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androgynyfiend.bsky.social
isaac 🍂
@androgynyfiend.bsky.social
1.5K followers 150 following 3.2K posts
27 | transsexual dandy | normal marxist-leninist | assigned wwi guy at birth
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androgynyfiend.bsky.social
saw this on fb and ppl in the comments are making WWII jokes but really this is more like the 5th time germany has tried this right. do we want to count the seven years war that's what i'm debating on. yes i'm counting prussia as germany
Facebook post from Newsweek Headline: Germany unveils plans to create Europe's strongest army Subheading: German lawmakers have unveiled a new military service plan mandating all 18-year-old men to indicate their suitability to serve.
November 19, 2025 at 7:08 PM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
it's already bad enough on its own but she also had to make an absolutely incredible mischaracterization of how Americans generally view anti-Blackness
November 19, 2025 at 4:54 PM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
I love being awakenings for ppl bc I'm just talking online
November 19, 2025 at 4:49 PM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
genuinely one of the most romantic passages in a book ever fight me I think about it constantly
We sit opposite one another, Kat and I, two soldiers in shabby coats, cooking a goose in the middle of the night. We don't talk much, but I believe we have a more complete communion with one another than even lovers have. We are two men, two minute sparks of life; outside is the night and the circle of death. We sit on the edge of it crouching in danger, the grease drips from our hands, in our hearts we are close to one another, and the hour is like the room: flecked over with the lights and shadows of our feelings cast by a quiet fire. What does he know of me or I of him? formerly we should not have had a single thought in common--now we sit with a goose between us and feel in unison, are so intimate that we do not even speak. It takes a long time to roast a goose, even when it is young and fat. So we take turns. One bastes it while the other lies down and sleeps. A grand smell gradually fills the hut. The noises without increase in volume, pass into my dream and yet linger in my memory. In a half sleep I watch Kat dip and raise the ladle. I love him, his shoulders, his angular, stooping figure- -and at the same time I see behind him woods and stars, and a clear voice utters words that bring me peace, to me, a soldier in big boots, belt, and knapsack, taking the road that lies before him under the high heaven, quickly forgetting and seldom sorrowful, for ever pressing on under the wide night sky. A little soldier and a clear voice, and if anyone were to caress him he would hardly understand, this soldier with the big boots and the shut heart, who marches because he is wearing big boots, and has forgotten all else but marching. Beyond the sky-line is a country with flowers, lying so still that he would like to weep. There are sights there that he has not forgotten, because he never possessed them--perplexing, yet lost to him. Are not his twenty summers there? Is my face wet, and where am I? Kat stands before me, his gigantic, stooping shadow falls upon me, like home. He speaks gently, he smiles and goes back to the fire. Then he says: "It's done." "Yes, Kat." (All Quiet on the Western Front, Chapter 5)
November 19, 2025 at 5:53 AM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
tonight's program........ so frickin excited
November 18, 2025 at 11:41 PM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
dabbling with trans comedy
Omg I just came up with a skit idea... It would be so offensive but it would also be great The scene is a doctor is doing a medical checkup with two trans people who came in at the same time. One is a trans man and one is a trans woman. Through the whole skit he's babying the trans woman and treating all of her needs so seriously and giving her the princess treatment and best care ever. Meanwhile for the trans man he's just absolutely berating and abusing him to the most ridiculous level possible Like the trans woman is like, I know my leg hair is pretty light, but it's still making me kind of dysphoric when I look at it... And the doctor's like Oh my gosh, you poor thing -- I know a guy who does free electrolysis for trans women, I can get you an appointment literally this afternoon, I'll make the call as soon as we're done here. Then the trans man is like, Um, I've been having a lot of abdominal pains and cramping I'm worried my ute- and then the doctor just goes WHO THE FUCK TOLD YOU YOU WERE ALLOWED TO SPEAK FEMALE
November 18, 2025 at 3:40 PM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
mentioned trans women fighting with cis doctors about progesterone to my fiance when I shared this post with him. the sad truth of the matter 😔
Messages from my fiance "Yeah and the doctors are taking them seriously now because they're AMAB okay" "If they were AFAB the doctor would have already buried them under the hospital for daring to have ideas about their own medical care"
November 18, 2025 at 3:33 PM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
