#my therapist is very queer friendly… maybe I should talk to her about it

[bastardcherub]

honestly it would probably do me Really good to get off of social media and seek queer community in person but I’m fucking Scared. it used to feel so easy. idk what changed

[gettin-bi-bi-bi]

1 - I feel like this message will be all over the place, I'm sorry. I just have to get it out. So I'm questioning my sexuality and have been for a while now, but I'm afraid to really think about it. I think I might be bi but it's hard to tell because I'm fairly sure I might be on the ace-spectrum as well which makes it extra hard to realize attraction since I don't think I feel sexual attraction. Or maybe I do but I'm just that dumb and don't get it?

2 - And at one point I thought I might actually be a lesbian bc my (romantic) attraction to men was paired with like a lot of nervousness and not actually wanting to date them if it came to it. But now that I have a crush on a girl (my first same gender crush that I can think of) it’s still the same; I’m super flustered around her and would do ridiculous things to impress her and just wanna hold her hand but if she were to ask me out I know I’d panic and decline.

3 - It doesn’t help that I’ve been depressed for years and I know my mental health is in a very bad place (but I’m getting therapy for it). Does that affect my confusion about my sexuality? I’m also very afraid to pick a label like bi or ace or both just in case I turn out not to be, I don’t wanna be “that straight girl” who tries to belong where she doesn’t you know?

4 - Doesn’t help that I’m terrified of the backlash I could potentially get if I was lgbt+, I don’t know if I could handle it, especially from my parents. I’m sorry if this is a lot, I’m just so confused.

I’m gonna go through this bit by bit again because there’s a lot of different issues and questions here. It’s gonna be a long reply but I don’t know how to condense it even more.

“I think I might be bi but it's hard to tell because I'm fairly sure I might be on the ace-spectrum as well [...] maybe I do but I'm just that dumb and don't get it?”Sexual attraction can be a difficult concept to understand especially if you’re on the ace-spectrum. But you’re not “dumb” for having trouble with this. You simply live in a society that treats sexual attraction a standard experience that ~everyone~ is supposed to have so it’s not really talked about what it really means. Of course it’s an individual thing to an extend but generally speaking, sexual attraction means you can look at someone (even a random stranger) and feel a desire to have sex with them. It doesn’t mean one has to act on that desire but it’s certainly a “oh this person is hot - I wanna bang!!” in the most primitive sense lol I can imagine that being on the ace-spectrum can make it harder to explore what other types of attraction you might experience and to which genders. But it’s not impossible. There’s plenty of asexual/biromantic people and I’d recommend trying to talk to some of those as well and just generally get involved with the ace community.

“my attraction to men was paired with like a lot of nervousness and not actually wanting to date them if it came to it [...] but if she were to ask me out I know I’d panic and decline.”I mean... what you talk about regarding men can be a sign of being a lesbian but I guess it can also just as well be a sign of being asexual since “dating” and “relationships” are often associated with sex and though some ace people do have and enjoy sex there’s also sex-repulsed asexuals. So if you genereally don’t want to have sex or are iffy about it that explains why you backed off whenever you had the chance to date someone - bc you thought this would have to lead to sex which you may or may not want to have. Regarding the girl you currently have a crush on, the whole ~being ace and possibly sex-repulsed~ can also play a part plus internalised queerphobia. Since you struggle to accept your queerness and you currently don’t dare claiming a label for yourself it’s evident that you have a lot of shame that needs to be unpacked. As long as you have this much anxiety about your (a)sexuality and potential biromanticism your gut reaction to a girl’s advances will be panic. It’s not surprising. Crushing on a girl forces you to think about being bi and since you’re scared of facing this reality it’s a logical consequence that you’re freaking out!

“It doesn’t help that I’ve been depressed for years [...] Does that affect my confusion about my sexuality?”Yes, it definitly can affect your sexuality and/or your questioning process. Being queer in an inherently queerphobic society is a form of constant low-key (at best; high-key at worst) trauma. A lot of queer people have some form of PTSD just from ~being surrounded by everyday queerphobia~. But even if your depression has totally different reasons, it can still affect how you deal with sex in general, how you experience romance, how you experience yourself. Questioning one’s sexuality is (unfortunately!) not a safe thing to do for many people which means it can be anxiety inducing. And queer people have higher rates of mental health problems that non-queers. That’s a fact. Anf if you’re already depressed for whatever other reason and then add anxiety over being queer to the mix, well... you do the maths! It’s hard, man. It sucks. But it’s great you’re already getting help already. I’d hope your therapist is queer-friendly so you can talk about these things with them. And additionally you should try to get some queer counselling if there’s something available in your area. If your therapist isn’t queer-friendly then I would strongly advice you to find a different one.

“I’m also very afraid to pick a label like bi or ace or both just in case I turn out not to be, I don’t wanna be “that straight girl” who tries to belong where she doesn’t you know?”’Okay, look. I recently answered two asks that touch on that subject and I don’t think I can say it better than there so I’m gonna quote myself and link you to them so you can read the whole thing if you want.

1) Even when you’re not entirely sure of your bisexuality yet, questioning people belong into the community as well. The “Q” in LGBTQIA+ stands both for “queer” and for “questioning” - some people even use a version of the acronym that has two Qs to highlight that! So you belong whether you already identify as bisexual or not. The LGBTQIA+ community is supposed to be an environment where you can safely explore your sexuality - even if you turn out not to be queer. You still belong for as long as you are questioning because “questioning” is a queer identity. (x)

2) “Straight” women are allowed to experiment and explore their sexuality. I put “straight” in quotes here because a lot of these women might actually be questioning or they are bisexual and struggling with internalised biphobia (which won’t get better if biphobic lesbians keep telling them they are “just one of those straight girls”). And even the women who do end up realising that they really are straight have had every right to experiment. It’s their sexuality and they can do with that as they please as long as they don’t hurt anyone. They don’t owe anyone to come out as queer. “Only to say they are straight” sounds like it’s a huge disappointment when all these women did was live out their sexual curiosity. Any half decent queerfeminist should know better than to police women’s sexuality - even when the women in question are straight. (x)

“Doesn’t help that I’m terrified of the backlash I could potentially get if I was lgbt+, I don’t know if I could handle it, especially from my parents.”I understand it can be terrifying, especially if you know your family won’t support you. But the thing is... no matter how much potential backlash there is, you won’t stop being queer. You cannot stop. You cannot run away from your sexuality. You can certainly try but it won’t make you happy and it will take a toll on your mental health. This is not to say that you ~must~ come out. You can be as much out or closeted as you want and as is safe for you. But you cannot convince yourself of being something you are not. There will probably be some people you can safely come out to, others you’d rather not tell. That’s the on-brand queer experience. Maybe one day you can afford to not give a fuck about what your parents think, even if it comes at the price of losing them. That’s gonna be a problem for future!You though. And if you work on self-acceptance through therapy and through connecting with the queer community, building a support system - then it’ll get easier over time.

