cosmeticsandcontrollers

[cosmeticsandcontrollers]

I felt the urge to write a short story about a fat, trans, neurodivergent wizard. Enjoy.

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Ira was working in a flow state, feeling the cold marble pestle in his sweaty palm as he ground beetle wings down into a fine powder. He began adding other ingredients from memory, flicking open dozens of drawers with his left hand and dropping minerals, leaves, and animal byproducts in the crystal bowl in his right. Ira had memorized most of the hundreds drawers in the apothecary cabinet that made up his workrooms back wall, give or take a few that contained expensive ingredients he rarely used. He hummed along to the softly playing music, his mousy-gray hair tied half up to keep it out of his eyes as he worked. Ira found that music could be a powerful conductor of his mental energy, but if it was too loud he became overly sensitive to his surroundings.

Once his basket was brimming with potion components, he used his smartwatch to start his default work playlist, aptly titled “witchy shit”. He gravitated back to the mortar and pestle, dropping in tree roots, owl bones, dried mushrooms, and limestone one at a time until the mixture was a fine, light brown powder. Ira raised the jewelers loupe on his necklace to his eye, inspecting the powder for any clumps and pulverizing it a few more times before calling it good, with a decisive nod to Stella, the box turtle crawling across his massive desk.

He pulled out his pocket grimoire and his bifocals, hanging on the jeweled chain around his neck. Ira double checked the next steps to turn the powder into an oil, absently scratching the hair along his jawline as he muttered to himself. Recently he had gotten a little lax with his ratios, and the herbalist wasn’t pleased with his recent blood draw, but told him that as long as he doesn’t notice any concerning symptoms he could continue homebrewing for the foreseeable future. He left the bifocals on and hefted a cauldron, no bigger than a crockpot, onto his desk along with a large bottle of cottonseed oil. He emptied about half the bottle into the cauldron before tossing it back into the cabinet and put a trivet under the cauldron. When Ira traced the rim of the cauldron with his fingertip, it became surrounded by an orange and blue flame. While complex spells required ritual, technique, energy, and time, elemental magic was as snapping his fingers.

Ira threw in the rest of the ingredients with a flourish, stirring the cauldron a few times with a metal spoon. He set a timer on his phone, and stepped into the kitchen to scavenge for some much needed carbs. Ira had been so focused on his potion that he forgot to eat. He returned to the workroom with a plate teetering high with a leftover sandwich, cubed cheese, grapes, and a ripe juicy strawberry for Stella. Ira somehow managed to sit sideways in the oversized swing-back armchair in the corner of the room, framed with his dozens of plants. Some of these plants boasted bright colors and pretty flowers, while other seemed to ooze sap and other unidentifiable goo that the young wizard used for his potions.

Ira down his food quickly, swiping through a Timbr while he took the last few bites of his sandwich. He no longer put much stock in the app, but it was a source of validation he was drawn to when he needed a pick me up. Sometimes he matched with the odd guy who was perfect, but only in town for a week. Or an older man who was suspiciously unavailable except for a few late evenings a month. There were plenty of guys his age in the college town Ira found home, but it was so hard to actually meet someone in person these days.

Even Ira preferred to do his work anonymously. He filled orders online, taking payment via his banking app, packing his potions meticulously, and shipping them off to a distant, unknown client. Most of his orders were simple chemical compounds used in lab work, while he had a separate line of communication for other, more occult audiences. Nothing sinister, but potions could help bolster or manipulate elemental magic in more complex ways. Sometimes he also assisted the herbalist with poultices if their apprentice was sick for discounted medical care.

*PING!*

Ira’s phone chimed, letting him know that some lucky bastard had swiped right on his profile. A message quickly followed from a faceless profile:

“Best of both worlds… ;)”

That’s enough of that. With a frustrated huff, Ira locked his phone and tossed it across the room onto a thick pillow. Ira’s watch chimed as the timer he set earlier went off, and he wiped his hands on his belly, dirtying the faded band tee as he got up to cool the potion.

He stepped up to the cauldron, nearly tripping on Stella as she went to town on her prized berry, and rubbed his hands together. Quickly, he tapped his fingertips to the cauldron and pulled back, extinguishing the fire immediately and sucking the heat out of the pitch black metal. Ira was left with a cool, slightly yellow oil.

