#heritage queer clothing sort of

[earhartsease]

yay! found this tee shirt we got made back in 2014 as part of the advertising for a nonbinary support group that's still running a decade on

deliberately styled to look like the original stonewall "some people are gay, get over it!" and using the genderqueer flag because back then the nonbinary flag had yet to appear and take over, so the genderqueer flag was kind of the nonbinary flag too for us

obviously ten years on, english speaking people in general are way more familiar with the existence of they/them pronouns (even if they hate them) but back then it was still a very new phenomenon

anyway we had way less boob back then but we enjoy the fact that people aren't expecting those of us with big chests to be nonbinary and use they/them pronouns - so we're wearing this into town today

[parkezra]

✨ hello, beautiful citizens of jongnorp! ✨ how the hell are ya?! my name's ryan (h/h, 25+) and i'm so thrilled to finally be posting one of my eight muses' (yes, i know... i know 😅) intros! first up is one of my all-time favorites, ezra park! he's currently working as an influencer who mostly creates fashion, lifestyle, social commentary, and makeover content, but he'll be expanding his résumé with exciting new projects very soon! 👀 below, you'll find a quick breakdown of his life, as well as bits and pieces of his personality. please 💖 this if you'd like to plot!

1.

to keep things simple, he was born and raised to a rather liberal family in queens, nyc. both his parents made good money, he felt very supported, loved, and accepted, and honestly speaking, he had a rather idyllic childhood. i've written this muse before, but in this update of him, i wanted to give him a less grim upbringing.

however, his brighter history has created new flaws. being that he grew up in a rather privileged environment, it's made him ignorant to many things, and upon moving to seoul, he's been hit in the face with plenty of life's harsh realities. he's on his own now (for the most, part, anyway—his older half-brother is also in seoul), he's starting a career for himself, and it's his first time in a part of the world that's dramatically more conservative than the safe haven he surrounded himself in back home.

is he losing his mind? sort of, but he's doing keep his feet on the ground. he'd love it if you joined him on this new journey he's on!

2.

ezra park is a hedonist. he's someone who'll never say no to another drink, or a second slice of cake, or going home wrapped around the arm of a handsome someone. he's over-indulgent like that, and substantially sensual, as well. he's someone who will catch a man's attention by eye-fucking him across the room, then moments later, appearing only to whisper the most delicate compliment in his ear; hoping that the sweet scent of his breath and the feeling of it ghosting along the other's skin is enough to reel him in for a night of fun.

if there is one thing that ezra park values, it's beauty. why else would he host a show on his channel that highlights attractive men from around the city, mostly by giving them makeovers? why else would he be teaching people how to upgrade their closet with clothing that accentuates their best features? why else would he be interested in ensuring that he never leaves the house looking anything other than immaculate? however, he realizes that, like most things, beauty is subjective, and he aches to discover what others find people, too.

ezra park is an individual, much to the chagrin of his grandparents' home country. he's still not gotten used to the stares of his elders whenever he enters public transit, or the glares he receives from his peers when he's a little too "flamboyant" in a public space, but he likes to think he's learning how to comfortably coexist in a place that doesn't fully understand him. after all, that's kind of all he can do. he made the choice to learn about his heritage and expand his career by relocating, and it's a choice he has to live with now. at least for the foreseeable future.

3.

ezra has a show on his youtube channel where he gives handsome men from around the city (often male models, drag queens, and less often men from off-the-street) to interview and give makeovers to. he asks them questions about growing up in korea, and the knowledge they have on queer individuals, and their opinions on certain topics. in addition to this, he also hosts queer people of korea to ask them, specifically, about their experiences living in the country; hoping to shed awareness on stories told by marginalized voices. these could work as connections!

he's been in the city since february of last year, so it's been around a year and he's likely made some friends! maybe they could be your muses?

he's also likely slept around with plenty of men. he's no stranger to jongtaewon, and even hongdae, so if your muses frequent these areas, they've likely ran into him or ended up in his bed.

does your muse watch his content? do they love it? hate it? have them tell him! it'll be a fun time either way!

i'm honestly down for any and all connections, and this is already so long, so let's come up with something incredible together! 🥺💖

[firekitten830]

thinking about gio .... tell us more about him he's literally silly + i like him so much

YOUVE ACTUVATED . MY AUTISM

Makes a bulleted list

-full name Giovanni Morningstar, both of them chosen rather than given. Ooc I chose Giovanni because he is actually vaguely based on my pc from a different ttrpg, and that characters middle name is Giovanni. And Morningstar is a reference to The Devil. like from the bible dksgsjhd

-his divine blood specifically comes from Sharess, goddess of hedonism and indulgence that vanished when dnd 5e came out during the second sundering . So it is no surprise he is motivated almost entirely by hedonism

-he does not know this.

-he’s definitely not her only descendant but he’s her only descendant that inherited any of her magic

-he was not always a tiefling

-he didn’t always have access to his divine magic

-the previous two points were sparked by the same event

-he was born in waterdeep! Not baldurian but gets around enough to know some things

-wanted magic desperately but had absolutely 0 talent for it before his divine magic awakened so he learned the next best thing: stealing shit. Man has been conning and pickpocketing and just generally getting up to thievery and tomfoolery since he was like. 8 (charlatan background)

-folk hero background could fit him pretty well too! Before he got Tadpoled he sorta wandered from place to place helping common folks and robbing rich people blind. Sort of a Robin Hood type guy but he did also keep a good bit of money lol

-he’s a trans man :] no surgeries and he doesn’t want them, though he does take wizard testosterone or whatever it would be in dnd. Probably a potion or something

-queer and poly!! I imagine he has a couple lovers across the sword coast, some he’s going steady with and others he’s sort of off and on with. He’s so lucky he lives in a world where teleportation exists and is not that hard all things considered im so jealous fr (I’ve also decided that his dream guardian looks suspiciously like one of his boyfriends). Worm nerfing his magic has unfortunately made keeping in touch a bit harder but he’s been managing

-his blood is a pretty potent magical power source and several people have tried to abduct him to use him as a conduit for spells or rituals because of this. I imagine after That Scene™️ with Astarion he was like “oh shit I should’ve warned him about that. Oh well he seems fine” . In the moment he was too focused on there being a hot vampire straddling him

-his tattoos are tied to his magic and glow when he casts spells. You can tell which way he’s about to fucking get you because he’s conveniently color-coded

-may or may not be on the brink of turning into a mind flayer but I’m sure that’s like. Fine.

WAIT I just remember I made a dnd character sheet for him before I ever got bg3 and I wrote a whole background thing as well as a value/ flaw for him . I’ll put those under a read more tho this is already kinda long

this part is written ooc!!

“Sharp, charismatic, and hedonistic to a fault. He has a silver tongue and a knack for deception, able to lie his way into and out of nearly any situation. He’s been driven out of many towns for his infernal heritage, alongside the myriad cons and schemes he often pulls on the wealthy, though he’s welcomed into just as many as a minor celebrity, and in some cases, a hero. This suits him just fine, though; he’s always been one to dance from place to place anyway. He enjoys finery of all kinds, and is happy to trade fine food, drink, clothing and accessories for coin… though he much prefers to offer favors as payment. He does have many talents after all; a quick-fingered thief, an excellent negotiator, a ruthless conman, a somewhat formidable sorcerer, a gifted storyteller, and if it suits your fancy, an escort (though he does charge extra for events)… as well as some other things, of course~”

“It is fairly difficult to draw his ire;he’s more than willing to forgive and forget most wrongs against him. But it would be wise not to test his limits too much; his normally capricious manner becomes cold and relentless when he feels punishment is owed. People who hurt those he cares about often walk away with gruesome scars… if they walk away at all.”

And then I have a ummm ideals and flaw section written in character cause these are on his character sheet

Ideals: “The safety and happiness of those close to me matters far more than any laws, or the ‘greater good’”

Flaws: “I’ve been called self-serving on many occasions, and I’m always weak to a bit of liquor and a pretty face”

I am sure I will think of more things to say about him I inevitably always do but I’m a little sleepy so I’m ending this post now!!

[of-beasts-and-blood]

Character Intro

✉ Basics: Name: Ivelisse Cassidy Pronunciation: Eve-eh-lease Cass-id-ee Meaning: Ivelisse ~ “life” Cassidy ~ “curly-haired” Birthday: June 15th, 1957 (Gemini) Age: 25 Gender: Female Pronouns: she/her and they/them Sexuality: Queer Siblings: N/A Mother: N/A Father: N/A Other Family: George Calloway, Wren Carver, Penny Lane, Marco Ladron, Auden Reyes. Anyone who is friendly with the Crew becomes part of Cassidy’s extended family.  Languages: English, bits and pieces of Dominican Spanish (but not enough to speak it) Current Residence: Camden, London Hometown: Central London. Cassidy was born the second she entered Diagon Alley.

✉

✉ Wizard Fun: School: Cassidy did not attend school past the age of 11. House: N/A Year of Graduation: N/A Occupation: Bookseller and secret-trader. Pet: Part-time babysitter of Baby, the bestest girl ever. Blood Status: Muggleborn Species: Human Patronus: A hawk. Swift, keen-eyed and free.  Boggart: The Crew, tall and warped and leering at her. They tell her she was never one of them, among other suitably nasty things. Death is not something Cassidy fears. But rejection is.  Amortentia Scent: Fire Wand type: Black walnut, unicorn tail hair core, 9 inches. Affiliation: Neutral. Cassidy’s only loyalty is to the Crew.

✉ Appearance: Face Claim: Indya Moore Height: 5’7 Hair Color: Brown or black, depending on what she’s done with her hair most recently. Eye Color: Brown Typical Hair Style: Cassidy styles her hair often. It’s freeing, having hair to play with and change your whole vibe based on its cut. Her favourite look is to have her hair curled and loose, letting the light catch the outline of her afro like a halo.  Fashion Style: Completely eclectic. Cassidy shops exclusively at thrift stores so her wardrobe spans many styles and decades. She likes clothes that make her look tall and draw attention to her legs - like short shorts and long jackets. She likes gaudy pieces with sequins and faux fur and terrible neon colours. She knows how to pull together a sophisticated look, but mostly she just wears clothes for the fun of them.  Distinguishing Features: Perfectly manicured nails. A knowing smile. That extra bounce in her step that bounces her hair and sways her hips. 

✉ Personality: Positive Traits: Trustworthy, artful, kind, friendly, empathetic Negative Traits: Yearning, insecure, mysterious, secretive, forgiving Quick Facts: Can sew. Can embroider. Can knit. Thinks ‘tutti frutti’ is the funniest flavour name. Not a fan of most wizarding candy. Likes bike-riding. Has a box of meaningful mementos under her bed. Likes spiders.  Hobbies: Reading. Poetry. Riding the London buses to different stops aimlessly, just to take in the sights. Trying new creative pursuits, even if she’s bad at them.  Skills: Great at numbers. Great at words. Good at mystery. Bad at magic. Bad at riding her bike. Okay at cooking. Good at standing her ground. Bad at completely opening up. Bad at most betting games she plays with the Crew.  Theme song: “Masterpiece (80s Remix)” by Summer C

✉ Headcanons:

Voice: Warm. Smooth. Her tone is usually playful, teasing. There’s a sense of familiarity to most of her interactions that feels welcome more than overbearing. She tends to speak a little slower so you hang on every word. Imagine what a cat would sound like if it spoke English. That’s Cassidy.

Handwriting: Elegant cursive. Like the kind of writing you’d see on an old love letter in a movie. She likes to embellish her capital letters in a sort-of calligraphy way, with extra lines and dots and adornments. 

Cassidy’s name is fully self-chosen. Ivelisse is the name of one of her Dominican great-aunts. She never met the woman, but heard enough stories about her to know that she was the type of person whose heritage Cassidy would like to honour. Her last name is a nod to George. Back in the bad old days, on the nights when she was restless or uneasy, Georgie would tell her stories of outlaws and ruffians and outcasts who forged their own path. She took her name from one of the baddest: Butch Cassidy. Cassidy’s name is a reflection of her whole: her first name honours her past, while her last name promises her future. 

Cassidy loved mathematics at school and used to spend her small earnings buying secondhand textbooks. She taught herself basic bookkeeping as well, and now does all of her stock calculations and     bookkeeping ledgers for Vellichor herself. 

Charity work is important to Cassidy. She donates a fair portion of her earnings to the local school lunch programs and knits blankets during the colder months for the homeless. She knows how close to homelessness she came multiple times, and kindness saved her every time. 

Cassidy only knows basic magic. She has a little book of household spells she’s taught herself, as well as defensive magic at Georgie’s behest. Were she ever to be involved in a fight, she’d more likely drop the wand and swing a punch. Her nails are long for a reason. 

Nicknames are her love language. Her insistence on referring to Wren as Wrenjamin is deeply amusing to herself. 

She is the absolute worst at impressions. It’s funny, considering how well she can read people. But she cannot emulate their mannerisms or voice to save her life. 

Cassidy has defaced furniture in Georgie’s office and his, Wren and Penny’s homes. Shh, it’s a secret. 

