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not-terezi-pyrope · 1 year

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Vent post, okay to reblog though I guess

The thing I notice most about being a fat trans woman is how nobody wants to talk about it.

I mean, sure, it’s an identity combo that will come up occasionally in laundry lists of identity combos when people are professing vague textual expressions of unspecified support, but nobody is really willing to talk about what it means.

I have tried to talk about what it means, what it feels like, but after one too many untouched twitter threads and reddit posts with two upvotes, I am more than aware that thin people, even thin trans women, would much rather keep on scrolling to the next 1000k upvoted post of a skinny woman on two months of HRT who already looks more feminine than I will after my whole transition.

And I don’t have anything against those women; I wish them all the best. But it really hurts seeing it, knowing people don’t really care to talk about how femininity as a trans woman is so often only obtainable if you are skinny, or else if you are fat in the precise right way that is only obtainable through intense body modification and/or surgery. I don’t get to mention the uncomfortable smiles and derelict dating profiles when other trans women gush about the vibrant new queer sexual communities they have found since transitioning. I don’t get to talk about how I am far and am therefore either a man, or a woman so ugly I bring down the mood when I impose myself into communities that they expect to all be full of hot, skinny queer women.

Because the thin lefty queer folks in those spaces don’t want to admit to themselves how often they are viscerally grossed out by my body. It impinges on their self-image as liberated and universally accepting. And like, I don’t begrudge them not being attracted to me. Nobody owes anyone else attraction, or reciprocation to advances (at this point I mostly don’t bother making those advances). But what does bother me is how people will continue to talk like this isn’t a thing that is true, to cover their ears and shut their eyes and continue to crow about how achievable these things are for everyone, how femininity is just a clothing change and hormones away, how easy it is to date other trans women and form sexy catgirl polyam harems once you come out, how it’s “just about confidence!!!”.

I wish that were true. I wish that was my experience with the culture. But although I have been out as trans for a while, I am still treated, in terms of sex and romance, roughly equivalently as a fat woman as I was as a fat boy; beneath notice. Knowing through the subtle cues people give that if I even tried to approach a thin cis woman it’d be a genuine “hello??? Human resources???” moment.

I failed my last diet. I will probably start another one soon that will probably also fail, and then I will keep trying, because society has been screaming at me for years that getting thin is only way to achieve a version of me that they will accept for who I want to be. You can’t transition weight in the same way as you can transition your gender presentation, at least not without a lot of physical and psychological pain, but that is what is asked of us, or at least me. The world screams at me for it. It’s astonishing how much casually worse people see you as for being overweight; it’s so pervasive that people simply cannot acknowledge it, because it would too greatly shatter their impression of a fair world.

Because people won’t talk about this I’ve never been offered a serious practical alternative to continuing to hate my body and trying to, some day, lose weight. if there is an alternative solution I’ve never been offered it because people will pretend that there is simply no problem. I am repulsed by the idea of gastric surgery, but the last few months the idea has really started to grow on me as a last resort that I might simply have to try before it gets too late for me to have a womanhood. Dieting landed such a blow to my mental health at the end of last year and I have nothing to show for it since I have pretty much gained everything back. It really saps my hope for the future that even after all this, I still don’t get to just be a girl and be liked/wanted by other people in general.

#i am not sure how much of this is true to the extremes I lay out but #it certainly feels this way a lot of the time #i do need more confidence but if i were to say that was the whole story i would be kidding myself #at the end of the day its just true that most people think I am pretty damn unappealing #And that hormones won't change this #i want to tear out my insides some days #or stuff myself into a suit of armour that can hold the perfect shape they want #crushing everything within into a pulp #but hey its not the inside that matters right #it never is #not-terezi-speaks #my life #vent

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holdyourfire · 4 years

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taylir gar Tracyn

hold your Fire (Mando’a)

Fic rating: General with a couple Mature chapter in the middle

Fic Tags: Poe x OFC, hurt/comfort, angst, massive slow burn, pining, eventual fluff, Mandalorians, enemies to friends to...,

Fic warnings: mild sexual content, panic attacks, minor character death

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

no warnings for this chapter

Chapter 3 - Friction

1.6k words

***

Poe was woken the next day, by a string of unrelenting beeps from his BB unit. He groaned.

“Has the alarm even gone yet? Let me sleep ‘til the alarm goes off.”

He stayed where he was, eyes beginning to droop shut when the familiar alarm blared through the barrack speakers.

