#how many people were able to sort out their identity and gender thanks to strangers on the internet talking about this stuff in the open?

[spitblaze]

The thing you need to remember about Tumblr discourse is that like 70% of it does not matter off of this specific website and even less of it matters once you get off the internet

[demonsonthemoon]

The Flood and its Aftermath

Fandom: Supernatural Pairings: N/A Word Count: 1861 Summary: Sam had always thought that coming out would be the hardest thing. Note: I set out to write what was meant to NOT be a coming-out fic. Then it turned into a coming-out fic. Turns out writing what you would have wanted coming out to feel like is really therapeutic? Who would have guessed.Anyway, Sam Winchester is a non-binary lesbian in my heart.

Read it on AO3.

Sam had always thought that coming out would be the hardest thing.

The silver lining being that, with the lives they lived, there was really only one person she needed to come out to.

Dean.

Dean Winchester, the manly man who thought he was making fun of Sam by calling her a girl. The kind of guy who would refuse a good drink if it came in a pink bottle.

But Sam wasn't stupid and they knew better. Dean wasn't as much of an asshole as he made himself out to be, not really. That kind of bullshit was just the best way that Dean had found to protect himself.

Still. The hypermasculine posturing hadn't exactly been reassuring to Sam considering that he needed to tell his brother he was trans.

He'd thought that coming out would be the hardest, because it was the first step, the one that was supposed to open the floodgates.

In the end, it had been relatively easy. The anticipation had been awful, a crawling feeling under his skin where guilt and fear mingled.

People could argue all they wanted that lying by omission wasn't technically lying but it sure felt the same way to Sam. She wasn't sure what telling Dean would change, which was perhaps what made it so scary. She knew, however, that she couldn't physically keep it a secret anymore, that it was making her sick inside.

Besides, secrets had nearly ruined their relationship many times over.

She was sick of that too.

So there came a day, in the bunker, in front of a dinner Dean had lovingly prepared (because he cooked now, more than spaghetti-Os and PB&J sandwiches) where Sam told their brother that they were trans.

Dean's first reaction was confusion. His second was awkward laughter. Which was followed by more confusion. Sam let him work through it, knowing Dean needed to get past his surprise before they could really start talking.

Sure enough, Dean frowned deeply before asking : “When you say you're transgender, you mean you feel like a woman?”

“No. Well, not exactly. It's more like... Like there's a spectrum between being a man and being a woman and I'm somewhere on that spectrum. It moves around a lot. Most often these days I feel closer to womanhood, I guess, but it's never really one or the other so it's hard to tell.”

“So... what, you don't feel like a guy, but you're not a woman either?”

“Yeah. Something like that. Non-binary is the term. I guess technically I'm genderfluid, but I like non-binary.”

“How long have you...?”

Sam shrugged. “Depends on what you mean. I only put a word to it maybe... a year ago? Two years? But looking back... I think I might have felt this way for a long time. Especially in college. I was just... curious. About gender, queerness. I thought I was a straight guy, though, and it felt... I don't know. Voyeuristic? So I didn't really explore it. And there were times, then and later, when something didn't feel right, but I just blamed that on everyrhing else that was wrong with me.”

“You know that's not true, right?”

“What?”

“That there's something wrong with you. There's not.”

“Dean-”

“I mean it. This isn't wrong. And all the rest of it...” The demon blood. His psychic powers. The memories of a body without a soul and of a soul being tortured. “It's all stuff that was done to you. It's not who you are.”

Sam wasn't sure he wholly agreed with his brother. He wasn't convinced you could separate the essence of a soul from all that had shaped it throughout the years. That particular line of thinking had backfired every time he had tried it. But this wasn't the time to have that conversation.

“I know it's not wrong,” Sam said, only addressing one part of Dean's argument. “That's why I'm telling you. Being non-binary... It feels right. It feels like me.”

“Okay,” Dean replied. Then, with slightly more assurance: “Okay. So... what does it change? Do I call you like... my sister? Or... my sibling, I guess?”

Sam smiled. The apprehension they'd been feeling for almost an entire days was quickly dissolving, leaving behind relief and a fierce kind of love.

“Yeah. I'd like that. Either of them. I mean... It's fine if you don't, I get that it's-”

“Dude.” Dean winced right after interrupting them. “Not-dude. Whatever. I'm probably gonna mess up. A lot. Like I just did. But you've got to let me try. You told me this because it's important to you, right? So you need to let me know how I can make you more comfortable. Not just what's okay or what's easier but what you actually prefer. Okay?”

Sam held up her hands. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry, it's just... It's complicated. I'm not actually planning on transitioning medically. Can't really afford to, not with the risk of someone looking into one of our fake IDs. And before you suggest black market hormones – I know that look in your eyes, don't deny it – I just don't want to. This is the body I've got. It took me years to stop feeling like there was something wrong with it, but I'm finally getting there. I don't wanna change it. But that means... I'm always gonna look pretty masculine, okay? Even if that's not how I feel, I get that that's what other people see. And that's... okay. It's how it is. I don't want to come out to everyone I meet, there's no point and it's just none of their business. So sticking to masuline language is better. It's not just easier, although that's part of it. It's more comfortable than always being put on the spot.

“Okay. That... It sucks that you even have to think like that, but I get it.”

Sam shot her brother a grateful look. She doubted whether he really did get it, whether he understood how painful and frustrating it had been to come to these conclusions after finally finding ways to explore her gender identity. But all that mattered was that he was trying.

“What about when it's just us then?”

“You could... switch? Pronouns, I mean. Sometimes he, sometimes she. Singular they. Same with gendered words, when there's no neutral way to say something.

Dean stayed silent for a few seconds. He nervously ran a hand through his hair, not looking at Sam when he finally spoke. “Tell me if I say something fucked up, okay? I know I'm not always the most... sensitive, when it comes to those things.”

Sam nodded in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

“From what you said about-” He made a vague hand gesture. “- fluid genders, I get that it makes sense to switch pronouns. But you also said you felt more feminine, right? And I... I'm so used to seeing you as my brother and as a guy, so...”

Dean paused, as if waiting for Sam to tell him off for what he'd just said. But they wouldn't do that, because they knew it was true and that Dean wasn't saying this to prove a point about who Sam really was.

“I just think that if you let me call you he, I won't actually be able to switch to thinking of you as anything else.”

A bittersweet emotion bloomed under Sam's tongue, making him choke and his eyes water. Sam had argued with himself, again and again, and he'd figured it was easier to give his brother an out. It would hurt less like this, he'd thought, less than if he'd asked for more and had had to face his brother's failures full-on.

But Dean was flat-out refusing to take the easy way out.

Sam knew his expression probably looked ridiculous, but he smiled. Wide and bright, and with his eyes still prickling.

“She and they work, then. Thank you.”

Dean looked embarrassed. “Sure.”

He wasn't looking at her, but Sam didn't mind. She was happy. She basked in the silence between them, silence that was no longer heavy with secrets.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Mmh?”

“Is it still funny if I call you Samantha?”

Sam laughed, despite themself. Dean's grin was shy in return.

“It was never funny, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

So that, it turned out, had been the easy part.

The hard stuff came after.

The hard stuff was finding a way to get Dean to stop walking on eggshells around her everytime he had to correct himself on pronouns. The hard stuff was learning to correct Dan herself, forcing herself to stop letting it slide despite every part of her that screamed it wasn't a big deal and that it was safer to say nothing. The hard stuff was learning to know herself and then have that knowledge be stripped away by the gaze of strangers every time she and Dean went out in public.

Sam had learned to love his body out of necessity. Because they knew how easy it was to lose control of it, and because most days it was the only thing they could rely on. Years of living amongst demons and angels had taught them that the physical form was only a vessel. And so it hurt when other people couldn't understand that.

There was another thing that the hunter's life had taught Sam. Pain was easier to deal with when you were used to it. But it didn't take long to lose that habit.

And so the sweetest moments, the euphoria of knowing and of feeling known, they made the other times even more difficult. They made the casual assumptions and the well-meaning but off-track comments feel like a constant weight over their shoulders.

The hardest thing, in all of this, was that Sam couldn't get angry. He couldn't fault people for not instinctively realizing what had taken them 30 years to figure out. He couldn't complain about people using the wrong pronouns, not when he used them himself. He couldn't begrudge people for not seeing him for who he was, not when he didn't know how to make that person intelligible in any sort of language.

And so Sam couldn't get angry. They got tired instead, the kind of fatigue that settled into their bones like it had in the first few months of that year when Dean had been in Purgatory and Sam had been driving because he didn't know what else they could do.

On those days, Sam kept going because she knew there was no better option. And she knew, in her heart, that this was only a matter of having lost the habit. She knew that it only hurt so bad because the ache wasn't constant anymore, because there were moments (with herself, then with Dean, then with Castiel and Jack and Jody too) where she could be herself without it being a question, where she existed not only in translation but in the glory of her own tongue, and when she didn't have to try.

The wise man asks the fool:

Why do you hurt yourself so?

Because it feels so good when the pain stops.

[enby-hawke]

OC Facts With Lucky Hawke

I was tagged by @isalavhenan, thanks again for the tag. I love being able to rant about Hawke so thanks for letting me. 

PLACE IN SOCIETY

✖ FINANCIAL – wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty

Hawke never knew hunger until he came to Kirkwall. His father ended up being conscripted into the Grey Wardens at the end of Leandra and Malcolm’s love affair. Though Malcolm could legally be a mage his children couldn’t and so moving around was necessary to avoid detection as well as for his job but because of the Grey Wardens the family was well taken care of. Because Malcolm was elven, even if they could afford better houses, they were usually forced to live out in the country where the laws aren’t as strict about those things. After Malcolm died, the budget was much tighter without a Grey Warden salary, but they at least had their family home in Lothering. When they lost it, the Hawke’s had to get used to hardship in Kirkwall. It wasn’t like Lothering where they could hunt freely for game in the Kocari wilds and forage from their garden when the month was tight. It was a year in poverty that Hawke was determined to dig himself out of, no matter what it took. Though even after his success with the Deep Roads and he had all the gold he’d need, it was still a difficulty to get his family’s estate in his name. For 3 years he would build connection and influence enough to get the court to recognize his claim as legal.  

✖ MEDICAL – fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged

From a young age, Carver, Bethany, and Lucky would recieve strict Grey Warden training as well as Malcolm’s mental training. Lucky is very fast and often casts haste on himself to move even faster. Though he is slight of build, he is strong even without his magic to enhance him and often doesn’t need his magic to win a fight.  

✖ CLASS OR CASTE – upper / lower / middle / working / unsure

With Leandra’s training in courtly etiquette and grace, the Hawke children often were able to charm guests with their manners and wit which helped make a better impression of their mixed race family. The tensions of race and class often came up with Hawke growing up and learning that sometimes passing as human didn’t always shield him from the realities of being elven especailly in school. Hawke was often hyperaware and dysphoric about his race, unsure how to navigate what it meant to be something in between. From a young age it was ingrained in him that he must assimilate into human culture because he’s human, even if other humans don’t exactly see it the same. Meeting Merrill, he found an ally in his struggle to identify with his other roots.

After the Deep Roads and his nobility officially recognized he enters upper class society but it is clear that the other nobles do not see him as equal, until he defeats the Arishok and becomes Champion. By then Hawke has become disillusioned by the upper class lifestyle and decides that the best course would be to become Viscount, if only to have a real chance at changing things in Kirkwall.  

✖ EDUCATION – qualified / unqualified / studying

Though Lucky had a loving home, it was often strict and full of studies of all sort which he resented. His mother would try to tutor him in the Game which is the only lesson he refused to learn because he never thought he’d need it. Malcolm was absent a lot due to his work, but when he was home, time was often spent teaching Lucky and Bethany magical training. He knows a lot of things from his forced education, and when he’s truly interested will sometimes lose focus trying to solve a magical problem. However he’s bad at articulating things at times and sometimes forgets to use his mind when he solves problems. 

FAMILY

✖ MARITAL STATUS – married, happily / married, unhappily / engaged  / partnered / divorced / widow or widower / separated / single / it’s complicated

✖ CHILDREN – has children / no children / wants children / adopted children

Hawke ends up having a Dalish wedding with Merrill, a Chantry wedding with Fenris, and Isabela and Hawke remained lovers. Merrill and Hawke have a daughter named Aerys. 

✖ FAMILY – close with siblings / not close with siblings / has no siblings / siblings are deceased / it’s complicated

✖ AFFILIATION – orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by both parents / it’s complicated

Hawke was closer to his father than his mother which was difficult because Malcolm wasn’t exactly accepting of Lucky’s trans identity. Since they were young they felt weird about their gender but weren’t very concious about their dysphoria until he started puberty. He discovered he was queer young and had to be in the closet about it because the family has strong Chantry beliefs. When they decided to magically transition, he asked for support with Bethany to help him transition at least while he was at school though he still had to ask for help from his father to master shapeshifting which he struggled with for a long time. Carver found out and though he thought it was a bad idea, he reluctantly supported Lucky too. This eventually culminated into Lucky getting found out by his parents which started a fight. To make a story short it gets ugly but eventually Leandra and then Malcolm come to terms with who Lucky is. When Lucky wanted a new name he asked his father to rename him, and his father renamed him “Lucky because I’m lucky to have you in my life.”   Neither of his parents encouraged interest in his elven heritage and so often he was told to pride himself in being and Amell and a Hawke. When Hawke took back his estate he renamed House Amell to House Hawke, partly as a fuck you to all the nobles that gave him a hard time and kept calling him “Lord Amell” but also because he knew he would never be an Amell. He would never be anything other than the person he fought to become.  

TRAITS & TENDENCIES

✖ disorganized / organised / in between

Organization is Lucky’s enemy. His organization is *stick this into a void and deal with it later*

✖ close-minded / open-minded / in between

Hawke can admit when he’s wrong. “I’m just not often.” He uses blood magic to augment his shapeshifting and other magic as well. He is super wary of Chantry folk and the templars, templars being obvious, but in the Chantry that’s where some of his most racist bullying came from. He’s a very chill person most of the time, but once he’s made a bad judgement of you it can be hard to change his mind. 

✖ cautious / reckless / in between

One of Hawke’s biggest weaknesses is his temper makes it hard to think before he acts. To save his family and friends he will dive headfirst into danger or use incredibly dangerous magic forgetting that he’s not invincible. 

✖ patient / impatient / in between

Hawke can’t be bored. Their short attention span leads them into trouble.

✖ outspoken / reserved / in between

Hawke has a hard time holding his tongue. Impulsively saying whatever comes to mind also gets him into trouble. 

✖ leader / follower / in between

Because Hawke is impatient he will sometimes take control if no one is stepping up. He doesn’t like the burden of leadership, though and doesn’t mind hearing other people’s opinions. He is also stubborn so while he won’t force anyone to follow him, he’s not afraid to break from the pack to get where he thinks he wants to go.

✖ sympathetic / unsympathetic / in between

Hawke is very empathetic and likes to make people to feel at ease around him. He often tries to joke to break tension which doesn’t always work. 

