#i will say i have never cried easier than i have on testosterone

[muppetmime]

I got this little fozzie wishable and it genuinely made cry. I have never cried because something was so sos cute but now i have. Hes sos smal and so tiny and hes sos light and its just like holding a kitten and theres subtle blushing on his cheekies and AAAAAA

I put him in one of the dice bags i made so i could keep him near my other muppet plushies i have on my bed without getting lost and. I tear up everytime i look at him im not used to this im not usually a crier every but ive been havin a rough time and hes so soft and so sweet and he knows nothin but existing happily and im so glad.

[drill-teeth-art]

Wow! Here’s something incredibly personal.

This is Good Bi Gender. A comic I made to express some feelings I have about my gender. I don’t really have that much else to say about it. Here it is.

[Image Description: A digital comic made with sharp, angular abstract lines and only the colors white, blue, pink, and black. The featured character is all white, except for facial features and hair colors, which changes from panel to panel. The comic reads: Cover Panel: The text "Good Bi Gender", the words colored with the trans flag. It shows a glitchy person's face, half pink and half blue. Panel 1: White text reads: "Hello. My name is apparently irrelevant. And my pronouns are he/him and she/her. But you can't call me she/her. And here's why." Someone with a half-pink and half-blue shirt looks to the side. One eye is covered with hair, and the other eye is pink while the iris is blue.

Panel 2: The character sits happily, imagining facial hair and a masculine voice. "I don't want top surgery. I love my chest. And I dream about being on testosterone someday soon." The character looks at a phone, frowning. The phone shows the male symbol with an "X" through it. Text next to it reads: “People don't seem to think that the features I dream of are very pretty though... Or they think even worse of them than that…”

Panel 3: The character’s features are all pink, and sits in a blank frame. The character reaches over to a blue frame, frowning. “I don't like the animosity. I really despise it.” A photo of the character shows an all-blue frame and blue hair, with pink outlines and facial features. “To be a boy... I aspire to be one. I aspire to be masculine in all its handsomeness. All its prettiness.” Panel 4: The character sits in an all blue panel, but reaches back out to the pink panel. “And I'm still a girl too. I was so excited to have both. To love both. To have handsome femininity. Beautiful masculinity.” The frames break and connect, and pink and blue swirl together. The character smiles in between the frames, with one pink eye and one blue eye. “So excited. And yet I get asked…”

Panel 5: Two hands hold out two different pills to the character, one blue and one pink. They ask “Male? or Female?” using the male and female symbols.The character, facial features an array of pink and blue, looks between the two hands, distressed. “It's both! I'm both! They're not opposites. Not narrow boxes. I say I'm both despite the insistence that I can't be. And I know what I look like. I know I look like a girl to most. I know that if I say people can call me she, that's all I will get from most. Because it's "easier". It "makes more sense". To have my masculinity, I am often forced to be unflinching in it and it alone. To never use she. Because if I don't, I will never get to have he.” [The words "she" and "he" are italicized.] Panel 6: Text reads: “I'm still very happy to be so comfortable in my identity. To know, despite all that, that I am indeed a boy and a girl and both. But you know. Telling people to only use he/him for me. Guarding my masculinity all just to have it. All at the expense of the part of me who is happily and unashamedly a girl.” The character cries from one pink eye, the other hidden. The character holds a pink girl in a sea of blue, the girl crying out. In the midst of the blue, text reads: “Well, it fucking breaks her heart.” End ID]

Edit: @starberry-skies wrote an ID for the comic, so I added it to the og post with its permission!

[bitletsanddrabbles]

Okay, I lied. One last post before I take that much needed mental health break.

A post that I always swore - back before you could turn off reblogs and mute comments and basically make the lives of would be trolls very pointless, because you will never see what they say - I would never be stupid enough to make.

I leave you with my essay on…

Why Sparkly Vampires Make Perfect Sense, Stephanie Meyer Just Went About It All Wrong

Let's face it, humans don't always know what we're looking at. As an example, I was reading a book about poison use in royal courts. In the section on cures, in the subsection on unicorn horn (alicorn, for the technical term), it mentioned how the people who procured this rare substance were somewhat baffled by the fact that at the end of their lives the unicorn (which lived in such places as Africa, Persia, India, etc.) would migrate to the far north to die on the beaches of the arctic sea. Now, in their defense, it's very unlikely that any of these individuals would be well traveled enough to have even the opportunity to see both a live unicorn and a dead one. If they had, they might have had an easier time realizing 'these are two different animals!'. But the point still stands.

Humans don't always know what we're looking at.

Now, if you go through folk lore and mythology, you will, of course, find horrible blood sucking fiends that drain innocents of their life. Vampires. You will also find lots of entities which emit an ethereal luminescence or radiant glow, entities which possess powers beyond mortal understanding, who can be benign or terrible, and who are known to abscond with humans, although we're certain these humans are safe and happy on Olympus or under the green hill, not dead like they'd be with those blood suckers.

No one who had not seen both Apollo, God of the Sun, and the horrible vampire who chowed down on the neighbor two doors down would realize: they're the same entity.

To make it even harder for the poor mortals (and easier for the vampires!), vampires look different in different lighting conditions. After all, something that sparkles in the sunlight will also sparkle in the moonlight, the firelight, etc., it's just a matter of degrees. So some vampires would hang out in moonlit glens, for that 'fairy of the moonlight' feel, while others would set themselves up in temples with a many fires as they could manage. I mean, if you're going to call yourself Apollo, God of the Sun, you had better be all sparkle all of the time! Top all of this off with mind reading ability that lets traveling vampires fit into the local not-vampire-vampire mythos and yeah, the humans don't stand a chance.

It's great! Things are wonderful! Even if someone does see you devour a hapless victim and run screaming 'vampire' in the town, you can always just eat them next. No big deal. Only the stupid and careless are in real danger.

And then…

CALAMITY!

The head of the Roman Empire, that militant mass of well armed testosterone (and a bunch of less important people), converts to Christianity and proclaims there's only one god who is…not you.

Well shit.

Of course, if you're a lesser known vampire you can pass yourself off as an "Angel of the Lord" in a quick pinch, as long as you're talking to a peasant who's too illiterate to realize you're lacking in the eye and wing department (good news - this is most everyone), but you can't do that too often. And if everyone knows you as Apollo, God of the Sun?

Sucks to be you. You now have a bunch of very militant fundamentalists armed with sharp, pointy implements of destruction chasing after you with cries of 'demon' and 'false god'. Even with your supernatural speed, getting away from them is made far more difficult by the fact they can see you glittering from the other side of the market.

This is where vampires went nocturnal, since moonlight is less sparkle inducing than the sun. Then, since even that gets risky, they slowly moved into caves and cemeteries and the occasional creepy old castle that no sane person would enter without an explicit invitation to dinner, or for a real estate job. Something like that.

The next millennium was pretty dire. The millennium after that was…okay, also pretty dire, until suddenly, at the end of the twentieth century, a miracle! A remarkable shift brought about a change that would once again free vampires from their castles and cemeteries and allow them to walk safely among humans!

But they wouldn't go creeping off to the sun starved, water logged boonies of the Olympic rain forest. Oh hell no! They would go to the cities, to Soho, to Broadway, to places where they could strut proudly down the street to the envious stares of mortals and cries of "Damn, I wish I looked that good in body glitter!"

[stararch4ngelqueen]

love love LOVE your blog!! do you have any dad! jason hcs 🤕

I have a few in mind. I’ve had an awful day so this will be short, I’ll keep these stuck on infancy hcs 🥰 now I’m gonna escape to c.ai 🏃🏽‍♀️

—

Jason loves kids. He holds this automatic tendency to treat them a whole lot better than how he was treated at such a young, vulnerable age.

Babies though? He thinks babies are ugly. Not ugly as in snot nosed little freaky crybabies (which he does think,) but he finds it funny how newborns look angry all the time. Like they’re judging the world before they can even understand it.

Telling him he’s going to be a father is a complete stun on his mind. Him? A dad? Are you serious?

It takes him a good second to register this, and a second longer to realize that you’re not joking. That their isn’t a hidden button to change the plus sign to negative.

He’s forced to acknowledge the fears he realizes he didn’t acknowledge before about being a father. He knew all of what not to do, but very little about how to do it right.

How is he going to raise a child if the way he was raised was completely different?

He will overprepare. Books, supplies, all the good stuff. A part of him believes it was gonna be a girl, somehow fooling himself into thinking that would be easier, but to his surprise, it’s a boy. The line of testosterone continues on, it seems.

Once his baby is placed into his arms, two things become incredibly clear.

His baby isn’t ugly.

His baby… is gorgeous.

His son has incredible; a six and a half pound child fitting perfectly into his own two hands. Sleek black hair wildly nestled underneath his little blue newborn cap. His pudgy cheeks flushed with color, with bright red quivering lips preparing to bellow out a series of cries.

He’s never heard a more incredible sound. How did something so innocent and blissfully unaware of this damaged, inhumane world come from someone like him? Damaged, inhumane..

His chest flutters with butterflies and bees dancing in the prison of his rib cage for days, his eyes attached to his son nearly every second of every day in that hospital room.

Whether you bottle fed or breast fed, Jason would keep nestled beside you with a tilted head and small smile, admiring how those little fingers mindlessly clenched on nothing.

“His fingers are so fat,” Jason’s smile grows with his words. He extends one of his own fingers onto his son’s tiny palm, marveling at said fat little fingers merely managing to wrap around the tip of his index.

“He’s got your nose,” you’d whisper, watching Jason’s eyes form hearts. “And your hair. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up with your eyes, too.”

“Yeah,” Jason whispers before proceeding to nod. “Yeah. Course he’s not ugly, takes after his dad after all.”

He wouldn’t want the others to come see you or the baby just yet, even after getting discharged from the hospital. He wants time to adjust, time to settle into this new routine, this new reality. He wants the love of his life to recover comfortably at home, merely thanking you every morning and every night for gifting him such a precious, innocent little boy.

It amazes Jason to see just how easily his son calms down in the presence of his father. You’d get jealous, as sometimes it took you a little longer to calm him down, but Jason was a master of reassurance.

“Relax, he’s always gonna be a momma’s boy. Can see it already.”

It runs in the family, but he’s not gonna say that,

You’ll never know that Jason wakes up in the middle of the night before his son’s first few cries. You’ll never hear how he trudges over towards the kitchen with his newborn in hand, lightly rocking his baby on his shoulder as a bottle warms up inside a small machine.

The opportunity will be incredibly rare for you to wake up and catch sight of Jason sitting back in his recliner, cradling his sleeping son against his chest. Such a small, tiny head resting over his heart, over the crosscut of his silvery scar.

He hums to his son, his lightly rumbling chest keeping the baby in a four hour slumber. Jason doesn’t want him to grow up, doesn’t want him to learn his first steps and learn to talk, but does wish that more than anything at the same time.

The more his son grows to learn these life skills, the more successful Jason will feel. He will reach achievements his parents never did, putting in the effort his parents failed to accomplish. You believe with each success, big or small, will help Jason believe he isn’t the monster he thinks he is.

He already knows it. His son is living proof of it, one he’ll protect with his life if he has to.

[hydeingpurples]

Hey man! I always love hearing about others’ transition. I’m a trans guy myself who is just now identifying that way very recently and is navigating getting ready to start T and top surgery whenever I’m able as I am saving up. I’d love to hear about your journey and where you are now. 😊

🏳️‍⚧️ Testosterone and Top Surgery 🏳️‍⚧️ (UK) : Discovering Myself, Hormones, Top surgery, Where I Am Now

Hey buddy! I'm more than happy to tell my story so far. I'll pack as much into this post as I can, as it may be helpful to others too, so it may be a bit long, but I'll do it in sections 😊

🕵🏻 Discovering Myself 🧐

This bit was tough. I think it is for a lot of us. I knew deep down for several years that I wasn't a girl. I was terrified of the thoughts that were buzzing around my head, terrified of the things I was feeling. I buried it so deep. At university, I started to let go a bit. Friends around me came out as non-binary and trans, I figured it wasn't so bad. I experimented with pronouns and identities, and eventually I admitted to myself that I was just a guy. I came out to my family aged 21 by letter and it went really well.

Things were still a bit scary though. Trying a binder on for the first time was both exciting and daunting. It felt so freeing and right, but scary too because it meant that, maybe, I needed to get rid of my chest.

💊 Hormones 💉

Over time, the dysphoria got worse and worse. I was becoming extremely jealous of my best friend who was on testosterone (T) and features that other men had that I didn't. I struggled most with my period. At its worst, I spent hours in my flat toilet and the toilets at work crying and withering in disgust and vile discomfort. I'll never forget those feelings.

I knew I'd make it to the other end though one day because my friend had. And, fortunately, April 2023, that day came.

📝 Testosterone Prescription 😄

After jumping through a load of loopholes and sending my blood tests off, my GP/Doctor booked me an appointment. I thought it was just to talk to me about my blood tests.

I sat down and he talked to me for a bit. Nothing much, nothing special. Then, he started printing something out. He whipped it from the printer and handed me this lil slip of paper. It was a prescription letter.

You know how people say the world can stop? Or go in slow motion? That's exactly what happened. I must have spent an entire lifetime staring down in silence, in awe, at this little piece of paper. My eyes were welling up with joy. I looked at him and all I could do was thank him, over and over and over again. A great smile beamed on his face.

Upon leaving, everything was blurry. It was like I had tunnel vision. All I could see was this piece of paper. I stormed out of the building, called my Mom, and violently cried with joy.

"Slow down, I can't understand you", she said.

"I've got it. I've got it. I have a testosterone prescription!" I spluttered.

It took me a while to calm down, haha. I've never been so joyous.

🌱 Testosterone Effects Timeline 📊

⚠️Please note everyone's changes, intensity of changes, and rates of changes are different⚠️

Week 1: no voice drop, but my throat felt different; increased discharge downstairs; a little sweatier and took me longer to cool down.

Week 2-3: some hot flashes but not many; needed bigger meals.

After 1 month: period stopped (🥳); small amount of increased hair growth on legs; head hair started growing faster; more and slightly more intense hot flashes; subtle voice changes, easier to talk at my lowest level.

2 months: stamina increase, longer work time and shorter recovery time; voice slightly deeper; upper lip hair started coming through darker; increased peach fuzz hair growth on face, arms, legs, stomach, especially legs; increased spots on back.