Cassidy’s home is decorated with just as eclectic a style as she dresses herself. She tries a lot of once-off hobbies and proudly keeps the results. 

Though Cassidy borders on it sometimes, she’s not a Manic Pixie Dream Girl. The fact that she draws people into her sphere is more for her own fun than trying to teach them the meaning of life. She simply enjoys people.

Cassidy once posed as a nude model for an art class. She bought all of the resulting sketches and keeps them in her closet. 

[devoutpriest]

agirlingrey:

Sellswords have always been a queer sort of folk. On top of being among the least trustworthy people one could ever meet, they also tended to be a mongrel people, coming from every country and culture beneath the sun. Having spent the last year and a half in the company of King Stannis and his many foreign sellswords, he the rightful king, and was marching to where the Lannisters and Targaryens were in King's Landing. Alys was getting steadily better at identifying the heritage of the foreigners she met. It almost became like a game to her at this point, to try to guess it, since there was very little to do in the North in the middle of winter. The newest group that arrived was rather small, mostly consisted of tall, blonde warriors with fearsome axes as big as Alys herself. Ragnar, the leader, had called one a chunk of meat. She observed them discreetly, trying to discern where they could be from. They had sailed a long way on a dreki warship. The Free Cities, certainly, or maybe Qarth, for they seemed too blonde and pale to be from anywhere else in Essos. One was a strange warlock, with a balding head and sunken purple lips, and could appear in more than one form. Though the language they spoke was wholly unfamiliar – certainly not any variation of Valyrian or Braavosi. One man stood out among the fierce warriors, not just due to his raven-dark hair but also his gentler and smaller appearance. His face was not as fierce as the others, as he smiles at a fellow warrior, dark greying clothes warming his skeleton. Had he not arrived with the group, Alys would have taken him for a Westerosi. Yet he seemed perfectly at ease in the harsh and foreign company, speaking their tongue as quickly and harshly as they did. It sounded 'i skelli achr in doegr, spen in sigling.' The other nodded at him, he wearing an eyepatch and brown hair, Arne barely surviving being speared by Rollo, Floki giving him mushrooms to sustain him.

Athelstan was learning the Norse language quicker now, more than just the little that had saved his life back in the monastery. It was a pace that he thought had impressed even Floki, when the latter insisted on nastily provoking, calling him PRIEST. Floki, judgmental and hailing from tree gods as he was, said his inflections were jarred, a bit soft spoken in sentences, 'just a bit soft,' he says, his tone slightly sarcastic, as he visualises with his hands. King Stannis had hired the northmen to his foreign company of sellswords, and he had decided to join as well, agreeing when Ragnar asked him if he was coming with them. He was still practising fighting with an axe and sword, but was getting better, significantly so from a few years back. He could defend himself better physically now, and the fights he had watched had helped too. Additionally, he was getting along better with them throughout the years. It was a different morality and beliefs that he experienced, but yet he had started to feel the Norse Gods’ presence in his soul.

Soon, out of the corner of his eye, he catches a woman watching them, he being in the midst of speaking Norse. She looked highborn, and Athelstan determined her to be the one that was of Karhold. He politely cuts the conversation short, and walks over the woman. He smiles at her, bowing respectfully. “My lady.”

Alys nods to him, "Hi," she says softly. "How was your day sailing?" She looks at him, wondering eyes of where he was from. "Did you sail through the narrow sea?"

Athelstan says, "We come from Scandinavia, my lady. My name is Athelstan, and we are here to protect you during this time of great calamity, as King Stannis goes to battle in Westeros."

[acertainmoshke]

Cold Iron Character Overviews Part 2

Tatiana Kanin

Age: 37

Sexuality: bisexual

Pronouns: she/her

Physical appearance: very dark brown skin, brown textured hair in an afro, amber-brown eyes. Likes cozy sweaters, corduroy pants, and soft warm colors.

Backstory: Loved her sister Lynn from the moment they met at 8. Also always loved science. Used to make her own experiments and read scientific journals as a kid. She was clever and adored by her family, trained in careful and safe use of magic. She uses it mostly for gardening and a little bit of staying healthy, because that's most of what her parents focused on. She knows a couple defensive spells and is capable of using a sword, but honestly she hates fighting. She got pregnant from a brief relationship in college and has raised her daughter just fine alone, while balancing her medical career and the anti-Fae chaos going on around her, caused because they agreed something had to be done but disagreed with the Veil Guard about what that something was. That sort of spiraled into making their own extremely risky anti-Fae team. She still designs experiments in her free time or hangs out with her friends for movie nights and board games.

Liliana Kanin

Age: 11

Sexuality: Uncertain

Pronouns: she/her

Physical appearance: looks much like her mother, dark skin and textured hair in puffy pigtails and amber-brown eyes. Does have a reddish tint to her hair and a few smattering of freckles. Wears generally cool clothes for middle school, jeans and ruffled pastel shirts and a little lip gloss. Likes cute fruity earrings.

Backstory: Has no idea who her father is and doesn't really need to know. She loves her pet fish, her painting hobby, and scary movies. She spends much of her free time taking the bus downtown alone to hang out with her friends at the theater and bookstore. When she meets Cassie, they really hit it off—they're both independent and artistic and have similar taste in books. She gets to show Cassie how to be, not a human kid, but a human preteen and what there is to do with less supervision. She's mostly a responsible kid but has a mischievous streak, especially when it comes to magic.

Bethany Kallik

Age: 31

Sexuality: straight

Pronouns: she/her

Physical description: In human form, she mostly looks like an ordinary woman: the round face, golden-brown skin, and brown almond-shaped eyes of her Inuit heritage. She's fat with long black hair she likes to braid into a crown across her head, often with ribbons. Her only inhuman trait is the blue-gray pattern of dots down either side of her body from her hairline to her knees. She likes to wear leggings under short skirts and cute wrap-around shirts.

Backstory: Grew up a trans selkie in a loving family but a less-than-accepting community. Left as soon as she could to follow her dreams of owning a consignment shop, which she is still working towards. Likes to skate and watch cozy movies and garden. Dreams of the perfect romance. Goes on dates but never really clicks with the guy. Finally found her (other) calling—stopping the damage of the Faerie realm leaking into ours. She learned to fight but always preferred the strategies that didn't require it. And then life changed when she met Kris, who made her laugh and seemed not to care about social conventions in a really charming way.

Douglas Gwen

Age: 42

Sexuality: queer (nothing more specific)

Pronouns: he/him

Physical description: average size and height with a serious face. Medium-brown skin and textured hair in long dreadlocks and dark brown eyes. Wears basic, boring clothes that are comfortable, mostly plain t-shirts and jeans.

Backstory: Grew up mostly alone. His parents worked a lot, so his brother all but raised him. He was bullied for his undiagnosed ADHD. He liked baking and romantic stories and making beautiful patterns with his magic, but none of that was acceptable, so he grew a hard and mean exterior. Took up the magical equivalent to baseball. Was afraid to get close to anyone he dated and pushed them away. Loved the release of fighting when he and his brother joined the group and loved the mix of magic and weapons involved. Was secretly smitten with Beth and initially incredibly jealous of her and Kris, only to discover he couldn't decide who he was actually jealous of (yeah, I have a poly subplot because I needed more characters). In the process of hanging out with them, he finally began to embrace his actual interests.

Harry Gwen

Age: 55

Sexuality: aroace

Pronouns: he/him

Physical description: looks a lot like his brother except less buff, with medium-brown skin, dark brown eyes, and brown hair. He keeps his hair short though so he doesn't have to do much with it. He wears button-ups and slacks mostly, but at home wears fun printed pajamas.

Backstory: Took care of his younger brother as a kid, so missed a lot of childhood. Had friends at school but never had time to hang out. Taught himself most of the magic he knows and was quite good at it. Taught himself as an adult to code and now likes to make video games. Reads a lot, drinks tea, adopts puppies. He is not the image of a warrior. He can fight but doesn't like to. Actually, he prefers to play medic when Tatiana is busy with her actual career, or babysit while the others go on missions.

General taglist: @blind-the-winds

[fataltotheflesh-com]

reasons to stay alive

-fall out boy (in general and new album)

-fyo

-andy

-switch

-mikey

-baby

-the academy is...

-being unabashedly inappropriate

-writing fic

-reading fic

-sending anon love

-finding something to believe in

-making playlists

-books you haven't read yet

-sending emails

-hearing your favourite songs on the radio

-roleplaying as a wizard online

-collecting pictures of bands

-seeing cool bugs

-making lists

-watching silly interviews and videos of bands

-looping songs on repeat

-giving gifts

-curling up by the vent and getting warm and cozy

-collecting cds

-hugs

-playing old web games

-jacking off

-when you can pick out constellations at night

-jumping in puddles

-fridge manuals

-researching super random obscure shit

-stomping on crunchy leaves

-sorting things

-sewing plushies for yourself

-strangers holding the door open

-freshly baked goods

-holding hands

-mystery at decaydance high

-happy trails

-going to the aquarium

-you're loved you're loved you're loved

-rainstorms

-comments on fics

-googly eyes

-cold water

-when the sky is pretty colours

-besan

-occupational health and safety

-infodumping

-getting infodumped to

-talking to your dad (trick)

-daily maneskin in my asks

-say anything

-the library

-happy tree friends

-doodling on whiteboards

-tumblr

-carrying pens and pencils in your pocket

-stickers

-telling people about cancon regulations

-ao3

-showing people release the bats + goodnight moon

-playing music

-betaing people's writing

-showing people proof of rpf stuff

-gritty

-making glittery gifs for every occasion

-milk

-reading shakespeare plays

-thrift stores

-watching dragula

-carabiners

-sunsets

-sunrises

-writing porn that makes people angry

-gel pens

-last fm

-shaved ice

-making fun kandi

-wings of fire

-someone caring about your wellbeing

-hairy legs

-cobra starship

-talking to people you love (about things you love)

-snuggles

-gym class heroes

-seeing queer people in public

-dressing emo as fuck

-html and css

-reading to kids

-hugging your plushies and telling them you love them

-my laptop

-making cool aus

-my chemical romance

-werewolf sex mechanics

-notifications from a rss feed for a new work for a ship you like

-taking super myspacey selfies

-reading health and safety guidelines

-getting vaccinated

-layering belts

-receiving art of my ocs

-pineapple juice

-sleeping in

-discord bots

-wajas

-"i saw this and thought of you"

-laying in the sunshine

-finding money on the ground

-coming up with a clever joke/pun that makes people groan

-singing off key with your friends

-have a dance party alone

-getting so excited you can't speak

-comfy sweaters

-songs you want to let wash over you and drown in

-fat snowflakes

-chipped black nail polish

-seeing a picture of a band guy that makes you squeal

-jingly bells

-cute underwear

-painting

-you're worth the effort

-listening to music so loud you can feel it in your chest

-reaallyy good cereal

-say anything

-cute nicknames

-someone using a pronoun for you that makes you feel euphoric

-gabe saporta being HAWT

-11:11 wishes coming true

-the used

-juicy pears

-engaging in your special interest(s)

-the smashing pumpkins

-being a HUGE geek

-literally every single decaydance band

-grace getting fake mad at you when you trick her into doing your work

-dramatic irony

-correct semicolon use

-patrick stump's tweets

-gerard way's tweets

-stim toys

-wacky food combinations

-a crossover of two fandoms you really like

-a heritage post on your dash

-cute clothes that fit perfectly

-hamlet

-medieval castle defenses

-deep sea hatchetfish

-butches

-backpacks and stuff,,, to carry a bunch of things around

-finding free sheet music

-when you open the starburst and they're both your favourite flavour

-your silly ocs!

follows from austinwehaveaproblem

if we're close please dni this is embarrassing as fuck 😭

[somerabbitholes]

Essays

Here’s a (non-exhaustive) list of essays I like/find interesting/are food for thought; I’ve tried to sort them as much as possible. The starred (*) ones are those I especially love

also quick note: some of these links, especially the ones that are from books/anthologies redirect you to libgen or scihub, and if that doesn’t work for you, do message me; I’d be happy to send them across!

