#but on the Other Hand... safety in being perceived as cis. but it feels so disgusting now. like im playing at something we all

[constraiint]

𓉸    did  you  see  GRAYSON KINO  walking  around  bear paw diner?  i  heard  that  the  28  year  old  has  been  particularly  PARANOID  since  the  loss  began,  which  is  a  shift  from  their  usual  show  of RELIABILITY.

name: grayson kino fc: mackenyu age: 28 gender, pronouns: cis male, he/him sexuality: heterosexual occupation: software engineer

+ persistent, dedicated, ambitious - insecure, idealistic, supercilious

describe  your  muse's  attitude  towards  the  returned  and/or  the  entourage.

To put it simply: he’s terrified. His pride prevents him from verbalizing this fear to anyone so it instead manifests in antisocial tendencies and extreme paranoia. Paranoia that urges him to behave in ways so antithetical to his former self he no longer recognizes the person he’s become. His hands tremble at the mere sight of the returned. He cannot meet the gaze of a member of the entourage He tries to mask this fear with a veneer of cold indignation; his shaking hands clenched into fists, his eyes avoiding theirs as if they were beneath him. In private, he frantically researches for any possible explanation that’s somewhat grounded in reality. He sometimes wonders if he’s just experiencing some sort of mental break. The realness of his routine and his responsibilities (particularly caring for his ailing mother) grounds him from these too frequent thoughts. 

He trusts no one. Despite his best efforts to keep a façade of nonchalance, it’s obvious. He doesn’t believe the returned to be who they say they are while simultaneously struggling to accept any sort of supernatural or fantastical explanation: alien body snatchers, demons, a government psy-op? All ridiculous but still more compelling than believing those lost have really come back as themselves. Any close relationship that might have existed prior to the return is irrelevant: he doesn’t believe them to be the same person. To him, they are impostors that he must tolerate to survive. His entire worldview has been shattered, rationality has gone out the window and with it went his trust in others, both remnant and returned. 

select  a  virtue  &  sin.  relate  it  to  your  muse.

Diligence: a dutiful son and hard worker. he willingly takes on as much responsibility as possible on both fronts (family and career). his entire identity hinges on this, on what he perceives is the “right” and “noble” thing to do. once he’s determined the correct course of action to adhere to these goals, he will stop at nothing to accomplish it. he’s restless if he’s not working towards something, some goal to better his career or help his mother (they often go hand in hand). 

Pride: his pride goes hand in hand with his diligence. try as he might, he can’t help but feel contempt towards those he perceives are not working to their full potential. he stakes his self-worth on his ability to work hard and succeed. he’s yet to fail in any meaningful way, which further inflates his self-importance and ability to rely on anyone but himself. he cares a great deal about being viewed favorably by others: he strives to be recognized as morally just, strong, trustworthy, admired, even envied. He’s adverse to showing vulnerability. 

history/headcanons 

he came back to marrow last summer, when his father passed of a heart attack. he intended to only stay temporarily to comfort his grieving mother before returning to california but her grief was insurmountable. weeks turned to months and then the loss began. he feared for his mother’s safety amidst the rising death toll and begrudgingly stayed longer. she refused to move from the home and the town that held all their family memories.

three large moves now make up his life: the first, his family's move from boston to marrow. the second, his personal move as far away as possible for university and eventually work (san francisco, california). the third, his reluctant return.

marrow was never meant to be permanent for the kino family. just as grayson's return was meant to be only temporary (the humor is not lost on him, he definitely feels like fate is playing some cruel trick on him).

he does not necessarily have any disdain for marrow. prior to his more permanent return he'd visit once or twice a year for the holidays. he would always be perfectly cordial and polite with the community and those he'd once called friends during his formative years. though he kept all these interactions shallow, at arm's length. it was clear he had no intention of maintaining any meaningful connections beyond that of his family. his heart and interests obviously belonged elsewhere, as if this small town were somehow beneath him and his ambitions.

not devout in any way (agnostic); attended service in the past to placate his mother, participated for primarily social reasons and to feel included in the community while growing up. the return has put him in a belief crisis

remote tech worker, frequently works out of the local library and diner however since the return he’s had an aversion to being out in the town. still, he needs to get out of the house and get a break from his mother for the sake of his own sanity. 

he's an only child, it has always made him feel inherently lonely.

wanted connections

former childhood friend(s): they might have gradually lost contact over time when grayson went away for college. they might have had a massive falling out or hold resentment towards him for trying to leave marrow (and its people) behind him.

budding new friendship/possible confidant: someone he may have known in adolescence, a former acquaintance or new connection entirely. someone he's apprehensively connecting with over a shared bewilderment/fear towards the returned.

& more coming soon...

[sylune-z]

Trans...passing....???

Tell me, baby, baby, do I walk like a boy?Do I speak like a boy? Do I stand like a boy?Sorry, babe, you keep asking, do I kiss like a boy?Should I spit like a boy? May I fuck other boys?Tell me, baby, baby, do I walk like a boy?Do I speak like a boy? Do I stand like a boy?Sorry, babe, you keep asking, do I kiss like a boy?Should I spit like a boy? May I fuck other boys?Tell me, baby, baby - Lucky Love, Masculinity

I am most definitely, unequivocally, a trans-femme. I have been on HRT for about 18 months now and am so very happy about this. I am also learning about the intricacies of makeup, how to do makeup so you just look pretty as opposed to, say, drag makeup. Do I pass? I think I do some of the time. The point of this post is to interrogate ideas about passing, the male gaze, and the unduly heavy burden transwomen/femmes face with unrealistic beauty standards.

First of all, I think I am at one of the cruelest stages of transitioning, the one where people can clock you're different, not male presenting, but are going to project a male identity onto you anyways. "Oh look hahaha its a man wearing makeup." Is the vibe I get, sometimes. It is a disheartening time and one I think every trans person, mtf, or ftm, faces at some point. I have become something of an expert, or at least obsessed with, reading the looks on mens faces when they pass me on the street or I'm in public. I watch their darting eyes, as I feel them consuming my flesh. I catch grimaces, I catch interest, hate, attraction, even? Sometimes, nothing, which I prefer.

I feel as though I have become enslaved to the male gaze in such a way that I am totally preoccupied with passing. Logically, I know my goal isn't to pass for men. It's to feel comfortable, beautiful, and whole in my own body. Nevertheless, I scour my face for flaws. I don't grow much facial hair now, but I pluck even the most miniscule of hairs on my chin and upper lip, laser them, the whole nine yards really. I do vocal training too. I analyze my jawline, browline, the extensive shape of my face and do my makeup every morning at around 5:30-6:00 AM. I want to say I do it for me, and it's true, I do. I love makeup, I love experimenting and making myself look like an ethereal little alien princess, but as soon as I am out the door, I am checking myself in every reflection, do I pass? Am I pretty? And I am again scanning, surveying, the implacable faces of the men I walk by, as though I am handing them a quiz, does she look like someone you'd want to fuck?

Contributing to this anxious preoccupation of mine is AI. There exist so many tools by which one can see if they "pass" according to a series of machine learning algorithms trained on pictures of cis people. Visage, Nyckel, and FaceApp are all examples I have used. Visage is one I frequent quite a lot, as it feels more like a professionally developed system. Of course, these apps and pages are all inherently flawed: they are trained on white cis people, are largely contingent on the lighting, and play into the hand of a gender binary. Nevertheless, at work, or at home, I find myself visiting them to see how I am doing. But, I do have an obsessive personality, so there is that to consider. I am not miserable, but more or less fascinated by what makes something feminine or masculine.

I think there is a lot of pressure to pass. Not just from a safety perspective, to be left alone, but also from trans influencers. My god, I was following a lot of them and had to take a break. Like I am happy for them, but soooo much content just seems geared towards being perceived as hot, despite being trans. "Oh look at me, I'm so sexy and skinny, bet you thought I was just a cis girl, I'm actually trans." Like obviously, this content is for men to fulfill some kind of Madonna-whore misogyny complex in some way. I compare myself to a lot of these influencers, see their videos and look at myself in the mirror, will I ever be as pretty? I can't truly say what the motivation is behind a lot of influencer content, but it impacts all of us in some way and that is how I tend to view it sometimes. But there you go, trans-women face the same kind of unrealistic beauty standards cis women face. Big surprise.

I also barely know any transwomen who even look anything remotely like these influencers. Like not all of us have the ability to get a breast augmentation, and FFS. People are so lucky if they can get these things honestly, otherwise most of us are stuck with what we've got. And I so seldom see anyone appreciate a trans person's natural beauty as opposed to insisting you must do x, y, and z in order to reach this bar for beauty. But hey, if I could get FFS, I would, not gonna lie, so no shame. But, there is something to be said about the fact that influencers have sometimes had work done and comparing ourselves to that is not helpful in any way.

So much trans content these days feels as though it's never about being trans or what that means to the individual. And I'm not saying all trans content has to be about being trans. But, it mostly appears to me as content to be seen by men, to inspire rage, or lust. And that's fine, we love rage bating transphobes, but damn, I don't feel represented by most of these women.

There are of course influencers with their tutorials, stories, and what have you as well which is great. But, that doesn't evade the fact that much of this influencer content seems to be focused on the binary itself. Are we as trans people merely transitioning to be perceived as cis women or men? To simply exist on the opposite end of a gender binary generated and sustained by colonizer supremacy and patriarchal narratives (omg im so #woke)? I can't say, everyone's transition is different. For me, I don't want to be a cis girl. If I had to describe it for myself, I'd say I want to exist in a third non-Euclidean dimension that renders me as some kind of a femme fae alien creature.

But, anyways, its time to start my makeup routine. Trans people, passing or not, are fcking angelic beings who I believe are absolutely gods gift to this planet and passing is overrated. I love you.

[fanfic-the-wish-your-heart-makes]

Nathaniel Barnes (& Harvey Bullock & Jim Gordon) Defending Homosexuality (Nathaniel Barnes x Male/Nonbinary/Not Cis etc. Reader, but this also has other cool stuff apart from romance like, uhm, him🤭😂)

@honestmrdual asked: So, about Barnes x reader request... How about Barnes and male reader, who insist on making their relationship known to public, at least in the precinct, and Barnes, pretty obviously, being opposed to this idea? Humour, or angst, or both, you can decide! :)

Author's note: Here are all of my thoughts, I hope you like them😊 This is soo much longer than expected

Reader: ambiguously not perceived as a woman (so a man, nonbinary, masculine/very androgynous woman, etc.)

Other featured characters: Harvey Bullock because he's gotta be against homophobia. Also a little mention of Jim & Oswald because they had something going there 😉

Warning: homophobia (not from the love-interest though 🙂), illegal homosexuality

First of all: whether homosexuality's illegal in Gotham or not, Nathaniel Barnes doesn't think of it as a sin. He may be a lawfully good character, thinking that the only line separating him from animals is the law, but he's not stupid: a healthy consensual relationship just isn't immoral, illegal or not. There's not the least bit internalized homophobia in him, and I can imagine that even if homosexuality was illegal, it would mostly go ignored by the police. Though it would be comically tragic for someone to get thrown into a cell next to an actual criminal. One's in for murder while the other just kissed their partner?? Gotham's crazy!

If it was illegal, Barnes would do anything in his power to make sure to help the wrongfully convicted. He starts out small by letting them go free on his own, going home in the evening to assure himself that you're still there in his arms, not in some cell. He knows he's already doing so much but what if it isn't enough?

He loves what you share and is very aware of how quickly things could go wrong, so when you ask him to make your relationship public, he's vehemently against it and very confused. "Did someone hit on you? Do you want to tell them that you're in a relationship? Because you have my full support to make up a partner if you want to."

When you tell him that that isn't the case, he assumes that it's something else. "Are you jealous? You know that I love you. I don't think that anyone at the GCPD wants to be with me." He leans towards you and lowers his voice, "But between us: I wouldn't want to be with any of them even if I didn't have you." He even tries to throw shade at his co-workers despite normally being very professional, "Some can be a little..." You smile at his obvious contrition, "Stupid?" you offer. He purses his lips and makes a vague hand gesture, which makes you laugh. He's really trying not to be mean.

Despite the now light-hearted atmosphere, you bring the conversation back to your request, and he gets serious again. The idea might sound naively dangerous to him but you obviously care about it, so he doesn't dismiss it right away. He wants to know whether there's a smaller problem that he can solve. Do you doubt his love for you? Are you afraid of someone taking him away from you?

If any of these is the case, he makes it one of his missions to prove you wrong. Not that he doesn't make you feel loved any other time. He's very thankful for you. But if it's not enough for you, then it's not enough. Feelings are valid...and so is your safety: he doesn't give in.

"Even just the fact that I'm a known police officer could put you in danger", he stresses, "And I can only think in horror of the hatred that would certainly be directed at us for other reasons."

Things continue as they were, until one day when he overhears some officers make fun of Jim Gordon for being called Penguin's bitch - with lots off ugly terms thrown at Jim - none other than Harvey Bullock, the man Nathaniel would have expected at least some homophobia from, defends his partner and gives them hell for the things they said.

"You got a problem with Jim banging a known criminal? That's fine with me, hell, I'd have a problem with it too if it was true! But you target my buddy because he's with a man? Seriously? Your girlfriend doesn't even know you've been looking at someone else, but you're criticising him for being in a consensual relationship, which, again, isn't even real?! Check your morals, man!"

"Okaay, Bullock, chill, I was just joking around. Besides: it's illegal, you know that, right?"

Harvey raises his eyebrows, "Well it shouldn't be." "Careful there, Bullock. Don't want to get thrown out by the captain, do we?" Harvey huffed, "I think he's got a little more common sense than you think." "You don't seem completely convinced." "Ugh, stop it. Get yourself a life. Maybe I'll ask him sometime."

Except that he doesn't. He has neither the time nor the nerves.

Nathaniel tells you the story, promising to work on it, just way slower than you wished. He waits until he heard the next hateful comment so that he could directly intervene, making his already planned speech later seem more natural.

So it comes that he spends more time outside of his office until one day when he heard Jim again, "Doesn't seem like Oswald if you ask me" followed by "Except that I didn't ask you, you fag-" "LANGUAGE", the commissioner's word gets everyone's attention, "like this is highly inappropriate here, any place really. You are police officers, show some goddamn respect!"

"But he's literally called his bitch in the streets-"

"Are we not in a police precinct?"

"Of course we are, sir, but it's also illegal to-"

"And do you not have a brain, detective?" "Sir, I wasn't trying to say that detective Gordon is seriously a f-"

"You're missing the point: hate speech of any kind isn't tolerated here."

"Got it-"

"-nor should you use it at home." He noticed the silence around him. "Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

Wow, that felt good to get off his chest! He still needs to make that speech, which would normally be really easy but he doesn't want to make your relationship public or out himself to be honest. He wants to appear completely distanced from the topic, non-emotional, just rational.

When he asks what your ideas are, he's frustrated that something feeling so right, so wonderful, has to be justified at all. He's nervous about the speech: normally he only stands behind the law, and now he's speaking out against it? He's conflicted.

"Why don't you let someone else speak as well?" you try, knowing that he can take on too much work.

"What?" he asks, not wanting to put that burden onto someone else. You shrug, "Let Gordon say some things, he's the one you always complain about being one step away from being a criminal. And you say that he's got people who look up to him."

"No", he protests, "it has to come from someone who has never misstepped."

You give him an unconvinced look, "You have misstepped."

He takes in a sharp breath at the memory. "You killed a man and I still trust and love you, Nathaniel." He looks a little less sceptic now.

"That speech can come from any cop and it will come from someone who at least once committed a crime. I'm not saying that you should let someone else say everything, just that you might wanna talk about it with some other detectives first. Make it appear natural."

