#The small amount of dysphoria I do have do not make me any less trans or more trans than others

[kingfinfat]

My body and my experience as a transman are my own. They are not up for debate. My level of transness and my experiences are valid.

Gatekeepers, terfs and truscum do not interact.

[emma-needs-attention]

I don’t shave every day. It’s not that I don’t “need” to; I have very dark, dense facial hair that grows quickly and remains pretty visible after shaving. When I do shave, I don’t try to cover it with makeup (beyond some powder to reduce redness). In most other ways I present very feminine, but I always have fairly obvious facial hair.

And it makes me feel terrible.

I started electrolysis a couple months ago. It’s excruciatingly painful, expensive, and it takes forever. In an hour-long session, my electrologist is able to remove hair in only a small region (about 1 square inch). A few weeks later, much of that hair comes back. I am told that it will take two to three years of regular treatments to remove it entirely. On top of that, I apparently have a condition called Post Inflammatory Hyperpigmentation, which causes the skin in affected areas to darken after treatment. For nearly two months after completing a single pass over my upper lip, my mustache was more visible than it had ever been, despite having significantly less hair.

And it made me feel terrible.

I know this is the best way for me to permanently remove my facial hair, but I just canceled all of my upcoming sessions and at the moment I have no plans to begin again.

If I could pay to have my facial hair instantly and completely removed I would empty my savings account. I am intensely aware of it any time I go out in public. If it makes me so uncomfortable, why do I not do more to hide it?

I feel incredibly privileged for a trans woman. I have a loving, supportive family. I have a well-paying job. I live in a very accepting area. I have never had a single person say anything negative to me about my gender identity, which was certainly not what I was expecting when I came out. It is important to me that I be visibly queer, and in my privileged position I am able to do that without fear. A year ago I didn’t think I would ever transition; now I want people to know that I’m trans.

I am disappointed with myself for wanting to remove my facial hair, for changing my voice. I am determined not to have to do more work than a cis person does. Cis women don’t have to shave their face every day. Cis men don’t have to shave their face every day. Why should I? This is who I am, what my body does. Shouldn’t I be proud of that? Am I not supposed to love myself the way I am?

But by that logic, why am I even transitioning in the first place?

I am doing more work than a cis person does. Cis people don’t transition, and transitioning takes effort. I know that there are cis people, both men and women, who do shave every day. Am I lying to myself? I’m a trans woman; aren’t I supposed to want to get rid of my facial hair? Shouldn’t I be trying harder? Doesn’t this give me dysphoria? Am I pretending not to have dysphoria so I don’t have to put in the effort? Does the fact that I’m not trying harder make me… I don’t know, less trans? Non-binary? Is it ok for me to call myself a trans woman? Am I lying to myself?

As a woman who was a man until thirty, there are things about my body that I must accept, that I won’t be able to change no matter how much money I dump into my transition. I’m tall, I have broad shoulders, I have large hands. No amount of surgery or hormones will change these things.

But there are many things that I can change, and while none of them are requirements for being a woman, they may still be changes that I want to make. Where do I stop? Am I finished transitioning when I’ve done everything that is physically possible? My goal isn’t to “pass,” at least not in the way that word is generally used. In a time when cis women are being assaulted because people think they’re trans—because they don’t “pass” as women—the idea of what it means to pass becomes blurry. Often when we say that we want to pass, what we really mean is that we want to be conventionally beautiful.

I am a woman. Therefore, I look like a woman. My transition goal is to pass as myself. I’ve spent the last year trying to figure out who I am so I can look like her. I don’t care whether people see me and think “that’s a woman.” I want to be able to look in the mirror and think “that’s me.” But it can be extremely difficult to separate your own image of yourself from society’s idea of what you should look like. Am I self-conscious about the size of my body because it doesn’t feel like me, or because I’ve been told that women should be smaller? There are tall cis women, there are broad-shouldered cis women, there are cis women with large hands. Those traits don’t make them less womanly.

For the aspects of my body that I do have control over, I am stuck wondering whether I am changing things to become myself, or changing them because I have internalized that the way I am is wrong. At the moment, facial feminization surgery is something that I think I might like to do. But how do I know that I want to do it for the right reasons? I don’t hate my face, but when I catch a glimpse of myself from certain angles I can’t help but think that it isn’t feminine enough. What I should be asking is if it’s Emma enough, but how can I know that? How do I know who I’m supposed to be?

I feel like I was supposed to be a cis woman, but… why? Who am I to say that I wasn’t supposed to be trans? That I wasn’t supposed to transition at thirty, to have both a male puberty and a female one? Being trans has made me more self-aware, more open-minded, more empathetic. The totality of my experience is what makes me who I am. Maybe there’s a world in which I was assigned female, maybe there’s a world in which I was put on puberty blockers as a kid. But the girl in those worlds isn’t me.

Loving yourself and wanting to change are two feelings that can coexist. I tend to think of body positivity as simply accepting yourself as you are, but it is more nuanced than that. As a trans person, who I am inside is not the same as who I am outside. Which one am I supposed to love? I do love myself, but I also love who I could be. I’m transitioning so that someday they’ll be the same person.

Over the past year I have become both my biggest supporter and my biggest critic. I constantly tell myself how pretty I am, how brave I am, how fucking cool I am (hey, nobody else is saying it and it’s true). This forced positivity has been fantastic for me. I can confidently say that I truly love myself for the first time in my life. But I sometimes feel guilty that I don’t love myself more.

I can’t help but stare at myself in the mirror all the time now. I actually bought a new mirror so I didn’t have to walk as far to do so. I’ve taken more selfies than I did in my entire pre-transition life. After many months on HRT, I finally see myself in my reflection. But my eyes refuse to focus on my stubble. Sometimes I catch myself thinking “I’m going be so beautiful once I get rid of this facial hair,” and it feels like a betrayal. Fuck you Emma, I’m already gorgeous.

[crazypossumman]

A thing about binding…

So, as we all know, there’s a lot of reasons someone may not be able to bind with an actual binder. These include:

Financial reasons

Health issues

Inaccessibility due to lack of support from family

Hostility towards trans people in their area

Simply feeling uncomfortable in a binder due to chest size, body type, or any other factors

Or a multitude of other things

I’ve been binding for about 2-2.5 years now (I can’t remember exactly). Unfortunately, financial struggles make it seem like top surgery is a thing of the distant future, so I’ll probably be doing this for some time. I am also a plus-sized dude with a very large chest—approximately 38D, but I don’t wear bras so I don’t know my size exactly—which causes some issues. Being large-chested is already known to cause back pain BEFORE adding binding to the mix. And, with the size of my chest, I feel uncomfortable/unsafe being out in public without binding due to the fact that I pass in most other ways, as I live in a rather conservative state and typically try to avoid being flagged as trans by strangers.

As a result of these factors, I’ve been doing some experimenting with alternatives to binding. Now, again, being large-cheated really starts to limit options. Things like tucking are already considered dangerous, and they tend to be impractical with larger breasts.

So, I’ve been looking in to alternatives. The first thing I did some research on was the TomboyX compression bra that recently spiked in popularity after being sold at Target for a time. While these look like a promising and well made produce, they still run at about $40 (before taxes and shipping), making them comparable to the price of a binder. And, though the reviews on them seem very good, I wasn’t personally wanting to spend that amount of money on what appeared to be a glorified sports bra (I mean no offense by this, it’s just personal opinion).

And so, being the Broke Bitch™️ I am, I went to Walmart. There, I found this:

Looking at it, it seemed pretty promising. If nothing else, it would be a good alternative for when I needed break days or would be working out, so I bought it for a whopping $14.99 (after tax). Immediately when I went home, I tried it on and took comparison photos between that and my binder.

This is the GC2B half-tank binder in an XL compared to the sports bra in the photo above from two different angles. Obviously, the shape is quite different, but the sports bra is surprisingly comfortable and adds a very decent amount of compression. Next, I put on a t-shirt and retook the photos:

Again, this is binder on the top, sports bra on the bottom. Still, there is a slight difference in shape and size, but it’s generally not that noticeable. Granted, I do wear almost exclusively baggy t-shirts, so I’m sure that helps. Next, I took the same photos with my go to Trans Guy Baggy Hoodie:

So, there's a bit to unpack here. First of all, it's worth noting I immediately removed the pads from the bra. Even so, the shaping issue is still somewhat of an issue. Luckily(?) for me, with my body type, it would be believable for me to have a bit of Man Titty. For someone thin and large-chested, this may not be the case. On the other hand, for anyone relatively small chested, bra like this one would probably be (at least somewhat) effective.

To make things simple, here are the things I liked about the...

Binder

Is made especially made for trans men, therefore eliminating some of the dysphoria associated with wearing a bra (for me, at least)

Shapes the chest so that breast tissue more closely resembles "pecs"

Slightly flatter chest look

Is more comfortable to wear in public on its own (ie. for swimming shirtless)

Sports Bra

Thinner straps and lighter fabric can reduce sweat and therefore acne

More breathable/less compression on the lungs

Less risk for the health issues associated with binding (ig)

Might make my body personally look more proportionately accurate (idk if looking like I have massive pecs or slightly saggy man titties is better lol)

End game, I feel this experiment has left me with more questions than answers. Honestly, during the winter months when I have to layer up anyway, I may wear the sports bra to give my body a break, but I get the feeling I will be back to binding normally before long.

If anyone else has any information on this, please feel free to share your insight with me. Or, if any plus sized people have tried the TomboyX compression top or any other brands of binders that may be worth trying, let me know how you felt about it! Maybe I'm wrong and it would be worth the money lol.

Also, a friendly reminder that binding is by no means required for any chest size to be nonbinary, transmasc, transgender, etc. or any combination thereof, and that everything I reported here is based on my personal experience alone.

Note: Any comments on my weight or misgendering and I will start hunting you for sport :)

[transgenderteensurvivalguide]

(Urgent) Hello! I really need help, I already searched on the internet but didnt find a satisfying answer so I really hope you'll be able to help. Soo I have to take swimming classes, I've been doing it and it's okay, the problem is that I'm on my period and absolutely can't wear tampons (or things similar) and I obviously don't have and won't get special swimwear. I don't want to tell my parents because I doubt they will understand.

Is there something I can do?

Lee says:

This is a good question! It’s probably relevant to a lot of transmasculine folks with the summer coming up and people being able to return to the pools and beaches since many of us are fully vaccinated now.

Unfortunately, I could come up with only six different (non-ideal) options to solve the problem:

1) Don't go swimming when you have your period

This might be a good option for a casual swimmer, but it isn't ideal if you're in swim classes and can't reschedule a class, or on a swim team and can't miss a practice or meet.

You could always quit and find a new form of exercise / a new job / a new sports team, but obviously that’s sort of a last resort if you can’t find any solution at all.

2) Wear a tampon

Tampons can be worn safely while swimming and prevent the blood from staining your suit when you get out of the pool.

To help prevent toxic shock syndrome, which is rare but dangerous, use the lowest absorbency tampon you can and change your tampon every 4-8 hours or as often as needed. Don’t leave your tampon in for more than 8 hours.

You said that you “absolutely can't wear tampons,” but didn’t clarify why you can’t do it. If the reason is unrelated to dysphoria then you may have a medical condition, or it may be that your hymen is covering the opening to your vagina. A doctor or nurse (either your primary care provider or someone at a nearby Planned Parenthood or similar) can help you figure out why it’s causing pain and figure out what to do about it if you do suspect it’s medical-related and not psychological.

Many trans people like wearing tampons for their convenience and because tampons don’t cause the bloody-diaper feeling that pads can cause; there are a number of anons who have told us that using tampons make them feel less dysphoric than wearing pads.

Putting in a tampon usually doesn’t hurt, but it may take some practice in the beginning. 

3) Wear a menstrual cup

Menstrual cups are safe to wear when you’re swimming, and function similarly to tampons.

Menstrual cups are great for people who are stealth but still get a period.

They’re small and easy to hide in your bedroom/dorm room/summer camp cabin, they’re reusable so you don’t have to buy more than one, and you can often use one cup for up to 10 years so you don’t have to buy them often.

Menstrual cups are discreet because you can wear a menstrual cup for 8-12 hours at a time, or until it’s full; this is because they hold 1 ounce of liquid, roughly twice the amount of a super-absorbent tampon or pad.

Having to emptying it only 2-3 times a day means you don’t have to carry extras with you that someone might notice in your bag, you never have to change your cup in the bathroom at school or at work, and you don’t have to worry about changing it in the locker room before you go swimming. 

Menstrual blood can start to smell when it’s exposed to air, but your cup forms an airtight seal so there’s less odor to bother you, and nothing for other people to notice either.

Cups may look kind of big, but most people can’t feel them once they’re in.

Putting in a cup shouldn’t hurt, but it may take some practice in the beginning. 

4) Wear a menstrual disc

Menstrual discs are similar to menstrual cups and can be worn swimming as well.

They aren’t reusable and are placed in a different way, but many of the pros are the same as those for cups.

5) Buy swimwear that helps catch or hide the blood

There are swimsuits which are dark colored and have absorbent layers built in to catch blood when you’re out of the pool (Example) but that isn’t very useful if you’re actually in the pool, or if you’re required to wear a certain type of swimsuit as a lifeguard, swimming instructor, or member of a swimming team. So this isn’t an ideal option, and you said that you don't have and won't get special swimwear.

6) Stop your menstrual cycle so you don't get your period while swimming (or at all, in general!)

This post lists a few non-dysphoria-related excuses you can use when asking your parents to stop your period, but saying that it interferes with your swimming lessons should be reason enough.

Everything you need to know about stopping your period with birth control

Everything you need to know about birth control

What You Need to Know About Birth Control and Breast Cancer

What’s up with birth control pills and vaping?

Will the chemicals in birth control mess me up?

What are birth control side effects?

Can I get birth control at Planned Parenthood without my parents’ permission?

Birth Control Your Own Adventure

Does depo-provera cause depression?

Are Low-Dose Birth Control Pills Right for You?

-

Given the information in your ask, you can’t skip lessons so option #1 is out, you can’t use tampons so option #2 is out, you won’t get special swimwear so option #5 is out, and you can’t tell your parents that you want to stop your period so option #6 is out. 

That leaves options #3 and #4, menstrual cups and discs. I would recommend doing some research on each option to see what fits your needs the best. 

However, if you feel unable to discuss menstruation with your parents, I would recommend a cup because they’re reusable you only need to buy one and that’s a good thing because it saves you money in the long term and you don’t need to repeatedly have to buy something that you’re embarrassed to talk about and hiding from them.

Here’s an article reviewing different menstrual cups here and I’d suggest looking at that. 

That article has links to buy the cups online, and this post explains how to buy something online without a credit card and without your parents finding out.

You can also buy menstrual cups in-person at a pharmacy, if there’s one close enough for you to walk or bike to, or if you can get a friend to bring you.

Hopefully that’s a good start for things to consider, but I know that it probably isn’t the satisfying answer that you were hoping for since you won’t like any of the options. 

However, I will note that I had a hysterectomy in 2018 so it’s been a lil while since I’ve had to deal with swimming while menstruating myself, so if the followers have any ideas that I’ve forgotten please feel free to add on!

(And yeah, a hysterectomy will definitely solve this issue for you but I’m assuming that’s a no-go in your situation which is why I didn’t include it in the list)

Anyhow, followers, any advice for anon?

[antiterf]

ajp(.)psychiatryonline(.)org/doi/10.1176/appi.ajp.2020.1778correction (no clue if tumblr still eats asks with links so i'm putting parentheses in just to be safe) what do you think about that study? it seems to suggest that gender transition doesn't actually have any long-term benefits to mental health on its own, and the dataset is really quite large

This is interesting I wish I had an easier time following with it, had to read it over about five fucking times.

The way they're determining whether people are helped by HRT or gender affirming surgery is by looking at the usage of mental health services for anxiety and mood disorders. This includes hospitalizations for suicide attempts.

Looking through I'm mainly focused on hospitalizations. Mainly because I'm not taking the risk of stopping antidepressants just because I'm on HRT. I know personally I've been helped by both and it's a little silly to expect trans people, who have undergone a lot of stress due to gender dysphoria and society at large, to be cured from those other disorders after transition. The brain functions differently with mental health disorders, and while I'm not saying it's impossible to be cured from those disorders, I don't think the average person is going to just stop current psychiatric treatment that's working for them.

Hospitalizations are different since there was an attempt in suicide and demonstrates a high amount of hopelessness and distress.

But the correction does not show the separation of these two and simply says outright that there is no difference when the prior study gave this table

A 0% looks the same no matter how you analyze the data and I feel like the correction kind of just lumped all of it together. When it comes to all other forms of mental health treatment, which was all combined together because the way the data was obtained doesn't allow it to be more specific, yeah, I believe that the reanalysis and conclusion is accurate. When looking at suicide attempts in particular and finding none 4+ years after surgery, it may not have been statistically significant due to the small percentage in the first place, but the fact that there was just... none after 4 years of surgery isn't something I can overlook.

So while the data looks great, the fact that they're trying to determine effectiveness based on receiving mental health care and not actual symptoms or quality of life is something to be critical of. My medical records will show that I've been on Lexapro before and after HRT and when getting more specific, having the same dose of the same med for years should make it obvious that my treatment is effective. It would be assumed to be less effective if I kept on showing an increase of dosage over short periods of time or changing of antidepressants. The data obtained wasn't specific enough to even determine medication type though, so it definitely would not be specific enough to analyze that.

And I'm basing this off of personal experience but I know plenty of trans people who would say that their life has been improved by transition while still receiving mental health care.

TLDR: The researchers obviously did not make this study out of ill intent me and the methods are as solid as they can be. The interpretation of the data is what I'd be wary about.

[izukuwus]

This is Home (NSFW)

A/N: Title references the song This is Home by Cavetown, which you can’t tell me isn’t an entire trans mood. Give it a listen, y’all. It’s one of my faves <3

This fic is part of @birds-have-teeth​‘s Izumonth collab to celebrate Izuku’s birth month. For the lineup, head over here!

