#i too wish to be masculine but in a distinctly queer way

[abluescarfonwaston]

Fun fanfiction idea:

Miles crossdresses to avoid being seen in public, and knowing him, it's very convincing. Except for the fact that he's still wearing the exact same shade of red and his hair extensions are the same color.

Maya immediately recognizes him, but Phoenix, being his dense self, takes longer.

Alright which one of you bastards just put me on freaking read? How dare you read me like a freaking children's novel. YOU KNEW I COULDN’T RESIST THIS. Featuring Gender non conforming Miles Edgeworth. Also on AO3

“Earth to Nick.” A cold plastic bag was dropped on his head.

“Ack!” He turned around on the park bench to glare at her. “What was that for?”

“You’ve been totally checked out for like the last ten minutes!”

“I was not! I was completely focused!”

“On what?!” Maya demanded pulling out the ice cream from the bag she’d hit him with and flopping down on the bench next to him. Tearing one open.

“Uhhhh…” His cheeks heated as he glanced back to the focus of his attention. Grabbed the other ice cream to try and cover it. “Nothing.”

It was just… She was beautiful. Silver starlight hair that framed her face and flowed down the curve of her spine. The way her dress hugged the wide expanse of her chest. Pinched down to her narrow hips. The magenta billow of the tail of her dress that still allowed him to see the garters around her muscular calves and thighs when she turned.

She was breathtaking. Just objectively. The kind of women Mia would ask him what kind of conclusive proof he was wearing around his neck to get her to even consider dating him.

She took a step forward in those two inch heels and he swallowed. She was probably at least his height if not taller. Would he have to bounce up on the balls of his feet to kiss her? She’d turn her face up with a teasing smirk and deny him. Did you want something Phoenix?

You know what I want!

Do I?

A kiss! Please!

And that teasing smile would grow just a little bigger and the crinkle under her bespectacled eyes a little softer. Oh I suppose I can do that. She’d angle herself a little lower and kiss him and-

So he might have been a little romantically horny.

Her dog, a big fluffy creature dropped the neon tennis ball at her feet. Play lunging. Tail raised and wagging in anticipation.

She scooped up the ball in her tennis ball throwing… stick. Whatever those were called. Smile widening. His chest twisted. She said something to the dog.

You wanna go? You ready? Is my sweet girl ready?

The dog wiggled. Excitement growing.

She threw back her arm. Go get it! Flung the ball across the park.

Her fluffy beast hurtled after.

“Oh my God Nick.”

Cold ice cream dripped onto his hand jolting him back to his body. He hastily licked it up. Face hot. “Shut up.” I’m allowed to look! I was an art major! I can appreciate beauty while realizing that I’m not allowed to touch!

Or interact in any way with someone so far out of my league.

Gods. She’s pretty.

“Nick is that Edgeworth?”

His head snapped to her then. She wasn’t staring at him laughing at his plight. She was looking at someone in the park.

“What?! Where?!” He tried to follow her gaze to the prosecutor in question. It would be strange to see him out an about. Was he dressed like a normal human being? Was that why she was so surprised? Was he ordering a hot dog from a stand in full Edgeworth Regalia? Gods was he on a run in shorts and a too tight tee, sweaty and slightly disheveled from the exercise?!

He scanned the park as Maya gaped. Jaw working but infuriatingly silent. “Where Maya? I don’t see him.”

If I miss seeing Edgeworth in running shoes and shorts you’re buying your own dinner!

She weakly raised her hand and pointed. Finger shaking.

To… The woman in pink?

He laughed. “What are you talking about Maya?” Just because they’re both gorgeous silver hair people with a preference for light red- bordering on pink-

She cupped her mouth. “Miles Edgeworth!”

He grabbed her. “What do you think you’re doing?!” He glanced at the woman. “See she didn’t even respond!”

“She- he – FLINCHED NICK. It’s TOTALLY HIM! Oh my god!!!” She started to stand. He tried to force her back onto the bench before she humiliated him in front of one of the most stunning people he’d seen in months.

She wiggled free and dashed out towards her.

His life was over. For a moment it flashed in front of his eyes.

… Less of it should have been spent buying food for the woman who was about to be listed as his cause of death!

He scrambled after her. “Maya no!”

“Oh my god! You look so good! Your makeup is on Point!”

“Uh.” She raised the tennis ball stick between her and Maya hiding behind it like a tiny ineffective shield. Face blossoming red. “T-Thank you?” She squeaked out. Her eyes flickered nervously.

Silver. Even her eyes where silver starlight.

He shoved Maya’s head down in an apology bow. “I am SO sorry about her.”

Straighten.

She was taller than him in those heels. Just an inch or three.

His little bi heart was going to give out.

“I-it’s fine.” She laughed airily. Hand grasping at the crook of her elbow as she stared pointedly away.

That felt… Familiar.

“I’m jealous how well you pull that outfit off!”

Her dog trotted right up between them and sat down firmly in front of her. Leaning into her legs and thighs.

Her hand released and buried itself in the thick fur of their fluffy mane.

