#im sure it is and strangers would fight anyone for you that made your trans ness a problem

[sucktacular]

Someone I follow on Instagram is hosting a trans only pool party in New Jersey and it's not at all in my area (Toronto/GTA) but OHHHHHH myyyy GOOOODDD I wish it was 😭😭😭 I just wanna hang out with trans folk and swim together and have an amazing time!!!!

If y'all ever hear of events like that in the southern Ontario/western New York area please lemme know! If it's a pool/beach + some flavor of gay I want in on that!

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (10)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 2.8k (this chapter), 32.4k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

They try everything. Sophie handles the cameras and phones while Phil and Chris spend way too long cleaning up files on their laptops and doing what they can to get any clear images out of the mess. It's no use. By the time PJ returns from driving Dan home, all they've accomplished is figuring out that the corruption is on their devices, not on the exported files. No matter what they do, the videos and pictures they took have the effect of being scrambled, like someone has pressed fast forward and also put a noise filter over them. The sound is no better - there's a high-pitched sort of ringing in all of the video and audio recordings that Phil can't understand the source of. Some files won't open altogether.

"How does this even happen?" Sophie mutters, bent over Chris' phone with a furrowed brow. "There's nothing left. Like, at all."

"We still have footage from the first night," says Phil. He's trying his very best to stay positive, but this is unbelievably frustrating. They experienced something last night, even if they can't agree on what it was, and they're supposed to start driving back to Brighton before it gets too dark. They don't have time for this. "With the shadow, you know."

His friends make grunts of irritated agreement. Phil knows that all of them are disappointed and a little angry about the lack of evidence for their hellish night, almost like they went through it for nothing, but he doesn't have anything comforting to say.

Phil has never been very good at comfort. He's good at distracting people and forcing optimism, but seeing such visceral emotions from his usually mild housemates makes him want to retreat into himself. He takes his glasses off to rub at his eyes, fighting off a budding headache.

"That's not really enough for a video, though, is it," says PJ. "I mean, you're not going to convince anyone with just a shadow."

"Well, we can't stay to try and get more," Chris says with a little huff.

"I can," Phil points out. He doesn't think he wants to, really, because this whole situation skeeves him out and going back alone would not help, but he needs there to be a purpose to his friends' suffering or he'll never forgive himself. He stares at his unfocused laptop screen, full of files that don't work, and wonders if they're going to bother to try and stop him. "I mean, you guys all have work tomorrow. I don't have anywhere to be. And I kind of want to see this through, so I can, like… take the train home when it's done."

There's a moment of quiet. Phil feels his shoulders tense at the possibility that he's going to have to argue his way into this. It's his job. Plus, he already knows his parents are going to have a problem with him staying longer to investigate, and fighting with yet another set of well-meaning people is more than he wants to do.

"Normally I'd be like, whatever," says PJ. "You know what you're doing and you do this sort of shit alone all the time. But, Phil, how the fuck do you think the paralysis will work if you're by yourself?"

"I won't try to sleep there," Phil decides, shoving his glasses back onto his face. "That's the only time it's happened, right? When people are already falling asleep?"

PJ's mouth twists unhappily, but he doesn't protest further. Phil wonders if he's actually won this argument or if PJ is just too tired from bickering with Dan about cryptids, or whatever they talked about on the drive. Thinking about Dan is a distraction, and not exactly a welcome one. Phil doesn't know how he feels - or even if he should be feeling anything at all - and he doesn't want to add that crisis on top of the one he's already dealing with.

"So you're just going to go there," says Chris. "Alone. And then poke around and go home?"

"That's what I do in most haunts."

"Fair play. Carry on."

It's almost funny how quickly PJ's expression nosedives into aghast. "What? That's it? You're not putting up more of a fight?"

"Why bother?" Chris asks with a little shrug. "He's a stubborn bellend."

"Hey," Phil half-heartedly protests. His friends don't deign to acknowledge it.

"You should bring a sigil with you," says Sophie. Her voice is soft and tired, but her eyes are kind in a way that PJ and Chris don't bother to be. "Why don't you bring something down that you'd have on you, and we'll all put something on it?"