✖ optimistic / pessimistic / in between

Lucky has fits of despair that he attempts to bury with stubborn optimism. He doesn’t give up easily, though. He will endlessly look for a solution, though if he comes up to a wall that won’t budge, it will sometimes leave him spiraling.

✖ hardworking / lazy / in between

If Lucky is interested in the project he will work the hardest at it, giving it his utmost focus. If he’s not, it’s a struggle and he will procrastinate or give up.

✖ cultured / uncultured / in between

Hawke learned “culture” from Leandra. That doesn’t mean he will choose to use it. 

✖ loyal / disloyal / in between

Hawke is loyal almost to a fault. You mess with someone he loves, you might lose a tooth. His friend’s enemies are his enemies and he’s fiercly protective.

✖ faithful / unfaithful / in between

Hawke is poly but he is faithful. It just the boundaries are different in his relationships. 

SEXUALITY & ROMANTIC INCLINATION

✖ SEXUALITY – heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual / omnisexual / demisexual

✖ SEX – sex repulsed / sex neutral /sex favorable

Sex is one of Hawke’s vices so he does occasionally have casual safe sex with hot strangers, but more than sex he craves closeness and connection with people. 

✖ ROMANCE – romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable

Hawke would say his heart’s a slut. There are many people that make his heart thump. Hawke often struggled with the idea of finding “the one” because there were so many people he felt romantically connected to to the point where he thought something was wrong with him. 

✖ SEXUALLY – sexually adventurous / sex experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious / uninterested

Hawke is usually up for new experiences and often uses his shapeshifting and magic in the bedroom (with people he can trust)

ABILITIES

✖ COMBAT SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

Though Hawke can easily kill with their blood magic they often use it to incapacitate, and wipe enemies minds. Killing makes the demons whisper louder so if he can avoid it he will.

✖ LITERACY SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

Though Hawke is smart he struggled in school especailly reading. It took a lot of effort to get the grades his parents expected of him, on top of all the other training that was expected of him.

✖ ARTISTIC SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

Lucky started writing poetry in his diary when he was young. Karaoke was something the family did a lot so Lucky started writing lyrics and eventually started making music on his computer. He still enjoys karaoke. 

✖ TECHNICAL SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

I looked it up and I either don’t understand this question or he has none lol

I  tag , @prplhawke​ @embajadora-montilyet​ @envy-kitty​ @antivan-surana​ @mahalzevran​ @red-wardens​ aaand whoever wants to do it tag me. No pressure if you don’t feel like it of course. 

[adamsvanrhijn]

Hello there! I have been happily working through your incredible wtmy,tbws fic like a duck enthusiastically eating a bowl of peas, and was wondering if I may request a director’s commentary on the "never cared to 'til a minute ago. Always been a delicate bloke." conversation OR whatever scene from that fic that you most enjoyed writing? Thank you!

thank you! i am loving that simile very much.................. a duck enthusiastically eating a bowl of peas. amazing.

under cut because the fic itself is Adult Content haha

& also because this is Absurdly long... doing this meme for other people is really hammering in for me how much i rely on single line dialogue & short paragraphs lol. i’d love to work on that, but, womp womp, it hasn’t really been happening.

there is ... a lot going on in this scene lol. i feel very galaxy brain while writing this fic and it’s very pretentious, but i’m just gonna poke at the relevant bits around that quote instead of quoting The Whole Thing. this is from chapter 5 of when to my soul, the body would say ! 

context -- they’ve had morning sex in front of a mirror, then they went for breakfast at the place they’re staying, where richard is using a persona for Safety Reasons, & now they’re just hanging out and richard has been checking thomas out for the last 5-15 minutes without him noticing... until he comments on thomas smoking, and then thomas...

...lets his eyes wander, himself. 

Richard, fully dressed save for his shoes, is turned from the bureau, arm slung over the top of the chair. He did his hair this morning, because Evelyn Price would not have gotten up to anything in the night that could possibly alter the work of a week's worth of Brilliantine, and Thomas sort of hates it.

Not how it looks.

What it means. Or represents, rather. That they've got people other than each other upon whom they need to make good impressions, be they in service or just in the world at large.

right, so, this is like, the Ground Work Thoughts for thomas here as far as this particular interaction is concerned, because this is Very Much about perception / Being Perceived, and before the conversation even happens he’s paying richard a lot of attention, almost to the point of scrutiny. and richard is put together in a way that is very much not for thomas’s sake, it’s for they-left-the-room’s sake, and so he’s noticing that and that’s his frame of mind as they move on.

side note! hair styling oil & pomades really were worn for multiple days in a row. amazing. i could never. there should really be more in this fic about richard’s hair being all floraly <3 <3 <3 but there isn’t. womp womp. that would have been a Factor in this bit huh lol.

"You ever try it?" asks Thomas. Meaning smoking.

"No," he says. He tilts his head thoughtfully. "Never cared to 'til a minute ago. Always been a delicate bloke."

Thomas coughs impolitely.

"I don't see the harm in saying it, Thomas."

The feeling he can't describe leaves him, and a different one forms, in his gut instead of his lungs, an uncomfortable and unwelcome weight. Knotted.

aaaaand boom. thomas Did Not Sign Up For This. 

richard’s being 100% honest, just speaking casually, but thomas’s reaction is enough to get him on the defensive & he’s not an idiot so he knows why, but this is also not something he has lately put a lot of thought into. he’s Accepted It About Himself (we’ll get into this). thomas meanwhile is not ready to approach the subject of Delicacy for anybody he cares about, because to him it’s not a good description, it’s not something he aspires to be or wants to come across as, but he has many times in his life come across as it anyway. he’s Not Like That. 

so the word alone sticks in the wheels of his rolly suitcase emotional baggage, even though it’s richard using it on himself.

"Well, you clearly haven't got a problem with playing at being normal," Thomas says pointedly. Tough not to be pointed when he feels like this, because he's no stranger to it, is he. "If I didn't know better I'd be asking after your wife and baby like the rest of this place."

Lucky those people were leaving after breakfast; Thomas wouldn't be able to take two full days of it.

He hasn't asked about the photographs in the wallet yet, either, and he's not sure if he will.

normal being heterosexual, in this instance, which is contemporary vocabulary.

and richard is very good at playing straight when he’s not fearing for thomas’s life, so. it’s true! it’s a legitimate opinion. but it’s also a pretty significant logical leap that richard is about to pick up on, because that makes him uncomfortable, given thomas is basically saying.... you seem straight, what are you talking about, which isn’t going to make him feel excellent about the sense of identity he’s settled into. 

the rest of this is an Achievement Thomas Is Yet To Unlock so i won’t say much other than that this is not a significant addition to richard as the reader might know him from ywntmha, but, a lot of the big emotional work & development in that fic happens in 1929, with this meeting as the impetus... so it is very significant for thomas, at this point. we’re still in january and they still have a ways to go both in the next 24 hours and in the rest of the year.

Richard raises his eyebrows. "And what's that got to do with it?"

He shrugs.

It should be obvious. It would be obvious, to anyone who bothered to think about it for more than half a second.

that’s not a good faith question; richard’s goading him into actually saying the underlying thought. on one level thomas knows that, which is why he doesn’t say that part out loud and only thinks it.

"It's pretending, is all it is," Richard continues, a little too gentle.

"Don't call yourself what they call you," Thomas returns, a little too sharp.

and since goading doesn’t work, new tactic on richard’s part here, and though thomas can tell it’s intentional it does work on him, so.

writing this was interesting for several reasons but one of the big ones is, and anybody who’s been following me since Before da will probably know this, i like... have very little patience for discussion about personal identity, especially when it comes to reclamation ? i am way more interested both on a personal and academic level (bc i can’t lie about that lmfao, hashtag english major) in community + external ideas imposed on people.  

and this might seem like a very 2010s conversation for them to be having, but... this period of time was really the Dawn of queer/lgbt identity Concepts: words were being coined, communities were coming together in new ways, in continental europe & the us especially there was a lot of rapid development and transition here owing to various roaring 20s factors, and i think richard given his situation would have been exposed to that, for one, but also just, it’s gonna be in both their environments because it was getting to be a thing from the victorian era w/ the medicalisation of homosexuality and things are only expanding. 

"delicate” is a euphemism, not a slur, but it has hella connotations & they are both fully aware of them.

"Rather it be me saying it than them."

Blasé like it doesn't mean a thing at all.

You should know better, he wants to say, you should know better than anyone.

"Don't see how you can feel that way when it's not true to begin with."

thomas’s Only Gay Friend Is My Boyfriend is showing here lol, this is shining light on a gap in what he knows about richard & what he Thinks he knows about richard, so there’s a dissonance. and he sees richard as Masculine on a conscious or subconscious level, and he’s in a These Are Antonyms place re “delicate”. some black & white thinking going on here.

& i feel like the other part is probably fairly explanatory but, richard gets a sense of control and self-assurance by using a word for himself that might not be kind coming out of other people’s mouths and Being Okay With That.

"Thomas…"

They lock eyes.

A tense moment passes.

It is Richard who breaks first. He turns back to the desk with a small sigh.

"This has very little to do with you," he says carefully.

richard, knowing thomas as he does, is able to tell that he’s taking this personally, because he Is, so that’s that there, but again this is something he’s already settled in himself and so there’s also an element of having to justify again this thing he’s already figured out, which he isn’t exactly fond of.

anyway i said i’d get into this -- there’s a lot of interesting like, Societal / Subcultural / Etc politics with regards to being a male servant in this day and age and Gender In General, and valets especially -- throughout the time period leading up to this but ESPECIALLY in the 1920s when there are fewer men in service than there ever have been and more and more kinds of, say, manufacturing jobs as the automobile industry picks up & labour saving devices start having more complicated parts, and probably yknow most of the boys he went to school with are in that or mining or railways, so he’d have thought about it earlier on in his life probably. or Has rather. ftr his brother was in the carriage works i don’t think that ever comes up but there’s a lot there lol. there’s some family stuff in but level in time that we’ll get to........... someday. ANYWAY. 

the point is.

valeting is an effeminate job.

like, point blank. i’m seeing that idea both in sources specifically about servants & just general of-the-era stuff about great houses. when you’re talking about gay men in service a lot of them are valets, and some of that lines up w stereotypes & common lifestyle habits of gay men in general -- looking after hair shoes and clothing, obvs, attention to detail in physical appearance (note that men who Get Valeted also care about details, but they are not the ones who actually have to think and decide about it; whereas their wives are probably giving their ladies’ maids more directions as to hair styles and dresses etc etc because they’re expected to care about that part of the process in a way that men weren’t), exposure to social mores in a variety of different contexts, being well-connected within both the communities that help him get work done: tailoring, hairdressing, shoemakers, drapers, etc and in General, having softer skills like sewing and whatnot. and you’re unmarried and looking after the presentation of another man so there’s some like, desexualisation stuff there.

and thomas and richard would both know this very, very well. they’d have encountered the idea both as men in service and as gay men and especially as gay men in service.  

this richard has been working at buckingham palace for more than twenty years at this point, minus his war backstory which....... is complex and i haven’t gotten into it very much anywhere but he was getting cosy with some higher ups and having To Do about presentation there too and like, was in the service corps which was non-combat supply lines ....... and apprenticing valeting / actually (non-principally) valeting the Literal King Of England for nine.

he has had a LOT of time to get over his shit.

he not only likes his job* but he’s also very good at his job, literal 2nd highest valet position in frankly The World, which is fucking wild, and that combined with his Childhood of like, being second best to his older brother who was like, a perfect human being so far as he could ever tell and that included being very traditionally like, athletic and Leaderly and having-a-sweetheart-in-your-youth-you-then-marry when he was more interested in, you know, story telling and Arts N Crafts (i’m being tongue in cheek) and just generally not ... especially into the Boys Will Be Boys stuff............................

he’s fine with it! he is Fine with being called delicate, it’s helped him get over a lot of his issues just to decide oh, this actually fits my personality and the trajectory my life has followed, so i’m going to just accept that and move on ! etc. 

but thomas is not anywhere near there for himeslf and therefore he isn’t for other people, too, because one of thomas’s Problems is that he hates seeing other people comfortable and happy when he isn’t... and that even applies to richard, because love does not make us perfect. 

*he wants to leave service and he’s tired of the constant scrutiny of working where he does for whom he does, but he does like his actual duties in a lot of ways.

well here’s a novel. i hope this satisfies you!!! <3 <3 <3

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (9)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.1k (this chapter), 29.6k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

The sleep Phil has is restless and patchy. He wakes up so many times, spikes of panic cutting through the calm as he tries to remember where he is and who's breathing next to him. Dan is either a very heavy sleeper or very good at pretending to sleep, because Phil jerking awake never makes them stir.

It's a comfort, to look at Dan and see their blurry face slack with a peacefulness that wasn't there all night, but Phil doesn't do it for too long. Watching someone sleep is the pinnacle of creepiness. He just looks for a couple of seconds until his heart rate slows back down and he can roll onto his side. He faces away from Dan so he isn't tempted to keep looking at them, staring at the boring wall instead and waiting for sleep to momentarily take him again.

He's still tired when he wakes up properly to Dan tossing and turning, but he decides that's his cue to be awake.

"Hey," he murmurs, reaching for Dan's hand. He squints, but he can't tell if Dan is having a nightmare or if they're awake without getting even closer to their face. "It's okay. You're okay."

Dan takes a deep, shuddering sort of breath and cradles Phil's hand in both of their own. It's like they're afraid he's going to let go. "Sorry, fuck."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," says Phil. His stomach is doing a weird twisty thing at the sound of Dan's voice all husky with sleep. As long as he acts normal, it's fine, right? It's hard to convince himself of that when Dan's hands are pressed to his own and making him feel impossibly small. "How did you sleep?"

"I mostly slept fine," Dan says, and Phil nods like he didn't already know that.

"Good. You needed it."

For a moment, Dan is quiet. Then, they shuffle onto their side so they can properly face Phil, who has to fight the urge to hide away from their gaze. It's a good thing that he can't see the depth and warmth and sparkle of Dan's eyes without his glasses on.

"You didn't sleep very well," they say like it's a fact. Phil doesn't bother trying to deny it, he just shrugs. "You could have woken me up."

"Why would I do that?" Phil asks, puzzled by the offer.

Dan smiles, and Phil reaches for his glasses. He feels so vulnerable without them, and the sensation of not being able to see the way Dan is smiling while Dan can probably read every tiny emotion on his face is anxiety-inducing.

He leaves his other hand in Dan's. Maybe it would be easier if he just let go, but he finds that he doesn't want to.

The world comes into focus, and Phil blinks over at Dan like it's his first time seeing them. They look so different with their lashes clumped together and lines creased into their soft cheeks by the pillow. Curls are in complete disarray, and Phil presses his fingers into his palm so he doesn't try to brush the frizzy, unruly mess off Dan's forehead. Their smile doesn't fade when Phil just kind of stares - if anything, it gets even wider.

"You stayed with me all night," says Dan. Their tone is dry, but Phil imagines there's not a small amount of sincerity behind it. "You didn't have to, like, be alone."

