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elizabeth-mitchells · 3 years ago

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follow you to the beginning (just to relive the start) - Sam/Deena - Fake Dating AU

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Fear Street Trilogy (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Fraser/Deena Johnson, Samantha "Sam" Fraser & Deena Johnson, Samantha "Sam" Fraser/Peter (Fear Street Part 1: 1994), Samantha "Sam" Fraser & Simon Kalivoda, Samantha "Sam" Fraser & Kate Schmidt (Fear Street), Deena Johnson & Kate Schmidt, Deena Johnson & Simon Kalivoda, Minor or Background Relationship(s) Characters: Deena Johnson, Samantha "Sam" Fraser (Fear Street), Kate Schmidt (Fear Street), Simon Kalivoda, Josh Johnson (Fear Street), Peter (Fear Street Part 1: 1994), Background & Cameo Characters Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Canon Lesbian Character, Slow Burn, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Best Friends, High School, Angst, Humor, Fluff, First Love, Eventual Happy Ending, Friends to Enemies, Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Sam and Deena are next-door neighbors, and they inevitably and enthusiastically become best friends... until childhood gives way to tragedy, grudges, and regret.

By the time they make it to high school, Sam and Deena are still next-door neighbors but also sworn enemies... until high school introduces bigger threats that they will need to face together.

Faking a relationship might be a bad idea. But it might be the only way for Sam and Deena to understand their shared past and their feelings for each other.

Chapter 1:

Sam and Deena became best friends during one perfect summer day when they were seven years old. In Shadyside, however, perfect days weren’t meant to exist. The only reason little Sam Fraser finally had the time and freedom to spend time with her next-door neighbor was because her parents were caught in the first big fight of hundreds more to come. A part of Sam would associate both events as one and the same for a long, long time. The beginning of her friendship with Deena and the downfall of the Fraser family. In contrast, Deena was living some of the best days of her life. Days that she would treasure and idolize, perhaps more than she should have, for many years to come. Her mother was alive, her father was sober, her little brother was safe in their hands. She had all the time in the world to go out into the backyard, lay on the ground, and look for shapes in the clouds. She had been doing that for a while then a shadow suddenly appeared over her.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked. Her voice was still trembling slightly from the way she had run out of her house crying. Her eyes were red and she had a runny nose, but she looked genuinely curious to understand what her neighbor was doing.

Deena didn’t reply at first. She couldn’t. She was too shaken by the impact of Sam’s first impression on her. It wasn’t the very first time they met, of course. But their parents were usually hovering above them. So far they had never been alone together. They were very different kids, it was easy to tell with just one look. Not just physically, with Deena’s wild mane of curly brown hair and Sam’s being straight and blond, Deena’s brown eyes being warm and guarded meanwhile Sam’s blue eyes cried out her every emotion. It was also about the way Deena was thrown on the grass, comfortable and taking as much space as possible in her slightly oversized clothes that she picked herself, as long as they were in sale, while her mother fondly chuckled and followed her around the store in spite of which gendered aisle her daughter got lost in. Sam was the complete opposite, in her bright pink clothes that were always too loose or too tight because her mother didn’t care to bring her along when buying her clothes and it was made all the more noticeable by the way in which Sam stood tense and awkwardly, uncomfortable from head to toe, her feet restless as if ready to run at any given moment.

The silence between them had stretched out for too long, but Sam was good at waiting. Deena moved to a seated position and took a better look at the girl in front of her. “Fraser,” she blurted out. She couldn’t remember her neighbor’s name, but she knew her parents were Mr. and Mrs. Fraser of the constant frowns.

“Um, Johnson?” Sam tilted her head. She didn’t understand this game of calling out each other’s last names.

“I’m Deena,” the brunette said and jumped to her feet, not bothering to brush away the grass stuck to her clothes.

“Sam,” the other girl offered her hand.

Deena laughed, but she was troubled. She wanted to laugh so much more. There was this weird girl in front of her, obviously a second away from bursting into tears again, probably from the weight of the glittery pink ribbon on her head, and she was offering Deena her hand in greeting. However, her laughter died in Deena’s throat. The instinct to tease was, for once, overpowered by something new and somewhat unfamiliar. She didn’t know it was protectiveness, she didn’t understand what it was at all. She only felt a pull on her heart that wanted to make sure her neighbor was okay.

So, Deena shook Sam’s hand. She invited her to lay down with her to watch shapes in the clouds. She didn’t laugh at Sam, she made it her mission to make Sam laugh. Unknowingly, with that innocent handshake, they were starting out together the greatest adventure of their lives, with all the glorious ups and devastating downs that it would include.

It was still early, they had the entire day ahead of them, and under the clear blue Shadyside sky, the world was all theirs.

They started lying down on the grass, side by side, looking up at the clouds. At first, it was perfect, and fun. Sam’s stomach started aching from how hard she was laughing every time Deena pointed out at the sky and said “That one looks like a butt.” And then Sam would point at a completely unidentifiable cloud and say, “That one looks like a robot.”

“What?!” Deena laughed wholeheartedly. “No, it doesn’t! You weirdo.”

Sam’s laughter dimmed. “Do you think I’m weird?”

“No!” Deena scoffed. “Isn’t that like a compliment?”

The blonde hummed in response. She hadn’t considered that the other girl was just as inexperienced at talking to other girls her age.

For a moment, there was silence between them. Enough silence for Sam to remember the deafening noise of her parents fighting, blaming each other, blaming her, blaming the town. Before she could stop it, Sam was crying again.

“Sam?” Deena called her name. She moved to a seated position and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder gently. “I’m sorry. I really don’t think you’re that weird.”

“That weird?” Sam chuckled through her tears.

Deena laughed along with her, but she still looked out of her comfort zone dealing with her crying neighbor. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m okay,” Sam wiped her tears away, willing herself to regain her composure as her mother always told her to do. “I just… cry a lot. My dad says it’s because my mom doesn’t have feelings and I have to cry for the both of us.”

“Okay,” Deena nodded, not knowing how to put into words how wrong that sounded. Then she noticed a single blade of grass stuck to Sam’s pretty blonde hair. “Hold on Sam, you have grass on your head,” Deena said, and reached out to take it off.

However, Deena’s hand on her hair made an idea light up in Sam’s mind. She gasped and grabbed Deena’s wrist, holding her in place. “We should make flower crowns!”

“What?!”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to do it,” Sam smiled teasingly.

“Of course I do!” Deena scoffed. She was happy to see Sam smile, but she was second-guessing her previous statement about the blonde not being weird. Plus, it turned out not even Sam knew how to make flower crowns. It wasn’t as easy as it seemed.

The two girls ended up hiding behind flower bushes between their homes. Sam had entertained herself weaving the prettiest flowers she could find in Deena’s curls. Meanwhile, Deena was content pulling blades of grass and unceremoniously letting them fall on Sam’s head. Deena couldn’t understand how Sam could be unbothered by the game. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Sam didn’t have many friends. In fact, not too long later, Sam whispered, “You’re my first real friend.”

Deena beamed upon hearing the words. She was happy with her parents and baby brother but, secretly, she had always wished for a friend, a girl like her, and here she was, finally. “You’re my only friend too,” Deena replied, a little shyly.

“Really?” Sam’s eyes widened.

“Yeah,” Deena chuckled.

The blonde hummed thoughtfully. “I think that makes us best friends,” Sam said.

“Oh yeah?” Deena asked. She received a confident nod in response. That made sense to her too. “Then we should celebrate.” She jumped to her feet and offered her hand to Sam, who didn’t hesitate to follow.

The day was long, and there was so much they were dying to show each other. The hours passed by in a sun-bathed blur of childish laughter. They did everything and nothing, jumping without reason, running without destination, rolling in the grass, picking flowers, climbing trees, scratching their knees, and jumping back up into made-up games and fantasy scenarios that they hadn’t ever had a chance to share with anybody.

There were a thousand little moments that years later they would wish they could have immortalized some way. When Deena showed Sam a spider and Sam ran away. When Deena hurt her finger with a thorn from Sam’s mother’s rose bushes, and Sam kissed the afflicted finger and promised she wouldn’t tell anybody Deena cried.

When Deena started climbing the tree at the back of the backyard, Sam started freaking out. “Deena! You’ll hurt yourself!” Sam repeated many times. Deena was thinking Sam sounded older than she really was when she was worried.

“I won’t,” the blonde scoffed, getting comfortable in what actually was a really low branch of the tree. “Besides, if I fall you can catch me!”

“I can try!” Sam said, throwing her arms around her. “But you’ll probably crush me and then we’ll both be dead!”

“Hey! I’m not that heavy!”

Deena’s protest, unfortunately, made her lose her balance. For a moment, she was hanging from the branch of the tree, feeling her heart on her throat. But then Sam’s slender arms were holding on to her legs, as tightly as the little girl was capable of. Deena smiled brightly. She felt surprisingly safe, even if she knew that Sam wasn’t strong enough to literally hold her up. “Sam, let go, it’s okay, I got it,” Deena let her know.

Sam stepped back to let Deena land on her feet, but a second later she was back, wrapping her arms around Deena’s torso this time, holding just as tightly if not more. “You scared me,” Sam mumbled, her voice muffled by the way she had her face pressed against Deena’s shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Deena said. She let her arms fall limply at her sides. She still felt out of her depth with Sam, even after one of the best days of her life. Her instinct told her to make fun of Sam, who was moved near to tears. But her heart stopped her for unknown reasons. Instead, she let her cheek rest on top of Sam’s head. At the time, Deena was taller. “It’s okay,” Deena repeated. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m your best friend, remember? I don’t think I’m allowed to leave you now.”

Sam chuckled and finally dropped her arms. Deena felt a chill at the loss. “Do you promise?” Sam asked.

Deena frowned a little, but continued to smile. “I promise,” she said, finding it increasingly difficult to say not the blonde girl that had stumbled into her personal space earlier that day with tears still in her eyes.