The perfect opportunity would come: the time when the crime incidents skyrocket and the precinct has to clean rooms to make way for prisoners.

"Alright everyone, listen up! We've obviously got too little room for perps, so we're gonna have to prioritize."

He takes a deep breath and thinks back to your impressed look at his practiced speech, "From now on, there are a few deeds we will no longer persecute. Not just because of the current lack of space but because they shouldn't be crimes."

He looks at the officers, most of whom don't look extremely bothered, and starts the list, "Anyone here on grounds of consensual relationships to someone of the same sex is to be set free without any entries."

By the end of the list of other "crimes", a few people are looking at him confused, some even angry but not many more than he expected. One officer raises his voice, "So what about that black-haired guy we got in for kissing another man?"

"He's in for sexual harassment!" Jim Gordon comes to his aid spontaneously. "He'll stay", Nathaniel continues, noting that a few people's sour expressions disappear.

"Finally for those of you still unconvinced, who don't have the brains to think by themseleves: before you arrest someone for any of the things mentioned before, ask yourself: would I rather harm one person or save many? A lot is on the line, we've gotten more bombings in four months than in the last year combined. So be smart."

"I'll drink to that!" Harvey shouts and the resulting laughter lightens the mood.

That that day more people visit the GCPD captain's office or pass by and say their approval. It's the beginning of a new time for the precinct and hopefully eventually for Gotham.

However, that still doesn't mean that he likes the idea of criminals knowing that you mean so much to him.

He'll tell some colleagues about you though. They deserve to know what a wonderful partner one can have as a police officer.

[postmoderntongues]

Do you not wish for a world where women don't have to fear, I suppose we'll say "males", in the same locker room? Do you not believe feminism can create that world? And if you do, but believe trans women are still too tainted by male socialization growing up, how should it begin?

I do support certain spaces being segregated by birth sex. AFAB people of all genders deserve a safe penis-free space when it comes to things like bathrooms and prisons and hospitals and contact sports and women's shelters. I believe that feminism is our best chance for pushing back against a world without sex-based protections. I also believe Afab people should be made a protected group under hate crime laws and that femicide, rape, domestic battery, etc should be recognized as the hate crimes that they are.

I don't think trans women are "tainted" by male socialization, or that they experience gendered socialization like somebody without dysphoria would, especially if they transition young or have childhood dysphoria and live their lives with the world feeling like an ill-fitting suit. I think that is a unique experience from how cis men are socialized and internalize that socialization. My trans women friends are completely different from my cis male friends and the ones I know are some of the most harmless people I ever met who just decided they were sick of the machismo bullshit and wanted to be soft and enjoy cute things and find make up and fashion fun and just feel more confident in their skin with a skirt and lipstick and god bless them, its no skin off my ass and it makes the mortifying ordeal of being perceived a little softer Im not going to begrudge them that.

I also knew all my MtF friends back before they transitioned and even as males they were trusted. My closest MtF friend who is going to be a bridesmaid at my wedding literally kicked down a door and saved me mid-rape from a neighborhood boy who was taking liberties with my passed-out body. She's also schizoaffective and has gone through periods of believing she was a prophet before when we were teens, so "refer to me as a woman" feels downright reasonable next to past requests like "refer to me as god/the voice of god". I also have plenty of FtM friends, Im going to have at least one "bridesman" at my wedding.

I love trans people, I love gender non conformity, I want trans people to live their lives with safety and dignity and for them to be accommodated with spaces tailored to their needs. I think the best solution is to separate spaces by birth sex instead of gender (two beige bathrooms, one says "urinals" and one says "Sanitary Product Disposal") and by creating restrooms/locker rooms/sports leagues specifically to accommodate trans people FOR EVERYBODY'S SAFETY (it is not fair or safe to expect people on HRT especially trans women with bone density loss from artificial estrogen to participate in contact sports with people who have cis bodies, nor is it fair to have trans men on T competing against cis women when T is considered a performance enhancing supplement).

I believe that through comradery, empathy, and mutual understanding we can find that there is more than enough room in the world for all kinds, we just need to be respectful of each other. As for how it should begin, it has already begun, but I think a big step that needs to be taken is recognizing gender dysphoria as a mental illness and researching treatment options other than cosmetic transition, and making more spaces with trans inclusion in mind. But im much more worried for the trans man who has to change his tampon in the dangerous men's room than I am about the trans woman who needs to take a piss in the stall next to me and minds her own business and washes her hands when she is finished.

[cramenjoyer]

torn between my trans butch lesbian swag (white tshirt, flannel, dark jeans, huge boots) and my aroace nonbinary epicness (earrings, sundresses, also huge boots)

[barbaricpoetic]

In honor of Trans Day of Visibility, have my Adam Parrish Is Trans Actually rant

To be clear, I don’t think Adam was written as trans, or with any great intention for him to be read and coded as trans. I just think the idea of magic being related to sexuality and gender is something that plays an interesting role in The Raven Cycle as a whole, and as someone who relates a lot to Adam, I can see a lot of my own journey as a ftm demiboy in his character arc.

For this post, I'm speaking as if he is clearly, unequivocally, ftm transmasc.

Spoilers ahead for the entire Raven Cycle series

Adam starts the books off really trying to appeal to this height of masculinity. He goes to an all boys school, the jobs he works are typically male-dominated fields (factory and mechanic work), and he dresses not only economically for his station, but like a trans guy trying to pass as cis, despite that not being the way he’d like to present himself. He’s also described over and over as pretty, elegant, delicate, like a girl, but in a masculine way.

“And the third was — elegant. It was not the right word for him, but it was close. He was fine boned and a little fragile looking, with blue eyes pretty enough for a girl.” - TRB

Adam also puts a lot of effort into changing his voice to remove his accent, so it’s not unrealistic to imagine that that also comes with him trying to deepen his tones and drop his voicebox in order to pass better.

“The voice was careful, masculine, and local; the vowels had all the edges sanded off.” - TRB

“He even sounded different. There was no trace at all of his subtle Virginia accent. He’d endlessly practiced erasing it in high school but never pulled it off. Now it was completely hidden. A stranger’s voice.” - CDTH

Throughout The Raven Boys, Adam is questioning everything, but is being propelled by his desire to be like Gansey and the other Aglionby boys, because they feel closer to everything that he’s always known and hated, but at the same time feel unattainable.

“Adam felt the familiar pang. Not jealousy, just wanting. One day, he’d have enough money to have a place like this. A place that looked on the outside like Adam looked on the inside.

“A small voice within Adam asked whether he would ever look this grand on the inside, or if it was something you had to be born into. Gansey was the way he was because he had lived with money when he was small, like a virtuoso placed at a piano bench as soon as he could sit. Adam, a latecomer, a usurper, still stumbled over his clumsy Henrietta accent and kept his change in a cereal box under his bed.” - TRB

This battle with his masculinity comes to a head when his father (the most significant male force in his life) beats the living shit out of him and deafens him in one ear.

Driven by this stress and this feeling that he can’t belong anywhere, he goes to wake the ley line to find Glendower because he wants everything Gansey has, seeing Gansey as the perfect ideal man. Gansey has not just wealth, privilege, security, respect, but safety and comfort in his own gender (at least how Adam perceives Gansey, who, on the other hand, has some envy for Adam), which something Adam desperately wants and feels broken because he doesn't have.

“Gansey thought of one hundred things that he could say to Adam about how it would be all right, how it was for the best, how Adam Parrish had been his own man before he’d met Gansey and there was no way he’d stop being his own man just by changing the roof over his head, how some days Gansey wished that he could be him, because Adam was so very real and true in a way that Gansey couldn’t ever seem to be.” - TRB

Adam's waking of the ley line is almost metaphorical, or an analogy for what happens when you realize you're trans. You can either know it and go forward, walk that long difficult path, or you can hide it away, but either way, you're never going to be the same.

“Adam was different since making the bargain with Cabeswater. Stronger, stranger, farther away. It was hard not to stare at the odd and elegant lines of his face.” -TDT

The world around Adam is also experiencing a huge shift, as everything around Adam feels more strange and surreal and strangely right, which is a fairly common experience many trans people have upon realizing that they’re trans. 

“He swallowed his ginger ale. He wasn’t sure it hadn’t actually been champagne, now, all along. The party had become a devil’s feast: will-o’-the-wisps caught in brass hunting lamps, impossibly bright meats presented on ivy-filagreed platters, men in black, women jeweled in green and red. The painted trees of the ceiling bent low overhead. Adam was wired and exhausted, here and somewhere else. Nothing was real but him and Gansey.” - TDT

Adam views this change, this magic from Cabeswater as something from outside of him, kind of in a 'this is being done to me' sense.

“It had been a little over a month since he’d offered his sacrifice to Cabeswater in order to wake Gansey’s ley line. The entire ritual felt swimmy and surreal in his mind, like he’d been watching himself perform it on a television screen. Adam had gone fully prepared to make a sacrifice. But he wasn’t quite sure how the specific one he’d eventually made had come to him: I will be your hands. I will be your eyes.” - TDT

So far, nothing had happened, not really. Which was almost worse. He was a patient with a diagnosis that he couldn’t understand.” - TDT

He spends the next book in a kind of conflicted agony as he wrestles with what Cabeswater asks him to do vs what he thinks he should do, and this chaotic agony of deep seated repression coming to the surface, he goes towards what feels safe, more specifically, the hyper-masculine.

He’s dating Blue and really wants to kiss her despite her growing away from him, he experiences a lot more uncontrollable rage and frustration (like his father, who he fears he's becoming as he leans more towards the masculine).

“He calmed enough to remember that if he waited long enough, carefully analyzing how it felt, the emotion would lose its inertia. It was the same as physical pain. The more he tried to mentally decide what made pain hurt, the less his brain seemed able to remember the pain at all.” TDT

This comes to a head at Gansey’s mom's party, when he's acting out the part of a perfect young man with the world before him. The party puts him into a near-drunk stupor, as he realizes that even though he's closer to the gender he wants to be it's still an act that he's putting on for cis people around him. 

“With a jolt, he realized that he intimidated her. Standing there in his impervious suit with its red-knotted tie, young and straight-shouldered and clean, he had pulled off whatever strange alchemy Gansey performed. For perhaps the first time in his life, someone was looking at him and seeing power.” - TDT

His gender in this scene isn’t his, it’s a performance of what a man his age should be and it breaks him so much that he rages.

��’Oh, what?” Adam demanded. “You’re afraid someone will hear? They’ll know everything isn’t perfect in the land of Dick Gansey? A dose of reality could only help those people!’ With a sudden twist, he swept all of the figurines from the Queen Anne table. Foxes in breeches and terriers seized in midflight. They all plunged to the floor with a satisfying and diseased smash. He raised his voice. ‘World’s ending, folks!’” - TDT

So he finally goes to Persephone (a (transfemme queen no I will not be taking suggestions) and through her guidance into exploring this bond with Cabeswater, he realizes that his call to gender is not outside him, not defined by society's expectation of what it is to be male, what it is to be Adam, but that it comes from within him and it always has.

“Adam was once again retreating inside himself, most interested, as always, in the thing that remained unknowable to him: his own mind.” - BLLB

“He was a magician, Persephone had said, and his magic was making connections between disparate things.” - TRK

Adam’s gender is closer to male, but it isn’t quite all the way there.

“Adam narrowed his eyes. There was something different about him. Or maybe there was just something different between him and Henry. Henry was a boy. Adam was a —

Gansey didn’t know.”

But Adam learns that, and he accepts it. And as he eases into his role as a magician, he becomes safer and more comfortable in himself, in his own body, separate from the paralizing stasis that came with his character in The Raven Boys and the agonizing turmoil that came in The Dream Thieves. He learns how to grow and restructure his priorities and to walk away from the hyper-masculine in order to be himself. He still desires things, but he wants them for him as he is now, not who he has always wanted to be

And in the end, the unknowable boy gets to be known and loved, not just by his friends and his crush, but by himself.

(and then it all goes tits up in The Dreamer Trilogy, but I have a feeling we haven’t seen all of Adam there yet)

I feel very passionate about this, as you can see.

[with-my-murder-flute]

Hi everybody, thanks for the asks letting me know I made the top of @yusuftiddies’ list of Homophobes in TOG Fandom, you can stop sending them now.

So.

I can make mistakes and fuck up and own that. I am serious about listening to marginalized people. But... in this case, while @yusufstiddies generally describes factual events that happened and factual posts that exist, I have to say that I can’t actually apologize for the things I’m called out for because I don’t think they’re homophobic. The things he criticizes me for are things that come from a lot of personal experience as a queer bisexual cis woman, as well as a lot of reflection, research, and study. I believe in them really strongly and stand by them.

I’m really sorry if this makes TOG fandom too hostile, because it is not my intention to make this place so unpleasant that anyone feels driven out. I understand if my stance means people no longer want to follow me/read my stuff/participate in projects I’m involved with (though I’d rather hand off the Research Hub to someone else than see it go down with me). I’m posting this so people can know where they stand before they decide whether to keep interacting with my blog, or “deplatform” me as @yusufstiddies recommends.

I would recommend, for anyone who doesn’t want to see my posts, using Tumblr’s new post content filtering feature. If you type a username (like star-anise or with-my-murder-flute) into it, Tumblr will hide all posts featuring that specific string of characters, and therefore any post or reblog of mine.

To address the accusations against me:

I am an anti-anti: Yes. I’ve reblogged posts of mine about this before. I care passionately about preventing child abuse, but I think there are better ways to prevent child abuse in fandom (like concrete harassment policies so predatory behaviour can be reported and stopped early, and education about digital consent and healthy relationships) than attacking people who write “bad ships,” not least because the first people it hurts are abuse survivors trying to work through their trauma, and because the research says you cannot actually tell who’s a sexual predator based on what they write about.  Fiction affects reality, but not on a 1:1 basis. My mainblog, @star-anise, has a really extensive archive of my writing on the subject.

I said cishet men aren’t more privileged than gay men: Kinda. What I actually did was question whether Every Single Cishet Man benefits from more privilege than Every Single Gay Man. If a man is cishet but gets beaten up because people perceive him as gay, he’s not exactly feeling the warm toasty glow of heterosexual privilege in that moment. Oppression is complicated and there are times when someone’s lack of privilege on one axis is way less important than someone else’s lack of privilege on another axis.

The post above also includes me reblogging someone else’s addition about how straight men can be included in the queer movement: I’m queer. @yusufstiddies has made it very clear that he isn’t comfortable with the word “queer” and doesn’t like it. Therefore I think it’s understandable that he might not understand that the queer community sees ourselves as a coalition of people dedicated to dismantling the structures of sex and gender that oppress us, not a demographic of people whose gender identities or sexual orientations can be neatly mapped. However, I would say that doesn’t make queer theory inherently homophobic.

There are also some related points @yusufstiddies didn’t level at me specifically, but I would like to address:

The constant focus on the unsafeness of cishet people:

I’m not cishet. I’m a bisexual woman who’s dated women. Sixth-light is a queer woman married to a woman. This is not an issue of non-LGBTQ+ people blundering their way into something they don’t experience the daily consequences of. This is an issue of people from WITHIN the LGBTQ+ community who sincerely disagree with @yusufstiddies about the pressures we experience and how best to deal with them. I think that even if @yusufstiddies were to filter his fiction input to only LGBT-written work about LGBT experiences, or even only trans-written work about trans people, he would still find a lot of things he finds upsetting or transphobic, because sexual and gender identities are really diverse and not everything will suit one person.

