#but being misgendered every practice when I know they know sucks

[girlycocksleeve]

Sometimes I write porn :) If you have any suggestions for things to write, let me know.

Tags: public use, misgendering, rape, gang rape, transphobia, forced breeding, aroused victim, public humiliation, slut shaming

He had seen news about the new laws surrounding trans men, fakeboys or cuntboys as the news called them. Hell, he had even seen men getting fucked on the street, in cafes, anywhere public. But he hadn’t considered that the new free use laws would affect him, after all, he was fully stealth and had been for years.

So, when the hand grabbed his ass on the subway to work his mind didn’t immediately jump to the fact that, legally, he was just 3 holes and a pair of tits for everyone else to use.

“Hey, what the fuck?!” He spun around to see another man grinning at him.

“Oh, come on, it’s obvious what you are.” His blood ran cold as the man reached forward and tore his button down open, revealing his binder. They were drawing stares now from other people on the subway, and hands were taking off the remains of his shirt, unbuttoning his pants, as he stood there frozen still not processing. Men pushing up his binder to reveal his C cup tits, fingers pinching and twisting his nipples, finally snapping out of his trance.

“No, no, please don’t do this.” He started struggling and immediately was being held in place as fingers found his cunt, his wet cunt.

The man who had started it laughed, “You wouldn’t be dripping if you wanted us to stop. You’re nothing but a slut like all the other cuntboys.” He wanted to sob as a finger plunged into him, then two, as someone else rubbed his clit. He hadn’t had sex in years, was practically a virgin.

All of a sudden he was being bent over and a cock was sliding through his folds before catching and entering him, stretching him open. Whoever’s cock it was clearly wasn’t in the mood to be patient and was immediately fucking into him, hard and rough, and it burned.

He went to scream and another cock forced its way into his mouth, making him gag as it hit the back of his throat.

“God, her pussy is tight.” He wanted to sob at the words, at being called “her,” but instead his cunt just clenched. The man fucking him laughed, “Seems she likes the dirty talk, huh, slut?”

He shut his eyes and tried to pretend he was anywhere else, and the man fucking his face pulled out and slapped him. “You were asked a question, bitch.”

“No, no, I-“ another slap and he sobbed.

“Don’t lie to us, we can hear how wet you are.” It was true. His cunt squelched on every thrust, his own traitorous arousal slicking the way for the rough fucking.

“Tell us how much you like getting used like the whore you are.”

“I-“ He was still getting fucked, and each time the man bottomed out it forced the air out of his chest in a way that could be interpreted as moaning. “Please stop.”

The man pulled out, the head of his cock now pushing against his ass. “If you don’t like getting your cunt fucked, maybe we should try anal instead?”

“No, no, take it out please!” He yelped the words out, pain lacing them as his virgin asshole was breached, “Please fuck my pussy.”

“Good girl, but you can do better than that.” He had stopped pushing into his ass, but he hadn’t taken his dick out, instead leaving himself still an inch deep.

“Please, please fuck my girly cunt. Please use me like the breeding bitch I am. I need your cock in my pussy please.” He hated the way the words went straight to his clit, hated the unmistakeable moan that was forced out of him as the man went back to his pussy. The cock appeared back in front of his face and without needing to be asked his was opening his mouth and started sucking, running his tongue along the underside of it.

Men took his hands and started using them to jerk themselves off, and eventually he felt someone cum on his face, a sensation that made him shudder in either disgust or arousal, although he wouldn’t admit to himself which one it was.

The man in his pussy started speeding up his thrusts, and soon he felt his orgasm building. “Gonna cum in you, knock you up. Make sure you can never hide what you are again, understand?” The words were what pushed him over the edge and he trembled through it, cunt pulsing around the cock inside him as the man made good on his word and cum flooded into him.

“Fuck, good girl.” The man pulled out and was immediately replaced by another, pushing into his oversensitive pussy, causing him to whine.

“You’re gonna swallow, understand, slut?” The man in his mouth was breathing heavy as he said the words, and seconds after was cumming into his mouth. He swallowed it down dutifully, expecting it as the cock was soon replaced by another.

Quickly he fell into a rhythm, neither pussy nor mouth getting more than a couple seconds rest. He wasn’t sure how long it had been or how many loads he had taken, but eventually it was over, and he was left on the floor of the subway. Mouth and throat aching, barely able to close, and cunt on fire from overuse.

[chaifootsteps]

(long ask, sorry!) the new media HH/HB thread on TV Tropes is doing the 'Viv gets scorn no matter what because she's a queer woman who makes things' routine atm (they're blaming TADC fans for toxicity and discussing the 'write like HB' trend, for context)

I've definitely seen creators (anyone, really) get far more hate online when they're female for stupid reasons, but it's frustrating to see them do the 'Viv can't win no matter what she does' thing because I can't really think of an instance where she hasn't responded to criticism she doesn't like, or has actually tried behaving like a professional for a minute - even some of her fans on subreddits have said she needs to step away from Twitter for her reputation's sake or hire someone for PR.

The reason she 'can't win' is not because she's a woman - she's not Rebecca Sugar and she's not Tracy Butler who know how to behave professionally (and before Viv started mudslinging at Lackadaisy, neither Tracy nor the LD crew had any drama attached to them despite Tracy being a woman herself... curious)

Viv's a creator who acts as though she doesn't have the confidence to let her work stand on its own merits and can't bring herself to ignore criticism (given she seems to disagree with practically all of it; the only thing I've seen Spindlehorse try to improve is not using red as a bg color so much and cutting down on the constant sound effects), & as a result she has cultivated a fandom who feel rewarded when they make tweets either defending her or explaining the show on her behalf because she keeps liking those tweets, which only makes it happen more. the lack of distance she keeps from her fans and the way she actively rewards the ones who put down criticism of her makes them act like she's their friend instead of someone whose show they like and someone who is actively using them as both a shield & sword. This is why the fandom has a bad rep, it's not just that the Hellaverse shows suck - it's that their creator will paint all criticisms as bad faith and only makes the effort to address fans not when they harass, bully or threaten people, but when they do something that affects her personally (like celebrate a ship on the same day as her birthday). and I understand social media feels like overwhelming toxic noise: but that's why creators need to learn to step back and not engage so much. enabling toxic fans aside, this level of enmeshment strikes me as bad for anyone looking to hone their craft and create something meaningful

as much as I want to offer some pushback in that thread I feel the plagiarism accusations will be immediately downplayed or ignored and any mention of bad pay or treatment in the workplace will be met with accusations of 'debunked!!' or 'some of the reviews were fake therefore all of them are, even the ones that line up with consistent accounts of bullying or misgendering or a pattern of no deadlines being given!!' asking 'I don't understand what she's done to attract this level of vitriol' kind of suggests they haven't looked that hard or listened to anyone who would want to tell them

but if I was to put it to them, I think I would say - Viv will 'win' when she behaves like a professional, credits people properly, doesn't just drop people when they're no longer useful, stops burning bridges with other people working in the indie animation space, stops vaguing and painting all criticisms as bad faith and understands that even behaving professionally will not make people stop criticizing her show, because every artist in the world has to deal with the fact that people will want to discuss and critique their work. and though I doubt the writing on her shows would ever improve, I'm sure people would at least respect her trying to act more like the professional showrunner she's supposed to be. no one can 100% control their own narrative with her level of Internet fame, but the best way not to make it actively worse is to stop trying to imo

Agreed, and also I feel like it's been years since TvTropes was right about anything. Although even the Viv pages on TvTropes have been very slowly getting more and more critical.

[hunteromeachair]

A new job, and new co-workers, is an internal minefield of deciding what to say and what to remind and what to insist on.

Can, or should, it be enough to be happy that a new co-worker asked if I preferred he \ him or if I used other pronouns, and then used them on our last shift together? Does it also have to be sad and complicated that he misgendered me with blissful unawareness the next shift we just finished working?

I feel just as positive about his ally-ship today as I did on our last shift. I am disappointed but also not surprised. We got to talk a lot today, just like last shift, and he is an incredibly open, curious, intentional person who values authentic connection and knows that he doesn't have anything figured out. He is respectful and I know that if I asked him directly to try to always use my pronouns, he probably would.

At work I am intentionally not pointing out my pronouns tattooed on my wrist, nor requesting that people use them, nor even wanting to tell people "officially". I guess the complications come from my own desire to not have to expend emotional energy in deciding what misgendering I'm ok with, and what I'm not.

If I have chosen to stealth, kinda, it means I can just kinda ignore every "he" and "his" and "man" and "bro" because I have a big beard and I am 5'10' and I am bald and I look like a man and I know that "man" is what people mostly see. My jewelry and my rainbow tattoo and my purse usually just land as "gay man", and the man part of that is the most important signifier for most everyone.

Sometimes I am seen as "faggot", a much broader and more dangerous category to be placed into. Disturbingly, I feel more seen by people who place me there. Their awareness that I fuck with gender gives me gender euphoria.

I am almost never ever seen as "woman", even though I am as much a woman as I am a man. I am seldom seen as "femminiello", which is what I actually am. And when I am it is only through choice - the default category for me is always man.

My new co-worker is an amazing ally in a real and practical sense. He started today by saying, "I didn't want to say 'Hey my guy' so I wonder if I can say 'Hey my gay' instead? And I told him fuck yeah he can!

Because I'm not too fussed that he called me "he" and "him" all day. He started today by telling me really directly he knows I'm not a man. And that feels the best: when people are clumsy or unsure or forgetful about pronouns but they make it clear that they know I'm not a man, I feel seen in a way that gives me little gender-gasms of delight.

New jobs suck. Being a complicated type of transgender person at a new job sucks, too. But like, not as much as I thought it would. At least not with the one co-worker I've actually spent time with. Maybe the rest are gonna surprise me too.

I wish it wasn't such a big deal that he made an intentional effort immediately upon seeing me that was validating and confirming that he saw me as who I am in such a simple way. I wish that it was just normal to be seen as who I am.

Even more than that, I feel incredibly lucky. Some guy at my work made a point of letting me know that I'm not a guy, and that's pretty fucking awesome.

[neurodecadence]

hmm. prime numbers be upon ye

Emily I value you as a friend, but this is evil. I am just a poor sleepy dame and you want me to do maths? to find Prime Numbers? how dare you.

Anyway, let's do it.

2. Do you like to use the term queer for yourself? Or just LGBT, etc? Love queer as a term, adore it. My whole... deal is messy and not easy to discern and being able to say "ehhh you know that whole thing" is nice and easy.

3. Which pronouns do you use? So it's complicated a bit thanks to plurality (we have slightly different pronoun sets), but the shortest answer is "It/It's* for strangers and new people, It/She for friends and closer people". If I ever use She referring to myself, it's specifically one part referring to the other. *(yes I know the apostrophe is grammatically incorrect but the grammar was not written with the idea of it as a person pronoun in mind, so suck it, I am keeping it)

5. Are you "out" publicly? I mean I'm a six foot tall, broad shouldered entity in a wheelchair when I go out, who gave up on voice training because it's too much effort. I don't exactly have much choice BUT to be out, which is fine. I get a lot of kids being curious and I think that's sweet, when they look at me and are trying to process a LOT of thoughts all at once.

7. Are you the "token" queer person in your family? I don't have much of a family tbh. That's not just and edgy statement, my biological familia consists of me and my mother, every other person who shares my bloodline is not welcome near me ever again. I'm glad I don't have contact with them tbh, because I know I WOULD have been a token queer to a few of my family members, and I don't wanna be used like that.

