#unfortunately last i had it long it kept giving me dysphoria :(

[madfantasy]

I haven't seen you post in a while, I hope you've been doing okay? How is everything? Hope it's been a good year so far for you 💕💕

You're too kind, u & everyone who made inquiries, bless ur hearts.. im sorry for disappearing, but yeah, I don't have net— using my phone credit and hope this posts..

I tried to record my voice answering this, like I sometimes did on tik, suddenly ended up trying to muffle the floods of my burning tears, so now I have an awkward vid of me talking then weeping out of nowhere, which a good reason for me to keep up the no cry habit, heh.. but seriously, I suppose I'm fine till I be conscious of it.. its much easier for not to talk .. even tho I'm aching to be back in thy company, lonely in my foresight to catch on to the present that joins us, hand held out to reach like minded souls but shying from the fear of forgetfulness occurring..

I'm fine tho, did few new stuff, merely drowning in too muchness and nothingness as usual, this month I guess you could say I took an act of mad fury in search of any happy source because the echoing silence and the swarm of sadness nipping on my brain cells thickened, and the reasoning merged with the obscene. So instead of giving my guardians the usual of 3/4 of my earnings last month for net and groceries, I spent it all. Ya know, as it was told to me it mine to do as I please? As being prevented any chance of work if it was possible, 't was supposed to be spent on art supplies & measly delights craved for years ?

Before hand, I've been begging them to take me for months to get any clothing or whatever, be it the first time I ever see a shop, then just to drive around, then just me peaking to the outside when the front door is open, merely seeking change I suppose. They kept vaguely promising me until they refused point blank— getting tired of my nagging, then their car just stopped working till this day. Its in the workshop rn..

Anyway, befouled by despair, needing the mere basics of life and not granted, I was delighted when i found a site to buy from cheap & pretty, I pressed buy without any further considerations, or taking their permission and thrilled to be able get gifts for my siblings too. I say gifts but really they are deprived necessities too and not even much just one each cuz well, they are 5 of my babies and to start with the top of priorities; we all draw

I could already see it, they can't help themselves; heck seeped through the clenched gates of their mouths, trying desperately to poison me with undirect attempts this time, cuz I bought for my sibs they're out of the option of calling me selfish. I was upping the same trance like state of vague existence dealing with them, absorbing their insults and degrading just to make sure my shi arrives safe.

Unfortunate for me, the site chose the worst carrier in this country

I did everything in my power to make it into their convenience, by embarrassingly messaging the carrier daily, they took a week of promising to deliver and flanking so my guardians reached a heated level of threatening, waving their hands nd almost tossing shi at mE saying that they don't care if they came and if i dared to order something again they'll do this and that. Not allowing me to open the door for the delivery guy when he comes, blaming me for missing vaccination dates (they kept missing them even before)& missing going to important places(again, they just didn't go to for ages), made them loose sleep, etc etc— in turn, I seen red and regretfully blew up.

I screamed at them its literally the only time I ever did this, it BECAUSE it easier on them & I'll do what I want whatever anyway, & to stop interrupting me while I try to explain things , then they suddnly back done and be like I'm not mad at u I'm mad at the delivery ppl, that they are proud of me for being able to do all this, and such sort. I left them to cool in my room, Idk how I did it but must have slam-gripped something so hard it chipped most of my short nails & cracked one, was glad I didn't hurt my drawing hand but yeah, goofy mani

They robbed me of the joy of anticipation & the dissipation of apathy, I started to lose sleep again and my liberating dreams left me and I don't think I remember leaving bed.

But still, If not force myself to do things.. there'll be nothing for me if I don't.. at least I know im able of that

I got my guardians happy tho after another tiresome refusal, by trying out one of those Uber-eat like local apps here, since they have no car and being disabled & ill, I ordered McDonald's for the first time. Slythry behind their backs per habit, told them someone coming and they had that look again, but thankfully the guy came through and didn't steal my money, heh. For a big 1800 calories meal I suppose it was passable, the happy fam faces I got was the real treat..

Oh with that thing with the credit card stating I owe them money, waited weeks & nobody got back to us? They started taking from my guardian's account directly to pay it, saying oh we did send you warnings--- TO THE SHADOWY LINES OF THEIR POSTERIOR A.K.A NOWHERE. Thankfully the account is mostly empty nd just for random transactions, i alerted my guardians not to use it. And again, my god, another round of endless calls and promises started, and we wait again so they just don't act as if we owe them a frking 17k dollars that we don't have.. was panicking cuz I have nothing and but my guardians were weirdly comforting about it and told me not to worry

One thing good bout no net is it made me stop thinking about life in general, and stop the tiny unnoticeable prick of misery when I have no input to share, trying not to helplessly compare people just living, in inflated style or not, in media, to my isolated-most-of-my-life style and missing much of that organic "life experiences and chances", heh. At least, my situation would be favorable to me if it was ever possible for it to let me have peace, or have the simple knowledge I'm not virtually imprisoned and have never familiarised with nothing of this world but the surrounding walls.. its nice to have more time to be consumed by muse and day dreaming that flutters life through my dull being and sing chorus of inspiring means for art to flow and finds its way delicately onto my realised canvas.. but no, I continued drawing whilst sight blurred with salty droplets contradicting that happy tintin dance on tiktok I worked so long on just cuz I couldn't stop, not the tears or the mad scribbles of determined intention to visualise the mourned excitement I need, hating everything I make

Somehow the lilac dream still intrudes, visualising me friends, living, in a quaint home, maybe we roommate, arm in arm we go to make every fracture of fate's encounters a disgusting adventurous thrill, like building a maze of cardboard or chasing each other in the dark.. maybe getting that half bleached head and endless ear pericings ... then it dies and I totally forget it..

But what those awesome headphones helped me do, literally blocks all their voices listening to Sev losing it and I can Waltz around not feeling gutted to go and interfere or play the referee each time. But I can't wear them forever, gives me a bad headache, and honestly; I can't be too neglectful.. my sibs hates me for it already hehe

At least these clothing came true to their measurements, felt the new sensations on how everything I wore hugs me & learnt the baffling ways on how "gender" and region plays different tunes on the same measurements. Getting fitting things felt like suddenly there's hope to be, for myself to be me, and ease this severe disassociation between who I am, and what my body is .. from how little I see myself nd consider it worthy of anything because of how long it been living like a phantom among people.. to numb this dysphoria until it be gone one day

Saddened that the only site I can't order from again if they keep using that awful carrier

...

I missed our country's 91 national day, too. They made sales everything 91 riyal so.. but knowing the sellers here, I don't think most of em went true with their offers.. Horrible news tho on the celebrations, sigh

I turned this into a dear diary, guess bothered you enough today, sorry

So thankful to yous, Idk if I can be back, but I'll remain creating, and will keep the thought alive of being tickled when sharing my creations with your viewing pleasure somehow

'till then my precious dears, take care 💛🙏

26.9.2021, 8 pm, sleeping

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 21 | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: Unfortunately, a new case couldn’t have come at a worse time for Reader, who’s starting to feel that dysphoria Spencer’s always warning her about. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Adults w/ Age Gap (10yr), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, BDSM, Daddy Kink, D/s relationship, degradation, brief mention of consensual dub-con, aftercare included, Sub Drop! Word Count: 6k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

The television was playing for itself, the sounds only serving as the background soundtrack to Spencer’s lips as he kissed his way down my neck and over my shoulder. I wanted to be angry or annoyed, but each time his mouth met my skin, my body gave in to him.

And when you gave this mouse a cookie, he took everything else with it. Within a single second of my hips rocking back against him as we lay together on the couch, Spencer’s fingers dug into my hip, forcing me against his painfully obvious erection.

“Spencer!” I whined while my hips continued to move with him, “You said you would watch the movie.”

I had known it was a lie when he said it. We both knew it was always going to end like this. But at the same time, I enjoyed teasing him over the fact that out of the two of us that night, he was the one who couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

“Then tell me to stop,” he slurred between his kisses that were sure to leave bruises behind. “Tell me that you don’t want me to do this.”

We both also knew there would be no protest from me, and yet Spencer deemed it necessary to continue to shift the odds further in his favor. The same hand that had pulled me to grind against him pushed forward at a torturous pace until it slid into my underwear.

Once the soft whimper left my mouth, he knew he had won. He’d barely even touched me, and I was already a mess. The flashing colors on the LCD in front of me looked just like the backs of my eyelids. I could hardly tell if my eyes were even open anymore.

“How quickly you change your mind when I do this,” Spencer breathed into my ear as he finally slipped a finger inside of me. “I might be flattered if I didn’t know any better.”

It wasn’t the first time we’d had sex since the disaster; it had been a few weeks since, although it had felt like a lifetime. A lifetime that led us back to where we’d begun, wound so tightly together that my mind couldn’t follow his hands or his lips as they traveled wherever they could, memorizing the way each muscle tensed and twitched in response to his ministrations.

“Please, I—“

“Please what?” he ordered, “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Whatever you want.”

There was nothing else to say. It was, apparently, both the right and the wrong answer. I say that it was right because I felt his cock twitch against my backside, and I heard the way the breath shuddered from his lungs. But it was also wrong, because I could hear his teeth clack shut and grind together as he growled, “Do you know what you’re asking for, little girl?”

I wanted to be a brat— to remind him how well-acquainted I was with his methods, and that he’d really mostly been all bark and no bite— but something in the rough drag of his finger against my walls made me pause.

So, I said nothing. That wasn’t the right answer, either.

Everything about him became more feral with every passing second. His breath fanned against my ear and burned my already heated skin. When he spoke, the words felt similarly laced with a heat and rage that almost seemed foreign, “Do you have any idea how many filthy, disgusting things I’ve dreamed about doing to you while I couldn’t touch you?”

What was I meant to say? My throat was closing around any options, insistent that my mouth could only make mistakes right now. I could hardly coordinate my lips to my mind, let alone say something witty. And Spencer hardly seemed in the mood for my usual bratty behavior.

My mind flashed back to the last time he was like this. At the time, it had been a result of something terrible. But this time? I think it was actually a part of something beautiful. Despite the trouble that had originally led to him shoving my face into the sheets so he could find some relief, I couldn’t deny that it had felt good to be that reprieve for him.

I couldn’t imagine how good it would feel this time, with no hurt between us except the kind I trusted him to administer.

“Tell me,” I whispered.

“I have a better idea,” he answered quick enough for me to question if he had actually read my mind. Removing his fingers suddenly, I swear I heard a laugh as he whispered, “Let me show you.”

My vision rocked as my body flipped, and before I knew it my hands were scrambling to grab something, anything, to regain control of the situation before I tumbled off the couch. But I should have known better; Spencer wasn’t going to let me fall.

Just as my nails dug into the cushions, he dropped his weight onto my back. I struggled to breathe for a number of reasons, including the fact his fingers had once again found their way into my underwear.

“Remember the last time you let me use you?” he chuckled, bringing his other arm up to cage me in even closer. “You looked so fucking pathetic. Shaking and begging, even as I split you open.”

The only thing I could do was whine and wonder how he managed to maneuver the little space between me and the couch. If he was still worried about hurting me, he didn’t make it obvious. Nothing about him was gentle; he was ruthless and insistent in the most satisfying ways. As he ran his finger back over my sex, a groan rumbled through his chest.

“And you pretended like this isn’t what you wanted? You’re a filthy liar. You’re practically dripping, little girl.”

“Please—” I tried to appeal, but he must have heard it in my voice. I didn’t want him to stop any more than he wanted to. And he didn’t. With all the force I knew him capable of, Spencer’s free hand covered the back of my head, which he promptly shoved down against the cushion.

“I don’t want to hear your stupid fucking excuses,” he spat, his words laced with greed and vitriol that made my stomach and heart do flips in my chest. “Give me your safe word right now,” he ordered, “before I change my mind and leave you a disgusting, whimpering mess right here.”

I turned my face just enough to breathe, loving the way the friction felt on my already flushed cheeks. “S-Starship,” I said through a pleased gasp.

“Look at that. You aren’t completely clueless,” he laughed.

There were no words for how it felt to be crushed beneath his weight while his fingers worked inside me. I still couldn’t breathe, but I didn’t want to, either. It was just another reminder that he didn’t need his hand around my neck to take anything away from me. I was helpless to his whims, and in that cage, I’d never felt freer.

Still, his hands managed to switch between doting and domineering, and he almost seemed merciful when he cooed, “So then what’s your excuse for lying to me? For pretending like you weren’t begging me to do this?”

“I don’t have one, sir,” I slurred, my lips dragging on the cushion with every movement. I could hardly focus on that, though, when Spencer’s weight was lifted from my back. My lungs quickly tried to fill with deep, desperate gasps.

“Wrong answer, little girl.”

The oxygen I did manage to bring in left just as fast when he grabbed my hip, lifting my bottom half until my knees were settled on the couch and my arms were bent by my head. Even when he started to tug my pants and underwear down my legs, he kept his other hand thrusting rhythmically between my legs. I could feel how close I was to losing myself completely to him. I didn’t even fight it, letting all the keening cries and whimpers fall from my lips without any hesitation.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” I sobbed, keeping my face down as hard as I could while I started to shake. But then his fingers stopped, slowly dragging out of me and dragging a wet finger down my leg.

“‘Daddy’ isn’t going to get you out of this one,” he growled.

The burning in my body was unbearable. I couldn’t even push myself back against him or appeal to him in any way. His hand splayed over one cheek dug into the skin and I felt the crescent shapes as they dutifully marked my skin. They were followed by the snapping sound of a firm slap against skin.

There would be so many marks, but all I could think of was how I wanted more.

“I’m sorry,” I cried again, trying to look up at him with that pitiful pout he loved to see.

“No,” he corrected, “You think you’re sorry now, but you aren’t. You will be, though.”

There was no other warning, no further preparation for the feeling of him stretching me open. He was kind enough to move slowly at first, although that tenderness was contrasted by the way he left welts in the wake of his hands, which trailed down my back at the same torturous pace.

Once we were entirely connected, he let his hand drift over my jaw, brushing my hair out of my eyes. I couldn’t keep our gazes together for too long. It felt dangerous, like looking directly at a predator. A challenge to his authority.

But where else could I look, if not at him? My eyes immediately fell forward at the reflection of the two of us in the glass panes of the entertainment console. What I saw sent a shiver down my spine as my desire reached impossible heights.

Spencer felt it, too.

“Go ahead and watch yourself,” he said with equal parts cruelty and kindness, “Watch what you make me do to you.”

So I did. I watched the way his hips carefully pulled away just to snap forward again, burying himself in me and eliciting a pained cry from my throat. Each thrust went just like that, with him bottoming out with a small jolt of pain. I couldn’t complain though, not when I saw the way his head fell back and a moan tore through his chest.

He was beautiful like this. Completely unhinged, animalistic, and… different. Every time I’d found myself at the receiving end of his pent up rage, I wondered which of his personas he related to more, the cool collected FBI agent or the sensual and cocky dominant. Or hell, even the awkward, insecure dork he was at his most comfortable. I was sure that my answer changed with the days, but I couldn’t ignore the freedom we both seemed to achieve in moments like this.

“Spencer,” I whined, my legs pressing back against him. I just wanted to feel him all. I wanted to take him in and keep him safe in my arms. But he was in a less than romantic mood, and before his name could fall again, he cut me off.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Daddy,” I corrected. My eyes left the reflection long enough to glance up and spot his cheeky little smirk.

“Good girl,” he praised. The words caused even more pleasure than the rest of him as he continued to fuck me into the couch. “That’s the only word I want to hear from you. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut.”

I tried to nod, but his hand returned to my head, pushing me harder into the cushion. Immediately, my instincts kicked in, causing my whole body to squirm underneath him. It wasn’t that I was necessarily trying to get away from him, but for a brief moment, I struggled to regain some control. But that seemed to only encourage Spencer’s desire to completely dominate every inch of me.

His hands only got tighter and his movements rougher as he sighed, “Enough. I want to enjoy this.”

Eventually, that fight left me. My body settled into the couch and felt the warmth of his thighs pressed against me and the still growing friction of the fabric on my skin. I focused all attention on the way we looked, lost in each other and the bliss we were creating on a dreary Friday night.

I had no idea how much time passed, but it felt like a lifetime that would never be enough. Every inch of me was brimming with love. I could feel it, the tingling covering me like a sheet. With each thrust of his hips, I felt impossibly closer to Spencer.

But the fight started to leave him, too. That darkness had spread between the two of us and dissipated in the process. All that was left was the two of us, tangled together with his movements beginning to falter.

“That’s it, little girl. You’re doing so good,” he groaned, his jaw clenching shut as he tried to fill hungry lungs without stopping. “I’m almost done. Just hold on a little while longer.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I replied, surprised by the tremble in the words. We were both so tired, so ready to fall apart and come back together again in the aftermath.

And that’s exactly what happened. Spencer waited until he felt the telltale tremors right before I peaked. He rubbed the marks he’d left moments before and repeated my name over and over until I was on the brink of tears and something else.

“That’s it, little girl,” he whispered again, “Let go. Daddy’s got you.”

The words were like magic. With just five words, Spencer brought me with him over the edge. He dropped his hand to mine still gripping the couch, holding onto it as his body tensed above me.

I could feel each muscle as it twitched before it calmed. I could feel everything, every point of contact all at once. I felt the way he filled me from inside and dug his teeth into my shoulder. I wanted to take that moment in forever, to never be farther away from him than I was right then.