Literature + Writing

Godot Comes to Sarajevo - Susan Sontag

The Strangeness of Grief - V. S. Naipaul*

Memories of V. S. Naipaul - Paul Theroux*

A Rainy Day with Ruskin Bond - Mayank Austen Soofi

How Albert Camus Faced History - Adam Gopnik

Listen, Bro - Jo Livingstone

Rachel Cusk Gut-Renovates the Novel - Judith Thurman

Lost in Translation: What the First Line of “The Stranger” Should Be - Ryan Bloom

The Duke in His Domain - Truman Capote*

The Cult of Donna Tartt: Themes and Strategies in The Secret History - Ana Rita Catalão Guedes

Never Do That to a Book - Anne Fadiman*

Affecting Anger: Ideologies of Community Mobilisation in Early Hindi Novel - Rohan Chauhan*

Why I Write - George Orwell*

Rimbaud and Patti Smith: Style as Social Deviance - Carrie Jaurès Noland*

Art + Photography (+ Aesthetics)

Looking at War - Susan Sontag*

Love, sex, art, and death - Nan Goldin, David Wojnarowicz

Lyons, Szarkowski, and the Perception of Photography - Anne Wilkes Tucker

The Feminist Critique of Art History - Thalia Gouma-Peterson, Patricia Mathews

In Plato's Cave - Susan Sontag*

On reproduction of art (Chapter 1, Ways of Seeing) - John Berger*

On nudity and women in art (Chapter 3, Ways of Seeing) - John Berger*

Kalighat Paintings  - Sharmishtha Chaudhuri

Daydreams and Fragments: On How We Retrieve Images From the Past -  Maël Renouard

Arthur Rimbaud: the Aesthetics of Intoxication - Enid Rhodes Peschel

Cities

Tragic Fable of Mumbai Mills - Gyan Prakash

Whose Bandra is it? - Dustin Silgardo*

Timur's Registan: noblest public square in the world? - Srinath Perur

The first Starbucks coffee shop, Seattle - Colin Marshall*

Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, Mumbai's iconic railway station - Srinath Perur

From London to Mumbai and Back Again: Gentrification and Public Policy in Comparative Perspective -  Andrew Harris

The Limits of "White Town" in Colonial Calcutta - Swati Chattopadhyay

The Metropolis and Mental Life - Georg Simmel

Colonial Policy and the Culture of Immigration: Citing the Social History of Varanasi - Vinod Kumar, Shiv Narayan

A Caribbean Creole Capital: Kingston, Jamaica - Coln G. Clarke (from Colonial Cities by Robert Ross, Gerard J. Telkamp

The Colonial City and the Post-Colonial World - G. A. de Bruijne

The Nowhere City - Amos Elon*

The Vertical Flâneur: Narratorial Tradecraft in the Colonial Metropolis - Paul K. Saint-Amour

Philosophy

The trolley problem problem - James Wilson

A Brief History of Death - Nir Baram

Justice as Fairness: Political not Metaphysical - John Rawls*

Should Marxists be Interested in Exploitation? - John E. Roemer

The Discomfort You’re Feeling is Grief - Scott Berinato*

The Pandemic and the Crisis of Faith - Makarand Paranjape

If God Is Dead, Your Time is Everything - James Wood

Giving Up on God - Ronald Inglehart

The Limits of Consensual Decision - Douglas Rae*

The Science of "Muddling Through" - Charles Lindblom*

History

The Gruesome History of Eating Corpses as Medicine - Maria Dolan

The History of Loneliness - Jill Lepore*

From Tuskegee to Togo: the Problem of Freedom in the Empire of Cotton - Sven Beckert*

Time, Work-Discipline, and Industrial Capitalism - E. P. Thompson*

All By Myself - Martha Bailey*

The Geographical Pivot of History - H. J. Mackinder

The sea/ocean

Rim of Life - Manu Pillai

Exploring the Indian Ocean as a rich archive of history – above and below the water line - Isabel Hofmeyr, Charne Lavery

‘Piracy’, connectivity and seaborne power in the Middle Ages - Nikolas Jaspert (from The Sea in History)*

The Vikings and their age - Nils Blomkvist (from The Sea in History)*

Mercantile Networks, Port Cities, and “Pirate” States - Roxani Eleni Margariti

Phantom Peril in the Arctic - Robert David English, Morgan Grant Gardner*

Assorted ones on India

A departure from history: Kashmiri Pandits, 1990-2001 - Alexander Evans *

Writing Post-Orientalist Histories of the Third World - Gyan Prakash

Empire: How Colonial India Made Modern Britain - Aditya Mukherjee

Feminism and Nationalism in India, 1917-1947 - Aparna Basu

The Epic Riddle of Dating Ramayana, Mahabharata - Sunaina Kumar*

Caste and Politics: Identity Over System - Dipankar Gupta

Our worldview is Delhi based*

Sports (you’ll have to excuse the fact that it’s only cricket but what can i say, i’m indian)

'Massa Day Done:' Cricket as a Catalyst for West Indian Independence: 1950-1962 - John Newman*

Playing for power? rugby, Afrikaner nationalism and masculinity in South Africa, c.1900–70 - Albert Grundlingh

When Cricket Was a Symbol, Not Just a Sport - Baz Dreisinger

Cricket, caste, community, colonialism: the politics of a great game - Ramachandra Guha*

Cricket and Politics in Colonial India - Ramchandra Guha

MS Dhoni: A quiet radical who did it his way*

Music

Brega: Music and Conflict in Urban Brazil - Samuel M. Araújo

Color, Music and Conflict: A Study of Aggression in Trinidad with Reference to the Role of Traditional Music - J. D. Elder

The 1975 - ‘Notes On a Conditional Form’ review - Dan Stubbs*

Life Without Live - Rob Sheffield*

How Britney Spears Changed Pop - Rob Sheffield

Concert for Bangladesh

From “Help!” to “Helping out a Friend”: Imagining South Asia through the Beatles and the Concert for Bangladesh - Samantha Christiansen 

Gender

Clothing Behaviour as Non-verbal Resistance - Diana Crane

The Normalisation of Queer Theory - David M. Halperin

Menstruation and the Holocaust - Jo-Ann Owusu*

Women’s Suffrage the Democratic Peace - Allan Dafoe

Pink and Blue: Coloring Inside the Lines of Gender - Catherine Zuckerman*

Women’s health concerns are dismissed more, studied less - Zoanne Clack

Food

How Food-Obsessed Millennials Shape the Future of Food - Rachel A. Becker (as a non-food obsessed somewhat-millennial, this was interesting)

Colonialism's effect on how and what we eat - Coral Lee

Tracing Europe's influence on India's culinary heritage - Ruth Dsouza Prabhu

Chicken Kiev: the world’s most contested ready-meal*

From Russia with mayo: the story of a Soviet super-salad*

The Politics of Pancakes - Taylor Aucoin*

How Doughnuts Fuelled the American Dream*

Pav from the Nau

A Short History of the Vada Pav - Saira Menezes

Fantasy (mostly just harry potter and lord of the rings)

Purebloods and Mudbloods: Race, Species, and Power (from The Politics of Harry Potter)

Azkaban: Discipline, Punishment, and Human Rights (from The Politics of Harry Potter)*

Good and Evil in J. R. R. Tolkien's Lengendarium - Jyrki Korpua

The Fairy Story: J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis - Colin Duriez (from Tree of Tales)*

Tolkien’s Augustinian Understanding of Good and Evil: Why The Lord of the Rings Is Not Manichean - Ralph Wood (from Tree of Tales)*

Travel

The Hidden Cost of Wildlife Tourism

Chronicles of a Writer’s 1950s Road Trip Across France - Kathleen Phelan

On the Early Women Pioneers of Trail Hiking - Gwenyth Loose

On the Mythologies of the Himalaya Mountains - Ed Douglas*

More random assorted ones

The cosmos from the wheelchair (The Economist obituaries)*

In El Salvador - Joan Didion

Scientists are unravelling the mystery of pain - Yudhijit Banerjee

Notes on Nationalism - George Orwell

Politics and the English Language - George Orwell*

What Do the Humanities Do in a Crisis? - Agnes Callard*

The Politics of Joker - Kyle Smith

Sushant Singh Rajput: The outsider - Uday Bhatia*

Credibility and Mystery - John Berger

happy reading :)

[booksandwords]

Mooncakes by Suzanne Walker. Illustrated by Wendy Xu

Age Recommendation: Tween Art Style: Colourful and Bright. Topic/ Theme: Queer, Save Yourself. Setting: Fairytale like

Rating: 4/5

This is one of those books I picked up on an impulse. It has a super cute cover, clear supernatural themes and from the cover and blurb sapphic undertones. Those sapphic tones are actually full themes. It is a fairly simple and well paced story, two reunited old friends working together to save one from an evil. But it is effectively done with the art and story working well together. The two main characters are Nova Huang and Tam Lang, a witch and a werewolf. Tatiana is the best sort of friend. She is a scientist who doesn't know what to make of magic only believes because Nova showed her, but she willing to walk into a fight as a mere human to defend a friend (and deal with the shock of finding out there is much more than witches later). The villains introduced and resolved well, in a way that is to be expected for something that is pseudo-fairytale. There is a good balance of plot and romantic storyline, broken up well into 8 chapters and an epilogue.

Importantly, the two main characters are diverse. Nova was raised by her queer Nanas, she has some Asian heritage and she's deaf (she uses hearing aids). Tam uses they/them pronouns, has a bad family history, parents got divorced and an abusive step-father. As bad as familial violence is it is something that people experience and don't speak out about, I have total respect for authors who add those characters to their stories. The characters are designed in a way that makes them easy to pick on sight. Tam has a unique shock of aqua in their hair and wears gender-neutral clothing, I really appreciate that their wolf form has no similarities to their human form. Nova's whole look is almost hyper-feminine with classic witchy touches and I think it's gorgeous. All the members of the supporting cast are different and suiting their places. Nova's Nanas are opposites in a way while both being very much in earth tones. Qui is short and round, Nechama is tall and willowy and their powers when they are shown are in complementary colours (as are Tam and Nova's).

[this-is-my-jaam]

@queer-amann

Absolutely! Feel free to use these patterns for your own fan projects. I'm so happy that the fandom has been enjoying my work so far. I absolutely encourage anyone who wants to try their hand at high-fantasy anthropology to absolutely go for it. I am more than happy to let you reference the work I've shared so far.

As far as in-game item description goes, There can be quite a bit of conflict between what is shown and what is told. For the most part, I try to stick with what is shown and anything canonical from the books or in-game story related info (such as the ironbark). With the number of writers that had a hand in building Dalish culture in canon, trying to work off of in-game item descriptions can be tricky with conflicting information, though the details about the bow and Andruil are great! I haven’t quite gotten around to deep diving into weaponry yet, but I will definitely keep that in mind.

The city elves are a bit difficult to place design-wise. My natural response would be some sort of combination of localized human clothing (Fereldan, Orlesian, Nevarran, etc), but the city elves are a heavily oppressed group and unlikely able to afford fine, imported fabrics. The city elves are another group that I have yet to get to as far as design and research goes, but based on canon from the Masked Empire and DAI, I would likely veer towards shoddy and worn versions of the common middle class fashions, but very out of date. I would need to do more research to give you a definitive answer first.

I believe that, for the majority of city elves (or at least the ones we meet in canon), follow the Chant of Light and have a complicated relationship with their Dalish counterparts. The city elves see the Dalish as the rebellious last stand against human oppressors, and the Dalish see city elves as traitors to their heritage, largely due to the worship of the Chant of Light. I imagine that city elf culture and artwork may have some Dalish inspiration, (the trees dedicated to Mythal and maybe some other references to Dalish gods here and there) but mostly based on aesthetics that they wouldn’t fully understand in the way that the Dalish clans would. The Dalish are very protective of their history and culture to the point that many clans are unwilling to share their knowledge with city elves at all. Though I think that it would be highly likely that there would be a number of Dalish heirlooms passed down city elf family lines, such as Briala’s Dalish locket from DAI. Any patterns or imagery that would grown in alienages would probably be a combination of whatever knowledge they have of patterns like the vallaslin and references to things that are commonly known to be important to the Dalish (Halla and elfroot, for instance).

The City Elf situation is complex because of how often their lives are uprooted by violence. I mentioned in another post that civilizations rise and fall and all of their technology and mythos goes with it. Something similar can be said of the City Elves who are probably more concerned for their safety than anything else. Their homes are so often attacked and destroyed that it would be hard for a steady and cohesive aesthetic to form. There would likely be only simple patterns on smaller portions of the clothing and it would really vary from alienage to alienage.

More important than the actual clothing of the city elves, I think that it would be very likely that they would direct attention and craftsmanship towards practical things that were less likely to face destruction in the streets from mud or hard labor. Quilting, weaving, rugwork, carving, and home-made goods would definitely be something that I could see City elves doing. And quilting, weaving, tapestry work, embroidery and the like are all common storytelling avenues. City elves find themselves in such a difficult and lost place in the world of Dragon Age, which is why I think that they would turn to home crafts where they would be able to record their own stories, taking influence from the cultures surrounding them and shaping their lives, but creating a narrative wholly their own.

Hope this helps, and feel free to ask me questions anytime! I’m on pretty infrequently these days, but I’ll try to answer asap :)

Aight, pattern drop time. I am not really a pattern designer myself and these are still pretty rough, but I’m doing my best. These go along with my post from earlier this week about Dalish textiles and how much I dislike the underdevelopment of the Dalish aesthetic culture. I spent the last few days coming up with these based on the Vallaslin, halla, frescoes, and other imagery that the Dalish would likely make designs with, like elfroot and arrows. I tried to make patterns to varying levels of intricacy based on a few different real world ethnic groups whose design aesthetics fit what we already have for the Dalish and their Vallaslin patterns, which mostly ended up being mid Eastern Turkish, Iranian, Persian, etc. I also wanted to include some reference to Native American design as they are stated to be one of the inspirations for the Dalish culture, so for the more geometric designs I referenced Navajo rugs and some Sioux clothing from both the Lakota and Dakota Sioux. There are some other indigenous design references that I used that were not credited to a specific group that I could find unfortunately. I’ll continue to make more for as long as I’m working this project, but let me know if anyone is interested in more detailed breakdowns of the designs, materials, etc that I’m using for this project. I can also post the reference board that I’ve been making on Pinterest for how I’m building the culture and where I’m taking design inspo from. Any related posts will be tagged ‘Dalish Redux’ from now on for anyone wanting to keep these posts for reference.

