Lazy Printer
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2022
Even if ukraine had troons, why they would be incent from the fighting? why would be ok to conscript the cis males but not the tims? why?!
Megathread Tranny Sideshows on Social Media - Any small-time spectacle on Reddit, Tumblr, Twitter, Dating Sites, and other social media.
- Thread starter Real Mayun
- Start date
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🔧 At about Midnight EST I am going to completely fuck up the site trying to fix something.
- Joined
- Nov 6, 2021
Might as well also send hearts out to the human IDed therian wolfpersons forced to fight in the army
Reddit continues to prove itself as a cesspool of mongsIn other news, there's a new study today that implies that trans CHILDREN show less signs of anxiety/depression at the end of a 12 month period.
The troons are eating it up! It's a sample of a 100 and some, surveying ages 13+.
The issue with this? It is incredibly short term and doesn't factor in the many possible different reasons for this up-then-back-down trend for depression and anxiety in these children.
Of course, you should expect this to be a major talking point for TRAs.
a wEaLtH oF eVidEnCe
Very annoying days with loony troons screaming that chopping the chest off of young teens is a life-saving procedure are ahead.
We advocate for the long-term, though. There will be severe mental health repercussions down the road.
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Which is in fact the less pleasurable thing you can do to a woman. Woman, just like un mutilated man get their pleasure by constant touching sensations, this is done by pressing on each other while moving on a constant speed, it isn't like porn where they are jack hammering, which is done to show the action on camera (making it an useless tool to learn how to have sex) and to aid the generally limp retard who is making the scene.
That explains why woman don't like porn, they relate to the female rather than the male, even more when they see an act that doesn't look pleasurable, it isn't proactive (both partners are working together) and it's generally extremely uncomfortable because of the themes, that's the reason they flock to gay shit/general weebshit (in which they can project a relationship, even if it's an immature media made by women who can't see fullfiling relationships) or written stuff (a media where both partners can smooch, the visual part isn't the problem but the theme).
Even then, males aren't really receptive to this kind of porn too, they normally feel wrong or unfulfilled, which is more related to a lack of emotional connection, which makes most men feel like shit, making an addiction mechanism based around finding the thing which can give the social connection, which they won't find unless they pick a lot of niches, increasing the addictive capabilities. Even more when the most popular shit on these things are normally (in things like weebshit) things like childhood friends or things like that, obviously there's other cutural variations in japs, but those are more related to a less empathic society than human nature.
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- Joined
- Nov 1, 2021
I’m sure all the Ukraine troons already joined the 41% once they seen the Russians coming
- Joined
- Dec 29, 2021
It's just as ridiculous but way more boring, with a touch of way too online. The sex in particular reads exactly like tumblr fanfic.
It was Ramona’s day off, and Feather’s bedroom smelled like sex and weed and Hunan Palace. The thick, sweet scent of plum sauce and the oily tang of scallion pancakes clung to their fingers and tongues. Ramona jammed half a soy sauce–soaked pancake into her mouth and chewed. “You can’t get this in Baltimore,” she mumbled through it, spraying golden crumbs, and laughed at herself. Weed made her stupid. It slowed everything down until her thoughts felt caught in crystallizing syrup.
Feather, their big brown eyes glassy and half-lidded, made a sleepy sound of assent. Ramona wondered idly where they kept their estrogen, if they had it squirreled away in a cool, dark cistern under the apartment building, or if they bought it from one of the city’s freelance testicle collectors. They weren’t really a tranny, not in the dangerous way; they’d had their balls cut off sometime before T-Day, so there was no chance they’d catch it even if they stopped taking their E. She couldn’t imagine them like that anyway, not soft, daydreaming Feather with their doughy arms, round face, and untoned thighs. They could never have turned into one of those monsters.
She swallowed, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and rolled over, throwing herself across Feather’s legs and wriggling around until she could straddle them. They squealed and kicked when she clenched her muscled thighs against their little belly and round hips. She bent to lick the bluish stretch marks on their upper arms, her blond hair brushing their teacup tits. The spicy musk of their armpit flooded her nostrils as they squirmed underneath her. She pushed her face down into it, lunging across their body to nip at the tender skin and sweat-damp hair.
“You taste so fucking good,” she breathed.
Feather giggled. The soft, smooth press of their flesh formed a seal around Ramona’s mouth and nose as they squeezed their arms against their sides. She bit down, savoring their squeal of surprise and pain. She pressed the flat of her tongue to their sweaty skin, gripping their wrists as she did. They fought her. She pinned their arms against the rumpled sheets and licked the shivering, tender skin of their armpit.