“Okay,” Sam exclaimed. She leaned forward and placed a sweet kiss on Deena’s cheek. She was so excited it nearly threw both of them off balance, and when she pulled back, they were both blushing. But they moved on quickly, that day. Sam took Deena’s hand and started leading her to a different spot in the wide and free space behind their houses. “My mom told me about a spa. It’s a place where they put mud in your face to make you pretty. We should try it.”

“I’m already pretty!” Deena protested.

“Yeah, you are,” Sam shrugged. “But maybe it can help me.”

“You are more than pretty, Sam,” Deena frowned.

That made the blonde girl stop in her tracks. “Do you think so?” She asked Deena, and the brunette nodded enthusiastically. Sam was thoughtful for a moment, but eventually shrugged, and tried to continue with her plans, clearly not completely believing the other girl’s words. She was stopped by Deena a moment later, refusing to go further.

“Hey, you didn’t make the promise too,” Deena pointed out.

“Oh! You’re right,” Sam nodded, very seriously. “Okay then… I promise to always be your best friend, and to never leave you, and… um, is there something else?” She looked up at Deena for guidance.

Deena grinned at her. “No, that’s it. That’s cool.”

The two girls started laughing again, and continued with their games for a long time. They did end up playing with the mud, and then tried to wash it off, creating a bigger mess, with the hose they found behind Deena’s house.

Toward the end of the day, when the sun started to set, both girls were well aware that their parents would be coming out at any moment to call them back home. They chose to end their first day as best friends exactly how they started it. They lay on the grass in the backyard in between their houses, and they looked up at the infinite sky above them. There weren’t many clouds anymore, but the first stars were showing up in the sky, and they were more than happy to count them one by one.

That was how it started. One perfect day, and dozens of them just the same. Sam ran away from her house to the backyard every time her parents were having a fight. Deena made her laugh until Sam couldn’t remember crying for anything other reason than pure joy. Sam picked the prettiest flowers she could find and gave them to Deena, and hugged her especially tight every time Deena fell down from the tree she loved to climb. From the Johnsons’ window, Deena’s mom watched them fondly, happy that her daughter had a friend. From the Frasers’ window, Sam’s mom watched them with a frown on her face, upset about Sam ruining her clothes. But they never had reasons to stop them from having fun, they didn’t have any reason to put barriers between their daughters. And the two girls couldn’t imagine a world where they would be anything but the best of friends.

Much like everything in Shadyside, their perfect days would soon come to a bitter end but, even then, it wouldn’t be the end of Sam and Deena’s story.

#hello! please support and share and read and comment and i'll love u forever! <333 #it's my attempt at childhood friends to enemies to lovers via fake dating #fear street #sameena #sam x deena #deena x sam #sam fraser #deena johnson #fear street fanfic #fs #my fic

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edwardteachs · 4 years ago

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I support LGB rights and people, wholeheartedly. I do not support trans activism, specifically trans “women.”

I find it offensive for men to claim they know what it’s like to be a woman because they dress or act feminine. I find it offensive that they claim to be more oppressed than “cis” women. I believe that trans women are appropriating women and that they trivialize our experiences. Science has determined that there is no “male brain” or “female brain.” So what does is mean to feel like a woman? Which women? Women are human beings with differing thoughts, desires, and experiences. To be a woman just is.

Radical feminists (vs liberal feminists) demand that we acknowledge biological sex because our oppression is sex based. We are oppressed because of our sex. Our reproductive health is constantly being threatened. Women and girls all over the world face genital mutilation, die in “period huts”, are raped and murdered. Do you think if they had “identified” as men that would have saved them?

Trans women have been socialized as men, seeing as they are men. They threaten a lot of radfems or terfs (trans exclusionary radical feminists) with rape and death. Many of them hate lesbians because they don’t want to be anywhere near a dick. They call that transphobic! So many women are penis repulsed because of rape or sexual assault and trans women say we should just try to get over it because it’s not fair to exclude them from sex. “You might like dick if you try it!” Sound familiar? Lesbians have heard that for a long time, but to hear it from people who consider themselves progressive is just outrageous.

Men have always known which sex to rape, to kill, to oppress. That is the reality of women. We are not people with uteruses, we are not “bleeders”, we are women. We have worked hard for our private spaces, such as female only bathrooms, locker rooms, shelters, and jails. We will not let men into those spaces just because they say they identify as women. That will risk women’s lives and it cannot be allowed.

this is Dunkleostus it's my favourite ancient creature look at him isnt he cool and big

#tw transmisogyny #why did you send this to me.#unfollow then lmao

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runwiththenight-catchthedawn · 4 years ago

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Hi! I'm very feminist myself but all my interactions with feminism, I now realise, have been entirely including of the LGBT community. I haven't really heard from someone who was anti-LGBT before (which, from your posts, I gather you are) and was just wondering how you developed your feminism if that makes sense. How did you come into your beliefs? Did you have a negative experience with LGBT community? Very curious.

Hello! Thanks for reaching out. I am not at all anti LGB. I support LGB rights and people, wholeheartedly. I do not support trans activism, specifically trans “women.”

I hope this clears things up for you. There is a lot more to radical feminism than just our disagreement with the trans movement that I would to talk about!

Thanks for reaching out ❤️

#feminism #radical feminism #feminist ask #proud terf #terfs do touch #terfs please interact #radfems please touch #radfems do interact #radfem #radfem discourse #trans cult #trans discourse #anti trans activism #sex based oppression #reproductive rights #pro choice

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mollymauk-teafleak · 5 years ago

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I will love you if I never see you again (chapter four)

A huge, endless thank you to my beta readers @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian who are amazing as always

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3 to let me know what you thought! It takes two seconds, is completely free and makes me smile so much!

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

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Nureyev had always loved the stars. They’d been an escape to a small, scared boy with no home, no safety, no guaranteed next meal, nothing but a name. No matter where he had wound up sleeping, however empty his stomach was, how close the last laser shot had sounded, as long as he could see the stars he could imagine something better. A thousand other plants, most of which had never had a single human step on their surface, so far away he could blot them out with a thumb. Surely with all of those chances, all of that possibility, there just had to be something better than this. And as long as Peter knew that, he could keep going.

He’d always loved the stars, he’d needed them as much as he needed food and oxygen, he’d needed the escape and possibility. But he’d never thought they were beautiful until he saw them through his daughter’s eyes.

Nureyev tried to give Bianca routine where he could. So much of their life was completely uncertain, though not in the same way it had been when he was a child. Nureyev was endlessly grateful for that and there was no amount he wasn’t willing to part with to keep it that way. Their uncertainty was more about what planet they would end up on, what hotel they would stay in, what names he would give for them at the front desk. It was about the endlessly rotating faces around them, people slipping into roles rather than actual personalities, everything always shifting and changing. It would be so easy to lose yourself in all of that, feeling like you were becoming as ephemeral and insubstantial as everything else. Nureyev knew that well.

So he tried to anchor them whenever he could. And this was one of the ways he did that, one of Bianca’s favourite things.

The shuttles that ferried people around the solar system were microcosms of the planets they served. One floor of almost sickening luxury built to hold the scant few people who could afford it and the rest of the pot bellied space vessels given over to much grimmer quarters for everyone else. Nureyev had treated himself to a seat on the upper floor a few times, always after he was feeling smug about a particularly high profile job. But, in truth, he preferred sitting in the lower decks. The view was better there. No over attentive staff, no distracting screens on every surface vying for your attention, no live entertainment on the longer flights. No assuming that the majesty of space itself, the stars winking in the darkness, the faraway galaxies smudged against the sky, wouldn’t be enough to hold your attention. You could sit down there, feel like no one and stare out at space that held it all together.

Nureyev always got a window seat and sat his daughter on his knee, ignoring the adjoining seat he had to purchase for her. Bianca would usually sleep through the noisy takeoff, making her daddy marvel at her ability to snore through the racket of interstellar engines blasting burning fuel just a few meters away but wake up immediately in a soft, comfortable bed if he so much as shifted while holding her.

But as soon as they were surrounded by space and that eerie silence descended, Nureyev would gently nudge her awake, knowing she wouldn’t want to miss a second of it. No matter how many times she’d seen it before, whether it was their tenth or fiftieth or thousandth journey, it never seemed to dim the awe and delight on Bianca’s little face as she would stand, wobbly and uncertain on her little legs, in her daddy’s lap and press her face to the reinforced glass, making her indistinct babyish noises of excitement. As she got older, they began to coalesce into words, mostly just repeating ‘stars’ and ‘bootiful’ to herself in a whisper, clutching Nureyev’s sleeve tightly like she was worried he couldn’t see them and needed to be shown.

And then she would grasp at them, her fingers brushing against the window, like she was trying to pluck them from the vast expanse that couldn’t really be called a sky if you had no ground to stand on. Like she could open her adorably chubby little hand and see one twinkling there, as small as it appeared from their vantage point, and hold it out to her daddy, a gift of one of the shiny things she knew he liked so much.

Her little face would crinkle in disappointment after a few failed attempts, though it wouldn’t stop her trying again next time. Nureyev would smile and touch her cheek lightly and remind her that he didn’t need stars. He had his most precious treasure, better than anything else the universe could produce.

It didn’t matter how many times he had to remind her. He would mean it wholeheartedly, every single time.

Then he would help her find a more comfortable position and tell her the stories, ancient and crumbling thousands of years before now but still living on. He would tell her about Andromeda and Cassiopeia, Delphinus and Orpheus’ lyre and the mistakes of Orion. Too young to understand nine words in ten, she would still listen attentively and fix her eyes on the stars, in love with the worlds her daddy painted with them. Whether the journey was an hour or ten or a day, Bianca would listen and sleep and listen again, almost eerily quiet and well behaved. A child who had learned very early on that when her daddy asked her to be still, she had better listen or alarms might start going off.