But we couldn’t. Time rudely continued without our permission, and once he regained his strength, he pulled out of me so gently I had to laugh at the juxtaposition.

“Don’t move yet, beautiful. Stay right here,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss onto my head before he left me shaking and panting on the couch. Thankfully he had the decency and self-preservation to hurry before we made too much of a mess. Lord knows I didn’t want to spend our time together removing any hint of what we’d done in our time alone.

Then again, I did love the way he cared for me after. There was no way to really describe it— the love that was in his touch during the aftercare. I soaked in the pure elation I derived from his adoration, closing my eyes and trusting him to put me back together.

After he’d dressed me and positioned me just like a doll, my eyes finally opened again.

“Does anything hurt?” he asked, already busy working to massage my tired, angry muscles.

“No,” I murmured. I didn’t realize just how tired I was until I could barely get through the word. The panic set in again, and Spencer narrowed his eyes as he sat me up to inspect my face from a closer distance. It seemed silly, though, to look down at him on his knees in front of me right after he’d done everything he could to dominate me.

But then here he was, worshiping and worrying over me.

“Are you okay?”

“Mhm, just a bit delirious,” I explained through a yawn.

“I’ll take care of you. Lay down,” he urged as he helped me back down on the couch. When he kissed my forehead that time, I could tell he wasn’t just trying to show me affection.

My suspicions were confirmed when he wordlessly left my side, only to return with a thermometer and a bottle of water. Through laughs, I slurred, “What are you doing?”

“Taking your temperature,” he said like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Sexy.”

He laughed with me, then, although I could tell it didn’t do much for his nerves. “I want to make sure I didn’t aggravate your wound,” he muttered with more guilt than I thought was possible. It broke my heart, to hear him speak through such a pathetic little pout. It was my turn to lay on the praise, although we both knew I’d never be quite as good at it as he was.

“I’m okay, Spencer. Seriously. I’m just tired and…” my words fell off as I tried to put the feeling into words. That comfortable, buzzing blankness that came from only the most powerful catharsis. I ran my fingers over his cheek while I thought, and giggled at the way he pressed harder into my touch. The words came to me so naturally then.

“I’m just thinking about how much I love you.”

With a small nod, Spencer accepted my answer… with some conditions.

“You have to drink a whole bottle of water and give me at least ten kisses before I let you sleep,” he shyly mumbled against my palm that he’d dragged over his mouth.

“You drive a hard bargain, old man,” I whispered, tossing my arms around his shoulders. He caught me before I fell, just like he always did. Together, the two of us stayed twisted up as we stumbled through the halls to my room. I truthfully had no idea how he managed to have any coordination, but I was grateful for it.

Once he had me tucked into the sheets, he took a moment to appreciate the sight before him. I tried to give him something better to look at, but all that I could muster was a dopey smile and a bit of a laugh. He still seemed to appreciate it, nonetheless.

“Stay awake. I’ll be right back,” he instructed, pulling the blankets up around my shoulders one more time before he pointed to the bottle on the bedside. “And drink that water!”

I tried to listen— really, I did— but I mostly ended up almost spilling the water down my chest as I sat up to sip at it. I had to focus all my energy on the first order to stay awake, and I was dangerously close to failing at it when Spencer walked back into the room with a thermos in his hands.

“What’s that?” I laughed, pleasantly surprised by how nice the warm cup felt against my still shaking hands.

“Hot chocolate.”

“…Why?” I mean, it was appreciated, but it was strange. He hadn’t treated me quite so sweetly since the first week I came home from the hospital.

And while I understood he felt guilty, I wasn’t helpless. If anyone looked that way, it was the man who was barely able to coherently reply, “Because you need it.”

“You look exhausted, old man.” Mirroring his previous actions, I covered his forehead with my hand. He didn’t lean into it that time, though. He just slumped into the bed beside me, curling into a ball at my side.

“I really am,” he admitted.

It was a rare thing to hear, and so I wasn’t going to try and convince him to stay up for my sake. I would finish the drink he’d made and simply enjoy the way it felt to have my boyfriend clinging on to me like a magnet.

“Go to sleep,” I basically ordered, following it up with a much nicer, “and let’s sleep in all morning.” Then, deciding that was too nice, I tacked on, “I’ll even let you make me more hot chocolate.”

Spencer’s laughter shook both of our bodies, and I pulled him even closer. Like the few inches would help the sound last longer in my memory.

“How are you feeling? Seriously,” he asked again, looking up at me through half-lidded eyes that barely kept open through his yawn.

“I’m fine. Just like I told you I was.”

“Okay,” he conceded hesitantly, “Tell me if that changes.”

“Promise,” I said, letting my hand run through his hair and enjoying the way his whole body wiggled from the attention. He looked up at me from his position with his head resting against my heart just as the goosebumps spread over his skin.

I almost let him off the hook. I almost let him drift off to sleep then, but that look he flashed me filled me with such an undeniable, uncontrollable love that I couldn’t let him forget the very order he’d given me.

“You owe me more kisses, you know.”

We didn’t keep count, but I was certain we passed ten by the time we both fell asleep.

—————————————————

There was nothing quite like being woken up by the horrible buzzing of Spencer’s phone. I understood that the whole point of having the ringtone and vibration set to be so loud was precisely to be annoying enough that it couldn’t be ignored, but it didn’t mean I had to like it. Especially not that morning.

I barely remembered the night before, still stuck in a sleepy haze, but I was able to recognize that, for whatever reason, his phone was on my side of the bed.

“No! It’s Saturday!” I whined, tossing in the bed so I could throw my arms over him, “That’s not fair!”

“I know. Life isn’t fair,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes and mostly ignoring me as I draped over him. “Give me my phone.”

Glancing back at the offending device, I noticed for the first time just how hard my heart was beating. Not only was it loud in my ears, but it also caused a vague discomfort in my stomach.

“Do you really have to answer?” I asked quietly.

“You know I do,” he responded in that stern tone of voice that never accompanied anything fun. 

I relented, taking his phone gently and handing it to him without another word. He stayed in bed for a second longer, his hand running over his face to try and wipe the exhaustion off. I watched him from my position shrunk under the covers.

When he finally put the phone down, he sighed, “Shit. I have to go.”

Spencer sat up so quickly that my hands that were settled on his stomach slid from their spot before I could try to hold him tighter. The chilly morning air caused goosebumps to burst all over me, but I ignored the chattering of my teeth as I threw my entire body over him.

“Wait!”

To his credit, he didn’t really try to fight it. With another heavy sigh, he dropped his body back onto the bed and closed his eyes. I could feel the annoyance quickly building, but I suppressed the sadness it caused. I tried to stay lighthearted, leaning over him with a soft plea, “Kiss me before you go.”

“I know that voice,” he warned, sitting up and grabbing hold of me. For a split second, I thought I might get what I wanted, but then he just picked me up, plopping me back down onto the bed beside him.

“I don’t have time for this,” he said.

My heart leapt into my throat, and I could feel my pulse just as hard there. It felt like I was suffocating on the words that couldn’t make their way out. In fact, everything about the situation felt bizarre— like there were some invisible high stakes. Like I needed Spencer to look at me and touch me or else I might actually shatter to pieces in my bed.

The bed that he was leaving.

Jumping up from my spot, I threw myself at him for the second time that morning. I caught onto his arm with a heavy enough grip that I almost succeeded in forcibly dragging him back into the bed.  

“Come on! It won’t take that long,” I appealed, my voice growing more frantic with every syllable, “If you’re going to leave for god knows how long, they can wait an extra... 15 minutes!”

There was no pause or sympathy when he replied, “Cut it out.” He just pried my hand off his arm and continued on his way through the rushed version of his morning routine.

“What are they going to do? Leave without you?” I called.

“Yeah, they might.”

I was getting nowhere. I didn’t even really know why I was so persistent, but the only words that were forcing their way through the blockage in my throat were words I didn’t want to say. They were words that made me feel weak and clingy and stupid. I knew he could hear it in my voice, too, although to him I’m sure it sounded more like my normal whining.

“So let them leave,” I mumbled, dragging myself from the bed and padding over to him as he threw on a shirt. “Then we would have plenty more time.”

Spotting my next move in the mirror, Spencer placed a forceful hand on my chest to stop me from wrapping my arms around him. “Stop it, (y/n),” he said slowly and lowly, “I am not playing with you. I don’t have time for this.”

A chill ran down my spine that was immediately replaced with a burning heat in my face. I wasn’t blushing, and I wasn’t angry. It was a terrible, horrible, indescribable feeling. The feeling of being forgotten.

But that wasn’t fair, was it? He was just trying to go to work, so why did I feel so empty? It wouldn’t be the first time the BAU had interrupted our plans.

“I just want to be helpful,” I muttered under my breath.

Spencer had already looked away.  

“Then get back in bed.”

I looked over at the disrupted covers and had the sinking realization that no amount of comfort items would make me feel better. The very idea of returning to his bed without him brought honest to god tears to my eyes.

“B-But if I do that then you’re going to leave me,” I blubbered. I’d never felt more pathetic. My boyfriend was almost at the end of his patience, and my hands were still clinging to his shirt and leaving even more frustrating wrinkles in the fabric.  

“Well, I’m doing that either way, so you might as well not throw a tantrum.”

He wasn’t wrong. If I’d taken a step back and looked at myself, I would have seen how ridiculous I was being. My brain was screaming at me to let him go, to just climb into bed and cry by myself until I got over it. It wouldn’t take that long, right?

But I’d never felt like that before. I’d never wanted to cry like that before.

“Please don’t leave me,” I whispered into the sleeve of his shirt before he gently nudged me away again.

“What?” he said with a tired sigh, “I can’t hear you when you whine like that. Please just get back in bed. I know you’re tired.”

I stared at his profile, recognizing the exhaustion clear in his eyes that could barely stay open. His jaw was clenched shut, and his hands were sluggish. He was tired, and it was all my fault. I’d kept him up taking care of me, and now I was making his morning worse, too.

I didn’t know how to make it better. I didn’t know what to say or do to show him that I appreciated him, but that there was something else inside of me trying to break its way out. It was working, too, as the sadness started to pool in my eyes. I buried my face into his back, my arms wrapping around him and halting his movements again.

It was the last straw for an exhausted, annoyed Spencer. Pulling my arms off him, he finally turned to face me. His hair was still ruffled and his voice crackly from the interrupted sleep.

“What has gotten into you?!” he shouted, unable to control his crankiness any more than I could control what happened next.

“I don’t know!” I yelled.

His eyes went wide as I crumpled forward, sobs taking up all of my breath as I covered his shirt with tears. I clung to him tighter than I had all morning, giving everything to the last attempt to stop him.

“I just really, really don’t want you to leave!”

Spencer became absolutely panicked, his arms wrapping around me faster and tighter than I thought he would be capable of in the current state.

“Oh, little girl,” he cooed, stopping me from falling to the ground with a bit of a chuckle. He clearly didn’t mean to laugh at me, it was more like one of those self-deprecating laughs he gave when he realized how stupid he was being. But he wasn’t being stupid, I was.

So why was he being so nice?

“I didn’t realize, I’m so sorry,” he whispered into my hair. He began gentle strokes along my back while the two of us moved back to the bed. He waited until I stumbled backwards and took my seat before he looked at me.

With all the tenderness he could muster on an early Saturday morning, he swept my messy hair from my face and told me, “I’m not mad at you.”

“What’s wr-wrong with me?” I sniffled and choked, not even bothering to clean my face. His hands were already busy trying to wipe away the tears.

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with you.”

I almost believed him. He let out a soft, stuttered breath before he kissed me. Then, as he had before, he kissed me again, and again, and again. He kept laying the tiny pecks all over my lips and cheeks until I was able to flash him a half-hearted smile.

“This is totally normal and it’s going to be okay,” he assured with one final kiss on the lips.

It felt like things were going to be okay when it was just the two of us. But then Spencer looked down at his watch, and the rest of the world joined us in his room. It was too small for everyone to fit.

“I’m going to get you in trouble,” I whined as the tears sprouted anew, “This is so stupid! I’m being so stupid!”

“Stop that. You’re not stupid.”

Then, with perfect timing, that horrible ringing of his phone was all I could hear.

“Shit!” he cursed under his breath, pulling the phone from his pocket. Even though Spencer didn’t point out to me exactly what was happening, it was clear that he thought it was serious enough to consider the one thing he was so dead-set against a few minutes earlier. He looked down at his phone that was still ringing, then back up to me.

“Just go. I’ll be okay,” I said with as much confidence as possible under the circumstances.

It didn’t work. 

“No, you won’t,” he corrected. There was a pang of guilt present in all his features that was only getting worse. Before I knew it, he had his arms around me. “This is my fault, I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s fine,” I laughed, my mind already trying to find a way to shove the sadness down long enough that I could see him off with a smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl.”

Spencer laughed, too, although it was obvious that he didn’t buy my usual act. I’d blame it on the therapy that I’d started to attend, but the truth was he’d noticed my tells long before that. He was just willing to ignore them up to a point. This, clearly, did not qualify.

“No, I’m not doing that to you.”

He didn’t say anything else before he stepped away. He let our fingers linger together until they couldn’t reach anymore. Even that made me miss him, despite him barely standing a few feet away. I figured he didn’t want me to hear the other half of the conversation. So, I just sat there, crossing my legs with my hands between them and trying not to look as embarrassed as I felt.

“Can I—“ he muttered into the receiver. I didn’t meet his eyes, and soon heard him continue more confidently, “I’ll meet you there. I’ll take a commercial flight.”

My body perked up at the implication, and a dopey smile covered my face as I realized just what he was sacrificing for me. But then any sign of happiness was crushed by the guilt that immediately followed. He had shirked off so much of his job for me. I was just always this big, annoying inconvenience. He was important, and I was monopolizing his mind and his time just so he could wipe away my tears.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said before clearing his throat, “And uh, Hotch? I don’t need a room. I’ll get my own. Yeah, everything is fine. I’ll explain when I get there... Alright, bye.”

“What are you do—?” I started the second he hung up the phone, but Spencer shook his head, raising his hand to cut me off.

“Come with me,” he said, rushed and exasperated.

After a brief moment of silence, I laughed. I figured it had to be a joke, or some offer I was always meant to deny. But when he just kept staring expectantly, hopefully, I blubbered back, “W-what?”

“Come with me, on the case,” he repeated with a scrunched up smile, “I want you to come with me.”

“Can you even do that?” I asked cautiously, covering my chest with my arm. I think he could see how badly I wanted to do it, but he had to realize how uncomfortable the request made me at the same time. I mean, how would he explain it to the team? Would he keep me a secret? What was I meant to do while they were working?

Spencer saw the questions rolling through my head. He came back to me, his hands cupping my face and making me look up at him. “I don’t care,” he whispered, “I won’t leave you like this. I can’t do that.”

I inspected his face for a long while. I let the silence settle over us and tried to find a reason to say no. I searched for the courage to say no and the stubbornness I used to have. But then my mind flashed back to the only arguments we’d had. They always revolved around this, around our insistence that we handle things alone.

Why? I reminded myself, I’m not alone. I don’t have to be alone.

So, with a trembling lip, I mumbled, “O-okay.”

“Okay,” he returned. And for a second, the tension melted from him. Closing his eyes, Spencer let out a deep breath and pulled me closer in a small hug that didn’t last long enough. But once it was over, I realized why. He had practically dragged me off the bed by both hands, guiding me over to my closet and pulling out my barely-used suitcase.

“Hurry up and pack a bag for at least five days. Anything you forget we can just get there.”

I nodded, releasing his hands yet again. Except this time, it wasn’t a goodbye. It was something entirely different. It was taking another step into the future with Spencer Reid. It was thrilling and strange and welcome.

Welcome, I repeated in my mind. It wasn’t a word I would have used comfortably before. As I packed my bag, I felt my boyfriend glancing over at me every few seconds. Like he was waiting to see how I assimilated into his life. I found myself hoping that I was passing the test, although I knew this wouldn’t ever be a normal occurrence.

“Are you ready?” he asked. The question brought another heavy feeling into my stomach, but this time it wasn’t necessarily a bad one. I looked down at the suitcase in my hands, and then back up to him.

Am I ready? The question was meant to be about our impromptu trip; I knew that was all he meant. But as I stood there contemplating a future with Spencer Reid, I asked myself if I was ready for a number of things I hadn’t ever seriously considered.

Am I ready? I prompted myself again.

“Yeah,” I said with a relieved sigh, “Yeah, I think I am.”

 —————————————————

| Part 22 |

[littleoddwriter]

Hope | Roman Sionis x Male!Reader

Guess what - It’s another vent fic! I promise to keep going with the requests I still have open, very soon. Be patient some more, please. Inspiration comes and goes pretty quickly at the moment. Anyway-

summary; You are being rejected by another potential therapist you contacted and you’re not dealing well with it, but  Roman’s here for you to make you feel better.

Notes: TW // RSD (Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria); Self-Harm (cutting); Bad experiences with therapists mentioned; (mild) Dissociation; Implied Suicidal Tendencies; Hospital Mention. Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Hope; Hugs; Love Confessions; Soft Kisses; Roman is trying his best.

