#I think the word I was looking for before was a dysphoria of sorts regarding my form outside of the parable.

[pruning-the-minds-garden]

Personal and mental health stuff under the cut. Lots of not pretty relationship stuff. It's not drama, just two married people working through things.

Okay so finally spoke up to my wife about the things that have been bothering me for the past several months. She initially took it pretty okay, thanked me for bringing it up and said she had to think about it before she would really have an answer to some of it - which, given the nature of what I brought up, is perfectly fair - but... well.

One ongoing issue in our relationship is kink. She has gotten more and more negative on it as time has gone on, going from openly hostile to curious to ambivalent to closed. That recommends to suspicion that the openness was not ever really a thing, that she was forcing herself there out of a desire to please me, and that trying it was never going to work because she fundamentally believes that hypnokink is nonconsensual and her statements in her first angry rant to me that she questions my morality because I am interested in it, questions her safety because I'm interested in what she views as rape... are in some quarter of her mind still her truth. That is only confirmed - or if not confirmed, because this is a conclusion based on an absence of evidence, then recommended to suspicion - by deliberate word choices and omissions in our conversation after that. Specifically, the things she would say she thought I was not and the things she didn't say that she thought I was not.

And, the other major problem is that while she emotionally and vocally supports my transition... the more I do, the less connected to her I feel. The less she reaches out, the less she seeks any sort of physical contact or connection, and the more we feel like Roommates+. I voiced this to her, and yeah she said she'd have to think about it, but also later voiced anger that I was open about exploring and researching aspects of my transition but hadn't talked with her about them, that I sounded like I'd made a decision (specifically regarding HRT) and hadn't talked to her about it. I have not made that decision and was just doing research to confirm a point brought up by a gender therapist I was talking to on the phone regarding my insurance specifically not covering anything related to gender dysphoria, and was looking at what that meant for any future options I might have. I have done some research regarding HRT, but nothing remotely resembling a decision has been made in that regard and yeah, I'd talk to her before anything like that was made.

Still, that she was mad about that and, like... the tone of that... it bothered me. The post she was referring to only happened maybe five hours prior to our conversation and I was at work the whole time, so we'd not seen one another in the interim or had an opportunity to talk about it. Of course I would not make a decision in a couple hours, that is just not who I am. Add to that, that she then pivoted to other medical issues going on right now that I well know about - dental stuff that badly needs to get handled but which is expensive because ✨LuXuRy BoNeS✨ - but which legit do make kissing me somewhat unpleasant. I get that, and I also feel really self-conscious about it. I also want to fix it, but when the cost of fixing it is such that it would financially cripple us and render us unable to pay our rent, car note, etc... yeah, I just don't.

Of course it sucks, and it hurts a lot, and it might kill me. I know all that. I'm the one feeling the pain and facing the risk so I know that quite well... but she has been unable to get a job because of crippling fear and anxiety and I'm doing the best I can with what I have, so here we are. I need to keep a roof over our heads for as long as I can, food in the fridge for as long as I can, and the lights on for as long as I can, and if medium-term needs have to be sacrificed in the name of that then that's a trade I have to make and deal with the consequences of when they happen. I don't like it, but I have no other options. I have been prodding her to varying degrees for maybe three years now about jobs, and now she's in therapy for this specific issue, but TBH although this issue has improved a little everything else has suffered at the same time. I'm basically doing 2/3 of the housework in addition to making 3/3 of the income right now, because her mental state - I don't know what or if it relates to a specific diagnosis - is such that she spends most days sleeping and/or sewing, watching YouTube, stuff like that. When I wake up I manage both of our meds, feed the cats, make coffee for both of us, wake her up the four times it takes to get her to wake up, and dress and get ready for work. Then I work all day, come home, do the dishes, clean the apartment, and manage our meds for the evening. On the weekends it is similar but I also handle vacuuming and/or the cats' litter boxes. She handles grocery shopping and dinner most nights, though a lot of nights - probably too many - we order in.

I love her deeply, and want her to be happy. I give more and more to this relationship, but it feels like the more I give the deeper the well gets. I just don't know where to go from here. That's not even getting into the sexual side of things because that's a can of worms unto itself... anyway I'm just... yeah.

Last night I expressed that I felt lonely and tired, that I noticed she was growing more and more disconnected from me, and more and more distant. That she only sought out touch when she wanted me to help her sleep or it was her habit to hold me hand in a given situation, and she routinely ignored when *I* asked for the same thing, or gave it in only perfunctory amounts. So, I stopped asking, because it was clear it was a burden to her and not something she actually enjoyed doing. Which is what led to the whole conversation. I wanted to know why she had disconnected from us, and she said she needed to think about that.

Which, now that I've written all that down, kinda scares me. I'm going to let that fear settle down for now and give her space to think before I react, though, because that's the fair thing to do. Still... I feel how I feel, and how I feel is very not great right now.

[tsp-narrator-ask]

Hey fashion disaster, it's me, socks and sandals. I don't know a lot but I do have some words. Perhaps it's the GNC in me but I don't think it really matters what you are.. If it helps, my own philosophy is that I'm whatever the hell I am and want to be. If you want you can ask people what they think you are. If they answer something you don't like? Tell them that you aren't. If they don't believe/listen? Tell them "That sounds like a you problem." It's what I do. As for flirting, we both know Stanley likes buttons, perhaps a fidget with a button on it would be a good gift. Asking directly would be a bit forward so perhaps asking if he has his eye on someone? Compliments and physical contact (If he likes that) are a good thing, just don't overdo it.

“No need to clarify your the socks and sandals person. I remember because the socks and sandals combo has been burned into my memory… That and I’ve gotten used to remembering most of my usual readers.”

“But getting on to the main points of this, I appreciate your words. I suppose I can be what ever I dare create my self to be- at least in this parable…even though that’s a fact…”

it still bothers me knowing what I truly am outside of this parable is it’s a feeling that I can’t just have go away. Knowing that some parts of my self I cannot change… for once I’m blanking on what I can compare this to in a way a human may understand…. Hm… either way your right at least I can have the confidence to tell others what I see my self as and if they don’t like it I can simply kick them out of my peripheral!”

”now on to your ideas for my Stanley situation-

“a button fidget might be a good idea, I’ll think about asking if he has eyes for any one but I doubt he does since there’s no one else in this parable except for him and I…. At least from what I believe any ways, though it seems my readers are trying to convince me otherwise) “

“I will try to give him a compliment later today to gage his reaction- but lastly physical contact isn’t my thing. Though if it’s for Stanley and he likes physical affection such as hand holding or possibly a hug I suppose I could put my preferences to the side.”

“Thank you for the advice reader, it almost makes your crime in fashion less upsetting.”

✒️Sincerely the narrator

[cuntess-carmilla]

LGBT youth is desperately in need of useful and inclusive sex education. I get it's delicate for us because LGBT adults (and tbh even LGBT kids) are accused of being sex-addicted pedophilic freaks by virtue of breathing, so out of internalized shame and just the need to keep ourselves safe we tend to avoid doing anything that could be perceived as even remotely predatory, but I think it's about time we start trying to find safe and appropriate ways to educate LGBT youth on sex. Cishets clearly aren't going to do it for us.

As absolutely vital as education on how to have safe sex is, especially with the impact that the AIDS epidemic had (and continues to have) in our community, I don't mean JUST educating LGBT youth on how to have safe sex.

Our communities are in desperate need of education on how to have happy, fun sex (which of course includes teaching about consent in LGBT contexts). How to have sex that isn't missionary penetrative sex, or other forms of sex that cishet couples replicate regularly. I do mean the "het" in there because m/w partners in which one or more of them are bi, including the cis ones, can and do have sex differently from their heterosexual counterparts and they matter just as much as everyone else in the community.

Speaking specifically regarding wlw and sex, we're so easily plagued by conceptions of cishet sex, which is very detrimental to us considering a majority of us don't have the ability to penetrate our partners without a toy (be it due to not having a penis or to HRT making erections like that not always possible) and even our use of toys is mocked or stigmatized ("Haha, you guys can't have sex without toys, your sex is silly and fake"), so we're stuck dealing without any support with redefining what "real sex" means to us, having the sexual acts most of us can or want to perform be deemed as Actually Just Foreplay and thus our sex is incomplete, a bad rip off of the "real sex" everyone else can have. That's not even going into how often our only sources of what w/w sex looks like is porn created by and for men so we end up not knowing how to fuck without trying to appeal to an omnipresent invisible male audience.

When it comes to my use of "inclusive" above I mean, of course, inclusive of trans people of all sexualities.

I'm in a long term relationship with another lesbian who happens to be trans. It took us so long to figure out how to have fun happy sex that didn't trigger her dysphoria and that didn't trigger me in relation to how the very idea of replicating cishet sex (which can happen to me with a woman with any type of body, so please don't read my words in bad faith) makes me feel genuinely suicidal. Just because of the bodies we each have by nature, we felt for so long that there were only a few restrictive ways in which we were supposed to or even could have sex. It took us literal years to start overcoming that and now that we've made so much progress in that aspect our relationship as a couple and our relationships to ourselves and our own bodies are so much healthier.

Wouldn't you know, part of what helped us was remembering an online zine we saw years ago on how to have sapphic sex with a trans woman beyond penetration (either her penetrating or her being penetrated). It was so hard for us to process in the past that sex doesn't have to include penetration as soon as one of the people involved has a penis. Mind you, we do like that too and there's nothing wrong with any sort of wlw couple having penetrative sex. That's still sapphic because it's two women doing it, but it's not the only way, and we might have never learned that hadn't other LGBT people told us about it.

I don't feel educated enough to speak on sexual inclusivity regarding intersex LGBT people, but I do know that this is a very sensitive issue as well for them and we really do need to tackle the subject, with intersex voices at the forefront.

We need to teach each other, but especially younger LGBT people, how to redefine sex for ourselves, how sex can look outside of the dyadic cishet norm, that we don't need to appeal to dyadic cishet notions of what sex is supposed to look like. We need too to help each other break away from the shame we're taught around gay, bi and trans lust, especially when it comes to LGBT women, with how taboo female lust is in general. Before we became more "mainstream", LGBT communities were much bigger on going against that than we seem to be now and it's a problem that in many spaces we've pulled a complete 180 on it. It's harming us tremendously as a community and as individuals.

We can't keep waiting for schools and other establishments dominated by dyadic cishets to do the work for us. If they were to bother mentioning us at all, they'll often do it in incomplete or harmful ways. We need LGBT sex education now and we need to do it ourselves, as scary and difficult as it may be.

[lostandfem]

hey, i just wanted to say that detransitioning doesn't mean you need to buy in to terf-ness. like, i definitely agree that the women who have detransitioned would have benefited from the ideas of radical feminism. and that radical feminism is the only viable path forward to a future in which all people feel safe and comfortable in their bodies and their social roles. however, not all radical feminists are terfs (this is coming from a trans person who believes in radical feminism). the abolition of gender norms doesn't mean we should abolish transness. just my thoughts for you. wishing you all the best

Hey! Thanks for the ask :)

You make a point. Radical feminism doesn’t have to exclude trans people. And I personally don’t exclude them. Nor do I identify as a terf, just a radfem. I personally include any person assigned female at birth, regardless of how they identify. The point is prioritizing the care and protection of females before males, who are the oppressing class. However, the nature of radical feminism questions gender constructs, and the goal to abolish the correlation of gender to specific sets of traits threatens to abolish how many trans people currently identify themselves.

Given my experiences I now feel a need to question exactly how gender identity works in regards to biological sex and how the systems apply these gender constructs irl. I’m evaluating how the patriarchy deals with the concept of a gender identity and if it’s harmful or helpful. I’ve seen too much internalized misogyny from both sexes to believe that some people’s reasons for identifying certain ways aren’t due to that. I need to question how my girlhood experiences have been translated to be signs of trans boyhood. I have to question why does trans need to be a thing?

So far I’m of the opinion that it only needs to be a thing for people with GID. Transition might actually be the right/only treatment for them and that’s okay, and I’m more than willing to accommodate female trans and nonbinary people. But we can have people living as the opposite sex without having any sort of gender ideology. I.e. It’s possible to live as the opposite sex without being “trans”. I believe it’s possible to have a sort of body-incongruence that needs medical intervention, but I’ve also seen a lot of people deciding they’re trans because they better fit for another gender’s roles. Some trans women find out they’re trans women because they like skirts. Some trans men find out they’re trans men because they always hated dresses. That exists separately from just body-incongruence. Though you can create body-incongruence through the rigid application of those gender roles.

I think we need more data on how dysphoria works, because HRT and surgeries shouldn’t be the first option. If you look into detrans stories, a lot of them talk about how their dysphoria was caused by something else entirely. Even so, by all definitions of the word, it still fits the criteria for dysphoria. A lot of us even have dysphoria now. And it makes me a little sad that therapists are either too scared to talk about it or they’re more of the opinion that transition is almost always the answer. Looking back, I could tell my therapist was too unsure to fully discuss the reasons behind my identification. She only agreed with what I said. And because of how deep I was in the sauce, I denied any questions. For example, she said some people detransition and asked me to be careful, and I shut her down. I fully believed detransition was something terfs made up to destroy us, because I was taught that by other trans people I trusted. On one hand it’s nice that she didn’t invalidate my experiences. But she was also afraid to give her own input. Same with my current therapist. He never told me my traumas could be the reason I was trans, he only agreed with me when I figured out that was the case for me. He helped me elaborate. But questioning someone’s gender identity just isn’t something you do, even if it could help them out in the long run. Even if you mean it in the kindest way and genuinely want to help. And gender therapists, as far as I’ve understood, leap to medical transition, too. We think that medical transition saves lives, but we don’t question why they do. Nor do we explore other treatment options.

So I don’t exclude trans people from my feminism, but I do question the nature of being trans. I don’t want to erase the reality of GID, either. The nature of radical feminism requires us to question the constructs of gender because of how they’ve been used against us, and so it makes us critical of current developments in the world of gender, too. I’m not here to force anyone to detransition, either, but I want people to look at the reasons why they want to transition, especially if you relate to my experiences.

Wishing you the best, too!

[the-ghost-king]

you have any nico headcanons where he’s ftm trans but then realizes he’s also nonbinary (he/they/she)? just struggling with gender identity lately ig.

