#black writing matters

[theereina]

To my black writers, poets, authors, journalists, and the like...

[vaguely-concerned]

on the one hand I think inner demons could stand to have a bit more romanced rook specific content, but on the other hand the underlying in-built implication that 'yours is the one true voice of comfort and safety in my inner world' is a sentiment and intimacy so way beyond the romantic or the platonic or any secret third thing you could care to name that it makes me lose my entire poor little mind a bit. it's so big and fundamental — near-existential — that in that exact moment at least the distinctions kind of seem irrelevant.

all the people lucanis' mind conjures up along the way are relationships he has that are unavoidably mixed and fraught in some ways even when they're also full of love (they are fraught BECAUSE they're full of love) — the good in them inseparable from things that hurt him at the same time. (it's about: the basic disorganized attachment patterns this poor guy is dragging around with him. careful with those, they're dellamorte heirlooms. what you love also inevitably hurts you and you won't be allowed to have one without the other, you have to surrender parts of your soul to hold on to what little you have left: this is the story up until now.) and the idea that rook isn't that to him — that beneath the fear of wanting them when romanced (which is more its own separate thing because within this psychology, actively wanting something and not just clinging on for dear life to even a meager status quo lest you lose it is in itself dangerous bordering on catastrophic), this is a relationship where there isn't resentment, or guilt, or shame, or dread, or rage, or self-hate, or any of the other emotions that keep him paralyzed, unable to move this way or that. no debts, nothing owed of yourself and your soul's substance except what you can freely and safely and happily give. love and freedom don't coexist — but, I mean, you're almost starting to make me think........... unless...👀👀👀. the unconditional and undramatic 'you are here and I am here with you, you can be exactly how you are right now with me and it's safe for us both even though you're afraid it won't be, I'm not going anywhere' acceptance rook shows him here that he returns to them in the big romance scene, when it's rook who needs it. the way he's just. standing there in the center of it all, like a child desperately helplessly waiting to be found, hiding in the place he hopes you'll know to look first. (rook does know. it's one of the first things they say in there.)

in short the most important room in his little mind palace for the romance is the very first room — the one where rook isn't. where, in fact, rook cannot be, because they disprove the entire structure of the place with their existence and presence in his life. with everyone else he's putting words in their mouths about what they think of him, and rook is the one who actually gets to come in to speak their own words to him — and have him listen. ('he'll listen to you, he always listens to you', 'your voice is a comfort'.) of course rook isn't present anywhere else in there — at the risk of stating the obvious to a tedious degree, they aren't one of the locks, they're bringing the key. in the very finest 'the messenger and the message' sort of way.

[taohs]

(some) Balalaika moments that lives in my head rent free

[beanghostprincess]

A bit tired of people complaining about Sanji's principle of "not hitting women" being misogynistic when it has been clearly stated multiple times that he does not choose it and it's heavily tied to his trauma and admiration for his dad and respect for women and definitely not from seeing women as somehow weaker than him

[the-music-maniac]

Not that I read mpreg all that often (not really my thing generally speaking) but I came across some "Sanji is pregnant" fics in the sanzo/zosan tag, and not nearly the same amount for Zoro. It got me thinking about the trope. I think the lack of Zoro fics here is a tragic oversight. I think we as a fandom are absolutely and tragically ignoring the potential comedy gold of Zoro being the one to be pregnant instead.

Because when people write Sanji, the general trend I'm seeing (upon scanning through some of the fics quickly) is that he's cautious about it. Conscientious, careful to make sure things are okay. Which - arguably I could see, Sanji is probably the more practical of the two (not by a whole lot but still)and he didn't have a good childhood. Sanji being pregnant is usually a fic about his heaps of parental issues, childhood trauma and angst - which is fun to read. It's good. It's amazing, even.

Zoro being pregnant is ONE HUNDRED PERCENT gonna be a COMEDY. We're talking about a man who once tried to fight Kuina holding like 20 bokkens. We're talking about a man who got stuck in wax and thought the reasonable solution was to cut off his legs.

