#growing up i felt gender envy for girls that looked like boys AND boys that looked like girls. i wanted to be them so bad

[mechawolfie]

is there an alternative to dykefag/fagdyke for people who aren’t attracted to anyone really. like i just want the gender of it

[beautifulqueerexistence]

I remember standing in the bathroom of my Church’s Youth Group meeting at fifteen, hands pushing back my chest to try and imagine an alternative world where it didn’t fill out.

I remember telling my girlfriend at the time how I wanted a reduction, how my back pain was getting worse… but specifically leaving out the fact that my chest felt foreign and detached.

I remember my mom obsessively commenting on my long hair, never letting a day go by where I wasn’t reminded of how beautiful and healthy it was… how my long hair was a gift.

I remember the panic in middle gym class when the group was separated between boys and girls, my heart torn between the two before I even had the words or courage to understand why.

I remember cutting my hair, how many taunts and comments were made. “Such a shame,” I’d be told over and over from girls who envied the length I had freed myself from.

I remember watching the only openly out transgender kid having to walk half a mile across campus to change in the nurse’s office for gym class, only getting to participate in gym for ten minutes before he was forced to walk back to change in time for his next class. I remember how horribly he was treated by my peers, who called it his “walk of shame,” and promising myself that I’d never let myself be put in that position.

But most of all, I remember looking in the mirror after several weeks of isolating quarantine. The sting of my church’s rejection still fresh and the abandonment I felt from God. I remember begging to be fixed, to have this suffocating, confusing feeling torn out of the body that was supposed to be mine. I remember tracing over every little arbitrary gender rule, tearing through my closet of leggings, dresses, and skirts, unable to find a single article of clothing that actually felt like mine. I remember the bittersweet feeling of finishing a theatrical production, saying goodbye to the character I was expected to embody, and feeling that same nostalgia for the girl in the mirror before me. I remember suffocating out any piece of me that didn’t suit her role, the expectations people had for her, and feeling as though her very existence contrasted my ability to live. I remember how my life wasn’t my own, rather countless strings pulling me to dance and dress and act the part they all expected me to play. I remember the night I realized that stage was supposed to be mine.

I’ve been on testosterone for two years, and I get top surgery in 5 days. Though I remember the sacrifices I made for her character to thrive, I no longer find myself grieving who she could have been. Instead, I see a clear stage, ready for whatever set I build, whatever story I wish to portray. For the first time in a long time, the mirror in front of me no longer shows the girl I gave up 18 years for… but the person they were always meant to grow into. Though I now face my own version of the walk to the nurse’s office, I see now that his choice was one of bravery, not shame. He represented a courage I had not yet found, and planted a seed in me that knew all of this was arbitrary and pointless. Because he had chosen himself to be visible, I would eventually go on to set my weights down and join his stride. I don’t know where he is now, and I don’t know what lays in his walk… but I’m forever grateful he was bold enough to show himself for people like me.

[jawz]

i’ve been thinking a lot lately about the way my ethnicity affected the way i was gendered as a child, my drive to transition, and even my detransition…

as a hispanic growing up with my white mom and white stepdad and white brother and white extended family in scandinavian hell (minnesota), i always felt different, always felt wrong. (my parents divorced as a baby, and my dad and his family, cuban and italian, all live in florida.) my neighborhood wasn’t so bad; it was way more diverse than the metro area itself. growing up i had mixed friends, i had friends with curly hair… but us trailer park kids were only a fraction of the population of our schools and district. a sea of blonde hair. there were times in elementary school i would literally pray to god to make my hair straight, make my eyes blue. grown-ups touched my hair and always asked “is it naturally curly?”. my classmates urged me to straighten it and by age 13 it was part of my ridiculously time-consuming “feminizing” beauty rituals.

much earlier, by the age of 8 or 9, i already had thick, dark hair growing on my legs. other kids, boys and girls alike, called me “gorilla girl”, faked gagging when i wore shorts, insisted i was actually a boy. that one became more and more common as i came into my personality: bold, class clown, competitive with the boys. (always wanting to charm the girls, but i didn’t recognize that back then.)

my mustache was there by 8, as well. just a little peach fuzz above my lip but dark enough to notice. are you even a girl? my mom would spread wax over her own face and soon began waxing my stache as well. it hurt so badly. i put up with it because she said it would make the kids stop teasing me. of course i was a girl- she was a woman and she had peach fuzz too!… but i felt self-conscious at the fact that my body hair was so much more noticeable, even as a child. my mother’s hair is very thin, straight, lighter brown; her complexion is warmer than mine, pink where mine is olive, green and yellow. i worried you could see the strands about to burst through. i was worried that to be a girl- a woman- i must hide parts of myself every day. i must cover the shoots of grass, the weeds that reveal that i’m not fit for society, that whisper i’m wild and untamed.

it wasn’t actually until i was 18 at least that i actually started to consider myself latino. i had sometimes said ‘hispanic’ growing up, as that’s what my family in florida called themselves; they referred to themselves as “spanish”, which i found out was not quite true after compiling my family tree and discovering that those ancestors emigrated from havana. in their minds they were white: “descended from spanish royalty” (as if!!)… i had spent my youth constantly trying to claim solely whiteness, confused as to why everyone was asking me “are you mexican?” “are you jewish?” “are you middle eastern?” - even though inside i think i knew. i knew my family didn’t look like me. i resented my surname being changed to Lind when i was five, my stepdad’s name, in order to give me the same name as the rest of them. despite my apparent envy of swedes and norwegians i knew it wasn’t my name; i still stood out terribly. i glared at myself in the mirror every day, i never could move past how the kids at school said my eyes were the color of shit, that my hair looked like pubes, that i must have had a sex change without being told because that would explain the mustache, the aggression…

by the time i was fourteen i was entirely primed to accept an alternative explanation to what was “wrong” with me. my sexuality was becoming more and more apparent but before i could ever come out as lesbian or even bi, i had discovered what it meant to be trans. i was so immediately certain that this was the key, THIS was why everyone said i didn’t fit in, THIS was why my behavior wasn’t girly, THIS was why i wanted to date girls. it was 2011, still deep in the “brain sex” era of the trans community, and i was sure without a shadow of a doubt that i was physically female, mentally male. all that needed to be done was to “correct” my body and bring it in line with my brain. despite the fact that very few people knew what transition actually was back then, i genuinely assumed it would make sense to everyone else, too: they had told me i wasn’t ‘really’ a girl so many times i had no trouble believing it.

transition, of course, did not suddenly de-latinize me LOL. first i became a total Other, outside of both the minnesotan ethnic norms and the gender+sex norms; eventually, with hormones and surgery at a very young age, i was able to pass as a boy, but by the time i could grow actual full-on facial hair, i realized i was still the pan-latin american enigma to people around me. multiple times someone would call me “sanchez” as some sort of attempted insult or joke. police looked at me differently than they had before. shop owners followed me, accused me of shoplifting. and sometimes, the white girls i dated told me that i was way cooler than all the boring white boys they knew. one girl even called me “exotic” to my face. it was, apparently, a compliment.

when i was 21 i heard that my girlfriend had referred to me to others as “a POC who identifies as white”. it felt as though she didn’t even know me at all. i’d never claimed either of those things to her.

moving to the west coast (socal specifically, where being latino/a is not considered ‘abnormal’) illuminated a lot of the bizarre and unnatural racial expectations of my midwest upbringing; i think by this point i was beginning to realize what so many things from my childhood had meant. that they weren’t really saying i was a boy. they were saying we don’t like girls who look like you, and we’d rather not have you included in our category.

it took me another three years to fully reckon with this. by the time i decided to detransition i had a much better understanding of the circumstances of my life; conversations with close friends who are also latina and have walked similar paths to me, heard similar insults, similar “compliments”, opened my eyes to the fact that i was not alone. i no longer feel weird for thinking the race/ethnicity boxes on government forms are hopelessly reductive. i know who i am and who i am not.