"Really?" Chris asks. It's impossible to tell what he's thinking. Phil doesn't know if he thinks the idea is good or stupid, but he nods after Sophie does. "Alright, we can do that."

PJ is looking off into the distance while cogs seem to turn in his head. "Something you'll have physically on you, Philly, since we can't put it on your skin itself. Let us draw on your glasses or jacket or -"

"Knickers," Chris chimes in.

"Or your knickers," PJ agrees, far more solemnly than Phil thinks is necessary.

It doesn't seem like it'll actually help, but Phil feels so much affection and gratitude for his friends wanting to protect him in any way they can that he doesn't argue.

Phil doesn't really like the idea of going to the Wilkins place alone, either, but he's a lot more comfortable doing that than dragging his innocent friends along for the awful ride again. He thinks about Sophie's kind eyes staring up at the ceiling blankly, the way PJ gasped when he woke up, Chris trying to hide his own concern about the situation, and he feels his resolve stiffen even more.

Maybe he is a stubborn bellend. This is his responsibility, though. It's not right for him to keep asking for help. Phil lets the conversation flow to what snacks they're going to get for the drive and thinks about how he's going to break the situation to his parents.

--

It doesn't feel as satisfying to shut the door of his childhood bedroom, now. Maybe it's the fact that he's too mature to slam it, or maybe it's that the room itself isn't the haven it used to be. All the neutral colours and boring pieces of art are like a constant visual reminder that his life isn't here anymore.

He doesn't want it to be here. That isn't the problem. It feels stupid if he thinks about it for too long, but he grew up in this house. He's got scars from the sharp corners of the old furniture and more memories than he has in any other singular location. Sure, it makes sense that his parents are retiring and want to downsize from a big, empty house, but Phil really isn't comfortable with this level of change. He kind of assumed he'd always be able to come visit and feel at home again.

Phil sinks onto the mattress. For a long moment, he seriously considers going to sleep. It's barely past seven, but he didn't sleep well this morning. At least if he's unconscious he doesn't need to deal with the crushing weight of his parents' disappointment and worry.

The decision is made for him when his phone buzzes with a notification from Tumblr.

tell ur parents thanks for letting me stay and tell pj thanks for bringing me home and tell urself thanks for the uhhhh experience lmao its deffo not one im gonna forget anytime soon

Phil huffs a laugh and gets comfortable. You're very welcome. I'll tell them when I come out of hiding.

arent you in a very small car on your way to brighton mate… how tf do you manage to hide in there when youre huge

Oh I'm not in the car, I'm still at my parents' place. It's a long story and I hate typing a bunch on my phone. Phil grimaces at himself for the way that sounds, like he's cutting off any questions Dan might have before they ask. He sends another message. Voice call me on Skype or something if you wanna hear about my no good, very bad day.

He doesn't expect Dan to actually call him, let alone immediately, but Phil's phone starts buzzing with a Skype call before he's collected himself enough to find his headphones. He's still detangling while he answers with a sheepish, "Oh, hello!"

"Hi," says Dan. Their voice is low and amused, and Phil can't believe how nice it is to hear after only a handful of hours.

"I'm woefully unprepared, as per usual," Phil rambles, finally getting his headphones in and grinning at the bland wall in front of him. Nobody is here to judge him for it. "You, er, got home alright?"

"Obviously yes," says Dan. "So, you had a bad day?"

"'Cause you had a bad day," Phil sings back to them. The sound of Dan's giggle makes any embarrassment worth it, he thinks. "Yeah, uh, it was rough. So we wanted to look over the footage from last night to see what the camera caught, y'know, but… I don't know how, I don't have an explanation for it, but everything is corrupted. Our audio, our video, our photos. They're all beyond repair."

There's a few moments of silence, where Phil would think Skype had frozen if he couldn't still hear the faint music on Dan's end. Then, "What? You - what? We don't have anything?"

Phil likes the sound of 'we'. He probably shouldn't.