“We… We should be going.” She fumbled for the leash holstered like Franziska’s whip at her hip.

“Miles?”

She- he – They? Flinched.

Oh. Oh fuck.

“What?! You don’t have to!”

“Don’t run!” He begged hands splayed out wide. Miles looked very much like they wanted to run. “Fuck I’m sorry we won’t tell anyone!”

The hand twitched. Almost to the leash. The dog whined.

Both hands were buried in their mane.

“Did you just curse?” Maya stared at him wide eyed like she’d just found an even better target. Deflated slightly at his and Miles face. Forcibly brightened and clapped her hands together. “What’s your dogs name?”

“… Pess.”

“Aren’t you the handsomest little man Pess? What a sweet puppy!”

“Pess is a lady.”

“The prettiest lady!” Maya immediately began to coo.

He rubbed the back of his neck staring off at the tree line. “Like… You?” He tried to ask.

“Ngh… Not… Not as such no.”

“Oh. O-okay. I mean- it’d be fine if you were! You really do make a pretty lady!”

Fuck.

“Yeah Nick couldn’t stop staring at you!”

MAYA.

“Is… that right?”

He chuckled nervously. “Haha. Maybe? Uh would we… Talk?”

“I… suppose.”

“Can I throw the ball for your dog then?”

“Ah.” He looked at the stick. Handed it to her. “Sure.”

They sat on the bench. Miles tucked the tail of the dress under them. Long fingers splayed on their thighs.

“Sooo… Um.”

“If you’re going to laugh just do it already. Go on. Laugh!”

“…”Miles turned their face away as they spit out the demand. His chest clenched for entirely different reason. “My pronouns are he him?” He tried. The fingers eased slightly as Miles turned and peered at him through those silver bangs. “What are yours?”

There was a long pause as Miles studied him. Face dropped back to their thighs. “He him is fine. Although I do not object to they them in private.”

“Does now count as private?”

“Well I certainly don’t want you using he him right now.”

“Got it.” He threw an arm over the bench and stared at them. Even more breathtaking up close. It was unfair Miles got to be hot in all the genders. He could barely manage the one. “So is this like. A hobby?”

“No not. I enjoy dresses and skirts in a gender defying way not. As crossdressing.” They stared down at their manicured fingers. “The extent of this presentation is…”

He waited for Miles to continue. Pressed when they didn’t. “Is?”

Miles raised their chin. “Someone in my position can’t be seen wearing these sorts of things. I don’t appreciate the attention I receive from merely being openly gay. Much less gender non-conforming.”

“Yeah no I totally get that- I mean you’re a private guy- person? – to begin with. Totally fine!”

There was a weak smile. They tugged on their sleeve. “There is another benefit…”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’m not a high ranked prosecutor like this. There are no eyes watching me.” Yeah I don’t think that’s true in the slightest. “No tabloids itching to catch the demon prosecutor doing something distasteful or vengeful people hoping for a moment to come yell at me. I’m not ‘Prosecutor Edgeworth’ so… I can relax.”

“Oh.” He blinked. Squished his face further into the crook of his arm. “Guess that makes sense.” They stared out at the park. Watching Maya pretend to throw the ball for Pess. Shoulders loose and relaxed. Screw it. “Miles.” He tacked on just half a second too late.

The shoulders pulled up and that red tint returned. Red really was their color. “W-What are you?”

“You’re not Prosecutor Edgeworth right now right? So you’re Miles. Isn’t that right?”

The blush climbed their cheeks up to their ears. “No, you’re Wright.”

“Not right now I’m not. Right now I’m Phoenix.” He stared up through the lashes of his eyes at his childhood best friend. All red and silver starlight. “And I’m sitting on the bench with the prettiest person I’ve ever seen.”

Holy shit! That was almost smooth! That’ll never happen again! It’s so good were sitting down or else I’d have tripped on my shoes and face planted as universal karma for that!

Miles twisted away. Hand coming up to cover their face. He could still see their ears burning red.

“Me too.” Miles mumbled.

“Huh?” He lifted his head slightly. Cocked it.

“The bench. That’s true for me too.”

“Uh. Wha?” The bench?

I’m sitting on the bench with the prettiest person I’ve ever seen.

He fell to the ground. All the blood collecting in his face. “Wha- You- You can’t just!”

Miles turned. A teasing smirk pulling at his face. “Oh haven’t you heard Phoenix?” Fuck. “Turnabout’s fair play.”

Bastard. He grinned. Bastard.

Turnabouts fair play.

[symptoms-syndrome]

Queer stuff LOL. Don't discourse on this post I'm begging.

Not to be a special little snowflake (sarcasm) but I genuinely like. IDK I've been considering dipping my toes back into "sapphic" spaces/identity for the first time publicly since like. Middle school and w the rise of like. Policing n shit about identities I don't want to have to deal w all that or be seen as like. An intruder or whatever. Like I do identify w being sapphic for some specific and sometimes incredibly personal reasons. IDK???