Nureyev would always have a destination in mind for them, it would never do to step off a shuttle and not immediately know your next move. If he’d thought himself careful before he had Bianca, then afterwards he was nothing short of fanatically meticulous. Maps of whatever city they arrived in, shortest routes in and out of major buildings, dedicated assessments of how lax the police force were in certain districts, he kept all of it behind his eyes as he’d walk through the streets with his head held high and Bianca in her sling, sleeping or peering out silently but curiously against his chest.

Never the same hotel twice, even if it was a planet he’d been on before, there was no sense in taking silly risks. There never had been but there was even less now. Fake creds, fake names, fake ID, basic stuff he’d learned so long ago and had hammered into him so many times that it was part of his DNA, like the instincts that told him to pull in air and to walk upright.

Bianca would always seem hesitant at first, though she’d never cry. The unfamiliar smells and too bright, too packaged newness of their suite would bring out nothing more than hunched shoulders and maybe a soft whimper, if it was especially late or their last escape had been particularly harrowing, though those were becoming very few and far between to Nureyev’s relief. Still, it would make his chest ache.

Fortunately they had another little ritual. Nureyev would sweep the blankets and pillows off of the bed, merrily ruining their crisp whiteness and dumping them onto the floor. As it happened, the skills he so prized as a thief- clever hands, adaptability, dogged determination- were also incredibly useful when it came to constructing a blanket fort, no matter the shape of the room, the amount of materials they’d been left with or how exhausted he was.

It didn’t need to be big, just perfectly sized for him and Bianca, the top of his head usually scraping the roof of it. No matter the colour of the light that filtered through the sheets or the noise from the city outside, no matter what dirt of what planet sat beneath them, as long as they were in their little den, curled up close like a fox and his cub in a cosy bolt hole, they felt like they were home. Bianca would open up like a flower, lying on her back and cooing happily, kicking her little legs and mauling her poor cloth cat, carefree in a way she only ever was when she was truly safe.

And she would look up at Nureyev like he hung the moon. Like he’d made the stars she loved so much.

And Nureyev would know he’d found that something better he’d dreamed of as a child.

He hadn’t thought it would still hurt so much. He’d been pretending for so long, longer even that he’d known where they were going and who they were going to collect, even longer than he’d been practising his smile in the mirror and dredging up memories he’d wanted to bury, deliberately plucking them up out of their boxes in his most vulnerable moments as training exercises.

There had been more than Nureyev had thought. His face as he’d commanded, demanded, that a towering, insane Martian anthropologist let go of Nureyev with undeniable fire in his eyes. His furrowed brow when he was just a few clicks away from solving a case, that moment of held breath before he made everything make sense. How he’d looked in the hospital with the bandage over the fresh ruin of one eye, how he’d looked so scared and so young, wracked with nightmares and clinging to Nureyev’s hand. How he’d looked in the shadowy light of his apartment, leaning in eagerly for a kiss before Nureyev had even told him to come here.

How he had looked at Nureyev’s daughter when he’d woken up and she hadn’t been there, eye wild and dangerous and full of the same fire as before, even with one where there had once been two. A face Nureyev himself had worn so many times. A father’s face.

Nureyev had let these memories loose where he’d once held them so carefully. And he’d beaten each one, forced it to be small enough to carry. He’d let them tear at him until he was a wash of internal wounds and forced them to heal. He’d said his name over and over, hearing the sound of it until it became just another word.

So why had it still hurt so much?

“Hello Juno. It’s been a while.”

It had come out as smoothly as he’d wanted it to, unconcerned and light as if the two of them had simply bumped into each other at a coffee shop with nothing in their past thornier than perhaps an awkward conversation at a birthday party. All of it perfectly orchestrated, right down to the way Nureyev perched on the Ruby 7 like a cat, to the way his lips fell open just so, making his smile a perfect mix of predatory and indifferent. I could pluck you from the sky and snap your neck in an instant, little bird, but why would I bother?

But inside it had felt like drowning.

Because he was there, he was standing right there with his ridiculous expression like he didn’t understand anything going on around him in that ratty, out of style overcoat that Nureyev wanted to burn and partly wanted to pull around him just to feel how warm it would be. Still with the eyepatch, clearly totally unconcerned with matching it to his outfit, with a tiny duffle bag over one shoulder that apparently contained all the trash from that sad little apartment he’d thought worth taking into space.

Juno Steel was standing in front of him, close enough to touch within a few strides, and Nureyev wanted to run.

But he couldn’t. He needed this job, he needed to be part of this crew. So he’d had to smile his practised smile, eye him like nothing mattered and never show that it burned like bad whiskey.

At least Nureyev had been able to make a quick exit after that, pointedly excusing himself from the hand shaking and the secretary’s loud introductions. He’d done as Captain Aurinko had asked and his own pride had demanded and he’d come off the worse. He didn’t need to do any more. And there was somewhere else he needed to be.

His bunk was as far from the others as the layout of the Carte Blanche would allow, for good reason. Bianca hadn’t taken well to settling in one place for so long, especially somewhere that creaked and groaned with decompression like some irritated beast, where there were other people she didn’t know, where things were just different. Where she could tell something was bothering her daddy that he wouldn’t share and wasn’t fixing. Neither of them had been getting much sleep lately.

Fortunately, when he pushed back the door, his daughter was still napping, curled up in their blanket, her fists pressed up against her face. Now a year and a half old, she’d become such a person. He knew that was a silly thing to think, she’d always been a person. But she’d solidified somehow in the year and change since he’d first held her and hadn’t the faintest idea what to do with her. Her arms and legs were now arms and legs rather than chubby things she could only fling about gracelessly. Her shapeless dark fluff had turned into curls that flowed and bounced. Her face still had babyish roundness but she had more expressions now, her eyes had an awareness when they weren’t closed in sleep. She had more control, more personhood than she’d seemed to before. She could wobble a few hesitant steps, she could babble the half word dada over and over and break his heart.

She was growing, more and more every day. It made Nureyev thankful for moments like this, when he could just sit by her and watch her be still, on momentary pause, like maybe he could keep her this small forever. Like she would never outgrow his arms.

Nureyev sighed and told himself he was being maudlin, leaning back against the wall. But he was finding it hard to muster up any other emotion, knowing Juno Steel had weaseled his way aboard their fresh start and was rattling around in this tin can with the rest of them.

He would have argued, offered to find any other one eyed former detective, even if he had to put out the other eye himself. He would have walked and found some other ship full of colourful misfits to take him and Bianca around the galaxy.

But his options were limited and his time was running out. And how many other thieving crews would make a man with no name and a toddler welcome? Buddy had been more understanding than Nureyev had dared hope when he’d admitted that it wouldn’t just be him joining the crew of the Carte Blanche. Maybe it was her strange ideas about them being more family than crew, perhaps she thought a baby would cement that or at least be a nice ornament to her tableau.

Nureyev didn’t care. He’d found somewhere Bianca could be safe long term, somewhere he could be sure she’d still be if he had to leave for a few hours on a job. Not painlessly, of course, but dependably. And that was the best he thought he’d get.

Juno arriving took all of that, screwed it into a ball and threw it with bad aim at a wastepaper basket. And now all the boxes Nureyev kept for things he couldn’t deal with felt about to split and even looking at his daughter, soft and sweet and sleeping, made his chest feel tight in a way he couldn’t stand. Looking at her, all he could see was the eyes that were a brown so much darker than his own, practically black, and the curls that didn’t come from his fine, silky hair. The darker skin and the broad nose and the scowl she could bring out sometimes that gave him a double take. All he could see were the parts he hadn’t given her, the proof that she hadn’t come from nowhere. The parts that made it complicated.

Nureyev reached over and pushed back a delicate curl of hair that had fallen over her face, leaving his fingers there a few seconds longer than was necessary. Bianca shifted gently and calmed, her face relaxing a shade more than it had been before, as if the brush of his fingertips had been enough to soothe her and chase away bad dreams.

His love for her struck him fiercely, as it always did, like low, constant embers flaring up into a roaring blaze.

Her DNA didn’t matter. It never had. Juno’s contribution had been all of a second, a throwaway moment neither of them had noticed. Her eyes, her hair, it wasn’t Juno’s. It was hers.

She didn’t need him and neither did Nureyev. They had never needed anything but each other.

Seized by some kind of mad energy, the need to do something and be good at it, Nureyev got up, using all his cat burglar instincts to not rock the bed in the slightest and wake up Bianca. Maybe he would mend the dress she tore last week or try and salvage the blanket he’d been attempting on and off to knit for her since she was born. Something that would push Juno Steel entirely from his mind.

Until he opened the door and came face to face with him.

Juno immediately looked as guilty as any criminal he’d ever caught, hand frozen halfway to knocking, jaw opening but no words coming out.

Nureyev, too caught off guard to manage his emotions, scowled, “Who told you this was my room?”

Juno’s eye darted from left to right, “Buddy? She gave us a tour…”

“Well, I don’t know why she’d think that was relevant,” he tried to keep his face impassive while internally running around frantically for something to hold on to.

“Well...her exact words were ‘if you’re wondering the sound of the baby crying is coming from, it’s Ransom’s room third from the left’...is that what you’re calling yourself? Ransom?”

Nureyev could have throttled him, “Would you like to announce that a little louder, Juno Steel?”

Immediately he flushed, biting down on his lip like that could have stopped the words from coming out, “Um...sorry, yeah...I didn’t...sorry.”

“Did you come to my door just to loudly announce my trade secrets? Or is there another reason?” Nureyev dropped his voice to the appropriate level, low and quiet so as not to reverberate down metal hallways. And not to wake sleeping children.

The detective- former detective- was truly flustered now, as Nureyev liked him. Seeing him from the top of the gangplank had been disconcerting, seeing Juno Steel back in his life. But now he was up close, stammering and blushing in his doorway, it threw Nureyev for a whole different reason. Not because it was the same Juno Steel he’d known.