For over a year, you’ve been searching for a new therapist to go to. Unfortunately, you kept being rejected left and right and were therefore forced to fight everything on your own for the time being. You couldn’t go back to your previous therapist for several reason, the biggest one being that she wasn’t good for you. She’s put you down a lot, mocked you, laughed at you, never helped you with anything you’ve told her, and you’ve finally reached the point, where you’ve officially had enough, taking all your courage to stop seeing her.

Yet, you hadn’t expected to not find one willing therapist to take on your case. It was extremely frustrating and hurtful. It made you lose hope of ever receiving the help you needed, and deserved. You didn’t want to live from hospital to hospital. The last time you’ve been there, it didn’t really help you anyway. So you wanted to keep away from them for now. You just wanted to have a chance on living your life, while you were being treated for your issues.

A while ago, you’ve received another therapist’s data from your social worker. It took you a long time to fight your anxiety over the pending phone call. Eventually, time was a little pressing, since you wanted to have some results to show to your social worker at your next appointment with her.

So you forced yourself to call in the morning before you did anything else and could potentially put it off any longer.

Trembling, sweating, and with a pounding heart, you picked up your mobile phone and dialled the number, checking it five times to make sure it was the right one, and after a minute of encouraging yourself verbally, you hit the green button to make the call go through.

It didn’t even ring, after the dial, it clicked and the therapist’s voice rang through your ears. She sounded as if she had just gotten up, which surprised you and made your anxiety spike even more. You greeted her and stated that you were looking for a therapist, hoping that your smile was audible and that you seemed friendly.

“How’d you get this number?”

You faltered.

“M-my social worker gave it to me. She said I should give you a call?”

“Ah. Well, the earliest that I’d have time for a first session would be in a month at the earliest.”

“That’s okay,” you replied quickly, lightly. It wouldn’t have been a problem to wait another month after all this time.

“Do you have any diagnoses? What are your issues?”

Quickly you listed off your diagnoses, making sure there were no surprises this time. You had even written it all down, just in case your anxiety would have gotten the better of you.

“I can’t help you with that.”

It was the same as always. You had expected that, especially since she wasn’t the type of therapist you were recommended by others. Your social worker had insisted on trying different approaches, though. Which is exactly what you’ve told this therapist, but she wouldn’t even consider it, only repeating that she wasn’t the right one for you because she didn’t even cover all the disorders you had. After that you already said your quick goodbyes.

You carelessly let your phone fall onto the table, trying hard to hold back tears. The rejection just wasn’t something you could handle very well; it ate you up, ripped your heart apart and fogged up your brain.

Shaking your head to clear it a little, you got up and went straight to the guest bathroom. Roman was showering in your shared one at this moment, and you were glad about it, even though you had to be quick anyway.

On autopilot, you opened one of the drawers under the sink and got out the small blade you kept there, hidden and kept safe in a paper towel. You disinfected it, just in case, and then looked at it for a moment. Now was the time that you could still put it back and stop yourself from ruining your recent best streak. Before you had even realised it, though, you watched yourself press the blade into your forearm’s skin, drawing a short line. Blood quickly welled up from the new wound.

It wasn’t enough. You were almost there, but it wasn’t enough. Only an inch below the spot you’ve just cut, you nicked your skin once more, creating a smaller, but just as deep, incision. Sighing, you put the blade back where it was, nursed your wounds and got out of the bathroom.

The twin band-aids glared at you. You could see them out of the corner of your eyes at any given moment, which made your insides fill up with guilt all too quickly, choking you from within.

Trying to ignore the evidence of the mistake you’ve just made, you sat back down at the table and looked through your phone, while you were anxiously waiting for Roman to be done with his morning routine.

Eventually, Roman walked over to you, putting his hands on your shoulders and kissing the top of your head. “How did it go?”

You just scoffed, “Same as always. Already got rejected on the phone.” Roman stayed put behind you, so you pressed your arm against your stomach, hoping he hasn’t already seen the band-aids.

“Fuck! I told you I can pay them a visit for you, I’m sure someone would take you then,” Roman offered for the umpteenth time in the past year.

“No, I wouldn’t feel comfortable with that. Thank you, though. It’s sweet of you.”

Clicking his tongue and then humming thoughtfully, Roman ran his hands down your arms, prying your injured one from your body. You didn’t really put up a fight then. It was a lost cause anyway.

“Aw, baby, no. That cunt wasn’t worth it,” he cooed, leaning over you and lifting your arm to take a closer look at the plasters.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, feeling your heart clench painfully.

“It’s not your fault. Still, I’d have liked for you to wait for me, or come to me. You’d have been very welcome in the shower, you know?” He gave a quick kiss to the band-aids and let your arm down gently.

You chuckled softly and nodded, “I know, I’m sorry. It all just sort of happened, as if I was completely on autopilot.”

“I get it,” Roman sighed. “Stand up.”

Without questioning it for even a second, you got up from the chair, while Roman took a step back to make room for you. As soon as you stood there and turned around to look at him, he was on you, embracing you. You melted into the hug immediately, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the sweet, pleasant scent that was his cologne.

“We’ll find someone for you. Eventually, someone’s just got to take you in, baby. I promise. Just hold on for me until then, ‘kay?” he spoke softly into your ear, which made you shiver slightly and had you hug him more tightly.

“I’m trying as best as I can, Roman. I swear, at this time, I’m only staying for you anyway.”

Instead of giving you a verbal answer to your confession, Roman leaned back a little, effectively making you look at him; and then he kissed you, oh, so softly. Those kinds of kisses were rare to be initiated by him, which only made you treasure them more. You smiled into the kiss and reciprocated it, sighing.

All of a sudden you felt so light and carefree, as if none of the other things had ever happened. You never wanted it to stop, it was just too heavenly, and you couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the hell on earth that your current situation felt like.

Yet, you had to admit that maybe it wasn’t just all hellish.

Roman cared about you and made you feel it. He comforted you when you needed it and didn’t shame you for the things you did. He really was your anchor in this world, the only thing – person – keeping you somewhat afloat and fighting every day. He made it worth the pain. In a way, he was the hope you so desperately clung onto.

It was one of the many reasons why you loved him so much, why you would never dare to leave him, even when your brain was screaming at you to do so for whatever new reason it had come up with that wasn’t real.

“I love you, Roman. Thank you,” you whispered when you two finally broke the kiss.

His eyes turned so gentle and soft for a split second, and he lifted one of his hands from your back, cupping your face with it, and stroking his thumb over your cheek. “I’ve got you, my prince,” he replied.

It made your heart flutter. You knew it was his way of saying ‘I love you’ back to you. You appreciated it more than you could ever truly put into words.

[eyesfangsandwings]

The promised con report

I’ve had a bit of rest, and I think I’ll make my first essay something light! Anyways, hello! I went to Othercon in both 2020 and 2021. I had a fantastic time at both so I thought I’d give my experiences in case anyone was on the fence and might want an insider view of the experience. Here we go! Under the cut in case people want to save some dash space.

Spoilers: it was good.

I will be honest and admit I almost didn’t go to the convention. I had very positive memories of Othercon 2020 and I had this irrational fear it wouldn’t measure up in some way. So I was a last second applicant, and I really do mean last second, as in I technically missed the window to sign up by a few hours.

So when I woke up that morning I was a bit of a sadsack, certain that I wouldn’t get an email with a link to the server and trying to convince myself that was fine and I’d find out something else fun to do over the weekend. You can imagine my surprise when I got an alert with an email from Othercon! Of course that immediately changed my mind that it was fine if I didn’t get to go, and I went straight to the server.

Maybe it was my imagination but it definitely seems like it was slightly bigger this year! I went to the first panel, the species dysphoria meet-and-greet, and it turned out that having a proper voice call was going to be very difficult as there were eighty people who jumped in. I didn’t get a chance to speak but there were a lot of people with really interesting opinions! I even learned a few new terms to put towards feelings of dysphoria I’ve had for quite some time.

Unfortunately, despite being interested in quite a few other panels (RIP kinfood panel) I kept missing a lot of the other Friday panels, and I was torn on whether or not to go to a watch party...I ended up wishing I had, however. There were still a lot of interesting conversations going on more or less all the time in the channels, however! And I got to infodump about fursuits at a few points. :p

I turned in earlyish, and woke up on Saturday, which was probably the busiest day. I went to most of the panels bar the fictionkin ones, and they were incredibly insightful. Special shoutout to the species euphoria panel which was one of the most wholesome experiences of the entire convention.

Sunday was for the most part the relaxed day! I only went to one panel, and it seems I really should have attended the create-a-dragon panel given that everyone had an...interesting time, going by the results. Closing ceremonies had what seems like a new tradition for Othercon, the MEGAHOWL ™....but this time with soup, several people reciting (among other things) Shakespeare soliloquies, the Bee Movie script, and a few people somehow having a conversation while the Discord call began to violently glitch out from having too many people speaking, howling, yipping, meowing, growling, etc. a lot.

...Yeah, it definitely has the usual wild, untamed atmosphere of an IRL convention, not that I’m complaining. ^v^ Afterwards there was a watch party of A Whisker Away and this time I got to tune in! I couldn’t stay up until the end but it was a really fun movie.

Closing thoughts: I’ve been severely isolated from the otherkin community for a long time. I attended Othercon on a whim last year and more or less did again this year. I don’t regret it either time for a second. It’s been the first time in years I felt aligned with the community and helped me feel at home with myself. There were a few minor roadbumps but it was an extremely well run affair. I don’t want to call it life-changing but the fact I’m starting to re-engage with otherkin instead of just being solitary over in my corner should be some indication. It’s inspired me to finally start talking about my experiences, which...is not easy to do, to say the least!

But, the hows and whys of that is another story for another time. Come back around the campfire sometime and I might talk about it. :>

[smarti-at-smogwarts]

First Year Profile

Taking a page from the lovely @carewyncromwell​ who’s the blog that introduced me  to HPHM and encouraged me to play. 

While I’m still in year one [ im trying to catch up as fast as possible T-T] I wanted to jot some stuff down about my MC and  maybe have ppl meet her. 

There’s stuff missing but that will be added as I progress through the game. 

[ Image ID close up of a girl with shoulder lenght brown hair, a round nose, and blue eyes. She’s smiling at the camera. End ID]

NAME | Marta Beatrice Venturi

NICKNAMES | Marti -Goes by that everywhere, actually doesn’t like her full name, and only gets called it when she’s in trouble-. Smarti [ Jacob called her this. Off limits] Munchkin [ her dad] Venturi. [ Snape and Merulla] 

Pronouns | She/Her 

ORIENTATION | Bi

[PERSONALITY] Marti is a bit capricious due  to being the baby of her family and tends to want things to go her way. She’s a bit mischievous because of this and can be rather childish though also very playful and sweet for the same reason. She is also incredibly empathetic and always there for her friends, becoming very protective of them. She’s highly social and outgoing often known for befriending people at the drop of a hat. Despite this first impressions tend to stick to her and once she makes up her mind about you it can take a lot for her to change it. [ ie both Snape and Merula are already in a bad light for her after one meeting with each while both Flitwick and Hagrid are in a good light.] 

She’s very protective of and tries to do right by those she considers friends and can be highly protective of them. 

[Image ID; Marti standing between a girl with dark skin, ling black hair and glasses [ her friend Rowan] and a girl with  short brown hair. The text reads under her ‘’get away from her’ End ID]

Jacob is her berserk button as she loves him dearly and still hasn’t let him go. Anyone talking badly about him instantly goes on her sh-t list and will cause her to lose her temper.  

[Image ID- Marti looking angry as a text box below him reads ‘’expelling him was completely unfair; and it was just as wrong of him to run away without telling. End ID]

[BIOGRAPHY]

Marti is the third child of Abigail Rowle and George Venturi. Both purebloods. They had two boys before her, Jacob [ ten years older than Marti] and Edwin [ four years older than Marti]. Most of Marti’s early memories include her family either together or separately and are good ones.  She was specially close to her oldest brother as he often babied her and had a soft spot for her. 

There was a rough patch when Abigail and George after months of arguments and the relationship being rocky, separated. However, Marti was both too young and sheltered by both her brothers for it to affect her too much.  Their father, a wizard world attorney, kept full custody of the three of them which Abigail was okay with.

Raising three kids was a handful for George and while he tried his best and the family was very loving [ with all three Venturi kids being unequivocally Daddy’s Girl/Boys] there were a lot of times when Jacob and even Edwin eventually  picked up the slack. Being the baby, Marti was coddled and never wanted for much attention not in the very least because while Jacob tried to not have favorites between his siblings he undoubtedly had a soft spot for his baby sister.[ not that Edwin ever begrudged her this. ]  

While Jacob went to Hogwarts when Marti was still really young [ which led to more than a few tantrums specially in his first year] he remained an important figure in her life and the three Venturi remained close, reuniting every break the school allowed even after Edwin joined his brother [ starting his Hogwarts career when Marti was  six ]

Unfortunately this wasn’t to last. Jacob vanished during his sixth year which sent the small family into turmoil. Edwin, who was about to start his first year, became withdrawn and sulked on his own, closing himself off to everyone including his own family. George was distraught at losing his oldest son. His relationship with Abigail became strained since they separated amicably enough but the loss of a child led them to be unable to be in the same room without assigning blame. [ though Abby still keeps her visits with her children she just..doesn’t speak to their father.]

And Marti lost her big brother.

The family grieved and eventually seemed to move on though none of them have completely let Jacob go. George still blames himself and harbors a lot of feelings of failing his son. Edwin is hugely withdrawn and refuses to speak on the matter. Marti in particular refuses to let Jacob go or give up on him returning and refuses to believe the things said about him. Jacob was and still is her hero, she had him on a pedestal before he left and still wants him to come back. Something that puts her at odds with Edwin who wants to forget and move on. 

A few years down the line, George married a muggle named Nora who herself had a magical child and a muggle one. Both Edwin and Marti took this as a sign things would get better and that the family could heal, and both were happy to have additions to the family. 

However this also added to Marti’s feelings that she was the only one who still remembered and hadn’t given up on Jacob as Edwin befriended Nora’s magical daughter [ her being the same age as him and a Hufflefpuff and the two becoming best friends as well as siblings] and her father seemed to move on with the help of his new wife.  

Because of this she even more stubbornly clung to Jacob, to the happy memories she had of him- which she seemed to be alone in as his name was tarnished- and the more the family tried to get her to give up on him coming back, the more she dug her heels in. 

Now going to Hogwarts, Marti is excited to start at the school and learn new things. She’s also determined to use the things she learns to bring her brother home someday. 

WAND |  blackthorn wand with a unicorn hair core. It is eleven-and-a-quarter inches and described as "slightly springy and flexible.

Blackthorn, which is a very unusual wand wood, has the reputation, in my view well-merited, of being best suited to a warrior. This does not necessarily mean that its owner practices the Dark Arts (although it is undeniable that those who do so will enjoy the blackthorn wand’s prodigious power); one finds blackthorn wands among the Aurors as well as among the denizens of Azkaban. It is a curious feature of the blackthorn bush, which sports wicked thorns, that it produces its sweetest berries after the hardest frosts, and the wands made from this wood appear to need to pass through danger or hardship with their owners to become truly bonded. Given this condition, the blackthorn wand will become as loyal and faithful a servant as one could wish.

Unicorn hair generally produces the most consistent magic, and is least subject to fluctuations and blockages. Wands with unicorn cores are generally the most difficult to turn to the Dark Arts. They are the most faithful of all wands, and usually remain strongly attached to their first owner, irrespective of whether he or she was an accomplished witch or wizard.Minor disadvantages of unicorn hair are that they do not make the most powerful wands (although the wand wood may compensate) and that they are prone to melancholy if seriously mishandled, meaning that the hair may 'die' and need replacing.

HOUSE | Slytherin 

[MISC]

♦  Marti loves animals especially those often not considered cute [ bats, reptiles, bugs]  and has a pet snake she left at home as she didn’t see anything about snakes being acceptable pets in the letter. She plans to ask about it at some point in her first year. Her pet snake’s name is Mickey. 

♦  Marti has 2 siblings in Hogwarts. Lizzie Mcdonald in Hufflepuff and Edwin Venturi in Ravenclaw. They don’t interact that much however due to the age gap [ they’ll graduate by the end of year 2] and the fact  that they have different social groups [ well Marti and Lizzie do. Edwin’s more a withdrawn Loner] as well as being in different houses. 

♦   This is also in part because of Marti’s own feelings of perceived exclusion. While they love her very much and don’t mean to do it, the unmistakable  synergy between her elder siblings and the friendship that immediately sparked from it often leaves Marti feeling left out or looking from the outside. It makes her miss Jacob and cling to the idea of him coming back all the more since she remembers having a close relationship with him/being closer to him than to Edwin. 

♦  The Venturi’s are very protective of each other[ and of their step siblings] specifically because of what happened to Jacob. It affected them both very badly though differently.  

♦  The Venturi’s are considered blood traitors by most purebloods due to their lax views on Muggleborn wizards especially now that George married a muggle. [ their view of George was already low due to having separated from his pureblood wife]. 

♦  More to the point, all three Venturis [ George, Edwin and Marti ] are hugely defensive against anti-muggle and anti-muggle born sentiments due to Nora and her daughters being part of their family and are likely to react violently to it, especially if directed at them. 

♦  Marti has a love for old rock bands due to Jacob often listening to them when she was little/when he was still around. 