(izuku with binder edit and overall banner both made by me)

Summary: When your boyfriend starts distancing himself not long into your relationship, you decide to confront him and remind him just how loved he is. (trans!Izuku x reader)

Notes: Izuku is a pre-op, pre-T trans man for this fic. Reader is implied to be a cis girl. I am trans. In this fic, I am writing Izuku experiencing something I have and do struggle with and I swear to god if anyone clowns in my inbox because I wrote this I will literally fling them out the window, killing them instantly. Not on this one, assholes.

Warnings: smut, oral (reader giving), gender dysphoria, smut smut smut, I cried but you might not

Word count: 5555 (sexy)

Izuku has been avoiding you.

It's not obvious, not at first. Your honestly wonderful boyfriend is more than happy to text you good morning and good night as always, even on the nights where he goes to sleep at 4AM, and it's not as though the amount of cute emoji following the texts has changed. He still eats breakfast with you after his (very early) morning run, still eats lunch with you and your combined friend group, still eats dinner with you whenever he doesn't forget to eat. (You're working on getting him to remember to eat at all the right times.) 

But one-on-one study sessions get cancelled. He now trains seemingly whenever you can't, even though you used to train together all the time. It's all the small things, like how he used to kiss you suddenly all the time whenever it was just the two of you, but now, you're hardly ever alone together often enough even if he still did. And maybe you're imagining it, but the usual sleep and wake texts are less enthusiastic than before. 

You want to believe that maybe the two of you are just progressing from the honeymoon stage of your relationship, but this doesn't feel like progress. 

This feels like distance. 

This feels like he’s afraid to be alone with you.

You don't want to pry, but something's up with him, and you've got an inkling of exactly what. One thing's for certain, though—you're not letting him go another day thinking he can't talk to you about it. Knowing him, no matter what the issue is, he's convinced himself it would bother you for him to ask for reassurance or something to that effect.

And so, perhaps a bit shamelessly, you corner him.

Well, not physically. You're not that mean.

But when you knock on his door when you know he's there alone and he answers, you don't give him a chance to brush you off. You shove your way right into his room and take a seat on the edge of his bed.

"Talk," you demand, crossing your arms as he flusters and shuts the door behind him.

"[n-name], is something wrong—"

"Talk," you repeat, leveling a glare at him. "You've been acting weird around me lately. If it's something you're not comfortable talking about, that's okay, but if I've done something to make you avoid me, I want to talk about it and figure out how to fix it."

Izuku flinches, taking an awkward seat on his bed. (The other end of his bed. You try not to let show just how much that stings.)

"Y-you haven't done anything wrong," he forces out evenly, not looking at you. "I swear."

You shift closer to him, placing a hand over his own. "Izuku, look at me."

Green eyes meet yours. There's guilt there, and an underlying fear with a source you can only guess at.

"I love you, babe. I want to help you. You don't have to let me, but I really—fuck—" You sniff, pulling back to wipe at your eyes before you let any tears fall. "—shit, sorry. I just... I'm worried about you, and I don't want to lose you, y'know?"

He panics, crossing the distance between you within moments to pull you into a tight hug. His hand winds into your hair, the other settling in the small of your back and rubbing soothingly as he shushes you. "No, oh my god, angel, I-I never meant to make you think you did anything wrong. Really, it's not you, it's me!"

Your blood turns to ice in an instant at his words. "T-that's the kind of shit people say when they're explaining why they're breaking up with you, Izuku."

"N-no! That's not—That's not what this is. I love you too, I love you so much, I just... I'm scared, okay?" he admits, face pressed into your neck.

"Scared?"

He nods, hugging you just a smidge tighter. "Yeah. Scared."

"Of what, handsome?" You finally relax into his hold, snuggling into his shoulder with a sigh as you try to rein in the tears.

"It's probably stupid, and it doesn't really matter that much."

"Izuku babe."

"Yes?"

"Did it make you feel something?"

He hesitates before nodding slowly.

"Then it's not stupid, and it matters to me."

Izuku shudders in your arms, mumbling something you don't quite catch.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

He shifts, repeating himself just loud enough to be heard. "I wanna go further with you but I hate my body and don't want to take my clothes off to do it," he says, speaking so quickly you almost miss it a second time.

You freeze, a light blush on your cheeks. It's true that you've not gone that far with Izuku—he always seemed content just to kiss and cuddle and exchange sweet words behind closed doors, and god, you were happy just to have him in any capacity. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—there's bigger problems at hand than "your cute boyfriend wants to fuck you". 

"Oh, Izu," you breathe. "You know you don't have to push yourself, baby. It's okay if you're uncomfortable with—"

"B-but I shouldn't be!" he insists, wriggling away to look into your eyes with a pained look. "I don't wanna be uncomfortable. Not with you. I just... don't know how to... how to not be, and I didn't want things to escalate if I got alone with you because then I'd probably panic and push you away and then you'd probably feel hurt a-and it'd be my fault so I was avoiding you so I couldn’t hurt you before I was ready and then–"

"Izuku," you say firmly. "Don't push yourself for my sake. I'd feel awful knowing you did something like that for me. It's okay if we just kiss. It's okay if we never kiss. What's not okay is you forcing yourself into a dysphoric breakdown because you wanted to please me. If we fuck, I want it to be something we both enjoy, and I can't enjoy it if it's upsetting you or making you uncomfortable."

He tears up, yanking you back into a hug. "I'm s-sorry, [name]."

You laugh, tangling your hands in his curls and gently working knots out with your fingers. "You don't need to apologize, baby. I love you. And you know..."

"Mm?"

You smirk, looping a curl around one finger. Perhaps deliberately, your voice drops into a seductive, teasing voice. "If your biggest problem is either of us seeing your body, there's a few solutions. No one said you had to take your clothes off when we fuck, handsome."

He squeaks, and you swear you can feel his face heating up in your shoulder when he whines. He doesn't protest, so you continue, a grin spreading across your face.

"If you don't want me seeing you, you can always blindfold me," you offer, "or we could turn the lights off, or if you don't want to have to see yourself, I could blindfold you..."

"[N-name]!" Izuku yelps, burying his face into your chest to hide. "Stoooop, oh my god–"

Laughter bubbles from your throat. "Sorry, sorry. But those were honest suggestions. If you really wanna mess around with me a bit, I'm happy to let you set the pace. We kiss as much as you want, however heavy you want... Hell, I might even be into it if you order me around a little. Who knows?"

"O-order you?" You don't have to see him to know how red his face is—you can almost feel it through your top, the rush of embarrassment displayed on his freckled cheeks.

"Mhmm. I won't do anything you aren’t explicitly okay with. And the moment you want to stop, you tell me as much, and we can stop. But you know, I'm in love with you no matter what, and that includes your wonderfully strong body and your cute, handsome face. You light up any room you enter and make me want to work hard for my future. It’s not about your body. The fact that you're hot is a bonus, not the selling point."

He sniffles gently. You carefully go back to working through his hair. "But again, no matter how you want this to go, I'm okay with it. Your comfort first, baby."

He pulls out of the hug, worrying his lip between his teeth as he watches you. "If you're really okay with it, then... i-is it okay if I just kiss you, and we feel it out from there?"

You smile softly. "Go ahead, handsome."

Despite all the kisses you've shared before, every new kiss between you is charged with affection. Izuku can't help it if he melts into every kiss you share—your lips are so soft and you smell so nice and he loves you so much! Before he knows it, he's smoothing a palm against the back of your neck and deepening the kiss, moving his lips hesitantly against your own. He parts just enough to murmur against your lips: "I love you" and "tell me if you want me to stop" and "you can touch my arms if you want". (He knows you do. You only confirm it when your fingertips immediately drag along his upper arms, appreciating the muscles there.)

Before he knows it, he's swiping his tongue against your bottom lip tentatively and pulling you into his lap. You've been more than charitable—your hands remain carefully on his arms, your tongue in your own mouth even as he explores yours. You really won't go a step further than he asks for, and his heart swells at the confirmation. When he breaks the kiss, both of you are breathing heavy, a fact which draws extra attention to the fact that he's still wearing his chest binder.

"I-I want to kiss your neck. I-it's okay if you touch me, j-just please not my chest o-or my... Um, you know."

You mock-salute, a comically serious look on your face that clashes with your flushed cheeks. "Yes, sir! No chest, no ass, no between-thighs!"

The smile that pulls at his lips is utterly love-drunk as he leans back in, first pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your lips and trailing tiny pecks along your jawline. When he reaches your neck, he hesitates, and you wait to slide your arms over his shoulders. "Hun?" you say gently. "Still good?"

Green eyes flick up to yours, intense but wavering. "Y-yeah. I can do this."

Without any other warning, he places a hot, open-mouthed kiss directly onto your pulse, drawing a gasp from you when his teeth graze you just enough for you to feel it. Your hands slide down his back to find purchase as he continues, switching between peppering light kisses to your neck and honestly, doing pretty much anything that won't leave a mark.

Meantime, it's all you can do to gasp and whimper as he finds all your soft spots and goes on the full attack, and his hands roam your sides, climbing up until you're sure he's going to grope you–

And then he flinches and pulls back, just slightly. There's a quiet hiss through his teeth at the movement.

You'd love to whine at the loss, and normally, you probably would. But this is Izuku, and if you're going to let him set the pace, you're damn well going to let him set the pace.

You remove your hands from him completely, watching him with concerned eyes. "Everything alright?"

His heart twists at how gentle and concerned you are. One moment, you're huffing and looking at him with nothing but lust as he kisses your neck, the next, your brow's furrowed as you search him for any signs of fear or panic. 

He really doesn't deserve you.

"Do you want to stop?" you ask, voice soft in the way he's seen you use to talk to frightened animals.

He shakes his head, flattening a palm against his chest. "Sorry, sorry. M-my chest is just hurting a little."

"How long have you been binding today?" you ask without missing a beat.

A hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. "I, uh, I took it off during Hero Basic earlier..."

"And had it on all day before?" you ask, hands on your hips. "And all day since then?"

He nods sheepishly, refusing to meet your eyes. 

"Izuku..." You sigh. "I said I wanted you to be comfortable, but I also want you to be safe. Please take your binder off? I can look away while you do, I just don't want you to hurt yourself."

"I..." Izuku sighs, twiddling his thumbs nervously. "A-actually, could you, um..."

"I can leave the room if it'd make you feel better," you offer.

"N-no! That's not what I meant." He wraps his arms around your waist, refusing to let you leave. "I-I, um, wanted to try..." His face is beet red, and in a panic, he buries his face in your chest to hide his embarrassment. "C-can you help me out of it?" he finally squeaks out.

"Oh, Izu. Of course I can help you." You gently maneuver his face away from your chest, carefully reaching up to work at his tie. "Let me know the second you want me to stop, okay?"

He nods, squeezing his eyes shut. "Okay."

"Would it help if I kissed you while I get your top off?"

After a long moment, he nods, hiding his blushing face in his hands. His hands stay there until you gently pull them away with a soft giggle. "I can't kiss you if you're hiding your perfect face, handsome."

He gives you a wobbly smile, and you pull him towards you with a gentle tug at his tie. You're careful not to push too far as you kiss him—soft, open-mouthed kisses that have him whining as you try furiously to get this damn knot untied. How'd he even manage to get it like this? 

Nevertheless, eventually you do manage to get the knot undone and start working carefully on the buttons of his school shirt. Once you're halfway down, you pull back to murmur a soft "are we still okay?" against his lips.

He responds by crashing his lips back onto yours, a hand roaming up your side until this time, he does actually begin to palm one of your breasts over your shirt. Soon, the other hand joins him in just feeling you, and you can't help but sigh against Izuku's lips.

When you reach the lower buttons, you're careful to not let your hands get too far down as you carefully un-tuck his shirt from his pants. You have to force him to stop massaging your breasts long enough to slide his shirt off his shoulders, stopping to roll your eyes in amusement when you find him wearing an undershirt above the binder. You carefully slide the tank top off, leaving him in just his pants and the colorful All Might-themed chest binder you'd sewn for him shortly after he came out to you. Fingers reach for the zipper tab on the front, but don't close around it just yet. Not when Izuku's breathing quickens the way it does, not when his eyes widen in panic.

"Do you want me to step out while you get out of this and put something else on?"

He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head in silence. "Please just... Wait a minute." You nod, hand slowly retreating as Izuku calms himself. 

"C-can we, um, l-level the playing field a little?" he asks when his breathing is a bit steadier.

You blink in surprise. "In what way, 'Zuku?"

He drapes both arms over his face as he answers in a truthfully adorable squeak. "L-like, um, s-so I'm not the only one t-topless..."

Your smile is fond as you pat his cheek and lean in. "Can I give you a show?" you whisper.

He shivers, nodding almost too excitedly, and you pull away with a little giggle. "Stay right here." You scamper to the door, making doubly sure it's locked, and turn back with a sparkle in your eye. With his full attention on you, you cross back to him and tease at the edge of your shirt. You're slow in your movements, teasing, and his eyes are glued to you, jaw slack as you give him a mini strip-tease. 

Man, it's hard to have low self-esteem with a boyfriend like yours. He drinks in the sight of you like it's the first sight of water he's had in months, adoration and awe and lust and all things positive written plain as day in his expression. When your shirt's properly discarded, you give Izuku a little wink and press a gentle, sweet kiss to his lips. "How are we feeling?"

"Good! G-great! T-this is—yeah. Yeah." His face is flushed, pupils blown. His eyes keep darting between meeting yours and somewhere lower

You quirk a smirk at him, trying not to laugh. "So am I good to unzip you, baby?"

His hands come up to cover his face, green peeking out from between his fingers as he nods. "I-I-I think I'm good."

"You sure? I don't want you to push yourself if you're not comf—"

His hand snatches your wrist, forcing the palm of your hand flat against the center of his chest. You can feel his heart racing beneath your fingertips. "I-if it's you, I can do this. Please."

"Stop me if it gets to be too much, okay?" you hum, carefully pinching the zipper tab and pulling it down slowly. His hand doesn't leave your wrist, but he lets you, exhaling softly when you unzip his binder all the way and free his chest from its confines after a long day.

Izuku panics. Not in the way he feared—he doesn't shove you away, doesn't run, doesn't freeze. But he panics all the same, dragging you into a hot, open-mouthed kiss before you can look at him, before he can see your disgust, before you can make fun of him or change your mind or or or or—

Gentle hands slide the binder off his shoulders with an appreciative hum. You're gentle as you straddle his waist, hands tangling in his hair, and when you go to pull back, he chases your lips. You giggle, trying to pull away to speak, but Izuku's too scared to let you—he almost whines as he continues pressing his lips against yours. 

"Everything good, sweetheart?" you ask as best you can amidst his onslaught.

"No—" slips out from his lips. "—I need you to keep kissing me."

"Hm, I can do that. But tell me if something's wrong, okay?" You punctuate your question with a kiss to his nose. He responds by meeting your lips once more.

He pauses, tugging you into a hug moments after breaking the kiss. "I'm a little scared right now," he admits. "You wouldn't... Hate me for how I look, right?" Tears brim in his eyes and wet his voice as he whispers.

"Never in a million years, Izuku. You're always going to be my handsome, strong boyfriend, until you decide you don't want me around anymore. I love you for who you are, not who you want to be, and I'll tell you as many times as it takes."

His arms shake around you. "Thank you. I love you."

"I love you too," you whisper, slowly pulling back as he releases you. "Is it okay if I kiss you, baby?"

"We were already kissing," he says, trying not to laugh.

You press a slow, sensual kiss to his neck. "I know," you breathe out in open, hot breaths, delighting in the way he shivers. "I meant... escalating."

"O-oh." His face is red, as if it could ever stop being red, and you break into a grin when he nods sheepishly. "I-if you want..."

"I very much want." You nod quickly, dragging your nails along his upper arms and around to his shoulders. Goosebumps follow in your wake. "If you'll let me, I'd like to show you all the parts I love about you. But first?"

"M-mm?"

"Say 'yellow' if you need me to pause or 'red' if you want us to stop entirely, alright? The moment you want me to stop. If you aren't sure, 'yellow'. Please? I don't want to cross any boundaries with you."

"Safewords. Okay, I-I think I can do that. Yellow to pause or slow down, red to stop." He nods slowly, a determined pout on his face. You grin and shoot him an adoring gaze before returning to his neck, one hand finding his to intertwine your fingers. His hand trembles in your grasp, but when you squeeze his hand to reassure him, he's quick to squeeze back. "Green to keep going?"

You nod.

"Okay. I'm okay."

You're slow and careful as you begin to kiss down his body, trailing along his jaw and each shoulder. The pads of your fingers massage along the lines where the seams of his binder had been digging into his skin, eliciting shivers beneath your fingertips. Intermittently, he squeezes the hand you've kept intertwined with his, letting out shaky gasps when you drag your tongue back up to his neck.

"You're doing so well," you purr. It's hard to keep your free hand in one place–you drag it back up to indulge in the fluffy curls atop his head only a moment before lightly dragging your nails down his spine.

Next, you trail your lips back down to his chest, pausing to toy briefly with his chest as he lets out a cascade of moans. "[N-name]..."

"Mm?" Your eyes meet his innocently as you lathe your tongue over his nipple, your heart skipping at the lusty, adoring look on his face. You release him from your mouth with a small pop!, tilting your head. "Still good?"

"No, come back," he whines, tugging at your hand.

A giggle escapes you. "Well, since you asked so nicely..."

He shudders as you dive back in, switching to take his other nipple into your mouth. With your closest hand still occupied in holding his, you aren't able to play with the side you'd previously been kissing at, but Izuku doesn't seem to mind as he practically pushes his chest into your face with another gasp.