The contention that saying “’Queer is a slur’ is TERF propaganda” is transmisogyny because it dilutes the definition of “TERF”:

People who point out the phrase is TERF propaganda are not calling every person who says it a TERF, and we are not trying to argue that telling a queer person that queer is a slur is inherently equal to the kind of damage a TERF does when she attacks a trans woman out of transphobia. Queer people being able to use the word “queer” does not have the same importance as trans women being able to live, work, and survive in public. Rather, we are literally saying, “This is a thing TERFs say when they take a break from attacking trans women and try to recruit new members to their group, so it’s in our best interests to not give it too wide a currency.”

Some people have experienced the word “queer” used as a hateful word hurled against them and don’t want to hear it ever again. I get that. It happens. Where I grew up, “gay” was a synonym for “shitty” and it took me a lot of years out of high school before the word “gay” wouldn’t shoot my blood pressure through the roof.  I actually do understand that and think that’s valid (and again, support using post content filtering for that word).

One of the things I do at @star-anise is argue with young people who are headed into full-on transmisogynistic TERF territory, and work at reeling them back and deradicalizing them. I use a tag called “weedwhacking” so my followers can filter out the sometimes lengthy back-and-forths we get going.

Something I’ve learned, interacting with so many TERFs and proto-TERFs, is that one way they frequently get recruited into harassing trans people was through discourse around the word “queer”. For one, it encouraged them to want to distance themselves from any perception of LGBT people as “weird” or “not normal”, which led to seeing trans people as “weird” and “not normal” and therefore not good members of the “gay pride” community. For two, repeating “queer is a slur” predictably causes a lot of queer people to react in a defensive manner, so by teaching young or new people to say it, TERFs can set them up to feel alienated from the larger LGBTQ+ community and more open to TERF propaganda.

The next issue isn’t mentioned in the original callout post, but I think it’s key to this entire issue:

@yusufstiddies has made several posts about what cishet people should and shouldn’t write. For example, cishets shouldn’t write Nicky experiencing internalized homophobia.  Another is a detailed post of things cishets shouldn’t write about trans people, including which sexual positions only trans people are allowed to write. I would imagine that part of his frustration with fandom has been the lack of traction those posts have gotten. I know I very deliberately didn’t reblog them.

That isn’t because I don’t agree that the things he complains about are rarely handled well by cishet authors. I agree that there’s a lot of bad fic out there that contributes to negative stereotypes against LGBTQ+ people and is basically a microaggression to read.

I have two very deeply-seated reasons for my position:

LGBTQ+ identities are different from many other political identities because most people are not born identifiably LGBTQ+. It’s something we have to figure out about ourselves. And one really important way that we do that is using the safety of fiction to explore what an experience would be like, sometimes years before we ever admit that we fit the identity we’ve written about. So banning cishet authors from writing something is really likely to harm closeted and questioning LGBTQ+ people. It will lengthen the amount of time questioning people take before finding the identity that really fits them, and force closeted people to be even more closeted. 

There’s a lot of undeniably shitty stuff in fandom. However, I fundamentally believe that trying to target the people creating it and forcing them to stop doesn’t work very well, and has the serious byproduct of killing the creativity and enthusiasm of the rest of fandom and resulting in less of the actual thing you like being produced. I think that it is infinitely more productive to focus on improving the ratio of good stuff in fandom than trying to snuff out every bad thing.

Like I said: I understand if this means former followers, mutuals, or friends no longer want to interact with me. I’ll be saddened, but I’ve obviously chosen this path and can deal with the consequences. 

I wish this could have worked out differently.

[carlyraejepstein]

potentially upsetting topics: sui, gender dysphoria, abuse and parents, sex

Elliot Page’s coming out rescued an awful day. Its wording is unbelievably powerful, a comment I have made once before and will continue to do so. In it, he so strongly encompasses the fears, the sorrow, the rage, but most importantly the determination and the defiance of not only him but every trans person. I hesitate to use the word “community” because it implies a certain connection that might just not be there; I play a bit of Counter-Strike but I don’t consider myself part of the Counter-Strike community; yet when I read Elliot’s words I feel solidarity, I feel a pull to the trans community that I often don’t feel I pay my dues to, and it feels good, really good. Like I said on Twitter once, other trans people being, existing, living, is just rad. Inspiring, even, despite how that word has been worn out by cis people.

However, there’s a certain something that Elliot didn’t write, for Elliot never wrote “I am a man”; only his name, and pronouns, how he wishes to be referred to. Of course, we cannot possibly know what this omission means or does not mean to Elliot, but it’s something that concurred with a shift in how I perceive my own gender.

I remember first properly ruminating on gender in 2012 or 2013. My understanding was primitive, coming from Wikipedia. Once I knew what transgender or, given the time period, transsexual, the curiosity never really went away. I knew at this point about transition, and I knew about deed polls because of my resentment of my parents, I knew about HRT and I even knew about the GICs. I felt compelled to be an ally in that turbulent period in both my life and in the online culture I immersed myself in from around 2015 to 2017. At this time a friend was going through their own transition and seeing them gave me pause for thought; partly pride, partly worry but a small kernel of imagination, wondering if that could ever be me. It was when I went to sixth form, with its environment permitting greater yet still constrained self expression, that I felt gender dysphoria hit me with its full weight. Thinking, wondering, worrying about being transgender has been the central dialogue of my internal and external monologue ever since. Not a day passes where I don’t think about the dysphoria I feel over my continued closet-dwelling and the malignantly gendered properties of my body. On a January morning in 2019, at my very lowest point, motionless under the covers, I gave myself a choice between transition and death, and I chose transition.

It’s been a complex journey. When I was 13 I shortened my gender neutral name to make it more masc (which I have now happily embraced as my middle name). I leant into the deepening of my voice because I thought it gave me authority, conditioned through the harsh words of people from public Team Fortress 2 servers. I’ve done almost everything under the sun that gets people to say “I’d never have known!” when you come out to them; I worry that I still do and that nothing has changed. I’ve gone and cross-dressed when my parents were out, and I’ve been traumatised by Susan’s Place. I am autistic, no one who has met me can escape that fact; not that I would want to, and as a consequence I am so much more confident in my presence on the internet than I ever have been in the flesh, despite me still not knowing how to make friends; hence I’ve ended up trying to piece my transition together through 4chan (I know, bad) and Reddit and Twitter.

Perhaps the biggest reason I am not out is the time when I decided I would come out to my mother as trans. When we were in Munich we had walked past a pride parade, and when we got back to the apartment I revealed off hand that I was bi. My mother chided me for not telling them before hand since it was “polite” to do so, as if it were not my choice to make because, as I still believe to this day, it’s not a big deal and it’s none of their business. But I decided this time it was important, and that I could trust her. It turns out that just like every other time, trusting my mother is a bad idea that is guaranteed to cause me pain every time I make that mistake. She told me that because she “knows more about [me] than [I] do”, that she thought that I was just straight up wrong, couched it in rhetoric about how she thought that I was too weak to be trans, and quoted the shockingly offensive “autism is extreme male brain” theory to me. It was really devastating at the time and I think it still affects me to this day, especially as she constantly tries to worm her tendrils back into my life after I moved out.

But enough about my mother; she is a fucking flat out abuser. She has emotionally abused me, and undoubtedly my brother, all our lives. I was relieved that my dad chose not to react aggressively as she did, but with a modicum of respect and agreement not to make such a big deal out of it, something I would never expect my mother to match. In the middle of writing this piece I had to decide that I could not do it any longer, and I would never let her back into my life again.

Where that conversation in late 2018 relates to Elliot Page’s statement is my mother’s purported belief that “you don’t have to define yourself as a man or a woman”. Going past the fact that she is lying, since her tolerance for all trans people is thinner than the grey hairs on her head going on the basis that she couldn’t bring herself to say one positive thing to her own daughter that afternoon, it struck me recently that I can more eloquently describe my gender through elimination rather than a label. I am happy to call myself a woman, a trans woman, and I don’t feel as if I really am wavering in or around the binary. But what I can say for definite is that while I have been a boy for almost all my life, and am holding onto that, I am not, and never will be, a man.

Where that leaves me is that I am not a man, but must I be a woman? If I am perhaps not a woman, am I non-binary? No; it doesn’t feel right. However, if I attach just a convenience to the label woman, I can give myself that flexibility in how I feel and how I present myself, and perhaps the biggest example of that is how in recent months I have made peace with my voice. It is not really a femme voice; I hit vocal fry just speaking normally. But I know how to be expressive with it; it is my voice that I have honed over 19 years after all. One day I want to find someone who will help me upgrade my voice (and yes, upgrade) but keeping it means I fulfil one cool thing about being trans, and that is saying fuck you to the very existence of the gender binary. I keep this voice out of necessity, but I’m still trans femme, I am still a woman and I still want my facial hair zapped off.

As well, I reserve the right to say I used to be a boy. Not a man, but a boy. That’s why they call it boymoding, right? How else can I describe the first 17 years of my life? I can be a boy all the same now, although I may be pushing it aged 20, and at the point at which I am really stretching that concept which at this point I am adhering to solely for my safety and comfort, I shouldn’t need to use it anymore. Wishful thinking, of course.

I think we should consider why we use “man” and “woman” in the first place. From my perspective they are simply words to describe people with two different sets of primary and secondary sexual characteristics, convenient because, well, being cis is unavoidably common. But they are not discrete, as we so often have to reiterate using intersex people as an unwilling crutch, where one does not occur in the other they are so often analogous and often they overlap! Supposedly 60% of teenage boys develop further breast tissue, and 40% of women have some form of facial hair. Thinking that the two are discrete gives rise to the idea of “biological sex”, a concept developed by cis people either to misgender trans people in a way they think is philosophically rigorous, or to reconcile their tenuous support for trans people with a continuing belief in the gender binary. Personally I would like to smash the concept of biological sex to bits because it is not useful to us. At the very least it may describe one’s primary sexual characteristics but bottom surgery exists, and I don’t happen to think that it is “mutilation”. I don’t need to argue that “biological sex can be changed”; they are not discrete categories, and I don’t need to move between them, or seek validation for having moved between them. It is not a helpful generalisation for bodies, diverse as they are.

I must add that as a trans woman the fact that I may have a penis doesn’t mean that I use it in the same way as a man. I use mine to pee, primarily, and it’s definitely not going inside anyone except myself any time soon; a whole zine was written about how trans women fuck and use their bits to fuck, so I definitely don’t need to anyway.

Another bullshit concept is “biological destiny” or “biological reality”, although I will give less breath to this one because at it’s core it is fundamentally misogynistic, and it so often is divorced from any sensible definition of reality. It’s like if I had to have my arm amputated and then someone came up to me and said “you’ll always have two arms, you were born with them and you’ll die with them”.

I’ve heard and thought a lot about gender abolition but it seems to me that its proponents expect that like the state, gendered differences will just disappear over time. But I don’t want that to happen. If the binary is done away with I don’t want gender to disappear I want it to flourish! Because gender is beautiful, men are beautiful, women are beautiful, and everyone in between or outwith are beautiful. On the other hand, me and you don’t need to be men, or women, or call ourselves non-binary to be beautiful. Being trans is about cultivating your own beauty and your own identity. When cissiety demands that the only identity and presentation we’re allowed is one that corresponds to what they decided was between our legs when we were born, why give ourselves only one other choice?

I don’t really know how to end this piece because I wrote one half of it one day and the other half a couple of weeks later. At the very least I’m glad I can attribute my peace with not necessarily being a woman but a femme to Elliot Page, and not my rotten bastard mother.

[nothorses]

I don't know if anyone else has experienced this, and I worry about saying this off anon but I want to actually, be a face as I do. When I came out I knew I wasn't cis, and I was lucky enough to have the support of two wonderful trans partners, but I had an extremely hard time finding my place in the trans community. I am pro MOGAI and new, hyperspecific terms because I know how important it can be to want to put a name, a flag, and individual pride to your identity. 1/?

I switched my own terms quite a lot, from demigirl to genderfae to genderflux to where I am now, genderfluid. But I remember there was a moment, because I was so sure I was only female aligned, where I thought for just a moment that I might be a boy, and I was terrified, I didnt want to be a boy, I didnt want to be "that trans." Like every trans person, I struggled with internalized transphobia, not feeling valid or true enough in my identity, 2/15

But that dreadful feeling of being Scared of being a boy is something I think about a lot, and something I think is truly telling. I'll admit I primarily (only) use tumblr because social media honestly isnt my thing, so I can only speak to what I've seen here, but I remember seeing so little about trans men, other than the occasional mention in broad positivity posts, the even rarer info about binding or passing, but I did see how much people hated men. 3/15

It was always implied to be about cis men, I've been spared the more modern issues regarding overt hatred of trans men, but I saw the constant anger and vitriol and genuine hatred for men. And I realize now I wasnt just scared of being "too trans" I was scared of being hated. So I made myself nonthreatening, I called myself a boy, I performed femininity to an even higher, though subversive standard, because I was still so scared of being a man. The enemy. The oppressor. 4/15

It took many more months to dare say I wanted to call myself a man, and even then I was scared, in the comfort and safety of my girlfriend's company. I felt dirty saying it, and I still do. I always only dare to refer to myself as a trans man, instead of just as a man. And I do want to sidetrack for a moment and say my relationship to gender, as a genderfluid person, is admittedly more complex than just when I feel this way, in other ways people are also particularly hateful towards, 5/15

But even with those other facets, and my fear of being open in them, pale in comparison to my relationship with masculinity. Because when I did come out and admit to myself that sometimes, I am not a woman, or nonbinary, I am a man, I became more aware of things. I exited wonderland, so to say. Suddenly I became so much more aware of how much people simply did not care about me or people like me, and especially not our problems or concerns. 6/15

I saw how invisible I was, and worse than that, I saw a very subtle malice. The only mention of trans men were in those broad positivity posts including everyone under the trans umbrella, or in the rare case something was positive exclusively for trans men, it was always reblogged with "dont forget trans women/enby people" tacked on, I remember once I looked in the trans tag and counted how many posts it took to find one exclusively about trans men that didnt mention binding 7/15

I got into the forties. Because on other posts, I would see people make passive aggressive remarks about how "trans men are talked about too much" or "there's all these resources for trans men, what about trans women" and I wanted to know on what earth the people who said that were living on, because the only, and I mean the only thing people tend to talk about in regards to trans men is how to safely bind, and rarely, the effects of HRT. 8/15

This happened a while ago, but I remember seeing a number of posts on my dash about how much representation trans men receive. I believe there was a panel about trans people, where a majority of the panelists were trans men, and trans women were less represented than them. They encouraged people to complain, said we received too much attention, and pointed at mythical trans male rep in media that in reality, I could count on one hand. I remember being so angry and passionate about it 9/15

Now im honestly just tired. I dont feel accepted by the trans community, and even the trans male community is iffy (I fit in amongst mogai people most, but I cant deny trumeds are particularly prevalent, and it wore on me), and it's so tiring to have every post made by trans men for trans men have to be preambled by belittling themselves and downplaying their own suffering. I just want to exist in peace, but I feel like that's too much to ask. 10/15

I've reached a point of exhaustion that I have become entirely apathetic to my own gender, what was once a deeply important aspect of my identity. I feel disconnected from it, and as a consequence from my own body. I don't bother examining it anymore because I can't feel it, as someone who suffers from dissociation, I feel dissociated from it in order to protect myself, something I was once so openly proud about. 11/15

Im scared to try and push for transition, for my own personal reasons, but now on top of those Im terrified of being silenced and belittled and hated for something that should make me happy. I've tried so hard not to feed into the lateral violence and become embittered towards trans women, because that's not fair, but I won't lie and say it hasnt been hard when I have seen more than I ever would've liked be so willing to ignore or outright throw their brothers under the bus 12/15

And of course there are even more who do show their support for their brothers, and for that im thankful, but this invisibility effects how I perceive everything. I feel like I've been pushed back into the closet, I say im trans because I know I'm not cis but I don't even know who I am, what my place is, and I'm scared to explore because I'm scared that who I am will be violently rejected by the people meant to support me. I want to be free to even explore who I am. 13/15

I wish people would listen to my experiences and what I have to say, but in every microaggression every act of ignoring I feel silenced. Trans men are viewed as predatory, just in a different way; trans men are fetishized and have chasers; trans men face higher rates of violence and sexual assault for being trans men; research about transmasc transition is almost nonexistent, and new, better surgeries are not even thought about; transmasc history is erased and silenced. 14/15

I, feel like im rambling at this point, and I'm sorry I've been so longwinded, I just. I want to thank you, for creating a space where I can speak my truth, because before finding your blog I didn't think anyone would care. I feel like I have so much more to say but honestly im scared, and too tired, and have said enough for now. I just want this feeling of loneliness to go away and hopefully I'll find a way to accept myself. Thank you for listening to me, and giving me a platform to speak 15/15

(Edited the numbers for accuracy)

Thank you for trusting me with this, and to other folks: I think this is an important narrative to listen to and share!