Alright, anon, I hope these help you some, my gender has been rather ~~~ lately, if that makes any sense... I would also like to remind everyone to bind safely and if you need resources on how to safely bind without a binder feel free to reach out to me:

Nico always just knew he was a boy, dresses were a no-go, couldn't stand to wear anything that wasn't undeniably boys clothes

In the beginning Maria thought maybe it was just a texture problem, but when Nico was three she came home to see him cutting all of his hair off she knew it was deeper

This is why they ended up moving to America eventually, Maria decided that if they started over then Nico would be able to be himself

Bianca named him on the way over, she liked the name because they were "winning" by leaving Italy

Nothing really signifigant happens in regards to Nico and his gender through this point, he is able to play freely with other boys, and he goes to school with them and such

The same in the Lotus Hotel, nothing signifigant

When he and Bianca go to Westover Nico is kind of scared the whole time, because he is worried about being "caught", changing for afterschool soccer games and having communal shower spaces at the school is difficult for him to feel comfortable

He usually tries to shower late at night or early in the morning when nobody is around, and that works out okay for him

His chest starts developing around this point and he freaks out, he has no clue how to hide it or how to deal with the new stress

He ends up trying to find Bianca one day, and they do all sorts of crazy stuff to see if they can help, eventually they figure out how to use a piece of cloth they sew together

When Nico ends up at camp alone without Bianca, there's the problem once again of communal showers and they're rarely ever empty

This is how he befriends the Stolls

At some point the pair of them notice Nico is weirdly panicky about the bathrooms so they go stand outside and keep people out when Nico's in there... It's honestly how they perfect their pranking techniques

When Nico runs away from camp upset, just the day before his binder had quit fitting and he had been upset by that because he had to make a binder again

Although his sister dying pushed all other thoughts out of his head, the emotions from previous events were still leftover

This is why he buys his jacket TM, because the layers help hide his chest more and the weight is comfortable

At some point during the Labrynth he ends up binding with ace bandages (AN: Don't do this)

He also starts his period at some time around this point and kind of freaks out "oh no" and it's not entirely that his period bothers him, but more so that he just doesn't know how he's supposed to hide it

He also realizes at some point around here that he likes Percy, which makes him feel odd and more freaked out

He's struggling because "boys are supposed to like girls" and also he's struggling because if most boys oon't have periods and he does... why doesn't his bother him?

Despite Nico himself being trans, he doesn't have the vocabulary to describe anything he's going through, and he doesn't know there's other trans people, or even queer people of any sort

So he sort of begins to question "am I really a boy?" but there's so much going on in the world and he's got so much to do, so he can't really devote much time to thinking about it

Everything continues about canonically until he's in the jar after Tartarus

During a fight with a monster or something he was knocked over, and combine this with the fact that Nico was binding with ace bandages, he definitly breaks a rib

Which makes breathing with little air a lot harder

Eventually he's saved and through ambrosia and nectar Nico manages to heal his ribs a little

He isn't able to bind that whole time though, so he does his best to keep away from The Seven

After Cupid outs him to Jason, Jason asks a few days later if he wants to talk about it, at first Nico is like "no go away I don't like you don't talk to me"

But eventually he opens up to Jason, because Jason was like "I'm sorry you had to do that I promise I won’t tell anyone and if you want to talk we can talk"

Anyhow eventually Nico kind of just breaks down and he's like "I don't know if I'm a boy or a girl? I think I used to be a girl, but now I am a boy and I don't really remember how it happened” or something similar

It takes Jason a moment but eventually he’s like “Oh you’re trans?”

And Nico;s like “heh? What’s that?

And so him and Jason talk, but Jason is only kind of well versed in this topic, so he only covers “basic” MtF and FtM transition because he doesn’t really know enough about other genders to feel comfortable explaining it

And Nico’s like “there’s people? Out there?? Like me??” and he’s just Happy Nico ™

Nico is like “and there are people like me who like boys?”

And Jason is like “Yeah totally!” but internally he’s like (I think so??)

Anyhow Nico feels a little better, but he doesn’t feel perfect, he’s still struggling a little bit internally to recognize that there’s other people like him and he’s not wrong for being him

Anyhow, Jason doesn’t know enough about this stuff to know binders exist, Jason just has a little bit of secondhand information from tv shows and from being from California… He promises he’ll look into various things more when he’s back at camp or has decent access to internet

On Nico’s quest with Reyna and Hedge he obvious evaporates Bryce, and Reyna and Hedge find out

They find out he’s gay as in canon, but they realize he’s trans when caking him in mud

Hedge just goes into dad mode about the situation and is like “son”, “sport”, “kiddo”, “my male child” etc

Reyna knows a little more about trans stuff than Jason, but she’s kind of in the same “ehhh I’m not really sure of a few things” boat, but she’s supportive and she’s like “I will beat anyone who gives you a dirty look up so fast”

Eventually they get to camp, and all that happens

Three days in the infirmary happens, and basically Nico has to tell Will for medical reasons that he’s trans because Nico needs stitches or something

Anyhow Will is like “Oh yeah cool me too, can you take your binder off now?”

And Nico is like “heh???”

Anyhow Will finds out Nico is binding with ace bandages and he’s like “no, don’t do that” and then he goes and finds a proper binder in Nico’s size which he gives to him after his stay is up

When they befriend one another they have a short conversation about gender and Will is discussing like gender theory 101 type stuff, and he’s like “wait why dont you know this- oh yeah you’re from the thirties- wait do you even know what nonbinary means??”

And Nico is just staring at Will like he has three heads for the whole conversation

So Will teaches Nico about gender and pronouns, and gender presentation vs gender identity, etc

And so Nico goes “wait so there are people like me who are also gay?”

And Will is like “I like boys and girls and everything in between so yeah”

And the whole enby thing doesn’t really stick with Nico at that point he’s just like “hmm interesting, so testosterone?”

It’s just not his biggest concern, he’s just happy to know there are in fact others like him, and no he’s not crazy for not being dysphoric over his period, and that’s normal too

And he’s just like “oh so that’s top dysphoria?”

And Will is like “yeah :/”

“Oh :/”

“Mhmm :/”

Anyhow they become like good friends and they start dating sort of on accident, like they’re too close to just argue they’re friends anymore, and at some point Will just shows Nico how to give him a T shot and it’s like chill, they’re chill

Anyhow one day someone is kind of confused by Nico’s gender so they use the word “they” and it makes Nico really happy for some reason, so he goes back to Will and he’s like “tell me about this whole nobinary thing again?”

And Will is like “yes absolutely”

And Nico goes “I think I might be nonbinary can we try new pronouns?”

And so they go through all sorts of new pronouns, and Nico decides he still likes he/him but he also likes they/them and xer/xem… They likes she/her too but Nico finds it too uncomfortable sometimes because it reminds him of dysphoria

Nico decides xyr uncomfortable with using she/her but they like using female gendered terms so he does that

(Listen, I know Will saying “this is my boyfriend” was a big moment but Will calling Nico his “wife” is 10/10)

Nico’s friends are all super supportive and they do their best to learn more about gender and such things in order to better support and care for Nico

They all use different pronouns for xem and some people alternate pronouns too, but Nico knows that takes more practice

But it’s just like good and positive in Nico’s life

And he begins to play with fashion a lot and xe finds out xyr love of skirts with tights and combat boots because it’s 10/10 the best fashion

Nico also loves their big jackets and they just looks so comfy all the time everyone is like “I want to be him” and Nico grows their hair out long again, and gets his ears pierced and xe’s just a nonbinary fashion icon

They are just so cool once they figure out gender more and Nico’s just happy to play around with xyr gender and he just enjoys it

Will doesn’t play around with gender so much, he’s 100% a binary trans guy but T helped make him comfortable enough in his femininity to wear skirts a little bit on the occasion (Will in a cat maid dress 10/10), but heels and skinny jeans for some reason are still big dysphoria triggers for him so he does have some limits on what he’ll wear

Will gets top surgery when he’s like 17 because Naomi is an extremely supportive parent

So that’s how Nico meets Will’s mom and she’s like “it’s so nice to finally meet you!” and Naomi just immediately falls in love with xem and Will is like “I know they’re amazing”

And Nico is just really supportive and they sort of role reverse and Nico plays nurse while Will recovers from top surgery and they has to like brush his teeth and stuff

The experience (despite the fact that Will had an easier recovery) assures Nico in how much he wants top surgery, and he’s sad he’ll have to wait another year until he’s 18 to get it done

Anyhow Hades finds out and agrees to sign the wavers, so once Will is healed up enough to wear he can put his own clothes on and stuff, Nico decides to go through with xyrs own top surgery then too

Reyna comes to help Will take care of Nico, and Jason does too

Originally Will was supposed to help more with Nico’s care but he wasn’t able to do as much as he thought so they had to phone their friends

Eventually they both heal up really well and they’re happy to be done with that

Nico spends time debating testosterone, while Will spends time debating lower surgery

During this time Nico starts art school and Will starts medical school

Meeting more nonbinary people makes Nico feel at home and he determines that xe doesn’t want to go on testosterone but it’s still a maybe in the future

Will however decides he does want lower surgery, so Will and Lou Ellen decide to get lower surgery together as friends so they can share in the pain (Lou Ellen is a trans woman as far as I’m concerned this is canon)

Nico takes some time off to do school from home so he can help the two of them, and Naomi comes to live with them as well for a bit

Will and Nico both finish school eventually and they decide to adopt trans kids to help them out more

Anyhow, I hope you enjoy all of that anon! I'm all ideaed (idea-ed??) out and so I hope this is at least similar to what you were looking for, and this is helpful with your dysphoria somewhat <3

[rotten-games]

In honor of TDOV can you give us insight to the trans ROs experiences with being trans?

I’m late for this because it was a work day yesterday but I’ll answer it anyway because time is an illusion.

Warning for discussion of gender dysphoria

Lokeira: Lokeira didn’t actually realise he was trans until after he left home (at, maybe 19). It wasn’t that he was stifled--though that could very well have been the case in many respects--there were one or two other trans people that he grew up with, however, he never really identified with their experiences perhaps because from the day he was born he was told he had to be a very specific way just due to circumstances wildly outside of his control (This is not agab-related, but poetic cinema and all that). Due to this, he never really had the time or space to really acknowledge that he felt different than what everyone told him he was, or even explore that difference. All he ever really knew regarding who he was in himself was that there was a very deep discomfort that seemed to follow him wherever he went; it wasn’t with any specific parts of him, it was all of him to the extent that he had trouble determining sometimes if who he looked at in the mirror was really him.

Then he left home, cut contact with his family and siblings, and all the people who said he had to be a certain way. He was happier for it, all things considered, but that discomfort still lingered whenever he gave himself even a moment to think too hard about it. Honestly the ‘oh’ moment for Lokeira was a case of someone ‘mistaking’ him for a man and realising he liked it. Obviously it took some serious self-reflection to come to the conclusion that maybe he was a man after all, but eventually he accepted it and basically used all the coin he’d saved up from his job to fund his transition.

That being said, he has no plans of doing anything past hormones and top surgery. The dysphoria was mostly in regards to how people saw him and, well, his chest. To some extent, that discomfort still lingers in some ways; the scars on his chest are a reminder of just why he had to do it, and his voice is constantly cracking like the bastard it is, but knowing himself like he does relieves a lot of the pressure he felt growing up, even if it’s only one aspect of his life.

Ettia: For a very long time, centuries, in fact, Ettia was very unhappy. She had known she was trans for a long time, a very long time before she did anything to go through with a transition. Of course, for a God, that would have been as easy as simply shifting her appearance to better reflect her identity, Wykk would have helped her with all the intricacies if she’d only asked, but one thing stopped her for a long time.

The people.

Oh, Golding had gone through the process of ensuring the holy scriptures and everyone within the faith knew he was a man, but Ettia--or Arior--wasn’t certain she was so strong. She loved her people, she loved the mortals more than her sibling Gods could ever fathom, and some suspect she loved them more than her own brother, but being her true self was something that scared her endlessly. There would be pushback. She knew that just as well as Golding did, but she knew, eventually, she wouldn’t be able to hide herself away.

So, after some very sharp words with Adeliah, she appeared to a few select, incredibly important mortals to set the record straight. It took years for the religion to completely acknowledge her as a woman, but bit by bit her old name was replaced and forgotten by time, and Arior was born anew. Or so the scriptures say.

Korrin: Korrin’s experiences may have been a bit different; they realised they were non-binary during the process of Mikah’s own transition. It wasn’t a huge, life-shattering realisation--in retrospect it made sense--and they didn’t even really talk about it for some time since they were, and are, comfortable with all manner of pronouns, however, it soon became clear that wasn’t going to be something they could maintain. They told Mikah first, and with their permission he told everyone else.

Korrin loves who they are--at least in regards to the transness of themself. They love being trans and they love being non-binary, and don’t see a reason to stifle it to make other (cis) people comfortable. They wear what they want to better reflect who they are and they don’t particularly care if it clashes or makes them look a certain way. They know who they are and they’re the type who won’t let anyone change that for anything, though people have certainly tried.

Spotter: Spotter was one of those people who knew they were some description of trans since they were incredibly young. Of course, they didn’t always have the words for it, nor did they always know they were non-binary. They always had horrible dysphoria that tended to come and go; some days they’d barely be able to get out of bed, while others they were all but distant worries, which often confused them and made them question whether they were truly ‘trans enough’.

Truthfully, Spotter fluctuated between she/her and he/him pronouns for quite a few years, at first thinking they must have been binary trans until they realised maybe they didn’t have to be either. This realisation didn’t come up on its own, some kid in the gang they were in questioned who they were and, really, all Spotter could say was, “I don’t know. Neither, I guess.” It was partially a joke at the time. Until it wasn’t.

Spotter has always sort of wanted to go on hormones, though any other procedure after that is still uncertain for them. It’s not due to a lack of want, but more due to a lack of funds and uncertainty about whether or not that will actually change anything about the way they see themself.

[artificialqueens]

Let’s Fall in Love for the Night, Chapter 1/2 (Gottrosé/Rosnali/Gottlux) - Sunflower

Chapter summary: Mik missed the physical aspects of having someone on call for things like consoling her after a tinder date gone wrong, or even just a one night stand to make breakfast for in the morning. It was hard, seeing her best friend and previous partner so fulfilled by something Mik had yet to experience. Sitting in a cozy apartment covered in coupley photographs and little houseplants, partially? It made Mik sick to her stomach.

A/N: Hi divas :)!! Here’s part one of two from a season 13 New York set multi-ship that takes place in a soulmate au!! I thought I would play around with some cross-over ships from the drag race franchise!! No trigger warnings but Mik is written as a trans-woman in this story and mentions their own (in story) dead name. (I’ve never written a trans main character before and never want to write anything insensitive/inaccurate so feedback is appreciated!!)

“It’s weird,” Mik pondered, looking after the assorted photographs framed on the walls of Rosé’s semi-shared apartment. Donut, Denali’s dog, holding a slobbery bone in the dog park with Rosé knelt beside her in cherry red athletic wear, then-ginger hair slicked back into a ponytail and face glowing under the afternoon sun. Denali and Rosé, side by side at her sister Jan’s wedding from only a few month’s prior, dressed in complementary shades of lavender and magenta with smiles stretching from ear to ear, the moment encapsulated behind glass in a slender gold frame. “Seeing you with someone else.”

Little touches of Denali were scattered throughout the apartment like lipstick stains, loose scrunchies instead of Rosé’s normal hair ties in a little catch-all bowl by the front door, the presence of weird little kitchen gadgets and almond instead of whole milk in the refrigerator door. Denali kept her Chicago apartment and her loft farther up in the city for when she needed down time to herself, and on nights when practicing down at the rink kept her out late at night and up and leaving early in the morning.

From behind the counter, Rosé spoke hesitantly, as she poured herself another glass of bubbly champagne colored liquid. “Good weird or bad weird?”