The entire crew spends the next 9 months tearing their hair out, preventing Zoro from doing stupid shit (exhibit A: cutting off his own limbs). They spend the same amount of time trying to stop Luffy from gum-gum-grabbing Zoro and yeeting him anytime he needs to get them out of a sticky situation.

The crew (mostly Sanji) is on 24/7 prevent-zoro-from-drinking-alcohol duty (impossible). Chopper is constantly stressed in the later months cause no one puts it past Zoro to get lost somewhere, give birth out in the woods and come strolling back with a baby tucked under his arm. They have to start hiding Zoro's dumbbells.

Franky and Usopp design and build a nursery and spends the entire time suspiciously teary eyed. Sanji tries to pretend he's unaffected but spends an entire night creating a 9 month meal plan of all the nutrients Zoro and the baby are gonna need. Not even a day later, one of the crew finds him up at 2 am making a mountain of food because Zoro made the mistake of offhandedly mentioning he had particular pregnancy craving within earshot of Sanji. In the end Zoro has to sit on him to stop Sanji from running himself ragged.

Robin keeps spouting morbid childbirth facts and quotes from parental advice books in equal measure. Nami keeps going on shopping sprees for cute baby clothes and adding the cost of them to Zoro's debt. Brook keeps writing lullabies and trying to sing them to Zoro's stomach. Zoro 100% uses his pregnancy belly as an excuse to walk around without a shirt 24/7 without getting nagged.

Somehow word gets out that the famous pirate hunter Zoro is pregnant, and at the next big fight with the Marines, half the soldiers refuse to fight him and instead start telling him to sit down, take it easy, shouting advice at him etc. Etc. Zoro loses his shit a little bit and cuts their boat in half.

Mihawk, upon finding out, tells Zoro in no uncertain terms that that is his grandchild and he's expecting them to visit so he can meet the baby when they're born. Zoro vehemently denies that Mihawk is his father (he is). Zeff upon finding out, is almost as bad as Sanji when it comes to being a mother hen. Perona buys even more baby clothes for the baby. She buys one singular shirt for Zoro as a joke, and it coincidentally happens to be the exact same brand of "mama" crop top he was forced to wear in that one filler episode. Zoro tries to chuck it into the ocean (he fails).

I'm essentially saying it would be absolute chaos, and it would be the funniest thing I've ever read. 9 months of Marimo wrangling. Can you imagine the look on Zoro's face if one of the opponents he was fighting were to tell him that he's "glowing"?

PLEASE, I would actually wheeze myself to death. The best part is you can still have plenty of Sanji angst. He still has parental issues except now they're flavoured with "I'm not ready to be a father" and "I'm terrified I'm gonna become my biological sperm donor" and "please don't die because of childbirth complications, that happened to my mother(sort of, I know she died after but it kinda counts), and I can't handle that happening again to you". Lots of cute/tender moments of Zoro comforting and reassuring Sanji. We can even have Zoro angst. He probably views protecting his crew as the one and only job he's good for (not true but that's probably what he thinks). Not being able to fulfill that is probably not helping his self esteem, and that sense of uselessness warring with his need to protect the baby - but the contradictory thing here is that to protect the baby he HAS to sit back and let other people do that FOR him. That plus all the other restrictions, people treating him differently, but him at the same time refusing to view his own child as a weakness. Imagine the havoc that would wreak. Oh my god.

Y'all don't understand, I don't even read mpreg that often and yet this is literally my ideal fic HAHAAAAA

[elumish]

When people talk about fandom and fanfiction, I will sometimes see people saying, almost in the same breath, that fanfiction is important and should be preserved as/because it is queer art and that the lack of or negative female/disabled/Black/etc. representation doesn't matter because it's just people's taste or reflective of broader society.

This isn't in any way to disagree with the first point, but to say that, if representation matters, it matters for all and not just for (white bi/gay male) queerness, and prioritizing the queerness of fandom as the one true important aspect of it while dismissing the importance of all other forms of representation because you personally are less invested in reading them is just logically inconsistent and kind of hypocritical.

Start figuring out how to celebrate female art in fandom, and disabled art in fandom, and Black art in fandom, and parts of fandom that have nothing to do with queerness. You (and fandom) will only benefit from it.

[hoodlander]

You know what gets me sometimes?