[spacegaywritings]

A manly man - Oneshot

edited 26th MAY: pronouns, spelling, shortening sentences, replacing words

Summary:  ftm Roman is on his period and it hurts and sucks. Vulnerable and disgusted, he cuddles up to his soulmate who always understands him. Remus is always there to assure xyr better half and make sure he knows he is loved - and a strong and manly man. Remus uses xe/they!

Tags: menstruation stuff, trans character /trans Roman, remrom, romantic /platonic incest (if you wanna see it like this), gender roles (mention) 

ao3 link

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story under this cut!:

Roman dragged himself over to his bed, sinking into the soft mattress and sliding under the cool sheets.

 They would be warm soon, he told himself. It would just be a couple of moments until then, he assured his body.

 The adolescent was shivering and overall felt like a truck had run over his entrails but left him to look just as dashing as usual - if not a tad paler than his average appearance.

He was sick to his stomach, his nausea sitting so deep in him and piling up as much as to actually reside in his throat as well. His whole body was sore, heavy and simply dirty inside and outside.

 He was frail.

Breakable.

He felt more vulnerable than he had ever been in his life and it was humiliating to ... to be.. to .. to b-bleed!

 It was an audacity to have him suffer like this! He was a prince, a man made to romance and charm people, to change the world and end misery for any and all people.

Instead he was stuck in his bed, by now curled up in his own puddle of horror and bad feelings. He was swimming in dysphoria and shivers of disgust.

 A soft knock could be heard at his door.

Roman snuggled deeper into his bed, trying to just sink into the mattress enough to actually disappear into the safety of softness.

 No humans, no creatures at all, just cotton and filling and feathers or whatever there was in mattresses.. Hemp and all. Things, just sleepy things.

 His throat produced a sound.

 Roman was not sure what kind of sound it was. It sounded raw, real. It was like a theatrical performance of the worst crisis the hero had to go through in a tragedy such as MacBeth.

The sound was probably enough to invite the person on the other side of the wood to come in and right after it, the door was slowly pushed open to reveal the vulnerable blanket burrito to Remus.

 “Princey, you okay?”

 Remus pushed inside, their back leaning against the door until it closed. Their arms sported another set of blankets and a hot water bottle. There was a backpack perched up on xyr shoulders.

 The suffering wanna-be royal curled further into his all-time low and let out another sound of agony.

 “Aw, my knight, I am here now. I got more blankets~”, xe offered with a little pose to show off the inviting sight of desired warmth.

There was a hot water bottle in their blanketed hand and a mischievous grin playing on xyr lips.

 The blanket burrito shifted a bit, just enough to move from the middle of the bed to the side which Remus took as signal that there was enough space for another person.

 “Hey hey, hey hey hey hey hey hey!”, they started as they moved over to the side of the bed that was now free for him to join their lovely Roman on.

Another non-verbal sound of mild annoyance came from the tall figure under the sheets and Remus simply took the invitation to go on with xyr announcement.

 Xe leaned in.

They whispered.

 “You know what?”, xe continued, carefully arching xyr back to get even closer to Roman. Xyr voice dipped into a sound that edged on conspiracy, on riot and schemes, “I got snacks for you. They are almost as sweet as you.”

 They flashed him a smile and slid under the covers, rudely inviting the cool outside into Roman’s happy safety for a moment but the hot water bottle was immediately in place to aid him and make up for the incredulous intrusion they had dared to start off with.

Roman hugged the hot bottle against his stomach, slowly shifting it lower to his cramping and screaming abdomen.

 At once, a little sigh of relief stole itself onto his features. His body visibly relaxed, muscles loosening, his whole posture being less tightly wrapped up in the mess of sheets he had created by now.

 Part two was now in place.

 Remus was giggling as xe made xyrself at home with another big blanket immediately joining the two and covering them up.

The fluffy fabric spread over the two.

The smaller one carefully lowered themself to press a little smooch to the top of Roman’s head.

 “Hey there, my prince”

 Xe smiled.

 Despite his sour mood, Roman could not help but feel his heart flutter and lips immediately twitching into the slightest hint of a smile.

Remus noted the change with a soft smile as they gently tugged Roman’s head into their lap and started stroking through his soft curls.

 Xe loved how velvet the ginger mess of Roman’s hair was. It was like a child imagined clouds to feel like. Fluffy, adorable, simply a dream to cuddle.

 “Mhmmmm...Rem...”, he hummed groggily.

 They whistled back in reply and quickly moved just enough to reach their backpack and get their hands into it. Xyr hands slung around a small bottle of lemon juice which was quickly handed over to Roman.

 “Got you the good shit, right here. This will kill your fucking sicky-ew, so we can have some snacks for you. I got films to watch on my shitty stupid tablet and nobody can take that from us.”

 Remus carefully uncapped the bottle and held the bottle for their soulmate to drink from it. Roman did, like the good boy he was and Remus gently brushed through his curly, short hair.

 They started watching a little show after that, just cuddling up and hugging while Remus pressed a few kisses here and there to Roman’s pained face.

Eventually, the sick man drifted off in the arms of Remus and to the sounds of some off cartoon show playing in the background. Xe held the prince-to-be close and allowed xyrself to actually doze off along.

  ***

 It was a few minutes later when Roman stirred the slightest bit, immediately alarming his datemate to wakeup and pull him closer to their chest.

 Remus grumbled and immediately wrapped xyr arms around the living stuffie that was the manly Roman. This time, he was fighting back a bit.

Softly, innocently, he shoved Remus away, gently nudging them aside with soft violence.

 “Not nooow”, he whined as he fought to get out of the sleepy gremlin’s grip. It was more of a challenge than one would expect. Honestly, Remus was kind of strong with their stupid arms of an athlete.

 What did xe do again? Roman was not in the right mind to remember but he was sure it was some kind of really gay dancing shit which was why Remus was able to lift him up with little effort.

Surprisingly, Roman was still a bit stronger in his arms and legs but not so in his back and overall ability to keep up body tension. He was not made for this kind of stuff. Right now he was just sweaty and icky and ugly.. so so ugly and disgusting that he needed to get up and change.

 His miserable state was less after his meds had kicked in and he had gotten some juice to ease his once so upset stomach.

A small smile appeared on his lips and he gave in for a minute.

 “Rem, I need to .. I need to go”, he defended himself as the smaller CHONK of human wrapped their limbs around him in pure spite and loving spirit.

Xe grumbled but xyr arms seemed to loosen around the regal idiot just enough to give him the heartbreaking permission to leave, despite the pain it caused Remus to be abandoned so harshly, so rudely, so absolutely col-

 Aaaand Roman was gone.

 Remus whined after him but tried not to complain too much and instead swallowed the needy sounds.

Why were they the clingy one and not Roman? Being clingy was work , it was exhaustive and it required someone to always be with them to fulfil their need to be somewhat physically touched every now and then.

It was too bad Roman did not have so much for touch as Remus did but they made it work.

 Somewhat luckily, shark week was the time during which Remus got more cuddles and Roman allowed himself to be more “vulnerable” and show his general soft side as a man.

 Maybe it was a downside of people generally hugging him less ever since he came out.. people being more physically distant and giving him the feeling it was “unmanly” and “weak” to hold hands, to cuddle and snuggle and have stuffies or emotional attachments and such.

 Ridiculous, if you asked Remus. But their gender-non-conforming lifestyle was already speaking up against Roman’s insecure heart enough to invalidate their argument, subjectively.

Even xyr pronouns were so strange, so new and out there.

 Roman would always argue he was outstanding and proud but at the same time, he would not dare to do anything that could obstruct how he was perceived by other people.

Being anything but cis was a whole struggle but being a transman was probably another level of difficult.

 Remus did not have any “gender roles” to fulfil in order for people to be more inclined to use their pronouns correctly. Usually, they just did not and Remus would proudly suggest “it/its” pronouns. Other wanted to devalue xem with these but xe loved this set of pronouns and would never back down from people who thought they could hurt xyr gender identity and change xem in any way. You know, make them right, straighten them out so they would be “normal” again.

 Roman, on the other hand, had people tell him he was not allowed to use restrooms unless his genitalia was “right”.

Shark week made the whole struggle more present.

When people always invalidate your whole existence and sometimes even intentionally used your weak spots and insecurities against you, it would eventually wear you down enough to be affected. No matter what Roman did, it would be written up to him doing it because he was a transman.

 “Oh, is this because you are a “man” now?”

“Of course you would want to do this so you can try to look manly like the others”

 All those words have been enough for Remus to start fights left and right and they would always do it again for their golden boy. Not that Roman knew. Roman hated being protected.

 Roman was the knight in this story. He was the ace of hearts, the soldier of the forgotten and protector of the oppressed. Remus should be the one to need protection.. but maybe that would be too much to ask for.

None of them really needed it.

Remus was just sick of hearing people hollering their transphobic bullshit around, especially at xyr prince.

 “Rem?”

 Roman was standing in the door, leaning against its frame with tired eyes and a pale face. As much as Remus tried to enjoy a needy handful of boyfriend but the bitter taste of conditions always came with it.

 “Finally, my prince has come”

 Xe breathed out in relief and opened xyr arms.

Roman immediately abandoned the door frame and threw himself onto the bed with a little skip over the bed frame. He landed all over Remus, knocking over the cup that used to hold lemon juice and also involuntarily pushing the tablet further away.

 He was giggling a bit, just a slight shadow of a smile tickling his features as he threw his arms around his datemate’s neck and quickly pulled them further down with him.

 “You are silly, Rem”, Roman commented.

 Xe shook xyr head.

 “You are my prince. You always have been and always will be this prince of my dreams”, they insisted stubbornly as they brushed their index and middle finger over his throat.

“I did not know how much I needed you until you came for me and swept me right out of my dumpster.”

 He blushed and nudged Remus away with his elbow but he still slid back into xyr lap. His mouth was producing sounds like the ones meant to silence a child but he was just seeking the comfort of a hiding spot to cover up the bright red blush on his cheeks.

He carefully buried his face in Remus’s little fat roll of a tummy.

 “You were an abomination of a human being when we met”, he remarked with a muffled voice.

 Roman was right. 

 Everyone saw Remus in the light of society's strict rules. They identified xem as a man rather than the gender-defying riot xe was. 

They dumpster-dove, yes, to recover packaged and completely fine groceries thrown away by big companies because they weren't allowed to sell it or give it away. They indeed broke rules and tagged walls but Remus had shown Roman the art of graffiti and the roots of it. Xe had proved xyrself to be more than a societal disgrace but instead be a considerate person to never litter and live a highly principled life instead. Not one restricted by society.

 Honestly, Roman was probably more likely to accidentally endanger others due to his impulsive and defiant behaviour while Remus was genuinely trying their best to always think of others. People just took it to be offensive when Remus was late to school because they helped a worm cross the street or started a spontaneous sit-in because of speeders on school property. 

 Everyone thought xe was a slacker, someone looking for attention with xyr pronouns and identity. Even their names was seen as "too extra". 

 "I'm sorry", xe mumbled and carefully tilted his head just enough to glance up at xyr datemate. 

 "I - I didn't mean that in a bad way. That was mean to say" 

 He cleared his throat to justify his inconsiderate comment. He was a lover, not a fighter! It was his duty to protect Remus and not play into the mean nicknames used by bullies against xyrs whole being. 

  One of his favourite things about the embodiment of chaos was this: Instead of getting mad ,they just shook their head with a giggle. 

 "You tickle me, Roro", xe started with a snicker, "your words are endearing to me ~" 

 Roman furrowed his brows. A smile fought onto his lips. 

Remus wasn't as insecure about themself as he was. Nothing seemed to ever hurt xem. 

 "You're the best, Rem. You really are" 

 Roman cuddled back to the little fat roll of Remus when an idea hit him. 

Slowly, his fingers crept up to their sides and, once in reach, immediately ran up and down their skin. 

 "Wh-", Remus began with a surprised gasp. 

 It was too late. 

 Squips and squeaks escaped the trash goblin as Roman's fingers played xyr giggles like a fiddle. The pal was writhing and twitching, vividly moving and trying to escape the tickling fingers. 

 But the Prince wasn't just a great royal and soulmate, he was also an amazing hunter. He knew when to change his angle, switch positions and shift to another spot on Remus' vulnerable body. 

They were a treasure book of sensitive skin. Almost any and all gentle touches sent xem into a giggling fit. 

 The smaller pal was curling into themself, laughter ever-persistent and body still vibrating in excitement and occasional snickers that echoed from xyr throat even after Roman retracted his fingers. 

Remus was but a little ball of giggles by now, their existence reduced to nothing but amusement and little tears from being so ecstatic. 

 On top of that, xyr prince was smiling at xem with this softness on his features.. Not even kid's cartoons could be that soft and gentle. It was a Roman-only phenomenon. 

Remus breathed, the burning lungs in their ribcage thirsting after the sweet relief of oxygen at last. Slowly, coordinated breaths in and out were managed and only occasional giggles stole their breath while Roman patted their face softly. 

 "You okay there?" 

The pal simply leaned into the touch with an approving hum. Xyr eyes closed and xe patted the space next to xem. 

 "I'm glad you're better, Roro" 

 He cuddled back up to his soulmate and took the trashy being into his superior, gay arms. A squeak could be heard, like a mouse finally finding the cheese it's been destined to achieve in its life. 

Remus sniffed happily and hugged back, melting into the embrace their Roman offered. The caramel soft embrace only two parts of a whole would ever be able to understand. 

 "Rem?", Roman whispered, softer than the late night spring breeze rustling the blooming trees right now, "Are you okay?" 

 Remus stubbornly pushed their head against Roman's collarbone and simply tugged - or rather: repeatedly attempted to tug - the blanket over the two instead of bothering to answer this daring question. 

Xyr grappling hands eventually calmed down when Roman shifted to pull the blanket completely over them and even covered their curious faces with the soft fabric Remus had brought over. It even smelled of xem, Roman remarked with a small tad of surprise in his thoughts. He only now realised, when the blanket covered their faces.

 It was the moment of realising you had more money in your bank account than anticipated which meant you weren't as broke as expected, unusually so. 

... It was a nice surprise and filled Roman with the comfort of nostalgia and affection. 

 "It's okay, Rem", Roman reminded them " I'll always have you - as you'll always have me, you little cryptid." 

 They hummed. 

 "My man", xe mumbled into his chest, voice low and unusually shy. 

 "My one and only prince. My manly prince." 

 Roman's cheeks turned a regal shade of red as he snuggled his beloved idiot closer. 

Why would they say that now, he wondered but refused to ask. Never would the man turn down unexpected bouts of validation. 

