#talked about it a lot with rabbi T back when things were on track

[ruffboijuliaburnsides]

Hi! Obviously ignore this if I'm asking something too personal, but you've mentioned that you're in the process of converting to judaism and I've been wondering how did you start? I've done a good bit of research and think it's something I'm interested in, but I have no idea what the actual process of conversion looks like, much less where to begin. Obviously feel free to ignore, or send me towards someone else, but thought I'd ask!

Hey no worries, anon! So, I will preface this by being forthcoming and saying I got partway through the conversion process, was forced to move, and ended up in a different part of the country with only one shul nearby whose rabbi (and community) are… very unfriendly to converts. They don’t SAY they are, but a few months of attendance and a handful of meetings with the rabbi with regards to conversion really hammered home that neither my wife nor I felt even remotely comfortable converting here, considering it’s a very personal and often vulnerable process, and wherein you have to actually like… trust and communicate with the rabbi you’re working with. So my conversion, while I still consider it “in progress”, is in an indefinite stall until we can move somewhere else or can reliably get to the next closest shul, which we currently cannot for various reasons.

ANYWAY. I started by doing a lot of research. Mostly I was just looking into… all kinds of religion, including Islam actually, because I missed the community and the structure and the spiritual anchors of my very conservative evangelical christian upbringing, but I didn’t like or want to return to the actual, y’know…. beliefs and tenets of Christianity. I found Judaism and just… the more I read and researched about the beliefs and the general culture of questioning and grappling with things within it, the more I felt like I’d found a people who I could understand, and a religion that understood me and would allow for me to be uncomfortable and question why things are taught certain ways and so forth. Which was one of many things that drove me away from Christianity, as I was not good at the whole “blind faith” thing. (they insist it’s not blind, but if you’re not supposed to question god then… what else IS it?)

At that point we were living in upstate new york, and the nearest reform shul was very small, did not have a permanent rabbi (there was one for a number of local communities that cycled around every few weeks), and really while they were officially reform they seemed to as a community have a practice and beliefs a lot closer to something like reconstructionist or humanist Judaism. I went to shabbat services on fridays there for a few months, and they were very nice but said they were very much not a usual reform congregation and that I should probably actually convert somewhere with a permanent rabbi and that was a bit more traditional, but that in the meantime they were more than happy to have me attend services and events with them. They were very sweet and I did appreciate that opportunity to accustom myself to the general pacing and content of a friday night shabbat service.

At that point we get to the part that you’re actually asking about, and I’m sorry if you’re just like “OH MY GOSH MAGS PLS JUST GET TO THE POINT” which is when we moved back down to Florida and I actually properly started the conversion process with a rabbi! I started out emailing the local shul and saying that I had just moved to the area, I was not Jewish but was interested in possibly converting and had been attending services at a very small shul up north, and is it all right if I attend a few shabbat services while I consider converting? I will say, I have never been told “no please don’t attend” about going to shabbat services, but especially with the world the way it is, and me being new and not knowing anyone in the community or having anyone to vouch for me, I prefer to ask beforehand so that they know to expect someone new who is reaching out and less likely to be a threat.

Anyway after a couple of weeks at that shul, I already loved the people and could tell I would get on pretty well with the rabbi, so I emailed her again about setting up a meeting to discuss converting. We had the meeting, talked about why I wanted to convert, what would be required of me, etc. She got me set up with a book list and some books from the shul library, gave me a reading assignment and asked me to write down any thoughts or questions I had, along with some other things that were kind of reading comprehension stuff, and told me to email her when I had finished so we could have another meeting. She also stipulated that she would have me live and practice through a full year of the Jewish calendar at minimum before she’d declare me ready to go to the mikvah, and we’d meet regularly, I’d do a lot of reading, I needed to attend a beginning hebrew class for adults that would be starting again over the summer, attend services (both weekly and holiday) as much as possible, and engage as much as possible in the community. (I really loved them. I was a soloist in the Purim spiel that year and I had friends and once I’d finished converting and could join the synagogue I’d already been needled to join their tiny choir and it was just a great group of people.)

Aaaand then we had to move due to things outside our control, and I couldn’t attend as often due to being a heck of a drive away (in a car with no A/C, in Florida, in the summer) so I tried to shift over to a closer shul whose rabbi my old rabbi knew, but it was High Holy Days and then he was travelling for some studies and couldn’t start doing anything like conversion until that was all over, and then we had to move again and now we’re here and have a very unfriendly rabbi and congregation, so we don’t attend services right now.

…………all this to say: you’ve done some research and you think you’re interested. Next step is to find the nearest shul that is of the movement you want to convert in, and call or email them and just let the rabbi know where you’re at and ask if you can attend some services respectfully to see if you still feel drawn to Judaism when engaging with it directly. If so, let the rabbi know, set up a meeting, and go from there. It’ll take time, a year at the LEAST and usually longer even if you DON’T have the sort of issues I’m currently having, but if HaShem is calling you home, it’s worth it.

(and if your rabbi requires to you take any classes or what-not, most organizations that run them that require you to pay some kind of fee offer scholarships or reduced tuition if you’re not financially able to enroll in them initially, so be sure to reach out about stuff like that, too.)

[beepbeeprichiellc]

reddie+21?