11. Favorite (or just one you love) piece of LGBT media? Shiiiit, hard to narrow it down to one, you know. I might have to give it to The Last Girl Scout, by local tumblr legend Natalie Ironside. It's a story about queer love and building something beautiful in the ashes of the old, about healing, really healing, from trauma and pain, it's about connections and learning who you are through others. It's also about shooting fascists, a cool polish vampire, and communist political arguments. It's a good read, changed my life.

13. Do you choose to reclaim slurs, why or why not? I do it, but it's sorta tricky to express why. It's partly for the same reason I prefer It as a pronoun, it's about taking assumed power. What I mean is, as a visibly trans person, people are always playing the pronoun guessing game before I talk to them, running those guess and assumptions and deciding what they'll use at me. By using "It" as the preferred pronoun, there's a part of stealing that back, a bit of "you cannot have guessed that, and also if you intended to use that to misgender me, oooooh too bad bitch". In the same regard, calling myself a slur feel like taking power out of people's hands. Hands that may seek to wield it against me. I have faced institutional transphobia more than once, but it was always simple chafing microaggressions stacks atop one another. By saying out loud "yeah I'm a fuckin' tranny, what're you gonna do about it", it's like bringing a KS-23 4 Gauge Shotgun to a watergun fight (that's a very big gun by the by). Maybe I've overthought it a bit, and I'll admit, I don't make people in public use It pronouns for me because I don't really get out much (also a Pin for that might save some time), but that's my thinking on the topic.

17. Have you ever attended Pride in a big city/ large metro area? I really do not get out a lot. Also I forget that Pride month is february in Aotearoa and by the time I remember the parade happened weeks ago. So that's on me.

19. Do you feel safe and accepted in your local community? Pretty damn safe tbh. Folks around here practice the stance of "ain't gonna let that ruin my day". Doesn't hurt it's on the edge of a Uni district, lots of 20 somethings doing weird cool stuff. The only times I've dealt with problems have been petty bureaucrats with a lick of power exerting it at me. Then I go holler at higher ups and make their life a living hell. I'd feel bad, but maybe don't misgender me seventeen times in two minutes and verbally attack me on at 9pm on a monday night.

23. Do you prefer loud parties or quiet? Yeah I really don't get out a lot, and especially not enough to go to parties. Still I like a quiet gathering, if it's on the table. Everyone brings some food, there's music playing, no expectations but to be yourself. That kinda vibes.

29. Are you currently partnered, or if not are you interested in having partner(s)? I have two lovely partners, and I adore them to the end of the world and back. I'm not actively seeking any more romantic attachments, but I'm also not saying it's off the table (fate has a funny way with these things). My only problem atm is my dear partners are aaaaaall the way on the west coast of the USA, and I'm down here in kiwi-land. I'm not saying the distance isn't worth it, but I am saying I would like some more hugs in my future. Or sex. That'd be cool too.

31. Post a pic in your pride gear (or it can just be a selfie or anything else lgbt):

Have an image of this beast.

Okay that's everything, done, complete, kaput, finito. This is simply way too many words about myself but I can't NOT complete this order, especially since it's from cool pal Emily. If you read this far, please send me wishes that I get a good nights sleep at some point in June, I feel like I'm going nuts.

Well, Nuts-er, I mean.

[highschool-rooftop]

july 6th, 2023

back again as always but this time this entry will be dedicated the things i want to change most about my body, this... flesh mecha.

my hormones. i need hrt, my dysphoria feels like it keeps getting worse and worse every time i tell myself to just wait a little bit longer, til im just a bit more comfortable where i am, to have the money to afford it and pay for the prescription. i had remember having a dream a little recently of just offing myself because i couldnt take the dysphoria. im tired of putting in all the extra effort to appear feminine but if i stop no one at my work i feel will take me for who i am and customers will most definitely misgender me. i cant go through that every day again, that'll make things worse. at least if im on hormones eventually my body will have redistributed all the fat and muscle and what not and so i wont have to keep up with my stupid walk cycle or wear my makeup every time i go out.

my voice is another thing. i hate it so fucking much- i wish i could take scissors to my throat and cut out my fucking vocals thats how much i fucking hate them. my voice is so fucking masculine and no matter how much i practice and no matter what the fuck i do or say or how i pronounce certain words i feel like theres nothing i can do because it always cracks, it always comes out masculine even when my throat muscles are doing the right shit. i dont know what to do anymore im so tempted to just have shaving part of my vocals or whatever part of my transition because i cant.....

and also while I'm at it, i need bottom surgery as like second most highest priority because as i said before this dysphoria is going to kill me. i feel like i cant even enjoy masturbating because i want to have a pussy so fucking badly- i want to be the one thats being fucked- but thanks to the fact that i was born with a dick i cant enjoy any of that and unless im lucky and fascists dont overrun my country in our next election and somehow also they figure out how to give trans people full sex organ transplants that work and are safe AND i have all the money to afford it since its unlikely we're beating Capitalism™ and turn into an anarcho-communist society in the next 6 years i wont be able to because ill be stuck with having to make due with my ass. im not a fan of assplay honestly, as much as i dont want to admit this, my diet sucks and because of that my bowel movements aren't always the most consistent, which leads to accidents and then i have to not just deal with lube and (rarely, because its so stressful worrying about whether i can actually enjoy myself and orgasm or have to clean up early and feel gross, disgusting, and so dysphoric im damn close to just disassociating and spiraling into a depression pit deep enough to make dwarves gasp in shock and awe!! its awful, and its something that i just wouldnt have to deal with if i didnt have a dick. yeah id obviously deal with periods and all the cramps and mood swings and blood, and then id also deal with discharge but its all stuff i would gladly take and suffer with if it means i can put an end to this nagging feeling inside telling me im not good enough, im just a gross perverted monster, im a freak, and that i should just end it.

[fairygrown]

.

[thedreadvampy]

I just think. that "they", while it is a pronoun that some people prefer for individual use, is also a pronoun which has always been used for when you don't know what pronoun is appropriate for someone. like. that is a major part of what it's for.

"they" can absolutely be misgendering when somebody knows that you use a different pronoun, or could reasonably expected to assume that. and the persistent they/themming of trans people in preference to using gendered pronouns is fucked.

however

I just think there's maybe space for some nuance when it comes to using they/them as a "don't know" pronoun. and I also think that this connects up with the fact that the internet is simultaneously very personal and very impersonal. because I keep seeing people go "how dare you call me they when my pronouns are Literally In My Bio" about strangers using they/them about the OP of a post they've reblogged. and like. idk about you but I do not look at the blog of every person whose post I reblog (or tbh any). I read the post I respond to the post I move on.

it's an uncomfortable truth about the internet that a LOT of online interactions are drive-by and anything that isn't in the body of a post will not be part of someone's experience. and that sucks tbh because you can't really control what happens once a post moves out of your immediate sphere. which is stressful and frustrating.

however.

it is. to me. quite weird that people react as if things like using neutral pronouns or not quite getting the context of a post or stepping over a boundary not stated in the post are malicious or deliberate actions. literally you can say "btw my pronouns are X" when it's important to you but it isn't an act of malice to Not Know Who You Are.

if you are gonna tell me you check the bios of every post you casually respond to or talk about or mention in tags I Do Not Believe You. that is so much additional steps. so why do you expect others to?

like I just think we need to be realistic about the degree of control we actually have over other's behaviour. people will not have read your dni before reblogging without comment something that came up on their dash. people do not check your bio before referring to you and they/them is the most reasonable pronoun to use if you don't know someone's pronouns. people are not required to preemptively trigger tag for you when you've never interacted with them.

people do not know who you are and they aren't Not Knowing Who You Are at you, you don't know who most of them are either. it sucks. I say speaking from I've practically abandoned Twitter this week bc my notes are out of control with people making the same three comments I've repeatedly tried to head off. but ultimately it's not Being Done At You. it's just a factor of being on a site with uncontrollable reblog chains. it's totally fair to be annoyed at it but it's not. actually a reasonable expectation that people will only reblog or comment on any post after doing 5-10 minutes of background reading about you. it's not how the site is designed. the site is designed to encourage instant gratification, reblogging from chains, skimming through stuff, and interacting with hundreds of people a day. your information is just not that important or memorable, sorry to say.

(this isn't to say that it's ok to keep using they/them when they've told you what their correct pronouns are, or that it's ok to keep crossing a boundary once you've had it directly pointed out to you. nor is it in my opinion fair to have an indepth interaction and back-and-forth with someone without at some point checking out their bio and clearly headlined boundaries. it's just that I do think a lot of people on here act like it's a deliberate act of aggression to not know who they are IMMEDIATELY IN THE FIRST INSTANCE and I do not. think that's a reasonable expectation of how social media interactions work, yk?)

[fly-flower-fanfics]

Can you do a Spencer Reid X Reader where the Reader is ftm and binds with ace bandages? The unsub can be targeting transgender people and targets the reader. Nothing too bad to the reader preferably but something happens to make the bandages visable. I know that binding with bandages is bad because I did it until I got a binder.

Sorry this took me so long. I’ve been out of it lately, so this is my first writing piece getting back into the swing of things, so I’m sorry if it’s bad. I hope this is something you were looking for!

Binding Secrets

Spencer Reid x Trans Male Reader

Warnings: ACE bandage binding. PLEASE don’t bind like this. 🥺

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

This case was really stressful to me. It stressed me out more than other cases usually did. I’m sure the team has picked up on it, but I didn’t want to tell them why I was so stressed out. That was my secret and my secret alone.

There was no way I was going to be able to come out to the team. After I’ve gotten top surgery, then maybe, maybe, but certainly not now. Being transgender was a crime, it felt like. It was to this unsub apparently.

It was late and time for all of us to go home. The I could take these stupid ACE bandages off. I felt like my lungs were collapsing; it hurt to breathe. I knew that it wasn’t safe, especially for a job like mine where we have to be on the move a decent amount, but I hadn’t gotten around to buying a binder yet.

I was stopped by Spencer just before I got into my car, though. Part of me didn’t mind because I had a crush on the genius, but another part of me did mind because I was tired, and I just wanted to go home.

“What’s up, Spence?” I asked.

He hesitated a moment, shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I’m worried about you,” he said softly at first. He then cleared his throat. “You’ve been acting different lately, and I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” I said with a soft smile. Was I? 

“Y/N, I can tell when you’re lying to me. You have a tell, just like everyone else. Please...”

I felt bad lying to him, But I couldn’t tell him. My throat tightened like I was going to cry. “I need you to drop it, Spence,” I said softly

“Why? Why won’t you talk to me?”

“Because I can’t, Spencer!” 

He shook his head, dropping his arms by his side. “This is exactly what I get when I trust someone; it gets thrown back in my face.”

“Spencer, that’s not what this fucking is!” I yelled at him, tears now streaming down my cheeks.

Spencer’s demeanor changed completely as he noticed my tears.

“It has nothing to do with you, Spencer,” I said, wiping at my face aggressively. I hated that I was crying so easily. But I knew it was because of my stress and how close I was to snapping. 

Truth was was that I was scared. I was scared that I would be the next victim. That I wouldn’t be safe in my own home. All because I was trans and some guy out there thought that that was a crime and needed to kill me for it.