“Just… weird as in different. I didn’t take you for the settling down type..,” Mik interjected, sinking into a barstool across the counter from her slightly older ex-lover. “But she’s good for you,” the dark haired girl interjected, looking down into the condensating drink sitting in front of her, wishing that staring at a couple ice cubes could suck the awkward energy from the room out through her irises. “Denali, I mean,” she furthered, longing for the alcohol to overtake the dryness in her words as she sipped her drink. 

She wished she was lying, but Rosé meeting Denali was probably the best thing that could have happened to her. Finding her soulmate was something the singer always put on an act like she wasn’t desperate for, but internally, Rosé desired to encounter her other half as much as anyone, desired for that feeling of underlying longing to dissipate. When she ran into the Latina ice dancer during her trip to New York during the holidays, the two colliding outside a coffee shop in early December, something in the pink haired woman softened, letting down her harsh exterior in ways that Mik had never witnessed during their relationship as friends-with-benefits over the last year or so, pre-Rosénali. 

Even after only meeting her once or twice, Mik knew that Denali was genuinely good. She was bubbly and personable, and she shared the same subtle confidence and suave that her girlfriend did, but she pulled vulnerability out of Rose, made her more susceptible to not hide behind the overly confident and performative bold energy that sometimes felt exhausting to maintain.

Mik missed the physical aspects of having someone on call for things like consoling her after a tinder date gone wrong, or even just a one night stand to make breakfast for in the morning. It was hard, seeing her best friend and previous partner so fulfilled by something Mik had yet to experience. Sitting in a cozy apartment covered in coupley photographs and little houseplants, partially? It made Mik sick to her stomach.

“Believe me, I never thought I would be the type either,” she admitted, eyes expressing some sort of look at Mik couldn’t recognize. “I think growing up with Jan and Jackie made it hard to, seeing my sister be with this perfect person, it felt impossible for me to ever have anything close to that. She just… makes me better, and accepts all of me, which I think is all I could ask for from a person.”

Not that Mik could blame Rose for being so cautious around any kind of feelings, Jan and Jackie were the ideal outcome of the soulmate system. High school sweethearts after the Persian girl moved from Canada to New York, spending their years coupled up in immense happiness within their extended engagement and going to college together. One year post-graduation and the pair hosted a sapphic wedding worthy of the pages in a Vogue magazine spread.

A typical silence fell between the two girls, the sound of some miscellaneous Ariana Grande song hummed in the background behind them.

Sitting down beside her, Rose posed a question, gathering her hair into a haphazard ponytail as she spoke. A few strands of once-ginger and since then pinked hair escaped the elastic, Mik from only a few months prior would have held no qualms in leaning over to push back the stray hairs, to embrace a small gesture of intimacy. “Have you ever considered going back to LA? I know that it’s a sore spot but maybe…”

Snickering, Mik shook her head disapprovingly. “I’m not going back,” she retorted, letting a saddened laugh escape her. “Seeing Gigi and Crystal, the thought alone puts a sour taste in my mouth. If I’m really someone’s soulmate, the universe wil put them right here,” she remarked, seeing the look of pity washing over her former lover’s face. 

Los Angeles summoned primarily saddening memories for Mik as of late, remembering New Year’s Eve not so fondly, and that sinking feeling of walking in on Gigi, tangled and entwined amongst the torso of a young Latina woman with a head full of dark spiral curls. The voice of her partner calling out for her as she slammed the apartment door closed behind her, blubbering as hot tears traveled down her face in the backseat of an Uber on her way to crash at Kandy’s house.

“It just feels impossible, Rosie,” the young makeup artist softened, feeling hazel eyes focusing in on her as she. Continued. “What if… What if Kade was someone’s soulmate, not… not Mik,” she mumbled, feeling an unfamiliar sensation of tears blurring her direct vision. Crying was Joey’s gig, not hers, as she wiped away the tears cautiously, trying not to smudge her graphic black liner.

Mik embraced confidence in every area of her life, pre and post transition, and her internalized dysphoria when discussing soulmates was an insecurity that she had never mentioned to anyone before, her fear that her genuine, authentic self wasn’t something anyone was looking for. Her surgical procedures, whilst reaffirming of her identity and comfort in her identity as an out and proud trans woman, created unnecessary doubts in her thoughts regarding the soulmate system, as she herself, whilst surrounded by an amazing support system, had never personally met another transgender person who had experienced these feelings leading up to meeting their destined partner, outside of a handful of Hollywood swoon-stories. Growing up as a girl, born into and stuck in the wrong body, with a lack of trans representation, proved to be much more harmful to her than she could have known it would be in the long run, scared that she would be rejected, and cast out, or that maybe the universe didn’t make her a perfect partner.

“Mik, baby,” Rose shook her head in disapproval, sad for the worries she hadn’t known her friend possessed. “Someone out there is going to fall head over heels for every part of you, not the you that was trapped in the wrong body, this you, who’s the most strong, courageous, crazy talented human I’ve met in 22 years of being on this planet. I promise, your person is going to love you for you, and your soulmate would never judge you for something like that.”

[celosiaa]

steady, love (chapter 3)

Summary:

Martin is not doing well.

Jon is there with him through every step.

(because I became obsessed (tm) with the idea of Martin dealing with the physical and emotional aftermath of leaving the Lonely)

WARNINGS: a bit of dysphoria and depersonalization, nothing too graphic

Chapters 1-5 are up on ao3 under the same username!

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Oh, Martin.

The pitiful sight that greets Jon at the bottom of the stairs tugs at his heart strings.  Martin is seated on the small couch, shrouded as much as possible in a large crocheted blanket, rubbing his swollen eyes beneath his glasses.  Jon watches for a moment as Martin leans forward, elbows on his knees, and gives a miserable sniff.

Jon intentionally steps heavier as he enters the living room, doing his best to give Martin some warning of his approach.

Best not to startle him.

With the softest voice he can muster, Jon gently calls out.

“Martin?”

His attempts not to startle him are in vain, as Martin jumps bodily at the sound.  His head whips around, glasses falling askew over watery eyes, full alertness on his face.  Finding that the culprit had been Jon, he relaxes into an easy smile, pushing his glasses to their proper position.

Something warm pools in Jon’s stomach, and he cannot resist smiling in return.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.  How long have you been awake?”

Martin opens his mouth to answer, but snaps it shut after a moment before shrugging and turning away, gazing at the floor.  Jon stares at his back, frowning in confusion.  He then walks around in front of the coffee table, directly in front of him.  Martin’s eyes remain rooted to the ground.

“Are you…upset with me?”

At this, Martin looks up quickly and shakes his head with vigor.

“Then why won’t you talk to me?”  Jon says, a bit of frustration unintentionally creeping into his tone.

Martin’s eyebrows shoot up, and he shakes his head hastily again.  Taking a moment to swallow, he then opens his mouth with determination and croaks.

“I—”

Martin cannot manage any more has he breaks off into a fit of sharp, painful-sounding coughs.  He doubles over immediately, hands covering his face.

Shit.

Jon—guilt now flooding him—hurriedly sits down beside him, placing a gentle hand on his back.  After a few moments, Martin sits back up, with eyes streaming and one hand clasped at his throat.  Jon’s own eyes begin to tear with sympathy at the sight, and he begins rubbing slow circles onto Martin’s upper back.

“Oh, dear. Are you alright?”

Martin nods, not meeting his eyes.  Jon doesn’t need the powers of the Eye to know that he’s lying.

“What can I do?  Can I get you some water?  Tea, perhaps?”

Martin nods again, sniffling and lifting the collar of his t-shirt to wipe at his eyes.  Frowning at him for a moment, Jon stands and begins puttering around the kitchen for tea.

Black tea, steeped for three minutes, replace the sugar with honey…

Behind him, Martin sounds as if he’s fighting for control over his lungs, if the muffled sputtering is anything to go by.

God, he sounds awful.

Jon unscrews the cap on the jar and pours an unholy amount of honey into Martin’s tea.

Handing it to him, their hands brush briefly, and Martin meets his gaze—giving Jon the sunniest smile he has seen in a long time, watery eyes and all.  Jon can feel his face flushing, the corners of his mouth turning up involuntarily.  Martin huffs out a silent chuckle before closing his eyes and inhaling the steam rising from the tea.  His contented expression quickly falls, however, when something audibly bubbles in his chest upon exhaling.

Eyes snapping open, he gags and pitches forward, tea splashing over the rim of his mug.  Alarmed, Jon hastens to take it from his hands.

“Martin?” he inquires anxiously.

He holds his position for a few seconds, not daring to breathe, before it seems he can no longer avoid it.  He begins to expel deep, rattling hacks—and thick tendrils of smoke pour out of him in waves.  In shock, the mug Jon holds shatters on the ground, forgotten.

“MARTIN? What…oh god, here here—” Jon puts a hand on Martin’s shoulder before turning and looking wildly about the room, bracing to meet whatever threat may come through the fog.  His heart pounds loudly in his ears as he issues a single, repeated thought into the growing gloom of their cottage:

You can’t have him you can’t have him you can’t have him you can’t—

Desperately, Jon attempts to Know the threat, to understand it—but is knocked back with an overwhelming dizziness, every cursed Mark on his body lighting up with pain.  With a gasping cry, he falls to the floor, slamming onto his hands and knees.

Jon loses time for a moment, breathing through the pain as it slowly begins to recede.  When he drifts back to the present, all is quiet, and he senses a warm presence at his side.  Looking up, he finds that Martin has knelt in front of him, his hands hanging in mid-air, as if afraid to touch him.  Jon meets his gaze, and relief immediately floods Martin’s face.  He reaches out a hand to cover Jon’s as Jon shifts his weight back to sit on curled toes.

“Okay?” Martin mouths worriedly, no sound leaving him.

“Wha—”

Jon regards Martin’s concern with a look of bewilderment for a moment.

“I-I’m fine now, just…what was that?  What happened?”

Martin clears his throat and swallows.

“I think it’s the Lonely leaving me,” he whispers with difficulty.  He turns away to cough sharply, his hand returning to clutch his throat and tears welling in his eyes.

“What do you—"

Jon trails off as Martin wipes his eyes with his shirtsleeve, giving a wet sniff.  Jon sighs and squeezes Martin’s hand.

“Hang on, I’m going to grab you some paper and a pen, alright?”

Martin nods, leaning back against the couch from where he’s still sat on the floor.  Jon stands slowly, his abused knees aching in protest, before stepping into the kitchen to retrieve a notebook from his backpack.  He begins to head back, but stops abruptly, turning on his heel and retrieving a glass of water for Martin as well.

When he returns, Martin has sat himself back on the sofa.  Jon hands him the notebook and pen before sitting next to him, placing the glass on the coffee table. Leaning over his shoulder, he watches as Martin bends over the table to write in neat, slanting cursive:

I think it’s the Lonely leaving me.  Not sure though.

“How many times has this happened?

Just once this morning.  Gave me scare

Jon huffs a humorless laugh.

“Gave me a scare too.  But how—how do you know it’s leaving you?  That it’s not…I don’t know, making some sort of reappearance?”

I’m not sure, but when it happened this morning, I was thinking about—

Martin pauses his writing for a moment, blushing and twiddling the pen between his fingers.

—how nice everything was last night.  I felt really happy, and the smoke was there when I breathed out, like it was escaping

Martin underlines the word “nice” twice.

Jon blushes to the tips of his ears.

Get a hold of yourself Jon, for Christ’s sake.

Finished, Martin regards Jon’s flustered expression before letting out a chuckle that turns into a quick cough.  As he does so, a small wisp of smoke puffs from his mouth.

Jon clears his throat in an attempt to do so.

“It…looks like you might be right.”  They watch as the smoke curls and disappears as quickly as it appeared.

They hold the silence for a moment, both lost in thought.

Jon eventually looks back at him.  “Is this why you’re ill?”

Martin raises his eyebrows at this before leaning down to write.

I don’t know.  Maybe not though.  I think I’ve been a bit—

He twiddles the pen again.

—run down for a while.

Jon’s chest aches.

“…yeah.”

Martin turns toward him at this, regarding him thoughtfully.  After a moment, he taps Jon’s knee to get his attention before continuing to write.

What happened with you?  Did you to try to use your eye thing?

“Yes, yes—I-I thought something might be trying to attack us, so I tried to see what it was, but…it was a bit overwhelming.  I’m sorry if I scared you.”

Martin reaches out a hand to cup Jon’s face, before moving his lips soundlessly.

“Are you okay?”

Jon covers his hand with his own, giving him a lopsided smile.

“Yes, I swear Martin.  I’m alright now.”

Martin returns his smile and rubs a thumb over Jon’s cheekbone before dropping his hand.  He takes the glass of water from the table before leaning back against the couch, drinking it down gratefully.

After Jon recovers his ability to think something other than the constant stream of MartinMartinMartinMartin running unhelpfully through his mind, he notices that the flush on Martin’s cheeks seems a bit more permanent than his own.  His forehead is gleaming with sweat again, the bit of fringe that hangs over his face appearing damp.  Frowning, Jon places a hand on Martin’s brow, and Martin’s eyes flutter closed.

3͓̄͗8̩̝̃̾̚.̹͓̌ͯ̓1̜̓̔̾.̙

Jon Knows this without even trying.  He drops his hand and Martin opens his eyes, looking vaguely disappointed.

“Well, you’ve definitely got a fever,” Jon says softly.  “And I need to get us some food.”

Martin nods, his gaze dropping.  Jon carefully monitors his foggy expression as he continues.

“Will you be alright here if I go find the shop?”

Martin doesn’t look up, staring down into the empty water glass and running a thumb along the rim for a moment.  He then sits up, picking up the pen and bending over the coffee table once again.

Can I come and wait in the car?

Immediately as he finishes writing, Martin begins shaking his head, trying to cross out what he’s just written.

Jon places a gentle hand on his arm.

“No, no—stop, stop—”

Martin does, putting down the pen and sighing.

“Of course—of course you can come, alright?  It’s fine, Martin, really.”

He glances up at Jon for a brief moment before giving a small smile and nodding.

With a deep exhale, Jon stands from the sofa, knees objecting to the movement once again.

“Let’s run up and get ready then,” he says, offering Martin a hand, which Martin accepts.

Ten minutes later finds Jon peering into the small mirror hung on the wall, arranging his hair into a half-decent top knot.

This is not your face.

The thought hits Jon like a train, as pictures of himself from uni, from his first day of work, from his first day as head archivist flood his consciousness.  His old face…full, healthy, not covered in scars, his eyes still a deep brown rather than this aberrant green—

Let it go.  Just breathe it in and let it go.

What’s done is done.

Jon does not look back up at the mirror.

A few minutes later, Martin returns from the bathroom and begins rummaging through his bag while Jon sits on the bed, pulling on his shoes.  Jon turns from fiddling with his laces when he hears a distressed-sounding exhale coming from where Martin is kneeling.

“What is it?”

Looking over, Jon can see that Martin is holding his binder with both hands, staring down at it.  His brow furrowing, Jon walks over to him with a lopsided gait, as only one shoe has made it onto his foot.

“What’s wrong?” Jon repeats softly.