21. best friends sibling au

Read on A03

Entering the Uris home was equivalent to walking on the moon.  Very little have done it and doing so was a life changing event. Richie entered on eggshells, following so close to his friend that he ended up bumping into his backpack when he stopped to pull off his shoes. Stan shot him an annoyed look, rolling his eyes and muttering profanity under his breath. The place was nice, smaller than his own home but much, much cleaner. It was like everything was in its place, even dust not daring to enter without permission. A sweet scent of Lysol mixed with clean laundry wafted back into them.

“Hey Stanley, who is your friend?” Someone asked from the kitchen, the bar blocking RIchie’s view but he assumed it was Rabbi Uris.

“Dad, this is Richie.” Stan introduced, vaguely motioning to his friend. “We have a project to do for school.”

“Well it must be important, you hardly ever bring your friends over.”

That was no kidding. In the four years of their friendship Richie had never been inside of Stan’s home. It wasn’t that he hadn’t asked-the trashmouth notorious for barging into people’s lives-it was that Stan refused to let him in. When they hung out it was at his or Bill’s house, when there was a project it was the library or Richie’s room. Never. Ever. The Uris home. However when their senior project came due and the library was closed for training the same day the Tozier’s were entertaining family there was no other choice. Needless to say, Stan was not happy about it.

Sighing, Stan replied. “Yeah, I know. We will be upstairs if you need us.”

“Alright, you kids have fun.” Mr. Uris shouted as they ascended up the stairs.

Stan’s room was cold, that was the first thing Richie noticed. A shiver ran down his spine, making the hairs on his arm stand on end. There was a blue tint to everything, blue curtains, bed sheets and walls. It was so clean that it made the front room look like a wreck and Richie’s room like a dump truck. Even the pencils on the desk were in parallel lines, the comforter had folded creases for god sakes. Richie was impressed.

“Nice room.” Richie whistled.

“Shut up.” Stan snapped, putting his bag onto the ground and opening it. “I don’t want to hear your jokes.”

“Jokes? Jokes about what?”

“About how my room is super clean, how it’s like obsessive and weird and creeps you out.” There was a slight pinch to his voice, catching Richie off guard. “This is why I don’t bring you over, you always make fun of me for being put together and this place is where I can me myself so if you tease me for the way I am at school then I knew it would be a thousand times worse if you were in my home. I mean I have OCD for god’s sake what did you think it was gonna be like when you-”

“I don’t care what your room looks like.” Richie cut, his heart tugging at the small tears that had suddenly began to pool in Stan’s tear ducts. “I wouldn’t make fun of you for anything like that, I’m your friend. I can’t believe you thought I was that horrible.”

“Wel I-” Stan sputtered, turning away and placing books onto his bed. “I’m sorry, just thought since you were the king of jokes that you would-”

“Apology accepted.” Richie smirked, patting his friend on his back so hard that Stan jerked forward. “Now lets knocked out this project eh? Gotta get an A so that I can get into a good school I do.” He finished in a horrible british voice, lighting up the tension and putting some good vibes into the thick air.  

Stan scoffed, “That was the worst voice yet Rich.”

“You love it.”

The Uris boy smiled, actually smiled as he sat down onto the ground, motioning Richie to do the same. They fell into a dull sequence, writing and reading about their topic as a comfortable prence spread between them. It was like this sometimes, with Richie making subtle jokes and Stan scorning him for doing so. Just two friends doing their best to graduate, the project being a huge factor in doing so.

About two hours later there was a loud slam from the room next to them, followed by the blaring lyrics of a familiar rock band. It was so unlike the aesthetic of the household that Richie looked up from his book and stared at wall, trying to see through it to get a peek. “Hey Stan?” He asked, earning a small hum. “Uh what is that?”

“Probably Metallica or something.” Stan shrugged. “Eddie’s been turned on to them thanks to some girl at his school.” He sounded so annoyed, his nose turning upward in disgust.

“No, I uh-got that.” He grumbled, motioning to the band shirt he was sporting. “Who in the hell is Eddie?”

“My brother.”

“Brother?”

Stan finally looked up from the paper in his lap, frowning. “Yeah, well-no not biologically. We finished the legal work last year but he’s been living us for about three.”

Richie nearly choked, “You have never told me you had a brother.”

“I’m sure I have.”

“No.”

“Once, you probably weren’t listening.”

“I think I would remember Stanley.” Richie growled, shooting him a knowing glare. “How have I never met him? Is he like older or something?”

“No, same age.”

“Oh my god.” He griped, rubbing his face in frustration. “Does go to Derry high too? Have you been hiding him in your locker or something?”

“No, he goes to the private school. Got a full ride for running track.”

Richie shot up, “I’ve got to meet him.”

“No!” Stan shouted, grabbing his wrist to still him. “Okay you’re right, I’ve never told you but it’s because you have a reputation for being a horn dog and Eddie’s been through a lot of shit.”

“Now I’ve got to meet him if you think I’d bang him.” Richie said, a need for satisfaction-that  would only come from meeting the secret brother he didn’t know Stan had-bubbling in his stomach. “He must be hot as fuck.”

“Richie, you can’t meet him. Just let it go.” Stan warned, standing to his full height. Although he was inches shorter, he towered over the trashmouth. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

“Stan, Stanley, Stannybear.” Richie cooed, “I’m your best friend-”

“No you’re not, Bill is.”

“-And as your best friend I should reserve the right of meeting your brother!” It was kind of a long shot but he would do just about anything to see this super attractive track star. “I won’t say anything embarrassing if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Stan snorted, “You, Richie Tozier, are a walking talking embarrassment.”

