I Think Some People Forget That Some Literature And Some Media Is Meant To Be Deeply Uncomfortable And

Little writing I did of a character I made. He's so pathetic I love him :3

The man was tall now that he was standing straight. Under his chin was filled with stubble, looks like he forgot to shave under there. He had a pencil mustache above his lips. His grin showed teeth a blinding white unusual for his unkempt demeanor. He had a comb over, hiding his quickly fading hair, two devil horns sprouted from his head matching his blood red skin. He wore a black and white Hawaiian shirt with a couple unbuttoned buttons on the top and bottom to give room to his prominent gut. His cargo pants allowed people to see his hairy legs covered in bruises and scabs in the process of healing. He looked like he was going for Gomez Addams, a mafia boss, and retired cop all at once. “Elizabeth, good to see you. Can your uncle give you a hug?” His accent was one of a gruff New Yorkin, that noticeably sounded like he was holding back tears. “Of course.” She opened up her arms and wrapped them around his abdomen including his large and squishy stomach. He wasn’t really her uncle but Lucifer Paradiso was referred to as uncle by all undead creatures. “Hey, have you seen your dad around? I need to talk to him.” His mouth smiled, his eyes did not. “Oh, I um.. No I haven't… sorry…. If you don’t mind me asking, why do you need to see him?” His face showed the aura of grimness behind his fake grin, it always did. “Oh, you know the big G upstairs…” he cleared his throat as he often did before one of his moments. “He told me not to call him that by the way, HA, can you ‘magine. Like sorry for trying to commit divine regicide about a trillion years ago, like I said sorry. Can’t even use a cute little name like ‘big G’” Eli knew rambling was the next stage before the meltdown. Now he just needed to mention Jesus and he would let go of his thin faux mood. “I mean JC never treats me like that. He is very forgiving. Why can’t it be like father like son, am I right….?” 1, 2, 3 “God, Eli” He placed his face in his palms. Tears didn’t leave his eyes but his gruff voice was weak in its affliction. “The reason I need to see your dad is because I’m kind of in debt with mister, God almighty.” His voice was in a mocking tone when he said “God almighty” but his heart clearly wasn’t in it. “Apparently I haven’t been getting enough souls of late. I miss the days of Faust where someone wouldn’t question too hard about selling their eternal soul for limited mortal power and riches. Now everyone is always like ‘why would I give you something infinite for something that lasts only a lifetime.’ Like shut up and just give me your soul, I’m in severe debt and need it more than you.” He kept rambling till Eli’s dad returned to find a sobbing Lucifer Paradiso on his couch with his 16 year old daughter comforting him like a therapist.

writing and transness my two favorite worldly desires.

I don’t know why I always gravitate back to writing about being trans. On one hand it is quite the unique and different experience and I would add it’s fair to say it’s pretty all encompassing in my life whether I like it or not but it’s not like I don’t have anything else in my life to write about. I could write about my weird need to be independent or how differently I act by myself versus with even my closest companions. I do try to write about those things but then I get distracted and before I know it a week has passed but something weird happens when I write about being part of this strange little group. I’m able to let the words just flow out and almost nothing could distract me from finishing. If I had to guess why this happens I would presume it’s because of how inescapable it has felt in this point of life. I’ve barely just completely grasped my transness about a year ago (though I've been questioning since 10) and I’ve only really toyed with my name which didn’t take long considering I’ve always been weirdly drawn to the name Katherine. Recently for the first time I've had good enough friends I can tell and they’ve been wildly helpful yet still I feel as if I haven’t had enough initiative in a year of fully accepting myself. For make-up I’ve tried lip-stick once when my family were somewhere for a few days and I’ve been doing my nails more frequently but that's about it. I shave my face almost everyday to keep it at bay, but I don’t really have the tools for shaving anywhere else. And for clothes I have done zilch. It’s not like I haven’t done these things out of lack of effort, it's just hard to do them when in a packed house, when in constant fear, and having a lack of expendable income in a slew of more important expenses. With all this writing is my way to express these feelings I can’t in daily life. I’ve never been adequate at drawing and while I have been doodling more, I don’t think I care to really put a ton of work into it. So with the physical medium out of the way that leaves words. I’ve always been very creative with a lot of thoughts yet I’ve never had a great way to express it. I always thought I hated writing. Always forced to write a long drawl of something I truly feel passionless for. The odd free writes were always fun but the piles of essays and grammar mistakes were always there to make sure I always hated writing. Thank the stars, that recently for the first time I had a teacher who made me realize the joy that can come from writing when you care. Sadly that was last year's teacher but the essays don’t feel as grueling to get through and when we’re doing a paragraph on occasion they feel fun. Now with both these discoveries of late, both from last year interesting enough, I have been going through a bit of a change in how i am. For the first time in my life there is a very clear goal to why I should keep going to get out of this house. 1) so I can be who I want to be 2) so I can write. I've promised myself at the very least I’ll try to get myself there. No matter the obstacle no matter the strife I have to try because in the end memento mori.