Martin lets out a damp-sounding huff before whispering a reply.

“Shouldn’t wear it when you’re ill,” he says, eyes brimming, and looks down.

Oh, darling.

“I…I’m so sorry,” Jon murmurs as he kneels down with him.  Unsure of what to say, he begins rubbing circles on Martin’s back as he takes measured, grounding breaths.

After a few moments of this, Martin exhales determinedly before placing his binder aside and pulling out a loose-fitting jumper instead.

“Thank you,” he whispers, patting the hand on his shoulder.

“Anytime.”

He gives Martin’s shoulder a final squeeze, and leaves him to it, grabbing his other shoe on the way out.

Jon waits anxiously on the sofa for a few minutes, wanting desperately to Know if Martin is alright, if he was okay to be left alone, but not wanting to invade his privacy.

Surely he’s fine.  He just needed a moment, and he’s fine.

His leg begins to bounce with worry.

Relief washes over him when he hears Martin descending the stairs.  Jon stands quickly as he enters the room.

Ignoring his red-rimmed eyes, ever-present sniffling, and unnatural flush, he looks…almost normal.  Almost Martin.  Jon gives him a lopsided grin, which Martin mirrors, and Jon thinks he sees his face grow just a shade more pink.  Martin then jerks his head toward the door, one eyebrow raised in questioning.

Jon barks out a laugh at this, before replying.

“Yes alright then.  Bossy.”

Martin chuckles a bit in response, before it morphs into chesty coughs muffed in his sleeve, thin tendrils curling gently from his lips.  When he turns back to Jon, he is grinning widely enough to show his teeth.

“Rude, making me laugh in this state,” he whispers.

Jon dissolves into laughter again, flicking out the light as they walk out the front door.

[daroamine]

i may or may not have written a small trans logan fic.

uh, here. take it.

feels like i'm somebody else

ao3 link

----summary----

“It’s not a manbun, Lexi! You’re a girl!”

Logan felt something in his chest plummet as he heard the words.

He turned and reached for the crofters in the cupboard so he wouldn’t be forced to look at Patton’s amused face. His stomach felt… Strange. Like he had butterflies, or he was hungry. It felt like it was twisted inside and, if he was honest, it felt awful.

--

Or

The fic where Logan is a closeted trans man, and the others really, really aren't helping.

Also his boyfriend is great.

notes:

This has been sitting in drafts for months because I'm unmotivated 24/7 but it's here and it exists. I'm pretty sure it's not what I wanted the ending to be but I don't remember my original idea, so have this one lmao. Title from the song 'Overwhelmed' by Royal & The Serpent.

---fic start---

“It’s not a manbun, Lexi! You’re a girl!”

Logan felt something in his chest plummet as he heard the words.

He turned and reached for the crofters in the cupboard so he wouldn’t be forced to look at Patton’s amused face. His stomach felt… Strange. Like he had butterflies, or he was hungry. It felt like it was twisted inside and, if he was honest, it felt awful.

His hand clasped the jam jar, and he noted absently that it was lightly shaking.

Ah. A not-good day, then. Logan typically was free from a lot of dysphoria, and for that he was immensely grateful, but today it seemed he would not be as lucky.

You’re a girl! You’re a girl, you’re a girl, you’re a girl...

The words repeated in his head like some sort of chant, and he inhaled shakily, gripping the jar to his chest in the hopes of grounding himself.

Patton was wrong. Logan was male.

Of course he was.

He was sure of his identity, he was a male. A man. Masculine.

His throat convulsed in a dry swallow, and he turned to take two slices of bread from the bag. His excitement and joy for the menial task of using crofters for breakfast had vanished, instead leaving an empty, aching feeling in his gut and chest.

He was a boy.

“Lexi?” the sweet voice behind him said, and he turned a little too jerkily to face him. “Could you pass me the pancake mix? The others will be awake soon.”

The bottle felt strange under his sweating palms, and he could feel how it shook in his grip.

He held onto it with both hands to mask the movements.

Girl, girl, girl, girl, girl-

Shut up.

Patton had already turned back around to start the pancake batch, and so Logan let his hands raise up to tug at his tie, the repetitive pulling somehow giving him comfort.

Patton was wrong, wasn’t he? Logan was not a girl. He wasn’t. He was a man. The other side simply wasn’t aware of his identity. It was of no consequence. It did not matter to him.

It did not matter to him.

He repeated it a few times in his mind, but the aching tight feeling behind his ribs did not seem to lessen.

And then, Roman had entered the room.

“Alexia, fair nerd! And how might you be on this fine morning?” his dramatic voice echoed throughout the kitchen, bouncing off the walls.

Alexia. Alexia, Alexia, Alexia…

“Fine, Roman.” he said flatly, looking at the doorframe so as not to meet his eyes.

Logan’s hands had dropped from his tie the second his friend had entered, and so now they lay at his sides, itching to move and fidget to rid himself of this bad feeling.

Honestly, was he going to get like this every time someone made a comment regarding his gender? It was ridiculous.

A hand was laid on his shoulder and he jerked back, the tail of his spine hitting the counter with a thud.

“Woah, there, Specs, just checking you’re A-okay. You seem a little off.”

Roman again.

Logan bit back a sigh, just nodding briskly and clearly replying, “I am quite alright, Roman. I merely haven’t woken up properly yet.”

His voice sounded high, feminine and airy. It made his stomach twist, and he made a note to himself not to speak too much today. It would only make him feel worse.

For the first time that day, he raised his gaze to rest on Roman properly.

The creative side’s freckled face was peering at him, and his hazel-brown eyes seemed mixed with concern. However, he backed off at the last statement and sat down, eyebrows still fixed in a small frown.

Logan’s hands fiddled with his tie again.

All he could think about was Patton’s comment.

It was from an innocent place, really. He had commented on how long Thomas’ hair was getting for all of them, and Logan had pointed out that his could probably fit into a man bun soon. It was distasteful slang, sure, but it was a staple term used in many places for that hairstyle.

“It’s not a manbun, Lexi! You’re a girl!”

Patton was only joking, he reminded himself.

So… Why did his chest feel like it was being squeezed? Why did it feel like he was just a little air short of normal breathing?

He didn’t notice another person enter this time.

Virgil was frowning, as per usual before his morning coffee. The anxious side immediately poured himself a cup, and took a long drink, before glancing at Logan.

Logan realised that this was when he was supposed to berate him on the affects of caffeine on anxiety.

He stayed silent and took a seat, hunching a little to let his shirt fall flatter.

White-knuckled hands gripped the sides of the chair.

Roman shifted easily from his chair into the seat beside him, as Patton still bustled around by the stove.

“One of those days, hm?” he asked quietly, putting a hand on his arm for a moment. Roman’s voice was soft and gentle and caring and Logan felt his chest just squeeze tight.

Blinking hard as an attempt to will the emotions away, he just nodded.

One of those days.

He hesitantly allowed himself to feel at least a little comfort from Roman’s touch, body ever so slightly relaxing-

“Is it that time of the month?”

A tiny noise came out of Logan’s mouth before he could stop it, and he tugged his arm from the other side’s grasp. His throat tightened harshly.

He wanted to just cry and scream and curl up and be a boy.

Logan stood, distantly hearing Virgil berating Roman, “You can’t just ask girls that! You know how Dee gets!” and he dipped his head.

Girl, girl, girl, girl, time of the month-

“Excuse me.” he whispered, choked, and sank out.

--

The second the items in his room came to view, Logan stumbled to his bed and sank down on it, face crumpling.

“I’m not…” he whispered, pulling his knees to his chest.

Not a girl.

“Not a girl, not… I’m a boy, a man, I am male. I-” Logan’s breath hitched and he let out a sob.

This wasn’t fair, this wasn’t fair at all. The other sides don’t feel this way when they are addressed, or talked to, this was different and bad and he hated it.

Deceit could easily live as a female, why couldn’t Logan? What was… Wrong with him? That made him feel like this?

‘You’re being ridiculous.’ he thought to himself harshly. ‘Stop being so immature. You are Logic, an adult. There is no need to get emotional over infinitesimal slights such as these.’

Yet still, he couldn’t seem to stop the tears.

How unbecoming.

Even the way he brushed his hair from his face was feminine, trembling hands feeling delicate and far too small for his body.

As he stared at them, he couldn't help but pray that they would get bigger. Pray that the added flesh on his chest that pushed against his lungs would just go away.

Pray that he wouldn't feel the dip of his waist and the thickness of his hips whenever he curled up into a ball.

Logan lay there for a while, crying silently into his knees.

There were a few times where he was sure he had heard knocking, but over the sound of his rapidly thudding heart, he could never be sure.

He couldn’t muster up the willpower to check.

His shirt was too tight, it clung to him, his chest, and he knew that unfurling from his ball would bring attention to that fact.

And he wasn’t sure if he could manage that right now.

It must have been a few hours of lying awake on his mattress, the light from the window warming as it reached around midday, when there was another knock.

He had calmed down completely by this point, and therefore could clearly hear the specific rhythm of the sound.

Dun. dundundun. Dun.

That was their signal.

Logan let out a hum, stretching out over his now messy bedspread and unlocking the lock with a flick of his wrist.

The door creaked open and closed.

A cold hand caressed his face.

“Hey, Lolo. How’s my handsome nerd feelin’?”

Logan let his eyes flutter shut, leaning into the touch.

He was going to be alright.

He was safe now, away from judgement, and at that moment, neatly pressed clothes crumpled and tear tracks on his cheeks, that was enough.

---fic end---

notes: I hope that somebody enjoyed this at least, and at the end it's vague but it's intended to be Remus.

BIG props to you if you read all this, ily a lot lmao.

Comments are also VERY WELCOMED. I love them! Even if it's just a smiley, anything to know that you might've enjoyed it is a big boost!

[the-small-one-to-rule-them-all]

What is this Feeling?

(no it’s not a wicked au, im sorry. Oooh that’s a good idea I might write that later) Summary: Logan tries desperately to figure out what the heck he is feeling. Virgil is a good boyfriend and is there to help.

pairings: Romantic Analogical, background romantic Royality

word count: 3425

warnings: Panic attack, social dysphoria (discussed and described), kissing/making out, as always, please tell me if i missed anything or you want anything tagged A/N: Here’s some hurt/comfort with analogical. Enjoy!!

Logan knows exactly one thing he is good at regarding emotions, keeping them locked away forever and never acknowledging them. Admittedly, he knows avoidance isn't the best policy for most any situation, but he cannot bring himself to face the avalanche of pain that is gnawing at his stomach right now, so he ignores it. 

The worst part of acknowledging it would include facing what brought it on. The fact that Virgil just referred to Logan as his boyfriend. That shouldn’t hurt. Logan loves Virgil. It should make him feel happy, happy that Virgil is willing to acknowledge their relationship, happy that he is lucky enough to be in this relationship, happy to be reminded of those things. He should not feel.... Whatever this is. Or what he is pretending to not feel. 

The knot in his stomach almost fades as some time passes, and then he overhears Virgil and Roman bickering in the kitchen over who’s boyfriend is cuter, and who is the better kisser, bragging about their respective boyfriends. It is sweet and endearing and Logan is happy that Virgil loves him so much, but with every use of that relationship label and every “he” and “him” Logan hears, the pit in his stomach grows, expanding upwards until it fills his stomach and becomes a tightness in his chest. It physically hurts and Logan wonders what is going on. When he hears Virgil refer to him as handsome, he knows he cannot control this ball of emotion rising in him any longer. He is going to break.

Logan quickly sinks out to his room as a lump starts to form in his throat. He locks himself in the bathroom. No one can see. No one can know what is happening. All these feelings are illogical. There is no reason for him to be sad. It would be inconsiderate to worry any of them with the brokenness that is these feelings. 

He stares himself down in the mirror. He grips the edge of the counter and tries the breathing routine he has Virgil use to calm down. He repeats the exercise again and again and again and again and nothing is happening. It isn’t working. The emotions are still welling up just as strongly as ever. He can feel them pushing at the back of his eyes, forming tears that threaten to spill. 

“No.” he whispers as he shuts his eyes, fighting back the tears, “no.”

Suddenly he hears a small knock on the bathroom door, Virgil’s knock.

“Hey, L, is something wrong or are you okay?”

Logan desperately wants to speak, to get Virgil to leave him alone so he can get through this by himself. But he suddenly feels his throat tighten. If he speaks he will cry. He cannot cry. Not now. Not with Virgil outside. If Virgil heard... he might just break the door down to get to him. So he stays quiet.

“L? Hey, I know you like your privacy, and I don't mean to intrude, but if you don't answer i'm going to come in, okay? You’re worrying me.”

Logan curses himself, the last thing he wants to do right now is upset Virgil. His options race through his head and he gives in. Virgil is coming in. He can't stop this. He is going to upset Virgil needlessly, he already has.

“I'm going to come in, okay?” 

He hears the door rattle and is relieved when he remembers he locked it.

“Logan?” Virgil says, and Logan can hear the panic rising in his voice, “Logan, please unlock the door. I'm really worried. Please.”

Logan sighs, he can't have Virgil panicking while he breaks down, now can he? That would just make him feel like a terrible partner. He places his forearms on the counter, leans his head on his hands, and with a flick of his wrist unlocks the door. Which opens almost immediately.

“Lo... what’s wrong?”

Logan hears Virgil close the door behind him and is grateful for the privacy.  

“Logan? Can... Can I touch you?”

If he says no then he is going to have to speak, so Logan taps once on the counter, their sign for yes. Just a moment later, he feels a hand gently touch his back, and that is all it takes. He lets out a quiet sob, and then another, and another until he is openly crying. He doesn't quite know what happens but somehow he finds himself on the floor of his bathroom with Virgil holding him, softly whispering calming words to him.

“I’m sorry. I'm not- You shouldn't-” Logan finds he can't even form a sentence. He wants Virgil to go, he doesn't want to be a burden, but at the same time he never wants Virgil to let go.

“Shh, hey, it’s okay. Talking can wait. You don't have to explain. I’ll still be here when you finish crying. I'm not going anywhere.”

Logan can feel himself give into Virgil’s calming words and let the sadness roll over him. Slowly, his cries fade and he is able to gain ahold of himself again. 

Virgil lets out a breath, “Are you hurt somewhere? Anything bleeding or broken?”

Logan shakes his head.

Virgil releases another breath and Logan feels his body relax under him a little.

They sit there in silence for a while. Virgil summons a glass of water for Logan who drinks it gratefully. 

Only when the glass is empty does Virgil speak again, “Could you tell me what happened?”

Logan sighs, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you.”

“I know.” Virgil assures him softly, “I'm okay now. But you didn't answer my question.”

Logan groans, “It is illogical. Things that should not have made me upset somehow upset me more than I could have anticipated. You shouldn't have had to deal with that.”

Virgil brings a hand up to play with Logan’s hair. “I came because I care. I'm your boyfriend, I kinda signed up to deal with you when you are feeling bad. And Lo, I didn't ask if your emotions were logical. I didn't assume that they were since most emotions aren't. I asked what they were and what caused them.”