It’s unfortuantely very common to be scared of this but being scared won’t make you any less bi or ace or whatever type of queer you wanna be. And yes, I say “wanna be” because at the end of the day what label you use and feel comfortable with is your choice. You cannot technically be “wrong” about your sexuality. Even if you pick a label now and then later realise another one suits you better - then you just change your label. No harm done.

And even if you go through a period of questioning, try on multiple queer labels and then have the grande epiphany that you are actually just a basic ol’ heterosexual heteroromantic cisgender person - you did not harm the queer community in the slightest. I wish more straight cis people would question their sexuality and gender and come to the informed conclusion that they really are straight and cis - instead of taking it for granted because our society treats it as the default. What’s the point in questioning if only people who already know that they are queer were allowed to do it?! What’s the point if everyone who questions their sexuality ~has~ to realise that they are queer?

So.... long story short... sounds like you have the very common Queer Anxiety on top of your existing depression and they are probably affecting each other and make each other worse. You should definitly try to work on your internalised biphobia and acephobia and talk to your therapist about it. I have advice on internalised biphobia here - you can use those methods for asexuality as well.

Maddie

[jackzimmermannn]

Queer Eye for the Hockey Guy (~5K)

Queer Eye AU! What was going to be fluff about Bitty and Jack quickly became an entire episode of Queer Eye. If you haven’t seen the show, what are you doing with your life? Credit goes entirely to @aokayinspace and @zimmerhomme for creating the jumping off point for this! Uh, I guess RPF from the perspective that it involves the Fab Five? Very few fic liberties are taking regarding them, they mostly just provide the framework for the story. It mainly focuses on Bitty and Jack. Still, if that bothers you I recommend you move on and read @omgericzimmermann ‘s fic instead (read it on ao3 here) which slots other omgcp characters into the Fab Five (or if it doesn’t bother you, read this one AND Hayley’s!) Inspiration for Bitty’s food rant comes from Ruby Tandoh’s (you may remember her from GBBO) book Eat Up which I’m currently reading and highly recommend! Do some accuracy hand waving with the timeline. Please also excuse excessive comma usage and any typos (tho if there’s anything that makes absolutely no sense, please lmk so I can fix it!), I only do a very cursory proofred bc I can’t be bothered. Enjoy!

It’s like being ambushed.

A very friendly, loud ambush.

Jack is sitting at the kitchen table, methodically alternating between eating a chicken sandwich and doing his statistics homework (he really should have gotten his Math credit out of the way his freshman year) when he hears the doorbell ring, the front door open and Holster shout, no, scream, a  “FUCK YES!” from living room. It’s a testament to how used to the team he is that he doesn’t think anything is amiss until Holster comes running into the kitchen, a man who looks oddly like a white Jesus in his arms. He’s followed up by Ransom who is carrying a small blond man. The rest of the team piles in, followed by three other strangers Jack doesn’t recognize and an entire camera crew.

What ensues is a lot of excited yelling, enthusiastic introductions from the men he doesn’t recognize and curious exploring of the kitchen. Bittle, or Bitty as he told Jack most people call him, is talking sweetly to the Haus oven when it finally occurs to Jack what is happening. “You’re the Fantastic Five.” he says, and everyone laughs.

“You look surprised to see us.” the man who introduced himself as Tan says and Jack ducks his head. “I may have...forgot we were doing this?” Shitty is immediately draped on him, cradling his head. “Forgive him. It would be unfair if he had beauty, brawn and brains.” he chirps. Jack snorts and shrugs him off. Jonathan, who moments ago was bonding with Shitty over his flow, waves dismissively. ”We’ll forgive you, but only because you’re serving me Backstreet Boys realness with these bangs and I can’t wait to get my hands in your hair.”

Jack thinks that’s a compliment, “I’m not sure who that is, but thank you?” The men laugh again, apparently under the impression he’s making a joke, but Holster claps a hand onto Karamo’s shoulder, “No, he’s not joking. Yes, you have your work cut out for you.” Rather than looking shocked, or worse, condescending, Karamo looks pensive. Jack isn’t sure if he should be worried about what Karamo’s thinking.

“Do you think you could give us a tour?” Bobby asks, “Then we can get to know you a little better, get a feel for the space.” Jack nods, “Yeah, of course. Sorry.” Jonathan is gushing over the long “O” in Jack’s “sorry” (apparently his accent is adorable) as he pushes himself to his feet. Jack thinks Bitty may have given him a once over now that he’s at his full height, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Bobby is already trailing out into the living room inquiring after any repairs the Haus might need, and Tan is asking him if always wears neon sneakers.

The cameras zooming in and out around him are mildly disconcerting and he stumbles over his words a few times as a result, but he finds himself slowly relaxing anyway.

Jack gives them a tour of the Haus, kicking more stray boxers and jockstraps under furniture before they can be seen than he should have to. When it’s just the team he doesn’t really focus on the state of the Haus as long as it’s not falling apart entirely, but with fresh eyes examining every inch of the space he can’t help but feel a little embarrassed. The look Bittle gives the couch in the living room doesn’t escape him. By the time they get to his bedroom, Jack is glad he at least keeps this room fastidiously clean.

Jack notices Bitty frown at his “Be Better” poster before tugging it down and rolling it up. Before Jack can object, Bobby tosses out the idea of redecorating the Haus living room instead of Jack’s room. Jack firmly agrees, “It’s a shared space so everyone will get to enjoy it. It’s something the whole team will get to use together and keep using even after I’m gone.” Shitty aggressively hugs Jack at the comment, “You big softie. Looking out for the little guy.” Bittle seems to also like the idea. “God is good and that couch’s days are numbered.” he remarks. Jack surprises himself by laughing and Bittle grins at Jack.