Up to 6 months: how I felt and processed emotions changed (found it A LOT easier to process emotions, less chaotic mind); even more hair growth and a few random beard hairs; further stamina increase; my sweat and pee changed how they smelt which was weird; further voice changes; sometimes I had sudden bouts of strong hunger but not often.

Up to 12 months: increased downstairs discharge stopped; even more body hair (thicker, darker, curly), especially on legs; a few more beard hairs on chin; back spots decreased; voice a little deeper; face shape changes, boarder shoulders.

Up to 17 months (now): almost every area on my legs is hair; hair growth on butt and up butt; a few more beard hairs (that grow back pretty quick after shaving); warmer, more and longer got flashes, difficulties cooling down (I'm also extremely heat averse though so 🤷🏻); masculinising hairline (i.e receding at the front to look more masculine); much more noticeable voice changes, difficulties reaching higher tones, much easier to talk low.

Extra: I haven't experienced any bottom growth or change in libido at all. I've identified as asexual for a while now and still do, no changes at all. It's fairly common to experience bottom growth and some report a change in libido too, I just haven't 🤷🏻

🧑🏻‍⚕️ Top Surgery 😷 - double incision

I was terrified I wasn't going to get to this stage. I moved from Wales to England and both have different medical systems, so I was petrified of my surgery referral getting lost.

Fortunately, it didn't get lost. Once it was booked in, I had my consultation where I met the surgeon and her team, I was measured, told about the process and what could go wrong and what the solutions were.

Now I had a new fear: was this right? The self doubt was ridiculous. What if I regretted it? What if I hated my results?

The morning of the surgery answered these questions. My plan was that if it felt wrong on the morning, I knew I had the power to back out.

At 8:30am I was called to my surgery. I wrapped my arms around my Mom, a giant smile swallowing my face, and I said, "see you later!", and pranced down the corridor with the nurse. I was SO excited.

Going under anaesthetic was perfectly alright. It was insanely fast which I wasn't expecting. They started the anaesthetic and all I had time for was a few sentences before I was out.

🛏️ Recovery 🏥

💫I've got a big list of tips and tricks for top surgery recovery which might be best for another post because it's huge💫

Recovery actually wasn't too bad. When I woke up, the only discomfort I felt was a prickly feeling around the surgery site which they quickly sorted with painkillers. The day after anaesthetic was a bit rocky, I slept a lot and felt a bit icky, basically like a hangover. After that, all I felt was a dull aching in my abdomen for 3/4 days, otherwise no pain. I couldn't actually feel anything around my nipples or incisions, it was totally numb. The trickiest part was actually keeping myself busy so my Tourette's didn't damage the surgery site.

Once things had healed up a bit more and my stitches were out/dissolved away, I really started to appreciate my new chest. Unlike some people, I didn't have a super euphoria moment. For me, it's simply been total peace and relief since. I no longer think about my chest in any capacity. It feels natural, normal, right, and that, to me, means it was absolutely the right decision. It was what I needed.

🙋🏻 Where am I Now? 🙋🏻

It's been just over 10 months since my top surgery and my scars are fading very well. I'm very happy with the results. I've regained a substantial amount of sensation too in both my nipples and the incision scars. I've done a huge amount of scary care which I'm happy to talk about in another post so this one doesn't get any longer.

I'm fortunate enough to have had all of my records changed, I have a male passport, and I recently passed my driving test and have a full driver's license with my new name on it!

But, I think more importantly, I now feel more confident, I care about what I wear and how I look, I've found my style and what I like to wear, I look after my personal hygiene, and I feel like myself.

And that is where I am now 😊

I hope you've found this helpful in some way. There's a lot of information here. It was nice to type that story out. If you'd like anything else in more detail or have any questions, go for it!

[sunnydaze03]

4/3/24- week one

i totally neglected updating this when i should’ve, but this first week has been breathtaking. i’ll get to the point- this is the absolute best decision i’ve ever made. for the past week, i’ve lived in this unwavering sensation of shock and awe. i got an email saying my package had delivered, and i sprinted to the mailbox, and i picked it up and it was tangible. like, physically there. my heart started pounding and i ran back to my room and cut open each box, and my hormones were there. and there i went, panic texting my friends because this is *fucking* real now and i can’t even process it. i waited about 10 minutes to take it all in before i put the first pill underneath my tongue and let it dissolve for the first time. and with that, it began. now, i do want to list off the things i’ve noticed physically, emotionally, and mentally because things have certainly changed, but please keep in mind i am only a week in on a relatively low dose; everything has been quite minor.

physically, i don’t feel too different, but i notice my body changing minutely. my skin is definitely softer than it was a few days ago, and my acne seems to have calmed down. the downside of that is how dry my skin seems to get now, and i feel itchy if i haven’t moisturized. i feel like my eyes appear brighter, but that has more to do with feeling a bit happier than before. besides that, my nipples seem slightly darker and it definitely feels like there’s some fat behind them that wasn’t there. it isn’t significant!! i can just tell something is happening. they hurt just the tiniest amount, but you can tell something is off.

emotionally! wow, this one is the biggest, i think. the night that i started hormones, my mind was just so quiet for what felt like the first time since i was a kid- or even just ever. it’s indescribable, and that is the best thing i could’ve asked for. it’s hard to say whether that came from me being on hormones for literally 8 hours or the relief of finally starting my transition. regardless, it was just bliss. i was giddy the next day. colors look brighter, problem-solving is easier, i feel alive and it’s a pleasure to exist inside my mind, generally speaking. now, i haven’t felt any uncontrollable emotions yet, though i can still get quite angry if i let myself, which i was hoping would not be the case. june lore, though- i perform music in our local circuit (vague on purpose!!), and i was really struggling to pull out the emotions from our show, but the first time i performed it for a crowd since starting hrt, i almost cried, and it felt amazing. i haven’t felt it since, though, and i wish i have, but i’m confident it’ll come back. emotions are one of those things that unfold at a different pace for everyone on hrt, and i won’t worry about it. all in all, it’s like this sparkly pink filter is constantly overlaying my life. it’s bliss.

finally, mentally. i’ve made a few revelations while being on hormones. the biggest is what i already figured would be the case: many of my problems regarding myself have improved significantly, partially because of the emotional aspect of hrt, and partially because i know i’m no longer fighting against testosterone further developing the things i couldn’t stand against myself. but my external problems haven’t gone. they feel so much easier to face, but they’re still there, and those problems are up to me to fix. i feel less prone to giving up, within the parameters of what hrt will allow. i have noticed that my depression isn’t just gone. it’s so much better, but it’s still there. i still know i can give up if ever i chose to, but now i feel even more obligated to hold on. it’s weird, last night was something of a dark one, but never did my mind stray too far- it’s weird.

i guess to conclude, the only thing i really have to add is that hrt is lifesaving. i’m not even sure i’d be here to type this right now without it’s intervention. i decided this myself, and i made it happen myself. i know now since i made it this far that i can’t stop moving. this is my life now, and no person or government on the planet can *ever* make me give it up.

[lekrow]

A little sketch drawn while thinking about my experience with my first year+ of hrt during 2020 and my struggle to reconnect with my emotions.

I started testosterone in mid December 2019. Around that time and prior I was in a good place mentally and pretty in tune with my emotions/thought processes. 3 months later the pandemic really started to affect my area and we went into indefinite isolation. To make a long and likely familiar story short, I didn’t cope in the healthiest of ways throughout last year, mostly disassociating to survive. And, like a lot of people, I still haven’t fully processed a lot of last year.

What does this have to do with testosterone? Well, to some extent I knew that hrt might alter how I feel things but I never really had much of a chance to discover how. Rather than a small scale event comparable to one I’d endured before that could help me recognize and understand how hrt affected my feelings, I was thrown into a year of international and national crises that was totally different from anything I’d ever experienced. There was no way for me to truly discern in this new, devastating situation that I had no control over if my reactions and feelings were affected by my hormones. It was like being put into a foreign vehicle and having to figure out how to drive it on the Autobahn (while it was on fire).

The day I got my first shot, the friend driving me to the clinic said her son had told her after he’d started T that he couldn’t cry. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but I’ve heard other folks on T say the same and now I can as well. Prior to hrt I was a healthy crier. I cried when I was sad and cried at sad movies or books or music. In all of 2020 I cried once and even then it was a challenge. Yesterday, before I sat down and drew this, I was feeling pretty down and thought “I miss crying.” Not that I ever enjoyed it, but it was cathartic. It was easier to feel and release a feeling. It goes without saying that I wouldn’t trade it for the testosterone; it’s just something I have to learn to cope without.

I know I don’t post new art often these days and that this type of art isn’t normal for me when I do post regularly, so sorry if this is all out of left field. I’m in a pretty rotten place mentally (I’ll be ok) and don’t have energy for most things, but openly expressing, recognizing, and analyzing these feelings is part of healing and learning to reconnect with my emotions. I’m trying to get into therapy too, but in the interim (and after) I know I need to do what I can to help myself. If you’ve read all this, thanks for taking the time to do so. I appreciate it.

[mourntheantagonist]

part two to this bc y’all seem to love billy in lingerie as much as I do...

but you know, it’s me...

angst ahead

also on ao3

***

That little lace teddy sat in his drawer with the tags still on. Well, not his drawer. Not the one at his house. The one he had at Steve’s house. Which was weird to think about. Having his own drawer in Steve’s dresser. A dent that he filled with underwear and socks and spare clothes and that fucking lace teddy Steve bought for him. The one he nervously asked for. The one he lets sit there in the drawer to collect dust. Because he’s terrified.

He wanted so badly to put it on. To feel the lace against his skin. Feel the tightness in his crotch as he tucked his dick into the fabric meant for a woman. Let his hair down and just look at himself in the mirror. See his rough and tough exterior wrapped in a soft mesh. He wanted to feel beautiful. Masculine and feminine all in the same.

But he felt like everything would change once he put the thing on. Years and years of his life spent sharpening his edges until he was almost painful to the touch. Keeping himself as sharp as possible so he’d have a form of defense at all times. But every time you sharpen something, you lose a piece in the process. Wearing yourself down each and every time. Sometimes until there’s nothing left. Sometimes until you broke.

Steve helped to blur some of his harsh edges. Sharp corners rounded and safe to touch. But he still maintained remnants of past efforts. Rooted deep inside of him and exerted outwardly all the way to just his appearance. Just in the way he moved through life as a razor blade.

This hunk of fabric could be the thing to dull him out. Soft around the edges, gentle to the touch. Not the Billy Hargrove he’d so carefully curated. Overly masculine manly man. Five-foot-ten of pure testosterone.

It was exhausting to be that person. But at the same time, he wasn’t ready to let that person go. Because he has no idea who he is other than what he’s told other people. If he decides to let that person go, who will he be after? Will he like this person better?

Will Steve like this person better?

That was the other thing.

Steve.

Steve bought it for him. Yet Billy was terrified of letting Steve see him wearing it. Even though he knew he wouldn’t judge him. Even though he knew he wouldn’t laugh at him. It didn’t matter. Because Steve would see him. Him. Not the Billy who used violence as a way of making a point. Not the Billy who blasted heavy metal in his car as he put the pedal to the floor. He’d see the Billy who could finally breathe. The Billy whose dream as a kid was always to fall in love. The Billy who wore jewelry and his hair long because it made him feel pretty.

He’d see the Billy who could finally breathe.

But his lungs would be sitting in Steve’s hands.

He could easily crush them.

Steve never asked about it. He could sense something wrong every time Billy opened the drawer to get out a change of clothes. Pausing. Staring. Shifting things around until he would slam it shut.

He was a little disappointed after the first week went by and Billy hadn’t tried it on. He wanted to ask about it. Ask him to try it on for him. Show some interest.

But there was a glint in his eye when he looked at it in the store. Something that told him that this wasn’t something he was wanting for Steve. Not something he wanted just to show Steve. It felt more personal to him. Something private. Something he would share when he was ready.

So Steve didn’t push. Didn’t ask about it. Didn’t pry.

He did little things instead.

Everytime Billy left, he’d move it to the top of the drawer. Folded nice and neatly. Visible as soon as he opened it. Billy would hide it under his jeans every time.

It was a way to tell him it was okay without actually saying it. Without confrontation. Something Billy would notice but not have to respond to. An easy out.

And then there comes a moment. Billy spilled his drink all down the front of his shirt after Steve jumped onto him. With a laugh he excused himself to go upstairs to his room to clean off and change.

And sure enough when he opened his drawer it was right there on top of everything.

The only difference this time was that he was alone.

And before he even had the time to think about what he was doing he was pulling the garment from the drawer and closing the bathroom door behind him.

He stripped off his wet shirt and jeans until he was standing in front of the mirror in nothing but his briefs. He held the teddy by the straps with only one finger each, almost like it might burn him.

He inspected it carefully. Delicate. Like a flower. Not like Billy.

The next step was taking off the tag. A simple task that felt impossible. Another point at which he wouldn’t be able to turn back.

He clenched his teeth and pulled it off. Letting paper and plastic drop to the bathroom floor.

The teddy was a dark green. Emerald. Sheer all the way up and down with little flower embroideries decorating it. There were little ribbons in the back to tie it up so it would fit his form.

He pulled off his underwear. Let them drop to the floor.

He turned himself away from the mirror, and pulled on. Slowly. One leg at a time. Carefully pulling the straps over his shoulders. Tucking his dick back and shifting the fabric until he was mostly covered. Tightening the strings in the back until it was tight all around him, and he could feel every inch of it against his body.

He looked down at himself, back still turned to the mirror. Tracing fingers up and down the lace and gazing at his appearance. Looking at himself in the teddy like he was looking at someone else wearing it. Made it a little easier. No face attached to the body.

It was loose around his chest, tight around his groin. But still it looked nice. It felt nice.

And then he turned around.

And he broke down.

Because it was him looking back at himself in the mirror.

Him.

He collapsed onto the floor. Shaking. Breathing heavily. Choking on tears.

He wasn’t sad.

He was completely overwhelmed.

And he didn’t know what to do.

He brought his knees to his chest and his hands to his ears and just let himself cry. Quiet as possible. The only sounds escaping him being the sounds of uneven breaths and sniffling through the nose.

Then there’s a knock.

“Billy?” It’s muffled through the door. Just the sound of Steve’s voice ends his streak of silence. A sob escaping passed his lips.

“You’ve been in there a while. Are you okay?”

Billy doesn’t answer. Continues to wipe away at continuously forming tears like it will do anything and holds his breath to quiet his cries.

“I’m coming in, okay?”