Logan frowns, he is going to have to do this isn't he? Fine, might as well get it over with, “I... I don't know what words I would use to describe what I felt other than bad. This bad feeling has been coming up more and more lately and I don't know why or what to do about it because I don't know what I am feeling.”

Virgil hums and Logan can feel it vibrate against his hands, “That sounds frustrating.”

“It is.”

“Okay. Well maybe it would be better to focus on fixing the problem before identifying the feeling. Giving yourself space can help you think about it more clearly if you don't understand it right now. And besides, there’s no reason to keep feeling bad if something can be changed, even if you don't know why it makes you feel bad.”

Logan nods, that is logical, “I will have a hard time putting this into words and it might sound shocking or upsetting to you at first, but I promise, none of my feelings toward you have changed. Those feelings are pleasant and make me quite happy.”

“I'm glad I can make you happy, and thank you for warning me. What was it that upset you?”

“Well uh, i've been noticing that when anyone calls me he or him it feels uncomfortable. In fact, most masculine-coded language is feeling more and more uncomfortable. For example, being called “handsome” and being referred to with he/him pronouns makes me uncomfortable. ... So does being called or referred to as your “boyfriend”. Not, not because of the relationship aspect, I still love you and being with you, it’s just something about the term itself that upsets me. I cannot tell you why these words make me uncomfortable, it is illogical, and frustrating, but... they do.”

Virgil is quiet for a minute, “Was the use of those words in the friendly banter Roman and I had what upset you?”

Logan nods, “Which is ridiculous because you were being remarkably sweet and endearing and the compliments felt nice... but those other words didn't.”

Virgil shakes his head, “It is not ridiculous. It is okay to feel conflicted emotions because of that scenario. I would actually argue that it is logical.”

Logan shrugs.

“Thank you for telling me that those words upset you. For now, to address the problem as we understand it, I am happy to refer to you as my partner, if that term is better for you.”

Logan nods, “It is, I would appreciate that.”

“Okay. On that note, do you have an idea of what pronouns I should use for you while you figure this out?”

Logan thinks about it for a moment, “I think I might like to try they/them, if you don't mind.”

“I don't mind at all.” Virgil hums, holding Logan close, “Should we tell the others about the pronoun switch?”

“Yes, but not right now. Right now I want to clean my face and fix my hair.”

Virgil chuckles, “Okay Lo. I’ll wait in your room.”

Logan stands and helps Virgil to his feet. They turn and look at themself in the mirror, grimacing at the red and slightly puffy face that stares back. 

Logan sets about pulling themself together, combing their hair and adding a little hairspray, straightening their shirt, cleaning their face and applying cool water to the swollen and red areas, patting them dry as they calm. 

When they are done they replace their glasses and step out into their room to see Virgil waiting for them on the bed.

“Hey, feeling any better?”

“Yes.”

“Good, i'm glad.”

Logan hums and joins Virgil on the bed. They sit in silence for a moment before Virgil’s body stills for a moment and he seems to have a realization of sorts. He asks his next question slowly, as if he is thinking over each word as he says it, “Logan. Have you considered that maybe, you might not be a boy? Because it kind of sounds like you might be feeling dysphoric over the terminology we have been using for you.”

Logan is quiet, “No. I... I hadn't thought about that, but now that you mention it... I do think that might be something I should look into.”

Virgil nods, “That sounds like a good idea for something to do after dinner. When I came up there was about an hour until dinner, I'm not sure how much longer we have but I'm sure it isn't long. Do you want to go down now and let them know you’re okay, or would you rather wait up here until dinner is ready?”

Logan shrugs, “I would rather wait. Why don't we have dinner up here and you can help me research different genders and think through whatever it is that I'm feeling?”

Virgil smiles, “That sounds nice. I would be more than happy to help you process things and be here for you to bounce thoughts off of.”

Logan smiles, “Thank you.” They are quiet for a moment as they seem to ponder something, “If... if we do this research and I realise i'm not a boy... will you still love me?”

Virgil frowns, “Of course I will Logan! What would make you think that I wouldn’t?”

Logan folds their hands in their lap and looks down at them, “Well, you are gay, a boy who is attracted to other boys. So therefore, if I am not a boy... your feelings could change.”

Virgil’s face softens, “Come ‘ere.” He says making grabby hands at Logan.

Logan leans into Virgil’s tight embrace.

“I understand your concern, but Lo, my love is not so fragile that something like you making a new self-discovery would change my love for you. We will probably become wrinkled and gray and change in any number of ways as we grow. You could discover that you are asexual, aromantic, or even just a fan of anime. Would any of those changes make you wonder if I still love you?”

“No,” Logan mutters.

Virgil hums, “You wouldn’t question my love then, don't question it now. I love you Logan, for who you are. I wouldn’t trade you for anything or anyone.”

Logan buries their head in Virgil’s chest, “I love you too, Virgil. Sometimes I can't believe I managed to convince you to be mine.”

Virgil laughs, “You didn't convince me, all you did was ask.”

“Well still, I can't believe you love me. What did I do to deserve you starlight?”

Virgil shakes his head, blushing “You’re getting sappy on me, that breakdown must’ve tired you out more than I thought.”

“Is my sappiness a bad thing?”

Virgil shakes his head, “Never.”

Logan sighs, “Thank you V.”

“Any time Lo.”

A few moments later Patton appears in the doorway, knocking gently on the door, “Hey kiddos, if you both are up for it, dinner is ready downstairs.”

Virgil nods, “Okay Pat, thanks for letting us know.”

Patton smiles, sparing a small concerned glance at Logan before heading back downstairs.

Virgil watches him go and sighs, “He is worried about you Lo. Why don't we have dinner downstairs and let them know that you’re okay and then come up here and research after dinner?”

Logan sighs, “I suppose, if only to make sure they don't worry too much.”

“Thank you Lo. And, just so you know, I'm going to let you be the one to decide how to tell them your pronouns, I don't want to do or say anything wrong.”

Logan nods, “I appreciate that.”

Logan and Virgil take their typical seats at the table having filled their plates in the kitchen.

Patton smiles, concern still shining through his eyes, “I'm glad you two could join us, I was starting to get a little worried about you.”

Logan starts to cut up their food, “I understand, but I assure you Patton, everything is fine.”

Patton hums softly, obviously wanting to have gotten more of an answer, “I'm glad.”

Roman looks to Logan sheepishly, “I didn't say anything that offended you, did I? If I did, I apologize, I didn't mean to hurt you.”

Logan shakes their head, “You didn't offend me, though I appreciate you asking. You also didn’t hurt me, at least, not in any way I could possibly hold you accountable for. None of the things you were arguing about or said about me hurt me in any way. However, to avoid any potential future conflict, you should know, I want to start using they/them pronouns and be referred to with gender neutral language. For example, please call me Virgil’s partner as opposed to his boyfriend.”

Roman brightens, “Oh okay Logan. Thank you for telling me! I will do my very princely best to use your correct pronouns. But even I am not always perfect and I ask that you please correct me on your pronouns if I ever mess up or ask me to use a different term if one bothers you. My teasing isn’t intended to actually hurt, you know.”

Logan looks up from their food with a faint smile on their face, “Thank you, Roman. I will keep that in mind.”

“Same thing goes for me too, kiddo. I will do my best to switch as fast as possible and please correct me if I mess up and don't catch myself.”

Logan can't help the grateful smile that grows on their face, “I... really appreciate that, both of you.”

Patton shrugs, “It’s the respect you deserve Logan. We won't give you any less.”

Roman shoots a mischievous smile at Logan, “So, does that mean I am still allowed to brag about how Patton is definitely the better kisser out of you two?”

Logan looks Roman dead in the eyes, “I hope you know that if we were not sitting here eating dinner I would be over there proving you wrong.”

Roman sets his bite down, a smirk growing on his face, “Oh, really? Why don't you come over here and do it anyway, you disaster nerd?”

Logan looks at Virgil, raising an eyebrow, “You mind if I...?”

Virgil shakes his head, “No, go for it.”

“Patton?”

“Oh, I don't mind.”

With that Logan stands and walks round the table to where Roman is sitting. They proceed to straddle the man, sit in his lap, and kiss the, metaphorical, hell out of the prince. They don’t relent in the slightest until they pull a little whine from him. When they do they promptly pull away, stand and walk back over to their seat, bothering only to fix their tie and nothing else, face remarkably neutral about the whole thing.

“Did I make my point?”

Roman is so shocked and disheveled that he barely knows how to respond. He sits there gaping like a fish for a moment before nodding, “I suppose so.”

Logan lets the faintest bit of a smile grace their lips, “I will take that as a yes,” They decide. 

Patton chuckles.

As Logan turns their attention back to their food, they notice Virgil eyeing them from his seat, “Yes V?”

“That was really hot.”

Logan chuckles and the dinner proceeds as normal while Logan rests in the newfound comfort of being seen and accepted.

Later that night Logan and Virgil are sitting up against the headboard of Logan’s bed researching. Virgil has his laptop resting on his knees with a list of different nonbinary genders and their definitions pulled up. They have gotten halfway through and at this point Logan is just... utterly done. They are so confused and tired of thinking about feelings, which, while typically difficult for them, has proved more frustrating, confusing, and infuriating than normal.

“This is so complicated! Why are feelings so difficult and hard to define? I have no clue how I feel, so how am I supposed to be able to identify it on this list of terms? How do people know themselves well enough to figure this out?!”

Virgil sighs and takes Logan’s hand, running his thumb gently over their knuckles, “Hey, it’s okay. You don't have to figure this out tonight. In fact, why don't we stop for now? You have lots and lots of time to think about all of this. You don't have to know right away, and that’s fine.”

They groan, “What if it takes five years and I still haven't figured this out?”

Virgil chuckles at Logan’s dramatics, “That would be fine. I mean I am sure it would be frustrating, but it would be okay. You don't have to settle on anything specific if you don't want to. You are allowed to just be you.”

Logan sits up suddenly, “Wait, I don't need to choose a specific label?” the thought hadn't even occurred to them, probably because of their intense desire to put everything into boxes, they hadn't realised the box could be so big.

“No, not at all. You don't even have to choose something that feels like it gets it completely right, you can just go with whatever feels closest. Or you could just go with nonbinary or genderqueer and call it a day. Labels are there for your comfort, for giving you language you can use to express yourself to others, they don't have to fit perfectly.”

Logan sighs, “That’s a helpful reminder Virgil thank you.” They pause, a question forming, “What was that term you mentioned... genderqueer I believe it was?”

Virgil nods and scrolls down the list a little until he finds it, “It is when one’s gender falls outside of the two binary genders. An older term, similar to nonbinary.”

Logan is quiet for a long time as they toss the word around in their head, “Hmm.. genderqueer... I kind of like that, at least for now.”

Virgil smiles, putting his laptop away “So, Logan is my genderqueer partner. They don't like puns, but I like the label because as they know, gender is rather queer.”

Logan rolls their eyes and groans at him, but smiles, “Thank you for using it in a sentence for me. I like genderqueer. It feels nice.”

“I’m glad.” 

“And you still love me?

Virgil pulls Logan into his arms, “I love you all the way to Pluto and back Lolo.”

“I love you too.” they say, snuggling into Virgil’s chest and happily drifting off to sleep.

[villlainarc]

From the Gutter to the Stars

Summary: Virgil’s night is going terribly, but dysphoria does that to you sometimes. It’s fine. He’s all alone and he’s tired and he wants to hide from the world and himself, but he’ll be fine.

(Virgil is not fine. At least, not until his friends pay him a visit at three in the morning and remind him that he will be.)

Pairings: Anxceitmus/DRLAMP/LAMP (written to be platonic, but can be read romantically if you so choose)

Warnings: dysphoric thoughts, self-loathing, one (1) swear word

Word Count: 1922

Notes: slightly late, but this is for @figurative-siren-song because he’s wonderful and deserves all the happiness in the world :D

_________________________

Virgil couldn’t sleep. Having to deal with your own thoughts did that to you sometimes, and he really didn’t appreciate that it did.

His night had started out perfectly fine, sure, but that was before he’d looked in the mirror and seen his face and everything that came with it. He’d sent a venomous look at his delicate nose and long lashes, his lips that were too full and too pink and not right, his waist that was too small, his hips that were too wide, and his hair that was becoming far, far too long for his taste, but each of those features had remained stubbornly on his body. And his chest— Virgil didn’t even want to think about his chest. He shuddered, wishing that his gaze had truly managed to poison every part of him that didn’t belong.

Drawing his knees to his chest, Virgil hid his head between them and squeezed his eyes shut as though that would stop him from being as awful and ugly as he was. It didn’t, of course, and the only thing it succeeded in doing was burning a too-vivid image of each of his flaws into the back of his eyelids. Virgil hugged his legs closer.

There was no comfort to be found alone in his room, but that was okay. Virgil had gotten through bouts of dysphoria like this before, and he’d been alone then just as he was now. This too would pass, and he would be fine.

That didn’t make thinking any less nausea-inducing, but the empty comfort did remind him to breathe just a bit more slowly.

Then he was restless again, his mind moving too fast, too fast, too fast and he needed to do something. Normally, Virgil would blast music and block out his thoughts for a little while, but it was past three in the morning. He doubted anyone would appreciate being woken up, and he knew from experience that headphones would only make him feel more trapped in a body that he refused to think of as his own.

So Virgil was left with nothing but his empty room, utterly alone and pacing across a floor alight with beams of moonlight that had managed to slip through a crack in his curtains, his mind alight with the spark of thoughts he wanted—needed—to get rid of.

He’d only been pacing a few minutes when Virgil begrudgingly admitted to himself that it was doing nothing.

He needed to do something else, something that would distract him from the fact that he was too short, his hands and fingers to lithe and small, his—

Virgil took a breath. What he needed to do was breathe.

His friends. The other sides. Logan, Roman, Patton—any one of them or all three. They could help him, he was sure of it. All he had to do was ask. All he had to do was knock on one of their doors. All he had to do was admit out loud that he wasn’t created right and be vulnerable and become even more of a burden than he currently was.

That was going to be a hard pass on his part, now that he thought about it.

Deceit and Remus wouldn’t need any sort of explanation though, and he’d grown up with them. If anyone could help, it would be them.

It really was too bad, then, that he’d abandoned them.

So no, he definitely was not dealing with that.

Coping mechanisms, then. Those should help, right? Right.

Music was already out, and so was pacing. Journaling would only make him more aware of thoughts he was desperate to ignore, and so would meditation and grounding exercises.

Coloring might help distract him for a while, he thought. At least, he thought that until he remembered that coloring was an activity done by little girls and he was not a little girl.

Then coloring was out too, apparently. He could add another patch to his hoodie? But that would mean taking it off, and he really couldn’t do that right now.

Fidget cube? No, that would do about as much as the pacing had—meaning it would do absolutely nothing.

He could put on his binder, but his chest already felt too tight and he could barely breathe as it was.

He could…

He could…

Virgil didn’t know what he could do. He sat back down on his bed and curled in on himself, defeated by his own mind.