Jack smiles back. Maybe this could be fun.

This is not going to be fun.

Karamo gets him first and it’s wildly uncomfortable. Jack knows that he’s just trying to get a feel for what direction to go in, but all the “What do you do for fun?” question combined with the camera focused on him just inches away leave him anxious. He’s given about ten different variations of, “I don’t know. Hockey takes up a lot of my time.” Before Karamo sighs and stands up from where he had been sitting on one of the steps of the front porch of the Haus. Jack immediately knows he’s fucked up.

He hunches in on himself, still sitting, and stares fixedly at the ground. “I’m sorry. I know I’m really not– you’ve probably had clients with a lot more personality.” Jack is expecting to get a stern, but well-meaning remark about giving them more to work with but instead Karamo sits back down next to him, “You don’t have to apologize. I was actually going to say I’m sorry.”

Jack doesn’t know what to say. “We’ve been doing this for a few seasons now, we forget what it’s like to be in front of the cameras. How about this, where do you feel most comfortable?” For once, Jack doesn’t even have to think hard to come up with and answer, “On the ice.”

Karamo’s response is just as immediate, “Let’s go then.”

Jack can feel the tension in his shoulders release as they glide around the perimeter of the rink. Karamo’s wobbly on his skates, but the fact that he’s trying and putting himself out there makes Jack want to make an effort too. Bittle ends up joining them as well, and he’s clearly at ease on the ice. Apparently he played hockey in high school. The common interest gives Jack a starting point to open up the conversation

As a fringe benefit, only some of the camera crew are confident enough with their skating to carry their equipment and be on the ice at the same time, so they put mics on Jack, Karamo and Bitty and send only one camera man out with them. The rest of the crew are doing wide shots from the bleachers. Jack doesn’t say anything, but he’s glad for a little distance.

The longer the three of them skate, the looser Jack’s tongue gets. He finds himself talking about his major, his love of country music. He mentions the photography class he took, the photo series he did about hockey which later transitioned into photography of different spots around campus. He can feel himself growing more comfortable with the cameras and he manages to make both Karamo and Bittle laugh. If he finds himself delighting a little more in making Bitty laugh he doesn’t focus on it.

They’re taking off their skates when Karamo suggests setting Jack up with an Instagram account. “Adam was right, you don’t know a lot about pop culture.” Jack focuses on undoing his laces, “But that’s not a bad thing or something to be embarrassed about. You have your interests, your own passions. That’s what’s important.” Bitty nods in agreement as Karamo goes on. “I want to focus on giving you an outlet to help you explore other sides of yourself outside of hockey. The bonus is that the outlet will help you share your fuller self with others and connect with people who aren’t your team.”

It sounds reasonable, and spending more time on photography could be fun. Bitty nudges his shoulder, “I’ll be your first follower.”

Jack’s sold.

Strangely, Jack doesn’t find Jonathan’s enthusiasm that off putting. He thinks it’s because of how similar the man is to Shitty, or maybe it’s just that Shitty’s personality is hard to top.

Jack is sitting in front of the mirror at a local hair salon, cape on while Jonathan works his fingers through Jack’s hair, examining it closely. It’s so casual that Jonathan’s question comes out of left field, “You have anxiety, right?” Jack tenses, “Yes.” He knows he probably sounds rude, but this isn’t really a conversation he was expecting to have on national television. The last thing he needs is to be justifying his mental health to a stranger.

But Jonathan meets Jack’s gaze through the mirror and surprises him with his next question, “Do you have any self-care practices?” Jack nods slowly, “I, uh. I have medication for when I need it. I see a therapist. But running is good for clearing my head. I meditate.” Jonathan nods vigorously, “Yes, I love it. You wouldn’t believe how many clients I have to explain the importance of this to. Which is totally fine! But it helps save us some steps.”

“So what I’m going to do is just update your cut a bit. As I said before, I love the bangs but they’re a little two thousand and late and we want you looking to three thousand and great.” Jack feels like that’s probably a reference to something. Jonathan continues, “I’m going to give you a messy undercut, it’ll be hot. Then I’m going to give you a few skin care tips, some under-eye cream I think. You have amazing eyes and bone structure so we want to help you take care of that. Sound good?” Jack doesn’t really know how any of that sounds since he doesn’t even know what an undercut is, let alone a messy one. But like Shitty, he finds himself trusting Jonathan implicitly.

“Let’s do it.”

Jack finds Tan and Lardo working their way through every item in his closet in his bedroom. He knows this since about half of his closet has been dumped into the “Hockey only pile.”

“They’re comfortable!” He protests, but Tan shakes his head. “There’s a time and place for comfort and there’s a time and place for style. You have a good sense for what kind of apparel is appropriate for different occasions, but a lot of your casual clothes are very– what did you call it?”

“Soft jock.” Lardo supplies.

“Soft jock,” Tan agrees, “I want to give you a wardrobe you can wear confidently when you’re not in the gym. Something you can wear out to lunch, on a date.” Jack flushes, “I’m not seeing anyone right now.” Lardo raises an eyebrow knowingly, “Right now being the operative word, dude.”

Bitty chooses that moment to poke his head in the door, and Lardo’s eyebrow only goes higher. “Tan, make sure you get him to a good tailor too. We all have our assets, some more than others. I know off the rack suits aren’t doing him justice.” Jack’s blush grows, “I own a suit!” Tan unfolds his suit pants from where they’re hanging, eyeing them skeptically, “That isn’t a size too big?” Bitty winks at Jack before slipping out.

“You have your annual team banquet at the end of the week, right?” Tan asks, redirecting Jack’s attention. Jack nods. “Your team speaks very highly of you and it’s clear you’re captain for a reason. You’re obviously playing the part, but you also want to look the part. We’re going to set you up with a tailored suit that fits all parts of you, and a comfortable, but styled, casual wardrobe. You’ll be set for the banquet, but different occasions as well.”

Lardo smirks, “Even if those are dating occasions.”

“I’m not dating anyone.” Jack mutters under his breath, but looks at the different tie patterns Tan offers him.