[dvrkprinces]

&&. ( alexander barrett ) was just spotted in amsterdam. rumor has it ( he ) is a ( 34 ) year old ( alpha werewolf ) who resembles ( jamie dornan ). ( he ) has been said to be ( quick-witted & determined ) but also quite ( cunning & hard-headed ). with all the chaos surrounding the magical underworld, ( he ) has chosen to align with ( the werewolf rebellion ). ( he ) is currently serving as ( a werewolf rebel spy in the inferno ). hopefully the city doesn’t devour them whole.

— ❝  fine. make me your villain. ❞

( hi there, kiwi here! last but not least, we have the official intro for my angsty edgelord, alexander barrett. daddy issues and brooding galore, this is a character who is exceptionally near and dear to my heart. as per usual, please let me know if you’d like to plot; i’m available through both the group’s discord and tumblr ims. ♡ )

name: alexander henryk barrett

birthplace: the bronx, new york, u.s.a.

birthday: may 3rd | taurus

scent: bergamot, violet flower, tuscan iris, campfire, black pepper oil, warm woods + ( signature cologne: noir - tom ford ) 

appearance: 6′3″ and muscular from years of working as a skilled hunter and undercover member of the werewolf resistance. with curly chestnut / honey brown hair and piercing blue eyes, he strongly reflects his irish heritage. alex prefers to keep a full beard at all time, just as a personal preference.

personality: ( + ) quick-witted, determined, intelligent, crafty, ambitious ( - ) cunning, hard-headed, hot-tempered, sly, self-serving

biography: In the heart of the Bronx, a boy was born to a starry-eyed single mother who wanted her son to be better than the world he’d entered into.

Financial instability and strife reigned over young Alexander Barrett’s life; poverty and crushing responsibilities became the weight he was forced to bear. Never truly exposed to anything but life in the projects, Alex spent most of his younger childhood years roughing around with some of the neighborhood kids and dreaming of a day when they’d all make it in the big leagues; some of his friends aspired to excel in sports, while others prayed to God that they could keep their asses in school long enough to earn degrees and get solid jobs in the more middle-class areas of the Bronx or even, God willing, another one of New York City’s heavily-populated, compact boroughs. But Alexander, with a mother who was barely able to scrape up enough money to get by for the two of them in their closet of an apartment with two weekday jobs and an additional one on the weekend, knew that getting out of the city and onto making a decent income was less than realistic. See, Alex was different from the other neighborhood kids; his mother was a runaway--an omega werewolf refugee who had escaped Ireland after she had been sold to an alpha werewolf from her pack in the hopes of reproducing and “fulfilling” her duties as an omega. After being impregnated with the alpha noble’s child, she escaped on a refugee boat leading to the Americas. Her pack, being Roman Catholic, had considered their union as concrete as marriage--and the only way Genevieve could escape her husband was through death. So she disappeared. It was there, in the heart of New York, that she raised her only son with all of the love and devotion inside of her; but, having been exiled and written off by all family and “proper” wolfish society, Genevieve found herself stranded in a foreign country as a single mother with no support, no means for a reasonable income, no resources available to her at all.

As Alex grew up under a loving, but hopelessly poor, roof, he found himself turning to the streets for some semblance of stability in a world where he feared his mother would fall under the pressure placed on her shoulders. Still, the world continued to spit on the boy from the Bronx with a hardened heart and a battered soul. And so young Alexander, pessimistic about the world around him, stumbled into a life of crime and mischief from a young age.

As soon as he was old enough to understand what poverty meant and how hard his mother–his beautiful, caring mother–worked to provide for him, Alexander decided to help her out as best as he could. As Genevieve was an Irish immigrant hiding from her past, expenses such as healthcare, as she tirelessly worked to try and obtain her American citizenship, were hard to come by. So, when Alex was too young to get a job, he’d shoplift clothes from secondhand clothing shops and would tell his mother that some of the older boys at school had traded him for it in exchange for some help on their homework; he’d snatch food from local grocery stores and would scatter it throughout their kitchen, praying to God his mom didn’t catch on. And the minute he was old enough to legally obtain a job of his own, Alex started working for one of the local car garages. First as a mechanic’s assistant, and then, finally, helping out with the cars themselves. But still, his lust for power and security–for stealing what he believed was owed to him and his mother–grew with age, and by the time he was sixteen, Alex was eaten up with the urge to control the world around him. So he hung out with kids on the wrong side of the tracks; began to make a name for himself on the streets. He made an effort not to terrorize people, but took what he thought he deserved. He was just, but stern; he was understanding, but not forgiving. He refused to let his mother become a victim of the streets, and so he made the streets his own. 

So without his mother knowing, Alexander plunged into a life of crime, putting school–and his other responsibilities–on the backburner. He was raking in more cash than he ever had before, and even more so, he was making a name of himself. His mother was proud of him for all the wrong reasons; she thought her son had gained a promotion at work and was working long and tireless hours in the hopes of helping them and saving up for an education for himself. Alex, who still worshiped and adored his mother, couldn’t bear to break her heart by telling her the truth. For a long while, he told himself that things were best this way; that it was easiest and safest for Genevieve Barrett if she didn’t know who (or, more specifically, what) her only son had become. He lied, cheated, and gambled his way out of everything. He was a smooth talker, a charmer, ruthless, and ambitious as hell. If he had to lie, cheat, and steal to help his mother afford to pay rent or put food on the table, then it was something he could live with. Easily. He was an alpha werewolf who knew that the “duties” allotted to his wolf ranking and status would soon be imposed upon him--but until that day, Alex was content to use whatever resources available to him in order to get by.

While he was a teenager, roughly seventeen years old, his mother--having never committed to any sort of romantic or physical relationship with any sort of meaning since his birth--fell into a relationship with a local restaurateur named Antonio. He owned a deli shop down the street, and though he came from a humble background himself, Genevieve fell head over heels in love with the human man who made her sandwiches every other Thursday. Alex disapproved of the relationship, having never been around the man much himself, but couldn’t bear to tell his mother and risk her ending a relationship over his own discomfort. Despite the nagging sensation deep in his gut, Alex pushed aside his ill will towards his mother’s newfound love and instead channeled his energy into street fights and the small heists and coups he hosted with other neighborhood boys. It was just the general unease of his mother entering into a significant relationship when she had otherwise feared men for years that bothered Alex, that was all; that was what he continued to tell himself, at least.

Life has an uncanny ability of catching up with you, Genevieve Barrett would have said, and the words ricocheted through Alexander’s skull like a restless bullet the day his mother died. A balmy spring evening, with promises whispering through the trees, rustling their branches and whistling through the busy city streets, Alex came home after a long day of working at the mechanic’s garage when he found his mother being forced into a van, kicking and screaming as no less than five men held her down and shackled her to the back of a nondescript van. No, not men--wolves. Werewolves with strong and thick Irish accents whom Genevieve seemed to know and fear. Blood thundered through Alex’s veins and pounded in his head as he raced towards her, screaming her name as her mother’s lover stood to the side, clad in a business suit and speaking urgently with a large and imposing alpha--the leader of Genevieve’s old clan, who had been hunting her in the years since she escaped. Alex pieced things together just as the man turned to face him, a queer smile on his face that sank straight to the pit of Alex’s stomach. The man had never loved his mother--he’d been a mole. Sent by Genevieve’s former pack to retrieve one of the precious jewels that had been stolen for them: an omega.

Alex was held back and forced to watch as he and his mother locked eyes, screaming for one another and scrabbling to reach each other through the barrier that separated them. Overwhelmed by panic, Alex nearly missed what happened next. Antonio explained to the wolves that Genevieve was barren; that she’d had a surgical procedure done to keep her from bearing and rearing any more children. Already a fugitive of the clan’s law and now virtually useless to them, Alex was forced to watch as one of the men holding his mother back took her head in his hands and twisted, snapping her neck. The grief and overwhelming flood of emotions over watching his mother executed in front of him pounded through Alex’s veins, and before he was able to control himself, he was shedding his human form and emerging as an alpha wolf, attacking and killing no less than three of the other wolves who had harmed and mutilated his mother before eventually being shot with a tranquilizer. Alex viewed it as a manifestation of his grief--the lead alpha saw it for what it truly was: the physical manifestations of an alpha wolf in full bloom.

And if they couldn’t have Genevieve, they would have him.

By the time Alex woke up, he was in a cargo holding cell on his way to Ireland; deciding he was a virile alpha and would do just fine in replacement of his mother, Genevieve’s former pack had stolen Alex from his home and transported him across the pond to serve in Ireland for their unseemly purposes. Soon after arriving at their clan’s stronghold just outside of Dublin, Alex hatched a plan to escape. He might have been in a foreign country and damn near penniless, but he had grown up a street rat who clawed his way through the food chain to emerge on top, and he wasn’t about to let that stop him now. He was able to escape from the clan that hoped to transform him into a breeding alpha, making his way through Ireland in search of anything that would tie him to his mother’s name and past.

Eventually, he found fellow rogue wolves, who would later become the foundations of the burgeoning werewolf rebellion, and joined up without hesitation. He’d never had much of a thing for authority or organized government anyway. He soon took Nadya Kingsley under his wing, a fellow werewolf from a broken home who needed a cause to call her own. She has become his closest confidant in all matters; the closest thing Alex has ever had to a “best friend” or family since his mother’s untimely death. Together, the two make an unstoppable duo and have garnered the respect and admiration of much of the underground rebellion.

It’s been close to twenty years since his mother’s death, and Alex’s current assignment for the rebellion is to infiltrate The Inferno and work as an informant to gather intel on what the fallen angels and vampires have planned in the supernatural war raging against them. Alex is cold and callous, cunning, and always thinks before he acts; he can be the loyalest of friends or the bitterest of enemies.

But above all, Alexander Barrett fully trusts nothing--and no one--but himself.

wanted connections: i’d be super down for some rebellion or werewolf-human coalition connections for alex in particular ! hit me with what you’ve got !

[long-bodyswap]

I Wanna Be A Coyboy

by aussiebootboi

Billy was a weedy kind of guy. His parents had died when he was 5 year old and his grandmother had reared him. Although, small of build, he made up for it in being a bright and studious sort of guy. And, although you wouldn't know from just looking at him, he had a proud ancestory of Incan heritage. His great -great Grandfather had been of mixed Spanish and Incan blood. Their family had originally been of noble birth, and many tales of strange rites and incantations had been recounted at by his grandmother.Sadly, his grandmother had died when he was 15, and he had been forced into foster care, seeing he was still under legal age. He hated them. 

Their treatment was not overly honourable - basically they just wanted the government allowance and had treated Billy poorly. Eventually, after 18 months of poor treatment, he had run away. His closest friend in high school had moved to Florida a few years before and Billy was sure the friend's family would take him in & help support him as a new foster family.He had been lucky with a number of hitched rides with long haul truck drivers, but his luck had finally run out. Here he was in a small town in mid Texas, and no accommodating truck driver for over a day. He was now sick of the sight of the dusty gas pumps of this run-down gas station and was wishing his luck would change soon.Late in the afternoon, hot golden sun beating down on the iron roof of the station's pump cover, Billy was half woken up but the double ring in the station office as car tyres ran over the black bell cord. 

He looked up and saw this beaten up white wide convertible pull up at one of the bowzers. The guy who got out of the car was tall, about 6'4" , around 30 years old, and was so overly muscley, you would have thought he lived in a gym. He had a strong jaw line, wild, uncombed dirty blonde hair that hung down to his shoulders and cold, blue eyes. He wore a dusty, stained white tank top that pulled tightly over his enormous pecs, a polyester Hawaiian shirt over the top, unbuttoned, and his biceps looked like they were going to burst the short sleeves. His jeans were tight around his huge, beefy thighs and he wore a pair of snake skin cowboy boots. 

The man oozed sexuality. He was one hot-looking porn stud. As he got out of the car, he snatched from the back seat a dusty, cream Stenson and put it on his head.Billy was mesmerised. He was still a closeted gay guy and his man answered all his fantasies. Billy felt a slight tinging in his cock as the guy came towards him."Do you work here?" The voice was strong, arrogant, a deep bass coming up from that deep chest and was definitely Texan."No." Billy's voice was weedy and high in comparison. 

"I think the guy is in the garage to the side."As he said that, a fat, balding man, about 45- 50 years, wearing a blue boiler suit came from the side of the gas station; he used a bit of cotton wading to wipe his hands."Hi Jim-Bob, what you up to today?""Just in town for some supplies. Fill 'er up, Bud."The garage owner pumped gas into the convertible, all the while making small talk to Jim-Bob about the weather and wheat and corn prices. Jim-Bob followed the mechanic into the office, his heels making a clunking sound on the tarmac. 