Like I don't think I'm not MLM bc I do also consider myself MLM. I am just also WLW. And those two for me don't feel mutually exclusive. The irony in that I feel more attached to womanhood/femininity post-gender surgery is not lost on me. I just feel like a lot of my outside perspective on modern sapphic spaces is that they tend to be a little overzealous in "protecting" their space and I fear since I've made the choice to transition in a way that could be seen as masculine I won't be welcome, especially since I got bottom surgery specifically and people are real weird about genitals. Gender variance beyond the very typical "butch" presentation (which I am not) I feel I have not seen much of in a sapphic context.

I do identify as sapphic (especially prominent in some parts) and I feel it's important to me. I did enjoy my time in sapphic spaces the last time I was there. It just feels like, again from an outside perspective for the past few years, that they've changed an awful lot since I was last a part of them. Of course, the context of my life has changed an awful lot too. I would no longer be attending in secret, for one.

I just feel like sometimes no one will understand my gender stuff except me. Which I'm fine with, I just wish people didn't feel the need to understand me in order to just take my word on how I identify. Why should I need to "prove" anything, or reject a part of me in order to have another part accepted?

Not to mention the brand new discourse around bisexuals and lesbians being seen as opposing forces now??? Where did that come from. Being/identifying as a bisexual lesbian/lesbian bisexual was not uncommon before. IIRC lesbian as adjective and lesbian as noun had slightly different connotations, as in there was a difference between "being lesbian" (attracted to women) and "being a lesbian" (only attracted to women.) I distinctly remember someone saying something along the lines of "you're not a lesbian, but you're lesbian" because i was concerned about taking up space in a group of women who were talking about lesbianism.

Then again, most of the queer/LGBT people I knew and spent significant time around as a teen were older adults. Which has definitely impacted my queer vocab. Maybe I should seek out older adults again instead of people my age. Youth groups always felt more judgey about what words you use and stuff.

[tothedarkdarkseas]

What if both Murdoc AND Stu are women?

Then buddy, I’m there! Another thing we seriously lack, more thoughtful fic with both genders changed. I get that historically it’s just something to do for fun, but hey, I’d like more serious and skeevy f/f fic in the world and Gorillaz doesn’t have any viable options.

I flip flop on what a female Stu would be like. Would she have the same internalized obligation toward a more stereotypical femininity and present herself that way, or would she bit a little bit grotty or earthier? I do feel like she’s a Hot Girl– not necessarily just physically attractive, but like archetypically, she knows she is a Hot Girl. (Making a final decision here and now, I think that I don’t want to erase the grime completely, I feel like she looks like she belongs at Burning Man.) Not strictly referring to appearances here, but I do really enjoy @skeledraws interpretations of female Stu, I really appreciate The Vibe they have. While there is a part of me that wants to push for a more uptight, high-femme busty cheerleader Stu, another part really yearns for her to be more like a girl who gets a lot of attention at Whole Foods, more of a haunting beauty to her black eyes and model-height, wears very sheer and hip clothing and shows her dealer her tits for free weed.

I think if they’re both female the dynamic more closely resembles the current one, but it does still have some minor changes. There is very much a shame associated with queerness and a judgment toward certain “mannish” behaviors among women, but it’s probably inaccurate to say that “toxic femininity” is the same as “toxic masculinity.” I think it’s damaging though, and I think there’s still an element of societal pressure shaping Stu’s expectations for who she is or isn’t. It may be interesting to lean more on Stu going to a Catholic girl’s school and having a stronger religious guilt, as she’d no longer go to the same academy our Stu went to. The relationship to her mother would be interesting to explore as well– would she be more of a “daddy’s girl” as opposed to a mama’s boy? Or would she still be very sheltered and coddled by her mother, who represented a very idealistic image of a woman, mother, and wife, all concepts Stu has developed a strange uncertain relationship to? I haven’t said much about her but I think female Murdoc mostly carries over from the previous ask, but there would be much more of an equivalency to their current relationship with both genders flipped than just one; I wouldn’t feel too guilty for Murdoc to retain that obsessive worshipful wanting, and I would feel less guilty about Stu having some rather harsh things to say to her. The balance is restored! I wish I could better detail what changes specifically, but I think it would be more to do with the tone of the interactions, as there is a distinctly male coloring to it that doesn’t directly translate, but I do feel (from personal experience) has some feminine correlation.

[deadlifts-and-derrida]

Well, it's been a while since I posted any long form writing here. So how about I do that now? Let's get UNCOMFORTABLY CLOSE.

To tell the story of my first boyfriend, I need to tell the story of coming out to my mother.

I came out to my mother the week before I left to begin university. It didn't go as I hoped it would. I chose mom instead of dad because I thought mom would be easier. Girls and women seemed safer than boys and men. To teenaged me, active homophobia seemed mostly a masculine trait.

I'll stop there. I don't want to set mom up like she had the worst reaction. She didn't get mad. Mad, I could have handled. I was a bold, righteous, outspoken teen; I was equipped to deal with anger. Mom wasn't mad - mom was sad. As if a precious object had dropped to the floor and was now damaged - even if it could be repaired, the crack would always be there.

