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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

Note

Heard you were looking for prompts :) 1 of 2 - From favorite tropes: Blind date set up by mutual friends! And maybe combined with "I'm speechless you're so beautiful" from the fluff & kisses (and other stuff) prompts. Go wild with it!

This will go to AO3 soon, but it was a lot of fun to write and a nice distraction from any hypothetical realities the TMA fandom may be experiencing.

Double-Blind: 5K

Martin smelled like espresso. He wrinkled his nose and dusted his hands on his apron uselessly, as if doing so would rid himself of the months of coffee, cinnamon, and hazelnut baked into his skin. It wasn’t all that bad, he supposed, except what was the point in using cologne if it was going to be immediately overpowered?

The bell above the door jingled and Martin jumped, pulled from his thoughts on cologne and what he would like to smell like, given the opportunity. Sandalwood, maybe? Tobacco and vanilla? The musky-sweet smells are nice, they have a nice mix of feminine and masculine to them, almost—

“Ahem.” An exaggerated clearing of the throat, once again whisking him from his distractions. Martin locked eyes on the woman across the counter from him, grinning mischievously. “Welcome back to Earth, Martin.”

“Oh! Oh. It’s just you. Hi, Georgie.” Georgie Barker, a regular customer, moderately well-known podcast host, and most importantly, one of Martin’s favorite people to see at the tiny coffee shop he spent more time in than his own flat.

“Just me? Excuse me.” Georgie pouted and crossed her arms, coily hair bouncing around her face as she shook her head. “I’ll have you know you should be grateful to see me this fine afternoon, Martin Koffee Blackwood!”

Martin grinned and dropped the act. “I always am, Georgie. But I told you, there’s not a—”

“Like I said, you should be happy to see me.” Georgie barreled on. “I have good news.” She cocked her head and pondered the chalk-covered board behind the counter. “Two chai lattes, please. And make one of them extra spicy?”

Martin rang up the order and passed two cups down to Rosie, all the while checking the door surreptitiously, ensuring a little chat wouldn’t hold anyone up. “Okay? Spill.”

Georgie’s phone was in her hand, and she waved it at Martin like it contained the secrets of the universe. “D’you remember my roommate, Melanie?”

Martin nodded, pursing his lips. “Vaguely. I thought you guys were dating.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to elaborate.

Georgie waved a hand dismissively, rolling her eyes. “Not the point. Anyways, she has a friend of a friend-“ Georgie frowned for a moment, “…of a friend who is looking to get back into dating. Mel says he’s short and nerdy and prickly until you get to know him. Apparently a real pain to work with according to the friend.” Georgie smirked and pulled a sticky note from her back pocket. “Thought maybe you’d want his number.”

Martin grimaced at the blue piece of paper as she smoothed it to the counter with a firm motion. “Wow, George. Really selling it.” It was his fault; they had bonded over being queer back in July when Martin had worn his gay and trans pride buttons and Georgie was proudly sporting her own pansexual patch firmly affixed to her laptop case. One lunch break discussing quirky exes later, their friendship had been sealed. Mentioning offhandedly that he was on dating apps and hating every minute of it seemed to have rooted itself in Georgie’s mind and had grown like weeds until she had taken it upon herself to become his personal wing woman.

“Do you even know his name?” Martin asked, regarding the string of numbers on the piece of paper in front of him.

Georgie blushed, shrugging apologetically. “Friend of a friend of a friend. Sorry mate. Melanie said he likes cats, documentaries, and-” she made air quotes with her fingers, “-being uptight.”

“Wow.” Martin chuckled in disbelief. “Really selling it here.”

Rosie sidled by Martin and set down Georgie’s lattes, who shrugged and picked them up after dropping a few coins in the tip jar. “You have his number. Just think about it, Blackwood. Melanie’s friend doesn’t spread the word about someone unless they’re something special.” She blew a kiss (clumsily, considering the cups requiring the attention of each of her hands) and made her way to the door.

“I just want you to be happy!” She called out as the January winds pulled her out the door and into the grey afternoon.

Martin chewed on his lip as he considered. January was always a tough month for him, and he had been feeling a little lonely recently. He really didn’t see anyone besides his coworkers, customers, and his mother. As much as he enjoyed his job, he wouldn’t call anyone there a romantic interest. He folded the sticky note and stuck it in his pocket as his next customer approached the counter. He did like cats, after all. Maybe that would be a good starting conversation.

Jonathan Sims groaned and shifted the stack of books in his hand as he inspected the knee-high table that was buried amongst the fiction books. He hated working the children’s section of the library. Although no food or drink was allowed, there always seemed to be crumbs everywhere. He was starting to wonder if children just manifested them. He made a mental note to come back with disinfectant wipes after putting the stack of child-suitable biographies away and turned, nearly walking straight into the chest of one Timothy Stoker.

“A-ah!” Jon jumped instinctively backward, clutching the books closer to his chest in an attempt to keep from dropping them. “Tim! Good lord, there’s really no need to be sneaking up on me like that.”

Tim grinned wryly and shrugged, taking half of the books from Jon’s arms. “Sorry boss, thought you heard me.” He gestured for Jon to lead the way through the half-sized bookshelves; an unnecessary act seeing as Tim worked the children’s library much more frequently than Jon did.

“I’m not your-” Jon sighed, deciding this wasn’t the hill he wanted to die on today. He made his way through the shelves, sliding books into their correct placements with practiced hands. “Do you need something?”

“Actually,” Tim checked a Dewey code and slid a book into a shelf a few rows down. “I don’t. But you do.”

Jon stared blankly, uncomprehending. Tim chuckled and gestured with a cock of his head towards the research section. “Melanie said she has a friend who has a friend she wants to set up on a date. And while normally, I’d jump at the chance-” he waved his left hand, the silver ring inset with tiny diamonds flashing in the fluorescents, “I’ve been wifed up and I don’t think my dear Sash would appreciate my going on a blind date with a stranger.”

Jon frowned, setting his stack of books down and eyeing Tim. “What, so I have to?”

Tim shook his head, a patient smile on his face. “No, no one is forcing you. I just think—well. It’s been a while since your last relationship and you’ve been a little…testy, recently.” The look on Tim’s face dared Jon to contradict. “Melanie says he’s apparently a really good guy, very kind and sweet and patient. I think his name is Melvin? I kinda tuned out after she wrote down the number she got from her friend.”

Jon scoffed, pushing his glasses up his face as if that would help him comprehend the absolute ridiculousness of what Tim was saying. “Y-You want me to go on a date with this guy, Melvin? Because I’ve been…grumpy? That doesn’t seem very kind to this mysterious date.”

Tim pursed his lips. “I just think you could benefit from seeing someone who doesn’t work here. I mean, we love you Jon, but god, you need to get a social life. I’m practically begging you.” Tim’s purse elongated into a pout, eyes going big and starry. Jon inwardly groaned. Tim was his oldest friend here at the library and he really never learned how to resist that face. Maybe he should ask Sasha.

“One date,” Jon promised. “I’ll do one date. And then you never set me up again.”

Tim grabbed the rest of the books Jon had set down and added them to his stack before whisking himself away down the aisles. “If we’re lucky, I’ll never have to!” He called down the aisles, grinning madly. Jon sighed and grabbed a small pink sticky note that had been stuck to the countertop, running his eyes over the numbers before slipping it into his pocket. He’ll call later.

Martin stared resolutely at the numbers on the blue sticky note, running his thumb over the curled edge of the paper, slightly stained from some sort of milk during the shift. Even his apron pockets weren’t foolproof. The underground was busy and he was jammed between an older woman who smelled weirdly like salmon and a man who seemed utterly too well-dressed to be on the tube. Elbows crammed into his side to keep from nudging anyone, he pulled out his phone and stared at the messaging app for what felt like several minutes. He typed the numbers into the message bar and watched his cursor blip in the body of the message.

Hey whats up?

No, that would be so weird.

Hiya, this is martin!

Georgie never said the man’s name, would this mysterious date know his?

Hey I think the alphabet is missing I and U together.

Gross. Just gross. Martin grimaced inwardly and chewed on his lip, thinking carefully before typing.

Hi! My name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, I get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

As he finished typing, he heard the familiar robotic voice of the tube announcing his stop. Quickly, Martin shoved the phone in his pocket and carefully forced his way through the crowd and onto the platform, mind cast to what he had accessible for dinner.

----

It took Jon a few days, until Saturday, to remember to call the phone number they had been given. They could text, they supposed, but they always appreciated hearing someone’s intonation a little better. Especially a stranger, ugh, they shuddered at the idea of not being able to decipher the tone of this Melvin. It was half-past 11 when they decided to call, hoping this would be late enough in the morning to not wake him up.

The phone rang momentarily before a surprisingly feminine voice answered the phone. “Hello. This is Rosie. You’ve reached Swirl Café and Bakery.”

Well shit. This was not what Jon expected. They stumbled over their rehearsed speech, trying to scramble words together in a way that made sense. “Uh-sorry, I must have the wrong number. I-I was trying to speak to Melvin?”

“Mmm, sorry. No Melvin works here. We have a Martin, but he’s off the clock. Would you like to speak to our manager?” Rosie’s voice was clipped and courteous, but Jon could hear the bustle of voices in the background. It must be their weekend rush.

“Ah-uh, no, no thank you.” Jon shook their head into the phone, before remembering that did not translate aurally. “It’s alright. Thank you anyways.”

“Sorry, mate. Thanks for calling!” The dial tone droned on for a moment before Jon hung up, sighing and pressing the heels of their hands into their eyes. That was a waste. Melanie must have been playing them; Jon knew they generally didn’t get along, but they didn’t realize she would stoop so low. Honestly, shame on themself for getting excited about a date.

Later that evening, Jon was cooking and listening to music through the speaker that balanced precariously on a shelf next to their stove. The music was low, with a variety of orchestral instruments and sultry, smooth voices. Jon’s eyes were half closed as they stirred the curry in the pan in front of them, letting the music and heat of the kitchen entangle them in a sleepy feeling relaxing their whole body. As the cello in the song dipped low and resonant, Jon stood still, letting the music sweep them away—

They jumped as the ringer alerted them through the speaker that they had received a text, glaringly electronic compared to the rich notes of cello and viola that had been so rudely interrupted. Sleepy feeling gone as adrenaline washed through their body, Jon sighed and retrieved their phone, checking for the message.

An unknown number flicked across the screen:

Hi! my name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, i get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

i meant to send this a few days ago but I never hit send. sorry ab that! rosie said someone called the café asking ab me and i assumed that was you bc i wasnt expecting anyone else and no one involved in the blind date thing ever asked for my mobile number.

if it wasn’t you, oops! either way it reminded me that i had never texted you. :)

Jon squinted at the screen as they read the messages a few times over. That was…a lot of words. So his name was Martin. It was certainly nicer than Melvin. Jon agonized over their words as they typed out a response.

Hello Martin. That was me who called the café…I hope it didn’t cause problems for you. Blind dates aren’t usually my thing, but my coworkers think I need to get out more. I’d be happy to meet you for dinner or coffee. Even if we don’t get along, we can say we’ve done it.

Unless, of course, you’re rather sick of coffee. I prefer tea anyways.

…not “done it” done it. Just. Had the blind date.

Jon winced at their follow up texts. God, that was embarrassing. Martin probably didn’t even take it that way until they bothered to clarify. They shook their head, warding away the growing anxiety in their chest and tucked their phone in their pocket as they turned their attention back to the simmering curry. Jon had embarrassed themselves enough for one night.

----

Martin chuckled at the texts that came through; one slow and the two follow-ups rapid. He could feel the awkwardness through the messages, desperately trying to give a good impression. He chuckled to himself as he set down his dinner plate.

dinner sounds perfect. but same about the tea! and about the coworkers tbh, my friends think im making friends with the espresso machine. which, i am, but only bc its good company haha.

btw i never got your name?

Martin’s phone was silent the rest of the night, as he plodded his way through a mediocre dinner and shower before settling into his armchair, desperate to work on his poetry. Words came slowly to him recently, thoughts about the world and darkness and the intersection of fall and winter. He really should up and move to somewhere warmer, he thought to himself, before laughing the notion away aloud. Yeah, right. He rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the poetry prompts book he had found at the charity shop. “Use noncolor words to describe a color.” Great. Martin settled back and tried to focus, but kept finding himself checking his phone impulsively, the foamed latte art he’d photographed, one of a cat he was particularly proud of, stared back at him judgmentally.

As he drew his evening to a close, Martin almost missed the buzz of his phone, now plugged in by his bed, as he brushed his teeth.

Congrats on the espresso machine. And my name is Jon. Anywhere you want to go for dinner?

________________________________________________________________

Jon hesitated, thumb hovering over the icon that would open a video chat with Tim. He didn’t want to come off nervous, but… he was.

Texting had been going well. Martin was good at keeping the conversation going and genuinely seemed to enjoy the long texts Jon had sent regarding his irritations with the research he was conducting as a part of his master’s in literature, asking him questions about details Jon had added for context. Martin was easy to talk to, too, he always seemed to have an opinion on subjects but always ones Jon was happy to hear, even if he was objectively wrong about spiders and oolong tea. Martin had sent an awkward text, letting Jon know he was trans and that if that was a dealbreaker he should tell him now, one Jon had blushed over and responded that he was nonbinary himself, and that it certainly wasn’t. The “okay fantastic! :))) remind me of your pronouns? he/him for me.” that followed it up had made Jon’s heart sing.

They had agreed to meet at an Italian place, equidistant between their flats and not too fancy. Martin had commented about getting ice cream after, but Jon wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, since it had also been a jab about Jon’s preference for rum raisin. Thus, he was staring at his wardrobe, paralyzed with indecision. Tim had offered to help, which Jon had initially rejected since he’s “not a child Tim, I’ve dated before. And I know how to dress myself.” But lord if he wasn’t wishing for someone to lay out his clothes and tell him to behave. He grimaced and jabbed the video chat button, bracing for the onslaught of teasing to come.

----

Martin adjusted his collar for what must have been the twelfth time, sucking on his lip as he waited at the reserved table. He hadn’t been there long, no more than five minutes, but his anxiety had been building up all day and a part of him was absolutely certain Jon wasn’t going to come. Neither of them knew what the other looked like; what if Jon saw him and had dipped out immediately? He was wearing mint green, as he had promised, so Jon would recognize him, and brought a bouquet of daisies, mostly because it felt weird not to bring anything, but he didn’t want to be too romantic. Not roses or anything. Besides, Jon said he liked daisies, said they reminded him of an old friend. Martin hoped it wasn’t too weird. He brushed his auburn curls out of the way of his eyes, part of him regretting not having gotten a haircut first, but he tucked those thoughts aside as he surveyed the restaurant from his vantage point.

He blinked in confusion as he watched long curls make their way towards him. Dark black hair, streaked with white, half bunned up in the back and rest left to hang loose, skimming purple-covered elbows. Martin wasn’t sure if they were wearing flowy grey pants or a skirt, but either way, the faint black pattern to them was stunning and Martin couldn’t help but watch the swoosh of the hemlines. As the person got closer, Martin realized they were tiny, stylized eyes.

“Ah-you’re Martin, right?” It took Martin a second to realize this absolutely beautiful person was talking to him.

“hmm—Oh! Yes! You must be Jon.” Martin stood, unsure whether he should shake Jon’s hand or hug him or? But Jon solved the problem himself by sitting, and so Martin did as well. “It’s nice to finally meet you…in person, that is,” he added, grinning shyly. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Jon blushed. “Ah, thank you. Y-You too. O-or handsome, whichever you prefer.” He sipped his water and fidgeted with his hands, eyes flicking around the room nervously before coming around to rest on Martin.

Martin shrugged. “A compliment is a compliment, they all work. Speaking of—what pronouns are you feeling today? I remember you saying it varies.”

Jon shook his head slightly. “I’m not going to pitch a fit either way, but ‘he’ is just fine.” It was nice to be asked. The library respected his pronouns, of course, but something about Martin going out of his way to make sure he was on the same page was… It made Jon’s heart thud deep in his chest.

They made small talk about the travel, the weather, Italian food preferences until the waiter came and relieved the tension. Martin felt his shoulders relax after they both ordered; it felt more real somehow.

“So,” Martin asked, sipping his water demurely, a smile tinged on his lips. “Melvin, huh?”

Jon choked on air for a moment. His mouth gaped open and shut again and Martin couldn’t help the grin overtook him. Jon’s embarrassment was sweet; his cheeks flushed and he bowed his head slightly. It was a lovely look on him. “For the record, that’s what I was told by my coworker, Tim.” Jon made air quotes with his fingers. “‘Melvin or something.’ Who was I to question your name?”

“Right, and I’m glad you respect names ‘n’ all. But Melvin?” Martin chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “I’m not the decimal system guy.”

