#But his gender identity is quite flexible

[officialzepresentation]

the bolter as media characters

maddie buckley

emily prentiss

sirius black

jules vaughn

gwen stacy (atsv)

fiona gallagher

charlie bradbury

[mllemaenad]

Well, everything about this confuses me.

For a start, all the way through I would have thought Taash and Shathann should have had better (and less clunky for the setting) words to describe their situation than pretty much anyone else.

Obviously transgender people are going to exist in every culture, but we've spent a lot of time establishing that Tevinter is quite regressive on social issues.

I mean, they've got fucking slavery for a start.

But beyond that ... Yes, Krem is ultimately a transgender man. But his problem began because as a (presumed) woman, his military career would have been seriously limited, because Tevinter has a sexism issue. Women suffer discrimination. He dressed "as a man" to get better pay and promotions, because his dad was a slave by this point. He nearly died over this! And part of his bond with the Iron Bull comes from the fact that Bull's attitude to all of this is "Whatever. Now get your shield up."

Dorian's personal quest is very much about his people's attitudes to homosexuality. In his case, his father, who had always been an ethical man who refused to go around cutting people's throats for power, broke with all his principles precisely because he wanted to conduct a mind control ritual to stop his son from preferring men. This is quite horrifying.

And Maevaris Tilani is an undeniably brave woman. But her family also has an obscene amount of money and she had a loving and politically well connected father, so her transition did not immediately destroy them. They got her dad in the end, though. And now she's been thrown out. The fact that she's still alive and fighting is a fucking miracle.

But Tevinter now sounds like a place where they run university courses on gender studies. They get to define all the language around this.

But the Qun ... the Qun is flexible on gender, but inflexible on roles. I actually think a more likely scenario in Taash's childhood is that Shathann would have switched over to referring to them as a "son" once it became clear they had a head for combat. And that might have been frustrating for someone who was already struggling with the question. Their mum got that they weren't a good Qunari girl ... but just made the decision on what that meant for them.

Even in Taash's particular situation, I feel like there's probably an out. The Arishok is always male; soldiering is a man's job. The Arigena is always female; crafting is a woman's job. The Ariqun's role is not tied to gender; men and women serve among their priests. Box number three sounds like a solid place for the Qun to put someone like them.

Might that mean Taash's mother pushed them toward a career that they didn't want? Yes! Of course! And that's a solid reason to leave the Qun. "I hate this box, but the Qun can't cope without its boxes" is a thing that comes up. But that's a different argument to the one we're having.

... Probably not? I still don't know why, if this is a Qun problem, Shathann isn't insisting on male pronouns. Her kid fights dragons. Ergo, her kid is a son. Again – clearly a problem for Taash! But not the problem we are discussing.

People in Tevinter were threatened with death over not complying with gender norms. Taash's problem should be "If you're gonna use a sword, we're gonna call you 'he'".

And Rivain ... isn't the whole point of Rivain that it's multi-cultural? There are practising Qunari in Rivain, although Par Vollen might take issue with the idea. It's also got Andrastians, particularly among the wealthy and the nobility, and practitioners of the traditional religion involving seers and the communion with spirits. And all of it gets mixed together into a culture you find nowhere else in Thedas.

Picking Rivaini culture over Qunari culture is a bizarre idea, because the Qun is embedded in Rivaini culture.

I don't know. Maybe I'm missing something. But this whole conversation left me flailing.

Taash is more than welcome to define their identity in a way that works for them. But I don't feel like Veilguard framed any of this in a coherent way.

[yourfuckingmomdotcom]

Yandere Goth x GN! Reader Drabble

As someone who is goth, I wanted a goth yandere that reflected the subculture a lot better than I’ve seen some do. Not that others do a bad job, I like a lot of them, but they focus on the look more than the subculture itself and I wanted to reflect my experience a smidge. Word Count: 840

TW: Yandere stuff, stalking, teeth outside of the human body, anxiety mention

🖤 Yandere Goth, living just outside of a major city ends up drifting across the lamp-lit streets whenever he finds himself bored. In a sense, he likes the barren streets with the absence of loud noise and diesel in the air. It doesn’t help that his apartment is quite overstuffed with dark-inclined paraphernalia, or that he struggles to sleep most nights because he prefers to sleep from dawn to the afternoon.

🖤 Yandere Goth, who runs and manages an invite only goth club. It’s slightly elitist and snobby, but he can be very flexible when it comes to guests and the music is always killer. Luckily for him, he has the final say so in who can get in, and more importantly who he can kick out. He will eventually kick out anyone that even attempts to look at you in any way other than a slight glance. 🖤 Yandere Goth, who presents as mostly functional as far as yanderes go, but actually is just hiding all that he does for you. That guy who tried to get flirty in the club? He was “kicked out”, but so were his teeth in the back alley after he dragged him out. Heaven forbid someone attempt anything worse, it won’t end well. Though you did get gifted highly realistic tooth earrings a week later, you thought it was charming assuming the teeth were resin fakes. 🖤 Yandere Goth, sews his own attire due to the fact that there’s not many masculine goth brands that don’t cost a lot of money. Eventually he’ll offer to make you matching clothes just to touch and measure your body. He’s just obsessed with wrapping around the tape measure around all of your sensual areas, or when he rubs his hand down the unfinished muslin seams on your sides to ‘see how it fits’ or ‘if it’s too tight, which will lead to the thread to stretch and rip’. 🖤 Yandere Goth, who would genuinely explode if you allowed him to make you custom lingerie. It doesn’t matter what your gender identity is, you’re gonna be in the most intricately designed lingerie that anyone could offer… (He also definitely has made some behind your back, he keeps it on a mannequin that he got in your size in his room. When you come over he rips it off and hides it underneath his bed.) 🖤 Yandere Goth, believes heavily in the ‘DIY or die’ mentality. Makes more than just clothes including jewelry, faux-leather items, haircare, makeup, and anything he could possibly do on his own. His love language is also gift-giving, so expect to have mountains of custom gear to your tastes.

🖤 Yandere Goth, he won’t kidnap you exactly. He prefers to be more covert in isolating you. He loves you in his club, so he’ll bring you there for every event at his side. But he tries to keep you from wandering too far, irrationally nervous about what others will do or say to you. Sometimes when you sleep over, he’ll leave and lock the door from the outside. When he returns he’ll claim it was a mistake, and offer to stay longer since you’re already here. Eventually he’d try and convince you to move in. If his means of entrapment didn’t work he might try to kidnap you for real, but that would take a relationship he wasn’t confident in and a worrying amount of anxiety from him to even consider. 🖤 Yandere Goth, doesn’t like to admit this, but he really likes to stalk you in the dead of night. He never does it during the day, but he just likes to watch you sleep when he can’t. It’s almost like a dark reminder that the world around him is asleep, and that he should be getting tired. His dark clothes mask him in the night, so even if you wake up you most likely won’t see him. After he goes home, he gets the best sleep of his life, which ends up reaffirming and justifying this behavior in his mind. It’s a toxic cycle he’s gotten himself into, but if you were in an actual relationship the frequency of stalking would dramatically decrease as sleeping next to you basically knocks him out.

🖤 Yandere Goth, he prefers his desolation but he wants to share his self-induced state of loneliness with you. He pleads with whatever might be out there for you to embrace him in his coldest nights, to dance with him to the monotone bass of his favorite artists, or maybe to just have someone who seems to love him back. He promises that what you provide him, he’ll provide tenfold. Just let him love you forever, and he’ll make sure you won’t regret it… But if you reject him, expect some intense stalking followed by him taking you away where he’s sure nobody could interfere ever again.

[five-and-dimes]

Endless. Not Everything

(AO3)

(This is an AU in the sense that I know, I know, that fem Dream is canon in the comics. We're ignoring that for this one. )

Dream is horny, but Hob seems reluctant to take the next step. So Dream jumps to conclusions and tries to be something he's not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s unsurprising in hindsight that the first to make the decision is Delight.

The Endless are still fairly young in the grand scheme of things, but they have watched humanity grow in leaps and bounds. And as they do, it is nigh impossible not to be shaped by them in some ways. The Endless exist because of humanity. They are a part of each other. Delight drifts among humans more than the others, watching and laughing and bringing delight and being delighted in turn.

“Oh, my siblings,” Delight announces one day when they are all gathered together, “call me sister.”

The most surprising part of the interaction is Destiny’s response.

The eldest Endless gives a rare small smile, “Dear sister. You may call me brother.”

Perhaps it had been written from the beginning, the way the Endless would come to take this part of humanity upon themselves. They are all still so young, have not yet learned the things that would separate them, and so they watch with warmth as Delight bursts into peals of laughter and throws her arms around her brother’s neck, embracing him the way she embraced everything.

Slowly, the rest follow suit. Desire curls their lips in disdain and firmly declares that they are a sibling, thank you very much, regardless of shape or form. (It is fitting, they all think, that Desire would be the most comfortable in their given, genderless state.)

Despair takes time, mulling over every option before sighing and announcing who she is as their sister. (None of them are quite sure if she chose the option because it caused her the least amount of despair or the most.)

Destruction wavers. There is violence and destruction in both genders among humans, though in very different ways, and it makes them both uniquely unappealing at times. (In the end, it is a brother that they lose.)

Ultimately, it is not until Death spends that first day as a human that a decision is made. Death had always been flexible, but during that day it just feels right to return as a sister. (It takes a long time for humans to catch up with this decision, but luckily Death is able to find humor in the misgendering.)

Dream takes the longest. Dream is a thing of fantasy and imagination, constantly shifting and fluid, and the forms taken often do not fully fit with humanity’s limited views on either gender. For a long time Dream is just… Dream. It is not until one of the times that Death has dragged Dream down to mingle with mortals that Dream recognizes a distinct discomfort when they walk together and are called ‘sisters’ by various travelers. Dream is called ‘lady’ and ‘lass’ and ‘she’ and wants to scream. (In the end, Dream doesn’t even need to say anything. Death smiles, and rests her hand on Dream’s shoulder soothingly and says “Ready to go home, little brother?” and Dream feels something uncurl in his chest.)

And so they carry on, the Endless family. Brothers and sisters and siblings, more than human but with humanity woven through them like tapestries. Their identities become something innate to them, until it is hard to tell whether it was something they chose or something they discovered. But it doesn’t matter. It just is.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Then Dream is captured.

He spends more than a century trapped in the Waking.

And it starts to matter.

Burgess and his followers, with their narrow minds and greedy souls. Dream is dragged to their feet, bound by ancient magic and cruel hands. They strip him, expose his form to the cold and the pain, cage him in glass and shine a light on him to display all the parts of him that do not belong to them.

They call him ‘it’.

And oh, Dream burns, and burns, and burns. His fury is a fire with nowhere to go and it hurts. Dream is not human, he knows that, obviously, but that does not mean he is…

He is not…

He is not a thing, a tool, a toy-

…Is he?

He hates Roderick Burgess for putting that question in his mind.

He hates himself more for asking.

