My hot take for today is this:

Trans people don't have to love all of the affects that transition (especially medical transition). Cis men and women talk extensively about aspects of their bodies/presentation/selves they aren't too jazzed about - they are important discussions. However, there is a double standard where cis people are (generally) allowed to have these discussions, but if trans people have them, we are berated for them on the basis of our transness. Any displeasure we display must, to other people, be proof we aren't ~truly~ trans, or that if we transitioned, our discomfort is righteous justice for the crime of transition.

Trans people aren't obligated to preform happiness and pleasure to prove ourselves worthy. Transition is just as nebulous as cis peoples' puberties. This means that we don't always like the changes we experience. We should discuss this without fear. We should talk about how we feel, and discuss, even, ways of coping with our changing bodies in a neutral way. This isn't proof you aren't your gender, sex, or even if you're trans. You don't have to preform anything you don't want to. You deserve to be heard.

Good evening everyone,

I am here today to talk about a topic that is deeply important to me: the discrimination and mistreatment of transgender individuals, especially trans women, by some members of the Republican party.

It is disheartening to see some Republicans resorting to harmful and derogatory language to describe trans women, referring to them as "men dressed as women." This language is not only hurtful, but it also perpetuates harmful stereotypes and misconceptions about trans individuals.

What is even more ironic is that these same individuals who attack trans women rarely talk about trans men. This shows a clear bias and a lack of understanding of the challenges that trans individuals face.

It is time that we recognize that trans women are women, and they deserve the same rights and respect as any other woman. They are not a threat to anyone in the bathroom, and they are simply trying to live their lives authentically and safely.

The argument that trans women pose a threat to cisgender women in bathrooms is baseless and harmful. We must work to create a society where everyone, regardless of their gender identity, can live their lives without fear of persecution or oppression.

Transphobia is a form of hate that has no place in our society. We must stand up against discrimination and work towards a world where all individuals are treated with dignity and respect.

In conclusion, trans women are not men dressed as women; they are women, plain and simple. We must work to create a world where all individuals, regardless of their gender identity, can live their lives without fear of discrimination. Thank you.

Die For You  A 3K word Commission  Genre: Angst  Trigger warnings: internalized homophobia, transphobia, rejection, abuse, death Summary: Jeremiah has to listen to Felicity complain about her crush on their childhood friend Daniel while secretly harboring feelings for her. One day, he comes across a shocking reveal that just might permanently disintegrate their friendship… Or worse.

Chapter Five

It's been three years since Daniel died. Jeremiah's grades plummeted even more in the following weeks of his best friend's death, soon followed by his complete withdrawal from the institute. Since then, he's lived with his little brother Mason in a small studio apartment a few cities away from Francesco and Taylor. Jeremiah was lucky that Mason loved him enough to forgive him. Jeremiah knows he didn't deserve the decency, but he's beyond grateful for it. As for Felicity, she blocked him almost immediately after their final meeting in the cafeteria. They had laid flowers out around their area and shared a slice of Daniel's favorite pizza. There was a silent agreement between them that this was the last time they'd see each other, and it was only to share one final moment in Daniel's memory. 

Daniel succumbed to his wounds less than 24 hours after his father had beaten him. According to Daniel's mother, Daniel had returned home in a drunken fit, pointing out all the things he hated about his father. The older let him off with a stern warning before Daniel continued yelling and pushing at him. When the fight turned physical, Daniel's mother tried to help but was unsuccessful as it only worsened her husband's rage. It was in a moment of fear when all the love she'd selfishly kept from him throughout his life came spilling out. Daniel looked terrible in the aftermath. It's an image Jeremiah will never forget how swollen and cold he looked in his final moments. 

Jeremiah sends a message to Daniel every few months. He knows Daniel can't read or reply to it, but it's comforting. Jeremiah usually spends a few minutes typing about how he works full-time at a printing shop, what he ate today and how it reminds him of Daniel, or he coos about what new books he's read. Today, he talks about all the new little designs he's added to his memorial tattoo for Daniel, and how tonight he's going to visit the creek they would visit with Felicity in high school. Jeremiah talks about how seeing it eases his mind. He talks about how he throws little paper boats into the water to see how far they can travel before ending at a standstill. 

Hitting send on his last message, Jeremiah rubs his forehead and sighs. He takes a deep breath before searching for Felicity's social account. This time, a result shows up, bringing tears to Jeremiah's eyes. A picture of Jeremiah, Felicity, and Daniel huddled together holding ice cream cones that all seemed to swirl together at the top sits at the top left of his screen. With a blurry vision, he clicks on Felicity's profile. 

Jeremiah takes a moment to wipe his face before reading her pinned post.

My sweetest boy. We made it through so much together huh? Nothin will ever feel right without you. You're the bestest friend I coulda ever asked for. I said I'd die for you, dummy. It wasn't supposed to be you. Whatever tho right? Save a spot at the Dolphin show for me k? 

Underneath the text is a picture of Daniel smiling while holding a sketch of Jeremiah and Felicity hugging. Written in gold cursive at the bottom of the picture reads "loves of my life". Jeremiah's chest tightens as his tears develop into full sobs. He clenches his fingers around a small, collectible figure Daniel had given him the night of their high school graduation. 

Before I Leave You (Sneak Peak)

 (Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader) 

Summary: Someone always has to leave first; They just didn’t expect Yoongi to come back with a new omega (who's clearly been through some shit). 

Pairing: Beta! Yoongi, Omega! Reader, Omega! Jungkook, Omega! Seokjin, Alpha! Namjoon, Alpha! Hoseok, Alpha! Taehyung, Alpha! Jimin,

Tags: Polyamory, groupsex, sexual and non-sexual Dom/sub undertones, heat sex, praise kink, brief humiliation, Spanking, knotting, breeding kink, emotional abuse, physical abuse, forced mating marks, graphic murder scenes, negative self-talk, self-esteem issues, non-verbal characters, abandonment, PTSD, hurt/comfort, gluttonous fluff, agoraphobia, implied/referenced self-harm, suicidal thoughts and brief desperate suicide attempt, unreliable narrators. Gender dysphoria, transgender characters, internalized homophobia, internalized transphobia, internalized misogyny, unintended outings, epilepsy, 

W/c: 100k+ (87k completed so far)

A/n: long time no see~ this is what I’ve been working on for the last few months! I hope everyone will like it. Updates will be once a week on fridays or saturdays at 5pm EST. This will also be cross posted on Archive of our own. 

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“You shouldn’t be out here- you’ll get cold.” 

Your hands play on the bannister. In the fountain, something trickles though it’s not full. It’s too early in spring and the flowers in the garden are reluctant to burst through the ground for fear of frost. Yoongi wonders how you’re not shivering. “It’s not the 1800’s Yoongi- people don’t die just from being cold”  your revealing dress is probably something that your husband chose for you. it makes Yoongi’s blood boil. 

You look a little bit better tonight, though Yoongi can't tell if the color in your face is actually real or from the thick layer of makeup that hides the bruises. The haze in your eyes, like you’re dissociating from everything, isn’t there anymore. Tonight, You’ve got a clarity that Yoongi savors. The scar is healing well, pink and hardly notable under the line of your jaw. Yoongi wouldn’t know it was there if he wasn’t looking for it.  

Yoongi searches your face. “You misunderstand me, I said that I don’t want you to be cold, but maybe if you caught a cold- I could help you get better.”

He knows his words don’t make sense- but still you recognize what he wants to say but can’t. I could love you, I could make it better, I could care for you and only treat you with the gentleness you deserve. But Yoongi doesn’t say any of that- no- he only leans forward and offers his hands. “One dance? Before I take you home?”

Yoongi will drive you away from here- will take you and go to some gritty fast food place and get you full of however many calories your husband has made you skip. And he’ll spend the whole drive thinking about leaning across the console to kiss you. He could do it- quick. You’re not wearing lipstick and no one would know. Maybe he can’t help you yet- so starved of love that you look like a ghost. But tonight, he can surely make sure your stomach and your heart is full with the careful care that Yoongi knows he’s good at giving.

You keep Yoongi at an arm's length as he leads you in the waltz, day dreaming of a hypothetical illness, some sickness that can be fixed by a few days rest and some warm soup that Yoongi could provide. The two of you pulled together in a bed however big or small- you wouldn’t mind as long as you got to be this close. His hand on your forehead crooning, “you’ve got a fever lovely.” 

It’s a beautiful day dream, but not better than reality as he pulls you in tighter against him in your skimpy gown. It’s only to keep you warm- he justifies. And you melt into his hold. His hands are wide, warm, and better than any jacket as they cup your sides and the small of your back. You stumble on the uneven cobblestones of the garden and Yoongi heaves you up so that you’re balanced on his toes.

He spins you, going faster in the practices steps, making you giggle- a sound that he’s never heard from you and wants to hear again and again. You slow to a more gentle pace, Swaying softly from side to side. You rest your whole body against him and Yoongi holds you up.

For the first time he can smell your real scent, you smell sweet and bready, like a freshly baked cake, something warm inside on a day that the rain pours outside. You smell like cozy lazy Sundays and cupcakes. Yoongi wants to bury his face in your neck but won’t without asking.

He wonders if you like his scent just as much as he likes yours.  

Before he can ask, you pipe up. “You just had to take all the good didn’t you?” its not said bitterly, but musing. Out of two brothers, why would one have so much more softness than the other? One gentle and kind while the other is bloodthirsty and violently selfish. Why did you have to choose wrong?

“What would it be like Yoongi? If you took me away from here what would it be like?” you’re crying, barely daring to utter the words. The two of you both know from experience that tempting fate never ends well but you’ve never wanted anything so badly. 

Yoongi struggles to hold onto your happy scent. You know how much wanting something you can’t have can hurt you. Reaching out like you’re prepared to grasp the future he’ll paint for you, holding onto the lapels of his coat as you cry. Yoongi just runs his hands up and down your back to comfort you through the longing. 

Like this garden aches for rain, Yoongi aches to give, anything and everything, his heart on a platter if that’s what you wanted.

“We’d get takeout every few nights and play rock paper scissors to decide who gets to be the little spoon, we’d have a rule of no yelling in the house, I’d take you out to the ocean and make you s’mores whenever you wanted. You could steal my clothes and I’d never ever say a word about It.” 

You laugh at that- somehow, Yoongi just knows that’s something you’d do. He’s known enough omegas, he knows that courting one means you voluntarily give up half of your sweatshirt collection. He keeps speaking softer, like to whisper his wishes out loud is like trying to hold onto a shooting star.  

“And-” Yoongi takes a deep breath, tilting his face forward so that your foreheads are aligned. So close. This is the closest Yoongi has ever let himself get to you. “-I’d love you until we’d both had our last breath. I’d leave you sticky notes on the refrigerator telling you that I love you every time I had to leave. I’d never- ever let you be cold. And I’d show you my pack”

Yoongi can feel you swallow thickly at his promises- and he hopes- hopes more than anything else that they’re not empty ones. You always forget that he has someone else- that there are several someone-else’s who have Yoongi’s attention the way you do. He is the moon and you’re just something he orbits around. There are other celestial objects caught in his orbit. “What are they like? What’s it like to have a pack?” 

Yoongi tries not to let himself get misty eyed, “it’s everything, it’s love and having everyone there all around you but it’s also so much fun, you’re never alone- you always have someone to be around and it’s not even- it doesn’t even feel tiring. Even when you want to sleep you’d rather stay up with them.” Yoongi slides his finger underneath one of the straps of your dress, playing with it. “Telling you what they’re like- well- that would take me hours” 

Your laugh is pretty, and it slips through yoongi’s fingers like smoke “That sounds beautiful.” Yoongi holds you like you might be a piece of that- a piece of his pack that he hadn’t known he’d been missing. That's probably why your next words hit him so hard. 

“I wish I could have seen it. Get back to them safe alright? Do me a favor and love them like you would have loved me.”

*Part 1 Coming Friday April 9th @ 5pm EST* 

helloooooo!! can i request some headcanons for the demon brothers with a MC that is Non Binary but is afab and insecure about being afab and doesnt feel like they are Non Binary. platonic or romantic either one is fine. thank you. also Jaehee is a Queen period.

I haven’t had Mystic Messenger installed on my phone for like a year and this blog is mostly, if not exclusively Obey Me rn, but I refuse to change my url because it remains true. Jaehee is the best and deserves the world <3

Also don’t mind me casually throwing in some Devildom/Celestial Realm gender headcanons as an intro~

Warnings: Mentions of gender dysphoria, internalized transphobia, insecurity gang rise up. I’ll try and keep it more general since this is meant to be a comfort/fluff piece.

The Brothers With an Insecure (AFAB) Nonbinary MC

As a whole, the Devildom doesn’t really do traditional gender. The variety in demons’ and fallen angels’ appearances makes for such a diversity of body types that markers of femininity and masculinity are easier to disregard. It’s commonplace to provide one’s pronouns along with their name when meeting someone new, and any changes in a demon’s presentation are noted with little more fanfare than a new haircut.

Even angels don’t really get preoccupied with gender: in fact, as MC discovered one day while talking with Luke and Simeon, most barely grasp the concept of what a gender is. Simeon had mentioned that this occasionally resulted in him forgetting the genders of his characters, resulting in TSL being extremely popular among transgender and nonbinary fandom communities.

But MC is not from the Devildom, nor are they from the Celestial Realm. They’re from the human world, with its reductive views on bodies, presentation, and identity. A year in the Devildom can’t erase a lifetime of cissexism.

Some days, it wears on them more than others.

Lucifer

Lucifer is always aware when MC’s self image starts wavering

As someone who has fought tooth and nail to remain true to himself, he understands the struggle of facing resistance to this

But the idea of it coming from within is somewhat foreign to him

Nonetheless, he’ll do anything within his power to make MC feel better

Will calmly, but firmly assert that MC is the only one who can determine their identity

It’s not about how they were born or raised, but who they know themself to be deep down

If it’s their gender dysphoria making them feel invalid, he’ll try and minimize it however he can

Need a different RAD uniform? No problem. Worried about being perceived a certain way? Anyone who stares at MC for too long or even dares to make a comment about their presentation is getting the Lucifer Death Glare.

Physical/body dysphoria? The Devildom has tons of temporary and permanent solutions for that, they can try whatever they’d like

It is vital for the success of the exchange program that all the students feel comfortable and well-accommodated

Also MC is very dear to him and he hates to see them suffering

Mammon

As soon as he notices MC is upset, he is READY TO FITE

Who’s been messing with them?!

What? They don’t feel like they’re really nonbinary? Are they questioning again, or—

Oh. Oh…

Well that’s stupid! What do you mean you don’t “look nonbinary”?! What’s there to look like? Humans are so weird about this stuff, look: you want to know what someone’s deal is, you ask! And their answer? That’s it! End of story, there ya go!

It’s not so simple in the human world, MC tries to explain

Mammon huffs and mumbles something about how it should be, but he can see this avenue isn’t making MC feel better

It seems whatever junk ideas the human world has about gender really gets into people’s heads…

Well, whenever Mammon wants to take his mind off of something, he opts for something exciting! Hitting the casino, making new plans that’ll definitely work this time, maybe even try and pull a prank on one of his brothers…?

But if MC just wants to cuddle and watch some mindless TV or play video games he doesn’t mind doing that either…

Leviathan

Levi knows, without fault, every single TSL characters’ pronouns and identities, if and how they change through the series, and between different media adaptations

He can (and will) list all the nonbinary characters like a gender Pokemon Rap, with special attention on those who match MC’s presentation and/or AGAB

(Not that AGAB is essential or even always available information, but dysphoria is not a rational creature, and Levi is very familiar with irrational emotions)

Would MC say that any of these characters aren’t really nonbinary because of how they look or how they started out? Then why are they any different?

But if something about their appearance is really bothering them, he might have a solution

Cosplay

Well, sort of

Crossplayers use all sorts of techniques to masculinize or feminize their appearance when necessary, and Levi’s pretty familiar with most of them

So if MC wants to try some out to see if it makes them feel more comfortable, he wouldn’t mind showing them! You know… if they’re… interested…

Also double-checks to make sure it’s okay that he calls them his “Henry” and assures them that it’s about the character’s role and personality, and not some sort of gender-based comparison

Unless... they like the comparison? andwouldliketocosplayasHenrytohisLordofShadows??

Satan

Who said this to you, MC.

Names. Now.