“Nn-mmm,” Jon shook his head, nose wrinkled in a way Martin found particularly cute. “That’s Melville. Melville Dewey.” Jon emphasized, back straightening. “Distinctly different. I’m a librarian, actually.”

“Oh!” Martin blinked. “That makes sense. You work with Melanie, then, I assume?”

Jon grimaced again. “Unfortunately.”

“She’s not that bad!” Martin insisted. “I’ve met her once or twice and she’s been very polite.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “For someone who’s getting a degree in parapsychology, she seems very judgmental.”

“Oh? And what are you studying again?”

“English Lit-hey!”

Martin grinned behind his glass of water. “Just saying, I haven’t met an English Lit student who wasn’t obscenely pretentious.”

Jon faltered for a second and slumped his shoulders in defeat, though his voice still seemed to carry humor, albeit dry. “Unfortunately, I am no exception.”

“Well, I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Dinner arrived smoothly, shrimp scampi for Jon and eggplant parmesan for Martin. They ate slowly, chatting more about Jon’s graduate degree, Martin’s affinity for fiction and poetry, and their shared interest in tea.

“So, are you vegetarian?” Jon gestured to the eggplant on Martin’s plate. Martin wobbled his head slightly, not quite a negatory shake of the head.

“It’s complicated. My mother has—had—a sensitive stomach so we didn’t eat meat growing up. I think that turned me off the taste. And there’s something about the texture,” he shuddered. “Weirds me out.”

Jon’s eyes were sharp, boring holes into Martin’s in a way he should have found alarming, but instead found soothing. “Mine, too.” His tone—softer, almost reverent, clued Martin in: he wasn’t talking about being vegetarian.

Martin nodded, and gently placed a hand on Jon’s, the one that hovered near his drinking glass. “I’m sorry.”

They were quiet for a moment, Jon’s hand was small and warm under his, and Martin could feel a thin silver bracelet clinging to his wrist. Martin was amazed by how perfectly his fingers rested over Jon’s, how nice it must feel to hold hands with him on a walk or side by side against the world. Jon cleared his throat suddenly and reached for his glass, gulping down water while staring steadfastly at his plate.

Martin felt his own blush rise through his cheeks and pushed a stray noodle around his plate. “So, here’s a question,” he began, eager to clear the tension. “You said earlier your friend Tim gave you the number to Swirl, right? I don’t know a Tim. So how did he know me?”

Jon frowned, cocking his head. “Technically, I got the number from Tim but that was via Melanie. She said her roommate was friends with…well, friends with you.”

“Mmhmm, that makes sense. I know Georgie from the coffee shop.” He was about to continue when he saw absolutely paralyzed look on Jon’s face. “You…you alright?”

Jon was stock still, pausing the forkful of shrimp that was en route to his mouth. “Sorry, Melanie’s roommate is Georgie?”

Martin nodded slowly. “Yeah, Georgie Barker, that podcaster. She gets her an extra-spicy chai latte from Swirl most days and that’s about the most I know of the relationship. Why, you know her?”

Jon put the fork down, shrimp forgotten, and sighed, running his thumbs along the bridge of his nose, pushing his thin-rimmed glasses up to his eyebrows. “Y-yes, she’s kind of…my ex.”

It was Martin’s turn to freeze. “Sorry?”

“Mmm, yeah, we decided we were better as friends. It was back in Oxford. But I don’t exactly see her often much anymore.” Jon winced at his own words, as if he knew how bad they sounded.

Martin sat back in disbelief, chuckling to himself. “Y’know, she said you were a ‘friend of a friend of a friend.’ D’you think she even knew it was you?”

Jon cocked his head in thought. “I guess not. I mean, I think the whole library staff has been gunning for me to relieve some tension. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been looking for a blind date for me for months now.”

Martin grinned, eyes sparkling. “Well, no matter. It was lucky for me.” Lucky again, was Martin, when he was rewarded with Jon’s warm blush.

----

The bill had been a painful affair, with both Jon and Martin vying for the privilege of paying. Martin struck a deal: he’d pay for the dinner, and Jon would pay for ice cream. Jon knew the differences would widely outweigh when it came to cost but he relented, and the self-satisfied smirk that blossomed over Jon’s face was payment enough.

Martin pointed out the ice cream parlor was a few blocks away and, though it was January, they decided to walk. The fresh snow on the ground glinted against the orange street lamps, and Jon laughed under his breath at the way Martin took great care to step on any unusually large clumps of snow, like he had a personal vendetta. When Jon’s chuckle had made it past the scarf he had wound round his neck and mouth, Martin had glanced over, embarrassed.

“I like the sound of it,” he mumbled, suddenly very meek for a man his stature. It was, regretfully, endearing. Martin was tall, but he was big too, and it was obvious underneath the layer of soft cashmere and chub, there was rigid muscle, and beneath that still, a gentle heart. Jon was struck by him, in more ways he had prepared himself for, and it felt second nature to slide his gloved hand into Martin’s and give it a solid squeeze of acknowledgement.

“Do you think it’s too cold to get ice cream?” Jon asked, watching a cloud of breath float by his lips.

Martin shrugged. “Technically? Yes. But who’s going to tell on us?” Jon swung their entwined hands a little. “Unless…you don’t want to?” Martin added, eyes locking on Jon’s before his head followed.

Jon shook his head. “No, I want to. I believe we have a debt to settle and I have a personal score involving rum raisin.” Martin beamed, clearly pleased, and Jon was certain the snow around him melted right off with the warmth of his smile. Jon leant into Martin’s side a little, and they continued in silence until they reached the ice cream parlor, the entrance to which glowed with pink and white LEDs.

Jon smugly ordered a scoop of rum raisin and was delighted to find Martin “didn’t hate it,” though he insisted his mint chip was better. That was genuinely the best Jon could hope for; not even Georgie in all her unusual tastes enjoyed his rum raisin sensibility. “My grandmother loved it when I was a kid,” he explained between bites, stirring the ice cream with his spoon. “It was the only flavor she kept around the house.”

“Not even vanilla?” Martin gasped in mock disbelief. “Any sensible person would say you’ve been tricked into enjoying it.” Jon chuckled and elbowed Martin mildly.

Jon found himself lingering over the bowl, realizing that the end of their dessert meant an end to the date. Martin seemed to be acting similarly, putting his spoon down between bites and taking more and more thoughtful swallows between their bouts of conversation.

“You-you took the tube here, right?” Jon asked, setting his finally-empty bowl off to the side. At Martin’s confirmation, Jon clenched his fist below the table. “Do you want to walk to the station together?”

Martin’s eyes lit up, nodding eagerly. “I had meant to ask, actually! I wanted to make sure you got there safe.” Jon winced at the blush that overtook his cheeks, though it was easy to blame it on the chill of the ice cream and the frigid night.

The walk to the tube was longer and the pair, heavily sated by pasta and dairy, were quiet, making soft comments about the snow or the odd remaining Christmas decorations, hands clasped tightly and shoulders pressing into the other. The fluorescents of the underground shone brightly, normally a beacon calling travelers home in the night, but to Jon it felt like a dreadful curse. He truly hadn’t expected to enjoy his evening with Martin so much, but they had just clicked. It felt like a shame to let it go.

Swiping their cards, Jon and Martin passed through their respective turnstiles and stood at the bisecting tunnels through which the various lines waited to take them home. They faced each other in silence, hands still interlocked, unsure of how to begin.

“If you’d like to,” Jon murmured, eyes shifting focus to Martin’s curls, plastered to his forehead from the snow; his collar, peeking through his coat; the way the shell of his ear seemed to have a nick missing (was it from a childhood accident? Just the way it was grown?). “I’d like to go out again.”

Martin squeezed Jon’s hand, and Jon’s eyes flitted back to Martin’s own; they were grey-blue and reminded Jon of his childhood sea. “Mmhmm, yeah.” Martin rolled his eyes at his own words and tried again. “Yes, Jon, I’d love that.” Martin moved to hug Jon, a gesture Jon eagerly accepted, relishing the warm arms encircling him and the feel of Martin’s chin resting on the crown of his head. As they pulled away, Martin’s eyes flitted across Jon’s face and the hand around his back moved, cautiously, to rest on the side of Jon’s neck.

“I…I don’t want to presume,” Martin said quietly, and Jon was distinctly aware of how empty, how big, the station was. “Is it okay if I kiss your cheek?”

Jon blinked rapidly, nodding wordlessly, before clearing his throat. “Ah, um, yes. Please.”

Martin’s smile was soft as he pressed his lips to the apex of Jon’s cheekbone, almost into his hairline. Jon was sure the blush that rose across his face this time certainly couldn’t be explained away by the snow, but he honestly wasn’t really sure he cared.

#tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfic #fanfic to a tea #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jmart #jonmartin #georgie barker #rosie zampano #tma rosie #tim stoker #meet cute #blind date au #this is my love letter to TMA #prompt answer #fanfic prompt

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gubler-me-up · 3 years

Text

Unsung Heroes

Request: Hi! I just found your account and I am in LOVE. I know this is a sort of very specific ask, but could you write Spencer Reid dating a masculine/trans masculine person? I think it would be really cool so yeah lol thank u in advance 🥺🥺💖💖 (ur literally so damn talented)

A/N: Thank you so much for the request, anon! Sorry it took a long time to get to but I’m glad I’m getting it out before the end of the year. This is my first masc trans reader fic out of two in my requests, so I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know if there is anything I can improve on or anything you would like to see in my next masc trans spencer reid fic that I didn’t portray well here. I did a bit of research to make sure my portrayal was accurate but I am always open to improving my work especially so readers feel comfortable and represented while reading. Hope you enjoy and happy reading! 💕

Couple: Spencer Reid/Masc trans!reader

Category: Fluff

Content warning: None just pure ~fluff~

Word count: 2.5k

————-

You threw on your favourite flannel to complete your outfit. You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time to fix your hair properly before Spencer arrived. He might not be a fan of styling his hair but making sure your hair was to your liking was your thing. Especially after getting a fresh cut it was important to you that you made the best of it before your hair started to grow back.

You then quickly checked your beard to see if there were any noticeable razor bumps. You didn’t see any visible ones but the ones below the surface were always the dangerous ones. You ran your hand over your beard to feel for any up and coming bumps. You stopped your finger over a spot that felt tender to the touch.

“Ah, you already feel as if you’re going to be a pain,” you mumbled to yourself.

You heard soft knocks on your door before you could continue your battle with your soon to be razor bump. You grabbed your wallet and keys off of your dresser before leaving your bedroom to answer the door. You opened the door to see Spencer standing in front of you with his hands gripped on his satchel strap and an excited smile plastered on his face.

He gently lifted his satchel to bring your attention to it. You chuckled as you saw how full it looked. You looked at him with a quizzical expression as he started to laugh himself.

“I thought we could read some light literature as we indulge in these breakfast burritos you’re so excited about,” he said.

“I haven’t read a good book in a while let alone encyclopedias,” you chuckled.

“They’re not all encyclopedia’s. Just one,” he said.

You laughed as you closed the door behind you. You didn’t believe him one bit about only having one encyclopedia in his satchel but you weren’t going to overly tease him about it. You were more interested in him trying a breakfast burrito for the first time.

You originally didn’t get the hype over breakfast burritos for a while until you were running late to work one morning and saw a food truck nearby. They convinced you to try their breakfast burrito and you’ve been loyal to them ever since. You knew Spencer was more of a coffee and go person but you thought he might enjoy trying something new.

“We’ll find out the truth after we get something to eat,” you said.

Spencer smiled and nodded as he loosened his grip on his satchel strap. He let his hand loosely fall to his sides. You smirked as you reached your hand out to him and he immediately grabbed it. To say he was forever touched starved was an understatement.

You were glad you could give him something he didn’t already have plenty of in his life. Touching books and case files all day definitely couldn’t give him the physical touch he deeply desired. You were happy every day for the past six months you could be the one to embrace him in any amount of touch. Bonus points for him always smelling good as well.

Spencer pressed the button for the elevator. “Are these breakfast burritos really as good as you say they are?”

“You’re doubting me now?” You asked.

“No, I would never do that. I’m just saying we sometimes have different tastes in things,” he said.

“Oh? What kind of things?” You asked.

“Well, you prefer listening to more contemporary artists while I’m more into classical,” he said.

“Musical taste is whatever though. I can get down to Mozart any day,” you chuckled.

He laughed. “Well, you take your coffee with oat milk and three brown sugars. I take mine black with a little sugar.”

“If you think half the sugar canister is a little sugar then I don’t wanna know what you consider a lot of sugar.”

You both laughed as the elevator doors opened. You both stepped into it and you pressed the lobby floor. You looked at him with a smirk before grabbing his chin. He smiled at your touch as he looked lovingly into your eyes.

“What?” He asked.

“I think there’s one thing we can both agree we have good taste in,” you said.

You leaned in and kissed Spencer on the lips which you knew he longed for. He didn’t hesitate to embrace you fully into his mouth. You don’t think you’ve ever kissed a guy with softer lips than him. He latched his hands onto your face and started to stroke his thumb against your beard. It ran over the growing razor bump but you didn’t mind if he touched it.

You parted your lips from him before you changed your mind and opted to spend the day with him in your apartment. He chuckled and didn’t move his hands away from your face. It didn’t seem as if the good doctor was quite finished with you.

“You want another taste?” You joked.

He nodded. You obliged and leaned in to kiss him again. You could have him for breakfast all day every day. Since breakfast was taken up by a breakfast burrito with your names on it, you guessed you could have him for lunch instead.

————

You and Spencer had found a rock to sit on near the lake. The park was quite full for a Sunday morning but with such nice weather you couldn’t blame people for wanting to be out and about so early. You watched Spencer carefully as he took his time eating his breakfast burrito. You couldn’t quite tell if he liked it or not based on his blank stare into the water as he ate.

“How do you like it?” You asked.

He quickly snapped out of his long gaze into the water. He looked over at you and smiled but it couldn’t fool you. You knew something was running around that big brain of his and you wanted to know what.

“I like it. It’s definitely an interesting concept,” he said as he took another small bite.

“Spence, what’s wrong?” You asked.

He shook his head in response to you as he finished chewing. You gave him a second to finish whatever was left in his mouth before he started talking. He let out a drawn-out sigh before licking his lips.

“I was going over case files this week and went over this one from a few years ago. This little boy’s family was murdered and he was the only survivor. Found out he left his aunt and uncle’s house to go into foster care. Apparently, he’s been having a hard time no matter where he goes,” he said.

“Well, from being a human I can tell you family sucks but from working in social work I can tell you the foster care system sucks. It’s hard to look at some of these cases and talk to these children having a hard time for sure,” you said.

“I just don’t feel as if I’m making a difference,” he confessed.

You shook your head in protest. If anyone was making a difference it was Dr. Spencer Reid. You knew how doubtful he could be of his capabilities sometimes but you knew he just needed a little reminder here and there.

“Are you kidding? You’re out here risking your life to catch serial killers every day and you don’t think you’re making a difference?” You asked.

“But it just stops there. The lives ruined never get fixed. The survivors never know a sense of peace. I just help solve cases and then move onto the next thing,” he said.

“You don’t have to deal with the social work or therapy side of these cases because there are people who take that area over for you. You do enough, Spence,” you said.

“And you do the most, Y/N. You’re so good at social work and when you’re not doing that you’re dedicating your time volunteering for homeless youths,” he said.

“It’s easy to volunteer though. Anyone can do it,” you said.

“And here I am not doing that.”

Spencer stared back into the depths of the water as he took another bite from his breakfast burrito. A bigger bite this time. You were honestly impressed. He probably took a bigger bite so he had more time to chew and less time to talk about his worries. A true genius.

You looked into the water yourself. The waves coming in reminded you of what one of your coworkers said to you once. You laughed to yourself which brought Spencer’s attention back to you.

“You know when I first told one of my coworkers I was transgender they asked if my transitioning period felt as if that one scene in Mulan where she looked at her reflection and knew she was supposed to reflect who she was inside and then decided to pretend to be a man to go into war on behalf of her father. I said not exactly and before I could explain to them why their analogy wasn’t really accurate, they hugged me and said they were proud I was able to reflect who I was inside on the outside,” you said.

“The lake reminded you of your coworker’s ignorance?” He questioned.

You chuckled. “No, it reminded me of that scene in Mulan and then that reminded me of my coworker’s ignorance. That being said though they did tell me how a lot of people they know are unsung heroes. I asked what they meant by that and they said unsung heroes are people who are trying their best but aren’t acknowledged or are overlooked by others or themselves.”

“Are you trying to say I’m a little harsh on myself?”

“Just a little.”

He looked back out into the lake again. You could see the wheels in his head turning as he thought about what you said. You continued to enjoy your breakfast sandwich as you let him ponder on your words. Usually it was the other way around and the words you were pondering were a bit more complex but you were nonetheless glad you could get him thinking.