 His chest harboured fireworks inside. Little tingly sparks of warmth tickling him, fondling him ever so gently from the inside. 

A dream kissed his creation and glitter blessed his actions. 

 Literal kisses. 

Actual kisses. 

Little smooches dripped and dropped onto his face. His whole facial features were soon ravished by the precipitation of Remus' intense wave of affection. 

 Smooches arrived at his jawline, little pecks graced his eyes that immediately shut with a hesitant giggle. 

More and more little softness was spilled all over his head. The little curls were kissed deeply with a dutiful smile in the dedicated face of Remus, the appreciation of all art that was xyr beloved Roman. 

 He shook his head, shaking the kisses off only to receive more little butterflies and tickles of lips along with whispered praises spreading all over his cheeks. 

 "You're my hero" 

 Not a single spot of facial skin was left without the warming enlightenment of their bundled up love. 

 "My one and only royalty" 

 Remus nuzzled his neck. 

 "If you were my king, I wouldn't overthrow your government unless you were really really mean", they promised sheepishly. 

 Roman's heart fluttered its wings of love like a Kolibri. 

 "You'd be the least favourite of all my people ", Roman retorted with equally diabetic sweetness in his words, "because I'd never want you to be below me." 

 Remus wiped xyr puffy eyes and blinked. 

 "That's a dumb pick-up line", they remarked with a flustered hint of dismay in their eyes. 

"Just make me equal then, so I can be your favourite like I'm meant to be." 

 Roman tugged at Remus and quickly rolled on top of them with little effort, only stopping when he was on Remus' other side and got to kiss the hidden sharpness of their cheekbones. 

 " Remember that I'm your man ~", he sang in response. 

 The two continued to tease each other, softly exchanging little smooches and kisses to litter only with love in this wide world that was the other to each of them and them only. 

 They ended up sharing the snacks and juice Remus had brought over. 

Before supper came, they were snuggled up and dozing off contently in the worry-free state of comatose sugar overdoses. Love nibbled at their dreams and palms found each others backs as the two slept through the evening. 

 In the background, Mulan was running on Remus' forgotten tablet. 

[ofaheadstronghealer]

Alma Bio

I know we have official bios but until that was posted I thought I’d temporarily post this to help with interactions, please feel free to message me if you have any ideas for plots or connections or what have you! :)

FULL NAME: Alma

AGE: 36

OCCUPATION: Healer/Slave

CHARACTER TRAITS: (+ Clever +Kind Hearted , -Headstrong - Insecure )

LABEL: The Phoenix

GENDER + PRONOUNS: Cis-female, she/her

BIO

(trigger warning: implied sexual assault)

Alma, an unusual name for an unusual girl. There has not been a moment in her life that could be described as ‘typical’ or ‘normal’, perhaps that is why for most of her life being normal had been something she’d craved so desperately until she would come to understand the true power in being different from the rest. Something her mother had always understood.

Alma was born a fatherless child. Not literally, of course, but in the sense that the man who is her father was not her mother's husband nor was his identity ever known to the girl or to the others in the village in which she grew up. Being branded a ‘bastard’ was her first taste of this ‘otherness’ that she would come to experience her whole life, being the daughter of a woman who was suspected by many of being a witch….well that certainly didn’t help matters. When Alma thinks on it now she finds proof that God has a sense of humor, how hard she fought to be unlike her mother and yet how like her she later became. Alma isn’t a witch, not one of the barbarians ‘Volvas’ or one of their ‘seers’, and neither was her mother before her but that mattered little to the townspeople she grew up around. They were pariahs for her whole childhood, ostracized by the community until one of their people needed a healer with skill unmatched by any other and then only under the most dire of circumstances would they accept them with open arms. Alma wouldn’t realize that until she was much older, a naïve thing desperate for acceptance she would bask in it no matter what the price for as long as it lasted. Sometimes at night she would kneel before her bed and pray, pray to god to show the truth of her innocence to the people so that she might live among them as kin and not be regarded with such fear. The first time God answered her prayers she was but the tender age of 14 and she was shown his power...as well as his cruelty. Had she known the price that God would make her pay for her freedom she would have been more specific in her prayers, would have extended the prayer to her mother as well but alas she was selfish as children so often are and did not think of such things. A life for a life, her mother's death for her freedom. She still remembers the way her mother’s hand felt upon her cheek before they brought her to the pyre, remembers the tremble in her voice as, for the last time, her mother told her that she loved her. Alma was forced to bear witness to her mother's death, forced to stand there as she was engulfed in flame and pleading for her life. Suddenly acceptance didn’t matter so much to Alma, all she wanted in that moment was her mother back. 

The years following her mother's passing were difficult in many ways and brought many changes, on one hand she was welcomed back into the community as a show of the villagers' mercy but on the other she was an orphaned girl with no family and no prospects. Her mother had not raised her as a proper lady, she was not educated in the things a girl should be and though everyone around her agreed she was beautiful she was far too clever and her reputation too marred to make a suitable wife for anyone ‘such a waste of a beautiful girl’ they’d mutter as though that were supposed to make Alma feel appreciated. Perhaps other women if put in her position would have simply bowed to fate but not Alma, she had too much of her mother in her for that. If she had no use as a wife then she would find another way to have use, to make herself indispensable so she could not be so easily cast aside. In what she would later realize was a bold move she became a healer like her mother before her though unlike her mother she was more careful in how she was perceived, cautious to never show up the men around her, to curb her clever tongue, and to never perform acts that could be considered miracles and later used against her. She couldn’t really say in any sincerity that she was truly happy but it was as close as she’d ever gotten, she was valued and though people looked at her sometimes with pity it was better than the terror she had become accustomed to in her youth. If only she’d been able to save her mother than perhaps it would have been perfect. Alma lived this way in the village for many years, alone but accepted as much as she could be. That all changed the day they showed up. 

The day of the raid was like any other, Alma had been making her rounds attending to the villagers when she heard the screams. At first the healer thought it was simply in her head, it wasn’t unusual for the painful memory to surface; it had been haunting her for years, but it grew in its volume and intensity and soon it became clear to her that they were not the screams she remembered hearing as a child. Of course they’d all heard of the Vikings and their ways, how they would often raid and pillage and kill everything in sight, but as every other town did they never thought they would be targeted. She was still in the house of a patient when it happened, the person too weak to realize what was going on and certainly too weak to fend for themselves. Alma is no saint, she will not deny if asked that there was a moment when she simply considered running and trying to save herself but one look at the pathetic state of the woman laying there and her mind was purged of that thought. She could not abandon her. Alma helped the other woman to the back of the house, hid both herself and the woman in a dark pantry not easily seen and for the first time in a very long time Alma prayed ‘Please God protect us, see us through this, save us’. God answered Alma much like he had the time before, granting her her wish but always with a twist. The Vikings that crashed through the house at first appeared as though mindless beasts that had not the capacity to think beyond destruction and for just a moment Alma thought herself and the woman safe. She was made aware of how wrong she was when rough hands tore her from the safety of the pantry, a foreign tongue that she couldn’t understand flooded her ears but she understood the tone well enough. The only thing that got her through the assault that followed was the sight of the other woman, frail but still hidden. Safe. 

Alma doesn’t remember much about the journey that led her to Hedeby, she tries not to think about it. She can recall her captors dragging her back to show the horde their prize, remembers her feeble escape attempt just before they threw her on one of their boats. The rest of the voyage was not memorable, she kept her head down as much as possible on the boat and simply listened. Though she could not understand all of what was being said at some point in the journey she managed to make out that they were going to one of their cities, a place they called ‘Hedeby’. Alma was not certain what to expect, what would become of all those they had taken including herself? Would they be killed? Sold? The thought was frightening but she did not let it overwhelm her, simply continuing to listen and do as the Vikings bid. When Alma was brought to what appeared to be an open market in chains with the others she stood silently as they were inspected by the market goers. As time passed and the other villagers were distributed it became clear to the healer exactly the position she was in, she had always been a slight thing and while that had not been looked at negatively back home it was becoming clear that as a slave she was probably the most unappealing of the bunch. Death, it seemed, would be the escape that God would deliver her. It was not to be so. Much to her own surprise she was bought by what appeared to be a family of little means meaning that they had little to trade and therefore she was the only one they could afford, the man looked brutish, as they all did, but was not unkind in his handling of her. She was in their service for a few years, quietly observing the customs and language of these strange people with whom she now resided, but knew it would not last, she was a healer not a farmer and unsuited for the physical labour demanded of her and every day she grew weaker. It was a miracle of God when one day as she was working the fields a man emerged from the forests and collapsed before her clearly wounded, it was pure instinct when Alma leapt into action. Over the next few days there grew a small gathering of Vikings who watched as she tended to the man, they appeared intrigued by her methods some of which were unknown to them. Unknown to Alma the man she eventually ended up saving was someone that the King of these Vikings held as a very dear friend, King Ragnar demanded Alma be brought to him at once. Alma entered the great halls of the Viking King with the family that had bought her but she did not leave with them, word spread not long after of the healer from a foreign land who was now under the ownership of the King. 

That was many years ago and much about Alma has changed, she still bears the status of slave under King Ragnar and his family but as their personal healer she is treated with a great deal more respect than most slaves. Though sometimes she finds herself longing for the familiarity of her old home Alma has managed to settle somewhat among the Vikings and has found respect for some aspects of the way they live their lives and is, in some ways, more herself here than she ever was back at home.

EXTRAS

- Due to how her mother died and having been forced to watch it Alma has a deep and intense fear of fire. 

- She can fully understand the Vikings language but she still cannot fully speak it

- When first she arrived at Hedeby Alma was incredibly quiet but since being raised to the royals personal healer and over the years becoming more settled she has let more of her true personality come through, she has a clever tongue and a headstrong nature and does not feel she’s in such a precarious position anymore that she must hide those things though she is still cautious with who she shows it to

- Although she acts like she’s over the whole wanting to be accepted and loved thing she is very much not over it and longs for a feeling of home and belonging and love.

- At first she hated the Vikings and saw them as brutes and barbarians but now for the most part she has let go of that view though there are still moments where she considers them beasts

- One of the first things she noticed and loved about the Viking culture was how they treated their women, coming from a place where she was only looked at as a thing of value through marriage and the fact that she had a brain frowned upon she was secretly impressed at the freedoms Viking women were afforded.

[bigowlenergy]

Can u fix shield hero? no, but lets enjoy ourselves anyway

ok, now that the Bad Time is out of the way, how do we have fun with this dumpster fire narrative?

first order of business, make naofumi an actual victim. if ur going to explore male victimization and trauma, then u need a victim. this should be obvious, but alas, none exist in the entire series.

the most thematic options are to actually make the racism/sexual assault aspects matter. taking the initial situation at the tavern on Night One and turning it into an actual assault against naofumi at the hands of a woman who is socially, politically, and culturally in power over him offers a great opportunity to give his misogyny and trauma responses some actual ground to exist. having major trust issues and wanting to control members of the sex that raped u is a totally valid response to that sort of trauma. it makes a measure of actual sense rather than just being the best excuse a guy has found for being shitty to women and thinking himself the victim.

it would also be a heavy culture shock that actually makes melromarc look remotely close to the monarchy it nominally is supposedly. cis men in reality have a hard enough time understanding their own victimization to abusive women; it would be a huge blow to ye olde excited isekai protag expecting a Good Time and getting a heavy dose of a swapped power imbalance instead. having to deal with being the least favored hero & social ostracized due to it & a sexual assault reputation & while being an actual victim? damn son, that sounds like a narrative that has Value. sounds like a terrible time! noice.

and ive mentioned it in an earlier post, but demi-human naofumi? bro? that’s a solid hell yeah from me. like, just malty KNOWING she can absolutely do whatever she wants to him, including sell him into slavery with ease and holding that over him? maybe even not publicly accusing him, but keeping him on her side as basically her own slave and forcing his compliance through the same threat he canonically wields over raphtalia - that it would only be worse if it were someone else who owned him. that she’s a merciful master, compared to others, and all he has to do is obey her and help her rise through the ranks to reclaim the throne from melty.

all the political drama and treacherous royalty comes to head so quickly, in a situation like that - being the shield hero, who can only protect, having to further protect the one privileged person who needs absolutely no more protection? while being a member of a race considered subhuman and oppressed and seeing first hand how other demihumans are treated by the king? and being kept in such a way to prevent him from ever helping them or being helped by others? poetic cinema.

but which way to go, then? a prey animal usually perceived as weak or a predator/ closer to beastmen type who are racially stereotyped as inherently dangerous and needing to be controlled for the other heroes safety? or maybe even a human passing one, with only small hints - just enough to make him a social target but enough that he can still be perceived as human except until confirmed otherwise? and using that to his advantage in getting the other heroes to see it as human slavery/ using his human appearance to better help other demihumans from the other side.

there’s other ways to mess with the victim/minority angle to -

trans male naofumi dealing with the double whammy of being in a horrible situation that maybe - very possibly - could be solved by a self outing to a bunch of total strangers who already aggressively hate and discriminate against him + having the thought of ‘well, i wanted to be socially treated like a man’. and then having to make that choice of accepting it and remaining safe and presumed cis or leaning into the matriarchy society and the fact of a whole new world to hope things are different here. a horrible choice that leads to living feral in the woods like usual, but damn if it aint validating his gender.

OR “I cant possibly have r^ped this woman with my dick cause i dont got one!!! case closed bitches” of course there is no transphobia bc we love ourselves here

OR trans woman nao coming into the narrative with loads of internalized misogyny and denial and slowly having all those breakdowns due to being treated like a cis male rapist. maybe socially transitioning after the queen takes back over and the other heroes having to deal with absolutely nothing they knew about the shield hero being remotely correct.

OR hell, malty is also a trans woman, and naofumi comes out to her as her first party member that night and everybody has a good time! malty learning to sympathize with the hated shield hero through shared experiences as the least favorite child in the family and trans feels and ending up getting good character development and siding with the shield hero.

bruh i wanna enjoy this narrative so bad but the amount of heavy lifting required is obscene. instead of defending anything, i will just queer the narrative until it feels good. take that.

[sasstablook]

voidpunk feels, let’s go

quote, OG voidpunk @arotaro​: “I don’t have a voidsona because I don’t have much of a sense of self”

what is voidpunk? 1 2

a history of voidpunk

alright, the rest of it is under the cut!

cw: discussion of “scary” mental disorders, self harm mention, dysphoria talk, anorexia mention, violence mention, some mentions of sex, abuse discussion

so to start out with, these are my Official Diagnoses: C-PTSD, bipolar-1, and fibromyalgia. I am not against self-diagnosis, but I tend not to self-diagnose myself, for fear of using the wrong term and it coming back to bite me in the ass. that being said, I'm pretty certain (especially in regards to my bipolar disorder) that there's something else going on here that the professionals are missing. I'll only be discussing my symptoms from here on out, not my disorders as a whole.

my main symptoms I experience that make me "not human" are:

intrusive thoughts and impulsiveness

paranoia and psychosis

body, social, and mind dysphoria

memory loss and executive dysfunction

disorganized speech and being nonverbal

hypo/hyperactivity

ambivalence and black+white thinking

I started with a very long list, and I tried to group related symptoms together. so...

I'm going to refrain from inputting sources and various denotative definitions, speaking only on my personal experiences.