“You wound me Stan!” He faked gasped, clutching his chest. “Your words, they are like daggers in my heart!”

“Richie!”

“Stanley!”

Their arguing voices were silenced by the sound of a clearing throat in the doorway. Both boys turned, finally noticing the person that was leaning against the frame. Richie gapped, taking him in all at once as his brain stilled for the first time in his life. Eddie was wearing sweats that hung low on his hips, his white t-shirt a too little snug against his defined abdomen creating a small line of flesh that was visible just below his navel. His face was soft, freckles dusted along his nose and cheeks, making Richie want to reach out and connect them like stars. With brown hair and doe eyes, it made sense that Stan wanted to keep him hidden from Derry High’s most eligible bachelor. Shit, Richie wanted to jump his bones right then and there.

“Your dad wants to know if your friend is going to stay for dinner.” Eddie said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“No.” Stan said.

“Yes!” Richie shouted over him.

Eddie raised his eyebrow, pursing his lips and staring at the both of them in what could only assume was amusement. “Yeah, I’m just gonna tell him maybe.”

“No, Eddie don’t-” But Stan was waved off and ignored as his brother turned heel and left, leaving the spot where Richie was staring. Instinctively the trashmouth went to follow like a love struck puppy, following Eddie’s scent of irish spring and lavender. He was stopped when a hand grasped the back of his shirt, keeping him from going too far. “Oh hell no, I don’t think so.”

“Stan-”

“Off limits.” He hissed, tugging him backwards. “Understand.”

“What? That’s not fair, he’s like an angel. A sexy, well defined angel!”

“You’re my best friend Richie.” Stan said, taking his friend by surprise. “And as my best friend, Eddie is off limits. You aren’t allowed to pursue him, to get sweet on him or any of that stuff you pull on the girls at school. You have to promise me Richie.”

“But-”

“Promise.”

Richie sighed, relaxing a little. “Promise.”

“Good.” Stan nodded, sitting back down onto the floor. “Now let’s get this done before it gets to late.”

The trashmouth sat back down, unable to pry his eyes from the doorway as his friend began to pull the books back out. Stan was talking but Richie couldn’t hear a single word because right then Eddie walked past the open space, pausing for a second to smile and wink right at him. Richie’s heart fluttered, his eyes widening and mouth dropping open. This made Stan’s brother chuckle before he kept on his path and disappeared down the hall.

“Fuck.” Richie groaned.

[transalfiesolomons]

I’ve had to deal w a lot of transphobia the last few days, you have any trans headcanons to spare? 🌸💀

You’ve come to the right place friend. I hope you’re cool with an unanticipatedly large dump of ‘em (specifically on Alfie and Michael) below the cut 

(oh I should mention up front these are all modern au) 

(a quick caveat with this. I talk a little bit about the intersection of being trans and being Jewish and while I try to be as culturally sensitive as possible, I am not myself Jewish, so if anyone reading this has something to add or to correct please please do not hesitate to do so)  

(there’s also probably some sentence fragments and thoughts that trail off because i’m a fool who can’t proofread) 

me: hey just do a few happy ones

also me, 3,000 words later, basically having written two fics: ah,

Alfie –

I.

Alfie Solomons spends a lot of his childhood chasing on the heels of older male cousins, refusing to be cooped up inside with the women of the family. He knows there are things that his cousins will never let their single little girl cousin know or see, condescendingly protecting her from a world that is her birthright just as much as it is theirs. 

He grows up hearing about the “family business” without ever seeing it or knowing anything about it, other than sometimes the police came to rough up family members and make arrests and hurl slurs while they did so. But whether this had anything to do with illegality on his family’s part or just people hating Jews, Alfie never really figured out, only that after such raids his cousins are quieter and afraid and those are the times a place for Alfie opens up among them, a desire to hold family close.

When he was younger, growing up around his father’s extended family in Camden Town, Alfie had pretty constantly railed against not being able to do what his male cousins did and also pretty constantly did that stuff anyway, which garnered him both amusement and consternation from his family who only occasionally attempted to stop him.

The men in the family paid him absolutely no attention, which he felt was wrong for some reason but could never find the words to explain why until much alter in his life, until after he stumbles over the word “transsexual” in a medical diary while waiting for a physical exam and until after he first applies the word to himself. Both of which come when he is already an adult. But even before he knows, it complicates a lot of his life, especially when he came to gender roles in worship. Even after he turned 13, he was not allowed to be part of a minyan which felt wrong until someone explained that it was because he’s a girl and only men can be part of a minyan which felt even more wrong but he didn’t push it because there’s a look on his mother’s face when he asked why that told him this was just one of those things (and there were many, admittedly) that just wasn’t up for debate.

II.

Alfie makes the realization that he’s trans when he is 27. Five years into his enlistment in the British Army, sitting on Basra air base in 2004 during the British-to-American turnover, twiddling his thumbs and sweating his ass off watching supplies be loaded and unloaded on the airstrip. Two months from home for good and suddenly skin-crawlingly aware he doesn’t recognize what he sees in the mirror anymore as himself. He remembers that word then, thinks back to not understanding it at the time, thinking it was strange and wrong, and he spends the rest of the day rolling it (and rolling he, him, his) over on his tongue until its stone-heavy and nearly wrung of meaning.

It’s a sudden and stomach-swooping realization, a long-time-coming clarity that still bowls him over with the sheer force of it.