He came out of the office, slotting a packet of Marlbro Red's into the top pocket of his Hawaiian shirt. As Jim-Bob made his way to the car, Billy summoned the courage to talk to him."Excuse me, sir." His voice weedy and slightly whiney."Yeah, kid." Jim-Bob said, turning on his heel and making a scraping sound on the tarmac."Where you headed?""What's it to you?""Um.. I'm trying to get to Florida and I wondered if I could hitch a lift to somewhere where I could link up with some interstaters.""Well. I could take you as far as my farm entrance and then you would have to walk about 5 miles to the Interstate Junction.""Oh, that would be great, Sir.""Yeah, get rid of him for me, will ya Jim-Bob. The kid's been hanging around here too long. 

He's starting to become a nuisance." The garage owner said, from the doorway of his office."Hop in, Kid. And stop calling me Sir." Jim-Bob threw his hat into the back seat, threw himself into the driver's seat and started the engine. Billy quickly collected his rucksack and bag and got into the car.With a jolt they had left the garage and were speeding through the main part of the town and shortly out onto the long flat plains. Jim- Bob opened the packet of cigarettes and lit one up."You want one?""No. I'm allergic to cigarette smoke.""Fuck! Well, seeing its my car, I won't ask you if you mind, cause I don't." Jim-Bob was obviously non-sympathetic to the non-smoker's cause.There was a stoney silence. The low, undulating countryside: fencing racing along the sides of the road, seemed to stretch to eternity."You got a girlfriend."Billy, replied in the negative."Shit!! You some kind of queer or something. 

Fuck! Have I got me some queer with me.""No!" But Billy's voice quavered slightly. He was frightened. He was almost 17 now, and for a while he was fairly sure he was gay, although he was still closeted about his sexuality. The look of a strong, muscley guy turned him on. The smell from this guy in the driver's seat, that musky male smell from a hard working guy in the heat, so close to him now, was arousing him and he didn't want to show his feelings or the hint of an erection that was threatening to reveal itself."I have been too busy to date girls, that's all. I took a girl to the last End of Year Ball." Billy justified himself."Did you screw her?""No." Billy said in a reflex manner."Then you could be a fag after all."There was no reply to that and Billy kept silent. The miles continued to roll by. But Billy was still drawn to those cowboy boots. The way Jim-Bob had walked in them at the garage: so arrogantly and with manly authority. He wished he could be like that; but he would always be a weedy guy. He vaguely remembered his father being a stick-like man: no bulk and his business shirts hanging off his cavenous chest. 

During this period of retrospection, he was now staring at Jim-Bob's snakeskin boots."Jesus, what you staring at, Boy! I swear you're some kind of fag.""I'm sorry." Billy said. Then off the cuff: " I bet you score big time with the babes in those boots. I want a pair when I get a bit older and have worked out more in the gym to bulk up." He felt he had got himself out of that hole."You're damn, right there mister. Do I pull them in. The sound these mean mother-fuckers make in a bar, has those hot cock-thirsty pussies just wanting it: they are panting for it and man! They can't get enough of this piece of meat. Kid, you have a long way to go to get anywhere in the league of this stud."Billy could just see this guy leering at the women. He was personally disgusted and although he was in awe of the sexual power Jim-Bob was giving off, he loathed the type of guy he represented.

Jim-Bob pulled over sharply to the side of the road and turned to Billy."Well, kid. This is the end of your trip. That's the entrance to my farm over there and I don't plan to take you any further. About 5 miles straight ahead you will find the Interstate junction. You should be lucky enough to get yourself a ride to where you want to go. OK, shift that faggy arse of yours."As Jim-Bob was taking to Billy, a motorbike was making its way towards them. Jim-Bob had glanced at it, but hadn't taken much notice. As the bike went past the entrance to Jim-Bob's farm, the rear tyre picked up some of the scattered gravel. One stone fairly hit Jim-Bob on the side of the head, just above his ear and he slumped forward. The bike, unknowingly, continued along the road, deaf to Billy's calls. Billy felt Jim-Bob's neck and could still feel a strong pulse. 

A trickle of brilliantly coloured blood rolled down the side of his head.Oh God! What to do, thought Billy. He looked across the road and saw the mailbox and a dirt track making its way over a small rise. That's his farm. Maybe there some help there or at least a phone. With considerable effort and some time, Billy moved the limp body over to the shot-gun seat. In all that time, not another vehicle had passed. Fortunately the car was automatic and Billy was able to drive the car up the dirt track. About a mile down to it, he came to a low, run down farmhouse. The front verandah was full of old, rusty machinery and one corner was at a sharp angle where the floor stumps had rotted and no longer supported the verandah poles. Billy drove to the rear of the house, where the car was obviously parked and it was shaded. Manoeuvring Jim-Bob's body was going to be a difficult task. Billy called out, but no one answered. 

He walked up to the house and knocked on the screen door. No one answered and he decided to go inside. The kitchen was gloomy after the bright back yard. Dishes were piled in the sink; empty beer bottles were stacked by the side of the fridge. It soon became apparent that Jim-Bob lived alone. Only one side of the bed had been slept in and there were only his clothes to be seen from the open closet door.With boots leaving furrows in the dust and lots of breath breaks, Billy finally dragged Jim-Bob and dumped him onto the bed like a sack of potatoes. An unconscious body is a dead weight and Billy wished he had spent time in the gym. 

Back in the kitchen, Billy found the wall phone and the red-boarded letter from the phone company disconnecting the phone for not paying the bill. There was no way of getting a doctor out there and Billy was frightened to leave Jim-Bob in case he died. A runway didn't have a very strong case in court and no judge or jury would believe that it was accidental and not a robbery. Billy put a cool, damp cloth on Jim-Bob's head, checked his pulse again and washed the blood which had now congealed. The pulse was strong, so it was obviously a case of concussion.He then proceeded to undress Jim-Bob. 

The manly sweat that came off from the boots was deeply arousing. Billy took deep breaths and fantasised a little about having this strong man, now being an overly gay man, taking Billy up into his arms and hugging and kissing him, and saying endearments. Billy returned from his dream and looked down on the homophobic bully lying on the bed. He loosed the belt buckle - a large circular, shiny tooled piece of silvery metal - and undid the buttons. 

The monster of a flaccid cock fell out of the now-loosen boxers. At least 6" and thick, Jim-Bob had at least not lied about his piece of meat: it would easily grow into 7 or 8 inches when erect. Billy wanted to desperate touch it but was afraid in case Jim-Bob woke. He did manage to lightly brush his hand against it.His ordeal had made him tired and so, after putting the groceries in the fridge and bringing in his gear, he searched for a knee rug. 

He made himself comfortable on the sofa and started to reflect on the day. This lead to other recent unhappy events and this invariably caused him to reminisce on happier times with his loving grandmother.With his mind wandering even more, thoughts of his attraction towards Jim-Bob began to form: that strong, muscley body, those hot snakeskin boots, the tight jeans showing a decent package. A tingling in his dick started up and he developed interesting fantasies with what he could do with that hot body. Words popped into his head: something vaguely he could remember from his grandmother. "Irikalimabro. Tradi om, broroo dinda, broroo dixi, broroo dinda, fore rimni dint crawlix, fore rimini dint crawlix." With these words chanting, softly in his head, he fell asleep.

* * * * *

Billy woke with a splitting headache. Light was streaming from the window and it was obviously morning. His head felt unbearable and he had problems focusing. With some effort he concentrated on the brown shape across the room. Eventually he could make out some checked shirts hanging in the closet. He then realised that he was lying on a bed. 

Where was he? This wasn't home or anywhere he recognised. His vision was steadily cleared and he could make out through the dirty net curtains a dusty yard and an open white convertible between him and a rundown barn with one door hanging off its hinge.He vaguely remembered having seen that car before recently. 

Where??? Through the fog of the headache, it dawned on him where he had seen the car before and then the previous day's events converged onto his fuddled brain. He sat up abruptly. Where was Jim-Bob, and why was he now sleeping in the bed? He turned to get out of bed and as he did, the room spun. When his vertigo had subsided, Billy made another attempt to stand up. As he did his jeans fell to the floor and there was a metalic clunk where the blet buckle hit the wooden floor. He bent down to pull up his pants and then had to sit down abruptly. These weren't his jeans!! 

The belt buckle was the same as the buckle he had loosened from Jim-Bob yesterday!Suddenly he felt his stomach erupt in nausea. He was definitely going to be sick real quick. He stood up and lurched out of the room and quickly made his way to the bathroom, where he was violently sick. Waves of nausea washed over him and for some minutes he just held onto the toilet bowl and wished it would all end soon. Eventually, the sickness passed and when he felt strong enough he made his way to the sink. He splashed water on his face and then gasped as he looked into the mirror.His stomach lurched again, but it was empty and he gave a loud, hollow burp instead. There, staring at him, his face bleached white was Jim-Bob's face. 

Gradually he surveyed the rest of his body. Yep! Everything he saw was what he associated with Jim-Bob: the nicotine-stained fingers, the strong masculine hands with curly blond hairs on the wrist, the Hawaiian overshirt, the tight blue jeans, the strong jaw that was lightly shadowed with beard stubble, the wavy dirty-blond hair down to the broad, muscley shoulders."Oh, my God!!" Jim-Bob's deep voice sounded back at him. "Jesus! What happened.""Fuck!!" and a high pitched squeal came from the sitting room further in the house. Billy recognised that voice: it was what he thought of as his.Billy rushed into the sitting room. 

The boy was standing by the sofa, looking in at the grimy, bevelled mirror over the fireplace. He turned when he saw Jim-Bob standing in the doorway."What the fuck have you done, you freak!!" Billy squealed at Jim-Bob. "You fuckin' faggot! You fruit!" He then lunged at Jim-Bob, his hands ready to punch the life out of him.Jim-Bob put his hands up to protect his face. Billy aimed at punch at Jim-Bob's stomach. Billy reeled back, holding his hand and crumpling up with pain. "Fuck!!" he explained. Jim-Bob put a hand out to Billy's arm to see if he was alright. Billy pulled away and then lunged to make another hit. Jim-Bob reacted by seizing Billy's wrist, griping it tightly. Billy tried to pull away and cringed, "Shit! That hurts.""Then stop." Jim-Bob's voice boomed. He was having problems adjusting to his new body. He didn't realise he that much strength in his body now. He hadn't meant to hurt Billy, but you could definitely see red markings on the boy's wrist where he had gripped him. He would also have to get used to not talking as loud. 

He was shouting now and he had only intended to speak to the kid in a normal voice.The reaction of hearing his voice from his old body caused Billy to break down and cry. He was obviously distressed and confused. "Hey," Jim-Bob said. "I don't know what's happened. Hopefully it's a temporary thing. But no matter, I'm not leaving you till all this is sorted out.""What happened? I last remember giving you a lift and dropping you off outside my farm.""You were hit in the head by stones thrown up by a motorbike. I brought you up here, put you to bed and then I fell asleep and somehow a switch happened in the night.""Yeah, well if I was hit in the head so hard, how come there is no bruise or headache?" Billy sneered."That's because I have the headache and cut," Jim-Bob moved his hair to reveal the cut above his ear. "And that's why I'm off to get a shower and take some headache tablets." Jim-Bob turned and retreated to the bathroom.

Finding some pills in the medicine cabinet, he stripped. He stared at the stud like body in the mirror. He was one Hot dude now: rippling muscles, huge pecs and biceps, a ripped 6-pack. His dream had come true. He was getting a hard-on just looking at himself.He entered the shower and started soaping himself, luxuriating at the feeling of running his hands over his tight muscles. When he came to his cock, he saw a thick, yellow rim of dick cheese."Jesus, dirty pig." He explained. He started washing around the head when he felt a wave of erotic sensations washing over his body. Man! did that feel good. He did it again, rubbing his thumb under the skin: the sensation was incredible. He started stroking himself: it was soo good. His cock was stiffening now, a monster 8 inches and thick, ropey veins along the shaft. He was pumping this muscle monster now and when he couldn't hold back any more, his legs bent, he released a hot, ropey stream of cum all up the shower wall. 

He kept pumping and the fire hose of cum kept pouring out. Exhausted, he sat down in the shower, feeling the warm water washing over his head. He had never shot that much or so intensely before. A small river of cum was trickling down the wall nearby. With a finger he scouped some of it up and licked it. It tasted salty and slightly sweet. Man! one of the best things he had ever tasted. He sure wanted to do that again soon.He rubbed himself down, enjoying the sensations of the rough towel against his tight muscles. Into the bedroom, naked, his cock still red and swinging, he made his way to the closet. A white wife-beater, a cleaner Hawaiian shirt, tight black jeans and the same white snakeskin cowboy boots. He looked at himself in the mirror, now that he was dressed and liked what he saw. He had power, presence, strength. 

He could feel the boots on his feet and the leather shaft rubbing slightly against his calves. He was growing a hard-on again because he was finding himself so sexy and Hot.Back in the bathroom, to return the towel, he bent down and as he stood up he hit his head on the edge of the cupboard. "Shit!" he said and rubbed his head. Boy! I must be tired, he thought, because I never swear. This is all been a little too stressful this morning.On the sofa, Billy was lounging, an unhappy or perplexed expression on his face. "Breakfast, or shower," Jim-Bob asked him."Breakfast. I don't need a shower.""No way, boy. While you are in my body, you are going to continue to treat it the way I did. And that means regular washing. OK. Breakfast it is, and then the shower." Jim-Bob decided he needed to be forceful with Billy from the start. Why waste this strength and power he was feeling. With these muscles, he knew he could force Billy to do almost anything he wanted.Breakfast was basically a silent affair. 