(around this time, i happened upon some old pictures of my dad’s side of the family. beautiful and glamorous women: adela, my uncle’s mother, the piano player; melanie, my aunt, the wife, hostess, and addict; lauren and andrea, my cousins, the restauranteurs; stella, my dad’s mamma, the widow and matriarch. and on all their faces, thick dark eyebrows, and, yes, that ever-familiar peach fuzz. i swear it healed something in my soul. despite my lack of beauty and glamor, we are not so different after all.)

that’s not to say all things are easy now. i’ve spent three years living as a GNC woman and if that wasn’t enough to confirm most all of my hypotheses on people’s perceptions of me, i don’t know what is.

detrans spaces (like most trans spaces) are overwhelmingly white- or at least that’s who dominates conversation. i see SO much downplaying of the things that naturally hairy women go through societally. i see trans allies who purport to be “okay” with detransitioners, saying “what’s the big deal? if you took testosterone you can just go off it and get laser hair removal!! :)” as if laser isn’t expensive as hell, painful as hell, and also WAY more of a process for a woman with dark curly hair than it is for one with straight blonde hair lmfao!!! i see detrans women obsessed with removing all traces of hair from their bodies (even though most of them clearly don’t have a neverending five o’clock shadow like some of us do! my lower face has a constant blue-green disturbance under the surface which makes female spaces incredibly daunting) and insulting the rest of us for being ugly and hairy and making no effort to look like women or what the fuck ever. basically, a lot of people who claim to support us are just racists and essentialists and believe that sex is visual and not biological…🤨

anyway… i guess my main takeaways from all this are:

1. please stop acting like detransition is an entirely internal process and that it’s easy for all of us to be seen as our sex again (some of us like. actually transitioned and passed as the opposite sex), or that potential physical interventions aren’t incredibly invasive and difficult

2. stop assuming all transition and detransition journeys follow your own experience of lifelong whiteness and hairlessness

3. it is a distinct experience to be regularly de-gendered or denied your sex, PRIOR to ever thinking of yourself as literally trans. many trans/detrans people had this happen to us (we were once the vast majority of trans people). but many did not, and generally shock others when they begun breaking gender norms. i really think people from the second group often have trouble understanding that for the first group, changing gender expression is basically a bandaid over an abscess… we have lived entire lifetimes being denied our sex, being told our bodies are not “truly” ours, that there is someone else inside trying to break out. kicked out of the bathroom, the changing room, alienated from single-sex peer groups. transition just flips this experience and instead separates us from our preferred gender group, reinforcing the feeling that we have no place, anywhere.

race/ethnicity, being homosexual or bisexual, mental illness stigma, disability, and low economic class all play an additional role in this. stop perpetuating this and denying us our biological sex.

[livelaughlesbian00]

"Butch Awakening" BTVS Dream Storytime ft. Spike

I knew I liked women as a teen, but realizing I didn't like men came in college and hit me like a truck. Realizing I'm lesbian was a tougher pill to swallow than believing I was bi. But that's a long story that maybe I could tell later...

However my butch awakening experience from a couple years ago is more fun and easier to tell.

And it involves this sassy fucker. Shoutout Spike ✌️

As a kid in elementary private school, I had an attempt at a tomboy phase. Reflecting back, part of it stemmed from a "pick me" internalized misogyny mindset, but the other part of me felt comfortable and confident when I wore those 2000s DC skate shoes, hi tops, had shorter hair, etc.

I wanted to wear the private school uniform pants but as many butches can probably relate, I had an ass, growing hips, and calves and these were uniform pants designed in 2008-2013. So I settled for baggy jumper dress, baggy shirt, baggy sweatshirt, tights, biker shorts over them, and converse. I could tell something was different but I didn't exactly know why yet.

I tried befriending boys and wanted the bond I saw the non popular boys have with each other as opposed to what I saw in my class's popular Catholic sporty girl crowd. (In middle school I was obsessed with "The Outsiders". Curious if any other butches were). I didn't fit in with the girls in many ways, including my geekiness. I soon learned that I did not fuck with everything my boy classmates said or did. Seemed like I was a weird in between that didn't exist.

That tomboy phase did not last long as a ballerina & theater kid who loved dancing and musical theater. I was pretty good too. I slipped back into femininity before experiencing some gender envy towards pretty men in late high school. As it turns out, femininity (and "liking" men) was just another performance for me, but I loved performing which caused that years-long confusion! So I was "on stage" constantly.

Then came a day in college where I suddenly realized I really wasn't attracted to men, could do without them romantically and sexually for the rest of my life so I should probably dump my boyfriend, and really just wanted women (and as I've grown to accept, people with similar gender experiences as me). Yay lesbian! But I wasn't a butch yet. Butch L was still in hiding.

I started thinking back with a new clarifying lens at so many memories in my childhood. I questioned the "crushes" I had on men in a whole new light.

Then Spike materialized in a dream with priceless awakening insight

I had started watching Buffy for the first time a year or two prior to realizing I was lesbian but put a pause on it. I came back to watching it shortly after my lesbian awakening, which at the time, felt more like an identity crisis. I had a lot of unpacking and reframing to do that I couldn't avoid now. I had previously wondered if I had a crush on Spike because I struggled defining the feelings I had about his look, demeanor, and how female fans swooned over him. That would get cleared up real quick though.

One night I dreamt I was a part of the Scooby gang. We all met at the library in the high school as we prepared to take on the "big bad" of the episode. Buffy, Faith, Willow, and Cordelia stood by me as we looked up at Giles and Spike talking on the stairs.

I looked at Spike with admiration as he shared something important with everyone, but my focus quickly drifted over to the other women standing next to me. Dream me was so jealous of how they looked at him. He held their attention in a way I didn't. I thought about how Drusilla and Buffy wanted him in a way they wouldn't want me.

I eyed his style up and down and grew jealous of how cool it was. So dream me did exactly what anyone would do. As he spoke, I started replacing my clothes with a style closer to his á la 2000s Barbie dress up video game.

Woke up with the realization that I just had really bad lesbian gender envy (and women attention envy) for Spike. I decided that since I was so jealous of his style I could just take parts of it to make it my own. So I did and still sort of do.

Old fit check of stolen Spike look below~

Thanks Spike for appearing in a dream years ago to confirm the fact that the "crushes" I had on men were purely gender envy 🫡

That gender envy realization led me down a path for navigating lesbian masculinity and butch values that I hold now!

[xcyphoz0a]

Unrequited

Gender neutral reader, angst TW/CW: none but a lot of heartbreak Character(s): Tighnari Word count: 928 Proofread: n/a | Sometimes the fact that you like someone can be hurtful to that person. | A/N: So. I come again with angst for my boi

Maybe it was because of how he felt these feelings for the first time, or maybe it was because you were one of the rare few to talk to him without overstepping his boundaries, but he knew for a fact that he fell for you. Hard.

And he’d always look from afar, taking in your blurry features, talking to Collei, watching you with curious eyes as you hastily walk around here and there.

Sighing when you’d leave with a nervous smile, patting the green haired girl’s shoulder, slipping away to the streets of Sumeru city. His ears would fall in disappointment as he watches you wave a small good bye to him as you leave the forest.

But he’d never know how you’d be telling your own lover about the nervousness you felt within the forest, as if there were a pair of watchful eyes on you, scrunitising every single move you’d make. He’d never know how your lover would narrow their eyes at your words, reminding you to take them with you whenever you’d go near the forest. He would never know how you’d hold onto your lover for comfort, how you’d be letting out a breath that you didn’t know in their arms, melting into their warm embrace as they tell you little things about what happened today.

Collei knows. She knows and she wishes she could tell him– how you’d always tell her that you felt someone watching you– that you’d always forget to bring your significant other whenever you visited. The magenta eyed girl awkwardly stands in the middle like an unsteady tightrope walker, wishing that he’d finally get the idea that you’re already in a satisfactory and happy relationship.

Perhaps it was just the more animal sides kicking in, unable to find any rationality within his mind whenever you came into his sight. Maybe it was that– causing him to look over the hints of the anxiety exuding from your slightly trembling form.

Maybe another factor to it was how Collei seemed to be unable to talk about the interaction you had with her–bless her heart, she would, but she didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.

And a few months pass by, your visits becoming more seldom than ever, while he yearns for your form, wishing to see you again in the forest. And when you do, you’d feel the gaze to be stronger, more glaring and nerve-racking.

By perchance, it was that growing eerie feeling that you’d feel when you’d finally bring your lover in tow, gripping onto their arm as Collei greets you once again, eyes widening in surprise when you finally introduce them as your lover to the girl after many forgotten attempts to bring them in the forest with you.

She’s only heard of them once in a while, but she’s never seen them before, or perhaps she did, but she can’t remember. But for sure, she can definitely tell that your lover is nice–good manners, a pleasant smile, warm gaze and everything anyone would wish for in their future significant other. On one hand, Collei’s relieved that you–her best friend– has someone to confide in other than herself, and someone to love. On the other, she’s worried about him, where this worry conveys to her slightly trembling hands, shaky voice. She asks you if you feel safer now in the forest, and you reply with an energetic nod of your head, smiling in response as your lover chuckles at your antics, relieved that you feel safer now. Collei’s happy–for a moment, and she remembers her master again, wondering if he’s finally given up, or if he feels the stronger wave of jealousy pulling him into the grips of envy.

And you still do feel the glare, but not as strongly. Though you notice that the eyes have switched to the person by your side, watching your significant other tap your hand with slight anxiety as they suggest you both leave soon. You nod in response as you take your farewells to the girl, and lastly the dark green haired boy near the entrance of the forest, you taking quicker, hastier steps towards the city while your lover takes more slower, laid back steps.

However, they notice immediately the short glare that he sends towards them, and they leave, taking your hand in their own as you both make way towards the city’s entrance.

The day after, he leaves the forest in search of you–a rare sight, and once he does, he pulls you over towards the river. You greet him with an awkward smile, eyes scrunched in confusion.

He doesn’t know where this sudden surge of confidence came from, but he confesses. Looking at you directly in the eye as he waits for your response.

He sees you grimace slightly, and his confidence shatters instantly, eyes and ears drooping as he turns away from you. “I’m sorry…” you mutter out, and you leave instantly, leaving him near the river.