♦   She wore cat ear headbands as a kid and sometimes still wears them [ specially in first year second and third  as she’s still a child but I can definitely see her wearing them for fun as a teenager] 

♦  Marti has a list of spells she wants to learn specifically to prank Merula. And she might be trying to remember what pranks Edwin and Jacob used on each other before Jacob went missing. 

♦  Marti has -undiagnosed ADHD- and RSD [ Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria] which itself is a sympton of ADHD. This often leads to her not focusing in long classes sometimes and spacing out a lot or thinking of other things in class. 

♦  RSD in particular makes it hard for her to regulate emotions and makes her incredibly sensible to perceived [ or real] rejection. She sometimes ends up crying even when she doesn’t want to  [ ie when Snape blamed her for Merula’s prank.] It’s specially going to be harder in her younger years. 

♦  While this won’t happen for a long time, Marti’s first exposure to a boggart will reveal her biggest fear to be her family forgetting about all Jacob. 

♦   Her mirror of erised by contrast is her whole family including Jacob with Edwin smiling like he used to and her dad not looking so worn and sad as he does ever since Jacob went missing. 

FC  Emily Rudd

Older

Friends In Game:

Rowan Khana

Ben Cooper

Penny Haywood

Chiara Lobosca

MC Friends:

Vixen Mcmahen ( @rosievixen​ ) Ryan O’Donnell,  Cara O’Donnell,  Sara O’Donnell,  Conor O’Donnell ( @unfortunate-arrow​)  Finnick -Finn- Moran ( @ljbard121​ ) Cato Reese ( @catohphm​ ) Henry Mclarnon ( @that-ravenpuff-witch​ ) Lyra Wilson ( @cursebreakerfarrier​ )

If you wanna talk about your MC being friends with Marti let me know

[souprights]

DIY for Transmasc Minors/Those still living with unsupportive family

For context, I'm just turned 17, still living with my parents and live in the USA. This is just my experience! It may not be the best/easiest way to go about DIYing. I'm going to do my best to make this as comprehensive as possible, and please let me know if anything if incorrect or if I should add anything.

Firstly, if you're under the age of 16, I don't recommend this at all!! DIY should be a last-ditch effort, after you've tried all else. Please seek therapy, a supportive friend group, and a good community before turning to illegal means, because, yes, purchasing and being in possession of T without a script is illegal.

What's it Gonna Cost?

For cost, you're going to need about $60 - $115 of reliable income a month. Depending on the site you use, and how many millilitres of (injectable) T you purchase, that's going to vary, but $60 is the typical minimum I can find. Don't forget shipping is going to be around $15-30.

This only includes the T!! Don't forget you're going to need needles, bandaids, and alcohol swabs if you're injecting, as well as blood tests.

What Kind of T?

Whether you use gel or injections is entirely up to you and your comfort. However, please avoid orals! Those are just gonna wreck your liver, no matter how painlessly tempting they may be.

Gels run more expensive, but with injectable, there's extra purchases/packages to be had.

Hang On, Blood Tests?

To make sure your levels are in a safe/normal range, you're going to need a blood test. If possible, look for Quest or LabCorp-esque places to get proper bloods done. I was too nervous to do that, given how closely my parents track my every move while I'm not at home, so settle for finger prick at-home tests if necessary. Unless the site advertises Discreet Packaging, I highly recommend having these sent to a friend and picking them up at school/when hanging out.

Do one before starting T, one at Month One, Two and Three, respectively. Based on your levels, adjust or figure out your dose. If everything is typical at Month Three, you don't have to test again till Month Six. After that, check at your One Year mark, then yearly thereafter.

Where/How Do I Get All This?

eroids.com is the first place I turn to when looking for places to order T. You can read reviews for each site listed, and get an average rating from people who've used the sites. If you want to go for gels, I suggest poking around Reddit and finding other people who've DIYed with gel, and asking them for their opinions and recommendations. Make an informed decision no matter what you choose, and spend PLENTY of time researching.

For needles, bandaids, and alcohol swabs I honestly just use Amazon. MAKE SURE you mark your order as a gift, or else you're probably going to run into the issue of the packaging being marked with "medical supplies." Imagine your overbearing parents seeing that and ripping open your package, and immediately assuming you're spending your days in back alleys shooting up. Not fun. Take my word, and learn from my mistake.

As for bloods, just poke around till you find a test that takes your free T and total T both, or go somewhere and have it done proper.

Now, you might try using a PO box to not worry about your family seeing any packages arriving, or having it sent to a friend with more relaxed/accepting parents. Later in the year (when I'm doing this) using the approaching gift-giving holidays to keep people out of your parcels might be plausible. Or maybe your family doesn't care. Ultimately, imagine the worst case scenario and judge what to do knowing your own situation.

Okay, But....Bitcoin

Ah, yes. Daunting, tricky Bitcoin. Majority of sites only accept Bitcoin as payment. But I swear it's not as bad or hard as it sounds. Your first issue is honestly going to be finding somewhere that doesn't require you to be 18+ to purchase it. Now, don't worry too much. For me, I got my older sister to put in all her details, and I just used my money to make purchases. You can do the same with an 18+ friend, relative, or relative of a friend's. Or, send an 18+ friend's CashApp the money necessary to make a Bitcoin purchase and transfer for you.

Now, my first order of T was only about $60, with shipping and everything, since I only bought 4ml total to begin with. If you buy a bigger vial, it's going to cost more. $60 was as much as I could spend without making my parents suspicious (they keep an eye on my bank account), so if you have a similar problem or a smaller spending threshold of concern, don't worry. Just spend your max threshold on buying Bitcoin as often as you can. The Bitcoin will be stored for you to compile and use later. Keep in mind its value may go down, so buy a bit extra if you're saving up over time.

I use an app called Edge to handle all my Bitcoin transactions. It's simple, easy, and you can use a card, a direct bank transfer, Apple Pay or Cash (if there's a Bitcoin ATM near you--no worries, there's a handy map in the app itself to lead you to the nearest one of those). I used Apple Pay, so unfortunately, I can't help with any other methods than that. You can also use CashApp, but Edge's verification went much much faster, and I was not in the mood to wait a few extra days.

There's going to be a fee, usually outlined before you select your payment type. I included that in the cost of the T above, which might be more or less.

And lastly, it's not instant. It usually takes a few hours, but if it's more than a few days, reach out to customer support.

Each site lists instructions with how to send payment once ordered. Just follow their instructions, and talk to them if you have any trouble. They're usually more than happy to help you send them money.

So I've ordered my T

Shipping times are going to vary!! Keep this in mind. If you used eroids, users typically include shipping time in their reviews. This may influence which site you pick. Domestic sites tend to have faster shipping and don't risk customs seizing your pack--if customs seizes a pack with an illegal substance, you're going to get a letter. That's pretty hard to find an excuse out of, way closer to impossible.

Typical processing times are 2-5 days, but may vary a little, depending on things that may include a lovely little pandemic. Shipping is typically 1-2 weeks for domestic sites, 3-5 weeks for international. Shipping prices tend not to vary much, however, no matter where the warehouse is.

Hiding Changes

This is going to be the tricky part. I've known some people to only go on T for three months or so, as to get some changes to reduce dysphoria, but not have family members notice. If you spend a lot of time around family, the changes are gradual and they might not notice. But keep your own safety in mind above all else. What's the worst that's going to happen if your family confronts you over your changes? How long will you be able to write off your voice as "a cold" before someone wises up? How much longer are you going to be staying with your family?

I'm out to my unsupportive family, so despite being discouraged from any transition of any sort, any and all voice changes I'm writing off as voice training. Facial hair? Minoxidil. More muscle? I've been working out. These may or may not be things you can use, so consider carefully.

Aside from your voice and facial hair, there won't be anything too difficult to hide or write off. Shave your facial hair away as soon as you get up if it develops/needs to be hidden. Consider and compile a list of excuses as to why your voice is changing in case of questions.

Hiding Supplies

This is going to depend a lot on your house and situation. Do you have animals, parents or siblings who invade your spaces and find your hidey holes? A piece of advice I read in an MtF guide to DIY is to hide something you won't get in trouble for where you plan on hiding your hormones, and see if anyone finds it over a few weeks. Repeat until somewhere safe is scouted.

I have small cardboard boxes I keep under my bed, in a cabinet I have in my room, and on my desk. Only bandaids are kept on the box on my desk. But the other places I hide things have an equal distribution of my supplies, so even if someone finds one box, I'll be able to continue HRT.

Try to keep your T much better hidden than other supplies. I'm in an arts-focused degree in college, and a very artistic person, so I've managed to write off needles and syringes as pieces to build a 3D art project for a portfolio. Try to find an excuse to use if your needles are found. Maybe the art thing works for you, maybe not.

Consider taking precautionary measures of removing/covering labels of your T if you're using an injectable kind. You might be able to get away with calling it a prop of some kind, for a TikTok video or something if it's found.

Disposing of Needles/Wrappers/Etc

Alright, so you've done your first shot of T, or applied your first gel packet. Congrats! Now, how to hide the evidence? Firstly, for gels, it won't be too difficult. Just use a plastic grocery bag and fill it with other miscellaneous rubbish and mix the wrappers in with that. Toss the tied bag in your own bin, or a neighbour's bin if that's safer. If that's not possible, do so at school.

Needles are a more tricky circumstance. If you're able to purchase and safely dispose a sharps bin, 100% do that. If you're in a place like me and that's not possible, go and buy some soda with twist-top lids, or get them from friends. Once the bottle is empty, you can toss needles into there. In my experience, 1ml syringes and the small needles used for T injections fit in these 500ml bottles no issue. I throw these sealed bottles in the bin once they're full. I know this isn't proper disposable, but I'm unable to get a sharps bin.

Never throw exposed needles into the bin, or leave them somewhere anyone or anything could possibly be exposed to them.

For T bottles, I've only ever found one site that sells it in containers smaller than 10ml. I'm not sure if the 10ml bottles would fit into the soda bottles or not, so follow the same procedure as disposing of gel wrappers. If that's not possible, use a sharp knife to cut open your soda bottle at the widest part and put the bottle in there, before using a strong adhesive tape (not scotch tape--duct tape or something similar) to seal the incision before disposing of it.

In Conclusion

I've left out a list of the changes T causes, and starting doses, because those are all easy things to find, which you probably know already. Regardless of what this small guide says, please keep your own safety in mind and do as much research as possible before moving forward with DIY, and know that I'm no kind of professional, and all this is based off my tiny bit of experience.

As of the original posting of this, I haven't yet started T. I'm going to start in about two weeks, however, and have gathered everything necessary. I may update this guide further as I take T.

[baepsaetan]

Banner by @thebannershop​

Summary: In a futuristic age where a person can be coded and inserted into a new body, the rich can live forever. Born to a wealthy family, Jin expects to live life at a lofty and uncaring height. His expectations go awry when his body is murdered and a small gang steals his ‘stack’ and resleeves him in a criminal. Thrust into a gritty, neon world far below his life as an immortal, where death can be Real, Jin will discover truths that challenge his perceptions and make him wonder what - if anything - immortality is worth.

Chapters:  pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7  -> read on Ao3

Genre: Altered Carbon Fusion, Science Fiction/Futuristic, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Murder Mystery

Warnings: Shifting PoVs (primarily Jin), minor character death, abuse, torture, gangs, drug addiction, drug use, references to depression, body dysphoria, animal death, swearing, smut in future chapters

Length: 2k

A/N: I want to emphasize that the beautiful banner is done by Rose at thebannershop, please head her way and give her some love! Just as a heads up, this is going to be a real long haul project - we’re talking 20+ chapters. Hope you all enjoy. :) 

 ---

The person sitting across the table is nothing more than grease on a squeaky wheel, yet Hoseok finds himself personally disliking the man. For one, he keeps making small, covert gestures, leaning over the desk with watery blue eyes, pitching his voice low as though he were sharing a secret Hoseok should be honoured to receive. There’s nothing honest about his too-pale face, his flickering gaze, his eager attempts to be ingratiating even as he lowkey insults the precinct and everyone in it.

It also doesn’t help that he’s being a pain in the ass. Hoseok’s smile doesn’t falter, though, even as he shifts, bouncing his feet under the desk.

“The Kim family,” he repeats for what feels like the fiftieth time and is probably closer to the fifth, “has no legal claim over Seokjin’s body or stack. He was found outside of their home. Further, there is simply no reason for them to be in control of him at this time. I understand how distressing this –”

“Very distressing!” the man interjects, as though that were the point Hoseok had been making. “Very distressing, captain!” Each syllable is punctuated by a nervous, one-fingered tap on the desk, and Hoseok needs to supress his neurochems from flaring up with every tap. “Mr. and Mrs. Kim are absolutely distraught. To have their child back, to know that he is in safe keeping, that would do wonders for their emotional states.”

Idly imagining foisting this man off on one of his lieutenants – not that he ever would – Hoseok brushes back his black bangs, keeps his voice pleasant. “He’s being kept in our most secure storage area, Mr. McCall. We have very rigorous security measures.”

The lawyer’s eyes dart around the small, tidy office, his lips pursed. Hoseok knows it doesn’t look like much. Truth be told, it’s not. But the skeptical implication of that gaze – that Hoseok’s people aren’t good enough – has his own mouth tightening, aching to pull into a frown. He indulges himself for a moment and lets his neurochems activate, pulsing with lightning reassurance through his nervous system and bringing everything into bright focus. It’s a heady sensation, the flood of a potent cocktail of chemicals, difficult to let go, and he could just keep them going, just keep riding that rush…

But he won’t. Not at work. That’s the promise. Hoseok shuts the drugs down, and doesn’t let the resulting plummet show on his face.

Mr. McCall clears his throat, unaware. “Well… yes. But the Kim family have the means to set up an invested, careful and personal watch over Seokjin. They would spare no expense, whereas your department…” Another quick look at the room, hands brushing over the faded wood of Hoseok’s desk. “Your department surely does its best with what it has,” the lawyer finishes.

Fucking Meths, Hoseok thinks, and now his grin is really being threatened – maybe using his chems hadn’t been a great idea. He’s always been a strong believer in smiles being better than whips to get people to do things, but in this case… damn, theories are being tested. He’d rather be laughing any day, and his officers respond to it better than marine-sergeant shit, yet Hoseok can’t help but wonder if slapping on a glare wouldn’t get rid of this man more quickly.

Mr. McCall notices the change, either from simple perception or, much less likely, some kind of basic empathy implant, and a good deal of his fawning disappears. “Captain,” he says, again leaning forward, “truth be told, this is a mere formality. Between you and I, the Kims will have their son back. Either they will get him from you, and be in your debt…” He trails off meaningfully, and Hoseok, jiggling one leg to try to get rid of his irritated energy and the remains of his chem dose, doesn’t reply. Better to make the lawyer say it out loud, get it all out in the open. He’s recording this conversation, anyways.

“Or, they’ll go over your head to someone better suited to deal with a situation of this nature.”

Hoseok can’t help it. He stands up and straightens his black uniform, all in one easy, graceful movement that doesn’t quite mask how angry he is. Yeah. Neurochems were the best invention since God in terms of combat, but they sure as hell don’t help his temper much. “I hope your clients will be able to find someone better suited, Mr. McCall. I don’t think they will, but we can always hope. In the meantime, though, I have a precinct to run.”

“So you won’t take this murder seriously? You have better things to do?”

“I take all murders very seriously. Particularly when the victim’s parents won’t allow us to spin them up to testify. That’s pretty serious, the way I see it.”

McCall bristles. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but Mr. and Mrs. Kim are very devout persons. While they have no compunctions about switching sleeves to maintain their longevity, they view uncontrollable events – such as the very unfortunate case with Mr. Seokjin – as an act of the Almighty. They can in no way jeopardize his soul by –”

“I’ve got the pamphlets; the Neo-Cs show up at the precinct often enough. You don’t need to quote their beliefs at me.”

The lawyer gets to his feet with forced calm, and that’s enough to get a sincere smile back on Hoseok’s face. Bluster and threaten all he wanted, McCall’s family wasn’t one of the big three Meth families, long established and running everything in Triptych on a leash. They were going to have to call in more than a favour, or two, if they wanted Seokjin’s body back, and in the meantime…

Well, in the meantime, Hoseok would be very interested to know just who had killed Seokjin. He would also be very interested in finding out why his family, who refused to give him a new life in a shiny new body, still wanted him back so badly.  

Yeah. And in the meantime, until Hoseok got an official letter signed by the higher-ups, or God Himself, Kim Seokjin was staying right where he was, stack, sleeve, and maybe even soul, too.

---

About six hours later, long after the Meth dog had slunk out of his office and long after his shift was officially over, Hoseok was in the breakroom, joking with one of the newest squad members. “What, you thought the captain was allowed to leave the station? These bars,” he plucks at one of the rank insignia pinned neatly to his jacket, “will electrocute me if I try.”

Jaemin’s eyebrows furrow briefly, and Hoseok knows why he’s hesitating. You don’t get to be captain without getting a reputation, and his reputation isn’t exactly soft. The recruit is wondering if it’s safe to joke, safe to loosen up. Hell, of course it is. They’re in the damn breakroom.

“Yeah,” Hoseok continues offhand. “There’s a reason I made captain at my age. Last captain wanted to leave the station and, well, he tried and he fried. Insta-promotion, y’know?” He laughs at his own joke, loud and sudden. That scares the hell out of Jaemin, the black-haired man rocking back in his chair, but it gets him to offer an only-slightly shaky smile, too – better than nothing.