That Black Noir was the only one who truly loved Homelander.

For all that he was. The good, the bad, the ugly; Noir knew it all.

And he loved him. Just as he was. Unconditionally.

[mothmanavenue]

can i confess something else that will absolutely get me stoned in the town square since im dropping my unpopular opinions. I don’t like altean broadsword Lance. i already disliked red paladin Lance. the broadsword was like rubbing salt in the wound. why couldn’t he have his own niche. why was his character development just making him keith. i understand that it was like “he accepts that he doesn’t have to be a leader and excels as a co-leader and you can find happiness that way yada yada yada”. but you could’ve done that without making him keith. also now give him something unique, cool, that falls in line with his sniper bit. i’m not saying just give him another gun, im saying give him something quiet and lethal. like a garotte. yeah i want garotte lance.

i yap a lot more in my notes by the way if you were interested in other unpopular opinions. don’t send me hate messages or comments i won’t read it and will block viciously i also will not be debating this this is my hill to die on <3

[slutisnotabadword]

TWILIGHT: NEW MOON

✨the bedroom scene ✨

[starchaserwrites]

@jegulus-microfic / night / word count: 864

The strap of his now not-so-favourite bag insists on slipping off his shoulder, the sketchbook he carries under the same arm with which he's holding his umbrella has stayed there by sheer miracle, and the scarf he wrapped around his neck and nose before rushing out of his room is causing his reading glasses - which he forgot to take off - to fog up making his vision a bit more difficult with every step.  Oh, and let's not forget the scale model he's balancing on his other arm, which is now in potential danger thanks to the drizzle after Regulus refused to leave it in the workroom the day before, and which is to blame for the fact that he's about to be late after spending all night putting the finishing touches on it.

Evan once said "if you see Regulus Black running, it's probably because the world is ending," and while Regulus isn't exactly running yet, if he doesn't arrive in ten minutes for his presentation, his world is the one that will be ending.

Now with his glasses completely fogged up, causing him a complete technical loss of visibility, and unable to fix the problem, he has no choice but to blindly follow the fastest route to the faculty, which he has fortunately done countless times before.

If his calculations are correct (and they are) he should now be standing in front of the glass doors that lead to his destination. Unable to close the umbrella, in an attempt to open the doors, the sketchbook under his arm slips out of his grasp, and Regulus is ready to let it go, at least the entrance is roofed over and maybe he can come back for it later, but he never gets to hear it hit the floor.

"Let me give you a hand," says a voice near him. 

Great, he looks miserable enough for someone to take pity on him.

The last thing Regulus was expecting after that is for the stranger in front of him to remove his glasses, but he is greeted by a pair of warm brown eyes framed by glasses similar to his own.

"The same thing used to happen to me all the time until I tried an anti-fog spray, if you want I can recommend it to you, it's very effective," it's then that the stranger starts wiping his glasses with his t-shirt. 

Regulus cringes. He's having violent thoughts right now. 

"And there you go," the boy says, ignoring the expression on his face and offering him a smile and then putting the glasses back in place. "Take your sketchbook too." 

Regulus, unable to respond, does nothing but stare at him through his poorly cleaned glasses.

"Oh, where are my manners. My name is James Potter," James says, holding out his free hand as if that had been the reason Regulus didn't accept the book. It is then that he seems to remember that Regulus is in a predicament. "Damn, I made a complete idiot out of myself, didn't I? Just let me..." James holds out his hand waiting for him to pass him the umbrella, to which, for lack of a better option, Regulus gives him. The boy helps him close the umbrella and passes him his workbook in quick, precise movements, as if to make up for his earlier mistake. 

James glances at his scale model and his face seems to light up. "So we're enemies!," he exclaims in a tone too happy for what he has just said.

"Sorry, what?" asks a confused Regulus.

"You're an architecture student, aren't you? I'm a civil engineering student, I'm in my third year! Your model looks spectacular but all those curves are a nightmare for me." 

Regulus is about to go blind thanks to all the light James seems to be radiating. He doesn't have time for this now.

"Hey, thank you for helping me, but I need to go."

"But your umbrella-"

"Keep it."