At that moment, Tighnari wishes that he gave up earlier. He knew that you already had someone–archons, he met them yesterday.

But Tighnari can’t help but feel the tears escape from his eyes, watching his own reflection on the water as he stands there, alone.

Since then, he knew that sometimes, feelings for someone may hurt that exact person unknowingly. He learnt that the difficult way.

And he decides that he’ll never attempt to fall in love again, closing his walls as he refuses to leave the comfort of his own room, scared to confront his own fragile heart.

[our-transgender-experiences]

Hello everybody! (CW: LGBTQ-phobia is mentioned)

I only wanted to know whether I'm real transgender or transTRENDER... Let me explain now. Sorry for being so long, but it's my most honest confession.

I was a stupid boy ("girl") till I was 8 and never realized I was not cishet 'cause my parents "censored" everything connected to LGBTQ+ and "unobtrusively" convinced me that I was a straight girl (tbh, politics and sex were also forbidden topics in our house; interestingly enough, my family ain't religious, all of them are atheists). I didn't even have a thought that a boy could like boys and "a woman may want to be called a man." I gave no thought that I might not be what my parents want me to be: a straight girl who loves her husband and has children.

I only learned the word "lesbian" when my aunt accidently said it (I was 8 y. o.), and after I asked my dad the meaning of this word. He got absolutely furious and only said, quoting, "These are mentally ill girls who need to be rap... ahem, who need to have s*x with men." So, like, you know now how it was in my family.

I "had" a "crush" on my best friend when I was 9-10. It was totally made up by me because EVERYONE (our parents, friends, classmates, and even teachers) would ship us, not even listening to our "no." My dad was absolutely happy that I "have found a future husband, like every normal girl," and I just felt disconnected from this. Not only with the "found a future husband" part but also with "every normal girl" part, too. Nonetheless, I suppressed every thought like this.

I only got internet access when I was 10-11 y.o. I was getting into puberty and hated my chest: I couldn't find a reason to explain this to my parents, who knew about me disliking my growing breasts. Subconsciously, I wanted to be like my the most favorite guitarist (he's a man) from the band of my childhood. I couldn't understand what was wrong with me and why I couldn't be like him. But I quickly thought it was because of my chest and was actually right.

The first time I saw the word "transgender" was when I turned 12. I learned about the pronouns and felt a strong connection to she/they and he/they set. I tried using "he/they," but I stopped in a day due to the simple fact that it felt unusual. I immediately banned myself from thinking of this, putting a limit: I can only be an ally. The problem was that I never had any strong position because my parents were constantly brainwashing me. So, I have seen some posts about radical feminism... and sooner became a TERF.

Honestly, radical feminism helped to accept my aroaceness, but it's the only good thing it has done to me. I started hating men simply because they were men, and I also started wishing death on all trans people for "supporting gender stereotypes." I had no reason for this: I was just brainwashed by TERFs when I was 13. I didn't support the whole feminism: I only hated trans people because... why? (P. S. I still hate myself for this period of life) TERFs forced me to think I am proud to be a girl, even though I MYSELF (!) never believed in it. Also, it is worth saying that being radfem was actually quite popular (if I can say it) in my country in 2020-2021 / 2022 (maybe it's still popular now, idk), so many girls were (or are) into that.

Deep down, when I looked through the photos of my favorite guitarist and thought he was handsome... and I felt jealous since I'm not like him, but I quickly restricted myself from thinking of this. I didn't know it was gender envy.

When I was turning 14, my ex-friend helped me to realize I had masculine features. And then I realized I was a guy with he/they pronouns (I go by he/him now). And I felt... relieved? It’s as if my life has acquired colors that weren’t there before this moment. I had no idea what my name was... My deadname always seemed to me so usual, but not mine, and my inner boy was almost killed with TERF's f*cking ideology. I googled some boy names and... I found an amazing one, which was the best for me (even if it wasn't typical for my country).

I went to the psychologist (who turned out to be an impostor and did not have a diploma). She said I was the girliest girl she had ever seen, and I'm faking it.

I have changed SO many labels, trying to find the most suitable one, but now I just label myself transgender man and don't give a damn. I have two names now: the one I have chosen when I was 14 and the most recent one when I realized nobody's gonna call me by my first chosen name. Both feel nice for me, and I'm even thinking of getting the other two (I'm fascinated by Janick, Dariusz, and Friedrich, honestly, but I believe 5 names will be too much for me). The guitarist I adore is still my gender envy. 🤣

I WANT to look like a man and transition... but I always think I'm not trans enough. I nearly killed my real self, letting my parents and TERFs decide who I am. What if I'm not trans and just faking it? What if the internet has brainwashed me, and I'm not real trans? I don't wanna be a "typical masculine man" or a "typical feminine woman," I wanna be myself. And my real me is dead. What if I'm just a gendervoid and can turn into everything: girl, boy, nonbinary, bigender, etc? What if I have lost in my dreams and I'm a girl? What if I'm just a transtrender?

Sorry for being so long. Thanks for reading. Sorry for taking your time.

you are 'trans enough', and even if you decide your not later, thats fine. you can be whoever you want, forever. i'm happy that you figured it out, despite terfs and parents.

also, you dont need to apologise for sending something, its what this blog is for!

[englishmagic]

Wanna read about my gender journey?

A youtuber asked "what was the moment you realised you were trans?" and I tried to put it into words in a comment. Instead, it became... Longer than any youtube comment that anyone would read. It feels more appropriate to put it here, so I am going to. But since it is, uh, long, I will put it under a read more.

For me, it was many small moments stacking up, starting around puberty. I was a little girl, but when I outgrew girlhood, growing into womanhood felt incredibly wrong. I started (very unsafely) binding my chest when I was about eleven or ten, but only to look at myself in the mirror with a flat chest, because I didn't want anyone to notice and ask about it. When I was a teenager I referred to my assigned sex as a "y chromosome deficiency". I remember crying after a row with my mother where I asked why I had to be a boy or a girl and not just a kid, and was told that I wasn't a kid anymore. When I floated the possibility of being a boy, the conversation jumped straight to "okay so should we schedule invasive surgery on your genitals??" and obviously that scared me away.

Reading feminist theory I got very preoccupied with gender socialisation, and thought through nearly every choice I made with the question "would I choose differently if I hadn't been raised a girl?" Seeing feminine-looking men made me excited, because if they could look like that and still call themselves men, maybe I could be a man sometimes, too. I became vaguely aware of nonbinary people when I started using tumblr around 2010-ish, but I was always under the impression that it was some sort of medical condition that you were supposed to pity, but which I envied instead, and that made me feel like a bad person, like I was fetishising someone's struggle by wishing it upon myself.

All of these were things I thought, did, and said, while convinced I was totally cis, and just… Weird, I guess. Desperate for attention, maybe. In fact, while I tried to express support for trans people outwardly, for the longest time I had trouble understanding the whole concept - after all, my "biologically female body" was the only reason I was a woman; I felt no ties to that identity beyond physical categorisation. If that didn't make me a woman, then what did? Spoiler alert: Nothing.

(added for tumblr bc less censorship: It was so weird to me that someone would go through all that trouble just to have a vagina and boobs. Because that was the reason I was a woman, nothing made me a woman except vagina and boobs. The rest was just behaviour I'd been molded and manipulated into, just gender roles, really, and those are made up bullshit anyway. What do trans women experience, do they just look at their crotch and go, there should be a vulva there and the fact that there isn't upsets them? In no way did I realise that maybe if I feel like possession of a cunt was the only reason I was saddled with the title "woman", then maybe the title didn't mean much to me at all. I was only a woman because the shape of my body dictated it. And when I finally internalised the fact that it doesn't, I immediately stopped identifying as that gender.)

I'm not a woman. I think I settled on that conclusion probably around 2016, but it has been slow going and honestly a lot of it has been subconscious. I'm mostly out of the closet now, but I'm also still not entirely sure where my identity falls. It feels awkward to be figuring myself out in my thirties, too vague, too little, too late, but "definitely not woman" is something I'm 100% sure on.

And here I put an apology for writing such a long comment. Instead of apologising, I will here make the comment at least twice as long. More signs along the way, for one - by the time I was like, fourteen, 80-90% of my self-insert characters in writing were male. I'd pretend to be a guy on online forums, or just not specify a gender and get really happy when people didn't assume I was female. I put that down to internalised misogyny. I also took on a male sounding nickname with my friends - and if there's any reason I'm glad I didn't transition as a teen it's that I'd probably be stuck as Seth. I would spend ages in the bathroom making myself look more masculine, slicking back my hair and pretending I was a guy, practicing (atrocious) drag king makeup that I washed away before anyone else could see it.