Boy gets frothing mad when MC explains it’s a societal and cultural problem, not an individual one, that fuels their insecurity.

If they don’t want to hear an hour long rant about the rich history of human gender expression and identity, they need to cut him off fast

If he could maim the concept of transphobia, he would

But alas, this is not a problem that can be solved (entirely) with violence

So he has to find other ways to show his support

Ask him about any notable trans, nonbinary, or otherwise gender nonconforming figures from human or demon history. He’ll happily tell MC all about them.

But, at the end of the day? In his opinion, there’s one person that shines above the rest

Someone who braved the longest odds, who persisted against the fiercest enemies and even turned them into their closest friends

Who saw others at their worst and sought to bring out the best in them…

*stage whispers* He’s talking about you

If there’s anyone who’s going to believe in the right to self determination and the irrelevance of your origins to your present identity, it’s Satan

And if anyone ever does try to tell MC that their doubts about themself are true?

Just give him their name and don’t ask questions

Asmodeus

So they’re worried about being too feminine? Is there such a thing?

If that’s the case, they can be “too feminine” together

Asmo’s gender nonconformity has earned him praise all throughout his life, so the idea of being ashamed of such a thing is alien to him

But he does know what it’s like to have an audience who expects a specific image from you

And the fear of disappointing them

But gender isn’t a performance

Well, it is, sometimes, poor choice of words: but it’s a performance for you

Asmo presents the way he does because it’s what makes him happy, same with the rest of the brothers

MC shouldn’t be any different

If they’re looking for a more masculine wardrobe or just want a change of pace, he’ll happily help them find clothes that make them feel more comfortable, but his main concern is that they know they’re free to wear what they’d like, act how they’d like, and it doesn’t change who they are

Whatever image they want to make of themself, he can get them there, but only if it’s because they want it, not because it’s what they think they’re supposed to be like, okay?

Beelzebub

When MC first confesses to Beel that they feel like they’re not really nonbinary because of their body, he kinda looks around and gestures as if to say “really? Down here?”

Has MC ever noticed that RAD doesn’t have gendered sports teams?

Yeah, if they separated people by something as irrelevant as gender or Diavolo forbid, sex, people would get seriously injured or worse

There are so many ways to be a man or a woman or a nonbinary person, and they’re not always what you’d expect

Some of Beel’s best teammates and scariest opponents look and act nothing like you’d expect them to

If they’re feeling disconnected from their body, Beel is totally down to work out with them, keep them grounded in all the good their body does for them and that they can do for it

And yes, also the good food their body lets them experience

He also definitely reaches out and gives their hand a lil squeeze if he ever notices them feeling down while they’re out together

He cares for them a lot and just wants them to be happy at the end of the day

Belphegor

Oh yeah, that’s one of the stupidest things about the human world

Belphie remembers being mistaken for a woman a lot when he used to visit the human world, and how confused he was when people got into such a tizzy over his gender

Why waste all that energy on something that doesn’t matter? If you must know, just ask the person and be done with it

It doesn’t matter what they look like

MC is MC

If they say they’re nonbinary, that’s good enough for him

If they don’t want to be touched, especially in certain places tiddy pillow naps, he might get pouty, but he’s all bark and no bite, he’ll respect their wishes

His approach to making MC feel better is more geared towards normalizing their identity

If he accepts it as a fact, then maybe they’ll catch on that people will respect them if they know what’s good for them?

Also, if they hear him mumbling about correct pronouns and punching transphobes in his sleep… No they didn’t. He’s not dreaming about them, he swears...

To me, a good ally is someone who is consistent in their efforts – there’s a difference between popping on a pride playlist or sprinkling yourself in rainbow glitter once a year and actually defending LGBT+ people against discrimination. It means showing my LGBT+ fans that I support them wholeheartedly and am making a conscious effort to educate myself, raise awareness and show up whenever they need me to. It would be wrong of me to benefit from the community as a musician without actually standing up and doing what I can to support. As someone in the public eye, it’s important to make sure your efforts are not performative or opportunistic. I’m always working on my allyship and am very much aware that I’ve still got a lot of unlearning and learning to do. There are too many what I call ‘dormant allies’, believing in equality but not really doing more than liking or reposting your LGBT+ mate’s content now and again. Imagine if that friend then saw you at the next march, or signing your name on the next petition fighting for their rights? Being an ally is also about making a conscious effort to use the right language and pronouns, and I recently read a book by Glennon Doyle who spoke of her annoyance and disappointment of those who come out and are met with ‘We love you…no matter what’. I’d never thought of that expression like that before and it really struck a chord with me. ‘No matter what’ suggests you are flawed. Being LGBT+ is not a flaw. Altering your language and being conscious of creating a more comfortable environment for your LGBT+ family and friends is a good start. Nobody is expecting you to suddenly know it all, I don’t think there’s such a thing as a perfect ally. I’m still very much learning. Even recently, after our Confetti music video I was confronted with the fact that although we made sure our video was incredibly inclusive, we hadn’t brought in any actual drag kings. Some were frustrated, and they had every right to be. You can have the right intentions and still fall short. As an open ally I should have thought about that, and I hadn’t, and for that I apologise. Since then I’ve been doing more research on drag king culture, because it’s definitely something I didn’t know enough about, whether that was because it isn’t as mainstream yet mixed with my own ignorance. But the point is we mess up, we apologise, we learn from it and we move forward with that knowledge. Don’t let the fear of f**king up scare you off. And make sure you are speaking alongside the community, not for the community. Growing up in a small Northern working-class town, some views were, and probably still are, quite ‘old fashioned’ and small-minded. I witnessed homophobia at an early age. It was a common thought particularly among men that it was wrong to be anything but heterosexual. I knew very early on I didn’t agree with this, but wasn’t educated or aware enough on how to combat it. I did a lot of performing arts growing up and within that space I had many LGBT+ (mainly gay) friends. I’ve been a beard many a time let me tell you! But it was infuriating to see friends not feel like they could truly be themselves. When I moved to London I felt incredibly lonely and like I didn’t fit in. It was my gay friends (mainly my friend and hairstylist, Aaron Carlo) who took me under their wing and into their world. Walking into those gay bars or events like Sink The Pink, it was probably the first time I felt like I was in a space where everyone in that room was celebrated exactly as they are. It was like walking into a magical wonderland. I got it. I clicked with everyone. My whole life I struggled with identity – being mixed race for me meant not feeling white enough, or black enough, or Arab enough. I was a ‘tomboy’ and very nerdy. I suppose on a personal level that maybe played a part in why I felt such a connection or understanding of why those spaces for the LGBT+ community are so important. One of the most obvious examples of first realising Little Mix was having an effect in the community was that I couldn’t enter a gay bar without hearing a Little Mix song and watching numerous people break out into full choreo from our videos! I spent the first few years of our career seeing this unfold and knowing the LGBT+ fan base were there, but it wasn’t until I got my own Instagram or started properly going through Twitter DMs that I realised a lot of our LGBT+ fans were reaching out to us on a daily basis saying how much our music meant to them. I received a message from a boy in the Middle East who hadn’t come out because in his country homosexuality is illegal. His partner tragically took their own life and he said our music not only helped him get through it, but gave him the courage to start a new life somewhere else where he could be out and proud. There are countless other stories like theirs, which kind of kickstarted me into being a better ally. Another standout moment would be when we performed in Dubai in 2019. We were told numerous times to ‘abide by the rules’, which meant not promoting anything LGBT+ or too female-empowering (cut to us serving a four-part harmony to Salute). In my mind, we either didn’t go or we’d go and make a point. When Secret Love Song came on, we performed it with the LGBT+ flag taking up the whole screen behind us. The crowd went wild, I could see fans crying and singing along in the audience and when we returned it was everywhere in the press. I saw so many positive tweets and messages from the community. It made laying in our hotel rooms s**tting ourselves that we’d get arrested that night more than worth it. It was through our fans and through my friends I realised I need to be doing more in my allyship. One of the first steps in this was meeting with the team at Stonewall to help with my ally education and discussing how I could be using my platform to help them and in turn the community. Right now, and during lockdown, I’d say my ally journey has been a lot of reading on LGBT+ history, donating to the right charities and raising awareness on current issues such as the conversion therapy ban and the fight for equality of trans lives. Stonewall is facing media attacks for its trans-inclusive strategies and there is an alarming amount of seemingly increasing transphobia in the UK today and we need to be doing more to stand with the trans community. Still, there is definitely a pressure I feel as someone in the public eye to constantly be saying and doing the right things, especially with cancel culture becoming more popular. I s**t myself before most interviews now, on edge that the interviewer might be waiting for me to ‘slip up’ or I might say something that can be misconstrued. Sometimes what can be well understood talking to a journalist or a friend doesn’t always translate as well written down, which has definitely happened to me before. There’ve been moments where I’ve (though well intentioned) said the wrong thing and had an army of Twitter warriors come at me. Don’t get me wrong, there are obviously more serious levels of f**king up that are worthy of a cancelling. But it was quite daunting to me to think that all of my previous allyship could be forgotten for not getting something right once. When that’s happened to me before I’ve scared myself into thinking I should STFU and not say anything, but I have to remember that I am human, I’m going to f**k up now and again and as long as I’m continuing to educate myself to do better next time then that’s OK. I’m never going to stop being an ally so I need to accept that there’ll be trickier moments along the way. I think that might be how some people may feel, like they’re scared to speak up as an ally in case they say the wrong thing and face backlash. Just apologise to the people who need to be apologised to, and show that you’re doing what you can to do better and continue the good fight. Don’t burden the community with your guilt. When it comes to the music industry, I’m definitely seeing a lot more LGBT+ artists come through and thrive, which is amazing. Labels, managements, distributors and so forth need to make sure they’re not just benefiting from LGBT+ artists but show they’re doing more to actually stand with them and create environments where those artists and their fans feel safe. A lot of feedback I see from the community when coming to our shows is that they’re in a space where they feel completely free and accepted, which I love. I get offered so many opportunities to do with LGBT+ based shows or deals and while it’s obviously flattering, I turn most of them down and suggest they give the gig to someone more worthy of that role. But really, I shouldn’t have to say that in the first place. The fee for any job I do take that feels right for me but has come in as part of the community goes to LGBT+ charities. That’s not me blowing smoke up my own arse, I just think the more of us and big companies that do that, the better. We need more artists, more visibility, more LGBT+ mainstream shows, more shows on LGBT+ history and more artists standing up as allies. We have huge platforms and such an influence on our fans – show them you’re standing by them. I’ve seen insanely talented LGBT+ artist friends in the industry who are only recently getting the credit they deserve. It’s amazing but it’s telling that it takes so long. It’s almost expected that it will be a tougher ride. We also need more understanding and action on the intersectionality between being LGBT+ and BAME. Racism exists in and out of the community and it would be great to see more and more companies in the industry doing more to combat that. The more we see these shows like Drag Race on our screens, the more we can celebrate difference. Ever since I was a little girl, my family would go to Benidorm and we’d watch these glamorous, hilarious Queens onstage; I was hooked. I grew up listening to and loving the big divas – Diana Ross (my fave), Cher, Shirley Bassey, and all the queens would emulate them. I was amazed at their big wigs, glittery overdrawn make-up and fabulous outfits. They were like big dolls. Most importantly, they were unapologetically whoever the f**k they wanted to be. As a shy girl who didn’t really understand why the world was telling me all the things I should be, I almost envied the queens but more than anything I adored them. Drag truly is an art form, and how incredible that every queen is different; there are so many different styles of drag and to me they symbolise courage and freedom of expression. Everything you envisioned your imaginary best friend to be, but it’s always been you. There’s a reason why the younger generation are loving shows like Drag Race. These kids can watch this show and not only be thoroughly entertained, but be inspired by these incredible people who are unapologetically themselves, sharing their touching stories and who create their own support systems and drag families around them. Now and again I think of when I’d see those Queens in Benidorm, and at the end they’d always sing I Am What I Am as they removed their wigs and smudged their make up off, and all the dads would be up on their feet cheering for them, some emotional, like they were proud. But that love would stop when they’d go back home, back to their conditioned life where toxic heteronormative behaviour is the status quo. Maybe if those same men saw drag culture on their screens they’d be more open to it becoming a part of their everyday life. I’ll never forget marching with Stonewall at Manchester Pride. I joined them as part of their young campaigners programme, and beforehand we sat and talked about allyship and all the young people there asked me questions while sharing some of their stories. We then began the march and I can’t explain the feeling and emotion watching these young people with so much passion, chanting and being cheered by the people they passed. All of these kids had their own personal struggles and stories but in this environment, they felt safe and completely proud to just be them. I knew the history of Pride and why we were marching, but it was something else seeing what Pride really means first hand. My advice for those who want to use their voice but aren’t sure how is, just do it hun. It’s really not a difficult task to stand up for communities that need you. Change can happen quicker with allyship.

Jade Thirlwall on the power, and pressures, of being an LGBT ally: ‘I’m gonna f**k up now and again’

The other night best friend and I (yes, that best friend) were riffing on trans Neil headcanons over the phone, but a realistic trans treatment of aftg gets dark real fast, so without further ado:

~The Mafia May Be Sexist (But It’s Not Transphobic!) AU ~

(tmmbsbintau, if you will)

Does this premise make sense? No, but if Nora can write about made up mafia sports, I can write a nonsense AU where transphobia doesn’t exist okay this is my party and ill be self-indulgent if i want to

We open with baby Neil, who was named after his maternal grandmother or smthg idk

Now lets say Neil is one of those “I always knew I was trans” kids

So even at a fairly young age he was like, nope this is wrong

For the most part his dad basically ignores him (what use is a girl to me???) but if he makes the mistake of getting in the way it’s the usual shit with knives and hot irons and basically Neil’s bog-standard Traumatic Childhood

His mom signs him up to play Exy to get him out of the house, and he loves it, because of course he does

Now tiny Neil may be terrified of his father

But remember transphobia isn’t real

So he when he’s about ten years old he tells his parents over dinner

His mom just puts her fork down and says that’s alright

But Nathan

Nathan

Nathan’s eyes start to glow

He has a son? Not a useless daughter?

He’s practically levitating with glee

And Neil, poor Neil, who has never had any positive reinforcement—from either parent, Mary, you’re not innocent in this—he soaks it up

Nathan puts both hands on his son’s—his son’s!—shoulders and dubs him Nathaniel

His son, his heir, his legacy

Mary takes one look at the possessive look in her husband’s eyes and thinks oh hell no

For the next few days Nathan absolutely showers Nathaniel with affection

He takes him to the hairdresser and buys him a whole new wardrobe, neglecting his mafia duties in order to dote upon his new son

It is possibly the happiest week of Nathaniel’s life

And then he wakes up in the night with his mother’s hand on his mouth and is given less than a minute to pack his things

Now he’s grown up in a criminal household; the notion of making a run for it isn’t exactly foreign to him

But it’s not until they’re in the car that Nathaniel realizes that his father is nowhere to be seen

Where’s dad? He asks

Shut up, his mother hisses, and slams the car into gear

From then on, he is never Nathaniel

His mother is 100% on board with his transition, but…not really anything beyond that

After all, people will be looking for a woman and a trans boy, which means Mary’s investment in Neil’s gender pretty much starts and ends with him passing as cis

She gets him all the medical treatments he needs (on the black market, since they’re on the run)—puberty blockers when he’s younger, testosterone when he’s older

But he’s never allowed to acknowledge being trans whatsoever

Not to his classmates, not to his teachers

He never gets the chance to have a queer community, or explore the nuances of his gender, because the only presentation they can afford for him to have is Masculine Cis Boy. The restriction is stifling. It’s suffocating.

Neil hates her for it

His life was, so briefly, perfect

He had his father’s love and approval for a day, a week, and he is both old enough to remember his father’s cruelty and young enough to believe that it could end

Nathan is incandescent

When he realizes what Mary has done he goes to the Moriyamas in a storm of fury

She stole my SON! He bellows

Now the Moriyama’s didn’t particularly care about Neil back when they thought he was a girl

Girls in the mafia are basically just for child-rearing, so he wasn’t a threat

So once they figure out what Nathan is talking about (this takes a sec, owing to Nathan having not previously gotten around to telling them about Nathaniel’s revelation), their first thought is that look, we might do the nepotism thing here in our family, but underlings don’t get to do the nepotism thing. Sorry, them’s the breaks

Obviously, Mary has to die—nobody’s disputing that, a woman who robbed her husband and stole his son? Only death will right that wrong—but Kengo tells Nathan that he’ll help find Nathaniel on the condition that he’s given to the Ravens upon capture

Nathan is utterly confident that his son—his son!—will perform admirably. He accepts the deal without a second thought

So they’re on the run for years and years, and Neil’s resentment towards his mother festers, but he never acts out too much, and he doesn’t contact his father

He almost does a couple times, but then he presses his hand to the iron scar on his shoulder and he can’t quite make himself go through with it

He’s sixteen when Nathan catches up with them in Seattle

There’s a shootout and Mary and Neil almost get away

But

Nathan arrives

Nathaniel! He shouts. My boy!