Feather shifted under her. Their little cock pressed hard against her ass cheek. She rose up, hair falling across her face, and grinned at them as they whined, straining against her. “Please?” they whimpered. “Please, daddy.”
She ground against them, getting wet, growling low in her throat. “Please what, princess?”
“Kiss me.”
Ramona dipped low enough to graze their softly pointed chin with her lips, then pulled away with a mocking laugh when they lunged at her, mouth open. She curled her lower lip, letting saliva gather between it and her gums, letting the resultant loogie dribble from her mouth to dangle glistening over Feather’s face. She pushed her tongue against her lip and let the rope of cloudy sputum fall. It struck just above their parted lips and dripped into the dark, wet cavern of their mouth. Feather shivered with delight, their hands curling into trembling fists where they lay pinned to the threadbare sheets.
She dug her nails into their wrists, grinding harder, smearing wetness on their cock, their belly, the sweaty stretch of skin between them with its thicket of pale reddish curls. Her high was coming on in earnest now, washing her brain in a cool fizz of dissociative release. Her limbs felt loose and clean and weightless.
I’m dirty.
“You’re a dirty girl,” she murmured into Feather’s ear, and she ran her tongue along the ridges of pliant cartilage—pinnea, concha, helix, antihelix, she heard in her bio teacher Mr. da Costa’s voice, which made her snicker—probing at the mouth of the canal. She bit their earlobe, hard, and relished the sudden tensing of their body under hers. She growled again, low and slow and lazy this time. They let out a piteous whine that was equal parts frightened and horny, a pre-tantrum snivel that sent a filthy thrill of arousal up through Ramona’s stomach.
“Kiss me, kiss me, daddy.”
Their voice broke and she let go of their ear and kissed them, a fluttering warning shock of her orgasm growing at the crux of her pelvis, just above her cunt. They tasted like greasy takeout and baby powder, like lilacs and sweat and weed and pussy. She forced her tongue into their mouth, choking them for a moment before pulling back and biting down on their plump lower lip. They squealed.
I’m disgusting.
“Fucking whore,” she whispered, letting their lip slip through her teeth, and spat full in their face. She let go of their right wrist and reached down between them to slip a finger between her slick lips. It was coming now. Like clawing at an itch she hadn’t been able to reach in days. Feather looked up at her with those big, soft eyes, like a newborn fawn. Spit glistened on their cheek and the labial fold of their nose. They were smiling at her. She wanted to slap them, to scratch their shoulders and their soft little breasts, but she was so close and her whole body was aching for it. She stroked and thrust without restraint at her swollen cunt, her breath coming in choppy little gasps.
A blatt of static cut through her oncoming release. Her walkie, crackling somewhere in the heap of discarded clothes at the foot of Feather’s bed. She thumbed her clit frantically, biting her lip, but she knew it was gone. Hot frustration bled down through the still-tense muscles of her thighs. She blew her hair out of her face, every sensation—from the slight chafing on her inner thighs to the tickle of her own hair against the back of her neck—suddenly irritating.
The walkie crackled again. An older woman’s pack-a-day voice fuzzed through the speaker.
“Central for Lieutenant Pierce, Central for Lieutenant Pierce. Report to City Hall ASAP. Acknowledge. Over.”
She scrambled off Feather, kicking them in the hip in her rush to the edge of the bed. “Sorry!” she hissed, though really she was angry with them. She didn’t know why. She dropped to her stomach and fished through her pants until she found the ruggedized black plastic brick and clicked the PTT. “This is Pierce. On my way. Over.”
“Don’t keep her waiting. Over and out.”
Ramona scooted off the edge of the bed, getting her feet under her, stepping into her fatigues, and yanking them up without bothering to look for her underwear. She was dripping a little, but the dark fabric would hide the worst of it. Sports bra, undershirt, putting her head through an armhole and almost ripping the worn cotton trying to get it right. Her high felt suddenly like suffocating. Her fingers fumbled with buttons and zippers. She nearly forgot to buckle her gun belt.
Feather sighed, rolling over and reaching for the piece and lighter on the stacked milk crates beside the bed. Ramona felt a surge of horny frustration at the sight of their wide, round ass. She wrestled for a moment with the temptation to retrieve the paddle from the closet by the painted-over inner door. It made the most delicious sound against their creamy skin.
Don’t be a fucking idiot.
“Sorry,” she said lamely, feeling suddenly awkward in the doorway of the messy bedroom. “Sorry I kicked you.”