Billy shakes his head, even though Steve can’t see it. Even though he knew if he did Steve would come in anyway.

Steve is quickly kneeling in front of him. Hands finding their way to his cheeks, gently holding his face in his hands as he makes Billy look his way. But his eyes are closed.

He can’t look at him.

He’s holding his lungs in his hands.

“Breathe.” He says.

Thumbing away at tears he demonstrates. Deep breath in and out. Over and over again until Billy matches his rhythm. Slow yet shaky breaths. But he’s breathing.

Steve takes a good look at Billy’s appearance while Billy calms down. Not really realizing until then what Billy has on. The dark green contrasting nicely under tan skin. He looks good. He looks really good.

He moves his hands down, tracing the curves of Billy’s waist. Lace fabric brushing against his palms. Billy’s breath hitches. And he looks at Steve. He finally looks at Steve with open eyes. And Steve looks back at him and smiles.

“You look beautiful.”

next part

[adg1115]

I Need Your Help Ronnie

"Veronica, you better get up now or you are going to be late for school."

"Ummph," I mumbled into my pillow as I turned my head towards where my dad's voice came. I didn't get much sleep last night. Every time I closed my eyes, Lilly would come visit me. This is not the first time she came to give me some afterlife guidance. The first time she appeared to me, I cried for three hours straight. Now, I have gotten used to seeing her face in my dreams and usually it is comforting. She always looks so peaceful in my dreams - like an angel.

Lilly tried to remind me of the good times I had with Logan. Like the time my mom was so drunk she forgot to come pick me up from pep squad practice. Lilly and Duncan were out of town and my dad was still at work. When Logan picked me up he could tell how upset I was so he took me to the boardwalk and filled me full of junk food. We stayed out until my legs couldn't move anymore then drove home in silence. Before I headed into my house, he told me that anytime I needed another day at the boardwalk he would gladly oblige. Every time my mother drunk herself into a stupor, he was always a phone call away. We never had to talk about why he was there.

"Veronica get up now!"

"I'm up!" I yelled dragging myself out of bed and into the kitchen. "I don't smell bacon."

"Did you not sleep well dear?" My dad asked completely ignoring my need for bacon. He stepped closer to me to exam the dark circles under my eyes.

"Eh, what is this sleep you speak of?"

"What's going on Veronica?" Dad asked in his fatherly tone.

"Ahh the usual-late night out with Chico and Tyrone. Hmmm, those boys," I said trying to distract dad. Yeah I know I should probably tell him. Oh nothing is going on dad except being visited by my dead best friend's ghost who is trying to convince me to ease up on the guy who made the last year of my life a living hell and take his case of the missing offspring. Yeah, I don't think so.

"Veronica."

"Seriously, it's nothing dad. I was just up late studying last night." Which wasn't a total lie, I did read a page from my English assignment.

"Whatever you say honey," dad said as he kissed the top of my head. "I got a lead on a bail jumper in Nevada and I will be heading out after I run by the office. Or I could stay…"

"No. Go. I'm fine," I said as I shooed dad out the house. I really didn't want to be alone but I also really really didn't want to talk about my feelings.

I had done my best to find Logan the next day at school. If he himself wouldn't have come to me begging for help, I would have thought he wanted nothing to do with me. I knew how much this would mean to Logan. He used to talk to about how he would marry Lilly and have several children causing their own chaos out in the world.

On my way to my locker after lunch I spotted him. Maybe I could take longer at my locker than usual and corner him before the tardy bell rung for next period. Or I could cowboy up and just talk to him, since he does need my help.

"Hey. Can I talk to you?" I asked Logan. I'm sure he and his toadies were discussing what 'bitchin' party they were going to this weekend or what 'gnarly' waves they were going to surf. I could honestly care less. And the fact that I had to breathe in the same air as those uptight '09ers made this interaction even less appealing.

He turned towards me with an evil smirk on his face. Oh shit. "I just can't take the begging. I'll relent, just once - but no cuddling after, and I won't call you in the morning." Oh and there he is ladies and gentlemen! Logan Echolls, jackass extraordinaire. I know it's his defense mechanism and I shouldn't probably bring this up in front of his groupies but his avoiding me wouldn't bring his kid home any faster.

"Smooth Echolls. Just forget about it, I can't believe I was actually feeling sorry for you." I didn't give him time to respond as I headed to my next class. If he wanted to act like he didn't need my help, I would play right along with him.

Once school let out I headed to dad's office to print out a billing sheet stating exactly what the cost of my services would be. Ha Logan would get a kick out of that! I put all the paperwork in a manila envelope and headed over to the Echolls estate. The sooner I started this the sooner it would be over.

The last time I was at Logan's house was the day of Lilly's funeral. Logan and I just sat around stuffing our faces with junk food and watching movies. Neither one of us spoke about the fact we just lowered my best friend or the love of his life down in the ground. It was all surreal walking back to the pool house where Mrs. Navarro said Logan would be. And of course there he was wasting all his brain cells on a mindless video game. His stupidity made so much sense now.

"I love the smell of testosterone in the evening."

"This is why I suggested attack dogs. But no, my mother wanted an alpaca." I could tell he was mad at me but at this point I really didn't care.

"I brought some paperwork dealing with your case. If we could just go over a couple of points, I will begin the search for your daughter."

That sure got his attention and he was across the room in a second grabbing the top of my arm leading me further into the pool house slamming the door behind us.

"God Veronica, do you know what my dad will do if he hears about this? Or do you just not care anymore?"

"I wasn't trying to get you in trouble Logan but until you talk to me about this, there is nothing I can do for you. I seem to recall trying in school but that didn't work either." I gave him my best 'innocent' face. "Can we please just talk about this so I can get back to work and you can get back to whatever it is you are doing?"

He led me over to where a poker table was set up and took a seat right next to mine. You could cut the tension with a knife and I honestly hated that but I didn't know how to act around him anymore. He wasn't the Logan that was my best friend. He was damaged. Hell, we both are.

Besides the occasional head nod and grunt of agreement there was hardly any response from Logan. He shut down on me and I was glad for that. It would make my job so much easier.

"This is a list of my cost depending on which services you are looking for." That brought a small smile to his face. "Since its obvious you don't want to be seen with me at school or in public, I think it will best if we don't contact each other unless we have something of importance to share."

"Ronnie it wasn't like that."

"Logan this is for the best. We will keep it professional."

His face fell a little and I almost wanted to apologize – almost.

"Fine Veronica, just let me know as soon as you find something out." And with that he was up and showing me to the door.

That night I had trouble sleeping again. I hated the fact Logan got himself into this situation and came to me for help but what I hated the most was that I wasn't there for him when he needed someone. He couldn't turn to his parents and his friends were only his friends because of his status and money. His only real friend left is Duncan but he was lost somewhere inside his head and never came out to play.

Since I wouldn't be getting any sleep, I figured it wouldn't hurt to start on his case. As I guessed, not much came back on his summer lover, Amanda Washington. He was unsure of her father's name but knew her mother's name was something like Cindy or Candy or Bambi, your typical trophy wife name. I would get my dad to run Amanda's cell phone number tomorrow and see what came of that.

"You look rough, supafly." Along with trying to solve the case of the missing Echolls, I also was helping my dad with some of his cases he got backed up on, studying for upcoming first semester midterms, and trying to prove that the best teacher in school did, in fact, not have sex with that skank Carrie Bishop. Sleep was only something I could wish for.

"Thanks." I mumbled out to my best friend.

"Hey, listen I'm not going to be around at lunch but maybe we can hang out later. I know you are missing you some bff time."

"Yeah that sounds good Wallace," I said as Wallace practically skipped down the hall. That boy was much too happy for it being as early as it was. When I opened my locker, I noticed a folded piece of paper stuck between my books. A love note perhaps? More like hate mail.

Meet me in your office fourth period. That's all the mystery note said. Three guesses as to who the note was from the first two don't count.

[sohotthateveryonedied]

got any trans!tim headcanons for us babe?

I’m shocked that I haven’t done any trans Tim stuff yet?? I’ve thought about it a lot but have never actually written it down which is a CRIME. Anyways, last night I sent Julie a ton of ideas about it so I could cherry pick from that and make this post, but apparently I have a big brain because I came up with a whole darn lot. So all of this is only like, a third of what I came up with:

☆ Tim has felt like a boy his whole life, but I don’t think he actually finds out that being transgender is a thing until ten years old or so? And he knows his parents will disapprove since they’re part of Gotham’s elite, which means they’re stuffy old rich people who look down on anyone who doesn’t conform to society’s expectations. So Tim stays in the closet. 

☆ At least one of the few upsides to his parents being gone on trips all the time is that it’s easier for Tim to act and look the way he wants. He keeps his hair floppy; long enough that no one will think twice, but short enough that it can’t be considered “girly” either. 

☆ When Bruce makes him the new Robin, Tim asks if he can do it while still wearing a masculine version of the costume. He justifies it as, “Everyone knows Robin is a boy, so this way no one will know what happened to Jason.” 

☆ And he loves being Robin. Not only because it’s awesome, but because he feels more like himself in that uniform than he does in his own clothes. The armor hides his chest and curves, and whenever someone calls him the “Boy Wonder” he can’t help but grin. 

☆ He doesn’t tell the Waynes he’s a boy for a long time, though. Mainly because he’s been struggling with this his entire life—feeling like a stranger in his own skin—but he also grew up in the rich, white part of Gotham. He’s heard his parents’ friends at parties talking about people like him, calling them unnatural and messed up, and it makes him hate himself for being this way even though he can’t change it no matter how hard he tries. 

☆  And because Bruce is Bruce, of course he already has a feeling that Tim doesn’t identify as a girl, but he’s not about to go and ask the kid—he’s too emotionally stunted for that. Dick isn’t, though. And Dick also notices how uncomfortable Tim gets when they call him by his birth name or use “she/her” pronouns for him. So he decides to do something about it. 

☆ One day Tim is reading a comic in his room at the manor when Dick drops by. “Hey, kid? I wanted to run something by you, if that’s okay.” 

☆ He sits next to Tim. “So I was thinking about how before Wally got top surgery, he used to wear this thing called a binder? It’s supposed to make your chest area seem flatter, more like a boy’s, and I thought you might be interested. For the Robin thing, of course.” 

☆ Tim lights up. “Really?”

☆ “I was planning on going shopping today anyway, so do you wanna come with? We can get you some new clothes too.” 

☆ Tim ends that day with a goldmine of binders along with some new, more masculine clothing. During the shopping trip Dick never pries too much or asks too many questions, so Tim doesn’t bring it up either. And if Bruce notices anything odd about Tim training in one of his new athletic binders later on, he says nothing about it. 

☆ A couple weeks later, he asks if everyone can start calling him Tim. None of them question it, and they don’t slip up a single time from then on. The first time Alfred calls him “Master Tim” he nearly cries. And Barbara offers to have his name changed in his schools records. 

☆ Tim, coming up with his new middle name: “Well my dad is Jack, and I’m his son, so........Jackson.” Bruce: *heavy sigh* “Whatever makes you happy.”

☆ Eventually Bruce asks Tim if he wants to start taking testosterone, but Tim’s not sure because he doesn’t know how his dad will react if he wakes up from his coma and learns that his daughter is actually his son. 

☆ “What if he hates me? What if he gets mad and kicks me out?”

☆ “If he does,” Bruce says, “then you’ll always have a place to stay with us. And regardless, this isn’t supposed to be about him. If taking hormones is going to help you feel more like yourself, then I want you to have that opportunity, no matter what anyone else says.” So Tim agrees and starts taking hormones, and he feels better than he has in years. 

[gnot-that-gender]

3rd February 2020

8 weeks on testosterone.

Hi all. Time for an update.

It's been 2 months now. I haven't posted anything because...well...not much has happened. I know progress with hormones is slow but fucking hell.

Content warning for body ickiness, menstruation, genital talk.

General Stuff

I mentioned in my 20th of December 2019 update that my weight and body fat measurements had changed. So here's an update.

Chart as before.

I have put on a lot of weight now and tbh I'm not sure why. My appetite has weakened a lot. I'm snacking a lot less and having more regular meals (which isn't to do with hormones and more to do with me recovering from eating disorder).

I am however drinking a LOT of water. Thorsty boy.

Talking of thirsty....

Sex Drive

Not sure how much people on here know about me, but I'm a sex favourable asexual guy. I have experienced sexual attraction but...rarely and not consistent to people so I dunno what's going on.

I also usually had a very low libido. In the past year my libido had been going up naturally, and as is typical with testosterone it now has had a boost as well. I don't feel necessarily any bigger drive to have sexual contact with others, but knowing it's easier to turn me on had had me curious as to if I could be more casual about sex, despite not having sexual attraction. I won't go into it but it's been interesting.

Genitals

Hi again! It felt like my growth had stopped but recently taken another look and I don't think you could look at it and think it belongs to a cis woman. The head now peeks out of the foreskin most of the time and I can pull it back to reveal the whole head which is very bright pink. I know a lot of guys complain about over sensitive genitals at this time but such hasn't been the case for me. But then I have quite a bit of fat and hair down there so that's probably keeping me protected. Though touching the head doesn't feel overwhelming like it used to before I was on T.

Menstruation wise, still regular as clockwork. Lasting longer than they did before (used to be 3 days, now 5 or 6) and now I get period pains which is!!! Not fucking nice considering I have been very lucky to miss them most of my life.

Skin

My skin is maybe getting a bit oily. I have regular spots on my face but nothing too dramatic. Eczema is in full force but again I keep forgetting to take my antihistamines so that is probably the culprit. I might invest in something to help.

Hair

My hair has definitely become more greasy. It used to cycle between feeling soft and fluffy when washed, then dry and easy to manage, and then flat and greasy. Now it seems to jump right to flat and greasy. Interestingly I've had less dandruff. But that makes sense if my scalp is more sticky. Hair isn't falling out. Hairline doesn't seem to have changed (it has always been kinda square as per the picture).

Mood and Attitude

Definitely not having angry outbursts as some people report. Haven't cried since my last update. But I've had no reason to and never been much of a crier anyway. I'm more confident for sure, but I've also moved home recently. Out of a stressful situation so that says a lot for my more positive outlook.

Face and Fat

My face is fatter because I've put on weight. I'd say on regard to fat distribution my face hasn't benefited. Actually none of me has. All my extra weight has gone to my hips and back and added to my muffin top/love handles. I hate it. It reminds me of when I was on the contraceptive pill. :/

Voice

Nope. No change yet. Actually I read up on it and apparently some guys never experience voice changes...especially older guys as our cartilidge is less inclined to grow. And some guys end up with a broken voice forever. So... I'm terrified of that. As a singer the thought kills me.