1. intrusive thoughts and impulsiveness

a lot of "normal" people get random unwanted thoughts. like that little voice that says "throw your phone in the river" when walking across a bridge. these aren't necessarily intrusive. the main thing that separates these two experiences is intensity. my personal pattern of intrusive thoughts includes a lot of violence. for fear of stigma, I won't go into further detail. but often times, these intrusive thoughts develop into impulses. these are things I do without thinking them through. I don't think about consequences, I just act. my brain tells me to... let's say, scream. like blood curdling, someone's getting murdered, scream. I just do it.

my brain tells me to hurt myself. I don't know why. I do it without further questioning or examination. not even to just get my brain to shut up, necessarily. there are some persistent intrusive thoughts that never get acted on. but some of them do lead to action, even if they're the least persistent of the bunch

2. paranoia and psychosis

these aren't necessarily linked in the way intrusive thoughts and impulsiveness are, being that one can exist without the other (impulsiveness is always caused by an intrusive thought). but they very often go hand in hand, with paranoid thinking leading to psychotic symptoms. example: I am paranoid that my roommates are talking about me in the other room; I then begin to hear voices-- which may or may not belong to my roommates-- whispering unintelligibly

3. body, social, and mind dysphoria

https://imgur.com/vp1EjlA

dysphoria is something a lot of trans folk can relate to. but my dysphoria isn't exclusively tied to my gender. my dysphoria is invariably linked to my dissociation and depersonalization experience. this ties into my inability to connect with human beings.

I experience body dysphoria in that I despise basic bodily functions and necessities to keep the body alive. this includes consuming food stuffs, which ties into my experiences with disordered eating (y'all remember when I was anorexic? yeah, the thoughts haven't went away, but I'm doing better with my actions now). also can humans just... not... with the bathroom thing. like is it absolutely necessary to piss and shit all the goddamn time.

I experience social dysphoria in the way I am perceived by others. this mostly ties into my gender. no matter what I do, I am always read as a girl. but even so, I struggle to be read as masculine in that I don't necessarily *want* to be read as masculine. because men are just flat out awful. and this isn't exclusive to cis men. I don't *want* to be associated with men. because if men are bad.... and I'm a man... then I must be bad, right?

which leads us to mind dysphoria and the same line of thinking in regards to my masculinity. I am at war with myself on exactly how I would like to be perceived by others. my feelings on The Way Men Are and my feelings on my own identity as a man do not coexist peacefully

4. memory loss and executive dysfunction

memory problems are a symptom of all three of my Official Diagnoses, so it's no surprise I struggle with short and long term memory. if the event occurred even last month, I probably won't remember it. I struggle to recall basic details about people I've known for years, including age and last names. so you can imagine what it's like when I meet someone new!

as far as executive dysfunction goes? I just... don't remember. I don't remember how to do the most basic things. I've had to have loved ones walk me through the steps of preparing a bowl of cereal before. no, I'm not joking

5. disorganized speech and being nonverbal

I love language. I'm a poet. language is my thing. I got a perfect 36 on the English portion of my ACT, dammit

but as time goes on, I'm losing my command of the English language. I use the wrong word in the middle of sentences. sometimes the word isn't even related to the word I meant to use, though I can't think of any specific examples right now. sometimes it's just straight up word salads, which make sense to me, but not to those around me.

sometimes my brain's language center just... gives up. during those times, I may utter one or two word sentences. I might just make noises. I might use gestures or ASL. I might text full sentences or just a couple words at a time. or I could just become completely and utterly silent, not even attempting to communicate. I don't understand this

6. hypo/hyperactivity

note: I chose the suffix "-activity" rather than "-sexuality" because this isn't just limited to my problems in bed, though that's a large part of it.

this is something that I've only become aware of after others have pointed it out to me. there are days where I move too slow for their comfort. and it isn't always related to my pain either. I can be having a good physical day and still move like a sloth. on the other hand, there are days when I'm bouncing off the walls

I also fluctuate between hypo/hypersexual. there are days when I am sex repulsed. there are days when all I want to do is fuck

7. ambivalence and black+white thinking

I live in such a state of contradiction. I don't know how to feel about people, concepts, what have you. in order to cope with this, my brain often sorts others into 2 categories: perfect and evil.

sometimes, someone who was perfect yesterday can be put in the evil category the next day (I'm currently experiencing this with a lover of mine). I don't see gray areas. I'm incapable of processing gray. which is odd, considering I'm on the gray-ace spectrum

all of these combined tend to cause certain thoughts, feelings, and actions in other people.

"that's not normal"

"that's weird"

"you're crazy"

"you're broken"

"what's wrong with you?"

"we're putting you here for your own safety"

"this will fix you"

sure, help me out a little. give me some medication, some therapy. but... "fix" me? what about me needs to be "fixed"? why do I need to be "fixed"? namely, why won't you listen when I tell you what I need in order to cope with my brain's battle against me? I don't need crisis intervention. I don't need an institution. I just need medication for my chemical imbalances and therapy to learn how to live with my brain. when you talk about "fixing" me... it's like the only reason you care is because I'm not a "productive" member of society. it's like you want to "fix" me for your benefit. does that make sense to anyone else but me? this comes back around to the disorganized speech and communication, I'm really not sure I'm getting across my thoughts effectively here.

people hurt me... I feel like they do this because they think I'm a villain. I feel like they hurt me to protect themselves. even if I go out of my way to shield them from the way I am inside, it might not be enough to help them feel safe around me

I'm scary.

for so long, I've been in love with aliens, and cryptids, and monsters, among other inhuman creatures. I relate to them. I feel so disconnected with my humanity, that these beings bring me comfort

and now, I'm not the only one

voidpunk

bonus: actual notes from my notepad that I took in an attempt to gather my thoughts

my voidpunk: aliens, cryptids, slasher horror, cyborgs/androids, uncanny valley, Homestuck, primal, cannibal, afterlife, demons, liminal spaces, occult, FNAF, psychedelics, Undertale, dandelions, hoarding, Twilight vampires, parasites, X-Men, we're all made of star stuff, death and decay, bugs and creepy crawlies, succubus/incubus, god complex, yandere simulator, fae, transparent, Nathan W. Pyle comics, the world is quiet here, Lemony Snicket, escapism, fernweh, unconventional beauty

things that make me voidpunk: sleep paralysis, hurting others, an urge to kill, impulsive violence, using sex to get what I want, hyper/hyposexuality, xenogenders, microlabels, neopronouns, dissociation, an inability to connect and relate to other humans, lack of "common sense", "men are trash", inability to distinguish between My Reality and Real Reality, I Don't Remember Anything, psychosis, can't pick up on subtlety, unsure how to socialize properly, I'm Scary, ambivalence, inability to make concrete decisions, self medicating, Out Of Control, how do I move properly, broken executive functioning, disorganized speech, paranoia, I despise basic bodily functions like eating and bathroom, what do you mean you can't read my mind, google: how to communicate effectively, black and white thinking

[sophygurl]

WisCon43 - re: programming

I’ve been thinking about conversations (both online and off) held this year about WisCon’s programming - lack of certain kinds of diversity, reasons why that might be, and what to do about it. As someone who writes up a lot of panels, goes to a lot of panels, sits on a lot of panels, and although I didn’t mod this year - has moderated her fair share of panels, I’ve been thinking about it from all of those perspectives.

My perspective is also of someone who has a balance of ways in which I am and am not marginalized. I won’t list every single thing as that would be tedious and non-productive, but to share some of the biggies: I’m disabled, queer, and genderqueer; I am also white, cis, and neither an immigrant or the child of immigrants. If I get stuff wrong in any of the areas I’m privileged in, I very much welcome correction and feedback. Also, none of us these communities are monoliths - so conversation from all angles is always helpful. 

To those who may have missed some of these conversations, my impression is that it flowed from a few starting points: 1) people new/new-ish to WisCon who therefore weren’t as aware of how programming works differently at this 100% volunteer-run con, 2) people unaware that certain demographics of the con (specifically mentioned were poc - particularly blpoc, and trans/non-binary folk) have grown tired of being The Diversity People on panels, 3) some incidents at last year’s con - while handled by safety and anti-abuse teams well - did contribute to folks from certain marginalizations either not wanting to come or at least not wanting to actively participate in programming this year.

I don’t have a lot of thoughts on those points. I have never been on the concom, don’t know a lot of about the behind the scenes stuff that goes on, and while there are certainly things we can do (”we” meaning both the folks officially doing stuff bts and all of us as a community who care about the con) to make the con feel and be safer for everyone and to encourage more people to participate - we certainly can’t make people continue to do frustrating 101-level work educating people about their own identities year after year.

What I DO have thoughts on are the other starting points some of these conversations flowed from, which I perceived to be: 1) this panel description touches on specific marginalizations but the issues affecting those marginalizations were not brought up by panelists, 2) when someone from the audience asked questions relating to those marginalizations, the panelists didn’t know what to say, 3) when there were people with and without certain privileges on a panel - sometimes the people with privilege talked over the people without them.

These are all very fixable issues, and indeed I have seen these issues dealt with in very positive and productive ways in the past, so I wanted to share a little bit about my experiences when I’ve thought it has gone well.

Panel Writing.

The first stage of programming at WisCon is submitting panel ideas to the programming department. I write a lot of panels up (ask the programming department lol), and I write up panels on a broad variety of topics from Important Issue panels to fun squee panels. Here are a few tips to keep in mind when writing up panels with a nod to intersectional feminism and diversity inclusion:

When writing a panel about a Serious Issue, make sure there is some language about the ways in which other intersections are impacted by the Issue. For example, if I’m writing up a panel about queerness, I might slip in a phrase also asking the panelists to think about ways in which race or class affect the Queer Issue at hand. That way it’s baked in. Hopefully (and you can’t control this if you’re not on the panel yourself - but hopefully), the moderator and panelists will take those intersectional issues into consideration in their discussion. 

When writing up a more fun fannish panel, STILL make sure to include a statement or two asking the panelists to consider ways in which Fan Thing touches on issues of race, gender, what have you. For example, “yaddayadda fun thing! Also, how do we feel about the show’s treatment of race?” Again, the idea is to bake it right in there so that the panelists are already (hopefully) thinking about those things and won’t be caught off guard when the audience is wanting or expecting them to discuss it a little bit.

When suggesting a panel, you can suggest potential panelists. You can either do this specifically as in “Person A would be a great addition to this panel!” or more generally with a note asking “please make sure at least one panelist is X identity”. None of these things are guarantees, of course, but it helps programming see what you’re going for. Another idea for when it’s essential that a panel is comprised of specific folk is to hand-staff the panel. That means it’s not open for volunteers and only the people who have been pre-selected can sit on the panel. (I believe this is how panels at many other cons are naturally run?? It’s just not the default for WisCon where we like lots of volunteers and self-selection.)

Another thing to keep in mind is thinking about who your potential audience is going to be. You can delineate in the panel description whether this is meant to be a 101 or higher level discussion. You can bake in the idea that this panel is jumping off from a panel held in a previous year and the panelists won’t be doing much in the way of backgrounding that. You can say “this is NOT a panel about ...” to make it clear this panel is about Issue Y and only about Issue Y. There are lots of ways to make it clear what the panel should and shouldn’t be about, which again, is not a guarantee, but certainly helps move the panel in the right direction.

Panel formation.

When asking to be on a panel, you can make a note about why you want to be on it, or why you want to moderate it. This is a handy place to speak about your identity pieces (IF you want - nobody is forced to do this). For example, on a panel about disability, I might type in a little note talking about my specific disabilities and possibly how my queerness informs my disability. That way, if there are ten people with similar disabilities as mine asking to be on the panel - programming can decide that maybe I don’t need to be there. Or if no one else has mentioned queerness as part of their identity, they might put me on to make sure that’s a voice being included. 

When you get assigned to a panel, you see the names and emails of the other folks on the panel with you. If you’ve been coming to the con for awhile, you might be able to see right then where a problem area might be - like, holy cow this panel about TV show with black main character is skewing very white! Or perhaps that panel about the intersection of X and Y has mostly folks with experience X and not Y! What do? Well, there’s a few things that I’ve seen done/have done.

One thing is to reach out and see if people from the underrepresented group want to join you on the panel! You can do this quietly by asking folks you know personally, put out calls on social media, ask programming to help you locate some folks, or even put up notes in the green room once at the con asking for folks with identity Y to volunteer. 

I’ve also been on panels where none of the above happened, but I’ve looked out into the audience and seen friends with Identity Y who I know are usually up for talking at a moment’s notice and asked if they’d join us. (This can backfire if your friend with Identity Y is just sick to death of talking about their identity, but if you ask it in a nice enough way, hopefully they’ll feel comfortable saying nah, I’m here to listen this time) 

This can also happen as the email conversations begin and everyone starts sort of awkwardly saying things like “well, I think we should talk about asexuality but I’m not ace...” and suddenly you realize you’ve left out an important part of the conversation. As in the above scenario, sometimes you can reach out and include that perspective. But sometimes you can’t. What do then?

One thing I’ve seen done/have done is to have the moderator acknowledge the issue at the start of the panel. “We all understand that an ace perspective, or perspective X, is an important one for this topic, but none of us are ace, so we’re just gonna do our best on that part and if we mess it up, we hope someone with that perspective will correct us!” This accomplished a few things: 1) it lets the audience know that you know there is a flaw there so they’re not sitting there wondering why tf you’re not talking about Thing X as much as they’d expected, 2) allows folks in the audience with perspective X the opportunity to speak up if they’re feeling like they want their perspective shared (example: “you mentioned that none of you are ace, I’m asexual and wanted to share that...”). It might be important for the mod to even seek out “comment not a question” in those specific instances. 

Sometimes, as happened my very first time moderating, it turns out that someone in the audience has a very unique and important perspective and the rest of the panelists just kinda do chinhands listening to them for a bit and THAT IS OKAY. 

You might even get all the way to the panel and not realize until someone in the audience speaks up that you are lacking an important perspective. What do??

This weekend, I witnessed a panel where this happened and the panelists all just asked the audience member if they’d come up and be on the panel with them! Now, like the example above of asking a friend in the audience at the start of the panel, this won’t Always work. Perhaps the audience member does not Want to share their perspective - they only want to make sure that perspective is being covered. That is 100% fair! No one should feel forced or pressured to insta-join a panel! But giving someone the option can be a great way around accidental gaps in inclusion. 

Doing the panel. 

Now, it’s not always possible to flesh your panel out with diverse perspectives. Despite trying all of the other things, perhaps no one with Identity X wants to sit on your panel. Or perhaps there are too many intersections for a panel of 6 to even cover all of them. Or maybe no one even realized how important Issue Y was to Panel Z until Panel Z got underway. But STILL there are things you, the panelists and moderator, can do!

The most important thing you can do is to make sure you’re prepared for the stuff baked into the panel. Even if you believe the make-up of the panel is sufficient to cover a specific issue, what if the 2 poc panelists end up unable to make it to the con or the 1 Deaf panelist got sick or the person you thought you remembered was Jewish - ooops turns out you had mistaken them for someone else? Listen, this stuff happens. So Be Prepared. 

No, as a white person, I absolutely cannot and should not speak on the experiences of people of color. That would be wildly inappropriate. But what I can do, and try to do, is educate myself ahead of time on how the topic at hand affects or is affected by issues of race. If there are poc on the panel willing and able to touch on those things - perfect! Worst thing that happens is that I got a little more educated, which is the opposite of a problem anyway. But if it turns out that it’s only me and another white panelist and the audience is asking questions about race, I can at least say something like “from what I’ve read in this article/heard my poc friends saying/saw online from poc fans.... it seems like XYZ might be true but also could be a problem because of ABC”. Heavy disclaimers should abound, but, yes, it is possible to at least address an issue even if that issue doesn’t directly affect you. In fact, Tired Queer in the Corner might be really happy that you Straight Ally on the Panel did your homework. 