Soon, all too soon, you continue in your journey to kiss every inch of Izuku's body, palming at his chest and placing one soft kiss against a freckle situated just above his heart. You giggle when you feel his pulse jump beneath your lips before moving on, pressing kisses in a line down the center of his chest until you've found soft skin.

Your free hand finds his belt, toying with the buckle as you get off his lap and rest on the floor in front of him. "Color?"

He eyes you warily, running his thumb across your hand in a way that feels more like he's soothing himself than you. He doesn't answer.

"Izuku, I need to know if this is okay. If you don't answer, I'll stop."

"Y-yellow," he admits meekly. "I-I think it's easier if I don't think about it, but I just... I want this to happen but every second I'm reminded of all the ways this could end in you leaving me, a-and..."

You immediately move your hand away at his admission. "Thank you for telling me. You’re overthinking it, hun. I’m not gonna leave you. Can I help you at all?"

"Distract me?" He pouts at you, leaning down for a kiss. He's even so bold as to slip his tongue into your mouth as you fumble with his belt buckle one-handed, his hand smoothing over your shoulder and down your bare back until you finally manage to get his belt unbuckled and his pants unbuttoned. Once he's unzipped, you smooth your hand over the small of his back, sitting up on your knees to press into the kiss.

Getting him out of his pants with one hand is a challenge, but you make it work, leaving him to toe off his socks and sit there in a loose pair of boxers, looking nervous and innocent and adorable but mostly just scared.

Now that you've got him mostly undressed, you can finally move back to your mission of making him feel utterly loved and working away that fear of his, littering his stomach and sides with tiny pecks and nibbles that have him giggling as he tries (and fails) to squirm away from your onslaught.

"Great job so far," you mumble, nuzzling your nose into his side playfully. "You're really brave, 'Zuku."

He gasps for air between his laughter, scarcely gaining enough time to breathe before you finally relent enough to let him catch his breath. "I love you," he pants out when he finally gets a chance to look down at you. "Thank you."

"I love you more~" you practically sing, punctuating your sentence by blowing a puff of air at his stomach. He squirms, trying not to laugh any more than he already has. You reach up, gently caressing his cheek, and he presses into your touch. "Color?"

Izuku gnaws at his lip. His face is flushed, cheeks flaming red as he pants. After a long moment that you can only imagine is filled with thoughts too fast for anyone else to understand if only they could hear, he speaks. "Green."

A single soft kiss as your hand slips beneath his boxers, giving his ass a teasing squeeze before sliding them off his legs. His tongue slips in your mouth and roams freely as your hand caresses his inner thigh, until all that's left for you to do other than tease him relentlessly is go for broke. You break free from the kiss, watching his face with a smile as you drag a single finger up his slit, finding his clit with ease once you dip between the folds.

No anxiety rears its head now. His jaw goes slack, eyes squeezed tight with pleasure as you slowly rub his slit, a red flush crawling from his cheeks and down his neck as he tries not to moan too loudly. "[n-name]~"

"Hm?" you purr, pausing your finger as it circles his dripping heat teasingly. "Do you need to stop, green bean?"

"N-no!" His eyes snap open, shooting you a pleading, desperate look. "P-please, green, I need more—"

You drop to sit on your knees in front of him, gently spreading his legs to sit between them. "If you're sure, baby. Thank you for asking nicely."

The only sound that escapes him when you finally, finally lean forward and dart your tongue between his folds is a drawn-out moan. Instantly, his free hand finds your head, tangling through your hair and pulling you close. You welcome the momentum, slipping your tongue inside him and using your thumb to rub small circles against his clit. He moans and writhes against your mouth, hips bucking so uncontrollably you're half-tempted to wrap your free arm around his waist and hold him down as you work him up. (If he didn't still have his fingers entwined with yours, you probably would.)

When it gets too much and you're running out of air, you pull back, panting and gazing down at him in appreciation as he whines. "[naaaaame], I was so—"

"Shh," you coo, replacing your tongue with two deft fingers. "I just need a sec to breathe. You're doing so well, Izuku."

His walls pulse around your fingers at your words, green eyes shining with tears that almost make you stop completely if not for the fact that he's still trying to fuck himself on your fingers. You curl them experimentally, brushing against a spongy spot inside him that has him keening and thrashing against you. You re-position clumsily, dragging him into a kiss to muffle his noises as you continue to assault his g-spot. It’d be bad if someone heard the two of you, after all.

It's not long after that that you manage to push him over the edge, his pleasured moans spilling into your mouth as his walls flutter around you. A scarred hand squeezes around yours tightly as he manages to babble your name. You pump your fingers into his dripping cunt just a little bit longer, giving him something to ride out his orgasm on until his moaning turns into whimpers and his hips still. You smile softly when, upon trying to pull away to sit in a less awkward position, he pulls you back to kiss you again

You slowly remove your fingers from him, taking the small window he gives you to sit beside him on the bed and kiss the scar on his hand. His shoulders shudder as you pull him into your lap and a tight hug. "You did so well, Izuku," you coo into his ear.

He sniffles and would have launched himself at you if not for the fact that he was already as close as he could get—his arms lock you into place, snuggling into you tightly as he sobs.

"Is everything okay, Izu? What’s got you upset, green bean?" You carefully wipe your fingers on the sheets before beginning to card your fingers through his hair.

"I-I don't—I don't know! I'm sorry, I—"

"Shh, it's okay. You're okay, Izu. You did so well." You begin to pepper his temples in light kisses. 

"I-I always thought that—that I'd never get any of this. That if I ever—ever found someone like you and loved them and they actually loved me, that they'd never... 'cus I'm... f-for a lot of reasons, they wouldn't ever want to do anything like this with me," he babbles, finding every word more difficult to force out than the last. "They'd... they'd get to this point and then they'd realize that this isn't... that I'm not what they want. What they ever wanted. But... this is real. It is, isn't it?"

"It's real, Izuku."

He breaks at that. "Thank you. I'm sorry. I love you."

You patiently run your fingers through his hair, working through any knots you find and trying not to let yourself cry with him. "It's okay, baby. I love you too."

"I'm sorry," he repeats. Hot tears begin to drop onto your shoulder as he tries to bring himself even closer. "I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for, honey," you insist. "Really."

"I-I never thought I'd be..." He trails off, lets out another sob.

Your heart wrenches, and you smooth your hand over his back. "Loved?"

His silence speaks volumes.

"Oh gosh, Izu." You want to hold him close, to kiss him until he forgets every self-deprecating thought he's ever had. But you're already holding him, already as close as you can get, and genuinely, if you see his face right now, it won't be long before you're also bursting into tears. So you stay there, rubbing circles into his back as you search for the words—any words—to help him understand just how you feel. "You know I love you, right? I said it earlier, and I'll say it as many times as you need me to."

"I love you too," he mumbles, his tears finally beginning to subside. You wriggle your way from him, just enough to press soft kisses to his face.

"I mean it. More than anything, I love you. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for being honest with me, and thank you for confiding in me." With every "thank you" and "I love you", you pause to press another kiss to his face. The wrenching in your chest finally subsides when, after the fourth tiny kiss, he lets out a giggle. "Thank you for existing, baby. I'm so fucking glad I met you, and even if we'd never done this, even if we'd never gotten together, I'd still be glad I met you. You're loved, Izuku, and I'll remind you every day, every hour, if you need me to. As often as it takes for you to never question it again."

"Thank you. Sorry."

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his nose. "Stop apologizing. We here at [name], Inc. are of the official opinion that Mister Izuku Midoriya has never done anything wrong, ever, and will not be accepting constructive criticism at this time."

Finally, a proper laugh bubbles from his throat, and he finds it in himself to smile at you—complete, adoring, loving. He even lets himself believe it as the two of you lay down cuddled up to each other. 

As long as he's by your side, he thinks he can continue to believe it. 

He's complete. Adored. Loved.

[ruthiswriting]

body of choice

chainsaw man | denji, power, hayakawa aki, gen, 5k | on ao3

“It’s just…” He stopped. “You really don’t care about tits?”

There was a long silence, punctuated only by low buzz of Aki’s desk lamp. “You care about tits,” Aki said finally, “an unusual amount.”

(or: Time off work means that Denji gets to spend a lot of time thinking about what exactly it is that he likes about tits, anyway. Gender is involved. Power helps.)

inspired by my roommate’s headcanon that denji is a trans lesbian and doesnt know it yet! this fic takes place after the international assassin arc but before ch 73.

trigger warning for denji making transphobic statements due to the fact that he doesnt know that being trans is a thing, internalized transphobia, and body dysphoria. general disclaimer that i am not a trans woman but have been known to experience a gender from time to time. enjoy!

-

They’d all been given time off work, after the Darkness Devil. A leave of absence for Aki to recover, for Power to get her head screwed back on straight, and for Denji to sit and wait for them to be well, since he wasn’t allowed to go on work missions by himself. It was coming to an end soon— Aki had acclimated to his one arm pretty well, and Power didn’t wake up screaming anymore, so they’d be back to work soon.

Still, Denji was running out of ways to fill the empty time. Having nothing to do made him sizzle with nervous energy, waiting for something to do, for a task and directive to achieve. Aki provided the direction of reading materials, movies, and chores— but it still gave him too much time to think.

So it was a lazy afternoon, not long after lunch but still too early for another meal, when Denji asked Power a question.

“Hey, Power,” he said. “You took over a dead body, right?”

She was stretched out on the floor on her back, hugging Meowy in her arms— Aki always said that she held him too tightly, but no matter what Power did the stupid cat purred like a pleased, rusty motorboat. Denji’s question made her stall, frowning as Meowy squirmed. “Eh?”

“That’s what Aki said a fiend was,” Denji said, rolling onto his elbow to look at her from the couch. “A devil that took over a human’s dead body. So you did that, right?”

She paused, thinking this over— reaching for something hidden in her memory. Then her eyes widened, and she sat up. “That’s right,” she said, suddenly triumphant. She rubbed one finger under her nose, pivoting Meowy to rest awkwardly in the crook of her other arm. “I forgot… The way Power was born!”

There was the beginning of the story in the gleam of her eyes— something that would go on, and be uninteresting and mostly nonsensical. “Yeah, I don’t really care about any of that,” Denji said, before she could begin. “I was just wondering, like,” he paused, and one hand rose up, like he could better form the thought if he could grab it. “…Why’d you end up picking the body you did?”

“I used whatever was convenient,” she said. “Of course, my body is the best body I could have gotten. Tis one of the reasons I am so perfect.”

“So you didn’t care about what it looked like?”

Power sniffed, immediately dismissive of the question. “Only humans care about things like that,” she said. Denji could tell she was starting to lose interest in the conversation— she was starting to lift Meowy in front of her, the cat’s little arms jutting awkwardly toward her as his body dangled. “It is very sad! The only good devil feature I have now are my horns… Human bodies really are so unappealing. And they all look the same.”

This caught Denji off guard. He slid forward on the couch, trying to get Power’s attention again to argue. “Huh? That’s not true at all. We all look completely different. Like, you don’t look anything like me. And Aki looks super different from us…” His argument warmed up slowly as he cooked it over, and suddenly, he was invigorated. “We all look super fucking different! That’s crazy.”

“What are you two talking about?” Aki appeared in the doorframe, his one remaining arm wrapped over the white laundry basket he’d been struggling with the whole day.

“Denji is jealous of my perfect body,” Power said.

“No way!”

Before Power could say anything else stupid, Meowy squirmed over her shoulder to land on the ground behind her with a thump. She wheeled again to grab at him, but he scooted comfortably out of her arm’s reach to vanish under the couch, curling his patchy tail around his feet. “Meowy!”

Denji pointed at her, victorious. “That’s what you get. He’s not gonna come out for the rest of the day.”

“You two, stop fighting,” Aki said, before Power’s high pitched whine could end in a yell. “Denji, help me hang up the laundry. And Power, you need to clean Meowy’s litter box. It stinks.”

“Meowy should be allowed to shit wherever he wants,” Power grumbled.

“He does shit wherever he wants,” Aki said. “He just has better manners than you.”

As he stood on the balcony with Aki, picking up shirts one by one to hang, Power’s words continued to turn in Denji’s chest, until they finally stopped to lodge themselves there at an uncomfortable angle. It felt like he’d swallowed a piece of food before chewing it all the way through, and some piece was sticking there. His breaths couldn’t dislodge it.

Was he jealous of Power’s body?

No. There was no way. Why would he want a body like Power’s?

He’d seen a lot of Power’s body. All of it, actually. He knew what it looked like, what it felt like— even what it tasted like, not that he’d wanted to drink her blood. And he’d decided, pretty thoroughly, he wasn’t interested. Whatever exciting mystery lay under a girl’s clothes had fallen flat when it was attached to Power.

But maybe there was something else to want about her body? Something not about sex, or touch. He couldn’t name it. Or maybe, eventually, he could name it— but he definitely shouldn’t.

Laundry ended with hanging their spare public safety uniforms, all in an identical line. Denji was bigger than Power, and Aki was taller than both of them— still, they were all close enough in size that their clothes could easily mingle together in a confused heap. Denji had gotten halfway through getting dressed into Power’s too-small clothes to know he couldn’t wear her pant size, but on the line they almost looked identical. Empty squares of fabric, wafting in the warm breeze. When the sleeves moved, they looked like they were waving in time.

“You’re thinking about something,” Aki said.

He was kneeling by the now empty laundry basket, because even though Denji could have hung the laundry by himself in about the same amount of time, Aki had insistently stayed to pass the laundry to him. Denji guessed he just didn’t like being able to finish the stuff he could before, when he had both arms, and that maybe if he stuck around to the end of the task it was like he could do it anyway. But also, it felt like he was watching Denji. Waiting for something important.

Denji clipped the last shirt up, letting the clothespin clap shut around the starched white collar. “It’s nothin’ important,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

The next day, Denji remembered something that brought him back to Power, reading through a manga that Aki had brought home from the conbini.

“I thought of something else about what you said that doesn’t make sense,” Denji said, standing over her.

She had to move the volume down out of her face to look at him, scowling immediately at the interruption. “What?”

“You said that you don’t care about your body, but you do,” Denji said, accusatory. “You wore those— fake boob things. Why the hell would you do that if you didn’t care about what your body looked like?”

She stared at him, and Denji could see from her expression, instantly, she’d forgotten the whole conversation already. Power forgot about a lot of shit, admittedly, but for some reason it felt like a bad sign— like Denji was putting way too much thought into something stupid. He went on pointlessly to add, “you know— what we talked about. How you said human bodies are gross…”

“Correct. Human bodies are gross,” Power said, instantly confident even if she’d forgotten the context. “But there are ways to make them less gross.”

She sat up, throwing the magazine aside. Denji jerked back, out of the circumference of her turning legs, and watched her draw herself up. “It is also helpful to have large breasts,” she said, confident. “Because many people desire them, and so they act in useful ways— like when you helped me save Meowy.” She folded her legs under her and crossed her arms, with sudden finality.“Isn’t that right?”

“Well— yeah,” Denji said. “But you couldn’t have known I would do that before we met…” His eyes flickered to her chest automatically at the memory— she wasn’t wearing them right now, so her t-shirt hung loosely against her body.

“But I knew humans are disgusting. And that they would be interested in me having larger breasts.” She crossed her arms and legs at once, forming a defiant pretzel. “Maybe you should try it some time, Denji.”

Any further argument Denji had against this line of reasoning immediately evaporated. He felt his face flush instantly, and he struggled for words— or anything at all, really. “What—“ he stopped, sputtering. “Don’t be fucking stupid! I can’t have tits, I’m a guy.”

“Why not?”

He stared at her, bewildered. “Cause— cause guys don’t have tits.”

It was so obvious it felt stupid to say— but even with it being obvious it felt like a weak argument. Power wrinkled her nose. “Stupid! Very stupid, Denji. Come with me.” She stood up, briefly on the couch before hopping down next to him. And then, she grabbed his arm and marched him to the bathroom, her fingers making a vise grip against his skin.

“You’re lucky I’m here to help you,” Power said, shutting the bathroom door behind them. This seemed like a bad sign to Denji— Power had to practically be bribed to not leave the door open when shitting, and she didn’t care when they shut the door either. She was trying to cut off his escape route. “Humans are so limited and rigid in their thinking! It’s very boring, so I will help you.”

She was wriggling out of her t-shirt as she talked, discarding it on the floor between them. Then, she ducked her arms behind her back to undo the clasps on her bra. That wasn’t really a big deal— Denji had seen Power naked before, and he’d done her laundry enough times to know what her underwear looked like. But he was starting to feel nervous about wherever this conversation was going. “Power,” he said, eyes flickering to follow her movements, “I don’t know about this.”

“I’m only trying to show you,” she said. “That it is very easy. And that humans do look alike.”

And then, she was pulling his shirt off— Denji choked as the cloth dragged against his mouth, arms jerking up automatically to follow the movement. His shirt joined hers on the floor.

With businesslike hands, Power turned him around so he was staring at the blank drywall. He felt the bra drag around his ribcage. “Whoa— whoa,” Denji yelped.

“Don’t bother fighting me! This is for your own good!” She was snapping the clasps in place, so it was snug against his body. They scratched against his back as they clicked.

Then, she pulled the straps over his arms. Denji felt his eyes drop, to where his cleavage would be, if he had cleavage (but he didn’t because he was a guy, and so he shouldn’t be thinking about this). The rip cord of his chainsaw heart curled awkwardly out between the bra’s lace detailing. He could feel it constrict in his chest— an ugly spasm in reaction to the way it gapped against him.

Power’s hands snaked out from under his armpits. She was holding the breast pads. “Put them on,” she commanded.

Hell no, Denji screamed. Or, well, he thought he screamed. His voice wouldn’t cooperate.  Instead, his hand moved, mechanical, to take them from her.

They were pretty much how he remembered the first time— silicone. Kind of squishy, except for an odd firmness in the middle. There was a sticky backing that probably helped keep them from falling off your chest. They also stank, since they lived up against Power’s sweaty unwashed body most of the time.