Body and Facial Hair

No change at all. Might try minoxidil for beard growth but chances are it won't do anything because nothing is growing at all yet.

Concerns

If I'm honest, I don't think the T is having a proper effect. It could be because I'm using testogel and have some sort of issue with absorbing it but my suspicion is my body is turning it back into oestrogen (hence the body fat stuff and heavier periods). I'm trying not to worry about it too much until my 6 month appointment. But it's frustrating.

Overall...

Very downhearted. Everything else in life is pretty good and this is the only real thing bothering me, which probably just makes it feel worse but I'm coping. Bought myself a packer as a treat to help with some dysphoria.

Until next time folks x

[endobiologist]

What Being Trans Is Like; A Guide For Allies

Hello, let me introduce myself. My name is Atom Yorke. I am a 16-year-old transgender and pansexual man, and you should probably get some popcorn ready because I've got a lot to say.

I'll split this up into categories so you can go page by page.

DEFINITION Now to begin this, if you're not sure what transgender means, transgender people are people whose brain does not match their body in gender. For example, I am a man. However I was born in a body most would call "female". I am a transgender man. This may be a radically new concept for some of you, but the truth is that we've been around since the dawn of humanity. Our history has been heavily modified and erased. In fact, any history that's not white, christian, heterosexual & cisgender has been shoved down to the darkest confines of information, where people have to look to find it. The truth is even ancient cultures have records of trans people, of nonbinary people, and of other LGBTQ concepts. This was one of the things they most heavily tried to erase during the ruthless colonization of Christianity.

You may be surprised to learn that yes, you yourself have met a trans person! Chances are you've met a lot of them, actually.

The reason why we're never seen is because until a little ways back, we would be imprisoned, killed or worse just for being out.   Now that we finally have a voice, we're speaking loud. But still, some trans people do not wish to be that way, and they will stay quiet their whole lives and blend in with the rest of society. Because of many people living in hiding, surveys are skewed and we have no real way to quantify just how many transgender people there are in the world. But there are a lot. And we matter, just like you.

MISCONCEPTIONS First off, there are a LOT, and I mean A LOT of misconceptions about transgender people. And it's not an accident. The lack of information and the stereotypes that have been given have been due to not only ignorance, but intentional covering up of the truth of who we are, and blatant propaganda against us. Many people think trans people are "out to get them" like they're some kind of "cross-dressing predators looking to peep in on the other gender". I can assure you, we are nothing of the sort. This falsehood would be laughable, if it didn't hurt so many people. Nearly 60% of trans people in America are outright TERRIFIED to go to the bathroom, (or go anywhere, really) due to them being harassed, assaulted, and worse inside. We are the ones being attacked in bathrooms, not you. We are the ones being attacked out in the streets, not you. We are not predators, we are quite literally the prey for the real predators. And this has to change. And the way it changes is through spread of information, and actual facts.

A trans woman is a woman. She is not a "man in a dress". A trans man is a man. He is not a "woman in disguise". A trans person is a person. They are not "confused".

There have been multiple scientific studies done on transgender people's brains, and they have revealed, every time, that your brain will match your gender, even if your genitalia does not. The reason for this is due to how you develop in the womb. In utero, the brains form one way, and the genitalia develops another way. Most of the time they match, creating what is known as a cisgender person, aka a person who is not trans.   Occasionally, the brain will develop in one gender and the sexual organs will develop in a different way due to an influx of different hormones during pregnancy, causing a trans person to be born.

To restate that; A trans person's brain matches their gender, not their genitalia. It has been scientifically proven. To argue that trans people "do not exist", are "confused", are "pretending" or anything else of the sort is foolish, and a rejection of science and reason altogether.

TERMINOLOGY Also, before you say "Well, if they existed forever, where are all these new terms coming from and why are we only now seeing trans people?" The reason being is you have seen trans people. You haven't seen these words because they are helpful labels we have only created recently for concepts that are ancient. The reason for all this new influx in trans activity is due to the internet and the spread of its information, which causes so many people to feel much safer and begin to come out. Now, let's take a look at the vocabulary of trans people, so you have an easier time understanding the lingo!

LGBTQ - Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer. Refers to the community. FTM - Female to Male. A trans man. MTF - Male to Female. A trans woman. T - Testosterone E - Estrogen HRT - Hormone Replacement Therapy. The medical procedure of hormone replacement to look more like your actual gender. Binder - A form of undergarment that is like a very tight sports bra that binds the chest of trans men & sometimes nonbinary people so they can appear flat-chested. Packer - A fake penis (or sometimes a rolled up sock, etc.) used to make trans men look like they have a bulge. Tucking - A technique trans women use to make them look like they have no bulge. Top surgery - Surgery on your chest to correct it to your gender. Bottom surgery - Surgery on your genitalia to correct them to your gender. Coming out of the closet - Telling the world and everyone openly that you are LGBTQ, or in this case transgender. Stealth - A term referring to trans people who go completely "undercover", and keep the fact that they're trans hidden so they can just enjoy a normal life. Gender dysphoria - A feeling of heartwrenching, guttwisting wrongness in a trans person's soul when someone calls them by the gender they are not, or sometimes when reminded of their body. Gender euphoria - A feeling of either complete contentedness, or giddy joyful excitement when their gender is affirmed.

HOW IT FEELS; A WATERED DOWN VERSION Now that we got all that out of the way, I wrote a short summary of what it feels like to be trans, from my perspective.

Imagine you're in the womb. It's a clean slate, nothing but peace. Then from the moment you're born, you're immediately categorized by your sexual organs and colour-coded. "It's a girl!" They say. They wrap you in a pink blanket. Your whole life you're told to be a girl, and so that's what you are. It was the first thing someone decided that you are. But the whole time you live in this fake life you feel... empty. Every time you use the girl's bathroom, there's a gnawing part of you that says you shouldn't be there. When kids around you are playing on a bouncy slide, playing a game of boys vs. girls, you always feel like you belong on the other side, for some nagging reason. Your grandmother keeps buying you skirts, bras, dresses, because you ask for them. You think that's what it takes for you to feel normal. You never wear them. "Maybe I'm not girly enough." So you try to be even more of what you are not. And every time, you feel this pit, this twisting gnawing void that aches and only aches more as you grow older. You don't know what it is. It gets worse every time someone says the word "She". "Girl." "Have a nice day, ladies." You tear through your room, looking for anything that doesn't look like the dresses your grandmother buys you. You cry and cry like you've never cried before, and you don't know why you're crying. What is it that's wrong with me? And after a while you decide you want your hair cut. Maybe that's what it is. Then you think, "Maybe it's because I eat a lot. Girls are supposed to be self-conscious of their weight, right?" So you blame your weight. Until you realize that's not the issue at all. Because one day you wake up. It hits you. And you put the pieces together. I'm not what they forced me to be all my life. There was a reason I was always uncomfortable. I'm not a girl... That was an option? That was even an option? I'm not forced to stay in this cell? There's actually NOT something wrong with me?

All I felt was profound relief at first, but soon enough the relief turned to paralyzing fear. This was the beginning, and also the end of my life, and I was only thirteen. But some people don't find out until they're adults, sometimes even until they're in their old age. It doesn't make anyone any less who they are. But man, does it uproot your whole life to fix things. If you realize at a young age it's easier because then you don't have as much paperwork to deal with, but you still no matter what have to deal with it, and people make it as hard as they possibly can for you, because of petty ignorance. I've had multiple cases of people straight-up refusing to give me my legal documents back (such as my insurance card which I need for my literally life-saving medication) because of ignorance or malicious transphobia. I had to actually argue with people to put my insurance card through, something that was common sense, that I had all the legal documentation for, that could be typed in at the push of a button, and costs nothing for them. But they had "never came across this situation before" so they argued with me for a good while about doing it until they finally gave in.

I've had cases of family members, family friends turning on me and calling me "tranny", a "confused girl", I've been told that there was "no masculinity in my eyes" when they looked at me. I was yelled at, screamed at in front of family and friends that I would never be a man. I've been insulted in front of people, I've been ridiculed and humiliated. But I will stand tall. You know why? Because it is A MILLION times better dealing with all this than dealing with not being who I truly am. I'm myself, and if anyone's got a problem with that, they can take it up with me.

The sad truth is, if you're trans, you unfortunately are going to experience horrible, horrible things like this. It's an inescapable reality. But that does not mean it's without hope. Every person can be educated, even if it may not seem so at first. Don't give up hope, because there is so much more beauty than you're seeing right now, and wouldn't you like to get to see it?

If you're an ally, you're here to make sure this feeling they have happens less. So, here is how to treat a trans person, written from the perspective of a trans person.

HOW TO HELP TRANSGENDER PEOPLE (from the perspective of a trans person)

1. Treat them with basic human respect. Aka refer to them how they want to be referred, you know, by their ACTUAL name and pronouns, not the ones you're clinging to desperately. You may think "What's the big deal?" about being misgendered, because as a cis person you've never been forced to live in a body that's not your own. You have ZERO frame of reference for how a trans person feels, or experiences their life, and so the very least you could do, even if you may not understand, is treat them with basic human decency. It literally costs you nothing to just be a civil human being.

2. Ask questions! (to a point. Don't be creepy or disrespectful.) If you are concerned you are not treating a trans person completely right due to not knowing, or you have something you're curious about, or you just don't understand us at all--ask! Please ask! We love it when you consider our needs, it makes us feel more appreciated. And asking questions opens important communication pathways, that lead to higher understanding, empathy, and acceptance of each other, which can only lead to higher growth for everyone involved. However, if you start getting really nosy about it by asking us weird questions when you barely know us like "Have you had the surgery yet? What do your genitalia look like?" Or the much dreaded "What's your original name?" Then you know you've gone too far. I mean, come on, you wouldn't ask a regular person that question, so why would you ask us?!

3. Speak up for them when they have no voice. This is probably by far the most huge thing you can do for a transgender person. A minor example; If they're in a very uncomfortable situation, like say for example they are getting misgendered by the cashier over and over at the grocery store and you can see they're too nervous to correct them, or even if they have corrected them themselves multiple times but the person will not give them that basic respect, the best thing you can do in that moment is step in and correct them for them.  I've had someone do it for me, and it makes me feel euphoric that someone actually stood up for me. Just back us up when we need back up, cause we very rarely have that support. A lot of trans people have no support whatsoever. Any support you can show a transgender person will help them exponentially more than you know. Some allies will post LGBTQ positive things on their social media pages, meanwhile some others take this to extremes by becoming huge supporters of LGBTQ communities, and standing up and giving a voice everywhere for them through words, art, many different forms of media, pride parades & riots.

4. Physical Support If you are very close to a trans person yourself, such as one of your children, your spouse, etc. or even if you just want to go above and beyond by supporting trans people everywhere, giving a roof over their heads, a warm meal, and some kind words would change people's lives. Consider donating to a charity (a charity you research before donating into, a lot of them are fake and will collect the money) that goes towards help for transgender people, or LGBTQ people in general! We really need it, especially in the days of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named as our president.

5. Don't out them if they're not ready! This goes for all LGBTQ people, but please, if someone is closeted due to safety reasons or even just because they're not ready, do not under any circumstance out them for who they are. This could potentially throw them into massive danger, or it could just throw a massive wrench into their lives in some way. Please ask first.

6. Give positive, gender-affirming actions toward them! I absolutely LOVE IT when people do this. I have a friend who not only does bro-fistbumps with me, the two-pat hug thing, highfives me, but also always uses gender-affirming language such as calling me "man", "dude", "bro", etc. and it just always makes me feel so good to be around him! It creates a pleasant, safe space for us to be ourselves when you treat us for who we are, and it honestly makes us more happy than you know. So next time you see a really fabulous trans woman, tell her she looks lovely and classy today! When you see a trans man on top of his game, mention that he's handsome. And mention the things you know they feel insecure about in a positive way! It gives us majour gender euphoria. I know I've always been so ashamed of my round baby face due to it being the main reason I don't pass, but my friends on a call once had started all ooh-ing and ah-ing about how nice my cheekbones and jawline were and all that day I was ecstatic! A simple compliment that you might not even remember giving could change someone's life. And that goes for all people, not just trans people.

Now, you might have heard a lot of negative things that happened to me because of my being transgender, but I'm here to tell you there is so much hope. Cut forward to 2019. I've been out and proud for three years, and by God, I am so, SO SO much happier than I was. I am proud to say I was lucky, I have an amazing support system in my mom, dad, siblings & grandmother that have helped me so much through this. I'm about to start T soon, and I am so unbelievably excited. The person who had yelled at me in front of family members? They are now supportive, and make an effort around me. The person who called me a tranny? They apologized profusely and learnt from that experience.

So to fellow trans people out there--Things do get better. And they get better soon. You just have to hold out for a little while longer.

And for the allies who want to do better by trans and LGBTQ people everywhere, thank you. Thank you for showing your support, and thank you for your willingness to learn about those different from you. That shows extreme emotional maturity. On behalf of all LGBTQ people, thank you.

- Atom T. L. Yorke

Atom T. L. Yorke is a visual artist, cosplayer, writer, musician, and comedian that has also dedicated his life to helping LGBTQ people in need, especially the transgender community.

[cyanpeacock]

Agh. It is morning. I am awake.

Don’t feel so hot. Lots of guilt and shame. Also fury. Trying to like... feel it without hating it and getting into that whole spiral.

I’m tired and struggling with like, reasons my body is worth caring for? 

I feel kind of like... I’m ungrateful. Why would I cut all contact with a family that would accept me. They say they love me. They let me go to their houses. They’re alright... right?

But they didn’t fucking accept me. 

OK this got long and furious under the cut wow. Apparently that’s why waking up was such a cunt this morning. Well. It’s out now. 

They wanted me to be amazing in school, and got upset and/or angry and/or disappointed and/or guilty when I wasn’t achieving those kinds of grades. Punished for it. Means of social contact taken away from me, when I was already so fucking lonely. Constantly being fucking watched through a hole in the door. What the fuck kind of house just has holes in all the fucking doors? Why the fuck do you think that’s okay? Do you have any idea how much that fucked with my sense of privacy, how long I felt permanently observed for? Are you even aware how much your other kids hate it?