His last month there, he buzzes his hair just to see how it would be, what it would feel like under his hands. When asked why - and he goes from a regulation cut, but just barely regulation to as short as the clippers will allow him without just shaving his head, so he is asked quite a lot - he claims that the heat just finally got to him and he couldn’t take it anymore. His face is too soft then, a roundness in the cheeks he’d never shed from childhood, to allow him to pass with just a buzz but it gives him a modicum of personal comfort to run his hands over his scalp and feel that soft prickle under his fingers.

He comes home and out-processes from the military and almost immediately jumps into figuring out where the fuck to go from here, pouring over what few online resources he can find and feeling more and more adrift from himself every day. He doesn’t fit into the common narrative of “knew all along” and he doesn’t exactly feel “wrong” in his body (frankly, he’s proud of it) so it’s a long time before he’s able to truly accept that he is transgender and not actively losing his mind and that there isn’t something wrong with him. 

His place as a trans man and his decision to transition put him not necessarily at odds with but in a weird position with his Jewishness. So much of Judaism is split along gender lines: where you sit in temple, what you wear, how you’re addressed, what prayers you lead, what prayers you say, if you can lead prayers at all. It causes a radical reevaluation of where he stands in relation to his faith and to g-d but in the end it wholly reaffirms both his faith and how he feels about himself.There are actually two (incredibly progressive) rabbis that help him - one who reaffirms his identity as a trans man and as a Jewish man and another who tells him in Halachic terms that he can get gender-affirming surgery if it is something he wishes to pursue.

The cool thing about realizing when he did is that Alfie doesn’t have anyone he has (or wants) to come out to - his mother had died some years before, he was estranged from his only (half) sister, he was only ever rarely in contact with any member of his maternal family (spread out between Russia and Israel), and he’d lost contact with his paternal family after his father died when he was eight and his mother moved them away from Camden Town out of fear. He had no close friends or relationships due to his “inability to relate to others” and “aloofness” (the army’s words) and his being “an utter sociopath” (his XO’s words). The not so cool thing is the not inconsiderable amount of loneliness he feels when transitioning alone, celebrating milestones like his first year on T alone, especially when recuperating alone from surgery with only his dog to keep him company (and the complications he didn’t consider - like having to take the dog on walks when he could barely get off the sofa.) But that’s, uh, that’s what alcohol is there for right? 

(Already fit from military training, he dedicates a lot of time during his early transition to weight training and a continuation of the hand-to-hand he learned in basic.) 

III.

His father’s family (the little that’s left of it after a brutal turf war between the Jews and the Italians over a decade ago) reaches out to him when he’s 31, after the murder of his uncle by a small Italian gang of upstarts who took old age for infirmity and, in his cousin’s words, “paid dearly” for it. The invitation is for his uncle’s funeral, but he ends up staying in Camden Town afterwards, working for his cousin who has assumed control of the gang after his father’s murder. Alfie very quickly garners a reputation for just vicious brutality against people that cross the gang. 

Alfie considers it strange that his cousin invites him back, considering, well – but no one (including his cousin) actually seems to remember him well enough to remember that he was a girl child once. People remember that he is his father’s child but apparently not what gender he was assigned at birth. People remember him roughhousing with the boys, not that he was reprimanded for doing so because he was not “one of the boys.” It begs the question of how his cousin tracked him down but Alfie supposes there may only be so many Solomons in England. And it’s weird but it’s also incredibly welcome. Gifts and horses and mouths.

Alfie’s assumption of control of the Solomons Gang right out from under his cousin (who was never fit for the job anyway) is an incredibly nebulous affair that followed very closely on the heels of his uncle’s death. Like, before shiva is even over close on the heels of (which is an exaggeration, but it makes him out to be all the more ruthless, really). Legitimately no one but Alfie knows how exactly any of it went down other than it has a body count somewhere between 2 and 15 people. He describes it to this way as a coup de grace. What that means, no one is even kind of willing to ask.

IV.

He’s outed twice: once by a man in his own gang (a few years after he gains control) and once not long after by a competitor who thinks it will cost Alfie everything. It doesn’t go the way either of them wanted.

His boy does it internally, digs up his service record and his discharge papers and starts to spread the “truth” in an effort to undermine Alfie and possibly gain control of the gang himself. He doesn’t live long past the first wave of rumors and it’s fairly quickly forgotten, just a power-hungry man trying to start something he couldn’t finish.

The competitor spreads it among his supplies and allies, many many of whom have negative reactions and cut ties with the Solomons gang. This costs him the most, at least in the short term - suppliers, support, respect, a modicum of safety - but he doesn’t let it intimidate him. And because it never destabilizes him or truly threatens his leadership of the gang (who actually stand by him, not because they’re supportive but because he’s already proven to be incredibly volatile and unpredictable but also fair to and protective of those loyal to him), he gains a lot in the long term.

(By the time Tommy comes into the picture when he’s 39, there’s been so much turnover in the ranks of nearly every gang and blackmarket business that barely anyone knows and the ones that do either don’t care or just don’t feel like its worth acting on.)

The second time someone internally tries to use his being trans against him, his boys doesn’t even flinch because, cis or trans, Alfie terrifies them. He’s 5′9, built like a brick shithouse, like an American Bulldog, probably 16 stone of mostly muscle, deadlifts twice that, and he punches like a freight train hauling cinder blocks and he terrifies them.

There’s not a person in this world that can make Alfie Solomons ashamed of who he is.

Michael –

I.