If you can’t prepare - if an issue sneaks up on you - just be honest about that and still try to do your best! “Oh, wow, I just realized we never discussed in our pre-panel discussion how the issue of religion impacts this topic, but now that this audience member has brought it up - can any of us speak on that?” If it turns out that, no, none of us can speak on that - toss it to the audience. “Can anyone else address this?” Again, this is a potential backfire situation, but worse case scenario no one wants to address it, you can apologize, pledge to do better next time, and move on. The toss-it-to-the-audience approach also only generally works in smaller panels where audience participation is easily done. If you’re on a dais with a large crowd and no wireless mics - you might have to forgo that particular work-around.

Other options include post-panel discussions. Moderator: “We only have ten minutes left and we never did hit topic X. If anyone - panelists and audience alike - would like to discuss this, we can move into the overflow room to dig in deeper.” That’s one approach. Another is to take it to twitter, or other online discussion. “Sorry we didn’t get to any audience questions about Y - but please add your comments to the # and we’ll do our best to reply in the coming days!” Last year I moderated a panel with a lot of very intelligent and wordy panelists and we literally ran out of time right before I would have gone to audience questions. But that hashtag was busy and lots of us went to it after the panel and had some lovely conversations with some of our audience members that way. It’s not a perfect solution, but it’s another way to try and get to the stuff that might otherwise be missed.

Also - be aware of your privileges and make sure you are privileging the voices of those you have privilege over. This weekend, I caught myself interrupting a fellow panelist of color and stopped mid-interruption, doing the sort of “no, continue” motion and set the mic down to make sure I didn’t do it again until they were finished. It happens to all of us, and most of us at WisCon are in positions where we have some and don’t have other privileges. As a panelist - try and remember where yours are and be mindful of when to stop talking. 

As a moderator - you have to do this and Also keep in mind your fellow panelists intersections and possibly step in when you notice the white lady keeps monopolizing the conversation or the cishet dude to keeps talking over the queer woman. It’s part of the mod’s job to make sure everyone is heard, so if you don’t believe you’re capable of doing that part you need to either 1) ask someone to help you or 2) not moderate in the first place. [And BTW, asking for help is okay! We don’t all have the same skill sets, so asking one of your panelist buds to help you in an area you lack is not a bad thing to do!]  

So those are some of my ideas on how to make sure more voices and types of voices are being heard in panels. I’d love if people added their own! Thanks to everyone who made it a priority for us to keep having these conversations. 

[geneticyborg]

STATISTICS.EXE

BASICS

DESIGNATION: X5-599 PREFERRED NAME: Zack D.O.B | D.O.D: August 28th | N/A SEX | PRONOUNS: Cis Male | He, His, Him ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Virgo. Precise, exact and critical, Zack understands that the devil is in the details and he pays attention to them. He is hardworking, efficient and methodical and can usually work or reason his way out of any challenge. ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Good. He follows his conscience with little regard for what others expect of him, making his own way but has a good heart. He believes in goodness and right but has little use for laws and regulations and struggles to keep his belief in the face of trauma and terrible experiences. He hates when people try to intimidate others and follows his own moral compass. MYERS BRIGGS TEST: ISTJ, the Logistician. Enjoys taking responsibility for his actions and takes pride in the work that he does when working towards a goal. Defined by his integrity, practicality, logic and tireless dedication to duty makes him a vital core to any family or organization that upholds traditions, rules and standards.

PERSONALITY

POSITIVE TRAITS: Analytical, practical, observant, honest and direct. Dutiful, committed, responsible, level headed and reliable. NEGATIVE TRAITS: Stubborn, blunt, insensitive, rigid and judgmental. Self-loathing, guilty, self-depricating, jealous and aggressive. SURFACE TEMPERMENT: Zack will often present himself as “the boy next door”, using his generic white male appearance to portray an act of being polite, well-mannered and friendly as a means of lulling those around him into a sense of safety and familiarity that allows him to pass as memorable but nonthreatening. TRUE TEMPERMENT: However, those whom are given the benefit to see beneath the surface act will soon realize that Zack is far angrier and violent that first impressions would imply. Zack can become incredibly aggressive to those that he perceives as a threat to his safety or the safety of those that he cares about and responds accordingly. He’s merciless, cold and efficient when it comes to achieving his goals and can compartmentalize his emotions and uses this tactic to keep everyone at arms length save for a handful of his proclaimed brothers and sisters.

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTORS

EYES | HAIR: Blue | Blond HEIGHT | WEIGHT: 5'11 | 98 kgs TATTOOS: Black, patented barcode on the base of the back of his neck. Often laser removed but inevitably resurfaces after a handful of days. PIERCINGS: None BODY MODIFICATIONS: As a genetically engineered X series, Zack’s DNA has been spliced with various forms of animal DNA that enhances and heightens his physical capabilities. After shooting himself in the head in order to donate his heart to X5-452, Zack is harvested by Manticore for several other organs, kept alive to undergo heavy cybernetic modifactions in which the damaged tissue and missing organs were replaced with synthetic tissue.

CURRENT LOCATION

Zack has returned to the city of Seattle after six months working on a Ranch with no memory of his past or his real identity. His memories however have been clawing back to the surface, triggered by numbers, posters and phrases that has driven him to seek out the woman that he knows only as Max. Abandoning the Ranch and returning to the city, Zack is slowly but surely piecing together his past while working as a Construction Worker in sector 9.

HISTORY

X5-599 was created by a covert genetics and military agency that went by the codename Manticore. Hand crafted, designed and spliced with numerous animal DNA and DNA found of extraordinary men and women, 599 was genetically engineered to be the perfect human weapon. Placed within a surrogate mother to be carried to term, 599 was born into servitude and trained from infancy to be an obedient soldier of Manticore alongside fifty others of his kind. As an X5, 599 was trained to be a Commanding Officer, attuned to make his own independent decisions and tactical strategies without the need for human oversight and co-led with X5-492 and X5-452 of a twenty man unit all ranging from the ages of six and ten years old.

Among their unit, 599 and the others chose names for themselves, 599 being given the name Zack by his siblings, and slowly pieced together their own identities whilst living under the oppressive training regime of Colonel Donald Lydecker. They were regoriously trained in physical skills, hand-to-hand combat, weapons training and assembly and military strategy and tactics as well as Intelligence training and conditioning.

Zack was closest with 492 and 452, Ben and Max, as they led their unit in different fractions of their objectives, assignments and missions but it was with Max that Zack felt the most for. Unlike the others in his unit, his feelings for Max were romantic – though he didn’t understand this until he was older. When Max’s life was threatened, Zack responded, attacking their trainer and spearheading an escape attempt in order to get Max and the others out of the facility before any more of them could be killed or hurt again.

Zack led the escape, separating his siblings and urging them to scatter and go underground once they escaped the perimeter fence. Zack was captured temporarily by Manticore security helping his siblings and Max escape the base but eventually escaped from transit before he could be returned to the facility and fled from Manticore’s Wyoming facility. Zack would spend the next ten years searching for, finding and protecting the twelve others of his unit that managed to escape that night. When finally reunited with Max, he was twenty years old.

Zack sacrificed every chance he had at making a life for himself in order to keep his siblings and Max safe and protected from Manticore whom were still searching for them in the hopes of returning them to Manticore for experimentation and reindoctrination.

Zack would give up his own freedom to save Max from Manticore’s clutches and would be tortured for four months by Colonel Donald Lydecker in the effort to find out the locations of the rest of the escaped members of his unit and would be rescued from the island during an escape attempt by Max.

During an assault on Manticore, Max would be shot through the heart. Her death and Manticore’s inability to repair the damaged tissue caused Zack to take his own life so that the Manticore scientists could use his own heart as a transplant to resuscitate Max before her brain was without blood and oxygen for too long. He saved Max’s life but Manticore refused to let him die.

Manticore kept Zack alive to be used as an organ doner, harvesting his lungs and other internal organs for other injured X5’s in Manticore’s service. He was eventually transferred to another facility where he was subjected to further violations by having his missing organs and body parts replaced by cybernetic implants and synthetic tissue. The damage that he sustained to his brain caused him to develop amnesia, unable to piece together his own memory on his own he had no sense of identity or of his past and was sold on the Black Market by an IT tech when Manticore was eventually destroyed.

Zack found himself the property of a gang of Body-Moders known as Steelheads who used him as extra muscle and an obedient tool until Zack once again reunited with Max. At first he was unable to remember her until she presented her barcode and Zack was able to make the connections with his own memory. He left the Steelheads and returned with Max in order to try and get his memory back. He succeeded. Recalling everything and feeling responsible for every perceived failure and mistaking his relationship with Max as romantic he eventually triggered his Manticore programming.

While in Manticore’s custody, PSY-OPs planted the belief that Eyes Only, or Logan Cale and Max’s soulmate, as a traitor. Zack attempted to kill Logan, believing that he was avenging himself and Max for the perceived terrors that they underwent while in Manticore which forced Max to electrocute Zack until he lost consciousness and wiped his memory once more.

Max made the choice to give Zack a new identity as Adam Thompson, making him believe that he had been working on a ranch when during a resource pick up had a car accident which resulted in his injuries and his memory loss. As Adam, Zack returned to work on the Ranch out of Seattle but slowly began to regain his memory.

[decadentrpg-blog]

WELCOME EMILY, YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF HELOISE DELACOUR

Admins Note: Heloise was certainly a difficult choice to make but after much assessment, I want to say that I absolutely adore what you’ve brought to the table! From build up of her background to every little historical reference that was placed within your application, it cohesively created this duality that Heloise has! I’ve enjoyed every interaction she has as well as the clarity and rationale behind her thinking! Your faceclaim request for Virginia Gardner has been approved. Congratulations on your acceptance again, please make sure to head your way to the checklist and submit your account within the next 24 hours!

Out of Character

Name / Alias: Emily

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: Twenty-two

Timezone: GMT.

In Character Application

Full Name: Heloise Delacour

Sexuality: Lesbian.

You like girls. No, that’s wrong. You love girls. You love the smoothness of their skin. You love their gentle curves, their bodies like oceans, refreshing and divine. You love stroking their hair as you lie between sweat-soaked sheets, curling it around your fingertips. You love sharing lipstick shades so it won’t get too messy when you kiss and the sound beaded dresses make when they hit the ground. Most of all, you love who you become around them. Bursting at the seams with euphoria, without a trace of shakiness in your footsteps, you unveil the creature you fought so hard to become - self-assured and valiant. You always slipped into her without thinking about it, knowing instinctively, that this was right. This was who you were supposed to be.

Gender/Pronouns: Cis-female, she/her

Hogwarts House:  Gryffindor.

The hat was adamant. They wanted you in Gryffindor. They wanted you to learn to harness your own roar, the find power in your sort of bravery - perhaps even to tame the brasher instincts of your peers, to calm the storm inside of them. Not every kind of bravery favours the bold, the defiant, the loud. There are different kinds of bravery. The courage to carry on when the chains around your neck drag you to the ground. The strength to try and try and try. The valour in turning yourself into an anchor, a steady weight for the rest of the world to ground themselves on. There are all sorts of bravery in this world, each as useful, each as needed, as the last. Children, yourself included, see so much, but so little at the same time.

You didn’t glimpse the potential in yourself. You wouldn’t for many years yet.

But the hat knew.

You pleaded for Hufflepuff, knowing you’d be able to carve a home out of the house. The world underestimated badgers, sneering at their perceived lack of intelligence, wit or ambition. You didn’t see that at all. You saw steadiness, a bedrock to build a person upon. It wasn’t a leap of faith. But society couldn’t be built around those who flew. Someone had to be waiting, down below, rooted to the earth, ready to catch falling angels.

The hat laughed.

“Better be…” Panic rose in your chest, a knot tightening inside of you. “GRYFFINDOR.”

They weren’t unkind to you. But you were the fawn in the pride of lions, the hovering figure in the background, the mute who never could make herself heard. Years later, with your personhood more fully attached, half of you wistfully wishes you could go back and do it better. Do it again. And yet, in your heart, you know there’s no value in looking backwards. You must journey on.

Head canons:

Trigger warnings for violence, war, alcoholism and mentions of abuse.

I. la petite fille

Your father - and you only have the confidence to say this now you’re a fledgling, grown to use her own voice - always cared far too much about what people thought. Cream of French society, darling of the elite, a career-hungry politician intent on climbing the ladder. Ironically, the sunshine in your soul can be traced directly back to him. And yet, where yours is woven into the very essence of your being, a warm touch to steady a storm, an easiness to still a monster, a brightness to diminish the darkness, his is a mask, a choking falseness. It was that, more than anything else, that scared you. He changed before your very eyes - shaking hands and kissing cheeks one second - to plotting behind their back the next. Nothing about him was real. He slipped between your fingers, never a solid thing to hang onto.

(The feeling, you know, is mutual. You were a grand disappointment. Too timid to follow in his footsteps and too honest to lie. You’re mostly strangers now, each unable to understand the other).

Your mother you know a little better. An English rose, she fell for your father’s charms one summer, a fling that never was supposed to turn into a marriage. You were the bump that interrupted those plans, the shame that would have befallen her good name. Both parties were hastily married and that was that. You’ve always wondered if she blamed you for it. Always been too afraid to ask. Your mother, you know, was miserable, far far away from home, shackled to a man she barely liked, forced to play the part of politicians wife. When she played it well, there was harmony in the household. But if she slipped up…all hell broke loose. And her, with her love of expensive wine and flirting with other people’s husbands, did mess up. You never witnessed the war inside of your father unfold, merely lived its after effects. Silently, you’d pull a blanket over your mother’s quivering frame and give your father his favourite cigar.

(As you grew, you became rather good at predicting the ticking time bombs. So before the storm ravaged, you nearly always scrambled to safety, grabbing your teddy bear and retreating to the back of the wardrobe. You never found a secret world in the back of there, but you did find safety - and that was a comfort in and of itself).

Peacemaker, your father would sometimes say with affection, your mother with scorn. You’d gulp and nod silently, opinions kept to yourself. Over time, a survival instinct became a pattern and from a pattern into a habit. Such things are hard to shake.

Ii. maison choisie

Your mother hailed from London’s big smoke and your father made Paris his home, so you’ve always been accustomed to cities - you could even say it’s in your blood. But nowhere ever felt like home more than your Grand-Mere’s home a stone’s throw from Amiens. Reluctantly, with great effort, your father would make the bi-annual privilege there, dragging your mother in tow. You never had to be forced, you galloped ahead, a country girl at heart. There was something so liberating about Amiens, especially in the summer, where the line between the fields and sky was impossible trace and wildflowers bloomed. Your grandmother was kinder than your parents, the only one who could pull you out of your shell - but even then, only when you were alone. More a hedgewitch than practiced individual, she used to set you upon a stool as she practiced her potions, entrusting you with the responsibility of stirring from time to time. She was the one who taught you that magic had more than rigid purpose, that it would be as beautiful as life itself.

She also taught you a second, valuable lesson.

You remember the very first muggle you met. You remember them because they waved joyfully as you stepped into the town square - and knew your father by reputation, your Grand-Mere by face. Your father, ever the diplomat, turned his face away, pretending not to have heard. You, bashfully, didn’t meet their eyes either. It was only later, when your parents had been placated by a bottle of wine or two, that your Grand-mere took you aside.

“Why didn’t you wave back?” Dumbstruck, you look for somewhere to scurry away and hide. Gently, she took your hand into her own. “I won’t hurt you chérie.”

“Maman et Papa didn’t.” And you never were awfully comfortable around strangers, bashfulness seizing control of you.

“They were wrong to.” Bopping your nose, your grand-mere drew giggles from you. “They didn’t wave because he was…” her voice strained over the English word. “A muggle. Have they told you not to talk to muggles?”

You shook your head.