As an adult, I've also realised that I am much more comfortable with sexuality if I am seen as masculine. I have quite a feminine appearance. And I do identify as aromantic asexual, that label makes me feel seen and gives me peace of mind - but sometimes I suspect part of my discomfort with romance and sexuality is that being attractive to people has always been a gendered experience to me. I've got a pretty face, and I like compliments as much as anyone, but the moment someone calls me attractive, sexy, hot, anything like that, I feel like I want to dig a hole and bury myself underground. There are pieces of clothing I've loved, but that I haven't been able to make myself wear after someone made a comment about me looking hot in them. However. I posted a selfie with one of those "this app will put a beard on you in exchange for training material for our AI" filters on it to a facebook page, and when people called that sexy, handsome, and "daddy" - that didn't feel gross. That actually felt empowering and exciting and flattering and I realised maybe that's how being told you're attractive is supposed to make you feel?

As mentioned above, I'm still not entirely sure about the man thing. But it feels better than woman. For now, I'm comfortable with being nonbinary, transmasc, certified non-woman.

I still feel like shit a lot of the time. I look in the mirror and I see a woman and I wish she was allowed to exist, because she looks so nice. I wish I wanted to be her. But the very idea of it makes me feel, well, the way people expressing their attraction to me as a female creature does. Uncomfortable, nauseous, sometimes borderline suicidal. It feels wrong to deny the world access to this person who would be so much better liked, so much more of an asset, than the absolute weirdo hiding behind my face. I struggle with the intersection between internalised fatphobia as I've gained a lot of weight in my late twenties, early thirties, and the despair of that fat settling in places that make me look ever more womanly, with curves and all of that shit which is great on other people, but drags my body further and further away from what I want it to be.

I'm still in the situation where wanting to change my body kind of requires me to be a dude, especially if I want anything medical, which I don't dare to think about too much. And I still think it feels too extreme, somehow, to commit to being a man. I like my femininity. I enjoy looking like Galadriel sometimes, I enjoy giving off strong lesbian energy occasionally, I have "girlsonas" that are important parts of me. I just don't like dressing like a woman around other people, because at the back of my mind I know my appearance will be seen as proof that I am in fact a woman. And I know that I shouldn't care what people think, I shouldn't care what I look like, it's what's inside that counts and as long as I know my truth - but "my truth" is kind of foggy at the moment. So being identified by others as the only thing I'm 100% sure I am not is not helpful.

Sometimes being nonbinary seems to boil down to "say you are nonbinary". And yeah, that's true. But what's the next step? I'm not happy where I am. Saying I'm nonbinary isn't enough for me. I don't know what I need, I think I need help figuring that out and doing whatever I need to do, but I have no idea where to get that help. If anyone read this far and has a suggestion, I am open to those I guess...

Thank you for reading this, if anyone does. I don't expect anyone will. Maybe just writing it will be good somehow, I don't know.

[starlightrosari]

As a kid, my dysphoria was always prevalent, especially in middle school and High school, but I confused it for the desire to look more mature and womanly. I was a late bloomer, and the idea of being a sexy woman was appealing to me, but felt so impossible given how twig like and small my body was. I wore kids clothes for a long time and hated the style of girls clothes, but once I could wear women’s clothes I finally felt somewhat cute in what I wore. So it was easy to think then my struggle was not being feminine enough, yet within all that time I really wanted to be and dress like a boy, I just yet again didn’t think I could because my body was too small to pull it off. The idea of going back to the kids section to get boys clothes felt shameful to me after working so hard to get to a point of fitting in adult clothing. I started envying androgynous tall woman who could do both women’s clothes and men’s. Even in cosplay, I was interested in cosplaying boys but thought I’d look ugly if I did so I never tried it despite really wanting to. I entirely missed that my desire to look like boys but never acting on it was because of dysphoria stopping me because I didn’t feel I’d suit the look. It was easy to mistake the dysphoria for just wanting to look more mature since a lot of it was placed on how short and petite I am, so I also thought maybe cosplaying sexy women who also seemed impossible for me to cosplay would feel liberating, but instead I only cosplayed cute girls since that was all I knew how to do. I was interested in growing curvy because I thought I’d look more mature if I did, which I was desperate for. I was excited if my hips, chest, or butt grew, but not as excited as if I grew taller, and my chest growing started to get uncomfortable over time, and I hated my big thighs (I think I only liked my hips growing because it made my thighs look more proportionate/ slightly less big, my hips never grew big anyways). Meanwhile that whole time, what I really wanted was to be tall and androgynous. I watched trans fem YouTubers obsessively to try and validate that I was comfortable in my gender assigned at birth, watching them for advice on how to hyper feminize myself and look mature and pretty, like I was convinced I wanted. But I didn’t feel comfortable in hyperfemininity and wound up starting to dress androgynous anyways. I didn’t connect with the gender euphoric feeling of being a woman and being referred to as one that trans women described either. I started noticing how dysphoric it made me to be referred to as a girl all the time, and how fed up I was by my small dainty body that I didn’t know how to style like a boy. Everyone talks about how easy and accepted it is for women to dress gender nonconforming, but it wasn’t for me. My mother didn’t let me cut my hair until middle school and even then it took me till I was 19 to have the courage to try short short hair. I was so small that shopping for boys clothes actually felt dysphoria triggering to my biggest problem of being small. Despite my body not having curves, I didn’t feel androgynous and sexy, I felt like a little girl. So I tried to repress the dream of being a boy, since I didn’t see people like me being boys. But then I saw trans men and nonbinary people of my height do their things, and the desire to be a boy became harder to repress as the shame started to fade. I didn’t “not have dysphoria” as a little kid, in fact I thought about wishing to be a boy or wanting to get boys clothes all the time, it’s just my interest in feminine clothing came in result to the size dysphoria I had and still needing to explore gender fully.

[confused-possum]

So I haven’t mentioned my gender feelings on here cause it’s all still new and scary.

Basically I was very complacent about being AMAB and treated like a boy most all my life. Then I went to therapy, got medication, found myself in a safe place for my health and heart and ALL OF A SUDDEN I’m aware of a lot of my prior actions and thoughts.

I realize that if I lived the rest of my life with my identity and body the way it is, I won’t feel destroyed but I feel pretty certain I wouldn’t be living as myself to the fullest. Like I recognize that so much of changes I’d like to make IRL to myself and how others see me is just out of fear of not getting acceptance (especially from my parents).

[im just here to rant, please skip this it has nothing to do with anything other than elaborating on my feelings: So things I realized were maybe signs that I wasn’t cis? Well first I saw that I had man boobs (wtf do you mean the only other medical term for that shit is gynaecomastia? Who even knows what that means) and figured it meant that once puberty hit I would grow up to be a woman and I was down for that lol. I also, after getting away from my parents in college, realized I would select the girl option in games about as often or more than I was selecting the boy option. I’ve always tried to make the character customization look like me and represent me rather than some character so this felt significant to me. Then the last straw was early last year I just got so obsessed with looking more feminine and making very feminine picrews of myself and feeling a lot of what I think was gender envy. OH also I literally came out to a friend as genderqueer in college but they were dismissive about the idea and so I kinda just didn’t tell anyone else. I also got spooked and backtracked myself. Anyhow.]

So now I realize I feel more masculine or feminine on different days, it almost comes in seasons where I latch onto one for a while or another rather than a more frequent shifting of feeling. But this has created an issue because I don’t really know what to identify as, which is it’s own fucking basket of philosophical “what is the deeper truth there” shit.

Cause like it’s hard for me to say I’m nonbinary, even though I clearly fall under that umbrella, because of how popular culture seems to have defined it as Schrödinger’s gender 3, where it fills whatever role/traits people discussing it want it to have. But idk that I relate to something like agender or genderqueer, though that seems more like a lack of understanding/recognition that might come from lack of representation/personal experience so that’s not really on anything specifically.

This is all to say idk what I’m gonna be like but I’m definitely looking to make some changes about how I openly identify to people IRL whenever it is I build up the courage for that.

[biosblades]

I’m always a little terrified to talk about my personal experience with gender for fear that the transphobes will take it and run with it as an example of how someone can “outgrow” being trans

I certainly don’t consider myself to be cis, but I’m not sure I’d necessarily say I’m trans either. More likely somewhere along the nb spectrum, but I have trouble pinpointing exactly where or finding a perfect label for it

I’m afab. When I was a toddler, my younger brother was born, which was when I learned about the anatomical differences between boys and girls. Friends, I, aged three (3) was seething with jealousy over this literal infant’s genitals. I didn’t know why, I just knew I really really wanted to look like that and it felt so unfair that he got to have a penis and I didn’t. I never told anyone, but that feeling persisted throughout my entire childhood. I’d tape any phallic looking objects I could find to my pelvis, I’d daydream about a fairy godmother turning me into a boy or freaky Friday style switching bodies with any of the boys I knew. This was early childhood, before sexuality was something I was even aware of and before I really understood what misogyny was or the societal advantages these boys had over me. I was just envious the appearance of their physical form, completely oblivious to how the organs even worked or what their function was. And I didn’t dislike being a girl. I embraced my femininity. I did ballet, I liked princesses and dolls and makeup. I wore dresses and skirts, bows and glitter and frills and anything and everything pink. I liked “boy” toys and clothes too. I had collections of trucks and dinosaurs and those monster truck dino heads on all terrain wheels. I could build hot wheels tracks and shoot nerf guns with the best of them. But I didn’t want to be a boy. I played with my brothers and “tomboy” friends, but I was perfectly content with my girly name and pronouns. I had all the girl power shirts and pencil cases and thought nothing of it. I didn’t even dislike my own body per say, I just liked what the boys had going on better.