By the time it’s Bitty’s turn to get his hands on him, Jack barely notices the cameras and is comfortable with all the guys. But still, he gets a little nervous when he hears what they’re going to tackle in the food segment. After Bitty learns about Jack’s PB&J gameday routine, he becomes adamant that they make bread, nut butter and jam. Though Jack insists that he really, really, no, really doesn’t know how to bake, Bitty waves him off.  

“Everyone thinks these things are so hard to make, but they’re really not.  Bread is just a lot of waiting for it to rise, and with nice arms like yours you’ll be a kneading champion.” If Jack flexes a little at the comment, no one needs to know.

So the cameras find the pair of them in the kitchen. They’ve already made three different kinds of nut butter, the peaches are cooling in ice water so they can be peeled and they’ve moved on to bread. Bitty decided they would make two different loaves, one multi-grain and one cinnamon raisin, so they’re both kneading away. Jack has to admit, it’s kind of fun.

“We complicate food so much, what we should eat, what we shouldn’t eat. There’s all these rules.” Bitty has been preaching about food culture for the past fifteen minutes. “And you being an athlete, I’m sure that just complicates things even more. There are certain nutrients you need for sure, but we also need food that nourishes our soul. We can’t just ignore our minds and focus on our bodies. Then we just end up even more distanced from our bodies than we were to begin with. You know what I mean?” Jack doesn’t entirely, but he likes the passion Bitty speaks with. Plus, when he’s caught up in his words like this Jack can sneak looks at him without Bitty noticing.

“And don’t get me started on the politics surrounding food. People being shamed for what they do eat, don’t eat. Feeling like they need to punish themselves. It’s a whole industry, let me tell you.” Bitty lets out an irritated huff. “We’ve got a real problem on our hands when we make something that should be simple so messy. But at the same time it’s complex! Food isn’t just food. It’s history and culture. It can really affect how we treat ourselves and how we see ourselves.”

Jack hasn’t said much. He knows that probably doesn’t make for great TV, but he figures they’ll be editing all of this down anyway. He doesn’t mind listening to Bitty, enjoys it really. But with all the talk about food and people’s relationship to it he finds words joining together in his mind. Before he can stop himself, he’s saying it.

“I was a fat kid.”

To Bitty’s credit, his hands only still for a moment before they resume kneading. “Fat isn’t a dirty word, honey.” Jack nods jerkily, “Maybe not in theory. But in practice.” he lets out a shaky sigh, “I think. I think I still carry that with me?” He waves a hand, though keeping his gaze fixed on his bread, attempting to seem casual even though he knows the redness that is creeping up his neck betrays his embarrassment. “It shouldn’t matter, but people gave me a hard time, you know? And now I play hockey. I have to perform at a certain level. My body has to perform at a certain level. I need to eat certain things so that can happen. And looking a certain way is a side effect of that.” He immediately feels like he’s said too much and tries to cover it up. “But I guess. I mean. It wasn’t my best look,” to cut through the tension he tacks on a poor attempt at humor, “and you’ve seen me in Crocs.”

Jack had been so determinedly avoiding seeing Bitty’s reaction that it isn’t until Bitty takes his hand that he realizes he’s being stared at. Or. Glared at. With love?

“Now you listen here,” Bitty begins, and Jack silently think that the tone of Bitty’s voice suggests that he has no choice but to listen. “There’s nothing wrong with the way you looked, then or now. Why do you think we came all the way to Samwell?” Jack shrugs a shoulder, “I don’t know. Why do you go anywhere? To make people better.” Before he can blink, Bitty softly knocks him on the shoulder with his free hand. Jack feigns a wince which gets a smile out of Bitty, but he quickly schools his expression back to stern. “I didn’t take down the ‘Be Better’ poster in your room just because I knew it wouldn’t go with Bobby’s design concept. I took it down because it’s wrong. Getting better is for colds, not for people.” The corner of Jack’s mouth quirks up at the phrasing, but Bitty pushes forward.

“We’re here to help you be yourself. I don’t think Jack is a curmudgeon locked in his room, sadly drinking nasty protein shakes.” Jack open his mouth to protest, the protein shakes aren’t that nasty, but Bitty isn’t done saying his piece. “I think Jack is the person we were told about when your team nominated you. A dedicated guy, who loves hockey but also likes photography and history. He’s always there when you need a hand and yes he wears banana sneakers when he runs and Crocs in the locker room, but he helps his...frogs?” Jack nods, “He helps his frogs pick out a nice tie to wear to his friend’s art show. He’s thoughtful and funny.”

Bitty drops Jack’s hand, turning back to the counter to start kneading again. Jack stays where he is, a question still lingering, “Then why the whole...makeover? I mean. Why new clothes, new hair, new food?” Bitty stops and looks up, but not at Jack. Gazing out of the kitchen window he’s quiet for a moment. Jack can see him turning the words over in his head. “Because those things aren’t reflecting who you are. They’re reflecting someone else. You’re not a hockey robot, sweetheart. You like cracking jokes and spending time with your friends. Bobby’s redoing your living room so that y’all have a nice space to spend time with each other. That’s the real you. Hockey robot you would need his bedroom redone with a personal gym and a giant dry erase board to sketch out plays in his sleep.”  

Bitty finally looks away from the window, moving through the kitchen confidently to pull out a loaf pan and start to grease it. Jack goes back to his own dough, thinking Bitty’s done talking but suddenly Bitty pipes up, a tone of finality in his voice. “I think we buy into the stories the world tells us about ourselves. But you gotta remind yourself who you really are and stay rooted in that. You’re not asking for permission to be yourself, you find your core and then tell the world who you are.”

Jack turns that over in his head.

The bread turns out perfect.

Earlier in the week Bobby and Jack went through the photo series he did of the team for his photography class. What the photos would be used for Bobby refused to reveal. He had a sneaking suspicions they would just be made into prints to frame, but it was nice that Bobby thought his work was good enough to be part of the redesign.

Bobby blindfolds Jack on the porch of the Haus before they go in for the big living room reveal. Before he started all of this he thought getting free redecoration would be the best part, the rest of his makeover just something to tolerate, but as the week has gone on and he’s gotten to know all of the Fab Five better he’s grown to really enjoy the process and spending time with the guys. They’re part of his team now.

Shitty takes advantage of Jack’s lack of vision to give him a surprise sloppy kiss near his ear before they go in, accompanying a fond, “You look good, Jack-o.” Jack manages to get Shitty in a headlock in retaliation, which Bitty quickly breaks up, “Boys, boys. If you’re wanting to see your new home, you better behave.” Jack immediately lets Shitty go and feigns innocence, and even with the blindfold on he can feel Bitty smiling at him.