Alone isn't something Phil had felt at all. Dan's steady breathing and the warmth of them emanating from their core even when they weren't touching were the only things keeping Phil grounded every time he woke with a start. He doesn't know how to say that to this person he barely knows, though, wouldn't know how to say something so open to most of the people in his life, so he just chuckles.

"No use in neither of us getting any sleep," he points out.

Dan is very warm, and Phil can feel his palm starting to get sweaty where it's trapped between both of theirs. He makes an apologetic face and pulls his hand back, patting it on his flannel pyjamas. Dan doesn't seem bothered by the lack of contact, but they also don't seem relieved - Phil can't tell what they're thinking at all, if he's honest.

"So," says Dan. "Where do we go from here?"

Before Phil can even think about it, he echoes the question in falsetto. It's louder and more obnoxious than he intends it to be. He swings his legs out of bed and reaches for his phone on the nightstand to try and hide a blush. "Uh, we go eat breakfast. Lunch, I guess."

"You lied," Dan says to his back. "You are always thinking about Buffy."

"Not always," Phil says weakly.

"Often enough."

"Once More With Feeling bypasses my brain entirely. It's just a primal call and response to anyone as obsessed with the show as teenage me was."

"I've never seen the show the whole way through," says Dan. "But Buffy is a style icon of mine."

Phil's tired brain offers him a half dozen mental images of Dan in various Buffy outfits before he shakes his head to try and clear it. He's never been particularly interested in boys wearing girls' clothes, but the concepts of gender identity and presentation are so blurry when it comes to Dan that he's going to have to rethink that position. They're not 'girls' clothes' on Dan. Maybe there's no such thing as 'girls' clothes' at all.

It's too early in the day for a deep dive on his own perceptions of gender, though. He thinks that sort of existentialism can wait until after his second or third coffee.

--

Phil's parents eat lunch with them and do their best to make small talk, but only Chris is On enough to properly converse with them. At Phil's umpteenth 'huh' of the early afternoon, they give up entirely and migrate to the lounge to watch tv.

For a long few seconds, the kitchen table is quiet. Then, Dan stands and starts to clear everyone's plates.

"You don't have to do that," Phil says, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"I need to do something with my hands or I'll lose the plot," says Dan. They dump the dishes carefully in the sink and start running water. Having their back to the group seems to give them the courage to add, "I don't have all my meds with me. I didn't exactly expect to be out all night."

"What d'you take?" Chris asks.

"Little fucking nosy of you," says PJ.

"Well, one of us might have what he needs, love. I'm not just asking for the hell of it."

Phil feels a bit like his mum has possessed him when he clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "You really shouldn't share medication," he says when Chris gives him a look.

It makes Dan laugh, anyway, so Phil feels like he's done something right. They still don't turn around, just washing everybody's dishes and looking so weirdly at home in Phil's clothes, Phil's old kitchen. Phil doesn't realise he's staring at their back until someone kicks him under the table.

"Earth to Phil," Chris murmurs. He's resting his chin on a hand and smirking, but his eyes are too sharp for how little sleep he must have gotten. Phil feels heat rise to his cheeks and pulls his coffee closer to use the steam as an excuse.

"I don't need anything, really," Dan hums. "Thanks for asking. My brain just struggles a bit."

"A big mood, as the kids say," Chris says sagely.

Dan laughs again. It isn't as loud as Phil knows it can get, but it still fills the room and makes everything seem a bit brighter. "Do the kids say that?" they ask. "Is that what they say?"

"I believe it is," says Chris.

There is another stretch of silence. Phil watches his friends' faces as the elephant in the room weighs on them all. He's making a bet in his own mind about who will be the first to break when Dan turns around and bluntly says, "I still don't think that was a ghost, but I really fucking hated it."

"Sorry," says PJ, "but what else could it have possibly been?"

"I dunno," says Dan. They cross their arms over their waist, holding onto their own elbows. Phil is beginning to recognise the position as a protective one for them. "But I'm sure there's an explanation. Sleep paralysis is normal."

"The way it happened was not normal."

"What do you think it was, Dan?" Sophie asks. Her tone is much kinder than PJ's, but she seems just as skeptical.

Dan's dimple is pulling downwards in unhappiness or discomfort, so Phil waves a hand to get everyone's attention on himself instead.

"Why don't you guys tell us what exactly happened to you," he suggests, meeting Dan's eyes almost apologetically. He knows that none of them want to relive it, but it's easier if they're all on the same page here. "And we can toss around theories later."

--

PJ says, "It was a demon. I could see it. It was tall and humanoid-ish and had a Cheshire Cat smile and it kept going closer to Chris and Soph just to watch me panic. Then it would laugh and sharpen its claws on the wall. It felt like hatred and fear in a physical being. I really don't think our protection sigils did fuck all, but it didn't actually touch any of us, so maybe they helped a bit?"

Dan says, "It was nothing of the sort. I saw the same shit you did, Peej, but that doesn't mean anything. Haven't you ever heard of mass hysteria? Folie à deux - not the album - isn't unheard of. Maybe there's a high level of carbon monoxide. Maybe the asbestos got to us. I don't fucking know, but there's a hundred explanations before you hit demon. But, yeah. It looked like what PJ says. It felt like I was frozen for a fucking week, not just a few hours, it was awful. Zero out of ten, would not do again."

Sophie says, "It smiled at me and I felt cold."

--

They pile into the basement to recuperate so they aren't bothering Phil's parents. Or, more accurately, so Phil's parents aren't bothering them. Most of the games are packed up, but Phil finds the Wii and its small collection of disks in a box under the stairs. He sets it up, hands his friends the controllers, and sits back to zone out while they tear each other apart at Mario Kart.

Phil doesn't consider himself a skeptic. He knows that his threshold of belief is a lot lower than he makes it appear to be in his videos, but he'd never call himself a Scully. He always thinks about the supernatural aspects of any case he's looking into, even if he doesn't commit a hundred percent to the mentality that it must be something weird. He usually just prefers the weird option to the more common and boring reality of things.

So this thing with the Wilkins place is downright terrifying. Not only is it in Phil's proverbial backyard, too close for comfort in a lot of ways, but he hasn't had an experience quite so chilling since he was sixteen and dipping his toe into this hobby at Martyn's side.

He and Martyn still aren't sure what exactly left those finger-shaped bruises on Phil's ankles, but it's become a funny story in the years since.

Maybe this will be something to laugh at in a few years, too. Phil hopes so.

"You sure you don't want to play?" Dan asks, breaking into Phil's reverie. They're in first place and not even looking at the screen, their concerned brown eyes focused on Phil. Phil gives them a small smile and shakes his head.

"No, I'm alright."

"Phil, please take the controller from him," says Chris. He seems annoyed, but Phil can never tell how much of that is a show. It's possible that Chris isn't actually competitive at all and just likes to work Phil and PJ up by acting like he, too, would rather eat a whole head of lettuce than lose. It's also possible that Chris genuinely feels that way. "He's not even fucking trying and he's kicking our asses."

"Maybe you deserve to have your ass kicked a bit," Phil says, watching the screen to see how easily Dan ducks around various obstacles.

It still jolts a bit, hearing the people around him make an assumption - however logical it is - about how Dan wants to be addressed. Phil knows it isn't his place to correct them, especially since it seems like they're not using any less correct terms than he is, but it still rankles a bit.

"Fuck's sake!" PJ exclaims, looking like he's a hair away from throwing the Wiimote at something. He's never actually hit that level of gamer rage, but getting lapped by someone who keeps checking their phone during a race seems to be getting on his nerves. Phil reaches out and pats at PJ's mess of curls.

"You'll be okay," he says, dry. "They're just better than you, you'll live."

Maybe the pronoun use is a little more pointed than it needs to be, but Dan gives him such an exasperatedly fond grin that Phil can't bring himself to regret it. There is a brief beat of quiet, and then PJ groans again.

"It's not fair," says PJ, gesturing dramatically with the Wiimote. Sophie leans out of the line of fire. "This is unacceptable. We have to play a game they're bad at, now."

"I don't care what you call me," says Dan. They sound more amused than anything else. "As long as you know I'm winning anything we play."

"That's why they call him Winnie," Chris says in that very mild voice he uses for absolute nonsense. He puts his own controller aside and flops onto his back on the basement floor, stretching. "I can't do it, I can't play another round of this farce. I'm going upstairs to let my future mum-in-law dote on me."

Phil sighs. He can feel Dan's eyes on him again, and he shrugs helplessly in their general direction. He does not control the Chris. "Please stop saying things like that. Dan is going to think I'm mixed up in… this."

He gestures vaguely at the three of them, and Chris' eyes sharpen like he's spotted prey.

"Oh, so you want Dan to know you're horrendously single, then?" Chris gives Dan a wide, conspiratorial sort of grin. "He's useless at this, you know."

"Me rejecting you doesn't make me useless," Phil huffs. He can feel a flush creeping up his neck, because Chris is more right than he wants to admit, and Dan is smiling back at Chris like they're in on the joke.

"I think it demonstrates a lack of taste," Chris sniffs.

"You know what I think?" Sophie asks, stretching her arms above her head. "I think I need a shower."

"Me too," Dan says with an unnecessary little sigh. Phil pinches his own thigh to circumvent the mental images before they start. It's annoying to have such a good imagination, sometimes. "And I need to take my meds. Is there a bus that runs around here or something?"

"Don't worry about taking the bus," says PJ. "I'll drive you."

"I don't mind," says Dan.

"I mind," says PJ, more firmly. He stands like he's planning on dragging Dan to the car himself if Dan tries to say no again.

Dan's shoulders relax forward. Phil knows the anxiety of riding unfamiliar public transit all too well, and he definitely wouldn't make Dan do something so harrowing after they got roped into ghosthunting. He's glad that PJ is on the same page again, keeping Dan in that sense of protection that being a team gives them.

It's only been a weekend, but Phil is already reluctant to let Dan go home and leave the team bubble. He wants to insist on coming along, but he knows PJ probably wants solitude on the drive back.

Still. Phil chews his lip and looks down at his phone so he doesn't have to see the looks on his friends' faces when he says, "You can keep the pyjamas. If you want them."

"Okay," Dan says softly. "I will, thanks."

He knows that he should look up, should smile at Dan or stand and hug them before they leave his life, but that all feels so big at this moment. Phil's anxiety lets him wave and murmur a goodbye before he's left alone in the basement. At least, he thinks he's alone, until he sighs heavily and Chris responds from the floor. "Oh, you're fucking mooning over him, aren't you? This is awful. I preferred the ghost."

--

Phil takes a shower after his friends have, to be polite, and it feels incredible to wash off the dirt and dust from the attic. It feels less incredible when the door opens.

He hadn't bothered locking it, because his parents' shower is loud and it should be obvious that he's in there. At least the curtain isn't see-through. He takes a moment to just stand under the spray, bewildered, before it occurs to him that he can ask what's going on. It probably isn't a serial killer. "Er, hello?"

"Hi," Chris' voice comes, tense. "We've got a problem."

"I'm a little busy," Phil says pointedly.

"Well, get your hand off your knob and get out here," says Chris. "We need to figure this out before Peej gets back."

Phil rolls his eyes, but doesn't bother arguing about why exactly he's busy. He rinses the last of his mum's conditioner out of his hair and squints at the unfocused, opaque shower curtain like he'll be able to see Chris if he just tries hard enough. "Figure what out, mate?"

"All of the footage is fucked," Chris says, blunt. "It's corrupted to high hell. Every single second. There's no evidence we were even there at all."

[theincompetentgenius]

Gender-Swapped Headcanons

@blueanimewriting:  Hey hun♡♡ can i request some gender swap headcanons for Ray,Fenrir,Harr,Jonah and Lancelot? Like they turn into females and their fem s!o into male? How'd they react or deal with this? Thanks!!

Ray

Ray would immediately notice the additional weight on his chest. At first, he thought it was Belle, but the pain was prevalent in his back as well. There was no way Belle could be over and under him. He’d get up to have a nice stretch, but that did not cure his backache.

He’d notice the difference while he was changing. His pants would not go below his hips no matter how hard he tugged on it. Instead, Ray had to tear his pajamas from his body, only to discover that his hips had grown an additional three inches. At first, he assumed it was from overeating at Luka’s larger dinner last night, but his top would only confirm the idea that Ray was no longer a male.

Honestly, Ray would be the most chill about the entire gender-swap concept amongst the five suitors. It was definitely something new to him, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. He would be worried that the others wouldn’t be able to recognize him, but Ray could easily avoid that by spending all his time in his office. No one would dare bother him while he’s busy. He just had to slip in before anyone noticed.

The only person to bother him would be his S/O, who happened to become a male. Their first interaction wouldn’t last very long because Ray would assume his gender-bent S/O was another soldier in the Black Army. Upon closer inspection, however, Ray would see that there were too many similarities between this solider and his S/O. It wouldn’t be long before Ray put the pieces together.

Now he’d invite her in his room so the two could work this out before anyone else discovered their secret, but his S/O was too busy rushing to his room to try on his clothes. Although she was a male now, her height remained the same, so none of Ray’s clothes fit on her. Nevertheless, Ray had to admit she looked cute in them, even as a guy. 

Now his S/O insisted that Ray tried on her clothes. He usually went for the blues, greens, and purples. However, the big takeaway from this experience was that Ray loved to wear skirts. The feeling of the fabric not clinging to his legs gave them room to breathe, which was awesome. He even considered having skirts for men in the Black Army just so he could wear on himself.

The only downfall of being a girl was the fact that his cats did not recognize him. Belle ran away every time Ray tried to coddle her, which broke his heart. Luckily, he was able to attract more stray cats. They were drawn to his adorable look, just like his S/O.

Fenrir

An alarm would go off in Fenrir’s head the moment he wakes up to inches of pink hair all over his face. When he would violently brush them away, he’d feel a tug on his scalp and yelp in pain. However, his yelp was more high-pitched than usual. It sounded feminine. He’d speak once more, sentences of random nonsense. It wasn’t mucus covering his vocal cords nor was there any pain straining his voice to sound high-pitched.

He’d pat himself all over his upper body and stop at his chest. What was once flat with muscle was now rounded with fat. Fenrir would definitely look down his shirt to see objects that look too similar to the female breast. That’s his cue to rush to the mirror.

Fenrir would be surprised at first, not sure what to think of the whole switch. But the longer he looks into the mirror, the more he likes his new look. It was absolutely insane and he just had to show it to his S/O.

Before he could leave, Fenrir hears a knock on the door. It is none other than his gender-swapped S/O! Fenrir has to circle around her just to get a better look and he has to admit, his S/O makes a better man than he did. But what else could he expect, she is the most gorgeous person alive.

They’d spend the whole day outside, seeing what all the cool things they could do with their new bodies. Fenrir, who opted the name “Fenia” in public, was able to charm all the male sellers for free treats and drinks. They couldn’t get enough of his wild yet cool personality.

His S/O used to the opportunity to pubs and bars that she didn’t have access to as a female. But her favorite part was to randomly sweep Fenrir off his feet and twirl him around. Even as a girl, Fenrir was incredibly fun to watch as his long, pink hair whirled around in the wind.