“No big,” said Feather, shrugging. They held the lighter to the piece’s bowl, the weed inside kindling into reddish embers. They sucked smoke, then let it stream out from their nostrils before pursing their lips to blow a ring. She wanted to hook her fingers in their mouth and yank their head up until they were staring helpless up at her, drooling on her hand. But it was over. They’d moved on from the scene, their shoulders relaxing, their manner shifting from bratty panic to an almost lizard-like calm.
Ramona picked at her right cuff, teasing a loose thread and telling herself that she didn’t want to cry, that this wasn’t a big deal. Just a fat hooker doing their job. “Settle up tomorrow?”
They smiled. The sunlight coming through the window and the leaves of the pear tree outside fell in dappled tatters across the goldfish sleeve tattooed on their left shoulder. “Sure, honey.”
She left by the back stairs, cutting through the apartment’s cramped little kitchen and taking the narrow, whitewashed steps two at a time. In the building’s deserted first-floor hall she paused before a water-spotted mirror to center her septum piercing and straighten the collar of her jacket where, embroidered in golden thread, the words MARYLAND WOMYN’S LEGION XX-XIII-V stood out bold against the green.
Feather, their big brown eyes glassy and half-lidded, made a sleepy sound of assent. Ramona wondered idly where they kept their estrogen, if they had it squirreled away in a cool, dark cistern under the apartment building, or if they bought it from one of the city’s freelance testicle collectors. They weren’t really a tranny, not in the dangerous way; they’d had their balls cut off sometime before T-Day, so there was no chance they’d catch it even if they stopped taking their E. She couldn’t imagine them like that anyway, not soft, daydreaming Feather with their doughy arms, round face, and untoned thighs. They could never have turned into one of those monsters.
She swallowed, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and rolled over, throwing herself across Feather’s legs and wriggling around until she could straddle them. They squealed and kicked when she clenched her muscled thighs against their little belly and round hips. She bent to lick the bluish stretch marks on their upper arms, her blond hair brushing their teacup tits. The spicy musk of their armpit flooded her nostrils as they squirmed underneath her. She pushed her face down into it, lunging across their body to nip at the tender skin and sweat-damp hair.
“You taste so fucking good,” she breathed.
Feather giggled. The soft, smooth press of their flesh formed a seal around Ramona’s mouth and nose as they squeezed their arms against their sides. She bit down, savoring their squeal of surprise and pain. She pressed the flat of her tongue to their sweaty skin, gripping their wrists as she did. They fought her. She pinned their arms against the rumpled sheets and licked the shivering, tender skin of their armpit.
Feather shifted under her. Their little cock pressed hard against her ass cheek. She rose up, hair falling across her face, and grinned at them as they whined, straining against her. “Please?” they whimpered. “Please, daddy.”
She ground against them, getting wet, growling low in her throat. “Please what, princess?”
“Kiss me.”
Ramona dipped low enough to graze their softly pointed chin with her lips, then pulled away with a mocking laugh when they lunged at her, mouth open. She curled her lower lip, letting saliva gather between it and her gums, letting the resultant loogie dribble from her mouth to dangle glistening over Feather’s face. She pushed her tongue against her lip and let the rope of cloudy sputum fall. It struck just above their parted lips and dripped into the dark, wet cavern of their mouth. Feather shivered with delight, their hands curling into trembling fists where they lay pinned to the threadbare sheets.
She dug her nails into their wrists, grinding harder, smearing wetness on their cock, their belly, the sweaty stretch of skin between them with its thicket of pale reddish curls. Her high was coming on in earnest now, washing her brain in a cool fizz of dissociative release. Her limbs felt loose and clean and weightless.
I’m dirty.
“You’re a dirty girl,” she murmured into Feather’s ear, and she ran her tongue along the ridges of pliant cartilage—pinnea, concha, helix, antihelix, she heard in her bio teacher Mr. da Costa’s voice, which made her snicker—probing at the mouth of the canal. She bit their earlobe, hard, and relished the sudden tensing of their body under hers. She growled again, low and slow and lazy this time. They let out a piteous whine that was equal parts frightened and horny, a pre-tantrum snivel that sent a filthy thrill of arousal up through Ramona’s stomach.
“Kiss me, kiss me, daddy.”
Their voice broke and she let go of their ear and kissed them, a fluttering warning shock of her orgasm growing at the crux of her pelvis, just above her cunt. They tasted like greasy takeout and baby powder, like lilacs and sweat and weed and pussy. She forced her tongue into their mouth, choking them for a moment before pulling back and biting down on their plump lower lip. They squealed.
I’m disgusting.