They wanted me to be a girl, and told me I was ‘just confused’ when I came out, got my name and pronouns wrong like they assumed it was going to pass in the next month, every fucking month. I wasn’t allowed boys’ clothes because “they wouldn’t fit me,” when being a “tomboy” was absolutely fine. Uh, I’m pretty sure ‘boy’ and ‘girl’ children do share dimensions? They’re both humans? I wasn’t even allowed to cut my fucking hair for years, because my mother wanted control over how my body wore my hair, and she wanted it long and blonde and pretty like the perfect working-housewife-to-be. She didn’t see me as a fucking man until after testosterone, and her eyes are still fucking looking for her “little girl.” Fuck off. She died ten thousand times living with you. She was one of those creepy dead-eyed dolls Sheila keeps on the landing in Killinghall. It drives me insane. 

Okay this is pretty pointedly at my mother now so yeah.

“You’ll always be my baby” NO I fucking WON’T. Jesus fucking christ woman, I am not a baby any more. You might remember a tiny child and get all misty-eyed. I’m sure it’s reassuring to some adult children. How that feels to me? Oppressive. Like it’s a trap. All-consuming. Like if I go, and actually express and deal with all my rage, I’m going to destroy your world. Because that’s how it fucking worked at the beginning. If I expressed I was hurt, or angry, or upset, or hungry, or in need, I’d get fucking yelled at, I’d get yanked around, I’d get smacked. I’d get ignored. I’d get told I don’t deserve food. I’d get shut inside a lonely dark dirty disgusting fucking room and you’d pretend I didn’t exist. 

You never saw how mental I went. You never saw me chewing the bedframes. You never saw me clawing at the walls. You never saw me picking the paint off the plaster, just the aftermath. You never saw me hurling my toys and books around in a rage, you just assumed I was ‘making a mess’. You never saw me beating my skull and body with my fists. You never saw me beating up Hank the teddy in complete rage then sobbing and apologizing to him like he was alive. You never saw me standing in the window crying wishing somebody, maybe the nice man Jeff down the road, would help me. 

You never saw how I learned to imagine characters and stories so hard I began hallucinating them in my attempts to escape that ‘home.’ You never saw me wishing the ‘scary’ pedophiles in the white vans would come and take me away, because then maybe somebody would love my body for something different, and that I wouldn’t have to think so hard any more. You never saw me wish that mummy would just kill me so it would all be over. You never saw the help notes I wrote and tore up and posted outside, in the hopes somebody would put them together, and realize I was so scared of being caught asking for help that I destroyed my attempts to get it. 

I’m fucking furious. Again and again you’d say bullshit like “imagine how I feel!” when you were the grown fucking adult in the dynamic. And I know-- Christopher comes into the equation, so does Sheila, who - man, that’s just, why would you still see that almost-murderer - I understand why, but holy fuck, I can’t watch myself start living like that - but this, right now, is about you and the child you did not protect, but transferred pain onto. 

You got so fucking far inside my head I believed I was ungrateful, disgusting, a brat, just whining, that I had no reason to be so upset. That I should just buck up, and go to school, that I wasn’t doing good enough. I still don’t fucking feel good enough, because you’d go from essentially calling me worthless, to calling me a genius or a prodigy when I did something academically remarkable. It was the only way to convince you I had value. 

So I learned to escape through school. I learned to just do the work, even though I still wanted to die right there. Easier to do an exam with an invisible gun to my head than to go home in the evenings, more fun, actually, because at least there was a chance of success in the exam. You didn’t see all the dark fucking nights I lived through considering suicide, wishing desperately that I could just kill myself, but feeling like my utter desperation to get away mattered less than your happiness. Awake all night trying to get away from the thoughts that told me to just stab myself, just go out in the cold, just rot away, because I felt responsible for holding the family together. And I also felt like I was the one destroying it.

I felt responsible for that, especially with how PISS fucking poorly you and David both handled that relationship. Neither of you are emotionally healthy people. You both used emotional manipulation on the children involved in attempts to achieve the same ends: harm the other party, gain power and control.

You know, I want to be a nice guy. I want to give happy happy endless love to the universe. Why do you think I was capable of moving in with a self-declared sadist, a man who’d shot men? Because I’d already lived with somebody who was wounding me every fucking day. In insidious, nasty little ways. That the David cunt only observed and copied. From you, Claire.

Your literal gibbering about “brainwashing!” and “mind control!!” - literally, what the fuck, woman. You’re not immune to propaganda either. You were literally making up your own. You two thought you were the entire fucking universe. He was the Right, you were the Left. It was the Tories and the Labour party, the Axis and the Allies, and the unwitting, dumb voters, with no experience in politics.

This is literally how you framed it to me.

That is literally how you two IDIOTS thought it was appropriate to navigate a breakup.

You know what? I’m done with it, again. You’re different to him in how you throw your shade, and that’s all. He’s alright, in moderation. You’re alright, in moderation. I could tolerate a serial killer, in moderation; I almost fucking was one, with how hurt I’d become, and how little trust in and respect for human beings I’d developed. All just meat to me. It’s all I’ll be in the end, anyway. It gave me a sense of power to stalk strangers at night, and observe their weak points, and consider how fucking easy it would be to get a rush that way. 

And I can’t have these conversations with you, these furious fucking conversations, because I am conditioned to box up every bit of my rage when I even THINK of your face. You show up in my mind with your eyes all watery blue and bloodshot from drinking, and your lip and chin all tight like you’re going to cry, and it convinced - and still sometimes convinces me - “pack it in, you can’t destroy her like that, the world will fucking end, it’ll come back on you and your siblings. There will be punishment, there will be blood, and it’ll be yours, and you’ll be left all alone cleaning it up with no fucking support. The only eye that sees your blood will punish you for making a mess with it.”

Neither of you can see shit about what I really feel, unless you’re reading it here, like fucking omnipresent surveillant operatives of Big Brother, which I suspect at least one of you might actually be fucking doing. 

Sure, things changed when I came back, still going through active trauma, desperate for something, some illusion of healthy family. Was that healthy? No. Was I actively going through unhealthy, traumatic times? Yes. We do unhealthy things in unhealthy times, and afterwards, while we process the feelings we went through but were numb to. It happens. I understand this, it’s why I kept making fucking excuses, why I thought ‘explanations’ of behaviour meant anything when you’d hurt somebody. It’s why I boxed up all this fucking rage. It’s why I thought my pain was meaningless compared to yours.

I’ll give this to you, you got nicer. You drink less. I appreciate it, for your other kids. They’re doing better than I was, but they’re still not well. 

When did that change?

After your first fucking child ran away, because of the sheer amount of pain you were transferring onto them. Because of the toxic fucking environment of emotional manipulation and infantilization you’d continued to foster. Because it was easier to live with a racist opioid addict murderer for a while than to stay in that shithole city any longer. I had to force you to realize how fucking unhealthy that place was.

I’m not being kind right now, because I don’t know how to express all this fucking fury in a kind way. I don’t know how to soften the blow. Maybe there’s no fucking way, maybe that’s why I’m doing it on my blog. I still don’t believe you’re grown enough to handle this shit. You shut me down in every difficult conversation about feelings, and you don’t even mean to. Why do you think I cried on you so fucking much, but you could never fucking console me? Because you fucked up at the start. Because you didn’t establish a secure attachment between yourself and your child. Because you couldn’t provide for me.

I don’t blame you for being unable to provide for me. Circumstances align this way, often, and it’s inevitable. 

I can’t go back in time and re-establish that attachment. There’s always this lingering fucking, waiting for the stab in the back. Waiting for trouble. Those moments where I go completely blank and convince myself it’s always been happy, it’s always been nice, I really am imagining things, I really do just overreact... there’s something wrong with me, why am I so ungrateful? Why can’t I feel joy here? Why is it always bittersweet? 

It’s fucking me up. It really hurts me, every day. Every god damn day when I’m living with myself, and actually working on acknowledging and expressing what I really feel, in as healthy a way as I can muster. I still wake up thinking I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve to smile today. I’ve ruined the world. I’ve fucked up so badly by making the decision not to speak to you again. 

I have to stop doing that to myself. 

I went psychotic from the amount of repressed trauma I’d been burying by smoking pot. My brain had to show me all that pain and instability I’d been avoiding, in the form of hallucinated symbols. 

It was terrifying. It was also incredibly helpful. The doors of perception, as it were. Thanks for that one - I’m off making my own Brave New World, and it’s on the island, far away from the rest of them, with their neatly chemically controlled babies in fucking jars.

I needed to drug myself to function, for a while. I needed my meds to function. To do the only thing I’d ever been truly worth anything for, the only thing that was going to get me out and away. I’m coming to doubt that it was ever really my choice to be an academic. Between ability and unhealthy amounts of pressure, I was forced this way, like that fucking rhubarb you were growing. 

So I suppose that’s why I woke up this morning and thought about staying in bed all day, hiding from the rest of the universe. I wanted to go back to sleep, so I didn’t have to feel how fucking angry and hurt I am. I can’t avoid feeling angry and hurt, now nothing’s actually hurting me in my daily life, now I’ve got people who respect my every word for what it is. 

And I have to do this every day. Every fucking day, I’ve got to have these conversations with myself. Sometimes I write them. Sometimes I sing them. Sometimes I have to talk through them, slowly and haltingly, trying to understand why something apparently small hurts like something much bigger. 

Why am I ‘doing this to myself’? So I don’t do it to anybody else. Not again. So I can come to a place where I feel worthy, and deserving, and like I can connect enough to my feelings and body to function without damaging myself even more. 

All that fucking denial of my physical pain. All that denial there was anything medically wrong with me. It got inside me, man. 

But - I have to accept my borderline. I have to accept that I have an intense emotional range, that causes me problems in meeting the societal standards of daily life, because I’ve been through an emotionally intense past. 

I also have to accept that it’s not normal for this (almost) 22 year old body to click and crack and pop and grind and ache so much I have to literally limp around. My hips should not be audibly thunking when I go to sit down in an office chair to check my emails. My shoulders should not be sliding out of place steadily over the course of the day. I should never have gone so physically numb that I didn’t notice my binder warping my ribs. 

I said I thought I had Ehlers-Danlos. You said I read too much, and that I was paranoid. Where am I now? Six years later, facing the possibility that that really is what’s wrong with my cartilage, the reason my skin is so soft, the reason my ribs bent so easily, the reason my vertebrae slide over each other audibly, the reason the only joints I have that don’t hurt are my elbows. And I’ve got to do it alone, because I can’t deal with looking right at your guilt every time I bring it up, because I know that you know now that this really isn’t normal, and you ignored it at a time so much damage could have been prevented. 

I know why it went down that way. I do and don’t blame you. I just have to get angry, so I can fucking do something with my day that isn’t pure escapism, something constructive. 

So now I’m wrapping this one up. I’m not fucking “packing it in” any more. I’ll wrap it up, at a time and place of my choosing, considering every body and mind my actions are affecting in the moment. Right now? This is for me.

[queersolarfandompage]

I’m here to be Queer (Aka my coming out story)

I was a very sheltered, ynsheltered child, if that makes any sense. I had access to the internet and the privacy to do whatever I wanted, yet I was never introduced to topics of sexuality and gender dysphoria.

I gist was introduced to the world of different sexuality in June of 2015, when I found out that gay marriages was legal. This opened up my eyes to a lot of things I hadn’t realized possible. I had found many girls attractive, but I always thought it was something to where as a women I should feel all women are beautiful, or if because they were my friends I perceived them as more attractive. I still found men attractive, so I took on the term BISEXUAL.

That summer was also the summer where I had joined cheerleading, and ooh boi was that an experience. Not only was I surrounded by attractive girls in short-ish skirts, but they were actually pretty nice to me too. (And hot damn do I have a thing for men and women in uniforms, professional or otherwise) Cheerleading was not my thing and I dropped it faster than a rainbow shirt would sell out at an LGBT festival.

By eighth grade I adapted a new term for myself, Pansexual. The feelings I had for romantically didn’t care about gender. I would love anyone and everyone regardless or gender, binary or not. Transgender didn’t really mean much to me. I had a few trans friends, but it still didn’t quite click.

As a child I had mainly been considered a tomboy, with a bit of girliness here and there. (Because of a pretty fucked up childhood) I knew about the different sexual organs, and fantasized about how much easier life would be if I had a penis. These ideals of mine never struck me as strange, only now that I look back at it so I realize. By 11 years old my body began changing, and things began happening. I was in pain a lot from cramps, yet no one understood. My brests grew large, and I felt like I should be proud, because now I would be considered attractive. (Big boobs does not equal attractive I guess) I craved a romantic relationship, wanting the love that my parents used against each other, that my brother wouldn’t show me. I wanted to be loved.

In 8th grade I had my first relationship, then my second. My boyfriend was sweet. We were both shy, texting each other like mad, to confess the feelings that wouldn’t be said in person. I loved him, yet I never told him. In 9th grade we broke up. I still loved him, but I wanted to love myself for once. We haven’t talked since. The summer after we broke up brought more changes to my perspective of myself.

Finally I focused on loving myself. I tried being honest with my feelings for once, and that back fired. By the end of the summer I had locked tight a large part of my emotions, locked so tightly that a different part of my heart escaped. I wanted to be a MAN. But not a man, because I had feminine things I liked, like make up. Not quite Male yet note really female I came out as Bigender. Neither of my parents really said much on the topic, my mom saying she supported me, my dad and stepmom saying they knew I was a tomboy. Neither of them understood. I barely understood.

For the first half of my sophomore year I lived off of that title. Not quite Male, yet not female either. I was still thinking in the subject heavily, feeling unsure of the term. I found a YouTube channel I had run into once before, and remembered the instant agreement I was in with the video I had watched. I had found Kalvin Garrah. I began watching more of his videos, finding I agreed with more and more of his views, even find some that I disagreed with. But what stuck out to me the most was what he believed made a trans person trans. There has to be some dysphoria, a disconnect between the body and the brain, which can be cause by the gender of the brain compared to the gender of the body. Along with that came the idea that gender fluid people just had certain days of dysphoria stronger than others. I realized that had described me perfectly, along with believing that it was ok not to completely conform to the gender by doing things such as wearing make up or painting nails. I had finally found the last term to fit me, transgender. All that was left was to come out. *insert gru meme here* My friends accepted me with open arms, yet my parents still barely had spoken to me. I’d have friendly debates with my father over whether people should respect the pronouns and name change of trans people or not. He supported people regardless of sexuality or gender, but he liked playing devils advocate.

On January 2, 2019 I can out to my father and stepmother as trans. It has hard. My stepmother cried, my dad needed time, and yet I felt like I ruined something of there’s. I was some delicate little flower that had been crushed and stomped on.