That all changed with puberty. I was horrified when I saw those images of female development. I wanted nothing to do with it. As soon as the first signs started showing up, my self loathing began. Suddenly all I wore were loose clothes from the boys section. I started wearing boxers because little girls’ underwear was too childish, but I couldn’t stomach the idea of going into the teen girls’ underwear stores. I started hanging out with only boys. Everyone, myself included, thought I was crazily attracted to them. I was obsessed with the way their bodies were responding to puberty. I stared at them and followed them everywhere. I copied their every move, played the same games, watched the same shows and sports, wore the same clothes. I knew I wanted to be them and I was so so jealous of the fact that I was growing up to be hideous with stupid boobs and hips and they were getting muscles and facial hair and were so beautiful in comparison. But compulsive heterosexuality combined with the prevalence of teen girls hating their bodies made it seem normal. Misogyny had become incredibly prevalent in my life, so I thought I was just physically attracted to them and the feeling of envy was derived from the societal privileges they had over me. Those around me have remarked upon that period of my life as being my “pick me” phase.

As I got deeper into adolescence, I learned about the existence of trans people. I’d somehow never realized before then that changing your gender was even an option. And it was a tempting one… my daydreams became focused on the idea that if I could just push through to adulthood, I’d start T and get all the surgeries, undo all the damage puberty had done to my body. I kept lists of names I could go by instead in my diary. I couldn’t bear the idea of growing up to be a woman, but the idea that maybe I didn’t have to gave me hope. I used every ill advised binding strategy in the book and cut my hair short. A stranger “misgendering” me would fuel my confidence for months after the fact.

Then, when the pandemic hit, everyone’s idea of gender shifted. Suddenly, defying gender roles seemed so mainstream. So I started experimenting with painting my nails, wearing makeup, wearing girls’ clothes for the first time since I was 11. And I didn’t mind it. I’d even go as far as to say I liked it. Now that those things didn’t mean, under no uncertain terms, association with womanhood, I found I actually didn’t hate them. As people started erasing the idea that names and things were inextricably tied to gender, I found I didn’t mind my feminine name so much anymore. I could suddenly appreciate the fact that it connected me with my family’s culture rather than feeling restrained by its gendered connotations.

Now, I look more like a cis woman than I ever have before. I technically use any pronouns. The realistic result is that everyone uses she/her because I present female. It doesn’t necessarily offend me. But every once in a while when someone doesn’t it still gives me that spike of euphoria. I haven’t taken any hormones or undergone any procedures. Mainly because I’ve realized how logistically complicated it is and I can’t take that on right now. If I could magically move into a man’s body, I would in an instant with zero hesitation. But I hate my own body less than I did when I was younger. I know how to dress to de-emphasize the feminine proportions. I don’t mind dresses, so long as they aren’t the mermaid style ones that really draw attention to curves. I love how I look in the poofy dresses that completely hide your figure. And while I know from an outside perspective those fluffy dresses make me look way more girly than jeans and a tee, I personally feel like my gender, whatever it is, is perfectly affirmed by them.

From the outside, it looks like I outgrew my tomboy tendencies, my internalized misogyny, and my adolescent awkwardness.

Internally, I feel more satisfied in my nonconforming relationship with gender than I have since childhood. I’ve really unpacked whether it was internalized misogyny at play, or some effort to dodge the brunt of facing the hardships of being a woman in this world. And while I’ve concluded that it’s impossible to completely remove those factors, that was never the driving force in my discomfort. I’m not even attracted to men at all, so I wasn’t trying to get their attention by copying them. I was using them as a guide to bring out my own masculinity. If I had endless resources there are things about my body that I would change, but I’m no longer completely unable to conceive of a future in which they aren’t changeable. I think I’d identify as somewhat nonbinary even if I could change everything. I don’t exactly want to be a man. But I’m able to look like a woman externally, be perceived as a woman by most people, and yet for the first time in my life I’m comfortable enough in myself to know that those things don’t have to make me a woman.

Anyway, I haven’t been “cured.” I’m not a woman. I used to think of myself as a girl and now I don’t, so I’m actually more gnc in that sense. I’m able to accept that some traits of mine aren’t inherently tied to my sex, nor do they have to be. I rejected them because even though we live in such a strictly gender segregated culture, my clothes and hobbies don’t have shit to do with my personal idea of what my gender means to me. And that’s what really matters, not my great aunt Caroline’s insistence that only girls can like pink so anyone who likes pink must be a girl. Might transphobes still use my journey as their fodder for further hatred and discrimination? Maybe. But I’m still not cis. And I’m still a trans ally through and through. Any attempt to use this story as “proof” that gender nonconformity is just a phase is actually just proof that those people didn’t actually understand me or my story at all.

Anyway, thanks to all the people who put in the work deconstructing our society’s very narrowed ideas of what gender means. Thanks to everyone who normalized neutral pronouns and the idea of existence outside the gender binary. I never could’ve existed this comfortably within myself in 2015 or 2016. And as our ideas of gender become more flexible, I hope more people can find their self actualizing interpretation of who they are, whether that’s done externally with gender affirming treatment or internally via rejection of the mortal flesh

The hardest, but most important, part of my transition has been untangling what my personal dysphoria is, and what is more a result of cissexism.

What I mean by this is that I learned that I am not dysphoric about certain aspects of myself, my body, and my life, but my discomfort in these aspects was influenced by the cissexist culture I live in which told me I couldn't exist as myself.

It's definitely a slow process, but I have found that it helps me self-actualize and actually see myself instead of what others demand of me.

[slasherscream]

i will say sparrow ben is just enough toxic™ to be on the low tier of crazy ass boy gang (right along side josh on a good day and arvin just all the time) that being said if requests are open what are your thoughts on ben with a black girl please

A/N: thank you for being kind enough to lie bestie

sparrow!ben hargreeves + being with a black girl

First off, let's get this out of the way, he's an asshole. It will be hard to genuinely catch his attention. He's seen plenty of action, he's a celebrity superhero for god's sake. He's just never had romantic feelings for someone.

Until you.

We'll go with the idea that you are one of the 43, you're just not an official Umbrella Academy Hargreeves. You're more like the super powered stray they found along the way, indoctrinated against your will into their crazy, forever-in-danger lives.

You appear in Sparrow!Ben's timeline along with everyone else and are there for the initial confrontation between the Umbrellas and the Sparrows.

However, much as you'd come to love the Umbrellas you took one look at the vibes in that room and decided that you were just going to quietly leave the house and hope that the Umbrellas followed behind you.

Fat chance of that!

You're half way to the door when a tentacle wraps around your leg and you get slammed through a wall. Because he believes in equality of the genders. Feminist king <3

You quickly respond by giving him a run for his money. The only reason you stop fighting him is because Five blinks you away without choice.

So there's your meet cute.

You being a black girl isn't the reason he noticed you. He's been with all kinds of women before. The first thing he notices about you is that, just like the other Umbrellas, you're a genuine threat.

Which means initially he was fully planning on killing you ☠️☠️

Not even having his siblings do it for him. He was like "I've got her." Just because you got a few good hits on him. Petty? Yeah, he is.

It's at Hotel Oblivion where he actually starts to notice you.

You have a very relaxed energy compared to the other Hargreeves. You've got a spicy margarita in one hand, a book in the other, and are wearing the nicest clothes you could find, because it's the end of the world and you're going to look your best and feel your best when it goes.

You're powerful but have decided, essentially, to just lay down and die.

It pisses him off. He's not the type to take anything lying down. But you're doing it with a grace that he envies. He's at the end of the world feeling small and pathetic and you're at total peace, you almost seem happy.

He doesn't realize that he can't stop staring at you until Klaus says something. Klaus's ears ring with how loud he got bitched out.

But facts are facts and he can't take his eyes off you. Now he's realizing how pretty you are, which he hates.

The way your brown skin looks under the glowing light of the death of time and space itself. The way you styled your hair, how it compliments your face. It all starts driving him crazy and he has way more important things to be doing than thinking about you.

The first time you two truly bond is at the wedding. He tells you about the way it felt to be excluded and you sympathize as you didn’t grow up with the Hargreeves and often feel like a plus one. The fact that you never knew this other, better, loved version of him also makes him more comfortable around you. There’s no one you’re comparing him to.

Spilling his guts to you and showing vulnerability made him feel a little sick. Noticing that, you slid him a drink and were vulnerable with him in turn. Trusting and open. Sweet. Something he was unaccustomed to.

You spent the night talking with one another. Sometimes interrupted by Klaus. But you made a connection. It was terrifying and exhilarating. He didn’t even kiss you but the night felt like a dream.

He didn’t think it was in his nature to love at all, really. Let alone to fall in love. But to do it in one night on top of it all? When he throws up the next morning it’s from more than the hangover.

But then there’s more of saving the universe and he can ignore his feelings for a moment as he enjoys being on a mission, with a clear goal in mind.