He raised them to his chest, and after a few moments of arranging, they were on, cool and sticky against his skin.

Power turned him again with one firm hand on his upper arm. Now, they were both facing the mirror— Denji in Power’s bra. Both shirtless. Both, somehow, with tits. She leaned against him and crossed her arms, smirking with satisfaction. “Now you see,” she declared. “We don’t look so different.”

She was wrong, obviously. Denji was taller than Power, and broader shouldered, and just— different. They looked different. Because they were two different people, obviously, but also because Denji wasn’t a chick. No way anyone would buy that he was just from some fake boobs.

But also, he couldn’t stop looking at them. Why? He knew they weren’t real, and also, they were on him. The usual reasons Denji wanted to be looking at tits couldn’t really apply. Especially when Power, who had actual tits, was standing next to him, naked from the waist up.

Of course, he’d already figured out he wasn’t interested in Power, so it made sense that he wasn’t looking at her— except nothing about this situation made sense at all. Especially that some noise, buzzing in the back of his skull constantly, had gone quiet. A feeling that he hadn’t even known was there was gone.

“You can keep them if you want, Denji,” Power said generously. “I only wear the bra because Aki makes me.”

Reality snapped back into place. Denji pushed her away, yanking off the bra. The boob pads unstuck from his body with only a little coaxing, and they fell to the floor with a mushy plap. “Fucking— keep your clothes on, Power!”  

Denji ran from the bathroom without reclaiming his shirt, hiding in his room from both Power and whatever he had seen in the mirror. He’d have to come back for the shirt later— Aki always got onto them for leaving their clothes in the bathroom when they showered. But he wanted to be sure that Power would be gone. Power, and her stupid fake boobs, and whatever she’d done to him when she snapped that bra into place.

That night, Aki turned on an old cartoon while he cooked dinner— the sizzle of grease popping over the tinny background music and shouted dialogue. TV always mesmerized Power, although she complained if there wasn’t blood and gore. She still sat close to the screen, blocking the bottom half with the top of her head and horns.

Denji didn’t care about TV, really. It had been kind of novel at first, since his dad had sold the TV set when he was pretty young and they’d never had money for things like movies. But since he’d gotten to watch movies with Makima, watching grainy TV on Aki’s tiny television set had hardly been appealing. But he still watched, apathetic, until his stomach began to twist again.

The show was about some kid who got cursed, so that every time they got wet they’d change from a boy to a girl— or a girl to a boy. Denji wasn’t sure. It seemed pretty inconvenient, honestly. You probably couldn’t plan for being splashed with water in every situation, and the kid didn’t want everyone to know about it, so it just ended up being a lot of dumb shit about the kid managing all the different identities and what people thought he was— or she was. Denji could hardly keep up with his one life, so managing two seemed like a huge hassle.

So he didn’t know he felt so much envy, every time the dumb kid slipped into some water fountain or got dunked in a river. It didn’t make sense to want that. Nothing he was feeling made sense.

He took a shower after dinner. The hot water steamed over the mirror, leaving Denji alone with his thoughts, and the water, trickling over his back. His naked chest.

It was probably something wrong with his head. He knew that already, though—everyone had already made it clear that whatever Denji thought about anything was probably weird and fucked up. This was probably the same sort of thing. Whatever this was.

He rubbed his skin raw with soap and tried not to look down.

It was early in the morning when Denji couldn’t take it anymore.

Without understanding why, he crawled out of bed— over where Power was sprawled, taking up half the space in his bed, like she always ended up doing whenever she passed out there— and crept down the hall to Aki’s room.

When Makima had arranged for Denji to live with Aki, the door to Aki’s room had stayed solidly shut. He hadn’t been explicitly told to stay out, but Denji knew when not to sniff. And it wasn’t like he’d been especially compelled by whatever Aki got up to, so, whatever.

But then, Power had moved in too, along with her near-constant impulse to wreck most of Aki’s possessions and her cat that liked to sleep under Aki’s desk. Aki had waged an intense internal battle between wanting to make sure he could hear when Power was up to shit and wanting to keep at least an illusion of privacy. But at some point, he’d admitted defeat, and the door remained just slightly cracked, even when he was sleeping.

Then, after the Darkness Devil, Power would alternate between sleeping in Denji’s bed and Aki’s, so whatever privacy Aki had attempted to maintain had been thoroughly destroyed. He didn’t seem to care too much anymore anyway— even when it was Denji’s turn Aki always ended up ghosting down the hall to check on them, when he thought they were both asleep.

The light was off, and Denji was at least smart enough to feel bad about bugging Aki when he was definitely asleep, and when Denji should be too. He hovered in front of the door, hand half clenched over the knob, before finally reasoning that he’d known when he’d walked over here that Aki would be asleep, so he might as well follow through. He pulled the door open, and crept into the room.

Denji had seen Aki fall asleep on the couch enough times to know that he slept like the dead.  It wasn’t something he understood— it seemed like a pretty big weakness for a devil hunter, if he was being honest. But at this point he at least knew the drill. In the dark, Denji hunted for Aki’s desk lamp, and clicked it on.

The warm yellow bulb cast dozy light over the room. Aki stayed stone still, body half curved on the bed in an uncomfortable contortion. Denji sat next to him, touching his shoulder. “Hey, Aki,” he said, voice a mutter, and felt his ears turn red.

On any other day, Aki would have remained asleep long enough for Denji to back out of this terrible idea. But as Denji hurriedly pulled his hand away, Aki’s nose wrinkled, and he slowly blinked awake. Denji’s shoulders sunk.

“Denji?” Aki’s voice was still thick with sleep, and even in the dim light he squinted like it hurt. “What’s going on? Did Power clog the toilet?”

“It’s not important,” Denji blurted. “Don’t let me bug you, actually.” He stood, planning to leave, but he couldn’t get his feet to unstick from the floor. Every attempt he made just rooted him more solidly in place.

Behind him, Aki’s gaze slowly focused on his back. “…Is everything okay?”

It was a weird sentence, from Aki. He knew it, too— there was something self conscious in the way the words formed, even through his fuzzy concern. But this whole moment was weird, and Denji figured if they both knew it he might as well take advantage of it. He glanced over his shoulder to look at Aki. “I was just, like,” he stalled, trying to find a way to word what was sitting in his chest. “Wanting to know what you thought of something I’ve been thinking about. It’s not important, but, you know…”

The lamp’s bulb was making a weird buzzing noise, filling the dead space between Denji’s fumbling sentences. Aki’s body hadn’t moved, but his eyebrows kept contracting, like if he furrowed them enough he could get to the point of Denji’s sentence. Finally, he said, words slow, “you want my advice.”

Super lame. It sounded so lame when Aki said it, in his weird, grown up way of talking about everything. “Yeah,” Denji said.

Aki looked at Denji. Looked at the alarm clock on his bedside table that was scheduled to go off in three hours (which Denji knew because whenever he couldn’t sleep he could hear Aki start to move at the same time every morning). Looked up, finally, at the ceiling, squinting into nothing. Then, he said, “okay.” And he sat up.

Before he could stop himself, Denji sat again on the bed. This time, Aki drew his legs up, making room for Denji. He waited expectantly for Denji to start talking.

“It’s just..” Denji was glad, suddenly, for the awkward configuration on the bed. Looking at Aki in the eye felt too intense. “You know. I was thinking about…” He took a breath, and said in a  burst, “Aki, you’re gay, right?”

The silence suddenly got a lot thicker. Denji could feel the way Aki stared into the side of his head with a new, unwelcome intensity. When he talked, there was a beginning of an aggravated edge to his voice. “Did you wake me up at three in the morning to ask me why I’m gay?”

“No,” Denji said defensively. “It’s just— I’m trying to understand something, okay.”

“Why..” Aki stopped, and ran a hand over his face. He tried again, voice mechanically even. “Why do you think I’m gay?”

This, at least, was an easy one. “Your ears,” Denji said. And he pointed at Aki’s ear, where normally, black stud earrings would poke out from behind his bangs. “They’re both pierced, so like… One of them’s gotta be the gay one, right.”

Aki’s face was beginning to sour at his usual impressive rate. Unusually, though, he made an effort to contain it— to keep his bad mood from running off the edges of his face into the rest of the house. “We can unpack that later,” he said. “What’s your point?”

Denji wasn’t sure, was the thing. He wasn’t sure what his point was— only that there was this unknown thing lurking in the base of his stomach, something he didn’t know was good or not. He tilted his head back to look at the ceiling, like the answer was living up there. “It’s just…” He stopped. “You really don’t care about tits?”

There was a long silence, punctuated only by low buzz of Aki’s desk lamp. “You care about tits,” Aki said finally, “an unusual amount.”

“Fuck,” Denji said. He rubbed one arm over his eyes. “I know you think it’s stupid, okay. It’s...” He didn’t know. He didn’t know what it was.

Aki’s head tilted, just a little— the lamp shadowing the way he squinted at Denji. But then, he said, voice slow, ponderous: “are you thinking you don’t care about tits? And that…” He raised his eyebrow, leaving the connection for Denji to make.

“I’m not gay,” Denji said, voice definitive.

Aki didn’t argue this point. He nodded, willing to accept it without trouble. “But there’s something else about it that bothers you,” he said.  “Like…” He paused, slowly feeling out his words. “That you think what you want about them— might not be normal?”

They were statements of fact, made carefully— Aki watching his reaction between every minute word. So Denji knew that he saw the way his shoulders shriveled, inching away from whatever Aki was arriving to. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore,” he mumbled.

“Why not?”

Denji stared down at his hands. His hands, resting on his legs, and the curve of his stomach against his boxers. “When all those assassins were coming after me,” he said finally. “One of them said… That some things you’re just better not knowing about. So, maybe it’s one of those things.”

Aki considered. “I suppose that can be true in some cases,” he allowed. “But I’d rather know the truth, however painful. …And I don’t think it really is one of those things, this time.”

“So what do you think it is?” Denji challenged him, finally turning his head to look Aki in the eye. “You’ve got something in mind, right? You wouldn’t have said something like that otherwise.”

“Not really.”

Denji couldn’t make out Aki’s face clearly in the dark, so it was hard to tell if he was lying. “Yeah, right,” he said. And he looked away again.

It was a while before Aki responded. Before he said anything, he shifted to be sitting next to Denji— legs close together, the ghost of his empty sleeve batting against Denji’s arm. Denji chanced a look at him, out of the corner of his eyes, but Aki wasn’t meeting his eyes either. He was just looking at some point on the wall. Reflecting.

“Some things you might be better off knowing,” Aki said. “Some things maybe you shouldn’t. But I don’t think it’s wrong to want to get to know yourself better… Even if it’s uncomfortable in the meantime.”

“You do have something in mind,” Denji mumbled.

Aki paused again. “Only based off of what you told me,” he said, voice light. “What you asked me.”

Denji’s vision swam. He squeezed his eyes shut, insistent on blocking out whatever he was feeling, and however Aki was looking at him. “It really doesn’t matter,” he said again, because maybe if he kept saying it it would be true.

The bed creaked, and he felt the mattress rise underneath him as Aki stood. Denji dared to open his eyes to watch him move. Aki was turning to face Denji, so he could use his one remaining arm to push him down to the bed— gently, one hand firm on his shoulder. Denji didn’t fight. He let his body sag, until his head was resting against one of Aki’s lumpy pillows. His eyes kept prickling, so laying down was probably a bad idea. Whatever was burning behind his eyes only got worse the gentler Aki was.

But then, mercifully, Aki turned the lamp off, dropping them both into darkness. He went around to the far side of the bed, and laid next to Denji, a tiny sigh bursting out from behind his lips. Denji felt his throat click.

Aki’s arm cuffed around his head, almost cradling him in the crook of his elbow. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore, if you don’t want to,” he said. “It’s fine if it takes you time to figure it out.”

Denji wanted to protest more. To say that really, there was nothing to figure out, and that Denji was just making a big deal out of nothing. Power had said and done some weird Power shit, and that was all. He could get over it. But at this point, that felt even stupider. So Denji swallowed, and nodded. He didn’t trust his voice anymore, so Aki’s only answer would have to be the way the back of Denji’s neck shifted against his wrist.

Aki didn’t say anything else, only laid against him in the dark, a silent, still presence. Denji drew in breaths until his heart calmed, until he could trust himself to speak. “Should check on Power,” he muttered. “She still gets nightmares sometimes… ‘Specially if she wakes up alone.”

“Right,” Aki murmured. “I can go look— you don’t have to get up.”

“Nah,” Denji said, and he started to sit up.

Before he could get further than his elbows, though, a heavy, furry weight thudded into Denji’s chest. Meowy sank heavily against him, like a furry rock pinning him to the bed.

Denji swore, and in response, Power’s cat meowed in his face. “God, your breath stinks,” he muttered.

“What are you both doing in here?” The vague outline of Power’s body lingered in Aki’s doorway, like a horror movie monster.  If a horror movie monster refused to eat vegetables or brush her teeth. “You left me alone, Denji.”

Denji grumbled, still trying to move the cat. “What’s it look like we’re doing? We’re sleeping. And you defeated the Darkness Devil, so it’s fine, right? Nothing bad’s gonna happen. You’re too tough.”

“Not important!” She stepped into the room and the bare sliver of moonlight coming through Aki’s balcony. It made her face white, almost gleaming with sweat. “I knew Meowy wouldn’t leave me for no reason. You two are too weak and pathetic to be left alone! Very good work, Meowy.” She crossed the room to crawl into bed next to them, pressing up against Denji in an insistent effort to fit.

Denji grumbled in protest, but there wasn’t any stopping her— in a matter of seconds she was insistently pretzeled next to him.

“Thanks for watching out for us, Power,” Aki murmured. “Good job.”

He was already falling back asleep. Which was really pretty annoying, because Aki’s bed really wasn’t big enough for the three of them. But if Denji wanted to move, he’d have to drag all of them with him and he just didn’t want to deal with that. So he sighed and wriggled over, making room for Power by jamming himself against Aki’s shoulder.

Meowy slid off his chest like a heavy ooze, landing between him and Power on the crook of his shoulder. Power curled happily around the cat, one arm catching around it to drape across Denji’s chest.

And then, they were asleep again, with just Denji awake. Watching the dawn light start to crawl across the ceiling.

Sometimes, when he was stuck on shit like this, he started to wonder if he had been better off when it was just him and Pochita. Even if he didn’t have money and food, it was less complicated. He didn’t have time to think about things like tits, because he was too busy trying to pay rent, and the bills, and feed him and Pochita. It was harder, but also way, way fucking easier.

Right now, though, it was okay. Denji could stand thinking a little more, if it was like this.

He let his eyes close. This time, he fell asleep.

[bi-rising]

so the thing is. i've always been pro non-binary and i want to continue to be but i have been reading some stuff and i'm worried bc it kinda makes sense and ik it's a bad thing but god idk i need to hear your opinion. so there's this post of someone saying trans ppl wouldn't exist in an utopia where genders aren't a thing and someone else explained how that was wrong because of disphoria and then said "while yes, there would be a lot less nb ppl bc gender stereotypes are more their thing..." and it got me thinking bc i never really understood what nb is. i also saw other people say that nb and genderfluid don't make sense because they're not about gender, but stereotypes about masculinity and femeninity. and i think i agree? (what i hear most from nb ppl is that they don't feel like they fit in with society's ideas of man or woman, but as a somewhat masculine cis woman neither do i? or many others at least) because those things are societal, you can be a binary gender while not agreeing with societal gender norms, or gnc. and what confuses me further is that most nb ppl are gender aligned. i reason they're aligned to the gender that corresponds their sex? (i'm asking from the deepest pit of ignorance😅) but if they feel like they don't fit in the binary genders, how can they be aligned with masc of fem? i mean for example a nb person who's female by sex and is very femenine, wears makeup, long hair, basically doesn't look androgynous at all, are they really not a woman who doesn't agree with gender stereotypes? bc i also feel like a lot of people are treating nb as a quirky thing to use to get in the lgbt community (like they wanna be oppressed, for whatever reason). idk. i'm a bit lost (and drunk), gender discourse is quite complex...

you're right, gender discourse is incredibly complex, especially when so many people are ready to jump down your throat and cancel you and destroy your friendships regardless of your intentions and/or level of knowledge. therefore, i'm also going to speak carefully on this subject, bc i feel that nb discourse is rife with people foaming at the mouth to ask any questions at all so :^)

anyway, i've seen that post before, and i think i agree with you as well. binary trans people have a disorder. it's been proven that trans people's brains have the neural pathways and neural structural patterns of the gender opposite of their sex. therefore, even in a utopia without gender roles and stereotypes, they would still be trans. that's also why it's incredibly important to keep transgender as a medical acknowledgement, not just to force insurance to help pay for gender reaffirming surgeries and therapies, but also to acknowledge that it's a real, neurological occurrence--and hopefully gain more research and acceptance of it.

and because of that, i also am in the same boat as you, where it's likely that nb people would not exist in such a utopia, or if they did, it would be an extremely small amount, even smaller than it is currently. from what i've seen in the nb movement is a lot of push against gender roles and gender stereotypes; i would cautiously hazard a guess that there are two main reasons for people identifying as nb

1) they are gnc

2) they don't "feel" their gender, as they believe cis people do, and conflate lack of femininity/masculinity or a neutrality towards one's own body with having a different gender

i personally can't see anyone having nb dysphoria, simply because the science isn't there for it. the body has two setting--male or female (please note that intersex people are not being considered here, as their condition is a birth defect and not the creation of a third gender or a lack of gender). therefore, there are female and male hormones; female and male neural structures; female and male neural pathways. i don't believe that there is dysphoria associated with not having a gender or having a third gender outside the binary--HOWEVER. however, i believe that many things can be mistaken for nb dysphoria

for example, many binary trans people have had a stage wherein they identify as nb for awhile. it's like a stepping stone, from what i understand, between believing they're cis to understanding they're trans. there is also trauma, especially sexual trauma, that can cause a disconnect between one's own gender and themselves. internalized misogyny/misandry can also be a culprit, or simply not wishing to exist within the boxes that female and male stereotypes push people into. and lastly, there's also body dysmorphia, which can be difficult to recognize for what it is. of course, it may be a desire to simply "be different" than other people, especially for those that are online a lot and have been bombarded with "cis is bad" for years and years, but i would like to give people the benefit of the doubt first instead of jumping to conclusions like that

despite all of this, i do think it is important to respect nb people and be courteous and kind to them. this is just my own opinion, and i personally will never attack or dismiss a nb person. the only problem i will ever have is if a nb person uses neopronouns, and that's bc i am neurodivergent and believe that pronouns equal gender. then, though, i believe that's a separate problem entirely from being nb critical

[mookoo-writes]

~You’re Still My Boyfriend~ (2K12 Leonardo x Trans Male! Reader)

Authors Note: I’m hear to fill the void of male reader fanfiction for readers like me 

Fandom: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2012

Pairing(s): Leonardo x Trans Male! Reader

Warning(s): cursing, mention of dysphoria, Leo is just a good boyfriend

Anyway, Please enjoy~

It started like any other day; leave school and visit the lair where you get your homework done while also getting to hang out with your favorite mutant turtle friends and boyfriend. Since today was Friday, you didn’t have to worry about school work which means more time with your boyfriend. Unfortunately, since you’re not working on homework, you aren't looking at the time every five minutes. 