I couldn't handle sad. It was like I told her I had an inoperable cancer. That's a homophobic attitude just as much as throwing your kid out is, but it's… subtler. How do you respond to it? If you get angry she'll just get sadder. Her sadness hurts you to witness. You wish you hadn't spoken up, because you love your mother and you don't want to make her sad. You regret ever opening your mouth. By you I mean I.

I left for university a week later having had no follow-up discussion, having stuffed myself back into the closet, more or less. When I got to university I would be free to be as gay as I wanted, and I intended to be very. Very. Very. Gay.

Why do I need to tell this story before I get to Matthew? (His name was Matthew). Well. I guess I'm trying to explain why I was the way I was, and I'm hanging the blame on Mom. It's not really fair. Her reaction was bad, and it hurt me, it didn't give me the support I needed at a critical moment. But all of it - her reaction, the fact that I needed the support in the first place - is because of our damned stupid homophobic society, right? Mom and me, we're both just products of the hate machine that spat us out, right? Right?

I love my mother. I forgive her. She danced joyfully at my wedding. It's all fine. Everything is fine. The precious thing got repaired so well you can only really see the crack if you know where to look.

So Matthew.

I spent all of highschool wanting a boyfriend and sex. Unrequited crushes on unattainable men. But the fear. That was real, too. Not just fear that if you got caught checking out the wrong guy he'd gaybash you - although that was a real, potent fear. But also the fear that if you got caught checking out the right guy, then you'd have to go through with it.

Isn't that crazy? Being afraid to go through with the thing you want to go through with! But it's true. Actually attainable men? No. There was one other gay guy in my high school class, and we shared a friend group, although the two of us never really clicked. I was too weird and he was, for want of a better word, too basic. I was also very unfortunate-looking in high school. But in addition to all of this - there was the sense that I couldn't be attracted to him because if I was then something would have to happen and I wasn't ready for that.

But I wanted to be ready for it!

So Matthew, again.

When I got to university, free from my mother's terrible sadness, free from my high school self, I wanted to shed my skin like a snake and slither my way into a new me. Now that I was out and lived in a city (a small city, but the biggest one we had), I really femmed up. Glitter. Tight clothes. Limp wrists. Hair dye. Even eyeliner, sometimes. I wanted the world to know. In part because I was signalling to whoever around me who had the correct receptors: I'm here, I'm queer, for the love of god please do something about it.

Matthew picked up on that signal. He was a (female) friend's best friend. He was in his last year of high school in a town about 90 minutes away, but he made trips in on some weekends to see his best friend. One of those weekends, only a couple of weeks into my very first semester, he and I fell into each other's gravity. Nowadays, I know the sensation well. I'm sure most people will, too. You feel this tug between you and someone else. You draw closer. You look at each other. Closer. A few touches, at first passing it off as innocent. Then more touches. Closer.

We were so close our lips were brushing each other's as we spoke quietly. I don't remember how long the lip brushing lasted before it became kissing, but despite everything, despite the utter hell Matthew would eventually unleash on my life, I still think this is probably one of the best first-ever kisses on record.

(It wasn't his first-ever kiss. He already had an ex-boyfriend. I was his second. But it was my first-ever kiss).

Matthew wasn't my type. He had a shrill, harsh laugh. He had a giant mop of curly hair that he liked to dye. It was kind of like a clown's wig. I was still unfortunate-looking myself, please understand. He wasn't active, didn't exercise - which is fine, except all of my sexual fantasies focused on very muscular, large men. "Being young, gay, and mean isn't a personality," as the line goes. Matthew had a bit of that. But he was smart and funny, too. I shouldn't pretend he wasn't.

But I was so ready. Over-ready. I needed someone to fuck me, already, and I figured I would be lucky if anyone, anyone at all, would ever be willing to do it. So. It was Matthew because he was the first one who stepped up to the plate. Although attempts at sex were always awkward and we never really quite figured that out.

He became my boyfriend. It lasted for about four months. Because he lived 90 minutes away and was still in high school, I only saw him on weekends, but not every weekend. Maybe one weekend a month. This was 2001. Smartphones weren't a thing. Texting wasn't even really a thing. I wouldn't even own a cellphone until 2005. We messaged each other on ICQ and spoke on our landlines.

He broke up with me in January.

Did I love him? I don't know. I think I did. Or I loved the idea of him. I loved the icon I had built in his shape, a representative of all the things I wanted to achieve by Having A Boyfriend. I wanted it to affirm my sexuality. I wanted it to mean I wasn't unlovable. I wanted it to refute my mother's sadness.

It felt like a failure that I couldn't keep him. When he got a new boyfriend before I did, that felt like a failure too, like it had been a race to see who could land a new man first. Why was I thinking this way? Looking back, it's awful. I instrumentalized him, made him a symbol, and made relationships and sexual experimentation into some kind of… clout game. It wasn't about having fun and enjoying myself - it was about proving something, something to myself, something to my family, something to the world. Sex? A boyfriend? Things to acquire.