Billy decided he didn't want to be communicative and munched morosely throughout the entire meal. Jim-Bob then ordered a day of cleaning the house. Dishes were washed; laundry washed and hung on the line (Jim-Bob found a mountain of dirty clothes piled up by the side of the bed); vacuuming and mopping of floors. Throughout all this, Billy had needed regular cigarette breaks. Jim-Bob didn't like the idea of him sullying his body but also recognised that it was hard to make a person quit cold turkey, and Billy still had cravings. Jim-Bob reckoned they had worked hard enough for the first day and recommended a bath for Billy. Billy, tired after the work and recent ordeal, agreed.All through the day, Billy had asked Jim-Bob how this strange phenomenon could have happened. Jim-Bob was as ignorant as Billy, but had decided to make the most of it and was sure it was a temporary condition. 

He wanted to return to his old self and get to Florida and continue his studies and start his new life.From the bathroom came a muffled "Fuck!" "What is it now," Jim-Bob asked through the door."Kid, you have one average sized dick. How am I going to snatch pussy with this thing. Its almost useless.""Yeah, well you'll get used to it.""Does this mean I'm a queer now?""That's up to you. You sure don't sound like one, although it probably wouldn't hurt you to learn some tolerance.""Well, fuck you!" came the reply and then silence.Later they both had an afternoon nap and then proceeded to prepare the evening meal. 

The bath seemed to have soothed Billy, because he was finally even-tempered and personable. As they were preparing the vegetables, Jim-Bob slipped with the knife and nicked his finger."Shit!" he said before sucking his finger and hopping around the room. "Oh Man! Shit, that hurts."It was a small cut and after lightly bandaging it, they continued the preparation, although Jim-Bob couldn't help musing that that was about the fourth or fifth time he had sworn that day. This was surprising because he never blasphemed with anything stronger than a Jesus or Damn.Dinner was a successful meal. Billy was in a friendly, conversant mood and started asking questions about being on the road and the reasons why he was, considering he wasn't the normal type of hitcher.

After the dinner, they moved out onto the side porch to view the sunset and just rest. Billy suggested they both have a beer. Jim-Bob hated the taste and smell of beer and declined. But Billy insisted and to be concillitory, he accepted. A bottle was tossed to him and he cracked it open. The hops fragrance waffed out and he steeled himself for gagging that normally ensued. It didn't happen. The smell was rather enticing instead. He was liking this scent after all. He took a swig. What was this stuff?? It tasted fantastic. He swigged again."Hey! I thought you didn't like beer.""Yeah, I know. Normally I don't. What brand is this??""Bud." Billy said.Well Jim-Bob had tried Bud before and it definitely had never tasted like this before. Maybe it was bottled differently in each state."No. All comes out of one brewery, as far as I know," was Billy's answer.Jim-Bob quickly finished off his beer and reached for another. 

Billy declined his offer of having another. He wasn't enjoying the taste as much as usual and thought maybe this case had gone off or something. They watched the encroaching gloom of evening, and it was the insects that finally forced them inside.A game of poker was suggested. Jim-Bob agreed which surprised him, seeing he loathed most card games; in fact he boycotted most games. As Billy didn't have much money in his pocket, they decided on using the coloured pins from the chinese checkers box, with each colour being a ranked value. The game quickly became intense. Throughout it, Billy regularly smoked and Jim-Bob drank beer. In his previous life, Jim-Bob suffered from asthma around cigarette smoke, but now he was hardly being effected. He definitely wasn't finding the smoke a nuisance. 

Both were in a good mood. When the game was not too intense, Billy had relaxed enough to tell bawdy male jokes. Most of what he knew were the kind involving women's breasts and sex. Traditionally, Jim-Bob found them degrading and disgusting and wouldn't remain in the hearing of them. But he felt so masculine, so manly, sharing male time with Billy, that he laughed as heartily as Billy. He was finding them funny and he was feeling a tingling in his dick. They were actually turning him on! As the evening progressed, although Jim-Bob was obviously becoming drunk, he was still the superior player. By the end of the evening, he was playing like a pro and scooping the kitty. 

This stunned Billy, who prided himself on being a crack poker player. Around 11, they decided to call it a night. Both men were tired when they slipped into their crisp, clean sheets on their respective beds. In the case of Billy, a temporary bed had been made up in the spare room - normally a lumber room.

[the-queer-look]

Write your way free

For many of us, especially the transgender members of our community, we’re in a constant state of flux about our identities. Our sense of self is heavily impacted by the media that we consume, and by those that we surround ourselves with. Our sense of what it means to be in the LGBTQIA+ community also changes along with us. We absorb stereotypes from media, we absorb the identities of our friends, we find that there is no one set expression of our community, but a multi facetted, ever changing riot of colours as vivid as our flag.

- K

Name: Jesse

Age: 28

Occupation: Copywriter

Area of Study: Bachelor of Arts, Partway through a Masters of Writing

Location: Petersham

Gender: Transgender Male

I am Transgender, which took a bit of coming to terms with after having identified as a lesbian for so much of my life. Initially I knew that I was attracted to women, and I struggled a bit with realising that that was different to everyone else. When I was little I thought that everyone felt the same way, but it was a secret that no one spoke about.

One of the things that I struggled with a little bit in my mid twenties to now was the idea that I was no longer Gay, and I was actually straight, due to the transgender thing, because being gay had been a part of my identity for so long. The loss of community that I’ve felt since then has been more and more present in my life because I know that I fit into a very basic idea of gender presentation, so once I do get to a point where I start passing, I feel like I’ll be intruding upon the queer community, because I’m just some straight guy.

Which is one of the reasons I’ve been feeling better about moving towards more open communities, such as Unicorns, rather than stuff that’s just targeted towards gay women, I feel less comfortable in those spaces now.

I always remember identifying more with guys, and feeling that I had been put together wrong, even before I had heard about concepts of being transgender. It got hammered out of me through childhood, and I learnt to put those feelings away for a long time, until sometime in my mid twenties, when I became more aware about transgender people, and had a serious think about where all of these feelings were rooted inside me.

The difficult thing was that when I became aware of my dysphoria, it made me more aware of the limitations of what I could wear that would look good with my body. I’d always dressed quite masculine, but I was now dealing with the fact that if I wanted to wear mens clothes, clothes that I actually liked and enjoyed, they just wouldn’t fit with my body and the way that my body is built.

Binding was never something that I loved because if anything it just felt like a more intense bra and I couldn’t breathe as well, which would give me anxiety because… well I couldn’t breathe… even while binding, it didn’t feel good enough to make clothes fit naturally, so getting top surgery really helped with that, and even just being able to put on a shirt and have it sit properly feels right.

Queerness and partying are all so tied up so heavily in sexual liberation that there’s a sense, when being at an lgbtqia+ party to just… wear less clothing. Not a promiscuity thing, but a nod to the fact that queer rights are inherently tied up in sexual liberation – persecution of the community has always been because of an individual’s sexual preference. You can’t escape that link to sexuality, which is why when we’re in party mode, which the CisHet community would see at pride parades and stuff, there’s that idea that we’re all promiscuous and sexually charged, when it’s more about recognising that freedom to express our sexuality.

The need to dress that way of course doesn’t reflect what we would feel comfortable wearing day to day, for me especially. it’s a costume that we put on to recognise that sort of cultural heritage.

A lot of inter LGBT fashion stereotypes, I feel, have been perpetuated as a sort of uniform that we can adhere to. Especially for younger lgbt people who arent properly a part of the community yet. I remember being younger and looking up all of the things that were stereotypically gay, like Shane in the L word always wearing converse. So I bought converse, and all of the stereotypical gay stuff, so that I could flag to other people what my identity was, without straight people being as aware of, but queer people might click onto and recognise me.

As I’ve gotten older, I feel that I’ve moved away from those stereotypes. I feel that It happens with everybody who’s been in the community for a while. Your only ideas of queerness dont come from the media, they come from the people around you, making it easier to find yourself and be yourself, rather than following the two dimensional characters that they give us.

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[ayellowbirds]

I’ve mentioned it once or twice here, but I spent a single year in the same school as Zuckerberg. He went on to a fancy private school thanks to the tutors his dad paid for, and i went on to a special ed program. Zuck was one of  a number of bullies whose frequent harassment that led to that; I doubt that i was the only classmate he was harassing, but as with all of my bullies, his name left a mark on me.

I was a visibly queer AMAB person who still hadn’t learned to mask as neurotypical; the European Jewish heritage i shared with Zuckerberg manifested in me in a more obvious nose, stereotypically Ashkenazic eyes and lips, and apparently most offensive to him and  those around him, i had dark black hair in unmanageable curls that i kept .longer than a “boy” was expected to.

But it took me a long time to understand other factors. I had lucked into my family being able to afford, for a big chunk of my life,  living within a pricey school district with an excellent (and undeserved) reputation. This started with a two-earner household, and over time turned into my dad struggling to keep us at the very edges of that school district and affording food, clothes, and the like. My clothing was unfashionable and cheap, and ill-fitting because of how i hated my body. The best i could aim for was a once or twice yearly visit to a barbershop. On a few occasions, we couldn’t afford to live in the area for a month or two, and my dad actually wound up cheating the system by driving me in to wait at a school bus stop by the previous apartment. I was prone to picking up elements of my immigrant father’s accent, and our lifestyle didn’t allow dad to socialize with other adults in the area.

I was a disabled, queer, ‘ethnic’ kid, but I was also poor, and that combined together in a way that made me an easy target for Zuckerberg and kids like him, a number of them the sort of Jews who prioritized assimilation into goyish culture as a tactic to raise their station.

I remember that you could even tell the difference in our station by the malls we frequented in the area. Zuck was the type who would have gone to The Westchester at its peak, if he was bothering with something like that; the brightly-lit mall with all the trendy stores. I was usually at the Galleria, which kids in my school district at the time remembered as “the one where someone got shot”.

I look at Zuckerberg’s appearance here, and i can see the same differences from back then. His shirt is plain, but fit well, perhaps professionally tailored in spite of its simplicity. The same goes for his jeans, wrinkled in a fashionably disheveled way without being visibly worn. His shoes don’t have any of the scuffs, tears, or stains that mine wound up with. They’re a name brand, albeit a simple and sober one. His hair is cut precisely, kept closely trim albeit in a way that, at least to my eyes, does not flatter him. Elements of his ancestry are kept to his surname, while I met him under an audibly foreign deadname and a surname with an accent nobody could get right.

Zuckerberg puts on now, as he did then, the pretense of simplicity and austerity. Colors and patterns are an affectation of his lessers; if i was to try and imitate this style within my budget, i’d wind up with something that fit wrong in most places. He has people keeping his physique fashionable, he has a schedule and budget that allows him to exercise and eat in ways that maintain that. 

I look at him and i see the money he had then, the money he has now, the moneyed people supporting and encouraging him. I see the pretense of being a Normal American Guy that he was able to effortlessly adopt because, in spite of anything else about him, he could afford it. I see the resources he has acquired by stepping on other people, by cheating and lying, by starting off rich.

I look at him and i remember the words he said to me, about my appearance and what I wore.

I will not let him erase what he is.

[magnusappreciation2kforever]

MAGNUS APPRECIATION MONTH IS HERE!

IT’S HERE! THE MASTER LIST OF THE MAGNUS APPRECIATION MONTH PROMPTS!

The prompts start tomorrow! Here’s the master list so you can start brainstorming about what you want to do with each prompt! Don’t forget to check out the rules for participating! 

An Introduction:

Okay, I’m going to do a little blurb with each one for inspiration so it’s not just throwing a word at people. Here’s the format of each prompt:

Word: (Date of Prompt) This word could mean this. Or maybe this! Or hey, maybe it’s this AU. Or something completely different. But you don’t have to do any of these... Take how it how you want!

remember that you don’t have to follow the suggestions given with each one word prompt, nor do you have to do it exactly the way it says (for example, if it suggests that you could draw something, you can write instead! it’s okay!). they’re just there for inspiration, to throw around some ideas! have some fun with it, do what you’re inspired to!

also: malec is allowed, even encouraged! just try not to make it all about alec and malec. this is magnus appreciation month, after all!

don’t forget to tag everything (especially on tumblr and ao3) with #magnusmonth or #magnus appreciation month

- @thesorrowoflizards

UPDATE: the 27TH was accidentally left off. This has been fixed. Oops!

FIRST WEEK: 1ST THROUGH 7TH

History: (December 1st) Explore Magnus’s past relationships, or write a fic wherein someone mysterious from his past returns. Or write about how Magnus was present for an infamous historical event, or draw him with your favorite historical figure! Or, hey, something completely different- a Pride and Prejudice AU or an arranged marriage. Up to you!