"We tried everything," Phil explains, his heart feeling heavy all over again at the reminder that they spent hours terrified for nothing. "But the corruption isn't even in the exported files, it's on our devices themselves. Chris' phone, our cameras… they're all fucked."

"If you're swearing, it must be fucking serious," says Dan. Phil wants to interrupt then, explain that his policy on bleeping out curses is more about staying monetized and keeping his parents happy than any personal morals, but Dan has already shot past the topic at the speed of light. "So basically we've got no proof we were ever there, let alone that something weird happened - which I'm not saying is some kind of fucking paranormal shit, by the way, but it was weird - and now you've got nothing to make a video with and I never should have told you about this place to begin with?"

"Dan, breathe." Phil waits until he's sure that Dan is at least trying to follow the directive. "It's okay. I'm glad you brought me here. And that's why I'm still in town - I'm going to get more footage."

"Not alone, you're not," Dan says fiercely.

"Peej and the other Scoobs already went home. I just didn't go with them."

"I don't care where your friends are," says Dan. Phil can almost see their hand waving dismissively. "You're not going back there alone. End of story."

The clear insistence in Dan's voice should be getting Phil's back up against the wall. He hates being told what to do with his own projects, needs to be in complete control whenever possible. Instead, he finds himself thinking that it's sweet of Dan to worry like that.

Christ, but he's got it bad.

"I'm still in town either way," Phil says, picking at a loose thread in his sleeve absent-mindedly. "Which my parents are, uh, not thrilled about."

"Really?" Dan sounds genuinely surprised. "They seem like they really love you, mate."

Love has never been the issue. That feels strange to think, cocky almost, but Phil has never really worried that his parents won't love him. Even with the secrets he keeps from them and their fears about the way he lives his life, the worst he's ever expected is disappointment. That just isn't the way their relationship works.

"Oh, they do," says Phil. "But they hate my job, and they think that it's stupid of me to keep investigating a place that clearly doesn't want to be investigated. They believe in ghosts and demons and all that jazz, y'know, they think I'm inviting evil into my life, so they said they'd let me stay here while I work but that we're going to have a 'serious discussion' about my life trajectory when I'm done."

"Ouch. I'd hate that conversation."

"Trust me, it's going to suck. I just got the preview today, and I already know I'm going to want to run away to Iceland."

There's a beat. Then, Dan says, "At least when you're there you can look into the hidden people. You know, the Icelandic elves or whatever that live in a parallel world. That seems up your alley."

"Your mum lives in a parallel world," Phil mutters.

Dan giggles. The sound of it is soft, like they're aware of their own volume, and Phil remembers that Dan lives in some kind of housing with a bunch of other students. He still loves the sound, so much so that he drifts into a nonsensical daydream of making Dan laugh as much as possible and almost misses Dan's voice coming through his headphones again.

"Since you're still in town," Dan is saying, and Phil makes a conscious effort to tune back in, "you should come by the shop tomorrow. I have an early class, but I'm starting work at eleven."

The prospect of seeing Dan again is such a good one that Phil doesn't even hesitate before he's agreeing. It'll be a bit of an effort to get out of bed early enough to avoid his parents and catch Dan for a good amount of time, but Phil feels like it's definitely going to be worth it. He likes Dan, likes being around them if absolutely nothing else, and the ill-advised butterflies in his stomach aren't enough to make him fall on the side of finding this a bad idea.

It isn't until after he's hung up and getting himself a sandwich so he doesn't have to eat an awkward dinner with his parents that Phil realises he's going to have Dan all to himself tomorrow. Well, to himself and to whatever patrons come into the coffee shop. The force of those warm eyes, just focused on him… it's going to test Phil in a way he's not sure he's ready for.

He turns away from the fridge and almost jumps out of his skin.

"Mum," he complains, free hand clutched to his chest. "Don't just stand there, you scared me!"

A smile tugs at Kath's lips, but her arms are crossed and her eyes are staring into Phil's very soul. He feels cornered all of a sudden, like he ought to be clawing for escape.

"Philip," she says, all warmth. There's that slight edge that he remembers so clearly from mishaps as a child, but for the most part it seems like she isn't here to lecture him. He imagines that's going to come from both of them. "This thing that you insist on doing… it's dangerous. You must know that, love."