i will do anything to get my hands on this bullshit
Picture of the milk chocolate pretzel and toffee flavor of Tony's Chocolonely
November 17, 2025 at 1:04 AM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
AAAAAAAAAAA
Lyrics from Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' Brompton Oratory I look at the stone apostles Think that it's alright for some And I wish that I was made of stone So that I would not have to see A beauty impossible to define A beauty impossible to believe A beauty impossible to endure The blood imparted in little sips The smell of you still on my hands As I bring the cup up to my lips
November 16, 2025 at 6:25 PM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
crying at the population density difference between kansas and brooklyn lmfao
Kansas population density in 2024: 35 people per square mile (13.5/km2) Brooklyn population density in 2020: 39,336 people per square mile (15,188/km2)
November 15, 2025 at 9:10 PM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
my mom really thinks there's like an intifada is happening here
November 15, 2025 at 12:29 AM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
my mom did eventually ask me about the job so I texted back. her reaction lmfao
November 15, 2025 at 12:23 AM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
this meme but him instead
tumblr user teaboot Fifteen year old me, deeply in denial: Im sure all girls wanna look like that That: [screenshot of Hugh Jackman as Wolverine] Behind the scenes photo of Anthony Perkins and Janet Leigh in Psycho
November 14, 2025 at 7:52 PM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
I love how I basically got forcibly detransitioned bc of a mix of insurance BS, provider switches, and testosterone being a controlled substance
November 14, 2025 at 3:38 PM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
every time
November 14, 2025 at 4:35 AM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
obsessed with google AI saying that babies are generally able to pull themselves up onto their feet at 4 months old
November 13, 2025 at 6:28 AM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
i would be embarrassed to have my photo featured next to me being this self-aware but deciding to do it anyway
"The research will probably provoke controversy, both for its having been done and for its findings. What is clear is that if Hitler had seen these genes in anyone else, his verdict would have been unequivocal. Professor Turi King, the lead geneticist on this research, said: “If he was to look at his own genetic results, he would have almost certainly have sent himself to the gas chambers.”"
November 13, 2025 at 12:40 AM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
fiance got me a wwi inspired pea coat with the button-up collar and EVERYTHING
November 12, 2025 at 11:07 PM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
despite moving i'm still my trans org's data person and so i was running numbers for them bc we started doing mutual aid stuff earlier this year. the numbers here just show me once again how much a genuine fucking socialist movement would benefit literally everyone
November 11, 2025 at 1:40 AM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
asked my sister about this shit lmfao
November 9, 2025 at 4:13 PM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
she has finally contacted me. literally cannot say anything to be if it's not about how I'm going to hell when the world ends soon lmfao
November 9, 2025 at 2:43 PM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
fiance is talking to me about the game celeste rn and this is one of those messages where i'm like wow i have absolutely rotted his brain like he only talks like this bc of me
November 8, 2025 at 5:44 PM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
only posting this cuz i think i'm gonna wreck this draft and rewrite it for the millionth time but anyway gay little wwi bitches. what are we thinking
Freddie comes to him. Maggie is shaking his shoulders and he gasps and cries stupidly. This is the fourth time, she says. He wipes the tears with the back of his hands and he rolls over in bed and falls back asleep. He is beautiful in his dreams. His face is grey and cold but his skin is soft and dimples under Adrian’s fingertips. He would cradle Freddie like a baby. When he wakes up he wraps his arms around himself and tucks them under his chest and lets the weight of his body press down on them. Later he says a quick goodbye to Maggie and he starts walking. He knows where he’s going and pretends that he doesn’t. If he finds himself alone in the pub, he’ll order a pint and make his way out after he’s finished half. Tonight, the pub is flooded with jeers and laughter and a sea of boots. Adrian can’t remember why so many people would be here. His wristwatch from the Army is buried away somewhere and he hasn’t touched it since he came back. He has Maggie at home and everyone at the shop to let him know when he needs to be off doing something. He keeps his head down and looks at the veins in his hands and the freckle between his index and middle finger. The skies are overcast in his dreams but the grass is dry. He is not