He wants to die when he realizes he’s not confident in the answer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The discomfort, the shame, follows him even when he escapes, even when he recovers his tools and repairs his realm and regains his power. And he… he is trying to get it right this time, after so long getting it wrong (and isn’t that a tragedy, he thinks. Isn’t it a travesty, that for as long as Dream has been he has tried so very, very hard, and still managed to get it so very, very wrong).

Death says “Don’t be a stranger,” and Dream hears “Don’t go back. Don’t go back to before the pain. Don’t go back.”

Something about that hurts.

Then he goes to visit Hob.

And seeing the immortal, seeing the familiar face look up and smile at him, soothes something in him like a balm. Even without knowing all of Dream’s cosmic failures, Hob knows enough of the failures between just the two of them that Dream expects to be met with anger, or bitterness, or, he fears the most, perhaps not met at all. But instead he smiles, and lets Dream sit with him, lets him apologize and forgives him and chats about the time past as though nothing had changed.

Except, that’s not completely true, Dream realizes. Because things had changed. Dream changed. He had thought for the better, but Hob frowns softly across from him. Hob changed. His edges softened, his patience stronger, asking gently if Dream would like to talk about whatever happened. They have both changed. For the first time, Dream is the one who tells a story and Hob is the one who listens.

Many things have changed. Hob’s eyes water, and he reaches out and covers Dream’s hand with his own. Dream does not pull away. It is different, but it is still them, and Dream sighs at the warmth against his perpetually cold skin, turning his hand to curl his fingers around Hob’s and tucking away the image of Hob’s caring smile like a flower in the pocket of his mind.

When he leaves, Hob says “Don’t be a stranger,” and Dream hears “Come back. Please, please come back.”

It hurts a little less.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the grand scheme of things, it escalates rather quickly.

Dream and Hob meet more frequently, soon falling into a rhythm of seeing each other once a week, sometimes in the Waking (where Dream still felt an itch of discomfort, despite not being trapped or bound, not that he let Hob know) and sometimes in the Dreaming (where Dream felt like he could breathe).

With each meeting, Hob grows more bold. Twining their fingers together as they strolled through a dreamscape or pulling Dream in for a hug before they part outside the New Inn. Dream’s pulse beats needlessly, a little excited and a lot terrified at the way this human has wormed his way into Dream’s heart so effortlessly. Dream falls hard and fast, the only way he knows how, but he thinks Hob’s eyes reflect the same growing flame of fondness so maybe… maybe it’s not just him.

And so it happens fast, in a way. A mere few months after reuniting, Dream curls shaking hands into Hob’s jacket and pulls him into a kiss and Hob, like a miracle, kisses him back. They stand pressed together, smiling against each others’ mouths, arms wrapped in an embrace and it feels like the beginning of something.

It begins. But, Dream thinks, it never starts.

Time passes. They hold hands when they walk through the city streets. Hob pulls him down to rest his head on his shoulder, runs his fingers through Dream’s hair, wraps his arms around him and smiles the way he had before, when they were still calling each other friends. The only difference between then and now is that sometimes Hob kisses Dream on the forehead, and his cheeks, and his knuckles, and sometimes at the end of the night, if Dream leans in far enough, he will plant a chaste kiss against his lips, though never as deep or firm as the first one they shared.

Dream tries, occasionally. Holds an unneeded breath and reaches out to run a hand down Hob’s arm, presses forward to deepen a kiss, tries to be obvious in the way his gaze roams hungrily over the other man’s body. All he ever accomplishes is Hob looking away uncomfortably and finding an excuse to cut their time together short.

Hob has said that he loves him. And Dream… Dream believes him, he does, and Dream loves him back but…

But Dream also wants Hob. And evidence is pointing to Hob not wanting him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream twists their interactions in his head like a puzzle. Plucks and pulls at them like a tangle of human Christmas lights.

Sifts through them like a landfill.

He has never ventured into Hob’s dreams, and he will not start now, but he recalls every story the man has ever told him, and it is not difficult to draw conclusions from those. He had already assumed the problem lay with himself, that much seemed obvious if only given his history, but turning over Hob’s words in his mind, he thinks he may find an answer. In his (relative) youth, Hob had not shied from telling his mysterious stranger of his various conquests, the young women in steadily rising social class that he managed to coax into bed with him. And there is, of course, his marriage in the 1500s. As time passed, Hob began to keep his exploits more private, something Dream was secretly grateful for, but even reflecting on the history he knew of, it seems obvious where Hob’s sexual preference lay.

So it was that Dream found himself in his chambers, standing in front of a full-length mirror, naked and uncomfortable, contemplating how to fix the problem.

While Dream’s given form is not quite the human-stereotype of masculinity, he is still undeniably masculine. And if that is what is keeping him from being closer to Hob, if that is why he is not allowed to pour his passion across Hob’s skin with his lips and fingertips, if his preferred physical form is the only thing keeping them from growing their intimacy…

Well. He is the Shaper of Forms.

It’s an easy fix.

Or, it should be, at least. Dream is aware of the modern human standard of beauty for women, not that he understands it. He also remembers the general shape of Eleanor, one of the most prominent lovers in Hob’s life. And yet, when Dream begins the arduous process of changing his shape into something more suited to Hob’s tastes, he finds that he simply… cannot bring himself to mold certain features.

He considers heaping flesh on certain areas of his bony figure, debates wide hips and heavy breasts, thinks about shrinking himself down until he would have to stand on his toes to reach Hob’s lips. He turns each option over in his mind, like rummaging through an unfamiliar closet, and finds that he just… can’t. In some ways.

It is childish, he knows it, but even if a woman’s form is what it takes for Hob to want him back, for Hob to be pleased by him, Dream finds he still wants to… look like himself. Wants to still be recognizable, with the sharp angles of his bones pressing under paper-white skin, the deep timber of his voice, the long length of his body. He wants, so badly, for Hob to take pleasure in at least some of the features that Dream has come to think of as his.

Dream hates himself for it.

Still, when he molds his form, he does so as minimally as possible. There is the obvious anatomical change, and his chest rounds with modest breasts. His hips do widen, but are no softer for it. He keeps his face angular, but less square, his chin more tapered and his jaw sloping towards his ears. After a moment of consideration, he allows a soft flush to color his cheeks, lets his lips become a deeper shade of red, and closes his eyes as his eyelashes lengthen. Dream is unbothered by extending his hair to fall by his collar bones- he has worn his hair longer throughout his life, as has Hob- but he does purse his lips in discomfort before deciding to add soft curls to the dark locks.

The end result is… obvious. There is no mistaking exactly what Dream has done. But there is still a familiarity that brings Dream a small comfort. He looks like, perhaps, the fraternal twin of his preferred shape.

Shaking his head, Dream internally chastises himself once more. Endless are genderless, beings and concepts that defy humanity’s boxes and labels. Dream is a multitude, in constant flux of shifting shapes. He is the King of Cats, has appeared before as fire and bone and light, has taken shapes far away from any human gender, and it is surely a failing of Dream that those forms should fit more comfortably than the one he wears now. It should not matter whether some mortals on the street might see Dream in this shape and use the word “she”.

It should not matter. If the choice is between his own comfort or Hob’s pleasure…

For Hob, Dream would become anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Dream walks into the New Inn, Hob’s mouth goes so dry he is convinced the moisture in the air around him must have evaporated. If Dream’s ruby-red smirk is anything to go by, Hob is anything but subtle.

“Hello, Hob.”

Sliding into the seat across from Hob, Dream shakes off the last tendrils of doubt, because there is no misinterpreting the look on the immortal’s face, which means that Dream was right.

(It’s not as satisfying as he thought it would be. He shakes that off too.)

Hob clears his throat, “Dream, good to see you,” he smiles, aiming for casual and missing by a mile, “Trying, ah… trying something different today?”

Dream leans forward, resting his head against a hand. In a similar way to wanting his form to be recognizable, his outfit is not overly changed either. In fact, he had merely copied Death’s outfit from their last meeting, though he added a fitted coat to the ensemble, keeping the skin of his arms covered while still emphasizing his new shape.

“I thought perhaps a change would be welcome,” Dream raised an eyebrow, “Is it not?”

“Well, I mean, everything’s welcome with you,” Hob stammers, still clearly floundering, “Always gorgeous, you know that.”

Dream did not, in fact, know that.

“Is that so?” He tilts his head, watching as Hob nods numbly and takes a long sip of his beer. “You seem distracted,” Dream taps a long, black fingernail against the table, focusing on keeping his voice steady, “Would you prefer to go someplace. Quieter?”

This is usually the point where Hob finds a reason to leave.

Hob swallows thickly. “Um. Sure.” He grins, a hint of excitement in his eyes, “I’ve got a new scotch upstairs. If you care for some.”

Dream grinned back, “I could be persuaded.”

When Hob takes Dream’s hand, eager and wanting, it only hurts a little.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They never make it to the scotch.

Once inside the apartment, Dream leans forward, pushes into Hob’s space, lets his eyes linger on his lips. Only this time, Hob doesn’t kiss him chastely and change the subject. This time, he pushes right back, their lips crashing together, and when Dream sighs at the feeling of calloused fingers twisting in the hair at his nape Hob groans, their tongues tangling together.

It’s perfect. It’s everything Dream wanted.

(Or. Maybe not everything.)

(But he ignores that.)

Neither notice when they move. Dream is focusing on sliding his hand beneath Hob’s shirt, scratching his fingers through the hair he feels across the broad chest, and Hob is focusing on sliding Dream’s coat off, letting it fall to the floor as he runs his hands over smooth, white skin. So neither of them are focused on when exactly their legs started moving them towards Hob’s bedroom, barely paying attention when they fumble through the door frame. It’s not until they are tumbling onto the bed, limbs twining together as they fall onto the mattress, that they pause.

Hob lands on top of Dream, his cheeks flushed as he pushes himself onto his elbows, putting just enough space between them to look down at Dream’s flushed face. “Is…” he swallows, his voice wrecked, despite barely doing anything, and Dream feels a surge of pride, “Is this alright?”

Dream answers by gripping the back of Hob’s neck, gentle but firm, and pulling him down until their bodies are pressed together again, kissing along his lips and jaw. Hob let out a huff of laughter that turned into a gasp as Dream dragged his teeth down the skin of his neck.

None of Dream’s fantasies compare to the reality of Hob’s rapid heartbeat under his mouth, the feeling of coarse hair and flexing muscles under his fingers. It’s almost enough to distract from the way Hob’s hands slip under his shirt, touching curves that didn’t exist in Dream’s fantasies.

Almost.

Hob asks again, “Is this alright?” before slipping Dream’s shirt over his head, his own following quickly, and Dream only has a moment to appreciate the vision that Hob makes above him before Hob is kissing down Dream’s chest. It feels… good. The scratch of Hob’s scruff against his skin, the weight of his body pressing down on him as he settles between his legs, the dedicated way he licks and bites at Dream’s nipples.