However, Fenrir wasn’t a fan of the long hair. There were too many instances where pink strands would collide with his tongue. The harder part was getting them out of his mouth and cleaning up the remaining saliva. Instead, he went to the barber to get it cut. At first, he wanted to have his original haircut, but his S/O insisted that he get a shoulder-length cut. Fenrir only agreed to this on the condition that his S/O got a haircut as well.

Also, I feel like he’d take the opportunity to go mess around with Ray. He’d mockingly flirt with the king just for the laughs. His S/O would have to later explain the situation that they were stuck in, causing Ray to wonder if Fenrir had angered a magic-user (which wouldn’t be surprising because he’s fought off Amon’s men)

Harr

(Sorry if this one isn’t as good as the rest, I don’t know too much about Harr since I haven’t played Loki’s route yet!)

Harr is awakened by a very angry male. He’d assume it was an intruder of some sort and immediately use his magic to stabilize the possible threat.

However, when he hears this male talks, he notices that their talking style is way too similar to his S/O. Another lightbulb would go off in his head as he realizes that the stranger looked a lot like his S/O.

In the meantime, his S/O would demand answers from female Harr, who is silently trying to understand what is going on. It wouldn’t take Harr more than a few minutes to discover that his S/O had become a male.

While thinking about possible reasons for her gender switch, Harr put his hand on his jaw. It seemed much smaller than usual, he could cup his entire jaw and chin with one hand. Was it possible that he became a female?

Once his hands go to his chest, Harr would flush a bright red. That was definitely something that was part of a woman’s body, not a man’s body.

He would calmly explain to his S/O about the gender swap, noting how someone must have cast a special type of magic on them. He wanted to switch back, but he didn’t know how to undo this mess (and he definitely didn’t want to try something reckless that could permanently damage him and his S/O).

Harr would become the shy, mysterious girl trope that most animes have. Many people would note of his beauty, but wonder why such a beauty wore such an eye mask. He’d have to wear a cloak to stay away from the public’s eye.

He also wouldn’t care for many feminine items, but I do see him as a perfume person. He’d always go for the earthy scents like mint, rosemary, maple tree, and sandalwood. His S/O’s nose would fall apart from all the different scents.

He wouldn’t be able to look at himself while changing or using the bathroom. Harr would feel too embarrassed to see such intimate parts that don’t belong to him, but he wouldn’t be able to have his S/O help him out because he’s still technically nude. It would take quite some time before he’s ready.

Jonah

When Jonah wakes up, he wouldn’t notice the changes immediately. He too preoccupied on daily plans to focus on the new body. However, he’d feel new sensations through his body. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t realize the gender change until he goes to his mirror to tidy his appearance. Once he sees a female in the mirror, he���d let out a girlish scream.

He’d first confront Edgar, assuming it’s a prank, but Edgar wouldn’t have any answers this time. Obviously, Jonah wouldn’t believe Edgar and would march into his S/O’s room to check up on her. He is not pleased when he sees a half-dressed male in the room, staring at the mirror.

When his S/O turns around and examines Jonah, she’ll start to laugh. Jonah, who has no idea what’s going on, demand answers from the gender-bent S/O or have them imprisoned for trespassing. The S/O will have to spend lots of time convincing the Queen of Hearts. She’d bring up personal details that only she would know to prove her identity to Jonah.

Jonah would look at his S/O’s mirror and realize that this was not Edgar's doing and that the gender-swap was real. He’d suddenly realize that he cannot perform his duties as a female because no one will recognize him.

His next stop would be Lancelot’s office. The king’s magic would surely be able to bring him back to normal. Unfortunately, Lancelot left the Red Headquarters rather early, leaving Jonah in his female body for the day.

He begrudgingly goes back to Edgar. Jonah will inform the Jack of Hearts about his current status, who will advise Jonah to not perform his duties today. Although Jonah protests, Edgar points out all the issues that may arise from the situation. The Queen of Hearts reluctantly agrees.

Jonah would have immense difficulty in using the restroom or changing. It would make him uncomfortable looking at his lady parts because exposure to such parts was considered “unladylike.”

He’d also be a major makeup person. Once the S/O introduces Jonah to makeup, Jonah would try on all her lipsticks and blush. He would lean towards pinkish-nude lip colors while opting for reddish-pink shades of blush. When he turns back into a male, I can guarantee you that Jonah will sneak in a nude lip in his day-to-day look.

Being the prettiest girl in the area would bring some unwanted attention. Random soldiers would leer at Jonah. A few would even cat-call the Queen of Hearts. That’s when male S/O would appear, with an angry scowl and a sword on their belt. The men would back off, but that wouldn’t stop Jonah from giving them a piece of his mind. Once he’s a male, Jonah would see to it that they lost their positions.

As a female, Jonah would be the definition of PMS. Not only would he get super moody and irritable before his period, but he’d also have lots of food cravings. His consumption of macarons and mille-feuille would increase dramatically, causing him to bloat a ton. When he places a hand on his stomach, he’ll notice it immediately and panic that his well-trained body was gaining fat. The S/O would have the explain to Jonah about the details of PMS, symptoms of PMS, and period.

Lancelot 

We’ll change the situation here every-so slightly: After a long night, Lancelot and his S/O fell asleep together. The next morning, Lancelot would wake up face-to-face with a man, who was clearly not his S/O. He’d look for his S/O, but realize that she isn’t anywhere. The man probably took her.

Unfortunately, the S/O will wake up with a sword at her throat. Lancelot would growl at her, demanding that she give whereabouts about his S/O (aka herself). However, the S/O herself is confused because she isn’t being threatened by Lancelot, but by another woman. A very confused interrogation would occur and both parties would slowly realize that they’ve swapped genders. 

Here’s the issue: Lancelot could probably undo the swap with his magic (because it would affect his duties as king). The only reason he’d even consider staying in this body is that his S/O wanted to see life in the Red Army as a man. In that case, Lancelot would adopt the name Lisbeth as they wandered around the castle. 

As a female, Lancelot would have the best fashion sense. Just look at all the capes, crowns, and outfits he owns. Although the outfits seem more masculine, Lancelot would look like a complete boss in them. He’d wear maroon nail polish and a sharp cat-eye liner to finish the look.  When he sat on his throne, his S/O had a major nosebleed and went to heaven because he was so elegant yet so sexy. 

However, he’d find his S/O extremely attractive in the Red Army uniform. The silver sword hanging from her belt, the golden ornaments on the cuff of her hands, the thigh-high boots. Lancelot would pay attention to all these small details. So what if she was a guy? She looked absolutely amazing and Lancelot just had to appreciate the beauty. 

The day would end at the flower garden. Instinctively, Lancelot would pick out a rose to place in his S/O’s hair. However, his S/O would take the rose from his hands and place it in his hair. 

As the moonlight shines against them, they’d lean in for a kiss. Now Lancelot would need a little time to mentally and physically adjust kissing when his S/O was a guy. However, Lancelot would still take lead and have the same passion that he held in his normal body. It wouldn't take long before the thoughts of their gender changes melted away as they kissed under the shining stars.

[ronan-macteer]

⤷ have you heard? ( RONAN MACTEER ) has arrived in novigrad. the stories say ( he ) is also known as ( knight of the dawn ). he is very clearly ( thirty-five ) years old and a ( witcher ). little birds may whisper that ronan is ( - mendacious, enigmatic, wrathful, artful, silver-tongued and stubborn ) but their own would describe them as ( + gallant, charismatic, masterful, dauntless, genuine and loyal )  [ fc; richard madden ]

Hey there my dears - I’m Eden and I am super excited be here and bring to a dash near you the okayest witcher . Below you’ll find a vague-ish intro for my smol son because this one required more of an actual bio than Tea did ( adrastea incase you need to know ). Should you like to plot or fancy a connection with my love here hmu! 

tw mentions of death

Name: Ronan Albertus Martin MacTeer ( long I know but his parents really hoped a long name would inspire him to be more

Nickname: Ronan ( preferred ), MacTeer ( also preferred ), Roan, Roanie Ronan of Velen and other various nicknames and things one can shout at a witcher.

Title: Knight of the Dawn

Age: 35yrs. old. He does actually thoroughly look his age save for the grey stripe that appeared in his hair when he was just a boy.

Born:  Gors Velen, Velen, Northern Coast of Temeria

Species: Witcher ( formerly human? its common knowledge most witchers were human males if not all of them )

Gender: Male

Height: 5ft 10in

Physique: Muscular. ( everything about a witcher is enhanced and modified to create a more perfect fighting machine against the monsters that ever constantly threaten this world since the Conjunction of Spheres. Needless to say Ronan is no exception to that rule that everything about him is more than any other man. Still Ronan doesn't make it a point to laze around but because of his training he is always honing his skills, sharpening them for until there cease to be dangerous creatures there is still a need for him to be ready at all times to face them. Monsters are the only ones truly capable of killing other monsters - that was the reason for creating witchers in the first place. Too, Ronan is a gorgeous hunk of a man and you aren't simply born so stupidly sculpted and handsome )

Hair: Ginger. Well ginger to a point there is one single solitary wisp of grey in the very front. He does quite fancy that little wisp of grey and is prone to playing with it in idle moments or when he's about to cheat in Gwent ( bonus fact: that isn't often ronan is just that damn good of a player and almost never loses a game. )

Family: There was one once that existed. He had two brothers and three little sisters - being the oldest himself it should've fallen upon him to take care of them and become the patriarch of the family. Since the witcher that saved his father claimed the right of the law of surprise he hasn't heard of them since. He knows better than to look for them as well knowing that times were hard when he left and they wouldn't have survived very long. Its a sore point but he considers his fellow witchers brothers.

Occupation: Witcher.

About ( this one is a bio mhmm of sorts )

There was family once. Ronan remembers the smell of his mother's hair and brothers and sisters to play with and a father who would teach him there was more out there in this world. He remembers happiness when he was a little nothing of a boy barely able to hold a practice sword or say alghoul without butchering the pronunciation of it all. After all these years he still remembers them. Often in his journals  he'll write about them and there was a point he would secretly write letters home but they were never met with any sort of response. Ronan isn't entirely sure if they're still alive or if they can even read or write. One thing is certain the last time a contract took him to Gors Valen to his birthplace they weren't there and not a soul that lives there now remembers the fisherman, his wife or the score of children they had. Even still if they are there why would they accept that their brother is a witcher?

Young Ronan MacTeer was only five when the witcher named Velles claimed him and took him to train at the School of the Griffin. He fought that day - kicked and screamed and violently refused to go. Velles still had teeth marks in his skin until the day he died from where the young child bit him. A promise was a promise and Old MacTeer had promised his eldest  to the witcher for having saved his life and he would go. His mother wailed and the youngest of his sisters ran after the horse until her feet were unable to carry her. It was the price it was the pledge and it would be honored. Despite his initial resistance and there was a great deal on his part, Velles did become an adoptive father to him. The two came to care for one another very deeply. It still hurts and always will that he essentially has no one else now but he's gained another family all his own of brothers in arms he wouldn't trade any one of them for the world. They are all each other has.

While there were initial bumps this was the beginning of the Knight of the Dawn. He would earn his name soon after he completed his trials and he went through them all. They took a boy and took him apart. After the choice which Velles convinced him of it was excruciating. Witchers in the School of the Griffin hardly thought he would survive the trial of the grasses but Ronan did. When he came through Ronan, just barely a young man, insisted they put him through additional trials. Velles told him it was unnecessary that completing this one was enough and he was now a witcher of the griffin school but Ronan despite the pain it would bring insisted. Noble, gallant, dauntless and incredible stubborn he was already ten times the man most other witcher boys were at sixteen willing to suffer so for the cause he'd been taught to believe in. Yes it made him like all other boys submitted to the witcher trials a foul creation - a freak in their own way but he really and truthfully knew no other life. It was the sunrise on the next day after his final trial where the boy truly became a man. High up in the mountains, higher than any one else including perhaps the monsters they hunted cat eyes open and took in a deep breath. Ronan greeted the dawn as he did every other day only this day was the beginning of the rest of his real life. A monster yes by normal human being standards but who would protect them but a witcher - specifically the Knight of the Dawn as Velles coined him.

Years passed, contracts and contacts came and went and the more harrowing each job became but he greeted each monster with a cunning smile and a silver sword. Those were the days to be wild and alive. Sure enough the Knight of the Dawn earned his name for being noble and a most masterful fighter to his enemies they surely knew him to be a trickster of sorts - never told the whole truth, came for blood, could talk his way out of any situation and had a terrible way of gaining an upper hand but in all that he was still good. Cheated at cards and drank but her was more than most men and had a mind about him to think of more than just himself. Never once did he claim the right of surprise and when they couldn't pay he wouldn't force them too. Then came a day he questioned things. He wondered of his former family. Perhaps it started when Velles died that he wondered if there was more to what they did - more to life. He kept this curiosity quiet, the studying he truly did of the monsters they hunted expanding knowledge in the hope to understand. They were once people were they not as was he? Who in this age wasn't some beast hidden there in the dark? It's always been a thought to gnaw away at him in the lonely days. His wonder of those things went no further because he knew there weren't many of his kind left and that wonder led down a dangerous path no witcher could walk without losing their head. He was faithful to his brothers and he would have their back, even Urbis', to the end. Lonely it was but they were the shred of what family each other had and it was entirely possible they would be the very last of their kind. The life of a witcher was never promised to be kind - their training and the things they've had to do have all but ensured they know their place in the world.

Ronan despite his training, despite the trials that took a boy and tore him apart and made him the witcher he is and even despite his artful ways of dancing around the truth he wondered of love. He wondered and still questions as he fights for coin to rid the world of monsters if he is not more a monster than they are and if there would be a person who would share this cold and bloody world with him? Perhaps it is a fools dream of a life beyond witching? What is sad is he has loved, deeper than some would think a witcher capable of loving; an all consuming love with a woman who loved him just as much and understood that what he was and never feared him for she knew his hands would never harm her if only protect her. He wakes in the night as if he is missing part of himself and reached for the ground beside him to find nothing and it is a haunting loneliness no amount of silver-tonged ability, daring fights, drunken brawls or loose women has helped. He hides it well but it is a gaping hole and it is painful but the knight of the dawn has no other option then the press on because there is no other life than this one. Ronan misses the love of his life not even knowing it is she he's missing not even knowing the empty name he wishes he could call is Orianna... Orianna.

Here he is Novigrad, less of his kind than there was before having accepted another contract but the whispers of the Wild Hunt concern him. Other things have been amiss as well but if the Wild Hunt comes perhaps with it comes his end as well? His arrival here in Novigrad and the arrival of other witchers makes him suspicious that there is more afoot here than the place initially lets on. With that and the thoughts that plague his mind what a time it is to be alive in regards to the Knight of the Dawn for the future is unknown and he is unsure of what lies ahead...