Flowers: (December 2nd) Has anyone every given Magnus flowers? Has he given someone else flowers? What’s his favorite flower, and why? Is he allergic? Or perhaps go into the deep shit: symbolism and flower language.

Music: (December 3rd) Write about Magnus’s relationship with music and dancing, or make a Magnus themed music video. Write a songfic based around one of your favorite songs and how the lyrics might apply to Magnus. Or try writing something about Magnus singing, or attempting to play the charango…

Fashion: (December 4th) Magnus has quite the style. How did he get into fashion and makeup? How did he learn? Did he have any mishaps? What does he like in particular, what are his favorite outfits? Is there any particular jewelry piece or article of clothing that is special to him? Your choice!

Badass: (December 5th) Exactly what it sounds like! Magnus being a BAMF, whether it be on the battlefield (fistfight, magic, or sword? who knows!) or in a diplomatic meeting, or verbally eviscerating someone for being an asshole. Basically, Magnus kicking ass with your choice of weapon!

Marriage: (December 6th) What does Magnus think about marriage? Has Magnus ever wanted to marry someone? Has anyone every proposed to him, or vice versa? Or hey, maybe you’d rather write a fluffy honeymoon fic or draw a Malec wedding. Up to you!

Cat: (December 7th) You could draw Magnus and Chairman Meow, or write a witch and familiar AU, or perhaps even write about how Magnus got his cat. Or you could draw Magnus’s warlock mark, or write about how he feels about his cat eyes. Anything goes!

SECOND WEEK: 8TH THROUGH 14TH

Birthday: (December 8th) All about Magnus’s birthday! Does he know his actual birth date, or just a general time of year? Did one of his friends give him a date to celebrate or his birthday, or does he refuse to celebrate it all?  If he does celebrate, how? With who? If he doesn’t, why? Or, hey, just write a fluffy birthday fic. However you want to take it!

Jobs: (December 9th) What sort of jobs has Magnus had over the years? What sort of jobs could he have? Maybe you could write an AU where he’s an author or a marine biologist, or perhaps at some point in his long life he worked in retail or fast food. Ugh. You could draw him as a cop or a lawyer… Or you could focus on his role as the High Warlock of Brooklyn and all the responsibilities it entails… Whatever interests you!

Queer: (December 10th) Queer themes day! Time to break out those LGBTQ headcanons! Write a high school AU wherein Magnus runs a GSA, or all about Magnus being nonbinary or trans. Anything is possible!* You could go into Magnus’s journey of self-discovery, realizing his bisexuality and gaining the confidence to become the out and proud freewheeling man he is, or you could write about the inevitable discrimination he’s faced because of it. Whatever feels right!

Malec: (December 11th) What it says on the tin! How is Alec different than the other relationships Magnus has had? What did Magnus think when they met, or when they got married? Or perhaps a missing scene in the show, or an AU of your choice. You could draw them together, dancing or on a date or whatever you choose. Anything Malec-themed that catches your mind!

School: (December 12th) You could go with the classic high school AU, or perhaps talk about how Magnus learned to control his magic. Or perhaps in his many years, Magnus went to college- where did he go? What did he major in? What classes did he enjoy? Or you could write about the lack of schooling in his early years… struggling with illiteracy due to his upbringing, or learning to read as an adult. Or, go more light-hearted and draw Magnus at Hogwarts, or some other fictional school from a book or TV show you enjoy.

Hero: (December 13th) Who does Magnus look up to? Who looks up to Magnus? Or you could take it in a different direction and make it a superhero AU! What would Magnus’s powers be? What would he look like?

Angel: (December 14th) Magnus has fallen angel blood, which allows him to activate seraph blades and such (perhaps even take runes? who knows). Not to mention the irony of how shadowhunters treat Magnus and other warlocks because they believe that their shadowhunter blood makes them “better”, when in reality, he probably has more angel blood than them. Or you could go a completely different route and write a wing AU, or draw Magnus as an angel! It’s totally up to you.

THIRD WEEK: 15TH THROUGH 21ST

Friends: (December 15th) Let’s explore Magnus’s platonic relationships. How does he spend time with his friends? How often do they meet up? What do they do together? How did he meet them? Do they have any inside jokes? Or you could draw them together, perhaps even draw Magnus and his immortal friends in another era. Whatever catches your fancy!

Father: (December 16th) You could write a fluffy future fic, or a single dad meet-cute. You could draw a Malec family scene, or even just Magnus with one of his downworlder kids. Or instead, you could draw Asmodeous lurking in the shadows,  or write about and explore Magnus’s dark heritage. Or, hey, go a different route. Whatever inspires you!

Dragons: (December 17th) Woohoo! Dragons! You can draw an AU wherein Magnus is a wise old dragon, or is riding one, or write about him facing a dragon demon in canonverse, or perhaps in his life he’s met an actual dragon on some mountain somewhere. Hey, you could even give him a pet dragon!

Warlock: (December 18th) Magnus has a complicated relationship with other warlocks. He’s a leader who has to make hard choices and protect his people. He’s powerful and respected, but also controversial thanks to his relationship with Alec in canon. You could write about that, how he’s protective of his people, write about him interacting with them, or about the politics of his position in the downworld. You could draw him practicing his magic, making a potion, or talking with other warlocks. You could also explore what it means to him to be a warlock- his warlock marks, the discrimination he’s faced, his immortality, his intimate relationship with his magic, or even the circumstances of his birth. Anything goes!

Mythology: (December 19th) Time for those greek AUs, Percy Jackson AUs. and AUs wherein Magnus is a god or a hero from whatever mythology you choose. Or it doesn’t have to be an AU at all- perhaps Magnus is a fan of Egyptian mythology, or has studied Greek myths. Who knows? Only you!**

Kink: (December 20th) You know what this means.

Language: (December 21st) What languages is Magnus fluent in? How many of them? Why did he learn them? What’s his relationship with his native tongue- does he use it often? Was it hard for him to learn English? Who taught him?

FOURTH WEEK: 22ND THROUGH 28TH

Romance: (December 22nd) Let’s talk about Magnus’s romantic relationships. How fast he falls in love, how he feels about intimacy. What’s the stupidest thing Magnus has ever done to impress someone, or get their number? Or maybe you want to write about Malec, or draw them together. Or hey, maybe you ship Magnus with someone else! That’s fine, too.*** Today is all about romance!

Royal: (December 23rd) You could draw Magnus as the badass Prince of Hell, or write a medieval royals AU, or you could even make an AMV with the song “Royals” by Lorde. Whatever works for you!

Death: (December 24th) Draw a tragic death, or write about Magnus coping with the people he lost a long time ago? Or maybe Magnus has a cliché out of body experience after a near-death experience! Or you could go with the potentially much more light-hearted theme of Magnus befriending the grim reaper, or Terry Pratchett’s famous character Death.

Holidays: (December 25th) What holidays does Magnus celebrate and when? How does he celebrate, and who with? Has he been alone in the past, or has he always celebrated with his friends? Does he celebrate with his new family- his husband and children- now? Or maybe he doesn’t celebrate at all. (Keep in mind this doesn’t have to be Christmas, although it can be!)

Bane: (December 26th) Why did Magnus choose his name? What made him choose something that meant “Great Destruction”? Or, hey, make a Batman joke. Either way. Or something entirely different!

Nephilim: (December 27th) Magnus has a complicated relationship with shadowhunters. He’s met good ones- Henry Branwell, Will Herondale, Alec Lightwood- but he’s met far more bad ones. But then, Nephilim are complicated creatures. How do you think Magnus’s opinion of them changes over the years?

Red: (December 28th) The color of blood. The color of angry magic. The color of fire. Passion. Destruction. How does Magnus feel about the color red? Or draw something centered around red- a red seraph blade, or a red pool of blood, or a red silk shirt.  

LAST WEEK: 29TH THROUGH 31ST

Healer: (December 29th) Magnus Bane is many things: a leader, a fighter, a friend, a lover… and a healer. Whether it be potions or spells, Magnus has never been one to turn down someone in need. Write something about Magnus helping someone, or using his magic to heal them. Or write an AU where he’s a doctor, or draw him brewing a potion or healing someone wounded. Write about Magnus learning how to make potions or treat wounds. Who did he learn healing magic from? Did Catarina help him master it, or did he teach her first and then she surpassed him? Was he a child when he first learned how to heal, and it was the first time he saw his magic could be used for good? Or did he seek it out as an adult?

Alternative: (December 30th) What’s your favorite Magnus-centric AU? Is it canon divergence or completely different? Is it a Malec AU wherein they meet in wildly different circumstances, or focused on platonic relationships, such as Magnus in the World Inverted befriending Luke… or is it focused completely on Magnus’s alternate life as a painter who’s down on his luck or a CEO trying to do good? Or, of course, something completely different? Any time, any place, any AU.

Ghosts: (December 31st) Literal or nah? Who knows. Maybe Magnus talks to Ragnor’s ghost, or perhaps in another world he haunts an abandoned mansion and scares teenagers who sneak in. Or maybe you want to think all about the skeletons in Magnus’s closet, the people he’s lost who still haunt him… Or a silly Buzzfeed Unsolved or Ghostbusters AU! Whatever you want!

  *This does not mean you can erase Magnus’s bisexuality. If I see one more person calling Magnus gay (or straight), I will scream.

**Unless you are Native American (or whatever culture corresponding to the AU you’re writing), don’t be an asshole and use Native American beliefs, or any other existing religions. Ancient greek myths are just that: myths. Native American beliefs (and other beliefs that may apply) are a religion. There is a difference.

***See rules on not shipping incest, abusive relationships, and other such relationships.

don’t forget to tag everything (especially on tumblr and ao3) with #magnusmonth or #magnus appreciation month

[stillrecruitingrp]

The D.A. has recruited Nicky to the character of Tracey Davis with a faceclaim of Jung Eun-ji. How long do you think you can keep fooling them, Tracey? That much filth is hard to hide, you know...

OOC Details

Name: Nicky

Pronouns: she/her

Activity Level: medium; I should be able to post multiple replies three to four times a week, with an at least cursory online presence more often than that. Sometimes I get bogged down with other projects or deadlines, but I will always try to alert via the ooc when that is/will happen so my interaction partners aren’t left wondering where I’ve gone!

Acknowledgement: I acknowledge the potentially triggering themes and look forward to the uncertainty and excitement of the roulette.

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General IC Details

Name: Tracey Patricia Davis

Age: eighteen, born November 21st

Ships: no specific ships; Tracey is bisexul but coming from a Muggle background means that she isn’t exactly comfortable with this and has so far managed to push her burgeoning queerness onto the back-burner (although that’s getting harder the most stress she’s under; it would be nice to lose her strife in a few soft kisses or warm caresses, but she’s afraid to let anyone -- boy or girl -- get that close).

Gender/Pronouns: cis-female, she/her

Face Claim: Jung Eun-ji or Maisie Richardson-Sellers

Desired Changes: none

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BIO Questions

This game is Canon Divergent after the beginning of Deathly Hallows. This means, if a character is not at Hogwarts in canon, that can be altered (maybe Fleur goes to collect her husband’s little sister and ends up unable to leave the rest of the children there? Perhaps Harry comes back earlier…but why, and how? All of these things can be addressed and should be in your application!) Feel free to be creative!

Biography:

Once upon a time Tracey was a cheerful, happy, awkward little girl growing up in Cookham with a happy, cheerful little family of mum, step-dad, and baby brother Bobby. She liked coming up with fun new ways to wear her clothes, leaving her chewing gum in places that would make mum yell, and listening to Sheila Chandra, Duran Duran, and The Levellers. Mum was a general practitioner, dad a grocer, and little Bobby just a bundle of drool and diapers. Then the witch showed up on their doorstep and told Tracey there was something different about her...and she didn’t mean it the way the neighborhood kids did. So Tracey went off to Hogwarts School, where her troubles began the moment she was sorted.

There are more Muggle-borns in Slytherin House than people suspect. Tracey is one of them, although she -- like most of the Slytherins who share her blood-status -- was clever enough to figure out quickly that this wasn’t a good thing, so she fabricated a story about her grandmother being a squib whose family didn’t want her going around claiming kinship over the embarrassment of having produced a child without a trace of magic. That’s not a far-fetched tale, so no one ever questioned her -- especially since Tracey played-up her own “disdain” toward inferior blood and her own Muggle relations. She was over-compensating, yes, and her housemates could probably tell -- but they let her fake it and they played along. That’s something else that happens more often than admitted in Slytherin House: because there’s such a focus on purity of blood, most everyone is eager to claim as much magical ancestry as possible -- even if that means lying about a few muddy branches on the family tree.

Tracey was never exactly popular in her house, but she wasn’t scorned either; she knew to flatter the right people, and as long as she grinned her way through the occasional barb about “magical dead-ends” from Pansy Parkinson or the other “elites” she wasn’t mocked too badly, despite her lack of familiarity with the magical world -- a familiarity that Tracey has been working to acquire ever since her first night in the dungeons, whether that mean listening to her housemates or spending her free hours in the library flipping through every volume on wizarding society and history that she can get her hands on. She also developed a knack for transfigurative stitching, which helped her alter some of her clothes so they didn’t look quite so dreadfully Muggle -- although she still stuck-out whenever she wore something other than her uniform. Fortunately most people pitied her for her squib ancestry rather than ostracizing her, and she founds friends who were willing to help tutor her in keeping up with all the important things that schoolbooks didn’t teach -- all of which meant that when rumor of Voldemort’s resurrection reached Tracey’s ears, she knew enough of what was coming to know that she’d more than a flimsy story about a secret squib to keep her safe now.