He picked a thimble sized bottle out of the bin at his hip, heating it up for a few seconds to sterilize. He did the same with a fresh spoon as well, and ladled the oil into the bottle, corking it with a rubber cap that could be pierced without letting all of the potion drip out. With a fine tip pen he marked “boy juice” and “September 23”. He would get a month’s worth of doses out of this bottle.

While Ira could do things the magic-neutral way and just pick up his testosterone from a pharmacy, the herbalists weren’t quite sure how their everyday testosterone cypionate would mix with magic-positive blood. This is the way trans wizards, sorcerers, and witches have been making their HRT for millenniums. Ira also liked the independence; he didn’t have to worry about any laws coming between him and his healthcare. While the herbalists did have a grand council, they gave guidance, not mandates.

Ira got ready for his weekly ritual. He placed his potion on his altar next to a lit candle, undressed, and hopped in the shower. He took all the time he needed, exfoliating every limb, washing his face, and letting his long wavy hair down to detangle and deep condition. With every motion, he thought about how much he loved his body. His square jaw, his muscles, his round and furry belly and tree trunk thighs. After rinsing off and towel drying he oiled his beard and hair, securing it with a claw clip. He pulled on a fresh pair of boxer briefs with a comfortable packer, looking at himself in the mirror with pride. Ira deserved to feel good about himself.

He pulled out his syringes, needles, and rubbing alcohol, resting them on his sterilized work desk. As his work room was better suited to magic than his bedroom, he did all of his shots under the skylight. He washed his hands thoroughly and held the small bottle in both.

“I deserve to take care of my body. I am the only one who can control my body. I mold my clay as I see fit,” Ira said, feeling the bottle hum underneath his fingertips before settling back down.

Ira sterilized the rubber cap using an alcohol wipe, used a syringe and a large needle to draw the correct dosage of the potion, and replaced the large needle with a smaller one. Using the drawing needle’s cap, he made a small round indent on a bare spot on his belly, pinching it slightly to pull the fat away from muscle.

As Ira removed the cap and positioned it over the sterilized circle, he closed his eyes and focused more on the music playing from the speakers. This part fucked with his mind the most. The longer he waited the worst it would be. “In” he thought to himself, and he opened his eyes to see the needle buried in his injection site with no pain. He pushed down on the plunger, waited a few seconds, and removed the syringe. He wouldn’t need a bandage, such a small wound would heal instantly.

Ira felt a warm wave of pride course through his veins as the potion absorbed into his body.

[cosmeticsandcontrollers]

How to support your adult loved one when they come out as trans:

Since you’ve found this essay, it can only be assumed that you are looking for guidance in how to support this person. You may be afraid of messing up- either because you care about harming this person, or because you don’t want to embarrass yourself. The safest thing you can do is show them you care about them, you trust that they know what’s best, and that you’re along for the ride.

1. Own up to your first reaction

Let’s assume this loved one came out to you during an in-person visit. You probably didn’t react perfectly. But that’s okay. You may have even said the dreaded “you’re my daughter and I’ll always love you” to your trans child that no longer identifies as a woman.

They may want to discuss your reaction at a later date. Own up to any mistakes that you made, and understand that what they remember from the interaction was probably more accurate, as it’s about their life and identity.

2. Show them that you still want to be as or more involved in their lives.

One of the biggest fears a newly out trans person might have is that they will lose loved ones in the process. Not only does this change someone’s view of an important relationship, it means they have less support. Before their visit ends, make sure that you’ve made plans to see them again sometime soon. The more time you spend together, the easier new names, pronouns, and terms will be.

When making plans with them use their name in follow-up and confirmation texts, and ask if there are any safety concerns they will need addressed. Knowing that someone is also thinking about their safety can help them know you care about them.

3. Practice their name and pronouns.

Usually, when someone comes out, they will want someone to use a different name, pronouns, and terms for them than they used previously. A frequent response to this is “I’ve always called you X, it’s too hard for me to call you Y, and I’m not going to worry about it,”. That’s not your call to make, and shows the person that you are not willing to change your behavior for their well-being.

One way to practice a new name or pronouns for someone is to talk about them to someone who is aware of the transition, or to write stories about them. It helps to connect “person” with “name” and “realistic situation”.