Tanesha shuffles into the room, looking half-dead, her curly black hair a frizzy halo around her drawn face. He can’t really blame her; not everyone’s a night person, himself included, and The Curve isn’t exactly the quietest precinct in Triptych. He slips out of her way as she stumbles to the coffeepot – she sniffs at it, grimaces, shrugs, and then pours herself a cup. The best tech minder in the business is not exactly picky when it comes to her caffeine high.

Not that he can judge when it comes to being picky about highs. His skin prickles at the thought.

Leaning against the table, nose almost buried in the mug – like she’s hoping the scent alone will give her a jolt – Tanesha asks, “What’re you still doing here, captain Jung? Thought you had afternoon shift.”

“Afternoon, night, morning, I got ‘em all.”

“Please,” she snorts at his grand announcement. “Even you don’t have that much energy.” Suddenly glancing at Jaemin, the tall woman raises an eyebrow. “He been feeding you that bullshit story about being trapped here?”

“Uhh… no?” the new recruit answers, cautiously side-eyeing Hoseok. Hoseok flashes him a thumbs up.

“Please.” Tanesha snorts again, leaving off her coffee long enough to gesture with the mug at the captain. “Don’t let him impress you too much. Just remember, only reason he can do fifteen-hour days is ‘cause he’s outfitted with enough hardware to run a small planet into the ground. Neurochem, internal board, ONI, amplifiers, you name it and he’s got it. Almost a robot, that one.”

With a sharp bark of laughter, Hoseok doesn’t let the sting of that comment enter his voice. “Aish, you won’t let me brag, huh?” It’s not like I asked for all of these.

“You only get to brag when you deserve it,” his lieutenant replies. Somewhat unexpectedly – maybe for Jaemin’s benefit – she adds, “Besides, you deserve it so often, I have to work to cut you down when I get the chance.”

“Your hard work is appreciated,” he says solemnly, managing to remain deadpan for about four seconds. Then her round face scrunches, unimpressed, and façade cracking apart into another chuckle, Hoseok continues more seriously. “But Lieutenant Adebayo is right. I don’t expect any of you to pull long shifts like this. I get away with it because –”

The lights die, plunging them into dark and cutting off his words like a curtain dropped too soon. Suddenly an alarm is blaring from his ONI device, so loud that it completely drowns out Jaemin’s startled cry and Tanesha’s swearing. He claps his hands over his ears in pained reflex even as his eyes adjust, forcing back the dark, but it obviously does nothing to block out the noise.

“Attention,” a cool, genderless voice announces directly in his ear. It alternates with the alarm. “Attention. Cortical shelf thirteen-forty-three-forty has been illegally accessed. Attention. Immediate action required. Attention. Permission to shutdown system?”

He’s already got his watch up, the display light shining brightly in the dark, and the second the on-screen permission request appears Hoseok jabs a confirmation to block all access to the shelves. “Adebayo, get the lights back on. Preferably ten seconds ago,” he snaps at their tech, and then he’s out of the room. Even as he moves, flinging himself around desks and moving easily by the officers stumbling around in the blackness – not everyone has an upgraded sleeve and upgraded vision like he does – Hoseok is cursing. Himself, the computer system, whoever the hell is hacking them –

And McCall. He’s definitely cursing McCall. Given the cortical shelf number, he has a feeling he’s going to be seeing the lawyer sooner rather than later.

Within about two minutes, he’s barrelled down the stairs into the basement, where the stacks are stored. Here, he doesn’t need his enhanced eyesight; the wall of small compartments glows a soft red, each occupied shelf accompanied by a light blinking just above it. The stack storage is run off a separate power source, the better to stop – well, to stop exactly this from happening. Hoseok stares for a long moment at the distinctly dead light over the shelf that his ONI is helpfully informing him is empty, before pulling up his watch. A few quick taps, and he doesn’t know whether he should be relieved, confused or just plain pissed off.

He definitely wants to take another hit of neurochems. Could anyone blame him for it?

After all, Seokjin’s ruined body is still in storage, but his cortical stack is gone.

[shelbymustange]

Is Canada really that good? I've been thinking abt leaving my country and America is a no-no for me

This is such an incredibly difficult thing for me to write, as I’m a white person living in Canada and I don’t know a lot about POC experiences in my country. Everything I know about racism in Canada is from an outsider perspective. The only thing I can really speak on is my experiences as an LGBT person, and as an AFAB person who was born and raised here.

I'm not even close to an authority on how POC feel about living in Canada, and I can only give my opinion on that based on my personal experiences with my POC friends and acquaintances, plus what I have read in the news and from articles written by POC.

As well, this is from the perspective of someone who grew up in rural Ontario, and is living in Ottawa. Ottawa is not a large city, and it is in South Eastern Ontario. Canada is a very, very large country. South Eastern Ontario is no where near the same as Northern Ontario, or even Western Ontario, let alone Alberta or the Maritimes or the Yukon. 

Please keep this in mind as a speak on what I do know. There is a lot more that I don’t, and if you are POC, I encourage you to seek out articles or posts written by POC citizens and immigrants about their experience coming to Canada and living here. As well as seeking out local articles written from the place you may want to move within the country. 

Now that I have said that, let me begin:

Canada has it's issues with POC, and it would be incredibly ignorant for me to say we don't. There is still racism here, there is still anti-immigrant sentiment. There’s a very, very longstanding history of racism toward our First Nations/Indigenous/Native people. This history and mistreatment is becoming more well known about my country. It’s currently in debate whether we should label the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women a genocide because of the systematic negligence on the part of our authorities toward finding these girls and closing the numerous cold cases there are. As well, the ‘Starlight Tours’ -- or a more apt and less pleasing name the “Saskatoon Freezing Deaths” are also gaining a lot more attention toward how my country has treated it’s Indigenous people, and their systematic oppression. Not to mention the issue surrounding our residential schools and kidnapped indigenous children. <--there is a lot to unpack about Canada and it’s First Nations peoples. I could go on for paragraphs about this. I encourage any Canadian followers to read the articles in this paragraph and learn about these atrocities if you think our country is perfect.

Canada is not a utopia for POC. Brown and Black people as well, still suffer from racism from our authorities, as well as just daily racism from the people around them. And there are cases of police negligence and brutality that happen in Canada. This is a fact that our country has to face. 

In terms of our government -- well, our parties are a lot different than the US. Here’s what our election looked like last year, and a basic overview on party policies. Our elections last like...a month? I think last year it was 78 days and that was a long ass election. Generally speaking, there isn’t as much of and Us or Them mentality with our parties and I think it’s because we have a Parliament system. In my perspective, they’re all sort of toeing the line because they need each other in order for any policy to pass, especially when we have a minority government.

So, no one other than the conservatives are aligning themselves with just one party. And the conservatives only do that because the PC party is really the only contending conservative power in Canada. The other three parties that have MPs in House are leftist parties. 

Personally speaking, I’m a leftist. I side more with the NDP than the Liberals in terms of policies, but I don’t align myself with a specific party. I’m just a leftist. I usually vote Liberal, because in my district, they are the only contenders against the PC party, and ultimately my district is PC led because it’s a small town and it’s just how people vote there.

That’s how I look at our government. Notice how much more flippant it is than you might get from someone in the States? AND. I’m going to be perfectly honest here, not long ago, in our provincial government, we had a Premier named Kathleen Wynne, who I wanted to like, but she made some really stupid decisions (except $14 min wage, thank u Wynne). She was a Liberal party leader. And, you know, I was not okay with a PC government in Ontario, especially one run by Doug Ford (brother of notorious Rob Ford). And he’s done some shit I don’t like at all, BUT! I can comfortably say that I respect Doug Ford because of his decision making during the Covid Pandemic. While it was slow and could have been handled better, do I think another leader would have done better? Not really. But at the same time, there was no downplaying, and despite his emphasis on business in his platform, he surprised me with his re-opening policies and how slowly they were taken. (except the schools, because that was fuckin stupid tbh but I’m not going to keep going on about that.). Generally speaking, here when you’re mad about a politician, it’s for non-heinous, smaller bad decision making, rather than taking away Trans rights, for example. (An Aside -- here in Ontario, trans people who are clinically diagnosed with dysphoria and referred for surgery by a professional have their surgeries covered by OHIP (provincial health plan), and do not have to pay out of pocket, so that’s nice).

(Disclaimer: this opinion is from a white person’s prespective, a white person who votes in rural Ontario, who’s friends and family are quite equally as skeptical and logical toward politics and politicians. My flippancy could very well  be because of my white priviledge and I encourage any poc Canadian followers to respond with their opinions so I can rb here. I just know majority of immigrant Canadians vote Liberal since like the 70s).

Largely our Conservative party is much more concerned with fiscal issues than anything else (though there are some outliers, like Andrew Scheer who was notoriously anti-lgbt and abortion, but from what I could see it was kept out of his politics?? I need to look into it more, but ultimately he was taken out as the PC leader I think largely because of the country’s opinions on this) but a good portion of their supporters can be racist, and non-supportive of lgbt people, anti-abortion, etc. Ultimately, our conservatives, when in power recently, have never tried to reverse LGBT rights, though they toe the line of reproductive rights, despite not actively re-opening the debate. As well, Ontario, Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island, as well as Vancouver, Edmonton and Calgary have enacted bans on conversion therapy. A bill has also been tabled that will federally ban conversion therapy, and it’s not something that the conservatives are really fighting against. For the most part, they leave LGBT people alone rather than actively passing laws to harm them. I can personally say, I’ve never felt fear for my life, or my rights when we’ve had a majority PC government.

As an immigrant, compared to the US, you are more likely to be taken in to our country, and it is much easier to get work. It’s also easier to become a permanent resident (here’s a list of personal stories from answers on Quora about Canada vs US immigration). 

As well, the Canadian government adopted the idea of Canada as a multicultural nation back in the 1970s. We’re not a melting pot like the US. And this can be a big draw for people looking to immigrate, because it emphasizes individuality and the positives of what different cultures can bring to a country. (Though this can be contested and quite fairly at that).

I personally know a good amount of people who have immigrated to Canada, from a variety of different backgrounds, who love it here, and have had very little issue in their lives. Not none, obviously for the POC, because racism still happens here, but they love being here, and ultimately they feel safe and like they belong. They have found community here. But this is just my personal experience, Heres’s a couple articles from and about Canadian immigrants:

Immigrants talk about when they 'started to feel Canadian' - Ottawa Citizen, 2018 As an immigrant, I know how it feels to be 'lonely and isolated' in my new country - CBC Saskatchewan, 2019    What It Takes: An immigrant’s journey from Zimbabwe to Canada - Global News, 2019

This isn’t to say that people come here and they’re always going to love it. There’s a lot of people who leave, either to go back to their home country, or to go to another country (like the US). Even though it’s easier than in the US, it can still be hard to get a job here in the field you want, things are kind of really expensive compared to the US, the US has better higher level education, they have better paying jobs, etc. 

And again, this is the perspective of a white person from a smaller city in Ontario. I know Toronto, even though half of it’s population are immigrants, has a lot of issues with it’s police and brutality and anti-black and brown racism. Ultimately, you will not completely escape racism, individual or systemic, in this country. It’s an unfortunate fact that we can all fight to change in the future.

But in a small town. It’s a community. As someone from a rural area, I know that in my experience, there has never been a point where I have seen anyone from my small communities who have been, at the least, outwardly racist toward a POC. I personally have never seen or heard of a person being confronted or abused or called names because of the colour of their skin or cultural background. (here is an article written by my brother’s friend and former band mate, who is a black man that was adopted as a child, about his experiences in small town Canada, and his perspective on the BLM movement and the response of his white friends).

Anyway, I hope this sort of got my point across. Canada’s a complicated nation, like most. I didn’t touch on the base level, ‘why is canada a good place to immigrate’ points or anything, but I figure you would look that up before making such a big choice. And I’ve already spent 4 hours trying to write something coherent and somewhat researched to say...

Again, I encourage anyone to rb with their opinion or with anything I may have missed. Or send an ask or whatever.

[starship-melancholy]

The verdict

My name is Fox, I'm 28 years old. I've spent the majority of my 28 years living in a constellation of multiple singularities, and although I haven't always been around, I have spent long enough time in this body and brain to claim it as mine.

I'm a fighter. I guess, in a way, I evolved as someone's overreactive fight or flight response, brought on by a series of painful events that damaged the psyche of the child we once were, and deformed her development irreversibly.

So I fought my way through that. I fought for Phoenix, I fought against our demon, and after our great loss, I kept fighting for TP and myself. Today, we are a (more or less) binary system and we work to create a better life for us, our loved ones, and the last little shard of the innocent child that remained from our old self.

But the brain we inhabit is faulty in more than one way. Something went wrong during a point of its development, and this has resulted in a life-long difference in the way we experience the world around us and how we interact with it and the people around us.

For a long time, I didn't know about this. From my point of view, the world has been a vaguely hostile and mildly, but constantly unpleasant place, where it was a part of the human experience that everyday things and actions would cause one discomfort.

Stuff like, every shoe had to be uncomfortable, most clothes would painfully rub your skin the whole day, or that everybody had the right to touch you at their leisure, whether or not it was a welcomed gesture.

Later on, when life became unbearably painful, they would give you drugs that made you want to end it all. And no matter how you tried to tell them, they'd insist you keep on taking them. Obviously, they were fed up by you being difficult, and this was just an easy way to get rid of you.

When I started to open the capsules and secretly flush their content down the toilet, taking the empty shells only, the suicidal urges subsided, which only confirmed my belief of being poisoned. Consequently, I refused to take any medication for long years.

Where there has only been misguided attempts to help me, I saw malice, and it alienated me from my parents and the rest of my family. I started closing off emotionally, and they couldn't do anything but watch me grow distant, until there was virtually nothing left.

I suffered most of my trauma alone, I battled my depression and the increasingly intense dissociation on my own. I got used to not trusting people, always trying to help others, spreading love and positivity wherever I went, but taking none of it in return.

By the time I moved out, the walls of my universe closed in on me, and I could no longer sleep, and the waking world was separated from me by a constant haze of unreality, which I could no longer break through.

At this point, I tried once again to ask for help, but according to the psychiatrist, I was perfectly fine, I just needed to stop drinking and get my shit in gear.

You know what? I would have loved to have my shit in gear. I was a gifted student, but I was deemed lazy and irresponsible, because I couldn't keep up with the pressure of a highly demanding full-time education, a side job, running a household and dealing with the newly found freedom and social activities I craved as a constant distraction from my miserable state.

My life spiralled out of control, and I was lost in a whirlwind of nightmarish emotions I could neither handle nor disregard. I became a casualty of my own inability to handle the freedom and adult life I so longed for. I dropped out of my education, went through a series of ill-fitting jobs, moved countries repeatedly, I built and destroyed new identities and lifestyles for myself more times than I could count.

And in the end, I failed. And in a way, it cost me my life. My integrity, at least. Phoenix died as a consequence of all the abuse, neglect and bad decisions that illustrated our life since our early teenage years.

And as she gave up, so did I become truly myself, free from our past at last, I got one last chance to make a life that's worth living.

And just like that, it happened. I found out, I wasn't alone after all. In the past five years, I've met and shared my life with so many amazing people that prove to me that everything that was before is not all there is to the world, who taught me that there was more to me than fighting, that I didn't have to suffer every minute of every day. That I deserved redemption.

It was a long journey, and it's far from over, but today, my life is good. I'm at my emotional peak, I've never been this content with myself, my relationships, my goals and my progress. My circumstances have improved tenfolds, I am no longer homeless, starving, it fighting for the bare minimum. I have finished an education, I have a great job, a family that loves and supports me. Pets I adore, and friends that accept me.

Unfortunately, as life got more and more stable, and as I slowly managed to put my gloves down, all the bottled up damage of 28 years came crashing down on me, and my mental health has severely deteriorated during the past 1.5 years. By this summer it got so bad that I had to stop working, and I've spent most of my time drugged up, sleeping or being unable to do anything due to the constant fatigue that came with the medication.

And after the dysphoria stemming from this drove TP to the point of attempting suicide just to end all this, we finally made the bravest decision of our lives: we came clean to our doctor about everything – him and I, our depression, suicidal thoughts, history of trauma, all the things we kept so neatly bottled up before. And as expected, his answer was... "Well, this is above my pay grade."

And so we ended up in psychiatry, but this time, properly. And although I approached with caution, and I didn't put much faith in us actually receiving help (not to mention the gut-wrenching impostor syndrome that is known to basically everybody with any kind of special needs or mental health problems, that kept and still keeps telling me that I'm a fraud and I'm faking all of it, and what I'm not faking I just made up), but for once, I was heard.

It was a tough process that involved talking to a variety of people, telling my story, answering questions, the humiliating experience of melting down, going mute, or stuttering in front of strangers, but with the help of my two wonderful partners, I made it through!

And I think I got what I wanted. I got heard. I got acknowledged. And I got a piece of paper proving that I'm a legitimate part of the only community I ever truly felt part of.

So hey guys. My name is Fox, I'm 28 years old, and it turns out, a lot of the things I didn't understand about myself are caused by the fact that I'm autistic, and as a result of all the trauma in my life, I have a dissociative disorder, depression and anxiety.