Polly spends so much of her life scouring the country looking for her stolen daughters, devastated beyond the ability of words to convey - after searching for twelve hard, long, lonely, terrified years - to find one daughter dead (buried in a country she has never been to and will never see, she can’t even visit her baby’s grave) and the other seemingly wiped from the system after her (private) adoption, no record or her past six years old.

She hits roadblock after roadblock, denied access to privileged and private information she has no legal right to access anymore. It’s helpless, desperate work and it almost breaks her because how could her eldest daughter just disappear?

It’s Tommy who eventually gets access to the records, who digs and digs (and bribes and threatens, but Polly probably doesn’t need to know about that part but probably does anyway, she knows her nephews too well to expect anything different, especially Thomas) until he hits pay dirt. The gender recognition certificate, the legal name change barely half a year ago, the parental consent forms for treatment of gender dysphoria.

It’s a week after he finds it all that he shows her, having mulled over how to tell her and finally settles on just laying it all out. He slides her the folder over breakfast and drinks his coffee – black, two sugars, a Shelby staple – while she reads what she initially thinks are some financial documents or some other Family Business™ family business.

He watches her face morph from shock to confusion to hope to awe and around to the same kind of fond exasperation she looks at him and his siblings with, the closest to love-comfort-softness that Polly gets.

And somewhere in that mix of emotions he knows there is a tug of grief (and it stings, it will never stop stinging, that grief, but for once it isn’t aimed at him), grief because she has lost both of her daughters, grief that is outweighed by the joy of having gained a son, just like the joy of gaining a nephew that outweighed the grief of losing a niece all those years ago. 

“Michael,” she says, awe unmistakable. Traces a hand along the papers with as much tenderness as if they were the face of her lost son, soon soon so soon to be found again and brought home to them.

(Michael, she thinks later, of course he’d somehow pick a family name. It’s only right and it’s perfectly right, she wouldn’t have chosen any different.) 

II.

They wait to reach out until after Michael turns 18, until he has been legally emancipated from his adopted parents. And the wait kills Polly but she understands it, given the circumstances. It’s Tommy that reaches out, somewhat awkwardly, a voicemail left on a cellphone. Perfunctory, because how do you explain the weight of a history like their family’s over voicemail, with a rushed callback number just before the cutoff tone.

And Michael, for his part, two years on HRT and attending uni in London and happy as hell and finally free from parents who were tepidly accepting (at least enough to help him medically transition) but suffocating in their palpable discomfort, jumps at the chance to meet Tommy.

It’s validating that his birth family has reached out to him and even more validating that, to have found him at all, they would have had to found out that he was trans. And to have reached out, they would have had to accept that fact or at least grapple with it. To have reached out, they would have had to want to see him and that’s reason enough to want to meet Tommy. That’s even reason enough to forget that his parents haven’t spoken to him since the day he moved out of their home, to forget that they looked relieved when he left.

III.

And two weeks later they’re sitting across from each other at a coffee shop in north London, a hipster hole in the wall place with good pastries - Michael’s suggestion. They both order coffee – black, two sugars. Michael doesn’t understand why that’s funny to Tommy.

Tommy sits across from him, eyes a shade of blue so startling it’s both hard to maintain eye contact and to look away at all, and offers Michael a a chance to rejoin the family he barely remembers he lost and it almost breaks Michael in half, because he didn’t expect any of this to be so easy. Except it’s not easy, of course it’s not, there’s a weight between then the heft of many people, fathers and brothers and sisters and daughters, but Tommy carries that weight somehow better, with a straight-backed pride Michael finds he would like to learn. To carry the weight of his past like a talisman and not an albatross.

“What does my mum think,” Michael asks just before they say goodbye, standing there on the sunniest day London has seen in months, on the corner outside Warren Street station. He’s put off actually asking this question, unwilling to hear the answer. Unwilling to have another parent see him as a disappointment. “Of me? Of… me.”

Tommy doesn’t speak for a long time, pulling drags and exhaling slowly. When he does speak, he doesn’t look at Michael and Michael can’t help the way his stomach drops to his feet in bitter, sickening anticipation of some kind of rebuff, some kind of confirmation that this will be hard. Instead, Tommy smiles, just slightly, the corner of his mouth blink-and-you’ll-miss-it twitching, and says “You’re her son. She loves you.”

Like it’s just that easy. And for the Shelbys, it kind of is. Family is family, all baggage included. (Ride or die, bitch.)

And Michael isn’t really given to strong emotions (another Shelby staple) but he carries that answer with him for days after, holds it in his body like a physical thing, right next to his heart tucked protectively behind his ribcage. Her son, her son, her son.

(He finds out later that Tommy himself is trans but that is not for some time - it’s definitely one of the last pieces of the puzzle for him, that last missing piece of sky that completes a nearly two decades long year search for who he is and where he belongs. But it’s not for a while yet.)

IV.

He meets his birth mother on a stormy day two weeks after he first meets Tommy. He stands on a curb in Small Heath with an address on a scrap of paper, hastily scribbled while on a confirmation call with Tommy (who does not and will not text, the neanderthal) when he arrived in Birmingham.

She’s not at all what he expected (smaller, thinner, stress-worn. but he has her nose he thinks, and her chin, the curls in her hair) but he supposes he isn’t what she suspected either so they’re at least on equal footing.