“Alright, Jack. You ready?” Bobby asks, and Jack nods. A steadying hand is placed on his back to guide him as they open the door and enter the Haus, gently guiding him to the living room. It’s only when he hears Shitty breathe, “Holy fuck.” that he realizes he can take his blindfold off.

Holy fuck is right.

Jack takes a few tentative steps forward, looking around in wonderment. It’s really. It’s incredible. The entire room is shades of gray and black, with red accents. One wall is painted red, the team logo printed large in the center of it in white. On other walls are canvas prints of the photos that Jack took, artistically angled shots of the rink, close-ups of skates carving ice. They look professional, better than Jack thought they would. The TV is on a real stand, not a beat up coffee table. All the cords for the different gaming consoles are tucked away, their video games neatly slotted in next to each other. The old couch is gone, to stay the least, replaced by a large black sectional. There’s a foosball table that has a closed top, so it can be used for beer pong, Jack realizes. A quick glance at Lardo’s face shows she’s eyeing it already.

Jack steps forward and touches the couch, it’s some kind of fabric. “It’s going to get stained at a Kegster. It’s. This is too nice.” Bobby laughs, “It’s liquid resistant. You get the look but without the mess. But I’m going to take that as a thank you.” Jack immediately moves towards him, embarrassed by his thoughtlessness, extending a hand to shake. “I’m sorry, no. For sure. Thank you, seriously. This is. It’s amazing. This means a lot to the team, we really appreciate this.” Ransom cuts in, “He’s got his captain voice on, that means he’s really serious about it.”

Jack is too overwhelmed to even chirp back.

It’s only a half hour later when it hits Jack that the Fab Five is leaving. Of course, he knew logically that it was the last day, but it all feels so sudden. They’ve been with him all week and Jack fulls acknowledges the intimacy and vulnerability involved with what they’ve done for him. One by one the say goodbye, Jack once again profusely thanking Bobby, reassuring Jonathan he’ll keep up with his new routine, promising Tan the Crocs will stay in the locker room and taking a last minute photo with Karamo for his new instagram account. Finally he gets to Bitty, who smiles up at him, looking a little misty-eyed.

“Look at you, sugar. All grown-up.” Bitty chirps. His expression is open but his body language is guarded. Jack places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I solemnly swear to never eat store bought peanut butter ever again.” It gets the desired effect when Bitty lets out a wet laugh. “Seriously though, thank you for coming out here and doing all this. For me and the team. It was great. Getting to know you.” Bitty bites his lip at Jack’s earnestness, dropping his gaze to his feet. “Oh, well you know.” Bitty replies, voice wobbily, “I’m just happy to help.”

Jack opens his arms, gently enveloping Bitty in a hug. For a moment Bitty goes stiff, but then Jack feels arms wrap around his waist.

For a long moment they’re together, then they’re apart.

When Bitty had received a call from Antoni asking him to fill in as the food expert on Queer Eye while he filmed his new show with the Food Network, Bitty wasn’t sure what to expect. Of course, he obsessively watched the show (the old version and the reboot, he wasn’t an amateur). He also wasn’t short a passion for food, he had that in spades. His baking vlog on YouTube had gained a lot of traction and he had managed to make an entire career out of being self-taught and social media savvy. But he didn’t have the same traditional credentials as other people, he didn’t go to college or culinary school. He was also young. Surely there was a long list of other people who were equally, if not more qualified to take Antoni’s spot.

But Antoni had insisted, and after a short meeting with the casting department and other Fab Five members it was clear Bitty was a solid fit. It had been a whirlwind of an experience so far, but Bitty’s favorite part was absolutely getting to interact and connect with so many different kinds of people.

Then came Jack.

Jack, with his simultaneous confidence and insecurity, muscles but soft smile. He was a sight for sore eyes wrapped up in good intention. As filming had gone on, Bitty felt himself growing closer and closer to Jack. By the end, he had thought maybe– well. It didn’t matter now. There had been a long, wonderful hug. And then goodbye.

Now all that left was filming their reaction to the follow up.

After lighting and sound had been set up, the five settled into the couch. The footage opened with Jack spreading jam and peanut butter on his homemade bread. Tan tsked at Jack’s gym shorts and tshirt, but Bitty barely noticed. “That’s my guy, look at him. That’s the almond butter we made!”

Once Jack made and ate his sandwich, the video cut to him going through his closet. They all waited with bated breath as he weighed his different options, but let out a cheer when he settled on a light blue tie with a navy suit. Bitty pressed a hand to his cheek, “He looks so darn handsome, you did a great job, Tan.” Too busy watching Jack, Bitty misses the look Karamo and Bobby exchange.

Bitty is expecting to see the video follow its typical format from there, Jack ticking the other boxes of what he learned and then attending his big event, the banquet. There should be a little video of him using his instagram account and spending time with the guys in the living room. But instead he’s suddenly watching footage of Jack walking down a familiar looking street with flowers in his hand. He stops at a familiar looking door. Bitty can’t figure out why he knows the location, even as Jack enters an elevator that Bitty swears he’s been in.

It isn’t until there’s a knock at the door of the Fab Five loft that Bitty realizes where Jack is. He’s here.

“Oh my Lord. Y’all did not. You did not.” is all he can seem to say, fussing with straightening his clothes as a crew member goes and opens the door. Jack, looking handsome as all get out in his sleek suit, steps into the room and Bitty is rooted to the spot. “Hi.” Jack says, waving nervously. If he isn’t just the sweetest thing.

Bitty slowly gets to his feet. “Hi.” he says back, staring at Jack with wide eyes. Jack smiles, moving further into the room, stopping in front of Bitty and handing him the flowers. “I got these for you. I would have brought you a sandwich but I didn’t think it would travel well.” Bitty lets out a strained laugh, taking the bouquet with a shaking hand. “They’re beautiful, Jack. Thank you. These are just. Goodness. You’ve got me all flustered.”