You didn’t realize how late it was until you get a call from your parents and a few texts asking where you were. “Shit.” You mutter to yourself as you check the time on your phone. Leo paused the movie the five of you were watching so you wouldn’t miss anything. 

“Uh oh, someones in trouble,” Raph smirked as he flipped to another page in his comic. You glared at him as you answered the phone. 

“Y/n where are you? You should be home by now.” A stern voice spoke at you. 

“I know, I know I’m sorry. I was watching a movie with friends and didn’t check the time.” You apologized with a sign, hoping you wouldn’t get grounded. 

“Are you at the friend's house right now?” You replied with a yeah before they continued. “I don’t want you walking around the streets at this time of night. It’s dangerous, and I’d rather you stay there than risk your life walking home.” 

You laughed to yourself as you think of all the crime shows your parent watches. “Could you ask your friend if it's okay if you sleep there for tonight?” They asked. 

You pulled the phone away from your ear and covered the speaker. “Is it all right if I crash here tonight? My parents don’t want me to walk home this late at night.” 

The boys looked at each other, then back at you. “I don’t see why not,” Leo said while the others nodded or gave you a thumbs up. 

“Yea, I can spend the night here.” You spoke into the phone. 

“Good! I’m sure you can use their clothes to sleep in.” You narrowed your eyes and looked at each of your friends and what they had on. 

Just a bunch of belts. 

You pursed your lips and paused for a minute. “Yea, I’m sure they will have an extra change of clothes.” Giggling could be heard from the four turtles as you swat the air for them to be quiet.

“I’ll let you get back to your movie then. Call me if there are any problems. Love you.” 

“I will. Love you too.”

You placed the phone back on the couch and sighed. “At least I’m not in trouble.” You got comfy in the blanket you and Leo were sharing and leaned on his shoulder. “Okay, now we can continue the movie.”

Once the movie finished, everyone decided to head to bed since it was getting late. When Leo got up from the couch, you wrapped yourself in the blanket and sprawled out. Leo stood there and watched as you did so. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think of how to ask. You rose a brow at your flustered boyfriend. “I was thinking- that maybe… I mean you don’t have to… It’s just-” He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. Keyword trying. “I was thinking that maybe you could sleep with me? Or- or you could take my bed and I can sleep on the couch.” 

You smiled as he stuttered out his question. He always claims to be good with words, but at times like this, he doesn’t have a clue what to say. 

You got up with the blanket wrapped around your shoulders and grabbed his hand. The poor turtles' face seemed to become redder when you started to pull him towards his room. 

When both of you stepped into the room, you kicked the door closed with your foot and plopped down on Leo’s bed. The scent of cherry blossoms and freshwater filled your nose as you inhaled. You’re glad you got him a diffuser to block out the sewer smell. 

You have always loved his room. The hint of Japanese culture along with a box of comic books and action figures sitting on shelves made afternoon naps more comforting. You would usually take a small nap while he’s meditating or training with his brothers.

You adjusted yourself to where you were resting under the thick blankets and closed your eyes. You could hear Leo chuckled to himself. The blankets shuffled for a split second before settling. You smiled to yourself as you curled up to the side of his plastron. Your fingers tracing the grooves of his shell as your eyes wandered to his. His mask was set to the side along with his other gear. 

He always looked different to you without his bandanna. Kind of like when someone takes off their glasses for the first time in front of someone else. But seeing him without his mask makes him look relaxed and content. 

You moved your hand from his plastron to his face, gently rubbing his cheek. His face flushed once again as he pushed his head further into your hand.

“If you went to the surface when the sun was out, you would have a bad tan line because of your mask… do you get tan lines?” 

”You always know how to ruin a moment, huh.” 

“Hey! I’m just saying what's on my mind!” 

Leo sighed as he wrapped an arm around you. “You're lucky you’re cute.” You chuckled, eyes slowly closing while sleep slowly consumes you. “You should get some sleep” incoherent mumbles spilled out of your mouth, trying to argue that you were not tired but failing miserably. Leo smiled to himself and turned the bedside lamp off. 

“Goodnight handsome.”

It was about 3 in the morning when you woke up in a sweat and hyperventilating. Why was this happening? You weren’t having a bad dream. Was this some sort of surprise panic attack? Your chest did hurt a bit. 

Wait.

You sat up and felt your chest. Flat. You were still wearing your binder. It’s been on for almost a full 24 hours without a break. This wouldn’t be such a problem but considering it was new, you weren’t quite used to it. You needed to get this thing off quick.

You silently crawled out of bed, making sure to not wake the sleeping turtle. You waited a few seconds before making another move of taking your shirt off. You would have preferred to do this in the bathroom, but that was too far and risky. Those doors make a tremendous amount of noise when you just want a glass of water late at night. 

You finally peeled off the binder. A small sigh left your lips as you put your shirt back on. Fortunately for you, there was a hoodie in Leo’s closet that you had left for him. Quietly, you sneak your way to his closet. His closet door was shut. 

Shit.

‘Let's hope this door isn’t as loud as Mikey’s snoring’ you thought to yourself as you gently pulled the door open. 

Skreeee

“Y/n?”

Fuck.

You could hear shuffling from the bed and the light turned on. You quickly pulled the door open wider so you could cover your top half. You didn’t like people seeing you without your binder on. It made you feel dysphoric and others might think less of you. Which is why whenever you didn’t have your binder on you wore a large hoodie or jacket. 

“Go back to sleep, babe. I just got… cold.” You swiped the overly large hoodie off of its hanger and quickly put it on. You stepped out of the closet, gently closing the door behind you, and made your way back to bed. Climbing back into bed, you snuggled back to your original spot. Once settled, Leo turned the light off and wrapped his arm right over your chest.

Your eyes grew wide and hoped he didn’t feel something in particular. You stared at the ceiling for a moment, feeling his arm slightly move, then move again. “Hey Y/n.”

You turned your head to face your boyfriend. “Yes?” 

“What is that…?” Your eyebrows scrunched at the question. 

“My boobs?”

Leo shot up and turned the light back on. “Your what???” 

“My… my boobs. You know, like titties.” 

Leo looked at you, down at your chest, then back to you. “When did you get those?!?”

You burst out laughing. “The person who birthed me?” You tried to muffle your laugh with the blanket but failed. 

Leo looked at you in disbelief, his mouth open and eyes wide. “You’re trans?!?” 

Your laughing died down and looked back at him. “You didn’t know?” You rose an eyebrow questionably. 

“No! I mean, there's nothing wrong with it. I still love you know matter what.” Leo fully sat up on the bed, rubbing his eyes as if trying to get his bearings from this instant adrenaline. 

You lied there, shocked. He didn’t know? You thought it was obvious. You’ve never taken testosterone or anything. Just a binder. 

“I… passed?” Your eyes started to water as you looked down at your hands. Every morning you saw something wrong with your body. Many feminine features were sticking out like a sore thumb, but yet your boyfriend didn’t even know. He never once commented on anything wrong. 

Tears were now rolling down your face as you look up at your boyfriend with a smile. “I passed.” 

Leo was caught off guard by this but immediately engulfed you in a hug. You sobbed into his shoulder and hugged him tight until the happy tears stopped rolling down your cheek. You can feel Leo’s hand rub your back while his other arm was hooked around your waist. You felt safe like this. Safe from the world’s gender stereotypes and judgment. Safe to express who you are and who you always will be.

You felt safe and loved.

You slowly pulled away, cheeks stained with tears that have dried. Leo gently cupped your face, looking at you as if he’s holding the world in his hands. To him, he is. He can’t even express home much you mean to him. Seeing you like this makes him happy yet frustrated. Happy that you felt overly loved but frustrated that, seeing you react the way you did, someone had hurt you because of something you can’t control. And the fact that he can’t be by your side to protect you from those things made him frustrated at himself.

The blue-clad turtle looked into your eyes, seeing the overall joy in them. Right at that moment, Leo had promised himself to protect his dear boyfriend the best he could. If not protect, then to be there for support on a particular dysphoric day.

Leo started placing sweet kisses starting at your four head that trailed down your temple. His thumbs gently rubbed your cheeks as he kisses the bridge of your nose. Leo could feel your nose scrunch under his lips and chuckled. He pulled away but not before planting a loving kiss on your lips.

“I honestly can’t express how much I love you, Leo.” You mutter to him, eyes half-closed due to lack of sleep. 

“That’s supposed to be my line.” Your boyfriend wined. You merely chuckled and leaned into his plastron. Leo took that as a sign and slowly lied back on his shell with you in his arms.

Your boyfriend kissed your four head as a yawn escaped your lips. “We should get back to sleep, I’m exhausted.” Leo chuckled and reached over to turn the lamp off.

“Goodnight Leo.”

“Goodnight handsome”

-Bonus-

“Your what” Two of the three brothers at the table looked at your direction with wide eyes. 

“You guys didn’t know?” Donnie took another bite of his cereal without looking away from his computer screen. 

“Wha- no we didn’t know! It’s not like we see humans every day!” Mikey ignored his hot-headed brother and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. 

“Look dude, just because you were born into something you're not doesn’t make you any less manly.” You smiled at the orange-clad turtle and thanked him.

[steves-strapcollection]

feel free not to answer this , just wanted to share some recommendations. i’m 9 months on T (gel) rn, and it’s all going to get worse from there congrats it’s wonderful. the voice is change is very gradual, but it will mess with what voices you can do. i suggest camomile tea with some honey daily, but any hot drink is good for your throat. also, drink lots of water. the “down there” sensitivity will even out over the next month or two (sadly, random bouts of horniness are there to stay), but the discharge will probably be more then your pre-T amount for several months. your going to get some insane acne most likely, so start investing in things with vitamin b or salicylic acid. the fat distribution on your face might make it seem like your jawline is different.

also, welcome to the smelly boys club! shower daily. please.

other then that please take care of yourself. drink lots of water and get lots of rest as your body is changing and you deserve it. have a great day

Hey! Thanks for this ask, this is all excellent info for anyone who is following me and hasn't researched transitioning as extensively as I have!

As it is, my Transition TMI thread is less to do with the expected transition milestones, and more to do with the in-between time. I read up on transitioning a lot before actually starting the process of talking to a doctor about transition, and I really struggled to find candid discussions about individual transition experiences down to the little things. As in a lot of trans people seem to mark the Big Milestones without discussing the smaller changes leading up to them. I think a lot of this has to do with dysphoria (as in, a lot of trans people are too dysphoric to perhaps assess their bodies close enough to see the small changes).

I personally am a trans person whose dysphoria is quite manageable, at least manageable enough that I can let myself look at and feel my own body and note small changes.

What this all means is that I knew about the big things, but not the little things, so I want to talk about the little things for others considering transition and also for people early in transition wondering if they're just overthinking things. For example, I knew that The Voice Drop takes at least 3 months to happen. I knew this milestone. I did not expect, nor did I read in any of my research, transmascs experiencing vocal changes within the first week like I did, or noticing a deepening of their register within the first month like me, nor did I read about the Hurty Throat thing happening within the first month. The moment I asked my transmasc friends about it, they confirmed that that's fairly normal, at least by their experiences.

So yeah, my Transition TMI thread is mostly just me providing a candid look into taking T and noting the lesser known (at least lesser known to me) changes leading up to The Big Ones.

Hope this all makes sense!!

[harleyhua-archive]

it’s elle again! took me longer than I thought it would, but i’m here with the bio of my second son, harley. he’s my newest oc; i’ve had him for about a year, but i didn’t get to rp much during that time. i’m fluent in asl, so harley has a special place in my heart. usually my gifs that include him signing won’t actually match the signs up to what he’s saying, but this one does. he’s signing ‘hello, my name is....’ so it felt like an appropriate intro post.

[ chella man, genderqueer trans man, 21, he/him ] did you see who just walked in? it was that JUNIOR, the ╳ + HARDWORKING AND  - DISORGANIZED ╳  one? you know, the one who lives at SONTHENA HALL, HARLEY HUA! i heard they are majoring in ART and they can’t wait to get out of here to BECOME AN ILLUSTRATOR.  crap! stop staring, here they come!

name. harley hua hometown. detroit, mi major. art (illustration) birthday. may 27th, 2000 gender. trans man, genderqueer orientation. pansexual religion. jewish languages. english, asl, some cantonese and french hobbies. cheerleading, drawing, comic books

[ BIO ] [ tw. gender dysphoria ]

harley was born hard of hearing, although it wasn’t discovered until he was six. his audiologist discouraged his parents from teaching him sign, saying he would stop talking and stunt his language skills, so he grew up using his hearing aid and filling in the gaps with lipreading.

his yearly hearing tests showed he was gradually going deaf. he kept getting stronger hearing aids and being able to catch less and less of what was happening around him. the expectation was that he would get better at reading lips, but that only got him so far (only 30% of the English language is visible on the mouth!)

he had been a social kid, but he slowly withdrew into art. there, he could create anything he wanted. he often drew superheroes, or just ‘regular’ civilians (usually men). for a few years, harley took a sketch book and at least three graphic pencils everywhere he went.

in middle school, harley was eligible for a cochlear implant. his parents urged for him to get implanted, but decided to let him make the decision himself. he found a way to compromise with them; he agreed to get the surgery, but in exchange his parents agreed to pay for him and his brother to take ASL classes.

once activated, the implant was an immediate change. the world sounded different through it than what harley remembered, but he could understand his teachers and classmates better than he had in a very long time. he was able to join in again, and went from the kid scribbling in a notebook alone to being very outgoing. once he was able to use an ASL interpreter in classes, his confidence and grades shot up.

in high school, harley was very popular. it didn’t take long for his friends to give him a makeover, convincing him to throw out his baggy tshirts and most of his jeans, in favor of more feminine pieces. mini skirts, heels and crop tops (at least, when he could sneak them past his parents). he grew out his short hair to better hide his cochlear implants, smiling and nodding when he couldn’t keep up in conversations instead of drawing attention to his deafness. for the first time in his life he fit in, and he didn’t want to remind people that he was different.

(tw: dysphoria) but something was different, and it wasn’t his cochlear implants or the fact he was one of the only asian kids at his predominately white high school. something about the way he looked bothered him. he would often stare at himself in the mirror, and he knew the girl staring back at him in the mirror was pretty, but he couldn’t connect with ‘her’. she felt like a completely different person, almost like a mask he wore despite not understanding why he ‘needed’ to wear it or why he felt so numb to his own body.

the huas weren’t really hurting for money, but sending two teenagers to college only a year apart would be tough for any family. harley didn’t want to put that kind of stress on his parents, so he focused on cheerleading scholarships. he toured suffolk because it has one of the best cheer programs in the country. it was a dream school, but he doubted they’d want him on their team, let alone offer him enough money that he could afford to attend. yet that’s exactly what happened, so harley accepted and moved to boston.

during his freshman year of college, he realized nobody cared what he looked like in college. many of his classmates showed up to lectures in their pajamas. he started experimenting with his clothes, trading out the feminine pieces he’d been wearing for the past four years and wearing the things he wanted to; androgynous and masculine pieces. at first he wasn’t so sure why it made him happy, he just knew it did.

(tw: dysphoria) harley had never paid much attention to the trans community. he certainly never thought of himself as trans or genderqueer. sure, he often felt like an alien stuck in someone else’s body, but he assumed that was normal - something every girl secretly felt. after joining his college’s gsa and meeting trans people for the first time and hearing their stories, it began to click. harley came out towards the end of his freshman year of college, and started transitioning a few months later. his parents didn’t try to stop him, but it’s clear they don’t understand. a small part of harley is bothered by this, but he doesn’t let it get him down. it took a long time for them to accept he was deaf, too, but they eventually came around. they’re just slow to accept changes. between that and their refusal to learn ASL, harley isn’t on the best of terms with them, but he doesn’t stop to let this get to him. 

overall harley is a very happy kid. he’s at his dream college, living his best life and preparing for the future he’s wanted since he was a kid

[ HEADCANONS ]

not wanting to take much money from his parents, harley works as a bartender three days a week at a popular bar near campus

if he’s not at work or in class, he’s either practicing cheer, working out at the student rec center, or at one of two coffee shops (one being the starbucks in his building, the other being an independent mom-and-pop cafe not far from campus)

he’s basically a jock villager from animal crossing. as stated before, he’s really into cheerleading. since getting his top surgery last summer he’s fallen in love with swimming. he also lifts weights and goes running a couple times a week with nadia.

harley is very busy, and his schedule is constantly fluctuating between working late nights and practices at any time of day. he’s pretty much always sleep deprived, and lives on an insane amount of coffee (he doesn’t like energy drinks).

harley’s preferred method of communication is asl. he uses interpreters in class and is involved with the deaf community in boston. but since most people on the squad only know a limited amount of sign, and other people he knows on campus don’t know the language at all, he often relies on the combination of his cochlear implant and lipreading to communicate. if he can’t hear with his cochlear implant (dead battery, too much background noise, etc) he won’t be able to understand enough by reading lips. but on the other hand, if he’s using his implant to communicate, watching the other person’s mouth helps him fill in the blanks.