It feels good. But it also feels… wrong. In a way that is getting harder and harder to ignore, even as the last of their clothes are discarded and he is gifted the vision of Hob, naked and gorgeous and clearly wanting. It doesn’t distract from the fact that Dream is naked now too, that Hob is moaning and wanting for a body that isn’t truly Dream. Slowly, it begins to feel like he is drifting farther and farther from Hob’s bed, like he is watching his lover put his hands on a stranger. Like a stranger is putting their hands on him.

Somewhere along the way, Dream is realizing, his motivations have gotten twisted. It occurs to him that he should not have to remind himself that he wants Hob, should not have to repeat a mantra of I want this, I want this, I want this, when Hob runs his hands over Dream’s skin.

Because before, he had wanted this, wanted Hob to touch him and kiss him and bury himself in Dream’s body, had fantasized about it and craved it deeply. But now, it is the wrong skin. The wrong body. He thinks that maybe it stopped being about what he wanted the second he stood in front of that mirror to change himself. Hob is kissing along a slender neck and caressing a breast with one hand and dipping between legs with the other and Dream shudders and adjusts the mantra in his head.

Hob wants this. Hob wants this. Hob wants this.

All Dream can want now is just to make Hob happy.

It does not prevent what happens next.

Hob is murmuring sweet praises against the skin behind Dream’s ear, and then his fingers are pressing between Dream’s legs, stroking, pushing, entering, and Dream gasps, body tensing, and then there is a soft tearing sound between their bodies.

They both jerk in surprise, Hob pulling his fingers away immediately, eyes wide with concern, barely managing to blurt out, “Shit, did I hurt you?” before they are both looking down and freezing.

The skin of Dream’s chest is splitting slowly, like a torn seam, stretching and tearing down his center from the hollow of his throat, between his breasts, and down to the base of his belly. Thin, gossamer strands of skin criss-cross like threads, pulling taut, and beneath is an empty blackness. No blood or flesh, just a void, an absence which grows and presses against the shell of him until he is bursting at the seams with nothingness.

“Oh my god, Dream-”

Dream snaps to sit up, pushing Hob back and crossing his arms across his chest, trying to pull his skin back together like a robe that’s slipped open. But the seam only splits farther, threads snapping as the gaping maw of his body widens. He curls in on himself, trying to force the edges back together, and he feels the skin of his shoulders split, feels a tearing down his spine like a broken zipper, his entire body an ill-fitting dress that he is spilling out of.

Hob is wide-eyed and horrified, “Dream,” his voice cracks with panic, his hands held out, desperate to do something but afraid to touch, “Dream, tell me what to do, tell me how to help-”

But Dream can only shake his head, “I’m sorry,” he rasps, “I can’t.”