And Neil lurches to a stop

There is his father, walking towards him, his eyes still shining with the same fierce love and pride from when he was ten

Nathaniel, his father says. Hasn’t this gone on long enough?

Come home.

Mary is trying to drag Neil away, but he’s too fixated on his father

Can I? Neil asks. Can I really?

Of course, Nathan says. Everything is forgiven. I’ve even secured you a place on the Ravens. Didn’t you always love Exy? Come home with me, Nathaniel

Neil can barely believe it. His father is offering him everything he ever wanted. His mother has been keeping him from this, his whole life?

Why would they run?

And through this whole exchange Nathan has been getting closer, and Mary is pulling Neil back, and now he’s close enough to touch and the sound she makes is like something physical tears when she finally releases Neil and tries to flee

She isn’t fast enough

Nathan’s grin is as wide as the sun when his cleaver bites into Mary’s waist

Blood pours out

Neil screams

Mary clutches her side, staggering away, but it’s obvious she won’t make it far

Dad, no, Neil says. Don’t—

Shh, his father says. Don’t be afraid. She kept us apart all these years. She deserves to die.

And Neil—

Neil has hated his mother for most of his life

But he looks at the woman who has struggled so long to protect him—who has failed as often as she succeeded, but who fought anyway, everyday—and the man whose eyes are bright with glee at her pain

And he makes a choice

He only has a split second to see the betrayal in his father’s eyes before the pipe in his hand slams into his head and he pitches forward, unconscious

Neil does not wait to see if he survives

He grabs his mother and they run, her arm locked on his shoulder and her palm pressed to the wound on her side

Neil puts her in the passenger seat and jumps in, throwing the car in gear

You need a hospital, he says, frantic

No, she hisses, pinning a towel to her side. No hospitals

Guilt floods through him as he looks at her pale face

Sticky red handprints smear on everything she touches

I’m sorry, mom, he says, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—

Enough, she says. Drive

He drives

He drives, and drives, and he follows her instructions, and later he wouldn’t have been able to say if he actually thought she would survive; he believed it, because he had to, because he had never been without her; he knew better, because gut wounds are slow, but they are inexorable

He parks on the beach and there are tears pushing at his eyelids but he chokes them down

I’m sorry, he said, I never should have believed him. I’m sorry—

You never would have been enough for him, she says, and Neil flinches

Her hand finds his chin and she yanks him down to meet her eyes, her gaze fierce.

He never loved you, she says. He would have made you in his image, and when you failed he would have torn you apart. I would not—I would not watch him try to make my son a monster. Don’t—don’t waste it

Mom, what are you saying—

Promise me, she says

Promise you won’t go back to him

She is dying

Neil can’t refuse

He promises

She releases his face and her red fingerprints on his face burn like brands. He can feel them hours after the tears wash the blood away.

Her last few breaths are jagged as broken stones before she rattles to a stop, and Neil is alone

He burns her body and staggers out onto the road and he keeps moving, he keeps moving, because he knows if he stops he’ll shatter

His hesitation has cost him his mother’s life

But his action costs him his fathers love

In one blow, Neil broke the golden image Nathan had of his perfect son, and now all Nathan wants is to destroy him

He finds his way to Millport almost on instinct alone

He finds one of Mary’s contacts who can supply him with the hormones he needs to continue passing and squats in an empty house and speaks to none of his classmates

When the Exy team tryouts are announced, he goes, intending to only watch from a distance

Perhaps it is inevitable he’s sucked in

There is so little light in his life

Can he be forgiven for wanting one little spark?

The Foxes come for him in May, and Kevin doesn’t recognize him, because how would he? Even if they met as kids, Kevin never saw Neil post-transition

Wymack ends up telling him something about Kevin’s past and the truth about the Ravens, and Neil pales a little bit, remembering how his father had said he’d gotten Neil a place on their line-up and finally understanding why

And sometimes he looks at Kevin with blinding jealousy for the life Neil didn’t get to have, and sometimes he sees him nearly comatose with fear and drinking vodka like it’s water, and his stomach hurts thinking how cheerfully his father would have consigned him to the same fate

So canon proceeds and Neil still bitches Riko out on live TV, and Riko still manages to acquire Neil’s fingerprints

And would you believe that? The Foxes mouthy new rookie is [deadname], Nathan Wesninski’s brat?

Well, well, well

At the banquet Riko pokes and prods until Neil finally snaps, and as Dan drags the team away from the wreckage Jean grabs Neil’s arm and says, low and fast in French, You’ll meet with us later

Why the fuck would I do that? Neil demands

Because otherwise everyone will find out that the Butcher is your father

Neil can’t hide his flinch and Kevin’s eyes go wide

They flee the scene, but before they even reach Coach, Kevin is already rounding on Neil

Is it true? He croaks

Not now, Neil says

But Kevin reads confirmation in Neil’s deflection

I didn’t know [deadname] had a brother, he says

Now here is the thing

Names are obviously a touchy subject with a lot of trans people, and certainly with Neil in particular

But with everything that just happened, Neil is a bit preoccupied, and it’s been a long time since he’s associated himself with that name

Since before he stopped using it, truthfully

And so his response is out of his mouth before he can even think twice

“Who?”

Kevin nods seriously, because he is wise to the ways of mafia bosses, and it’s not exactly shocking that Nathan Wesninski had a mistress and a secret second child, especially considering his first child had been a girl

It’s several moments before Neil puts two and two together and realizes that he has inadvertently slipped through a perfect loophole

He’s failed his mother so many times, but at least this secret is still safe, and he clings to that

Neil’s gender doesn’t really affect his interpersonal relationships with the Foxes—he’s already changing out separately, so this isn’t even a whole other thing

It’s harder to hide his testosterone when he’s living in shared dorms, but he has everything in the safe and figures out the safest schedule to open it up when he’s sure Matt will be in class

Andrew finds out when they start hooking up

But remember transphobia isn’t real so it’s sort of more like Andrew goes to undo his pants and is like wait your dick is removeable? Okay.

And then he just gets on with it

So Binghamton and Baltimore happen as canon, and if Neil had ever harboured hopes that his father would forgive him and love him again, they’re broken for good when his father stalks in and sees him shivering and just grins

It is the smile of someone who has torn someone off a pedestal and is going to enjoy reducing them to dust

Nevermind that Nathan had been the one to put him on that pedestal in the first place

Stuart deus-ex-machinas us out of the maws of death and we end up back in that classic Baltimore scene with the Foxes, and they still claim him, and they still take him home

He tells them all about his mafia father and life on the run, and it doesn’t really click until later that he forgot to mention the trans thing

Not like he, you know, has to tell them, and being trans is hardly an issue in Exy since it’s co-ed, but it would probably be nice to see a real doctor instead of keep buying his hormones illegally

And moreover, he wants the Foxes to know him

So they hit the cabin in the mountains and everyone knows Neil doesn’t drink, but when Andrew pours him a shot, he takes it

Ooh, Nicky says, Is Neil about to start spilling his secrets?

Allison snorts. What secrets does he have left?

Uh, Neil says

Wait, Allison says. There’s more secrets????

Yeah, he says. Um, I’m trans

There’s a pause

Well, that’s no good, Allison said. We didn’t have a bet going on that

Everyone laughs, and Neil smiles, and he looks at the sunset and remembers his mother, and he remembers a life filled with hiding, and secrets, and loneliness

Bats swoop in the twilight beyond the cabin, and he turns towards the warmth and light inside, and he does not look back

JK Rowling, transphobia and a hopefully helpful post.

A few days ago I posted on my Facebook (yes I have one sue me) debunking some of the things Rowling has been saying on twitter. Since she made a statement I felt the need to make another one... but this time Im sharing it here. Please note this is long, it is fairly opinionated in places but her statements have felt so insidious I want to share something in depth. If you are cis I implore you to read, but I understand this is long and a lot of people wont want to. No judgement. 

Jk Rowling’s latest statement is a mess of valid concerns and fear mongering. At this point there can be no claim she doesn’t know what shes talking about - she herself has said shes been researching this for years. She throws in token acknowledgements to “real” trans people while framing the rest of her statements as concern for confused teens.So first things first - and something that might not be popular with some of my trans friends. I agree that teenagers should not be able to medically transition. It is a choice that should be made when the brain is fully mature. Hormone blockers are something I trust - and that are reversible. I have seen enough detransitioned people hurting to feel like we do need to be careful - especially with children who are trying to find themselves. I dont know about other people but during my teens I was coming to the crushing realisation that I wasn’t special. I was learning that no matter how well I painted someone else did it better, no matter how badly I hurt someone had it worse - I was learning about the wonderful mediocrity of life, and having anything that made me stand out gave a brief reprieve from learning to be okay with all these things. For me to be fair it was dying my hair outrageous colours and dressing in black leather during 30 degree summer heat - but its still something we cant forget. I KNOW a lot of kids claiming to be trans are - and I dont want to keep that from them, however I dont want to cause harm to the kids that are wrong. Continuing on, I’d like to address her comments about TERFS. Terfs are Self Described Trans-exclusionary-radical-feminists and the term does get thrown around a little too liberally at times. Terf is not and never will be a slur. No more than “White” is. It is about a group of people who have taken it open themselves to segregate another group - and calling that what it is, is not a crime. The reason Terf and transphobe have become synonomic is because the ‘radical feminists’ that subscribe to this have lost focus on nearly all other issues of feminism and sit squarely on “dropping the T” from the lgbt community and “keeping men out of womens bathrooms.” Terfs are overwhelmingly women - this is sadly simply a fact. Terfs are reviled because of how much it feels like a betrayal to the community. A group that fights for rights - except ours. A group that wants equality - except for us. Its different to the conservatives who hate us all equally - with Terfs we are singled out. Terfs are not, as Rowling claims, inclusionary to Trans-men. I’ve been met with a combination of pity, loathing, mockery and revulsion by people within this group. I’ve been told that I shouldn’t let homophobia push me into transitioning - only for all correspondence to abruptly drop when I mention Im marrying another man. I’ve been told my old body was beautiful - only for stunned silence when I agree. I was beautiful - I was curvy, I was a dancer and had a body to match - but I wasn’t Me. When their usual arguments against me fail - I’m met with hate. Im called anti-woman, traitor, homophobic. I even have some such comments saved on my blog. I have yet to meet a Terf who was pro-trans-man. Rowling claims that had she had the ability, as a confused teen, she may have sought to transition. I hate to tell her but she did have the ability and trans people didn’t pop into existence in the twenty-first century. I’m actually looking to do my dissertation topic in my final year on lgbt presentation throughout history - and in my overeager way I’ve already started researching. James Barry has been becoming a common name for years - a transgender surgeon who died in 1865. If Barry was able to at least socially transition from 1790 to 1860, I am fairly sure Rowling could have in 1980 - over a century later. Rowling also claims that groups of friends in schools all suddenly identify as trans at the same time. Speaking from my school experience - the queer kids group together. We seek out others like us, and we take strength from each others bravery to come out - often around the same time. We almost get a rush of resolve when one of our group musters the courage and strength, and some of us use that rush to bite the bullet ourselves. Its one of the beautiful ways the lgbt community is here for one another - and the influx of people identifying as trans is partially a factor of more people knowing the name of their feelings. Survivor bias will ignore the trans people through history without the knowledge or means to transition - and will claim they were never trans at all. Her initial statements about charities worry me in particular. As I said last time - we know sex is real, we just dont really like to be defined by it. She is worried that we’re going to “rebrand medicine” and ignores that medications for years have had warnings in their leaflets about “If you are or become pregnant” regardless of if the person receiving it has a dick or a vagina. We dont advocate for ignoring the differences in how people respond to heart attacks - and I for one would like research to be done on how hormones effect that. I dont actually know if I would respond more like a cis gender woman or a cis gender man if I were to have a heart attack or a stroke. But where possible we do want to change the language around some of these things. I have had a double mastectomy, but some Cis-men have these as well. This is not a gendered term. Why should a period be called anything else? Why call it a “womens problem.” I and Im sure many other trans people, support the research into how different medical and mental issues affect different sexes. I just think that should be extended further - and we know it should, as some medical issues affect people of different ethnicities in different ways and we don’t know how. I am truly sorry that Rowling has experienced abuse and assault of any nature. I am truly sorry that she has felt unsafe. But her feelings do not invalidate others experiences. Of the trans people I know, a saddening number have been assaulted, have been abused and in particular have experienced these things domestically. There is much work to be done on this in the UK. There are nearly no mens shelters for sufferers of violence to my knowledge. I, a trans man who have experienced some of these things in my teen years, would Not want to be around cisgender women even if I could be. A cis woman was responsible for much of the pain I personally suffered - and in fact one of the acts of violence she carried out against me was directly after I came out as trans to her. Trans women, even if they could go to male shelters, should not have to be surrounded by a group that put them in danger - in a place that is detrimental to them physically and mentally and is frankly degrading. The belief that allowing trans women into shelters for those escaping abuse is dangerous is sad. To be so afraid is deserving of pity. To let fear blind you to the suffering of others - to think its better that a trans woman face homelessness or a return to an abusive household because you personally would sleep better at night is the kind of passive evil we should be aware of in this day and age. It comes from choosing to see the word “trans” before “person.” Its from choosing to see a persons genitals before their humanity. Trans people are not dangerous - and cause no greater risk than any other demographic.  Her claims that she can empathise with this fear are empty. A gender recognition certificate is not a ticket into womens bathrooms. Funnily enough you dont actually require a piece of paper to go almost anywhere. I do not have a gender recognition certificate and use male bathrooms, can enter male spaces as I please. All a gender recognition certificate does is change the letter on your birth certificate. It doesn’t even affect other forms of identification - my passport, my student id, my drivers license all already say male. I am not sure why so many people have chosen this as their hill to die on because its the least relevant thing to them on the planet. How often have any of you seen another persons birth certificate? Rowling says she and other ‘gender critical’ (a terf dogwhistle) people are concerned for trans youth. Well… she can take her condescending concern and direct it to matters that are relevant to her. Trans people want to be left alone. Its a simple request, and yet people endlessly seem to trip over the dirt level bar.

Honey, it ain’t home

Note:PLEASE be aware that this fic contains child abuse/neglect and death as well as implied transphobia and know that I do not regret hurting my kids feel free to toss fish and squid at me UwU

“(Wake up, scum)!”

The voice range into Skaar’s cage and eventually a small grey child sat up and stared back to the cage master. Green on black eyes almost seemed to light up the darkest corner of his cage. Shrinking back from the yelling was never a good thing, so the slave was sure to crawl forwards until he was enough in the light that made the cage master nod with satisfaction.

“(You have a fight later),” They knocked a hand against the cage, red skin pulling back into a smirk when Skaar flinched back and bore his fangs without thinking. The stone of his skin stood out far more than any other slave here. “(Make sure you’re in top condition, the King will be watching).”

No one knew where he came from. No one cared. 

The mention of a king got a flinch from him then and Skaar was careful to not say anything that could have potentially set the master off. The last time he had been too loud and the electrified whip across his back - bright flashes he had barely had the time to comprehend before something flew across - left Skaar screaming as wrong coloured blood dripped out of his back. 

Greyskin and wrong eyes with wrong blood. He looked every bit like the monster that they all said he was. 

The cage was going to open soon. Skaar could see his sword being brought out, the shocking prods with dazzling and painful light as well as a bucket of water to dunk his head into and to wash away the old blood from the before fights. He was kept away from the smooth feeling of Earth and solid cold metal was all he could live and sleep on until he was forced out into the ring. Skaar didn’t know why they were so certain on this, but any idea of asking was immediately followed by the fear of what could come for such a thought. 