Instantly, BB-8 rolled away from his charging port to intentionally bump against Poe’s bunk.

“Urgh!”

Poe hauled himself upright, sitting on the edge of his cot and blinking blearily at his little droid who peered up at him.

“Mornin’ buddy,” he drawled through a yawn.

BB-8 hummed before chirping excitedly.

“Well, you’ll see her when we're about to leave. Unless you come to first-meal. Why are you so excited to meet her?”

BB whirred, jostling his body back and forth. Poe frowned.

“I didn’t mean to make her sound really cool. Is that really how it appeared?”

The droid just warbled affirmatively. Poe sighed heavily. Perfect.

“Just remind me of the stuff I need to pack after first-meal ok?”

Poe stood and stretched before shaking his head violently in the mirror, inspecting his hair. His usual routine of getting dressed was hastened by BB-8 bumping repeatedly against the door in his annoying but successful attempt to make Poe hurry up.

“Alright, alright! Let’s go,” he said nudging the little droid with the side of his foot to get past him. He stepped out and instantly collided with Karé.

“Sorry,” he grunted.

She just snorted, amused.

“Watch where you’re going, flyboy. I was just heading to get Avara.”

She strode over to room three and knocked. No reply.

“She’s probably already gone with the others. C’mon, we’re late.”

“Late? The second bell hasn’t gone yet." He blinked. "Has it?”

Karé rolled her eyes.

“I guess it rang while you were washing your precious hair.”

“Funny.”

They jogged towards the mess hall, BB-8 bumbling after them. The pilots were sitting at the usual corner table this time, along with a lot more people than usual.

Probably here because I’ll be off on a mission. Or, he thought, suddenly frowning, they’re here to meet Deccol. Word does travel fast in a small base like this. Who wouldn’t want to meet a Mandalorian?

Heads turned towards him as they walked through the rows of tables. Nods, waves and murmurs of ‘good luck’ and ‘be safe,’ followed him and Karé as they reached their table. A loud cheer rose from the pilots gathered as they spotted him, and he grinned, warmth exploding in his chest.

He was stuck in the swarm of about fifteen rowdy pilots for at least twenty minutes, all of them wanting to say farewell and wish him luck. Even BB-8 got a round of pats.

Iolo eventually came to the rescue, no doubt sent by Karé.

“Sorry guys, but this guy needs his big breakfast and his caf, or you know what he’s like during the day. We wouldn’t want to inflict grumpy-Poe on his new partner now, would we?”

After a smatter of laughter, a few more hair ruffles and back slaps, the group moved on, leaving the table to the usuals. Poe turned to Iolo.

“Since when am I grumpy?” asked Poe indignantly, as he tried to fix his hair.

“My friend,” said Iolo, mockingly wise, “Poe Dameron is thirty per cent recklessness, twenty-five stupidity and twenty cockiness.”

“You missed out twenty-five per cent.”

“That’s the grumpy part.”

Poe punched him as they sat down at the table.

Deccol was already there, tucking into her meal. She nodded in greeting, her mouth full. That’s when BB-8 decided to announce himself. He trilled loudly at her side and she turned to look down at him, confused.

“Avara, you don’t know binary, do you?” Jess asked.

Deccol shook her head. The astromech moaned, upset.

“Well, that’s BeeBee-Eight. He’s Poe’s son,” said Karé.

BB-8 moved to nudge his master’s leg affectionately as Poe rolled his eyes at Karé’s description.

“He’s my astromech droid,” he corrected. “The best one there is,” he added fondly.

“He’s the one coming with us, isn’t he?”

“Yep. You’ll learn how to talk to him in time, it’s not hard.”

“So,” began Snap, disrupting the conversation about BB, “How much about this mission can you tell us? When will you be back?”

Poe looked around at his friends, all leaning towards him, watching seriously, worry etched in their faces. His heart swelled in sudden affection for them. He sighed sadly.

“I don’t know. We have tasks to complete,” he said looking to Deccol, “and we don’t know how many. Leia just said they’re important.”

And dangerous.

He swallowed nervously.

“You’ll make it back. You always do,” assured Jess. Poe just nodded, his throat tight. Karé and Snap exchanged a worried look.

“Now eat! Don’t let us ruin your appetite.”

Poe smiled and ducked his head down to obey the command, his stomach loosening slightly.

Deccol had just observed the whole interaction without a word.

***

Poe was pacing his quarters, almost tearing his hair out.

“No, no! Beebs, it’s something else! Kriff… what am I forgetting?”