And then he is gone.

~~~

When he lands in the Dreaming, Dream is in his own body.

Or rather, he is in the familiar shape that he has come to think of as his. There is still a residual ache, though not wholly unpleasant, radiating through his bones.

He thinks, absently, that it is not dissimilar to the first time he stood up straight when escaping Fawney Rig. Like stretching his spine after a century curled too tight.

A painful relief.

“Woah, you alright Boss?”

Matthew’s voice startles him into awareness of his surroundings. His raven lands in front of where Dream is crumpled at the base of the throne room stairs. Pushing himself up on shaking arms, he finds himself wrapped in his longest cloak, buttoned up to his chin. Despite knowing intrinsically what form he is in, he finds himself running his hands over his face, neck, and chest, as if needing to feel for certain that everything is in its proper place, that nothing is swelling or splitting apart or breaking breaking breaking.

“Boss?”

Matthew hopped forward, concerned, and Dream let out a shaky sigh. “Yes, Matthew, I am alright.”

“Uh-huh…” Matthew tilted his head skeptically, “No offense boss, but I’ve seen you more ‘alright’ than this.” He paused, “At least I think I have.”

“I am fine, Matthew,” A hint of frustration seeps into Dream’s tone as he straightens himself, standing and pulling himself to his full height as if that could erase the shame clinging to his skin. How pathetic, how disgraceful. It was bad enough to lose control, to be held at the mercy of his own body, but to once more flee and leave Hob alone in the shadow of Dream’s weakness was nigh unforgivable. How many times would he crumple and run away from Hob before the immortal decided he wasn’t worth it? Dream could hardly believe he had stuck around this long.

As he glanced around the throne room, Dream thought he could see the echoes of broken glass.

Sighing, Dream turned tired eyes back to his raven, “I am fine,” he repeated, “but I would appreciate some privacy this evening. Please let Lucienne know that I am not to be disturbed except for emergencies.”

“Yeah, sure thing.” Matthew still looked worried when he flew off, but Dream didn’t have the energy to be annoyed by it. As soon as he was alone again, he let himself sag onto the bottom step of the staircase, drawing his knees up and resting his forearms across them.

He wishes he could be surprised at his ability to ruin his relationship with Hob so swiftly and thoroughly, but all he feels is resignation. He had hoped he could bask in the joy of this relationship a little longer, but there was nothing to be done now, not after such a blatant failure. The least he could do was not hide. He owed Hob that much.

It didn’t take long, but then, Dream didn’t expect it to. Barely an hour had passed before he could feel the familiar warmth of Hob entering the Dreaming. He couldn’t help the small, fond smile at Hob’s ability to force himself to sleep when he wanted to.

A part of him still wanted to hide, wanted to dissolve into sand and cower in the cracks and crevices of the palace until Hob was forced to wake. But Hob deserved better than that. And a small, traitorous shred of optimism wondered if he might be forgiven.

So, with a soft breath of willpower, he opened the throne room to Hob’s searching subconscious. He practically fell through the palace doors, as though he had been sprinting before being brought here. Dream stood, stiff and waiting for chastisement, and for a moment they simply stared at each other, Hob still reeling slightly from the change in location.

“Dream,” Hob’s voice is not angry. In fact, it is heavy with relief, and Dream feels his breath catch in his throat as Hob rushes forward and rambles, “Thank God, I was so worried. I’m so, so sorry, are you alright? Are you hurt? Can I hug you?”

Dream blinks as Hob comes to stand before him, hands held out but waiting for permission. Hob’s eyes are searching Dream’s body, looking for any wounds or signs of distress. He does not mention Dream’s changed form.

He’s not angry.

Everything is not ruined, and Dream feels like crying with relief, and without thinking he throws his arms around Hob’s chest, curling his fingers in the back of his shirt and burying his face in Hob’s neck. A huff of breath is knocked from Hob’s lungs as they collide together, but he doesn’t hesitate to return the hold, one hand carding through Dream’s hair as the other strokes his back.

“I’m sorry,” Dream whispers into his skin.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Hob responds immediately.

But Dream shakes his head, pulling away reluctantly, “I should not have…”

Should not have what? Gotten Hob’s hopes up? Promised something only to fail to deliver? Wanted more than he deserved?

Hob frowned, cupping Dream’s cheek in one hand to try to meet his eyes, “Dove… what happened? I… I was afraid that I hurt you-”

“No,” Dream reassured him immediately, “you did nothing wrong, I just…”

Stepping away from Hob’s hands, he slumped back to sit on the bottom step. Hob quickly joined him, sitting beside him and waiting patiently for Dream to find some way to explain himself.

“I am. Endless. But… there are still. Things that I am Not.”

‘Lovable’ is at the top of the list, he thinks, though ‘wanted’ isn’t far behind.

‘Woman’ is on there somewhere, too, apparently.

When he looks, Hob’s brow is furrowed in confusion, so he continues, “I have many forms that come easily to me. That feel… natural. But. The one I wore for you is not one of them.” Hob’s eyes widen, but Dream doesn’t give him a chance to interrupt, needing to get everything out before he loses his fragile courage, “I do not know why. Endless are… we were made genderless. It is a human thing. It should not feel so. So wrong to shape myself in a way that pleases you. And yet you saw what happened when I tried. I could not…” Dream’s voice cracks, and he has to clench his eyes shut and swallow thickly.

“Dream…” Hob sounds heartbroken, and Dream hates himself for always getting it wrong wrong wrong.

“I know that you love me, as I love you,” Dream pulls the words out through gritted teeth, “But I… I am greedy, and selfish, and I want you. And I. Wanted you to want me as well.”

“But I do want you.” Hob blurts the words out, loud and desperate, unable to bite them back any longer.

Dream glances up, blinking slowly, uncomprehending, “…What?”

Hob’s eyes are wide, his hands coming up to grip his own hair as his voice takes on a note of something like hysteria, “I do want you. Fuck, Dream, I want you so fucking much I thought it was a problem!”

“What?”

His hands flail as the words spill out, tripping over himself to get out months worth of feelings, “Dream, Dove, I’ve been taking two cold showers a day. Sometimes I have to sit on my hands to keep from pawing at you when you’re in arms reach. Fuck, I’ve bitten through the inside of my cheek more times than I can count just trying not to jump you!”

There is a long moment where they simply stare at each other, Hob with wide eyes and his hands in the air, Dream with his mouth slightly agape and eyes glistening with disbelief.

“Then why didn’t you?” Dream’s voice is soft, skeptical, insecure.

A pain lances through Hob’s chest, and a watery laugh escapes him, “I’m such an idiot,” he whispers, mostly to himself, before looking up at Dream with sad, guilt-ridden eyes, “I didn’t want to push you. You’ve had… a bit of a rough century. I didn’t want you to feel pressured into anything too fast. And then you showed up like…” he waved a hand ambiguously, “like that, and I thought you were, y’know, trying to hint at something.”

Burying his face in his hands, his voice raises with self-deprecation, “And I guess you were, I just didn’t think… fuck. I just didn’t think,” he finishes softly. When he lifts his head he looks so very sad, but he doesn’t hesitate to reach out and take Dream’s hand, “I’m so sorry, Love. For all I nag you to communicate more, I didn’t tell you what was going through my head either. I should have just asked from the beginning instead of assuming. Fuck, I should have asked as soon as you showed up so different. I should have realized something was wrong. I’m sorry.”

For a long moment, Dream’s eyes drift between the earnestness on Hob’s face and the soft grip of their clasped hands. He doesn’t not meet Hob’s eyes when he confesses, “Is it wrong of me to take comfort in the fact that I am not alone in my misstep?”

This time when Hob laughs, it is a bark of surprised delight, and his free hand ruffles Dream’s hair, drawing an annoyed huff from the Endless, “No, no dear, I understand.”

Dream isn’t sure that’s true. Isn’t sure Hob fully understands that in the scant handful of relationships Dream has had he has always been the only one fumbling, the only one struggling and struggling to catch up with his partner, to understand the things they seemed to know intrinsically, to find the balance between too much and not enough that everyone else seems to find with ease. He doesn’t think Hob truly understands, the way Dream does now if not before, that in his past relationships every fault had been his and his alone, and so the very idea that perhaps the weight of this one does not need to rest solely on his own shoulders, that for the first time they are, perhaps, equals in their fumbling, is such a heavy, heady relief that he feels faint with it.

He opens his mouth to explain all of this, but before he can speak Hob is pulling him in for a soft, gentle kiss. “We’re in this together, yeah?” He rests their foreheads together, smiling, “So we’ll figure it out together, too.”

That is all Dream has wanted, for a very long time.

He smiles against Hob’s lips, bringing a hand up to play with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. “Well. You need not sit on your hands anymore.”

Hob laughs, “And you need not be anything other than yourself.”

It is still hard to believe that anyone might be happy with Dream being himself.

But.

Hob can be very convincing when he wants to be.

[sadlittleratboy]

I once said Tomura vaguely had she/they vibes to me on tiktok, back when I had one, and people ate me alive bc I listed his hair as a reason (and also bc I continued forward with using he/him pronouns throughout the video and I'm like...but that's the canon and I'm talking about something theoretical that I don't necessarily have a hard hc of, they/them Dabi is a different story lol) and people were like "thinking femininity is tied to long hair is transphobic and misogynist and blah blah" and it's like no you completely missed my point.

Firstly, I know that, because back when I was a girl and embracing my femininity in ways that I won't now that I identify as more masculine, I had short hair. I always had short hair. Androgynous girls with short hair lead me to the conclusion of being nonbinary.

Secondly it's not about the hair length, it's about the hair STYLE. Every transfem I've ever met started with that style or similar when it grew out. It's cute, it's fun, they're playing with long hair for the first time or even just in a new context.

It's also just about the general vibe. I listed elegance as a reason too, just the way he moves, but nobody considered how he's also so NOT elegant sometimes. It's the type of elegance he has, because there are so many different types. It's also int he way his so expressive. He shows so much on his face, which men tend to do in manga but it just feels different with Shigaraki. Again, I'm going on vibes.

Also being a nonbinary girl suits him because he'd be a total girlfailure, a loser girl, and I love that. Every transfem I knew was also a massive nerd. Most importantly I don't see him performing femininity in a traditional way. He is performing femininity by identifying as feminine and performing. He wouldn't change how he dresses or talks, he would simply realize that his identity isn't quite what he thought and run with it, because that's the kind of person he is. All those masculine codes brash actions like putting his feet up on overhaul's table to show dominance, and using ore, none of those things NEED to change because gender is so complex and that's FUN.

Again. This is mostly off vibes. I know a lot of people that think it/it's or other neopronouns suit him, and I can see that, especially with the way he dehumanizes himself (and with his stinky rat behavior, something a lot of nonbinary people, myself included, identify with), but that element actually makes me personally stray from that hc. Shigaraki dehumanizes himself in a negative way, and I think that's not good for him. Of course an argument can be made for that being the call all trans people have to be vaguely inhuman and monstrous in ways that only we really understand, so I don't think it's a bad hc at all.

I mean honestly he reads trans masc just as much. A lot of the league reads kind of trans because we tend to see ourselves in weird little outcasts. It's just a vibe a get from him. A lot of the she/theys I've met just also kind of have this "fuck gender and expectations, I'm doing my own thing over here".

Also there is of course the constant of Shigaraki chosing how he identifies himself and defying the expectations other people have placed on those identities. He's Shigaraki because he is, not because of AFO. That's his villain name because he connects to it. Despite all that he constantly gets deadnamed too. It's just...the vibes, the ability for anyone to read into anything what they want because their own experiences and it will fit because fiction is flexible (and even when it doesn't, does it matter?).

Anyway, his vibes, his masculine features and mannerisms along with the feminine ones and the feeling of being feminine even without having to conform to it (much like Magne did, and lots of people read her design as transphobic but tiger was literally there performing as a full transitioned man still comfortable with his feminine side, and it's like...all the trans women I know don't bother to shave and wear masculine clothes either occasionally or always even after starting hrt). It's finding a home within yourself as you slot the missing pieces into place and realize you find joy in different pronouns because they better describe you. Every trans person has their own wild ass journey and uses different ways to describe themselves with different things that bother them or don't and I think trans hc are fun for that very reason.

[mamamittens]

Super rough sketch design of my String Bean OC lol, details still in the works I'm just trying to figure out vibes ngl

Gave em a fun pose to start the process.

I like the idea of crazy ass hair and there's just these random ass spools secured with braids. Couldn't quite get across the idea but the current plan is eyes that weirdly reflect the light that's around them? Like, during the day it's the same color as the sunlight and night the moonlight. I suppose during new moons they'd be black? Lol?

Naruto eyeball bullshit basically but idk how much I'll stick with it. Did want the pupils to reflect literal light though.

Not totally dedicated to the purple honestly, but maybe I'll like it more if I added a secondary color? Or maybe that's a bit much??? There are some interesting hair colors but it's usually pretty standard and toned down for anime hair, gravity defying antics aside.

Gender still undecided and who knows, they may remain gender fluid/neutral. Something something constantly manipulating near raw yin and yang chakra with coils so flexible they can handle most chakras with practice makes them, at their core, very flexible identity wise.

Did decide I wanted their personality to be deliberately a little weird. Like, they enjoy contorting and walking like a toon character cause they don't have a lot of friends if any. So it makes them laugh if nothing else. And they're honest but the shit they say sounds so wack no one takes it seriously most of the time.

Shit like

"Okay, what kind of clothes are you wanting made?"