He would fight and he would kill and then Skaar would scream when he was hurt over and over. It was a hellish life and the only time the grey-skinned monster felt better was when he was asleep and the planet felt like it rocked him to sleep. 

The rattling of his cage startled Skaar and he looked up to see the Cage Master banging the pain stick, a smirk on their face as they leaned against the door, water splashing from the bucket in their free hand. Fear cradled his heart and if he wished that someone would save him, please. 

“(Let’s get this over with, killer of killers. The less I have to touch a monster, the better.)”

~~~~

Rick screamed, and he hated the fact that it took only eight hits of the cane to do this to him. Sure, he had grown past six, but it still stung his pride far worst than it did physically to know that he was giving Sister Maude what she wanted. He didn’t want to scream for her, listen to the lecture she always gave or the way his back pulled and stretched around his caning injuries later on.

He didn’t know what he had done wrong this time, but it always seemed to be something. Sometimes he was too messy, too loud, just too much for anyone and that was why he was alone. Sister Maude said these things and Rick had nowhere to go so he was stuck here, grunting in pain as cold words were the only thing to soothe him.

“Time after time I warn you about this happening, Richard.” Sister Maude’s scowl could be heard clearly, even though Rick couldn’t see her at the moment, or at least didn’t want to. “You start these fights for, what? Attention? To cause more problems for the poor sisters? Answer me!”

The cane came down much lower than it usually did, and the fourteen year old shrieked when the cane hit much lower than it usually did. Pain rushed up his back and Rick fought to not scramble away. Trying to run would only mean that a worse punishment would follow. “N-no!” 

When it finally ended, Rick bit back any last noises, not wanting to give the nun anything else to tell him off over. Besides, it was better that it was Rick on the receiving end of these punishments instead of anyone else. Usually he had it coming, whether it was because he was too loud when trying to learn a new song on the guitar his father had left for him or when he was trying to take away any attention from the younger kids here. No one deserved to be yelled at or made to feel like nothing and Rick had been here long enough that he was used to it.

Besides, it was like Sister Maude always said, Rick had nowhere to go and no one wanted a fourteen year old anymore, he had to keep the younger kids safe so it was up to him to make sure that they got adopted or at least taken to a better place than this. God knew he would want that. 

“You won’t be given dinner tonight.” Sister Maude spoke and Rick felt a roll of nausea when he heard that. He already hadn’t eaten for most of the day. “You’ll go straight to your room and if I or any other Sister, must hear that horrific strumming, your guitar will be removed. Am I clear, Richard Jr?” 

He wanted to run. Run away and never come back, sink into the ground where his parents were and never come back up.

“Yes Sister Maude.”

~~~~

“Brian, please.”

Aunt Rebecca’s voice is hushed, like she doesn’t want Jennifer to hear her and Uncle Brian arguing. Or at least, her aunt arguing. Uncle Brian doesn’t seem to really wanting to argue back, which was odd and silly since Jennifer always liked to debate stuff, like when her and Dad would have a mock argument over the pros and cons of eating sugary pancakes for breakfast vs the gross healthy oatmeal Dad always wanted her to eat. 

“No Rebecca!” Uncle Brian’s voice was much more harsher and Jennifer was in bed, safe and sound, but she still tensed up and tried to not flinch. Bruce was sleeping on the floor in his own makeshift bed and she didn’t know if he was secretly awake too. “Every time we come here, I have to stand around and see what the hell Elaine lets her kid do, it’s disgusting, she should be ashamed of herself along with Morris.”

“Brian-” 

“We only come here because I want you to be happy and apparently what makes you happy is coming to see my family, bringing that wretched monster-” Jennifer’s heart clenched and she fought to look at Bruce. “And to remind me of everything I’ve been through? Isn’t that inconsiderate of you?”

She wants to tell Uncle Brian that he’s wrong. That Jennifer is a really good dancer and she can argue well and her hair is finally long enough to go into those pretty long braided ponytails. Aunt Rebecca was the best aunt, who took her and Bruce to the cool museum and one time that beach and aquarium, but Jennifer knew she wasn’t allowed to talk about that part to Uncle Brian ‘cause she knew that he wasn’t going to be happy about them going to such a cool place without him. 

Jennifer secretly thought that everything should have been done without Uncle Brian and they would all be for the better. Aunt Rebecca and Bruce wouldn’t have those awful bruises anymore and Bruce wouldn’t think that he was a monster. But Dad always got this weird look on his face and would glance at Mom and she would just turn away, scowling into the window and not smiling for the rest of the morning or afternoon. 

“We aren’t going to come here anymore.” Her uncle’s hushed voice drew Jennifer’s attention away form her thoughts again. “I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to see all of these reminders of being a fucking child again.” 

Aunt Rebecca must have tried to say something, because there was an odd noise before he kept on talking. “It’s sick. I feel sick looking at Elaine’s kid in those dresses. Everything here is sick and I have half a mind to know what’s causing it-”

His voice came closer then, like Uncle Brian was reaching for the door handle and wanting to come into her room. Jennifer pulled her covers up higher and she didn’t miss the hitching noise that came from the floor. The only thing that stopped her from calling out to her parents was when Aunt Rebecca’s voice rose somewhat. Not a lot. She never yelled as a choice. 

“Okay, okay.” Her voice sounded soothing now. “We’ll leave first thing tomorrow and- and you won’t have to come back here. I’ll make something up to Elaine and Morris.”

“Or you. I don’t want you coming here either, Rebecca. I need you with me.”

“...Okay.”

The voices faded away more from her door and Jennifer blinked in the dark. She didn’t feel tired anymore though, instead, Jennifer felt wide awake and like she had just missed a step of the stairs or like she was standing on a tall bridge, ready to fall at any moment. She wanted to say something, but Bruce had curled up further into his bed and Jennifer didn’t want to wake him up just in case he had been able to fall asleep. 

She didn’t think either of them would be able to sleep again if one of them said something. 

~~~~

The plumes of smoke rose into the air, forming from such intensive heat that Thad was shocked that it didn’t go anywhere further. The summer day was hot, the kind where you wanted to sit with some ice cold lemonade or to run as fast as you can through New Hampshire trails with friends laughing and chasing you, eager to win the game. 

Momma- Mom was waiting back at the farm where Mr Thomas was gonna show Thad those frogs by the river after he had helped her out with some chores Mom had shooed him away from, claiming that he was young enough to not have to worry about helping out so much. Thad wished that she would let him help, let him be useful enough around the house, especially now.

He had always liked red and orange and yellow. Warm colours, colours of war that Dad had always said fit Ross men. Aunt Betsy would always smile at these colours falling from the trees before threading her fingers with Uncle Jeff’s hands. 

These warm colours blended and danced together, threading into the sky in a swirling blaze that could bring tears to anyone’s eyes, even a man’s. 

The heat caught Thad strongly and even though he was standing far away enough for it to be safe, the heat still made it hard to breathe, like the air itself wanted to take everything away. 

But it already had done that, just not to Thaddeus. 

The roaring of the flames mixed with the odd ringing in his ears and while Thad couldn’t feel the energy to rub at them, he still winced slightly at the sound. The ringing was joined by a horrible screaming, the kind of screaming that you only heard once and never wanted to hear again ever. 

Henry was nearby, screaming and tearing at the ground and himself. He was strong for a ten year old, only a year older than Thad, due to the boxing lessons he took up. Thad would watch him sometimes and the sun on his face would only flush him further as he laughed and watched Henry hit the heavy sandbag. Henry offered to teach him some stuff and Thad found himself eager for it. 

Only now though, Henry didn’t seem to have any of that same easy-going assurance. His voice was raw from screaming for the past hour, struggling from where Mr Thomas has rushed over when the explosion hit and had immediately taken Henry into his arms, holding tight to ensure that the ten year old couldn’t run into the flames.

Henry wouldn’t look at Thad. Green eyes were glassy with terror and tears and he screamed harder towards the flame, directing Thad’s attention over to it.

He didn’t want to look. But Henry’s father was in the plane, the centre of fire, and he had finally stopped screaming himself. Thad looked and felt his chest clench with..something. He didn’t want to know what, didn’t want to give it a name as he stared into bloodshot and burning as his previously white skin went all sorts of hues of red and black, charring and burning and rotting away.

He stopped struggling and he stared and he gaped and Thad thought he would have screamed if he could. 

Mr Thomas screamed at Thad to get away and later on, his aunt and uncle and mother and Mr Thomas would fuss over him. Dad would slap him on the back and tell Thad that this was a lesson in shirking his duties for personal reasons. Thad would be sick and he would dream of burning red hues and charred skin for the rest of his life. He would look into a mirror one day and see the same horrible hues and blackened eyes staring back at himself.

For now, Thad stared.

~~~~

“God dammit, Robert,” Daddy’s voice was high and dizzy and Bruce maybe would have sounded the same way if he could talk right now. “What did you make me do?”

Mommy was on the floor and red coated the ground around her and tinted the top of her dress and Bruce wasn’t anywhere near her because Daddy was too close and Daddy would do the same to Robbie and he felt sick and he felt that feeling where he got angry and something made him want to scream and run but his legs felt too buzzy like the tv static and he couldn’t run there was nowhere-

“Look at me!”

The voice sounded like a monster now and Robbie stared up with wide eyes, glassy and wet and his chest heaved with everything bad in the world. Daddy had blood on his hands. 

He looked like he wanted to have Robbie’s blood on his hands too.

He felt sick. 

Robbie’s head didn’t feel like it was working right now and that was never a good thing when Daddy was staring and looking so angry. His green jacket was tainted now and Robbie was only glad that he didn’t have the same rushing feeling of the monster in his head - the other monster that wasn’t him - wanting to scream and hit Daddy back. 

“You made me do this. You made me into this.” Daddy snarled and he stunk of his drinks and Robbie couldn’t even flinch back without his head hitting into the car. “I could have been better, Robert. Rebecca was going to fix me. She was making me better and then you came along and it was all just a giant fucking reminder that I can never have anything good.” 

He stepped forward and this time Robbie’s head did smack into the car. He didn’t wince though, he had been hit harder.  

Daddy’s chest heaved and Robbie wished that a sorry could fix this all. He was sorry he was born and made Mommy feel like she had run away, sorry that he made Daddy so unhappy. But his head felt like it was full of cotton and thoughts slid away and feelings took their place of screaming grey static. 

Robbie’s eyes fell onto the green jacket Daddy wore, right where green was tinted with the red and they stayed there. 

He wished Daddy could say sorry for taking Mommy away though. 

Daddy loved Mommy, but he didn’t seem to care about the fact that Robbie loved her too. 

Mommy didn’t move from the ground. She must have been cold there and Daddy didn’t seem to know what to do about that. He stepped away, covered his mouth and paced for a little while. Robbie heard sirens and Daddy screamed into his hands, a muffled and agony filled noise that made Robbie flinch back again, a hollow bang following it easily. 

“You...” Daddy sounds hoarse now. The bad scary when he came into Robbie’s room sometimes, standing near the big monster and he would stare for an hour before leaving again. “You aren’t going to let them know it was me because it wasn’t, okay? It was you, it was always you!”

Stepping closer, Daddy seems to loom over him, the same way the scaled monster in Robbie’s room does. 

“You made me into this because that’s what monsters do. Rebecca...Rebecca loved you for some deluded reason and she wanted you to live so-” Daddy laughs wetly and Robbie wonders what’s so funny. “So you’re going to live. Live with what you did to me and her and you will never forget this, no matter what-” 

And then he leans down and Robbie stares into brown eyes that are dilated and he notices a smear of blood on Daddy’s cheek. “You’re heartless Robert. You kill everything near you, monster, but I won’t let you kill me.”

He stepped away then and the sirens were closer and Robbie felt like static grey and blood tinted green were all that he could feel and see. A small sob finally slipped out of him.

Robbie wished that he wasn’t the only monster, that maybe Jen or the monster in his head was real so they could be here and share a hug or try and help him take away some of that awful feeling in his chest.

He reached out a finger and caught it in the stiff pinkie of Mommy. She was still warm and even though Robbie wanted to hug her, he resisted that urge.