Because he was so different.

He stood straighter than he had before, though not in a way someone would square up for a fight. His eye was clearer, like there weren’t so many shadows behind it. There were more lines on his face but he wasn’t settled into them as a default, they sat there rather as a map rather than a guide, not as inevitable. He looked older, which wasn’t surprising as it had been a year since they’d laid eyes on each other. But it was...different. The difference that didn’t come with time but with experience.

Juno Steel had grown, it was written all over his face. And Nureyev didn’t know what to do with that at all. The nerve of it.

“I wanted to talk to you, Nureyev,” Juno swallows, like he was mentally starting over, “Because...well, I thought it was obvious?”

“You thought incorrectly,” Nureyev said, biting the end off each word, ��I see nothing we need to discuss.”

Juno looked dismayed at that, “Really? We’re just going to pretend none of it happened? Look, you’ve got every right to be upset with me…”

I don’t, Nureyev thought, chest clenching at the words. Because if you’ve changed, you’re no longer the lady who broke my heart, you’re someone new, someone who has his demons under control and there’s every chance you’ll find your way back in.

“...but I’ve done a lot of thinking and a lot of reflecting and...and there’s a lot of damage I’ve done that I want to start fixing. I was an asshole, Nureyev. I mean, I still kind of am but I’m trying. And...and I need to start with you. And her.”

No. Don’t you dare, Juno Steel.

Nureyev stepped forward, giving Juno barely a second to jump back out of his way. He was about to close the door, like he could close off Juno’s words as easily but that was when they both froze, instincts firing at the soft sleepy babble.

Binaca was sat up, the blanket rucked up around her waist, hands pawing at it like a content kitten. Her hair was a bird's nest, her eyes still heavy with sleep and confusion, mumbling indistinctly for her dada.

Nureyev heard a soft inhalation from Juno, eyes flickering over to see his scarred face lined with grief of all things. Grief for the countless moments in between now and then, perhaps, the ones he’d missed. That he’d turned his back on.

Bianca seemed to wake up more, her eyes widening and her little mouth opening. Her arms came up and stretched out, fingers grasping like they grasped at the stars. But not for Nureyev.

For Juno.

Nureyev shoved the sadness aside as hard as he could, not caring if it went in a box or not, just needing it out of his way, dredging up anger to replace it. He shut the door as he’d been planning, bringing it too with a dull slam.

“Listen,” he rounded on Juno, who was still standing there in some kind of shock, hurt clear on his face, “I am not interested in anything you have to say. I think two times is more than enough for someone to hurt you before you say no more. We will live on the same ship, we will work as the same crew but that is the absolute extent of my involvement with you. Is that clear?”

Juno looked ready to argue, some of the lady Nureyev had known resurfacing on his face. Good, he thought, show me this isn’t real. Show me it’s an act. Then I can go back to being angry with you and it can all make sense again. I’ll feel safe.

But then it faded and the resigned grief was back. And Nureyev felt something inside him, buried deep, crack with the knowledge he’d caused it.

“Fine,” Juno sighed heavily, “You’re not ready, I can understand that.”

“Not ready implies that this conversation will be happening in the future,” Nureyev’s voice was acidic, “Am I not being direct enough with you? I have no interest in your justifications for your behaviour. By all means, repeat them to yourself over and over as many times as you wish, however long it takes to be comfortable with your choices again. But do not bother yourself to repeat them to me, I have no need. It would imply that I care.”

Juno winced, as Nureyev had wanted him to right up until the second after he did it. He looked so wounded, like his words had punched a pinhole right through him. Nureyev refused to feel the pinch of regret at the back of his mind.

“Welcome to the Carte Blanche, Juno Steel,” he said coldly, going back into his room and slamming the door again. It wasn’t gentlemanly but there was little else to be done.

Bianca’s arms dropped sadly to her sides, eyes full of dismay. Her bottom lip began to do that wobbling dance that signified tears in the very near future.

“Darling,” Nureyev groaned, folding his arms around her, bringing her close to his chest, “Please, no. Everything’s okay…”

Bianca disagreed, mumbling unhappily against him, repeating ‘dada’ over and over like she was looking for answers. The front of his shirt began to grow damp with tears he’d caused.

Nureyev sighed shakily, trying to martial his thoughts and control his emotions, trying to feel more like himself. He buried his face in his daughter’s hair, inhaling her powdery baby scent, reminding himself that Bianca Nureyev existed and as long as that was true, he couldn’t fall apart.

After a while, he felt strong enough to sit back, like his spine and lungs would hold him up again. A moment later Bianca’s hands reached up to his face, patting his cheeks softly, cooing gently. Nureyev smiled, somehow, and kissed her searching little fingers. It was nice, he had to admit, to have someone there after he slipped away from himself.

The Carte Blanche hadn’t lifted off yet, still sitting on what passed for a dock in the Cerberus Province. But the stars were visible, unfiltered, without the fading, swimming effect of any dome and Nureyev could see them through the little circular porthole window on the far wall. As deadly as the stars were, uncovered like that, it was beautiful.

He felt the small boy that still curled up in the darker parts of his mind, one of his older boxes, stir. He felt him ache, looking at those stars with a desperate, fierce kind of hope that they held something better that could be his if he could only reach far enough. Nureyev shut him out too, after a moment. He didn’t need that any more. He would just keep moving forwards.

And he wouldn’t be alone this time.

#dad au #jupeter #cw: trans pregnancy #not seen but referenced #Nureyev is a good dad #juno steel #peter nureyev #tpp #the penumbra podcast #penumbra #junoverse #juniverse #tpp juno #tpp nureyev

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4th-mcelroy-brother-dougie · 5 years ago

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Rant or an Essay? I Dunno... It’s been a long night.

This post is in no way meant as an attack against religion. It is not meant as an attack of Christianity. These words are from someone who has grown up his whole life being told that he is unnatural, dangerous, disgusting, and a mistake. In no way do I write this as anything more than someone who is exhausted, angry, and frustrated. I hope that if you are religious that you don’t find this offensive. I have no intention of starting fights. I hope you will bear with me throughout this post. I understand that long posts are difficult enough to read, even when they’re funny.

I wore the Catholicism as a badge of honor. I protected myself from what I viewed as “wrong’s”/sins by hiding behind the words of others. I prayed my rosaries, I sang my hymns, and I moved through the motions of mass. I learned a great many things, a small amount of which I am still proud of. It came as a shock for me to realize that I was bisexual. I actually ignored it for years because it was easier than realizing that I was something my family and friends were disgusted by. At 15 years old I realized that if anyone in my family knew what I knew, my life as I knew it would be over. I saw myself as broken and worthy of shame. The Catholic faith told me homosexuality was a poison and only they had the cure.

I have since fallen away from the church and (mostly) escaped the pain brought on by the hatred of the church. Last night, I decided that I would revisit old Catholic Instagram accounts that I used to follow. I haven’t slept and it is currently 11:00 am. My blood is boiling.

These Catholics -a majority of Catholics in my experience- truly think that they are the saviors of mankind. They think they are bound by God to dedicate their lives to the complete indoctrination of every man, woman, and child on earth. They wholeheartedly see themselves as a small minority of “freedom-fighters”, as underdogs who fight the good fight even when it’s tough. They say they still love us; they’re still our friends, our neighbors. They say that they don’t condemn us, but their God does. To the average Catholic, being LGBTQ+ is an illness. It is against nature and therefore a threat to the well being of the entire world. They see LGBTQ+ people as children playing in the highway; fools who don’t understand the horrible things we’re doing to ourselves. To quote @ catholic_teen_posts on Instagram: “homosexual acts are disordered and violate natural law, under no circumstances can they be approved.”

While the vile and horrific acts of organizations like the Westboro Baptist Church are dangerous, we cannot forget the danger of those who pretend to love. The people who masquerade as compassion, love, and peace incarnate are equally dangerous. The same people who shout from street corners, the same people who do everything in their power to keep you from being you, the same people who oppress and destroy every LGBTQ+ space they can get their hands on; Those very same people tell you that you’re equal. They tell you that they just disagree with you. They tell you that you deserve the hate you receive. They tell you that you’re broken and can’t have a happy marriage, a happy child, a happy home. The harm that they say is caused by “homosexuality” is a direct result of the hate and violence those very same people nurture and create.

If you are Trans*, Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Pansexual, ASEXUAL, NON-BINARY, or any identity that I failed to list: YOU ARE ENOUGH. YOU ARE NOT BROKEN. YOU ARE NOT A THREAT. YOU ARE CAPABLE OF STRENGTH, LOVE, PEACE, AND HAPPINESS. THESE PEOPLE TELL YOU WHATEVER THEY CAN TO MAKE YOU FEEL ALONE AND BROKEN. YOU ARE FAR MORE HUMAN, MORE NATURAL, AND MORE LOVING THAN ANY OF THESE FOUL CREATURES.

Let yourself be angry. You don’t need to hold it in all the time or pretend like it doesn’t hurt you. You are valid and justified in your anger.

This is directed solely to Catholic, Christian, Religious ZEALOTS, those who breed hatred under the guise of love: The greatest harm to LGBTQ+ people is not sin, it is not a disease, it is not “unnatural lifestyles”, it is YOU. I grew up Catholic and long before I ever fell away from the church I knew that there was no kindness to be found in the arms of people who call me an abomination.