Are you ever at a restaurant and accidentally make reference (it was not an accident)

Pelted by an image in my brain I needed to draw

Drawing Mine and @gremlin-numero-uno (my wife) ponysonas :3 (WIP)

I'll be there infecting it with Chonny >:]

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Even more of this guy. Probably the last I'll do of him for a little bit

The being was larger than most skyscrapers. Its teeth usually were soaking red with blood but were currently dry, showing the yellowing of the fangs underneath. The lack of blood may at first seem calming to the unknowing but all residents of hell knew this meant it was looking for something, or perhaps more accurately, someone to re-wet its teeth. The large lizard-like eyes decorating its head were looking back and forth for any sign of something that drips red when pricked. Soon it saw a small humanoid shape coming towards its domain. It contorted its body getting ready to pounce, before realizing the being it was so excited to gauge was none other than head honcho of hell, Lucifer Paradiso. As Lucifer came closer the thing’s disappointment turned to fear as the king of the damned's details became clearer. While Lucifer was usually someone to not be afraid of with his calm, charming, and honestly sometimes a little pathetic demeanor, today was clearly different. His thick eye-brows were lowered, his arms swung violently by his side, and every step he took left a little crater. Even worse than that was his outfit and the object grasped tightly in his hand. He was wearing a suit, he never wore a suit, and was holding a bouquet of once nice looking flowers that were all wilting now. The only thing scarier than the hulking beast with bloody teeth was the same beast but with yellowed teeth. The only thing scarier than that was a pissed off Lucifer and the only thing scarier than that is a pissed off Lucifer after a bad date. The thing quickly dashed out of the way even though he was still a good two miles away. Lucifer finally got home not 10 minutes later. The man was definitely quick for all his flaws.

He angrily opened the door, slammed it shut, and fell on the couch sobbing. Faust could hear the whining from his quarters but pretended he didn't hear it. For the first decade working the soul contract for Lucifer, Faust couldn’t help but feel bad for his master, that was long ago now. Lucifer’s cries nowadays dug up more anger from his heart than compassion. This was the third date this month that ended poorly. Faust wished he could tell Lucifer maybe there was a reason for his consistent failing but he knew that it was best to bite his forked tongue. “FAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUSSSSST.” the voice of hell rang out through the house. Well no more avoiding it Faust thought. When he arrived at the living room he could hear Lucifer mumbling to himself in between sobs. The strong gruff voice no longer felt as authoritative as it was most hours of the day, yet it still felt like he had a level of charm in its sadness which weirdly annoyed Faust quite a lot. Faust could smell expensive wine on his master’s breath as well as blood but that wasn’t unusual for dates in the underworld. “Faaauuusst, bring me the emergency stuff.” by emergency stuff he meant the cookie dough ice cream stuffed in the freezer. Many found his little substitute words cute, for Faust it drove him insane. The only thing that gave Faust joy in this infernal job is apparently God was also annoyed by little things like that and ripped into Lucifer often. Though apparently the other angels defended Lucifer from these attacks, Faust took what he needed in short time. 21.2 seconds from living room to kitchen, new record Faust thought to himself. He handed over the tub and a spoon. He didn’t even bother to get a bowl knowing it was a fruitless offer. In the time it took for him to get the ice cream Lucifer had managed to turn on one of his comfort movies. It was one of hallmark fame. Lucifer both liked to quietly make fun of the film while also clearly becoming deeply invested in the love story. In the early years Faust found the movies slightly annoying if not charming in its own little way. Now in these years he found them unbearable. If he could scream through them he would but that would just get him in trouble. Lucifer was cuddling in a large, fluffy, glowing white blanket decorated with red pentagram stars that seemed to drip and move as the damned king cuddled into himself. Within the little blanket hole he was holding a little three-headed dog plush. Some days Faust wanted to burn that dog, actually scratch that, most days Faust wanted to burn that dog. Faust handed him the ice cream. He grabbed it quickly and tightened the blanket around him. Faust tried to leave, walking in long quick strokes, but before he could leave the gruff voice spoke sadly. “Faust, if you weren’t bound to me through your soul contract, would you leave?” Faust thought the answer of “God, no” would be the first to shoot to his head, but it took him a second of pondering to think of any answer at all. “No, sir. Now enjoy your movie and please sober up.” Faust quickly exited himself from the situation before slowly walking to his room and quietly closing the door.

that's me <3 thanks again :3

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@katindeed :3

sex is dumb. go on the roller coaster

A little vent I did with a bit of a happy ending (don't worry btw it's just nice to write about it)

 I look into the mirror, and a tight knot is tied into my stomach. A bubbling starts in the depths of my gut and crawls up my body into my chest. It was very similar to how I felt when I got car sick on summer road trips as the feeling of throwing up grew inside me. The big difference is that it’s much more concentrated and there's a lower likelihood of throwing up. Much lower but not none. There was the obvious fact I’m quite fat or “chubby” if you didn’t want to be too blunt about it. Maybe I could deal with that if it was distributed more femininely, but I guess it makes sense why it wasn’t. My stomach bulged out, and the fat pushed out the side, messing up my back as well. There’s a unique torture in understanding you’re trans but not being able to do something about it. You have a need you can not fill. A hunger while the apple’s branch pulls upward every time you reach for it. Having no mouth and an intense need to scream. My family might be accepting, but there’s definitely the chance they’re not, especially with some things I’ve heard dad listen to. Even if I came out today and they embraced me as Kathrine fully, the next problem is the problem of money. The idea of insurance covering HRT is almost laughable, and even with how it would improve my well-being, it would be selfish to ask for it while we have more pressing payments and medical problems. Just two more years, I suppose. Two more years of hating the name everyone but my friends call me. Two more years of cuddling in my bed pretending to be a pretty girl to soften the blow of reality. Two more years of feeling like a creep when I imagine myself as that girl. Two more years of making social media accounts under Kat to feel any amount of euphoria. Two more years of telling my friends to call me that horrible name around my parents. Two more years of hiding my google searches and YouTube recommendations from my family. Two more years of hating every atom of me when my grandma calls me a nice young man or a fun boy. Two more years of writing stupid words in a google doc to vent. Two more years sound like a long time when you put it like that, but I've been doing this for a while, and a lot changes when you take a different perspective. Two more years till I can tell everyone to call me Kat. Two more years till I can take the magic blue pill to feel more like me. Two more years with great friends that help me. Two more years to save up money to not only be able to buy HRT but hopefully much more. Two more years of getting better at writing. Only two more years till I can be me.