Her home smells of incense and perfume, the tea she brews is stout-dark but bright-sweet, her hands are soft and warm on his back when she hugs him and with tears threatening to choke him, his forehead on her shoulder, he thinks oh, I remember this.too

[heart-of-dunbroch]

MERIDA DUNBROCH: CHARACTER SHEET 

Wishing, wanting for something more, always better than I had before. Who knew these dreams would come true? And I run the red, won't stop at night, I don't care for traffic lights. Things ain't moving quick enough for me. I guess I've been running round town leaving my tracks, burning out rubber, Driving too fast But I've gotta slow right down.

ORIGINS & FAMILY: Name: Merida Elinor DunBroch Nickname: Mer, Mera, Reason for name: “Oooooh, don’t remind me!” -Merida Merida’s parents had their honeymoon in a sea-side town in Spain where, after a day full of riding on the beach, swimming, dancing and too much drink, Merida was conceived. Her mother is the one who named her, paying homage to Spain while deriving the name from the gaelic “Maighread” meaning ‘pearl.’ Birthday: March 21, 1998  Age: 19 Gender: Female Place of birth: Inverness, Scotland Places lived since: Merida has never moved anywhere, but she has spent a fair amount of time in London, Inverness, Edinburgh, Glasgow and the wild forests and highlands of Scotland. Number of siblings: She has three brothers who are currently 8 years old (and have a long way to go before they can begin training!) They are triplets: Hubert, Hamish and Harris.

Relationship with family (close? estranged?):

Mum-- Ah, Merida and her mother. Welcome to World War 3. When Merida was younger, she got along much better with her mum, enjoying her various lessons because, hey, they were fun back then. She loved learning how to sing and play guitar, how to take care of the horses, she loved the stories and histories of the Order of the Prince too. Sure, Merida was always rascally and always cut lessons short, but they were really close until Mer got to be around 8 or 9 and she wanted to spend all her time riding, exploring, and practicing archery. Now, she can’t for the life of her understand her mum, nor can Elinor understand her. And Elinor has gotten stricter and stricter with Merida the more she acts out which just creates a vicious cycle.

Da- On the flip side, Merida adores her father. He began to teach Merida how to shoot a bow and arrow when she was a wee thing as he didn’t have a son. Merida shares Fergus’s sense of humour and is equally as mischievous. They have a running game of pranks, the two of them, that’s been going on for over a decade now.

Her brothers- aye, y’mean those three red-headed bampots? They were born when Merida was 11 years old, coming out of nowhere, surprising everyone. And if you ask Merida, they’re worse than her when it comes to making trouble, not that her mum even notices. No, they can get away with it because they’re boys. Sexism, Merida cries. Though-- that aside, and though they’re pure terrors, she can count on her brothers to keep her secrets so long as she pays up. Fair’s fair anyway.

Uncle Lachlan- Mer’s uncle, the younger brother of Fergus. He’s a bit of a jakey himself, and too harsh on Lachlan. His wife left him years ago because of his drinking problem.

Lachlan- Merida’s cousin (son of Fergus’s brother) who is just a few months younger than her. He’s expected to eventually rise to be the new patriarch of the Dunbroch brood, but for all the metal in Mer’s blood, he’s got none of it. His first solo hunt ended in disaster and he’s been too scared to hunt ever since. He shares Merida’s love for horses though and she loves Lachlan for his support and friendship.

Aunt and Uncle MacDonald: On her mum’s side, Merida’s got Uncle Harris, her mum’s big brother, and his wife, Aunt Tamra. Uncle Harris disapproves of Merida’s behavior though Merida says that’s just because she can beat his own sons at any sport there is-- just watch!

Innis and Iain MacDonald: Her twin cousins who are just nine months her senior, which means she would be beatin’ their arses in every training session, field trip and tourney if given the chance. Both of ‘em are your typical MacDonald Knight-bros-- aggressive, short-tempered, proud. Both are skilled with longswords and tridents and know how to handle some heavy artillery because they’re often out on the lake, lookin’ for Nessie. But neither’s slain their first monster.

Senga MacDonald: just 15 and already a nail in Merida’s bum. Her little cousin’s everything a proper lady of the Order should be and likes to tease Merida that if Mer doesn’t take over Castle Cawdor, then she sure will. She’s got a crush on Donald MacIntosh though (who’s got a thing for Mer), so Mer gets a small sense of victory.

Robert “Rabbie” MacDonald: Merida’s 13 year old cousin who is getting ready to start his years in the Order and worships Innis and Iain.

Aunt Aileen and Uncle Quinn MacIntosh: Her mum’s younger sister, Aunt Aileen, married the youngest of the MacIntosh boys. Her Uncle Quinn is unfortunately been put in a wheelchair from the same run-in with Mor’du that took her father’s leg and because of it, they’ve never had kids. Despite that, he remains good friends with Fergus and is kinder to Merida than the MacDonald side of the family. Aileen however is as stern as her mother.

Uncle Robert and Aunt Moira MacIntosh: Related by marriage only, the eldest MacIntosh brother hates Fergus and the rest of the Dunbrochs for the accident that crippled his little brother. He is the father of Donald MacIntosh.

Donald “Donnie” MacIntosh: Related by marriage only, Merida’s “cousin” has had a thing for her for a while. He’s one of those boys who gets turned on the more Merida pinches, pushes, and slaps him around. He’s also a total numpty, though not half bad a warrior-- she’s begrudingly let him give her swordfighting lessons in secret (under their parents’ noses both) which she knows he only does because he likes her. Yuck.

Uncle Domnhall MacIntosh: Never married, Prince MacIntosh is the middle brother and a seasoned hunter. He’s famously slain not one but two unicorns. He’s a bit of a legend, and Merida wishes he didn’t hate the Dunbrochs so much for the whole Quinn accident.