By the time he looked at you, your burrito was nearly done. His whole time thinking he hadn’t taken another bite of his burrito. You didn’t know if you were happy he was about to talk to you about his insights or upset because he made a good breakfast burrito get cold.

“You don’t think I’m an unsung hero do you?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Of course not. I think you’re just a hero who wants to save the whole world at once but can barely finish a breakfast burrito.”

He chuckled. “This thing’s huge.”

“And so is the world but just like your bites, you have to solve issues within it in small nibbles,” you joked.

He laughed as he took another bite out of it. He tried to chew it with a smile on his face but you knew he hated the fact it was cold. You laughed at him as he swallowed the remains of his bite. He carefully wrapped his half-eaten burrito before looking at you with a wide smile. You were glad to see him smiling again and the doubt lifted from his face.

“I think you’re right,” he said.

“You think I’m right? Say that I’m right again and you might just have to hand over your Ph.D. to me,” you joked.

He chuckled. “Which one?”

You both laughed. When Spencer made a joke, it was definitely one for the books. However, when he made a good joke it was one for the history books. You believed the longer you two are together the better his humour could become.

“All jokes aside, I want to spend my free time volunteering with homeless youths with you,” he said.

You looked at him surprised but a smile soon appeared on your face. You grabbed his hand and squeezed it. He looked at you with those big, beautiful brown eyes of his filled with hope. You nodded your head.

“I would love for you to volunteer with me. I think the kids would love learning a thing or two from you,” you said.

“Teach?” You said.

“Yeah. Every Friday we teach youths a different arrangement of skills that will help them in life. It’s a great sight seeing them have hope in their eyes again. I first started with counselling transgender youths in the program and have branched out to other members of the LGBTQ2S+. I now help homeless youths who have been victims of physical abuse. It’s definitely hard stuff to hear but seeing their faces when they know they’re being helped through their problems is the biggest reward I could ever ask for.”

Throughout your whole speech you could see tears at the brim of Spencer’s eyes. He tried to wipe his eyes before any tears could fall out but you already knew you had touched his soft spot. He smiled brightly at you before letting out a soft chuckle.

“I hope they like physics,” he said.

You laughed. “Taught the Dr. Spencer Reid way, I think they will have a new appreciation of the science.”

You both broke out into laughter again. You broke the laughter by kissing him on the lips. You could never get over how happy he looked every time you kissed him.

“I love you, Spencer,” you said.

He grinned. “I love you too, Y/N.”

“How about we get you some real breakfast and head back to my place for lunch?” You said.

You stood up on the rock and placed your hand out for Spencer to use to get up. He gladly grabbed onto it as you hoisted him up. For someone with a Ph.D. in physics you would think that he would have a better sense of how to balance. It was just another cute quirk of his you loved.

“Some real breakfast?” He questioned.

“Yeah, your coffee with a “little” sugar,” you said.

“Ah, my real breakfast. So what’s going to be for lunch?” He asked.

You grabbed his hand to hold as you two walked through the park. You smirked at him as you looked him up and down. He blushed as he let you examine him from head to toe.

“Your encyclopedia’s of course,” you said.

“Wait, what? Why my encyclopedia’s?” He asked.

“Ah-ha, so there are more than one in your bag,” you said.

He sighed. “Was this your way of making me confess that you’re right again?”

“Yes.”

“So there’s no lunch?”

“You’re lunch.”

“Ah, I see you’re on a diet then.”

“You know what? I love that my humour’s rubbing off on you so well.”

“I think it’s a sign we belong in each other’s life for a long time to come.”

You laughed. “I’m not the romantic type but I have to agree.

“So how come I’ve told all my friends from work you’re the most romantic person I know?”

“Oh? I guess I’ll show you how romantic I can be during lunch.”

—–

MASTERLIST

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#spencer reid #dr. spencer reid #dr.spencer reid #Spencerreid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid request #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #Criminal Minds #criminalminds #CM #mgg #Matthew Gray Gubler #spencer reid x masc trans reader

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j-casper · 3 years

Text

Penelope Garcia x (trans ! ftm) Luke Alvez

aka, how they got together (in Luke’s point of view)

warning: gender dysphoria, (brief mention of) transphobia

- - -

He cuts his hair for the first time with kitchen scissors when he’s eleven.

| | |

There’s something wrong with him, he concludes weeks before when his mother sat him down and told him about puberty, about the changes his body would go through.

Only—he didn’t want to go through these changes.

A nauseous feeling settled in the pit of his stomach when he realized that the thought of puberty, of the things his body would soon go through, unsettled him and, not only that, but...it scared him.

Scared him like when his father shouted at the top of his lungs at his mother when they argued.

Scared him like the time he snuck one of his cousin’s toy cars to his own house to play with it in the secret of his room.

Scared him like the time that he asked for a lightsaber for Christmas only to get his mother’s intimidating stare in response.

He didn’t have a word for his feelings beside scared, didn’t have a word for the reasoning behind his disgust for his body.

That was until...him, Matthew—his new next door neighbor with his shaggy brown hair and built form.

His parents wrote off his admiration for the new neighbor as a crush, teasing him and prodding him every time his wide, awe-filled eyes trailed after Matthew.

It wasn’t long before he realized that he didn’t have a crush on Matthew...no—he wanted to be like Matthew.

He wanted short hair and a built form and a confident swagger.

He wanted to wear khaki pants and button down shirts, along with black dress shoes and a chain around his belt loops.

He wanted a deep voice and scruffy facial hair.

He wanted to be a boy.

| | |

His fingers ran carefully through his long hair, his other hand gripping the scissors he had sneaked out of the kitchen.

It’s 12am in the morning and he’s alone in the bathroom, staring in the mirror hopelessly at the person inside.

Her...Him

Tears ran down his face as he carefully bought the scissors up to his hair, his eyes tightening closed once a strand of hair is placed inside.

Snip.

The cut piece of hair falls on his shoulder and he resists the urge to tremble, eyes opening as he gathered more hair between the blades.

Snip...snip...snip...

Slowly, his hair creates its own pile on the cold bathroom tile under his feet.

At the end, his hair is short and terribly uneven, but, for once, his head feels light.

Tears gather in his eyes as he places down the scissors, his hands gripping both sides of the sink as he stared at his reflection.

“Luke,” he whispers softly, the name he always wished he had when he learned that he would have been named that if born a boy, “my name is Luke.”

Luke allows a single tear to run down his face before he leaves the bathroom to go back to bed.

He climbs in and ignores the pink walls and dolls scattered around the room, and allows the silence of a sleeping house to lure him to sleep.

(He can’t find it in himself to regret his choice when met with his mother’s intimidating stare and his father’s loud, angry shouting at the sight of him the next day.

He’s never felt more free.)

| | |

He gets his first binder at the age of fourteen, a gift from his older sister for his birthday.

She practically has to pry him away from the mirror when he first tries it on and can only proceed to stand there, running a lightly trembling hand over his newly flattened chest.

She’s the one that reminds him to take breaks from wearing it, the words “little brother” leaving her mouth affectionately and part scolding when she does so and he almost cries.

He doesn’t think he has any tears to waste anymore after crying over his father’s refusal to respect his identity and his mother’s judging state that would follow him, silently disapproving of every choice he makes.

He starts Testosterone when he’s seventeen after years of therapy.

The first shot hurts but he doesn’t flinch.

He’s been waiting for this moment his entire life, even if he didn’t know it at one point.

Besides, before long he’s used to the shots and is instead left to beam in delight as he notices the changes his body goes through due to it.

His voice deepens, his body hair thickens, and he even begins to gain facial hair.

He’s happy, he realizes one day as he gets ready for the day, toothbrush stuck in mouth as he pauses in front of the bathroom mirror.

He’s so happy.

By the time he joins the BAU, he’s older and a bit wiser.

His name is legally changed to Luke and his gender is accompanied by a little M on his legal paperwork.

For all intents and purposes, he passes with his (permanent) flat chest from top surgery years before and the years he has been on testosterone.

He’s happier.

He smiles and beams and jokes around.

His sister jokes that he’s a lady killer, charming and flirting; yet, Luke doesn’t really allow himself to get close to anyone romantically.

At the end of the night, he goes home to Roxy and that’s enough for him...until he meets her.

| | |

Penelope Garcia.

Technical analyst for the BAU.

Self-proclaimed nerd.

A woman who sassily comments to Luke upon the second time meeting him that she has an amazing boyfriend and Luke ignores the pain in his chest at the thought of the beautiful woman in front of him being taken as he instead smiles, doing what he does best next—continues to be charming (as his sister would say) and attempts to make a conversation only to get shut down.

He tries to pretend that he doesn’t care about her cold and distant attitude.

He pretends that it doesn’t hurt with how she treats him differently than everyone else, but not in the way he wants.

He smiles despite how much Garcia’s actions hurt and he ignores the fact that a tiny voice in the back of his head nags that she knows, that she’s treating him like this because he’s trans.

It’s nothing personal, he reminds himself, recognizing a hurt individual when seeing one, but hell if he doesn’t feel like it is.

...

“Come on, newbie,” Garcia drawled as she sipped slowly on her drink, eyebrow raised playfully as she teased him, “what’s your secret? We all have one.”

Luke laughed, taking a small sip from his beer before answering, wide smile spreading to his face as he teased back, “wouldn’t be a secret then, would it?”

It was his first time having a drink with the team and his mood brightened when they all laughed at his response to Garcia’s teasing.

Luke relaxed, untensing his shoulders at the teasing, not realizing how tense he was until then.

At the thought, his eyes shot to Garcia as Rossi dived into a story, his eyes meeting hers for a split second before looking away quickly.

He turned towards Rossi, but watched Garcia out of the corner of his eye.

Did she say that on purpose because she noticed how tense he was?

He shook his head as soon as the thought passed through his mind.

There was no way.

This was Penelope Garcia and to her, Luke is just an annoying coworker and not a friend.

| | |

“Do you hate me?” He whispers one day in Garcia’s vicinity, so quiet that he’s sure that she doesn’t hear him.

They’re alone in her lair, and once again he allows her coldness to get to him despite vowing to himself not too.

Her head shoots up, her eyes meeting his.

He can’t recognize the look in her eyes.

He stands straight, hands stuffed in his pocket.

“I don’t hate you,” she admits at last, blinking rapidly and her face looking almost...offended?

Luke shook his head.

“Yeah, I figured, but you know,” he flashed her a small grin and gave a little shrug of his shoulders, his body relaxing at how genuine she looked to be.

Her eyes bored into his for a few more seconds before she hastily looked away and to her monitor.

“I don’t hate you Alvez...far from it,” she admits at last, quietly.

Luke practically beams.

Garcia groaned playfully, “stop smirking, Newbie.”

Luke laughed, dodging her slapping hand as he practically rushed out of the room.

Outside the door after shutting it behind him, he pauses, chest heaving and smiling growing wider.

She didn’t hate him.

Thank god.

...

Garcia...Penelope...is leaving.

She’s leaving.

Leaving the BAU, the team, everyone...including him.

There’s always a silver lining though.

This silver lining came in the form of Emily Prentiss, casually reminding him that Garcia would never date a coworker.

His heart seems to pause when he realizes that they’re no longer coworkers.

They’re no longer coworkers.

He might have a chance.

He steeled himself, standing up straight and remembering everything he has ever been through.

His childhood.

His family.

His life.

He catches Garcia’s eyes from across the yard and he smiles.

Now or never.

...

He asks her out for dinner, and she says yes.

She says yes.

He goes home excited, whooping out loud once in the safety of his apartment, fist pumping in the air.

Roxy jumps excitedly at his enthusiasm and the sight of him, and he laughs.

“Guess what girl? Dad has a date.”

He’s afraid that his face will soon hurt with how much he’s grinning but he doesn’t care.

He has a date...with Penelope Garcia.

...

He wears his best button down shirt paired with dress pants, and carefully he loops his belt through and places on his tennis shoes.

Nice, but casual.

Before he leaves his apartment to pick her up, he wipes his sweaty hands on his pant’s legs.

He’s ready.

...

Penelope Garcia is a vision.

She’s always a vision, Luke concludes, but even more so today now that he’s seeing her through the view of a date rather than a coworker or friend.

Luke nervously smiles, hands pushing the flowers in his hand towards her.

“For you.”

“Why thank you kind sir,” Penelope grins, gently taking them and invites him inside.

He watches as she places the flowers in a vase and he chooses then to speak, “you look beautiful” and she did.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Newbie,” she shot back, “so where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

...

The air outside the restaurant is cold.

“So, that was pretty amazing,” Luke teased as him and Penelope slowly walked to his car and he opened the door for her.

Penelope grinned, “it wasn’t bad.”

Luke laughed, “bad? glad to know that me spilling water on my shirt amuses you.”

“I mean, it did,” Penelope giggled, avoiding Luke’s playful glare.

“Woah, nice to know my humiliation amuses you, chica,” Luke moaned dramatically as he cranked up the engine, smiling widening when Penelope’s laugh grew in volume.

Without even thinking, his right hand shot out to lay on top of Penelope’s own on the armrest, causing her to freeze, laughs abruptly stopping.

“I had a really great time tonight,” Luke admitted softly, grinning.

Penelope paused before admitting just as softly, “me too.”

Luke slowly leaned across the middle console and Penelope did the same, hearts thudding as they slowly grew closer and closer before pausing, faces centimeters away.

“May I?” Luke asked.

“Yeah,” Penelope breathed out.

“Yeah?” Luke asked, smiling.

Penelope nodded her head, “yeah” before her lips crashed again his, all other thoughts but those of Penelope Garcia leaving his head.

...

“I need to tell you something,” Luke admitted after their third date, this one being in Penelope’s apartment and involving a movie and popcorn.

Penelope turned her body towards his, giving him her full attention.

He shifted nervously.

“I’m—” he trails off, brows furrowing as he tries to figure out how to word everything correctly.

Penelope’s hands took hold of his, squeezing them softly and Luke shakingly exhaled.

“I’m trans, Penelope,” he admits quietly, stomach dropping and his breath catching in his throat as he awaits her answer.

Penelope’s brows furrowed, “as in a transwoman or a transman.”

“Transman,” he admits, “that’s why I don’t really talk to my family beside my sister and her husband and kids. My parents didn’t take it too well.”

Penelope’s hands tightened around his.

“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me,” Penelope told him at last, grinning softly.

Luke grinned back hestitantly, “you’re okay with it?”

Penelope sighed, mock offense due to him asking her this written across her face, “I love you, Luke Alvez, no matter your identity or pronouns or anything else...even if your ego is too big.” Her voice playful as she eased his concerns.

“Good,” Luke joked back, relief settling in his chest, “because I’m bisexual too...wait,” he blinked in shock, mouth falling open a little as he registered what she said, “you love me?”

Penelope blushed.

“I love you too, Penelope Garcia,” a wide smile splitting his face.

Penelope sighed, “you better, Newbie. I’m a catch.”

“Well, so am I.”

He dodged her playful slap and sprinted across the room, laughter from both of them filling the air as she chased after him.

#Criminal Minds #Penelope Garcia #Luke Alvez #Penelope Garcia x Luke Alvez #trans!Luke #garvez

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s0ym1lk · 3 years

Text

One of the things I think about a lot as a bisexual trans man is how the things I’m ‘allowed’ to say map directly to how people read me as a person.

Pre-transition, I experienced a lot of misogyny due to my life and career choices. I’ve been sexually assaulted twice and was stalked by a supervisor at a previous job. As a passing trans man, people do not assume that I’ve had these experiences (and I don’t blame them for not expecting it - how could they know?). That occasionally puts me in a strange position. For example, I once took a diversity training where the instructor asked a series of questions about different experiences and asked anyone that had had those experiences to stand up. It is VERY uncomfortable to be the only man standing when the question ‘Have you ever been harassed due to your gender at work?’ is asked. (I would like to caveat that the instructor told us standing up was voluntary, that we should only do so if we felt comfortable.)

The experience brought up a lot of different thoughts for me - that my identity is not fundamentally captured in our binary understanding of gender and gendered experiences, that assumptions about gendered experiences leave me isolated from everyone around me, that such attempts at diversity training without space to share your actual experience leads to misunderstanding. It also made me question how much explanation I ‘owe’ to someone when I speak out about my experiences. Speaking superficially, the answer is of course that I don’t owe anyone anything. Speaking more realistically...should I have clarified that my experience should fall into the ‘female’ bucket, because the people harassing me assumed I was female? The instructor’s point was to highlight that women face an issue men largely do not, and by standing but not speaking out, I muddied that point when I could have just explained.