“Fucking whore,” she whispered, letting their lip slip through her teeth, and spat full in their face. She let go of their right wrist and reached down between them to slip a finger between her slick lips. It was coming now. Like clawing at an itch she hadn’t been able to reach in days. Feather looked up at her with those big, soft eyes, like a newborn fawn. Spit glistened on their cheek and the labial fold of their nose. They were smiling at her. She wanted to slap them, to scratch their shoulders and their soft little breasts, but she was so close and her whole body was aching for it. She stroked and thrust without restraint at her swollen cunt, her breath coming in choppy little gasps.
A blatt of static cut through her oncoming release. Her walkie, crackling somewhere in the heap of discarded clothes at the foot of Feather’s bed. She thumbed her clit frantically, biting her lip, but she knew it was gone. Hot frustration bled down through the still-tense muscles of her thighs. She blew her hair out of her face, every sensation—from the slight chafing on her inner thighs to the tickle of her own hair against the back of her neck—suddenly irritating.
The walkie crackled again. An older woman’s pack-a-day voice fuzzed through the speaker.
“Central for Lieutenant Pierce, Central for Lieutenant Pierce. Report to City Hall ASAP. Acknowledge. Over.”
She scrambled off Feather, kicking them in the hip in her rush to the edge of the bed. “Sorry!” she hissed, though really she was angry with them. She didn’t know why. She dropped to her stomach and fished through her pants until she found the ruggedized black plastic brick and clicked the PTT. “This is Pierce. On my way. Over.”
“Don’t keep her waiting. Over and out.”
Ramona scooted off the edge of the bed, getting her feet under her, stepping into her fatigues, and yanking them up without bothering to look for her underwear. She was dripping a little, but the dark fabric would hide the worst of it. Sports bra, undershirt, putting her head through an armhole and almost ripping the worn cotton trying to get it right. Her high felt suddenly like suffocating. Her fingers fumbled with buttons and zippers. She nearly forgot to buckle her gun belt.
Feather sighed, rolling over and reaching for the piece and lighter on the stacked milk crates beside the bed. Ramona felt a surge of horny frustration at the sight of their wide, round ass. She wrestled for a moment with the temptation to retrieve the paddle from the closet by the painted-over inner door. It made the most delicious sound against their creamy skin.
Don’t be a fucking idiot.
“Sorry,” she said lamely, feeling suddenly awkward in the doorway of the messy bedroom. “Sorry I kicked you.”
“No big,” said Feather, shrugging. They held the lighter to the piece’s bowl, the weed inside kindling into reddish embers. They sucked smoke, then let it stream out from their nostrils before pursing their lips to blow a ring. She wanted to hook her fingers in their mouth and yank their head up until they were staring helpless up at her, drooling on her hand. But it was over. They’d moved on from the scene, their shoulders relaxing, their manner shifting from bratty panic to an almost lizard-like calm.
Ramona picked at her right cuff, teasing a loose thread and telling herself that she didn’t want to cry, that this wasn’t a big deal. Just a fat hooker doing their job. “Settle up tomorrow?”
They smiled. The sunlight coming through the window and the leaves of the pear tree outside fell in dappled tatters across the goldfish sleeve tattooed on their left shoulder. “Sure, honey.”
She left by the back stairs, cutting through the apartment’s cramped little kitchen and taking the narrow, whitewashed steps two at a time. In the building’s deserted first-floor hall she paused before a water-spotted mirror to center her septum piercing and straighten the collar of her jacket where, embroidered in golden thread, the words MARYLAND WOMYN’S LEGION XX-XIII-V stood out bold against the green.
It's hard to describe, it's like a person whose idea of intimacy is women squealing like guinea pigs when touched wrote this.
The tattooed woman said something that made her retinue laugh. Fran watched her lips move, watched the play of muscles under her smooth face as she smiled. A cold thrill went up her spine. God, you don’t need to have a wet dream about a fucking gender-essentialist neofascist. She squeezed her eyes shut, nipping in the bud her imagination’s little spurt of latex tight against pale skin and thighs divided into lickable quarters by garters edged in delicate black lace, of a hand on the back of her neck squeezing tighter and tighter until—
She bit her lip, cutting through the haze, and the world swam back into normalcy. Well, except that Beth was standing up, and she had her bow in one hand and an arrow in the other. The broad-shouldered girl was squinting. It was past noon and the sunlight seemed to be aimed right at them. The shadows were getting long again.
“What are you doing?” Fran hissed, spittle flying through her teeth. Her cock was hard, tenting the front of her stupid cargo shorts, and she was seized suddenly by the ridiculous fear that the pale woman could see it. “Beth, what the fuck are you doing?”