He was packing his carry-bag.

“You’d think this would be straight-forward,” he growled, kicking a box aside grumpily as he scanned the stuff thrown around his room.

I’m forgetting something so obvious I’m going to kick myself when I remember it.

“Clothes, toiletries, my jacket,” he began chanting, sticking out one finger with each. “Credits, my datapad, my hair stuff, my holster, my tools… What else?”

Everything he had listed out was already in his bag.

He and Deccol were due to leave in under half an hour. And he was still here, holed up in his quarters, fussing about what to pack, things strewn around in his haste to find what was needed.

A sharp knock sounded on the door. BB-8 darted towards it, bumping over Poe’s various belongings.

“No BeeBee, wait-” he cried, lunging for the droid.

BB opened the door before he could be stopped. To reveal Deccol. Kriff. Damnit, Bee. She was wearing more armour than she had previously.

“Dameron, are you-”

She took in Poe, stumbling over a discarded shirt in his haste to stop his little droid and instantly averted her gaze, looking pointedly away from him. It took him a second to realise why.

He leaned down and whipped his shirt up, the ring on the chain around his neck whacking against his forehead. He pulled the shirt over his head, pink dusting his cheeks. He thought he could detect a slight colour change on her face too.

“Uh, sorry. BeeBee is always a bit hasty when opening my door.”

“Yeah, I- uh- I heard through the door.”

Poe blushed more, fingers running through his hair as BB yipped gleefully. Poe glared at him.

“So I take it you’re not ready to go?”

“I will be,” he sighed. “I just hate packing. Nothing unusual.”

“I could help?” she offered.

He was about to give a snobby reply of ‘I don’t need your help to pack a bag, I'm not a child,’ when BB-8 hummed appreciatively before Poe could open his mouth. The droid stretched out his claw to grab Poe’s leather jacket on the floor, dragging it to Deccol's feet. She bent over to take it, smiling at his droid.

“I think you need this.”

Poe swiped it from her grasp and slipped it on, embarrassed.

“Well, what have you got packed so far?”

He listed it out reluctantly.

She frowned. “Aren’t you carrying any weapons?”

Poe Dameron, it’s time to kick yourself.

“Shit! That’s right!” He darted over to his closet, kneeling down to open the lowest drawer, pulling out his blaster pistol and a knife. “I mean we do get issued the standard rifles, but everyone prefers to carry their own weapons for missions.”

“Makes sense.”

Poe looked over his shoulder.

She was leaning against the door frame, watching BB-8 roll back and forth, desperately trying to sort Poe’s scattered belongings. She had a bemused smile on her face and Poe almost found the corners of his mouth beginning to lift at the sight of it, before mentally slapping himself.

Let’s not do that. You already look like an idiot, let's not make it worse.

He dumped his blaster and knife into his bag and buckled it shut, hoisting it over his shoulder.

“BeeBee, did you go scan those freighters at the end of the strip, like I asked you to? Did you find a good one?”

BB-8 chirped.

“We’re using a freighter? What model?”

“You familiar with the Ghtroc Seven-Twenty light freighter? I figured that would be suitable for us. The Resistance has a couple of old ones lying around so I sent BeeBee to scan the ship systems to make sure we took the best one.”

“That model does sound familiar. A small freighter should be good.”

They stepped outside, Poe taking a last glance at his room before locking the door. I’m gonna miss this place, he thought with a pang. I always miss the familiarity.

Deccol picked up a long, unusual looking rifle and slung the strap over her shoulder, before picking up a small bag and a helmet with the famous T-shaped visor that she tucked under her arm.

Poe took this chance to get a better look at the extra armour she had on. A cuirass, complete with a chest plate, pauldrons and backpiece, along with two thigh guards, one shin guard.

“Isn’t it a bit early to get all suited up?”

BB-8 whirred ahead of them, leading the way to their freighter enthusiastically.

“It’s easier to wear it than carry it.”

“That’s true I guess. It must be a hassle to wear so much all the time though.”

“At the start it was,” she countered, “but I’m used to it now.”

BB-8 was rolling back towards them beeping loudly, interrupting their semi-small talk. He looped around the partners before barrelling off in front again, still beeping.

Poe chuckled.

“According to Beebs, we need to hurry up.”

***

E/N: Next chapter kicks off a bit more! Their mission begins in Chapter 4.

#poe dameron #poe dameron fic #poe dameron x oc #poe dameron x original character #poe dameron x female oc #star wars #oscar isaac

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