“Should we have raised you different?”

“I’m loosing my daughter!” “Youre gaining a son?” “It’s not the same!”

“Give us time.” “It’s gonna take time.” “With time we’ll get your pronouns and name.”

My father told my mother, who I knew would support my but was worried about how she’d take the change, and my older brother, who I was scared would hate me, like he had for most of my life.

Four month in and my therapist brings up a point I had pushed out of my mind completely for my parents sake. Did I want to go on testosterone? Boi did I ever, with feminine features and a voice that could challenge the high notes on a piano I loved the idea. I brought up the topic to my father and step mother. More time was needed, yet progress was being made.

And now you ask, where am I at now? Well in two months I’ll be seeing a doctor about testosterone. Learn all of the altercations it can make, and hopefully begin my journey further into manhood.

I’m still looking for love, yet I’ve accepted that maybe love needs to find me. And maybe as I wait I can love myself instead.

[islareeveswriting]

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INSTAS

The deep end was a scary place to be.

Molly found she didn’t mind it too much normally, when it came to things like uni work. In fact she found she quite liked it when it came to uni work. She thrived off having lots to do, a little stress seemed to make her work harder and better, and maybe it drained her a bit, made her feel a little more tired, and a little more glad when it was all over, it also meant the pay off felt far better. Molly was well rehearsed at keeping herself afloat at the deep end.

However, stood on the sidelines of the rugby pitch between Amanda and Katie, with Zak on her hip, Molly realised how she’d never truly been out of her depth enough to appreciate the deep end for what it was. Thrown in didn’t cut it. She hadn’t even seen Harry before the game started, she just turned up at the rugby club, as instructed, at the time Harry had told her, and hoped she saw Amanda, or Amanda saw her before anyone began to notice she was a little out of her comfort zone. Luckily Amanda had spotted her from the other side of the club house and beckoned her over before anyone else in the room seemed to have even realised Molly had arrived.

After discussing Molly’s sketches and ideas for what turned out to be nearly an hour, Molly had asked Harry to stay, he’d happily agreed, a bright smile creeping onto his face quietly, attempting subtlety but not quite managing to. Strangely Molly felt more nervous about spending the night with Harry in that bed than she had at her parents house. It was a good nervous though, an excited nervous, the kind she quite liked and made her feel zingy. She’d been like a giggly teenager when she’d crawled in beside Harry who was wearing only a pair of jersey shorts and his boxers under her sheets, her face clean and hair brushed, unable to to bite the coy smile back as Harry wrapped an arm over her middle, pulling her closer until there was barely any space between them at all, just enough so they could look at each other as they whispered quietly through the darkness.

It was as they laid there, fighting tiredness and their bodies desire to sleep, too caught up in their quiet conversation and the way their eyes glittered in the dark of the room, that Harry asked if he wanted to attend the annual Charity gala with him at the rugby club. Molly’s heart sped up at first. That sounded important, and not at all like taking it slow, but he’d asked, and she calmed as he went onto explain it a little more. It was quite a casual affair, Harry would have to wear a jacket of some kind as was tradition after a game, but it never lasted long, there’d be a raffle, some food, stupid games, just a general good time. But more than that, Harry wanted her there with him and that made Molly feel some sort of way that was only another signal that things weren’t going as slowly as had been insinuated in the car a few days prior.

Just over a week later, and Molly was stood on the side of a rugby pitch for the first time in her life, with two of Harry’s good friends, following suit and cheering as they did, slowly getting her head around what was going on and the basic rules. Even Zak seemed to have more of an idea what was going as he squealed for ‘daddy’ everytime Joe got the ball and pushed through the other teams players being dragged to the floor. Harry grabbed it out after every tackle and passed it out to another player, most of whom Molly didn’t know. Shane was on their side of the pitch, running up and down the side, moving into the centre, but mostly staying on the edge of the pitch, whereas Niall only stayed in the middle and kicked the ball over the post after every try. Though there’d only been two of those, none scored by anyone Molly knew, but she cheered with the others, and Zak who clapped along happily.

Molly was still trying to work out how the scrum worked when the whistle cried loudly over all other sounds, even that of her whirring mind. She twisted her head to the noise, a gang of men from both teams engaged in what looked like quite an angry altercation. Harry was in the centre, squared up to a man much larger than him in every possible way, their foreheads practically touching as if they were a pair of fighting bulls. Molly wasn’t entirely sure why she was so surprised, but she did gasp a little as Shane pulled Harry roughly away and marched him away as the other team chuckled to themselves. Molly could tell Shane was having stern words with Harry, but she suspected it was as more than just as team captain.

“Typical Harry,” Katie chuckled from beside Molly, shaking her head a little as she did so. “He’s gonna end up in trouble before long,” She continued. Molly listened but didn’t say anything, didn’t even ask the questions on the tip of her tongue, simply because she felt like she probably knew the answer. It wasn’t exactly a secret Harry had a tendency to let anger get the better of him if the situation was right, and his buttons were pushed enough. Molly imagined that on the rugby pitch, with testosterone coursing through him, hoping to win, that the buttons were a little easier to find.

“Ah, he’s no worse than any of the others really,” Amanda shrugged off, eyes glued to the pitch. Molly glanced to Amanda out of the side of her eye, and she felt Katie twist her head, but Amanda never turned to look at either of them, firm in her statement, and not about to back down under the cold glare Molly could feel from the other side of her. Before anymore could be said on the matter, Amanda was screaming again, cheering Harry’s name loudly. Molly flicked her eyes to the pitch, to see Harry flying down the side line, darting around a couple of the opposing team and diving over the try line, slamming the ball to the floor before hopping to his feet and jumping to the air just as Niall crashed into him to celebrate.

“Yay Uncle Harry,” Zak cried and Molly chuckled, cheering with him as she bounced Zak on her hip.

The rest of the game was largely undramatic. No more fights, but a couple more points for both sides. When the final whistle sounded, after Niall had booted the ball out of play, the homeside were three points ahead. Molly smiled on as she watched them celebrate, hugging and laughing, shaking hands politely with the other team members. Harry caught Molly’s eye as he pulled out of a hug with a member of his own team that Molly didn’t know and winked before strolling over to her. It had been a wet week, and as a consequence Harry was coated in mud. It was stuck in his hair, slathered down one side of his face and embedded into his knees.

“You need a shower,” Molly chuckled once Harry was close enough to hear. The offence ran over his face quickly, bottom lip pouting and eyebrows dipping.

“Your man has just won, he scored a try, and you’re telling me I need a shower?” Harry pouted, “You’re meant to be going weak at the knees.” Molly laughed and shook her head as Harry leant over the rope that kept the spectators from the pitch to give her a kiss.

“Ewww,” Zak wailed, pushing away from Molly’s chest, attempting to get as far from the display of affection as possible.

“Oh Zakky, what’s up, you jealous?” Harry asked, pouting his lips dramatically and leering closer to the toddler who only backed further away as he did so. “So what did you think?” Harry asked, turning attention to Molly again, Zak refusing to entertain Harry’s jokes.

“Was good, enjoyed it,” Molly smiled nodding.

“You’d come again?” Harry asked hopefully, eyes widening and brightening a little.

“Yeah, if you wanted me to,” Molly told him, nodding still.

“I’d like you to want to,” Harry told her quietly, leaning closer still, as close as he could without falling over the rope completely.

“Well, beggars can’t be choosers Styles,” Molly jested playfully, a little smirk pulling at one corner of her mouth. Again Harry’s bottom lip pouted a little and the space between his eyebrows creased. “So you are gonna shower?”

“Definitely,” Harry laughed, “Got a suit to put on,” Harry reminded her. It wasn’t a full suit, but Molly had helped him choose a jacket out of his vast collection of suits to wear with his black jeans after the game. Molly had been a little surprised at just how extensive, and well curated his suit collection was, but one in particular stood out. It was a mixture of earth tones arranged in an eye catching geometric pattern that send Molly’s mind into a spin. It had to be that one. “Go get yourself a drink, I won’t be long,” Harry promised.

“Do you want anything?” Molly offered beginning to back away from the rope.

“It’s ok, there’ll be beer in the changing room, I’ll get one with you once I’m dressed,” Harry told her, and Molly nodded before turning to find Amanda and Katie, strolling towards the clubhouse with the pram that Zak had gotten out of within five minutes of the game starting and not looked at again.

Once inside, and back with Katie and Amanda, Molly put Zak down and offered the other two girls a drink. They both accepted, Amanda asking for a bottled beer and Katie for a glass of wine. Molly knew which she’d choose, deciding the first time socialising with all Harry’s rugby friends was not an evening to drink wine. The bar was heaving but Molly found a little space to squeeze into, keeping herself to herself nad waiting for one of the three bar staff to get to her. She knew what it was like to work a bar that busy, she wasn’t about to get impatient.

“You being served?” Molly looked to the voice, a rotund elderly man looking at her and pointing.

“No, erm,” Molly hesitated, checking the stock of beer in the fridge behind the man, “Two coronas and a large glass of Pinot please?” Molly asked, falling back to the floor from her tiptoes.

“Not seen you around here before, new girlfriend is it?” The man asked as he grabbed the two bottles and popped the tops from them. There was a crease between his eyebrows and it was very clear to Molly that he was used to knowing ever person that came in and out of the doors of that place.

“Erm, well,” Molly hesitated because girlfriend wasn’t exactly the right word, in fact it was far from the right word. “I’m here with Harry -Styles,” Molly added quickly, just in case though the slight smirk told Molly she needn’t have worried.

“Ah, young Harold, I see,” The man smiled, nodding as he unwound the top from a bottle of wine. “About time he found himself a girlfriend.”

“Oh, no, we’re not, I’m not..” Molly flustered, it was hard to explain and she could feel her cheeks getting pink.

“Not what? He’s brought you here, so you must be something,” The man told her, and Molly swallowed on nothing, not entirely sure what she was meant to say, mainly because she didn’t really know what her and Harry were.

It hadn’t bothered her until then, hadn’t concerned her even an iota until she was trying to find the words to explain their situation. They’d moved on from just friends but hadn’t settled on something else yet. That suited her, them, perfectly, they knew the feelings it didn’t need a name. But it was hard to explain it to anyone else, particularly a nearly elderly man Molly didn’t know. “Seeing each other is it?” He asked, and Molly nodded, supposing that was it. “Well he must like ya, no lad would bring a girl in here unless he was serious,” The man, whose name Molly nearly asked for, but didn’t, informed her, and there wasn’t a hint of a joke in his voice. Molly just smiled, because she couldn’t help the little bit inside her that quite liked the idea of that. “Bill by the way,” The man told Molly before asking for her money, Molly smiled grateful he seemed to have read her mind.

Molly handed money over to Bill and took the drinks over the table that Katie and Amanda had occupied. She handed them out and took the seat next to Katie, it wasn’t purposeful, but once she was in it, Molly hoped it might make Katie warm a little more to her. It wasn’t quite as icy as it had been in the cafe, perhaps Katie was happier now things were becoming a little more serious, but still there was the odd look that set Molly on edge and made her feel a little uncomfortable.

“So things are going well with Harry?” Amanda asked, her lips popping around the edge of the bottle when she took a large sip.

“Yeah,” Molly said with a nod and a smile. “Taking it slow, seeing how things go, but so far, so good,” Molly explained, lifting her own bottle to her lips and taking a sip.

“That’s a good idea, don’t want to rush into things, make sure you really know each other first,” Katie smiled, and Molly appreciated what sounded like a supportive sentiment.

“Yeah, exactly,” Molly nodded, and Katie offered a small smile, something a little sympathetic about it before she took a mouthful of her wine. The conversation moved on from there naturally, the three of them chatting just generally about everything and anything until men started filtering out into the bar area from the changing rooms, lugging kit bags and dressed in casual suits, mostly smart blazer jackets and trousers of some kind. Shane appeared first, a pair of dark trousers on and a blazer that blended well with them.

“Evening ladies,” Shane grinned, that bright, Hollywood smile that would have made Molly weak at the knees if she wasn’t waiting for one she thought was better. He bent and kissed them all on the cheek sweetly. “That jacket of Harry’s is wild,” Shane chuckled looking at Molly as he attempted to clasp his watch together.

“It’s good isn’t it?” Molly grinned, to which Shane nodded, still concentrating on his watch. “Do you want a hand?” Molly offered, sitting up a little and reaching her hands to his wrist.

“Oh thanks Mol,” Shane breathed lowering his wrist so she could get her hands to him. “Hand got trodden on and fingers aren’t quite working yet,” he chuckled lowly as Molly clipped the clasp together and adjusted his jacket sleeve a little so it was sitting how it was designed to.  “Getting us all dressed is it?”

“Well if you’re gonna wear a jacket, may as well wear it properly,” Molly winked earning a laugh from those in ear shot. Shane offered a drink which they all declined thanks to their freshly bought round, and disappeared over to the bar. “I was terrified of him when I first met him,” Molly admitted quietly, causing Amanda to laugh.

“Everyone is,” Katie told her with a grin. “He’s a puppy dog though when you get to know him,” She went on, glancing over her shoulder at Shane. “Wildly protective of Harry though,” Katie frowned, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Amanda straighten.

“Why?” Molly asked, eyes narrowing and flicking between the two women. No one said anything for a good ten seconds, and Molly didn’t miss the look between Amanda and Katie, jaws tense and Amanda’s nostrils flinching a little.

“Guess he just feels like his big brother? After the stuff with his dad and things,” Amanda explained, and Molly could get that. It explained the look as well, perhaps they weren’t sure how much Molly knew, but the way she accepted the explanation obviously told them that she knew just enough for it to make sense.

Slowly the rest of the players trickled out of the changing rooms, Harry was one of the last. Molly caught him out of the corner of her eye before he saw her, and took the opportunity to check him out. Her eyes lifted up his body, from the black leather boots he had on, over the skinny jeans, that were fairly new and blacker than the ones he normally wore. There was a leather belt holding them up that looked worn and well used, undone and tightened again  enough to leave permanent creases in the leather. The black shirt he’d opted for was tucked into the jeans, buttoned up to his throat, the collar perfectly ironed and firm around his neck.