There isn’t much time to dwell on how overwhelmed Bitty is feeling, since suddenly Jack takes Bitty’s free hand. “You told me that I need to know who I am. Who I want to be. That I need to hold onto that and then tell other people.” Bitty knows his expression goes fond at Jack’s words. How could it not? Yes, Jack is quiet. But that doesn’t mean he’s not earnestly listening. “I did.” Bitty confirms, nodding. Jack takes a deep breath. “Getting to know you this week was really special. I mean, it was for all of you–” he glances at Bobby, Karamo, Tan and Jonathan who are all excitedly holding each other, watching everything unfold, “–but it was really special with you.”

Bitty squeezes Jack’s hand, encouraging him to continue. “I know myself a little better now, and I just wanted to tell you and I guess, the world.” He glances at the cameras this time, “I wanted to tell you that I really like you. I think you’re great.” Bitty knows he’s getting weepy, but he can’t help it. How could anyone when there’s a beautiful man in front of you, telling you how loved you are? “I’d really like to take you out to dinner. I’d make it myself, but you didn’t teach me how to do that.”

At Jack’s last chirp, Bitty lets out a teary laugh and finally leans forward and kisses him. Jack responds with enthusiasm, showing that kissing is one thing doesn’t need a team of reality TV experts’ help with.

[stop-brunotime]

CW: I'm ranting about personal stuff, using bad language, feeling shit about myself and being a bad example, complaining about my emotionally abusive mother, etc. Proceed with caution. This is further to my post on Thursday. Thank you to everyone who reached out. It meant the world, and I'll reply individually when I'm done with this post. I'm going to list the questions that have been bugging me to the point of suicidal ideation, and if you know the answers, please help a sibling out!

Christmas

Am I the only one bothered by Christmas trees? Like, everyone knows Jesus was probably born in August/September, because that's when Judaism's 'go visit the family' holidays are and there's no way shepherds would've been hanging out in the pastures in midwinter. Christmas trees are a blind appropriation of European Paganism's customs (and, while we're at it, holiday, since it's not even Jesus's real birthday). We're all claiming to celebrate Jesus, when in reality we're just marking our homes as places the tree spirits can overwinter. How can we claim to live lives of peace and love and do ignorant, appropriative shit like that?

Santa. FFS, this one grates my carrot to the quick. Named for St Nicholas (who was an African bishop and very definitely Black, despite what the white supremacists will tell you on Twitter), Santa seems to be a combination of Scandinavian Pagan myths. Either he's a Christian appropriation of Odinn, who gave kids gifts at midwinter, or he's an erasure of Sami (native Scandinavians, traditionally marginalised) shamans (who were typically women) who apparently gave the grown-ups entheogenic mushrooms. So, we're erasing POC and Native women and getting toxic about it on socials. Nice. I totally want gifts from that guy! (I'm aware that in Spain and Germany [and probably other countries too] it's the Baby Jesus who brings the gifts. I'm not resident in one of those countries, so have to deal with all the Santa bullshit) Again, we claim to be all about the peace and love how?!

Bringing me to Christians. Now, I identify as one, so am spraying friendly fire here. Why are my choices of places to worship either the kind who preach heterosexism from the pulpit, regularly using 'the homosexuals' as our go-to example of unrepentant sinners bound for eternity in Hell, or the kind who just don't mention it, which feels like ominous silence? The church who don't actively hate on queers have asked me to play in their music group. I gave guy some bullshit reason about being too busy to do something I would actually like to do as a person of faith, because I was scared that, if I started doing it and they found out I occasionally fall for women and NBs/GNCs, they'd throw me out and publicly shame me and maybe sell me out to the cops (who are wildly heterosexist, backed up by the law, and allegedly not above a bit of corrective gang rape of queer prisoners).

And onto Trump. The man reminds me of my mother. And that makes me a terrible human, because he does so many worse things than triggering memories of her being consistently passive-aggressive and theologically inaccurate about "Christian values". He makes such rapey comments all the fucking time, and just dismisses anyone who tries to call him on it. He is the embodiment of everything that's wrong with the world, and yet I meet so many people who love him. We live in fucking Africa...what exactly are we doing supporting the guy who's defunding all the USAID healthcare programs that keep us in contraceptives? Like, sure, I've never had an abortion, and, barring medical necessity or a pregnancy from being raped again, am probably going to keep any pregnancy I achieve before menopause (which is only ten years away, and I don't exactly have the most active sex life from which to achieve a pregnancy)...but I've been the emergency contact on enough hospital admission forms to know that it's a necessary medical procedure and people need access to quick, cheap, and as-painless-as-possible abortions. We got that from USAID. Now Trump has fucked that up and we need to go private, which is a D&C under full anaesthesia, with associated risks. Sure, Trump blustered a bit about Mugabe, but didn't do anything real in the eleven months between him taking office and us having our coup-that's-not-a-coup. Tweeting doesn't count. How exactly is that asshole going to be 'the next Mordecai of Israel' and 'the one to rid the world of dictatorship'?

Speaking of pathological Machiavellian narcissists, does anyone have resources for recovering from a parent who used you to meet her needs from when you were really small? She never raped me or anything, but the long-term emotional neglect, belittling, passive-aggression, criticism, gaslighting, parental alienation (yes, for almost twenty years she had me convinced that my dad, whom I love and who I'm most like, was the angry abuser in their relationship and she was the victim) have taken their toll. My therapist says I need to adjust my expectations of her and my problems will go away. I see her point, but my mother is still mean as fuck. For example, she sent me a room diffuser that smelled like it came from a pound shop for Christmas. (It was called 'african spice'. It smelled of cinnamon. There are no African spices. Cinnamon is from Asia. She's heard me rant several times about people mis-labelling plant origins, so it's not like she doesn't know how much it bugs me.) This is after a quarter century of me saying variations on, 'Books or nothing, but please no cash or girly shit,' every Christmas and birthday. This is after coming out to her as genderqueer. She said she immediately thought of me when she saw it. Surely there's a more direct way to tell me that I or my house smell/s bad? Perhaps a way that doesn't subtly signal that she still frames me as the gender-perfect imaginary daughter she has in her head? She went to the effort of having it brought to Zimbabwe in a suitcase (what comes in suitcases isn't charged import tax). She could have spent that fiver on a second-hand book from Amazon, sent it out in a way that bypassed ZIMRA's human rights violation of a book tax, and given me the gift of freedom of information. But she chose to force her gender ideals on me in a way that says, yet again, that I need to be just a little bit better to be worthy of her love