Welcome to the Petting Zoo, I guess? ;)

[the-scottish-costume-guy]

My Trans Story

Story of my social and medical transition under the cut, I know its not trans day of visibility anymore but consider this a belated contribution. I hope it helps anyone who’s questioning, or even anyone whos curious about the experience. This is very long and has some mention of dysphoria, abuse, bullying but also has a happy ending so thats your warning:

The earliest I remember giving any indication of being trans was at five or six years old on my way to primary school with my mother (who I will mention was a fairly good mother at the time - this will be relevant later). I turned to her in my little green and white uniform dress and said “I’m a boy, aren’t I mum?” I’m not sure what prompted the question really curiosity maybe but my mother laughed it off - something I dont blame her for, kids say silly things all the time. I wouldn’t say I was a super boyish kid. Yeah I liked a bit of rough and tumble play, I was into pokemon cards, then yu-gi-oh, beyblades - which were all considered “boy” things when I was at school. I liked to play british bulldog and tag, and as I got older I’d get into Warhammer, Dungeons and Dragons, The elder scrolls and other nerdy things which are seen as more unisex now but again in the time were considered “boy” interests. But I liked having long blond hair, and I was curious about make-up. I liked to bake and sew and weave, and as a child I even enjoyed knitting. I cried easily and got hurt often - I was accused of attention seeking through most of my childhood though even looking at myself critically I can only ever remember wanting validation. When I was hurt, when I’d achieved something I was proud of - my motivations were called into question when I sought out help or interest. I remember being heartbroken when art I’d worked on was dismissed or I was told the bad bruise I’d gotten was nothing to be upset over and to stop seeking attention. It set me on a path of questioning everything I did and why I did it.

Unfortunately I have a lot of memory gaps in the lead up to high school and through much of school.

Fairly early on in school though I came out as bisexual. Honestly I think a part of me was threatened by cis guys masculinity and that drove me to women. I had a fairly even number of girlfriends and boyfriends. One relationship the boy I was with implied being ready to try sex and we ended up breaking up not long after when I distanced myself. I didn’t know how to explain the discomfort with my own body that I didnt even understand. How I didn’t want to be touched in certain places or do certain things. I felt like a freak.

It didn’t help that I was already bullied pretty much from the get go in highschool, from age 11 I did have many friends and there were periods where I had none. I was bullied for my hair, for not having friends, for being gay, for being depressed. Hell sometimes I was bullied for being bullied - high school is weird. 

I was also... “bullied” by a “friend” who would hit me, talk down to me, at times wouldn’t let me sit on furniture. Once she choked me to the point of passing out among other things. Somehow I was still convinced she must like me on some level - why else would she hang out with me? I wish I’d known better. She introduced me to the concept of being transgender but not in a way I identified with. She told me about a documentary of “Boy becoming girls and girls becoming boys.” she told me “The girls that become boys are always still pretty, you can tell they were girls. But the boys that become girls, you cant tell they were boys they just look like ugly girls.” I imagine shes less ignorant now but its stuck with me.

Eventually around age 16 Two trans people spoke at my school. They talked about how they always felt different, things they’d disliked about themselves - the relief of coming out. I understood completely but my brief excitement was dashed by their talking about harassment and fear. I wrote my email address on a slip of paper and ‘please help’ which I put in the box they were collecting at the back of the room for any questioning youth. They never emailed me. I made an appointment with my doctor.

I actually begged my doctor to fix me, and he referred me to a GIC (Gender Identity Clinic) in Edinburgh. It took a full year to actually be seen there. I told some of my close friends about my concerns and confusion, and came out as genderfluid. I used a random R based male name to try and settle - knowing that as it was fandom related I’d change it later. When I spoke to the specialist at the GIC, I came out as a Trans Man, I felt validated. I came out to my family not long after and it was not well received. My cousin (who had spent every summer with us for as long as I could remember and I viewed like a sibling) died when I was 14. My godmother (his mother) died a year after. Within the ten years since my cousins death, he, my uncle on my mothers side, my great grandfather, my godmother, my gran and my grandad have all passed away. When I came out to my dad he begged me not to put more strain on our family. My mother turned to drink when I was only 14 and had worsened becoming more and more abusive as time went on. I’d had mental and physical health issues since the age of 8 and my experiences were being written off. My mother got worse, and I ended up being her full time carer for a few years. She was abusive, she hit me, she destroyed my things, she wrote on the walls and threatened me with knives. When a letter for my third GIC appointment came, (the appointment that would have gotten me hormones) I highly suspect it was my mother that destroyed it. I didn’t even know I’d been dropped from the list until six months later when I called to ask when my next appointment would be. I’d apparently missed it and for that reason they’d silently, without fuss, taken me off their active patients list. I was upset but handling my mother was enough strain for me not to fight my case for another few years. I went to attempt college for a second time in 2015 - nearly six years after I first came out, and four after my first GIC appointment. I called my best friend over to my house, and together we sighed 15 deedpolls changing my name and title legally. I contacted the clinic and got another appointment for that September. The doctor wanted longer - more appointments to get to know me, but after hearing I’d already had two with another doctor, had waited four years, had told the story I’ve told you now - she told me she wanted to get me on hormones for christmas. She rearranged her schedule and had me come in on december 9th, four days later I had my first doze of testosterone. I didn’t tell my father that I’d started hormones but I had told him prior that I was going to soon. My dad continued not to accept me, as did one of my tutors at college. I kept my head down and muscled through. I’d become so used to not passing that only 4 years later, when Im passing easily and consistently, its both a shock and yet somehow feels like its always been the case. I had top surgery on October 23rd 2017. To my surprise, my father came to the hospital. He’d said he wouldnt visit, but made the 4 hour drive anyway. Last summer, he started introducing my as his son to strangers. He started inviting me out for drinks with him and my brother. He treated me how I had always wanted. Sure he still drops the feminine endearments in - but I’m not going to fault him that. Everyone I meet assumes Im cis until I tell them otherwise. I was finally comfortable enough in 2017 to come out as gay, and I’m now engaged to my wonderful Fiance who is just beginning his own transition journey. My point? It gets better is a tired phrase that feels worn out by use. And no my life isn’t perfect but dysphoria and lack of love is definitely not the problem. Years ago I felt I’d never pass, I told people as much. I thought I was ugly, and unlovable. Now I like how I look, I Know i pass because people call me “sir” “Mr” ect. One of the tutors for the university I applied to was excited to “finally have a man in the class.” 

The journey is long, and at no point can you see the end of it. Eventually you just look back and see how far you’ve come. Stay strong. 

[nottskyler]

A Broken Down Car

A parable for why I have no issue with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints even though they teach some wrong doctrine.

You have a car and it breaks down. You have to get it fixed and find out it is the transmission and while they can make it run again, the transmission is never going to function properly again because of how it related to the car. But the car still drives and there isn’t a better car in this imaginary world. What do you do? You keep the car. You might warn friends before purchasing the car that it has a sucky transmission. You don’t blame people for downgrading to a different car to not have to deal with the car sputtering every time it changes gears because it makes them nervous. You use the car because it works and, hopefully, the next model of the car will fix this issue.

I’ve seen a lot of queer people who cannot fathom believing in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints because of its stance on LGBT topics, especially ones who were brought up in the Church. However, being a trans man, this really isn’t something I’ve struggled with (belief-wise, social aspects are much harder to handle). There are many reasons for this.

You need to first understand that I’m an American. I’ve never encountered anything about trans or being trans until the bathroom law. As an American, I also am of the culture that unless it is strictly forbidden, it’s allowed/legal. This means that since I wasn’t told that being trans is a sin, I don’t see it as a sin. I understand the doctrine of the physical body related to roles and why they discourage surgeries that purposefully make you infertile (however I do understand that it is necessary for certain types of dysphoria and I don’t think a trans person is wrong to get those surgeries if they need it to be whole). Basically being brought up in the Church wasn’t keeping me from being trans. It was feminism that was keeping me from being trans (beyond the general fear and knowledge that I will never reach the ideal in this life).

Feminism. I feel like a universal experience of a trans person is seeing your identified gender, knowing subconsciously that you are supposed to be treated that way, and then having an issue with how you aren’t being treated that way. For men born women, the obvious place to go to find people who feel the same way is to join feminism and discuss the discrepancies there. It was a no-brainer that I would learn as much as I could about it and stand with them. Unfortunately, there is a large amount of suppression based on reproductive abilities and due to this, they had very narrow definitions of womanhood. They also recognized that feminine traits are looked down on whether they were in a woman or a man. They also recognized that there were predatory trans individuals.

A uniquely trans masculine experience is knowing that you will be perceived as turning against feminism or becoming what you are supposed to hate when you go from being perceived as a woman to being the man you were meant to be. Part of this comes because the whole experience of being trans is about reconciling the fact that no matter what hormones and surgeries you undergo, you will never be the true form you know you really should be. Feminism pointed to that difference and claimed that you will always be whatever you were born as. They also pointed to gender norms being the reason people transition and claimed that if people would have the courage to be themselves while staying the gender they were born with that we would have less of an issue with gender stereotypes. They also pointed to crimes done by some trans individuals to claim that trans people are suffering from perversion and not an illness. These were the beliefs that were keeping me from being trans.

I’ll start with the last one and move forward. There are trans individuals who commit crimes. There are trans individuals who use their access to places to harm others. They do not represent all trans people. There are Bishops who commit crimes and use their access to places to harm others. Anyone who harms another person should face consequences for that action, but an entire group should not be denied rights because of the actions of a few. Being trans is not a perversion, it is a cure to gender dysphoria.

While acknowledging that something was off with my gender, I came to realize that trans individuals face the same type of discrimination as gender non-conforming individuals, if not worse because they are questioned about transitioning when clearly they more fully fill the gender stereotypes of their gender assigned at birth. Gender stereotypes are harmful and prevent people from being themselves, but trans individuals aren’t making it worse by transitioning. Trans individuals are trying to stay alive and then thrive by transitioning. They actually can help because they understand what it is like to be told you are what you aren’t and can set the example on how to be true to yourself even when it requires fighting against the status quo.

Then, the hardest part for any trans person to struggle with, the reconciliation that being born in a body that does not match what you know you are inside and that no matter what you do that you will never change what you have into what you are. While people who don’t understand the trans experience use this to silence us or tell us we aren’t who we are, the hardest part is still coming to grips with the fact that we have to accept “something next to normal...close enough to normal to get by.” It’s where we lose hope and fall into depression with sometimes a fatal outcome. I will be honest that the principles of the Gospel really help with this because it’s truly the “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect” embodied to an entirely new level. I will do everything I can here in this life to make my ability to live life as a man possible, but I will never make it all the way in this life. I will need the miracle of the resurrection to get the male body that matches my spirit.

Anyway, just because we can’t become who we were meant to be in this life doesn’t mean that it isn’t worth trying and that our lives won’t be more fulfilling as we try. We deserve the ability to preserve our lives through hormones and surgery and being recognized for who we really are instead of what we were born. That being said, there are limitations that have to be acknowledged and understood. Trans women won’t be able to give birth until some major scientific discovery is made, but they need to stand with cis women in the fight for reproductive rights and not get in their way because it fills them with dysphoria. At the same, feminists need to realize the trans women are just like them but in different bodies. There is a balance and both sides need to accept the other. Trans individuals can’t blame others for giving them dysphoria when the crime is living their cis life, but cis individuals should give respect by using the right name and pronouns.

Anyway, this long list of how I reconciled these feminist beliefs that told me that being trans is bad is to show that incorrect beliefs within a community built on beliefs do not make everything they say false. The clacking of heels made a difference in the blind auditions of orchestras even though feminists believe that trans people are giving in to gender pressure to transition. The falsehood of one statement does not make the other less true. I’m still a feminist even though they have beliefs that contradict my existence.

I know the major struggle gays have with the Church is different than the struggle I had with the Church, but that is why I compared it with my struggle with feminism. Feminism was actively keeping me from realizing I was trans, it actively kept me in denial until I could no longer deny what Gd was telling me. While the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is currently denying access to basic blessings to gays when the gays should simply be waiting for the time when gay sealings are reinstated, that doesn’t make the truth that it is Christ’s restored Church any less true. Even though feminism has false beliefs, it still is doing good and is worth supporting and helping. Even though the Church has false beliefs, it is still worth supporting and helping because I know that Gd will not let His Church be steered in the wrong direction longer than it must to respect agency, but He needs us to be righteous in order to bless us with the greater truth.

The Church is the broken down car. We’ve had our crisis of faith at various points of our journeys and had to reconcile the truth with the imperfections of reality. We need to keep the car, even if we don’t choose to drive it (or can’t because we are recovering from the accident the failing transmission caused). We need to keep our faith and obedience to the Gospel of Jesus Christ even if we don’t go to Church. If we return the car, the car company will be unable to turn enough profit to develop the improved model. If we rebel against the Church and its teachings, there will not be enough righteousness in the world to bless us with the revelation that will open the doors of the Temple to queer individuals. If we do better and be better, Gd will not be able to hold back His revelation about exactly how we fit in His plan just as He was not able to stay concealed due to the brother of Jared’s faith.

I write this as much for myself as anybody because I do fear what will happen to my status in Christ’s restored Church when it becomes common knowledge that I am trans. As long as my car still drives, I will drive it. I always admired the faith of the black individuals who still joined and attended Church even though the blessings of the temple were withheld from them. I guess Gd is trying my faith to see if I can be as faithful as them. I hope I am strong enough for the task.

[cardshcrp]

a combo apology / vent for anyone who’s been kept waiting. i know my inbox is really full, i’m trying to work through it slowly and keep my queue full of alternating replies more or less chronologically at a pace i can handle.

negativity under the cut.

i’m just completely fucking exhausted all the time. basically what happened is my university has this rule - you can only retake a core class in your major twice, and then you’re kicked out of your major. 

this upcoming fall semester will be my senior year.

spring semester, my mother had a (third) neurosurgery. i’m the caretaker. as you can imagine, this just fucking sucked, straight up. there was radiation therapy, and stuff, she couldn’t do anything on her own, icu time, everything. 

i had one (x1) jackass teacher who refused to give me any provision. my parents refused to provide the documentation, so i couldn’t push for it, either. the guy is genuinely the worst teacher i’ve ever had. what coding / computing professor doesn’t give partial credit? he didn’t even look at our code. he handed 0s out like candy. we had 5 assignments in the whole class. as you can imagine, fuck that. i had a d by a few points; my major requires a c. 

okay, no big deal. i figured i could retake during the summer, as shitty as that is, even though it’s insanely expensive. i took 2 courses this summer, and it ran me just under 5k. which is crazy, but it’s better than the alternative losing my scholarships. wasn’t expecting a great grade, considering all the crap going on, but whatever. just needed a c, i had a grade replacement i could use to fix up my transcript and gpa.

i got the same teacher. he didn’t even give us the full 5 assignments. his grading program was broken but despite contacting him repeatedly, going to him about it, trying to get stuff fixed, i performed better on the retake but failed with an f. he had assignments due the day of the final because he scheduled wrong.

i went to go complain to the department, and i was told that they don’t have any system in place currently to handle unfair grading, and if he didn’t technically break anything in his syllabus i couldn’t actually make a complaint. which is absolute bullshit. everyone in my summer section? they failed out of the spring section. the literal only people i’m aware of who passed the original time? they paid people to do their work.

so now i have to panic, to petition a whole slew of people. if i get kicked out of my major, my credits aren’t applicable to a different area. it’s not just kicking you out of the major - if i get booted, it’s out of the entire college of computing and engineering. if i get booted from that, my gpa won’t be high enough to keep my scholarships.

if i don’t keep my scholarships, i lose my status in the honors college and my double major. i also, presumably, will lose my fucking publishing grant, which is the one thing i really care about right now. i went after it hard, on my own, without telling my family, and i won that grant, and i was so damn proud of it and i might lose it now. 

if i lose all this i can’t afford to restart a new degree. i’m not exactly rich. even if i don’t get kicked from my major but lose the rest, i still might not be able to afford the last year i’d need, and i’d still be losing my double. 

i’m pissed and frustrated and so, so tired and i have no energy to do the things i love. i’m way behind on the art commissions i have, and to add to that i’m still having to take care of my family. who are, unfortunately for me, homophobic, transphobic, and pretty racist to everyone else (despite the fact that it’s a mixed race family...)

so to top off all the bullshit at school, i’m stuck wearing women’s clothes that haven’t looked right on me in a long time, hearing not just a piece of my deadname like my first name (which i haven’t gone by since i was young, no one's called me that but my birth family), but my entire one, because for some reason first middle last is what’s necessary to summon me, as are complaints about how unladylike i am an average of six times a day. i counted over the course of a week. you’d think someone would be appreciative of their child moving back in to cook, clean, and (previously literally) wipe their ass, but. nope. 

so i’m having a whole lot of mental fun and dysphoria, while taking an insanely hard math class as well that i absolutely have to have an a in just in case i don’t lose the other crap but if i do it won’t even matter! 

i also get to plan an emergency move to oregon just in case i do lose everything, because if i do there’s a very real fear that my family will take it out on me violently.

so yeah. i’m pretty frustrated with myself. i want to be managing my blogs better but i can’t seem to, even though it’s currently my escape, and it just sucks and i’m really sorry. please bear with me, i wanna give you guys a quality experience since it feels like one of the only things i have left, and i feel like i’m failing at that too.