Now Regulus is really running.

—

An hour later, now without his reading glasses and after seeing his and others' models brutally destroyed - something he thinks he'll never quite get used to - Regulus leaves the room with it in hand. He passed and will now spend the rest of the afternoon catching up on the sleep he missed during the night.

"Are you ready? It's still raining."

Regulus considers for a few seconds before turning around. 

"You waited for me?"

"Yes, I couldn't let the work of art get wet. And neither could the model," James replies.

Regulus tries not to smile at that.

And fails.

"My name is Regulus."

"So the work of art has a name," is the reply from James who waits for him with umbrella in hand. "Maybe you can tell me more about the other artwork over coffee? Shall I help you with the model?" James holds out his arm, waiting for him to give it to him.

"Only if you promise not to clean glasses with your shirt ever again."

"I promise."

Not heartless enough to tell him he was planning on taking it to the model graveyard, Regulus hands it to him.

He wasn't that tired anyway.

Click here for more microfics.

[laughtalelogs]

Cuddles with Sanji

Sanji reminded you of the a summer breeze. Gentle touches that were as soft as wind sent a shiver down your spine for a fleeting second, but were quickly subverted by the warm front of his embrace. You felt a pepper of rain, as tears fall from the crystal blue skies, their clouds parting to exalt you. You felt the ground beneath you. The security you felt was overwhelming and his gravity pulled you impossibly closer, the heat between you addicting.

Your heart ached and your own tears threatened to spill. Your fingers dug deep into the flesh of his arms where he cradled you. Your chest tightened as a selfish thought pushed its way to the front of your mind. You wished to dig your heels into the earth, anything to be closer to him. A shower of praise fell on your forehead as you raised your head up to the heavens, his voice parting the clouds of your mind.

“You are beautiful, my love, I am eternally indebted to you,” the sun coos, its rays casting a warmth on your face that creeped up from your neck and prickled your ears. You didn’t dare look up, scared to be blinded by his brilliance. You pressed your lips into his neck, feeling his heart beat frantically underneath his pale skin.

“..I love you Sanji,” is all you can conjure, your gratitude too great to put into words. You let yourself sink further into the heat of his body. How could you ask for more, when he gave you the world?

first time as an adult trying to write fanfiction. I think I might continue?? I have a lot of free time rn and a couple ideas for more sanji stuff and zoro stuff too! pls stay tuned and if u have anyone else you’d like to see lmk! :)

[mobirights]

The amounts of times I read a fic, and I genuinely start screaming at my phone or laptop for these fucking gays TO GET IT TOGETHER. HES IN LOVE WITH YOU IDIOT OH. MY. GOD.

I have to take a break to talk to the non-existent friends in my room about how stupid they are. I'm looking at YOU Regulus Black. Get your emo head out of your ass please, I can't keep squealing at 3 in the morning about your self-destructive, obliviousness. (or when Sirius is ALSO like this, PLEASE why do these brothers NOT WANT HAPPINESS???)

And don't get me STARTED on when it's James. He wears his heart on his sleeve but apparently can't comprehend anyone else having one??? "He's had a crush on me for years? I didn't know—" BROTHER.

I express feelings, especially happy/excited/passionate ones, very aggressively. If you couldn't tell.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk <3

[selfshipseaside]

Happy Black History Month Self-shippers!

To all of the black self-shippers in this community, you are wonderful, cherished, loved, and adored by your f/os! Black self-shippers will always and have always belonged in this community! Just know that your f/os will always be supportive of you, and they will always love you! To non-black self-shippers, make sure to do your own research on this month and uplift black self-shippers! Don't be invasive with questions, do amplify their voices, and don't be weird. And remember, black self-shippers exist always, and your support of them shouldn't stop after this month is over. Let's spread the word about this month of celebration everyone!

[venus-light]

What we seek, however, is not power over people, but the power of control of our own destiny:

ALL POWER TO THE PEOPLE!