This was good enough for a monster like him.

~~~~

“No! Put it down, Phil!” Sam stared in horror and horror was the correct word right now because his brother was currently holding his most important book, the one that Mommy had given him before she left. 

She was going to be back soon, it had only been a week, but until then Sam had thought it would be good to keep the book she had given him safe, especially since she would want to read it with him when she got back. It was all about sharks and their different habitats and Mommy liked it when she could have fun talks with Sam afterwards and even about who would win in a shark fight to the death. 

But now, in his big brother’s hands, Sam feels his worrying problems push themselves to the front of his mind and he feels like it’s harder to breathe when he doesn’t have the book.

His brother wasn’t nice at times, the bruises up his chest and arms and the missing tooth proved that, Although Mommy and Dad said a lot that it was an accident, right? And Phil was nicer when Sam agreed that it was an accident. Phil didn’t mean to play so roughly, or to push Sam about hard enough for him to get hurt, but it still sent thrums of panic up his back to see his book in Phil’s hands. 

“Why should I?” Phil was already taller than him by lots, despite being thirteen. He grew a lot over the summer and that only served to make him so much more scary when Sam was still eight and waiting for his own growth spurt. Sam tried to keep it to himself, but maybe Phil knew, especially when he got this weird smile on his face when he stepped closer and Sam had to look up. 

“Mommy gave me-”

“Mommy gave me!” Phil copies him and he makes his voice so much higher than it needed to be and Sam’s face feels hot and awful at it. “Do you hear yourself? All this talk of being some sort of big boy now and you’re still too stupid to know that Mom isn’t coming back.”

“She is!” Sam argues back and he feels his chest clench already, panic and bad ideas forming at the words. 

What if she wasn’t coming back? What if she got hurt and couldn’t and-

What if she didn’t want to come back?

Phil seems to catch some sort of look on Sam’s face and his smile turns ugly and Sam wants to back away and run but Phil still has his book and the last time he did that, his brother had grabbed him by his then-long hair and had yanked hard enough that Sam had a headache for hours. It was part of the reason why Sam had gotten Momm- Mom to cut it all off. 

“She doesn’t want to come back and why would she?” Phil stepped closer and jabbed a finger into Sam’s chest, ignoring the small cry of pain. “Dad just sits on his ass all day and only gets up to yell at us now, nothing I do ever seems to be good enough for him or her and don’t even get me started on you!”

Maybe he shouldn’t ask, but Sam’s chest feels so tight now and he knows he should try the breathing exercises Mom tried to show him, but he can’t right now. Everything is piling up more and more, like the dishes in the kitchen that are starting to smell. 

“What about me?”

“You, Sam Sterns, are a freak.” Phil practically spits the word and Sam tries to not flinch. “You’re annoying and talk so goddamn much so no wonder Mom wanted to leave when you’re always causing problems over being scared of everything or wanting to look different and I’m so fucking sick of sharks!”

He swore and Sam stared with wide eyes, but a wail escaped him when Phil seemed to reach the height of his anger and ripped out pages of the book. Sam reached over for it but Phil shoved his hand into Sam’s face and roughly shoved him away, ripping more pages out and chucking them into the mud.

His book was ruined. The pages were too torn up now and dirty to read and nothing would fix it. Tears rose to Sam’s face and he shoved a hand into his mouth to bite down on the oncoming sob from his book being ruined. The hurt in his chest grew and he felt like screaming and he was shaking now, hands reaching down to touched the ruin pages and his fingers shook as he touched muddy ruined words. 

He didn’t want to say anything else, not when breathing was so hard right now and his face felt flushed. Phil just stood over him and he knew that he was going to have worse. 

Later that night, after a trip to the medial room, Dad didn’t even bother asking how Sam broke his wrist. The mud and tears and ruined book seemed to be enough for him.

sweet tea in the summer

in what is definitely a shock to all, i really love folklore.

read on ao3

characters: Patton, Roman, Virgil, Brief Logan, Brief Remy

pairings: platonic to romantic royality; paternal prinxiety; paternal moxiety

word count: 3,980

tags: trans Patton, parental transphobia (including deadnaming, misgendering), parental homophobia, gender euphoria, childhood friends to lovers, heavily closeted trans boy, coming out, endless fluff

a/n:  inspired by both “seven” off folklore and "It's Nice To Have A Friend" from Lover

⁂

Part 1: seven

They grow up as neighbors, just a street away, enough that Ro passes Pat's house going to and from school, and they walk together sometimes.

Roman may not be the smartest, book-wise, but well. Some things he just gets. And it does not take much for him, even as a seven-year-old, to pick up on the way Pat tenses up going home, to connect that with the distant yelling he hears some nights.

He finds Pat one afternoon, hiding in a little group of trees. The pink frilly dress is a mess- and Pat's hair is dramatically shorter than it was yesterday.

Pat's also crying in a way that Roman can tell has been going on for a while.

"You're Pat, right?" Roman says, plopping down by the same tree.

Pat looks shocked and surprised but nods.

"I'm Roman! We should play!"

"You want to play with me?" Pat asks.

"Yeah! You seem fun! C'mon, we can go over my house, Papa won't mind!"

Pat flinches. "Are you sure?"

"Yup! Let's go!"

And Pat would question it more but Roman is ebullient and it seems easier to just go along with it. It can't be worse than crying alone.

Roman's Papa is not surprised that Roman's acquired a friend somewhat by force. Virgil just smiles wearily and asks if Pat would like some crackers with banana and cinnamon, too?

Pat nods, and Roman's delighted, already talking a mile a minute about ideas he had for playing pretend!

Virgil eventually cuts into the flow and reminds Roman that he hasn't actually introduced his friend yet.

"Oh! Sorry! Papa, this is Pat!"

"What's Pat short for?" Virgil asks, smile gently at the wary look on Pat's face. "Is it cause he's only got little legs?"

Pat's face splits into an enormous grin at the pun. "It's short for- um. Actually, I don't think I like it very much?  It feels icky. I like the Pat part though."

"Can I give you a nickname?!" Roman asks, starry-eyed. "I think, um. Pat pat. Pipat. Patton!"

"Patton?" Pat tries out. "I like that. Patton. Hi, I'm Patton!"

Virgil smiles. "Nice to meet you, Patton. Now, that dress looks very messy, and not easy to play in, would you like to borrow some shorts?"

Patton smiles, eyes tearing up just a bit. "I would love that, are you sure it's okay?"

"Yes! Yes it is!" Roman interjects. "Here, you can come pick out something of mine! They'll probably fit!!"

"Slow down, my dashing little princey," Virgil says, grabbing the back of Roman's tee with the ease of long practice. "You need to finish eating your snack. Patton can come with me and we'll pick something while you finish. Okay?"

"Yes, Papa," Roman says, pouting. He sighs dramatically as he eats his crackers with exaggerated effort.

Patton walks behind Virgil down a hallway covered in dozens of drawings. Many are half-finished, but all clearly show enthusiasm and more than a little glitter.

Virgil grabs a couple of options, taking some of the clothes Roman's just starting to grow out of. Patton is just a bit on the smaller side still. He gives the boy a stack of clothes and shows him the bathroom, where he can change in private.

But, some sixth sense of Dad Instincts tells him he should wait in the hall right by the bathroom door. Just in case. (In case of what, he's not quite sure yet, but-)

Fuck, yup, that is definitely the sound of a little boy trying to cry as quietly as possible.

"Patton? Kiddo, you okay in there?"

Patton sniffles and replies, "I'm fine!"

Virgil frowns. "Can I come in, buddy?"

A pause.

"Oh-okay."

Patton has put on khaki shorts and a blue polo, but his hands are shaking as he looks at his discarded dress.

"Hey, kiddo, what's wrong?" Virgil asks in his softest Papa Voice.

"I'm being bad," Patton whispers. "I ruined my dress and I'm not wearing it and I cut my hair myself and I wasn't s'posed to and-"

Virgil hesitates, then sits on the tiled floor, pulling the sniffling boy into his lap.

"Hey, Pat, it's okay. It's just clothes and hair, okay, kiddo? Do you like how it looks?"

"Yes, but-"

"That's all that matters, buddy. And if you don't like it, hair grows back, clothes can get cleaned. I can clean your dress while you play, so you don't have to bring it home dirty, if you want?"

"I don't want him to be angry," Patton says in a tiny voice. "He scares me when he's angry."

Virgil tries very hard to be level-headed for his son, who really needs a solid presence. Which means he's had seven years of practice to be able to not swear loudly at the fear in Patton's voice, to not go off on a rampage to the Corwan house and give Mr. Corwan a piece of his mind. Instead, he hugs Patton into his chest, shushing quietly, rubbing the little boy's back as he sniffles into Virgil's hoodie.

"You know what we're gonna do, Pat? I'm gonna make sure your dress is all cleaned up, and when we're all done playing, we'll walk you home, okay?" He suppresses the fury from his voice as he adds, "And I'll tell your dad that it was all your idea to make sure you got cleaned up, and that it wasn't your fault it got dirty. How's that sound, kiddo?"

Patton nods, face still buried in the soft material of the black hoodie.

"Let's go, okay? Roman should be done with his snack by now."

Patton holds Virgil's hand on the walk back to the kitchen. Virgil has already half-committed to adopting this boy into their household if Mr. Corwan makes him cry again.

Roman is still in his seat, but barely. One of the crackers is just a pile of crumbs, and there's banana smooshed on his cheek. The minute he sees Patton, he's leaping out of his seat.

"Let's go play! I think we should be pirates! Or knights! Or-"

"Hey, what do we say about playing with guests?"

Roman catches himself. "I should let him have ideas too?"

"That's right, princey. C'mere."

Virgil has to let go of Patton's hand to wipe up Roman's face, because getting him to stand still is a two hand job.

He stands them shoulder-to-shoulder. "Okay, boys, you have a quest today!"

Roman's eyes are shining with excitement already.

Patton looks more concerned. "A quest?"

"Yes," Virgil says solemnly. "Your quest is to make sure your friend is having fun the whole time, and to listen to each other. Okay?"

Roman bounces in place. "Yes! I'm gonna be the best quester ever! Promise, Pat, you're gonna have so much fun!"

Roman grabs Pat's hand and they run out together to the back yard. Virgil sets himself up to clean the dress right by the big window to keep an eye on them, one ear always open for the cries of skinned knees or a-little-too-roughhousing

Patton smiles, face glowing as he listens to Roman's idea of how they can be pirate-witch-knight-ninjas.

It's nice to have a friend.

⁂

Part 2: thirteen

"Psstt!!! Patty!"

Patton turns to see Roman grinning hugely from his locker across the hallway. He waves frantically to get him to come over.

"What's up, buttercup?"

"It's here! Papa texted me, it just arrived!"

Patton freezes, eyes wide. "Already? Really? You mean it?!"

Roman nods, grinning hugely. "So you're coming over today. We'll say it's for that bio project if we have to, kay?"

Patton brushes at his eyes, making sure he's not tearing up visibly. He surprises Roman with a fierce hug. "Thank you, Roro."

Roman hugs back just as tightly, but he responds in a whisper so quiet that only his friend can hear. "You deserve it, Patton."

Patton can't stop smiling, even as his eyes feel like they're getting misty. "Oh gosh, how am I supposed to focus on algebra now? Can we just skip the last two periods?"

"Pat Corwan, 8th Grade Class President, wants to skip classes?" Roman replies with a mock gasp. "I'm shocked and appalled. And no, I have long-block scene study, there's no way I'm skipping."

"I know, I know. I'll see you soon!" Grinning, Patton walks away to his class, practically floating.

His desk-mate takes one look as he sits down and arches a brow. "So, Corwan, did he finally ask you out or what?"

"What?" Patton asks, barely aware he'd spoken.

Logan Williams sighs. "Sanders. Did he ask you out? You're smiling even more than normal. If I sunburned easy, I'd be concerned right now."

"Um, no? Ro and I are just best friends," Patton replies.

Logan rolls his eyes. "Best friends? You go to his house half the time after school, everyone's been waiting for you two to officially start dating."

"I-"

"Actually, if you were waiting for an excuse, you should run for Homecoming King & Queen together, I have a bet on that being the timing."

Patton frowns. "I have no plans to run for homecoming anything. I'm on the selection committee, that would be favoritism."

Logan shrugs. "Suit yourself. My only interest is in getting to finally hear a different topic of speculation during the lunchtime gossip mill. But you should probably know-"

Patton looks apprehensive. "Know what?"

Logan adjusts his glasses. "Half the grade already calls you The Future Mrs. Sanders."

Patton swallows a lump in his throat, fingers fidgeting with the material of his skirt. "I don't care what they all call me. He's my friend."

Patton turns his focus back to the lesson, but he keeps spacing out and missing parts, thinking about Logan's comments. But soon enough he's through algebra, and history passes without incident, and he's on his way to the Sanders house on Roman's bus.

As they walk through the door, Roman trills loudly, "Paaapaaaa!!!!!!! We're hoooOOOmmmeee!"

"I think I missed the part where I raised a rooster instead of a Roman," Virgil grumbles, emerging from his home office. "Heya, Patton!"

"Hi, Virgil," Patton says, grinning happily as Virgil immediately opens his arms for a hug. It's been years since he's even tried to call Roman's dad 'Mr. Sanders', because Virgil objects that it makes him sound like some corporate square.

"You wanna see it now or do you need to decompress first?" Virgil asks.

"Now please!" Patton says, and Roman claps and runs to the entrance hall to find the package waiting there.

Practically bouncing, Roman hands the package to Patton as he goes into the spare bedroom that's practically become his. His hands shake a little as he tears open the packaging.

"Patton? Kiddo, you okay in there?" Virgil asks through the door.

Patton emerges, tears leaking down his cheeks. He's changed into some of the clothes he keeps here, plus his new addition - pants, a polo, and his brand-new binder.

Roman bursts into applause, wolf-whistling and cheering. Virgil just smiles. "How's it feel, kiddo?"

Patton smiles at them, eyes damp. "It feels perfect. Thank you so much for letting me get it sent here."

"Anytime you need, Patton," Virgil says. "You know you're an honorary Sanders. Now, do you remember the safety tips we talked about?"

"No sleeping in it, or wearing for too many hours at a time, and try not to exercise in it?"

"That's right, kiddo. And you can keep it here until you feel comfortable wearing it out and about."

Roman hugs Patton carefully, not squeezing as tight as he normally does. "You look very handsome, Pat."

Patton just blushes and hugs back, amazed by the new feeling of the less-squish-in-the-front of the hug.

"Also I know it's our excuse but can you actually help with me bio, I can't get the hang of the cycles."

"Anytime, Roro."

Much later that evening, after a spaghetti dinner and several hours of 'homework' that actually accomplished one half hour's worth, Patton leans back against the bedspread with a happy sigh.

Roman looks up, eyes glowing in contentment. "Hey, you. You good?"

Patton looks down at his flatter chest and smiles. "Yeah, it's- I'm so happy, Ro. Thank you again."

"It's what you deserve, Pat," Roman says earnestly. "You deserve to have your family fully embrace and accept you, too, but until then you've got us."

Patton makes grabby hands, and Roman scoots over to hug him tightly. They don't always need words.

"Ro-" Pat says quietly, a thought suddenly popping into his head and out his mouth. "Did you know that half the grade calls me The Future Mrs. Sanders?"

Roman stiffens, not making eye contact. "I've, uh. Heard that once or twice, yeah. I know it sucks, Pat, but I don't know how to discourage it without outing you."

Patton takes a breath. "That part- I mean, I'm used to it. But-"

Roman sits back, looking concerned. "You know you deserve to have people use your pronouns and honorifics, right? It's not too much to ask. It won't be an imposition, I promise, it's just courtesy-"

"I know, Roro, thank you. No, I um. Yeah, that Mrs. part is still an unyeah, but-"

Roman waits, a little confused.

Patton closes his eyes. "Does the other part bother you? The part where they're implying that we- that we'd get, you know."

"Married?" Roman squeaks out.

"Yeah, that."

"I- I mean, you'll be my best friend no matter what but um, maybe, occasionally, Ithinkaboutthattooyeah?" Roman says all in a rush, blushing furiously.

Patton opens his eyes to see Roman's red face, then reaches out and takes Roman's hand. "Oh thank goodness."

Roman stares at their interlocked hands for a long moment, face growing steadily redder. "Really?" he manages to squawk out. "You- you really- me?"

"Who could I possibly like more than you, Roro?" Patton replies, and he's blushing too, now. "I- I love you, Roman. As much as I know how."

Roman makes a strangled sound of delight, only able to smile and nod. He swallows, trying to compose himself, and whispers, "Patton - will you be my boyfriend?"

Patton is fairly sure he could never contain more warm fuzzies than he does right now, hearing "boyfriend" applied to himself, from this wonderful, wonderful boy that has been his best friend for 6 years.

"Only if you're be mine too, buttercup," he whispers, happy tears sparkling in his eyes for the second time today.

⁂

Part 3: twenty-one

Roman watches Patton moving around their dorm room as he paces.  In his head Roman counts how many minutes have elapsed and decides it’s time to interfere.

“Honeycake, you can always decide not to, you know that, right?”

Patton flashes him a distracted smile. “I know, sweetheart, but that’s the problem. I want to, I’m just-“ He twists his hands nervously. “I’m nervous, Ro.”

“Would it help to talk over why you’re nervous, or do you want to not think about it?”

Patton paces again, back and forth, then sighs. “I’m going to do this eventually, so I might as well do it now. I want to remember tomorrow without regret.”

Roman stands and grabs Patton’s fidgeting hands, holding them in his and looking directly into Patton’s eyes. “Let’s do this, Pat. I’m here for you, always.”

Patton smiles weakly. “Can you dial, I’m going to chicken out.”

Roman nods, and unlocks Patton’s phone. In just a couple buttons, it’s ringing on speaker.

“You’ve reached the Corwan residence.”

Patton takes a breath, and says, “Hi, Dad.”

“Ah, good, we were beginning to worry we’d miss the ceremony tomorrow!”

“Yeah,” Patton says, a little shaky. “Well, I’ve asked, and there will be tickets for you and Mom at the box office.”

“Thank you. You know how excited we are to watch you graduate! We are so proud of you, Patricia.”

Patton flinches, and Roman immediately grabs his hand and squeezes.

“Um, yeah. I- I don’t know if we’ll have time to go out after, there’s a lot of stuff for the program and student leadership-“