“Y/N....”

I shook my head, holding up a hand. “Save it. I’m sorry for yelling at you. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go home now.” With that, I got into my car and left.

The next day, I was really anxious to see Spencer. I had already apologized for yelling at him, but that didn’t change the fact that I had yelled at him.

I went to the bathroom and grabbed my ACE bandage, looking at it sadly. I hated that stupid thing. I could feel it practically squishing my ribs and lungs. I hated it so much. I couldn’t just not wear it though. I didn’t need the team seeing my chest.

I began wrapping it around and secured it in place once I was finished. I took a breath and sighed. At least it wasn’t too bad in the beginning of the day.

I made my way to my car and began to drive to work. The anxiety of seeing Spencer returned. I felt bad. Maybe I should apologize again. I pulled into my parking spot and shook my head. No, if he still had beef with me, he would say so, right?

I walked to my desk and set my things down, going to grab a coffee. As I made it, I was already making a face because I knew how bad;y it would taste.

“You know, I have to make my coffee deliberately bad so I can drink it now,” I said to Morgan, who has just walked in. 

He laughed. “I know what you mean. However, I still like a good cup of joe.”

I chuckled softly and went back to my desk, looking over the case file. We had a pretty good idea who the unsub was. We had just been waiting on Garcia to get the right information about him. 

The team quickly left, leaving Spencer and me behind, as they went to catch the unsub.

My gaze turned toward the genius again. His hair looked soft as it framed his face. His beautiful eyes intently read whatever book he was reading. His perfect hands turned the pages every couple of seconds. 

Best not to disturb him.

I looked over the last bits of information as I was clearing off the board to make a little bit more room when I realized something. The gate. How had we missed that? The gates were his signature, doors to whatever he thought. I couldn’t figure out that part. But it made me realize that now, the team was going after the wrong guy.

I quickly grabbed my coat and ran out to my car. I had to catch this guy before he caught someone else. I swallowed hard as I threw my car into gear. Who else would be better bait for this guy than a trans man like myself?

I made my wait to the gate that was in the last picture and entered the abandoned house. This was where the last victim was found, but we had figured that he liked to revisit the crime scenes. I was just banking on the fact that he hadn’t revisited this one since it had been blocked off for a couple of days.

I drew my gun and tip-toed quietly through the halls. A squeaky floorboard gave away my position, and I froze. Had he heard? Was he even here? I shook my head and continued down the hallway.

I heard a noise from behind me. I turned, but I wasn’t able to see what or who it was before something hit me in the face and knocked me out.

I woke up, dazed and confused. I tried to move but realized that my arms were tied behind me and I was stuck to a pole. I jerked to try and free myself, but it was useless.

The unsub walked over to me, twirling a knife around his fingers. “Y/N L/N, I am familiar with you. The only trans member in the BAU, isn’t that right?” 

I sneered at him, still trying to free myself. “So the fuck what? How do you even know who I am?”

“Oh, I know a lot more than you may think,” he said, walking up to me and lifting my chin with the knife. “But that’s all surprise for later on.” 

He slashed at the sleeve of my coat with his knife. “First, we play a game. It’s called Tell Me The Truth Or I’ll Take One Article Of Clothing At A Time.”

“Long title of a stupid ass game,” I muttered to myself, mentally cringing. Sometimes I hated that I was always so snippy.

He slashed at the other sleeve of my coat. “Got a mouth on you, don’t you?”

His stupid little game continued as I tried my best to keep my mouth shut. But it seemed like no matter what I did, he was slashing at my clothing. There was no sign of sexual assault on the victims, but did he do this to all of them? Somehow, I couldn’t seem to remember anything about this unsub.

My knees shook as fear began to take over my body. What would happen when he shredded my clothing to the point that there was nothing left of them? Would he go to my skin next? One of the victims was all slashed up, I think. I shook my head, trying to keep m mind clear. I needed to be safe long enough for someone to find me.

A hand around my neck made me look up and realize the unsub was behind me now, holding the knife to my neck. My eyes fell to a person standing at the base of the stairs: Spencer Reid. My heart filled with joy. Thank god for Spencer and his big brain.

“Put the gun down or I’ll kill her,” the unsub said, pressing the knife deeper into my throat.

I winced, but at the misgendering, not the knife. 

“He’s a he,” Spencer replied, holding his gun in the same position as he was five seconds ago. 

“I said, put the damn gun away!” 

The knife bit my skin, causing me to cry out. This made Spencer put his gun away. 

“All right, all right, look. The gun’s away. It’s away. Let him go.”

“I’m not letting her go. People like her need to be fixed. They’re mentally ill.”

My stomach tightened at the midgenderment. It sucked because he was going to tell Spencer my secret. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out everything that was happening. Things would be okay. They had to be okay. I had to believe that. I had to believe that I’d make it out of here. I prayed Spencer wouldn’t tell the rest of the team my secret. 

All I ever wanted was to be seen as a real boy...

The next thing I knew, my hands were being untied and there was a slight ringing in my ears. I looked down next to me to see the unsub, dead. Spencer must have been able to convince him to get far enough away from me for him to draw his gun and shoot the guy before either one of us got stabbed.

“Y/N, are you all right?” I nodded, and Spencer pulled me into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay. We’ll get you new clothing. Do you want to come to my house?”

I guess it was obvious to Spencer that I didn’t want to be alone. I nodded silently and he led me out to his car. “We’ll come back for yours later,” he promised me. 

At this point, I didn’t really care. My head hurt from being knocked out, and my chest was aching all over again.

Our car ride was mostly silent, but Spencer spoke up. “How did you know it was him?”

“The gate,” I replied. “Something about the gates never lined up in my head. But then it reminded me of why he always kept the eyes open. They were like portals. To what, I’m not sure...”

Spencer nodded and hesitated before speaking again. “You’re binding unsafely...”

I didn’t know what he was talking about until i looked down. My shirt was shredded, and it was easy to see the ACE bandages that was supposed to be hidden. I cursed myself, squeezing my eyes shut. 

“Please don’t tell anyone, Spence. I don’t want them to know I-I didn’t want anyone to know...”

“Is that why this case bothered you so much?”

I didn’t say anything, but my silence was probably the clearest answer. Spencer didn’t say anything else until we got to his house. He led me inside and sat me down on the couch. 

“I can grab you some clothing to borrow for tonight, but I need you to take that bandage off. You’re going to ruin your changes for top surgery. It can seriously hurt you. it can crack or break ribs and-” 

“I know, Spencer,” I said softly. “But I can’t. I’m scared...”

“My shirt’s will be big enough on you. I promise. And if you want, I’ll stay in my room all night so I won’t see you without it on. You...” He stopped a moment. He closed his eyes for a second before looking at me again. “You can borrow one of my old binders tomorrow. It may not fit perfectly, but it’s so much better than that bandage.” Spencer sat next to me on the couch.

I couldn’t believe my ears. Spencer....Spencer had just come out to me as trans. I couldn’t believe it. He was trans this whole time too? My emotions welled up in my chest, and I felt like crying all over again.

“I love you,” I blurted out. Immediately, I felt myself blush, and I regretted my words.

Spencer only smiled at me. “I love you; I always have.”

I looked down at my lap, feeling a tear drip down my cheek. “Spence, I’m scared... I-I love you. But I’m so scared...”

“Of what?”

“Of what the team will say. That...that you’ll hate me for being trans...”

“Y/N, I can’t hate you for being trans when I’m trans myself.” Spencer took my hands in his. “If you want to leave the confessions alone for tonight, I understand. You’ve been though a lot. We can talk more in the morning when you have a clearer mind. Just promise me you’ll take that ACE bandage off.”

“I promise,” I said quietly. 

Spencer stood and pressed a light kiss onto my forehead. “Thank you. Now let me go grab you those clothing so you can turn in for the night. I’ll be here if you need anything at all.” He got up and began to walk down the hallway to his bedroom.

“Spencer?” I called out.

He stopped and looked back at me from the doorway. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[yikesharringrove]

Umm, I accidentally deleted the request for this while moving it to my inbox, so here it is. (Also this is like, four months old).

I’m gonna rec this fic which is super well written and adorable

Steve is ftm. (Personally, I’m not a big fan of mpreg unless it’s like, biologically plausible 🤷‍♀️)

Under the cut bc it’s long and there’s a little bit of smut.

-

Billy’s hands were shaking as he raced out of the house.

He had a bag slung over one shoulder, had already put two others in the Camaro.

His dad had gone in hard today. Three days after Billy graduated high school and he’s already calling him a deadbeat, a fuck up. Telling him to get a job like he hasn’t worked every summer and most weekends since he was fourteen.

He lit a cigarette as he slid into the driver’s seat.

He was gonna make one stop on the way outta town.

-

Steve had given Billy a spare key months ago, after he was tired of always having to go downstairs and answer the door.

He liked it when Billy just made his way up, started kissing whatever skin was already exposed and asking Steve if he’s wet.

Tonight, Steve thought, was no different.

Billy was kissing up his calf, mouthing along his knee, a few fingers creeping up the leg of his shorts.

Billy was the best sex he’s ever had. Not a lot of gay guys will go down on Steve, some won’t even fuck him. He had been real hesitant to tell Billy, start having regular sex with his best friend, because he didn’t think Billy would want anything to do with him when he knew what he was bringing to the table.

But Billy had told him not to be an idiot, ate him out, and pounded him into the mattress.

And Steve was in love.

So he let Billy fuck him whenever he pleased, because at least Billy was giving him the time of day, at least he was getting some.

He opened his eyes, smiling lazily down at Billy.

“‘Time is it?”

“Almost two.” Billy was curling two fingers into his waistband, slowly pulling down his shorts, like maybe Steve wouldn’t notice.

Steve lifted his hips, and Billy whipped off his shorts, diving right in for his pussy.

He ate him out with the same fervor he did everything. Making all these gross slurping sounds, sucking on Steve’s cock and shoving his tongue inside him.

He made Steve cum twice on his face, as was the norm, before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and getting right to business.

He fucked Steve like he was mad at him.

He often did. And Steve knew he wasn’t mad at him, moreso mad at the other him, the him that’s ruined Billy’s life since before he was even born.

Steve wasn’t as dumb as everyone thought. Knew that when Billy snuck into his bedroom at odd hours of the night and absolutely ravished him, something bad had happened with his dad.

So when Billy finally rolled off of him, and lit a cigarette, Steve knew better than to ask.

“I’m leaving.” Steve just hummed at him. Billy sometimes stuck around after sex.

But Billy didn’t move.

“Like, leaving Hawkins.” Steve just hummed again. Billy talked a lot about leaving Hawkins. Steve had always secretly dreamed of running away with him. 

Billy just studied his face in the dark, stubbing out his cigarette and rolling over to hols Steve close to his chest.

Steve closed his eyes, let himself pretend.

Pretend that Billy loved him back.

-

He woke up to rustling, Billy getting dressed to leave as weak sunlight began to trickle through his curtains.

“Oh shit, didn’t mean to wake you.”

He smiled lazily at Billy.

“You comin’ back over tonight?” Billy looked stiff.

“Probably not. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’ll see you later, then.”

“Yeah. Later.” Billy was sitting on the end of his bed, had just finished tying on his boots.

And then he moved, quick as a flash to kiss Steve softly before he was thundering down the stairs.

Steve was just falling asleep as the Camaro roared away.

-

Billy had skipped town that night.