Trivia

Moral Alignment: Neautral

Zodiac: Capricorn

Temperament: Choleric

Sin: Wrath

Norse God/Goddess: Tyr

Witcher School: School of the Griffin - duh

Favorite foods: Meat, seafood, hot biscuits, strawberries and ale. He does like food and has quite honestly a more refined palate.

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor

Theme Song: Oblivion by M83 feat Susanne Sundfør

WANTED PLOTS:

Oh boy all the things -. the list is endless. HONESTLY LETS PLOT

[sroloc--elbisivni]

on names

(sorry for long post--i have many thoughts on what i call myself, and because this is probably going to come up in the future, i wanted it in a public place.)

my family has called me ‘nina’ since i was born.

on this blog, i list my name as ‘n. jay’. because when i first started going on the internet, i hadn’t even considered taking another name. so when i started to make friends with people, ‘nina’ was what i introduced myself with. it took me another two years to figure out i was nonbinary, and another three of thinking about different names to understand that i liked ‘jay’ best, and another several months of slowly putting it into practice while i tried to figure out what i wanted.

my family has called me ‘nina’ since i was born, but the name feels wrong to me.

i’ve never had a name that felt completely right. when i was younger, i used to whisper strings of syllables to myself, convinced i’d hit on some sort of ‘secret name’ that would settle into place like a cloak and a shield and armor and a hug. it never really happened. when i figured out that i was nonbinary, the feeling of the name i used being wrong only settled further into place, but at least at that point, i could pin it on exactly why--’nina’ is obviously, explicitly, glaringly feminine. 

my family has called me ‘nina’ since i was born, but that is a girl’s name, and i am not a girl.

and my not being a girl is not enough to not make the name not a girl’s name, because it doesn’t work like that sometimes. i look feminine enough in person, even with short hair. even with bound breasts. i understand that there isn’t One True Way to be nonbinary, One True Way to look nonbinary, but sometimes looking feminine is hard. it’s hard, and it hurts, and I like being able to make strangers play Guess My Gender, to make them uncertain of their assumptions. i want to be able to fold myself into uncertainty, because i spend my life being uncertain of who i am, and feeling like strangers know more about who i am than i do is scary and unsettling. i don’t like it when people can look at me, can read about me, and assume ‘girl’, because it tips the sliding scale far too far. feminine looks, feminine name, assumptions made, done. i liked jay because it’s a derivative of another part of my given name, because it sounds like a bird, because it’s too short to nickname further, because it leans more masculine enough to help me feel like i’m pulling off my personal balancing act.

my family has called me nina since i was born, and so has everyone else.

for class assignments senior year of high school, i started marking my papers as ‘N. <lastname.> that helped, a little, but it wasn’t enough--because everyone at school still called me ‘nina,’ because i sang in an all girls choir, because i lived in small town maine, because even in the theater club where i could crossdress to play the milkman in ‘Our Town’ the unofficial leaders made transphobic jokes and everyone laughed. even for a name that feels wrong, changing to a different one, even in your own head, is hard, and i did not have many friends but i had many acquaintances, and i just wanted to get out of high school, so i didn’t tell anyone squat. i trained myself to write down ‘N. <lastname>, and i changed my blog description, and then changed it back, and then again, and i thought for a long time. a publishing company contacted me for three poems for an anthology and i submitted them as ‘J. Egan’, pulling from an old family name, and made a poetry blog using the same nom de plume.

my family has called me ‘nina’ since i was born and i don’t know how to make them stop. 

my family has called me ‘nina’ since i was born and i’m not sure if i want them to stop.

i’m not sure about ‘jay’ yet, even after over a whole year of thinking about it. even after testdriving going by my last name alone while working at an elementary school. even after a whole bunch of other things. i don’t know if i want to change it legally. i don’t know if i’ll change my mind in a few years. i don’t know if i like it enough. ‘nina’ may not fit right, but it hasn’t been fitting right for a long time, and from people who know me, it’s fine. it’s not uncomfortable. the people online who call me it are people i’ve known for years. i know there are no assumptions from them. Jay is comfortable as a stage name, as a business name, as a first impression. ‘nina’ is alright when i know it’s from people who mean well, who know i’m not a girl, who know me and are used to knowing me by that name. i list my blog as ‘n. jay’ so hopefully, people who have heard of me will understand why i’m responding to things addressed to ‘nina’, but i don’t want to be introduced that way. i don’t want to introduce myself that way.

the only exception is for my close family, my parents and brother and uncle and aunts, because i know that’s always the name they’re going to see when they look at me, because that’s the name i know how to answer to and i know how they say it when i’m in trouble or needed or not listening or loved, because my changing my name is concerning for them, because i’ve had the whole ‘being nonbinary’ conversation with my father at least three times and still feel like i’m getting nowhere, and holding them to an impossible standard is just going to hurt everyone. 

my family has called me ‘nina’ since i was born but i’m not going to be with my family forever.

the university i’m attending in the fall has an option for ‘preferred name’ and today i changed it to make sure it read ‘jay <lastname.>’ i introduced myself that way there when i was visiting earlier this spring, because it was the only place where my mother didn’t go on campus with me, and i knew i wouldn’t have to explain to her or warn her or have other people hear her call me something else. the head of my major’s department and my advisor emailed me to introduce themselves, and when i carefully emailed back to explain ‘my preferred name’, i got a courteous email back within ten minutes thanking me for telling them and asking what my preferred pronouns were and i had to stare up at the sky for a minute and feel like my chest was going to burst--in a good way, in a very good way.

my family has called me ‘nina’ since i was born, and many dear friends have called me ‘nina’ since they met me. if you call me nina, i’m not mad at you. i’m not trying to chastise you, or warn you off, or make you feel bad, because i’ve had a very nascent year where i retreated from a lot of things, and i know that most people who still call me by my given name are people who have known me for a while, who care about me, who understand me on many levels, who would probably call me something else if i asked them to. that is not what this post is, or if it is, it is a very soft ask. i am scared, and i am uncertain, and your use of my given name is just as or more often a support than it is something uncomfortable. 

many people, including many good friends, call me or have introduced me in mixed company as jay. i want to thank all of those people, especially those who have dropped the name in casual conversation, or tagged me as it, because you have all helped me feel a little more secure, a little more comfortable and safe and happy in reaching for a new identity. 

i’m not sure what my name is yet. i know what it has been. i know what i hope to make it. i know what people call me. for today that’s going to have to be enough.

[thatawesomenerdygirl]

identity || Jason Todd

Requested by a lovely anon! Sorry, this took me so long!

Anon:  Hey, um, could you do a Jason Todd x Reader where the reader is constantly dressing up as a male vigilante that he may or may not have a crush on? I’d just like to see what you would think would be the response to him finding out the reader is actually female. (I’m leaning more towards an angry finding out, but that is your choice) Please and thank you! ^~^

Warning(s): possible angst.

Note: This might end up as a drabble or some sort, I’ve been pretty busy (and exhausted) lately, so I need something to get my head going on writing! Sorry if it takes me so long, again. I wasn’t able to write often for the past months. Sigh, Christmas.

tagging: @aquawomxn @cas-backwards-tie *apologetically bows head*

What would people do they you find out that they were not exactly a straight person, in both romantic and sexual way? What would people do that someone they fell with was the same gender as them and a Vigilante? Some people might think it over, was it really true and such, maybe even went to a denial for days or maybe months. But Jason? He embraced it, there was nothing bad about it, it wasn’t like he lost interest with the opposite gender, it was just because the person he liked was a man.

Or so he thought.

He had been stumbling across this guy pretty often, they got along fine, the way they took care of things were pretty much the same, they didn’t have the same background but they understood each other.

Red Hood was this Vigilante’s secret admirer.

Jason had never seen someone did things so graceful before, even when he was splattered with the blood of his, in a way, victims. Jason never heard his actual voice, he used a voice changer on his full face mask to make his voice sounded deep and distorted. He was pretty tall too, not as tall as Jason but tall and pretty built, or maybe it was because of his way of dressing?

The guy was also good with guns. Now, that was definitely one of the things that attracted him the most beside of his humble personality and gracefulness. He was always there when Jason needed him, he would always listen to Jason’s ranting and gave a few advice, his hugs were also comforting (he was taken aback when he got hugged).

Tonight, Jason accidentally confessed. Not in the I like you, be my boyfriend way but you’re the kind of person I want to spend my life with, I think you’re pretty cool way. He had never seen the not-so-much-of-a stranger Vigilante, he didn’t mean it to turn out this way, it just slipped out of his mouth.

The masked Vigilante he admired visibly froze, obviously knew what he meant and wanted behind those words causing him to cuss under his breath in his helmet.

I don’t even know if he likes men! He practically shrieked a scold in his head.

Jason heart beating loudly in his chest and was about to burst when the masked man shook his head, did he not feel the same way? Was he straight after all? Or maybe he didn’t know what Jason meant after all? The anticipation was almost killing him. Many questions and thoughts rushed through his head.

Sensing the distress in Jason’s mind, the male spoke up.

“It’s not like that-–”

Jason unintentionally cut him off, “then what?” He inwardly gulped as he realized what he just did, he just couldn’t help it. “Ah, sorry, go ahead.”

A nod, “the person under all of this,” he gestured to his suit, “is not who you think, Red.”

“What do you mean?” An utter confusion coating Jason’s voice, it was hard to miss the tone that told he was raising his eyebrow under the helmet.

“Seems like you’re not the only one who has a confession to make,” a bitter, robotic, humorless chuckle erupted from him, his chest rising up as he took a deep intake of breath. He placed both gloved hands on his mask, ready to lift it up while Jason was trying to calm his heart down. “I trust you for this, Red Hood.”

Jason almost took the mask off on his own because of how slow he was if it wasn’t for the Vigilante’s shaking hands. The first things he saw was a pair of plump lips, the mask slowly went upwards until he saw another pair of (e/c) eyes with beautiful long lashes. He was taking it all in.

“Red?” He-–no, she, called.

He wasn’t expecting a smooth and melodic voice, he wasn’t expecting a breathtaking woman to be in front of him. He was expecting the opposite. Jason was silent, more and more things messing with his brain.

And heart.

“You lied,” Jason surprised himself by talking first, it wasn’t her fault in the first place yet he couldn’t help but feel betrayed, lied to, cheated. He couldn’t decide whether to feel mad or sad, enraged or betrayed, it could be a mix of all of the above. It was like Bruce all over again, in a different way, but had the same amount of pain and heaviness in his chest.

“I wanted to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was…scared.”

It wasn’t wrong for her to be that way, it wasn’t wrong for her to be scared. It was neither of their faults. Then whose fault was this? Jason could tell that she felt beyond guilty.

Balling his fists tightly, he let out a sigh, it sounded frustrated. Then again, he was. All of those mixed feelings were making him hard to breath.

“I’m sorry,” he heard her apologizing which he quickly brushed off with a raise of his own gloved hand, stopping her from saying anything else. The anger was taking a toll on his mind. A sorry wasn’t enough.

He then took his own mask in an attempt to get fresh air, revealing his features but his eyes, he was equally breathtaking as her but in a manly way. His jaw was visibly clenched, the deep knit of his eyebrows were also evident. He clicked his tongue loudly.

“Don’t say anything,” he commanded through gritted teeth.

Even though Jason was glaring at the floor, she could almost feel the bone-chilling stare. She subconsciously bit her lip, stealing nervous glances at the disappointed and angered man before her, she was glad he decided not to lash out despite him having a little of anger issues, she knew how strong he was and what kind of things he could do to her.

Jason slowly backed off, putting his helmet back on after taking the necessary amount of fresh air into his lungs. He calmed down, just a tad, but it was better than nothing. His mind was still a mess, everything was, he just couldn’t let his disappointment get in the way like last time because this time it was different.

“Give me some time,” was all he said before he took off. He still had feelings for her though they were buried under all of the scattered emotions within him, he just needed to clear his head by punching some lowlifes, leaving the female behind staring guiltily at his back with a faint glimmer of hope.

One day, they will meet again.

Drama™

This is how I think he would react! I am sure he will be mad and lash out like he did with Bruce but I twist it a bit!

[enbyflock2]

The Voices from Religion

CW: body dysphoria, family trauma and abuse, transphobia, homophobia

She came up to me after I finished playing guitar. I had been playing in music ministry almost every Sunday with that same group. She was crying. I hugged her, confused. She thanked me, and said, “Oh my God, it’s you.”

She was my Kindermusic teacher. A year ago, I played the Star Spangled Banner for the Rocking on the River festival. My guitar playing was inappropriate, as Joni Mitchell inspired my soft folk style, and the audience preferred the hard rock of ZZ Top. She was in the audience though.

This woman had cerebral palsy, and was well known as a professional violinist in my hometown. Rarely someone that would come to church because of her condition, she happened to show up that day. 

The tears started for two different reasons. A stranger at church mocked and shunned her for the way she dressed. She was in all-black, sloppy clothes, as her condition made it a struggle to take extra time to dress formally. She sat through that service and started crying, because she was distraught from that hostility, but also found solace through the realization it was me playing so beautifully. Being someone that struggled with vision, she couldn’t see me, but she completely heard and remembered my guitar style from a year ago.

Years later in college, I came home for winter break. My mother, whom I never got along with, said for the first time, “I’m just praying that someday… you will marry a woman.” After my anger ensued, she proclaimed self-righteously, “I. Want. Grandchildren.” I didn’t sleep that night.

The next morning, I talked to the priest from my hometown. He said, “You can’t do that as a Catholic. Praying away the gay.” “I would keep talking and bringing up this conversation to your parents, until it makes them sick.” “God made us this way. Don’t ever forget it.”

Later I discovered my trans identity. My parents found out about my advocacy and openness on the Internet. I met with them in a hotel room, and informed them beforehand: This is a highly sensitive subject. We go by these basic rules of treating each other with decency and respect. Otherwise the results will not be pretty.

Immediately my mom broke those rules, and we both turn feral. Threatened me for using her financial help for advocating for others and myself. Called me mentally disordered and close-minded, and my queer support net (which includes queer college professors) the same. Slapped my face, screaming, “I hope you rot.” (A quick and bitter, “See you in hell, hypocrite,” with a wink as my retort.)

My dad took the higher route after mom stormed out of the room. Listened to me, and how this gender identity affected my life. Let me describe my mental struggles, wrote down terms he never heard before, and sometimes asked politely for clarification. All with patience. Ended it with, “We can leave it here for now.”

Both of my parents are devout Catholics. I was a practicing Catholic until shortly after turning 21, when I decided I was done with church. I have no regrets leaving it behind.

I remember the exchanges I had while settling on this decision. The argument I was having with my parents over being gay. How they always talked down to me about how I’d figure myself out eventually. Voices from years of rejection and redirection, surrounding my lack of ability to conform to gender norms. “We know you better than you know yourself, and you’ll figure it out.”

My understanding of my identity as non-binary and genderqueer arose from a similar framework of those many moments in my past experiences with Catholic religion. I only kept up with church for such a long time because of those vulnerable and kind exchanges, such as from my Kindermusic teacher with cerebral palsy.