Then you’re all stuck in yet another new timeline. When he starts to walk away he just knows he’ll be on his own from this moment on. No more Sparrows. No more being Number 1 or even tolerating being Number 2. No more anything that’s ever mattered to him.

Then he hears quiet steady footsteps following after him. And he looks back and there you are. Brown skin glowing under the light of the moon and the streetlamps of the park.

“The odd men out have to stick together.” All the explanation you give before you walk past him, suddenly leading him into this new uncertain future together.

He follows after you, a little less shaken up and a little more sure. Maybe even content. You’d never know either way.

[agent--swan]

Close to Home

In which the reader interrogates a suspect and is reminded of some shit.

One of these days I’ll write a decent Criminal Minds fic.

Well, I’ve got some personal bullshit going on, so here! Have a self-indulgent angst fic! As if I haven’t written enough of these already. (See: @swan--writes.) You can also find this fic on AO3.

Warnings: childhood trauma, emotional/psychological abuse, all offscreen, Hotch is an angsty boy who cares about his team, show-typical violence, Swan-typical language

Words: ~1,420

Other Stuff: reader is gender neutral but was raised as a daughter, you could read this as Hotch x Reader but it could easily be read as platonic

The first time Hotch noticed was on a case.

He wishes that the first time he noticed wasn’t on a case.

He wishes that it had happened on a relaxed day, when there was nothing going on but consults and reports and accounts and logging. He wishes that the rest of the team had been so busy with paperwork that they wouldn’t notice him pulling you into his office to sit down and talk about it. In retrospect, even he could admit that there were benefits to not being at Quantico, and therefore not having a private office to pull you into. There was more time to think about what he wanted to say – to be gentle.

You were on a case somewhere in the Midwest, but neither of you would remember exactly where even two months after it was over. The unsub was attacking teenaged girls. The unsub’s type was specific: ages between fourteen and seventeen, brown hair, brown eyes, most of the girls had freckles, and all of them were chubby. That seemed important to the unsub. It made you see red. You only had one survivor – your only material witness – but she was holding back, feigning memory loss. Morgan was certain that the cognitive troubles she was having weren’t genuine, but he had no way of proving it. That was his pet project while you were on the case.

Reid was on the geographic profile as always. JJ had her hands full with the media circus, teenaged girls always got extra attention. Rossi was leaning pretty hard on the principal of the school that all three of your victims had attended, along with your one attempted victim. Prentiss was covering the guidance counselors. The school had three. She had her hands full. You did not envy her.

That left you to speak with the mother of the attempted victim. Hotch had asked you to handle her before the jet even landed, and you had readily agreed. It was the first time he had handed you your own angle since you’d joined the team just a few months earlier, and you felt more than capable. You were good with mothers, Hotch knew that.

Hotch had never tried to limit your role in investigations, not even in the beginning. He knew that you were capable when you joined the team, and he saw that you were a fast learner. He wasn’t cautious with you, didn’t watch you too closely, didn’t take you under his wing. Hotch let you do your thing and facilitated where necessary. It wasn’t often necessary, you fit right in.

So, Hotch asked you to talk to the mother, and you thought nothing of it. Until you started asking her questions.

It was subtle at first. She was defensive of her daughter, and defensive of her parenting. You understood that, it wasn’t uncommon. What was uncommon was the way she seemed to interpret your questions. “Why did you insist she only apply to in-state schools?” became, in her mind, “Why are you holding her back?” “Why do you limit her social life?” became, “Why are you isolating her?” The less accusatory you tried to sound, the more her hackles raised. It wasn’t entirely unjustified, every time you walked out of the interrogation room you learned something new about the way she had held her daughter back or isolated her.

You started leaving the mother in the interrogation room by herself for longer and longer stretches of time, though never an unprofessional length of time. You were careful about that. It was just that you were finding it harder and harder to catch your breath. The tinnitus in your left ear seemed to be growing steadily worse, and you couldn’t force your hands to stop shaking. That wasn’t when Hotch noticed it, though. He asked if you were alright once but dropped it when you told him you were.

Finally, Rossi cut the principal loose and Prentiss came back to the station. You were in interrogation when the others realized who the unsub was.

Surprise, surprise, it was the mother of the survivor.

Morgan had been right. Your survivor did remember who attacked her and was terrified to admit that it had been her mother. In the survivor’s mind, her mother was a huge, tyrannical figure who could talk her way out of anything. Even a murder investigation.

The rest of the team gathered around the one-way mirror and watched as you and the mother of the survivor – as you and the unsub – zeroed in on each other. Reid wondered aloud if they should intervene, but Hotch insisted on waiting. Hotch watched you closely. Later, he would wonder if he had been watching you more out of interest than a genuine belief that you could get a confession out of this unsub. He would feel badly about that.

You were standing. The unsub was seated. You were leaned over her and shouting. She was watching you with venom in her eyes, and though you held firm, Hotch notice the way you were pressing your hands into the table. The way you slid photographs toward her instead of picking them up and dropping them in front of her; a more aggressive move that any of the rest of the team would have used.

“You couldn’t stand it, could you?” you asked while the unsub openly glared at you, her jaw set, her expression stern. “You couldn’t stand the idea that your daughter would never be you. She was never going to stay at home and be mommy’s perfect little helper, she was never going to forget about the pain you caused her. You gave her everything?” You shook your head. “Well, she took it, and she learned how to be a decent goddamn human, and instead of letting her grow and maybe, I don’t know, being proud of her? You insisted–” you slammed the table right beside a photograph of some of your survivor’s worse injuries “–on making her pay for your bullshit.”

You were shouting right in the unsub’s face when she lunged with an enraged cry. The team moved as one to back you up.

The unsub managed to scratch your face before you could react. You managed to get her hands behind her back and pressed forward against the wall by the time Morgan and Prentiss reached you.

“Get her out of here!” Hotch commanded.

“After everything ungrateful little leech put me through, she got exactly when she deserved,” the unsub spat.

Hotch didn’t spare the unsub more than half a glance, he just went straight to you. You had never heard his voice so soft as when he asked if you were alright. He moved to wipe away some of the blood trickling warmly down your face, but you pulled away before he could and insisted you were fine. Of course you did.

The case ended there, four victims deep but one still alive. It was a relative victory and the team treated it as one. They chatted comfortably on the ride back, but not you. You curled up on the couch at the back of the jet, facing away from everyone. You didn’t have a book, you didn’t have your headphones in. You just lay there with your eyes closed, fighting tears that you tried very hard to blame on your migraine. Your head killed; your heart hurt. As horrific as parents hurting their children always was, there was something about this case – something about a mother and a daughter – that was more painful, more personal, and hit even closer to home for you.

You couldn’t help thinking about how the unsub had killed three people but hadn’t killed her own daughter. You wondered what that meant. You wondered if it meant anything.

You stayed still at first when you felt someone sit down at your feet. They didn’t move for a long time, and when you finally gave in and opened your eyes, you saw Hotch. He looked at you with more concern injected into his normal frown, and there was something in his face that was gentler than usual. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to comfort you. He just watched you, watched the tears gather at the corners of your eyes, watched as one made its way down your cheek like blood dripping from a wound. You knew you looked miserable, but you watched him right back, and you knew he understood. He did.

.

.

Please reblog if you’re comfy with it

If there’s any interest I’ll make a tags list

[rainbow-demoness]

So, I decided to reply one more time to a sealioning YT commenter asking "How do you know you are trans? What does gender feel like?" (hence MtF/FtM rather than trans woman/man, meeting the sealion where they're at), but felt like something to also put here:

It feels like... well, let's use MtF as the example but most of these you can flip the genders on and it should make sense for FtM: it feels like everything girls get to do are things you want to, while no part of being a boy actually seems worthwhile, like every part of puberty as it happens in boys is horrifying when it happens to you even if you otherwise like your body, like the milestones of growing up you'd look forward to are the ones girls get, despite knowing you won't get those, like testosterone is turning you, physically and emotionally, into someone you'd never want to be, like boys and men don't make any sense but girls and women do, like the only time you can relax without putting on a performance is when you're presenting female, like every time someone uses male pronouns for you you can't help but flinch, like your heart breaks when you think you can never be female, like you can't imagine yourself growing into an old man while you know exactly what kind of old woman you'd want to one day be, like every public figure you look up to and and want to emulate is a woman, like the world is confusing and difficult and people constantly make wrong assumptions about you and you cannot for the life of you understand why the gender roles and stereotypes are the way they are, until you consider the possibility that you might be a woman and it all just *clicks*, the entire world makes sense, you were just looking at it upside-down.

Parts of these assume you're gender-conforming for the gender you identify as, though not all. A lot of trans women just cannot make masculinity work, it feels fake at best, and when they try femininity it feels like coming home and taking off a mask. "Why do I envy women their curves", "why does this thing between my legs seem so clunky", "why do I grieve at knowing I'll never give birth", "why can I have the discussions I want to have only with women", "why do people call me a girl whenever I do something I want", "why do people have these strange expectations of me". Either I'm different in 316 different little ways, or I'm different in one big way that explains all the little ones. By Occam's razor, then, I must be a woman, and being mistaken for male from birth is why I never fit in the place society made for me.