”If you think we’re not going to take our daughter out to dinner on her big day, you’ve got another thing coming!” he replies in a jovial tone. Patton flinches again.

“Oh- okay then, Dad. I’ll see if there’s time. Um. See you tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait!”

Patton hangs up, head bowed. Roman immediately starts to peppering his face in kisses.

“My sweet, dear man, you are so brave and wonderful and also I will absolutely make those tickets disappear if you’d like them not to come after all.”

Patton leans into Roman’s chest with a shaky chuckle. “No, I think it’s time, love. I don’t want to keep hiding.”

The next day, the campus is a zoo, filled with families and balloons and people trying to find an open spot for photoshoots in their caps and gowns.

Roman and Virgil have teamed up to convince Patton to be subjected to full model treatment, Roman earnestly whispering “Make it fashion!” from behind Virgil’s clicking camera. Patton’s laughing as he tries to balance on the hippo statue that is their school’s mascot.

Then, though, it’s time, and Roman and Patton wave to Virgil as they file into the huge staging area with their classmates. They’re a sea of maroon robes, brightened by cords and stoles in various colors for all the school’s affinity groups and activities. Patton’s got so many, he looks like he’s wearing a rainbow. He fidgets with his colored stole. “Ro-“ he says, grabbing for his boyfriend’s hand.

“Patton, my light, you look amazing,” Roman says, leaning in close so only Patton can hear his murmur. “You are so, so strong, and so brave, and I love you to the moon and to Saturn.”

Patton smiles into Roman's shoulder, and manages to relax. They share a quick, chaste kiss, then separate to their halves of the alphabet.

Luckily, as they file in, their seats end up just across the aisle from each other, and Roman keeps turning to blow kisses.

The good thing about being in the Cs is that Patton doesn’t have too long to sit and let his nervousness fester. He walks up to the stage in procession, seeing Roman mouth “You’ve got this!” from the crowd of graduates.

“Cosgrave, Alicia” walks across the stage to the cheers of her family and accepts her diploma. Patton takes a deep breath.

“Corwan, Patton!”

He pushes his various cords out of the way to reveal his stole’s colors: stripes of light blue, pink, and white. He squares his shoulders, and walks across the stage. He’s not looking at the crowd, but he recognizes Virgil’s whooping.

He accepts his diploma, shakes the university president’s hand, and poses for the staged picture all before allowing himself to look up into the bleachers.

He can immediately see the Corwans. They don’t look mad, just- confused. His dad seems to be studying the program intently. He turns back to his seat, to see Roman’s smile glowing from across the aisle.

“I’m so proud of you,” he mouths, eyes shining, and Patton lets out a relieved sigh. He did it. And Roman’s here. It will be okay, no matter what happens next.

The rest of the ceremony melts away, and all Patton really remembers is Roman pulling faces at him as the speakers drag on, and him having to muffle his giggles.

The minute they’re standing to proceed out, Roman leaves his place in line to sneak over and slip his hand into Patton‘s. He sticks by his side until they’re out in the meeting area.  Patton has a deathgrip on Roman’s hand with nervousness as he looks around the crowd.

Virgil finds them first, and Roman’s very flamboyant uncle Remy is there, too, stealing Roman’s mortarboard to pose dramatically.

Then Patton hears the polite cough behind him that he knows is his mom. He turns, Roman’s hand in his still, with the Sanders brothers at his back.

“Why did they say your name like that?” his dad asks bluntly.

Patton straightens. “Because that’s the name on my diploma.”

“Patricia, what’s the meaning of this-“

“It’s Patton, dad. I changed it legally.”

“Patty, what are you saying?” his mom asks, frowning.

Patton plucks at his stole. “I’m trans, mum. I’m a boy. And I was always meant to be one, no matter how many dresses I wore.”

His heart is in his throat, beating like mad, but Roman’s squeezing his hand in pride and Virgil and Remy are behind him. He can practically hear Remy sliding his glasses down his nose to glare at the Corwans.

”And you’re okay with this- this delusion?!” Mr. Corwan demands, turning to glare at Roman.

“Absolutely,” Roman replies immediately. “He’s been my boyfriend for 7 years, and I love him as he is and exactly as he is.”

”This- no, that’s ridiculous, Patricia,” his dad spits out. “No daughter of mine is going to be part of this trender nonsense. I thought that was clear.”

“You made your position clear he was seven and scared to go home,” Virgil cuts in acidly. His hand is warm and comforting on Patton’s shoulder. “You made it clear that he’d have to hide himself from his own parents because they couldn’t find a way to love their child as a son.”

Mr. Corwan sputters, turning purple, as Mrs. Corwan turns white.

“Well- you can say goodbye to any help from us-"

“What help?” Remy drawls. “Ya boy’s graduated, been hired, and signed a lease without you. He doesn’t need your assistance even if you wanted to give it.”

Mrs. Corwan purses her lips. “Well, I hope that he,” she says tightly, exaggerating the pronoun in what is clearly intended as mockery, “is prepared to go through life without a family.”

Roman takes a step in front of Patton at that. “You’re not ashamed to say that to your only kid? Really? I’ve got news for you, ma’am. He’ll always have a family.”

“What, you mean that?” she asks with a derisive sniff at Virgil and Remy still holding Patton’s shoulders.

“No,” Roman says, suddenly calm. “I mean this."

He turns, smoothly sinking to one knee as he smiles up into Patton’s shocked-into-smiling face.

“Patton Corwan, my gorgeous man, love of my life, will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

All the heaviness in his chest melts away and the knots in his stomach dissolve as Patton smiles down into Roman’s adoring gaze. “Oh Roman,” Patton says. “I would love nothing more.”

“I will not stand for-“ Mr. Corwan gets out, but Patton’s gaze locks onto his.

“Congrats. You don’t need to. You already said no daughter of yours will be like me, and you were right. You’ve made it clear I’m not your family. And as long as that’s how you feel, I don’t want to be.” Before he can sputter out an answer, Patton adds, “Plus, it’s way too late to object. Should’ve been there over Christmas if you wanted to, now you’re gonna have to forever hold your peace.”

“I’m- what?”

“Can I tell them?” Roman says, standing with a huge grin. Patton nods, starting to laugh.

“Patton asked me to marry him way back in December, the minute he got his early job offer. It was a beautiful ceremony. It even had the kind of dress I’m sure you were picturing, and I wore it particularly well, if I do say so myself.”

“Oh, rough luck babes, looks like your invites got lost,” Remy drawls. “Well, maybe you’ll get to get to your other kid’s wedding. Oh wait.”

Virgil grins. “You two spouses want to go get graduation lunch now? My treat. I think they’re gonna need a minute.”

“Or a couple thousand,” Remy mutters.

Patton turns away from his parents, beaming at his family. “That would be wonderful, Papa.”

⁂

trigger warning for not wanting to live, trans struggles, self hatred

sorry that this is super long and whiny, no pressure to respond but thank you a lot if you do!

hello there! I'm currently unable to access therapy so I can't get diagnosed. I was already diagnosed with a sensory disorder as a child and general anxiety. I know I can't self diagnose but I want to better understand what's going on with myself and at least have an idea. Throughout my life I've felt really badly depressed. I can't remember the last time I wasn't depressed, it must have been when I was really young. The depression never goes away. It is occasionally less severe but only when I'm escaping reality. I'm transgender and I am not out to most people. I can't stop thinking obsessively about getting surgery. I fear deeply that I've been influenced somehow to feel transgender, because I don't usually feel a want with such conviction. I am never decisive, I always doubt myself, but I am so sure about how badly I need surgery that it scares me. The fact that I physically cannot stop myself from thinking about it is really concerning. My life is falling apart around me, I'm constantly failing and losing everything, and all I can think about is this daydream of getting surgery instead of fixing my life. I'm scared that I don't really want surgery and that I'm actually just telling myself that when I get surgery I will be able to fight my depression. I fear that I'm lying to myself about needing something to make it better when nothing can really heal me from depression. I understand that it won't just go away, but I want surgery so badly that I feel like it is the end goal so I can start living. It is the only thing that keeps me alive sometimes is the idea that I can do it one day and live my life and cope with depression. Sometimes I feel happiness for a second and it makes me so uncomfortable and scared because it's so foreign to me. I feel so alone. I have always felt so awful and sick about myself in every way. I don't even understand fully why I feel like I'm transgender. I know I've always hated my body and wanted to be a different gender, but I wonder if I am not trans and I actually just have self hatred problems. Inside I really do want someone to tell me, yes it's okay to be transgender and you're not wrong, go get surgery and then you'll be able to live your life. But not only is that confirmation bias ridden, wanting to hear validation so I run away from any transphobia, but. I also worry deeply that I will get surgery and then remain just as depressed because I am the problem. I feel like I am the reason my life falls apart. I dropped out of college 2 years ago and left my job and i tried going back to school but i failed my classes. I am living with my family again and I work for them but I don't really get paid enough to save anything. I'm too depressed to think of what i want to do in the future even though they ask me all the time what my plan is now that i failed again. I cant talk honestly to them about any of this. Im so scared of it i have constant nightmares about them knowing anything about me. I try to stay positive but i feel broken and useless. i am failing in every way. i dont know what to do im really desperate. Thank you a lot for being here for people.

Hey lovely,

I’m sorry to hear that you can’t access therapy. I do hope this will become a possibility in the future, so that you can get properly diagnosed, but most of all, so that you can get the treatment you need and deserve. Like you might know, we don’t promote self-diagnosis for the reasons listed here. However, we do think it’s good to be aware of your own symptoms and try to understand them better.

I’ve personally been diagnosed with Persistent Depressive Disorder (Dysthymia). This is when your depression lasts longer than two years. Throughout dealing with PDD, there can be major depressive episodes, since the depression with PDD tends to be slightly lighter / not as heavy. A different term for PDD is chronic depression, which I personally found really scary because I felt like it’d mean it’d never stop. The term chronic here is meant more as in ‘long term’, rather than ‘forever’.

It sounds like you see surgery as a chance for your depression to fall away. While I do think that you can feel better after surgery, feel more like yourself, I doubt that not having had surgery yet is the sole cause of your depression. It’s usually more complicated than that. So it can be tricky to expect so much of it, because then you can only be disappointed and I wouldn’t want you to have to go through that.

It also sounds like daydreaming about your surgery, is something that holds you up. It helps you manage your current mental state. And I’d say that’s okay! We all need something to keep us up, to escape the reality of mental health struggles. Of course you do need to face it from time to time, but you can’t do that all the time. You need an escape sometimes. So if that escape is daydreaming about surgery, I don’t want to take that away from you! I have my escape too, I read a lot of books where I can escape into different worlds.

Feeling depressed can become a security blanket too. It’s a familiar feeling. You know what it’s like. So then when you feel happiness, or at least a bit happier than usually, it’s scary. You don’t recognise that feeling. It’s completely new to you. So it feels uncomfortable and you try to get back to feeling depressed, because at least you know that feeling.

I can’t look inside your head, so I can’t tell you whether you’re transgender or not. But I can tell you that it’s completely okay to be transgender! You mention that you’ve always wanted to be a different gender, which sounds completely valid to me! Even if you hadn’t felt that way always, you could still be transgender. It’s okay to be transgender, it’s okay to want surgery. But I don’t know if it’s fair to expect to be able to live your life without depression afterwards.

Sometimes, thinking about the future can be too overwhelming. That’s what I find at least! I dropped out of uni and have been working ever since, but if I think about the future and going back to uni, I get overwhelmed. So I try to focus on the present. I’m working now and that’s okay. It’s okay for where I’m at right now. If I manage to feel better mental health wise, then maybe I can think about going to uni again. But right now that isn’t doable, so I don’t consider it. Do you think this approach might be helpful for you too?

I hope this helped at least a little bit! If there’s anything else we can do to help, please let us know.

Sometimes what seems impossible, is just hard. Love Pauline

Why are you following me if you wanna defend jk rowling? Like you can if you want, but you do know I'm trans and 100% support trans women and hate tefs, right? Anyway, I'm perfectly happy for jkr (or anyone else) to talk about stigma around menstruation, lack of access to abortion, whatever. These are real problems, absolutely! But you can talk about them without being transphobic, I promise. And it's the transphobia that people have a problem with.

@jealousofthetea

women are not transphobic for acknowledging the material reality of biological sex and female sex-based oppression. i have sympathy for people with sex dysphoria or anyone who is uncomfortable with the stereotypical gender roles of their sex (what feminist wouldn’t be?), but that does not mean i am willing to pretend to believe in something that isn’t true. i’m sure you understand why Rachel Dolezal was rightfully called out for racism. i’m just asking for sexism to be given the same courtesy. transgender people have the right to live their lives how they want, the same as everyone else. they don’t have the right to force people to see them as the sex they desire to be. i don’t identify as a woman, i just am one. you understand that transgender ideology falls apart without the existence of stereotypical gender roles, right? if biology is considered irrelevant, how do you define “woman” without using sexist stereotypes? how can women/girls speak about their oppression if they don’t even have the words to define themselves? how are they going to do anything of real substance when even stating that they’re oppressed on the basis of sex is considered bigotry? abortion, menstruation, pregnancy, etc., are not the issues of a random group of people.  they specifically affect women and girls (people of the female sex). if we pretend otherwise then we are unable to discuss the ways women are affected by misogyny. would menstruation be stigmatized if it occurred in men as well? would men be so eager to control who can get an abortion and when if they were able to experience pregnancy? even if everyone in the word identified as transgender or agender or nonbinary and the word “woman” was effectively meaningless, there would still exist a class of people (female) who face oppression by another class of people (male) and we deserve the right to acknowledge that.

i’m not sure if you’ve read this far. i understand you think i’m being hateful and ignorant. it’s not surprising when so much effort online is spent trying to convince you that anything resembling “terf” speech is evil and should be blocked on sight. i thought the same until i came across radical feminist and gender critical blogs. i found their analysis on sexism/gender really insightful and found myself agreeing with so much of what they had to say. but soon i came across certain posts and thought “oh no, this isn’t a terf, is it?” because i’m a good, progressive person, of course / i / couldn’t be a “terf”. ironically, i was actually looking for pro-transgender analysis because more and more it was starting to confuse me. but the more i read, the more confused i got. there were so many contradictions and seemingly sexist/reductive explanations. and i don’t consider myself a stupid person. it just didn’t make sense. even when i was desperately trying to agree that “transwomen are women”, the arguments backing it up didn’t seem to hold any weight. i wasn’t brainwashed or radicalized by radical feminists (how condescending and sexist). the cognitive dissonance was too much for me and i didn’t let the fear of being branded a “terf” keep me from thinking for myself and trusting my own judgment. if caring about female oppression/liberation really makes me “transphobic”, there’s nothing i can do about that.

if you want to get a better idea of radical feminism (which i consider to be basic, actual feminism tbh) i’d suggest looking through my biological sex, gender,  transgenderism, sex industry, and male violence tags. obviously not all of this will be about transgender people because, contrary to what some might believe, that’s not all radfems talk about. of course, you don’t have any obligation to look through my blog and you’re free to totally disregard this as well.

if you want me to unfollow you, that’s fine and maybe for the best.

safety pin (ow highschool au)

summary: jesse and genji make a promise to each other and maybe, this time, two wrongs will make a right. read it on ao3

a/n: this is very based off the song safety pin by 5 seconds of summer bc im on a mcgenji and old 5sos kick rn. Featuring an american high school written by a british first year college student. Also jesse and hana are jack and gabes kids ok good cool also genji is trans and lucio is enby ok bye 

genji and jesse use he/him, hana uses she/her and lucio uses he/they

Ships: mcgenji, a sprinkling of bunnyribbit and background reaper76

word count: 1.2k (this is the longest fic i’ve ever written holy shit)

tw for mentions of transphobia and gender dysphoria/ self deprecating talk

Jesse just wanted to get to his locker. But instead, he was greeted with a crowd of people shouting horrible things at someone. Upon further investigation, he saw two people being targeted. And when the taller boy saw the green, he knew it was Genji and Lucio. 

Genji could usually stand up for himself, so why wasn’t he? 

Before anything could happen physically, the vice principal, Jack Morrison, appeared with his husband and head of phys ed, Gabriel Reyes, in tow. They were the teachers in charge of the GSA and they were also Jesse’s parents. They both knew how much Genji meant to Jesse, and how much Lucio meant to Genji so they were always first to take their side whenever anything happened to them.  

“Get to class, all of you!” Jack shouted, his voice laced with anger but also an attempt to stay professional. Gabe weaved through the crowds in an attempt to get them to disperse, before he caught the dickheads responsible.

“Principal's office. Now” Gabe scowled, his voice also laced with anger.

 As the crowd cleared, Jack spotted Jesse and Hana, worry plastered on their faces.