Assuming I’m cool with explaining (which is sometimes true and sometimes not, in that case I had the spoons to stand but not to explain), even that is complicated. Knowledge around trans people and trans issues is not widespread. If I bring up my transness in a discussion, the discussion has to be sidetracked to bring everyone up to speed about what exactly that means. Even if people are familiar, they generally respond as if that’s something that needs to be discussed or something I need to be reassured about, which leads the whole discussion off on a tangent. I remember I was once having a conversation with two people at a party, one man and one woman, and the woman was sharing a pretty personal memory of sexual harassment. I wanted to commiserate because I’ve had the same experience. But commiserating meant sharing my status as transgender, which would have pulled the focus away from her and onto me to explain all that, and she was in the middle of being really vulnerable so of course I didn’t want to do that. That meant that for all intents and purposes, I was isolated from connecting with someone via shared experiences due to my status as transgender and due to other people’s perceptions of my experience. That...sucked.

Professionally, I’ve been involved in many conversations around gendered issues. It is definitely the case that as a man, I can talk about these issues (and be listened to seriously) in a way that women can’t. But to be more clear, that means talking about them as if I’m a cisgender man. Because the value here doesn’t come from me saying ‘I’m a man and yet was sexually assaulted while being perceived as female’, it comes from me pretending to be a cis man and saying, ‘but I still believe women when they talk about the seriousness of sexual assault!’ In fact, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told my own stories of harassment and misogyny and pretended that it was something that happened to ‘a friend of mine’ instead. Again, I don’t owe it to anyone to pretend to be cisgender in these conversations. I also don’t owe it to anyone to come out as transgender so people have the right context. AND YET, I do feel I have an obligation to say something. So in the end, I still have to choose one of those options. If I don’t, the people around me seeing me stay silent in the face of misogyny are not going to magically know that my silence is due to the complicated nature of my gender history. They are going to see me as a cisgender man allowing misogyny to happen. I want anyone seeing what they think is a cisgender man failing to stand up to misogyny to call that person out. Equally, I do not want to be called out because someone’s perception of me is not correct.

Joking has also become vastly more complicated. I never realized how much joking I did that relied specifically on someone being able to see me and make assumptions about my identity in order to understand the joke (which, to be fair, isn’t just a gender or sexuality issue....the other day, a coworker I’d only ever chatted with online sent me the message ‘thanks you in Asian’, which had me preparing for a very serious conversation until I saw him in person and realized he was literally referring to himself as an Asian guy). I could very easily make a sarcastic joke now intending to call out misogyny that would come off as me being sexist towards women.

Same deal for sexuality. I made a joke today at work that might have seemed homophobic if it were coming from a straight person. I am not a straight person. My coworkers don’t know this. The guy I said the joke to, to the best of my knowledge, is a straight guy. If someone overhears that joke and feels offended because they are LGBT or on behalf of LGBT people, does that mean I did something wrong? And yet...am I required to censor the way I talk about my own sexuality in order to not seem like I’m being homophobic? Do I have to come out in order to not be perceived as telling homophobic jokes? It becomes a situation where I either censor the way I talk about my own identity to reduce harm, I commit to being true to my identity and perpetuate harm, or I out myself in an attempt to give context but therefore open myself up to discrimination.

The whole subject is complicated. And mind you, I’m not advocating in any way that call-out culture is toxic or flawed with this post. I can and do want people to feel comfortable calling out others for what they perceive to be discriminatory or bigoted behavior, even if that means I end up in the crosshairs. I’m just trying to share some thoughts about how being part of a community in a way that’s not visible can be complex and frustrating to navigate. This is a subject I navigate daily, sometimes multiple times in a day, and it never gets easier.

#transgender #ftm #trans man #trans #bisexuality #ultimately even if my approach is imperfect i try to remind myself that speaking up is doing more than most people do #i really was not prepared for how hard dudes try to convince you to buy into misogyny though #i snapped at a coworker recently for making a trap joke in reference to trans women #i had literally just come from being denied an ID due to having my birth name and gender on a document so i was not in the right headspace #to be gentle in that conversation #and it turns out he thought trap jokes were a silly anime meme and not like #a slur #and i was like great #from this guys perspective i tore into him over a meme that he didn't even know was transphobic

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icequeenoriginal · 4 years

Text

The Pain of Secrets

Author’s Note: This was supposed to be fluffy, that was my original intent. But then my brain decided to make it super angsty. So I apologize. Also, I am not transgender. I’m using the information I learned online as well as from what friends who are have told me. I hoped I portrayed a transgender person correctly. I meant to finish this before the end of pride month but writer’s block did not let that happen. Stay safe everyone.

Summary: Roman hates secrets and he hates keeping them, but he still has one. Is it worth keeping from Virgil?

Warning: Fear of Rejection, transphobia, self-hatred, internalized transphobia, keeping secrets, crying, running away, surgery mention, not taking care of yourself, anxiety, divorce mentioned, inappropriate touching, bad past relationship, hurt/comfort, roman angst, body image issues, bad binding practices, fear of breaking up (Let me know if I missed anything)

Pairing: Prinxiety

~ Roman hated secrets. Even the word would cause him to have an icky feeling in his chest. To have secrets, you have to lie to the people you care about. Secrets were the reason his parents weren’t together. His mother kept her emotions and suspension secret while his father kept his intimate relationship with a young coworker a secret.

At age 9, Roman swore to his grieving mother when he found her crying in the kitchen in the middle of the night when he could sleep. The smile on his mother’s face was enough to make him never want to break that promise.

That only lasted a couple of months and it was all his stupid body’s fault. If he had just been born in the right body, it wouldn’t be an issue.

You see, Roman wasn’t born a boy. Everyone told him he was a girl because he looked like one, but he didn’t feel like it. He knew he wasn’t but he didn’t know why.

He learned about the word transgender when his uncle took to a very fun and colorful parade that summer after he made his promise. It would later be the first of many Prides he attended and where his uncle met his other future uncle.

It took a few days for him to muster up the courage to tell his mother but his drive to never have a secret was the final push he needed.

His mom accepted him, she got him on HRT and even bought him his first binder. Though, he did notice how there seemed to now be a distance between them. They did fewer things together, his mother slipped up with pronouns, and always seemed like she was herself back from saying something.

But it was fine because at least there were no secrets between them.

“Everything is fine.” Roman would say as he ignored how much that hurt him.

“This is fine,” Roman said to himself as he only applied to colleges out of state. He and his mom just needed some time apart.

“Everything is great,” He told his mom through tears caused by the stress of school and being on his own.

“It’s okay,” said Roman when his first boyfriend told him he couldn’t be with a ‘fake man’ anymore after a couple of months of dating.

“It’s fine,” said Roman his second boyfriend angrily dumped him when he found out that Roman is trans. Roman didn’t blame him, he hadn’t told him right away as he did with his first boyfriend. This was his punishment for it.

It was really all fine. Roman didn’t mind being alone, he could handle it just fine. He was fine with always coming home to an empty apartment and an empty bed. A home without someone to hold him, kiss him, reassure him.

…

No, no he couldn’t. But he was a good actor and every good actor can lie to themselves.

He, at age 25, decided to put off dating until after he got his top and bottom surgery. It just seemed like the easiest option. His HRT did as much as it could but it couldn’t get rid of that feeling he had every time he looked into the mirror and touched his chest. It was one of the few things he had gotten straight from his mother.

After a late-night of research, he came up with a plan. To get both surgeries, he needs 20,000 dollars in total. Damn you America and your expensive medical costs! Well, there isn’t anything he can do other than every time he got paid, he saves all the extra money he had left after paying his bills and groceries. It wasn’t fun, there was time he wanted to buy that expensive tablet or go to that bar but he wouldn’t touch the money. Not until he had enough.

It was the perfect plan, in his opinion, but the universe was never on his side. He went to the library one day to borrow a book since that was a fun free thing to do, and he accidentally bumped into a young man. After a quick apology, Roman noticed the man was holding a large book of fairy tales. That led to a two-hour debate about the messages of fairy tales.

The man’s name is Virgil and Roman was sure at that moment he is his soulmate.

They spent more of their days texting one another whenever they could. Their first few dates would consist of free things like walking through the park or sitting together in the library. It was lovely. It’s why Roman figured he didn’t have to tell him that he was trans. It wasn’t like they were going to become more than friends. Roman figured this is how their relationship would stay, sweet and simple. That was perfectly fine with him.

Then Virgil invited to dinner to ask him to be his boyfriend. Virgil told him he had never asked anyone else out before but he felt such a strong connection with Roman. Everything about that moment was perfect, the restaurant, Virgil, the music, everything.

It wasn’t until he got home did Roman realize he still hadn’t told Virgil his secret. Roman cried himself to sleep that night.

After that first date, Virgil seemed to only take him to movies or dinners. Places that cost money, money Roman did not have living paycheck to paycheck. Virgil had a high paying office job so he said he didn’t mind. Roman still, at least once a month, would use his grocery money to buy fancy ingredients to make Virgil dinner and eat ramen for the rest of the week. It was nice, Roman had almost forgotten what it was like to go out.

Roman loves Virgil, he told him on their 5th date. He loved him so much that every day he would want to tell him his secret but the fear of losing Virgil would take over and make him chicken out.

That led him to today, almost a year later, sitting in Virgil’s apartment where he was staring at Virgil as his past flashed in front of his eyes like he was Angelica Schuyler during Satisfied.

Why? Because Virgil was inviting him to go to the beach. A place where you wear a swimsuit. Pushing aside how much he hated how he looked in a bathing suit, that meant he had to take off his shirt.

He was so screwed.

A cold hand jolted him out his thoughts so quickly that a small yelp escapes Roman’s lips. Roman scared eyes lock with Virgil’s loving and concerned eyes.

“Ro? What’s wrong? Do you not want to go?” Virgil asks softly, gently rubbing his knuckles

“No! I do! I do!” Roman replies quickly, a bit too quickly to alleviate Virgil’s concern.

“Ro, princey, you don’t have to agree just because I suggested it. We can do something else.”

Roman could have burst into tears at that moment. Virgil was just so good to him. He should take the way out, it would just make everything easier. He oh so wanted to but the nagging voice in the back of his head shouted at him that it was a trick, that Virgil was testing him, secretly questioning why Roman wouldn’t want to.

So, Roman shook his head, “I do want to Virgil, I-I just need to check when I can take off of work. You know how busy the restaurant business is during the summer.” Roman replies nervously.

Virgil sighs, “Alright, I believe you.” Virgil leans back against the couch, “You should quit that awful waiter job, they demand so many hours from you and barely pay you enough.”

Roman stares off into the distance before replying, “I wish I could quit too but I need the money and you know how hard it is to get a new job.” Especially if you’re trans.

Virgil nodded, knowing that he was very lucky to have the job that he did, all thanks to his friend Janus. Still, he hated how the light behind Roman’s eyes dim every day he is at that job and the physical strain it had on Roman’s gorgeous body. He wishes there was something he could do that wouldn’t seem like a handout. It would be too much of a blow to Roman’s pride.

Virgil smiles, he has a perfect idea. He turns to Roman and asks, “Roman, what would you think about--”

Roman whines in pain and Virgil’s eyes widen in fear. “Are you alright?!”

Roman nods and waves his hand dismissively. “Just chest--I mean stomach pains. I’ll be right back.” Roman runs off to the bathroom. As soon as he locks the door, Roman rips off his shirt and binder. He gasps, taking a deep breath of fresh air.

He knows he shouldn’t be wearing his binder all day, he knows it is not healthy but he can’t help himself. He rather be what (he thinks) Virgil wants than be comfortable.

Meanwhile, Virgil is frowning and whispers, “Hey Ro? Want to move in with me?”

Roman pants as he sits on the toilet. His chest was killing him but he could not care less. He took a painkiller from Virgil’s medicine cabinet. Swallowing it dry, he puts his binder and shirt back through the pain. He gets up and leans up against the wall to catch his breath.

“This is fine,” he mumbles to himself like he does every morning, “Everything is fine” ~

Two weeks had pasted and Roman still hadn’t given Virgil an answer. Virgil didn’t bring it up, he knew Roman would give him an answer when he was good and ready.

Roman was pacing, in a big shirt and boxers, with his phone in his hand, open on it was his bank account.

Once he got home from Virgil’s apartment, he quickly checked how much money he had saved. He was surprised to see that he had $8,654 saved up. It had been a while since he last checked. He quickly called around to get top surgery that fit into his budget.

He had a new plan. He would get the surgery, he would go to the beach with Virgil about 3 weeks later, and Virgil would see his surgery scars. Then Roman tell him and they could figure it all out there. If Virgil broke up,

No more avoiding it.

His phone began to vibrate and Roman vibrate and Roman quickly answers it, “Hello? Oh hi, Dr. Travis!”

This doctor had excellent reviews and she was to be trusted. One pleasant conversation later and Roman had an appointment set for a week later for $6,000 with insurance covering some of the cost. He also calls his job, who approves his two weeks of medical leave.

He squeals as soon as he hangs up, this was going to be wonderful. He had to celebrate.

So he calls Virgil, “Stormcloud?”

“Hey Ro, what’s up?” Roman smiles, “I have great news. Four weeks from Tuesday, I can spend the entire day at the beach with you.”

“Jeez, your job really won’t let you catch a break, can they?”

Roman chuckles, deciding it was best not to mention he was one of the last days off he had after the ones he is using for his appointments and recovery for this. “Well, in any case. I would like to see you before then. I’m working the early shift tomorrow so I’ll be done by 1.”

Roman could hear Virgil smiling on the other side of the line, “Well, you’re in luck Princey. I only have one big meeting after lunch tomorrow. How about we meet for lunch, I hide you in my office while I go to this meeting and then we can go back to my place at 5?” “That sounds perfectly wonderful.”

The lunch was nice. They went to a cheap sandwich shop that was close to Virgil’s work and had a small debate on whether or not putting mayo on Salami was a good or bad thing.

Roman almost immediately regretted agreeing to sit in Virgil’s office. He sat silently, and almost immediately, chest started to ache. Even worse, Virgil’s office needed a key to get into, one that Virgil only had because it was his ID card. Something about security or whatever.

Roman sat in Virgil’s office chair for 3 hours, he kept time on his phone. The second Virgil opened the door, Roman practically threw himself into Virgil’s arms.

“Missed me?”

“Something like that.”

They took the subway home, and Virgil could almost immediately tell something was wrong. Roman seemed to keep fidgeting and had on a fake smile. Virgil contemplated saying something, but by the time his anxiety let him decide, the train had arrived at their stop.

Virgil figured Roman would tell him in due time. Right?

Once they arrive, Virgil sighs as he pulls off his tie. “I am going to take a shower, you can set up a movie or something.” Roman smiles and kisses Virgil, “Don’t be long.” “Excuse me princess, but you take over two hours in the showers, I will take all the time I want.” Roman laughs, “Touché, touché. Go on now. Hurry your cute butt back.” Roman gently pats Virgil’s butt to emphasize his point. Virgil sent him a playful glare and heads off to his bedroom.

Roman smile drops and he immediately takes off his shirt and binder. He loudly gasps and rubs his chest to ease the pain in his chest. He sighs and stretches, Virgil usually takes 30 minutes in the shower, so he was going to give him a 30-minute break.

Or he was...until he turns and sees Virgil standing at the end of the living room where the hallway is attached. He, like Roman, did not have his shirt on. Neither his pants.

Virgil opens and closes his mouth a few times before saying, “I forgot to mention, I-I-I have a bottle of wine.” He gestures vaguely to the kitchen,

Roman covers his chest with his arms, tears appearing quickly.

Virgil takes a step closer, “Ro...have you been...this whole time…?”

“I have to go,” Roman says as he runs to the door, shirt and binder in hand.

“Ro, wait--” Virgil makes a grab for Roman’s arm but misses as Roman runs out of the apartment. Virgil watches him go, knowing he shouldn’t run out in his boxers. He begins pacing, his nerves are on an all-time high, and he tries to steady his breathing so he can come up with a plan to talk to Roman.

Because they really, really, need to talk.

~ Roman didn’t stop running until he got home. Once he got in, thank goodness his keys were safely tucked into his pocket, he threw himself onto his bed and broken down. That had to be the most humiliating moment of his entire life. Virgil’s face had said it all, he was definitely breaking up with him.

He sobs and sobs for what it seems like hours until he tires himself out. He walks up at 4 am to 10 miss calls and 30 texts from Virgil.

From: Stormcloud

Ro, please call me back.

Princey, let’s just talk, please.

Babe, please, let me know if you’re okay.

I’m not mad. I just want to talk.

Roman. I’m not going to say what I have to say through text. Call me, please.

Roman shuts off his phone. He can’t face Virgil right now. He can’t face anything right now. His only saving grace is that he has the night shift at work. He closes his eyes and had a restless sleep.

His dreams were of Virgil walking farther and farther away from him. No matter how much Roman pleaded and begged for him to stay, Virgil just kept walking.

Once he walks up, he remembers reading somewhere that dreams tell the truth, and he knows his truth: Virgil does not want to be with him.

Roman ignores Virgil’s calls and texts between the Bad Day, as Roman dubbed it, and his surgery day. Though it started because Roman couldn’t face him, it then became just because of the surgery.