For example: “I think Sadie plans to visit the Grand Canyon this summer. I wonder if she’s ever seen a canyon before. She may have to borrow some camping equipment.” This sentence doesn’t have to be true, but gives us an opportunity to practice speaking without the embarrassment of being corrected.

4. Learn how to be corrected.

You may have this preconceived notion that trans people love to correct cis people. Most of us actually hate it, as it draws more attention to us and can lead to arguments. A short “thank you,” after being corrected shows that you won’t make it our problem.

5. Do your own research.

There’s an abundance of online resources about gender identity, and the history of trans people in our society. Seek out resources from trans writers, researchers, and doctors for more accurate information; as many websites marketed to the family members of trans people share misinformation.

Ask your loved one what news sources they like, and maybe even follow some of their favorite trans celebrities on social media to normalize seeing celebrated trans people.

6. Understand that things may change.

Your loved one may start wearing clothes that you aren’t used to, may have different life goals, and may change their opinions on things that you thought were set in stone.

When I came out to my parents, I told them that I would never pursue a medical transition, and now I’m six months on hormone replacement therapy. I said I wanted to have biological kids, but now I want to foster teens instead. What I thought was best for me changed. And that’s okay. You’re just along for the ride.

[cosmeticsandcontrollers]

Funny things; the things that follow you through life. The things that make you, you. Your body changes, your thoughts change, your voice changes. Your kindness changes form, curves a new path around your ancient pillars of values. We allow ourselves to love. We allow ourselves to cry. We learn new routines. We form the habit of ripping ourselves open to feel the sin, and mending the edges to preserve its warmth. We allow ourselves to be comfortable with the person looking back at us. To accept your neighbor is to accept yourself.

[cosmeticsandcontrollers]

Bridgette felt the lightning flow from her heart to her extremities as her heart began to beat. Slow. Mechanical. Cold.

She felt the crushed velvet under her fingers, lining the coffin. The upholstery nails around the opening were cold, antique gold. She couldn’t see them from the inside, but could feel the smooth round rivets under her thumb. Gold is as close to the sun as she can get. Between the lining of her coffin and the thick, black wood was soil from her childhood home in Boston, Massachusetts, densely packed into clay and baked into a thin brick.

Bridgette shook out her limbs and pushed open the coffin door, stepping out from the angular box and letting her feet touch the cold hardwood. Jonah had a contractor fix the squeaky floorboards last year. When Bridgette told Jonah that she can hear *every* step in the house when she sleeps, and she’d like to give him some semblance of privacy as he moves throughout the large Victorian house, he was more than happy to oblige.

He was cooking downstairs. Funny enough, while her other senses heightened, her sense of smell dulled. She can only smell blood or the bitter, floral scent of death, and Jonah is a vegetarian. It was his heartbeat and the sound of the frying tofu that gave it away.

Bridgette slipped on her soft, worn bathrobe and slippers and headed downstairs, tying her hair up in a messy bun. She opened the curtains in the stair well, her body always woke her up naturally when the sun was setting. The college kids were wandering home, riding secondhand bikes, planning their drink-filled evenings. She remembered the days where she convinced herself she could do classes before noon. She’d drink a few cups of coffee right before dawn to override her natural sleep pattern, put on a hoodie, sweats, and sunglasses, and dragged herself to class.

When she was under the safety of the florescent lights, she could take off her hood and convince any professor or GTA she was another hungover student. That was the good ole 90’s. It’s so much easier to take classes in the evening now. Soon, she would be finishing her thesis on colonization and the erasure of the spiritual and supernatural. Time to finally get that third PhD.

why is “olde vampires in high school” the big thing and not “olde vampires in college”

everyone in college is eccentric. everyone

you wanna wear full on Victorian suit? the girl in pajamas who clearly hasn’t slept in three days supports you

everyone is too preoccupied to care as long as you’re polite and follow class etiquette

multiple high school diplomas? eh. same stuff. multiple BAs? Enjoy learning chemistry AND art history! All in detail!

wandering around campus at 3am? that’s just the lifestyle tm

no matter how old or young you look it’s not really that weird, there’s sixteen year olds and sixty year olds doing BAs somewhere

big schools are very anonymous so nobody’s gonna bother to hassle you

[cosmeticsandcontrollers]

A 30-something woman who seems to be collecting degrees, writing a thesis on colonization and the erasure of the supernatural, clad in dark academia clothing

The eerily sexy night janitor with long hair that has all the secrets to the campus and happens to work in EVERY building simultaneously

The sorority girl who everyone assumes is another hungover rich kid, but she earned all of her money in the 70’s and just wants to have the “ultimate college experience”

The 50-something teacher who shows up late and says he was late because they were taking care of their kid. Little does everyone know his kid is 80 and in a nursing home.