I'm legit concerned that she's made me a horrible person. She gave me so many of her issues that I'm pretty sure everyone feels about me the way they do about her. I'm sure everyone looks at me and sees the lack of tangible results that come from being terrified of being publicly shamed as crazy and weird. I'm horribly awkward and say the wrong thing often. I've had dates end because I got awkward and up in my head and told him that wood cockroaches eat their parents' shit to replenish their gut flora after molting. I take days, sometimes months, to reply to messages. I hold opinions that are shared by a tiny minority of scientists and theologians, and everyone disagrees. And my writing output bears this out. The only time people say nice stuff about my writing is when I've written porn under a fake name that doesn't really have socials. The rest of the time, it's people calling me out or trolling me. Am I wrong? Is the internet just a toxic shit hole? Is everyone talking smack about me in DM, and I have no idea how many people are laughing at me? Should I just delete all my accounts, move to the Andes, change my name, and raise llamas for yarn and bees for mead?

What even is the right thing to do? I was raised with so much certainty, and have since found out things like the universe wasn't made in six days five thousand years ago, and nobody really knows where Mount Sinai is. It doesn't feel right to just pick the most convenient set of rules. I should be able to tell what the right choice is. Who died and bequeathed me the right to decide right from wrong? How am I supposed to help others when I don't even know the answers myself (and neither do any of the scholars, who are simply putting forward a best guess model) and will probably be wrestling with existential questions on my death bed? Put your own mask on first, sure, but how do I fit all these masks on one face?

[billgavemeextrachips]

Reasons I don’t want to see my extended family at the holidays

1. I can’t, in good conscience, just “let it slide” or “agree to disagree” with the horrible things they say. I’ve read articles online about families being polarized or split apart over politics, and they all seem to bemoan some bygone era when people just didn’t talk politics in polite company. But you know what? That’s not an option anymore. I’m a queer, disabled woman- my life is political. Our culture shoves politics in everyone’s faces- from Facebook to the NFL. (The latter was politicized when they started glorifying the military, years before the police brutality protests began. Please note that I support taking a knee and don’t find that to be ‘making things political” when that venue already was.) Also doesn’t help that my grandfather loudly complains about every Indian-American and Latino he comes into contact with. I am not even kidding. How do I even suggest to them that we “just not talk about it” without censoring my grandfather, and putting myself back in the closet?

2. I can’t argue back, either. I tried having “friendly debates” with an aunt for two years (2014-2016.) Dozens of times, I left Panera or a high school guard competition, loudly declaring to my mom on the ride home that I like talking politics with her sister! It’s fun right!?!?!? I’m so glad at least *one* conservative in her family will listen to my views without belittling me for being young and naive and over-educated, or just plain shouting me down!!! (Shows you how much the rest of her family respects me, that I interpreted basic human politeness and refrains from ad hominem attacks as this amaaazing show of compassion from my aunt.) Meanwhile I had an elevated heart rate for hours after these “fun” debates, and spent days thinking of all the things I should have said better. And all that effort for what? My aunt still supported Trump from the very beginning of the primaries- and brags about it. She still thinks the Klan in her county are just harmless, senile old eccentrics, and all taxes are robbery.

And attempts to have discussions with other members of the family have resulted in me fleeing the scene, physically shaking, ending up at a complete loss for words, and even self-harming. All for none of them- not even the “nice, fun” one- to budge an inch. My breaking down and failing to articulate a point to these people can’t possibly be helping any progressive/tolerant causes. If anything it’s hurting the causes. Along with my mental health.

3. When the take-a-knee protests came up in conversation last Sunday, I was physically afraid of my grandfather. He’s 81, but he’s still this 6′, barrel-chested man who does most of the maintenance on his own properties. I’ve never heard him yell so loud, or so deep. Above the clamor of half a dozen people shouting me down at once, in the dark around that campfire, what stands out to me was him growling, right next to me, Now you listen here! That’s not something you say to someone you’re even remotely open to listening to. That’s a command. Almost a threat. And maybe I’m a coward for being afraid of just that, when he hasn’t raised a hand to me since I was a toddler. But then call me a coward.

The truth is, if I had a girlfriend/wife/family of my own, and/or lived far enough away, I would have stopped spending time around my grandfather years ago. My parents tried once. Back in 2002, when we announced we were adopting from China my grandfather was my father’s (his son-in-law’s) employer. And his response to finding out he’d have another grandchild, who happened to be brown and born on the other side of the world?

“Well we’re not putting her on the company health insurance.”

He did not budge on that until he met my sister- a year and a half later. In the meantime, we moved hundreds of miles away, only to come crawling back when unlucky circumstances and plain bad financial decisions pushed my parents into bankruptcy. They felt they couldn’t make it, living that far from my mother’s parents. Not emotionally, and certainly not financially. 

I doubt my grandfather has ever apologized for his response to us adopting. He doesn’t do apologies. What he does do, and always has, is pay for family members’ houses and cars and medical treatments and college tuitions. As a wealthy man, who grew up one of 13 siblings in a working-class family in the Great Depression, I’m sure financial providence is a sincere expression of love coming from him.

I can see that, and that’s part of why this hurts so much. Why I’m losing sleep and feeling selfish.

But just because my grandfather’s not deliberately puppet-mastering us all, doesn’t mean I haven’t felt the strings pull My mom has begged me ever since I came out to her (four years ago!) to never, ever tell her parents. I don’t know what she’s afraid of. Could be anything from our entire branch of the family being disinherited, down to just the “let’s-not-talk-about-this” awkwardness her family is way too good at maintaining. Which is totally why I’ve never asked her what, exactly, she’s afraid of. I am a product of these people. I came out to my grandparents via a Post-It note stuck to my monthly “car payment” check in the mail. Which I usually hand-deliver, because that’s how fucking close this family is, emotionally and geographically.

But even though it’s “close,” and not abusive per se, my relationship with the extended family is not healthy. I have lost sleep for days before every big family gathering since 2011. Since I began self-harming in 2013, I’ve had more incidents after family arguments than any other trigger, and it’s a goddamn miracle that I’ve kept my 8-months-clean streak going with all that’s been bouncing around my head since Sunday. Every time I’m around them- especially a group of them- I seem to do more damage to my mental health, their esteem of “liberals,” and any remaining positive feelings between us. Maybe I’m the toxic one here. I don’t know. I don’t fucking care anymore. I just can’t do it.