But eventually I was challenged with grasping this sharp divide in characters from my past church communities. How can someone like my Kindermusic teacher, the priest, and my father possibly be under the same belief system of that mocking stranger and my mother? The former saw potential direct identity conflicts, and worked either around the identity through other points of convergence, or beyond: by both seeing the identity as being interwoven with their other identities and seeing the person holistically as a human being. The latter saw potential direct identity conflicts, and either struggled with, refused, or rejected working around or beyond, ultimately viewing the person as degenerate.

Every time I try to trace my roots and collected moments of disconnect from being assigned male at birth, I sense those toxic voices of the mocking stranger and my mother. When I occasionally experience dysphoria now, I hear the voices surrounding those internalized inabilities to see around and beyond certain identities of mine.

At my worst, I’d fall into moments where my perception of my body pointed anywhere: “male,” “female,” neuter, androgynous. And I traced the disconnect from how I struggled with seeing beyond my gay sexuality and how this was an integral part of my being. I’m brought back to that adolescent in puberty feeling unsure if no one else loved and dreamed like me in my hometown reality of masculinity, and how I then felt panic in the uncertainty if my growth and shape was natural and pleasurable.

I traced the disconnect from how I struggled with seeing beyond my musical identity and the great potential I had. I’m brought back to that learning musician with so much body tension in the practice and performance spaces, struggling to breathe emotion into my technique under the guise of falsely performing masculinity.

I traced the disconnect back to how I couldn’t see beyond what all those early childhood psychological tests really meant. I’m brought back to that person that never saw themself becoming a school teacher, as I had no men or women to compare my strange learning development with.

I had a yearlong period between my end with Catholic faith and the start of exploring my gender. This period was when I was sinking the most in those voices. But after I explored my gender, it assured me how right my decision was to leave. I was so sheltered with Catholic religion that I wrongly assumed church communities were the only places with this sharp divide in characters, and that I just had to face the radically kind and vulnerable with those dehumanizing others. Then I adjusted my lenses to the framework of my gender, and discovered my whole identity grew from those conflicting social forces in my whole world, everywhere.

The dehumanizing side to my background in gender identity was how my sexual, musical, and psychosocial identities couldn’t breathe or earn validation in my past realities of masculinity, and how this ensued such intense distance from my body. Then the act of exploring gender brought into scope those life experiences of the radically kind and vulnerable. First intimacies with a gay man, bringing me assurance my growth and shape was natural. Finally feeling my body and emotions engaging in the practicing and performance space, through the guidance of music teachers that always believed in me. And facing the possibility that I am neurodivergent, but my mind is worthy and capable of education in music, advocacy, and story telling.

Those life experiences are what help me run quickly through that intense distance from my body. I come back satisfied, pleased, joyous, and lucky with how I am already. I also come back knowing I can never label this body as man or woman because of this horrific disconnect. But I can always call this body one of a person, who makes the best of what life, luck, and privileges has given them.

Sorting through my problems with gender helped me to notice the sharp social divides in Catholic Church climate as a microcosm of our current political climate. We are living under the Trump presidency and the pinnacle of white supremacy and American Fascism, with anyone empathetic or complacent to the cause only observing direct identity conflicts, and lacking ability to see around or beyond.

I know the sad reality of how there is limited to no amount of time to teach those inciting violence in support of Trump. Observing my conservative hometown, certain crowds of people that fear marginalized identities had years of structural socialization informing and shaping this fear, as deep and complex as patriarchal religious organizations themselves. The pressing question is where that point in time is; where an inability to see above or beyond direct identity finally forms and holds firmly, and if it’s ever too late to undo and dismantle those biases? I don’t have a clear answer to this, either personally or politically.

But what I do know is how fortunate I am to be going into a career where I will be given time and influence to undo and dismantle those biases, in myself and my students. I’m down the path to becoming an educator. My dreams include becoming a high school band teacher, private lesson instructor, music performer, a leader in smaller organizations associated with National Foundation for Music Education (NAfME), and a queer advocate. I notice how I was able to find community and connections with places and people that I was told I should have been disconnected from as a trans person, (including my past religious communities.) I feel my ability of reconnection with people even in my understanding of my own gender identity. Now I have to hold myself accountable with the privileges that made developing this ability possible in the first place. I know it can be done through grounding myself in the voices that supported my growth in identities, and remembering their perspectives as a guide.

[holdyourbreathuntilyouseelight]

Hands to Myself - Part I

Summary: After Alec comes out to his family, Jace drags Alec to an LGBT friendly strip club so he can 'expand his horizons' since he hasn't even attempted to date or meet anybody new. Alec reluctantly agrees only because he's grateful Jace is so supportive. While there, his eyes land on an intoxicating man whose body moves so fluidly Alec can't keep his eyes off of him. Once Magnus is alone with him, he, too, finds himself enraptured by the younger man.

Rating: MA

Genre: Smut, Romance, Friendship, Everyone is Human AU

Warning: Mentions of internalized homophobia

Author: dylanobrienstyler

A/N: I did my best with my very limited knowledge of what goes on in these sorts of places – sorry for any inaccuracies as I needed to improvise a lot. Title inspired from Selena Gomez' song of the same name. This will be a two-part series. Feedback of all kinds is very welcome!!

Also can be read on AO3!

Chapter One - Magnetism

"You know, we really don't have to do this."

His adoptive brother threw him a look, lips twisted in a smirk. "Oh come ON, Alec. It's been almost a month since you came out, and I have yet to see you even TRY to charm a fellow man. You need to see what you're missing!"

"Jace, do you really think I'm going to have a romantic awakening at a strip club?" Alec asked, eyebrows raised, but Jace simply scoffed.

"It's going to be fun, Alec. It won't kill you to have fun, you know."

Alec rolled his eyes and followed the blonde into the club. Pandemonium. The neon lights were lit up in the colours of the pansexual flag, and Alec swallowed before entering.

He had heard of the LGBT club, known for its wildly accepted collection of personalities, gender identities and sexualities showcased, and, of course, the fact that much of it was sans clothing. New York was a place for everyone to be included, and that club was a strong confirmation of that statement. Still, Alec had never been nor even knew much about it until Jace was showing him pictures on his phone that afternoon while shaking his arm to beg Alec to let him take him.

Alec normally would have said no, but he knew Jace was trying really hard to be supportive, and Alec appreciated his effort, especially since one half of their family certainly didn't share his enthusiasm. But Alec knew Jace wanted him to be happy, and that was enough to make Alec grumble out an agreement.

Coming back to the present, Alec passed over cover money to the bouncer, accepting the stamp on the back of his hand, before shrugging his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels.

It was an interesting sight – Alec hadn't been much of a bar guy, even after he turned twenty-one. He was more of a pub kind of person; sipping at a beer and eating fried foods while live music played or something equally relaxing was actually enjoyable. Here, there were a lot of sweaty, barely clad bodies writhing around and an overabundance of bright lights and synthetic fog happening.

"I really don't know if this is my scene." Alec commented to Jace, louder than he'd normally speak but it was necessary to be heard over the pumping music bursting from the speakers.

"Just give it an hour, please? If you really hate it, we'll go home after that." Jace promised.

Alec exhaled slowly but nodded, heading for the nearest bar. If he was going to stick around, he'd definitely need some alcohol.

Jace grinned as he caught on to his plan and bounded over to the bartender.

"What can I get you?" she asked, only the hint of a smile on her lips at the sight of the two men. Alec briefly wondered if she thought they were there together.

"Can I get a gin and tonic?" Alec said before Jace cut him off.

"Ignore my brother. He needs something stronger. What do you suggest?" Jace asked, settling onto one of the stools.

Alec followed his lead, sighing in defeat.

"First timer, huh?" the dark-skinned girl asked, eyebrow quirked.

"I couldn't be more obvious?" Alec grumbled, shooting a glare at Jace who simply grinned back.

"You work this job long enough, you start to be able to tell a lot from just reading people. It's a good place here though. There are worse places to debut into a strip club. There's a lot of respectful boundaries in place and it's pretty tasteful for the most part."

Alec nodded, appreciating the calming words. He had no idea what to expect and his comfort level at diving into new territory was, well, non-existent. He didn't want somewhere that put him on the spot too much.

The girl was mixing up their drinks as she spoke. "You don't have to know too much to get by here. You want to leave a tip, it's done here, but you're welcome to get closer to the stages to get a better view. Some places have you tip on stage by the dancer or to them directly – we try to keep more boundaries there for the safety of the dancers. Also, frankly, the money gets downright gross otherwise. And you'd be surprised how many people steal hardworking dancers' money when it's not heavily guarded."

Alec felt sick at the thought. He couldn't imagine working at a place like this, he just wasn't that comfortable with his body and was the opposite of charming, but he could imagine it took a lot of effort to put on your best face, expose yourself to strangers, showcase talent and whatever persona they had to adopt to perform, only to have the reward for it all be stolen.

She pushed their newly concocted drinks towards them and Jace passed over some bills. One sip and Alec struggled to swallow. It was strong all right, but the aftertaste smoothed things out. He took another drink as the bartender kept talking.

"The guy on the other side of the bar? That's Raphael." She nodded towards a surly looking man who definitely looked like a manager at a night club. It didn't seem like he ever saw the light of day with his pale, sallow complexion. "He's who you talk to if you want to book a private dance. We have secluded rooms for the occasion too, as some people don't want an audience. You're required to read and sign off on a checklist of dos and don'ts prior to him even calling up the dancer. If you violate any, you'll be kicked to the curb with no welcome back. Like I said, safety of the workers is really important here. And if you're looking for a prostitute, you'll need to head out and find a corner in the city, because even though some of the dancers do it on the side, business deals are not allowed to be made in here."

"Wow." Alec said with a surprise. He had no idea there was so much to it. He supposed that was best though. Places like this could probably get ugly fast if there weren't protocols and limitations in place. "Thank you, um…?"

"Maia." she replied.

"Alec."

"Jace." the blonde piped up from his spot, and Alec tried not to smile at his need to be included.

Maia chewed her tongue. "So, any questions, you know where I am. Otherwise try to relax a bit and enjoy yourself."

Alec nodded his thanks and swiveled on his stool to take in the club again. He took another gulp of his drink as he scanned the area.

There were multiple stages, both big and small, scattered throughout the large room. Poles were centered on some, some had other forms of props like hanging scarves for the more gymnastic types, and there were seating areas for best views but most people were standing and milling around.

The room also featured tall cubicle-like structures in a steady row, featuring one dancer in each. The costumes some wore were more adventurous than others, and Alec noted that across the wide arrange of dancers, there was a little bit of everything for everybody.

Some of the club was split with male dancers on one side and female dancers on another, whereas the cubicles featured a mix of both. Alec supposed that way everyone could find what they were looking for. There were also more masculine female types, dressed in what some would call 'butch' type wear, whereas there were also femme males, donned in make-up or even some dressed in stereotypically female clothing. And then the opposite, where there were rugged men and extremely feminine women.

Alec couldn't help his eyes from being drawn to one dancer straight ahead from his spot at the bar. He was of Asian descent, for sure, with sculpted arms grasping onto the pole as he swayed his hips in rhythm with the song playing.

There were mostly older men drooling at his feet, salt and pepper hair on some, and Alec wondered briefly if they were openly out or if some had wives or families at home. He knew he was growing up in a different time, and that these types of places didn't exist decades previous. Either way, the age contrast to the dancer to the audience made him a little queasy, but the dancer seemed pretty used to it. He was exchanging banter with a few, laughing and being coy, all the while moving sensually to the music.

Alec didn't even realize he was staring, but he was mesmerized. The man definitely had been dancing for a while, likely longer than his years as a stripper if his technique and physique were any indicator. He slipped out of the vest he had been wearing, letting it dip down his arms. He caught it in his elbows before smoothly discarding it, climbing back up the pole with his strong thighs, and he swiveled down as he sent a sly smile to his viewers.

"That's Magnus. He's been here a couple years. He's in pretty high demand around here. Both men and women fall at his feet." Maia commented, obviously catching on to his ogling and having finished with some other customers.

Alec swallowed, blushing at being caught, and decided he could not look at Jace if he wanted to have any dignity later.

Jace, thankfully, didn't tease him. Alec refused to chance a glance at him, but he hoped maybe Jace was distracted by the many beautiful women parading around.

Alec drained his glass and lifted a hand to signal his request for another. Maia hid a smile as she began getting it ready.

His eyes slid back to the dancing man, who was practically thrusting his hips as he held his arms above his head, only letting them come down to slide sensually over his bare torso and down to cup his inner thigh.

Alec took a large gulp of the drink Maia slid his way. It was going to be a long night.

Alec tried to find somebody else to watch, tried to tame his hormones down, even going so far to watch the women at one point, but his gaze betrayed him and always seemed to trail back to Magnus again.

He felt stupid for how magnetized to the man he felt. It was embarrassing how attracted he felt to him. It wasn't just his body either—the confidence the man exuded, the coy smiles he shot out at the crowd, the sight of him laughing at something somebody said… it all was enrapturing to Alec. The few times Magnus had caught him staring and sent a wink or smile his way nearly made Alec fall off his chair.

Jace sat down next to him suddenly, and Alec jerked his eyes away from the Asian man.

"Are the bathrooms here nicer than most clubs or about the same?" Alec asked dryly, sipping more of his drink. He was on his fourth and definitely feeling it, his body humming underneath his skin. It didn't help that he was using it as a distraction from wanting to cross the room to stand before Magnus and watch the magic unfold at a much closer view. But he knew that would spell disaster, since he was embarrassing himself enough from his spot at the bar.

Jace smiled wickedly, and Alec felt his stomach turn uneasily. It was not an expression that lead to nice things in the past.

"The bathroom run was a lie, actually."

Alec raised an eyebrow. "Do I want to know what you were off doing? I know you've been sexting Clary all night, but you could at least wait for the phone sex until we're home."

Jace rolled his eyes. "Thanks for assuming I'm classless. No, I was off talking to Raphael."

Alec felt his blood run cold. It wasn't only Maia who was onto his obsession with Magnus, and Alec hadn't been helping to dispute the rumor. They had passed the hour agreement long ago and he still hadn't budged from his seat, so it didn't take a genius to figure out that he didn't want to leave and there was a very good reason.

"Jace… Please tell me you called Clary to okay you booking a private dance for yourself with a stripper and not that you—"

"I booked you a private dance with Magnus." Jace said, effectively shutting his brother up, and Alec nearly puked right then. The alcohol thrashed dangerously in his stomach.

"Please tell me you're joking." Alec rasped out, clutching onto the bar for balance.

"Alec, seriously. You don't have to marry the guy. But you're clearly attracted to him and he's obviously good at what he does, hence the small fan club he has gathered around him at all times, and, frankly, watching you stare at him is getting a little old. He's been making eyes at you too."

Alec rolled his eyes at the last comment. "For god sakes, Jace, it's his job. The more he makes people feel like they're 'special', the more tips he gets. I'm not even a strip club regular and I know that's how it is."

Jace held him by the shoulders. "Can you shut up and go over to Raphael to sign off on that stupid list? We came here to have fun, right? And I know you'll have fun. More than you've had, probably, well, ever."