Roman didn’t like his job, for the most part, but he did have a friend. His name is Patton and he is the nicest person Roman has ever known. Patton was one of the few people who knew Roman is trans and he is a bug supporter in Roman’s life. Patton let him cover all of his shifts so Roman wouldn’t lose money on his time off. He was exhausted from all the work, but the happiness of what is to come pushed him through it. He stopped checking his phone as often as he normally would, despite Patton pushing him to go talk to Virgil.

”It may bit be as bad as you think kiddo,” Patton would say, but Roman was not sure.

Anytime he wasn’t working, he was making trips to the grocery store for his treatment or moving everything off of high shelves since he is not allowed to stretch his arms.

His bottom drawers are filled with baby wipes, scar cream, and ice packs. He also bought big comfy sweaters and ice cream to keep himself comfy.

Roman couldn’t sleep the day before the surgery. He felt every emotion attacking him at once. This was going to be one of the most important days of his life.

The surgery itself wasn’t as bad as he expected, though the anesthesia probably had something to do with it. He found out later he sang a love song to “a very lucky young man” through the 2 hours and 30 minutes. He was embarrassed, to say the least.

Finally came time to see the scars. He froze when the doctor told him. He was lucky to be facing away to the doctor. Could he do this? Would the scars look bad? Would this actually make him as happy as he hoping?

He let out a watery chuckle, he sounded like his boyfriend--his ex-boyfriend. Thinking of Virgil reminded him of all the breathing exercises he learned from Virgil.

He takes a deep breath for four seconds, holds it for seven seconds, and lets it out for eight seconds.

After doing it a few more times, he turns to the mirror. The tears are almost immediate. The scars were bright red but they were thin, as thin as his pointer finger. His chest was as flat as he hoped it would be. This is the happiest he has ever been.

He shakes Dr. Travis’s hand since he is unable to say words. Dr. Travis simply smiles at him and pats his back.

“Now sit down, I have to put the bandages on. Now, make sure to change them every day.” Dr. Travis says.

”Got it, thank you, doctor.” Roman says, managing to get his voice back.

”You’re welcome.” Dr. Travis replies as she gently wraps the bandages around his chest, ”Now, do you have someone coming to pick you up?”

”Yes, of course, as you told me to,” He wasn’t exactly lying, he was planning to call an Uber.

”Good, because all you have to worry about is recovering, okay?” she says with a smile.

Roman nods and soon after, Dr. Travis finishes putting on the bandages. He has to stay in the hospital for another hour to rest before he is properly discharged. He spends most of the hour taking a nap and only 15 minutes on the phone with Patton, which seems strange to him. Roman, once he is allowed to leave, puts on his red zip-up hoodie, ignoring the feeling of his heart pulling because he remembers Virgil buying it for him and heads out of the hospital. Dr. Travis gives him a treatment plan on the way out and Roman puts it into his pocket.

The Uber ride is pleasant enough, the driver lets him drift off in the backseat. He is woken up by the car jerking to a stop in front of his apartment building. He scrambles out of the car while apologizing to the driver.

He runs up the stairs to his apartment, each step making him more tired and as each second passes, the painkiller wears off more and more.

He weakly smiles as his door, knowing that a few behind it is his bed that he can pass out in.

He opens the door and is so shocked to see Virgil behind it that he can’t bring himself to move. Virgil says nothing as he walks over to him. Virgil wraps his arms around Roman’s waist and moves him into the apartment.

Roman yelps and finds his legs walking up to move with Virgil, ”W-W-What are you doing here?”

Virgil whispers, ”We’ll talk later, you need to get to bed.”

Roman doesn’t argue as Virgil half drags him into his bedroom. Roman lays down and Virgil reaches for his hoodie zipper. Roman tries to push his hand away but Virgil is much faster than him. Roman let's out a small whine as Virgil unzips the hoodie. Virgil shushes him and gives him a painkiller and some water. Roman happily drinks it.

As he is falling asleep, Roman says, ”I love you V…”

”I know, I love you too Ro.” is the last thing Roman hears before passing out.

Roman wakes up two hours later so feeling something cold touch his chest. He slowly opens his eyes to see Virgil putting an ice pack wrapped in a paper towel on his chest.

Virgil softly smiles at him, “Hey Sleeping Beauty, welcome back to the land of the living.” Virgil gently cups his face. “Stay still so that the ice can do its job. I’ll order food in a bit and put on a movie. What would you like to watch?”

Roman stares at him dumbfounded, but Virgil was not fazed. He fluffs Roman’s pillow without uttering a word. He then rubs Roman’s cheek and Roman shutters at the soft and intimate touch.

“What? How? Why…?” Roman had so many questions he wants to ask.

“When you weren’t answering your phone, I went to your job and I saw you working. That relaxed me enough to let you have some space. I still would walk by every day, hoping you’d see me, and maybe you would come. When I came by earlier today, your coworker came out and invited me in.” “Patton?” “Patton. He said he noticed me walking by and I told him about you. He spent his break talking to me about you. You have a good friend.” Virgil says with a smile.

“I know, Pat’s great.” Roman can’t help but smile back. “I’m guessing he told you about the surgery?” “Yup so I came here. Knowing you, you wouldn’t ask for help and try to take care of yourself.” Roman looks away and pouts, and Virgil kisses the pout away. The kiss makes Roman stare at him confused, but Virgil just continues, “So I asked your building’s maintenance guy to let me in to surprise you. I did not think that work, you should have seen me, I was so nervous, but he said he’s seen you let me in enough times and he said this was one time only so now I am here.”

Roman blinks at Virgil for a few seconds, trying to figure out what he says. Virgil sits there, so patient and understanding that it only manages to confuse “But why?”

“Why what?”

Roman began to cry, but he is too tired to care. “Why would you want to take care of me? I’ve been keeping a huge secret from you for over a year, I’ve been lying to you over a year. I haven’t been as intimate as I deserve to be and you probably desire to because I can’t be. I will never be a true man physically, no matter what I do. And the way you found out, not from me telling you. You should hate me, be mad, anything. I wouldn't hold it against you.”

Virgil sits on the bed and puts his arm around Roman, “Roman, I don’t know who told you otherwise, but when I tell someone I love them, I love all of them. Especially you, you are my boyfriend. You are everything I want and more. I love your body, I’ve loved it since we met. I wouldn’t care if we never had sex, if it met I could be with you. And don’t call yourself anything but a man, because I will fight you about it and have Patton help me.”

Roman laughs but stops, his insecurities taking over once more, “But the way you were looking at me that day…you looked so disgusted”

“I wasn’t, I will never disgusted with you. I was scared. I saw the binder and how red your chest was. I was scared that you were hurting yourself for me.” “Oh...I’m sorry.” Roam replies while lower his head. Virgil tilts it up, “Don’t apologize to me, you owe an apology to your body. I’ll make you do it too.” Roman pulls Virgil into a kiss and Virgil happily kisses back. They will be okay, actually better than okay. Virgil will take of Roman his whole recovery, taking his vacation time to do so. They would spend the time talking, finally no secrets between them. Virgil will ask him to move in as he drives him home from his checkup with Dr. Travis and Roman will happily say yes. Roman will finally let Virgil help me and Roman saves up the money for his bottom surgery and gets a better job with Virgil’s recommendation. Though he will miss working with Patton, they will hang out every weekend to make up for it. It will be a wonderful future.

But right now, they both just need to kiss and breathe because they are happy and together.

Taglist

I do not have a general Sanders Sides but if you would like to be tagged in all things Sanders Sides I post, let me know.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #prinxiety #roman x virgil #roman angst #roman sanders #patton sanders #Janus Sanders #trans!roman #sanders sides oneshot #tw transphobia #hurt/comfort

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arianaderalte · 3 years

Text

my employee keeps getting deadnamed by a coworker

A reader writes:

I have managed “John,” a transgender man, for about two years. John does not keep his transgender status a secret, but he also doesn’t go out of his way to tell people, so some people know and some don’t. “Lizzy” recently transferred to a department that works closely with ours. She previously did not know that John was trans, but now that she’s interacting with him much more often, she’s found out. At first, she didn’t seem to have an issue with it, but then she discovered some articles he’d published while still going by “Sally,” and now she insists on calling him Sally. She claims that she has no problem with trans people, but that she feels it’s important to call John by the name he was given at birth “out of respect for his mother” (John’s mother does not work for our company, and to the best of my knowledge, she and Lizzy have never met).

John and I have both asked her to stop, but she refuses. On John’s request, I have also gone to her manager, but Lizzy has a very domineering personality and her manager avoids confrontation, so I don’t think he’s said anything to her. Not only is Lizzy’s insistence on deadnaming John offensive, it is confusing, because many people don’t understand who she’s talking about when she mentions Sally. I’ve tried casually correcting her in the moment, as if I thought she was making a mistake, and John has outright refused to answer to the name Sally, but she keeps saying that it’s disrespectful to his mother to use a name she didn’t choose for him. John complained to HR, but they said that because she is not explicitly harassing him for being trans, they can’t do anything. (For the record, our state did not consider being LGBT a protected class, though from what I understand, the Supreme Court ruling should have changed that.)

John has now started exclusively calling Lizzy “Elizabeth”; there is another Elizabeth in the office, and if there’s any confusion over which Elizabeth he’s talking about, John uses Lizzy’s maiden name, rather than her married name. Lizzy HATES this and has complained to him, me, and half the office, but he says that it’s out of respect for her mother. Honestly, I think this is hilarious (and kind of want to start doing it too), but I feel that as a manager, I shouldn’t encourage John to deliberately antagonize Lizzy, even though she started it (and definitely shouldn’t join in). However, it does seem extremely unfair to tell John that not only does he have to put up with Lizzy using his deadname, he has to use her preferred name. Do I have to tell John to knock it off? Is there anything more I should do about Lizzy?

Lizzy is horrible, and your HR sucks too.

It’s ludicrous for your HR department to say that Lizzy isn’t harassing John for being trans, when clearly she is. Anyone who has even a passing familiarity with the ways in which trans people get harassed knows exactly what this is.

You’re right about the recent Supreme Court ruling that discrimination based on gender identity is illegal. (But even aside from that, what’s up with your company refusing to intervene when an employee is refusing to call another employee by his proper name? It sounds like there’s an agenda there.)

How high up have you gone in HR? If you can go higher, do — because it’s possible someone will overrule whoever there told you that. Point out the recent court ruling, and point out that the company is opening itself to legal liability by refusing to protect John from Lizzy’s harassment.

You should also go back to Lizzy’s manager and push the issue again. You said he prefers to avoid confrontation, and often the best approach with people like that is to make not acting the more unpleasant option for them. So be pushy, be loud, and keep following up — “Have you talked to Lizzy yet?” … “This is still a problem, when will you be talking to Lizzy?” … “What Lizzy is doing is unacceptable. Can you call her in right now and we’ll both speak to her?” … etc. Keep up the pressure until he does his job. You owe that to John.

You also said you’ve been casually correcting Lizzy when you hear her deadnaming John, as if she’s just making an innocent mistake. Stop giving her that cover. Call it out more honestly: “Lizzy, you’ve been told repeatedly to stop calling John that. Why are you continuing to do it?” If she trots out her ridiculous line about respecting John’s mother, then say, “John’s name is not up to you. You are being disrespectful and embarrassing yourself, and you need to stop.”

As for John calling Lizzy “Elizabeth” and using her maiden name (out of respect for her mother!) … well, it’s pretty brilliant. If your company says it’s okay with what Lizzy is doing, then surely this is the logical conclusion. It would be tremendously unfair for you to tell John he has to stop, while Lizzy gets to continue harassing him. Let Lizzy experience some very deserved consequences of her actions.

But that’s not enough, amusing as John’s handling of it is. You need to keep pushing — with HR, with Lizzy’s manager, with anyone else with appropriate authority here — because you can’t let an employee be repeatedly harassed on your watch.

The update, a month later:

Hearing from Alison and all of the commenters made me realize that I needed to talk to John about what he wanted to do. I apologized to him for not being proactive enough with this problem and for underestimating just how offensive Lizzy’s actions were, reiterated that I was on his side, told him that I was setting up a meeting with Lizzy and her manager for later that day, and asked what he wanted to do and what he wanted me to do. He admitted that although he was joking about it, he was actually really upset by Lizzy constantly dead naming him, so in addition to needing her to stop, he would rather not work with her anymore, or at least work with her as little as possible. I also told him that I was willing to make a big stink about both Lizzy’s actions and HR’s inaction to my boss (Lizzy’s grandboss) and the higher ups in HR, but that I wanted to make sure he was comfortable with being explicitly identified as being transgender and experiencing transphobic harassment. He said he was worried about escalating the issue himself, because he didn’t want to come off as pushy or overly sensitive, but that he did want me to do it.

I took Alison’s advice with Lizzy’s boss and just checked his and Lizzy’s Outlook calendars to find a time when they were both free and set up a meeting, figuring that his dislike of confrontation meant that he would go along with it. I said that Lizzy’s offensive behavior towards John had gone on way too long and that she needed to immediately stop calling him any name other than John. She tried to say that she had no problem with transgender people (I had not mentioned anything about him being trans, only that she had to call him by his name) and that it was a matter of respect for his mother, but I interrupted her and said that John’s mother and her feelings were irrelevant and that she was being deeply disrespectful to John, who is actually her coworker and thus actually needed her respect. I also said that it didn’t matter how she felt about trans people or if she didn’t intend to be transphobic, purposely calling John by his dead name was a transphobic action and it needed to stop, and that until I could trust her to treat him with respect, she was not to attend any of our team meetings and any workflow that would normally pass between her and John would go through me first and I would pass on the information. Her boss spoke for the first time then and said that that sounded like it might make us miss deadlines on some of our tighter turnarounds, which I agreed was true, but that given that Lizzy refused to use John’s name, I felt I had an ethical duty to prevent her from speaking to him at all, not to mention that allowing her to continue harassing him would open us up to litigation. I tried to say this all as matter-of-factly as possible, so it would be clear that I didn’t care how Lizzy actually felt about mothers or trans people, and that I wasn’t asking for suggestions on what should be done.

After that meeting, I emailed my team and explained that due to Lizzy’s outrageous and offensive behavior, I was changing our procedures so that she and John would no longer have direct contact, and that they should expect some delays in communication between her and our team. I also apologized for having allowed her to behave in such a blatantly transphobic fashion for close to a month, which should never have been tolerated at all, and explained that I had told her that she had to stop immediately, so if she referred to John as Sally again, they should let me know, either by forwarding me an email if it was in writing or by documenting the incident if it were over the phone or video chat, and should also feel free to tell her that she was being offensive and needed to stop.

This is when things get satisfying! My boss was included on the email to my team, and he called me about half an hour later asking about it. I hadn’t told him much about the Lizzy situation, because he has very little patience for people complaining about their interpersonal conflicts to their boss, and while this is a lot more significant than an interpersonal conflict, I thought he wouldn’t want to hear about it anyway, especially since he doesn’t have much contact with my team in normal times and has had even less while we’ve been virtual. Once I explained what had been happening, he said that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard and set up a meeting for the two of us with the head of HR for the next day (I asked John if he wanted to come and he said he’d rather not and he trusted me to take care of it). The head of HR agreed that this was outrageous and that HR should never have tolerated it. A week later, Lizzy got fired. Then the HR rep who had said this wasn’t explicitly transphobic got fired about about a week and a half later, Lizzy’s boss had to go through some pretty extensive management training and there’s talk that he may transfer into a position without any direct reports, the entire HR department did training on LGBT issues and what is now required of them because of Bostock v Clayton County, the entire company got an anonymous survey asking if we had ever been harassed or felt that we were the victim of discrimination in the workplace, and the head of HR personally apologized to John for the first HR rep’s mishandling of the case and encouraged him to come to her if he ever felt harassed based on his gender identity.

I also sent John the link to my original letter, and he told me to thank everyone for all your supportive comments. And of course I want to thank you all as well, for giving me the confidence to escalate this situation the way I should have from the beginning. It’s seeming more and more like Lizzy, her boss, and the first HR rep were problems, but that the company as a whole really is the good place to work that I’d always thought it was.

Link

#this was so satisfying to read that I had to share it #ask a manager #deadnaming #trans rights

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remnantsrp · 3 years

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Name: Mercedes Orero a.k.a. “Lacey Luv” Age: 27 years old Pronouns: She/Her Hometown: Las Vegas, Nevada Occupation before the Infection: Stripper at Sapphire Lounge in Las Vegas, Nevada Role within the Caravan: Civilian FC: Karrueche Tran

Biography:

tw: sexwork, harassment, (possible implied assault, but that's not the direction I intend for Mercedes' story. It didn't actually happen, more like she opened her eyes to the real world.)

Before the infection.