And Steve never forgave himself.

-

Steve was leaning over the counter, his head pressed into the cool top of it.

“I threw up all last week, and I just feel like shit.” He had been whining to Robin practically all morning at Family Video.

“Do you think you have the flu?”

“I don’t know, Rob. I mean, my stomach hurts a lot, but like, it feels like I’m just having awful cramps.”

“Are you on your period?”

“Nah. Don’t get it very often with the hormones anymore.”

“Normally I’d suggest pregnancy, but I know you’re in a bit of a dry spell.” He rolled slightly to look darkly at her. “Still no word of Billy?”

“No. The one person in Hawkins that isn’t too transphobic to fuck me, and he skips town.” Steve sighed. “I should’ve known, too. He was being super weird that night.”

“Whatever. When you and I skip town, we’ll have the time of our damn lives, and get you laid.” He laughed softly.

“I’m just gonna go to the doctor this weekend. Get a full physical.”

“Let me know the verdict at and I can come over with some medicine, if you need.”

“Thanks, Rob.”

-

Steve was lying back on the stiff exam table.

He had already given blood and urine samples, and was just waiting for the doctor to tell him what the fuck was wrong with him.

Sometimes his hormones had to be adjusted, and caused all sorts of weird shit to go haywire in his body.

Dr. Mauch was a kind woman, always been pleasant and accepting of Steve, even referred him to an endocrinologist for his hormones.

She didn’t smile when she came in, though. Just sat down at her stool.

“I’m going to go out a limb here and say that this is not news you’ll be happy about hearing.”

Steve felt his heart drop to his stomach.

“You’re pregnant.”

He blinked.

“No.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. But you most definitely are.”

“But, but I’m on blockers, and testosterone, and I haven’t had sex in months.”

“I’d say about six months.” His mouth was dry. Billy had left in late May. About six months ago. “And being on hormones is not an effective method of birth control. Some men still get pregnant after taking them.”

“I’m not, I don’t look pregnant.”

“Some people don’t really show their pregnancy. My sister was rail thin the entire time, had a perfectly healthy baby girl. It’s all about your body type.”

“So, so you’re telling me, that I’m six months fucking pregnant.”

“Yes.” He slumped back onto the exam table.

“What are, what are my options?”

“Well, unfortunately, not many. Abortions are only legal in Indiana up to 20 weeks, or five months, or unless the person pregnant is facing severely compromised physical health. There’s always adoption.”

“No one’s gonna want a baby from a trans guy.” She pursed her lips.

“I think that’s a harsh statement. Many people are desperate for babies.” Steve just stared at her.

“So, if I have to take it to term, should I like, go off my hormones.” His stomach gave a lurch at the idea.

“I would recommend it. There’s very little research one pregnancy in transgender individuals. We really don’t know how hormones can affect the baby.” Steve sighed. “I would say, get in with an OB/GYN. I can recommend a few I know and send them your medical history. Your name change and hormone therapy is part of all of it, so hopefully they will be kind.” Steve sighed.

“Thank you, Doc. I really appreciate it.”

“I’m sorry for the disappointing news.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” She gave him a copy of their appointment notes, a list of OB/GYNs for him to research, and a hug before she left.

He drove home slowly, feeling exhausted, like the weight of the fucking world was on his shoulders.

He got home to find Robin sitting on his front porch, her nose buried in a book, a pizza box sitting next to her.

She looked up at him, and he burst into tears.

-

“Look, Max, if he contacts you in any way, tell him to call Steve, okay? It’s important.” Robin was yammering to Max on the phone, trying to get a way to contact Billy.

Steve was laying on the couch, had his shirt rucked up over his stomach, pushing it out and sucking it in, trying to see any change in his body.

“Just give him Steve’s phone number and tell him he’s an asshole.” She hung up the phone, perching on the armrest at Steve’s feet.

“She know where he is?”

“No. She said he ran off and hasn’t contacted her at all. She didn’t even know he was leaving.” She slid onto the couch, let Steve put his feet on her lap. “You think he’d come back? If he knew?”

“I don’t know. I’m not really asking him to. I mean, I don’t think I’m in a place to take care of it, but I kinda just want him to know it exists. Like, I think he deserves that.”

“I get it.” Her voice was soft. She watched Steve stare at his tummy some more. “I’m sorry. I’m sure this is just, dysphoria out the wazoo.” Steve huffed a laugh.

“I don’t think it’s really hit me yet. I think ‘cause I’m not showing. I don’t look pregnant, so how can I be pregnant, you know?” He sighed tugging down his shirt. “Going to the doctor’s gonna be a damn nightmare, though. They’re too used to dealing with women. It’s gonna suck.”

-

Steve was right.

Even though his primary care doctor had sent his medical history, he still got deadnamed and misgendered at reception, and intake, and by the nurse, and the doctor when she finally arrived.

They gave him a pelvic exam, getting him in for a sonogram as well.

And as the doctor was moving the imagining wand around on his tummy, and he heard the heartbeat for the first time, something caved inside of him.

A baby. He was having a baby.

And part of him, a really fucking big part of him, was starting to love it.

-

His parents were home for four days.

And Steve had waited for the final day of their homesteading to tell them.

He’s glad he did.

Diner was as quiet as always, and Steve had nearly choked on the words.

“I’m pregnant.”

His father had gotten out his wallet, asked how much an abortion costs.

“I’m too far along for that. Nowhere will legally do it.”

His mother had just stared at him. His father asked how far along he was.

“Close to seven months. I didn’t even know until like, a week and a half ago.”

And his father had stood up, and the yelling began.

“I can’t believe you. You kick up this huge fuss, make us change your name, and the way we refer to you, go around telling everyone your a boy, and you get pregnant like the little slut you are.”

And he had told Steve to back his shit, told him he was not welcome in my house anymore.

And Steve didn’t have a lot of shit he cared about, the clothes he liked fit in one duffel bag.

His mother didn’t look at him as he left.

-

He had called Mrs. Henderson from a payphone.

Nobody else could give him a ride anymore, and he wasn’t expecting her to drop everything and drive him somewhere, but she had freaked out at the words kicked out and for getting pregnant, and told him to stay where he is.

She was there with a tight hug and a travel mug of honey lemon tea within twenty minutes.

Steve had asked for a ride to a youth shelter he had read about, but she shook her head, said you’re coming to live with me and Dusty and Steve had cried in her passenger seat, and again in her guest bedroom.

-

Steve groaned.

He had finally begun showing, just a little bit out a mound near his belly button.

But he felt like shit, had taken to spending most days in bed.

He bat away whoever was shaking him.

“Go away.”

“Steve, it’s Max.”

“I’m sleeping.”

“I found Billy, you asshole. I have his address.” Steve sat bolt up straight.

“You, where is he?”

“Boston. He went east, for some reason. But he sent me a letter, out of the blue, and I told him you had something important to say, but he said he doesn’t have a phone.” She handed him a slip of paper.

“Thanks, Max.” He gave her a weak smile, found her chewing her lip.

“Is he the father? The other father, I mean.” He had told the party about the pregnancy, figured rumors would begin spreading soon enough.

“Yeah. He’s the other father.”

“He wouldn’t have ditched you. If he’d known.”

“I know.”

“He’s not like that.”

“I know.” She stared him down. He kept his face open, honest.

“Are you gonna write to him?”

“Yeah. I just, I don’t really know what to say.”

“Just keep it simple. Tell him he’s got a kid. Let him choose what he wants.”

-

It took Steve almost a month to draft a letter.

He didn’t really know what to say.

He settled on the bare minimum.

I’m pregnant. And it is most definitely, without a doubt, yours. I’m not expecting anything from you. I don’t want money, or for you to move back to Hawkins. I just thought you deserve to know about your kid.

He read the letter about three times, one hand pressed delicately to his little bump.

I’ve decided to keep the baby. I’m going to raise them. You’re welcome to meet them, and be in their life if you choose, but if not, I’m not going to hold it against you.

He sealed the envelope, leaving it on his nightstand.

And then his contractions started.

He didn’t get around to sending it.

-

Claudia was the only person in the room with him when he gave birth.

She held his hand the whole time, coached him through his breathing.

And when his son was born, she pet his head, told Steve how beautiful he is.

-

Steve was slumped face down on the bed.

He had just gotten Oliver down, calmed him down enough for him to finally sleep.

He rolled over, scrubbing a hand down his face.

He had barely slept all week. But Oliver had smiled at him for the first time yesterday.

He turned to lay on his side, zeroing in on the envelope on his nightstand.

He sat up quickly.

Fuck. He needed to send that letter.

He didn’t bother thinking about it, just wrapped his sweater tighter around himself, and hurried to the mailbox. He put the little flag up, leaving the letter in the little inner clasp.

He looked back down at Oliver, running one finger over his fuzzy little head.

-

He didn’t hear from Billy for three weeks.

He knew the letter wouldn’t take more than a few days to get to him, and it would take just as long for Billy to get him back.

He had pushed Billy out of his mind, figured if he wanted to be part of Oliver’s life, he had given him enough of a chance to be.

He put on a thick sweatshirt, had taken to wearing baggy tops to hide his tits, too sore, too big to bind anymore. Oliver squealed at him when he leaned against the side of his crib, reaching out for him.

He strapped him into his stroller to take him on a walk, stopped dead in the doorway.

Billy fucking Hargrove was in the driveway, standing next to the Camaro like he had just gotten out of it.

His eyes were wide, trailing from Steve, to Oliver, and back again.

“Is that my kid?” Billy’s hair was shorter than when he had left.

“Oliver. His name is Oliver.” Billy stepped around the car.

“Can I, can I see him?” Steve brought the stroller down the driveway, taking Oliver out of the stroller.

Billy held him like he was made of gold.

“He’s beautiful.”

“I think he looks a lot like you.” Billy smiled at him.

“Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here, I was waiting for my semester to end.”

“It’s okay. I just, you know. Thought you deserved to know about him.” Billy stared at Oliver, his smile going soft as Oliver squealed, tugging on Billy’s hair.

“I want to be in his life. If that’s okay?”

“Of course it is. He’s your son too.” Billy brushed his thumb down Oliver’s nose.

“Thank you, Steve. And I’m, I’m sorry about how I left. I was going to-” he cut himself off, looking back at Oliver. “I was gonna ask you to come with me. Chickened out last minute.”

Steve’s heart was banging against his rips.

“I would’ve gone with you. Used to dream about running away with you.” Oliver started getting fussy, making disgruntled little huffs. Billy passed him back to Steve. “I was in love with you. You know that?”

“Yeah, I knew that. Was to chicken shit to do anything about it.” Billy was still looking at Oliver, the way he nestled into Steve’s neck. “He loves you a lot.”

“It’s been the two of us for awhile.”

“You’re a good dad. Always kinda figured you would be, though.” Billy took another breath. “You know, you could’ve told me sooner. I would’ve come back.”

“I don’t want you to, to change you life. Don’t quit school, or something.”

“Steve, I got a kid. I want to change my life for him. For, for you.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“No never did. I’m choosing this. I’m choosing my family.” Steve hesitated.

“Would you like to come in? Have some breakfast? You could give Oliver his bottle, If you wanted.” Billy’s eyes lit up.

“I’d like that.”