Alec squirmed uncomfortably under his hold. He didn't need reminding that he was as virginal as they came. He had only kissed girls in his lifetime, and that was when he was trying to deny his true identity. Since then, he hadn't met anyone openly gay let alone felt a connection with anyone. He was a rather reserved, quiet person, so relationships didn't exactly come easy even without being homosexual.

"Fine. But if you wake up dead in your sleep one of these days, don't say I didn't warn you." he mumbled as he headed over to the manager.

"That doesn't even make sense!" Jace called after him, looking far too gleeful for Alec's liking.

"Hi. Um, I'm Alec. My brother sent me." he explained, nodding towards the excited idiot.

Raphael nodded in understanding, obviously expecting him. "All right, so it's pretty clearly written out here. Maia tells me she already went over some of the basics with you for our code of conduct." Great, Maia was in on it too. Did he have no one on his blend-into-the-background side? "Private dances vary from place to place, but here at Pandemonium, you're allowed to touch the dancer. That being said, no touching private parts, no kissing and generally nothing too sexual. They are performers putting on a show for you, so show them respect and communicate if something makes you uncomfortable. Also respect that they too have a comfort level, so any kink-related suggestions may need to be left at the door if they're too radical, understand? Also, all of your clothes are to remain on at all times; this is not an orgy, so keep it in your pants, literally."

Alec felt a little stunned, and about eleven-tenths embarrassed, but he nodded. He read the paper handed to him, which was pretty much all explained verbally already, so he scrawled his signature at the bottom and handed it back to him.

"I'll go grab Magnus. Luke will lead you to the private room he will meet you in."

Alec nodded and followed an intimidating looking bouncer.

"Hey, kid?"

Alec turned back to Raphael.

A hint of his smile was on his face. "Try to relax. Magnus is good at what he does. He won't push you beyond your boundaries. Have fun."

Alec, still red and only getting redder, nodded gratefully and followed Luke to a room down a hallway he hadn't noticed before.

"You can wait in here. Magnus will meet you shortly." Luke told him. "Raphael was right. Try to relax, kid. You look like you might pass out. There aren't any cameras about to expose you or something. You can be yourself here. That's the whole point."

Alec let out a breath and followed the instructions to go inside, trying to find the strength in him to take his advice. Luke closed the door behind him.

It wasn't an overly large room, but large enough that Alec understood certain dancers could put on quite the routine. There was a black couch leaning against the wall, so he sat nervously, wondering what the hell he was going to say to the man he'd be ogling all night. He doubted Magnus was oblivious what with the few times he had made eye contact.

Alec's heart was hammering in his chest as he thought about actually being alone in a room with him, no one else to break the ice. He felt like he was bordering on a panic attack. He knew Jace meant well, but this was too much. He was too nervous and inexperienced and this was too much pressure, even with everything everyone had been saying…

Before he could bolt, the door opened, and in walked the man Alec's eyes hadn't left all night.

To make things worse, Alec practically gaped at him, since up close he was even more stunning.

His dark eyes were lined with eyeliner, accented with dark eye shadows blended together and the glitter spread down his cheeks made his face even more luminescent and angelic than before. His hair was gelled into a funky sort-of relaxed style, and Alec could see the glisten of sweat on his arms. He was fully dressed, but there weren't many layers and they left little to the imagination.

"Hello. I'm Magnus." Magnus introduced, smiling wickedly, and Alec was grateful he was sitting because he was pretty sure his knees would've given out by now.

"Alec." Alec said, hoping his voice didn't quiver as much as he thought it did.

Magnus' smile broadened, and Alec wondered stupidly if Magnus introducing himself was an invitation for him to do the same. It was probably just what people in the business did. Stated their stage name to instigate the start of the show. Here Alec was, acting like it was a blind date. Good god, could he melt into the floor already!?

Magnus crossed the room and cracked open a bottle of water. "Forgive me for asking, handsome, but first timer?"

Alec couldn't help but groan and put his head in his hands. "Does everybody who works here feel the need to point that out?"

Magnus chuckled, and Alec lifted his head, embarrassed that he was charmed by the sound. A little glow of warmth formed in his belly that he had been the one to make Magnus laugh. He had been watching others do it all night with a hint of jealousy.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Alexander." Alec didn't bother to correct him, too fascinated at the sight of him sipping at a bottle of water to form words. He also had a feeling Magnus had chosen his full name on purpose. "The only reason I ask is because it does change how I approach these situations. Some people, veterans to this place so to speak, come in here knowing what they want and expecting something specific. Others, like yourself, are new to the idea and need a little more guidance getting out of their shell. And there's a learning curve too, of what you want and what works for you. I've been doing this long enough that I've worked with a wide variety of experience levels, and trust me, the most important thing is just that you communicate with whatever dancer you are paired with. That means, if I do something that makes you uncomfortable, you say so, or if you'd like something altered to suit your tastes, tell me. I'm sure Raph gave you the big scaredown so you know if it's outside my comfort zone, I'll just tell you and we'll try something else that works for both of us."

Alec nodded. "That sounds… really reasonable."

His voice was working a little better now.

Magnus clapped his hands together. "Perfect! Now, shall we get started?"

Alec was grateful he was sitting on a couch since his hands gripped at the cushion for something to anchor himself too.

Don't pass out. Don't pass out. Don't pass out.

The music filled the room, and, at first, Magnus didn't watch him. He was concentrating on the pole centered in the room, and Alec watched in fascination as he hooked a leg around it and did some complicated flip.

Would whooping in appreciation be acceptable here or would that just make him look like a complete idiot?

Alec chose to remain quiet but he found his body relaxing a little as he watched Magnus move.

He was still hyped up with nerves, but maybe the alcohol was settling in his system more, or maybe Magnus' pep talk helped, but Alec found himself having an easier time staring this time around. He knew Magnus was being paid to literally do this for him, but knowing there were no witnesses outside the one putting on the show made him feel a little more at ease. Being caught ogling a man still made him feel guilty, ashamed, the internalized homophobia he was getting better at battling still rearing its ugly head at times. Now, not only was Magnus being paid to show off for him, but Alec was expected to be intoxicated. He was encouraged to fully give himself over to his desires. Well, within the code of conduct of course.

Alec found his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he watched the man move fluidly, his body rolling like a wave as his shirt settled on the floor.

With a sly smile, Magnus sidled up to him, digging a knee on one side of Alec's thigh and settling into his lap.

"This okay?" he asked quietly.

Alec couldn't speak, too shocked at how close the attractive man was to his body to form coherent words, so he nodded as Magnus properly straddled his lap. His body warmth immediately seeped into Alec's and he felt his mouth go completely dry.

Magnus continued his rolling motions, but this time his pelvis was coming in contact with Alec's, and Alec made an unintelligible sound at the friction, his eyes finding the ceiling as he tried to control his body's reaction.

"Still liking this?" Magnus murmured.

Was he trying to seduce him? His voice was so silky and smooth, Alec was surprised he didn't arrive right then.

"I-it's good. I-I'm just… y'know, trying not to be a preteen about it." he managed to choke out.

Magnus laughed, throwing his head back as it came from the depths of his belly, and the action caused his lower half to become even snugger to Alec's. Somehow, it seemed Magnus found his innocence and inexperience endearing.

"Well, the whole point is that you enjoy yourself. Are you enjoying yourself, Alexander?"

Alec nodded as Magnus flipped around so his ass was the one nudging Alec's crotch, his hand sliding up to cup the back of Alec's neck as he slid up and down his body.

Alec's breath was catching at the sensations rolling through him. His hands had found Magnus' waist to steady him, but so far, that was as adventurous as he had been.

"You're allowed to touch me, you know." Magnus teased against his ear, blowing a cool gust of air against the hot skin of his neck.

Alec, swallowing with difficulty, let his palm stroke over Magnus' toned abdomen, taking inventory of one side to the other. He grew in confidence a little as Magnus seemed to use it as encouragement to keep dancing and he let his thumb brush sensually below his belly button but well above his waistband so he wouldn't accidentally touch him where he had been formally forbidden.

Magnus leaned back, using Alec's shoulder as a rest for the back of his head as he unbuttoned his pants and let them slide off his legs. He kicked them off with a flourish, turning around to straddle him facing forwards again.

Alec closed his eyes, trying to think of unappealing things as his body was not hiding its arousal in any way, but Magnus seemed amused.

"Let yourself feel, Alexander. It would offend me if you weren't properly enjoying this." To make his point, he pointedly rubbed against Alec's erection, and the latter moaned, gasping for air at the end.

"You're going to be the death of me." Alec mumbled, hands sliding down to rest on Magnus' hips unconsciously to help guide their motion.

"I'll make sure to get off you once I'm fully nude."

Alec felt himself panic. "Um, actually, is it okay if we just stay like this? This is… already so much."

Magnus' eyes softened and he smiled. "Of course. Whatever you like."

Alec exhaled, the tension leaving his body again. He couldn't help but let his eyes find Magnus', mesmerized by the swirl of colours in his irises.

The man in his lap moved more deliberately as the song's tempo increased, and Alec felt his hips move upwards of their own accord.

Magnus leaned his forehead against his, chuckling a little under his breath. "You're certainly a breath of fresh air, Alexander."

Alec met his eyes again, finding adoration in Magnus', and without thinking, he closed the distance between them until his lips were flush to Magnus'.

It was soft despite the suddenness, Alec's lips melting against the older man's, before he wrenched back.

"Oh, god, oh god I'm so sorry." Alec whispered, feeling his eyes grow wet in humiliation. That was practically the number one rule NOT to do, and there he went, ruining everything. It was Magnus' obligation to end things now, have Alec kicked out, never to return. He already felt a pang in his heart that he wouldn't see him again. But it was his own fault. His own stupid, desperate, intoxicated fault.

He was too drunk on alcohol and arousal to stop himself from doing stupid things, so it's not like he could exactly blame Magnus or the club for having that rule in the first place…

Instead of shoving him away and bolting, Magnus seemed eerily calm. His hands rested behind Alec's neck, him still in Alec's lap, and he was moving forward to kiss him again before Alec could catch up on what was happening.

It was gentle at first, but Alec couldn't control himself. Magnus was kissing him. His hands cupped his face in his hands as he kissed him back, and he whimpered against his mouth as Magnus' hips began rolling into his again.

Alec's mouth opened to Magnus as he kissed him deeper, hips never slowing, and Alec felt himself nearing the edge.

"Magnus… I'm… I'm so close…" he whispered, muffled against his moving lips. The added sensation of Magnus' expert lips against his was heightening everything, and he knew his high was moments away.

"It's okay, Alexander. It's okay." Magnus promised softly, moving his mouth to suck on Alec's neck.

His teeth nibbled over his pulse point and that was it, he was done, the whole night had been too much.

Alec's body seized up, his back arching, as a breathy "Magnus" escaped his lips. His hips stuttered as he came endlessly in his pants, his blunt nails dragging down Magnus' bare back as he gasped through his orgasm.

He stayed in his position, boneless, trying to catch his breath. His brain was fuzzy, unable to think of words to say, like 'thank you' or something.

Would it be weird to thank him? He did give him an orgasm, but he wasn't sure what the protocol was in this situation, as he never imagined actually coming undone in front of the man.

Magnus eventually dismounted him and brushed himself off before gathering his discarded clothes to swiftly redress.

"There's a bathroom just through there if you need to clean yourself up before you head back out." he said quietly.

Alec nodded, looking down at the floor now, embarrassed that he had just climaxed in front of a virtual stranger. He knew that Magnus had probably witnessed many over his time in the business, how could he not with moves like his, but he was sure many also kept themselves in control.

The shame from before started to creep again, locking his jaw and posture. He had just experienced his first orgasm at the hands of another man, imagined scenarios from his masturbation fantasies not counting, and it was making him feel a little overwhelmed. Also given that Magnus wasn't saying much either, and he wished the ground would swallow him whole.

Alec stood and moved to leave, afraid to look at him, afraid to find the disgust he was used to being associated with his sexuality.

He felt stupid, and humiliated, and just… sick. He wanted to leave. He had to leave after this. He was pretty sure Jace would be fine with it, as this was no doubt his finale for the night as it was, but Alec wasn't even sure if he could face him. He knew he'd start questioning him about how it was, teasing him, and Alec was feeling too vulnerable to play along.

"Alexander." Magnus' voice sounded strange, and Alec couldn't help but swivel to look at him.

His eyes grew strained at the sight of him, and Alec wondered if his self-loathing was as obvious as it felt.

Magnus crossed the distance between them and pulled him into a hug. Alec was so surprised by the action that he simply froze.

"I'm proud of you." he told him quietly, patting him on the back before slipping out of the room, shooting him one last coy smile before the door closed.

Alec didn't know what to think, still too stunned to gather all his thoughts, so he headed to the bathroom to clean himself up a bit.

Once done, he met up with Jace, his thoughts buzzing loudly in his head.

Jace smiled widely at him, but, catching the look on his face, his mouth slid into a frown.

"You okay?"

Alec nodded, not meeting his eyes. "Can we go?"

"Of course." Jace said seriously, slipping his arms through his jacket sleeves. "Thanks for everything, Maia." he added to the girl.

She, too, watched Alec in concern but waved them off with a forced smile.

Alec didn't speak much on the way home, too consumed with his thoughts. He didn't know what had happened, why Magnus had started kissing him back, and then everything following only solidified his confusion. Magnus seemed distant after they broke apart too, but then he was hugging him, telling him he was proud of him, and Alec didn't know what to believe.

But he didn't know Magnus. He didn't even know what Magnus' real name was for god sakes. Strippers usually had stage names, for their protection. And his job description meant he was always putting on a show. So that meant any part of his personality, or all of it, could be nothing like the real man.

Jace was shooting him glances as they walked through the city, clearly worried about him.

"Alec?"

"Mmm?"

"Did… did something bad happen? In that room?"

Alec contemplated the question but shook his head. "No, no. It was… just… not what I was expecting, I guess." He forced a smile. "But you were right. Definitely got me out of my comfort zone tonight."

Jace stopped walking and pulled Alec's arm. "Alec, tell me the truth. Did I pressure you into this? Make you do something you didn't want to do?"

Alec's heart clenched. Of course Jace would blame himself. It was his idea in the first place and he was the one who booked the private dance. But Alec knew it wasn't anything Jace had done. As usual, it was Alec who screwed things up.

"No, Jace, it was great, honestly. The whole night. But I guess I just… didn't realize…" He didn't know how to word it, not sure how to make Jace understand. "I wasn't expecting it to be so… um, emotional, I guess?"

Emotions weren't ever something Alec was great at expressing, let alone talking about. But he wanted to make sure Jace understood that he was only in his head about things because he was processing.

"Oh."

Alec forced a smile, trying to forget about the flood of uncomfortable feelings after things had finished. "I had fun, though. I really did. Thank you for tonight."

Jace smiled genuinely now. "You're welcome. That's what best friends are for."

"And brothers." Alec added, slinging an arm around his shoulder and squeezing affectionately. "Can you imagine Mom and Dad's face if they were in there, though? THAT would've been fun."