I can’t do it.

I’m not saying I don’t want to ever speak to any of them ever again ever. No. I just... I can’t go to Thanksgiving or Christmas this year. Or New Year’s at my uncle’s house, which has the same guest list as the family Christmas, PLUS people from the evangelical megachurch I grew up in. 

I just can’t. I haven’t figured out how to tell any of my family this. I’m hoping my therapist will help. I hope- I think- that she won’t pull the same thing the internet articles did, this whole “blood is thicker than politics” bullshit that just makes me feel overdramatic and wrongheaded for taking a long-overdue stance for my own self-regard and personal boundaries.

[sisitersuspicious-blog]

Why We Are Here...

So I thought I would begin with a note on how I came to be involved with the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. Notice I said a note and not a brief note...yeah, strap in folks! 

So this all begins last year (2016) when I was doing a job that i hated and that was slowly killing me. You see I had fallen into the trap that many young people are currently struggling with which is attempting to fulfil society’s/our parent’s grand and extremely high expectations of us. It is no longer acceptable to just have enough money to pay rent, eat food, save a little and maybe go on a small vacation when your tax return comes in. No! You must make something of yourself worthy of bragging rights at the next neighbourhood bbq! So here I was, working in TV post production, with failing eyes, failing wrists, and overall failing health. Also, unbeknownst to me, I was suffering from a severe burnout/mental breakdown. How could I not know? Well, when you are in the midst of a crisis it’s kinda hard to remember what normal feels like. Add on top of the stress of work, health and mental health, I was also going through a gender crisis. I suddenly realized that I didn’t really have a lot in common with your average woman? Was that a sign that I wasn’t a woman? Or more just a sign that societies narrow perception of what a woman can be is just BS? I don’t have an answer yet, but if I ever do I will be sure to let you know!

Getting back to the terrible job, I had been silently suffering for 6 years. I had no idea how I was ever going to rescue myself from this situation. It felt utterly hopeless. I couldn’t get a different job because I was expected to stay within that field and a new job in that field had the potential of being even worse. It least at my company I was not working 12 hour days with no weekends as I had heard other people in my industry talk about. I couldn’t quit either. For much of the time that I was there I was my partner and I’s main breadwinner. Plus I would be in such shit with my parents if I just quit the job that they had paid for my education in order to do. I was truly stuck. Then a ray of hope came through. My company was bought out and we were all asked to apply for our own jobs again, but for less money, or suffer layoffs (I know right....they were truly the milk of human kindness). I took the layoff, thinking this is perfect! I can tell my parents that I did not apply for my own job because the money was bad and I can take some time off for myself to think and heal!

That didn’t exactly happen...(also I promise I will talk about the Sisters soon! i promise!). I did get laid off, which in Canada means you can go on unemployment insurance so i was doing all right for money, but I found myself having to lie to everyone around me constantly. I was used to hiding my gender questions from my parents but now I was telling an even bigger lie, that I was planning to go back to work in the same field as soon as possible. I had told them that I was going to take a few months off and then start applying for jobs in the new year. I knew this was not true. I was having trouble even getting myself out of be in the morning and showering. Thoughts of applying for TV jobs sent me into waves of panic attacks that lasted for hours. I remember describing to my therapist that it felt as though there were a beautiful world out there full of rainbows and bumblebees but that I was stuck sitting in chair with my family, ex-coworkers and the employment insurance people all holding my head firmly in place so that all of could do was stair at a blank grey wall that had “JOB” painted on it in black spray paint. It felt like far too much. Like I knew there was a wonderful life out there, but I was never going to be allowed to have it, so what was the point. Thankfully, I have wonderful supportive partner who was there to save my life and an amazing support network of medical health professionals who worked hard to help me find my feet again. It took a few months, I needed a diagnosis (Its generalized anxiety disorder, social anxiety disorder and obsessive compulsive personality traits in case you were curious) and the right dose of the right medication as well as many therapy sessions for me to be ok with showering, ok with leaving the house and not thinking that the government was watching me through our cable box...(feelings of paranoia are a common symptom of an anxiety disorder. Just leaving this here incase it is helpful to someone) My family backed off a little after I came out about my mental health issues, although I get this feeling I have still not heard the last of that particular situation...

Anyway, also at some point during my mental health crisis, Donald Trump won the election in the States. That didn’t help. On the night that he won, my Mom did a very strange thing (she did not know about my mental health problems at this time as I was keeping it all on the down low, but it was still a strange thing to do even to a healthy person). She phoned me to tell me that Donald Trump had won and then got very mad at me for getting upset. She said that there was not point in getting upset about it. That there was nothing I could do. When I sobbed that I felt like I had not done enough to help the word not be a terrible place, she said “well join a volunteer organization then, but stop getting upset!”. She was wrong, of course, Donald Trump winning the election was a perfectly valid thing to be upset about. But she was also right, in the strange round about way that she sometimes is. I really should join a volunteer organization to help stem the flow of hate that President Fart* represents, but which one...?      

Around this time as well, my beloved partner had started requesting that I go with him to Van-Pah’s monthly Mosh at the Pump Jack. He had started identifying as a Puppy and attending Mosh’s a few months earlier, but was really keen that I go and be there with him and meet all his new friends. So after weeks of gentle pushing by him, I finally pulled together enough medication, courage and cash for drinks to feel like I could go. And, honestly, apart form dating and marring my partner, it was one of the best things I have ever done for myself. Everyone was so bright, friendly and welcoming. It was the window back into the queer community that I had been wishing for for years. You see after my partner came out as trans I went into to kind of self imposed exile. I was not sure where I, a soft-butch identifying asexual who was now married to a man and wasn’t really sure about their own gender, really fit in. But the Puppy’s made me feel so welcome and so wanted that I suddenly self like I had a community again. And it was though the Van-Pah that I met my now Drag Grandma (Nonie as I like to call her) Sister Koo-Koo Kachoo. I did not know her as that yet, I knew him as Allen, president of Van-Pah, but he was the one who first mentioned the Sisters and made me think, this might be the thing for me!

So now, after many months of recovery and support from my partner and my new community, I was ready to take my first steps in my journey towards Sisterhood!   

*In English English a “Trump” is a fart. Your welcome.