[struggling-with-time]

Crows and Ravens [Wilbur soot x reader]

Paring: Wilbur Soot x Gender Neutral!reader

Summary: Inspired by the song Ravens by Reno Shaw. How the reader deals with the grief and cope with Wilburs death.

Warnings: Angst, grief, death.

Words: 3.1k words

A/N: thank you to @libbynotfound for being my wonderful beta for this <3 also go listen to Reno Shaw, I've been listening to his music on repeat! His Spotify

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

You stand on the porch cradling a hot cup of coffee, watching over the snowy Tundra. Enjoying the peace and calm the secluded place brings. While getting used to the cold took a while, it wasn’t long. After all, a warm fireplace is never far off.

You take a sip, as you watch the crows slowly start to gather in the treetop, indicating the return of Phil. Your dead fiancé’s father. Wilbur’s dad.

You moved up here with Technoblade after Wilbur’s death, needing some peace and quiet. While you never truly agreed with Technoblade’s ideologies, yet you longed to get away from the bustling town that only ever seemed to bring hurt to its citizens. So, you left.

Your cottage connected to the other two, now that Phil had moved up here too.

You follow him with your eyes as he breaks free of the surrounding forest. You watch as he puffs out his black wings to shake off the white snow that has fallen on them.

You give Phil a small wave as he notices you watching over the sunset.

“Good morning! You’re out of your bed today. That’s good to see!”

You nod in acknowledgement, never meeting his eyes, as you are back to being fixated on the rising sun.

You listen to the crows as they have now gathered, a constant murder that never seems to leave Phil alone. You don’t question it. You don’t mind the noise they sometimes bring, although you worry for the man who will sometimes speak to them as though they could understand him.

Phil’s door opens and closes, and you suspect he is dropping off the items from his latest adventure into the deep woods.

What surprises you is mere minutes later when it opens again, and he steps out, a cup of tea in his own hands. Clearly indicating to join you on this windless morning.

You take a step aside, and Phil stands beside you.

You can’t help, but feel as though you have to get further away from the man. It’s an itch that is always around when Phil is close to you. Despite being long ago, you still see it for yourself every time you look at the older man.

The sword sticking out of Wilbur’s stomach, as the debris is slowly settling down. Phil holding him.

You didn’t see it happen, but you saw the aftermath. The shell of the man you loved, truly being a mere shell. While he might have walked the tightrope of manic, there was always hope in your heart for the Wilbur you fell in love with coming back. But a dead Wilbur? There was no hope of bringing him back, he was truly gone.

Your gaze never wavering from the sun rising, as it bathes the white Tundra in oranges and reds.

“Phil?”

“Yeah, mate.”

“Do you think he would have liked it here?”

“No, no he wouldn’t. He always craved more, the peace would bore him.”

“I wish he could have experienced it anyway.”

The two of you settle into silence as you empty your now cold cup of coffee, the sounds of the ever-present crows filling the air. Unsaid words hanging low in the air. But thickening it enough, for neither to be able to speak more.

---

You used to love winter, one of the reasons you moved up here. But now it only seems to drag on and on. Coating everything in its white blanket of innocence. Covering the guilty people living here.

Wilbur used to enjoy the spring, he always told you it was his favourite season, as the flowers bloom and gave you a newfound beauty, in his words. You remember, the two of you spending countless hours underneath the old oak tree. Him strumming his guitar until late in the night, as you would tell him the stories you would gather from the patrons at the bar you used to work at as a teenager.

The two of you dreaming up lives you would live when you were older, a cottage on the outskirts of a town he would create. A kitchen overflowing with food and pots and pans. As you would cook for the town’s citizens, living out your own dream of selling your homemade food.

Talking about watching the sunset on a poach, children running around in the backyard. He wanted two boys and a girl, while you wanted one of each. Hoping to pass down his charm and good looks. The feeling of an ever-present happiness high in the air.

An ever-present happiness you would no longer be able to archive now.

Your dreams shattered the day that blade pierced through him. Held by his father, the man you had come to know as the most calming presence you had ever met.

It took you a while to forgive Phil for what he had done.

You watched as he and Technoblade moved on right outside of your cabin. You watched as you couldn’t get out of bed, and the two of them gained new friends and new lives. Envy and anger filling the air of your cabin, fast and suffocating you slowly whenever you’re alone.

You roll over in your bed hoping to be taken back into your dreams, hoping for them to be the good kind like the ones you used to imagine with Wilbur.

Instead, you are dragged right back into your nightmares watching him slowly descending into madness.

---

You look around your kitchen, ever bare from anything. Never really holding food anymore. Scarce of pots and pans, not wanting to be reminded of the dreams you could never achieve. Let alone reach for these days.

You walk right through, heading for your coat and boots. Suiting up before you step into the cold. But as your eyes grace over the second hook, the one that used to hold Wilburs coat. Now empty. Sends a sting through your heart.

Tommy had gotten it from you when he lived with Technoblade after his exile of L’Manberg. You had watched as he stared after it each time he had been into your house.

The house that never quite felt like a home. Not when Wilbur hadn’t been the one to hang the coat there back in the day. But yourself. Hoping that one day he would walk through the door moaning about the cold and having forgotten his coat.

But he never did.

So, you gave it to Tommy. Committing the way his face lit up at the gesture to memory. He looked truly happy for the first time since he had come out to the Tundra.

You shake the feeling of longing off yourself as you head into the cold, letting the ever-present winter clear your head. On a mission to collect wood for Technoblade. He had asked you for logs the other day, and you had promised to get him some.

Although you were suspecting it was a scheme to get you out of bed, and out of your house for a couple of hours. It wouldn’t be the first time he had done so, and you have a feeling it wouldn’t be the last.

He had been there for you back when Wilbur and Tommy had created Pogtopia. Wilbur’s second nation, another promise for freedom, that had only seemed to tear the one you loved apart, more than fix him.

The nation acting as a band-aid on a cut so deep it was merely the thought that counted.

You remember watching the stars nearly every night as the cave was cold and unwelcoming whenever Wilbur started drinking. You remember hearing him yell at Tommy, but doing nothing out of fear that he would turn his attention to you. Never before had you been so happy for being neglected by the one you loved.

Technoblade had been there some nights, right beside you, telling you stories of Wilbur before the two of you met, which wasn’t many, but it was enough to fill the air with a hope. A hope that this was but a period to pass, and the one you loved would return to you.

He never did.

You track over the snow and into the forest, following the pathway Techno and Phil have created over the time living here. Right into the clearing that is slowly growing larger as the three of you are slowly cutting the forest down. And now that Ranboo is here too, it’s only growing bigger faster. Another constant change in your life.

Another thing you can’t stop or help, as you watch it deteriorate in front of your eyes.

It takes you most of the day to chop down the wood and cut it into small enough pieces, that you can carry it back to the commune. It takes the rest of your day to carry it all back and leaving it to dry in the shed, which Techno built as one of the first things.

“Dried wood is important, you can’t survive without a fire.”

Back then the commune had been even quieter. Due to yourself having gone through the days in a daze, not talking to anyone after what had happened. It had been the only thing on your mind.

Phil’s sword. Your scream. The emptiness that followed.

Phil had been to one to coax you out of your silence, in the end. With the help of Techno, despite the latter enjoying the silence the Tundra brought.

You watch as nightfall comes, and the mobs start to emerge in the dark.

You know you should be heading inside. But you can’t help but stand on the porch watching out over the night. The stars lighting up the sky and making the darkness feel less lonesome.

You miss the sound of Techno’s door opening. Instead, envying the crows as some of them take off. Wishing to be one of them, no care in the world. Only the world to explore, and never having to feel the hurt of losing someone. Twice.

“Y/n, come on, let's get you inside.”

You nod, following him inside his cabin, smelling the potato soup in the air. Thankful for the warm fireplace that has been lit. It would take hours for your own to warm up your house since you let the fireplace burn out yesterday. You let it burn out yet again.

Neither of you mentions that you found the woodshed over half full. Neither of you mentions that it takes over a month to burn through the shed. Neither of you mentions that you are just working to make your life pass, but living.

---

When you returned home that night, your fireplace was lit. He had done it for you. Not letting you return to a cold and lonely house.

That was the night you pulled out a pan for the first time in a long while.

You stocked your kitchen cabinets with food from a nearby village, and then you rolled up your sleeves.

You work in your own kitchen tirelessly for two days and nights. Feeling your grasp on yourself slipping. But refusing to stop.

Stuck in a living daydream of the domestic life you never got. As uneaten food starts to pile up, and your eyes start to drop. You can feel yourself slipping into a slumber sitting on your kitchen floor. Tears streak down your chin, as you cry out for Wilbur once again.

Phil finds you there, the next morning, concerned for not having seen you out of your house for days. And now even more concerned as he takes in the mess you are living amidst. Half-finished dishes still on the stove, that has burned out. The dinner table filled with dirty kitchenware, and dishes he has never seen before in his life.