caked in mud and neither is Freddie. There are maroon blossoms on his jacket. It is only the two of them. It was like that a lot with him. They could burrow into a wall of dirt together and it was like it was only them. Freddie had a stack of cards and he would play with anyone. He was good at losing. Nothing ever really unnerved him except being sent out to repair barbed wire. The clink of glass in front of Adrian demands his attention. Now he is able to look around. When he reaches the dark corner on the opposite side of the counter, he sees a familiar profile. Relief propels him to get up and walk towards him. Leigh doesn’t look up until Adrian says, alright? and when their eyes meet, he responds, alright. Words continue to leave Adrian’s mouth without much consideration. Adrian studies Leigh’s face as they go back and forth. He tries to picture him like Freddie but Leigh would look like the rest of them. Pale and bloated and half buried in mud. When Leigh asks why he came here, Adrian notices that his knuckles are clenched in his lap and he feels vaguely sick. He supposes he wanted to get out. Leigh keeps looking at him and he’s not sure what to think. There’s something happening in his head that’s incomprehensible to Adrian. Leigh asks, ever go for a walk late at night? Fewer people around, fewer things to worry about. Fancy a walk now? Adrian follows out of the pub and into the street. # The sterile light of the moon sends a dark shadow across Leigh’s face and the hazy yellow glow of street lights illuminates his hands. They are calloused and flecked with bits of God knows what. His fingers are thick. They are not nimble like Adrian’s but they must be stronger. The street around them shifts. People mill about, carriages clatter past. Leigh is in Adrian's periphery. He does not speak. Others on the street come and go but he is there. He does not change. The silence is broken when Leigh digs through his pocket and offers his lighter. Adrian declines with a polite no thank you. Then Leigh lights a cigarette and takes a drag and extends that to him. When Adrian rejects this time, Leigh wags it between his fingers. It could do him good. Who knows how. The cigarette moves and their fingertips brush. It’s flat and bitter. The cigarette passes hands. He doesn’t smoke much, does he? Nobody’s ever asked that before. He never thought much of it but neither has anyone else. It’s flat and bitter. Leigh says it’s not about the taste. He cranes his neck back and his face is washed in moonlight, and he says, no, it’s not the taste, it’s how it makes you feel. The cigarette passes hands. He couldn’t have gotten through the war without it. It’s the feeling. It passes hands. It’s flat and bitter. # The towpaths of the canals are even darker. The cigarette runs its course and Leigh only stops to grind it into the pavement with his shoe. They move together as shadows in an empty landscape. He waits for a cigarette that is never lit. Here — Leigh points a finger — and behind him the nothingness becomes a small shed. It’s dingy and overgrown. For Leigh, it’s a memory. He’d sit inside — he points a finger through the open door — and Freddie mucked about out here, up and down the canal. The only proof the canals are there at all is the moon’s reflection on the surface. Freddie’s running up and down the edge. He is quiet and smiling. He runs back and forth until he collapses on the ground. The moonlight washes over him and makes him white-faced. His hands are clasped over his stomach. He’s still smiling. Freddie waited out here. Leigh brushes his shoulder and circles around to the back of the shed. Adrian follows. Why did he come here? Getting out’s not a reason. There is no reason. Their bodies press against the back of the shed. Freddie’s white-faced and smiling in the moonlight. Adrian closes his eyes. He’s at the canal. They’re at the canal. It’s just the two of them. Their hands are touching. He sinks against the wall. Leigh is on top of him. He is ale and diesel and tobacco. His nose is against his cheek. He is not drunk and neither is he. Leigh, he says, or he thinks he says. There isn’t anything else he could say. There’s nothing else. There is Leigh and Leigh is hot and he is strong and Adrian wraps his arms around himself and lets his weight push his body down but he does not fall asleep. He is not asleep. There is Leigh and he’s touching him and the cigarettes stain his lips and tongue. He’s ill he’s awake he’s touching him there’s nothing else to say. Leigh’s brown eyes are too much. He looks and he looks back and he keeps looking and everything is hot and sore and real it’s real this time he thinks it’s real his stubble scrapes that’s real he’s wrapp…
November 8, 2025 at 3:34 AM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
i 💘 male sluts
November 8, 2025 at 12:49 AM
androgynyfiend.bsky.social
sorry to hijack your post mallory but just reminds me once again of my essay from a few month ago