[ WANTED CONNECTION ]

teammate // they do cheer together, so they spend a lot of time with each other

asl friends // harley prefers asl, so it would be great for him to have people to sign with!

regular customer // your character hangs out at the bar harley works at. conversely, they’re a bariste at one of the cafes harley is at multiple times a day

workout buddies // they lift weights together

rainbow family // in the queer community, they say you make your own family. harley doesn’t have a great relationship with his parents, and his brother is attending school on the west coast, so harley could use some lgbtq+ family in boston

comic book nerds // harley loves comic books. they were a major escape for him growing up and how he got into drawing in the first place. so maybe your character is also really into comic books, or they just share a passion for the mcu movies

[ FINAL NOTES ]

That’s all I got, but I’m open to almost anything with him. Looking forward to getting to explore him more here!

[shadedrose01]

64?

Author Note: Happy Pride Month everybody!!Know that no matter your gender or sexuality identity, you are welcomed and loved ❤🌈🌈🌈❤

I hope you all enjoy!

Note/Warning: I've never written a trans character before, and this deals with negative self thoughts and dysphoria (a dead name is also used, but is crossed out). If there's anything I've gotten wrong, or if the way I wrote it is insensitive and/or incorrect, please please please let me know and I will try to fix it/delete it. 💞

Also sorry that its bad aosmskka

--

He let's out a slow, shaky breath, staring at his knuckles which are slowly turning white from his tight grasp on the marble counter of the vanity in his bathroom. He glances up once, catching a quick glimpse of stormy grays, surrounded by dark purple circles, of long, too long blond locks, of a face too rounded, too clean, and his face instictually scrunches, his gaze dropping as his eyes burn, more rivers slipping down his cheeks as his mind screams at him, 'wrong, wrong, wrong-'

He squeezes his eyes shut, more liquid escaping as his body, curved and top heavy and wrong, heaves in a silent sob. He cant keep doing this, he knows. Cant keep living this lie, cant keep pretending. Knows that why he texted that morning, why his boyfriend was in the living room right now, waiting for him to come back out, probably getting worried at how long he was taking-

But goddamn it, he was scared. He was scared shitless. Not because he thought Peter would hurt him, no no no, he would never hurt him. But because he didnt know if he'd stay once he knew.

And Peter... God, Peter means so much to him. Peter, who stayed with him through every up and down, who held him close after he cried for hours and hours when his mom died, who he's sat with and laughed for hours, until his stomach aches and happy tears will rolling down his face, who's been with him- well, he thinks he's a her; even the thought causing his stomach to churn and another sob to shutter through him- for almost 2 years now, having started dating in 9th grade when they were both new and baby faced and young, so so young and naive, and-

And Harley- not Hailey, no, no, no- didnt know if he could lose him. Didnt know if he could handle it if Peter looked at him in cold, hard disgust and walked out, never looking back. But it's a very real possibility. He knows some people cant handle transgender people (he's trans, it's still a revelation for him even after all these years of hating himself and wondering why, even after figuring out what trans meant a few months ago, even after realizing he was that last month, it was still weird, still new to him), much less date them.

And from what he knew, Peter was straight. And Harley wasn't a girl. He was almost sure that Peter wouldn't stay, because why would he? He wanted a girl, thought he was dating a girl, but Harley wasn't a girl and-

He shakes his head, opens his eyes and wipes his tears away, taking a deep breath. No more time for second thoughts, he just- he just has to go out there, say it, and- and see what happens. He swallows down his fear, straightens his back, and unlocks the door, walking out.

He makes his way back to the living room, where his boyfriend ('for now' his mind tells him, 'he'll leave, he will') is still lounging on the couch, sprawled out and relaxed, scrolling on his phone without a care in the world, unknowing of the secret, no, the revelation that was about to  dropped, that was about to ruin their night and relationship. He glances up when Harley walks back in, and gives him a warm, familiar grin, his coffee eyes sparkling and shining with the same abundant amount of love as he always has when staring at Hailey and it causes his chest to squeeze, his heart to hammer worse, his hands to clench. Because thats who he thinks he is, thats the facade of the human Peter knows and loves, hidden under lumps and curves, unknowing of the true him lurking underneath.

"Hey baby, is everything okay?" He tilts his head, and his smile dims a little, his irises swirling with a worry, a concern now that Harley doesn't deserve, Peter doesn't deserve this, doesn't- he can't do this, he can't- "You were in the bathroom for a while." Harley swallows, and stays silent as he sits down, back ramrod straight and head down, focusing on his hands sitting in his lap, squeezing and unsqueezing over and over in his nerves, his fear. At least, they were, until another hand reaches over and plants itself on top of them, causing Harley to flinch slightly. "Hailey, what's wrong?" Peter sounds scared, now, scared and confused and Harley's heart aches but he needs to do this, he needs to.

"I have to tell you something." He finally finds the strength to whisper, his voice high, too high, and squeaky, a current of self hatred pumping through his veins as he longs for it to be deep, to be normal, to be him. "And it's- something big, and I get it if you want to break up with me afterwards, or hate me, I get it, I do, trust me-"

"Hailey," he squeezes Harley’s hands with his own, trying to be reassuring but his words, the name- not his name, that’s not his name- makes Harley flinch again, and his face scrunch up as tears burn at his eyes, making his view of their beige carpet floor blurry. "You're scaring me, princess, talk to me. What's going on?"

"I'm not a princess!" He blurts, then, loud and irrational, Peter reeling back in surprise, his eyes wide when Harley jerks back up to stare at him just as his tears start to fall.

Peter pauses, clearly trying to think of the best way to go about this, before he leans forward, face focused, serious and voice cautious, as if Harley was fragile, dainty, breakable. "Okay. If you didn't like the nickname, you could've just told me, Hails."

"No! That's not-" Harley rubs at his face, rough and harsh, scrubbing away his tear and rubbing his face raw as he croaks out, all of the fight rushing out of him. "...I'm not Hailey, Peter."

He hears a scoff from beside him, but its gentle, more bewildered than anything else. "Yes you are, I've seen your birth certificate, I've met your parents-"

"I'm a man, Peter." He forces out, finally, finally, the words slipping through his teeth like air, soft, low, barely a whisper, but its enough, enough to shut Peter up completely, enough to make Harleys eyes and heart squeeze as he continues, "I'm not Hailey, because I'm not a girl. I'm a man. I'm- I'm transgender, Peter."

His chest convulses in a sob as soon as the words escape him, and a multitude of emotions rush over him, but he can't tell what they are, can't distinguish if they're  panic, fear, concern, or if they're relief, joy, a weight off of his shoulders. Maybe its a mix of both, swirling and making his stomach churn as they sit in silence, the rock forming in Harley's stomach getting bigger and bigger, heavier and heavier the longer Peter doesnt say anything, doesn't move, doesn't breath or blink or anything. He squeezes his eyes shut again, turning away again, shoulders tense and heart aching. He can't bare to look at what he knows will be disgust and anger on the love of his life's face. He can't. "I'm sorry. I- I know this isn't what-" He hiccups, tears still rushing down his face and trembling his chest, his breathing ragged. "What you signed up for. I under- understand if you can't deal with it, if you- you want to- to-" He breaks off into sob, harder and heavier, leaning forward and curling into himself more, just as Peter finally, finally responds.

"No, no no wait, no, that's not-" A hand brushes at his arm, and Harley jolts again, but Peter doesn't pull away, grabbing onto his forearm gently, softly, his hold loose enough for Harley to break if he truly wanted to. "I would never, baby. Never."

Harley freezes, blinking his eyes back open and glancing up at Peter, who's looking back at him with- with honesty, with compassion, and care, and love, but- but that doesn't make sense, he- "You don't- don't mind?" He murmurs shakily, searching Peter gaze for any hint of a lie, but he can't find any, can't find any hostility, or hatred, or anger at all. Only understanding, and truth.

"Of course I don’t, Haile- uh, I dont-" He stumbles and fumbles for a second, and Harley can't help the small chuckles that bubble in his chest before he corrects, "Harley." Peter nods, looks contemplative. "Harley. It suits you." Harley can feel himself beam at that, a smile twitching at his lips and his eyes crinkling. "Of course I don't care, Harley." Peter, his boyfriend, his soulmate, he loves him God he loves him, repeats, looking straight into Harleys eyes and past his physicality, into his heart and soul, into his being. "Man, woman, both, neither, I don't mind. Whatever makes you happy."

He can feel more tears pooling in his eyes, but for a completely different reason this time, his chest warming and swelling with adoration, with love and security and comfort, but he just, he has to make sure- "Are- are you sure?"

Peter softens, and reaches a hand over to cup Harley's cheek, and he leans into it immediately, seeking his touch. "Of course. I don't love you for your body, Hai- Harley. I love you for your heart, and wit. For your stubbornness, to put your foot down for what you love, for your patience, to be able to deal with me every damn day," They both chuckle then, light and airy, but real. "For your temper, to tell me off whenever I need it, for your confidence, and the way you can command a room just by walking in. But, in general..." He curls a strand of Harley's hair behind his ear, still too long and straight and not him, but its less noticeable now, when the other man is staring at him with the biggest, sappiest love eyes in the world. "I love you for you. You. I love you." He presses gently into the dimple on Harleys cheek for each you, and he can't hold back the tears anymore, the waterworks bubbling over and running down his cheeks like waterfalls as he sobs and rushes forward to crumple into Peter's arms, who are open and waiting for him, and cradle him as soon as he arrives, pulling him closer to his chest.

"Thank you, thank you." Harley repeats, over and over, his cheeks aching from his smile and his chest bursting with his joy, and happiness and hope and excitement and love, overflowing with it, causing it to compass him completely as he switches his words, to emphasize and mimic the way he feels. "I love you, I love you, I love you so much."

And Peter just holds him close, one hand rubbing up and down his back, the other running through his hair as he presses a kiss to the side of his head, and murmurs "Of course, always. I love you too."

Once his tears finally stop, Harley slowly dozes off in his boyfriends arms. Once he wakes, they'll discuss where Harleys pronouns and where wants to go next, they'll start to plan his transition, buy him binders and book hair appointments and do all of the things Harley longed to do for years. Harley will slowly, but surely, become himself, all with Peter at his side. But for now, he slowly eases into sleep, feeling joyous, comforted, loved and accepted.

[aroworlds]

Those With More, Part One

When Mara Hill's magic results in her brother's impossible, wondrous transition, of course Suki wants to know how she did it! What if Sirenne's magic workers can help others find euphoria? What if this magic can heal Suki's hands—or at least lessen her pain? But Mara, distrustful of priests after their failure in protecting Esher, won't share her power.

A senior priest must bear responsibility, but Suki suspects her problems lie deeper than lack of oversight, and her reluctance to discuss her aromanticism with a woman who needs support only proves it. Would she have preserved Mara's faith and Esher's health if she hadn't first avoided revealing herself to her aromantic kin? If she'd faced their expectations that she shoulder their pain and grief as well as her own?

Suki has lived her life by the Sojourner's second precept, but how does she serve when she doesn't have more to give—and never will?

Contains: A disabled, non-partnering allo-aro woman struggling with the expectations of her young, fledgling aromantic community; an autistic, aromantic priest reconsidering their expectations of their community's leader; and an allo-aro woman in need of support as she struggles with her non-partnering, aro-ace brother's illness. 

Content Advisory: Please expect many references to or depictions of aro antagonism, allo-aro antagonism, amatonormativity, familial abuse, mental illness, suicidal ideation, death, gender dysphoria, chronic pain, ableism and ageism. This piece contains non-detailed, non-specific reference to a character's past suicide attempts. 

Length: 4, 409 words (part one of two). 

Note: This is the last story in my Suki mini-series, but it refers to characters introduced in The Sorcerous Compendium of Postmortem Query and is best read following the stand-alone story What Makes Us Human. You can find links to all on my pinned post or on this Tumblr master post.

Non-romantic love, to Suki, serves a similar role as the Sojourner or any other god: a fine concept in theory, but while she respects others’ need for a guiding framework, she can only nod vaguely at love’s existence.

***

They talk in a west-facing corner of the inner gardens, the sun edging towards the valley’s cradling ridgelines. Suki sits with careful stillness, resting her bony wrists and fingers in her lap. Her companion, Mara Hill, twirls a lock of dark hair around her finger with the ease of a woman unaware of her movements’ toll. Few people reach the ends of their lives untouched by disability, but Suki still aches to watch others take their youthful ability for granted … even if Mara’s restless fidgeting suggests anxiety as much as mind-type.

Suki was an artist once, albeit not the kind of craftswoman draped in the world’s renown. She built wonder from bare ingredients. She made the needed and the practical from scraps of thread and fabric. She took her hands’ ability to knead and shape for granted, revelling in others’ appreciation, until the pain built to a degree even she couldn’t deny. Given the option, she’ll always sit in her garden with her knitting needles or workbasket, making.

She can’t reconcile herself to hours spent halting her fingers and wrists in too-often-futile hope of preserving later use.

“Must I explain, one trans woman to another, why we want this?” Suki works to ease her voice, to sound possessed of patience and released of jealousy. “We … dabble, in spells and medicines, parlour tricks to lessen anguish, but this … it can be freedom. When wrought correctly.”

Now, Suki sees little sense in seeking such a transition: she’s had time to forge an accord with her body and gender. If said accord holds a touch of the defiant, rebellion nonetheless sheltered her through aching moments of feeling her body less hers than a chafing suit she’ll endure for this life. Gender, though, only began the war of Suki’s selfhood separating from her own blood and breath, and it long ago won second place on her list of impossible wishes.

What if Mara’s magic can do more than change a body’s sexual characteristics?

What if it can ease Suki’s hands, heal her knees, return to her the gift of unthinking movement?

Mara shifts her hands to twist the untied lace dangling from her bodice. She’s a handsome woman: tall and long-limbed, her cheekbones sharp enough to slice hard cheese. Full lips, wide skirts and a waist-length sable braid soften the flat planes of her face, shoulders and hips. Suki can’t call Mara beautiful, but she may have used the word “ethereal” if Mara didn’t also bare her haphazard humanity: hair falling out of its pins, scores of grass stains marking her petticoats, a waistcoat absent any matching buttons, a dress ten years out of style knotted up to bare clashing stockings and scuffed boots. Life with Mara, Suki suspects, is no small amount interesting, but one needn’t fear from her airs or pretentiousness.

This conversation, regardless, comes none the easier.

“I know you understand,” Suki says, attempting a beseeching gentleness. “How can’t you?”

“It’s a secret.” Mara stares at Suki with a distressingly direct gaze, as though hoping to emphasise her sincerity through eye contact. “Handed down from witch to witch. I’ve sworn oaths to the living and the dead. I can’t. And I won’t.”

Mara Hill is also a terrible liar.

“You insist this isn’t sorcery. It’s witchcraft—a type of magic that can be taught! Why, then, can’t you teach us? Can’t you imagine what we could do, if we could study and understand it?”

Just as Suki regrets such desperation-fuelled bluntness, flashes of brown, red and grey show through the eucalypts and fern-encrusted rockery dividing the outer garden from an interior courtyard. Only two other people in Sirenne stand tall enough to be seen over said wall of rocks, and neither looks towards her. Moll, their face set in their accustomed expressionlessness and their iron-grey hair scraped back in a braid, walks close by their companion: a man with Mara’s cheekbones, his gaze distant and his face cavernous. While health warms her sienna skin, even when moistened by anxiety and dappled sunshine, his sallow complexion provokes no kind adjectives.

Esher Hill is the gaunt, walking embodiment of the nightmare Sirenne’s priests struggle to dispel when discussing medicines and spells—a man who appears drugged and ensorcelled into a puppet-like lifelessness, a state absent all vitality.

His sister caused, provoked or necessitated most of it.

Most.

Like too many guests, Mara brought her brother to the monastery when absent solutions in her home village’s offerings of lay priests, physicians, magic workers and well-meaning family members—a last, desperate resort. Esher wasn’t happy or healthy, but he had muscle and energy enough that Suki decided his taciturnity somewhat intentional. He stopped to pet Sirenne’s horses; he allowed their cats to settle on his lap. He scowled when faced with chattering acolytes. He reacted.

Mara’s power stripped his bones of flesh and tissue in the quest to craft him an almost-cis body. New organs, somehow, grew; others withered and sloughed away like an unused cocoon. Such impossibility should be a miracle, but can one fairly call a tempest that devoured his body and hammered his mind miraculous?

What if, though, this transition becomes a goal identified and worked towards with desire, preparation and consent? What if a patient understands what lies ahead? Can one then cope with magic’s trauma, a difficult moment endured in travelling a chosen road? Or what if they narrow the scope to one change, one part of the body?

Will she then see a butterfly, bloodied but eager to take flight?

Will she then be able to live her last years still wielding her pastry brushes and knitting needles?

“It’s dangerous!” Mara follows Suki’s gaze towards the rockery, her lips pressed together in pale, thin lines. “Can’t you see that? Shouldn’t you?” Her husky voice sharpens like a blade on a grindstone. “And what makes you think I should trust you with it? Or would?”