"What kind of clothes?"

"Well, yeah. If you want pajamas, making it so you can fling fireballs with a wave would probably not be advised."

"Ugh, just normal clothes, thanks"

"...alright! Normal it is!"

They can, in fact, do that with sun threads and some mild seals. Not permanent work, but pretty long lasting.

Hyuga hate looking at them cause they mend their own clothes with raw thread and it's like looking at a lazer show for them. Professional clothes they use regular thread, maybe soaked in a particular light for, since the raw stuff tends to dissipate over time.

Originally wanted a colorful wardrobe but I think I'll leave the color for their cute little caplet lined with pockets and needles. They're very handy, having taken up a lot of hobbies in their spare time.

The weirdness chills out by A LOT when they are around an actually friend. Otherwise it's Space Cadet Central in here.

Had the small idea of Danzo trying genetic bullshit but eventually ruling out their family for even base stock for his special little soldiers cause they're all so fucking spacey and can't seem to focus the minute they're outside. It's cause of the whole 'seeing light as malleable form" thing but he never quite managed to get that part from them before killing them off. The fun part about having someone so morally deprived is that, technically, an OC like this one could be related to ANYONE lmfao, cause some of these science bitches didn't give a FUCK about robbin graves.

If they're a civilian it would be hilarious if they were "home schooled ninja" because of how useful basic ninja training is out in the field. Mainly strength bullshit and endurance honestly still very on the fence about the ninja bit.

All I really know for sure is that they're Super Weird A Lot and Very Unfairly Pretty for Max Confusion. And Tol. Very slender and Tol.

[notjeffthompson]

Full Name: Jeffrey 'Jeff' Thompson Jackson Harris Name Origin: He got the name Jeff because it sounded similar to his actual name and his handlers thought it would be easier for him to keep as much of his real backstory as possible so it would lessen the chance of a slip up. Nicknames: Jeff, Thompson Age: 30 Birthday: August 25th Gender & Pronouns: male & he/him Sexuality: heterosexual Relationship Status: single Patronus: Wolf Boggart: Clowns Wand Type: pine with a dragon heartstring core, quite flexible Occupation: Shop clerk at Borgin & Burkes MACUSA Auror Affiliation: Death Eaters Order Face Claim: Rege Jean Page

Key Information/Bio Jackson Harris was born to two muggle parents, both of them shocked when he started displaying magical abilities at the age of two. They had no idea what was going on with their son until they had encountered a witch who had explained everything to them. Once they knew what they were dealing with it became easier for them to wrap their head around it. While they were scared at first, they came around to it, always loving and supporting their son despite having no knowledge of the magical world. Jackson attended the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, graduating with top marks and going into Auror training immediately after graduating. Despite the fact that most of his classmates were accepting of him and didn't make a fuss about his muggle upbringing he always felt the need to prove himself, only satisfied when he reached top marks. He had heard whispers about the war in England and the situation getting worse, so when the time had come for someone in their department to go to England and infiltrate the Death Eaters he'd been the first one to raise his hand. The job was dangerous and technically the MACUSA had no jurisdiction in the UK, but he knew that once he had enough information he could approach the Ministry's Auror department and had over all the intel he had gathered. He had been given an entirely new identity and background, adapting the story of one of his pureblood friends and former roommates. He had begun working at Borgin & Burke's shortly after his arrival in England until with time he had been invited to join the death eaters. He wore the dark mark on his arm, concealed to the naked eye. He hid it even when he was home alone, disgusted with the symbol of prejudice. He had never planned to stay in England for this long but there were more and more death eaters spawning by the minute and if he could gather information to ensure they would spend their lives in Prison, it was a sacrifice he had to make. For the good of everyone.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: William Vex

Published: Apr 11, 2023

In a world of aggressive wars of territorial annexation by autocratic powers, pandemics, threats of nuclear annihilation, anthropogenic climate change, crimes against humanity, and widespread poverty and inequality, modern pundits and scholars in the UK, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and the United States have devoted a remarkable amount of time and energy to issues of gender and sexual identity. For present purposes, I do not take issue with the geopolitical and moral prioritisation that such preoccupation would seem to imply, though one certainly could and perhaps should.

However, if we are to expend so much effort on this topic, we should at least be clear and rigorous in how we think about it. In what follows, I will avoid taking a position on exactly which approach to these issues—or which “answers” to the puzzles of gender identity—I find compelling. I will, however, try to spell out a typology of identity “paradigms,” each of which represents a competing way to think about what gender and sexual identity are, how they arise, and what their conceptual limitations and implications seem to be. This effort at conceptual clarification is intended to help us more intelligibly navigate a discourse environment that has in recent years become worryingly polarised, conceptually muddy, and more prone to vicious invective than open-mindedness, genuine toleration of divergent opinion, clarity, and honesty.

There are at least four basic ways of thinking about sex and gender. In practice, many people conflate these four paradigms, or draw upon them in undisciplined and confusing “mix-and-match” sorts of ways. But each is very different.

1. Traditional view

In this conception, “sex” is thought to result from human biology and occur in a bimodal (“male” versus “female”) distribution, except for very specific and extremely rare genetic and phenotypic anomalies. In this conception, “gender” isn’t quite the same thing as sex, since the roles, responsibilities, and privileges associated with being of one sex or the other are, at least to some extent, socially constructed and may therefore vary from one culture or context to the next. Nevertheless, gender identities and roles are assumed in some significant way to track biological sex and have some roots therein.

While there may be some flexibility associated with gender in terms of self-identity or in how one is treated by others, identity in terms of sex is treated as an objective fact dictated by the sexual dimorphism of the human species. And because this is considered an objective fact, if you deny it, you are seen as either a fool or a knave. (Specifically, this view sees you as a “denier,” whose unreasoned politics have turned you against what science has made abundantly clear.) In this view, an adult person with a penis and XY chromosomes who “presents” according to traditional stereotypes about gender attributes associated with being a woman, and uses “she/her” pronouns, remains a man in a frock, irrespective of his subjective self-identity, and even if people treat him as if he were a woman.

Of course, there is some conceptual and terminological fuzziness associated with the evolving contingencies of real-world usage, in comparison, say, to the (ostensibly) crisp and clear rigor of academic discourse. The terms “male” and “female” attempt to be scientific terms, applied to any sexually dimorphic species, and are associated with possessing the basic equipment related to the production of respective gametes. Nonetheless, the traditional view struggles, at least a bit, with the fact that Homo sapiens doesn’t always come in just two biological varieties.

The existence of genetic exceptions is sometimes rhetorically overplayed by opponents of the traditional view, for these anomalies are extremely rare, and arguably don’t disprove the basic contention of dimorphism. (Such anomalies also occasionally occur in other species, after all, without anyone finding dimorphism incoherent as a meaningful and scientifically useful organising concept for the biologist or naturalist. Nor does the existence of the very rare anomaly in any way imply that sexual phenotypes are evenly distributed by degrees along a continuum; they aren’t, for any species.) Still, this remains a point of contention.

The traditional view is complicated by the frequent use of other terms that sometimes confuse more than they illuminate. As applied to humans, the traditional view is usually comfortable substituting “man” and “woman” for “male” and “female,” respectively, but in practice these terms are more ambiguous. And most of the time, “man” and “woman” do seem to be less clunky ways to describe people who are male and female, respectively. Sometimes, however, the former terms are used in ways that carry connotations of gender identity and role, which can confuse things somewhat by conflating what should be kept separate if one can.

Phrases, for example, like “Be a man!” or “Man up!” convey something of society’s expectations about gender roles and gendered behaviours that do not necessarily map onto the facts and requirements of biology. This is a conceptual failing. (You presumably wouldn’t exhort someone to “Be a male!” because that’s not something one does, but rather something one just is or isn’t. By contrast, the terms “masculine” and “feminine” are clearly associated with specific gendered expectations about how it is that males and females should behave, and are thus less at risk of being confused with biological categories.)

Given the degree to which the traditional view depends upon the idea that biological sex exists to some degree prior to individual human or societal volition, moreover, this paradigm struggles to identify and explain the boundaries and relationships between biological “nature” and more “nurture”-type factors of social construction, individual choice, particularistic circumstances, and other such contingencies. It clearly feels that at least something is the result of “nature” and therefore inherent and objective, but it can be hard to identify precisely what.

It is well accepted, for example, that the differing sexes in non-human dimorphic species often show very pronounced, presumably evolved, behavioural divergences. (This is, one imagines, primarily a result of their dimorphic biology, since it is very hard to point to any meaningful quotient of potential social construction or conscious volition in all such divergently-behaving species.) Does this apply to humans at well? The traditional view tends to think that it does, since otherwise one would have to explain why humans are unique in the animal world in not having actual evolutionarily derived behaviors to accompany our sexually differing bodily morphologies.

But if there are indeed some behaviours, or at least behavioural tendencies, that result from evolution and biology, what are they? How much of what we take for granted in the world of human sexual and gendered behavior can be traced to “inherent” biology and how much to more contingent things? And even for what might be said to be “natural,” what is the moral and societal import, if any, of this naturalness from the perspective of ethics, politics, and social behavior? (It might be “natural,” for example, to want to take a cudgel to someone who has said something that infuriates you, but that doesn’t mean you should be permitted to do so!) Such questions have huge implications for our understanding of sexual and gender identity, of course. Yet our scientific understanding of evolution and biology and ourselves isn’t (yet) up to offering many compelling answers in the kind of detail likely to be very useful in the political and social arena.

There is nothing logically self-contradictory about invoking the authority of science to suggest the existence of sex- and gender-related inherencies that need (somehow!) to be taken into account in public policy and gender politics. When that science still has difficulty pointing to exactly what these inherencies are and what “proportion” of traditional gendered assumptions they do (or don’t) explain, however, it is not hard to see how the stage is set in today’s polarised environment for frustration, contestation, and the suspicion in some activist quarters that scientific objectivity might be providing unjustified cover for patriarchal traditionalism.

2. Social construction

Alternatively, one might hold that all aspects of sex- and gender-related identity are purely social constructions. This wouldn’t necessarily erase the facts of biology and science, but it would consign them to irrelevance for identity-constitution purposes. And indeed, the conception of social construction would be a powerful weapon against the traditional notion of sex and gender identities rooted in the undeniable objective facts of dimorphic human biology.

All that matters in this view is how society builds identities, and there aren’t really any inherent constraints upon how that identity can be constructed. If you adopt this approach, therefore, it might well be that either “people who menstruate” or “people with penises” could truly be either women or men, irrespective of those particular biological attributes. Such thinking could potentially also ground the legitimacy of the proliferating alphabet soup (e.g., LGBTQIA+) of various alternative sex- or gender-related identities that do not correspond to traditional dichotomies at all.

But there are limitations to this conception, for it is inherent in the idea of social construction that identity is, well, socially constructed. This precludes it from being individually constructed. If such identities are social constructs, the specific personal, subjective feelings of the individual are actually not terribly important. This isn’t to say that they are entirely irrelevant, but they only matter as one single input from one single member of the far larger group (society as a whole) that actually “makes” such decisions.

If you really take the idea of social construction seriously, therefore, a gender “transition” hasn’t actually occurred unless and until the broader society accepts that it has occurred. In this view, in other words, the aforementioned “man in a frock” can indeed truly be a woman, but only after, and as a result of, the broader society having accepted that this is the case. Until then, in terms of the social reality of the situation, it doesn’t particularly matter what the individual thinks or feels. By definition, you don’t get to “socially construct” something all by yourself.

3. Internal essentialism

A third view might posit that there is something inherent about sexual and gender identity—that it is a kind of internal essence that exists entirely independent of the particular, contingent biological facts of your existence. In this view, you could be truly a man or a woman (or conceivably something else) irrespective of what biology you happen to have.

This view has some strengths in today’s gender politics debates. It might, for example, provide an explanation for gender dysphoria and accommodate the idea that someone has been “born into the wrong body” in ways that support the use of surgical interventions to make the physical self correspond more closely to the “real” one determined by that internal essence.