They hold their support group every Tuesday night at the college bar.

why is “olde vampires in high school” the big thing and not “olde vampires in college”

everyone in college is eccentric. everyone

you wanna wear full on Victorian suit? the girl in pajamas who clearly hasn’t slept in three days supports you

everyone is too preoccupied to care as long as you’re polite and follow class etiquette

multiple high school diplomas? eh. same stuff. multiple BAs? Enjoy learning chemistry AND art history! All in detail!

wandering around campus at 3am? that’s just the lifestyle tm

no matter how old or young you look it’s not really that weird, there’s sixteen year olds and sixty year olds doing BAs somewhere

big schools are very anonymous so nobody’s gonna bother to hassle you

[cosmeticsandcontrollers]

Me!!

Has/Is anyone played/playing Control and is willing to gush about it with me?

[cosmeticsandcontrollers]

Had a dream last night that I proposed to my bf! Let’s see how long I last until proposing to him now that this can of worms have been broken

[cosmeticsandcontrollers]

I worked as a cashier in a college town and people would assume I was in school and ask my major. They had the exact same response “do they teach you about fake news in school?”

Do they teach you how to actually differentiate biased vs. unbiased news in the conservative factory?

my favorite part about being a journalism major is that I can immediately tell if someone is republican or democrat because when people ask me about my major the democrats are always like omg that's so cool!!! do you know what field you want to go into? and the republicans just like, look at me disappointedly and be like, hmm I don't like the media much but I'm sure you'll be unbias.

[cosmeticsandcontrollers]

reblog if ur bi, ur not biphobic, or ur best friend is a beautiful valid bisexual

[cosmeticsandcontrollers]

Can we support him please?!

[cosmeticsandcontrollers]

Reblog if its ok to message you during this holiday season incase Im feeling lonely or out of place during family events because no one should be alone on Christmas

Anytime, any day, no matter the holiday you celebrate or not. I’m here, not just around the holidays ❤️

[cosmeticsandcontrollers]

Coming to the conclusion that I am gender non-conforming is very difficult.

As someone with a partner who is a trans man, and has non-binary friends, I can’t help but feel that I am both similar and dissimilar to them.

I’m a fat woman who has always felt out of place in my gender. When I was 16, I was thin but muscly. When I gained weight, I found a lot of people judged me harsher than they would if I was male. Sometimes I fantasized about being a boy or someone with a beard, because then being big wouldn’t be a bad thing.

I cut my hair short every few years and reveled in it, while my peers told me I’d regret it. I wore boyish clothes, but I also wore very feminine dresses, lipstick, and push up bras.

Coming out as bi changed a lot about my gender expression. I tried to lean more towards androgynous clothing to attract women, and stopped trying to appeal to men. I eventually met my boyfriend, who complimented my muscles, height, and curves. I started to lean into this more and wore what I felt like, instead of dressing how I thought he’d like me to. As a result, I wear feminine or masculine clothing depending on my mood.

After a long talk with my partner, I feel like gender non-conforming is the best descriptor for me. I have a gender, but I am not restricted by it, and I don’t have to fit other’s ideas of that gender.

[cosmeticsandcontrollers]

I live here!

Lawrence, KS

[cosmeticsandcontrollers]

Looking for some new spoopy stickers? Check out my redbubble! https://www.redbubble.com/people/emilyjcox2016/shop?asc=u

[cosmeticsandcontrollers]

[cosmeticsandcontrollers]

GUYS READ ALL OF THIS PLEASE PLEASE PL–

[cosmeticsandcontrollers]

So I think I might be bi? But if I am it changes almost nothing about my life because I am happily and monogamously married. But if it doesn't really matter, why do I have so many feelings about it???? Anyways, I am asking you because it seems like there is a 50/50 chance of a delightful and pithy answer or a picture of a bird as an answer.