“Jesse, Hana, stay here.” he said, his voice much softer. He had a soft spot for any of the kids in the GSA, he’d been in their position years ago and was glad to give them the help he wished he had. At this point, the GSA was just the entire queer population of the school and no allies, but that was fine. They could all just unapologetically be themselves, without the fear of judgement. The GSA was the safest place in the school to be for them. 

“I’ll let your teachers know what's gone on and have them mark you in for the rest of the day but you don't have to go to class.” He was addressing the four of them now, voice still soft but laced with concern for the green duo. “I’ll write you all hall passes but you’re free to sit in our room if you want to. I’ll also notify all staff about what’s happened and I’ll be in my office if any of you need me.” 

“Thank you, Sir.” the four of them said in somewhat unison. Once Jack had walked off, Hana rushed over to Lucio, who was leaning against the wall and still shaking from the encounter.

“Lú! Are you ok?” Hana asked, concern now laced through her voice. She cradled Lucio’s head in her hands, rubbing away their tears. 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, Hana. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. I guess I deserve it, wearing a skirt to school” they replied. Being one of two openly trans people in the entire school was bound to go wrong at some point. 

“Shut it, dingus. We both know you don’t deserve it. It’s not our fault people are transphobic assholes.” Genji chimed in. 

“Exactly!” Hana said. “Now, let's go sit in the room and fix your makeup. You deserve to feel pretty, baby.” With that statement, the pair set off, hand in hand, to the room that GSA meetings were held in, leaving Jesse and Genji alone in the hallway. Genji was still processing what happened but Jesse pulled him back to reality.

“Our spot?” Jesse asked, voice quiet in order to not disturb the students learning in the class opposite them. Genji just nodded, and after Jesse got his bag from his locker (which was the only reason he was in that part of the school anyway), they set off toward the exits.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Thank god I got some snacks, I forgot we were gonna have a shorter lunch. I’m starvin’.” Jesse started, plonking himself down on the ground with Genji following suit opposite him. “You ok darlin’? Ya still look scared. How come ya didn’t stand up for yourself? I know you can, the entire grade has seen ya do it before.”  Genji chuckled and sighed, before replying.

“I was already having a bad enough day with my dysphoria and I was talking about it with Lucio when someone overheard us and.. yeah.” 

“Oh, baby, I-”

“No, it’s fine.” Genji said, cutting Jesse off. “They’re right, I’m not a real man and never will be. I wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted to break up with me, Jesse.” Genji couldn’t hold back the tears any longer and before he could say anything, he was in Jesse’s arms. One of the few places he felt safe. One of two places where he could exist without judgement.

“Dumplin’, I know it’s hard but please never believe anything those assholess say. You’re not only a man, but you’re MY man and I’m not going anywhere. Nothing will ever change that. Ever. They’re just asshats that lack so much self confidence that they tear others down.” Jesse said softly, cradling his lovers face in his hands, wiping away tears. 

Genji melted at any nickname Jesse gave him, especially dumpling. It came from an in-joke on their first date, where Genji had compared himself to a dumpling, small and bite sized (compared to Jesse anyway) and the nickname stuck ever since. 

“Do ya want me to do anything, darlin’?” Jesse murmured, rubbing circles on Genji’s back in an effort to calm his tears.

“No, this is fine for now.” Genji barely whispered, not even daring to look up at the brunette. Just as Jesse was about to reply, his phone pinged. 

buncha fuckin misfits

padre: the dickheads have been dealt with and they’re outta here

gaymer gorl: good riddance lmao

boy scout lookin ass: those kids have done this multiple times and i’m surprised it took this long to expel them 

boy scout lookin ass: how are gen and lú by the way?

gaymer gorl: i redid Lú’s makeup and they’re back to lookin fabulous!

yee to the haw: just givin’ gen some cuddles, he was already havin’ a bad day with dysphoria and he just needs some convincin’ that he’s stronger than he thinks. he’ll be ok :)

With that, Jesse shut off his phone and turned his attention back to the green haired boy in his arms. The brunette ran his hands through the sea of green hair beneath him, letting out a low whistle when he realised how soft it was.

“I redyed it last night” Genji said, his tears having pretty much run dry at his point. 

“Well, ya better tell me what hair products you use, darlin’. Wish my hair was as soft as this.” 

Genji let out a chuckle, which made Jesse smile. He’s getting there. 

The pair stayed like that for some time until Jesse had an idea. He reached over to his bag and pulled a safety pin off the strap, handing it to Genji. Before Genji could question him, he began to explain himself.

“ Maybe we can safety pin the pieces of our broken hearts back together. We’ve both been hurt so much in the past, and we’re obviously gonna wanna be whole in the future. So, I’ll give you this as a promise, that I’m always gonna have your back and the one on my bag is your promise to me, that you’ll always have my back. Make sense?” Jesse said, pinky extended towards his love, smile creeping onto his face.

“Of course.” Genji replied. “Besides, maybe, this time, two wrongs make a right.”

All knowing love

pairing; V x Trans Man! Reader

summary; being under V's loving and watchful eye.

requested; Anonymous

rating; T

warnings; transphobia, parental abuse (physical), hints of suicide (but never outright said)

word count; 2185

A/N; this isn't wasn't the fluffiest thing I could write but once talking to my trans boyfriend I couldn't help but feel having a bit of angst was acceptable.

When Y/N was still just a child, he knew something was off about him. Not something "bad" or "wrong" that people would call this feeling when he'd tell them. "It's just a phase" was a comment that was thrown at them mostly by their parents when they were still in their teens, just before high Chancellor Sutler was ever in the eye of politics. Oh, how those days would seem like a humid southern summer walk compared to when Sutler came into the picture. The transphobia he had experienced grew like how weeds grow in futile soil.

The comments like "You're confused" slowly started to warp into something more demeaning to the boy as the Chancellor candidate's toxic grip on the people of England started to squeeze any "unwanted" life out of it. "Undesirable" life as he would call it. When hair was cut after Sutler was elected, there weren't small arguments anymore that would be fixed when he'd be asked if he were hungry and wanted to eat supper with them. It became violent and unlike the people who had raised him for the last 15 years. Having handfuls of freshly cut hair be ripped out because his mother was holding him by his scalp just to yell in his face how much of a monster he was broke his heart.

Was it fear that caused this? Were they scared of losing their only child as many other families had? Was their bundle of joy in their life really an undesirable and the cause of this virus outbreak? Just why? He'd ask himself that as he was packing his bags in preparation to leave the family home for good.

Three long years had passed and at the ripe age of 18, he moved out into the busy streets of London. A small pit in his stomach began to form as the sickening feeling came back. The cause of it was from one simple but yet complex question; could he survive in this fascist regime? Sadness also fueled this emotional fire, sadness from knowing he'd have to use so many things he knew was wrong and didn't describe him truthfully just so he could get a place to come to when curfew hit; The name that was long dead to him the second it was given to him and female pronouns. He'd be signing his own death certificate if he put Y/N instead of his deadname on his application to rent.

They'd look it up and find no Y/N L/N in England and call the police on him in a split second. Shivers ran down his spine as he imagined what would happen to him if that became a reality. No one knew what happened when you were deemed "undesired" but everyone after having Sulter for three years knew that they would go missing and would be never seen of or heard from again. You were just wiped off the face of the Earth.

Y/N lucky had enough money saved from working in retail for the past 2 years to get a small apartment. When he was finally given the keys to the place he couldn't help but sigh in relief. At least in this tiny space, he could be his true self without shaking in fear as he had in his past while being stuck in his parents' home. The next three years were some of the worse when it came to dysphoria. Being forced to go to work almost every day and be called ma'am or miss and be deadnamed constantly damaged his mental health to the point it felt easier just to be open with his identity.

Anything would be better than being forced to hide in this shell of terror. Nights of panic attacks and sobbing that sounded like a wounded animal as he laid on the rotten wooden floor became a routine. On the morning of his 21st birthday, he woke up in the late afternoon. There was no panic in him when he realized he was late for work, how could someone care when this would be their last day on Earth?

With scissors in his hand, he grabbed his hair and began to chop it off sloppily but that didn't matter to him as long as it was finally short like it was when he was a child, and that was enough for him. The thought that when the police would see him, that'd see a man instead of what society had deemed him brought a smile to the young adult. The feeling of freedom pumped through his veins as he went on with his day. It felt odd but refreshing to feel the cold air from his AC on his neck as he fixed himself some bacon and eggs. It wasn't the fanciest thing someone could eat on this day, but it was enough for him.

Around ten AM he left his flat, walking with newfound confidence due to his hair and now his wrapped chest. He had heard from the grapevine that wrapping one's chest in medical bandages could cause serious damage like nerve loss but one this final day he decided to risk it so he could pass in normal daily life. Being called sir by ticket seller at the movies brought him so much joy as he grabbed his "Count of Monte Cristo" tickets and wished them a good day as he went deeper into the movie theater to find theater four to watch the movie. Y/N was somewhat surprised to see only one other person in the audience. Sure, he was 10 minutes late but this was a classic film that was finally being let out of the vault to be watched again! Nevertheless, the man sat down a few rows in front of the figure, settling down into the uncomfortable chair.

“I didn't expect you to come.”

He could tell from how the figure's words were muffled that they were wearing a mask. Y/N turned to them with a confused look on their face.

“Excused me?” Y/N asked but their confusion just deepened as he saw that the figure was wearing.

A Guy Fawkes mask with a matching hat while wearing pitch-black clothing. The man under the mask chuckled as they stood up, Y/N couldn't help but be slightly intimidated by the height of this masked figure.

“I should have done this first so you wouldn't be so perplexed, ” he cleared his throat as began monologing, using many words that start with the letter V in his speech which in turn slightly impressed the 21-year-old.

“But you can simply call me V.”

"V" said while taking a bow

Y/N couldn't help but snicker at this display of some kind of knightship which in turn had V cocked his head in slight confusion on what could be so funny

“Well, Mr. V, might I ask why you're here alone?”

“I could ask you the same thing, but as I am apparently on a tight schedule I won't elaborate”

“Tight sch-” the man interrupted them by placing his leather glove covered finger on top of their lips

“Yes, very much tight schedule as I only have 2 hours till your self made demise am I correct?”

He was blown away at the fact this random stranger knew of his most shameful plan, but the feeling of shock was soon replaced with anger. This creep was stalking me! He thought as he slapped away the masked man, getting up from his chair as he did so.

“You have some right talking to me like that!” he yelled as he started to march away from them.

V reached out and grabbed their hair in a somewhat gentle way

“Y/N wait please, ” he sighed as Y/N stopped who's face was twisted in bitterness “I understand how you feel Y/N, I truly do. I was labeled an undesirable so please don't think that I've been keeping an eye on you in for any other reason than just to keep you safe.”

When he said this Y/N rage seemed to melt away slowly. How was he able to survive being an undesirable? So many questions filled the male's head but the only word he could speak was

“How?”

V let go of his hair as he straightened his posture “If you come with me I'll tell you.”

The more sensible side of the man told him to run away from this masked freak and enjoy what little time you had left in peace but something stopped him. After a moment of silence, he nodded to V's pleasure. He took the 21-year old by the hand and lead them to the back exit. The two walked down the alley and what drew Y/N's eye other than the 6'3 black mass was the posters. Every single one they pasted seemed to have a V cut into them.

He broke the long silence with another question “Did you mark those posters?”

“Does a raven speak?”

“But why?”

V didn't stop walking but he could feel his eyes on him. For being an undesirable he sure seems fine being out after curfew Y/N thought as they waited for the answer.

“The people deserve a symbol. Something to get them through this.”

He opened his mouth to ask what he meant by that but quickly shut it once the meanings of the words came to mind. Maybe he wasn't this creep, more like this country's guardian angel that would save them all from high Chancellor Sutler. It didn't take long for him to reach what Y/N guessed as V's home which turned out to be an abandoned Victoria station. Y/N looked over at him with an eyebrow raised as V opened the hatch that kept the station locked to the public who had originally thought it was abandoned. V turned back to the man and gave him his hand simply saying "follow me, sir Y/N".

Once V was given the curious man's hand he rubbed his thumb over their knuckles before tenderly pulling them inside. He held the hand as they walked in the pitch black, guiding them until they found a giant door which to Y/N's touch felt like it had complex carvings in them. When the masked man opened the door Y/N couldn't help but wince as golden light hit his E/C eyes that had just gotten used to the dark. He had expected V to let go of his hand once they reached his "lair" but he didn't. Oh, what a perplexing and mysterious man he was.

Y/N would be lying if he said his face wasn't blushing at this moment in time. V led them deeper into his beautiful home until both of them to were behind his couch which was black leather. In front of the said couch was a glass coffee table with a box on it. Y/N's hand was finally let go of as V sat on the couch.

“Come sit, I have something to give you.”

“But you said-”

“Please?”

He sighed as he complied, arms folded as he sat next to him. V opened the box and to Y/N's surprise, there was a biner in it. Once again, all he could ask was "How?" as all production and selling of items that could help trans folk was banned just as the Koran was. The masked man took the folded bundle into his giant hands and gave it to them once again shocked male.

“Life has been tough enough on you even if we don't add our government into it. Thank you for holding on. For surviving this long and not letting them take away your love for life and your fighting spirit.”

Without any hesitation, Y/N pulled V into a tight embrace with tears threatening to fall. No one had ever put their life in danger to give them this piece of happiness like this stranger had. All he could do was whimper out a "thank you" as a sob shook his chest deeply.

“Since I showed you my lair, you're going to have to stay till the next November the fifth, is that okay?”

Y/N couldn't help but nod immediately. He could finally be somewhere he was truly accepted for who he really was; a man who was just simply given the wrong body at birth.

V placed his hands on top of the weeping H/C man, stroking the uneven hair and placed his head onto the others.

“I'm cooking ham, is that okay?”

“mmhmm..”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

Hey, do you have any fics where Deku calms Bakugo down from a panic attack or some sort of anger episode? Or vise versa?

I payed more attention to fics that focused solely on the requested idea or had multiple scenes of it. (and boy was there a decent amount!) If you know of longer fics that include this idea (even if it’s your own XD) feel free to reblog or reply with them so people can find them in the notes c:

-Jay 

30 Works.

Dark Side of the Sun by Synnie( T | 51,597 | 20/20 )

Staying up too late playing video games, Kirishima wasn’t expecting to get an urgent call begging for help. Next thing he knew, he was letting his classmate Izuku Midoriya take refuge in his apartment - without consulting his always angry roommate.

SeriesPart 1 of Dark Side of Space

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Past Abuse | Self-Harm]

Can We Not? by vulcanhighblood( T | 32,740+ | 17/? )

Journalist Midoriya Izuku stumbles across Ground Zero brutalizing a vending machine. Unfortunately, he can’t just walk away from a Pro Hero in dire need of caffeine. So when a hero on the brink shakes him down for coffee, only to offer a coffee date in return…? Well, he doesn’t refuse. (He does, however, get said hero’s number, and ends up spending a lot more time with him than could have been predicted based on that first encounter.)

Grief Counseling by Merrywetherweather( E | 48,279 | 19/19 )

Katsuki remembered the first time he had failed to save someone, watched helplessly in horror as an elderly man had been crushed beneath the girth of a thrown car. He had already propelled himself forward to grab a small boy when he noticed, too late, the car fly by overhead. Two other heroes had been on the scene at the time and had assured him.

There was nothing that could have been done.

Most of class 1-A had already gone through a similar experience. The only one left with a clean track record in the rescue department had been Deku.

Well, except for today.

A slowburn fic where Kacchan tries to convince Deku to take advantage of the grief counseling provided for free to heroes experiencing their first failed rescues. Lots of flirting. Healing their relationship comes first. The romantic bit where they fall helplessly and stupidly in love comes after.

[PSTD | Panic Attacks]

Dream Sweet in Sea Major by showtiime ( M | 122,562 | 22/22 )

The day of the Hero Incident ends much more horribly than anyone could’ve imagined, but only Izuku knows that. He thinks as long as he forces himself to push through it that he can get over it, but of course, that’s not how things go. His mom, friends, teachers, and even his childhood friend-turned-rival take note of his odd behavior and try to help, but he refuses to talk about what really happened. How long and how thin will Bakugou’s patience go until Izuku finally confides and accepts the help he needs?

(in this fic, Shigaraki takes more from Izuku than he should’ve, Katsuki comes with the class that day at the mall, and there are still finals to be taken. Plenty can happen in only five to six weeks.)

(playlist)