Mercedes Orero had a painfully average upbringing. Two hardworking and devoted parents, an older athletic brother, and a big shaggy mutt of a dog helped the young Mercedes make her way through her formative years. The girl loved playing princess, wearing her mom's heels, and bossing around her father and brother. Few could have expected the path that Sadie, as she was affectionately called, would eventually strut down.

It wasn't until her mid teens that she realized the power she had. When she was out with her friends, men would stop and stare or call out to her. Her friends always shifted uncomfortably, but Mercedes found herself liking the attention. She talked back, egging the men on until they backed down, unexpecting her strength and boldness. Her mother warned her about the dangers of those men, but Mercedes didn't understand why. They seemed so…pathetic when they promised her the moon or begged for a smile.

Alas, her innocent ways could not last forever, and like so many women, Mercedes began to understand how frightening these men could be. She took self defense courses, carried her keys between her fingers, and had pepper spray on stand by. And so her life continued, if a bit aimlessly. She had no direction and no ambition for what she wanted to be when she "grew up." All she knew was that she didn't want to be bored or boring. At 19, a chance meeting with a girl at the bar welcomed her into the world of stripping and the excitement she craved.

It was in this sex work that Mercedes found her strength again. She loved fine things and feeling beautiful, while making her clients reduced to simpering fools who wasted their money. She'd give them their smiles, show off her goods, and laugh at them in the back of her mind. She became the momma bear of all the girls, mending costumes, consoling them through break ups, and threatening the assholes who got too close. The bouncers joked that she was going to put them out of a job one day.

Even her parents were supportive, despite their discomfort of hearing how their little girl earned her money. She danced her way to fame, dating celebrities here and there and booking gigs in high class clubs as a freelancer. Her apartment on the strip was loaded with name brands and finery. Mercedes, going by the stage name Lacey Luv, was on the top and it felt like nothing was going to knock her down on her perfect ass.

The Outbreak.

Sleeping during the day and working all night left little time for Mercedes to keep up on current events. So when the outbreak hit, she was completely unprepared. She had been at the club, working naturally, when one of the clients got rowdy. This happened at least once a week, typically, but lately there had been so few clients. A flu or something was going around one of the other girls had said. Lacey Luv rolled her eyes and continued her routine, flashing her veneers and flipping her hair, until one of the girls screamed. The music cut and the lights turned on to reveal a horrifying scene.

All hell had broken loose. Mercedes could simply stare as bodies covered in gore fell around the stage. All around were clients and coworkers screaming and wrestling with people. No, they weren't people any more. She staggered back as one of the...things caught sight of her and growled. It fucking growled at her! She looked around for protection or a weapon of fucking something! Big John, the bouncer was by the door with his throat ripped out. Her hand flew to her mouth and she fell back, numb. The thing was on the stage now and it stalked toward her.

In a blink it was on her, gnashing bloodied teeth. Out of options, Mercedes reached down and tore off her stiletto before jamming that thing in the eye. Blood squirted over her and she vomited, showing the dead thing to the floor. Tearing off the other heel, she ran upstairs, the only survivor in the place, and changed into streetwear.

Mascara streaked tears rained down her face as she crept into the manager's office. There was a pistol there and some ammo for emergencies. Club administration could never be too careful. Snatching that and stuffing it into the backpack she found in the dressing room, Mercedes fought her way out of the club and onto the street where a new hell awaited.

Finding the Caravan.

Mercedes was a survivor. She fought to make it through the end of the world, unsure if her parents and brother survived. Her cellphone, useless and silent, told her all she needed to know about the state of the world, and she mourned for everyone she knew. They were gone. They had to be. It was easier to think that they were free from the agony of living and fighting each day.

She found the caravan by accident, stumbling across some scouts one day and joining them. She was unsure of them and how much they could be trusted, and so she introduced herself as Lacey. It felt good to be called Lacey, like Mercedes never existed and with her all the pain of losing her loved ones disappeared. She fell into caravan life, using her sewing skills to repair clothing and make bandages from scraps. It wasn't the glamour she was used to, and the adjustment was hard, but each day more and more of Mercedes died and took with her, the desire for Gucci and spa days.

positive personality traits: resilient, fierce, creative, decisive

negative personality traits: stubborn, haughty, superficial, abrasive

played by Brooke, She/Her

#rpc #roleplay #new roleplay #karrueche tran #oc rp #remnantscivilian

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implodingcacti · 3 years

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Hi, I worked graveyard at a hotel for 2 years.

Tonight’s my last night. I want to share some stories with you, because this job has been fucking wild.

When I interviewed for the job, my future GM asked if I was a good person (I said yes), complained about the American healthcare system for 30 minutes, and then hired me on the spot. That was my entire interview. He said he trusted me fully because my friend recommended me for the job.

This is the same friend who tried to get me to buy her cigarettes with a school ID because she had left hers at home. Our school IDs were printed on cardstock and laminated by the secretary. I told her it would not work because it looked like a shitty fake ID.

It did not work.

This surprised her.

Also the same friend who had a tan minivan, drove us to Starbucks during an off period in high school, almost crashed because she was smoking, and hit two people’s cars in the parking lot.

Love her.

The first employee I met got into an argument in front of me with her boyfriend. They fought loudly. Afterwards, she asked if I wanted a lollipop.

She got fired like a month afterwards because she took the money from the drawer. This was not the first time she had been fired for this.

I worked with a guy who I’m going to call S. S was a bald white guy who looked like a attorney who couldn’t leave his job. Or a depressed bank manager who’s wife divorced him. He was a very nice man.

I told him this one day on shift change. He thought this was fucking hilarious.

S also used to be a drug dealer. He got busted for selling drugs at this hotel years ago, went to prison, all that shit. My manager hired him after he got out. He thought this story was very funny.

We had a permanent resident named Joe. He was the nicest fucking guy. I chatted with him in the mornings when I set up breakfast. I miss him so much.

He doesn’t live at the hotel any more. This is depressing.

A man threatened to beat me up for flirting with his wife, because he saw us laughing in the lobby. I tried to tell him that I was not interested in his wife, who was 30 years older than me and also not my type. He was still angry.

I texted my manager this. He told me that if the man tried anything, we have, and I quote, “a big ass wrench” next to the safe. He gave me permission to hit the guy with it.

The wrench is, in fact, really fucking big.

A sexline operator called me once, while I was working. This was uncomfortable for me, a very ace then-19 year old. We got into an argument because she claimed I had called her.

Actually just... lots of people liked treating me like phonesex operators. Apparently people’s kinks are listening to room rates. Please do not do this to the people working front desk.

While we’re here, I got invited to a threesome once. The people who invited me? They watched me clock in to do shift change. They asked literal minutes after I clocked in. There is only one person at front desk. They asked after the other guy left.

I declined. For obvious reasons.

The other guy was S, who laughed about it when I told him the next day.

That time that they fired someone and another person left and we were short staffed for a month, so there were two days a week I’d come in at midnight, leave at 6AM, and then come in at noon for another 6 hour shift.

I hated that. Never again.

There was a raid on a hotel across the street. I watched it happen with Joe. He told me shit was wild. I agreed.

My GM would just... text me. At random times of day. To ask how many we had in house.

It was never when I was working.

He was always disappointed that I couldn’t tell him because I wasn’t working.

The time I had to crawl partially under a bed in a smoking room to help a guy get his cat. She was a good cat.

A lady told me a man was outside with a chainsaw and she’d seen him murder someone. Understandably, I was concerned, because she was shaken up and my hearing is godawful. I called the cops, who took things very seriously until she said the chainsaw man had no head in her physical description.

apparently she was on a very bad drugs trip. I learned this the next time I had to call the non-emergency number, because one of the cops from that incident showed up and told me.

A guy died in a room. Normally, you’d think this would be relayed with more urgency. I found about it when I was doing shift change with S. He told me this, and then proceeded to complain about an unrelated room and called them assholes.

The guy’s car was here for 8 months. The company he worked for wanted us to ship the car out to them. We told them they’d have to cover the shipping charge. They refused, and then S got the title to the car.

A guy once threatened to call the cops on me because I told him he couldn’t check into his room 10 hours early without paying an early check in fee. He wanted to call the cops because Expedia said it was 24 hour check in, and it was false advertisement.

He made the mistake of doing this right before I had to head out for a camp. I laughed at him, told him I’d willingly call the cops for him, and that I would love to have them come down.

A scam call once got angry with me because I wouldn’t authorize a purchase.

They pretended to call my manager. I laughed when they did it, because I could hear the phonecall.

My manager had a very particular way of speaking. He was very slow when talking. They did not take this into account.

I told him about this the next shift, of course, and he did not believe me. It was during shift change, luckily, so I did a faux phone call with another coworker, who had worked there for years. Both of them thought it was funny that I had his timing and general tone down.

The scam artists told me I was fired because my manager was, quote, “extremely disappointed in me”. I told them I was glad, because it meant I could go home early.

(My manager told me I wasn’t fired when I told him he had apparently fired me. I asked if he was still disappointed. He laughed.)

When we changed the clock-in system and I had to text our hotel manager whenever I clocked in and out.

A guy tried to tell me that I wasn’t qualified to check him into a room because women are all stupid. I asked him if he wanted to talk to the manager. He said yes, and the manager called him an idiot.

The other time someone told me I wasn’t qualified to check them in because I took too long, and I offered to let her come in and check herself in. Our servers were updating. She declined, because she didn’t work here. I told her she was just going to have to be patient.

Kicked someone out of the hotel once. He came back 30 minutes later to try and re-rent his room. I told him no. He thought I was just joking about him being kicked out.

My GM tried for like 8 months to get me to date another coworker. He made jokes about giving him a raise so he could take me out to dinner.

I do not think my GM knew I was very gay.

The coworker did not take me out to dinner.

The one drunk college student from Germany who I made friends with in the breakfast room, and his significantly less drunk friend.

they both said trans rights, i’m still crying

Drunk men are assholes. Drunk women are godsends.

One night, a lady told me my eyes were pretty, and when I had to help her to the door, she called me gorgeous and said I smelled nice.

her friends were so embarrassed

i forgot how to speak

That same night, a drunk guy said he hated his wife and that he hated me too after calling me an asshole. His wife came in after he said this. I felt bad for her.

Occasionally people would stop at the front desk on their way back from the gas station, and would come bearing gifts of usually drinks. It was always nice.

one time a guy offered me weed brownies

i declined because i was worried about

The guy who stopped at the front desk to ask where the nearest Starbucks was, because his girlfriend wanted a frappuccino, and he was gonna get her one so she could have it in bed.

He came back as I was clocking out.

His girlfriend had dumped him on his way back.

I felt really bad, because this man had peak “dumb of ass but chugs respecting women juice” energy.

Incidentally, I got a free Starbucks frap.

Someone was convinced I was colorblind because I told him that I thought his blue cup was neat.

It was a purple cup.

i did not know how to tell him i was not colorblind, i am just an idiot

Our GM moved to Texas and we didn’t see him for like a year. He was the GM of 2 other hotels. Apparently, he said he was living at all three.

Some dude came into the hotel once night. I tried talking to him. He started signing. I do not know sign, and apologized, and then grabbed a paper to write back and forth with him.

The man made me learn fingerspelling and we instead did this back and forth.

I thought nothing of this, and he came by a few times to chat with me, albeit incredibly slowly.

During shift change, he came in again. I explained to my relief that he only signed. He nodded, and then told me that he had been “healed by a grace act of God, and could now hear and talk.”

He then tried to tell me to come to church to celebrate this miracle.

He told me he was actually fine. He was just choosing to learn ASL and wanted me to participate for the “immersion of it all”, so that I might “find the lord and accept him once more into my heart”.

yes, this was in fact, some white person bullshit

Also in line with white people bullshit, the guy who said he could tell I had a strained relationship with my half-sister but a good relationship with my youngest sister, that my father would recover from the divorce, and that my engagement would be fine. He said it was because I was a Leo cusp, and then said that Kimberly was a good name for me and that I chose well.

i am not a leo. i was born in december

i have no sisters

i have never been engaged

my parents are (somehow) still married

i was wearing a nametag. angeles does not sound or look anything like kimberly

They sold the hotel last year to new owners. Nobody knew until an email got sent out that said we “probably would still have our jobs”.

I argued with my new manager about a raise. He didn’t want to give it to me. I told him he had to, because I was working minimum wage, and the minimum wage had gone up.

the AAA guy who was a real big dick when I asked him to repeat himself and joked about women being bad at jobs.

He asked me if there were any discounts. I refused to give him any, because we had none for him.

He asked if I knew if there was any discount that would make him stop asking me stupid questions. I sighed and said “No, but god I fucking wish there was.”

Tonight, a lady asked me what our beta fish’s name is. I don’t know. She decided to name him Benny, and then asked me to come up with a name. I panicked and said Soap. This was apparently the right answer, because she nodded sagely and said I chose wisely.

#angeles blogs

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trainthief · 4 years

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I’m just going to work through some stuff aloud right here, but it won’t be funny and it WILL be long so im going to put it under a cut....

this week’s theme has just been me getting a little sad about how intimidating people find me... I don’t mean to be, and internally I’m a really positive person which you hopefully get a sense of here. But in person I have a naturally stern face and a deep voice, and I can’t talk a lot throughout the day or I get exhausted, and I don’t really have the urge to talk about myself or my thoughts or feelings if I’m not asked. And it’s not that I’m not well-liked because just to speak factually I definitely am and I always have been. I’m lucky to have lots of great friends, I was popular in high school as if that even matters, I’m everyone’s favorite boss at work... but for the last year or so it’s started to be the case that just about everyone who meets me is intimidated by me for a week or two before I’ve had enough conversations with them that they know I’m nice and I like to joke around and I’m not actually mean, I just need a lot of silence and my eyebrows do that without my control... And there’s definitely positives to it, it can be kind of nice being the strong silent guy, and I never have to worry about walking around at night or anything. And at work a lot of my coworkers, many of whom are gay and were disowned by their parents, will call me dad because it’s all part of the same energy I’ve just accidentally accumulated. But on the other hand, I just had my favorite coworker tell me they’ve had not one but two separate people say that their therapist has told them they need to stop projecting their daddy issues onto me. Which makes me sad and uncomfortable, because I don’t want my relationship with people to be one where they feel like they really need to impress me and no matter what they can’t. And also last night, at the murder mystery party my friend and I run, the group that had us do it was a lot of really cool and interesting gay and trans people, and I had a few really fun conversations with some of them. But others of them really clearly created an idea of who I was, as this dumb macho straight white guy who was only here because it’s his job and definitely votes republican, and one or two of them were straight up rude to me. I don’t even blame them, because I get that it was a defense mechanism against an issue they’ve been dealing with their whole lives. But again it just makes me sad... I know it’s probably my fault because I just don’t do the dyed hair and piercing thing and I could act differently and SEEM more gay I guess but just as genuinely as that whole image is the most comfortable truth for some people I just wear flannel and boots because that’s what I’m most comfortable in, and I have a deep deadpan monotone voice because that’s just how I sound, and if I were to do that to fit in it wouldn’t be real. My best friend, who I do these parties with, has known me since we were dorky 14 year olds and she was shocked by it because she hasn't seen me meeting new people very much in our adult lives since we live in a fairly small town, and she didn’t realize this was an issue until the host explained it to her. My only defense mechanism against it is that I’ve gotten twice as polite and I try to say nice things to people pretty much constantly but even so, it hasn’t really helped. I’m not in dramatic despair over this but I just wanted to talk about it because it makes me sad sometimes. What a long post, if anyone even read this I hope you’re having a good one today

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sparklyjojos · 4 years

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CARNIVAL recaps [8/13]

Today’s recap: Murder on the Trans-Siberian Express, or Yaiba having a Very Bad Very Not Good Time.

[tw: a lot of mental illness, suicide, implied csa mention]

SIXTEEN

05 Oct 1996 — 11 Oct 1996

TRANS-SIBERIAN RAILWAY

[First person narration from Yaiba, here presented in lazy third person.]

It’s the fifth night since Yaiba has left Japan. He stares into the frosty Russian night while the Trans-Siberian Express has a brief stop in Vladivostok. Over nine thousand kilometers more until Moscow.

He walks back inside the train, on the way greeting the two female conductors of his car (Masha and Faina). In his four-person couchette with two bunk beds he rejoins a fellow passenger called Natalia, who’s getting ready to sleep. The boy Yaiba’s travelling with has already fallen asleep on the top bed.

It’s surprisingly easy to move between countries using the new IDID card, probably because everyone is so shaken by the Crime Olympics that any seemingly busy detective wouldn’t be held up at the border longer than necessary. They will make it, he just needs to continue to pretend Amano is his son and make sure to buy only necessary items.