[just-castlevania-imagines]

Castlevania Boys w/ a Trans Masc (FtM) S/O

Disclaimer: sorry this took so long, we've recieved a lot of these requests so I'm hoping to do them all in like one nice super post since a lot of the asks were very similar, dealing w/ similar themes with the selected characters. I also wanted to state that ITS 100% OK TO SEND IN TRANS ASKS, All Mods are Allies, if not LGBT+ themselves. That being said, I am not trans so I did a lot of research prior to this. If I get something wrong pls know it's no disrespect and pls let me know.

Trevor:

Honestly, he doesnt give a fuck what you chose to identify as so long as he gets it right

Coming out to him is awkward, mostly because Trevor doesnt know how to handle sensitive situations or emotions

However, he never misgenders you. He never needs correction.

The only things Trevor really knows about binding are from flesh wounds. He is there to help if you ask for it, but he needs guidance and practice (only for tightness)

He is more than willing (ok so maybe a little bit of protest) to help you with anything. If it's for you, he'll do or try anything

Being as straightforward as he is, your relationship continues quite normally. There are your cold carriage nights where you two cuddle and the rare occasional nights at an inn

When you lean on him, he leans right back. You two fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Your relationship is more action then words and honestly having Trevor as your rock is not so bad

Alucard:

Very similarly, what you chose to identify as does not bother him in slightest. What bothers him is your comfort

Alucard will do his research to ensure your utmost comfort. If he messes up, he corrects himself immediately

You may catch him every odd night or so, wandering the Belmont archives or searching through his fathers own. He wants to better understand your situation, he wants to be informed

But he is also curious in your history. Long, deep, meaningful talks during nights you'd both be better off resting

Hes a dramatic little bitch however, so do expect some gravitas when he starts talking

Everything is quite gentle and detail oriented with Alucard. You know you are accepted, there is no question about that

Binding is something Alucard us extremely unfamiliar with. His wounds heal or scar over. The most he's ever done to bandage a wound is suck on his finger when it got a nasty paper cut

Nevertheless, Alucard will learn and he will prioritize your health, safety and comfort above all else.

Dracula:

The concept of transgender has existed throughout history, long before Dracula himself made his mark.

When you come out to him, you can feel a deep understanding and a wave of relief release from your shoulders.

Vladdy is informed. He is an allie. We stan a king ok

But where there comes understanding, there comes great caution. Your safety becomes his primary concern.

You are the light of his life. A trailblazer of your kind. A bright shining star in a sea of endless night. Most of Mankind may not be ready for you yet

Binding is something Vlad is surprisingly well versed in. He's done his research, he knows the best ways to help you.

In his home, no matter what you look like or identify as, you are welcomed. Your are accepted. You are loved.

Sincerely, Mod Wall Chicken

[amaraqwolf]

I got Feelings and you know what that means: Feelings Splurge.

“Why are you so concerned with gender identity? It’s a first-world problem.”

Nope! It is very much not a first-world problem. Allow me to explain why, using psychology and history. Warning: it’s a long ride.

So anyone who’s taken any Intro to Psych class is familiar with Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.

Basically, it’s a model for the human needs that need to be met in order for someone to thrive. The bottom of the pyramid are the foundational survival needs; food, water, sleep, shelter. (Sex is not usually included anymore, because A) it’s not necessary for survival, and B) plenty of people have nonexistent sex drives, whereas no one has a nonexistent need to eat.) Above that is the need for safety; financial security, good health, etc. Then comes love and belonging; family, friends, feeling respected and acknowledged and wanted. Above that are the high-concept needs; the need for purpose, achievement, status, and legacy.

The pyramid is designed to illustrate how it is impossible for someone to meet their full potential if the bottom of the pyramid isn’t stable. You don’t give a shit about employment if you don’t know where you’re going to sleep tonight, for example. You do not have romance anywhere on your radar when you’re struggling to put enough food on the table. You can’t pursue a genuine sense of feeling loved and wanted until you feel safe. If bottom needs aren’t met, top needs can’t be met.

This is usually a pretty good model, I think. The issue is that when we involve capitalism, Maslow’s pyramid is often used to justify cruelty. “No one would work unless working was directly tied to basic needs”, CEOs who have never worked a day in their life cry from atop their ivory towers. “If you’re not struggling with basic needs, then all your problems are first-world problems”, otherwise well-meaning people loudly claim.

So I think this version of it is slightly better:

‘Deficiency needs’ are all the needs that need to be met before you can even think about trying to grow. This includes basic survival needs, safety needs, and social needs. If any of those aren’t being met, you’re going to have an extremely hard time contributing to your community or reaching even a fraction of your full potential.

If the pyramid isn’t fully in place, your motivation takes a hard hit.

Am, what does any of this have to do with gender?

I’m glad you asked!

With gender, nothing. With social needs, everything.

Way back at the beginning of human history, our survival needs were food, water, shelter, and community. Why community? Because community is how we raised our children, built our homes, grew our food, and sourced our water. No one person did all of that on their own -- we had extremely wrinkled and clever brains, not powerful muscles, claws, or fangs. If we didn’t band together as a community, not one of us would have survived.

In order to contribute to your community, however, all of your deficiency needs have to be met. You need to feel safe and secure, and you need to feel loved and valued. So it was in everyone’s best interest to listen to, acknowledge, and validate every single individual member of the community. If we didn’t recognise the inherent value in someone independent of their productivity, after all, we never would have cared for our sick and injured. Nor would we have buried our dead and developed rituals for mourning them.

In order for community to work, everyone had to listen to each other. You listened to the pregnant person about what they needed, because otherwise, you lost the child. You listened when someone was feeling sick or in pain, because otherwise, you lost them to disease.

And that, right there, is why gender has been fluid across multiple cultures across the entire span of human history. People listened when someone said ‘actually, I don’t fit’, and they collectively adapted. We have evidence, across human history, of cultures with third independent gender groups; cultures with people recognised as dual-gender (’two-spirit’, etc.); and cultures with gender-free community roles. Because we knew that when someone’s identity was validated by their community, their social needs were met, and they were much more likely to become valued members of society. When someone was rejected, you lost their motivation, their potential, their spirit, their joy. You lost them.

Having your identity validated by your community was, essentially, a survival need -- for the entire community.

Nonbinary gender identities have existed for as long as human beings have existed.

When we talk about first-world problems, we’re talking about problems that have not existed for the entirety of human history. We’re talking about not being able to afford a brand-new TV. Does that suck? Yes. Can it be distressing? Yes. Is it devastating? No.

You know what is devastating? Not getting a deficiency need met. Not feeling safe. Not knowing where your next meal is coming from. Not having a home. Being rejected by your community -- your family and friends.

If a personal example would help:

I realised the other day that my distress over being misgendered is considerably less than it was several months ago. That’s because the majority of the people in my life A) accept me, B) consistently gender me correctly, and C) correct others when they make mistakes. I believe that when the majority of your community validate you like this, misgendering becomes less of an issue. Your social need is met; therefore, your resilience and self-esteem are high enough to shrug off mistakes much more easily. I still get a pang of pain/annoyance, but it’s much less likely to ruin my day, so I can dedicate my mental energy to stuff like writing my novels.

But if you don’t have that social need met, then every misgendering is a psychologically devastating reminder that you are not loved, not wanted, and/or not respected. Every misgendering breaks more of the pyramid, and removes you even further from a place of purpose, motivation, and self-actualisation.

In conclusion:

Validating gender identities strengthens individuals, communities, and humanity as a whole. By definition, first-world problems do not.

You do not need to understand why someone feels the way they do in order to accept them, practice gendering them correctly, and correct others when they make a mistake.

Thank you so much, everyone who already does this for the genderfluid and nonbinary people in your life. Your efforts and validations are life-changing; they’re the building blocks of a truly healthy society.

[whichstoodonrockyshores]

7/52, thanks to @alex-fa-ch​ for letting me do Wy! Very cool of you.

I didn’t even bother doing his state flag skin, as you will never see him using it unless someone asks him to.  Sorry for the background being kinda shit but *shrugs*. Onto headcanons!

🦬 He’s almost never called Wyoming. Most people just call him Wy, unless they’ve literally never met him before.

🦬 He/Him, Gay

🦬 He has a large scar on his side from a suicide attempt, and a brand on his other side. Those are the reasons he really doesn’t take off his shirt. He also has a small tattoo on his inner ring finger of his first husbands initials, J.P.D. He hides this was his current wedding ring. He’ll say he doesn’t have any tattoos if asked.

🦬 Though he does want more tattoos! He just hasn’t gotten to it yet.

🦬 Celebrates his birthday on July 10th, but December 10th (Wyoming Day) is also a special day to him where he takes some time to himself.

🦬 Loves horses, but isn’t the best at controlling riding them. His actual favorite animal is the bison! He thinks they’re majestic creatures, and absolutely hates they became endangered from over hunting. He’ll cry if he sees a bison injured.

🦬 For a long time, the other states thought Wy would never get a power, because he was a human before becoming a state. This was quickly proven wrong when very recently he unlocked his power: wind manipulation. He can practically fly, makes huge tornadoes, and pick people up with this power. It is semi-emotional though, so if he gets emotional enough he will start a storm in the house.

🦬 Wy isn’t the type to hate someone, but he dislikes Texas a lot. He always finds himself arguing with him about all sorts of stuff, but it’s mainly petty and dumb shit. The only people Wy can genuinely say he hates are Hungary and Brazil, two of his ex’s.

🦬 But he loves most of his siblings. He’s very close with Montana, New Hampshire, and surprisingly, Texas. Even though they dislike each other, they know each other better than they like to admit. He also is friends with Maine, Missouri, Idaho, both Dakota’s, Alabama, and Utah. The others he can get along fine with, but he doesn’t know them very well. 🦬 He likes all animals, but isn’t the fondest of dogs. But he loves cats, ferrets, weasels, rabbits, and all reptiles.   🦬 Most of Wy’s relationships are full of drama, but his first husband wasn’t like that. His name was Jon, and they were together before Wy was a state, when he was just a cowboy. They loves each other dearly, but when the gang spilt up they never saw each other again. Jon did send letters, though.

🦬 His other relationships were either toxic or didn’t work out. Well, until he met his current partner. He slept around a lot, not seeing any reason not to. He was lonely, after all. This is when he met Hungary, Brazil, and a few other minor boyfriends. None of them worked out, which hurt every time.

🦬 His current partner, is West Florida. (in most canons, Wy’s husband or fiancé, belongs to @gamergenia​). They didn’t meet in the best circumstances, but after a lot of pining from Wyoming they ended up together. And then they got married with their two cat children. And their many, many reptiles.

🦬 Has a daughter, Cheyenne. He loves her half to death, but sometimes wishes he was a better father to her. He feels like he failed her, somehow. But she doesn’t really mind.

🦬 If you misgender Hamilton he’ll just kill you on sight, no questions asked.

🦬 Is completely illiterate in every language. He can’t read or write in any way. He speaks English and understands Spanish, but struggles with actually speaking it. Has a thick Southern accent, which he picked up in his cowboy days. If you ever call him stupid for this he’ll just send you flying onto the ocean without hesitation.

🦬 Despite how he usually comes across, is probably one of the worst states when it comes to meeting new people. Wy likes to ask questions and often intrudes a little too much too early. He kind of sucks at making new friends because of this, and his tendency to talk a lot. 

🦬 Is almost completely unaware of what happened in the Revolutionary and Civil Wars. In fact, he barely knows American and World history outside of “we fought some wars with each other, that sucks.”