But the jacket stole the show. Molly was sure about it when she saw it in his wardrobe, but on his body it was even better. It was like it was made for him. It wrapped his arms snugly, but not too tight that it looked uncomfortable, it cleared his shoulders nicely and only emphasised just how broad he was. The jacket was unbuttoned and Molly watched as he reached into the pocket of it, pulling out his rings and beginning to slide them onto his fingers as he walked. Molly watched for a second before finding his face, only to discover she’d been well and truly caught checking him out. Harry just offered a smirk and a wink before beginning to greet the group, leaving Molly blushing and sipping her beer to try and cool her cheeks.

“Afternoon all.” Harry’s voice was rougher than normal as he threw his bag to the floor and kicked it under the table beside Molly before bending at the hip to capture her lips in a quick kiss. If anyone really took any notice of it they didn’t show it, but it only intensified the blush that was lingering under Molly’s cheeks. “Want another drink love?” Harry asked, delving into the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve his wallet.

“Sure, I’ll give you a hand,” Molly told him, getting to her feet and finishing the last of her beer quickly.

“Easy love, we don’t want a repeat of your birthday,” Harry jested with a wink.

“No, you just don’t want me kissing Niall again, might realise what I’m missing,” Molly rose quickly, leaving Harry a little gobsmacked as the rest of the table chuckled lowly. “Drinks then,” Harry just nodded quietly, offering the others a drink before leading the way to the bar.

It was quieter than when Molly had ventured up there earlier, only a few people stood around it, and less than that actually waiting to be served. Harry walked straight up and leaned against the old wooden top, stained and marked from years of use. He hardly even acknowledged that Molly moved in to stand next to him, flicking his eyes to her, but never looking properly. Molly could feel it, the corner of a wedge between them and she rolled her eyes at it, smirking to herself.

“Really?” She asked, unable to not be amused. “You really ignoring me now?”

“Well why did you have to say that?” Harry returned quickly and a little viciously. His eyes were dark and his voice was a low rumble, disguised from any eavesdroppers by the music that was playing. Molly just shook her head and turned to catch the attention of Bill, or one of the other two bar staff, though all of them were serving other people. “Was out of order,” Harry added.

“But it’s ok for you to try and make me look a dick?” Molly retaliated quickly twisting her neck back to Harry. She wondered if it was obvious they were having a disagreement, she could bet it was. Harry’s body was stiff, his jaw bitten tight and her eyes kept narrowing in his direction.

“That’s different,” Harry mumbled.

“Really? How?”

“Because I’m not threatening to kiss someone else,” Harry pointed out. There wasn’t a doubt that if the room hadn’t been packed he’d have raised his voice, but instead he spoke through a clenched jaw, his teeth bitten together, his tongue hitting the back of them as pushed his words out of his throat.

“If you honestly think I’d do that you don’t know me very well,” Molly spurred, turning away from Harry again, admittedly a little hurt.

“Well, you did it to Ryan,” Harry reminded her, as if she needed reminding. No matter what Ryan had done, before or after they’d broken up, it didn’t take away from the fact she’d kissed someone else when they were together. No matter what happened from there, she doubted she’d be able to forgive herself. It was something she swore she’d never do, and no matter how many times Lauren told it was just a kiss, it was nothing, and no matter how much she knew how little it meant, it didn’t feel any better.

“Don’t use that against me Harry,” Molly murmured, sucking her cheeks in.

“Well don’t use it against me then,” Harry returned.

“Against you? Exactly how was I using it against you, you were the one who-”

“You have absolutely no idea how soul destroying it was to see you kissing my best mate do you?” Harry cut in quickly. Molly froze and closed her hanging jaw slowly pinching her lips together, if she’d been expecting him to say anything, it hadn’t been that. Harry sucked his teeth and shook his head. “Thought so.” Molly wasn’t sure what to say, whether an apology was more fitting, or just silent contemplation of what he’d said. It sunk in quickly, and it ached as it did it. Molly had her lips pinched together and she stared at the bar, picking at a blob of candle wax that had obviously dripped onto the wood at some point. “Look,” Harry started with a breath, “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, but I hate when you joke about that because it really got to me when it happened, and does a bit now too.”

“Why?” Molly asked quietly.

“Cause I really fucking liked you and you were kissing my best mate, why’d you think?” Harry told her honestly, Molly just shrugged, swallowing on nothing. It felt bad enough she’d done it anyway, now it felt worse. “I hate that you kissed him before you even thought about kissing me.”

“That’s not true,” Molly pointed out quickly, and it took Harry back. “I’d thought about kissing you, long before I kissed Niall.” Molly explained before Harry could ask what she was talking about. There was a smug smirk that crawled onto Harry’s face seemingly pleased with himself. “Don’t look so smug,” Molly tutted shaking her head.

“Well that makes it a little bit better,” Harry pondered, letting his tongue hang from one of his canine teeth.

“Jealousy isn’t a good look Harry, even on you,” Molly told him, finally catching the eye of the only woman working behind the bar.

“Everything’s a good look on me love,” Harry jested, turning as the woman got closer. “Alright Jackie, can I get…” Harry began to list of their order Molly looking at him as he did so, pondering what had just happened. As Jackie set about getting their order together, Harry looked back down at Molly. “What?” He asked with a grin.

“Can’t keep up with you, we’ve gone from arguing about a comment, to you being all smug and happy with yourself in two minutes, I don’t know if I’m coming or going,” Molly told him, and Harry chuckled though she wasn’t sure she was amused.

“Well, would you rather that, or let it ruin the night and be miserable?” Harry asked, and Molly supposed that was fair enough. “Look, I get jealous, I like you, so I get jealous, I’m a narcissist, I’m an arse hole, I know, and I’m sorry but I really like you Lol, really fucking like you, and I’m trying so hard not to be a narcissitc arse hole, cause I really don’t want to fuck this up,” Harry explained, and Molly huffed a laugh. “I’m failing right now, I know.”

“Don’t change, you’re not fucking it up,” Molly told him with a creeping smile. It was so wildly different to anything Molly had ever known and thrill of it was far better than any security or safety she’d gotten used to in the past. There was no doubt Harry wasn’t going to her hurt her in anyway, but he kept her guessing with everything else, and Molly found herself falling for it. “Kiss me?” She asked sweetly.

“As if you have to ask,” Harry chuckled, leaning forward and tipping Molly’s chin with his finger and thumb and catching her poised lips with his. It was a little intimate for the setting but neither seemed to care, not immediately anyway.

“Come on Styles, leave it til you get her home,” Jackie piped up, forcing them away from one another with a blush on Molly’s part and a laugh on Harry’s. “Seventeen eighty then ta,” Jackie told Harry, who started working on getting money out of his wallet as Molly began to carry drinks over to the table.

Once both back at the table, Harry and Molly took the seats next to one another, both with quietly pleased smiles on their faces as they took sips from their drinks and Harry reached under the table to put his hand on her thigh. No one even batted an eye lid as they shuffled closer to one another, too caught up in the conversation that was circling the table. Harry’s fingers were drawing patterns near Molly’s knee delicately enough that it tickled her skin through her jeans. Before Harry’s hand on her leg or around her own hand had been simply a source of comfort, an acknowledgement they were in it together. It still held that too, it still felt comforting and reassuring, but it was more than that. They were still in it together, but also it was a declaration that they were together, and Harry wasn’t afraid to touch her, or kiss her, or show any kind of affection in front of anyone. His hand was hidden by the table, but Molly had no doubt, if the table wasn’t there, his hand would still be resting over her leg, and tracing over her jeans to send tingles through her.

It felt like the mood had changed, at least to Molly. Things felt different to how they had initially. Neither of them were quite as tentative or nervous about stepping forward for what they wanted from the other. There were moments that felt a lot more primal and intuitive than the practiced steps they’d been taking in the moments after their first kiss. The way Harry pulled Molly’s body tighter to his, trying to get as much of his skin against her as possible, ensuring she could feel every part of him. The way she asked for a kiss, and didn’t shy from letting her breath tickle over his puckered lips as she stepped back down, hoping to leave him wanting more.

There was a conversation Molly was sure they had to have, though simultaneously she wasn’t entirely sure they did have to have it. With Ryan, they’d discussed it, it was her first time and she wanted it to be clear that she wasn’t rushing. It was very obvious Molly and Harry weren’t going to be each other’s firsts when they got to that point, and that was new to Molly. It made her nervous, not being sure whether to bring it up, to ask, or to just let it happen when they both wanted it to. Of course she trusted Harry completely, that wasn’t even something she was questioning, she knew he wouldn’t judge her or laugh at her, but it didn’t take away from how nervous bringing it up made her feel.

A gentle squeeze of her thigh bought Molly out of her thoughts, and she looked to Harry offering him a smile that matched the one he was giving her. Of course he could see she was getting into her head about something, and Molly could tell by the way his eyes flicked a little narrower for a second that he was trying to work out why. Molly tried to reassure him, widening her smile and a small shake of her head. Harry just bit his cheek though, and didn’t return his attention to the group until Molly had.

“Where are the toilets?” Molly asked, reaching forward and putting her bottle on the table.

“I’ll show you, need to go anyway,” Katie smiled, getting to her feet. Molly felt her tummy tighten, she couldn’t help it, Katie was intimidating and being alone with her made her a little nervous, but Molly just nodded and got to her feet, looking back to Harry as she followed Katie towards a door at the back of the room. He just chuckled quietly, noticing the tension Molly was holding.

The two women didn’t talk as they walked to the toilet, or once they’d locked themselves in separate cubicles. Molly wondered what the protocol was. Should she wait for Katie if she was done first, would Katie wait for her? Normally Molly would wait behind for her friends, but they were a gaggle of university girls often in club toilets together, not barely acquaintances in an antiquated rugby club.

Molly was done first, and she washed her hands slowly, hoping she wouldn’t have to make the decision and Katie would appear from her cubicle as she held her hands under the dryer. Luckily it worked, and Katie smiled as she caught Molly’s eye. Now Molly knew it was protocol to wait, she couldn’t just walk out the door without Katie now Katie was at the sink washing her hands. Molly stood patiently by the door, folding her lips together trying to think of something to say.

“-So-”

“-Sorry,” Katie spoke over Molly, though not intentionally. They chuckled quietly, and Molly motioned for Katie to carry on. “Sorry if I came across like a bitch,” Katie continued, wiping her semi-dry hands on her blue jeans.

“No, don’t be silly,” Molly brushed it off, obviously not about to tell Katie how uncomfortable she’d made Molly feel at brunch a couple of weeks previous.

“You don’t have to be nice, I know I come across cold, I’m not stupid,” Katie laughed, and Molly just shrugged not entirely sure what to say. “Was a bit of a shock Harry bought someone along to be honest,” Katie went on, and it was suddenly clear they weren’t about to just walk straight back out of the toilets, and perhaps Katie had been wanting to get Molly alone for a little longer than Molly had realised. “We never really even hear about girls he’s with, or at least Amanda and I don’t, he tells the lads about his conquests, but it’s normally just sex,” Katie shrugged as Molly tried not to feel uncomfortable. She shifted her weight and cleared her throat. “Of course, I’m not saying that’s all he’s with you for, obviously it’s not,” Molly nodded, though she couldn’t help the feeling that even if that wasn’t what Katie was saying, that she was putting the idea in Molly’s head by saying the words.

“No, of course not,” Molly smiled, before sucking her cheeks in and tilting her head. “Just, well, I’m not sure what you are trying to say,” Molly chuckled sarcastically. There was no doubt Katie could feel the tension she’d built up, but it was impossible to tell if she was enjoying it.

“You seem like a really lovely girl, everyone really likes you, just Harry has a tendency to lead people on, and you should know that,” Katie told Molly, stepping forward. Molly folded her arms across her chest and stood a little taller. It was very clear what Katie was getting at and she didn’t like it. The majority of her couldn’t believe it, not after how well Harry had, for the most part, treated her. But there was the tiniest bit of her that was starting to panic that her instinct that it was all too good to be true, might have been right. “If you want my opinion-”

“I don’t, I have my own, thanks,” Molly bit in, and turned for the door and moved to pull it, though Katie stepped in and held it closed.

“Well, I hope you know exactly what it is you’re getting into then,” Katie hissed before letting the door go so Molly could wrench it open. Molly could feel her hands trembling and she scraped them through her hair before she opened the second door back to the bar area, holding it open for Katie. There was no way she was willing to let it get under her skin, but at the very least, she didn’t want Harry to see it. So she smiled and walked beside Katie back to the table.

“Actually I’m going to be modelling for Lolly’s new project,” Molly heard Harry announce as they got closer to the table and Katie re-took her seat. Molly just smiled as Harry looked to her, but she began rummaging around in the pockets of her coat, not willing to take her seat again just yet.

“Ooo, get you,” Amanda cooed, bouncing Zak on her knee, suddenly tired and back from wherever he’d been. “What’s the project?” Amanda asked, turning her attention to Molly. Molly felt the spotlight, and cleared her throat, glancing at Amanda but not holding her eyes for any length of time, getting straight back to what she was looking for.

“It’s a tailoring project,” Molly mumbled, moving to the other pocket.

“Tell them about the ideas,” Harry gushed, nuding her arm a little with his elbow as he did so. The grin was welded into his tone of voice, Molly could hear it loud and clear.

“No Harry,” Molly sighed, giving up with her pockets and grabbing her bag from under her chair to look through it. The tote was large for where she found herself, but she’d come from the library where she’d been looking for references for an essay she was nearly finished with, and it was full with all kinds of things, making the search for the pack of cigarettes, she knew she’d picked up, harder than it should have been. They were left on the side from a housemate night out two nights previous. Jimmy and her had gone halves and there were three left in the pack of ten, all of them hers. At first she told herself she didn’t need them, and she didn’t. But she knew she’d be drinking, and the way Katie’s words had left her reeling, she was glad she’d grabbed them in a last minute panic and thrown them into her bag. Though she wished she had indeed put them in her pocket the way she’d intended as she swore she felt every pair of eyes on her.

“What? Why?” Harry quizzed quickly.

“They don’t want to hear about all that, it’s boring,” Molly hissed, flicking her eyes to Harry from her bag for a second.

“I’d like to hear,” Katie piped up from where she was sat. Molly turned her glare to Katie, Rich’s arm wrapped around the back of her chair. Molly wondered if he knew what his fiance had planned on telling Molly, or even if she’d planned it all. She wondered if Katie could see how she’d made Molly feel and was trying to make up for it, or if she was just twisting the knife. Molly just shook her head.  “What I would? It’s interesting,”

“It’s not, trust me,” Molly mumbled quietly.

“Who says?” Shane quizzed, from the other side of her. Molly swallowed on nothing and glanced up to Shane who’s forehead was a little creased. She didn’t say anything, but took a quick glance to Harry out the side of her eye. She saw it click and dropped her head.