A small voice chose that moment to pipe up that his friends would really be helpful right now, but Virgil shoved it back down. Nope. He wouldn’t bother his new friends and risk ruining those fragile relationships forever, and he couldn’t face his old ones. Instead, he would stay locked in the silence of his room and trapped at the same time in the deafening noise of his mind.

Well. At least, he would after he got a drink of water. It was the least he could do for this wretched body of his he supposed, and besides—he could try to sleep once more after that. The glass of water might even help him in that regard.

Quietly, Virgil padded across the floor to his door, opening it just a crack to check that he was alone in his wakefulness. Satisfied by the empty space that greeted him, he opened it the rest of the way and made his way to the kitchen, guided by the dim light of the refrigerator.

As he was reaching up to grab a glass from a cabinet, Virgil heard a noise. Startled, he pulled his hand back to his chest and spun around, wide eyes searching for any and every possible source of it. He squinted out at the dark void ahead of him. “Hello?”

When no response came after a few seconds, Virgil turned back to the cabinet with a slightly confused frown lingering on his face. He shook his head, concluding that he’d simply been hearing things. This time when he reached for a glass, he was able to put it on the counter before there was another noise.

Spinning around again, Virgil mused to himself that it had sounded like— no. It probably wasn’t, so he wouldn’t get his hopes up. Still seeing nothing, he took the glass from where he’d set it down, walking over to the fridge to fill it up.

“Boo.”

It took everything in Virgil not to let out an earsplitting shriek and deck the person who had snuck up behind him square in the face. He had just enough self-control to avoid doing that though, so instead, both his hands shot to cover his mouth as the glass he’d been holding fell to the floor, forgotten in his panic.

As though in slow motion a hand shot out to catch it a split second before it shattered on the tile. The owner of the hand let out a sigh. “I did say not to scare him, didn’t I?”

“And I said it would be fine, didn’t I?”

“And you were wrong, as per usual. Just as I’d said you would be.”

“Oh, come on, DeeDee! Nothing’s broken, right?”

“No thanks to you.”

Before either of them could say anything else, Virgil hissed out, “Hi, so sorry to interrupt this absolutely vital conversation, but why the fuck are you here?”

“Are we not allowed to visit our friend when his half-hearted lies and intrusive, dysphoric thoughts are so tangible that we know he’s not doing well?” Remus pouted.

Virgil blinked. “Your what now?”

“Friend,” Deceit repeated for him, sounding every inch the exhausted mom they were. “We were far too close to let a little disagreement like that get in the way of anything. Now, surely you didn’t think that just because you abandoned us unceremoniously we weren’t friends anymore, did you?”

“…No, that was exactly what I thought, and for a good reason! I didn’t even say goodbye when I left, I had no reason to think we were still…” Virgil made a vague gesture with his hands. “You know.”

“Friends?” Remus asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah. That.”

“Come now, Virgil. We were family, and family doesn’t abandon family. Especially not when they’re at their lowest and most alone.”

“Yeah, but I abandoned you.”

“Yeah, and we forgive you. But you were gonna say sorry soon, weren’t you?”

“Remus, for once could you not—”

“No, he’s right. I— I am sorry. I don’t know why I just— left like that. There’s no excuse for that, and I guess I wanted to—”

“Shh, darling. We don’t need an explanation right now. We’re here for you anyway, aren’t we, Remus?”

“Yep! I’ve got the best Buzzfeed Unsolved episodes ready for us back in my room, and there are snacks, and—”

“Actually, can we just… stay here for now?”

“Absolutely, dear.”

“Mhm, agreed. Besides, I see a couch that looks absolutely perfect for cuddles, so I think that’s exactly what we should do.”

Virgil gives a shaky smile. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

With that permission given, Remus promptly picked up Virgil bridal style and collapsed backward into the couch with a laugh, motioning for Deceit to join them. They did so, settling themself down primly next to Remus and watching their two friends fondly.

Then Remus dragged them into the impromptu cuddle pile and, dignity having been ripped violently from their grasp, Deceit allowed themself to relax into it. They did try to fight it, slithering upright a little bit more, but then they rested their head on Remus’s shoulder and took Virgil’s hand into theirs, so it was safe to say that their dignity truly was long gone. “Do you want to talk to us about anything?” they asked, running a thumb comfortingly over the back of Virgil’s hand.

“Not right now. I think I’m just going to—” Virgil paused to yawn, “—try and sleep for now. Thank you guys though, really.”

“We’ll still be here in the morning, Virgey. We aren’t going anywhere.”

And they didn’t, holding Virgil close to their chests until morning dawned, remaining on the couch even after Patton stopped short at the scene in front of him, even after Logan brought over one steaming cup of coffee for each of them, even after Roman almost woke Virgil with the loud announcement of his arrival, even after all three of them had joined Remus and Deceit in the living room with Virgil. They would all wait there until he woke up, and then they would assure him that they could and would be there for him at any hour of the day if need be. They’d remind him of his broad shoulders and strong jaw, his muscled arms and his voice that was growing lower by the day. They’d remind him that no matter what he thought and no matter how much his body didn’t feel like his own, he was handsome inside and out. They would tell Virgil how much they loved him, and how they were so glad that he was who he was, flaws and all.

And Virgil would smile, blissfully content with who he was.

For now though, they let him sleep. He was smiling there, all wrapped up in Remus’s arms with his head resting on Deceit’s shoulder, and no one was going to do anything to wreck that peaceful smile of his.

Besides, they all loved him—his new family and his old—so they would always wait for however long it took to tell him so.

_________________________

find other stuff i’ve written under #writings from the stars

[inserttemptitlehere]

An unasked for “moderate” take on TERFs v Trans rights

Nobody asked, I might get cancelled for this (probably by both sides), and honestly I don’t have much belief that this will even be read by many people. But it’s frustrating seeing people being condemned for reasonable fears and requests and I just feel the need to put my opinions out into the ether just to have them out there and so I can stop dwelling on them every time I see stuff like this happen again. 

Like, I just want to slap all the TERFs that purposefully misgender people and spout transphobic rhetoric. And I want to shake everyone who labels anything that complains about misogyny specific to cis women as TERF-y. God.

It seems like many “TERFs” are not actively malicious (although many definitely are), but are merely women who’ve been sexually assaulted or just been ground down by the patriarchy and are understandably (although not necessarily justifiably) scared/upset at the thought of any person with a male body coming into their safe spaces or into their fought for institutions. Whereas most trans people just want to live their lives and be accepted as the gender they identify as without wanting to cause any harm to anyone (although again, there are some they definitely do). 

I personally found much of JK Rowling’s recent essay to be fear mongering, but given that she suffered abuse from her husband I could understand and sympathize with why she had those fears even though I disagree with her conclusions about the actions society/government should take regarding them. I honestly just feel sad for her. I feel sad that the experiences she’s been through have made her so scared. I feel sad that despite the millions of dollars she’s donated to charity and work she’s done to make the world a better place she has now hurt so many people and this action will be what she’s remembered for. I feel sad that the extremely angry responses she’s gotten will most likely only solidify her fear and perpetuate her actions that will most likely cause more hurt for more people.

I’ll also say that her original tweet that sparked it all was valid! It is dehumanizing to reduce people to their genitals (ironically something people say TERFs do) and it erases the fact that almost all of these people are targeted because they are women. And it feels somewhat sexist as I’ve never seen an article refer to a certain group as “penis havers” or “semen producers”. I can, however, still see how it would be exclusive however to only refer to “people who menstruate” as “women”. A better wording would’ve been “women and trans men”. Because then no one would be left out. And don’t @ me about that somehow leaving out ‘trans women’, because guess what, there are cis women who don’t menstruate! If we can recognize that “Not all men” is a bad take, why on earth are we accepting “Not all women” as a correct one?

Look, not all cis women menstruate. Not all cis women can or do become pregnant. But we still label these as generic ‘women’s issues’ because they affect a large portion of women. But it should go both ways! I believe that makes the gross femininity trans women need to perform to qualify for hormones a ‘women’s issue’ and the difficulty of getting insurance to cover said hormones a ‘women’s issue’. Because they’re issues that affects a large portion of women. Heck, I know most Transmen find the fact that some TERFs include them in their feminism irritating, but I’m also fine with including specific issues affecting the ones that don’t feel that way as ‘feminist issues’.

I am 100% against misgendering people, am 100% supportive of including trans women’s specific issues as part of the overall fight to help women, and I will happily state “transwomen are women”. But, I do agree that there are a handful of cis women spaces/institutions that it becomes morally grey to accept transwomen into without any sort of provisions. Especially given the fact that if there were absolutely zero strings attached to legally identifying a certain way, then there are definitely cis people who would abuse the system. Personally, I don’t think we should completely structure our society based on these fears - although I can again understand the people who have not had as privileged of a life as I have feeling differently (even if I ultimately disagree with them).

Anyway my take on said spaces/institutions:

Bathrooms: Single parents of opposite sexed kids already use the opposite gendered bathroom to teach them how to use it (and should be allowed to). If a cis man wants to rape you in a bathroom that you’re alone in, I don’t think the societal norms are really going to stop him. And since trans people just want to use the bathroom in peace, let them. Maybe it’s because I’ve never felt comfortable peeing in public and thus never felt the bathroom to be a ‘safe space’, but I’ve never understood the argument against this.

Changing rooms: Go where you identify. If you start acting like a creep, then there should be some course of action to either get you banned or limit your access to said changing room. That policy should hold for cis or trans people.

Women’s support groups: Already made my opinion on this clear I hope. Although I will say that if talk about certain genitalia/bodily functions is triggering, it’s not right to shut down all discussion regarding those things for the other people there. Instead we should have, you know, trigger warnings so that everyone can either prepare themselves accordingly or leave the room and no one is triggered or feels like they are unable to talk about their issues.

Rape shelters: It is 100% valid for a cis woman that was a victim of rape to not want to share their space with someone with a working penis. If there is absolutely nothing that can be done to make said person feel safe, then it should be the right of the shelter to refuse long term stay to the person causing that issue (through no fault of their own) - although the shelter should do everything it can to make sure the trans woman has a place to stay/go. On the other hand, if a trans woman was already there before such a victim, it would not be right to toss out the trans woman to grant access to the cis woman who has the problem with them.

Sports: I personally don’t know enough of the science behind it, but it seems to me that bare minimum they shouldn’t be allowed to compete without doing hormone therapy. And even then the skeletal differences and remaining hormonal differences may still prevent things from being reasonably fair (although I wouldn’t know). It’s definitely not fair to let a trans person pre-hormones compete on the team their gender matches with. Honestly, in an ideal world we’d somehow have an objective way to sort sports into co-ed groups based on athletic ability similar to how weight classes work for wrestling.

Prisons: Non violent crime? Go where you identify. Violent crime? Sorry, gotta go based on your sex (unless you’ve had bottom surgery). It is immoral to lock a convicted rapist with a penis in a cell with women who have no way of getting away from them. I mean, maybe we could have ‘wings’ for trans people so they could go to the prison they identify as and they’d just have separate cells. But until that becomes the norm, the few violent trans criminals should not be allowed to go where they identify.

Kids: Not an institution, but definitely a hot topic. Personally, I think only puberty blockers until they hit adulthood and extensive therapy to make sure that they are in fact trans. Admittedly JK Rowling’s essay about this bit sounded a bit like, “The spooky trans cult is coming for your neurodivergent and gay children!” But it did have small feeling of truth to it as well. As a GNC, cis, autistic woman who had dysphoria as a teen I also worry that I might have been incorrectly diagnosed as trans if I’d been born later. But I don’t think it’s something we as a society need to be extremely worried about or use as an excuse to make things harder on trans kids and adults. We just need to make sure that kids get the therapy they need to sort out whether they’re trans or just having the common dysphoria you have as a teen and chafing against gender roles. We can rubber stamp adults if they want, it’s only kids that should have to go through some minor hoops.

Finally, on being “Gender Critical”. I have to say, the idea of smashing the concept of gender and everybody just living as they are with no societal expectations for them to be one way or another based loosely on their biological sex sounds wonderful. I’m just upset that so many who support this concept are so transphobic because technically in that future there would be no ‘trans’ people (except those that suffer dysphoria) and they feel this gives them the right to act horribly towards trans people. I did recently talk to some TRAs who explained to me that, unlike ‘Gender Critical’ proponents, their ‘gender’ model is split into multiple components. That you’ve got your biological sex (your parts), your gender identity (what you feel you are), your gender presentation (how you dress and act), and gender roles (how society expects you to act based on your gender). So it seems to me, that we can still reach a version of that wonderful future that doesn’t erase people. Smashing gender roles and the idea that there is a ‘correct’ way to present as a gender would achieve ‘female liberation’ while still allowing for people who still desire to identify a certain way. We shouldn’t completely do away with gender, just the things that society expects from it. 

[phobiadeficient]

Hey! First of all tell ya that holyfcknshit your writing gives me life! Like, ugh, youre my fckn fave writer!!! Aaaand this is my first request!: Transboy!Scout x Sniper x Demo! Maybe a little hurt/comfort centered on Scout? I just rlly love this three guys together!! Anything with them makes me happy! And your writing with this ship? Ugh ill be in heaven!! You dont have to do it if u dont like or arent comfy with it, tho! Thanks for letting us read your wonderful works!!

can you imagine being scout tf2 in this situation? “yeah im getting a little dysphoria guess i’ll talk to my two hot boyfriends abt it” like can you Imagine

(warnings for discussion of dysphoria and non-graphic PIV sex, i understand that not all trans men are comfortable with that but when i headcanon scout as trans i also tend to headcanon him not being particularly prone to most kinds of body dysphoria and having a generally positive self-image overall. just wanted to be clear on that)

-

Overall, Scout felt pretty nice. With his two guys, fresh off of dinner and just a little bit buzzed, squished between the two of them all cozy and stuff, and Sniper was playing with his hair and Demo was telling some story about a dumb kid he knew in school and stuff was overall just real nice.

And of course his stupid brain had to come along and ruin it by making him think about sad shit.

They were in Demo’s room since he was the only one of them who was smart enough to get a big mattress. Scout had Sniper’s arm just sort of thrown over across him, he and Demo’s hands intertwined on Scout’s stomach, and he just kinda looked at them for a minute. He thought it was kinda neat just seeing all the little details there, how Demo kept his hands cleaner but his nails were longer, Sniper’s clipped way short but still just a bit dusty. Or maybe that was just his callouses and some weird tanning sort of thing going on, who could say? Demo’s hands always kind of ran warm, and Sniper’s always kind of ran chilly, and Scout would go way warm or cold depending on the day, super susceptible to temperature because he was such a skinny little fuck.

Maybe that’s what he was staring about. Looking at their arms, it was made all the more clear how much scrawnier Scout was. It wasn’t even like Sniper was a particularly buff guy, he could be described as “in-shape” at best, but he was still just... bigger than Scout.

And the other thing, he realized, was that man, Demo and Sniper were both pretty fuzzy dudes. Hair on their arms and legs and all across their chests, Demo with a pretty nice beard and Sniper with almost a beard on accident.