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mysmedrabbles · 5 years ago

Text

RFA + V as Senior Citizens

requested: by anonymous

a/n: this is?? a super cute ask?? totally seems like the sequel to an old MC lmao

warnings: n/a

-young mod alex

Jumin

-distinguished gentleman through and through

-he’s the type of man that ages gracefully, i hc him to look kind of like eugenes dad (for anyone who watches the try guys)

-he’s faithful to his spouse until the day he dies, and provides the best care for his children, especially supporting them no matter what their passions are

-even though physically the age still has taken a toll on him, the crows feet and laugh lines only prove that he’s led a good life

-he doesn’t believe in “old people activities”

-would rather die than play bingo, he does however enjoy the odd game of mahjong, and even the occasional board game, but only when he’s playing with his kids (however he’s ruthless and doesn’t go easy on them)

-he teaches the kids how to play chess

-his sense of fashion never changes, always sporting a crisp suit and his classic striped dress shirt

-he starts collecting italian shoes as a hobby once he reaches 60, and he’s never been so proud of a collection

-resigns as CEO and passes on the company not to his children, but to the most qualified prospect, changing his ideas on nepotism, now wholeheartedly believing in hard work and working your way up

-you can see the change in him post marrying you, as more and more magazines claim he’s gone “soft” in his old age, but in reality he doesn’t fear the public eye and although sometimes he struggles with emotional blocks, with you by his side he can handle anything

Jaehee

-she’s the anime grandma that chases the troublemakin’ young’uns out of her shop with a broom

-very wholesome old lady, she never gives up her cafe, and although Jumin offers to help her expand her business, she refuses, insisting that she wants it to be family owned

-she teaches your guys’ kids and grandkids how to bake, and at first she seems like she has no patience, trying to discipline them, but you catch her smiling at your first grandchild, a 3 year old boy who's hands are covered with flour as he claps vigorously, childish wonder as flour poofs in a magical cloud

-she always continues to love and support zens work and shows, but her interests start to move on once she reaches her late forties

-she had to stop drinking coffee because her blood pressure got dangerously high, so she moves on to drinking tea

-having a little garden in your backyard where the two of you grow different flowers and herbs to make and experiment with new tea leaves

-she’s sweet, but also retains her businesslike formality and becomes a respected member of the World for Women Entrepreneurs Organization, which she puts down as the first members of the RFA party every year

-cute old lesbian couple, going to every pride parade together and holding hands on the street because, even though she may have aged, her judo skills haven't

Yoosung

-sweet old man, the kind that will be there for every single family reunion, holiday, birthday and will spoil the kids rotten

-he buys a rocking chair to put on the porch, first ironically but he’s quick to change his mind, buying another one in order for the two of you to sit outside together, watching from the porch as your kids play in the yard

-he never loses his passion for cooking, and all the neighborhood kids, even if they aren't your own, line up for Grandpa Kims cooking

-the two of you essentially adopt the whole street of kids

-he stops dying his hair blonde, letting the brown grow back in

-he loves telling the story of how the two of you met, to the point where your kids will groan whenever he starts talking

-never really stops playing video games, and of course teaches all your guys’ kids how to play, however he gets extremely disappointed when your youngest chooses books over games (in a joking way)

-he’s the kind elder that might never really have “wisdom” but he’ll always make you feel better if you have a problem

-by the time the two of you reach 70, your house has become a place for stray animals and kids, not wanting anyone to feel the loneliness that he had when he was younger

Seven

-he never really gets past his trauma, although living with it becomes easier

-saeyoung never loses his childish sense of humor and happiness, making his the strangest elder on the block

-he’s the one all the kids want to have ice cream with

-he retires fairly early compared to the rest, saying that he needed time to focus on his family and on his life for once

-he ages well, but makes the biggest deal out of it when his hairline starts receding

-because of stress, his hair starts greying early, and he refuses to leave the bunker for a week straight, you having to coax his dramatic ass out by hiding all the HBC

-has crippling back pain and has to start using a cane by his mid forties. of course, everyone in the rya makes fun of him for it, but he just waves it threateningly at yoosung, laughing along

-takes daily walks with you to the park, over the lake and bridge, around the cherry blossom tree and back home

-he strives to be there for his children and grandchildren, loving and supporting them in a way his parents never did

-continues to play pranks and crack jokes throughout his life

-every wedding anniversary he decorates the bunker like a space station and you dance to every frank sinatra song ever recorded

-on your 60th wedding anniversary you take him to KARI (Korean Aerospace Research Institute) to look around, inspect the models, check calculations and try the zero gravity machine, and he cries

Zen

-does this man age? not necessarily

-he never stops acting, continuing to rise as televisions most popular actor, but in the end he moves back to theatre, where his passion truly lies

-you quit as his manager at some point to go follow your dreams, and he lets you know that he’s with you every step of the way no matter what

-he doesn’t become more humble as he ages, and can often be seen telling his kids about his amazing adventures from when he was younger

-his laugh lines do get incredibly deep, which he struggles with for a while until you finally step up and tell him that all it means is that he lived well, that he had a good time on this godforsaken planet and that he had a few good laughs

-the energy is broken when you poke your finger in his laugh line, giggling to yourself

-he loosens up on the strict diet, letting himself eat more sweets and fatty foods, but his stance on exercising stays the same

-the storyteller of the family, always calling the grandkids out to the backyard to tell them incredible stories of monsters and knights in shining armor and the beautiful princess

-domesticity out the roof

-doesn’t actually officially retire, but leaves the industry while he’s ahead, getting to enjoy his last few decades surrounded by a family he chose to make

-surprisingly he takes up crochet, likes the meticulous design and patience needed for it, even though he has none, its a good way to teach himself to be more patient

-refuses a cane and or walker his whole life and would “never be caught dead in one”

-at some point he lets his hair grow out all the way, not leaving the rat tail, rather just having long hair

-because of his good genes and extreme self care, he doesn’t lose much of his hair, to which he is grateful to. those wrinkles though....

- V, starts losing his sight because of age: ah shit here we go again

-he’s kind, the type of senior that will always help someone out, and picks up trash off of the ground

-volunteers at the local garden, helping with the sunflowers in particular

-never stops painting, insisting that he must paint you and any possible children at every stage of yours and their lives

-the trauma of Rikas abuse left him scarred, but he copes with it, going to therapy until the day he eventually dies

-cute old married couple number two, its impossible to go anywhere without hearing “V and his spouse,” the two of you are a package deal, his life would never have been the same without you, and you would never want to be anywhere else except besides him

-as similar of age as you guys may be to the RFA, the two of you absolutely adopt them, and as all your families expand, V makes it his mission to invite everyone Jumin and his spouse, Jaehee with hers etc etc and their respective children and children spouses,, grandchildren,,,

-he doesn’t talk about his past much, but is always willing to listen to the younguns problems and impart his knowledge

-the older he gets, the more sweaters he owns. is also partial to wearing suspenders over said sweaters

-he begins to fall in love with the environment the older he gets, ultimately starting multiple foundations to save the bees, oceans and various endangered species

-becomes a UN ambassador for a good few years, but resigns due to wanting to get back to his family and passions

-after marrying you he becomes quite content with his life, and he doesnt majorly change in any way

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skamofcolor · 6 years ago

Note

why are you one of the Eve haters? Is it just because she's not a POC?

Lol, so the short answer is yes.

But if you feel like reading me rant, here’s my longer response. This is just gonna be about the casting and styling because I think that’s the part that most important in terms of this blog. I do have my own thoughts on characterization, but let me not get into that here, lol.

When the casting call went out, the show said it could be for a queer woman of any ethnicity. So maybe this was on me, but that alone sparked a hope that they would be casting a Woman of Color, particularly someone who was a Black stud/butch/tomboi/masc/etc. lesbian in that role. When I found out that they cast a skinty feminine white woman instead, it was extremely disheartening. There was literally no reason why they had to cast her as white. Even if she is Grace’s cousin that A) is a choice made by the showrunners and B) doesn’t rely on whiteness to be true. Multiracial families exist.

My issue is that someone’s ethnoracial identity absolutely cannot be thought of as a separate entity from their gender/sexuality.

Okay, so let me explain.

Every version of Eskild is not only vital to their Noora’s storyline, but to their Isak’s. And for me, that’s why Eve’s casting made no sense to me the most. Now, to be fair: we had a submission earlier that said it wasn’t right that no Eskild was getting the same scrutiny as Eve, and I think that’s a fair assessment (and the submission is worth reading). No other Eskild has gotten this kind of criticism for being a white cis guy.

But for me personally, when it came to the other remakes, my annoyance was always at the lack of diversity in the Isaks first and foremost. This is because it stood to reason that whomever was cast as Eskild would have to match up. I think at a certain point I was resigned to the idea that each remake would have cis white gay Eskilds for cis white gay Isaks. Would it have been really nice to have more gender/racial diversity? Yes, of course. To me though, it didn’t feel as pertinent for those remakes to cast diverse Eskilds. Both because of my resignation and also because… tbh this kind of matching made sense to me in terms of an intersectional lens - meaning the types of discrimination that Isak faced should match up with Eskild, in order to really make the Pride lecture make sense. Right or not, it’s how I felt. Obviously other folks, especially lgbtq+ MoC who don’t have any rep in the Skams, can and might feel differently.

Now, when I’m saying intersectional lens, I want to be clear. When Kimberlé Crenshaw first coined intersectionality (though ofc her focus was on Black women specifically, not all PoC) she wasn’t really talking about identity at all, she was talking about discrimination. it means that the oppression people with multiple marginalized identities face has to do with overlapping forms of discrimination.

Isak only has one marginalized identity. On the discrimination he faces from that alone, Eskild can wholeheartedly relate. That’s what make that mentorship/friendship so important and more equitable.

Shay on the other hand has multiple marginalized identities: woman, Black, lesbian. The discrimination she faces isn’t just because she’s Black, or just because she’s a woman, or just because she’s a lesbian. They all intersect, and the sexism, antiblack racism, and homophobia she will face are inextricably intertwined. There is no and never will be a white lgbtq+ person can ever, nor will ever, understand what it means to navigate the world as an lgbtq+ Person of Color.This is the heart of my disappointed with Eve’s casting.