[Rape/Non-Con | Underage | Abuse | Dissociation | PTSD | Panic Attacks | Suicide Attempt | Self-Harm]

Paper Moons and Glass Stars by Soundsoftherain( M | 82,948 | 18/18 )

The last time Katsuki had seen that mess of green hair had been during the summer after their first year of middle school, a boy sculpted from the purest sunlight sadly waving goodbye as he moved away.

That had been seven years ago.

Now that mop of wild curls was straddling his lap while scantily clad in black, leaving little to the imagination. The shy boy he once knew was now the star of Paper Moon, a strip club he’d been unwillingly dragged to by his friends. But through the muffled music one thought overwhelmed the raging whirlpool of his mind.

…What the actual fuck?

SeriesPart 1 of Glass Stars

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Panic Attacks | Stalking]

be loved by bonnia( T | 5,403 | 1/1 )

They sit there, in the darkness of the common room, about a few centimeters between them, but miles apart. Somehow, the quiet is companionable. More than it has been in many years. Katsuki knows he’s responsible for the rift between them, and he knows even more that it can’t only be Deku who attempts to mend it.

“Hey,” he says, after a while, and Deku turns to him in question, but Katsuki refuses to look his way. “Touch me again.”

(or: the kidnapping incident leaves bakugou traumatised about being touched on the back of his neck, and midoriya decides to take matters into his own hands)

[Panic Attacks | PTSD]

2,645 Miles by mynameis152( E | 131,839 | 38/38 )

Izuku wants so badly to get to the other side of the country without his parents realizing he’s missing. He just wants to find out who he is.

Katsuki is desperate to make it to Los Angeles without being caught by the police, desperate to fix his mistakes.

Neither know what to expect, but on a roadtrip across the U.S. involving four fugitives, two oblivious runaways, a high risk crime ring, and a police taskforce, the two will discover that there’s more in store for them than what they originally thought.

SeriesPart 1 of Guide Me Home To You

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Panic Attacks | Attempted Sexual Assault]

As One by semiautomatichearts( G | 2,508 | 1/1 )

Katsuki knows Izuku as he knows himself, as he knows the worn pages of a treasured book, the creases within his own hand.

He sees when something is wrong, and reaches across abyssal expanses, past the maw of his own pride, and he heals.

[Panic Attacks]

What’s up danger by The_Crafty_Cracker( M | 2,220 | 1/1 )

Because apparently,The fic where Deku punches a bigoted entailed asshole Alpha in the face wasn’t an appropriate title.

Poor Katsuki has his handful with his mate nearly getting arrested, again!

P.S there is also a joke about a quiche.

Super Mario Maker by Pop_Rocks (v_love)( E | 3,734 | 1/1 )

Midoriya is smart, and a nerd, meaning that when the entire class decided to take on the aspect of buying Super Mario Maker for the collection of games in the common area that he became sort of a living legend when it came to designing the levels.

Some were just joyous well designed little prank-type levels, others were difficult — but not impossible — and the rest? Well, those were impossible.

For all but one.

His Kacchan.

————

In which Bakugou rages.

SeriesPart 4 of Kacchan and Deku’s Shenanigans

Out Of Darkness by Arrival_Of_Dawn ( M | 78,364+ | 18/? )

Izuku Midoriya is legally dead for forty two minutes at the hands of a new villain, Nightmare. They are the longest forty two minutes as Izuku finds himself trapped in his own personal hell. He may have come back from nightmare induced death, but that does not mean the nightmares are gone. They haunt him at any given moment and neither he nor anyone else knows how to save him.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Panic Attacks]

Twenty-Four by SharkbaitSekki( T | 15,874 | 1/1 )

Izuku gets himself kidnapped, and Katsuki is dragged into it with him as they face villains with particularly terrifying illusion Quirks.

It ends up being a living nightmare, but Katsuki can’t bring himself to regret following Izuku into it all. Because between the pain and the terror, between the lies and the illusions, between life and death, at least they can always hang onto one another. Even if everything else is fake, they know that they will always be real.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence] 

Chapter 26 of an entire month for the broccoli boy and the shouty boy by Kasplode( T | 23,200 | 30/30 )

Acute fear pollutes his body, concentration increasing exponentially with each shallow inhale he breathes.

Deku, standing just in front of him, knocks at the familiar door to Midoriya Inko’s apartment.

They’re having dinner with her tonight. Introducing Katsuki as Deku’s boyfriend.

[Panic Attacks]

Someone to Stay by Maru_Chan( M | 5,462 | 1/1 )

He hears Izuku’s jeering laughter again and even when he can’t see him any longer, his last words ring loud on Katsuki’s ears, heavy and final like a sentence.

“Goodbye Kacchan, maybe you can try again in your next life”

And then everything is dark again.

It’s dark, he’s cold, he’s numb and he’s alone.

And it’s everything he deserves.

[Panic Attacks | PTSD] 

saltwater fears & saltwater tears by writedeku( T | 4,540 | 1/1 )

It’s not that Katsuki hasn’t hurt people before, but this is the first time he’s seen something so irrevocable. So tangible. Izuku will look back, ten, twenty years from now, and he’d still see the scar in the mirror, and still be a scared little boy in pain all over again, crying in the hallways.

(The middle is a time that makes Katsuki feel proud and ashamed, all at once.)

SeriesPart 3 of the saltwater saga

[Bullying | Past Abuse | Panic Attacks] 

What’s Mine But Only You Can Have? by masteremeraldholder

( T | 9,480 | 1/1 )

“What’s mine… but only you can have?”

Deku’s face softens, his eyes wide, mouth a little ‘o’. Baku’s stomach turns, maybe he shouldn’t have said it, maybe he should’ve listened to the quirk-stealers and kept his fucking mouth shut, but he knows that he couldn’t have even if he tried.

He’ll never get tired of Deku and his annoying antics, his patient nature, his shit ton of freckles, and if that’s what it means to love someone, then he’s gladly in it with Deku.

SeriesPart 2 of Schizophrenic Bakugou

[Panic Attacks | Self-Harm | Ableism]

Words to Never Say by InkspillsNotebook( T | 2,586 | 1/1 )

Regardless of how much time has passed, Izuku is still unable to hear those words without fearing that he’s lost the most important person in his life.

SeriesPart 7 of Drabble Expansion Pack

[Panic Attacks]

[Abandoned] Chapter 4 of Angry Kids by MrJokerBoy( T | 9,251 | 12/? )

Deku has a nervous breakdown and here comes Kacchan to the rescue 

[Panic Attacks] 

Chapter 1 of Things You Said: Bakugou/Midoriya by AutisticWriter( T | 3,100 | 2/2 )

A collection of one shots written for a prompt list. 

[Self-Harm | Ableism | Transphobia]

{Curator’s Note: This chapter depicts Bakugou assisting Midoriya through a meltdown, not an anger episode or panic attack.}

A Classical Storm by oceanswrath( T | 1,400 | 1/1 )

In that moment only the two of them existed, a force to be reckoned with greater than the storm raging outside. 

[Panic Attacks]

The Bonds that bind by EloFromMars( E | 2,818 | 1/1 )

Izuku is excited, tonight is their anniversary. He had planned everything. Or so he thought. 

[PTSD | Panic Attacks]

Only Us by yoichipines( T | 3,105 | 1/1 )

“What if it’s you, and what if it’s me and what if that’s all that we needed to be and the rest of the world falls away…what do you say?”

A Katsudeku fanfic very much inspired by ‘Only Us’ by Laura Dreyfuss and Ben Platt? Sign me tf up!

[Panic Attacks]

No Matter What by Empress Explosion Murder (LdyFcknNoir)( M | 4,393 | 1/1 )

BNHA Angst Week Day Seven: Roses/Time

-or-

“I-I’ve failed you… He escaped.” Katsuki rasped out.

Any remaining strength in Izuku’s body fled, and he melted to the ground on legs that were no longer able to hold him up. His body began to tremble violently, his teeth cracking together with the force of his shaking. Black edged around his vision as he couldn’t pull any oxygen into his lungs, air rent from his lungs completely with just five words.

SeriesPart 7 of BNHA Angst Week

[Past Rape/Non-con | Panic Attacks]

Yeah I’ve Got Issues by Abitginger( T | 2,782 | 1/1 )

One-shot written for BakuDeku month of wonder, day 2:festival/apology. A little late but such is life ~

Izuku and Katsuki go on an undercover mission at a festival.

[Panic Attacks]

to be made of flesh and steel by bluntforcedrama, gutsdumpster( T | 635 | 1/1 )

Bakugou learns his triggers, his tics. He’s kind of psychic actually since he tends to know when something is about to happen. Or maybe it’s Izuku’s fault for making it so glaringly obvious: he gets nervous, hands twitching more than usual as his eyes follow any sudden movement around him. Sometimes his breathing becomes labored and he swallows down more inhales than exhales and Bakugou will have to thread his fingers with Izuku’s, as if to say calm down, I’m here.

Or: Izuku is an ex-soldier struggling with the mental and physical repercussions of such heavy combat, and although Bakugou doesn’t know exactly what it’s like, he’ll still do everything he can to help.

[Panic Attacks | PTSD | Implied/Referenced Homophobia]

I know you wanna (slip under my armor) by Herbalmint( T | 3,528 | 1/1 )

Life just keeps developing new ways of beating Bakugo down. (Katsuki has a panic attack)

[Panic Attacks | Dissociation] 

In Your Arms by EmbretheWorld( T | 3,771 | 2/2 )

Bakugo’s freaking out, and no one really knows what to do, but Yagi and Aizawa are really grateful that Midoriya is there. And Aizawa is really good at comforting people too.

SeriesPart 3 of You Melt My Heart

[Panic Attacks]

Chapter 2 & Chapter 7 of Standing Together (Pride Month) by EmbretheWorld( M | 17,972 | 29/29 )

This book will be filled with multiple ships that I will write and post on a daily for Pride Month. Each chapter will be based on a prompt. Hope you enjoy!

I ended this book early because I couldn’t find any motivation to write in it anymore.

SeriesPart 6 of You Melt My Heart

[Panic Attacks]

Anxiety by MistyBlueJay( T | 3,530 | 1/1 )

Izuku and Katsuki go to the mall, the Bakusquad joins them in a mini shopping trip. It’s a crowded day and Izuku falls behind, panic ensues.

[Panic Attacks]

In Weakness there is Strength by DarcyIncarnate( Not Rated | 3,011 | 1/1 )

Five times Izuku breaks and Katsuki picks up the peices, and one time Katsuki isn’t there to help. 

[Panic Attacks]

#personal

I think life would worry me more if weird weeks consistently ended on a sour note.  As far as weird weeks go, this week was pretty strange.  Between my home and my office is still a bit of an adventure.  I live in a major city that the news always complains is shrinking.  If you were to survey the psychic war of personal space at any given time you’d see different results.   But we live in a society.  More so I live in America in a city as close to Gotham as it gets.  If you wanted to drill down to the essence of the terms, I’m about as incel as it gets.  Except I’d just tell you I’m celibate by choice.  Why I’ve chosen to refrain from intimacy for years isn’t something people really want to listen to.  Surprisingly I have lashed out at society any number of times on my commute.  Not unlike Robert Pattinson’s shirts people are often “on my dick” in the parlance of our times.  Most of this I’ve begun to realize is better to ignore than react to.  I look scary when I’m angry.  At least I see myself that way.  Twisted and scrunched up in pain.  I’m more like the hulk.  My secret is that I am always in pain.  I’m too tired from core strength training and yoga to give a fuck.  The penultimate hipster.  A smug left leaning liberal with a conscience.  I wouldn’t argue with any of those by definition.  But people who’ve come to know me here understand it’s not so simple.  The more patience you develop the more problems you are aware enough of to avoid.  I wrote a Nike survey for their training app the other day.  I described how pleased I was that it gave me the confidence to quit the gym.  A gym that I noted in the survey where I experienced constant sexual harassment and intimidation.  Ironically a summer later focusing on soccer routines in my apartment got me in better shape physically than I’ve ever been.  And yet here I am.  Lonely old man on the internet.  Lonely old handsome man on the internet.  I’m not trying to hit on anyone.  No new friends.  I write these mostly for my friends and the people I care deeply about.   The results used to be mostly apparent online.  These days it bleeds into the streets I walk daily.  Sometimes that is very hard to interpret but it’s easier when I’m open to receiving it.   People have heavy expectations on me.  This I’m fine with.  We live in a society after all.  And yet there are often times I want to lash out.  Mostly these days there are times I draw the line and set the boundaries.  I’m mad as hell and can’t take it anymore.  And my resistance to things looks far different than that of a Joker or even a Batman.  But I’m still just like you.  Often horny but never inappropriately so.  At least not in public.  That’d be fucked up.  And yet we still live in a society where men feel bothered by that very concept.  Their libidos enslaved and their expectations denied.  Who entitled these clowns to anything?  It’s called involuntary celibacy for a reason.  What makes people uncomfortable is the modern white male heterosexual’s expectation for sex.  Therein lies a problem to be engineered and solved in your life not a complete mental fucking breakdown.  This is why we can’t have nice things.  Thank you Mr. Incel.

My longest relationship lasted a decade.  It ended in a complex ball of fire where I crash landed in total ash.  There were times when it was amazing.  I don’t think I would have put so much into it at the time if it weren’t.  Never want to go back to that particular shit ever again.  But for whatever reason from there I spent a long time blaming myself.   Mostly feeling sorry for myself and drinking alone.  That evolved into drinking alone on the other side of the planet in places like Korea and Japan.  Then I definitely decided to quit drinking.  A decade later I’m pretty much a virgin again.  Whatever the fuck that means really.  It doesn’t make me any different from anybody else.  I’ve liked a girl for what seems like forever.  But it’s only been this last year where I saw myself in any sort of orbit.  If society is already so claustrophobic I often just want to be silent and alone.  People who can’t stand to be alone often hate themselves secretly.  I’ve been there.  The lowest possible place you could be for a single white heterosexual male.  I’m sure some of my audience revels in those kinds of statements.  Serves the straights right you know.  I ain’t mad at you.  Why should I be.  It’s mostly those communities that have voiced the most valuable criticisms about toxic masculinity.  And yet however good I am there’s still people out there who can’t stand to see me winning.  That’s called saving face.  And I guess the joker does it with a shit ton of clown makeup.  I do it with a daily moisturizer for oily skin.  It is true that society as a whole shares the blame.  So instead of lashing out why not just drop out of society entirely.  Or build society 2.0 the internet portal.  Society in orbit around the planet in the ISS.  You feel like you can take on the entire weight of the planet.  The joker is not Galactus.  These pieces of shit know they’re worthless and weak.  They run on reaction and pure adrenaline. They want to end with the most hurt incurred possible.  They want people to feel how bad they feel inside.  And I’ve been there.  And I realized nobody would want to share a side of my bed with that kind of attitude.  So  I slept alone night after night and thought about healing instead of suffering.  Still fucking horny.  It never ends.  Do I project that onto people?  Act gross on the internet or in public.  No.  And year after year people have grown to trust that I may not exactly be part of the problem.  Things start to feel romantic again in the strangest way possible.  What does it mean to be sexy and what does it mean to be repulsive?  I don’t think having expectations on other people is sexy at all.  You treat people like objects that way.  Objects can’t love you back.  And you lash out in pain that you can’t mature enough to see people as human first.  You become a twisted Frankenstein in the mirror.  You’ve had it up to here.  Nobody will ever love me.   Nobody has time for me.  Nobody around here anyway.  I’m glad honestly because I’m saving all my love for you.  People don’t get that.  I do.  And I see it reflected back at me in the streets.  A different kind of expectation.  A different kind of trust.  A different take on being a man.  A different kind of joke entirely.

And so here a troubled Conan sits on his throne seemingly without a queen.  What does he do?  Wage war on the struggles he was built upon?  Search for peace?  Go back to being a Barbarian and a thief probably.  That’s what I’d do.  Politics these days is the closest thing to dark sorcery.  And Conan hates dark sorcery.  I’m the one walking around in the streets being called a witch.  My only witchcraft has been inclusiveness.  And that includes me.  I’m as sexually frustrated as anybody else out there.  Frustration isn’t exactly sexy in all cases.  Just do something about it.  And what men mostly do with it has been ugly.  You’d think with so much failure out there it’d be easy to see the successes.  Male frustration is something people have grown to actually fear with good reason.  Systemic racism, homophobia, transphobia, religious intolerance, controlling behavior and whatever else you want to throw onto the heaping trash pile of toxic white male American Heterosexual identity in 2019.  I’m supposed to tell you I’m different.  Trust me babe.  If I know anything about America and the English language people love to talk about what they do.  How they’d build that time machine and save Anne Frank.  Sometime after brunch or expensive coffee.  The mind fuck is you have to do something about it.  And it’s more likely for me to solve the problem of toxic masculinity for myself and thrive than to just talk about it.  Solve it for the world when the world doesn’t listen.  I’ve been talking about it on the internet lonely for years.  Now people won’t stop hassling me in the streets.  I’m surrounded by an army of Pink backpacks at all times.  Cloistered together like bandits in the morning.  Some sort of tribal reaction to an assault on the very fabric of society.  You wake up one day and realize you are on the other side of the movement.  You didn’t expect to be but you deserve it.  And instead of lashing out you’ve worked to build a society that includes you.  That understands your frustrations and appreciates how you work to perfect them.  I’ve spat at the ground more times than anybody knows this summer.  I’m crying as I write this.  And I know it won’t get any better if I act like a child and kick over the sandcastles we all built together.  And yet society doesn’t stop fucking with you.  Nobody is happy.  Nobody goes out and takes life by the throat gently.  If they do they’re pathological, sociopathic and gross about it.  There’s no Crom above to judge them.  And the rich get richer.  And the scandals get deeper.  And people run around with shirts that I made from the trash and try to sell me guitars under the el tracks by my house.  Sounds like a great place to plant a garden or raise a family.  Maybe one day we can take a family picture in the joker face paint.  Let’s just hope our child doesn’t get expelled from public school because of it.  At least then I won’t be an incel. For now everybody else in the parlance of our times.  “Stay off my dick.” <3 Tim