Sitting in the dark compartment, looking at the moving scenery outside, Yaiba has a feeling that no matter what they do, whether they’re sleeping or awake, moving or not, the ever-changing world mercilessly carries them into the future. He can’t sleep, ends up just lying motionlessly in his blue polka dot pajamas and staring into the darkness. After a while he decides to make his favorite hot cocoa and read instead.

He’s reminded of that time three years ago when Hikimiya, a detective novel fan, borrowed him an anthology that had a Russian-themed story in it. Around that time Yaiba was busy with a case surrounding murders in the north of Russia, so it seemed oddly fitting. Things have changed so much since that time. JDC blew up, Ajiro went missing, Suzukaze Unomaru sunk with a ship… everyone kept dying. It just seemed so random that Yaiba was still alive. This terrifying randomness of fate he couldn’t deal with.

Before Yaiba fled hospital, he’d gotten a call from Hyouma, who announced that he was quitting JDC and wanted to start a new life wandering around America. Hard to blame him; JDC without Ajiro, without Juku around, and with Dokuson in charge didn’t feel like JDC at all.

As if that wasn’t enough change for the worse, everyone around Yaiba read Cosmic and Joker. Everyone learned about what he would rather keep secret about his childhood. Everyone asked questions. He told them that the books were fictional and nobody should worry about the literary version of the events too much, but they didn’t seem to believe him. Yaiba could feel the door to madness opening within him.

Everyone now knew about what that woman had done to him. About how their child was declared to be a serial killer—when Yaiba first heard about that event a few years ago, he couldn’t help but think that the hereditary psychiatric problems that plagued his family had reared its head once more.

But even Cosmic and Joker didn’t know the truth that only Yaiba knew—the truth about his younger brother Amato’s suicide many years ago.

The truth being that Yaiba was the one to kill him.

Amano looks a lot like Amato did at that time. Yaiba doesn’t regret kidnapping him. They are so similar. In a way, Amano is that already non-existing person. What is Yaiba going to do now? Kill Amano—Amato, kill him again to escape his curse? Perhaps. After all, he has already broken down inside

[There’s a switch to second person, still from Yaiba, and again I’m just writing in third.]

When he wakes up in the morning, Natalia has already gone off somewhere. The white-haired boy on the bed above his own, Amato, is busy with his gameboy. Walking down the train aisle Yaiba hears a few Russians mention the killer Amur Tiger, but judging from the laughter they’re just making a joke. The two conductors are chatting in their room. Yaiba feels like everyone is observing him suspiciously. He gets tea and goes back to their compartment to give it to Amato, who as a recently hospitalized child can’t really handle a lot of solid food. Amato has four months to live, maybe less. Yaiba wonders if it’s possible to show him the northern lights before his death.

On the next stop they stand aside as the electric train engine is switched out for a diesel, which Amato compares to Galaxy Express 999, the flying space train. Yaiba realizes they are being observed from afar by another passenger, who after being spotted quickly boards the train again.

Later Yaiba meets a few travel mates from the neighboring compartment: a young couple of Pyotr and Shaina, and a strong guy with sideburns called Ivan. Yaiba thinks they’re looking at Amato’s white hair strangely, so he quickly explains that “his son” is ill. While everyone is having a nice conversation, a few cans get loose from the couple’s baggage, which they regard with laughter as their “super secret stuff”. It’s clearly a joke, considering the cans seem to have plain corned beef inside.

When Yaiba is sitting in the dining car later, that passenger who seemed to be observing them earlier introduces comes up and introduces himself as Drexel Uryakov. Uryakov turns out to be a fellow A-rank detective, who knows very well who Yaiba is and what he’s doing here, but has more pressing matters to attend to—namely the cases of the Amur Tiger and Pogrom. He asks Yaiba for help with the investigation.

The Amur Tiger is a serial killer whose hundreds of victims all had their heads cut off, and who is most infamous for disguising a bunch of corpses as mannequins in Moscow’s GUM. Pogrom similarly likes to decapitate his victims, but specifically targets the detectives of DOLL’s Russian branch and steals their IDID cards from the scene. (Uryakov makes an interesting comment on how these nicknames alone shape people’s understanding: an Amur Tiger brings to mind a mindless animal, while Pogrom has Connotations and implies a much scarier enemy that is a cruel human—or perhaps, an unfeeling beast wearing the mask of a human.)

Uryakov thinks these two cases are connected. He managed to get a hold of secret KGB files which show the Amur Tiger murders go back to at least the times of Ivan the Terrible, but the public never learned about it before now. All of Pogrom’s victims were detectives who tried to shed more light on the Amur Tiger. Uryakov himself is also pursuing the Amur Tiger, and revealed a few case details to his twin brother Aleksandr, a private detective. Aleksandr attempted to stealthily investigate on his own and was murdered for his curiosity. But before his death, he managed to tell what he had discovered to Drexel...

In the afternoon, the train has to temporarily stop in Khabarovsk because of something unprecised happening to the west. Pyotr claims he heard that the overhead line supports had been knocked over in places too strategic to be a random event, and on a stretch of over three thousand kilometers of tracks to boot. It can’t be the Billion Killer, they still have two days until Saturday.

Yaiba uses the break to call Hikimiya and ask him to confirm Uryakov’s story by checking his entry in DOLL’s database. There is indeed a Drexel Uryakov registered, and he did have a private detective brother who died in the Amur Tiger case two weeks ago. Drexel hasn’t been in contact with the Russian DOLL branch at all in those two weeks, but he does work alone a lot, so it’s expected (kinda like Hyouma wanders off a lot).

After confirming that, Hikimiya asks what on earth Yaiba is even thinking, grabbing a child and running away. Yaiba isn’t really pursued by the police, who think this is JDC’s own problem to fix (and there’s no definite proof it was him who kidnapped the boy), but it’s just a matter of time until he gets caught during a search. Hikimiya asks him to please give himself up before that so he doesn’t get into even more trouble.

Nemu has already boarded the Trans-Siberian Express going the other direction, so that she will be able to catch him halfway. Maybe that power outage that bought Yaiba some time was a godsend after all. Nemu may be kind, but she always gets spirited when facing criminals, so Yaiba would hate to meet her when being one. Then again, he prefers that to meeting someone like Jounosuke. He can deal with Nemu’s harshness, but wouldn’t be able to keep a hold of himself if Jounosuke looked at him with that compassionate smile and kindness.

Yaiba knew all along that any escape would be impossible in the long term—but perhaps it was this awareness of entrapment that paradoxically made him want to run.

Since the train won’t move until morning, Yaiba is invited to hit the town with Pyotr and the rest. Uryakov warns him that it might not be the best idea—what if Pyotr is Pogrom?—but it’s not like anyone else here knows that Yaiba is a detective, he’s not pursuing the Amur Tiger, and besides, Pyotr is only as suspicious as Uryakov himself.

Yaiba asks if Uryakov’s brother also had a mark on his cheek. Uryakov jokes about it (“what, are you implying we switched?”) then shares his own surprising suspicion: he thinks Yaiba is actually being manipulated by the boy he’s with. He questions Yaiba’s motive for the kidnapping—did he want a kid this badly or what?—but the answer “he’s my dead brother” is enough to end the conversation.

Yaiba takes Amato to the nearest town with the others. They ask him where he’s travelling, so he says that he and Amato are going to Murmansk to see the northern lights, but since it’s too early in the year for that, they’re going to go see Moscow first. Pyotr jokes that Yaiba’s tone makes it sound like a suicide trip. Amato gets a little pale.

When they get back to their empty compartment, Amato asks if he’s going to be killed under the northern lights in Murmansk. Yaiba replies that they probably won’t make it to Murmansk, as his coworkers are too smart to just let him go.

“Then you could kill them too,” Amato says. “Just like you killed me. It’s fine if everyone else dies.”

“You will never let me go, will you? I was young, didn’t know anything…”

“You can’t change the past. No one can change it, even if they may forget about it. Don’t deny my existence.”

“Please forgive me, I’m just so tired…”

“Then die and come here already. The world of the dead is nice. If you kill yourself, I’ll forgive you.”

“Amato, please, stop talking.”

“You will never escape from me.”

Darkness envelops him.

[Narration swaps to third person.]

That same evening, Yaiba and the others drink vodka in the neighboring compartment. The Russians tend to forget his first name and call him Somanovich instead of Somahito. After a few drinks Yaiba admits that he’s quite weak-headed nowadays, but he spent his teenage years drinking a lot as a means of distracting himself after his brother’s suicide. He was the one to discover the body.

His brother used to say that they were inescapably fated to commit suicide. He repeated it no matter how many times Yaiba scolded him for saying things like that, no matter how much he argued that it’s perfectly possible to avoid the curse of one’s bloodline. Yaiba loved him, but he too had a point of snapping and one day yelled, “If you want to die so much, then go ahead and die! Do as you wish. But I would never do a stupid thing like that.” Later that day he found Amato dead in the bathroom. To Yaiba, it was clear who caused this death, and guilt drove him to drink. He would probably end up the same way as his brother. On the other hand, the events made him feel drawn to study the darkness in people’s hearts, and that caused him to become a detective, which gave his life new meaning… but that's all in the past now.

Yaiba wakes up with a hangover in his own compartment. Someone’s knocking at the door and Amato is asking him from the upper bed to open it already. Yaiba complies and unlocks the door, briefly wondering why the floor has a dark stain on it. The one knocking is completely pale Pyotr, who informs him that the two conductors have been murdered—while the bodies are nowhere to be found, their room is covered in blood, and the red stains lead to Yaiba’s compartment door. Yaiba notices that Natalia is not with them, but Pyotr informs him that she just switched compartments last night, since she didn’t like being unable to lock the door for the sake of her companions.

They call over Uryakov from another car to help with investigation. There’s a lot of blood in the compartment and on the train aisle floor, but the outside of the compartment door is clean, so Uryakov believes the victims were attacked inside. However, Yaiba was in no shape to attack anyone, and the only other person inside was a child. When Yaiba woke up, the door had been locked from the inside, so nobody could budge them unless they had the master key belonging to the conductors. It’s possible that obtaining that key was the motive for murder. It’s also very possible that the murderer actually wanted to kill Yaiba, but the conductors walked in during the act and had to be taken care of. Uryakov suspects Pyotr, but Yaiba thinks he’s innocent.

Natalia shows up and claims that Yaiba is the murderer. Earlier she heard the conductors arguing with someone, then a sound like something fell over and was being dragged towards the conductor room. When she worked up the courage to check that room, she saw two headless bodies and sprinted back to her compartment, afraid of coming out until now.

Uryakov listens to her testimony and has her return to her room. He doesn’t believe Yaiba did it, but they only have an hour left to solve the case before they arrive at the next station and will potentially be in big trouble.

They investigate. The conductor room toilet is unusually unlocked. One of the empty compartments is locked, but Uryakov doesn’t think the bodies are in there (probably were thrown out the train window instead). In a baggage storage under Yaiba’s bed they find a bloodied axe.

Yaiba remembers what Uryakov told him about the Amur Tiger. The motive for the murders is obtaining human heads, retrieving brain tissue and selling it as a delicacy on the black market, camouflaged as ordinary canned food. Considering the scope of the entire scheme, it has to be the work of an organization that Pogrom must be related to as well. The vital clue that Aleksandr Uryakov told his brother before death was that Pogrom was likely Pyotr, and so Drexel decided to tail the man.

Yaiba thinks it’s strange. If Pyotr was Pogrom, why would he try to kill Yaiba instead of the more immediate threat that was Uryakov, and why would he fail? If those corned beef cans contained human brain tissue, why would Pyotr want to murder someone right there in their train car, considering the police would probably look through the passengers’ belongings? And why was the door closed?

They make a rough timeline of events.

00:00 — Natalia asks to switch compartments. The conductors help her move baggage.

00:30 — Pyotr and Amato drag passed out Yaiba to his compartment, meeting both conductors on the way. One of the conductors returns to their room. Natalia explains the switch to Amato. The boy locks the door to Yaiba’s compartment from the inside and goes to sleep. Pyotr goes back to his own bed.

04:25 — The train gets moving again and leaves Khabarovsk.

05:00 — Natalia hears the suspicious noises. Around ten minutes later she discovers the two bodies and hides in her compartment.

05:30 — Pyotr sees the bloody scene (but no bodies) and knocks on Yaiba’s door.

Uryakov thinks that the murderer waited until one conductor was using the bathroom, killed the other one, snatched the master key, attempted to kill Yaiba, but was discovered by the other conductor and had to kill her too. Yaiba points out that it would be weird to not just kill both women first to be safe. Maybe the suspect they’re searching for is in fact one of the conductors? But then who killed her in turn?

Yaiba theorizes that maybe the murderer wasn’t targeting him at all, but the two women—after all, the Amur Tiger just wants some random heads. He attacked them in their room, got the master key, and then arranged things to look like they were killed in Yaiba’s compartment to pin the guilt on him. This could mean that the murderer was traveling in the same car… or just wanted them to think that way. It could even be someone from outside—it would be impossible not to get one’s clothes stained with this much blood flying around, yet none of the passengers they talked to seemed to have changed their clothing since yesterday. The fact that the murder occured after the train resumed movement also seems quite suspicious, almost as if done intentionally to make them think the culprit was still on the train.

Uryakov adds that the murderer has to be someone who knew that Yaiba wouldn’t wake up anytime soon and that Natalia had moved to another compartment. Aside from Amato and Natalia herself, this only leaves Pyotr as the suspect.

Yaiba notices that Uryakov really wants to pin the guilt on Pyotr, but he thinks he has already found another solution. The real murderer was someone from outside who cooperated with Natalia to create an alibi for himself. First the real murderer killed the conductors at night and left the train, then in the morning Natalia pushed the bodies outside.

They approach the next station quickly, so Uryakov promises to take care of the rest.

Natalia admits her guilt and reveals that Pyotr, Shaina and Ivan were all in on it. Ivan told Natalia he was with the Amur Tiger group and threatened her into compliance. Then he left the train at night in Khabarovsk, bought an axe, checked in a local hotel, then claiming he forgot something returned to the train, killed both conductors and took their heads with him. Natalia took care of the bodies later.

Thankfully the police seems satisfied with this and the train continues on its way. Yaiba evaded being searched, but he doesn’t have a lot of time before his and Nemu’s trains stop at the same station. He’s not sure what to do now, so he passes the time talking with Uryakov.

Yaiba notices that despite the case being over, something still doesn’t fit into his reasoning. If Ivan really was the murderer, why would he buy a murder weapon in a store, considering how easy it would be to track it back to him? Revealing himself as part of the Amur Tiger to another person and trying to put the blame on an A-detective seemed too risky. Yaiba thinks it’s more probable that the real murderer actually forced Natalia to accuse Ivan.

And when you take all the circumstances into account, the only person who can be the murderer—who traveled outside their car, and who knew that Yaiba would be drinking—is actually Uryakov.

Uryakov asks why Yaiba covered for him in front of the police. Yaiba answers that he’s not in a position to be getting himself involved into cases, and besides, it’s only a matter of time until the truth is discovered. Uryakov can’t escape anymore.

The deciding evidence was Amato’s testimony. The boy actually told Yaiba that he had been only pretending to be asleep at night, so he saw Uryakov entering their compartment and killing a conductor who walked in on him. The intended target really was Yaiba. The motive is easy to guess: Uryakov himself is Pogrom. He was the one to kill his own brother.

Uryakov admits to everything, but adds that no matter how good of a detective Yaiba is, he has one weakness: he cannot put his thinking to reason out his own problems. And because Uryakov knows that they’re both going to die on this train anyway, he may as well tell him the truth about the boy he’s traveling with.

“That boy over there is Amano, not Amato. Wake up, Somanovich—no, Yaiba Somahito! That ‘Amato’ only exists within you!”

Yaiba slowly stands up and looks at the boy on the top bed. An unfamiliar face looks back at him. It’s not his brother Amato at all.

Yaiba runs out of the compartment and realizes that the train seems to be climbing a steep hill that shouldn’t be there, and that the hour is almost 1 PM on a Saturday—and then the train shots out of the broken tracks and starts falling straight towards Lake Baikal.

[>>>NEXT PART>>>]

#sparkly reads carnival #maijo and jdc stuff

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forestwater87 · 4 years

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Camp Camp Secret Santa, Chapter 1

Hello, @thebeesfriend! I'm your Secret Santa this year, and I hope you enjoy this story! The tags make it sound a lot more intense than it is; it's really very sweet and silly, mostly.

Gwen begins questioning her sexuality, and comes to her coworkers for help. Jasper starts reminiscing about his own past, and just how lucky he is today.

(Updates every 2-3 days until Christmas 2019)

(If you'd like to join the annual Camp Camp Secret Santa event, check it out on tumblr! Annual signups usually go out shortly after Thanksgiving.)

June 25, 2016

2:17 PM

“Hey, can I ask you kind of a weird question?”