Again - as a Black lesbian, Shay will have to deal with sexism/antiblackness/homophobia. All as one, all informing each other, and inseparable. This is something a white woman, even if she experiences sexism/homophobia, will never, ever be able to grasp. Even if Eve were butch, she wouldn’t ever be able to understand this experience. White women do not experience sexism the way a Black woman or an other WoC does. White lgbtq+ people do not experience homophobia or transphobia the way a Black person or an other PoC does. There is no possible way for them to know what we go through.

And so. The idea of having a white woman lecture Shay on Pride? On the discrimination she’s going to face? On the history of lgbtq+ liberation in the U.S? Specifically when it was started by trans women of color? It’s ugly to me.

It’s true we don’t know what they will do in Shay’s season. But I can’t stop thinking about this. I’m not speaking for all lgbtq+ PoC, just from my experience. I honestly do know that there are lgbtq+ PoC who are really freaking excited about Eve. And that’s great for them, honestly. If other folks can still see themselves in Eve and feel represented, that’s a good thing.

But for many of us, we didn’t/don’t have any lgbtq+ characters of color to look up to. The majority of lgbtq+ characters in the U.S. media have been white. Even in 2018, 58% of lbpq+ characters in the media were white. And even when we do get lgbpq+ characters of color, most of them weren’t stud/butch/tomboi/masc/etc. or gender non-conforming. Rarely are they trans or nonbinary. They didn’t and don’t reflect a lot of the realities that we live in. This lack of visibility means something. When every lgbtq+ person you see on TV is white, it’s alienating. (See this Autostraddle survey for more on this data.)

But I can’t feel that way. Because I was a Shay, and in my experience, being lectured to by white people only served to push me deeper into the closet. It only made me think that being gay was for white people. Because their whiteness protected them and they got to be out in a way I thought I would never be. That is, until I met older lgbtq+ PoC. Who looked like me and shared my cultures and got it. And yes, she’s a TV character. But I’m devastated that from what we’ve seen, Shay won’t get this.

Fine, though, they cast who they cast. My biggest issue is in terms of presentation and style. First, it literally makes no sense to me why Eve isn’t a butch lesbian. Second, I HATE the way they styled her in hipster faux-poverty aesthetics.

We look at the role of Eskild and his characterization, his femininity is a huge part of who he is. It’s a massive part of the Pride lecture he gives Isak, especially because a large part of Isak’s internalized homophobia comes from just wanting to be “normal.” Eskild is not ashamed of being flamboyant/feminine because it’s who he is, and he said a big fuck you to gender roles and expectations. This is the same with the other Esikld remakes that we’ve seen. They show that being who you are is never a stereotype.

Binaries are fake and socially constructed, yes. BUT with Eskild’s femininity in mind, it would only make sense to make Eve butch. There is a massive stigma against GNC lesbians/queer women not only in general society but in lgbtq+ spaces. This is not to bash or police feminine/femme lgbtq+ women (I’m one of them!) but it’s also to acknowledge that the ways in which butch/stud/tomboi/masc/etc. women express themselves makes them extremely visible, and that’s not a privilege. Butch women face high rates of sexual violence and assault based on their appearance in the same way that feminine gay men do.

And even with the increase in lgbtq+ women in media (again see the Autostraddle survey) the majority of portrayals are NOT of butch/stud women. Which fucking sucks because that’s erasing a huge population within lgbtq+ communities. It’s not that having a butch white woman lecture Shay really makes it any better for me personally, but it would’ve made so much more sense to have Eve be butch. Because that’s the direct correlation to Eskild’s femininity.

Finally, once you cast someone you can style their character anyway you want. Just because Eve’s actress dresses/looks as she does doesn’t mean Eve has to. So why did the showrunners chose to style Eve the way they did? Rather than do something actual subversive, they styled her like every other 20-something middle class white hipster who relies on an aesthetic of poverty. (I know one of her defining character traits now is that she never has any money, but… something about that framing feels like it’s supposed to be kitschy and not because she’s literally impoverished. Could be wrong, but look at Grace in comparison.).

Personally, this stylization is especially hard to witness because of how many white lgbtq+ people I know who dress and act exactly like Eve. It’s not something that’s specific to white people - I’ve seen plenty of middle to upper class PoC aestheticize poverty too - but this kind of thing is often rooted in the junctions of class and whiteness. For more on this, I would really suggest reading this article. It really gets into this like… fetish that middle/upper class lgbtq+ people have for “looking” poor.

Anyway this is really long so let me wrap up. My issue here is mainly what my issues has consistently been with some of these shows. The showrunners want to include “diverse” issues and (for the most part) a “diverse” cast but it seems like they don’t have a crew that have strong race/gender/class analyses. Eve could’ve really been something but from casting and styling alone, her character already falls flatly for me.

So, yes. At the base of it is because she’s not a Black stud, but it goes deeper than that, too.

- mod Jennifer

#answered ask #long post

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writhe · 6 years ago

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I don't think you or most trans men have ill intent to trans women for speaking about how you experience misogyny/gendered oppression but it will have negative consequences for trans women from cis people, even LGB when it gains traction. I know you and a few trans men will speak on our behalf but I've been rejected/ejected from too many queer women's spaces while trans men sit silent in those spaces/groups so I don't have much faith the majority of trans mascs will speak up on our behalf. 1/3

“Ya'll act like it never happens but every trans lesbian or bi woman has lived through being rejected or ignored in queer spaces/groups that welcome trans men without a peep from the trans guys in them much less them leaving with us in solidarity. I know ya'll don't control that but ya'll seem to have no problem being in spaces that reject us so words of reassurance that we're a community in solidarity don't mean much when many trans mascs have no problem interacting with transmisogynists. 2/3You're a trans guy and as such your priority is trans guys so I understand you're gonna do what's best for trans guys but trans women advocating this will be de facto advocating for even more alienation from cis women, even LBQ women. Just don't act like this isn't going to be weaponized against trans women because it will. Crypto TERFs are already popping up in posts about this. 3/3”i honestly mostly agree with you i think in an ideal world these conversations would be easy. the thing is, the misogyny & transphobia trans masc people face does need to be talked about because it’s traumatizing. it’s oppressive. there is no benefit to ceasing conversation around it. i’m sure you didn’t mean this in a way to say “stop talking about this”, but it just feels complicated being told that what i say will be weaponized because it leaves me wondering if i should say nothing at all which feels even less productive. What i think this really does is shift the dialogue to ask - how can we have these conversations in a constructive way? how can we make these dualities understood?but again in this ideal situation, these ideas would be received and understood without people trying to translate it into a zero sum game of “if X group experiences Y in this way, then Z group is incapable of experiencing Y at all.” it becomes a matter of asking “how can I talk about this in an accurate way that will do no harm?” it sucks but yeah, a cis audience is a complicated one to reach, given their inability to relate & understand on a fundamental level, much less in empathetic way i speak a lot from experience here, too. many of my trans friends IRL are trans women. I really only know a few trans men (lots of NB friends though). i feel incredibly lucky to be around people where solidarity and support seems to be the foundation. I wish everyone could have thisI also don’t prioritize trans men in my politics, I just talk about it a bit more since i can speak to my own experience it would feel performative now for me to say some sort of call to action along the lines of “trans men!! cis people!! support your sisters!!” because while I do wholeheartedly believe that intracommunity solidarity & love is, like, the very best thing that we can do for one another these words fall short of making waves. everything you’ve said already is a call to action for trans men to support trans women, and you’re not even the first one to say it. but as per your message, i don’t see a benefit in acting like this solidarity doesn’t exist when is does very beautifully sometimes. i understand why it falls flat when it’s not the case for everyone but here’s to hoping, and here’s to doing what i can where i can. i hope this response makes sense. i tried to address everything that i could. thanks for this conversation & please feel free to respond/add to this because it’s important

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singtheskyandfightlikehell · 6 years ago

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Eurovision 2019 Opinions

Well, the 26 countries that will be participating in the final are official now, so here’s my in depth thoughts about each entry, ranked from least favorite to favorite along with explanations and a 10 pt rating system. honestly i thought this year was solidly mediocre. a few i really like, about 3 i can’t stand, and the rest are all smack dab in the middle of “decent”. of course, these are just my opinions and I totally get that people will disagree with them. i don’t really care. yeah there’s a few i’ll judge you for, but frankly my opinion shouldn’t matter to you. i’m just posting it for my own record and for anyone who might be curious

26. Slovenia (0/10) I know a lot of people like this entry, but frankly, I cannot stand it. It’s boring. It’s awkward. It’s uncomfortable. If I wanted to watch an m/f couple - or, you know what, any couple - stand really close to each other and mumble for three minutes, I - I don’t actually know where I’d go, because I can’t conceptualize myself ever wanting to see that.

25. Denmark (0/10) Again, why? This entry annoys me a lot, and the only reason I didn’t put it last was because I appreciate the use of more than one language. It’s my least favorite parts of all kids shows combined coupled with a message that honestly I disagree with. It feels a bit like she’s judging me for being upset at injustice in the world when I should just shut up and be happy about what I have. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe it’s acceptable to ignore atrocities just because my life is filled with good things. I could imagine this song being the welcoming number in a musical staged in one of those “everything is perfect on the outside but inside it’s the creepiest shit you’ve ever seen” towns that’s used to hypnotize the protagonist into not noticing the creepy shit

24. Estonia (1/10) I don’t honestly dislike this song, but it does bore me. He’s a mediocre singer with a mediocre song. Also I can’t get past the fact that he rhymes “this” with “this”. It distracts me and ruins the whole thing.

23. Czech Republic (2/10) I really didn’t like this one at first. It was irritating and the lyrics were weird. However, I surprisingly enjoyed the live performance. The lead singer has some charisma on stage. Good for him.

22. San Marino (3/10) No idea how he got to the final (I know it’s bc he’s a meme, but still), but I don’t hate the song. I don’t think it should win, but honestly, I think it’s fun. His voice is ridiculous, but I can stand it for three minutes.