// Become Ungovernable, Medium // BLACK PANTHER PARTY’S FREE BREAKFAST PROGRAM (1969-1980) // The Genius of Huey P. Newton, CounterPunch // Abi Thorn’s Trans Power Speech Transcript // Nina Cried Power, Hozier ft. Mavis Staples // Jackboot Jump, Hozier // Backlash Blues, Nina Simone // Be, Hozier // Take Me To Church, Hozier // Tomorrow is My Turn, Nina Simone

[fleetingcalypso]

I am very sorry to bother you, but a very sweet prompt fleeted into my mind as I prepared myself to come out to my parents, and I'd thought I'd share it in the sheer hope you'd read it, enjoy the thought and perhaps write something based on it, if you're comfortable.

Just imagine, you're very close to Sirius Black (you can choose to which degree, platonically, romantically, interested but not together yet, preferably the last because hehe). You've known for a while you were transgender (FtM) but never had the strength to come out, fearing rejection and alienation from the friend group. Just a sweet little comfort fic because I'm anxious as fuck.

≋ What you're doing is extremely brave, I'm so very proud of you. I wish you the best, friend. Know that whatever goes down, you'll never be judged or rejected here. I'll pray your coming out will be met with love and affection.

≋ Sirius Black x TransMasc!Reader ≋

≋ Word Count: 2285 words.

≋TW: Dysphoria, Misgendering (not done by Sirius)

Hogwarts seemed intimidating, more than anything. Eleven year old me, sitting in that train, chewing my nails and staring out at the moving scenery, had not the slightest idea that finding friends would be as easy as breathing. At least it is when four troublemakers decide to adopt you into their friend group, barely a week after classes started.

‘The marauders’ they’d call themselves, not so slowly becoming every professor’s nightmare.

They each had something that made them so intriguing. The four of them were attached at the hip, and with me being dragged into their pranks and escapades things only got more entertaining. Even as my house was far away from the castle we studied at, every day I got to spend with them made it feel like I was home, with their jokes and their being able to light up a dull moment with only a couple of words. James, Sirius, Remus and Peter welcomed me in, as one of them.

In the midst of my lowest moments I wondered, would they still accept me if I let my walls down? I sprinkled seeds of the truth here and there: I cut my hair short, I opted for pants instead of the usual skirt, I was at my happiest during winter - when finally I could show off the baggiest of sweaters to conceal the appendages on my chest. It’s not purely a physical discomfort, though. It’s in the little things, small seemingly meaningless moments that no one appears to notice but me. 

People perceive me differently based on how I move even the tiniest of muscles, it is painfully obvious. The boys have never done it, not once, they’ve always treated me as one of them. Never has one of them implied me being weaker, more delicate or called me ‘sweetheart’ in that obnoxious way lots of people do when they’re trying to put me back in my place.

 My head constantly feels underwater with the knowledge that if I were to sit wrong I’d be labeled as a girl, if I walk in a specific way it’ll put attention on my hips, even just standing, unmoving, gives me anxiety. The most insignificant of movements could shoot down the image of me that I want people to see whenever they lay eyes on me.

I feared the worst each time I let my mind tug me into a daydream. Deep down I knew, they’d never turn their back on a friend, but fear nipped at my heels every day. Not only was I hiding who I was from them, but I was lying to their faces about it as well. What hurt me the most, though, was not being able to admit my identity to Sirius.

Sirius Orion Black, he’s been the one that made sure I felt safe around him and the lads. More than once I caught myself being entranced by his words as he let the rest of us know what a nightmare his family life was. He was the total opposite of what his mother wanted him to be, yet that didn’t stop him from being his pure unfiltered self, if anything he enhanced each trait she found disgusting. Sirius wasn’t scared to be his true self, even if it meant going against his blood.

It sparked something in me. My heart has been his, for a long time now.

Sirius, with his raven locks, smooth skin and ever present smirk on his face is the one and only subject of all my dreams. He constantly looks as though he knows everyone’s secrets. The thought makes my stomach twist. When I awake, with the moon still high up in the sky, I almost turn to the pillow beside me, to take a peek at him, they’re that realistic. 

At any rate, if there’s someone that I feel should be the one to know the true me, it is him. I contemplated asking all four of them to meet me, but I don’t think I could rip the bandaid that easily. I want to talk to the one who knows -somewhat- how it feels to have expectations placed on oneself, the one who knows that being someone you’re not is more painful than the Crucio curse itself. Of course our situations are oceans apart: he doesn’t deal with having the need to hide certain parts of my body, or with the numerous wailing moments caused by being born in the wrong body, but I think he'd be the first one to accept me.