But maybe I did love him. I cried a lot, and it wasn't just over the insult to my ego and the setback to my plans. I remember distinctly walking through the underground tunnels that joined buildings on campus, thinking to myself - well, we're still friends, maybe we'll get back together in a few years. It was a story I told myself to comfort myself. It wasn't a forever breakup - he'd come back to me in a few years if I was just patient and kind, if I just waited.

When he got a new boyfriend, I needed to get one too. I found a guy on the gay.com chatroom, which is the closest thing we had to apps back then. He… had problems. Valentines was a couple of days after our first date and he got me an ostentatious bouquet of roses, an over-the-top gift that made me more uncomfortable than charmed. He already showered me with the l-word.  I remember waking up in his bed, the one night I spent at his place, him slipping his dick into me. It's this hazy nocturnal memory and I'm not even sure if it's real or false. If it's real, it was my first time successfully bottoming. If it was real, he didn't use a condom.

A few days later he told me that if I ever left him he'd kill himself. I didn't know what to do. I just turned very cold, hoping he'd break up with me. It worked. He dumped me after another few days. The whole thing didn't last more than two weeks.

Matthew was still with his new boyfriend and they seemed very happy together.

So. It's clear I reacted badly.

Around the time we broke up, I moved into a basement apartment with his best friend (remember, she was also a friend of mine) and a third party who was also a good friend. Our apartment was a bit of a party house. Matthew would come into the city on weekends, and he'd stay at our apartment - because his best friend lived there, and I lived there too, and even though we had broken up we were still friends, right?

I don't know what I did to deserve what he did to me. I don't think I was ever malicious to him. If I was ever cruel, it was a clueless and unintentional kind of cruelty.

He was staying with us. I was out of the house. He went into my bedroom and went on my computer. He snooped around and found folders of niche porn that I enjoyed. Should I say what sort it was? Is it pertinent to the story? It wasn't all that weird. It was basically bodybuilders. Muscle men. Some of them photoshopped to be bigger than would otherwise be possible (some much bigger). Some of them with exaggerated genitalia (some of them very exaggerated). I also had an interest in fat guys and I know there were some pictures of that nature in there too (some of them very fat).

But he was 17 and mean and judgemental. He showed my friends my secret porn in a deliberate attempt to humiliate me. He shared it around. He let everyone know, in a cruel, mocking way, about sexual interests I didn't yet feel strong enough to share with the world. Sexual interests I still felt a lot of shame about.

I only learned about this because my other friend who shared that apartment took me aside and told me what he had done. She did this because she thought it was wrong of him.

Despite this show of support from a friend who had the good sense not to follow the current of cruel mockery, I was beyond mortified. The shame was galling.

My new gay life ended there. My clothes became drab, baggier. My manner less femme. I stopped transmitting "I'm gay!" to the world. I stopped trying to fit in with the gay crowd Matthew had introduced me to. They all had a name for me now, anyway. Psychael. Like, psychotic Michael. How could I fight a battle when the first strike was nuclear? I quit. It seemed like the only move available to me.

It was 5 years before I'd kiss another man. I fled back into the embrace of my family. My coming out was never mentioned. I basically went back into the closet. At least the people in there loved… some version of me that I could maintain without that much effort. Just… close the door on the seven months when I had been an out gay man and pretend the whole thing didn't happen. Easy.

I don't hate him.

We were both very young.

We were both inexperienced.

I would hate for someone who only knew me as an 18 year old to think of me now, in my mid thirties, as if I was the same person. So I don't think of him as he was when he was 17. He's 34 now. He's probably a much better person.

Maybe he feels sorry.

Maybe he doesn't.

I wish I could have those years back. The long years I spent frightened to be myself.

I wish I had been strong enough to look him in the face and say "so what?" I wish I had been strong enough to own my sexual interests, none of which are immoral or wrong or even all that strange.

But I was weak. I was weak and alone. And wishing doesn't get you anywhere.

I don't know if there's much point to this story.

[moiraineswife]

Okay so I could definitely do with some more queer rep from Sanderson but I will say that I love the richness and complexity of his characters and the fuck that they almost all say ‘fuck you’ to writing gender roles. 

‘Strong women’ doesn’t mean ‘woman punches loads of things and is badass’ it means a rich variety, of complex women who are each strong in their own way.

 Vin, the street-urchin and constant survivor, whose strength comes as she grows and actually learns, in so many ways, to outgrow that ‘strong woman’ archetype. She learns to be soft. She learns to embrace her feminine side. She learns vulnerability, and love, and trust, and she grows into a better, stronger person for it. 

Marasi who finds her strength in knowledge, and in loving herself for the things she can do, instead of loving the idolised version of herself who has all the things she wishes she could do. Who learns to stop revering and living in a man’s shadow, and steps out to cast her own. 

Steris who is a canonly autistic woman who is never forced to be ‘normal’, in any sense of the word. The characters around her learn to read her, to understand her, and they fall in love with the woman that she is because of her quirks, because of her differences, because of her autism, and not in spite of it. 