This essentialist view also partakes of the compelling claim to objective fact, without any awkward need to depend upon constructivist social acceptance by third parties. If it is objectively true that you have such an essence, after all, I would presumably be quite wrong to deny it. It is intrinsic to the idea of objective facts that they can be claimed to trump contrary opinion, which delegitimises itself precisely to the degree that a fact in question is objectively clear.

There are conceptual limits to this idea as well, however. For a start, it raises all sorts of questions about what it means to hypothesise an inherent essence that is, by definition, entirely independent of the facts of biology and the contingent circumstances of birth, upbringing, and experience. On what basis, if not biology, could this essence be said to exist? Does one need to hypothesise a kind of “sexual soul” existing separately from the biological body?  

And by what means might such a soul-like thing affect that body, or matter to it at all? This is a “mind-body dualism” problem of the sort that Western philosophy has struggled with since at least Descartes. There is no sign of it being solved by those in the trans activism community who seem to believe in such an essentialist approach. (Nor, I might add, has Cartesian dualism fared well in philosophical circles. I wouldn’t consider such a position a terribly strong foundation to build upon these days.)

Another problem with the idea of an inherent essence that determines gender identity is the degree to which gender identity is itself strongly tied to cultural contingency. What does it mean to say that an essence is truly “inherent” in a soul-like way when it compels you to conform your behavior to the actual, contingent gender roles and expectations of a specific society (e.g., culturally-specific indicia of the social presentation appropriate for a “woman”)? An inherent inner essence driving gendered behaviors that vary by culture and geography, and over time, is a strange sort of thing indeed, verging on incoherence. How could a “self” that is, in Michael Sandel’s term, so clearly “situated” in real-world contingency truly be said to be inherent in a meaningful way?

Moreover, this view has difficulty with change. If you take essentialism seriously, for example, it can be challenging to explain changes in identity. Errors would not necessarily be a problem, for there is nothing self-contradictory about simply being mistaken about an objective fact, and this could explain some changes in any individual gender-identity trajectory. (“I was conditioned to believe I was a woman, but I was never comfortable with myself and now see that I was really a man all along.”)

Nonetheless, if you open the door to potential errors by admitting that one’s internal and essential identity is not always completely clear or obvious even to oneself, then it is at least possible that one could be conditioned or mistaken in essentially any given direction or respect. And this makes it harder for the trans activist community to rule out, a priori, the legitimacy of “de-transition,” or of contested “social contagion” theories of gender transition, under which enthusiasm for gender-switching may to some degree result from social-media influence and cultural pressure rather than from the compelling power of one’s true internal “self.” If you can be socially pressured to ignore or confuse your true nature in one direction, after all, why is it impossible to be pressured in the other direction?

The essentialist paradigm has even more problems with any suggestion that there is an element of choice in sex- or gender-related identity. Surely, if one’s identity is in these regards “baked in” to one’s self in ways more fundamental even than the biological realities of one’s existence, this is not terrain on which you can “reassign” yourself in any defensible way. You might choose to act differently, perhaps, but it is hard to see how that could possibly alter the intrinsic, soul-like essence upon which this paradigm is based. You can’t, in other words, intelligibly take the essentialist position and accept the malleability of identity at the same time.

4. Choice

The fourth fundamental conceptual model for how one might think about these sorts of identity is personal choice. There is a sort of libertarian logic to this approach, inasmuch as it leaves the determination of “what” one is to the individual. This conception is inherently much more flexible than the others, for it does not need to demonstrate the existence of any sort of objectively pre-social “fact” (e.g., in the form of biological identity or of some quasi-religiously postulated “sexual soul”) and it can also easily accommodate dynamics of change.

A downside of the “choice” paradigm, however, is that it is perhaps too flexible. Does this ability to assign oneself identity admit to any limits at all? Is there anything that one could not declare oneself to be? For example, might one at least conclude that you cannot legitimately declare yourself to be a man and a woman at the same time? Even if there is at least this limitation on one’s choice, however, wouldn’t ruling out such contradictions require the prior existence of some definitions or categories of identity real enough to allow us to understand whether or not there is a contradiction at all?

And if the definitions of various potential categories of identity are fundamentally no more than hostages to individual caprice, how is it meaningful to talk about such identities as important at all? It is hard to see how such airy fogginess could justify investing the kind of psychic and moral energy in gender issues that one sees in contemporary Western society, or justify prizing such self-identities over the presumably huge range of other potentially transitory and ephemeral ones that a human being could have at any given time. (Surely it must be presumed that gender issues are the focus of so much attention because they are deeply important? If that depth cannot be justified, we have all been wasting a great deal of time.)

Of the four basic paradigms, the “choice” approach is also arguably the most belligerent in what it demands of others. One of the benefits of an objective fact, after all, is that one can legitimately demand that others agree upon its existence. As noted earlier, if you reject something that is objectively true, you are either a fool or a knave. Even through a social constructivist prism, moreover, there is at least some degree of objectively defensible fact involved in the assignment of identity, for socially constructed things can be said to exist objectively, depending on whether or not the broader society accepts or does not accept a given proposition. With its infinitely malleable and subjective identities, however, the “choice” paradigm forfeits being able to point to anything external for validation. My identity is simply what I say it is, and that’s that.

Yet in this context, the “choice” paradigm does not posit merely that my true identity is whatever I feel it to be. These four competing approaches to gender and sexual identity are not codes of conduct or good manners regarding how politely to manage disagreements about the truth of such identity; they are ontological claims, about what the basis and nature of such identity actually is. So the “choice” paradigm is laissez-faire only with regard to my own individual feelings.

With regard to what other people are expected—and indeed required—to accept about my identity, it is totalitarian. I may be able to assign myself any identity I wish, but you must also be compelled to accept that whatever I have articulated is indeed what I truly am. For that matter, you are required to continue agreeing with me, whenever and however I change my self-description. For you to do otherwise would be to “erase” my identity, which in an age (and for a paradigm) of radical individuality is one of the worst sins imaginable.

This “choice” paradigm of identity, in other words, claims for any given identity the compelling character of an objective fact, in that it makes demands upon others that they accept that description of identity, on pain of being considered either a knave or a fool if they do not. But the “fact” it invokes isn’t objective but rather, by definition, a subjective claim. Indeed, it is a “fact” of identity that is impossible for anyone else to discern or substantiate except by some authoritative pronouncement from the individual feeling it. It is also one that is potentially changeable at an individual’s caprice. Nevertheless, despite the opacity and malleability of such a subjectively-chosen identity, it is quite essential to the paradigm that everyone be made at all times to agree with my description of it, whatever that may be.

Hence this paradigm’s intellectual totalitarianism. Rather than asking that others merely acknowledge the existence of an exogenous reality, this paradigm demands the right to exert real-time control over how others act, speak, and even think on the topic. And every single individual in society has the right to demand ongoing control over how every other person conceives of that individual. This seems rather a lot to ask.

Despite the “choice” paradigm’s ostensibly liberating focus upon individual choice, this approach might not in practice produce much in the way of real personal freedom. To the contrary, one’s own ability to choose an identity would be counterbalanced by perpetual enslavement to having always to accept and performatively validate everyone else’s conception of their own identity in every respect, on an ongoing basis, forever.

Where does this leave us?

Much of the contemporary rhetoric in the trans activist community is conceptually confused because it draws indiscriminately and in self-contradictory ways upon all three of the non-traditional conceptual paradigms outlined above. I would imagine that this is because activists understandably would like, if they can, to take advantage of the differing strengths of each of the three non-traditional paradigms.

To avoid the inconvenience of having to understand and account for the influence of biology, sexual and gender identity is described as being socially constructed.

To take advantage of the conceptual strength of an argument that demands fidelity to purportedly objective facts, the very objective truth of which permits you to depict any denier as either stupid or malevolent, one’s gender identity is held to exist inherently, independent of circumstance, volition, or even biology. Such identity simply “is” and must be acknowledged as a clear and incontestable reality.

To avoid gender roles being seen as a lifelong straightjacket and to free up some space for individual volition, it is also said that once you come to realise that your prior understanding of your own identity was wrong, or that you now simply feel differently about it, you should be free to choose another, and that this new identity must now be considered your true self.

Each of these assertions has a basis that is defensible at least on the terms of one or another of the non-traditional paradigms I have discussed. But the cost of them being employed so opportunistically and selectively is incoherence. Simply put, those assertions cannot all be true at the same time, and each tends to undermine the other.

If gender identity is socially constructed, for example, it is neither inherent nor something that you can decide to change all on your own. But if it is inherent, then it cannot be socially constructed, and one is basically substituting a purportedly objectively extant quasi-religious “sexual soul” for the purportedly objectively extant biological reality of sex, which also means you cannot really explain identity change. And if these matters really hinge only on the potentially contingent ephemera of personal choice, you diminish your ability to fight off the objective reality of science (because you are no longer invoking, against the traditional view, what claims to be a countervailing objective reality). At the same time, you risk having your whole schema collapse into a formlessly whimsical free-for-all in which it’s hard to see why these matters are important enough to justify our time and attention in the first place, especially in a world so full of dramatic, concrete, and definable wrongs in need of righting.

This leaves the Western policy, political, and ethical community in dire need of rigor and the associated intellectual honesty and civil tolerance needed to explore these issues with real seriousness. We must have the courage to interrogate their assumptions and abandon lines of thought that cannot be intelligibly defended.

[ Archive: https://archive.is/KwIH8 ]

[your-bigender-big-brother]

Hi! I love your blog and your posts make me so happy. Anyway, I was wondering if you had some advice.

I know I'm bigender, and one of my genders is male, but I can't figure out what the other gender is. I'm split between neutrois and maverique (or maybe I'm trigender with all three?)

Anyway, I was hoping you could maybe tell me how you figured out your genders were male and neutrois, and/or have some advice on how to narrow my other gender down. Thanks! :)

There was a long stretch of time after coming out as a demiboy where I would pick apart my gender and try to figure out exactly how it all came together. I figured since I'm part male, there must be another part there.

I made a list of things I knew that other part wasn't - it wasn't female, genderless, fluid, flux, or xenic. It wasn't an alignment and it wasn't just nonexistent. I knew it had to be something, so I would look up terms unrelated to being male or female or genderless to see what I could find (I was looking into aporine terms, which I didn't know the name of until much later.)

I sort of fell into the term neutrois after looking into what "neutral" meant. I didn't know neutrois encompassed neutral identities and assumed it was a similar term to agender (because of the black, green, and white colors of the flag), so I avoided even looking at it. It felt like it fit me after researching some different neutrois experiences and seeing how people would use the term for themselves.

Honestly, I feel like there are a number of other terms that can fit in place of neutrois. At the time, a couple years ago, that's the label that worked for me the most. But right now, I'm starting to question it again after discovering the term outherine (which is such a beautiful term and a beautiful flag!) I'm not quite ready to take on a new label, but I do know at some point I may just do that.

Find your "for now" term. It could be neutrois or maverique, or even both. Maybe you are trigender. Maybe it's bigender. That part is up to you. But it helps to know that it could change at any point and that you can consider your identity to be flexible. That's a normal part of the experience. - 💙💚

[breathetender]

luther maynard && gender.

when luther was born as the son of sebastian and allison grant, their parents were delighted. it wasn't long before sebastian became concerned about the masculinity of their child, though. luther was always soft in a way that sebastian resented, considering he'd wanted a rough and tumble boy to teach baseball. luther was far more interested in playing chef than sports, asking to learn how to sew from their mother, getting the "girls'" toys in kid's meals at fast food joints, etc.

once grown enough to start considering their gender, luther initially chalked up these differences to just not wanting to be like sebastian. they do experience some version of masculinity, after all, and so their aversion to traditionally masculine activities must have been borne of their resentment for their father! but in high school, after sebastian has died and luther is free to breathe easier, they begin experimenting. zoe, their first girlfriend lets them borrow her pink clothes, puts lip gloss on them, calls them pretty, and it begins a slow, dawning realization.