Phil doesn't actually know that. For the most part, his career hasn't given him anything but boredom and a complex about his own creativity. It's just the odd cases, the ones like the Wilkins house, that get him squirrelly.

"I know, mum," he says anyway. It isn't worth the argument. "But this is my job."

"It doesn't need to be," she presses, and Phil realises that his assumption was very, very wrong. They're going to divide and conquer. She continues like she hasn't noticed the way his whole body is tensing up. "You have such a wonderful mind and loads of ambition, my dear. And that imagination! Gosh, you could do anything that you set your mind to."

Anything he set his mind to - if he actually tried. Phil can hear the words that she isn't saying, that his dad will have no trouble voicing later, and he feels the familiar burn in his throat like he's going to start crying.

He won't. He doesn't cry much, as a rule, but he's well-acquainted with the sensation of holding it back.

"I know that I can," says Phil quietly. He looks down at his sandwich. He isn't very hungry anymore. "Mum, I'm not - I don't do this because I - you know, I like my job."

That's not exactly the truth anymore, but Phil is also well-acquainted with the art of lying to his mother. She doesn't need to know about the doubts that plague Phil, the way that he's felt like he's slogging through videos until they catch his interest properly. That's something he can figure out on his own. He forces his eyes back up at her to drive the point home with a sincere, pleading sort of look.

Her mouth twists, unhappily this time.

"You need to grow up sometime, Phil," she says, so soft that it almost cushions the devastating blow of her words.

Almost.

[the-scottish-costume-guy]

My Trans Story

Story of my social and medical transition under the cut, I know its not trans day of visibility anymore but consider this a belated contribution. I hope it helps anyone who’s questioning, or even anyone whos curious about the experience. This is very long and has some mention of dysphoria, abuse, bullying but also has a happy ending so thats your warning:

The earliest I remember giving any indication of being trans was at five or six years old on my way to primary school with my mother (who I will mention was a fairly good mother at the time - this will be relevant later). I turned to her in my little green and white uniform dress and said “I’m a boy, aren’t I mum?” I’m not sure what prompted the question really curiosity maybe but my mother laughed it off - something I dont blame her for, kids say silly things all the time. I wouldn’t say I was a super boyish kid. Yeah I liked a bit of rough and tumble play, I was into pokemon cards, then yu-gi-oh, beyblades - which were all considered “boy” things when I was at school. I liked to play british bulldog and tag, and as I got older I’d get into Warhammer, Dungeons and Dragons, The elder scrolls and other nerdy things which are seen as more unisex now but again in the time were considered “boy” interests. But I liked having long blond hair, and I was curious about make-up. I liked to bake and sew and weave, and as a child I even enjoyed knitting. I cried easily and got hurt often - I was accused of attention seeking through most of my childhood though even looking at myself critically I can only ever remember wanting validation. When I was hurt, when I’d achieved something I was proud of - my motivations were called into question when I sought out help or interest. I remember being heartbroken when art I’d worked on was dismissed or I was told the bad bruise I’d gotten was nothing to be upset over and to stop seeking attention. It set me on a path of questioning everything I did and why I did it.

Unfortunately I have a lot of memory gaps in the lead up to high school and through much of school.

Fairly early on in school though I came out as bisexual. Honestly I think a part of me was threatened by cis guys masculinity and that drove me to women. I had a fairly even number of girlfriends and boyfriends. One relationship the boy I was with implied being ready to try sex and we ended up breaking up not long after when I distanced myself. I didn’t know how to explain the discomfort with my own body that I didnt even understand. How I didn’t want to be touched in certain places or do certain things. I felt like a freak.

It didn’t help that I was already bullied pretty much from the get go in highschool, from age 11 I did have many friends and there were periods where I had none. I was bullied for my hair, for not having friends, for being gay, for being depressed. Hell sometimes I was bullied for being bullied - high school is weird. 