Shallan who was a sheltered, naive young abuse victim, with very obvious PTSD and anxiety who has undergone an incredible, uneven recovery journey. She has found herself, her voice, her independence, and her agency. But she is also learning how to accept what has happened to her instead of hiding from it, to heal and grow while retaining her wit, her drawing, and her smile. 

Jasnah who, frankly, couldn’t care less about people’s expectations when it comes to her. Her mind is her own, and her strength comes from knowing herself, and refusing to compromise that self even when it goes against her entire culture and society. A woman who presents a composed, cold, blunt face to the world and is allowed to, and is never undermined or ‘thawed’. She is who she is, and that’s final. 

Navani as a mother, a wife, a lover, in many ways the embodiment of traditional roles for a female character over a certain age. But she’s also a scholar, an engineer, an inventor, a visionary. A woman who knows what she wants, and inevitably finds a way of getting it. A woman who has deep loves and passions, and pursues them, but never loses sight of the merit of logic and order. 

Vivenna, who grew up with the knowledge that she was to be a sacrifice for her people, that her pain and happiness were as nothing compared to her duty. A woman who grew up with deeply rooted prejudices, and a naive, ignorant view of the world. She grew up, she learned her own mind, and followed it to the ends of her earth and into another, where she came to lead men in battle in a notoriously misogynistic/gender-role based society. 

Siri the dreamer, the free spirit, who learned that she didn’t have to be like her sister, and didn’t have to ascribe to the things expected of her to have value, and worth, and power. Who becomes a queen in her own right, and matures into a powerful woman who refuses to accept life on any but her own terms. 

It’s a common enough critique that female characters get stuffed into one mould that’s described as ‘strong’ and that’s it. Which is almost as limiting and stifling as the traditional expectations of female characters. But tbh I love what he does with his male characters and the complexity and rejection of typical masculinity there, too. 

Elend who grew up under the thumb of an abusive father and an oppressive system, but still had the softness, and the hope to dream of building something better. Who was more than comfortable having his wife protect him, and having everyone know that, who took pride in Vin, without ever once having it be hinted as some sort of slight to his masculinity. Who was able to accept the correction and guidance of another woman everyone else scorned and ignored who helped shape him into a better king, and a better man. 

Sazed who was portrayed both as the gentle, reserved scholar, but also a rebel and an instigator, who went against his people to build a better world. Someone who was presented as rational, and calm, and arguably nonbinary, and mostly shuns pretty every typically ‘masculine’ trope in the book. 

Kelsier who had the fairly typical ‘dead wife, revenge plot’ story, but that was explored in a thoroughly atypical way tbh. A man full of darkness who insisted upon fighting with a smile, and encouraged others to do the same. Cocky, and arrogant, and selfish was balanced by a little flash of sentiment, the hope for a new world, and the picture of a flower he carried with him to remind him what they fought for. 

Adolin who’s regarded as one of the best swordsmen in the world, but who talks to his weapon before battle and thanks it for serving him. He wears his mother’s necklace as a good luck charm in battle, and goes against cultural expectations by being physically affectionate with the people he loves. Also has a keen interest in fashion he refuses to be ashamed of, and while his actions characterise him as a womaniser, his thoughts/behaviours display his dissatisfaction with that, and his desire for stability. Also very emotionally aware of those around him, and takes care to look after them when he reads them being in trouble. 

Dalinar’s honestly fascinating journey from a bloodthirsty, violent soldier, to a depressed, traumatised alcoholic, to a struggling general, a hero of mankind, and then again struggling with PTSD is honestly so well-written. This man is literally a military legend, renowned for his prowess in war and we see him, in the course of the series: give away a legendary blade that is literally more valuable than kingdoms for the lives of a group of slaves, and consider it a genuinely good deal as he’s learned that all lives are precious. Struggle with very obvious flashbacks and panic attacks as a result of war trauma. Meekly align himself with distinctly feminine things to quietly support his son and stop him feeling awkward. 

Renarin, who is a canon autistic character, who cannot be a soldier in a distinctly war-driven society, and is allowed to explore that, to feel bitterness and frustration with his condition. But who is also slowly starting to learn, with the support of his family, that there are different kinds of strength, and that they love him and are proud of him even if he can’t march into battle at the head of their armies. Who is allowed to stim openly, who is largely accepted for his differences, and is defended fiercely on the occasion that he’s not. Who is a goddamn super hero in this world, and is a massively progressive piece of honest autistic representation, in which he is not a character with autism, but an autistic character. 

Kaladin who is honestly one of the most visceral, honest portrayals of depression I’ve seen in a fictional character. Who still, three books on, suffers from depressive episodes, who acknowledges that this kind of thing sometimes doesn’t just go away, or get better, that it’s always there, somewhere, and he fights it, and keeps fighting it, with the help and acceptance of those around him. Who is also a goddamn super hero who is warned by his surgeon-father that he’ll have to grow calluses, that he can’t care so deeply about his patients. Who becomes a soldier to support his younger brother, and tries to strike the balance between killing and protection, and to deal with his soft heart that has never truly hardened. 