I had a whole speech prepared, a letter pages and pages long that I was going to give him, so he could read it without my presence, but as I hear his footsteps approaching me, I can imagine him already. His wand resting behind his ear and tie loosened, hands comfortably and nonchalantly situated in the pockets of his jeans with his luscious hair possibly styled into a bun.

“You’ve been rather gloomy lately, mate.” His foot taps my leg, before he lowers himself to sit next to me. We’ve always enjoyed sitting in the astronomy tower together, in the short span of time between a prank or two. Here, we don’t have to worry about being something else, we’re just humans admiring the stars. In hindsight, I should have figured out he knew I’d be hiding out here, as for my ‘being gloomy’, well, I thought I’d done a good job pretending. Apparently not. It makes me wonder if he’s seen through all of my white lies.

“You know how it is, life is hard.” I turn to him, expecting a silly joke like ‘Life is hard, but I’m harder’, something stupid to cheer me up as he usually does, but said joke never makes it into reality. He’s not even smiling, his lip is caught between his teeth in a clearly troubled look, it doesn’t suit him. No trace of a bun holding his luscious hair in place, what a shame.

“Are you okay though?” He whispers, even if we are the only beating hearts in the room and the sincerity in his voice almost brings me to tears. “I mean it when I say you haven’t been yourself lately.” I haven’t fully been myself for ages, but he doesn’t know that. Of course he doesn’t. I’ve been everything but myself. Oh, how many times have I hoped I could just rip my chest apart and rid myself of this body that doesn’t belong to me, before emerging from the depth of it as the man I know I am.

My tongue is threatening me to run faster than my mind. ‘I’m a man’ I want to shout, ‘I have always been a man, from the moment I was born, and I hope you can accept me for what I am.’ It sounds so easy in my head, which is why I hate it more than anything when my throat dries up as soon as I part my lips. His gaze falls to them, but it comes back up to meet my eyes when only a sigh escapes from them.

In being faced with my hesitation he speaks again, a subtle comforting smile on his face, “Hey, I’m not holding you hostage. You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t feel like it.” His elbow meeting my side in a gentle shove sends my heart ablaze, it is just a simple touch, not even skin on skin, yet it makes my entire body warm up.

“If one day you woke up and saw that you were trapped in a cage, what would you do?” I tentatively ask, testing the waters of the ocean I know I am going to dive in today. My question causes a corner of his lips to tilt upwards, “I’d pick the lock,” He says, as if the solution would be that easy. I foolishly hope it was.

“What if there is no lock to pick? What if you could escape it, but you’d have to face one of the biggest fears in your life in order to do so?” 

His answer, before I can even finish the last syllable, “I’d do it. If it means freedom, I’d do anything. You know it.” His hand rests on my shoulder, I can feel his thumb pressing into my muscles, more than anything I want to hug him and confess my reality with my face hidden in his neck. But I don’t. I’m tired of hiding. My life has turned into a twisted version of hide and seek, where I’m both the seeker and the one hiding. I seek a day where I won’t have to hold back anymore, a day where I’ll be able to use a masculine pronoun without expecting weird looks towards me, yet I hide away in the darkness, afraid of the future, afraid of losing everything I’ve built so far. 

I’ve built mansions, cathedrals, palaces with precarious foundations and I think the time has come to fix that. 

“What’s with all the philosophical talk today? Cages and fears and whatnot. Is it a new idea for a prank? Because if it is you need to hear one James had just a while ago-”

“I’ve been lying to you, Sirius.” I confess with the taste of bile in the back of my throat. The letter I had prepared and read so many times I’d memorized it sits deep in the pockets of my pants, I’m running on no script and no idea of where this conversation will bring us. I have no patience to hear what he might say, so I don’t even stop to breathe before I speak again.