Phil makes a decision that morning, that refuses to watch another person he cares for wither away in front of him.

You find yourself from that day off, getting woken up by Phil, asking you to share a cup of tea with him on the porch.

Sometimes Techno joins the two of you. But never often, the man as nocturnal as Wilbur used to be.

You look over the snow once again, as you wish winter is soon to be over. But it never seems to be.

---

You take up painting after this, you aren’t perfect at it, never having done it before. But it helps you keep yourself out of your head, and you enjoy the time you spend on creating artwork.

You remember Wilbur owning a small portrait of his mom made in grey tones, back then you had been worried over the sombre feeling the grey tones gave you. A feeling of fear following the sombreness. A feeling of fear you vowed to never induce in others.

Yet, you find yourself drawn to the grey tones whenever you pick up a paintbrush, and so the sunrise gets recreated in sombre colours, the cabins, Phil and Techno. The pictures aren’t great, but they resemble what they are enough to be recognisable.

But one motive seems to come again and again, although as time moves on, Wilbur seems to fade out from your pictures. In the beginning, he seemed to be in every other one. But now he seems to slowly stop showing his face in them, just as in your dreams.

You start not seeing him everywhere you look.

Your kitchen isn’t as scary to move around in anymore, more days than not, you are having guests in the form of Phil, Techno or Ranboo eating over. You even get to meet Ranboos platonic husband Tubbo and their child.

Tommy comes over from time to another telling you of the stories back from the town that has now taken over L’Manberg.

And Phil lets you meet Ghostbur.

Oh, Ghostbur, another shell of the man you used to love. Neither an empty shell nor a dead one. But a cold smiling one.

You let him into your home. And even if you get teary-eyed every time you look at him and his cheerful attitude. Nobody mentions it.

This is the period where your cold house in the Tundra, started turning into a warm and lived-in home. Although the winter is still raging on outside your window, you are never truly cold on the inside anymore.

You still struggle with getting out of bed on the worst days, still grieving the man you had to first watch wither away in front of you, only to be killed. But you refuse to let it be the thing defining you.

You start accompanying Phil and Techno on some of the adventures, exploring places that aren’t the town you grew up in, or the SMP. You walk through your first jungle, painting a greyscale version as soon as you return home, proudly presenting it on your wall when it’s finished.

You listen to Ghostbur as he tells you about the happy memories the two of you have together. Reminiscing sitting under the old oak tree together.

You still sometimes forget he isn’t Wilbur when he knocks on your door, and you are instead presented with a handful of blue and the translucent guy. Instead of your ex-fiancé. But it gets easier, then more times he shows up.

Whenever he talks, you barely ever escape into your own head anymore. The domestic dream starts to fade, as you replace it with happy memories and people around yourself.

The fireplace never left to burn out in the night anymore.

You start getting up before Phil, greeting him on the porch with tea. You smile at the thought. You never really drink coffee anymore. Not needing the caffeine as the nightmares have stopped being the thing that greets you whenever you lie your head onto your pillow.

The sleepless nights get replaced with peaceful slumber.

While you still see Wilbur in your dreams, it’s no longer the shell of the man in Pogtopia, or the shell Phil held that fateful day.

It’s the one that proposed to you when he started a revolution. It’s the hopeful and idealistic one you remember. The one you grew up with.

While those mornings you are quieter to be around, you no longer let it take over your day. As of now, you have a life to live. Truly living and no longer just letting time pass by as you work.

---

You listen to the crows as you stand on the porch, tea in hand, and a cup waiting for Phil. Another one standing beside that one, in case Techno is to join the two of you.

You enjoy the calmness as you can see the red start to spread over the horizon painting the sky and the grey clouds. You know summer is approaching. The snow has started to melt in some places. While it still snows most days, the rain has started showing its face from time to another, and it seems today will be one of those days.

None of you say anything, as Phil comes out of his house, and Techno stalks out of his own too. You all just watch as the sky goes from red to orange and the rain starts to fall.

Winter finally seems to be over. And you let in the feeling of happiness that you thought was unreachable.

But right here, watching the sunrise between two people, who care for you, and whom you care deeply for. Happiness isn’t the domestic life you never got, but the peace you have found with never getting the life you dreamt of.

And right here, in the rain under the sunrise, is where you spot a figure on the horizon.

A figure who, the closer it walks, takes up a silhouette you could recognise any day of the week.

As the silhouette steps closer, your eyes fixate on his face. The wrinkles that now adorn it, the white streak in his hair. The charming face you once fell for.

Time seems to slow down as he makes eye contact with you, and you let go of your cup. Letting it crash onto the porch.

“Missed me, Darling?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

[ask-the-big-league]

Hey Casey! I know it can be a disturbing question but I still gonna ask it. When did you realize that you’re bigender? I mean you obviously felt that way since birth but when did you exactly realize that “bigender” term fits you?

Anyway you’re cool, dude

I don't mind questions like this at all!

Well..as long as they aren't weird but you're good fam!

So, I don't know if anyone else knows about the whole fiasco with the Krang mind swap machine thingy but what ended up happening was April and I had switched bodies for a few minutes.

She was in mine and I was in her's.

Out of curiosity, I started looking myself over, firstly because well...yeah, and secondly it was a new experience and I wanted to see what it looked like from April's POV. I was instantly struck with gender envy.

I liked being a girl.

I always knew I was different growing up, that there was a piece missing, and I think right there was when I realized what it was.

At first I was confused, I knew I wasn't a trans girl because I still like being a boy but I also like being pretty and being called her. I thought maybe there was something wrong with me so like any sensible being with complete awesomeness, I went looking for answers from the internet. That's when I was first introduced to that term: Bigender

It was new to me but after reading the definition and doing some proper research, it's the label that fits me the most.

Of course, this didn't stop me from being terrified of saying anything about it to anybody. It took two maybe even three years for me to come out and let me tell you, it was nerve wracking!

But my family and friends were way more supporting than I had expected them to be, especially Raph. Dude was like Dr. Doofenshmirtz to my Venessa lol

[the-winter-jedi]

I need to put this somewhere I can organize my thoughts.

In about a month, I'm getting ready to start my HRT journey. This is something I've been mulling over for the past 11 years. When I was 18, that's when I first really started to question my gender identity. At first, I wondered if I was transgender because I never quite felt like a "girl." This was well before I had the vocabulary and understanding of gender as a spectrum. After some self reflection, I didn't quite feel "truly" trans because I had no desire to completely become a man. I've always been fond of my feminine body and have no desire to physically alter it, save for starting hormones.

Looking back on my past, experimenting with my different gender roles started as young as kindergarten for me. I'd always want to play the chivalrous prince or other male-centric roles, but I also loved being the cute, girly princess. Age 12 was when I really started to experiment with my gender presentation, but I never felt like I could be (birth name) and be a boy at the same time. So, my solution was to create an "alter ego" and call him Scotty (thanks to watching EuroTrip at the time lol). Before I fully developed and went through puberty, it was so much easier to be androgynous and gender fluid, but growing up in a small town, I didn't have the vocabulary or the knowledge to understand what I was going through at the time. Keep in mind, this was also between 2005-2011 when gender identity wasn't widely talked about either.

Throughout my late teens and early 20s, I discovered genderfluid as an identity. Around age 24 or 25 was when I started to give up trying to look masculine, because I never felt like I could "pass" and trying to look masculine caused me to feel more body dysmorphia than the gender euphoria that I craved. So, for a while, I started presenting more hyper feminine, and only occasionally playing around with a masculine-type presentation if I was really in a mood on any given day, but I would never go out in public, unless it was in a queer space. Even then, I always felt insecure about being perceived as a "butch lesbian" rather than genderfluid.

Around May or June of this year, it dawned on me that I very well might be agender. This idea came to me when my roommate asked me what gender I felt like when we were dressing up for an event. My only response was "no" as I laughed it off. However, now that the ball is finally rolling for me to start HRT, I'm wondering if I might start leaning more towards being genderfluid again if my meatsuit can match the way I feel inside. Part of me wonders if I would feel more comfortable in my femininity if I had at least the option to present more masculine when I want to. In addition to HRT, I'm also looking into getting a good quality binder from For Them (forthem.com) once I get some spending money.

I've always had an attraction to femboys, not as a fetish like a lot of people seem to have on this site, but more out of body envy. From age 18, I found myself wanting to look like a twink and dress girly if I want to. However, being assigned female at birth, all people see is a cis woman, and not a femboy. It also doesn't help that I have an hourglass figure complete with 36DD breasts and an ass like a peach. With this kind of body that I have, I also turn to weight lifting and bodybuilding as a hobby, because if I'm going to be perceived as a girl, I may as well be a muscle girl because a lot of people do perceive them as masculine. Hopefully once I start T, I can actually start building the kind of masculine body that I want rather than building up the feminine body that I have.

It feels better to get everything out in the open like this. Hopefully things will start coming together in a month once I get my antidepressants stabilized and start on my hormones. I have an appointment with my doctor to talk about it soon and it was a huge relief to know that she has extensive experience treating transgender and gender non-conforming patients. Wish me luck!