Male characters that have genuine, honestly explored mental illnesses, insecurities, and who are frequently depicted crying, and otherwise being allowed to freely show and explore their emotions and honestly, i could say a hell of a lot more but this is quite long enough so that’s enough of that.  

[phynali]

hey! just saw your post on nb aesthetic esp your tags abt you having long "non-visibly-queer" hair & idk if you remember this or not but I do bc it was super helpful/positive for me to see it - I sent you an ask awhile ago abt you being queer&genderqueer and talking abt your husband/you guys being happy and see you say this is p much the same feeling - I'm p sure I’m nb?but also ppl have said I’m obvs not bc (among other things) I have long hair not a “queer” haircut so I must be fake & (1/2)

(2/2) sometimes I feel like I am fake but so seeing that post in general was nice but also seeing your comment was rly, rly, rly nice & I can’t really articulate how ! it was to see you say that you’ve got long hair too and are still nb & it feels weird to thank you for just talking about your existence? but. it really is incredibly helpful to see that so - thank you.

hey

thanks for sending this message. it was actually really affirming for me? just the reminder that i’m not alone with feelings like this.

i’m so sorry that people have tried to tell you that you’re not not nb because you don’t have the right ~aesthetic~. it’s honestly such bullshit. there is no one ‘right’ way to “look” nonbinary. you can dress in skirts and dresses and do your makeup up to the nines with long flowing hair and still identify as nonbinary, as a woman, or as a man. presentation =/= identity. same with the opposite. you can crop your hair short and wear men’s cut clothes and zero makeup and still identify as nonbinary, as a man, or as a woman. the clothes on our backs and the cuts of our hair don’t define who we are inside.

and heck, i admire the people with awesome haircuts that are protypically or aggressively queer. i love those styles, i really do. i even envy them sometimes, and part of me definitely has daydreamed about getting a cut like that more than once. but there’s a level of visibility that comes along with it (and i’m self-conscious to begin with) and because i am married (to a man), most people who’ve met me will probably not even pick up on the message about my identity anyway. so who am i getting the cut for? myself? or strangers on the internet to put the rubber stamp of approval next to my gender identity? 

and i struggle with the hair thing in part because i’ve tried to do the short hair and it looked like crap (i.e., it made me look younger and childish at a time when i was aiming for the opposite, and most stylists i went to for short haircuts weren’t giving me a queer look so much as giving me a short haircut that was ‘in’ at the time but distinctly for women?). i also hate the upkeep on short hair because it grows so fast and no way am i willing to go for a cut more often than i do now. kudos to all the people out there who can upkeep short hair. 

i also grew up with my father and older brother having long hair for most of my childhood, and my mother shaved all her hair off one year and then had short hair for about 5 years, so i don’t inherently associate short hair = masculine and long hair = feminine. i’m actually typically attracted to long hair on guys? and them having long hair doesn’t detract from their masculinity, so i try not to let myself get too worried about my own long hair. 

anyway, all this is to say that i recently realized i’ve got insecurities about the length of my hair with respect to my gender identity, maybe because the past few years have been the first time in my life where i actually like my hair and don’t want to change it, but that means accepting and dealing with any hang-ups i have about it as it is now. it fits how i want to see myself, even if the rest of the world makes their own misguided assumptions about me because of it.

but back to you.

if someone ever tries to tell you that you aren’t nonbinary (esp. over something as ridiculous as the length of your hair), they’re an asshole, full stop. they don’t know your gender identity better than you. and if they purport to tell you they know your gender and you don’t, they’re an asshole, and nbphobic (exorsexist? idk the right terms, honestly).

it’s happened to me. more than once. but this one time in particular, i came out as genderqueer to a friend (an ex) and the first words out of his mouth, honestly just an automatic knee-jerk reaction so fast, were “no. you’re not.” and i just. i was flabbergasted. because how dare this dude dare tell me what i am and am not? as if he knows my gender identity better than i do? so i said “yes. i am.” and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat and i said i always had been and finally found the word to describe it and he said “okay” and that was that. 

other people don’t know your experiences better than you. other people don’t get to pick your labels for you. i’ve had people try to tell me i should id has genderfluid instead of genderqueer and i just… rolled my eyes. like no, thanks for trying to fit me into a term that makes you more comfortable, but i’ll define my identity as i experience it.

you’re not fake. you don’t have to look or act a certain way to know that you’re nonbinary. 

i have days where i struggle with wondering if i’m faking it still, even though i’ve been defining my identity this way for over 6 years now, literally ever since the first time i discovered words for nonbinary identities and had that lightbulb moment of “oh. that’s it. that’s what i’ve been missing my entire life.” i struggle even though i look back and know my whole life till now, this is who i am. it fluctuates and varies a bit, yeah, but this is my truth. it’s always been my truth. even if the rest of the world has missed it (and honestly, not all of them did miss it, they just didn’t have language for it either, and a lot of people just want to put their heads in the sand when it comes to this stuff).