“I’ve been lying to all of you, even to myself at times. I want to preface this by saying that I understand if this is confusing to you, or if you don’t understand where this is coming from but I am not the girl you boys befriended all those years ago. I’ve never been a girl, not once, but this doesn’t mean I’ve been faking to be your friend. I’m still the friend that helped you get out of detention, I’m still the friend that sent professors down the wrong hallway when they would ask for you mid prank preparation, I’m still the friend that would do your essays for you in exchange for part of your food at lunch. I’m still your friend, just not the friend you thought you had.” The words flow out like a river overflowing, it is only as I say the last word that I notice the tears rolling down my cheeks, “I’m not a girl,” I say again, my voice cracking in a sob, “I’m a guy.” 

The grip he had on my shoulder tightens for a moment before he lets out the loudest sigh of relief I’ve ever heard, “By Merlin’s beard, you scared me half to death there.” His other hand rests on his chest, most likely trying to relax his beating heart that, if it’s pounding half the speed of mine, then it must be fighting tooth and nail to escape his ribcage. Something halfway through another sigh and a chuckle comes from him as his head shakes, “So, you’re a bloke, huh? Is that what you’re telling me?” 

I nod, swallowing the gulp stuck in my throat, I can’t force myself to make a sound. The arm wrapping itself around my shoulder and pulling me into Sirius takes me by surprise, “You were always one of the lads, mate.” He says, grinning ear to ear, “Thank you for telling me. I can’t imagine this was easy for you…” The weight on my back does not abandon me completely, it is only the tiniest amount lighter. The first step is taken, there is no going back, little by little he’ll be able to uncover all of me. One small step at a time. Now it is no time to let him know how the only things I smelled while brewing amortentia was his cologne, butterbeer and the occasional cigarette. 

I don’t know what else to say, it feels like I just lept from a flying broom awaiting contact with the ground, but the crash never comes, my bones never break and no absurd pain breaks through me. “Thank you for still being here.” I choke out. His thumb runs over the corners of my eyes, the silver rings on his fingers graze my hot skin, “Thank you for telling me.” He repeats, dragging my body closer to his in a warm hug, “I want you to know, telling the others, that’s your choice. I won’t say a word. There’s no rush. I’ll even hold your hand while you do it.”

I melt in his arms. His last remark, as teasing as it was, is enough to pull a smile out of me. “I’ll make sure to let you know whenever I’m ready so you can wash your hands first. Who knows what you’ve touched.”

“Wow, rude much.” Sirius holds me for what feels like a lifetime. They say Hogwarts is the safest place there is, but I think I’ve found a worthy adversary to that claim. We don’t say anything, I said my piece and he listened. That’s all that was important. One day I’m going to have to tell James, Remus and Peter as well, but that can wait for now. The worst is done. 

“Do you feel a little more free now?” He murmurs in my ear, “Has that cage began to feel like something you could escape from?”

“Yes.” And I mean it when I say it. The future looks brighter than it ever has.

[whereserpentswalk]

It’s fascinating that you think trans people’s names come to them like wands in Harry Potter, you can’t just culturally appropriate bc you’re trans

Ok, this is about comments I made like a year ago on a comedy bit. While I stand by my feelings that the bit was bad and transphobic, my reasons why are a lot diffrent.

When I first wrote the comments my arguments were very thermian. I treated the story the comic was telling as if it was real and objective. Which feels right for most people, because stand up comedy is often presented like conversation, where we do treat stories like that as real things. But that's not how comedy works, comedians don't tell stories the way we do in conversation, they're creatives, the stories they tell are basically fictional, the art form might look like real conversations but it's not.

Comedians want to make you laugh, and sometimes want to send a message or make you think about things in a new way, but they have no reason to want to portray events accurately. They might be basing some things off of real experiences, but that's true for everyone, Tolkien might have chosen to explore his experience in world war one in lord of things, that doesn't mean we have to argue about orcs as if they're real entities when we're talking about if those books were racist.

So let's actually look at the skit, and analyze its outlook on trans people keeping in mind its a story that a cis man is telling, and not actual events: So the summery of the skit is that a white trans man comes out to his to his family, and he picked a name you'd expect a black person to have. He has older black relatives (who are implied to fully accept him, which would make him possibly the only trans person on earth with a fully accepting family) who refuse to use this name, and instead call him "the boy". The sketch ends with the comedian saying he should pick a name like Kevin, because even if he's trans he's not interesting (keep your thoughts on that last one).