“Her fucking ex,” Harry spat cruelly.

“Harry!” Molly scalded snapping her head to him.

“What it’s true? Somehow managed to convince you your ideas aren’t worth hearing about, must be fucking mad,” Harry bit, sitting up a little straighter and looking down at the floor as he did so.

“So tailoring like suits and stuff?” Katie asked clearly trying to diffuse the tension. It confused Molly and she could work Katie out even less than before. Before she’d just been cold, now she felt cruel and callous.

“Yeah, and she’s fucking amazing at it,” Harry chimed in aggressively.

“I’m talking to Molly,” Katie pointed out, pursing her lips at Harry until he sunk back before turning back to Molly. “Did it have to be menswear?” Katie asked, her voice sickly sweet again as she did so.

“No, but I prefer it personally,” Molly told her plainly, pulling her sketchbook out of her bag to give her more space to see, but holding it close to her just in case Harry got any ideas.

“Well, hopefully we get to see them, and Harry doing his David Gandy bit,” Katie smiled.

“Yeah,” Molly breathed a false laugh, finally reaching in and finding the pack of cigarettes. “I’m going for a cigarette,” Molly announced pulling a single one from the pack and the lighter that was also tucked inside before chucking her sketch book back in. “If anyone…?” She looked around the table but every single one of them shook their heads in response. “Young and stupid I guess,” Molly sighed.

“You calling us old?” Shane asked with a playful smirk.

“Exactly, but wise, so swings and roundabouts,” Molly smirked back, though it fell to nothing as she left the table and headed for the door with her coat and cigarette.  

It was bitterly cold outside, and Molly quickly pulled her coat on before resting the cigarette between her lips. She flicked the lighter  three times before a flame appeared from out of it. The flame was hypnotising, and she stared at it for a few moments before letting it go again and dropping her hands to her side with a sigh, staring up to the night sky and leaning heavier against the cold wall. For a little while she let the cigarette just hang lazily from her lips, but eventually she took it out and tucked it between her fingers. She didn’t want to smoke it, but if the feeling inside her that was making her eyes prickle and her mind reel with things she wanted to say continued much longer, that might change.

“You ok?” Harry spoke up, taking long but slow strides towards her, finding the pockets of his jeans and sliding his hands inside them.  Molly nodded slightly, and offered a faint smile that was barely visible through the dark. “You’re not smoking,” Harry pointed out, nodding towards the unlit cigarette in her hand as he stopped in front of her, hands still in his pockets.

“Don’t actually want it,” Molly laughed, tucking her hand into her own pocket and dropping the cigarette before letting her hand hang by her side once again. It was quiet for a little while, muffled sounds from inside the only noise. Molly didn’t know what to say, and she was scared that if she worked it out she wouldn’t be able to stop and she’d end up talking herself out of something that she’d spent months talking herself into.

“What’s up?” Harry asked, giving into the silence that was anything but comfortable.

“I’m fine,” Molly breathed with another little smile. One that Harry could see straight through, though she hadn’t worked that out yet, no one else seemed to and everyone else in her life had known her a lot longer than Harry. He sighed though, heavily and loudly, bordering between quiet growl and loud sigh, making it very transparent that he could see through her.

“This has got to stop Lol,” Harry started. Molly’s eyes went wide with the sudden change in tone, looking up to him from where she’d sunk against the wall. “Whatever it is that makes you think your thoughts and feelings are worthless,” Harry continued and Molly dropped her gaze quickly beginning to nibble on her bottom lip. “Was it him?” Harry asked quietly, but Molly didn’t answer just rolled her lips together between her teeth harshly so she felt the flesh pop over them and it left a metallic taste on her tongue as she swiped it over the inside of her mouth.  “I’m not gonna belittle you or your ideas or you feelings, it’s valid Lol, you’re valid, and this bullshit stops now, if you’re not fine I wanna know, if I piss you off I wanna know, pretending everything's ‘fine’ all the time isn’t gonna work.” It was right there, on the tip of her tongue, and she couldn’t bite it back and swallow it anymore, so she didn’t.

“He always used to say it was boring, what I did at uni was pointless and unimportant and I was boring when I talked about it, materialistic,” Molly told Harry, staring at the dirty pavement as she did so. It wasn’t something she told anyone, but the conversations she’d had with Ryan stuck in her mind and poisoned her enjoyment of talking about it.

“That’s absolute bullshit,” Harry bit quickly, not even stopping to really think about what Molly had said, just knowing it angered him and reacting as such.

“Maybe, but someone tells you something enough times I guess you start to believe it,” Molly shrugged and looked up at Harry, supposing there was no point trying to hide the tears in her eyes when there was a wobble in her voice as she spoke.

“Well stop, because it’s crap, it’s not boring, it’s not pointless and it’s not unimportant, and you’re certainly none of those things,” Harry implored, reaching forward and taking her face gently in his hands, ensuring she looked in his eyes as he told her the truth. “Lolly, I’m proud of you, I’m proud of what you do and can do, I wish you’d scream about it from the rooftops, you shouldn’t feel embarrassed about something you love.” His voice was quieter then, but the sincerity in his eyes didn’t follow suit.

“You’re proud of me?” Molly asked, her mind still hinged on those words alone.

“Of course,” Harry smiled with a slight chuckle as if the question was a joke. His hands dropped from her face then and he stood up a little straighter, Molly’s eyes following his.

“No one’s ever told me that,” Molly admitted almost silently.

“What?” Harry asked pointendly. Molly didn’t say anything though, just shrugged the way she so often did when she didn’t know what to say next. “No one?” Harry asked to be sure.

“No, not really, parents congratulate me and stuff, but they’ve never actually said they’re proud, and Ryan certainly never did,” Molly told him, loathing talking about him again.

“I think your parents probably are proud, they just don’t think they need to tell you,” Harry suggested, and Molly supposed the same thing. She never doubted they weren’t proud of her as such, they were always happy to hear talking about how well things at uni were going, and what she was up to, how much she enjoyed what she did. Molly guessed there were other ways to say you were proud of someone without actually saying the words.

“Probably.”

“But I will tell you every day if that’s what it takes to make you forget all that crap that arse hole ever told you that makes you feel like anything less than what you are,” Harry promised. Molly smiled happily as her lip turned downwards a little, her tears turning from something bitter to something far, far sweeter as she stared up at Harry and moved into his open arms. Harry pressed a gentle kiss into her hair as she rested her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around him. “And I’ll carry on even after that,” He told her, his words muffled by her hair. “Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever hated someone I hardly know as much as I hate him,” Harry hissed.

“But you hate people you do know?” Molly asked looking up at him uncomfortably from where she was resting against him.

“One or two, doesn’t everyone?” Harry muttered, releasing Moly from his embrace.

“I don’t think I hate anyone really, no,”  Molly mused, shaking her head as she did.

“Lucky you,”  Harry laughed. Molly’s mind was ticking, from one thing right onto the next, he had said he wanted her to tell her when something wasn’t fine, but she doubted he meant so much so quickly.

“That why you were squaring up that guy on the pitch?” Molly asked quickly.

“Huh?” Harry puzzled, his eyebrows lowering unevenly.

“During the game, if Shane hadn’t pulled you away, you’d have hit that guy from the other team,” Molly told him, but Harry just shook his head as if he wasn’t engaged in conversation with someone who seemed to know him better than he knew himself, and who had seen how he could get with her own eyes.. “You would Harry, you know that and so do I, I’ve seen it enough times now,” She reminded him, and she saw it twist on his face how much he hated that.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry grumbled, moving to turn away.

“Don’t I?” Molly asked, calling him back with her question.

“No,” Harry barked, but quickly pulled himself back. Molly wasn’t scared, but she could see in his eyes how riled he was getting. “It was a game of rugby, things get heated all the time on a rugby pitch,” Harry explained quietly, his tone evening a little more.

“Katie seems to think-”

“Katie what? Katie fucking what? What’s she getting involved in this time?”  Harry laughed as if he knew it was coming. Molly moved back to the wall a little more, suddenly feeling stupid for buying into her words so much with the amused look that was on Harry’s face.

“She just said you were gonna get yourself in trouble,” Molly told Harry, holding her own as best she could, despite how much better practiced Harry seemed to be at this kind of thing. Molly had never been good at arguments, she was sure being the youngest sister had taught her just to back down and admit defeat before it became a row, but something with Harry made her want to fight a little harder and she couldn’t back down from it.

“A yellow fucking card, it’s not the end of the world,” Harry told her.

“Yeah as long as it’s on the pitch, but it’s not just on the pitch is it, you’re getting pissed off with me now,” Molly pointed out, and with that Harry snapped his head at her. It wasn’t there, but he told himself he could see fear in her eyes and he stepped back so quickly it was a wonder he didn’t trip over himself. His hands were back in his pockets in seconds and he was shaking his head quickly.

“I’d never touch you, don’t even dare insinuate I would,” Harry promised, and there was an emotion in his voice that was far from anger but just as passionate.

“I never said you would,” Molly told him honestly, because she believed truly that he would never touch her with malice. “I just mean you’re getting angry, and if I was a lad your fists would be curling and you’d be thinking about hitting me,” Molly explained, and Harry knew he couldn’t argue that, because it was true. If anyone else were to rile him the way she was he’d be trying to find something to lay his fists into, but as it was, he was focused solely on Molly and making sure she understood she wasn’t like anyone else when it came to him, “Are you leading me on?” Molly asked, the silence giving way for other thoughts.

“I’m sorry, what the fuck? Where did that come from?” Harry spluttered, his eyebrows knitting together and eyes widening, pure shock registering over him. It didn’t take long to click though.  “Katie again?” Harry eye rolled, and stepped forward gently, as if asking permission, as if he had to. Molly didn’t do anything to rebuke him so he stepped closer, ensuring she could see the green of his eyes as he spoke and the honesty laced into it. “Listen, people, Katie, are gonna say things about me, stuff you’re not gonna want to hear, but you have just got to trust me,” Harry told her.

“Like what? What are people gonna say?” Molly asked.

“That I’m a player, that I fuck girls over, that I’m every girls worst nightmare,” Harry listed, there were other words, worse words, worse accusations, but the ones he chose were enough to give Molly the gist of the things he’d answered to in the past.

“That it?” Molly asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Yes,” Harry promised. The other words didn’t matter. They worked to the same effect, they meant the same thing, they were just more venomous and hateful. “Well, I think so,” Harry chuckled, but Molly shook her head.

“You can’t laugh it off everytime Harry, it’s not a joke,” She warned him. Sure she agreed it was good to move on from arguments and not let them fester into something far greater than they started out being, but she wasn’t about to laugh off every little thing just to save a little awkwardness at a table of friends.

“Everyone’s done stupid shit, and when I was younger yeah I was a dick I’m not gonna lie, but it has been nearly three years since I’ve even spoken to a girl like this, let alone been with someone,” Harry told her, and it wasn’t an over exaggeration, Molly could see that, so she nodded. “This is still new and fresh, so I can’t tell you where it’s going, but I want it to go somewhere, I’m not just after a fuck, I like being with you, and I want to keep doing this,” Harry told her, stepping closer still.

“What about the sex?” Molly asked quietly, and she saw Harry swallow on nothing, his tongue slipping out over his lips to wet them a little.

“What about it?” He asked lowly.

“Well, what, I, do you…” Molly lost her words, not quite sure what to say, not quite sure how to word it.

“We’ll get there when we get there, when we’re ready, if we’re ready, no rush, no pressure,” Harry assured her, and Molly nodded, visibly relaxing. No pressure sounded perfect. No rush sounded good too. They were in for the long haul, and at last Molly found her feet on the bottom, suddenly the deep end didn’t feel quite so deep, or at least not so terrifying.

Progress? No progress? I dunno what do you think?

I hope you like it, please let me know your thoughts and theories cause I LOVE THEM! If you missed the instas for the last five chapters check them out here, you don’t know what clues your missing otherwise.... 

Have a great weekend, lots of love x

[kou-kaeru]

Maybe, I found the root of it all.

-One idea of an answer to all the problems?-

-How to start a blog from loose thoughts-

So, how to start such a thing. I've got another blog which is about mental illness, self harm and depression, now I felt the urge to make another themed. It's gonna be about gender. Thinking about it, the two might be connected. I've been depressive since 8 years now, and never could anything help in long term. I could wait for the with great effort reached happiness would crumble down or fall like a building while earthquake.

Maybe, now I found a main reason, why I am never happy.

Some surely say 'ugh if you were trans, you'd know it!' And really, that's one thing I'm very scared about. Am I? Who says if I am or not. Do I even have to label myself, when it is so obvious that something definitely |is| wrong? I don't want to, and don't feel I have to prove, when my own self screams it at me so clearly.

I've always hated my body. Oh, it never felt like it was MY body. I woke up one morning and suddenly had hips and giant boobs and every month again a bloodbath. I was raised and grew up as a girl, so acting in my role was easier than the questions and fears that came every time I saw myself in the mirror. But you can't run from yourself. Even since I can remember back I dressed up as a male whenever socially possible (cosplay), playing male characters in every game and roleplay (which literally is my life), always had male friends, always felt most comfortable around males, never want kids, never want dresses, never ever liked any of the girls stuff I was supposed to like. The questions turned into screams and more and more my breast felt like disgusting creatures that someone attached to my body without my permission and I just want to cut them off, I want to strip out my skin, I AM SO FUCKING TRAPPED IN MY OWN BODY AND EVERYONE COMPLIMENTS ME FOR BEING SUCH A CUTE PRETTY GIRL! no, for hells sake no! *becoming so emotional here*

I fought for a breast reducing surgery (I had H cup, they were a physical disability so the insurance accepted the plan), and finally got it in October 2016. I was so freakin happy! I thought that's it! I'll finally see myself. But my shirt still shows bulges and I cried so much. I realized, reducing was not enough, there must be more, I still am not me!

Currently, I've been seeing and reading a lot about trans men. From the first minute on I felt so understood. Like for the first time in my life someone spoke out what I myself didn't allow me to even think! I grew up countryside, no one has ever heard about gender problems there, nor that gender roles are a problem, nor gender expression. But now, suddenly all my fears and self hate and never being able to be happy with myself (maybe) got a name!

I'm excited. I can't think of anything else. I consume all information I can get. See pictures of surgeries, testosterone treatments, stories and fates. So here I am, starting this blog. Let's see where the journey goes 🙌✨