Happiest memory: It’s a pretty recent one honestly-- when she entered the joust and won her first match and everyone cheered for her, even though they thought they were cheering for Lachlan. Merida finally felt seen for all that she had worked for and all that she was capable of.

Childhood trauma:A family camping trip when Merida was only 5 years old was interrupted by Mor’du coming to seek his revenge. Fergus lost his leg, Merida’s Uncle Quinn broke his back, and the family is still feeling the effects of the day even now.

Merida dreams about it sometimes, and remembers how she ran off into the woods. In her dream, its the will-o-the-wisps that guided her to safety, then distracted Mor’du so he would not find her.

PHYSICAL Height: 5’9 (thats right) Weight: 135-ish probably- all muscle baby Build: She works out every day and not just cardio but-- strength training and lifting and climbing. She loves to rock climb, swim, and ride as her main kind of activities. Not super fan of the ‘gym’ though she will go. Nationality: SCOTTISH Disabilities (physical or mental, including mental illnesses): Merida does have some mild dyslexia which made her get middling grades in school and also makes studying harder. One of the reasons she hates it. Her mum had her tested for ADHD but sorry Elinor, it’s just her personality lol (thanks Mum). Complexion (freckles, acne, skin tone, birth marks): She’s freckly on her nose and shoulders definitely and has lovely pink skin.  Distinguishing facial features: Her hair-- always wild and curly with strands going this way and that-- are definitely her defining trait. She’s got lovely “cat eyes” though-- these squinty bright blue things that always got a hint of mischief in them. The freckles are cute too, though you got to get a bit closer to notice.   Hair color: GINGER. Usual hair style: Merida either puts it all the way up on her head or wears it completely down. Her mum french braids it-- she hates this. She also hates straightening it and hates CURLING it because what’s the point it’s already curly !!  Eye color: Gray-blue Glasses? Contacts?: No, she has very keen 20/20 vision.  Style of dress/typical outfit(s): Tomboy for she. She loves jeans and overalls and things she can get messy-- big long coats, flannels, t-shirts. She despises bras and wears a lot of camisoles because of this. She loves baggy cargo pants with pockets too. She wears boy shirts a lOT and is a big fan of hats because it’s so cold and rainy in scotland always and hats hide the frizz of her hair.   Course, she is often in riding pants because she’s on Angus so often. Typical style of shoes: Boots normally because she’s riding. She’s got a thing for all kinds of boots too and it’s one of the more girly things about her. She’ll do a nice boot with a strong block heel. On the flip side, no, get those other dressy heels back where they came from or so help me,,, Health (is this person usually sick? or very resilient?): Merida is a very healthy, robust girl, because she eats helluva lot of protein and is constantly very active. She is the type to deny when she is sick too because she hates just lying around.  Grooming (does she/he wear makeup? shower daily? wear only clean clothes? pluck her eyebrows?): Merida actually likes showers and baths and she takes one near every day but she haaaates other kinds of grooming. She also hates make-up and has gotten eye infections from it.   Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?: Merida got the family crest tattooed on her right hip where her mum couldn’t see (teehee). Her ears are pierced but she doesn’t wear earrings much. She also has a family ring that she fiddles with. Accent?: Very Strong. Sometimes you can’t understand her if she talks too fast.   Unique mannerisms/physical habits: She twists and chews and pulls on her hair. It drove her mum crazy. Athletic?: SUPER athletic.

INTELLECT Level of education: Going to uni

Level of self esteem: Merida’s got pretty healthy-ish self-esteem though that’s probably because she’s a deeply angry person who wants to prove people wrong about her. She’s been criticized all her life by her mum, aunts and uncles, and all the other people in the Order for not fitting into their standards. Mer’s innate sense of self though is too strong to take them that seriously, though she does feel a little ugly sometimes (not that she’d ever admit it) and isn’t very comfortable being a “girl” (she doesn’t even know what that means). In fact, in settings with other “girls” she can feel out of  place and comments can sting more than they should. She makes up for it by being a tomboy and rejecting a lot of these ‘girly’ things from the get-go. She assumes most girls are going to hate her honestly. 

Gifts/talents: Mer is a quick learner, especially when it comes to coordination if that makes sense (she’s surprisingly graceful). She’s handy with the sword (not her weapon of choice), can hold her own in hand-to-hand combat, and is one of the best archers+riders in her age-group. Her other talents are singing and blacksmithery-- she’s only patient when she’s working at the forge. She can play guitar, but nothing too fancy.

Shortcomings: So many--Sewing, weaving, maths and english, public speaking isn’t great mostly because she can’t stay on topic, is hotheaded, stubborn, aggressive, prejudiced, holds grudges, proud, can be blunt, no real art skills, can have a bit of a nasty sense of humor, quick to anger, disorganized when unmotivated.

Style of speech (loud, mumbler, articulate, etc.): Merida is naturally loud and a bit of a rambler. Her mum always had to shhh her because she was shouting before she knew it.

“Left brain” or “right brain” thinker?: Merida is actually left-brained. She is driven by rules and logic and is more of a strategist than someone driven by emotion. Her emotions CAN override this when she’s especially upset-- sort of like anyone.