Jasper paused, wax dripping from a lit stub of candle onto the paper airplane in his other hand. “Is it ‘what the fuck are you doing with our emergency lights-out supplies?” he asked, knowing before the words left his mouth that it wasn’t. Gwen didn’t ask permission to tear into her co-counselors for being idiots, especially when fire was involved, and her expression and voice both had a nervous, hesitant lilt he wasn’t used to and didn’t like. She was a firecracker -- quietly smoldering until something made her explode, and then she was gone in a flash of fire too dangerous to stand nearby. Shyness didn’t suit her.

At least she wasn’t popping tranquilizers like they were Skittles, he noted hopefully, shifting his supplies to make room for her to sit down. Things couldn’t be camp-ruining bad or she’d be having twelve different panic attacks simultaneously. As she sat down, Jasper noticed she kept tugging strands of hair free from her ponytail, twisting them around her fingers.

“Everything okay?” he finally tried, when a solid fifteen seconds had gone by without a response. He wasn’t exactly a “fill the silence with chatter” kinda guy, but with David off preparing for one of his ill-advised contests against the Woodscouts, Jasper was alone for the first time all summer with the only person at camp he tried to avoid being alone with. Gwen . . . intimidated him. A little bit. Maybe it was that she’d been a counselor longer than him and had seniority, maybe it was the way David was convinced she could do no wrong. Maybe it was because she could do more damage to -- and with -- a guitar than Pete Townsend and smiled even less than Quartermaster, and he couldn’t get a read on her no matter how many summers passed. Or hell, maybe it was because he was just as much of an awkward disaster around pretty girls as any other nerd, and being madly in love with his boyfriend hadn’t magically given him social skills. It was a mystery, really. “What’s crackin, cap’n?”

(Case in point.)

She groaned, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger -- a tic of Jasper's that had rubbed off on both Gwen and David. “I . . . what the fuck am I doing? No, fuck it, it’s -- I’m gonna go --”

“Hey.” Jasper took her wrist before she could get up, setting aside his airplane and candle. “You need to talk?” When she shrugged, not meeting his eyes and looking extremely reluctant, he tried a smile and added, “Come on, we're CBFLs. It’s gotta have some perks, right?”

She shook her head with an amused huff of air and made no move to stand back up. She’d twirled a strand of hair so many times around her finger that the poor finger was striped red and white as she released the hair. “Fuck, yeah. I guess. It’s not even a big deal or anything,” she said, puffing her cheeks out in a sigh. “Might as well.”

And then she . . . didn’t say anything. Just pressed her lips together and stared down at the scarred wooden table, sliding her hands under her thighs (to keep from playing with her hair again, he suspected).

After a few minutes Jasper shrugged and went back to his project, tilting the candle so wax drizzled into the crevices of the airplane’s wings. If he had something to spread the wax around, this would probably be a lot easier and --

“How’d you know you were into guys?”

The suddenness of the question, and the too-loud way she’d blurted it out, made him jump, spilling a thick glob of wax onto his knuckles. “Jinkies Christ!” he hissed, quickly setting the candle down and shaking his hand (which didn’t do anything to either remove the wax or cool it down, but it made him feel better regardless). “Sorry, what was that?”

Gwen stared at him, the corners of her lips twitching. She immediately covered her mouth with her hand, so all he caught was a glimpse of a fledgling smile. “Did you just say ‘jinkies christ’?”

Some of the tension drained away, lightening the air in the Mess Hall. “David wants me to stop swearing so much at camp,” he admitted, grinning. “Results so far have been . . . mixed.”

“If you’re not careful, that might catch on.”

Jasper’s heart leapt at the idea. “I have literally never wanted anything so badly in my entire life.” They fell silent again, though he made no move to pick the candle back up.

She nodded, picking up his airplane and inspecting it absently. “I -- might be bi?” she said uncertainly, gently scraping the excess wax off of the paper plane with her fingernail. “I don’t know for sure, so maybe not, but . . .”

Oh, fuck. This was a big moment. It was the kind of Big Moments David dreamed of, the kind he handled with so much more warm-heartedness than Jasper, who always sounded sarcastic when he tried to be nice; David would be so jealous he missed out, and he’d demand Jasper remember every detail (and not the ones about Gwen accidentally destroying his plane project), and would be so disappointed if he fucked this up . . .

Aaaand he’d been sitting here for like ten seconds not saying anything, like a dick. Fuck. “Hey, that’s cool!” he said, making her jump because he practically yelled it out of nowhere like a goddamn psycho. “I mean, welcome to the club!”

She didn’t make fun of him for being a massive goober, and for that he’d be eternally grateful. “But I should -- like, know, right?” she asked, setting aside his slightly-mangled plane (and making him breathe a sigh of relief). “I feel like it’s one of those things that . . . people fucking know. Like you are or you aren’t, and you can tell.”

“Not always,” he said, probably telling the truth but not really sure. Could he Google “how to help your friend come out without having a huge anxiety attack” without her noticing? “You hear about people who’re . . . y’know, super old and come out as gay or bi or trans or whatever. So I bet there are a lotta people like that.”

Could he just call David and have him talk her through this over the phone? Then he could do what he was actually good at: making paper airplanes -- he didn’t know how to do boats -- and coating them in wax, so that he could reenact the opening scene of It the next time it rained (hopefully minus the clowns and dismemberment).

“Yeah?” She looked a little bit less depressed than usual, and Jasper decided to take that as a win. The guidance counselor in high school who told him he’d be a “total nightmare for anyone who needed therapy and should never ever ever go into psychology” could suck it! He was great at this.

Probably.

As long as the conversation ended right now, before he had the chance to put his foot in his mouth.

“So did you just always know?” she asked after a moment.

Or not.

Jasper hadn’t started his day with the intention to have an involved conversation with his not-very-close coworker about his sexuality. But fuck if Camp Campbell wasn’t full of fun unexpected surprises. “I mean, I figured it out pretty early,” he said with a shrug. “There was this annoying little redheaded kid who wouldn’t leave me alone --” She snorted, making him smile. “-- and eventually he grew on me. And then I didn’t have to wonder if I liked boys, because I already . . . just sort of did.”

David had made it easy to come to terms with his sexuality, because he’d fallen for him before he’d had a chance to even question it.

It was always just him.

Keep Reading

#campcamp #camp camp roosterteeth #campcampsecretsanta #jaspvid #jaspid #cc jasper #cc gwen #cc david #jasper lives au #forestwriting

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altik-0 · 4 years

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Personal Revelation

I've spent the last two weeks trying to figure out how to write this post, but my mind has felt like it's tumbling around a washing machine and trying to figure out how to straighten my thoughts into a coherent message has felt impossible. But I'm driving myself crazy continuing to hold off on saying something, so I'm going to just rip off the bandage now, and we can talk in more depth after the cut.

Hi! 👋 I'm Asexual and Aromantic! Let's talk about it.

Where to even start

This month has been a fucking trip.

On the one hand, this has been the fourth month of nearly continuous quarantine for the COVID-19 pandemic. On the other, the end of May was the spark that began a wildfire of protests against police brutality that have swept across the country, including the seemingly milquetoast land of Salt Lake City. I found myself simultaneously figuring out the umpteenth way to keep myself entertained while being in home nearly uninterrupted for over 90 days, while also desperately searching for the courage to exit my home and join the marches against injustice.

And in the background of all of this, it was Pride Month.

On the 12th, a Youtube creator I follow released a video about their experience discovering themselves as non-binary. You should watch it, but what is important for the sake of this post is that the bulk of the video is an asynchronous telling of various moments throughout their life that, in reflection, show them that "[they] were who [they] are now, back then". These moments form a tapestry that tell a story of self discovery, and the result is incredibly powerful.

They released a rough cut about a week earlier for Patreon supporters, and I was immediately transfixed. I watched it three times in a row on the first day it was uploaded. I watched it twice more after the release. Hell, when I pulled this video up now to get the share link I couldn't help but sit and watch through it all over again.

At first I didn't really know why I felt so attached to this piece in particular. Yet still, I spent multiple nights laying awake for hours in what felt like a dreamlike haze at the time. It took three nights like this for me to realize I had spent all this time reflecting on my own past moments, and revisiting them through the lens this video had shared with me.

How I got here

It is September 2005. I am currently at a school dance. I know I am supposed to be finding someone to dance with and enjoy that for some reason, but all I want to do is go home. I might consider mustering up some courage and just asking someone, anyone, to dance, if it weren't for the fact that I still didn't have any friends. Instead, I feel trapped, wandering up and down the side wall, waiting for it to be over so I can finally leave. I stumble across a small group also sitting on the sides; a girl reading manga, and another playing Yu-Gi-Oh! with a boy across from her. I approach: "I didn't realize anyone still played this" They invite me to join, and soon I find myself with genuine friends at school for the first time in years. I never think about asking someone to dance again.

It is the summer of 2017. I am at a bar with some coworkers at the end of the week. I don't drink, but I've opened myself up to joining people for happy hour because it feels like a good way to socialize, and I've genuinely enjoyed getting to know folks. My team lead makes a comment that he feels it's impossible for a man and a woman to ever have a friendly relationship without having some element of sexual tension between them. I rebuff this comment -- initially I feel a sense of feminist frustration at the concept, as if it is implicitly saying that men and women should not work together. As the conversation continues, I realize the real reason I feel so sure this is wrong is because I have never felt this way toward anyone I've worked with.

It is the summer of 2008. I am in church, listening to the new instructor for my Sunday school class shift the discussion towards politics. Since he began, every lesson without fail will eventually derail into right-wing screeds. For him, any issue that is even vaguely left-leaning is a potential avenue for Satan to take hold of you: feminism, activism, even environmentalism. But lately he has had a particular fixation on the topic of gay marriage, and it is beginning to take a toll on my mental health. Being in these classes, hearing a man in a position of authority repeatedly say "it is not that we shouldn't love these people, but we need to still understand that they are committing a sin" has become physically painful to listen to. Of course, I am not queer, just an ally -- I can only imagine how painful this must be for those who are directly affected. I will nearly pass out from exhaustion and anxiety during sacrament meeting a few hours later.

It is February 2020. I am out to lunch with a friend and coworker. I have just recently changed jobs after less than a year, because I was hopelessly miserable at my last one. It should have been a dream job, marrying two of my closest passions, but instead I felt suffocated by being in a world where everyone seemed indifferent towards me at best, or actively hated me at worst. My friend invited me to join this job, and although it is a miserable job, I find solace in being able to go to lunch and have genuine conversations with someone I get along with. He mentions his wife is pregnant, and the stress of tending for his current child while she is resting. I acknowledge the frustration, though somewhat awkwardly since I am still single. "Oh, yeah, I sometimes forget you aren't married yet, haha. Well, don't worry, you'll get to join in on the fun soon enough!" I want to say "I very much doubt that"; instead I say "Well, I guess we'll see." The conversation does not feel so genuine anymore.

It is January 2009. I am watching House M.D. with my dad. We bond a lot while watching tv. We're both avid fans of MST3K, and we are invariably the obnoxious people in a movie theater a few rows down cracking jokes throughout the film. It feels fun and rebellious, even if we're doing it at home where nobody will be annoyed. This episode starts with Foreman and Thirteen waking up together in bed after clearly spending the night together. My dad cracks a joke about how "they're going to get in trouble, since they aren't married!" I quip back "nah, it's not a big deal, they just slept together, haha." My dad pauses the show and turns to me, deadly serious: "Who told you that was okay?!" I am a deer in headlights. I suddenly realize that I meant "slept together" literally, but nobody else uses it that way. I don't understand how I missed that.

It is October 2010. I am at home, speaking with my mother after coming home from school. She has always been a political firebrand, and especially after I left the church and started college the two of us have connected on this a lot. She has just read an article that mentioned the expanded acronym "LGBTQIA", and says she doesn’t know what all the "I" and "A" refer to. I don't yet know what the "I" refers to, but I suggest the "A" is probably for "asexual". She says she hadn't heard of asexuality, though that does make sense. I realize I don't recall hearing about asexuality before either. I don't actually know if anyone identifies like that. It just somehow feels like something that must exist.

It is the spring of 2007. I am at a local game store playing at a Friday Night Magic event for the first time. I suffer from very extreme social anxiety, and I spent the entire week a ball of nervous energy. Despite myself, I have managed to drive myself to the event and register. I have promised myself dozens of times over that I already knew Magic players were people similar to me, so there was no reason to worry. My first match is against someone wearing a frilly dress, cat ears, and tail. She mews at me several times while playing. On the surface I have frozen and only robotically go through motions of playing the game because my anxiety has boiled over to the point that I cannot quite function properly. Inside, I am filled with pure delight at realizing that someone could feel comfortable expressing themselves that openly in a space like this. I eventually become friends with this person who I will later learn is trans -- I had never met a trans person before. I will become close friends with three more trans people, at least two enbies, and countless other queer people over the next decade of playing this wonderful game.

It is November 2019. I am at work, sitting at my desk, feeling completely numb despite starting the day energetic to the point of mania. I've just had an argument with a close friend -- perhaps the closest friend I've ever had -- and it ended... poorly, to put it mildly. So poorly, in fact, that it is safe to say we are just not friends anymore. The reality was that there were always problems between us, and this was a culmination of conflict that never really got effectively resolved. It might not have even been possible to resolve. In the moment, though, I cannot escape the suffocating feeling that I am a failure as a human being; someone who simply does not know how to maintain a relationship. My mind goes through loops of how I could have said something differently to have it end better. The emotional pain will not fully make sense to me until several months later, when I realize this was the closest thing to a break-up that I've ever experienced.

It is January 2012. I am watching House M.D. with my dad again. Since leaving the church, watching shows like this has been a desperate lifeline for our relationship. We don't joke as much anymore. This episode features a side plot with an asexual couple, who House determines is simply impossible, and uses his power of supreme logic to prove the asexuality wasn't real all along. I have heard of asexuality, though I don't know where or when, so I am angry at this. Of course, as an ally. I want to joke with my dad to release some frustration, but he is still in the church, and I don’t think he will empathize. I stay silent, and do not enjoy this episode.

It is December 2019. I am scrolling through a Discord channel I was invited to from one of the leftist creators I follow. This community has been a breath of fresh air in many ways, and one I found surprisingly helpful was an NSFW adult content chat channel where people are open about sex, fetishes, and more. I've considered myself fairly open-minded and sex-positive, but I'm still a virgin at 28 so I've found there is a lot I just don't know about. Today, someone has started a conversation about what qualifies as "taboo" and relating it to kink-shaming. Another member replies, mentioning they are asexual and find the whole notion of taboos being kind of bizarre. My mind reels at seeing someone who identifies as asexual in this chat. Over time I find out there are several other people who identify at least gray-ace in this chat, some who even draw risque artwork for commission. I realize how little I actually understood about what asexuality really was, and begin scouring the internet for articles and wikis on asexuality.

It is April 2010. I am at an Apollo Burger across the street from the local game store where I am playing in a Magic prerelease. My friends I followed over are talking about weekend plans, and one of them makes a joke about doing some chores to butter up his partner to have sex. The joke does not go over my head -- I am straight, and understand sex, even if I am still a virgin -- but I still can't help but think out loud: "You know, I just don't get why people make such a big deal out of sex." The awkwardness and confused looks are suffocating. I drop the topic immediately.

It is June 2020. I have just watched a video from an enby Youtube creator about their experience discovering their own gender identity. Over the next three days I will see every one of these past experiences, along with hundreds of others, flash before my eyes in rapid succession, over and over, until I begin to realize that I haven't allowed myself to truly identify how I do. Every time I asked "am I asexual?" in the past, I would dismiss it because I understood sex and have a sex drive. Once I actually researched asexuality, though, I almost immediately found stories of people who identify as ace and still experience a sex drive. I also discover a lot of stories from aromantic people that sound painfully similar to feelings I hadn't even realized were not the norm. For the first time I begin to realize I may not just be an ally.

So what does this mean

I came to a sense of satisfaction with living alone and single a long time ago. At first this came with a certain level of shame, because I felt like it was only because I was too cowardly to enter the dating scene and try to find a relationship for myself. Over time the impact of the shame diminished, but it never went away; it just became a quiet background noise that I got accustomed to pushing back.

But now that I feel comfortable calling myself "Aromantic", I don't feel any shame. A romantic relationship is simply something I don't need. Instead, I can focus on fostering the kinds of deep relationships that do feed my soul. That will likely be a difficult thing to do -- awkwardly traversing intimacy was something most people worked through as a teenager or young adult, and I'm nearly 30, haha. But it at least feels possible now.

But really the biggest change for me is that I feel like I can be honest and public about who I am in a way I never was before. Simply being open about this piece of my identity somehow feels important if for no other reason than to let other people who felt like I did growing up that they aren't alone.

So... yeah. I'm aroace. And I always have been.

#coming out #aroace #aromantic #asexual #pride #god it's nice to have an emotional post that doesn't need to be tagged as garbage for once

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