Fortunately being in Slytherin meant she had friends with influence and leverage in the Ministry, although she hesitated to trust any of them with the truth -- but inspiration and an understanding of the world she now inhabited gave her the solution: claim that she needed fake documentation to back-up her “true” blood-status, since the family she was really related to would have been furious to have a squib shoved back onto their family tree after they’d gone to all the trouble of getting rid of them. Tracey isn’t sure whether she managed to pull that story off, or if they just took pity on her -- but either way, she got the documentation she needed to be able to go back to school when the Muggle-born Registration Commission started investigating magic-stealers.

School Year So Far:

Tracey has never told her parents about the magical world’s issues with blood-status, or the way she lied about her family’s history in order to be accepted. She knows they wouldn’t be pleased; her mum and dad raised her to be proud of who she is and to hold her head high and ignore anyone who said anything nasty about her heritage. But they don’t understand how different it all is in the magical world, where no one looks askance at her ethnicity but so many of them would shun her completely for being a Mudblood. That slur seems to have so much more weight than any of the ones she’s been treated to in the Muggle world -- maybe because it cuts to the core of who she is rather than flickering out at what she looks like. Regardless, they never knew, and it wasn’t like any of her magical friends were ever going to come visiting to give her away, was it? Maybe she sometimes feels a little ashamed of pretending to be someone she isn’t...but better than the alternative, she tells herself, and keeps the charade going.

That meant her parents had no reason to hesitate over sending her back to Hogwarts for her final year of school, and the Ministry had no reason to stop her, so she went -- that was the goal behind getting those fake documents, after all! But now she’s here at Hogwarts, and she’s quaking in her shoes waiting for the day when someone finds out. She has a big, dangerous secret she’s keeping, and she’s starting to crumble under the strain -- as much from indignation as from fear, surprisingly. Tracey is ambitious too, after all (there was a reason she was sorted into Slytherin!) and her ambitions don’t include pretending to be “better” than she “really” is forever, not when she knows she’s better than that -- and the lie sticks in her craw more and more every year, every time she has to laugh at some other Mudblood to cover for her own ancestry, every time she has to put-down her pathetic parents for their lack of magical gifts, every time she has to help the Carrows torture some hapless idiot who can’t keep their mouth shut. She does as she’s told, of course -- a girl with “squib” ancestry can’t risk getting on the wrong side of Death Eaters -- but her rage over the unfairness of it all coils in her belly like hot lead, burning to get out.

But Tracey keeps her mouth shut because she’s clever enough to know that now is not the time to take a stand on principle -- is it?

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OOC Questions

Writing Sample

Tracey’s knees knocked together and her palms kept sweating, no matter how many times she wiped them off on the sides of her robes. For once she was glad for the cumbersome clothing favored in the magical world (even after six years, she still preferred her comfortable cargo pants or denims) because the enshrouding fabric hid her shaking as she waited for them to call her name.

She tried not to look at the other nervous, sweaty people standing with her -- or at the guards watching them, alternately grim-faced or leering. Tracey wasn’t the only defendant clutching a sheaf of paper as though it was her only lifeline out of a freezing ocean, and she doubted she was the only one whose heart was currently pounding its way up her throat either. They were all trying hard to avoid meeting one another’s eyes, as though afraid that guilt could be contagious. Tracey thought that was a bit silly, because the whole reason they were here was to try and prove that they had some connection to the magical world, so if they could show connections to one another, wouldn’t that help to prove that they were more magic than Muggle...?

Before she could follow that line of thought through to a conclusion, the sound of her name being barked by the officiant manning the door jolted her from her reverie and made her jump.

Shaking worse than ever, Tracey hurried forward, trying not to trip over her robes or her nerves. She could feel the eyes of the other accused Muggle-borns darting over and sliding away as she passed them, everyone unable to resist the urge to stare at the latest victim to face Ministerial inspection but unwilling to be caught staring. She did her best to ignore them all, keeping her eyes fixed ahead and trying to school her face into an expression of unconcern.

By the time she crossed the threshold into the courtroom, she still didn’t think she’d succeeded, but it became almost immediately irrelevant because her expression -- whatever it was -- was immediately replaced by surprise at the sight of the witch waiting at the high table inside. Her jaw dropped and hung open, as though she were an overwhelmed first year facing the wonders of the magical world for the first time again -- although the frigid, grim courtroom with its solitary defendant’s chair and empty encircling benches was far from wonderful. The witch presiding, though, was both familiar and unmistakable, if not exactly pleasant-looking either.

“Professor Umbridge?” Tracey gasped, her steps faltering. One of the black-robed guards caught her by the elbow and marched her forward but Tracey barely noticed; she was too busy gaping.

Professor Umbridge -- or no, not professor anymore, was she? -- leaned forward over the edge of her table so she could stare down at Tracey. “Miss Davis, isn’t it?” she said, in her obnoxiously performative fake-little-girl voice. “I’m very disappointed to see you here, I have to say.”

“I’m -- I’m not thrilled about it myself, er, professor,” Tracey stammered. “But I think if you’ll look, you’ll see it’s all just a...an unfortunate bit of confusion...” She shoved the papers she held up onto the edge of Umbridge’s table and tried to smile. One of the other guards cleared her throat and Tracey stepped back quickly. She tucked her hands away behind the long sleeves of her robes, out of sight, and crossed her fingers. Was all her effort to ingratiate herself to this horrible woman two years ago finally going to pay off?

Umbridge shuffled through the papers a few times, darting the occasional squinty glance at Tracey between pages. After what felt like days but was probably only a few minutes, she finally said, “Well! This does seem to be in order. I quite understand why neither you nor the No -- well, the family involved wanted your connection to them publicized...”

Tracey stiffened. “Please don’t make it public!” she blurted. “Please -- they would be so mad, having to acknowledge a squib, that’s why I never told anyone, my grandmother said--”

Umbridge held up a hand with a short “Hem, hem!” and Tracey fell silent, waiting with baited breath. In truth of course she wasn’t worried that the family she had fabricated a connection to would be cross; she was worried that they would, just justifiably, deny said connection and offer proof that it wasn’t true -- which wouldn’t be hard for them to do, Tracey was sure, given that the documents she had provided were completely false. If Umbridge chose to make her life “difficult” by “embarrassing” the pure-bloods that Tracey was claiming familial ties with, she’d make things much more difficult than she thought she was...

But Umbridge only said, “Oh no, of course not, dear girl. That would be heartless. And it’s admirable that you’ve chosen to respect the wishes of the family rather than trumpeting your roots for all to hear. It’s very polite, discreet. Better behavior than one usually sees from those raised by Muggles -- but I suppose you’ve learned a lot from your housemates, hmm?”

Tracey nodded. “Ever so much, ma’am, yes.” Like how to arrange for falsified documents showing that your utterly Muggle grandmother was really the squib descendant of a famed pure-blood family, for instance. “I’ve tried so hard to fit in, you know, to do my bloodline proud even if it’s not one I can acknowledge publicly...”

“And I’m sure you’ll make them proud, secretly. You’ve been studying hard for your N.E.W.T.s?”

“Oh yes, ma’am!” Tracey’s hands were starting to shake from how tightly her fingers were clenched, but she forced herself to keep smiling.

“Splendid! I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully,” Umbridge tittered, holding Tracey’s papers out for her to take back. “Good luck at Hogwarts this year, Miss Davis. It was lovely to see you again.”

“You, too,” Tracey lied, and followed the guard out of the courtroom. Her knees were still shaking but this time as she passed the other accused Muggle-borns she was grinning -- even if she still couldn’t bring herself to meet their eyes.

Exploration

TORTURE & HYPOCRISY: Tracey is used to over-compensating, used to deferring to her more socially advantaged (and purer) housemates, used to lying about her true opinions -- but now the stakes have raised and the Carrows don’t just demand that she laugh at their ugly jokes about Mudbloods, they want her to torture her fellow students. It honestly isn’t the spells themselves that Tracey objects to (maybe it’s because she comes from a non-magical world, a world where terrible weapons of war are a fact of life that can’t be ignored as easily as the Unforgivables) so much as it is the fact that she knows she is their real target. And not just because she knows that her status as a “squib’s descendant” means she’s more susceptible to punishment herself than most of her housemates (and she’s experienced her fair share of the curses herself) but because the truth is even worse in their eyes. Sure, she doesn’t hesitate to raise her wand when one of the Carrows tells her to -- and she’ll readily admit that it’s been interesting learning a form of magic that relies more on emotion than most spells -- and while it’s not comfortable by any means to be made to hurt her classmates, what really upsets her is knowing that she doesn’t have a right to. According to the Death Eaters, she’s the one who really deserves to be tortured -- and no, she doesn’t agree with that of course, but she does feel like a hypocrite when she’s hiding behind her house placement and her documents so she can stay safe while she hurts somebody else who isn’t lying about who they are and what they believe. Is that enough to push her into taking a stand -- or is it more likely that she’ll double-down and work even harder to excel at the Carrows’ new lessons, over-compensating to hide her dismay and her secrets just like she’s always done?

OPEN-MINDEDNESS: Growing up in the Muggle world means that Tracey lacks the prejudices and presumptions common to wizaring children (yet carries several more mundane such viewpoints, of course) so for instance -- the Slytherin/Gryffindor rivalry? While she figured that out fast, and has certainly learned to dislike Gryffindor House on principle due to all the squabbles and competition between the houses, that’s all it is to her -- a squabble, mostly wrapped-up in sport it seems, and not some insurmountable barrier that she wouldn’t be willing to vault under the right circumstances (not that a Gryffindor would ever be likely to reach out to some Slytherin “squib’s grandchild” for any reason...right?). Even more notable -- the name Voldemort? It doesn’t actually terrify her. She’s a little rattled by it just because of how rattled everyone else gets anytime it’s mentioned, but it doesn’t have the same power over her that it does most of the people she knows. The same is true of the Unforgivable Curses -- they’re just more spells, to her. Nasty spells, to be sure, but there are a lot of nasty spells; what really makes the Cruciatus Curse so much worse than any other hex, aside from the fact that it hurts more? She knows that Dark Magic is bad -- just like she knows guns and nukes and bombs are bad -- but she doesn’t recoil from it on principle. She doesn’t recoil from any spells on principle, because she didn’t grow up with those principles and prejudices. This makes her more open-minded about what can be done with spells, or which spells are okay to use when and where and to whom; makes her willing to cross lines that her friends would instinctively balk at. Tracey has done a lot to learn the unspoken rules of the wizarding world -- but that doesn’t mean she’s internalized them all. Doesn’t mean she isn’t willing to break them all, even.

MUDDIED ALLEGIANCE: Tracey is sort of stuck in the middle right now -- to every appearance a dutiful Slytherin, far from pure-blooded but aware of the limitations of her own blood-status and loyal to the old ways despite her Muggle upbringing. Underneath that, though, she’s living a lie and a dangerous lie at that, constantly under threat of exposure and the inevitable punishment and incarceration (or worse) that such a revelation would cause. Maybe she’ll double-down on her habits of over-compensation, go full-out in pledging allegiance to the Carrows and Snape and even, eventually, Voldemort himself -- because what better way to hide her blood-status than behind one of those silver masks? Or maybe she’ll go the other way: fed up with living a lie, she could turn on the Carrows and her prejudiced pure-blood friends, throw her allegiance to the D.A. -- but would they be willing to accept a Slytherin as an ally? Who would she even try making an overture to -- and would she be willing to risk sharing the secret of her blood-status to convince them? If she does, what’s to say they won’t sell her out to protect their own skins -- or use her as a double-agent, in even more danger than she was before...or would she be? As a Muggle-born, is there anything she could do that would put her in more danger than she is already?

SECRETS: Everyone has them, and Slytherins are smart enough to know and accept that as a fact without getting huffy, like those goody-goody Hufflepuffs and self-righteous Gryffindors so often do. However, some secrets are more dangerous than others, and Tracey’s secret is deadly. The best insurance with which to protect herself, thereofore, is to stockpile everyone else’s secrets so she can threaten to expose them if they ever discover and threaten to expose hers -- right? It’s the sort of Cold War/Mutually Assured Destruction mentality that a girl who grew up watching Muggle news and movies in the late eighties would be quick to grasp as a solution to her problem, and Tracey hasn’t hesitated to built up her arsenal. Now that she’s getting scared, getting angry, she’s decided it’s time to start making other people afraid too -- time to make sure that everyone knows there’s a threat out there, someone who knows and someone who is willing to tell. Just a little here and there, things to embarrass rather than destroy...at least to start with. Just enough to make them aware, to make them wary, to make sure that if she needs to call in her marker (her blackmail) people will know she’s serious about it. Because what good is a weapon if you don’t demonstrate the will to use it?