[dog-teeth]

Hey! I am a transmasc person who hasn't started T. So, I started a new job this spring during quarantine and most of my coworkers are 10+ years older than me (I'm 22) and I came out to my manager and told him my pronouns, which he instructed everyone to use. But they don't :/ I am not comfortable correcting them publicly (anxiety, ya know?) What do I do to have them respect me and have me not in tears every night? My manager has been little help. any thoughts would be so helpful! Thank you!

i know how awful it is to have to correct people, but a lot of the time its the only answer. you can do it in ways that decrease your anxiety, like talking to them one-on-one instead of in a group, just saying like ‘hey earlier you forgot to use my pronouns and i would really appreciate it if you tried harder to not misgender me’ you could also ask your manager to talk to them for you so you don’t have to do it directly. ive also found that the more often you correct people, the easier it becomes. at first its really nerve-wracking, but like anything it just takes practice, the more you do it the more you’ll be able to do it without as much stress. which do you think would be worse: a momentarily awkward few seconds as you correct / talk to someone, or being misgendered for all of the forseeable future? i know it sucks to have to correct people. its the worst. but as with most situations, being direct and honest with people about your needs is the best way to solve things. it can help to practice what you’re going to say to people, talking to a friend or to yourself, just saying the words out loud.

you could also get/make a pronoun pin or label to put on your uniform! that way its more of a reminder for them when they look at you.

unfortunately ive worked jobs where people knew i’m trans and didn’t use my pronouns. it really sucks. but if you talk to people about it its much better than suffering in silence.

[transgenderteensurvivalguide]

I've been on T for 6 months. My upper body photos read 90% as male, whole body reads 70% male without hints of height and 60% male with hints of height. Hints of height = other people, furniture, etc. Of those 60% male with hints of height, 90% think I'm way younger than I am. Voice only reads 60% as male. However when out and about in my life, my entire body reads 10% as male. I seriously need help with passing!! I have no clue what is wrong. Ideas??

Lee says:

I have a sidebar before I answer- I think folks often have an unrealistic expectation about consistently passing early in their transition journey. Sometimes nothing’s wrong with what you’re doing, but HRT takes plenty of time.

Cis boys don’t go through puberty in just 6 months, it’s a process that takes years, and you’re starting at a bit of a disadvantage so it might take a little longer than it takes them to get to the same end destination. Yes, you’ll still get there- it’ll just take a little longer than 6 months to to turn your appearance to that of a man of your age.

I feel like we somehow still see a lot of posts with that rare person, fully cis-passing people early on HRT. And that’s partially because we pay attention to those posts because that’s what we wish for or are jealous of, so we don’t remember all the other posts with ppl who aren’t cis passing so early on HRT. And I also think that those few lucky people who are cis-passing early on HRT choose to post more often because they’re happier with how they look and so there’s more of their posts, and their posts get more attention and reblogs so they get seen more.

And like you said- pictures don’t tell the whole story, and people often post the picture where they look the best so they aren’t necessarily read as male 100% of the time IRL, even if that’s the impression you get from the one photo you see of them. So try avoiding comparing yourself with other people’s transitions. They might be lucky and look a certain way, but that doesn’t mean you’re not doing something right yourself.

-

Anyway, here’s something practical you can use: Our Transmasculine resources have a Passing as male post that you should check out- it has various links with all the tips and tricks you can try, so there might be something in there that you aren’t doing already.

What is passing? and How do I know if I’m passing?

How to pass as male

Guide to being read as male

Passing tips

Transmasculine passing tips

FTM passing tips

Passing and presentation

Masculine body language

Lowering your voice

I try to document my T changes on my transition sideblog so I can notice that something is actually changing, which can help you see it- you don’t always notice you look different if you see yourself in the mirror every day.

It’s hard to be misgendered, but you’re making progress with every shot every week (or every application of gel or patch change or however you take your T), and knowing that you’re doing what you can helps, even though it still sucks. 

I’d check out our Dysphoria page and Mental health page too- it can be hard to stop obsessing over passing because being misgendered really hurts, so you have to do what you can to try to take care of your mental health while you wait.

And again, I’d also say to give it time! That’s the most important thing. I wasn’t anywhere near cis-passing by 6 months on T either, and while everyone’s journeys are different, most people aren’t passing 100% of the time only 6 months on T.

[here4theheartbreak]

Found My Place Ch 2: Give Us a Try

AO3 Link Here!

Relationships: main YoonJin, side VMin (mentioned) Rating: Explicit

Genres: angst, smut Tags (for entire fic): idol AU (canonverse), transgender character, transgender Seokjin, FTM Seokjin, transphobia, pre-debut, misgendering, bisexual Yoongi, supportive Yoongi, discussion of gender confirming surgeries and HRT, virgin Seokjin, sex anxiety, first time, vaginal sex, anal sex, oral sex, generic and scientific terms for female bodied genitals, squirting, barebacking, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, angst with a happy ending

Summary: Jin has a secret that could ruin BTS before they even had a chance to debut. To make matters worse (and better) Yoongi is determined to pursue him to the ends of the earth. Is balancing his secrets and his life possible, or will it all come toppling down around him?

Chapter Word Count: ~3.2k

Jin’s heart thudded a million miles an hour as he rode to the airport alone. He’d been with his members so much in the past year, the idea of going anywhere alone was horrifying. Yoongi had tried to come along, but the manager refused. Instead, he was up texting Jin rapid fire, telling him jokes and complaining about the other members. It felt good, if Jin was being honest. Despite the weight of his secret, Yoongi hadn’t changed a single action that previous night. Just as rough and boyish, not bothering to do more than laugh when the maknaes ganged up on Jin to beat him to pieces before bed, nothing. He did make a gentle point to quietly tell Jin when the bathroom was free, so he could shower in peace, but nothing more. Maybe Yoongi wouldn’t change.

On the plane ride, Jin allowed himself to daydream about what it would be like to date Yoongi. He was so quiet and up in his head, but he opened up to Jin. Would that stay the same? How would it feel to cuddle with him in a shared bed? To spend hours kissing his soft lips and holding his callused hands? Maybe even losing his virginity… Jin tried his best to push that thought away; the fear of anyone seeing him naked had always been too great to even consider opening up to someone in that way. Yoongi would find out his other secrets, things he liked that he shouldn’t, he would see him fully nude and have his body there for judgement. The thought was a nightmare. He knew if Yoongi and he did start dating he’d be expected to give it up at some point, but he didn’t know even how to begin broaching the subject.

Yoongi continued to text when Jin got off the plane, sending short clips of the other members playing or dancing, Jungkook struggling with his homework as Namjoon scolded him, Jimin and Taehyung sneaking kisses behind the couch when they were supposed to be cleaning. And Yoongi himself, working on music or just sitting, short messages of support in whispered tones. And he ended them all the same way. Hyung. Be safe, hyung; Come back soon, hyung; We miss you, hyung. It was a tiny show of support, Jin knew. If only Yoongi knew how much it meant to him.

The doctor was kind enough and the surgery was scheduled to start early the following morning. Jin was placed in a nice hotel room, where he called Yoongi to chat as soon as he was able.

“Are you scared?” Yoongi finally asked.

“Yeah. The doctor says it’s nothing to worry about but I’m terrified. I keep thinking of all the things that could go wrong.”

“Think of the good stuff. When he fixes your chest, you’ll never have to wear those uncomfortable under shirt things. Seeing you in that made my ribs hurt, I can’t imagine wearing it for dancing too.”

“It sucks,” Jin admitted, chuckling. “I wish you could have come.”

“Me too. You don’t deserve to go through this alone. I’ve been… Doing some research.”

“Research?”

“On trans people. I want to learn about you. And how to be supportive. I read a lot about top surgery and the different things you have to do to keep yourself looking this way. The shots and… Stuff.”

Jin chuckled. “Yep, every week.”

“I learned a lot. I hope it comes in handy. I want you to feel like I support you. Because I do. More than anything. I just want you happy. And healthy.”

Jin’s heart clenched tightly at Yoongi’s words. “Thank you… It does mean a lot.”

“I have to go meet the others… Text me, okay? If not tonight, when you get to the hospital tomorrow. And right away when you wake up, I don’t care if it’s just keysmash because you’re high. I need to know you’re okay, okay?”

Jin laughed. “I will. Goodnight, Yoongi.”

“Goodnight, hyung… The dorm’s lonely without you.”

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Good. I’ll be waiting.”

“Tell the others I said hi.”

“Of course. Chat soon.” Yoongi hung up, and Jin flopped back onto his bed, sighing softly as he stared at the ceiling.

Jin obeyed Yoongi’s wishes, texting right before – and immediately after the surgery. And the texts continued. He remained in Japan his entire healing process, working with various doctors and therapists to get his movement back as quickly as was safe. The entire time he was there, Yoongi called and texted at least once per day. The other members joined in at times, sending texts or calling to check in, but Yoongi was the one that kept the steady influx of calls.

Jin struggled at times, feeling like he’d never get back to the top of his game, feeling like maybe surgery was a bad idea, it could injure the group. Yoongi was right there, listening to him cry and speaking in soothing tones, reminding him of how good he probably looked, how handsome he was, and how much they all missed him and would help him.

Each night Yoongi called Jin before bed, his heart filled that much more. He was falling so madly in love with Yoongi, and he knew he was too far gone to avoid the subject any more. Three and a half weeks of separation, and he was finally given the green light to return to Korea and begin his work again.

The morning of his return, Jin didn’t text Yoongi. It felt foreign, and bad. He knew he’d worry him, but it would be worth it. He wanted to sleep on the flight, but was full of nervous energy. He didn’t know if what he was doing was a good thing, or even close to what Yoongi really wanted, but he had to try.

He arrived back at the empty dorm shortly before the others were due to be home. There were a handful of texts from Yoongi, getting slightly worried as the time passed. Jin forced himself to ignore them, waiting in the small living room for their group.

Time slowed to a crawl as he waited. What if they were going out tonight? What if practice was late? What if Yoongi was angry with him for his attempt at a surprise? Anxiety chewed a hole in Jin’s stomach.

Finally, the door opened and the members poured in, just as loud and rambunctious as they’d been what felt like forever ago. It took them all a moment to notice the person sitting in their living room, but as soon as they did, they lunged, all talking at once, asking how he was, where he’d been, if he was okay. Jin gave happy, vague answers, his eyes seeking out Yoongi.

‘Surprise,’ he mouthed as Jungkook hugged him almost painfully tight. Yoongi was trying his best to look angry, but couldn’t hide his smile. Jin pried himself from the arms of the maknaes, rising and going toward Yoongi.

“You and I need to talk. Privately.”

Yoongi nodded.

“I’ll be right back,” Jin called to the group, who ‘oohed’ at them as they headed toward the bedroom. Jin shut the door and leaned on it.

“How are you?” Yoongi asked.

“Great. Pretty much all healed. Just some ointment to make the scars fade. But that’s not why I dragged you in here.”

“Oh?”

Jin took a deep breath, straightening up. “I told you before my surgery I needed time to think. About us.”

Yoongi nodded.

“Well, I had a lot of time to think while I was recovering.”

“Oh… And?”