Wham, just like that, like a bat to the temple, self-consciousness, self-doubt. Because that was just one of those little tiny things that Scout would get super insecure about all the goddamn time. Just the little tiny differences. Like the slightly different jaw, the slightly longer eyelashes, the slightly different build. And Scout was lucky, he knew that, because he was tall, and he knew how to work out to build his muscles so he could pass pretty easily in that regard, and his chest wasn’t anything to brag about to start with let alone when he started binding.

But the lack of facial hair, and the hair everywhere else on his body being kind of pale and nothing, and his scrawnier arms, it just...

He exhaled slowly, letting his eyes fall closed. Okay, he needed to slow down and take a breath. Here he was, squished between his two favorite guys on the planet, and who just so happened to be willing to date him and sleep with him on a regular basis, and who were also really hot, and he was getting all up in his own head over nothing. It was dumb. He needed to quit it.

But his brain kept cycling him through it, again and again, and it was Sniper who eventually pulled him out of it.

At some point he’d started playing with the hair on Sniper’s arm, just sort of fiddling, pushing his fingertips across his forearm idly, and Sniper tilted his head to watch him do so. That made Scout suddenly aware that he was doing it, and he faltered for a second, but he continued anyways, even as it made his thoughts a little harder to ignore when doing it consciously.

“One day, love,” Sniper said quietly, and Scout looked up at him, a little wide-eyed with surprise. Sniper smiled a little. “You’ve been doing that for about twenty minutes and staring off into space like you’re waiting for your spouse to come back from the war, love, it was a pretty easy guess to make,” he elaborated.

Scout looked back down and away. Chewed on his lip and his words.

“Is it, like,” Scout started, and had to pause for a second to think of how to word it right. “Is it ever,

y’know, weird? How I’m all... smooth and stuff? And not fuzzy like you guys?”

“Not particularly,” Demo shrugged, the shift minute since Scout could feel it. “Not a big difference.”

“I’ve met plenty of blokes who shave or wax anyways to look nice for other blokes, you’re a good few steps more hairy than them,” Sniper added.

Scout nodded slowly. “...And the... you’ve already said all the other stuff isn’t weird,” he said carefully.

“Aye,” Demo agreed.

Scout was quiet again for a few seconds.

Sniper stopped playing with his hair and removed his hand entirely, and Scout went to complain about it, but was surprised into staying quiet by Sniper rolling to prop himself up over Scout, looking down at him. “Love, are we not telling you enough how handsome you are?” Sniper teased.

Scout flushed. “You tell me plenty,” he mumbled, glancing off.

Sniper took hold of his chin and tilted him back to face him, mouth very very close to his own. “Could tell you more.”

“Could show you more,” Demo agreed, finding a place to wrap his arm over around Scout, kissing at the space under his ear and making him shiver lightly.

“I—guys, it’s fine,” he protested, but it was weak and halfhearted, because Sniper promptly moved to the other side of his neck to nip and kiss, following Demo’s lead. “I-I-I don’t need the... the extra sort of, the...”

He kept trailing off as his breath caught, the two of them being extremely distracting when they wanted to be. He jumped lightly when Demo pinched him lightly on the side, and heard the rumbly little chuckle of amusement that the motion got him.

They finished off getting him properly distracted, Demo parting with one last hard kiss on the lips, and then they were both just grinning down at him, leaving him there probably looking like a complete mess, spots on his neck surely starting to redden.

“Handsome,” Sniper observed simply.

“Gorgeous,” Demo agreed, and gave him another peck for good measure.

Scout’s face was on fire.

“...Well what are you gonna do about it?” he finally prompted impatiently, shifting a little.

Chuckles from both of them, and then they were in motion, starting to strip.

Scout took off his own briefs and the tank he used to bind when they were off work, and mostly just set to distracting Demo as the other tried to get out of his own clothes, much simpler than his uniform but more challenging when Scout was hanging off of him and kissing him absolutely silly.

Sniper pulled Scout off of Demo and back into his lap to free up Demo’s attention for a moment, and Scout’s breath caught as he felt a bare chest against his back and bare thighs under his own. Sniper kneaded at his thigh idly and tucked his head in to nose just under Scout’s ear and speak. “How d’you feel like doing this, love?” he asked softly, sentence punctuated by a little kiss. “Feels like it’s gonna be your night tonight, that sound right, Tavish?”

A sound of agreement from Demo as he struggled free of his shirt. Scout chewed on his lip and thought a little, shifting his weight back against Sniper and enjoying the way Sniper steadied him with arms wrapped around his waist, the hardness beneath him, situated in such a way that he had to really roll his hips down hard to apply any kind of real pressure and make Sniper exhale softly against his neck.

“I dunno, you could fuck me, maybe,” Scout suggested idly, rolling down against him again for emphasis.

Sniper considered that. “We got any rubbers, Tavish?” he asked, and Demo paused where he was pulling free of the last of his clothing, thinking.

“...Should,” he confirmed, moving to the bedside table to check, and coming up with a few foil squares a second later triumphantly.

“Alright then,” Sniper nodded, kissed at Scout’s neck some more. “Who d’you want for what then, love?”

“You fuck me, just like this, I suck Demo off,” Scout decided, eyeing up the bomb-maker in question as he joined them on the bed again, now naked and smiling a bit as he passed over the condoms to Sniper.

“Sounds good to me,” Demo agreed, and pulled Scout in with a hand on the back of his neck to kiss him, other hand drifting over his thigh and guiding him up into a kneeling position to give Sniper room.

Then there was a pair of fingers drifting along the inside of Scout’s thigh, moving between his legs to tease him for a few long moments before Sniper was slicking them up and slipping them inside with relative ease. Scout moaned softly against Demo’s mouth, earning a chuckle.

“Lovely thing,” Demo teased, both hands stroking over his thighs as they started to tremble under the force of Sniper’s fingers moving into and against him in throbbing waves, a skill afforded by experience he’d only gained since he’d gotten with Scout, but fuck, he’d really learned a lot in a short period of time, knew exactly what Scout liked, knew his tells, knew when he could add another finger, knew when he could pull his fingers out altogether and guide Scout back down into his lap carefully, carefully, and Scout was grateful that Demo had the foresight to get lubed condoms because the slide was so nice as he sank down.

Demo pulled back to let Scout moan and curse and make all sorts of noise, visibly admiring the show as Scout rolled and shifted his hips to try and find a good angle, Sniper muffling soft noises into his shoulder. A long few moments were spent with Scout trying desperately to get used to the feeling, only to be thrown off his rhythm as he found a good angle, then again as Sniper rolled his hips gently and the pressure shifted, then again as Demo pulled him back into a kiss.

“Gorgeous,” Sniper murmured against the top of his vertebrae, kissing there lightly, breathless. “Gorgeous thing.”

“You’re—“ Scout started to say, but it was cut off by a shaky sigh as Demo nipped at his bottom lip playfully, Sniper mirroring the motion against his backbone.

In no time at all, he was shifting his legs slightly to get comfortable and starting to move, a gentle up-and-down, barely exerting himself with how extremely fit he was, himself doing most of the work with Sniper rolling along when he could.

And Scout was lost in sensation for a little while, and Demo had been making himself busy lying a series of hickies all up one side of his neck, so he was a little surprised and largely pleased when he blinked his eyes open and saw that Demo had a hand around himself as he took in the view the two of them made. And once he realized that, Scout didn’t waste time nudging his hand aside to try and take over, and then he was being treated to the always-lovely experience of being caught between the two of them, all giving and taking pleasure as well as they could with their brains getting increasingly scrambled.

And Scout could vaguely remember having said something about sucking off Demo, but every time he tried to pull his hand away so they could readjust, Demo mumbled some vague complaint and urged him back into place again. And somewhere along the way Demo slid a hand down his stomach to toy with him in much the same way he was being toyed with, and then all motion was kicking up a notch—

Sniper was done first, surprisingly, swearing through gritted teeth, pulling out midway through as he shuddered through aftershocks that seemed to drag on and on. Scout gasped, and found himself desperate and just a little bit demanding. But man, he really did get lucky enough to find two guys who were real hot and pretty smart, because when Sniper had finally settled down a little Demo had already rolled on a condom and was urging Scout into his lap instead, and he exhaled with relief as he sank down again, mouth locking together with Demo’s as soon as he could get the breath for it, Demo working a hand back down between them to then work at Scout as best he could as the other lifted and rolled Scout with very little effort involved.

And at that point they were both worked along to the point where it barely took any time at all before Scout was trying to muffle himself into Demo’s neck—yes he got loud in bed, no he couldn’t help it, even if he tended to be the one the team then took potshots at over breakfast for being a noise complaint. And Demo was there too, swearing in a choked voice and breathing hard.

Actually, they both were breathing pretty hard. And Scout felt ever-so-slightly steamrolled and extremely pleased with himself and the state of the world around them. And he found himself playing with the abundance of hair across Demo’s chest as he came back down, melting into a nice little puddle  in his lap and humming, gone soft and relaxed.

“Handsome,” Demo quipped, kissing at the side of his head, and Scout couldn’t help but smile at the feeling of a beard rasping against his hair.

“Feeling better?” Sniper prompted, and Scout could only hum for a moment, still a little overwhelmed. That got a chuckle out of the both of them.

“Must’ve done something right, aye?” Demo asked, and Scout heard the two of them sharing a brief kiss over his shoulder, and that got him to grin all the more.

“You guys are the best,” Scout decided, mumbly but pleased.

A hum of agreement. “...Y’know that, er, thing you tend to do? Where I’ll be acting like an absolute bugger and mouthing off and you make me go eat lunch and then suddenly everything’s all better because I wasn’t in a bad mood, I was just hungry?” Sniper asked.

Scout hummed in agreement.

“Think this might be that for you,” Sniper concluded, smoothing hands down Scout’s sides, and Scout leaned into it. “A little attention and all’s right with the world, seems like.”

Demo cupped his chin and tilted his face up to kiss at his cheek, and Scout was sure he was grinning like a total dope, but he couldn’t help it. “More attention might be just what the doctor ordered,” he agreed. “That sound right to you, lad?”

Scout hummed in agreement, melting back forward into Demo’s chest again.

“Alright, lovely as you are you ought to get up so we can mop up, doll,” Demo urged, and helped shift Scout up and out of his lap gently. “Made a damn mess of you, would like to avoid ruining the sheets.”

“Shower?” Sniper asked, pulling Scout to his feet.

“Shower,” Scout agreed.

And maybe it was just that Scout had been a little pent-up and it was doing things to his head. Or maybe it was that the two of them were excellent at comforting him in any way he could when those doubts started to spring up. Either way, he found it really hard to be worried about something as simple as him being less hairy than your bog-standard guy off the street when he had Sniper playing and helping to wash his hair and Demo humming more gentle compliments into his ear and bickering quietly with Sniper over nothing important.

[toonstarterz]

BECAUSE I’M NOT POPULAR, I’LL READ WATAMOTE: CHAPTER #162

Tanabata has come around once again to offer a generation of high schoolers some false hope in order to distract them from the cruel reality that is life. At least, that’s what the old Tomoko might’ve thought. While the world ultimately didn’t hand everything to her on a silver platter, Tomoko’s half-hearted hope did actually manifest into something she holds dear. The question now remains...

What does she strive for now?          

Chapter 162: Because I’m Not Popular, I’ll Make A Wish

“I wish that Watamote would get a 2nd season!”

Ahem...moving on.

Nothing like a little friendly brooding to start the day.

In a weird, ironic way, Yuri seems to empathize with Tomoko over mutual apathy. The one constant they share is that they both like to take the path of least resistance in life. While Yuri may be a little off the mark at times, having that unspoken bond is a great point to start from.

So we knew Nemo recognized that Tomoko was a former loner, but Yuri, too? Then again, it’s been hinted at before that Tomoko is kind of an open book and that the people around Tomoko are more perceptive of her than she’d like to believe. So yeah, Yuri knew Tomoko barely had friends before she met her (a fact that likely fuels her codependency tendencies). But like any good friend, Yuri stuck around despite that history.

Still can’t get over her casually calling her Yuri-chan.

For a hardcore introvert like Yuri, doing something for the sake of being social with no practical purpose seems illogical. It makes total sense that traditions like Tanabata aren’t really her cup of tea. Just how much Yuri is aware of that is still kind of fuzzy, but no less endearing, 

Reiterating a joke I made in the previous chapter, but Tomoko really ought to take a crash course in psychological projection.

Taking a stab at Yuri’s desires, now...I’d say it would be to have someone who really understands her. Or for Minami to lose her fang. Either or.

Wow, I wouldn’t have figured that Ucchi was the type to write in all caps.

I always wondered if the sugar-sweet and dragged-out way that moe anime girls yell “Senpaaai!” was actually grating by real-life Japanese standards. Looks like I was right.

Now those school fan clubs for the ridiculously attractive girl/guy that you sometimes see in manga are starting to feel pretty legit right now. 

“Pfft, basic bitches,” thought Tomoko. 

Smooth like butter.

You know, I think that Tomoko being unable to come up with something is a solid indication that she’s relatively satisfied with her life right now. Sure, she has career goals and whatnot, but she no longer feels troubled by material desires or short-term gratification. Like Yuri, it may be that Tomoko has more intangible, emotional desires that aren’t easy to put into words. But also like Yuri, Tomoko may have recently already gained that.

Occasionally–just occasionally–a few earnestly pure-of-heart moments from a cute manga girl is all you really need.

...Especially when it’s immediately offset by Tomoko being Tomoko.

Ohhhh, boy. That last comment by Tomoko is opening up all sorts of questions regarding her sexuality. I’ve mentioned before that Tomoko may be dealing with some sort of gender dysphoria and I think that’s becoming more apparent than ever. For one, her totally normal-not-at-all-creepy desire to NTR her kouhai assumes that only a guy could do that to Hirasawa. It also implies that Tomoko would only acknowledge liking girls if she identified as male. Not once did Tomoko consider that she, as a female, could NTR another female. All in all, there’s a bit of internalized homophobia, repressed sexuality, etc. at play here, and it’s going to take a bit of soul-searching for Tomoko to sort it all out.

Once every thousand years, we get some actual chibi art out of this series.

Bless you, Nico Tanigawa.

The best part of this Hirasawa-vision is that Tomoko is drawn exactly the same, just with lighter tones. Hirasawa’s not blind, just optimistic, which makes her heroine-worship so much more earnest.

Normally, super innocent girls like Hirasawa who get overly excited on trivial things tend to rub me the wrong way, mostly because I have a hard time thinking young girls are that simple-minded. But there’s something about Hirasawa that feels genuine. It may be because her excitement feels like its deriving from a sense of loneliness. Like an overreaction from latching onto any lure of female friendship. 

It’s also just cute.

Tomoko...I’m pretty sure that’s your confirmation bias talking right there.

We don’t even need to see anything above the waist, but you can tell exactly who this is based on context alone...

I was wondering how Ucchi actually manages to do that Darth Vader thing with her mouth...

...then I remembered how her face looks and it makes perfectly no sense.

Guys, I...I think Ucchi finally broke.

Actually, Miyazaki, it may not be phrased as a wish, but it definitely is a wish...