Suki bites her lip while counting backwards from ten. Her tongue runs to tart even when voicing second and third thoughts, and she fears she offers little sympathy when she finds something worth speaking: “But less dangerous in better circumstances? If he knew, was prepared, agreed, expected…”

If a witch doesn’t work her magic behind the priests’ backs, but that’s less Mara’s fault than Sirenne’s.

The question remains: if a witch fears dysphoria's ache the cause of her brother’s depression, why didn’t she offer this magical transition weeks or months earlier? Why didn’t she gain Esher’s prior agreement and approval? Why did Mara bother to take him to a monastery? That she wrought this after Sirenne’s failures dashes Suki’s hopes: Mara’s supposed witchcraft is sorcery, unpredictable and unreachable. Nothing more than a panicked, desperate deal made with demons, a grave power Sirenne can’t replicate ... even should a priest be fortunate enough to make the same bargain with the same brace of demons.

If demons routinely offered such vast power, how many trans people wouldn’t sell their soul for a body suiting their nature?

“Prepare? After you made me—” Mara’s voice cracks like thick, shadowed frost under morning’s first footstep. “If there were anywhere else, if I thought … we wouldn’t be here!”

Suki shifts in her chair, her hands and feet aching as though a purple-black bruise engulfs her joints. Is it a wild, ridiculous joke that her body throbs as if beaten while showing no wound to draw sympathy? Why must a black eye or nasty scrape provoke sorrow while injuries or illnesses unable to heal garner, at best, a mute acceptance? Why do people following the Sojourner’s path lack comprehension in the second precept’s broadness? Why must a priest spend her day asking questions lacking comforting answers?

Because Amadi’s ideal became her god: question.

Mara’s desperation, too, deserves an answer.

“We failed,” Suki says, her own throat roughening. “We failed to serve Esher’s needs. A man who has too long had those needs unmet, and believes he has failed in even wishing his needs met, reacted to this lack in despair. There’s nothing irrational in that.” She wants to smile, because she can’t not know the rationality behind such a conclusion, but Mara won’t understand. She doesn’t know about Mama Lewis. “We went over our changes with you, for we can’t allow this to again happen. I ask you sincerely: are we now doing something inadequate? Are you unhappy with Moll or Thanh’s service? Within the limits of our resources and ability, what aren’t we doing that you think we should? How can we better help Esher? Help you?”

Suki didn’t assign Esher’s first priest. She didn’t speak or condone the words that gave him reason to lose the last shred of a trust abraded by too many authoritative people. She didn’t know why he needed consideration in the priest given to guide him; the unasked question wasn’t hers to speak. Ignorance, nonetheless, rings like an intimate, personal failure.

Not a failure Sirenne’s priests share as a collective whole.

A failure, terrible and tragic, in Suki.

Could she have tried harder to serve as an aromantic priest?

Mara purses her lips, her green skirt clenched in tight-knuckled hands. “He’s … always been. A little. But only in the last few years was he so distant, and I don’t think … he wasn’t bad like this until after the Thinning and Benjamin.”

Suki takes Mara’s non-answer as indication that, at least for the moment, she has no objection—and perhaps that’s a victory, but what good is winning when the war shouldn’t be fought? Suki sighs, shaking her head, as Moll and Esher move past the gap in the trees, vanishing behind canopy and granite outcrops. Only her garden, in its art-defying muddle of ferns, trees, mushrooms and bright-coloured orchids, remains—and while, ordinarily, such clashing shades appeal to her, today those greens and reds feel another mockery, a symbol and privilege undeserved.

Even when Moll gave her the opportunity to address her neglect, she took retreat in her brusque manner and authority, confident that a conscientious priest wouldn’t examine the shallowness of her answer. She offered reassurance, solved a problem, revealed herself in the most cursory of ways and fled with fears and feelings still buried within her aching bones.

Question.

If she considers god her ideal and Amadi’s ideal her god, why didn’t she?

“Benjamin is your partner, yes?” Suki shifts her left ankle, thinking even a circumlocutory attempt to build rapport better than another futile attempt at questioning. “May I ask what happened at the Thinning? You needn’t answer.”

Mara’s body softens, although she doesn’t ease her grip on the skirt. “Have you had … family, friends, come visiting? After they … pass?”

For all that belief in the Sojourner’s path embodies the human struggle to conceptualise, negotiate and accept death, hir followers still deal in euphemisms. Family come visiting. Bad like this. Suki, in the outspoken rebelliousness of a would-be priest, spent a year into her novitiate chanting “death, death, death” at her mirror before bed, just to prove that death isn’t a black-cloaked reaper summoned upon saying hir name.

Such boldness failed her, of course, when Mama Polly passed.

“There’s always spirits flickering about, but few speak.” Suki barks a hoarse laugh. “A man who desired me and told me that he’d never have broken his neck if I’d first wed him. Both my mothers. Mama Lewis talks too much.”

Such events aren’t for Suki as unusual an occurrence as they are for the non-necromantic laity, but the conversations between the returning dead and the priest who offered guidance on their paths through the life now history aren’t for outsiders. There’s always a few, often those who died in the last year and haven’t yet had their connections to this world stretch thin, who come back to speak rather than observe. Sometimes those spirits come burdened with regret and recrimination; sometimes they express gratitude or relief. Death, drawing closer with every breath, grants the living a night a year where one must look into hir shadow and fearlessly accept, even celebrate, hir company.

She’s none too fond of Mama Lewis’s bitter postmortem moaning, but a salt circle and poker at least puts paid to that nonsense.

Respecting the sacred covenant of life and death doesn’t mean tolerating abuse.

“Really?” Mara blinks, shaking her head. “She came to me, with other dead relatives and villagers—my Aunt Rosie. I think she knew I needed to talk to her. She told me that I don’t have to romantically love a girl to want or love a girl, and they told me all the ways they didn’t love, which made me feel that … I could talk to the woman I wanted. So I did.” A sweet warmth softens and curves her lips, but the speed with which Mara flattens them suggests she isn’t easy with smiling in current circumstances. “And we’re together, now. But Esh … he doesn’t want anyone, and that should be fine, but maybe … it wasn’t good for him to see me and Ben happy.”

She leans forwards, coughing, before wiping her palm on her skirt.

Suki clenches her hands, fighting to ease her expression before Mara catches her face. It rankles, to say the least, when someone happy in an intimate partnership—however non-romantic!—suggests that those without must be broken in their loneliness. How can she ignore the reflections of Mama Lewis, one shape of expected love or partnership replacing another in the same unyielding structures and assumptions? Mama Lewis cut and hewed the shape of Suki’s illnesses, not another’s possession of something she doesn’t want!

Non-romantic love, to Suki, serves a similar role as the Sojourner or any other god: a fine concept in theory, but while she respects others’ need for a guiding framework, she can only nod vaguely at love’s existence.

Anger, though, doesn’t explain the terror stiffening her body.

“Or after seeing you find a less-conventional form of the coupled happily-ever-after,” she says in a voice perilously close to “glacial”, “your kin and village increased their expectations that he should find the same?”

Mara stares, her lips parted as if in surprise or hurt. “I … Uncle Sascha would say that, I guess. So would the Fisher sisters.” She sighs, frowning. “I don’t know. Just that he got worse after Benjamin … right when I thought he’d get better, because Aunt Rosie said that we’re … real, human. Just a less-known ordinary. Even if we didn’t know the specific word before Moll said it.”

“Only your brother knows why,” Suki says in the mild, self-evident comment a guiding priest says to people having difficulty observing—or permitting themselves to observe—the truth before them. The mild, self-evident comment a priest, who doesn’t fear the direction of this conversation, may say to a guided guest. “So why bother yourself with if I didn’t non-romantically pair up with a girl, maybe he wouldn’t have tried to kill himself drivel? Can you go back in time to not pair up? No! Nor should you halt your life just in case it may be the reason!”

Mara’s half-raised eyebrows suggest that she doesn’t agree.

“Girl, the world tells you in so many ways that you shouldn’t non-romantically partner. After all that repetition, you’re inclined to find excuses to obey that! Keeping my brother from attempting suicide feels more reasonable to you than most puerile objections, but is this reasonable? Are you helping him by thinking this? Or are you obliging everyone who thinks you shouldn’t exist by undermining your partnership with misplaced guilt?”

She refrains from mentioning the insult in anyone’s assuming that depression must be provoked by the existence of someone else’s intimate partnership, as though such relationships are so fundamental one must sicken in witnessing another’s contentment! She refrains, unable to think of anything that doesn’t sound like an observation based in betraying knowledge. Shouldn’t they focus less, anyway, on Mara’s limited understanding of non-partnering people and more on the real issue at hand: her trying to craft another impossible?

Even if it means making herself the cause, Mara seems set on wishing together a world possessed of perfect assurance that her brother won’t again attempt suicide.

Sorcery is by far an easier art, but that’s no comforting truth.

Mara glances at Suki’s belt, as if in need of reassurance that she talks to a senior priest. “Are you, uh … well...”

“Am I what, girl? Don’t cluck!”

Mara swallows, stumbling over the word likely strange to her voice. “Aro … aromantic? Because you sound like…”

Aromantic.

A word in a book, discovered by accident.

A word feared, weighted down by her obligation and pain.

A word unsaid, a man nearly dying of its absence.

“Aromantic and allosexual. I like men for bedding. I don’t like partnerships.” Suki speaks with the casualness that shaped her words when speaking to a distressed priest in a vegetable garden, words said now as if they’ll make up for their silent past. Words said devoid of her terror. “I have enough of one with myself.”

She waits, wondering if Mara will subject her to the young, abled trick of past tense, as though sexuality must be Suki’s history and not her present or future. Something accessible only to the hale and young, presuming her sense of another’s sexual attractiveness withers along with her body? Or will Mara grimace, disgusted by the notion of an elderly, disabled woman whose sexuality hasn’t “decently” become distant memory?

She waits for the accusation: why didn’t you say this before?

“So you understand … why it’s … hard, to live unknowing who you are and what you want, what the words are?” Mara’s brow furrows, her hesitant speech giving way to a spurting rush of feeling: “That’s what Aunt Rosie gave us that night, but it came so late. I lived for so long not knowing, without a word, without knowing it an option! That it had a name! And that hurts, even now I have what I didn’t know I wanted or could want. For so long, I didn’t know! Maybe … that’s it, for Esh, the hurting? Or part of it? How can’t it be…?”

How old is she? Twenty-five? Thirty at most? One needn’t own precision in telling another’s age to know that Mara’s adulthood, outside of accident or illness, stands years distant from death’s shadow. Suki draws a sharp breath, fighting to swallow the tart, quill-bristled question clogging her throat: And when do you think I found the word, girl?

Amadi gifted her the other-shape-of-normal permissiveness, but ey died unknowing of the word describing them both.

Ey died, leaving her alone in a world where she feels outdated and unwanted, where everyone sharing in the known power of the word aromantic can’t comprehend her pain but expects her to, immediately and easily, carry theirs.

Mara needs her pain acknowledged, to have someone confirm that possession of a happy non-romantic partnership can’t and shouldn’t erase ignorance’s lingering hurts. Someone who acknowledges that such bruises are long in the fading but one can still build a life worth living. Someone who reflects understanding and the vital, powerful sense of aromantic siblinghood. Someone who can give what she needs and deserves.

Why must Suki provide it? Why not Moll? Why not anyone else?

“Yes.” She swallows, shifting her throbbing hands, fighting to keep the growl from claiming her voice. Another failure! “We all feel the … betrayal, the years lost to ignorance. Why didn’t I know? You’ll have times of hurting, of struggling, of wondering what could have been if your family knew, your friends, your neighbours. When something isn’t yet recognised or accepted, despite being extant and common … pain, for those of us ahead of that coming, isn’t optional. You aren’t alone in that.”

Suki isn’t gentle. Increased social permissiveness towards the crotchety manner discouraged in children and younger adults stands as one of age’s rare benefits. Mama Polly joked that Suki was set to be a grandmother while still a maiden, but Mama Lewis—curse her long-dead soul—didn’t laugh. Even after half a century gone, Suki can still recite her clipped lectures, delivered in the hope that decreased acidity and increased sweetness will help her daughter find the happiness packaged in a loving, romantic partnership.

Mama Lewis’s shade, returning for her once-yearly lecture, still hopes that her now-elderly daughter will soften enough to allow love into her heart.

It should amuse Suki that such gentleness is now demanded whenever she dares reveal herself as aromantic.

Mara nods, her lips pressed together, her jaw tight, her glistening eyes angled towards her lap.

“It could be part of your brother’s feelings. It could be something else. But this second-guessing of his motivations doesn’t help you or him!” Suki changes the subject for Mara’s sake: for a woman fighting to keep from breaking down before a near-stranger. “Where does this get you but exhaustion? You’re only going to chase your guesses around and around until you’re a dog barking at a rat behind a grate—only to finally spot a different rat gnawing on his brain, realise you’ve been barking at this one for no reason, and there’s actually a score of invisible rats feasting on his poor, bloody brain. Does this help you see those invisible rats? Does this barking help your health, girl?”

She absolutely, assuredly isn’t changing the subject because Suki fears the explosion of her own anger and hurt while discussing aromanticism.

Question. How can she?

Mara’s eyes meet Suki’s face in the bulging stare had by someone imagining rodents chewing on grey matter. “R—rats?”

“Chewing brain rats. You want pretty metaphors for a bloody illness? Don’t talk to a priest, then. Pretty metaphors leave people telling themselves depression isn’t illness, just something that can be shouted, shamed or pressured into abeyance. I don’t hold for that.” Suki sighs and attempts to ease Mara’s shock, hating her bluntness’ sharp, gleaming edges. Is she trying to hurt Mara, wounds delivered in return for those unintentionally given? “I know you want to help your brother. You’ll do more for him by asking what he needs, and listening to what he tells you even if it’s ‘nothing’, instead of chasing every rat in the hope they’re the ones eating him. There’s too many rats, girl! When he’s able to cope with your asking, ask. Leave handling the rats to us—because that’s what we’ll teach him.”

If only they’d thought to ensure Mara realised this before she attempted to bludgeon the rat labelled “dysphoria”, but who imagined a village witch owning such power or ability?

Mara nods: perhaps accepting such advice, perhaps planning to avoid future commentary on what she thinks provoked her brother’s attempt. Her silence is, though, more honest than immediate agreement. Better that than false approval or out-of-hand rejection, especially when she hasn’t agreed to a guiding relationship between priest and guest. Especially when Suki has already stepped further over that line than is wise for a priest struggling with herself! Anyway, hasn’t she gleaned enough to make a solid guess—that Mara sold her soul to purchase Esher’s transition? What more need they discuss?

She isn’t a powerful witch keeping her magic a solemn, oath-bound secret.

She’s a frightened sister doing everything she can to hold her brother into life.

Is that another rat set to gnaw on Esher’s brain? Is that, as much as distrust or fear of priestly reaction to sorcery, reason for her denial? Does she seek to keep this secret from Esher and the priests involved in his care to avoid making yet another rat? Does Moll realise this?

Is Mara all that different from Suki herself?

“I’m sorry that I can’t help you.” Mara stands and bows in the abrupt, jerking movements of a woman looking to leave before the conversation leads them anywhere uncomfortable—and Suki feels unreasonably relieved. “Thank you for your advice—and wisdom.” She hesitates, leaving Suki certain that “wisdom” is nothing more than politeness. “I’m glad, I suppose, there’s more people like us here. Maybe … maybe that will help Esh, if things go better.”

“If you think a priest’s guidance may be useful for your own sake,” she says, falling back on well-worn script in the surety that her own words are far too confronting, “please know that our service extends to all. And I hope, one day, aromantics are so ordinary there’s no need to comment.”

Mild, facile, trite.

Her hands throb, and Suki fights to unclench them.

Mara’s face shutters. “You’ve more than enough work with Esh.”

She bows again and, in a frenetic, long-paced stride best described as “hurrying”, heads down the garden path towards the guest quarters.

Trust.

Can she blame Mara for not trusting her when Suki has none to give?

She sighs and stares at her orchids, at the stone rising behind the tangle of shrub and ivy, at the blue-tinged mushrooms threatening to take over the lawn, at the green grass beneath her chair and the cloudless sky overhead. She stares at the rocks and leaves of her sanctuary, thinking about Mara, thinking about Mamas Lewis and Polly, thinking about the conversation with Moll in the vegetable garden, thinking about words unsaid and feelings concealed … but as the sun ebbs lower, she finds no course of action but the obvious.

Question.

Why has she, for so long, chosen avoidance over service? Why has she refused to face her pain, even while knowing the impact her absence has on others? If she preaches the sacred power in guiding another to a better road, why does she refuse another’s gift of the same? Will she leave this world as Mara is now? Or will she trust her own kin, her own ideals—the only god worth her wholehearted belief?

“Aziz!” Suki waves a hand at the acolyte reading on the lawn just out of non-shouting earshot. “Tell Moll that I’d like them to attend me here at their earliest convenience. Please have the kitchen arrange sweets for both of us and my afternoon tea.” She pauses, considering, as Aziz scrambles upright and straightens hir brown robe. “My shawl. And ask Thanh for an additional dose of my pain medicine. Thank you.”

Question.

If Moll is good enough for Esher Hill, they ought to be good enough for Suki of Sirenne.

[shelbymustange]

Is Canada really that good? I've been thinking abt leaving my country and America is a no-no for me

This is such an incredibly difficult thing for me to write, as I’m a white person living in Canada and I don’t know a lot about POC experiences in my country. Everything I know about racism in Canada is from an outsider perspective. The only thing I can really speak on is my experiences as an LGBT person, and as an AFAB person who was born and raised here.

I'm not even close to an authority on how POC feel about living in Canada, and I can only give my opinion on that based on my personal experiences with my POC friends and acquaintances, plus what I have read in the news and from articles written by POC.