Regendering can be sneaky, I think. Even though all those magazines referred to Thomas Beattie as a man, it says something that he was the first trans person I ever learned about. He was notable because he was pregnant. Since then, when I see trans men in the news, the stories are commonly about their pregnancies, too. And to be absolutely clear, the conversation about trans men and pregnancy is incredibly important to have for the sake of their health and the health of their babies. But it says something that trans men are notable when they are pregnant. They are a spectacle to gasp at and condemn. And yet, the trans men who don’t have babies are spectacles in our own way. So much of the anti-trans hysteria at the moment has latched onto the supposed tragedy of supposed little girls supposedly sterilizing themselves for no reason. When we’re not talking about whether or not we’re pregnant, though, when do we actually appear? The question of “historical representation” as some would call it has always been difficult to answer. You can find a trans man here and there, but there is a gaping hole for the most part. And when trans men do appear in queer history posts, it’s the same trans men over and over. None of them are ever known for their trans activism; essentially all of them were stealth their entire lives and either forcibly outed while living or right after they died. In my years of reading about queer history, I have found some trans men who were well-known organizers and activists -- people like Lou Sullivan, Marcelle Cook-Daniels, and Rupert Raj. And yet I have never seen any of them mentioned in public celebrations of queer history. The work we do for ourselves and for each other out of a love for our own community goes unrecognized. This, unfortunately, isn’t new. In fact, in 1987, Rupert Raj discussed this in his essay Burn-Out: Unsung Heroes And Heroines In The Transgender World: " I have been serving the transgender community in a variety of capacities (administrator, educator, researcher, counselor, peer supporter, social convenor, public relations/liaison officer, networker, editor, writer, chairman of the Board - you name it, I’ve been it) for the past 15 ½ years without any form of monetary remuneration whatsoever. In fact, my preoccupation with the welfare of the transgender community is the reason why today I am without a paying career or steady source of income. Don’t get me wrong, this was my choice and mine alone (my mission or calling in life) to serve this neglected, misunderstood, and even today, stigmatized class of people - rare victims of what Kim Stuart has so aptly termed “the uninvited dilemma”. Afterall, I am a post-op F-M TS myself and I guess I want to “take care of my own”. Still the fact remains: resource people in this area - many of whom have spent years trying to fill the widening gap left by gender clinicians and other helping professions - not only deserve a measure of gratitude and recognition that the people they are helping could never begin to express, but they also desperately need a well-deserved rest (or, in some cases, retirement) from “the scene”. And contingently, they need successors - who will be as dedicated and as competent as they have been - to fill their shoes and take up the slack left by the medical community, the professions of psychology and sexology, individual counselors and therapists, social service agencies, the schools, the Church, the law, the State, the media. …I/we desperately need resources (money, people and time) in order that I [and other activists and organizations]... might survive. So, it’s now up to you, Brothers and Sisters, to work together - to take up the torch and keep the flame of faith burning bright…" It’s easy to performatively praise Marsha P. Johnson when she’s dead. But it’s suddenly a different story when there’s actually trans people doing the same tasks she and Raj and everyone else was doing in your area. To be a “voluntary gender worker,” as Raj calls it, is to be underappreciated and exploited until you can’t take it anymore, no matter how much you love your trans siblings. Raj is clear that both trans fems and trans mascs experience this phenomenon. But when it comes to trans mascs specifically, I wonder if this is also a part of regendering. That is, if women are meant to be seen and not heard, if women are meant to perform labor for everyone else without the expectation of gratitude or acknowledgement, then what does it mean when you’re a trans masc working your ass off to keep your community together and politically engaged and have nobody ever thank you for it? To have people even accuse you of having overtly nefarious intentions when you assume leadership, take a stand for what’s right, or express anger? To have people endlessly criticize what you do while never offering their help to do it better? To have people expect you to nurture the trans community while also dismissing you as ineffective, inept, or insincere? Why are the only notable trans men the ones who give birth or keep their transness a secret? *** In The Independent’s Pride List 2025, the only trans man, Jake Graf, makes an appearance at #44 out of 50 entries. He doesn’t even get a spot to himself; instead, he shares the entry with his wife, a trans woman named Hannah. The two are known for a BBC documentary chronicling their journey to parenthood using a surrogate mother. Despite the fact that he’s a filmmaker, there’s no mention of any of the films he’s made about being trans.
November 7, 2025 at 4:49 PM