21. UK (4/10) I definitely feel like this is the kind of generic song I’ve heard many times before, but he does a good job with it, and ultimately it’s alright. His hair makes me think of Finn Shelby from Peaky Blinders, but that’s neither here nor there.

20. North Macedonia (4/10) Honestly, I feel like I should like this song more than I do. She has a good voice, and the song has a good message. Unfortunately, it’s just never clicked with me, and I often find myself tuning out while listening to it.

19. Israel (5/10) I like his voice. He sells the emotion. Not a gripping song, by any means, but not bad. Some of the rhymes feel a little forced, like the lyrics were written specifically so that they would rhyme, rather than because they have meaning.

18. Germany (5/10) This one gets stuck in my head sometimes, but I’m okay with that. Tbh, I quite like it. Plus, the whole “sisters (but I’d say girls in general) are taught to tear each other down but need to build each other up instead” theme is one I wholeheartedly support. I spent too many years hating everything associated with girls because society told me to.

17. Malta (5/10) I go back and forth on this one a lot. Parts of it I like, parts of it I don’t. It feels a bit different to me, but not like, in a revolutionary way. The singer is strong, and it definitely gets the award for most colorful performance, literally!

16. Serbia (5/10) I feel like I’ve heard this entry before, too, but specifically at Eurovision. Still, she does a good job with it, and I like her armor-inspired jewelry. Plus, it’s not in English!

15. Belarus (5/10) Another one I go back and forth on. I find this is very good study music - energetic and repetitive enough not to be distracting. I don’t love it (I’m even hesitant to say I like it lmao), but people really ought to stop hating on her so much. She’s sixteen. Let her have her fun.

14. Albania (6/10) I really liked Albania’s entry this year tbh. I didn’t feel she sang as strong in the semi-final as she did in the music video, but otherwise I thought it was a very powerful song. The staging was pretty cool, too!

13. Azerbaijan (6/10) I loved everything about this except the refrain. The “shut up about it” bit starts to get on my nerves by about the second refrain. But the verses sounded cool and the staging was awesome!

12. Sweden (6/10) Not the most exciting song in the world, but he sounds good, the ladies sound great, and there’s nothing I dislike about the song or staging.

11. Cyprus (6/10) Not as good as the music video, sadly, but still catchy and fun. I didn’t really like it the first time I heard it, but it’s grown on me since. I felt bad for her being put on the spot with that one “are you mad about Cyprus losing last year” question.

10. Greece (6/10) Definitely grew on me. I tuned out of it the first time I heard it. Prior to the semi finals I thought it was alright. But she really gave us the lesbian dream, huh? Ladies with neat clothes and swords, plus a garden? What more can you ask for lmao

9. France (7/10) Feels kinda standard to me, but not in the worst way possible. Sometimes I get really into it, other times it’s just a nice song. I’ve been liking it a little bit more each time I hear it, though.

8. Netherlands (7/10) The favorite to win, and I’d be okay if it did. Not my favorite this year, but a solidly good song. I have to be in the right mood to want to listen to it, but when I am? Fucking amazing. Also, considering he never left the piano (and didn’t light it on fire), he gave a pretty good performance.

7. Spain (8/10) This song is so much fun, and it’s definitely going to end the competition on a high note. I’m also really curious to see the full version to know more about the life-size dollhouse and animatronic thing they’ve got going

6. Switzerland (8/10) I loved the music video more than the live performance, but regardless I thought this song was also really fun and, idk, snazzy? Love dancing to it while I fold laundry.

5. Australia (9/10) Australia’s staging was everything! I had them in the upper middle rankings until the semi-final, but honestly that looked cool as all fuck!! Her song is weird, but in a way that I can dig. Plus seeing her soar around like Glinda in space with two fellow witches is one of the highlights of Eurovision this year

4. Russia (10/10) Sergey is back and just like in 2016, I absolutely love him and his performance. I’ll admit, the shower thing was a bit weird, but the song sounded great live! Plus, he had a leg-up for me by going with fairy tale imagery in the music video.

3. Norway (10/10) Initially, I only liked the joiking. The other two singers have grown on me, though. This song is fun, the staging is cool, the singers are great, and then it gets quiet and the joik part comes in, and it’s so fucking cool!! Love it, love it, love it!

2. Italy (10/10) My favorite for a long time, only bumped out because I made the fortuitous mistake of watching Iceland’s interviews. I love the song. I love the message. The thing that impressed me most, though, was that this song is about something that isn’t even remotely close to anything that’s happened in my life. I do not relate to it at all. But despite having no personal connection to the topic, I could feel the emotion in it. For a brief three minutes, I could feel something that isn’t my reality but is the reality of many other people. And an artist who can do that is powerful indeed.

1. Iceland (10/10) If you couldn’t tell from the everything about my blog, I have firmly joined the camp of Hatari stans. It may surprise you, but I didn’t really like this song the first time I heard it. Then, I found out the meaning behind it and gave it another chance. Lo and behold, I liked it! It rose in my rankings from lower-middle to the number one spot between listening to it multiple times and watching all the Hatari content I could get my hands on. I totally understand the music being too far for some people, but as a metalhead during the not-Eurovision parts of the year, Hatari isn’t too far of a leap for me. I love the song. I love the staging. I love the costumes. I love the message. I love the band. I love how they interact with each other and everyone else. I love the bits on Iceland Music News. I love their trolling and sarcasm in the interviews. I love the anti-capitalism. I love their websites (seriously, check them out. they put a lot of effort into them). I love the way they approach issues that are important to them. I love the fact that they aren’t afraid of the tough subjects. I especially love that they aren’t trying to walk the popularity line (you see it all the time - for example, queerbaiting, where a tv show wants to appeal to all sides of an issue, so they make characters nearly lgbtqia+ but then throw in enough straightness to please conservatives). Hatari picks their side in each issue instead of trying to cater to everyone, and I respect that a lot. My reactions and emotions aren’t usually prominent or even necessarily visible, but there’s a chance I might actually cheer if they win.

Finally, the honorable mentions, aka countries that didn’t make it to the final but that I would’ve loved to see:

Hungary (in my original top 10) - loved him last time, loved him this time. Beautiful song, beautiful voice, beautiful staging

Georgia - my hopes weren’t high but that doesn’t mean I didn’t love it. There’s nothing quite like a good dramatic song, and this was as dramatic as they come

Portugal/Poland - the two most people were really miffed about in the first semi-final; I think they’d’ve been alright in the semi-final, but both depend entirely on my mood. sometimes I love, sometimes I hate

Croatia - the song was ‘meh’, the singer was fantastic, and the staging was Eurovision in all the right ways

Armenia - one of my early favorites. could’ve used some other people on stage, but otherwise I thought she did wonderfully

Romania - what can I say that hasn’t been said already? she brought everything! that was an experience and an amazing one at that. so disappointed she didn’t make it

and of course,

Ukraine - catchy, badass, wacky, and wlw? sign me the fuck up. So sad to hear what happened to her. I know people are saying this is why politics should be kept out of music, but that’s ridiculous. The real issue is when the issue/message isn’t coming from the artist. It should always be up to the artist’s discretion what they do or do not promote. Propaganda and censorship go hand in hand, which is why I am so bothered by the blanket statements I hear thrown around about Ukraine’s fiasco this year

And that’s all! I think I’ll be happy with anyone scoring a 7 or higher for me winning on Saturday. I wouldn’t be upset about a 6 winning either, I suppose.

Anyways, off to bed so I can make my snacks tomorrow lmao!

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beautifulmorningstar · 2 years ago

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You know, I'm still fucking angry with the so-called friends who saw homosexual women and girls being demonized and just pretended not to know. There was this one person who nearly drove me to kermit, it is so absolutely mortifying now in hindsight, but she was someone I knew and cared about in real life - and I didn't want to meet her friend's newly "hatched" friend who she herself reported had said some dumb misogynistic shit. What was important to note was my state of mind at the time - I had spent a few years (about 6 years ago now) watching lesbians (and mainly lesbians) get bullied off their online safe spaces for being specific about their attractions or for making innocuous "no pregnancy" jokes. Obviously their intent was to dissuade the usual "cishet" but we all know which camp decided to hunt these women and girls down and harrass them with anything from "r u a torf" to literal rape and death threats. I watched it happen to some of my younger lesbian ex mutuals who eventually deactivated (I hope they're all safe and happy now). Some of these blogs I'd spoken to only a few times but I know they had a strong following - and noone intervened. Again... These girls had zero intention to hurt other lgbt people. And noone cared.

I've seen, in fact, people pile on - straight people, bisexual people, women even. Just jumping on the bandwagon because "the lesbians are having it too good". Sickening. I wholeheartedly curse these bigots (as well as the main perpetrators) to a life of suffering.

And there was noone to talk to about it. Everyone was pretending it wasn't happening, or too scared to say anything, or straight up telling you that you were making it up. Now I imagine lesbians in "first world countries" still often need some place for connection to what they are - if they were from a small homophobic hometown or even a large city where they lived in as a loner. Girls from religions that demonizes same sex attraction and ones from families that openly tell you being the opposite gender was preferable to being homosexual.

Let alone lesbians from countries like mine.

So when I opened up to someone from my personal life about what I was seeing in what I previously considered a safe space, I expected some balanced neutral stance where they would acknowledge it at the very least. But we all know that's not what anyone wanted to do, let alone 5 years ago when suddenly c1s lesbians were villains of the highest order - never mind that they had homophobia, sexism, AND most of them had racism to contend with. No, my friend quite literally made me feel like I was "focusing on the wrong things" and that I was the bad person for not turning away like everyone else.

Nothing could have worked faster to inform me that my observations didn't matter, that lesbians didn't matter, and that this world wanted us nonexistent.

Hell, nothing could have told me faster that this person wasn't even a fucking lesbian - or that she was, now I suspect after 5 years on, filled with internalized misogyny and homophobia.