Jin swallowed hard. He closed the gap between them and grabbed Yoongi’s cheeks. He pressed their mouths together before he had a chance to change his mind. Yoongi gasped, grabbing his upper arms. He didn’t pull away though. Instead he pulled Jin closer, his body relaxing. He walked them toward the wall, bumping them against it. Jin laughed softly, wrapping his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders as he slid his tongue over Yoongi’s bottom lip. The kiss deepened naturally, and Jin found himself pressed between the wall and Yoongi’s body, Yoongi’s lips and teeth biting a painfully pleasurable mark on his shoulder.

Yoongi pulled back when he seemed to be satisfied with the mark, meeting Jin’s gaze. “I take that as a yes then… To my offer before you left.”

Jin laughed breathlessly. “Yeah. It’s a yes. I wanna date you.”

“Let me take you out tonight. The others won’t mind.”

Jin laughed, stroking Yoongi’s cheek. “It’s my first night back. Let me spend it with all of you guys. You and I can go out tomorrow night. Deal?”

“I suppose one more night of waiting is okay,” Yoongi lamented. He kissed Jin once more. “Can I keep doing this?” He whispered against his mouth.

“I never want you to stop that.”

Yoongi pulled back then and stepped back, holding Jin’s broad shoulders. “So your chest! Your surgery. Let me see?”

“The scars are still healing – I need to put cream on them a few times a day.”

“I don’t care. Do you love it?”

“I really do,” Jin admitted softly. He stripped out of his shirt, his cheeks heating up. Nobody but his doctors and nurses had seen his chest yet. His arms raised instinctively, but Yoongi grabbed his hands, forcing them down as his eyes roamed over Jin’s body.

“You’re so handsome. I love it. It looks perfect. Does it hurt still? Can I—” Yoongi held up his hand.

“It doesn’t hurt. It’s sensitive, around the scars and the nipple area… I never really had a sensitive chest before so it’s taking some getting used to but… You can.”

Yoongi touched Jin’s shoulder first, sliding his hand down slowly, almost tenderly, over his chest. Jin’s eyes fluttered shut when he brushed over his nipple, biting his bottom lip. Yoongi traced the scars with a delicate finger, then dropped down to Jin’s belly button before letting his hand fall.

“It’s perfect you, hyung. You look so masculine.”

Jin grinned sheepishly, his face warming at the praise. “I wonder if the others will ask… Now that I can show my chest…”

“I’d ease them into it. They’ll ask more questions if you suddenly start walking around shirtless. Maybe a day or two here or there. You could… Shower with me, if you wanted to… Especially now that we’re dating.”

Jin felt his heart skip a beat at that.

“That requires being fully naked.”

“Usually.” Yoongi paused. “Oh… Right, your bottom half… You know I don’t care, right?”

“I know. It just feels… Wrong.”

“I get it. I won’t push you.”

Jin’s shoulders sagged a little, guilt beginning to eat at him already. “It’s not fair to you.”

“What isn’t?”

“You’re a perfectly normal, healthy guy. You have needs. And my anxiety won’t let me fulfill those needs.”

“Well, one, my hands both work great. Two, I don’t expect you to just jump into bed with me now that you’ve agreed to dating me. I’d want to build up to that. Even if you had a dick. And three, I know what I’m getting into. I’m more than happy to wait, and move at your pace. I want to be happy with you – that means your happiness too. I’ll follow your lead in this, Jin-hyung. I’ve not dated a trans person before, so I know it will be different. I won’t push you – You just tell me when you’re ready.”

“You won’t resent me?” Jin worried, his voice timid.

Yoongi pressed against him and kissed him once more. “Are you kidding? I’m dating the most handsome member of Bangtan. I could never.”

Jin pushed him playfully, rolling his eyes. Yoongi grabbed his hand. “I mean it. I want to make you happy.”

“You will. You already do, just being the way you are. Your support these past few weeks… It was all that got me through some days. The other members helped but you… Knowing the truth, sticking by my side even virtually – I’m so thankful.”

Yoongi nodded. “You deserved support. You needed it. I’m glad I could help.”

Jin stepped forward, holding his jaw to kiss him gently once more.

“Hyuuungs,” Jungkook whined, bursting through the door. “I’m hung—Oh, my God, I’m so sorry!” He slammed the door shut just as Jin broke away from Yoongi’s mouth. Yoongi laughed a little and Jin tugged his shirt back on, relieved his back was to the door.

“Well, guess that made telling the group easier.”

Jin chuckled. “Guess so. We should go do damage control.”

“Kiss me again.”

Jin obeyed without hesitation, pressing his lips gently to Yoongi’s. He opened the door then and walked back into the living room, where Jungkook sat with a tomato red face on the floor.

“So… Got something to tell us?” Namjoon asked, smirking.

“Yeah… About that,” Jin rubbed the back of his neck.

“Has it been going on long?” Jimin asked.

“No,” Yoongi stepped next to Jin. “We wouldn’t have hidden that. I asked him out a while back, but today he said yes.”

“But your shirt was off,” Jungkook argued. Jin bit his lip.

“I—” He sighed. “I was showing him a scar. I have something to confess.”

Yoongi grabbed Jin’s hand, looking at him quickly.

“The emergency trip was for surgery. For me.”

“Surgery?” Namjoon said. “What for?”

“To have a mass removed from my chest.”

Hoseok shot up, rushing over to Jin. “What? Why didn’t you tell us?!”

“Because I didn’t want to scare any of you. It was entirely benign, they made sure. It was just unsightly and made my job difficult. So they removed it. But I have scars now. They’ll heal, but if I seem off on some moves, that’s why.”

“Jin-hyung, you should have told us,” Jimin said softly. “We would have supported you.”

“I didn’t want any of you off your game. In case it went bad—I needed you to think everything was fine and not panic. Yoongi knew, he kept me supported. And everything was fine. Just… If you see me shirtless now… Don’t be startled.”

“Is that why you didn’t go shirtless before?” Jungkook asked.

“Well, that and I’m shy, I guess. But that was a part of it. I’m not gonna start running around half naked or anything, but…”

“We get it,” Namjoon said. “I’m glad you’re okay.” The others murmured in agreement.

“Now we can go eat. I’m sorry I delayed us,” Jin said. As if on a special command, the others shot up, gathering their coats and shoes as they argued over where to eat. Yoongi looked up at Jin.

“That was brave.”

“I wanted some honesty,” Jin admitted.

“Maybe someday… The rest?”

Jin shrugged a little. “The contract…” “I know. But I’m just saying. If you do want to. I’ll stand by you. Just like I did today.” He squeezed Jin’s hand a little harder and kissed his jaw.

“I trust that you will, Yoongi… Come on, we should go before they drag us out.” Jin tugged Yoongi toward the door, following the others. 

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

Royal Growing Pains - Chapter Nine

Warnings: Homophobia, transphobia, misgendering, sympathetic Deceit

Royal Growing Pains Tag

They continued to practice, Roman intermittently kicking Damien, or stepping on his toes from using the wrong foot. Every time, Roman would apologize, and every time, Damien would wave away the apology. And with time, Roman improved. Damien started cracking jokes and making Roman laugh, and he focused on where he was stepping less, and focused on Damien more. In twenty minutes, he had learned the basic box step, and he wasn’t kicking anyone on accident anymore.

“Now that you know the box step, it’s time to learn the turn,” Logan said. “It’s not that difficult. Every time you take a step, you move your feet at a quarter of an angle to what you had been doing before. At the end two boxes, you should be facing the same way you are now. Ready to try?”

“No,” Roman said, staring up at Damien anyway.

Damien smiled reassuringly, and they tried the steps, painstakingly slow. Roman nearly rolled his ankle from turning a bit too much on one of the steps, but after a few tries, Roman was able to turn without hurting himself. Not hurting Damien was a little trickier, but he was avoiding kicking more and more.

“I think we should try the progression,” Logan said. “What that is would be essentially stretching the box you two are using, so that you move forward, or backward, across the dance floor instead of simply staying in the same place.”

“Joy,” Roman said.

“It will be all right, Roman,” Damien murmured. “You’ve done wonderfully so far.”

Roman swallowed and nodded, and they tried it. Damien had to get adjusted to Roman’s shorter legs, and he stepped on Roman’s toes a couple times in revenge as he got a handle on the adjustment.

They made a whole rotation around the ballroom and Logan clapped. “Excellent, both of you. Now, you will have to practice to make sure you can do this without looking at your feet, but if you can dance for the entire song without an error, I will conclude today’s lesson.”

Logan started playing the song on his phone, and Damien moved Roman across the dance floor. Roman kept on having to resist the urge to look at his feet. But when Damien started singing along to the song, Roman was transfixed. His voice sounded positively angelic, smooth as honey and he sang with just as much heart as the singer on the video.

Roman was still trying to get over the fact that Damien was singing to him...singing a song about true love, when the chorus started. And it was in that moment Roman knew that he loved Damien. The affection was so strong, he was surprised his heart didn’t burst. Tears sprang to Roman’s eyes, and Roman couldn’t cover the smile that was forming on his face.

Damien smiled just as wide as Roman did as he continued to sing, and they danced their way around the ballroom, Roman not having to look down once, all doubts about his dancing ability fading away as he focused solely on Damien. When the song ended, Roman was actually disappointed that he wouldn’t get to continue dancing. He heard clapping from the doorway to the ballroom, and he saw their mothers standing there, both of them beaming.

Roman turned red but Damien just laughed good-naturedly. “How long have you been standing there?” he asked, a gleam in his eye.

“Long enough to know that you can cure anyone from having two left feet,” the Queen said. “And that those singing classes you took in school didn’t go to waste.”

Roman let his hands drop from Damien’s, feeling disappointed in doing so. When the fluttering in his heart didn’t stop when he saw Damien laugh at the Queen, Roman was surprised. Usually, he could feel bursts of love for someone and they would fade away as the moment that caused the feeling passed. But this feeling remained. He was shocked. Did this mean...that he actually loved Damien? More than having a cute guy being chivalrous to him; did he actually love the man in question, and not just the actions? He took a shaky breath. What did that mean for him?

“Veronica, I trust you won’t stop practicing after this one time, thinking that you can waltz without issue from now on. Practice is what makes perfect,” Roman’s mother lectured.

“If you want, Your Majesty, I could continue dancing with Veronica for the rest of the morning,” Damien said, wrapping a hand around Roman’s waist, and Roman felt electricity shooting through him at the action.

“No, the two of you have much more to do than simply dance,” his mother said. “You both have more of the wedding to plan out for the rest of the morning, seeing as how one of you has meetings later today.”

Damien sighed. “Yes, I tried to ask my father if I could get out of the meetings, but he refused. I was hoping to spend some more time just...relaxing, and getting to know the two of you better, but a nation never rests.”

Roman felt disappointment settle in his stomach. He wanted to continue dancing, at least a little bit, just to hear a little more of Damien’s voice. But the infernal wedding was getting in the way. “What needs to be done this morning?” Roman asked.

“We need to finalize seating for the guests,” the Queen said. “Naturally, some people aren’t the most...receptive to others who will be here, and we need to make sure no one gets into a fight with someone else because they were sitting next to each other.”

Roman nodded. “Makes sense,” he said. He was still eternally thankful that he had wriggled out of getting bridesmaids and a Maid of Honor. He honestly would not have been able to handle that, but since the wedding was on such short notice, he didn’t have the time to pick out people who he could tolerate standing next to him at his wedding. “We wouldn’t want a war breaking out before the reception.”

“We might just get one yet,” his mother pointed out. “If you don’t tell people why you didn’t pick them as bridesmaids.”