[it-goes-both-ways]

Over the last few years I've been posting more and more of my actual views, which I'm not exactly ashamed of but realise they're not so much unpopular opinions as downright rejected ones. I pretty much know why I have them, I'm aware of my biases and make every effort to restrict them to words, not allowing them to affect my relationships or treatment of others, restricting the hyperbole and rants to this blog and my long suffering partner. Unfortunately I seem to attract the worst kind of women in real life, which is not at all helping. Every time I reveal something I worry about being rejected, told I'm a monster, a failure, a disgrace, an embarrassment, but each and every time I've gotten nothing but acceptance. I am greatly honoured by your support thus far, for tolerating my increasingly frustrated outbursts and hope I won't push you away with this, but it's been all consuming for almost my whole life, and part of “cleaning up my room” is putting all that baggage out there to be scrutinised and hopefully understood, sometimes all that is needed is a willing ear, suppression only breeding resentment and isolation.

All the bullshit feminism has caused, from protesting the male pill and shutting down shared parenting efforts to the Duluth model and erasing men who are raped by women or by counting them under "violence against women" stats to boost the female victim numbers. Mary Koss, the progenitor of the 1 in 5/4/3/-69/ π r2 stat claiming that it's "inappropriate" to consider male victims of forceful envelopment by women as they are merely ambivalent about their own desires. Lobbying for laws that regard mutually drunk sexual encounters as automatically rape by men, underage consensually sexually active couples (even if they're months away from age of consent or the girl is older) as child rape on the part of the boy, guilty until proven innocent, accusation is the evidence, kangaroo courts, sentencing discounts on top of the preexisting bias which causes a 63% disparity and difference in treatment to the point where if you take every step of the justice system into account the crime rate is pretty damned even (with women often using proxy violence so they have plausible deniability, and avoid responsibility/physical risk). Treating women as the definitive victims of prostitution no matter which side of the transaction they're on. Banning men from charity fundraising events, transpeople only allowed if they provide evidence that they are biologically female. Having the NHS class women choosing to have genital piercings as being victims of female genital mutilation, while male genital mutilation performed at birth is not so much as frowned upon let alone illegal by any single country on the entire twatting planet. In fact you can buy some baby foreskins if you want to, or rub them on your face, the target market being protected from the very process that brought them their anti-ageing face cream, complaining that it costs more than men's moisturiser.

The innate gynocentrism of humanity has always led to women being their top priority, now even above children, it tries to pander, and acquiesce to their every demand while being told it hates them. The cases like the woman who filmed herself raping her own baby and getting the oh so harsh sentence of community bloody service and house arrest. The "poor, neglected" woman whose husband had become distant from her (wonder why) so she raped her son's friend, whose punishment was being banned from his school, which she considered too harsh as she missed her son's graduation. An audience of hundreds of normal regular women cheering and celebrating a man being drugged by his wife, who then cut off his penis and threw it in the "garbage disposal" permanently destroying it, just for asking for a divorce (can't think why he'd want to leave), despite no further context it was declared "fabulous" to the ecstatic jubilation of the empathetic sex. There's the idea that men commit the vast majority of rapes while calling female teachers "seducing" their students mere trysts, shameful liaisons that do not deserve prison, female prison guards committing the overwhelming majority of rape of male children and youths in juvenile detention (89%), among other women who rape men and boys (my own mother being one of them), this in addition to the rape rate among female prisoners being 3 times that of male ones, not a single damned thing is done about the propagation of the bullshit narrative. Somehow the fact that female rapists tend to target children is irrelevant because male ones target adult women, and "you don't see women going around raping adult men" (even though the stats are still around 50/50 because it's a human problem, unless those women are exhibiting toxic masculinity or something). There's the 10,000 men and boys slaughtered in their schools by Boko Haram while girls were released and allowed to go home, the boys being set on fire, their throats slit, or shot if trying to escape, no one giving the slightest hint of the merest ghost of a toss, until they realised that they weren't getting the attention they craved so they kidnapped girls, causing an international outcry and the media/celebrities changing their motivation from "eradicate western education" to "oppress women and stop them getting an education". There's the refusal by both the left and the right to look beyond the plight of women when it comes to Islam, they not only ignore the laws which oppress men, but declare those men the "real" misogynist patriarchal oppressors and innately sociopathic rapists. There's the refusal to recognise that women are a part of society and have far more influence than anyone wants to admit. There's Muslim men's obligation towards women, the segregation in Saudi where they have many public places from which men are banned unless accompanied by a female family member, where they'll be arrested for accompanying a woman to whom he is not related while the woman is merely sent home, where men face potentially fatal consequences for the same "crimes". Where homeless boys in Pakistan are pretty much guaranteed to be repeatedly raped day after day.

Then in my own life, being 6 or 7 years old, my sister 8 or 9 and told to stay put as our Reliant Robin went up in flames, having to be pulled out by a stranger, a man, because we were more afraid of disobeying than of burning to death, mother not even sparing us a glance as she grieved the loss of her car, later keeping it in the garden like some sort of shrine. Around the same year, at an LRP event (Lorien Trust's The Gathering), being left in the tent alone late at night and going to look for her, finding her on top of an unconscious man, she at least picked up on the fact that I was revelling in her severe hangover the next morning. Sneaking downstairs one night to see the aftermath of one of her "encounters", the man was broken, so started my extreme protectiveness of men and distrust of women, to the point of being called a gender traitor for the first time at around 7 years old by my 60+ year old year 1 teacher (who also wouldn't allow me to use left handed scissors or to write left handed, unwittingly making me ambidextrous. Being left with a violent babysitter who made me sleep under the table, or on the floor beside her bed (despite having 4 bloody beds), who wouldn't let me eat since burning the toast, beat me for asking for a glass of water and wouldn't even allow me to drink out of the tap, she once threw me in a wheely bin and poured dishwater over me, mother was in the garden just a few doors down, yet did nothing. She’d always try and get her boyfriends to beat us but they always just laughed it off (they’d put up with abuse themselves but never lasted long after she started bringing us into it), one in particular was into BDSM and later got mother a job as a dominatrix (she was disappointed by our complete lack of surprise), and even he had to draw the line at demonstrating how sexual intercourse works to his girlfriend’s 6 and 8 year old daughters.

My sister and I as little more than toddlers, mother putting our onesies on backwards so we couldn't take them off, having to go to the loo with them still on. Having the door handles put on upside down so that we couldn't reach up enough to open it to get to the loo so we ended up pissing ourselves. Having a daily diet of four slices of bread and the cheapest of generic vegetable spread as we weren't allowed mother's butter, being starved as punishment or just because she felt like it (having won custody of us only to spite dad), leading to malabsorption and osteoarthritis at the grand old age of twenty bloody six (3 years ago now), once a week we got an actual meal. Being around 8 or 9, visiting my auntie who was in hospital after having a stroke, having already had MS she was left paralysed, just 23 years old, granddad put together a system for her to speak by grouping letters and having her blink once for the stated grouping or letter or twice for basically undo. I gave her my only teddy which I carried everywhere, a stuffed donkey I got from Spain, she kept it. Staying in her house, continuing my habit of accidentally setting fire to the toaster, being left alone most of the night and going to look for mother in the village pub, finding her in one of her drinking competitions, walking in and vagblocking her, much to her frustration and anger. Being treated like a replacement husband, even trying to talk me into having a sex change despite only mild dysphoria, which was later greatly lessened by having an implant which stopped periods, eliminating most of the feeling of wrong (most cases of sex change regret are people who were abused, either treated like shit for their biological sex, treated as if they are opposite sex, or sexual abuse). Hearing about how the only way she'd get any when she was with dad was when he was asleep. Why did he end up dying a slow, agonising death while she gets to carry on regardless? Asking me about who I liked, later discovering exactly why she wanted to know, a man I care about was raped because I didn’t pick up on her ulterior motives. Having mother and her friends try to teach me to manipulate men, get them to pay for me, trying to turn me into a gold digger, only making me hate them even more. Coming of age (16), no longer eligible for child benefit, mother having been visiting friends more and more often until she didn't come back, only finding out that she'd been gradually moving out when we got the eviction order.

I'd been training myself to eventually join the army from the age of 5, once when I was 6 mother had asked me to go to the supermarket to get a bag of potatoes, she usually got a 20kg sack, must have taken me an hour to get it home, a man helping me carry it some of the way. When I finally enlisted I had to stop taking codeine for the malabsorption, it wasn't as much of a problem if I was eating every day (I usually forget as my body had been conditioned by neglect, not even bothering to remind me to eat any more), my hips had always made crunching and cracking sounds when I move, but as my body adjusted to the lack of codiene the pain became unbearable, upon being diagnosed with osteoarthritis I had to give up any hope of ever being a soldier, I've lost my purpose, and have nothing to replace it with, couldn't even work a whole shift when I got a factory job, humiliating, I'd informed the woman of my condition and she'd assured me that it was just a machinist job. It wasn't. It was everything you shouldn't do if you have any sort of hip problems. I'd never felt such agony and I'd fractured my bloody skull (at an LRP event). The woman was such a nasty bitch about it, she went from compassionate and understanding to mocking me for being upset that I was so damned useless now. I offered to forfeit my pay but her colleague, who also had arthritis and could no longer work the floor, was obviously far more genuinely empathetic than the woman, my brief boss was also sympathetic and even paid for a taxi to take me home after I refused an ambulance. The pain didn't subside for days.

I've never had a female friend who hasn't betrayed me, my "best friend" in school found it hilarious to punch me in the back in the middle of class, causing me to yell inadvertently as the air was knocked out of me. In year 8 the other kids stepped up their game and went from throwing stones to a house brick, when I got back to school she asked where the stitches were, just so she could punch me and reopen the wound. I was never allowed to retaliate, it would always be me who would be threatened with expulsion even if I only snapped after years of beatings which everyone knew was happening. Every birthday the other kids would falsely accuse me of something so I'd have to spend break times stood outside the headmaster's office, the equivalent of the stocks. Whether it was asperger's making me so unlikeable or if I genuinely am just a massive thundercunt, I never found out what I did to provoke them. Every time I put my trust in a woman it gets thrown in my face. My neighbour decided she was my best friend for life and would call at all hours of the day and night to get me to pick up her bloody methadone twice a bloody week, go to the chippy at 11 o'bloody clock at night, she's always trying to get me to take the pills she buys off a disabled neighbour. There are three things I refuse to take, hormones, anti-depressants, and sleeping tablets and she's always trying to get me to take them. The last straw was when her husband, who I got on very well with and whom she abused constantly, died, I told her to be careful what she wished for. When I finally called her out on using me she leapt immediately to the "after all I've done for you" bollocks.

Time after bloody time it's the same damned story, even regular everyday normal women will talk about things that would get a man arrested or at least publicly lambasted, that erections equal consent, that MGM is not at all a violation of the right to bodily autonomy, that it's absolutely fine and dandy to hit your male partner only to call the police if he defends himself, that female paedophiles shouldn't be punished because boys always want sex no matter what age they are but girls mature younger, right the way back to "We should have the vote but not have to pay with our lives as men had to in their millions while we shamed men and even underage boys into doing the same". What terrified me as a child was women's ability to completely turn off their empathy, the "woman scorned" is seen as karmic justice, there are people defending even the most brutal crimes:  assault, murder, rape, mutilation, over something as minor as rejection, or an accidental drive by fart, or just the crime of being a man who wanted a divorce. Empathetic sex my absolute arse.

A fellow MRA publicly humiliated Adam on a livestream when we went to the men's day march and conference, we were staying in an air B&B, Adam and Will Styles still riding the high of giving their first speeches, only for the woman to dredge up shit that was no one's bloody business and ruin the whole mood for no bloody reason, she also attacked 6oodfella on one of the hangouts. Another one was giving private information, with a vicious twist, poisoning the community against one of our group, Paul Elam didn't want to get involved and Janice Fiamengo immediately cut ties, treating him like a bloody criminal, what the hell did the woman say to her? I could see the Woolly Bumblebee thing coming a mile off, I worry whenever youtubers I like get girlfriends because they seem to either completely change or disappear, like Spino and Bread and Circuses respectively. I'm suspicious of female MRAs, I don't want to be but often even the sane ones are just tradcons. If it weren't for the Honeybadgers and you lot I'd have no hope at all.

The constant stream of "toxic masculinity", oppression, patriarchy, of women complaining that their air conditioned (which is also bloody sexist somehow), seated jobs at a till are paid less than the men (and women but they're not going to mention that) carrying heavy boxes, driving forklifts, working in a cold warehouse, and risking serious injury or death infinitely more than they ever will. The selfishness, solipsism, and sociopathy is too much. Throughout history women have never cared about men aside from ones they have a bond with, have never appreciated a damned thing men have done yet they demand that men prioritise them. Why should they?

I’ve seen and experienced the worst examples of female nature in action, “toxic femininity” if you will, and the difference in reaction to it, never being believed as a child no matter how many times I begged other family members and even strangers to please let me live with them instead, I’ll sleep in a tent, look I brought it with me. Pathetic, but you’d have thought someone would have cottoned on. I'm not going down the anti-women route as my sister has, given her own treatment of her partners and her own admission, she’s not so much pro male as anti-female, but it’s increasingly difficult not to resent them even if everything has a biological explanation. I still defend women if the facts bear it out, even if I don’t necessarily agree on a personal level, reals over feels, the people I agree with most also being female has definitely helped me not fall over the edge, one of whom feels very much as I do to the point where she doesn’t consider herself to be a woman due to her own observations and experiences. But the longer this goes on, the more laws are changed, media is poisoned, speech is suppressed, how the hell do I stop myself from just giving up entirely? How on earth can I stop myself from becoming an all out misogynist? Because it is women, not just feminists. It’s female nature being allowed to go unchecked, even when the same happens with male nature women are still prioritised. There are exceptions on both sides but it’s not enough to change the overall trend. There’s never been a balance, and because of human nature there never will be, which is where the problem lies. I know there’s no hope, that it’s utterly futile, completely pointless, and it’s driving me more towards extremism. I completely understand why we’ve lost so many MRAs to suicide. But I’m still going, even if the only way to make even the slightest change is to appeal to female self interest I’ll still do it. Everything I’ve been passionate about throughout my life is a pointless endeavour, I can’t stop myself from caring or change my fundamental character, it’s a downward spiral and there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it.

[aceadmiral]

Permission

In writing down my odyssey, I’ve been trying to be methodical: pick up one idea, turn it around a few times and examine it, then put it down and move on to the next. Partially, it’s just easier to organize my thoughts that way, but it also gave me the opportunity to work myself up to the things that were harder to say. There’s one piece in particular I’ve been holding back, the one at the crux of the matter. Since I appear to be spectacularly incapable of telling what will be controversial, I want to be clear that this is my personal experience. Okay, here we go.

Last July, I had a hysterectomy. The reason I needed one is that I’m asexual.

In case you somehow missed it, I’m sex averse. I’ve talked before about what that means to me, specifically, but one of the big issues hiding in that complex set of attitudes and preferences revolved around my fertility. Pregnancy is not something I can contemplate in a detached manner like almost any other topic under the sexuality rubric; it is to me an unspeakable horror.

Now, being as I’m sex averse anyway, mostly only attracted to people with whom I couldn’t reproduce if I wanted to, and barely attracted to people at that, you might not think it would be a major concern. Unfortunately, you would be wrong.

My uterus was all about making the biggest fuss it could any time it could command my attention. It didn’t help that to protect my mental health, I spent any time it wasn’t being a nuisance actively suppressing the knowledge it was there, so I was often caught by surprise.

The reminder that, no matter what I wanted or who I was, reproductive sexuality was part of my life was a torment. It was offensive to my person, a violation of my self perpetrated by it. It was unbearable.

I’ve had to revise my definition of “unbearable” due to this ordeal. I’m a person who goes to extremes, who pushes through without complaint. I’m a person managing mental illness mainly through expecting myself to bear it.

Even over the course of this, I asked too much of myself in some areas. I powered through the months of bleeding and the resulting anemia. I just took some ibuprofen and willed the pain and the migraines to go away. It could have all stopped if I’d stopped taking the pills.

I couldn’t bear to stop.

It wasn’t so strong or immediate as the tangible, physical side effects, but I know what it feels like to really hit that wall now. It’s not anything like “unable” to stop.

When I realized that at the end of January, I also realized there was no way to go but forward. My resolve hardened, but I had a very large obstacle to surmount directly in front of me: I was unprecedented.

Institutions don’t like exceptions to the rule. They don’t like being asked to take a chance on the unproven.

I tried my best to articulate my “reproductive dysphoria,” but it’s hard to be the first one proposing the idea to a doctor disinclined to believe in anything but what was directly observable.

And what was observable was, my symptoms did not merit a surgical intervention. Not by the standards of a doctor, and not by the standards of my insurance company. It was right about the time that an exploratory surgery was floated as my best option that I went for the escape hatch.

You know, the only reason I started to see a therapist who specialized in gender identity and transitioning was to rule out gender as the cause of the Unbearableness. Everyone kept saying “are you sure you aren’t just trans?” but I was pretty sure I was right; in fact I was.

When I say I “transitioned” in 2009-2010, that’s much too active a verb. What happened in 2009 is that a kid’s TV show had a main character with a sense of style that would not quit and I finally stopped wanting to dress like that and just did.

