s already scrapbooked a plan (that’s not exactly in depth) of which takes a lot of self control to not show Branch. Poppy must refrain though, because to make this plan flow naturally, neither Trolls can be aware of just how far she’s willing to go to make this romance bloom. First on the list— seduce Branch!

“Hello, Branchifer,” Poppy greets an unsuspecting Branch at her front door. She attempts to be mysterious, doing her best to set a serious tone from the get go. “Thank you for meeting me.”

Branch raises a brow, “Of course.. Poppifer? Is everything OK?” 

“Of course,” Poppy offers a smile as she leans against her door frame, “Why wouldn't it be?” 

“Uh, no reason. Just that you sent me a pretty ominous note asking me to meet you at your house.” He waves her card in her face, “I mean, there's barely any glitter on this!” 

Poppy frowns, “I’m trying to be serious here Branch!” She rolls her eyes when Branch lifts his brows in amusement, “I’m for real!” 

He huffs out and waves his hands in a soothing manner, “Alright, alright Poppy. So, what are we being serious about here?”

CIGARETTES OUT THE WINDOW (MILES MORALES X PETER B. MILES)

eventually, as miles’ thighs were properly spread and upper body folded in on itself and he willed himself to not even tear up, did peter give up on preparing him. wordlessly, peter shoved down his own frankly way too tight boxers, revealing a throbbing member that almost looked.. angry. once the painful sensation stopped, miles had began to watch peter through half-lidded eyes, hopeful and yet dreadful of what would come next (he wanted to be grateful, considering how this whole situation was an eighteenth birthday present). his eyes blurred, as an attempt to detach himself from any sort of clarity that may come from seeing a grown man hover over him with a heated look of perversion his mama had once taught him to avoid. but he had sought this out, had accepted peter’s advances and while he had refused the exchange of rather untasteful selfies, he still agreed to watching a movie at his apartment (something miles’ parents didn’t have to know the details about). 

“remember.. you wanted this miles, this is for you,” peter murmured, and if he meant to make miles relax even further than he possibly could at that moment (which wasn’t much) then he couldn’t exactly call this conquest a success. 

miles only whined in response, and without a rubber or anything so much as lube or spit, besides what was left over from when peter viciously ate him out like a starving man outside a church, peter aligned miles’ folds to his dick. 

he rubbed himself with care against miles, trying to cover himself with wetness that was beginning to dry up— miles shut his eyes again and kept his head turned away from peter, finding comfort in his own lean arms, bent in a way to protect himself (from what, he wasn’t sure of). peter paid him no mind, and leaned forward to cup a covered breast and to shallowly thrust, as a sort of warning. 

alarms rang in miles minds immediately & automatically, but he paid no mind and willed his body to go limp, as easy to handle as plausible for peters convenience. peter slipped his dick through miles’ folds, which were thick and short, exposed due to miles trimming his bush in hopes of an occasion such as this, and was quickly met with the barrier that signified a rose, a loss, and the beginning of adulthood. peter prodded it gently, and miles immediately knew that his entrance would be far from easy, for either of them. still, he kept quiet, 

surrendered control that he may have never had. 

HELLO? (MICHEANGELO X DONATELLO)

“donnie”, mikey whines with a huff, “what are you doing?”

“i–” donatello covers his mouth, faux brows furrowed & utterly perplexed–

“i’m not sure,” he whispers, voice husky & genuine, “this just feels.. right.”

“you’re– you’re pressing against me.” mikey reveals as if it weren't obvious. 

“i know, i know– do you want me to stop?”

“no,” mikey adjusts himself, leaning into donatellos heat with an arch of his back and a step back, “no,” he echoes, “it feels right.”

donatellos breath hitches, caught in any semblance of control he once had, and then lost.

in the same thought that warns him about the taboo nature of having your crotch pressed into the curvature of your younger brothers ass, donnie admits to himself that he’s drawn to this– not exactly the inappropriate nature of this act, but his own younger precious brother, the one he can’t help but favor as well as be tormented by. not exactly due to mikey’s actions, although the specific ways he’ll stretch & especially how he asks for assistance while he does is frustratingly tempting, but because of donatello’s own misplaced affection, an adoration transformed into perversion.