“I think most people will understand, Mother. Especially considering the short notice,” Roman sighed. “We talked about this before.”

Damien snorted. “Truth be told, Your Majesty, I had no idea who I would make my Best Man if we were having an entire wedding party.” He offered Roman’s mother a fake smile that rivalled one of her own. “I think Veronica was very pragmatic in that decision.”

“Aw, thank you,” Roman said, looking up at him and offering him a grin. “I’m glad that someone else sees the reasoning behind my decisions.”

“Well, we are getting married,” Damien pointed out. “Perhaps there’s a reason we just...click?”

“Other than the fact that we’re both very attractive and want to please the other?” Roman asked with a teasing grin.

“Yes, other than that,” Damien said with a slight blush. Apparently being called attractive flustered him. Interesting.

The Queen offered Roman an amused smile. “We should probably get going and figure that out, however difficult it may be to leave this room. I know it’s rather nice in here, but we can’t bring the entire guest list over when there are more than one hundred people invitations have been sent to. And we have to find places for every last one of them.”

Roman could feel his blood pressure rising. “Damien,” he said, turning. “If you so much as even think about shirking out of this and leaving the three of us to plan this on our own, I will make your life a living hell.”

Roman’s mother gasped but Damien just laughed, vowing, “I would never dream of it, my dear.”

The two of them left the room at their mothers’ insistence, but they stayed close together as they walked through the halls. Roman kept on feeling his heart flutter whenever Damien’s hand brushed against his, and Roman knew he had contracted the love bug badly. His mother wasn’t making things any easier, either, giving him glares for using an alleged swear word. “So, do you know who’s being invited to our little...social engagement?” Damien asked Roman.

“Social engagement, hm?” Roman asked with a wicked grin.

“No, I am not doing this with you too,” Damien said. “I get enough puns from Patton!”

“Ah, but you’re the one who said it!” Roman exclaimed. “I just pointed it out and gave it the recognition it deserved!”

Damien gave Roman a half-hearted scowl and Roman just giggled. He knew that the love bug was going to make his life agony for a while, so he may as well enjoy the moment now, when it wasn’t as prevalent. “I don’t know everyone who’s being invited, but I know the majority of my extended family has agreed to come, as well as several people who either advise my father or work with him in some other fashion, and I know that Remus has a few people like that as well.”

Damien nodded. “I anticipate it’s much the same on my end,” Damien said. “I don’t know for certain. Truth be told...I was avoiding gaining information about this whole occasion for a while because I was terrified of it becoming real.”

“Has it? Become real?” Roman asked.

“It has,” Damien said. “But I think that I have also grown to appreciate it, and I have a certain excitement surrounding the occasion.”

“Why do you think that is?” Roman asked, glancing at Damien.

Damien brushed some hair out of Roman’s face gently and Roman nearly fainted. “Well, marrying someone as lovely as you certainly has something to do with it.”

“Oh,” Roman said softly, not knowing what else to say.

Damien offered Roman a smile and Roman smiled nervously back. “I don’t know what to do when pretty boys flirt with me,” he blurted, laughing.

“Neither do I,” Damien whispered into Roman’s ear.

Roman laughed harder, clapping a hand over his mouth. He sucked in air and turned with a scowl to Damien. “Come on, that’s mean!” he objected.

“I’ll stop if you will,” Damien offered.

Roman considered. “No,” he said. “I like being sarcastic too much. But you’re allowed to complain, as am I.”

“I can work with that,” Damien agreed.

They got to the room where the list of guests resided, which was conveniently located by the kitchen, no doubt so they could work through lunch if they had to. Roman and Damien sat down next to each other on one side of the table, and their mothers sat on the opposite side. Roman arched his eyebrows at the rows upon rows that the cathedral they were using had on a diagram placed on the table, and the long list of people who were expected to come. “This is going to take a while, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Sadly,” Damien agreed. “But if we finish it today, we might be able to do something together tomorrow that doesn’t involve wedding planning. You seemed to enjoy dance practice.”

“Dancing is fun when you’re not kicking your partner in the shins,” Roman said with a shrug.

“I agree,” Damien said. “Perhaps we can dance again tomorrow, should we have the time.”

“I’d like that,” Roman agreed, smiling.

They turned back to the list and Roman’s smile dimmed. “Okay. Easy ones first. Close family should be in the first row of each pew.”

“Agreed,” Damien said. “Less close individuals who are still family can sit in the second and third rows.”

“Dignitaries who hold high rankings of power should be in the fourth and fifth. Is it bad to want to banish children to the back rows?”

Damien laughed. “Only if you use the word ‘banish,’” he informed Roman. “But I think we should figure out which dignitaries wouldn’t throttle each other if they sit next to each other, first.”

Roman sighed. “You’re right, and I hate that you’re right.”

Damien offered Roman a small commiserating smile, and he looked at the list of dignitaries who were to be invited. “I know that Charles doesn’t like Nancy whatsoever, we should probably keep those two as far apart as possible.”

Roman looked over the names, half of them recognizable and another half with no idea as to their identities. “I know Mira gets along well with most people, so she shouldn’t be too hard to place. We can probably save her for later once we’ve eliminated some of the troublemakers.”

“Hm...Timothy is the same,” Damien mused. “Isabelle might not like someone but she is unlikely to start a fight over it, so we can probably place her later as well...”

They went through their lists slowly, sorting people into groups where they needed to be careful with placement, and where the guests could sit wherever they pleased, setting up seats for each of them. Once that was done, Roman’s stomach had started to snarl and he groaned, stretching one arm across the table while resting his head on the other one. “I’m starving,” he complained. “I can’t think on an empty stomach.”

Damien pulled out his phone and tutted at the screen. “I have to go to meetings in an hour.”

“Don’t leave me here,” Roman whined. “Hungry and alone is just cruel!”

Damien pat Roman’s arm and offered, “We could have lunch? Just the two of us?”

Roman pulled himself up until he was resting on his elbows. “You mean that?”

Damien tilted his head downward once. “There’s still much about you I’d love to learn, my dear.”

Roman sat up fully. “I wouldn’t object to having lunch just the two of us.”

Damien stood and offered Roman a hand. “Well, then we’d better make the most of the time we have.”

Roman took his hand with a smile. “You two must better behave,” Roman’s mother warned. “No food fights, understand?”

“Your Majesty,” Damien said, turning to look at Roman’s mother. “I would never dream of it. And I’m sure you and my mother have some things you’d rather speak about without us present, I would think that now would be the perfect time to have those conversations.”

Roman’s mother didn’t say anything else and Damien led Roman into the kitchen, calling, “Patton! I’m going to use the stove and nothing you can do will stop me!”

For a second, there was no noise in the kitchen. Then, there was the sound of rushing footsteps and Patton burst through a side door, yelling, “Your Highness, don’t you dare touch the stovetop!”

Roman cackled. “Are you about as good a cook as you are an artist?” he asked Damien.

“I burned pasta one time!” Damien protested. “Honestly, Patton, I haven’t made a mistake since! Why monitor me so closely in the kitchen?”

“Because the one time you burned the pasta was the one time I wasn’t watching you,” Patton gasped. “I’ll let you make food within reason, but tell me what you want to make so I don’t question you every step of the way.”

Damien rolled his eyes. “I was just going to make grilled cheese.”

“Ooh, that sounds nice,” Roman said, rubbing his hands together. “Any chance we could make tomato soup with it?”

“So long as we have the supplies to make it quickly?” Damien looked to Patton.

“Uh, might take half an hour to prepare,” he said apologetically. “We don’t have any of the canned stuff stocked up at the moment.”

“Do you have ketchup, in that case?” Roman asked.

“We do,” Patton said.

Damien stared at Roman. “You...put ketchup on your grilled cheese?!”

“If there’s no tomato soup, I tend to dip grilled cheese in ketchup, yeah,” Roman said with a shrug. “Why?”

“That sounds...absolutely disgusting,” Damien said.

“Oh come on,” Roman said. “Some people put it in the sandwich when they grill it, all I do is dip! Which is worse, hot ketchup or room-temperature?”

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation,” Damien muttered to himself. “This is by far the worst conversation I have ever had.”

“Hey! Damien!” Roman protested. “It’s not that weird! And it tastes amazing!”

Patton snickered as he moved around the kitchen, grabbing a pan and butter and bread and cheese. “While your fiancé has an existential crisis, I’ll make the both of you the grilled cheese, sound gouda?”

Roman gave Patton a laugh and a thumbs-up. Patton got to work and Roman led Damien to one of the counters that had two stools underneath it. He guided Damien onto one and then sat on the other himself, looking Damien over. He wasn’t exactly frozen in place, but he was definitely perturbed and his mouth was moving, though his words were inaudible. His fingers were twitching, and he didn’t respond to Roman staring at him, until Patton gave them two plates with a grilled cheese each and put them down a little harder than necessary to capture their attention. Damien jumped and Patton gave Roman a bottle of ketchup. “Enjoy the sandwiches,” Patton said. “And Damien, please try and stay in this dimension a while longer? Your fiancé could probably use a little company.”

Damien turned pink and Roman just laughed as he squirted ketchup onto his plate. “I argue that any respectful company is good company, so it doesn’t have to be Damien who engages me in conversation,” Roman said, looking at Patton. “Would you want to stay and chat for a while?”

“Sure,” Patton said, grabbing a stool and sitting across from Patton and Damien at the counter.

Damien sighed. “You know, Roman, if you didn’t have such an odd choice in food-and I use the word food very, very loosely-I would argue you would be an ideal candidate for any suitor or suitress you’d happen to find.”

Roman paused right before he dipped his grilled cheese in ketchup. “Wait. Did I not tell you?”

“Not tell me...what?” Damien asked. “Because we have the whole transgender part of your identity sorted.”

“But did I tell you my orientation?” Roman asked.

“...No,” Damien said after a moment of thought. “I don’t believe so.”

“I’m gay,” Roman said, with a slightly hysterical laugh. “I’m a transgender gay man.”

“Oh,” Damien said. “So we can drool over men we find attractive together, got it.”

Roman snorted, and Patton giggled at them. “You two already seem so relaxed together,” he noted. “You may as well have known each other your whole lives.”

Damien shrugged. “Well, Roman is remarkably good company,” he said.

“Shut up,” Roman mumbled, cheeks heating up. “You’re not half bad yourself.”

Damien offered Roman a toothy grin at that, and Roman resisted the urge to blush harder. Instead, he elected to dip his grilled cheese into the awaiting ketchup and took a bite, humming. “Patton, this grilled cheese is amazing.”

“I still say that dipping it in ketchup is disgusting,” Damien protested.

“Have you ever tried it dipped in ketchup?” Roman asked.

“Do I have to?” Damien asked, wrinkling his nose.

“If you want a stance on this subject, yes,” Roman said, taking a slice of Damien’s grilled cheese and dipping a corner in ketchup before offering it to Damien.

Damien looked disgusted but took the sandwich and bit off the corner covered in ketchup. He frowned, chewing it slowly, before swallowing. Roman waited with baited breath for Damien’s verdict. “That’s not half bad, actually.”

“Yes!” Roman cheered, throwing a fist into the air. “I knew you’d like it if only you tried it! I was right!”

“Shut up and pass me the ketchup bottle,” Damien grumbled, hand out.

Roman obliged and the three slowly but surely started up conversation.

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