I was also... “bullied” by a “friend” who would hit me, talk down to me, at times wouldn’t let me sit on furniture. Once she choked me to the point of passing out among other things. Somehow I was still convinced she must like me on some level - why else would she hang out with me? I wish I’d known better. She introduced me to the concept of being transgender but not in a way I identified with. She told me about a documentary of “Boy becoming girls and girls becoming boys.” she told me “The girls that become boys are always still pretty, you can tell they were girls. But the boys that become girls, you cant tell they were boys they just look like ugly girls.” I imagine shes less ignorant now but its stuck with me.

Eventually around age 16 Two trans people spoke at my school. They talked about how they always felt different, things they’d disliked about themselves - the relief of coming out. I understood completely but my brief excitement was dashed by their talking about harassment and fear. I wrote my email address on a slip of paper and ‘please help’ which I put in the box they were collecting at the back of the room for any questioning youth. They never emailed me. I made an appointment with my doctor.

I actually begged my doctor to fix me, and he referred me to a GIC (Gender Identity Clinic) in Edinburgh. It took a full year to actually be seen there. I told some of my close friends about my concerns and confusion, and came out as genderfluid. I used a random R based male name to try and settle - knowing that as it was fandom related I’d change it later. When I spoke to the specialist at the GIC, I came out as a Trans Man, I felt validated. I came out to my family not long after and it was not well received. My cousin (who had spent every summer with us for as long as I could remember and I viewed like a sibling) died when I was 14. My godmother (his mother) died a year after. Within the ten years since my cousins death, he, my uncle on my mothers side, my great grandfather, my godmother, my gran and my grandad have all passed away. When I came out to my dad he begged me not to put more strain on our family. My mother turned to drink when I was only 14 and had worsened becoming more and more abusive as time went on. I’d had mental and physical health issues since the age of 8 and my experiences were being written off. My mother got worse, and I ended up being her full time carer for a few years. She was abusive, she hit me, she destroyed my things, she wrote on the walls and threatened me with knives. When a letter for my third GIC appointment came, (the appointment that would have gotten me hormones) I highly suspect it was my mother that destroyed it. I didn’t even know I’d been dropped from the list until six months later when I called to ask when my next appointment would be. I’d apparently missed it and for that reason they’d silently, without fuss, taken me off their active patients list. I was upset but handling my mother was enough strain for me not to fight my case for another few years. I went to attempt college for a second time in 2015 - nearly six years after I first came out, and four after my first GIC appointment. I called my best friend over to my house, and together we sighed 15 deedpolls changing my name and title legally. I contacted the clinic and got another appointment for that September. The doctor wanted longer - more appointments to get to know me, but after hearing I’d already had two with another doctor, had waited four years, had told the story I’ve told you now - she told me she wanted to get me on hormones for christmas. She rearranged her schedule and had me come in on december 9th, four days later I had my first doze of testosterone. I didn’t tell my father that I’d started hormones but I had told him prior that I was going to soon. My dad continued not to accept me, as did one of my tutors at college. I kept my head down and muscled through. I’d become so used to not passing that only 4 years later, when Im passing easily and consistently, its both a shock and yet somehow feels like its always been the case. I had top surgery on October 23rd 2017. To my surprise, my father came to the hospital. He’d said he wouldnt visit, but made the 4 hour drive anyway. Last summer, he started introducing my as his son to strangers. He started inviting me out for drinks with him and my brother. He treated me how I had always wanted. Sure he still drops the feminine endearments in - but I’m not going to fault him that. Everyone I meet assumes Im cis until I tell them otherwise. I was finally comfortable enough in 2017 to come out as gay, and I’m now engaged to my wonderful Fiance who is just beginning his own transition journey. My point? It gets better is a tired phrase that feels worn out by use. And no my life isn’t perfect but dysphoria and lack of love is definitely not the problem. Years ago I felt I’d never pass, I told people as much. I thought I was ugly, and unlovable. Now I like how I look, I Know i pass because people call me “sir” “Mr” ect. One of the tutors for the university I applied to was excited to “finally have a man in the class.” 

The journey is long, and at no point can you see the end of it. Eventually you just look back and see how far you’ve come. Stay strong.