“Don’t let them. There will be some, especially when you go to school, who tell you not to talk to witches who have muggle parents. You musn’t let them order you around. No one is any better or lesser because of the blood in our veins. Even muggles…they’re not witches. But they’re not the enemy. After all, if I never spoke to a muggle, I’d never speak to anyone! Never forget that.”

You promised you wouldn’t. You haven’t since.

Iii. armes de guerre Ultimately, it was war that drove you away from your beloved France and your cherished Grand-mere, who refused to stand down and flee when the German troops overran Amiens. You like to imagine she would not take a cowards way out, apparating whilst the others were rats in a barrel, trapped by the advance. You like to imagine she fought to defend her farm with every trick up her sleeve. You like to imagine she remained strong and valiant until the very end. But you’ll never know. The war snatched her from you, her story lost to the wind. All you had left was an owl from the French ministry and the personal condolences of the French Minister La Magie.

It took you a very long time to summon the courage to return. And even then, you couldn’t do it alone. Kenshin stepped in without being asked, the year after you left Hogwarts, stability at your side as you confronted the ruins of the happiest parts of your childhood. Violence had ravaged the landscape, scarring those who survived. Left with nothing, you saw the hallows of hunger in their sunken cheeks and poverty wrecked on their bones. Beauty had perished and been left to die. But in the ruins of her farm, you saw all was not lost. The Peach trees were still rooted, their bounty just as sweet. The goats, against the odds, made it out of the shelling alive. The old stool you had once assisted your grandmother had merely cracked, not splintered. Life went on - and through the cracks of darkness, light emerged.

You saw something of yourself in that light.

A hopeful creature, timidly taking her first steps into the world. A passionate believer in the strength of goodness, in victory and vanquish over evil. That progress, ultimately, would triumph. That even in the face of blasphemy, there is room for beauty, for brightness. The trick is in finding it and nourishing it, so that it may grow.

From seed to sapling to great oak.

The spark within yourself ignited that day. You felt your grandmother’s presence and smiled. You mourned, not in sadness, but in joy - for all the happiness that had been, for all that would yet come.

The world treads down on optimists, mocking their faith. But you’ve learnt there’s courage in that kind of relentless determination. That day, you felt its whispers in your soul. That day, you swore to let it go free.

Iv. soldat improbable The time that  followed ‘The Great War’ was supposed to be the long peace. If you look with hooded eyes, you’d find that in the cityscape of New York. Illicit drinking. Parties that last until dawn. Jazz bands. Woman’s emancipation. There is so much beauty, so much progress. But squint harder - and you’d find an underground war, a cold one, lurking just below the surface. It’s cause is more just than any muggle one ever fought. It isn’t a battle between great powers, princes and their cousins. It’s between right and wrong, progress and past, egalitarianism and inequality.

You know you’re not a likely candidate to fight in it. Most overlook you, sneering at your daintiness, soft smiles and open heart. They should understand that it’s what makes you strong, too. All you want is some small part in this larger battle, to be a part of the greater good. More than anything else, you’re a visionary, able to picture a world beyond this hatred. If you can see the brightness, you can be the brightness, a bedrock for those wearier than you, a guide for those who might come in your direction. You’re no warrior, not in the conventional sense, but not every battle should be fought with a weapon. Some need softer tools. You could be that person.

It is the sum of your duties with Dahlia. You see yourself in her, the girl you were but a few years ago, timid and unsure of the power in her own voice, but possessing a rosy heart. She deserves better. You long to show her that, to share your brightness and certainty in betterness, to pull her from the den of snakes and away from the Pride Society. You’re not asking her to fight, for the Coalition, for you…never. You simply want to help her. You would do anything - give her the means to runaway, a safe roof to shelter under, because you long to see her flourish. You’re just so afraid of failure…of failing her, your duty and yourself. The powers against you are overwhelming, those who wield the weapons lethal. The horrors she confesses terrify you. Light, as bright as it is, can be snuffed out. That is your greatest fear where Dahlia is concerned.

V. Coup de main As fun you’ll admit the parties Wren and Kenshin drag you out to are, you couldn’t carve a life out of them. Pleasure is for hedonists - and you do not count yourself among their ranks. When you found your own voice, the grit beneath porcelain skin, you were determined that it should count. You sought purpose in yourself, a way to matter. Almost as if you were trying to prove yourself…to yourself.

You found clarity in the most unlikely of places. A non-descriptive building in Queens - that would appear empty to an unsuspecting muggle. It’s purpose only became clear when you stepped inside, finding an overworked and overwhelmed refugee agency. In the aftermath of the great war, the creation of a dozen new states in Europe, thousands of wizards chose to emigrate instead, heading to the United States in search of a better life.

It’ll be tough work, the supervisor warned, staring you up and down, disdainfully. You bit your lip. Old habits die hard.

I’m tougher than I look. Promise. Your voice rang with clarity, in how true that statement had become.

You began volunteering on a trial basis. You distributed donations and held shaky people in your arms. You played with children and made puppets dance. After a fortnight, you began to offer your services as a translator, hoping to connect people into the interior of the US. A little while after that, you suggested you could be used by the organisation at large, rather than ad-hoc.

You felt a rush in your chest, advocating for yourself. You felt strong and brave and…right.

VI. bizarreries personnelles

Here are the little things that make you, you.

You never broke the habit of walking on your tiptoes, a legacy left from a childhood full of ballet dancing. Slender limbs, porcelain skin, your teacher used to sigh and wish you centre stage. Bashfully, you refused, your cheeks darkening. The spotlight was never yours to claim.

You cannot cook without making a mess. In your presence, the kitchen comes a bomb sight, ravaged by war. Nose flour-stained, fingers sticky, you chase Kenshin around the kitchen. You always catch him. He always allows himself to get caught.

Your pastries are infamous, light and puffy, the sort only the french know how to make. You refine your recipes with magic and tap your nose whenever anyone asks for their secrets. (Later, in fine ink, you pen them a letter, containing the details).

You despise British food. You ate dutifully at Hogwarts, too shy to even dream of asking for an alternative. Toad in the hole. Pies. Casseroles. Blegh.

You bit your fingernails until you were fifteen years old. Your mother enchanted them after that, exasperated at your lack of self-control. The spell has long worn off, but the manicure never lasts long. It’s a nervous tick.

You used to chew your hair. You threw off that habit by twelve.

Birthdays are your favourite times of the year. You take great pride in the gifts you give friends, a thoughtful gesture behind each one. You do, however, despise your own birthday. Being at the centre of attention makes you uncomfortable, you’d much rather spread and share the joy. Luckily, everyone’s learnt not to throw you surprise birthday parties. Instead, you have small, intimate gatherings.

(You and Kenshin have a ritual. A cupcake at midnight as eve becomes day.)

You’re hopeless at keeping plants alive. There isn’t a green bone - or thumb - in your body. You failed herbology miserably.

But you’re incredibly attentive when it comes to writing in your diary, daily and in french, to prevent eavesdropping eyes. A habit you haven’t shaken since your days in Gryffindor.

Your patronus is a lamb. An individual with a lamb patronus has a sort of natural innocence about them, and have a very serene disposition. They are kind to most, though they tend to have a difficult time reaching out and expressing themselves. They have a shy aspect of them that is not only social, but inner, which makes them hesitant to do many things. That said, they are very patient and calm creatures, which allow them to be workable with this nature.

You talk too much when you’re nervous. Far too much. About things that have nothing to do with anything. The weather. The latest show that opened on Broadway. The dance craze everyone’s talking about. Whether you should get a bob. You blabber, filling the space with…words. It’s endearing to most, but you despise it in yourself.

Your wand is 9 ½”, french-made and slim. Beech and Unicorn Hair. “The true match for a beech wand will be, if young, wise beyond his or her years, and if full-grown, rich in understanding and experience. Beech wands perform very weakly for the narrow-minded and intolerant. When properly matched, the beech wand is capable of a subtlety and artistry not seen in any other wood, hence its lustrous reputation.”

Languages are your forte. You have a knack for wrapping your tongue around them, inheriting a little of your father’s silver-tongued mantle. French is your mother tongue, but you’ve added English, Spanish, Italian and a pinch of Latin to the mix.

When you’re making a bold declaration or gesture, you rehearse the words in your mind the night before, like a politician preparing for a speech. You muse over the most effective way to get your point across, the comfort a person will be most receptive to, or whether it’s better just to hold someone and let them cry.

Connection expansion:

I. meilleur ami (Note: I’m happy to change all of this if the Kenshin player disagrees, this is merely my interpretation).

“Mon Frere…” Kenshin catches your grin. Deliberately, his mouth forms an ‘o’. “Ma sœur” You wince at the deliberately butchered pronunciation, but smile nonetheless. He’s always had a particular knack for that, drawing the happiness out of you. And you for him. The only label that fits your description is that of platonic soulmate. Or big brother. For truly, the lines between friendship and family have blurred, that you can’t tell them apart. Certainly, he feels more like family than your own blood ever did.

You met on your tenth day at Hogwarts, in the middle of Herbology class. Devil’s snare wrapped around your hand, you panicked, but were too shy to raise you concerns, suffering in silence. Where few did, Kenshin noticed you - and calmed you down with that bluntness of his. Before you knew it, you were smiling, then laughing and then free. You’ve been attached at the hip since - and shall be, until death do you part. The years did little to change the pair of you. Where some friends grow apart, you grew together, slotting like two jigsaw puzzle pieces. By third year, you were spending Christmas together, Kenshin sensing your unspoken reluctance to go back to France and face the holidays with your parents. After your first one together, you confessed the truth, honesty no one had even known. But most of all, he brought light into his life - different to yours, more brazen and bold. Like two twinned suns, strung across the sky. He is your confidante, secret keeper, joker, dance partner and now, roommate.

The latter made sense. When the two of you ended up in New York at the same time (it’s impossible to imagine the two of you oceans apart, impossible and terrible and dreadful), it made sense for the pair of you to find a two-bed apartment in Manhattan and make it your home. You are as compatible roommates as you are friends.

And, for the first time, he made a house a home.

II. le fruit interdit (Again, I’m happy to alter things dependent on plotting w/ Prosperina’s player) You shouldn’t want to kiss her. If you are the doe, she is the wolf - a huntress determined to strike clean.  In your heart, you know you should hate that dynamic, as you know you should despise her - resent the intimidation that rises through your bones, abhore the uncertainty she makes you feel.. You should be afraid. Very afraid.

And in so many ways, you are. You’re scared of what your attraction to her says about you, now that you are both girls grown, living with the choices you make as adults. You aren’t school children anymore, you aren’t praying to be noticed, doodling hearts with your names encased in it. You’re fearful of what might happen if you find yourselves alone, in a dark - or a light - room. But you’re more frightened, in a strange way, of nothing happening at all.

With Prosperina, there are so many unspoken anxieties, so many things you can’t possibly wrap your head around, that you can’t possibly know. Why she notices you now. When you began to crave the burn. If the risk is worth a moments ecstasy. How beauty could wear such thorns.

You know, now, how Eve felt, in the Garden of Eden. Just one bite, the snake hissed. Just one kiss, Prosperina whispers. You have no wish to shed your wings and toss yourself from Paradise’s gate. But she’s just as beautiful as any angel you’ve ever gazed upon.

In Character Paragraph:

Thursday night, 9pm sharp, the Yale Club. Dress elegantly. Heloise didn’t need to glance down at the invitation to know its contents, her heart having memorised them ten times over, skipping a beat each time it paused at a cursive. Even Prosperina’s writing was beautiful. She would have liked to say that the invitation was unexpected, out of the blue and had been firmly rejected. Yet, since she distastes lies, she could not.

Heloise had, however, made an attempt or two to excuse herself. Sending an owl in return, she had outlined her disapproval of the Pride Society and its galas in no uncertain terms. Prosperina had take an age to respond - deliberately, Heloise supposed, to make her nerves hop and jump. When she had, Heloise could almost taste her tone. It’s not one of those. It’s for charity. Don’t you support charity? She had caved. Heloise couldn’t be sure if that was strength or weakness, good or bad.

Three days later, another letter had arrived. Wear pink. It matches the blush on your face.

Stepping into the room, Heloise steeled herself, a picture of defiance in angel-white, beads reflecting the light back.

Not so long ago, she would have cowered, a ghostly slip of a thing, trembling in the corner. Glass of champagne stitched to her hand, she would have sipped until someone had taken pity on her - and even then, she might have fled. That worked under the assumption she plucked the courage to attend at all. Time sandpapered everyone, some for the better, others for the worse. Heloise liked to think she took after the former.

The first eye she caught was from across the room, her gaze instantly drawn to the slip of a girl shrouded by demons, unable to do anything but stare from her cage. Dahlia. It hurt to see her here, to see the shackles bound and to know she was powerless to help. To approach her, to take her hands into her own and wrap her arms around her shoulders was to betray her newfound friend, to expose her doubts to the world. There was cruelty in watching her suffer - but there was greater cruelty in taking a hammer to the foundations below her feet. That wasn’t Heloise’s job. Hers was to encourage Dahlia to flutter her own wings, to learn how to fly. All in good time. Smiling softly across the room, she let her face say what her tongue couldn’t. Stay strong, keep the faith.

The second pair were Prosperina’s - appearing from nowhere, sneaking up behind. Departing from conventions and norms, she didn’t bother with small-talk. “You look ravishing. But not as pretty as you would have had in pink.”

Tongue-tied, Heloise searched for a response. No one had the power to shrink her anymore, now that she had freed her voice from its restraints. And yet, that didn’t mean anymore wit had returned to it. In times like these, she prayed for Kenshin’s presence at her side, always ready with a sharp retort, the sort that drew him closer to someone. Or even Wren, brazen and bold, who spoke without thought. You don’t want to impress her! One voice screamed.Not like you imagined you might, a lifetime ago.

And yet, a little bit of her did.

Heloise spurned her interest. But a little bit of her didn’t want to do without it either.

“I - Thank you. You look…” Staring at Prosperina for the first time, Heloise felt the breath be stolen from her lungs. Divine. Enchanting. “Like a million bucks.” Slanting her voice into an American accent for comedic effect, she immediately regretted her choice no sooner had it been said. “And this…it’s certainly big. Very big. I suppose that’s good. The more people you can fit in, the more donations you can collect for charity.”

Prosperina laughed. Heloise was never sure if she was being laughed at or with. She preferred to think it was the latter.

“The committee had a few reservations. Something about…vermin control. The guest list is rather exclusive, you see.”

Confusion flashed across her face. It wasn’t as if New York was a stranger to rodents…but something about her tone, about the look on her face…made it clear that it wasn’t animals she was referring to. Without noticing, Heloise had become a player in the game. The smile froze on her face. “I sure hope that isn’t a reference to the architects who built the place. Or the perfectly nice people going about their business on the floor below. They’re not doing any harm.”

“Ah yes, the No-Maj’s, as our Yank friends love to say.”

Heloise tensed on the mention of that word. She despised it. No-Maj. So…derogatory. And rather rude. As if they didn’t count as people, or deserve respect, on the merit of something they didn’t have - and had no choice in having. “I hate that term. I hate - you shouldn’t talk about them like that. Nobody should. They’re hardly hurting anyone. And technically, this is their territory so really we should - be respectful.” Exhaling heavily, she steadied herself.

“Oh,” Prosperina leaned in, all smiles now, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “You’re such a doll. I was only playing. But I can be nice, if you ask nicely.” Her touch felt like electricity, the sort of chemistry that couldn’t be duplicated or faked. When it was real, it was real. “I’ll go fetch us expensive champagne to make amends.” Half-purr, she broke off and Heloise dropped her gaze. “Pink Champagne, I think.”

Cheeks deepening into rosy-red, Heloise watched her depart, wishing she could look away.

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