and i don’t bind and some days i wish i did. i’m a coward and i’m scared to buy a binder, but i secretly really want one. i don’t have a short or obviously queer haircut and i feel like the world will think i’m hiding and not queer enough when really i just happen to like my current style. i’m short as fuck and my voice is high like a chipmunk. so if anyone looks at or talks to me, they code me as a woman and there’s honestly nothing short of taking hormones i can ever do to change that, based on my body-type and characteristics. and that’s just part of my reality.

so i’m working on being satisfied with knowing my own self. with talking to friends and family when i feel comfortable enough to, and making sure they understand my identity and respect it. with living my gender identity and actualizing my masculinity in ways that feel affirming to me instead of ways that make me feel like i’m silly or trying too hard. 

and that’s my general advice here: do what makes you feel right and good. do the things that make you feel like you fit in your own skin, if you can. affirm yourself that your experiences are valid. that your truth is real. doubt is normal, and it’s okay, and i experience it too. but your truth is your own, and everyone else can get bent.

[mylordshesacactus]

Hi, sorry to ask you this, but I don't know who to ask! I want to come out to my parents as a butch lesbian, but am worried they're going to say that I'm "just confused about wanting to be a man" (which is how they responded to my clothing choices). How do I explain my position to them while also being respectful of trans men? Thanks for your time, and if you don't know how to answer, any tips on who to ask would also be much welcomed!

It’s no trouble at all! I’m just really glad you felt comfortable asking me.

Now, for starters, I don’t know your family or your situation. You haven’t mentioned feeling unsafe or worrying about outright rejection, so I’m going to go forward on the assumption that you’re in a safe position and your family are well-meaning but very....Straight People TM....straight people. If that’s not the case, just for the record: You never have to come out to anyone, and your safety comes first, yeah? Just getting that out there. Take care of yourself, you don’t owe anyone any part of you they won’t treat with kindness.

So anyway. It’s a little unclear from your initial ask whether you’re trying to come out as gay period, or if you’re trying to explain the concept of the butch-femme dynamic (which.....oof. Good luck friend). I get the impression you’re trying to come out as gay so that’s what I’m going to address, and I’m afraid it can be very difficult to give anyone this kind of advice.

The fact is everyone comes out differently. The way I did it was to basically...stop suppressing my comments about girls, and wait for people to notice. Eventually I waited until my dad was going on a business trip and smuggled a letter into his luggage, by which point he was already like 99% sure. 

Writing a letter/email/facebook status/etc is an option if you feel it would be helpful to have the time and space to write down everything you want to say with no risk of being interrupted. It also gives you a way of avoiding panicked interrogations or answering the same “BUT ARE YOU REALLY A MAN” questions over and over again--you can point to the piece you wrote and politely tell them that everything is explained in there and if they have any further questions, you’d be happy to explain or give them sources about queer (or LGBT, whichever you identify with) culture and history.

(You’d be amazed how many straight people magically stop asking questions when you start pointing out that you could give them homework.)

It might be a good idea to give your family time to get used to you being a lesbian before you try to explain the concept of butch identity to them, because frankly straight people are very bad at understanding those things as a rule. That’s entirely up to you; your butch identity is obviously important to you, and if you also want to get everything on the table up front so that it’s over with, you can do that too!

You may actually make better headway with confused/ignorant family members if you don’t really address what “butch” is or means at all. Like...if you don’t think they’ll understand it, you’re probably right. Instead of getting them worked up and agitated and confused by trying in vain to explain a concept they’re not prepared to understand (and....in my experience, people who think anyone not dressing in a feminine style must be a man are not prepared to understand the nuances of butch identity) you can just....be yourself. Wear the masculine styles you prefer and instead of trying fifty times to explain the difference between butch lesbians and trans men, just say “I like the way they look” or “I like clothes that feel comfortable” or “Clothes from the mens’ section are objectively higher-quality and they match my personal style better--seriously, are you okay? Why does this upset you so much? It’s just the way I like to look.”

As for disrespecting trans men in the process, I think that if you’re worried about doing it you’re not going to. Just calmly say that no, you identify as female, you just don’t like dressing feminine. It might or might not help to say “I promise, if I felt like I was really a man, I would tell you.” You can even break some tension if it feels appropriate (again, I don’t know your family) by pointing out that at this point, with the number of times they’ve asked you that question, it’d be a lot easier if you could just agree and get them to stop badgering you over it! “Some people do feel that way, but I don’t, I just like wearing clothes like this. It’s really not that deep, seriously.”

I’m more soft-butch myself, which may make things easier for me than you if you prefer a more distinctly masculine presentation. One thing that did help me though, and which I discovered by accident: My dad was always Weird And Heterosexual about the clothes I preferred to wear, for the usual reasons--people might judge his parenting if I was visibly different and didn’t “look nice”. He eventually got over it largely because I bought myself cargo pants in the men’s section and some part of his brain lit up because he himself wears nothing but fatigues and he felt some kind of connection. He ordered me a few pairs from the company he generally uses, and I think that sense of me doing something he could be part of helped ease his mind a bit.

I hope some of that helped, and I wish you nothing but the best in coming out to your family. Good luck, stay safe, and I’m always here if you need anything.