for a long time, they keep their femininity close to their chest, hoping to keep it quiet, reserved for only those closest in their life. they're still soft in all the ways that sebastian hated. they gift their friends freshly baked loaves of bread, they're much more likely to buy something if it's pink, and they're sensitive and considerate in a way that sebastian would've trained out of his boy, if he'd had his way.

but in becoming more familiar with the queer community, no longer seeing it as just a potential outlet for sexual repression, they LEARN. they're able to observe the swings in their feelings, note the way their presentation and impulses vary, and begin exploring what identities feel right to them.

luther's presentation hasn't changed much since coming out as genderfluid in their late 20s. their general attire includes suits, sweaters, and t-shirts with jeans or slacks. they've grown more comfortable wearing jewelry and prefer gold jewelry over anything else, and they'll paint their nails on occasion. they're also prone to wearing more feminine underwear than a stranger may expect, favoring pink and lace and silk.

in terms of their physical transition: since recognizing their dysphoria, they've begun staying more clean shaven to manage it. they've also considered bottom surgery, but they're not at a point where their physical dysphoria outweighs the thought of undergoing such an intensive surgery. their primary source of bodily dysphoria comes from 1) their hair, 2) the sharp angles of their body, which has been mitigated somewhat with a change of workout routine, and 3) topping during sex. what started as a suspicion of being a SELFISH LOVER was recognized as a discomfort with using body parts that don't feel quite right most of the time. that being said, luther is genderfluid and there's times when they'll happily top but it's QUITE a rare occurrence.

(as an aside, as well— the above may change. to be frank, i would really like to write a luther who does not have to deal with that ever-present, quiet itch of dysphoria in the back of their mind. they deserve that much. but like i said, i don't think they're the type to trade their familiar, manageable discomfort for a daunting major surgery, which may have results that are beyond their control, potential complications, etc. it's a precious thing to me, to portray trans bodies realistically, contextually, and with complexities that don't fit so neatly into the established boxes that most media lays out for us. so i'll appreciate my writing partners' flexibility as the fine details of luther's transition may shift depending on verse. for example, in any verse set in the future or where magic exists, luther will have some semblance of bottom surgery since it can be assumed recovery is easier and results are more predictable.)

in terms of their social transition: if it's a verse where they're a correctional officer, they are NOT out at work since it would not feel safe for them to do so. but they're out in every other aspect of their life, including family and friends. luther's mother was accepting. she was baffled by the terminology at first, but then said "well... that makes sense." and henri was privy to the whole process of their gender realization so it came as no surprise to her.

luther is content with they/them, he/him, or she/her pronouns. they're most familiar with the first two sets of pronouns, and typically have a slight preference for those since she/her is INCREDIBLY affirming for them on feminine days, but on their more masculine days, it can be jarring. in terms of name, they're fine with luther, they like "luth", and folks get extra brownie points if they call them "lulu" on a femme day.

[captain-crackship]

Hi. I made this subtle change to my bio recently but I felt the need to address it here.

The first thing I should start with is that when I first joined Tumblr I identified as "androgyne" but that label never quite sat right with me as my gender identity was more of a middle ground between femboy and tomboy. I now identify as "themboy", which is the commonly used label according to Reddit.

My pronouns are she/they. I don't feel comfortable just using one or the other, it has to be both.

The second thing I should address is that I am a homoflexible lesbian. What this means is that I am primarily attracted to women and femspec genders, but there is a very marginally slim off-chance that I will experience attraction to someone on the other end of the gender spectrum. Some consider this as part of the multisexual spectrum or the abrosexual spectrum. I don't consider myself either of those things but that doesn't invalidate others who do.

I've seen some takes online claiming flexibility to be bi erasure when it really is not. Bisexuality is generalized attraction to two or more genders at all times. Flexibility is very context-specific.

That is all I felt the need to say here.

[gleefulhq]

character name. blaine anderson

age & date of birth. 29, january 31st

gender identity & pronouns. cis man, he/him

occupation. music teacher/musician/writer

personality traits. loyal, artistic, genuine, influential, caring, articulate, flexible, dramatic, anxious, insecure, impetuous, idiosyncratic, self-destructive

here’s what you missed on… 

after graduation he headed to New York City with his fiance and friends.  however, things didn't go exactly to plan and nothing was quite how he imagined it would be.  his insecurities from the year before reared again- even though he was sharing a living space with his fiance and they tried not living together for a bit which made things worse for him.  it wasn't long until they called off the engagement and ended their relationship.  blaine also had a bit of a late bloomer growth spurt between graduating from McKinley, and his second year at Berklee.

things didn't improve for blaine at this time.  he struggled and ended up leaving school and returning to Ohio.  there, he offered to work with the warblers (attempting to fix what he saw as a karmic wrong) and gained back a bit more of his spark.  the next year blaine returned to school, this time at Berklee in Boston.  

things began to click again for blaine, at least academically, professionally.  over the next almost a decade blaine completed a bachelor of music education and began teaching at a prestigious private school in Lowell, MASS.  in the summer, and on weekends, blaine even began performing again himself at open mics, festivals, and busking in the subway.  he credits to helping him bring a show choir to nationals for the last three years, placing at least top five all three years- winning the competition the last two years.

this past summer, blaine returned to Berklee to get his masters in music composition and is continuing in the program part time while teaching part-time this year as well.  secretly, blaine has this idea of writing his own musical.  his modest nature says in likelihood it will be just for his school to perhaps put on, but sometimes he likes to daydream about taking it to broadway; or off-off broadway. this part time teaching is what has allowed him to return to Ohio for the holidays.  teaching, and his students, helps to fill the void of a family he thought he'd have by now. 

 romantically, blaine has not been so successful.  he's had a series of really not nice boyfriends who have taken advantage of his genuine, generous nature, among other things.  even when he managed to date a couple of good men, his insecurities returned in full force and he self-sabotaged relationships with potential.  ever the romantic, baine isn't ready to give up on love, but with his 30th birthday approaching after the holidays, blaine can't help but wonder what is says about him as a man that his most serious relationship was in high school.  maybe he's running away from facing that, and returning to where his one real relationship started and all the good of it transpired.     

the role of blaine anderson is portrayed by tommy martinez, and will be written by bee.

[newapocalypsehq]

in character information:

CHARACTER NAME: tony stark

CHARACTER FACECLAIM: jeffrey dean morgan

CHARACTER AGE/DOB: may 29th 1978 / 46 years old

CHARACTER PRONOUNS/GENDER IDENTITY/SEXUALITY ETC: he/him, genderfluid but is very very private about it, bisexual/romantic/polyam

CHARACTER FANDOM (if relevant): marvel universe

OC OR CANON: canon

PLEASE MENTION ANY IMPORTANT INSPIRATIONS (this can be comics/any specific issues etc, movies, shows, novels etc & please include any clear important events and/or arcs in your characters history including dates if you have any in mind):

primarily, and especially in terms of characterisation notes, i take my lead from the comics (which lbr,, so so many runs to choose from,,, too many to list). there's sometimes MILD inspiration from the movies too bc they sure were fun so tony can be a bit of a mishmash and certainly, i pick and choose which elements of his backstory/timelines i like most. for example, the death of tony's parents being at the hands of hydra is something i support, but i'm flexible on if it was the winter soldier or not.

i will be going with the origin that tony was actually adopted and out there has a brother, arno stark. however, tony is yet to discover this.

tony absolutely will always have the arc reactor and it cannot be removed without killing him.

he also did in fact find and discover the element that served as a replacement to the palladium core that was killing him. yes he still personally calls that element badassium bc tony stark is, first and foremost, an absolute cringe fail.

WHERE DO THEY CURRENTLY RESIDE/OR MOSTLY RESIDE:

stark tower is his main place of residence, though he does also have his own room in the avengers mansion. for a time, tony lived in malibu and ran stark industries from there, before eventually moving to settle back in new york full time in 2010.

ARE THEY ASSOCIATED WITH ANY TEAMS/GROUPS ETC OR HAVE THEY BEEN IN THE PAST (please mention these):

mostly, tony remains associated with the avengers as his primary focus. however, he also has ties with the justice league, illuminati & SHIELD.

CHARACTER BIOGRAPHY:

so far as tony is aware, his birth parents are maria & howard stark. unknown to him currently, the truth is quite different: he was born to two SHIELD agents, with his birth father being a double agent working for both SHIELD and HYDRA. all of which eventually led to his birth mother giving tony up for adoption. when howard stark found out about the boy being taken and given to an orphanage in bulgaria, he decided to intervene.

maria & howard had been having troubles of their own with fertility trying to conceive another child in order to pass off as their actual firstborn who they were currently hiding due to some incredibly complicated and shady events before his birth. adopting the boy seemed like the best fit and so, tony was brought into the family and passed off as the stark's first and only born.

maria loved tony unconditionally, giving him all the love and kindness possible while growing up. however, things weren't quite so easy with howard. tony's relationship was constantly strained with howard, his abusive and aggressive nature, his drinking and his constant belittling of tony. tony may have been a fast child genius, but nothing was ever quite good enough for howard and it showed.

when tony was sent away to boarding school at 7 years old to 'toughen' him up, it felt like the final straw for tony. his relationship with his father never got any better and tony instead, just grew even more distanced.

at fourteen years old, tony gained early entry into MIT and began his studies there, meeting his lifelong best friend, james rhodes in the process. he graduates at seventeen years old and goes on to study two masters degrees and then a phd.

for the most part, tony lives a life as far away from his father as he can. he's close to his mother and always would be, but he'd long since stopped trying to gain his father's approval. he knew nothing he did would ever get it, so his achievements were entirely for his own satisfaction, interest, and to make his mother proud.

perhaps it's these combinations of things that make it especially difficult for tony when his parents are killed when he is eighteen years old. why he holds onto the grief and pain, the guilt so tightly even as he grows up.

at twenty one, tony takes over control and running of stark industries and begins to do the work to build it into something more. within no time, he's expanded the company from a simple focus on weapons making, to a company at the cutting edge of technological advancements, bleeding into multiple sectors.

which is how he then builds his persona too. a whole lot of ego, genius and arrogance. but a certain kind of charm too. tony stark is everything he needs to be in public, so what does it matter if he's crumbling behind the scenes? and anyway, don't most people enjoy a few bad habits?

in 2013, tony's life takes a turn he never could have imagined when he is captured by a terrorist group and very nearly killed in the process, only surviving thanks to the help of a man right there captured too, and his own intelligence. building the arc reactor to keep the shrapnel from his chest is one thing… but building a suit of armour to escape the months of imprisonment is a whole other thing entirely and when he returns to the world, tony is changed in ways he doesn't imagine anyone could quite understand.

it's been one hell of a messy ride since then. rooting out the corruption within his company, learning of some intense betrayals, hiding his identity as the iron man, eventually going public, forming the avengers and so much more… the 10+ years since he was reborn have been insane. but all in all, tony rather likes his choices.

ONE SONG THAT REMINDS YOU OF YOUR CHARACTER: non stop by the cast of hamilton

ooc information: 

**WRITER NAME/ALIAS:** andy

**WRITER AGE:** 29

**WRITER PRONOUNS:** they/them

**WRITER TRIGGERS:** terminal illness, cancer, misrepresentations of mental health.

[matrotas-muse-hub]

Zephyr

Zephyr is a rogue from a family with a shady history, a dagger for hire with a little bit of magic mixed in. While his intentions are obscure, anyone that gets in his way is prone to wind up with a knife in their back.

CHARACTER BIO

Name: Velarus Umbram / Xun-Zhu Aurumeum

Aliases: His primary alias is Zephyr, using the alias of “Crow” for certain assassination jobs, and “Adrien” when he is on an infiltration mission into noble territory.

Age: 160

Languages: Common, elven, undercommon, goblin, orcish, demon-tongue

Birthday: Unknown

Species: Ash elf

Gender: Male, very androgynous presenting

Pronouns: Prefers he/him, doesn’t particularly mind if he’s referred to by any pronouns.

Sexual Orientation: Aroace

Profession: Infiltrator, assassin

Physical Details:

Hair: Gray

Eyes: Gray

Skin: Pale with a slight gray undertone

Height: 5'0"

Weight: 100 lbs

Tattoos / Scars: None, due to his family’s physician

Special Items: A magical gauntlet that conjures daggers at-will. These daggers vanish shortly after leaving Zephyr’s grip. Zephyr also possesses a charmed pendant that can change his appearance so that he appears human instead of elven.

Physical Capabilities:

Strength: Slightly above average

Dexterity: Best of the best. Zephyr is incredibly deft, light on his feet, good with his hands, and flexible enough to be considered a contortionist

Hardiness: Above average, especially in regards to his resistance againt poisons

Weapons: Daggers and poisons

Mental Capabilities:

Intelligence: Zephyr is quite intelligent, having studied various subjects in his upbringing. He is naturally adept.

Wisdom: Average to below average. He learns whatever he needs for most jobs, but his worldview is almost exclusively based on his upbringing with little input from others.

Charisma: Most of the time, Zephyr is quiet and somewhat stiff, but when the time calls for it, he can don the mask of a socialite. He’s learned how to act like someone else, and deception is practically his first language.

Supernatural Capabilities:

Shadow-touched: Zephyr has been marked by shadow magic, allowing him to not only wrap the shadows around himself to obscure his presence, but it also allows him to move through shadows. He uses this to infiltrate high security locations by moving right under the shadow of the door.

Zephyr’s Backstory

Zephyr, born as Xun-Zhu Aurumeum, was a child promised to a dark power in an exchange for safety. His birth parents, once parts of the criminal underworld, were trying to put it all behind them and move on. In exchange for erasing their identities, they went to one of the more notorious and secretive factions they knew of; the Umbram family.

The Umbrams are a family of assassins, spies, and all sorts of other “talent” that is popular within the underside of society. Infamous for their skill and their strange organizational structure as a family and not a normal organization, their name is well known among those who dwell in dark circles. The Umbrams agreed to erase the Aurumeum’s identities on the condition that they forfeit their firstborn, Xun-Zhu, who was only a few weeks old at the time. Perhaps one of the umbrams saw something in the infant ash elf, or perhaps they were just cruel.

Zephyr never learned quite how that deal went through, only that it did. He was raised in this adoptive family to be one of their own, and he had an unnatural talent for stealth. While anyone could be trained to use a blade, not just anyone was able to entirely erase their presence. This ended up with Zephyr, once fully-grown, becoming on of the Umbram’s key infiltrators for various missions that required infiltration. If Zephyr did not want to be found, even his own family would have trouble tracking him down.

He lives as a freelancer at the moment, taking various jobs to earn money, reporting back to the family whenever required. He is loyal to the Umbrams, and has mostly surpressed any desire to meet his birth parents. He has, however, in recent years began to yearn for simplicity. The lives that many others live, that he could never have. There is no precedent for an Umbram to leave the family and their line of work, but sometimes Zephyr wonders what could have been.

Various Details:

The Umbram estate is rumored to exist somewhere outside of the normal world, though only its members and closest of associates know how to get there.

Zephyr is respected as a full fledged member of the family, but he has a great fear of some of his siblings, perhaps caused by his ruthless training growing up.

Zephyr is innately tied to shadows, even magically. Being in direct sunlight for too long can cause him physical discomfort and even pain.

Very few people outside of the Umbram family know that Zephyr’s name is Velarus, and even fewer know his birth name Xun-Zhu

[shinra-makonoid]

@count-incel actually thinking thoughts, even gory ones, even violent ones, is ok. Thoughts don't hurt people, only actions do. You don't deserve feeling guilty over things you cannot control, it is not your fault. We don't control our thoughts, only our actions. Do not listen to the Christians wanna be "evil thoughts are bad uwu" they don't wish you good, they only wish to control your thoughts. I'm a fellow "I have violent thoughts" and nothing helps except decrease anxiety and accepting this doesn't mean anything. Thoughts are electric impulses in the brain, and our brains are a bit weird, so they produce these. If you wanna talk about it without judgement don't hesitate to say hi in my DMs.

There is absolutely nothing detransitioners do that is evidence based in regards to "dealing with their dysphoria", it's just a cope with probably some placebo effects and pretending. Some probably are truly dysphoric but they got trapped into an ideology the same way ex-gays do. I like to put the thread of a former big detrans name in regards to that:

It's really informative.

Some bits:

I learned to reframe and interpret my life story and feelings according to radical feminist ideology. I learned to see any sense of being a gender other than woman as something that originated from outside of me, not as part of who I was. People in the radical feminist detransitioned women’s community are encouraged to see themselves as women struggling with gender dysphoria and to see any sense of being a gender other than woman as a symptom to be managed, not an identity to express. While some flexibility is allowed in the name of “harm reduction”, the preferred solution to dealing with gender dysphoria is accepting one’s body and learning to see oneself as a woman. Feeling different from women was seen as a delusion to be overcome. Since people in that community believe that people transition and identify as trans because of social influences, there is a lot of pressure on members to live up to certain standards so as not to be a bad influence on others.

Something that really helped me figure things out was hearing about the experiences of gay people who’d survived conversion therapy. I happened to go to a book reading by Peter Gajdics, where he read from The Inheritance of Shame, his memoir about surviving conversion therapy, and some of what he described resonated with me. He talked about how he became convinced by his therapist that trauma he’d experienced as a child had made him gay and that he needed to stop being gay in order to heal from his trauma and stop suffering. Listening to him, I felt a uncomfortable flash of recognition.

Hearing his story made it possible for me to consider that I’d been fed a lie about how my transness was some kind of traumatic wound I needed to heal from. Something I wanted to believe because I was in pain and desperate and that story seemed to offer me a way out. I started reading more about conversion therapy and noticing more similarities between what I’d read and what I’d gone through but kept this all to myself at the time and didn’t quite let myself accept what I was figuring out. It was like part of me was realizing what was going on and another part wasn’t ready to see what had happened and tried to carry on as if everything was working just fine. It would be years after that book reading before I actually gave myself permission to take my perceptions seriously and get out but it planted a seed and I’m very thankful that I attended.

While I see similarities between my experiences and those of people who’ve undergone conversion therapy and/or participated in ex-gay ministries, I recognize many differences as well. Most of the experiences I came across were those of gay people trying to change their sexuality, while I was trying to dismantle my gender identity. They were also trying to become straight or assimilate into a homophobic Christian subculture that has a lot of power in the larger culture while I was attempting to live as a lesbian in a radical feminist lesbian subculture that has far less power and access to resources. There was also less structure than formal conversion therapy or established ex-gay ministries. The radical feminist detrans women’s community was largely inspired by the consciousness raising groups of second wave feminism, so there was a strong emphasis on detrans women coming together to offer support to each other and figure things out on our own, rather than turning to any kind of professional.

Another differences is that much of my engagement with the detrans women’s community happened online. I became radicalized through consuming gender critical/radical feminist media and began interpreting my experiences through those ideologies. I participated in online spaces where these interpretations were supported and reinforced. In many ways, my experience resembles how people are recruited online into other political ideologies and hate groups. In addition to researching conversion therapy, I’ve also studied online radicalization and how people are recruited into hate groups in order to understand what I went through.

Count incel you are literally insane. I am worried for you and for the women around you. Rape and murder fantasies are weird, sister

[laufeyamp]

“S”

SUMMARY. ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- how could two distinct worlds ever collide to one for two utterly different people to really embrace each other?

RELATED DRABBLES. ༊*·˚ Steven Grant, Solely Yours, Hazel and Gus, "S".

PAIRING. steven grant x assasin!gender neutral reader/marc spector x assasin!gender neutral reader (platonic) WORD COUNT. 1.244k TAGLIST. @lovers-liability​

THIS WORK CONTAINS angst, fluff, mentions of murder/mass murder (nothing explicit)

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“I don’t think we stand a chance,” you confessed your silenced thoughts with the faintest beam of bitterness and fatigue after much deliberation, enunciating a truth you’ve made futile attempts in rewriting. The ex-mercenary stared at your mentally and physically drained figure which leaned against one of the poles on the felucca boat you’ve taken, bedecked with spirals of golden light strings. You were his prey demanded by Khonshu, the only one he'd failed to slaughter with your adept assassination skills and flexible body. It was immensely shocking the night he learnt that you were his alter’s significant other among billions of people in this world, to learn this wholly new behaviour you’ve developed willingly for his nerdy alter out of love. The best out of the best was what they named you in the world of criminals for your infamous kill count, the catastrophic destruction and grievous anguish you’ve brought to thousands. Merciless, belligerent, remorseless, heartless, immoral, you were regarded as every horrible adjective in existence. There are minutes when he’d ponder how could someone like you possibly melt in the hands of a bookworm this effortlessly. 

”Steven, he’s-” you didn’t know where to begin for a split second, the flare of this splendid and peculiar sentiment shimmering on your darkness at the mere sight of his ingenuous twinkle. “He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve had after the years I’ve spent having my vicious carnage for a stash of money. He’s a stark contrast to me, an embodiment brimmed with each quality I’m nothing of.” And Marc relates to this. It’s the similarities that you share that fortuitously build a bond between you such as your desperation to completely rinse off the crimson blood staining your pair of hands, the threats faced and the sacrifices you must make for the sake of your loved ones. Perhaps it’s erroneous of him, but he understands your suffering like no other and he tends to show you empathy and sympathy, just as how you do for him. Looking at you felt like looking at a mirror that reflected him himself, instead of his distinct alter. The only dissimilarity separating your identities was the roles you both portrayed in this world, either as a protagonist or antagonist of this story. Nevertheless, you were both entangled in a contract or deal you’ve made with the devils, transforming yourselves into puppets with strings you could never cut off for eternity. It’s the same question you���d ask yourselves afore shutting your eyelids and allowing your mind to obtain rest: when? When is this seemingly perpetual profession and burdening responsibilities ever going to cease, returning you your respective freedom which you both deserve?

”He showed me what it’s like to be loved and appreciated, how it’s like to wander under broad daylight without any sense of guilt, to pass my days in tranquil without being haunted by this feeling of-” “-worthlessness,” he finished your sentence for you, seeing that you couldn’t find the precise phrase for it through your puckered brows. It’s this weariness of being forced to follow this path you wished to quit and the unerasable shame that swallows you like a black abyss. And no one would truly understand your side of the story, how you had been left without an alternative option after all of the bloodbaths you’ve engaged in.

”Yeah,” you agreed, your gaze averted to the American who shares a shell with the love of your life, studying his slightest nods of comprehending your unwanted plight. It's never crossed your mind that a man who had once made a laborious effort in depriving you of your life is an alter of your sweet lover, the only person who’s capable of reading you and providing you support in the most appropriate way. The brick walls you’ve both built due to your fear of emotional attachment just collapse miraculously when it comes to each other as if you’d known for a lifetime. No words of elucidation were required, nothing. And it was more than great, not having to put the affliction into letters you're about to vocalise or receive any form of ignorance and judgement towards it. “It’s time for me to wake up from this 'all-too-well’ dream now, isn’t it? Nothing beautiful lasts.”

It prickles his heart to learn your frank request for a break up with his alter whom he treated as his brother. Marc was reminded of the same choice he’d made to shield his wife by vanishing from her life, eradicating each hint that proves the memories they’ve created real. It’s an option you’ve attempted to realise but failed miserably, truth be told. The empathy and adoration you had towards him restrained your intention in abandoning him when he was living at a point of perplexity and despair, utterly aimless in the crowd of people marching towards their goals. Marc Spector on the other hand has always been positive about it being an entirely risk-free and the best choice for both parties until now, when he’s given the opportunity to witness your relationship nearing its end. The snivels of intense sorrow simply above the level of inaudible from his alter echoed in his head, leading him to wonder if Layla had wept for him the moment he disappeared without a word, to doubt if it really was the right decision he’d made.

“He does this all the time…” Marc reached out to take ahold of one of your hands resting on your lap delicately, in hope of showing you something he’d perceive whilst Steven was fronting. He may not have an accurate solution or advice with his relationship being a downright failure, but he knows that he has no desire for you to repeat his mistake, devastating one another regardless of the endearing link shared. He wished you’ll have it differently, that you’ll honour your pledge and stay alongside Steven. You lifted your weight from the pole in instant, hunching over with your elbows pressed against the flesh of your thighs without any sign of protest or discomfort. He extended your loose fist, revealing your palm under the magenta lightning with his rough one cupping the back of it underneath. Perhaps it’s muscle memory, the way he moved the pad of his thumb deftly against the skin of your palm felt like your lover himself. Marc traced his first letter crookedly which was an ‘S’ at a laggard pace and it managed to send you on a visit down memory lane, reminiscing how much Steven admired your calloused hands. He loved comparing hand sizes, frequently playing with your fingers, and asking you to guess the invisible letters or shapes he traces on your palm. It’s an affectionate habit of his that’s somehow soothing and favourable. His thumb carried on with drawing an outline of a V-shaped heart in one go, one that was particularly thinner and smaller. And that’s another distinguishable intricacy of both alters you’ve discerned as Steven’s heart shape was rather disparate. His was rounder drawn with obviously unparallel curves that were typically done twice. It didn’t take you another minute to recognise where this was directed to and which one of Steven’s gestures he was mimicking.

“… and I think it’s more than enough to show that he loves and needs you,” Marc interpreted, all the while ending his imitation with a gentle trace of your initial across your palm lines. ‘S’ hearts ‘y/i’, how could you ever forget that?

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SYD .ೃ࿐ Reblogs and interactions are greatly appreciated, thank you for reading.