It wasn't even mainly her fault, to be honest - it was a collective effort by everyone involved and those who very conspicuously did not get involved. The whole witch-hunt for things that lesbians quickly interpreted as a full-out attack against what they naturally are. "Nobody believed you weren't making those choices, as opposed to being that way. So why don't you just stop? Hey if you decide to off yourself instead, well it's still a choice!"

The flimsiness of it all is so telling. Never mind that women of multi-sex sexual orientations existed, no it was the homosexual women they had to target for their ideal dating pool - the women that CLEARLY would not be able to reciprocate. And everyone else just jumped onboard with "yeah that sounds like a good way to fix homosexual women" "yeah lesbians shouldn't make assumptions about people's genitals"

This alongside the fact that self ID was extremely popular, meaning anyone could identify in and out of anything - while a lot of these peoplr were ALSO saying that sex either didn't exist or wasn't as important as gender. Obviously, the cishet men who had an obsession with raping lesbians saw a chance and the other cishet men AND EVERYONE ELSE decided not to notice that, that wasn't happening actually. Imagine the fucking evil of it all - editing in here that many bystanders, without questioning what was really happening, often took to piling on the lesbian and driving her to ostracization OR breaking down and agreeing to abuse.

The only thing that keeps me from turning against ALL of them are the tr4ns people I've met who wholeheartedly reject this crap. They're depressed by it and understandably so. Tr4nsness used to be a coping mechanism for homosexual and ssa bisexual people in the past for the most part - the culture that has festered around genders today follows the most heterosexual logic anyone's ever seen. Which of course means that everyone is encouraged to be raging sexists, rigid homophobes, and even get in some racism while they're at it. And of course, the lesbophobia is through the fucking depths of space itself.

I've spent years wrangling with the sense of betrayal from people I know and people I don't (the fallout of relying on online spaces) and facing the truth of hatred, bigotry and plain old narrow-minded thinking. I've been on the other side of the tracks but I had my eyes opened real fast, and unfortunately stayed on the other side for a long time, tentatively trying to talk about what had been happening and being ignored. So I took a trip, I crossed the tracks, and honestly now I've boarded the train that doesn't head in either direction.

But I know which side is at least telling the bare-faced truth.

#text #fucking the d n i lmao but don't fucking try to start something in bad faith because I will just block you

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an-unseemly-gentleman · 5 years ago

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Coming out for the third time?

Hey, for anyone whose been following me for a long while you might now I started ID’ing as a trans man back in like 2016(?) time, well I think I have been wrong about that, or at least circumstances have changed for me. For anyone interested, a short essay is below where I try and unpack my feelings.

A little while before the new year, I began to feel insecure in my identity as a trans man. Many months ago, I had finally admitted to myself that I was, in fact, attracted to women. However, for the last two months I have been struggling with something… I don’t know if I’m trans anymore. I haven’t identified as a woman since I was around 17 years old, over 5 years I have been secure in the fact that I was not cis and yet… I fear things have changed.

Around 3 years ago I discarded femininity and embraced the masculinity that I had ran from in my early teens, returning gleefully to the menswear isle and building up a fine repertoire of earth tone jumpers, coats and black skinny jeans with pockets I can hit a fist into and know I’ll fit by the numbers on the label. Two binders I wear daily top my look off, and I feel so happy in them. When I was 13, I felt like an ugly little girl who dressed like a boy, and so I made myself pretty. I wore Alice bands with bows on them, cut my long lank hair into a pretty bob to look like Holly – the transsexual computer from Red Dwarf, a show that was my life at the time– and began wearing dresses, skirts, fruity perfume and even nail varnish. I never touched makeup though, my autism and sensitive skin made that impossible, perhaps the only hallmark of femininity I didn’t touch.

As I began to finally feel beautiful, my hatred of women and femininity began to fade. In my youth, I was a terrible misogynist. The resentment I held against women for femininity and the abuse the face, alongside South Park, family guy, and a myriad of trash media, told me that women were sluts who deserved to be raped because their skirts were too short. I even screamed at my older sister one day, tears in my eyes, that she was a whore for wearing so much makeup and pulling her little skirt up just below her 15-year-old butt. I look back at the person I was then, and I’m filled with so much regret. I hated women for the way men treated them and I had internalised that so deeply that I desperately wanted to show the world how wrong it was for women to be feminine, because of course that had to be the problem. I was a tomboy, masculinity was best, and I just didn’t understand why women let men treat them the way that they did.

But then high school happened, and I spent two years being that thuggish tomboy with the long lank hair…. and I was miserable. I was bullied by feminine girls for being ugly, for being fat, for looking like a man. One day in the lunch queue a lunch lady called me young man, and it filled me with a queasy fluttering inside. I was insulted and I was… pleased? That strange feeling was quickly cast aside yet would always return to haunt me. Instead, I focused in on the pain. I began to cast aside my tomboy ways, and this just happened to coincide with my slow decent into the internet.

I don’t know how his channel came to me, but Mr. Repzion taught me what feminism was. It was basic, and from a man’s point of view, but he was pushing back against women who used feminism as an excuse to abuse men, which was the only form of feminism I was aware of and despised it. Despite being a man, Mr. Repzion explained to me the basic principles of feminism and wouldn’t tolerate abuse being hidden under progress. He explained compassion, respect and the issues women faced. Mr. Repzion helped me love women, love femininity and love feminism. Gone was my strange, warped love-hate relationship of being a woman. I. Loved. Women.

Soon I outgrew the kindly and damaged man that is Mr. Repzion, and I found myself swept up in the feminism of Tumblr which in turn led me into the realm of LGBTQ issues.

My home had always been a positive space for LGBTQ people and issues. My father is a punk, and my mother a grunge girl, they embraced different people wholeheartedly. My childhood was littered with queer media. Priscilla Queen of the Desert on loop in the DVD player. Queer Eye for a Straight Guy, the original series, and at only 5 years old I would beg my parents to let me stay up and watch with the. Project runway with the loud flamboyant gay men, the punk lesbians and the sweet Tim Gunn humming passive aggressively at piles of cloth. Then when I was about 13, I was introduced to the work of David Sedaris.

To this day I adore Sedaris’ work, the man is a genius and so unapologetically gay in his writing. He helped to broaden my mind even further into the realm beyond cishet just by telling stories from his youth. I plunged my hands deep into that deep rainbow coloured water, hoping to find a reason for why I too, like young David, felt so out of place in this world.

I have a distinct memory from an art class in first year. I was looking around at all my classmates and I realised just how beautiful I thought all my fellow females were and just how little I felt for my male classmates. For a moment I wandered…. ‘Am I a lesbian’. That thought stuck with me for some time. Never moving beyond that one thought though, and eventually it slipped away.

Perhaps, the reason I found so much security in being a gay trans man for so long was because it was gay men who I looked up to in my formative years, while the only lesbians I could see where Patty Bouvier and various caricatures of aggressive dykes I might have seen myself in – as well as having ‘bull-dyke’ flung at me by my sister on a regular basis. I’m still trying to pick this apart, but it may be one of the many reasons I faked my way to eventually feeling attraction to people.

I pretended for a while to find men attractive, and I never truly thought women were attractive either. When I was around 16, I found two terms that fitted me quite well at that time. Asexual and Nonbinary. These were the labels that steeped me headfirst into the rainbow pool of LGBT (as I called it exclusively then before finding a home in Queer). These labels fitted me well, the last festering resentment I held towards women faded, because if I wasn’t a woman then I didn’t have to resent womanhood anymore.

The first of these labels to shift was nonbinary. I was watching a film called ‘Predestination’ with my parents, and it ‘cracked my egg’ as some say. I had always been intrigued by transsexual people, some nagging thought in my brain drew me to their stories, yet it was this odd little film based on a short story written 50 years ago that made me consider, ‘what if I’m trans?’. I watched the film again and again. A deep envy brewing inside as I watched Jane transform into John on the screen before my eyes. I saw the confusion I felt towards my body in Janes character, and I saw the twisted relief she found in being a man. I wanted that relief too. A few days before my 18th birthday, I had concluded I was trans.

I have been friends with a trans man since I was 12, a friend from camp I briefly knew by a different name and set of pronouns. He explained the situation as best he could to the confused crowed of summertime friends two years later. I found out too that anther friend from camp had an older brother who was trans and in my first-year volunteering at the camp all those years later, I met a trans woman. She was kind and bubbly, and we would laugh when she made me jump by switching to her deep masculine voice. I was enthralled in her long boho skirts and black shoulder length hair. Even our Muslim co-worker would take off her hijab around her. She didn’t pass that well, but she was accepted and respected. She was the first person I almost breached my feelings of dysphoria to; I think she noticed, and she explained how to go about transitioning when I asked. However, I never followed her advice. I’m glad I didn’t… I’m glad I never came out beyond the protection of the internet. Two summers ago, a camper who I had known since he was a first timer opened up to me and told me he was trans. I helped him changed over his name into the boys list and found a space for him in a boy’s tent. I see myself in him, and now I worry for him like I worry for myself.

Today, two months before my 22nd birthday, I feel just as confused as I did when I was 15. I know I’m not asexual and I fully accept that my sex is female, yet I still feel so out of place with ‘woman’. It’s a biological fact that I am a woman, but the label feels clunky and ill fitting. Symbols of the woman that I bare, my breasts and my uterus, feel like they don’t belong. I don’t want them; I won’t ever use them. I will not birth a child or feed it with my breasts. I want to remove these pieces of flesh; I want to remove them to feel whole… That’s a whole suitcase of worms I’m trying to unpack.

I told my doctor that I feel this way, that I struggle with this dysphoria but that I didn’t think transition was right for me. She was pleased that I was open minded to other solutions, she’s helping me get onto the waiting list of Sandyford Initiative. An institution specialising in all sex-based issues. It’s a 2-year waiting list but… I suppose it’s better than never to get some help.

For now, I know one thing for sure. I really like adult human females and adult human males. What am I? I don’t know yet.

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