Now, ignoring how this would play out in real life, what does this as a peice of fiction say about trans people:

First off: it's creating a plausible but unlikely situation where the woke thing to do is to not respect a trans person's identity. A lot of political humor exists to call ideas into question with hypotheticals, and the idea being questioned here is the idea that trans people's identities deserve respect.

Second off: it's creating a situation where a trans person is entitled and arogent for wanting his identity respected. In the fiction this trans person is that. But it's promoting the idea that they are in real life. Transphobes will show you a lot of spooky examples of trans identities that are unreasonable to respect, but that's not useally ever what it's like in real life. (An otherkin robotgirl isn't going to demand you communicate with her through beeps and boops, she probably just wants you not to laugh at her.)

Third off: it's pitting minorities agaisnt eachother. Conservatives love this, but it's super common when people try to convince progressives to a specific group from their advocacy. It shows us a world where trans rights and poc rights are at odds with eachother, in the real world they aren't, in the real world they're part of one larger struggle and diminishing one is diminishing the other. A lot of people do this with different identities, lgb types do it with gayness, terfs do it with womanhood, class reductionists do it with class, trscum do it between trans people. But it doesn't help one oppressed group when you shit on a diffrent oppressed group in their name. It's white conservatives who love it the most when trans people and poc at pit agaisnt eachother, and it's trans poc who suffer the most.

Fourth off: it's feeds into a very old myth amoung queerphobic progressives, which is the idea that queer people are privileged people looking to pose as the marginalized to get special rights. This is a myth we really have to get over, because its been internalized by a lot of people, and we get these hunts for fake minorities. This is why the "you're not interesting" line sticks out to me. Most trans people don't give themselves inappropriative names, but trans people as a group constantly get accused of trying to steal other people's struggles. This is a myth that preys on the fact that white skined white colar queer people are more visible, and its one that is based on treating that disparity in visibility as a fact. We have to cut this out, nobody fakes minority status to get privileges because minorities aren't privileged. It's not true for queer people, even the queer people other queer people hate like bi people and ace people. It's not true about mentally ill and ND people, or converts to non Christian religions, or East Asian people, or anyone who gets accused of this. Stop it dearly.

Fifth off: this entire sketch is based in the idea that families can accept their trans kids, but only conditionally, only if they prove themselves to be doing it for the right reasons, and they please their family's whims. This is a transphobic idea, it's a transphobic idea most neolibs hold. Comedy bits are a lot like story books (no shade at either) where a problem is presented at the beginning, and a solution at the end, that the audience is expected to take for their own problems. And the solution here is a form of transphobia, the idea that trans people aren't owned acceptance, they need to earn it. I've seen a lot of trans people tormented by their families over that idea. And when a person of color goes and stage and wraps that idea in racial justice, it's young trans poc who get hurt by it the most.

Sixth off: not a huge point, but I feel like a cis black man, of all cis people, should be the most likely to understand that calling a trans man a boy is dehumanizing and insulting. I guess this goes to show he's not interested in thinking about how trans people's struggles are like his, he stands alongside a lot of marginalized trans people there.

Finally I kind of don't know how to end this. This is long. Really long. I don't know whose going to read this, because its a lot. Hopefully you got a bit of media literacy from reading all of this. Early on in my tumblr career, when I had just moved from Brooklyn to Manhattan, I had read an essay by @wifelinkmtg about a concept called the ditch. The idea was we often argue about media wrong, talking about things in hyper literal cannon obsessed terms, and that was the ditch, the ditch we dig for ourselves when we ignore things like themes and audience experiences. Hopefully this series of words dug less of a ditch than my words did a year ago. Sorry I don't have the actual sketch on hand. Mabye I'm wrong, but if someone wants to prove me wrong I'd rather they do it outside of a ditch. Mabye the ask wasn't even about that post. Mabye I'm tired. Maybe you should be tired too.

Sorry for the long post. Media literacy matters. Black trans lives matter. Goodbye, enjoy your night well.