Artistic?: Besides singing and blacksmithery (which CAN be an art form), not really. Mathematical?: Nope Languages? English, Gaelic, doric, and Latin (a smiiiiidge of Danish) Makes decisions based mostly on emotions, or on logic?: You’d think emotions, and sometimes, yes, she can be pretty impulsive. But usually Merida is more of a logic person when it comes to day-to-day. Neuroses: Does nooot shaving your legs and armpits count? Life philosophy: You are in charge of your own destiny. Religious stance: Protestant, but not really Cautious or daring?: Daring! Optimist or pessimist?: Optimist Extrovert or introvert?: Extrovert for sure. Level of comfort with technology: Merida didn’t get to use lots of technology because the Order doesn’t fuck with it a lot, but she has a phone and she uses Instagram mostly under her mum’s nose. Her mum forbid her from getting an FB or a twitter too.

RELATIONSHIPS Current marital/relationship status: Single Sexual orientation: You tell me ugh. She does like boys though? I think? She thinks she’s straight idk. Past relationships: 

She’s got this weird love/hate thing going on with Don, though it’s mostly hate on her side. She’s never dated because she’s not exactly permitted to, though she’s been asked out before from blokes outside the Order at her regular school because she’s ~not like other girls~

Her best friend Keegan and her kissed and could have been a thing but there was OOTP drama.

She also had a wee crush on Eric when he came to stay with her family for the summer, but it was mostly based on his skillz as a prince haha and she was so smol herself (11) it was sort of fanciful.

A social person? (popular, loner, some close friends, makes friends and then quickly drops them): Merida is quite social and did have some friends outside the Order, though they all thought she was a bit weird because she couldn’t do a lot of things they could do (like date or have an FB or go to school dances). She, strange enough, fit in more with nerds and geeks than the popular crowd because she was seen as ‘odd.’ She had a little group that liked to play tabletop games and cards, go hiking or swimming, and drink down at the pub-- Keegan (her best friend), Will, Aidan, and her lone female friend, Neve.

Most comfortable around (person): Lachlan, her cousin, is by far her favourite friend besides her own father and Keegan. Lachlan wins though because they are around the same age and he’s in the Order with her so she can feel free to be herself.

SECRETS Life goals: Be the very best like no one ever as-- aka to be a Prince and win the tourney for her da so the Dunbroch family can restore its honor!!!! Dreams: I mean same and honestly she always did kinda wanna go to just a regular ol college party… Greatest fears: That she’ll make everything worse for her family. That she isn’t good enough. That even her da will be disappointed in her. That ppl will see right through her/be right about her.

Most ashamed of: lowkey the fact she’s a girl? It’s fucked up as hell but there you have it. Also she really is uncomfortable with romance stuff, like she’s worried she’s a terrible kisser and doesn’t know how to Romance, not that she particularly wants to Romance.

Compulsions: Pulling/twisting her hair for sure.

Obsessions: Besides being a Prince? Uhhhh mmmm I don’t think she has -- Angus, she’s obsessed with Angus. Secret hobbies: Technically the whole training to be a prince thing is a massive secret-- I suppose her love for card games and stuff is kinda secret.

Secret skills: See: training to be a prince tho she’s not allowed

Crimes committed (and was he/she caught? charged?): It’s not a ‘real’ crime but training as a Prince is forbidden for girls and entering the joust was fraud and deception. She could have risked getting cut out of the Order completely. What he/she most wants to change about his/her current life: Merida desperately wants to be recognized for all that she can do-- not just her skills as a warrior, but as a leader and a voice that deserved to be heard. She would change her fate, she would make her family proud and respected within the Order too. What he/she most wants to change about his/her physical appearance: Merida mostly likes that she’s tall-- but also hates it. In her weakest moments, she wishes she was small, petite, feminine-- the stuff her mum wants for her. DETAILS/QUIRKS Night owl or early bird?: Early bird. She wakes up with the sun or even before it and is the first one to fall asleep at any parties. Light or heavy sleeper?: Overall pretty heavy because she exhausts herself but she does wake if she hears any too loud noise. Favorite food: A full Scottish breakfast-- sweetened porridge is her favourite bit of that, along with sausages. Least favorite food: Turnips, yuCK Favorite book: Merida is a bit of a history nerd so she likes reading nonfiction more than fiction. She really liked Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follet (and its sequel World Without End) for being a really interesting mix of history with fiction.

She probably has read the Game of Thrones books if they exist which they probably do hehe (#HouseStark)

Least favorite book: Most books out there. She has a personal grudge against poetry because she is forced to memorize and recite poems at Order events. Favorite movie: She rarely watches them, but probably Lord of the Rings tbh. “I AM NO MAN.” Least favorite movie: She’s not big into movies anyway so like??? Most of them?? Pride and Prejudice??? Favorite song: "The Ballad of Mor’du” which is a story-song passed down in the DunBrochs for a thousand years. Families add their own verses if they have fought Mor’du so Fergus has his VERY OWN VERSE.  Least favorite song: idk like everything by ariana grande and like idk all those pop artists.  Crunchy or smooth peanut butter?: Neither, she doesn’t LIKE peanut butter Lefty or righty?: Righty Favorite color: Green Cusser?: Yes, it’s very unlady like. Smoker? Drinker? Drug user?: She has smoked before but only socially and if her mum ever found out, she’d KILL her. She drinks a fair bit as a social activity too.

Biggest regret: At this point, its probably something small-- losing her first kiss to some dweeb in the Order, somethin’ like that. 

Pets?: Angus is the only one that’s really hers, but the Dunbroch family had dogs too that she loved. Big animal girl.