What happened is that I got permission to be myself. I gave myself permission to be myself.

The reason I got my surgery is because I finally stopped hand-wringing over whether I was “enough” and instead demanded that my suffering was enough. My issues were serious enough. I had had enough.

I dropped anyone who refused to agree without remorse. I manipulated those around me to make them agree. I ruthlessly cut off any questioning of my decisions.

And I listened to the voices who were supporting me:

You are the expert, not anyone else.

It’s not your fault.

You don’t have to take on more than you can bear.

You are allowed to take care of yourself first.

You are allowed to be free of this.

You deserve better.

Like I said in the beginning, I thought long and hard about whether to share this story in this space. It’s a messy story that involves a lot of things I’m not proud of. It’s a story that I think, frankly, will make some people angry. It required me to be vulnerable in a way that I’m not comfortable with in general and is downright unwise on this website. But I did, because I wanted to make sure that anyone out there suffering like me had hope.

I am giving you permission, here, now, for what it’s worth. You deserve to be yourself. You deserve the best.

[operation-earthanoids]

They Don’t Come In Twos

So I said I’d write a story starring a nonbinary human and their shapeshifting alien friend, and not only have I done so, but I’ve also planned a whole series based around them and their crewmates! This series will start off focusing on some nb struggles (All heavily based on things I’ve experienced, by the way!) but will later expand into different “Space Australia” plots, and I might even write some side-stories based on suggestions from you guys! 

Anyways, without further ado, here’s the first chapter of They Don’t Come In Twos.

Frys thought that ae were pretty good at understanding human culture. Ae had taken a couple of courses a while back on human behaviour, and besides that, aer ship always had at least one human on it - the second-in-command was human after all - so ae’d been around humans for a good ten cycles. Ae also knew that ae were more knowledgeable about humans than any of aer colleagues back at the Center. Though ae were the first to admit that ae wasn’t the best at human ‘stuff’, and often, ae’d find aerself completely at a loss as to the reasons behind something a human did.

The reason as to why their friend Benny was lying face down on their bed and making a soft noise of discomfort was one such thing.

“Benny?” Ae stood tentatively at the doorway, aer tail curled around aer legs to try and let the human know ae wasn’t trying to interrupt whatever it was they were doing (Not that Benny could see that, with their head firmly shoved into their pillow). Ae wasn’t close enough with Benny to just walk in, they’d only met a few weeks ago, and even though they’d really “hit it off”, as humans said, Frys didn’t feel comfortable entering Benny’s room without their permission. “Are you feeling alright?”

Benny made a noncommittal sound, as they often did when they weren’t feeling well, or were tired. It seemed, in Frys’ opinion, to be a confirmation that something was wrong.

“Do you want me to contact the medbay?” Benny shook their head, and turned their head to the side slightly.

“I’m not sick, Frys, there’s nothing the medbay can do right now.” Right now? Perhaps this was one of those ongoing illnesses humans had that would require more intensive care that Frys had read about a little while ago? No, they said they weren’t sick… Perhaps they were lying?

“You are acting the way you do when you feel sick, though. Tell me the truth, what is wrong?”

“Nothing!” Benny’s voice was louder now, and Frys thought ae may have done the wrong thing. “Listen, Frys, it’s just… It’s hard to explain.” “Then tell me, and I will do my best to understand.”

“Alright.” Benny sat up, coughing slightly as they did so, which Frys noted - more evidence that their friend might be ill. “You better come over here then, this might take a while.”

The seat next to Benny’s bed was not made for a Vlaenue, but the pair of stools sitting next to the cupboard were a close enough fit. Folding aer front legs carefully, Frys waited for Benny to start talking, watching them closely as ae waited, looking for any other signs aer friend might be unwell. Ae didn’t look them in the eye, of course, as ae knew it made Benny very uncomfortable, and aer friend was uncomfortable enough already.

After a long pause, Benny let out a long hiss of breath. “So uh… have you ever heard the term ‘dysphoria’?”

“No, unfortunately. It seems somewhat familiar to me, though, I may have seen it in passing.”

“Ah. Right. Um. Well, you’ve been doing a lot of human research, yeah? You probably saw it once or twice in human culture or something?”

“Most likely, perhaps if you give me a brief definition of the meaning, I will remember.”

“Yeah, yeah, that should work.” They shuffled on the bed, shifting their legs out from under them and instead crossed their legs in front of them. A wise choice, Frys thought. Sitting on their legs for much longer would have stifled the blood flow, causing “Pins and Needle”, as many humans called it. “Might as well just explain what it’s like to me, shouldn’t I?”

“That would most likely be the best course of action, I agree.” Frys closed their upper row of eyes in agreement.

“Alright, uh… you know how when I told you I was agender, you didn’t think it was that big of a deal right?”

“Yes, I still have difficulty understanding why you believed it would be.”

Benny laughed. “Yeah, should have realised a shapeshifting species would be less rigid with all that kinda stuff. Well, uh, with humans, it is a big deal, ‘cause for a whole bunch of years they assumed that what your body was like defined who you were as a person, and were like ‘If you have these traits, then you have to be this’ and stuff. It’s not like that as much anymore, but… well, you getting what I mean so far?”

Frys nodded - a gesture ae’d learned from Benny themself - and gestured for Benny to continue. “Well, uh, for a lot of my life, people assumed I was a different gender because of that stuff, and when I didn’t actively go against it, they didn’t think to stop, and so I started to believe them. My traits were…” Benny paused, and took a sharp breath. “Um, were shoved into this weird binary of ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine’, and it kinda, y’know, stuck?”

“I think I do know, yes. You found yourself unable to stop thinking of them as such, am I correct?” Frys hoped ae had understood Benny correctly, sometimes ae had a little trouble following their train of thought.

“Yeah, you’re totally right. So um, once I figured out I was agender, and started presenting in a way that made me comfortable with myself, I kept remembering stuff people had said about some of my features beforehand. How they made me look.” Benny’s hands moved to their wrists, gripping them tightly. “And… ugh, I still do it. I don’t like looking feminine or masculine but every time I look in a mirror all I can see are the things I know other humans are thinking about me and I can’t stop and I hate it and I feel so disgusted with myself and fake and -”

This wasn’t the first time Benny had gotten into this kind of state, and after the last time had ended poorly, Benny had told Frys what to do to help. “Benny.” Ae interrupted, hands holding the human’s arms in a gentle, but firm grip. “Deep breaths. In… and out.” Ae repeated the phrase as Benny’s chest rose and fell, the ‘heartbeat’ Frys could feel slowing to a more normal speed.

“Thanks, Frys, I’m really not in the mood to have some kind of meltdown right now.” Benny smiled, and Frys noticed how tired they looked. Had they slept at all last night.

“You are very welcome, Benny. And from what I’ve heard you saying, I think I do remember a word or phrase similar to what you are describing. Are you feeling a type of physical distress due to  either with your physical state, either your appearance or physical attributes, how other humans perceive you, or how you feel you are treated in relation to your gender?”

“Pretty much, yeah. Where’d you get that definition from?”

“I believe it was an ‘article’ written by a transgender activist, though I do not recall their name.” Frys paused for a second, aer tail flicking as ae thought. “I shall have to look it up after this conversation. But I digress. I think I may be able to relate to how you are feeling, actually.” “You can?” Benny looked surprised. “Really?” “Indeed. In the community I grew up in, we called it… I think the closest translation would be ‘state sickness’. State sickness is the feeling of physical distress and dismay caused by trying to stay in a form that is wrong for you or is no longer how you personally feel comfortable presenting. I experienced it once, a few cycles before I signed on to this crew, in fact.”

“You did?” Benny paused, before tentatively asking, “What was it like?”

“Horrible. I had a romantic partner at the time who often complimented how I appeared, and their words made me feel happy and cared for. However, when I discovered I was Aeyrz, a far more feminine gender than the one I was before, I was afraid that my partner would not want to stay with me if I changed forms. I forced myself to stay as I was for a whole cycle, to the point where even strangers could see I was in pain. I eventually admitted what I was doing to my partner, and they insisted I change forms, that they wouldn’t stand for me hurting myself because of what they thought.”

Benny was silent for a second. “... Are you still together?” “No. But we separated for a different reason, and we remain close to this day.”

“Good.” Benny shifted again, moving to hang their legs off of the bed. “That sounds a lot like dysphoria, to me. But I can’t change my form like you can. All I can do is wait and save up for surgery later, and take medication, and wait….” They trailed off, before letting out a rattling sigh. “I wish I could change like you.”

“If you could, you would not be yourself, you would not be human.” Frys tried to choose aer words carefully, but wasn’t sure what might be the right thing to say in this scenario. “And besides, even if you were able to, you would change like you, not me.”

“True,” They smiled. “Very true.”

“And besides,” Frys continued, aer voice a little unsure. “Just because other humans have called part of you feminine or masculine, does not mean they are if you do not want them to be. You are the one in control of your body, and you are the one who says how your appearance should be seen.”

Benny smiled, a bright, toothy grin that didn’t really match how upset they seemed to have been just a minute ago. “Thanks, Frys, that means a lot to me. And thanks for letting me talk too, I think I’m feeling a little better.”

“Wonderful!” Frys nodded aer head, though perhaps that wasn’t the appropriate moment, and then realised ae had yet to let go of Benny’s arms. Neither of them seemed to have noticed Frys was still holding Benny, albeit in a far more loose fashion. “Ah, I apologise, I should have let you go before.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Benny waved their hand noncommittally, as Frys let them go. “I’d have mentioned it if I wasn’t having a good touch day and I was getting stressed out, you’re all good.”

“That is good, you seem to have been having a bad enough time before, I would rather be a help to your emotional state than a harm.” Frys tail swayed a little, showing aer relief, as a bell sounded from the speaker in the corner of Benny’s room. “Ah, it appears to be the hour of dinner. Is your dysphoria too great to go down to the cafeteria? Would you like me to bring you something?”

Benny pushed themself forwards, off their bed. “No, it’s fine, I’ve been dysphoric as heck and gone to dinner before, and I’ll do it again. ...I’d appreciate it if you could divert any conversation away from my appearance though, that’ll do nothing good to me right now.”

Frys waited for Benny to move past aer before standing. “Of course. I will do my best to help you, my friend.” It was times like these that Frys wished ae could mimic a human’s smile, but aer mouth simply couldn’t make those kinds of shapes. Benny seemed to get the picture though. Did they understand Vlaenue body language, perhaps? Aer tail would certainly have given aer away if they did.

“Thanks, Frys, you’re super great!” Benny smiled again, a more gentle one than the grin they gave aer before. Perhaps they had been exaggerating that smile, to prove they felt better? Frys wasn’t exactly going to ask, of course, so perhaps ae’d never know. “Anyway, we’d better hurry. I heard it was pizza night tonight, and you know how much Alvin loves garlic bread!”

Frys thought that ae were pretty good at understanding human culture, though ae were the first to admit that ae wasn’t the best at human ‘stuff’, and often, ae’d find aerself completely at a loss as to the reasons behind something a human did. But since ae hadn’t made Benny feel worse during their conversation, ae felt pretty certain that dysphoria, or at least this result of dysphoria, was something ae did understand, at least to some degree.

Ae also thought that if Alvin ate all the garlic bread ae was going to cry, but really, that was simply a given.

Frys and Benny’s descriptions of dysphoria are both ways I’ve described my own dysphoria to other people, more or less. This isn’t the best thing I’ve written, but I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of They Don’t Come In Twos!

[kaidoesthe50s]

Week 2 of the 1950s Experiment

First of all: My sincere apologies to the followers of this new venture! Unfortunately, my cycle hit and I have been completely and utterly under the weather. Between dysphoria and disproportionate amounts of cramping and headache, I was in no place to make posts. 

Moving on: 

Week 1 saw us adding new rules to our ongoing dynamic, as seen in Kai and the 1950s Experiment. Week 2 saw a brief mitigation of those rules; particularly the “look cute when Sir gets home” and having a drink ready when He arrives home. Unfortunately, my pain levels and deep need to just stay in bed and hide under a mountain of comforters surrounded by my stuffed-animal army prevailed. He was more than gracious enough to encourage this need, and more than one dinner this week was pre-packaged and highly processed. 

My houseboy heart is a little ashamed of that, but it’s more important that I take care of my health than that I stay strictly true to an experimental addition to a healthy D/s lifestyle. I followed the letter of the rule, if not the spirit: dinner was made, in one way or another. I am at peace with that, mostly. In the future, I’d like to keep healthier frozen food on hand vs a bag of honey barbecue chicken strips that are heavily breaded with more sugar and sodium than anyone rightly needs. My local grocer sells frozen chicken cordon bleu, and chicken kiev that, when served with a fresh salad or steamed veg, would be much more health-conscious. 

Convenience shouldn’t come at the cost of our health, physical or mental. But, when both physical AND mental take a dive, I’m not above sending Sir for asian takeout and begging to be allowed to stay home from even that small venture. 

In the spirit of the 50s, I sent Sir out on more than one occasion during my monthly horrors. The first was to a work-related function, where He saw some old friends and colleagues from His coding academy. Encouraged because there was little I could do at home, and there was no reason why He should miss it. The second was a jaunt across town to hang out with another coding friend, again without my presence. I’ll admit to a little emotional vulnerability in that area, since ordinarily I would have asked to go along, or, barring that, to be out doing my own thing with friends at the same time.  However, since there was still very little I was physically up for, I chose the better part of valor and stayed home. A bit of gin and lemonade soothed my fraying emotional edges, as did a nice long chat with my secondary partner. Their consideration, compassion, and light conversation kept me from dwelling on my perceived shortcomings, and had the blessed additional benefit of distracting me from my physical condition.  In the midst of all that turmoil of pain and emotional over-hormonal flux, I managed to make it to the gym a grand total of one time {1}. I am, at the least, supposed to be making it three times a week. My failure in that arena, while perfectly understandable, upsets me almost more than the lack of full dinners. I am, after all, prepping for surgery and preparing myself for intense recovery periods where I will not be allowed to be physically active at all. So, to lose out on two, if not four, workouts is upsetting. So too, is my apparent inability to feed myself while in that state. I’ll spare you all the horrific details of my diet over this past week, but allow me to assure you they included microwaved cheesy tortillas, granola bars, and copious amounts of juice and tonic. Minimal amounts of tinned mandarin oranges and jello were also consumed. /shame.

So here ends our two weeks of experimentation! 

What are we keeping: 

The new rules all seem to work pretty well for us; especially with the ‘outs’ in place for when I am, truly, unable to perform. We’re still looking into a few new outfits for fulfilling the “Look Cute When Sir Gets Home” rule. 

We’re also adding a few rules about personal upkeep; nail care and such; and giving Him more control over my appearance re: jewelry and makeup colors.

What are we leaving: 

Not much! The alcohol in Sir’s welcome home cocktail should be a little less frequent. The daily scrubbing of bathrooms, floors, and kitchen surfaces doesn’t need to be DAILY, but more bi-weekly. 

What did we learn from Week 1: 

Do what you can with what you have. This applies to food, exercise, and personal appearance.

Time and effort will never truly go to waste if you take pleasure in the doing.

A clean, well-ordered home is its own reward.

More rules do not necessarily equate with a better-run life, but they certainly make it more interesting and engaging!

What did we learn from Week 2: 

It’s important to adequately communicate potential physical shortcomings when engaging in this sort of experiment. 

Hinging your performance on, well, performance is the quickest way to set yourself up for failure unless you negotiate your ‘outs’ if the “housewife” has long-term, chronic conditions.

A splash of gin or whiskey goes a long way towards making a happy, more sedated partner. 

Putting time and effort into your appearance is the fastest way to make you feel more attractive, and appealing to your partner.

Verbal appreciation; particularly after perceived failures; soothes the conscience and calms the mind. 

Love and compassion for your partner will NEVER be outdated!

This experiment has, on the whole, been a rousing success! My level of trust in my Sir has only deepened, so too has my security in our relationship. Since the addition of my secondary partner, I have also had much more of an outlet for all the sorts of romantic inclinations that were poorly done in my Primary relationship. {Having a verbally demonstrative partner vs one that is, on the whole, uninterested in overly fluffy romanticism, or sappy texting.} Having begun to strike a noticeably harmonious balance between the two, my life feels more intact and complete. 

With my Sir, I am well able to be the submissive, demure houseboy that I have longed to be from our inception. With the new rules and added structure, my place in our home has been even more clearly delineated. That structure, in turn, puts my anxieties to rest and my need for a firmly outlined “place” to reside at ease. Being given a space for my still-clinging-to-life femininity in the wake of my gender identity solidifying itself as heavily leaning; if not utterly; masculine, is also a Very Good Thing. The offer to inhabit that space and perform those duties offers a peace and contentment that was difficult to find in previous relationships. 

Here, I am able to choose between presentations, and the expectations remain the same regardless. Whereas, in my previous marriage, the unspoken expectations on my ex-husband’s part killed the desire and drive to perform before it was even fully realized. {To say nothing for the lack of appreciation or acceptance of my gender, varied presentation, and need to engage romantically with more than one partner.}

In finding those hopes and desires more fully realized and being encouraged to explore all these avenues that lead to my happiness and peace, I have at last found true contentment. An inner peace that drowns out the confusion of my past. This is what I was meant to do, and how I was meant to do it. 

I have found my Home, and I’m not leaving!