#alex is transgender

[obserbit]

My favorite mh entry is when Alex gets pregnant and Jay’s the father

[savagegood]

alex newell and j. harrison ghee make history as the first out nonbinary acting winners at the tony awards

[snoozingrabbits]

Ugghgghhhh somone get me testosterone please PLEASEEEE I need to look like these guys

I NEED TO LOOK LIKE ALL OF THEM UGHHHHH SOMEONE LET ME BE A GUY IN A 2010'S SLENDERVERSE SERIES RIGHT NOW

[willgrahamscock]

Transgender 👍🏻

[fishymom-art]

I know you did t4t jam art before but can you do more for the marble hornets requests I just love that dynamic

He still has no idea

[transfembeauty]

[aritany]

On Identity: The Truth

Content warnings: homophobia, transphobia, references to self harm and suicide.

I’ve been keeping secrets my whole life.

I’m 10 and I’m listening to my dad at the dinner table, who I know to be the most trustworthy person in the world. He talks about the legalization of marriage between two people of the same sex and asks us to consider the implications. Where do we draw the line in the sand? Legalizing gay marriage paves the way for legalizing pedophilia, after all. If a union between two men or two women isn’t disrespecting the sanctity of marriage, what’s next? Marriage between men and animals?

I’m 11 the first time I hear it: “It doesn’t matter how low I set the bar for you, you still can’t reach it.”

I’m confused and afraid—I’m trying so hard—but I hear it then, and again, and again, spoken low in disappointment, shouted with a vein popping in her forehead, cold like a fact, and it sinks in, bone deep.

I’m 12 with my first crush on a girl. I’m not confused, I know that’s what it is—I want to kiss my friend, and I already know not to talk about it. Never to talk about it. It isn’t safe.

I’m 13 and doubting. I throw myself into fitting in. I pick the right boys to like and I go overboard, and I do like them, I do, I do, I want them to like me, I want to be their friend. I want to be their equal, but that’s not quite how the story goes, so I settle for trying to hold hands with somebody I desperately crave respect from, but that’s wrong too, I learn. 

I’m 14 and convicted. How could this be wrong? I brush hands with a girl in choir and we meet eyes and I know. I watch a gay kiss on TV and I sob into my hands and I tell no one, no one, no one.

I’m 15 and I come out to my mom, haltingly, with the terminology that I have, because the thought of hiding forever—keeping quiet through one more dinner—kills me.

She tells me no. She tells me I’m wrong.

I look in her eyes and I understand: it’s not an option, and it never will be.

I’m 15 and I do my best to stop there.

It doesn’t work.

I’m 16 when I first hear my mom say that you can love someone and not approve of their lifestyle. I wonder what kind of love that is. I wonder how that kind of diluted, half-hearted, patronizing love can be enough for anyone. I wonder if she’s thought about how that feels, to be told that who you are—not by choice—is fundamentally wrong.

I’m 16 and a boyfriend is a shield. The right choice, so I make it, and it’s even almost fun. I love being his friend. I’m afraid of anything more.

I’m 17 and my youngest sibling whispers, “So am I.”

My heart breaks for the pain they’ll experience, as they too are taught, painstakingly, how to hate themself. Which parts of themself have to be kept hidden, which parts are shameful. They sit at that dinner table and hear the rhetoric that pushed me to the brink and over it, and I hope they’re stronger than I am.

They aren’t.

I’m 18 and my mom works at a college for the performing arts. I sit and curdle quietly while she talks about her genderqueer students. Misgenders them behind their backs. Deadnames used flippantly. She knows better, after all. She can be the expert on somebody else’s identity. They’re mentally ill, all of them. None of them are happy. They’re searching for something only God can provide.

I’m 19 and I come out as bisexual to the man I’m certain I’m going to marry, tearing the secret out like a bandage fused to skin. He tells me of course it’s fine, that he supports who I am. Of course people like me should have rights, of course. I laugh, relieved. Later, I find out this moment was almost a dealbreaker for him, and I wonder how much was ever real.

I’m 20 and I’m out. I’m 20 and I’m free. I’m 20 and I believe, because I’ve been told, that I am loved for who I am. All of who I am. I still flinch when I hear a car door slam.

I’m 21 and I’m searching for the connection to my womanhood. I’m searching for what makes a woman a woman. I’m reading gender theory and talking to friends around the world and wondering exactly what it is that I’m missing.

What does the rest of the world know that I don’t?

I’m 22 when my marriage ends because my body might not be attractive to my husband one day, and my parents email him in support and solidarity, expressing sympathy, and I’m not surprised.

I’m 22, and standing up for who I am has cost me everything. A spouse, two sets of parents, financial security, a city’s worth of community, more childhood friends than I can count. My parents tell me to go back in the closet so my ex-husband will love me. To them, his frustration is understandable, of course—by presenting androgynously, I’m betraying my marriage vows, after all.

I wonder, stunned into silence, where I promised to look like a woman.

I’m 23 when I come out to my parents for the third time; not as bisexual, not as trans, but as hurt. 