Jace snickered, immediately up for the entertaining conversation.

Part II can be found here!

[angelicactorres]

Speaking Truth to Power

Good afternoon, and thank each and every one of you that came out today as a sign of solidarity for our dear Jussie Smollett in an effort to stand against racism, homophobia, transphobia and the discrimination of all marginalized groups. My name is Angelica Torres, and I stand here as a proud Latina transgender female, advocate and activist. Now, I’m gonna be real with ya’ll, it’s cold AF today! But I’m thrilled to see all of your beautiful faces here today. I would like to begin with how I’m presently feeling, and I think most, if not all, of you can relate to this...I AM PISSED THE FUCK OFF! I am infuriated with what happened to Jussie on Tuesday morning. And keep in mind this is no isolated incident as this happens every single day to the LGBTQIA community and people of color. Jussie, who is by far one of the kindest, most generous and genuine souls that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, was targeted by 2 white supremacists, 2 terrorists, 2 modern day NATZIS! Fuck this “White Nationalist” bullshit and call them what they truly are, RACISTS! BIGOTS! HOMOPHOBES! ANIMALS! MONSTERS! A humble and beloved gay black man was beaten up by evil men, poured bleach on him and tied a noose around his neck...All while screaming “This is MAGA country!” as they brutalized him. And do you think the bigot in the white house had the decency, the cojones to condemn the actions of this heinous crime? No. But he will sit on his lazy ass tweeting about how “Evil it can be” that a bunch of MAGA hat wearing, cisgender, privileged, homophobic, racist Catholic school white boys have become “symbols of fake news”. Let’s be very clear about something...MAGA hats are in fact the modern day white hoods of the KKK! The MAGA rhetoric was built on lies, hatred, bigotry and fear. We must stop pretending and turning a blind eye to the truth...That MAGA hats are in fact a symbol of hatred. I am also enraged that just a week ago, yet another trans woman of color by the name of Candice Elease Pinky was shot at 5 times at point blank range in broad daylight outside of a convenience store in Houston by a young man of color. My heart aches for Candice and for all of my trans sisters of color that are battered and slaughtered simply for existing in public spaces. As a young trans woman, I have been harassed on the streets of New York. Complete strangers have called me a faggot, homo, sissy, tranny, freak! I've been publicly humiliated and misgendered on national television and am still haunted by that experience. I know what it feels like to fear for your life because I fear for my life, the lives of my trans brothers and sisters and my non-binary friends every day. Even now, I suffer from crippling anxiety the very moment I step outside because every single day I live with the trauma of being accosted in public for who I am. But I survived...and while I am grateful to report that both Candice and Jussie survived these hate crimes, not all of us are so lucky. Based upon information gathered by The Anti-Violence Project and The Human Rights campaign, over 2 dozen Black and Brown trans women were murdered last year alone...and those are the ones that we know of. In the past, media has dead-named trans women by egregiously using their birth names in publications and their reporting. Bigoted families have made wrongful decisions to bury their trans children as the gender they were assigned at birth instead of that child’s preferred gender identity and name. We have no way of knowing how many trans people have actually been murdered because their living relatives and the media selfishly decide to hide the true identity of the trans individuals being laid to rest. The outpouring of love, support and media attention for Jussie was phenomenal...but we need to have the same outrage, the same urgency, the same outspokenness for our Black & Brown trans sisters and our gender non-binary folks that are being beaten and brutally murdered merely for doing something we take for granted every day...walking down the street! We MUST have the same compassion and empathy for our gay & lesbian brothers and sisters that are gay-bashed. Just because these people are not celebrities does NOT make their lives any less valuable or fragile. I am calling on the media, my LGBTQIA community, cisgender heterosexual people of all races to stand the fuck up! Help us! Fight with us! Because we cannot do this alone and we should not have to do this alone. We’ve been fighting on our own for decades and it’s not acceptable for homophobia, transphobia racism and any sort of discrimination to exist in this world. For those of you that do not realize, it was 3 trans women of color that initiated and fought for LGBTQIA rights during the Stonewall Riots in 1969! Sylvia Rivera, Marsha P. Johnson and Miss Major Griffin-Gracy. They fought for us to have the opportunities to stand here today as our authentic selves. Now we need ALL OF YOU to speak up on the issues that we as a community of color face every single day. We need ALL of you to use your platforms to share these stories of injustice with your friends and family and to educate others if you hear them using discriminatory words like “faggot” and “tranny”. Each and every one of you has a power inside, and that power is your voice. Utilize your voice to spread awareness and stand against injustice when you see and hear it. Do not turn your back on marginalized people that are outnumbered and may not be able to defend themselves. I beg of you to hold these people accountable. Hold yourselves accountable because your silence can lead to someone’s death. Your silence is complicity. And we as a community cannot afford the luxury of sitting idly by while racist, homophobic, transphobic and discriminatory slurs are being thrown around. When the time comes for the 2020 election, make sure you get out there and vote! It is your right and duty to vote and to research all of those who are campaigning to ensure they are representing EVERYONE, not just the folks that look like you. I’d like thank you once again for coming out to support and I will leave off with this quote from the film “Wonder Woman”. “No matter how small an act of kindness or generosity or simple positivity you put out into the world, it will make a difference. Now I know, that only love can truly save the world. So I stay, I fight, and I give, for the world I know can be.” Thank you!

[guttermagazine]

Exclusive Jules Valera Interview

I had the chance to sit down with Jules Valera, autobiographical comic artist, caricaturist, illustrator, animation student, writer, event sketcher and all around good egg. I’d been itching for an interview for a while as I find their work deeply inspiring and admire the way that they’re able to work in a wide variety of styles using a plethora of different media.

Hold onto your hats, chaps, this’ll be a good read!

Rebecca

Hey, Jules! Thanks for taking the time to speak to me. So let’s do this. First question! As a comic artist, how do you feel that you are perceived by the people in your life, the general public and other artists?

Jules

People in my life have responded pretty positively to my work as a comic artist. Comics are pretty cool at the moment and most people have some kind of relationship with them in some form.

I think people generally seem to think it’s cool that you can ‘get away’ with doing comics. The downside seems to be that the prevailing perception of comics is still superhero-exclusive.

Other artists I know seem to have a deep respect and hunger for comics. It’s the perfect fusion of things that artists generally love— story and drawings. Most artists I know, even non-comic artists, seem to get a lot of satisfaction out of comics and respect them as a medium.

Rebecca

So how and why did you end up making comics rather than something else?

Jules

I was a big fan of manga when I was growing up, and I’ve always found comics a very natural way of expressing ideas. A friend who happened to be studying comics studies uncovered some of my comics diaries early in my first year of uni and encouraged me to see the merit in continuing. Through him, I developed an interest in comic studies and particularly in graphic medicine (the overlap of comics and the medical humanities) which had a significant influence on my work.

Rebecca

How did your family react when you told them that you were pursuing comics?

Jules

My parents have both always been interested in comics and graphic novels— my mum read Bretécher cartoons as a child, and my dad is a big fan of Joe Sacco (Palestine, Footnotes in Gaza.) They were both supportive and interested from the get-go and have been ever since.

Rebecca

As an artist, do you ever feel apprehensive about sharing your autobio comics with others?

Jules

No— it can be a powerful means of expressing things that are incredibly difficult to communicate otherwise. The spectacle of it- framing real-life events as a narrative with characters- gives both the artist and reader a degree of distance, while the format- using your own words and pictures- allows you to express yourself without restraint, and allows the reader to fully empathise without feeling the need to ‘say the right thing’ or respond appropriately. In creating and sharing an autobiographical comic, you’re saying, “I’m in control of this story, these events, and how I feel about them, and I’m letting you see into my world.”

Rebecca

Do you feel that you have to exaggerate or slightly twist the events in your autobio comics to draw an audience to your work?

Jules

When I make comics based on true events, I try to focus on my own perspective, feelings, and memories, rather than one hundred percent accuracy and objectivity. In the same way as when retelling a good anecdote, I think some things naturally get edited down so that the timing is a little better or a little more convenient. What you end up remembering and recounting is whatever was important at the time.

Rebecca 

Do you feel that comics have to be funny/happy for them to appeal to an audience?

Jules

There’s definitely a market for misery, but I think more than anything else what draws an audience to a comic is relatability. People want to be able to see themselves in comic situations— whether it’s inserting themselves into a superhero narrative, laughing at themselves in a cartoon, or seeing some of their own experiences reflected genuinely in autobio.

Rebecca 

Does the way that you feel about the events depicted in your comic before you draw differ from how you feel after you’ve made and shared the comic?

Jules

Often I find that the process of drawing a comic helps provide some objectivity and perspective on my own feelings. Transforming an event into a narrative problem to be solved has always let me see myself a little better— helps me to understand how I actually felt at the time, and how I feel now.

Rebecca

Do you find making autobio comics therapeutic in any way?

Jules

For me, most of my autobio happens very urgently. The immediacy of drawing a comic often replaces a more self-destructive compulsion, and the emotion that then goes into those drawings and words is often something that I wouldn���t be able to express any other way. I think therapeutic might be the wrong word. If I don’t do the work unravelling issues and coming to terms with them with the help of a therapist then I know I can’t produce anything much of worth (if anything at all)— but comics provide me with context and allow me to see my own feelings objectively, transforming events and emotions into narrative problems to be resolved and presented to an audience in some way.

Rebecca 

In making comics that people are able to relate to and engage with, do you feel as if you’re part of a community?

Jules

I think community can be a bit of a double edged sword. There’s the very immediate satisfaction and sense of validation that comes from people sharing your experiences and relating to your work, which I think is a very good and necessary thing. It comes with the burden of other people’s expectations, however, and I think the particular danger of your work being relatable to many people, especially when you do autobio, is that you become very available to them. I’ve been approached by strangers who felt like they knew me through my work and started very personal, overly familiar conversations with me because of it.

Rebecca 

Autobio comics have been criticised for being too self-indulgent and as being of less worth than a fictional story such as those depicted in graphic novels. What are your thoughts on this?

Jules

I feel strongly that good stories, factual or fictional, always thrive on authenticity, and I believe that authenticity comes from people’s ability to transform their own experiences into a narrative. You don’t need to look far into autobiographical comics to find this happening- for example, in the works of Lynda Barry, Alison Bechdel, Marjane Satrapi, where a life story becomes a deeply intriguing story in its own right.

Rebecca 

Do you think that autobio comics are important for not only a reader but also the artist creating them?

Jules

I think there’s great importance in letting people narrate their own experiences. It’s often the case that when someone is experiencing illness, trauma, grief, any number of life experiences, they’re forced to abdicate some control over to other people— in my case, writing about mental health, control of my life and experiences were often handed over to my family, my doctors, and anyone else with an opinion. Writing about it put me back in control over my own history and gave me an outlet to work out what I felt and experienced without having to put anyone else first.

Rebecca

Has reading a comic (be it autobio or not) ever helped you get through a difficult time?

Jules

Definitely. I had a friend who could provide a comic for almost any event or occasion, and he gave me Glyn Dillon’s The Nao of Brown, which was a big help to me when I was struggling with obsessive compulsive disorder (the comic is fictional but loosely based on Dillon’s wife’s experience with OCD.) Darryl Cunningham’s Psychiatric Tales, a frank, straightforward, and kindly graphic novel about experiences of working as a psychiatric nurse, was also a great comfort when I was unwell. Saki Hiwatari’s Please Save My Earth was incredibly formative in giving me a story to relate to as a teenager experiencing dysphoria, as the manga deals with themes of identity, gender, and sexuality through the story vector of reincarnation.

Rebecca

Do you feel that the impact left on its audience by a comic differs to that of a novel, film or other form of art?

Jules

Comics are still considered, to some degree, to be a ‘junk’ art form. I think this can be a very good thing for comics, though— I appreciate that there’s still a sort of unpretentiousness to the reading of comics, and I think this allows readers to be moved and affected by them almost unconsciously in a way that’s different to the more lofty experiences of reading a novel or watching a film.

 Rebecca

What are a couple of your favourite comics that you would recommend to readers, and do they differ from comics that you would recommend to aspiring comic artists?

Jules

For readers and artists alike, I would recommend anything by Chris Ware (particularly his ACME Novelty Library series, as well as the massive Building Stories) as he really does push the boundaries of what a ‘comic’ can be. Glyn Dillon’s The Nao of Brown is another favourite, with a more conventional structure, beautiful art, and a powerful, loving story. Lynda Barry’s cartoons are excellent (What It Is is a good one), and Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi should be required reading for most comics enthusiasts. I also love anything by Michael DeForge (Ant Colony). For aspiring comic artists, I’d say just read whatever appeals to you, art-wise or story-wise. New artists are constantly reinventing the medium.

Rebecca 

What is your outlook on what it will be like to be a professional artist after leaving art school?

Jules

I ask my Magic 8 Ball this question all the time.

Rebecca

As an artist, do you worry about financial security?

Jules

Constantly.

Rebecca

Do/will you have to rely on other forms of income such as Patreon or a part-time job to be able to create comics?

Jules

I freelance doing commissions and bits and pieces of design work currently, which is more or less sustaining me for the time being, but after graduation I’ll most likely need a part-time job of some description. I hope to have a Patreon for comics and art up and running in the next year!

Rebecca

How has the ability to use the internet to share your work affected your career as a comic artist?

Jules

The ability to use the internet has been absolutely crucial in my career as a comic artist. The vast majority of acquaintances, friends, and collaborators I’ve met in comics, I’ve primarily met through Twitter initially. I think the internet, for better or for worse, puts artists all on a somewhat level playing field— it doesn’t cost anything more than the price of an internet connection to publish your work, advertise yourself, network with other artists, gain an audience, and sell things, all online. The value of internet relationships is massive for providing everything from support and resources to literal couches in countries across the world.

Rebecca 

Would you ever want to work for a publisher or would you rather self-publish your work?

Jules

I think both have their merits, but I don’t have any experience with either so I’m unsure of the benefits and downsides of both. I have friends who’ve started their own small press imprints, which interests me a lot.

Rebecca 

Have you ever taken part in a collective comic anthology? Do you feel like you gained anything from working with others?

Jules

I’ve been published in anthologies a few times— local comics collectives and fanzines mostly. The pressure of a deadline and the thrill of seeing your work published as well as the social aspect of going to launches and promoting the work are all good things I think. I would love to do more practical collaborative work with other artists in the future.

Rebecca

What is your opinion on manga – is it the same as reading a Western comic?

Jules

I think manga follows a different set of rules based on an entirely different history and storytelling tradition from Western comics. Personally, I was drawn to manga when I was growing up because the artwork appealed to me more, but also because the stories in shōjo manga felt more contemplative, with thoughtful pauses visualised in consecutive black pages, empty speech bubbles, metaphorical flowers blooming, et cetera. There was an emotional focus that I found Western mainstream comics largely lacked. My experience of reading manga was, and still is, very different because of that sense of emotional timing.

Rebecca

Thanks so much for your time!

You can find Jules’ work online on their twitter and portfolio site

https://twitter.com/lieabed https://www.julesvalera.daportfolio.com