As well, this is from the perspective of someone who grew up in rural Ontario, and is living in Ottawa. Ottawa is not a large city, and it is in South Eastern Ontario. Canada is a very, very large country. South Eastern Ontario is no where near the same as Northern Ontario, or even Western Ontario, let alone Alberta or the Maritimes or the Yukon. 

Please keep this in mind as a speak on what I do know. There is a lot more that I don’t, and if you are POC, I encourage you to seek out articles or posts written by POC citizens and immigrants about their experience coming to Canada and living here. As well as seeking out local articles written from the place you may want to move within the country. 

Now that I have said that, let me begin:

Canada has it's issues with POC, and it would be incredibly ignorant for me to say we don't. There is still racism here, there is still anti-immigrant sentiment. There’s a very, very longstanding history of racism toward our First Nations/Indigenous/Native people. This history and mistreatment is becoming more well known about my country. It’s currently in debate whether we should label the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women a genocide because of the systematic negligence on the part of our authorities toward finding these girls and closing the numerous cold cases there are. As well, the ‘Starlight Tours’ -- or a more apt and less pleasing name the “Saskatoon Freezing Deaths” are also gaining a lot more attention toward how my country has treated it’s Indigenous people, and their systematic oppression. Not to mention the issue surrounding our residential schools and kidnapped indigenous children. <--there is a lot to unpack about Canada and it’s First Nations peoples. I could go on for paragraphs about this. I encourage any Canadian followers to read the articles in this paragraph and learn about these atrocities if you think our country is perfect.

Canada is not a utopia for POC. Brown and Black people as well, still suffer from racism from our authorities, as well as just daily racism from the people around them. And there are cases of police negligence and brutality that happen in Canada. This is a fact that our country has to face. 

In terms of our government -- well, our parties are a lot different than the US. Here’s what our election looked like last year, and a basic overview on party policies. Our elections last like...a month? I think last year it was 78 days and that was a long ass election. Generally speaking, there isn’t as much of and Us or Them mentality with our parties and I think it’s because we have a Parliament system. In my perspective, they’re all sort of toeing the line because they need each other in order for any policy to pass, especially when we have a minority government.

So, no one other than the conservatives are aligning themselves with just one party. And the conservatives only do that because the PC party is really the only contending conservative power in Canada. The other three parties that have MPs in House are leftist parties. 

Personally speaking, I’m a leftist. I side more with the NDP than the Liberals in terms of policies, but I don’t align myself with a specific party. I’m just a leftist. I usually vote Liberal, because in my district, they are the only contenders against the PC party, and ultimately my district is PC led because it’s a small town and it’s just how people vote there.

That’s how I look at our government. Notice how much more flippant it is than you might get from someone in the States? AND. I’m going to be perfectly honest here, not long ago, in our provincial government, we had a Premier named Kathleen Wynne, who I wanted to like, but she made some really stupid decisions (except $14 min wage, thank u Wynne). She was a Liberal party leader. And, you know, I was not okay with a PC government in Ontario, especially one run by Doug Ford (brother of notorious Rob Ford). And he’s done some shit I don’t like at all, BUT! I can comfortably say that I respect Doug Ford because of his decision making during the Covid Pandemic. While it was slow and could have been handled better, do I think another leader would have done better? Not really. But at the same time, there was no downplaying, and despite his emphasis on business in his platform, he surprised me with his re-opening policies and how slowly they were taken. (except the schools, because that was fuckin stupid tbh but I’m not going to keep going on about that.). Generally speaking, here when you’re mad about a politician, it’s for non-heinous, smaller bad decision making, rather than taking away Trans rights, for example. (An Aside -- here in Ontario, trans people who are clinically diagnosed with dysphoria and referred for surgery by a professional have their surgeries covered by OHIP (provincial health plan), and do not have to pay out of pocket, so that’s nice).

(Disclaimer: this opinion is from a white person’s prespective, a white person who votes in rural Ontario, who’s friends and family are quite equally as skeptical and logical toward politics and politicians. My flippancy could very well  be because of my white priviledge and I encourage any poc Canadian followers to respond with their opinions so I can rb here. I just know majority of immigrant Canadians vote Liberal since like the 70s).

Largely our Conservative party is much more concerned with fiscal issues than anything else (though there are some outliers, like Andrew Scheer who was notoriously anti-lgbt and abortion, but from what I could see it was kept out of his politics?? I need to look into it more, but ultimately he was taken out as the PC leader I think largely because of the country’s opinions on this) but a good portion of their supporters can be racist, and non-supportive of lgbt people, anti-abortion, etc. Ultimately, our conservatives, when in power recently, have never tried to reverse LGBT rights, though they toe the line of reproductive rights, despite not actively re-opening the debate. As well, Ontario, Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island, as well as Vancouver, Edmonton and Calgary have enacted bans on conversion therapy. A bill has also been tabled that will federally ban conversion therapy, and it’s not something that the conservatives are really fighting against. For the most part, they leave LGBT people alone rather than actively passing laws to harm them. I can personally say, I’ve never felt fear for my life, or my rights when we’ve had a majority PC government.

As an immigrant, compared to the US, you are more likely to be taken in to our country, and it is much easier to get work. It’s also easier to become a permanent resident (here’s a list of personal stories from answers on Quora about Canada vs US immigration). 

As well, the Canadian government adopted the idea of Canada as a multicultural nation back in the 1970s. We’re not a melting pot like the US. And this can be a big draw for people looking to immigrate, because it emphasizes individuality and the positives of what different cultures can bring to a country. (Though this can be contested and quite fairly at that).

I personally know a good amount of people who have immigrated to Canada, from a variety of different backgrounds, who love it here, and have had very little issue in their lives. Not none, obviously for the POC, because racism still happens here, but they love being here, and ultimately they feel safe and like they belong. They have found community here. But this is just my personal experience, Heres’s a couple articles from and about Canadian immigrants:

Immigrants talk about when they 'started to feel Canadian' - Ottawa Citizen, 2018 As an immigrant, I know how it feels to be 'lonely and isolated' in my new country - CBC Saskatchewan, 2019    What It Takes: An immigrant’s journey from Zimbabwe to Canada - Global News, 2019

This isn’t to say that people come here and they’re always going to love it. There’s a lot of people who leave, either to go back to their home country, or to go to another country (like the US). Even though it’s easier than in the US, it can still be hard to get a job here in the field you want, things are kind of really expensive compared to the US, the US has better higher level education, they have better paying jobs, etc. 

And again, this is the perspective of a white person from a smaller city in Ontario. I know Toronto, even though half of it’s population are immigrants, has a lot of issues with it’s police and brutality and anti-black and brown racism. Ultimately, you will not completely escape racism, individual or systemic, in this country. It’s an unfortunate fact that we can all fight to change in the future.

But in a small town. It’s a community. As someone from a rural area, I know that in my experience, there has never been a point where I have seen anyone from my small communities who have been, at the least, outwardly racist toward a POC. I personally have never seen or heard of a person being confronted or abused or called names because of the colour of their skin or cultural background. (here is an article written by my brother’s friend and former band mate, who is a black man that was adopted as a child, about his experiences in small town Canada, and his perspective on the BLM movement and the response of his white friends).

Anyway, I hope this sort of got my point across. Canada’s a complicated nation, like most. I didn’t touch on the base level, ‘why is canada a good place to immigrate’ points or anything, but I figure you would look that up before making such a big choice. And I’ve already spent 4 hours trying to write something coherent and somewhat researched to say...

Again, I encourage anyone to rb with their opinion or with anything I may have missed. Or send an ask or whatever.

[transgenderteensurvivalguide]

What's the difference between a top surgery and a breast reduction? And where should I go if mobile links don't work for me and I can't access a laptop?

Lee says:

Top surgery takes you from any cup size to a flat chest, no bra needed, go in public shirtless. A breast reduction takes you to a smaller cup size, so you still have boobs but maybe they’re an A cup or a B cup- smaller than what you had before, but still there.

Top surgery usually is a double incision/bilateral mastectomy or a keyhole or peri-areolar incision and the goal is to have a flatter chest like how many cis males do. A breast reduction is making your chest smaller, but not really flat. So with top surgery you’d go from a D cup bra (for example) to not needing a bra, and with a reduction you’d go from a D to a B.

If you got a reduction, you could still bind if you wanted a flatter chest. Choosing one is based on what you want to achieve with the surgery. If you want a reduction, you might want to start with talking to your parents and doctor.

If you have a larger chest, often insurance will cover a lot of the cost because having a larger chest can cause back pains and be a general pain. If you want top surgery, often insurance will cover it if you get a letter from the therapist and are diagnosed with gender dysphoria.

Some people who are genderfluid may want to have a reduction instead of top surgery for their “girl” days, for example. I also know some non-binary people who want to have boobs, just smaller ones so they’re easier to bind. Some trans guys may also want a reduction since they’re okay with their boobs but want them to be more discreet.

Some non-binary people want a flat chest and get top surgery, and some trans guys want a small chest and get a reduction. Anyone of any gender could get either one.

If you’re okay with having boobs but you want them smaller so they’re easier to bind, then go for the reduction. The difference: If you get top surgery, you can go shirtless because you have a flat chest. If you get a reduction, you have a smaller chest but may not be able to go shirtless depending on the laws where you live (and possibly also depending on your legal gender marker).

If you want to have a flat chest, don’t settle for a reduction because it’ll probably cost the same, it’s the same amount of recovery time, and if you later deicide to get a top surgery you’ll have to do the whole thing twice and may have less sensation. Getting top surgery can get you a flat chest no matter how big your chest is to start with, so you never need a breast reduction to prepare you for top surgery. So get the surgery that you actually want the first time.

As for the question of where you should go if mobile links don’t work for you and you can’t access a laptop- if you mean a literal place you should go, definitely try your local public library. Most public libraries have computers that anyone can use for free, and if you can walk to the library, bike to the library, get your parents to drop you off at the library for a program or to get a book, etc, you can use the computers there.

If you’re on mobile and the mobile links aren’t working for you, then try to copy and paste the link into your phone’s browser like Chome or Safari instead of trying to click on the link within the Tumblr mobile app. If the link won’t load because your parents have blocks on the wifi, then public places with wifi like again, the library, or Starbucks, etc, should be able to circumvent those blocks.

https://transgenderteensurvivalguide.tumblr.com/FAQ

[mszegedy]

mszegedy’s nutrition guide for people who want to lose weight without getting another ED

This post was prompted by an acquaintance of mine who asked for help losing weight for trans reasons. It is written from a DID-centric point of view (because we both have it), and is intended for people who’ve already been through an ED, and are trying to be careful to not get another one. That said, most of the information in this guide is useful to everyone.

I know I am dipping my toes in a deep pool here, on a website where people have strong opinions about nutrition science, and about EDs, and about body positivity. Let me say this much: if you are currently experiencing or recovering from an ED, this guide is not for you. This is not a guide that will magically let you jump from hating your body and diet to being both thin and healthy. This is for people who already have a degree of confidence in themselves, and a degree of love for their body, and are just afraid of trying to make any changes to their weight at all, because they worry they’ll get an ED. If you still have an ED, then you need to get help for that first, and then, once you’re more confident, come back and read this guide.

Alright, so, as a system with a host who’s a trans biochemist with an interest in nutrition chemistry, and as a system that’s had an ED before (basic binge/restrict anorexia, but motivated by money rather than weight), this is what we’ve got to say about healthy weight loss:

First of all, the body positivity mantra, which I’m sure you’ve heard before but needs to be the headline of any weight loss guide: the healthiest weight is whatever makes you the happiest. It is not healthy to push yourself too hard to lose weight. It is also not healthy to hate your body. Find a comfortable balance between the two. For us, as a system experiencing gender dysphoria, that first meant putting a lot of effort into looking the way we wanted to, and then gradually easing up as we got more comfortable with the peculiarities of our body.

The single aspect of your diet that impacts your health the most is regularity. This doesn’t necessarily mean that you have to get the same amount of each nutrient every day, or even the same amount of calories per day. What it does mean is that you have to add eating each day to your schedule. If you have a history of ED, you may simply forget to eat most of the time. (I know we do.) That’s why you have to manually take control, and nail down a time window each day when you can eat. Even if it’s just once, although you should work your way up to two or three eventually. I don’t know how your system works, but in ours, basically, I do all the diet planning and execution, and everyone else whines about it (even our host, who shares our job as a biochemist).

Calories are good. Calories are fuel. If you are consuming calories, you are alive. Be far more afraid of not consuming enough calories than of consuming too many. Extra calories are ballast, supporting you on days when you can’t eat as much. Missing calories are death. Every calorie you eat is precious brain and body fuel. Your peak performance, especially brainwise, is when you’re not missing any fuel. Start worrying about whether you’ve had enough calories each day. But don’t count them! The number doesn’t matter! Trust me on this, the only meaningful part of your calorie intake is the digit in the thousands place, and if you try to calculate that, you’ll just end up counting calories again like a chump. Instead, just check whether you’re going to bed hungry or not. If you’re not hungry at the end of the day, and you’ve actually eaten, you’ve won that day. Learn to eyeball how much food lets you end a day like that.

Now that you’re forbidden to mess with the amount of calories you’re getting (beyond just making sure you’re getting enough), what can you mess with? Your diet’s nutrient breakdown. This is where knowing biochemistry comes in handy, because there’s SO many different kinds of nutrients to keep track of. First of all, the stuff that contains calories:

Sugars: The primordial fuel source. Pure energy, as far as your body is concerned. Avoid when trying to lose weight, but don’t feel guilty if you’re supplementing your calorie intake with it in small amounts on days when you otherwise wouldn’t be getting enough. Remember that there’s a really easy way to tell whether something contains sugar, namely whether it’s sweet. (Some things, like milk, aren’t sweet and still contain sugar. You just have to memorize those. And of course some things have non-sugar sweeteners in them, but in that case it’ll be obvious.)

Digestible starches: Sugars with a price. Still no nutritional value beyond energy, although they tend to come bundled with other nutrients like proteins. Again, not great if you’re trying to lose weight, but there’s no need to cut them out completely, unless you really don’t care about not being able to eat, say, potatoes. (There are also people who are helped by no-carb diets in other ways than weight loss for mysterious reasons, probably relating to allergies, but it’s not the end-all be-all of healthy diets that keto people make it out to be.)

Fats: A pretty inconvenient source of energy; breaking them down puts annoying, difficult-to-metabolize acids into your blood, and doesn’t net you all that much energy anyway. An ideal calorie source for losing weight; just make sure to consume as few sat fats as possible, and preferably no trans fats at all, which should be easy if you stay away from fast food places and stick to establishments that change out the oil in their fryers every, idk, 3 hours or so.

Amino acids and proteins: Now we’re getting somewhere! These guys are the “worst” energy sources out there. Breaking them up is very expensive, and turning the resulting amino acids into digestible calorie sources is a complicated and annoying process. But amino acids are a nutrient in their own right; every cell in your body is making tons of proteins continuously, some of them building important structures like skin and muscle, and they need a continuous supply of amino acids to do it. So, proteins? Great. Fantastic. You can’t have enough of them. Eat eggs and cheese and soy products, and if you’re that kind of person, meat. You can tell it's got amino acids and/or proteins in it when it tastes savory ("umami"); that's mainly the taste of glutamate, an important amino acid. Gluten is also made of proteins, but it’s even harder to digest than most other sources of protein, so you might have problems with it; and it comes bundled with a lot of starches, so, ehhh.

So, now for a couple non-calorie sources:

Vitamins: Vitamins have nothing in common with each other collectively; they’re just a bunch of random minor nutrients. If you’ve got your vitamins A, C, and D sorted out, then the only ones I’d worry about are folate (B9) and cobalamin (B12). B9 because it’s important for your brain, and tends to be missing in sufficient quantities from modern diets; we take methylfolate supplements every morning to make sure we get enough of it. B12 because it’s important in general, and may be missing in sufficient quantities from your diet, depending on what you eat. It’s only found in animal products, like meat, dairy and eggs. If you’re eating at least one of those regularly, I wouldn’t worry about it too much.

Omega-3 fatty acids: Technically contain calories, but not enough of them to matter. Found in fish, and good for your brain. We’re vegetarian, but we take two capsules of these every morning, because they really help with depression and memory, which are both problems for us.

Iron: Found in meat, beans, falafel, spinach, and lentils, among other things (like cocoa!). Needed to replenish blood. You shouldn’t need supplements for this unless you actually get diagnosed with iron deficiency, or lose a LOT of blood in a short time (which, uh, happens).

Water and sodium: Long story short, your blood is counterfeit seawater. Land organisms don't actually exist; we just brought the sea with us when we crawled out of it. To counterfeit seawater, you need water and sodium. Hence, why they're important nutrients to us. Your kidneys do an excellent job of maintaining a particular level of sodium in your blood, but if you eat too much more sodium than you drink water, or drink too much more water than you eat sodium, then they won't be able to keep up. You usually shouldn't have to worry about this, but if everything you eat is salty, then maaaybe you should drink more water, or dial down the sodium in your diet. (Anything wet contains water, from energy drinks to the juices of fruits to sauces, so it's not very hard to get water. But some things contain a higher sodium-to-water ratio than you need, so they won't help you balance out a salty diet. Be mindful.)

Dietary fiber, aka non-digestible starches: I don’t have anything interesting to say about these. Conventional wisdom about fiber seems to be correct, as far as I know. I only listed it because it’s in most nutrition facts in the US.

So, now that you know the roles of the various kinds of nutrients, just eyeball the correct amounts of them for your diet. Broadly, the less carbs you eat, the more weight you’ll lose, but it’s not a race. Find a nutritious diet that makes you happy. Think about all your favorite foods and ingredients, and think about their nutrient breakdowns. Mentally award yourself points for eating nutritionally diverse foods. It’s a healthy thing to turn your ED instincts towards. Good luck!

(If people ask for sources I’ll add them, but I’ve already spent way too much time on this guide, so I won’t do it immediately.)