I lay out the pain of the last decade as succinctly as I can, hoping they’ll hear. When I assert that yes, to be in relationship with me, use of my name and pronouns is a requirement, my mother jokes, “Well, we don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

It’s not a joke.

I see the flash in her eyes, the instant regret as she laughs it off like it’s funny, but it isn’t.

The kid sitting at the dinner table knows it’s not a joke. The kid who listened to countless lectures on the morality of queerness knows it’s not a joke. The kid who stood with shaking hands and tried to bleed out the bad knows it’s not a joke. Years of casual bigotry taught me how to hate myself, which parts of myself I should cross out and ignore, which parts of myself I should be ashamed of.

I’m 23, and I have finally unlearned shame, and when I ask my parents to see me, the joke is that I’m a terrorist. I’m unreasonable.

The shock of it becomes a balm, later on.

Some jokes aren’t funny.

Some jokes aren’t jokes at all.

I’m 24 and I’m learning that it’s scary to be alone. Bigotry made me an orphan and made us strangers, and knowing that it’s the right choice to stand up for myself doesn’t make it any easier. I’m learning the only way out is through, if you’re not squeamish:

Cut off the part of yourself that’s 7 years old standing outside of their bedroom because the nightmare had teeth and claws and they are the heroes that will hold you close and make it warm again.

Amputate.

Cauterize.

Don’t let them see you bleed.

I’m learning that the wound takes a long, long time to close.

I’m 25 as I write this, and I am proud of who I am, even if I’m still bleeding. All of who I am. It’s taken a long time for me to let that person see the sun, but here we are, basking in the glow. Those wounds are healing. I am visible for everyone else who whispers, “So am I.”

Your sunshine will come. Your sunshine will come. 

Your sunshine will come.

[bakedbananners]

Intimacy

[ID: art of Alex Fierro inspired by Thomas Blackshear's "Intimacy". He is standing, wearing a magenta robe covered in bright yellow shapes. Alex pulls apart the robe to show his chest, bright and glowing with light. In one hand he is holding a Tlatilco duality mask against the side of his face, covering one eye. On the same arm is a snake-like bangle. He is wearing a filigrana necklace with a milagro corazon attached, and a hoop earring with two long ribbons attached. His dark curly hair flows upwards. Behind him, to the left is a dark starry sky, with three floating pink masks hovering and looking down spitefully. To the right is are bright green small hills dotted with multicolored flowers. End ID.]

(more info in readmore!)

I decided to do a redraw inspired by Thomas Blackshear’s “Intimacy”. The original work shows a woman holding a mask while unveiling her body which is emitting a bright light. It is an interesting piece about how people wear masks to hide their true self, which is shown through the body.

I felt this work really fit Alex’s character, both through the overt symbols and the underlying themes. She is all about being a contradiction, dichotomy, and paradox.

I decided to alter some symbols, wanting to display her dual heritage of both Norse and Mexican descent and the spirituality associated with both. The mask she wears is a Tlatilco duality mask, she pears through the skull-like dead eye, conveying that she herself is dead yet alive. Her necklace has a corazon milagro on it, a strong symbol of Mexican spirituality and its combination of both Christian and Indigenous beliefs. It is meant to represent good luck and faith, with ties to Christ who is often shown with a fiery heart within his chest. In my reinterpretation, the bright light in her chest takes a new dimension of meaning- as she is literally her entire soul rather than human anymore.

The winding bracelet on her arm is of the Urnes snakes. It being on the same arm she holds up the mask connects the two accessories and their meanings physically. The masks that peer over her shoulder are meant to represent Norse masks, the way her mother Loki is always observing her. I altered some of the colors to be brighter neon pinks and greens because those are her trademark colors.

This redrawing is also meant to be inherently queer. The original shows a cisheteronormative portrayal of a feminine body. Here, though, Alex is transfeminine, displaying a transgender body. This also connects her genderqueer self with the divine and beautiful, as it also is in canon (through Magnus’ narration).

Ok, thank u for reading! :D this was very fun to do! I’m quite proud of it lol :3

[charcharraccoonboy]

Just a reminder that the Magnus Chase books have a gender fluid character. Happy trans visibility day, Alex fierro!

[cutegurls77]

Alex Nickol

[manichewitz]

one thing abt me is that i think i couldve been born in any time period and any culture on earth and i still wouldve figured out i was trans somehow. if i was amish i’d be posted up doing needlepointing with the other women saying shit like does anyone else want to look like brother jedediah sometimes or is that just me

[fagbearentertainment]

[ris-multi-fandom]

I’ve been watching Taskmaster recently and have just gotten to the season with Mae Martin and I don’t think cis people will ever understand how amazing it feels to watch a popular show like that and see a non-binary person on it who’s pronouns are being respected every time, it fills my heart with so much hope.

[eeriezoundz]

Super late but HAPPY PRIDE!!

[hiroshotreplica]

bonus..

[yourdailyqueer]

ABD Illustrates (Alex Brennan-Dent)

Gender: Transgender man

Sexuality: Gay

DOB: 24 August 1997  

Ethnicity: White - English

Occupation: Youtuber, Illustrator, artist

Note: Has ADHD