I really enjoy the little bits of characterization in everyone’s wishes. For Yuri and Tomoko, like the BFFs they are, they have the same, most basic wish since they don’t really have any other burning desires. It’s also short and sweet, and without any fluff, as they would normally be if speaking out loud. And lastly, Yuri doesn’t leave her last name, as if she doesn’t want to attach herself onto her wish that far. 

Katou, on the other hand, is all giddy and sweet, using words like “hope” and “together” when effectively making the same wish. She uses “we” without naming anyone, making it an all-inclusive wish. Just what you’d expect from the class mom.

Tomoko’s habit of “lying on reflex” actually makes a great deal of sense. She’s the type who has trouble expressing her vulnerabilities, and lying is a standard defense mechanism, just like Yuri’s noncommital attitude, Nemo’s passive aggression, and whatever Katou most certainly has.  

Oh, Yuri, you precious bean. I know jokes aren’t your forte, but your emotional responses–or lack thereof–makes for a great punchline.

Did ya’ll notice how Tomoko’s second wish is exactly what Imae wished for last year? Tomoko may not always make the best decisions when comes to carrying the torch of The Great Megumi Imae, but you can’t deny that she’s making a concerted effort.

Guess Tomoko isn’t the only one with enough nerve to turn a Tanabata wish into a dirty joke...

Damn, we all knew that Fuuka was getting an unhealthy fixation over Katou and Tomoko’s “secret” relationship, but never to the point where it was affecting her studies, and by extension, her after-high school prospects. It hints that the series may be taking this misunderstanding into a direction that’s not entirely played for gags. It’s a risky move because such a development could easily come across as contrived if taken seriously, but if they keep it character-driven a la Ucchi, it could make for some really engaging moments. 

C’mon, Fuuka. How did you think people were going to take that?

Of all of the people who’ve been “corrupted” by Tomoko, Fuuka may be taking the most damage out of all of them. Poor thing.   

Let’s see here...

Sometimes I worry about Itou’s sense of self when she always identifies herself by her relationships with others.

Yo, Komiyama doesn’t even bother mentioning the Lottes by name because “Who else of any importance could it possibly be?”. Never lose faith, Komi.

Sweet, naïve Mike. She (and her boyfriend who’s somehow still kicking) is set up to be this series’ greatest tragedy.

This is Tomoko Kuroki, everyone. The girl who can’t see the raging emoji-faced horndog right in front of her, but will misconstrue a single misunderstanding as a pervert. Selective perception, ain’t it?

Well, it is a great opportunity to anonymously judge people’s inner desires, so Tomoko’s probably right.

Here we go again...

Nice to see that Nemo has practical, but optimistic expectations for her goal. She knows that she’s in her prime and is ready to hit the ground running. 

The thing about Yoshida’s wish is that it implies that she knows she’ll be faced with resistance. Still, I gotta respect her individuality.

Okada’s wish feels like a cry for help if you look at it another way. That’s probably not the case, though. Probably.

That’s the beauty of it all, Tomoko. In the end, you really didn’t do anything. At least, not directly. What you did was make yourself into an example for Nemo to follow. One of Tomoko’s greatest attributes is that she’s unapologetically herself, which is how she eventually got noticed–and in Nemo’s case, admired–in the first place.   

Quakey legs + short people problems = cute Tomoko. 

Aw man, what I wouldn’t give for this to be a running gag. That in all those chapters where Tomoko was all alone, there was actually somebody she knows now that was in the scene, too. It (sort of) first happened with the dick-pics-in-class chapter and the three-legged race guy, after all. Poor Tomoko has all this baggage that can be used against her now.

For those with shitty memory like me...

“I want to lose my virginity in a year so I don’t lose track of my bigger goals.”

Of course, she’d forget about the part that actually mattered.

Well, you know, Tomoko, they do say that every joke/lie has a kernel of truth.

I noticed that a lot of (comedy) manga seems to like elevating the value of losing(or saving) one’s virginity to absurd levels, at least in the inexperienced minds of its teenaged male characters. Tomoko herself has perpetuated this notion in the past. But even so, the “in-universe” outside of Tomoko’s mind never really aggrandizes sex, and I find that it to be a very refreshing change that shows how, in reality, as Nemo suggests, losing your virginity isn’t really that big of a damn deal.  

Good ol’ Tomoko logic at its finest.

Nemo looks...surprisingly serious about that. Normally that kind of talk would catch her off guard a little, but she had no hesitation with that retort. I think that’s solid evidence that Nemo has done more research into the nature of the voice acting industry, especially after Tomoko unintentionally trolled her with that eroge. 

This could lead to even more intellectual (if not openly sexual) conversations between Tomoko and Nemo that go beyond their usual bantering. That’d be pretty lit. 

Well, if Tomoko is a direct reflection of the author, then she probably thinks light novels are mostly for loser otaku trying to live their perverted fantasies through self-insert literature (at least, what I gathered from Write Sisters).

Well, I’m be damned if that isn’t blatant foreshadowing for where Tomoko’s future is headed.

Even though I saw it coming a mile away, it still gives me the warm fuzzies.

As fantastic as it would be for Tomoko to be an accomplished light novelist with Nemo voicing a character in her anime adaptation, I feel like that level of success would be a little out of reach for this series’ approach to realism. 

If I were to look into the future, I’d say that Tomoko would write a light novel that’d be successful just enough to be greenlit for an ultimately mediocre anime adaptation. And Nemo, being a rookie, would either be not cast at all, or be given a bit part for a background character.

Of course, that’s all speculation. As Nemo says, the freedom to dream is the one thing we can count on. And if there’s one thing the mangaka has learned from doing this series, it’s that being realistic doesn’t mean you can’t have a happy ending. 

I guess being considerate/decent to complete strangers is still locked out of Tomoko’s comfort zone. 

I think we found a member of Rena’s family.

Man, the more we get these tidbits of Imae’s legacy affecting the school (and Tomoko), the more nostalgic I get for her. I sincerely hope we get to see her at least one last time before the series is over.

And in tried-and-true Watamote fashion, we get a little bit of Tomoko’s wisdom to end off another thought-provoking chapter.

In retrospect, there wasn’t a whole lot of “action” in this chapter that could be built upon later. It was mostly a series of gags sprinkled with some nice conversation (at least until Nemo’s part). One of the core themes that Nico Tanigawa seems to be playing with is, “Now that Tomoko has come this far, where does she go from here?” And the answer is...

They don’t know. 

Legitimately, I don’t think the mangakas know exactly what Tomoko’s endgame will be. Sure, they have some strong ideas in terms of school and career, but nothing definitive. As s result, I think playing with the gags and jokes a bit more is their way of “stirring the pot” and seeing what comes out. All of Watamote’s greatest developments did originate from comedy, after all. The first Tanabata chapter is a prime example of this, and I have no reason to think that the stars of the second Tanabata chapter won’t shine over Tomoko once again.

[mloreley]

Rejection-Sensitive Dysphoria.

Three words, and on the surface, probably don’t mean much to most people. Most people understand rejection and even being sensitive to it, we’ve all had our fair share of people who have been in our lives and walked out of them.

Dysphoria is a word that we can hear a lot, and to most people, it’s seen as some kind of discomfort, maybe an ill feeling, of feeling uneasy. People who DO experience dysphoria- most often body dysphoria- know how crushing it really is, how it doesn’t just make things uncomfortable, it’s unbearable.

But combining these three words doesn’t carry much weight for most people. And it’s hard to put into words what it means to live in the cycle of rejection-sensitive dysphoria, because at a distance, when it’s not something you live through, it just looks like someone whining about not being the center of attention or the whole of someone’s universe.

And you know, that’s fair. It’s not a reasonable expectation to put on other people, and I’ll be up front in saying that, even knowing how much I suffer when something trips this condition, I know perfectly well that the burden of dealing with someone’s moodswing, when someone goes from happy and gleeful one moment, to withdrawn and cold and even hostile the next, is not something anyone should ever have to put up with.

Someone with Rejection-Sensitive Dysphoria is well aware that their response to something as simple as being talked over just a little too often, or not being part of a particular in-group, or not being privy to an in-joke, isn’t rational. Believe me, that awareness compounds things once a spiral starts; knowing that the way you feel isn’t fair to others just adds guilt to an emotional response that can’t really be controlled.

And that’s the heart of it- it’s not something that can be controlled. Knowing what causes it, knowing that it’s irrational, knowing that you’ll be fine once the moodswing passes, doesn’t matter when your brain literally has no barrier against the emotional overflow that surges in the moment.

The most I can do, personally speaking, is try to remind myself that it IS my dysphoria at work, and try to ride it out, try to sort out the mess, to practice mindful self-care and directed self-checking. I’ve gotten better at it since having a catastrophic event blow up in my face, leaving me with no choice but to address the symptoms.

Words don’t describe how much it hurts. Imagine being on a roller coaster, and you hit the peak right before the first drop. You’ve anticipated what’s coming, and at the very top, your stomach drops, your chest constricts, the momentum has changed, the direction of gravity has shifted.

Now, imagine being in the middle of a conversation with someone, and they remark, “I mean, you do tend to make the conversation all about you sometimes”, and it’s not really all that harsh and they’re smiling while they say it- they’re not bothered by it but they’re bringing it up because it happens. Imagine your stomach dropping, the world rotating on its axis, and the thought hits you; how embarrassing. how mortifying. I’ve been annoying them this whole time. They put up with me. they tolerate me. but they don’t like me. they’d be happier if i weren’t here. i’m not needed here, not needed anywhere. everyone must hate me because i talk too much/talk about myself so much.

No, it’s not rational. And that’s not what the other person is saying at all. In fact, no one is thinking anything like that. But in one instant, you feel yourself misaligned with the people around you, and it hurts. Physically, your body starts shutting down, you can’t talk without choking on a sob that wants to come out-- and you can’t do that, you KNOW you’re the only one upset, and it’s mood-ruining for everyone else if YOU are suddenly upset- so you go silent.

It’s so fast, and it’s so overwhelming. And in the moment, hurt and feeling like you need to get away before you hurt them or annoy them worse, you withdraw. And that hurts them. Sometimes it manifests in passive-aggression, especially if you don’t realize where the hurt is coming from- you know only that you’re hurting and that the other person said/did something that hurt you or made you feel rejected.

Other people get hurt. And it’s a normal response that, when someone feels burned by you, they’re more wary about you. Speaking personally, the knowledge that someone is regarding me warily because they’re waiting for me to hurt them is a searing knife in my chest. Worse than if they abandon me, is that they fear me.

I don’t want to hurt anyone. I want to make people’s lives better. I want to make people happy. The idea that I am the source of someone’s fear, or pain, is agony to me.

I don’t trust people easily. I probably never really will, I’ve opened up about the toxic, awful things swirling around in my heart, the uglier parts of myself that weren’t healing, and all that achieved was making someone so terrified of me that they avoided me for months. It damaged my relationship with someone that I really cared about, and when THAT soured, it got rolled in with every other instance of my feeling excluded, avoided, hated.

People have legitimate complaints about my behavior, both past and present. And I have come a long way in finally draining the toxicity and moving away from the things that I know trigger my dysphoria. I’ve lost a lot of relationships that meant the world to me, and that will never not hurt, but I honestly can’t blame anyone for not being comfortable around me.

A lot of this whining about myself and my feelings is sort of just... my acknowledgement that I have a lot to work on, but also to remind myself of the work I’ve already done. Maybe to share a little insight into what happens, that the hurt is real and NOT manufactured. The hurt doesn’t excuse the consequences, obviously.

I would like for this to stop, to be able to trust and engage with people and to have it be healthy and sane. I don’t know if that will ever be possible. But I’m working on it.

[fairycosmos]

God I feel like shit I'm nonbinary and want top surgery and i live in nz and the rule is if you want it free you Have to be on hormones I Dont Want for 2 years otherwise its 10-20 thousand dollars and I feel hopeless I literally cant see my life going on if I dont get that surgery but no one in my family would ever understand and have said things against it before and i dont know what to do

hi gosh im so sorry to hear that, i literally can't imagine how hard it must be. what a stupid thing, to make such a rule compulsory for all cases without exception. it's no surprise that you feel the way you do and while it may be unbelievably painful in this moment, it's entirely your right to process the sadness and anger that comes along with what you're experiencing. the only responsibility you have is to try to cope with these emotions in a healthy way, even if some days that just looks like crying in your bed or finding the energy to brush your teeth. in the present moment you don't have to be able to visualise your future because it is an ever changing and nebulous concept - and it is most likely not going to unfold the way you're anticipating it to. the fact that you can't see the possibility of happiness doesn't mean it's not there. i think a big part of being in a bad place is sort of suffocating under the illusion that everything is permanent and you'll never learn to manage etc but so much of that fear is rooted in an unreliable source: the intensity of your current emotional landscape. of course it's completely understandable as to why you feel this way - if top surgery is important to you, and you are being denied it, then of course you're going to be hurt and uncomfortable. it isn't fair at all. but i really think there are ways to come to terms with factors that are beyond your control in the present moment. and you shouldn't have to, i want to stress that. but shifting your attention to what is in your hands is often a freeing step to take. no matter how hopeless it seems.

are you able to express yourself as a non-binary person through other avenues? are you able to dress and act the way you want to? if yes, continue to explore those options unabashedly and without shame. if not, then the extent of your self repression will surely improve as you grow up and gain autonomy over your own existence. where you're at right now isn't where you'll always be, and you don't have to believe me, but it's true. also, are you able to seek out other lgbt people in your town/city, through support groups or charities or events? if so, i would recommend considering it. finding others who are struggling with the societal limitations of their identities can be a real relief. you are genuinely not alone and you don't have to go through this by yourself, even if your family are dickheads. obviously you deserve so much more than their dismissal but their actions are purely a reflection of them, you know? you don't have to beg them to understand. another suggestion would be to seek professional support for your mental health if that's a possibility, to help you deal with the difficulties of your situation. ask your doctor for a referral, or look into forms of support in your community. it doesn't have to be a big deal. having someone to talk to, and a support system outside of your personal bubble is pretty paramount. there are a myriad of coping mechanisms for both dysphoria and shitty familial bonds and while they don't solve it all, they certainly help if you engage with them consistently. i get that it all feels like too much effort, like empty words compared to the weight of what you're going through. and it's definitely daunting. if it seems like too much, even just calling an lgbt hotline or seeking out info and companionship online is a good place to start. but point is i genuinely believe in your ability to confront the issues you have a direct say in, so that when you're struggling with not having access to top surgery, you are more emotionally prepared to process it. it's entirely possible that you will be able to begin saving up for it in the future, and you never know how it's going to turn out, really. however until then you are entirely entitled to feel how you need to feel. but don't let it stop you from taking care of yourself, and living the way you want in other regards. the more you age and the more assured you become in your sense of self, the easier it'll seem. take it one day at a time, n try to look at what you can to to help yourself today. anyway this got long and ultimately i wish i could do something to proactively change things for you because i know that's the only thing that would actually count, but i just hope you know that you deserve the world and there is so much waiting for you beyond your current circumstances. if you need a friend or if you want to talk, i'll be here. sending love 💌