She bit her lip, cutting through the haze, and the world swam back into normalcy. Well, except that Beth was standing up, and she had her bow in one hand and an arrow in the other. The broad-shouldered girl was squinting. It was past noon and the sunlight seemed to be aimed right at them. The shadows were getting long again.
“What are you doing?” Fran hissed, spittle flying through her teeth. Her cock was hard, tenting the front of her stupid cargo shorts, and she was seized suddenly by the ridiculous fear that the pale woman could see it. “Beth, what the fuck are you doing?”
the tattoo in question is an XX by the way. Like chromosomes. I'd take Dick Parkinson's over this.
T0oCoolFool
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jun 2, 2019
Won't let me quote. Not only is that story horribly written, but it took me way too long to realize that I was reading about one person (Feather) instead of multiple people. This is exactly why "they/them" pronouns are dogshit, it makes everything needlessly confusing and the story doesn't flow at all.
Lazy Printer
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2022
How long is that book anyway? and how graphic it is? i think that i will give a look
- Joined
- Jul 27, 2021
Fartificial Insmelligence
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Sep 9, 2020
Peak "getting upset over made-up problems"
- Joined
- Dec 29, 2021
It is extremely distracting yeah. If there was any subtext it would've flown right past me because of this jarring wording.
It's not the longest book but it really feels like reading a 300 page long tweet. There's a fair amount of sex in it, I assume trying to cover all the bases as there's MTF and FTM, MTF and MTF, some combination thereof and cis people, an NB person, etc. If you're used to weird fanfic this won't be too far out there for you though.
- Joined
- Jul 27, 2021
- Joined
- Jun 30, 2021
Might want to stay away from Billie Labelle's thread for a day or so. Just saying.
behindyourightnow
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- May 17, 2021
They are taking advantage of the definition of “genocide” that refers to the deliberate practice of removing entire generations of children from their culture by force so that the culture will die out. Practices like forcing indigenous children into residential schools in Canada (where they were forbidden to speak their native languages, forced to practice Christianity, etc). Never mind that that is not what the average person thinks of when they hear “genocide.” Or that (more importantly) they are comparing the threat of removing children from parents who are actively pursuing cutting off healthy organs to fucking residential schools.
(Note: not that I’m at all in favor of "removal from the home" as a first line of action. The focus should be on pursuing the ghouls making money off this and outlawing the propaganda.)
It’s no longer that high; it’s below 60% now and varies a lot by region (rates are very low on the west coast I believe). Still stupidly high though.
Circumcision is a good example of how the US healthcare system is terrible at weeding out unnecessary treatments, though, which is relevant to the subject of this thread. Like, in the UK where your healthcare is paid for by the government, that same government had an incentive to say “wait, is circumcision actually doing anything positive? Why are we paying for this?” and then stopped funding it (unless it's done for medical reasons like phimosis). But the US just sucks at doing shit like that. Technically insurance companies should rein in bogus treatments that don't do much except make people money, but they don’t. I guess for whatever reason they don’t have the same power behind them as a country's government saying “hold on a second, why exactly are we giving doctors money for this?”
And it's the same with the troon stuff. Which is why the countries we are seeing start to pull back on fast-tracked unproven treatments are the ones with government-funded healthcare, like the UK and Nordic countries. My prediction is we will continue to see the more sensible European countries gradually shut this shit down, while it will continue to rampage through the American system for a few decades, and any pushback that does happen will come from outside of healthcare.
- Joined
- Jul 27, 2021
Pinga
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jun 1, 2021
Yes, pornify yourself some more.
You know why normal tits don't poke forward? So a baby can suckle comfortably on them. Poor thing wouldn't be able to lying in the crook of your elbow without being poked in the eye if breasts were like that.
Totally not a fetish guys. All fucking normal.
Yeah, rate me MATI. I don't give a fuck.
These people (yes the Tifs too) truly disgust me.
- Joined
- Jan 5, 2021
crab hole
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Feb 24, 2019
Russian covert ops really Puttin' on the Titz over here.
- Joined
- Dec 6, 2020
That's more of an Anglo thing. In Catholic countries it's common for kids to get confirmed when they start puberty and troonery is less of a problem there than it is in the UK or America.
Is this a Russian cyberattack?
- Joined
- Aug 16, 2019
So what the public education system is doing to the children of anyone who isn’t an absolute commie wokeling child-transing pervert, then. Trying to ensure our kids hate their families, cultures, and communities, and so will do anything to not be associated with those things, with the goal of all culture except the insane left dying out.
Pinga
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jun 1, 2021
I've noticed a lot of actual women are taking up arms too. So I don't really see the problem. I would fight for my country too. Fucking cowards.
Haven't the Ukrainians been trough enough already?