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hmserebusadjacent · 4 months ago

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Beautiful

Thought I would post my own humble fluffy Emmrich x Rook story here too.

Emmrich x Trans Male Rook (Pining, longing, all of that lovely stuff)

A story in which an origami ship is made and two men grapple with the enormity of their feelings for each other.

Word count: 771

AO3 link

“It was the silly dream of a child, I suppose. To run away to sea…”

Rook had thoroughly drifted off into the mists of time, Emmrich could tell. Practised hands carried on folding the paper this way and that without the maker even having to look down to check his workings. The logical part of the necromancer’s mind wanted to study the paper folding so he might perfect the art before giving Rook a ship of his own.

But Emmrich’s heart was already lost in the other details of the man across from him, as it always seemed to be nowadays.

The way Rook used his nail to press the lines on the paper more firmly and flatten them, the subtle colour change at the end of his nails a hidden bloom. The hunch of the assassin’s shoulders but the lack of stress lines around his eyes and mouth, showing the war between his need to relax and his instinct to be on guard. The small little gap between the man’s lips that moved ever so slightly as he breathed in and out…

Emmrich idly wondered if Rook’s lips would feel as soft as he had often imagined they would…

“Still, it was a nice dream to have, even if it was foolish”, Rook whispered, shattering both the quiet moment and the deep concentration Emmrich had been pulled into. It felt like something had been drained out of him but had also been refilled anew during his quiet contemplation, and Emmrich had to resist the urge to sigh almost wistfully.

When he looked up to the assassin’s eyes to find the man looking at his folded boat, the necromancer acquiesced and looked downwards.

The boat was much like the others that Rook had made, with the pleasing little sails and the flap at the back that allowed the ship to stand up. But this particular paper was such a pleasing shade of green that it almost seemed to dance in the firelight, casting its own shadows much like Veilfire does.

“Beautiful”, Emmrich found himself commenting, permitting a warmer smile than perhaps was wise to twist his lips.

When the necromancer looked back up to Rook he was almost startled to see a blush dusting the assassin's cheeks, the man only holding his gaze for perhaps a second before he was looking away. The little cheeky smile that graced Rook's lips and the little cough he let out too in the aftermath had Emmrich's heart rattling out a sudden realisation.

Did Rook want to be described as beautiful? More specifically by Emmrich himself?

Oh shit…

By the time Rook looked back at Emmrich the necromancer was still trying to form words, and even Emmrich himself knew there must be a certain desperation to his gaze. Desperation to cross the gap, to bridge to something wonderful and new and joyously…alive.

What was worse was that Rook seemed equally torn, heart almost certainly racing in his chest over a dilemma that the older man dared to hope might be similar to his own.

Thankfully the assassin saved Emmrich from needing to formulate anything else that night, effectively ending the line of discussion when he gave a little wink and stood up.

“I've taken up enough of your time. I'll leave you to it.”

The assassin's face was still holding some of that desperate hope, creeping out behind the mask of joviality that was trying to stay fixed in place.

Even then, Rook wasn't done with inadvertently playing with the other man's heart, for his shy gesture of holding out the ship was enough to make Emmrich want to swoon.

“For you, if you'll have it.”

With hands that he desperately hoped weren't shaking, Emmrich reached out and plucked the ship from the waiting hands before him. He couldn't help but cradle both of his hands around the ship now as he brought it back to his lap, intent on protecting it like the treasure it was.

“Thank you…”, Emmrich almost whispered, somehow making the moment feel all the more intimate.

Rook merely offered a small bow, letting Emmrich see the smile on his face as he stood back up to his full height and then departed and melted into the shadows.

The moment Rook was out of sight and earshot, Emmrich Volkarin gently placed his head in one of his hands and let out the wanton sigh that had been building inside himself all evening.

“What am I going to do…?”, he whispered under his breath, the usually stoic necromancer lost in the midst of feelings he hadn't felt for nearly thirty years.

#emmrich volkarin #emmrich volkahrin #emmrich x rook #dragon age the veilguard #erebus adjacent writing adventures

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alanjeffbrainrot · 4 months ago

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OH NO I’m having thoughts about Ftm!Jeff (prefacing these thoughts with the fact that I’m a gay trans guy and yes I’m fully projecting my insecurities onto Jeff lmao)

CW: internalized transphobia, nsfw, minors dni

So hear me out:

Ftm!jeff and a clueless Alan are dating

Jeff’s been on T since he was 18 so just over 2 years. He got top surgery 6 months after his 18th birthday.

Charlie and North are the only two people that know

north only found out because the gang went to pride and he was wearing a trans flag. Jeff pulled him aside and shyly told him, north immediately giving him a big hug. They’ve been besties since

Jeff has been meaning to tell Alan, he knows the older man will love him no matter what (a fact always supported and mentioned by north) but it’s still scary

Not to mention Alan has made offhand comments about only having been with men and there’s a tiny part of him that worries he will no longer be interested when he finds out.

The night they get get together Jeff’s heart is racing. He’s caught up in the moment, making out with the taller man who has him laid out on the bed

Alan goes to take off Jeff’s shirt and the boys eyes widen, flying down to catch Alan’s wrist.

“Alan…. I have to tell you something” Jeff stutters out, eyes trained at the ceiling

Alan pulls back, looking down at the boy with concern and pulling his hand away from the shirt and resting it on Jeff’s cheek

With the comfort from the man’s hand Jeff takes a shaky breath and quietly says “there’ll be scars. Umm…” tears well up in his eyes as he continues, “I had top surgery over a year ago and… and it’s healed but the scarring is still there…”

Alan is listening quietly, stroking the boys cheek to catch the falling tears. Jeff starts chewing on his bottom lip, still refusing to look alan in the eyes. “Baby, are you trying to tell me you’re trans?” Alan asks delicately

Jeff sighs, a new round of tears starting as he nods. “Oh my love, you’re okay” alan says, swooping down to pepper kisses over his face, “thank you for telling me. I love you, I love you so much. Nothing will ever change that.”

They talk for a bit, alan quelling Jeff’s most intimate fears. At the end of the conversation, Jeff still has one lingering question for the man. “Do you still…. Want me ? I haven’t had bottom surgery so I’m… ya know…”

A loud laugh is heard from alan, Jeff staring at him with wide, shocked eyes. “Sorry, sorry” alan says, quieting himself. He pushes Jeff back down on the bed and brings his leg over the boys hips, straddling him. “You aren’t the first trans guy I’ve dated” Alan says with a shrug, his hands finding their way back under Jeff’s shirt, just rubbing soft circles into his hips. “You just have to tell me what you’re comfortable with, okay ? Like….” He leans down whisper in Jeff’s ear, “can I taste you ? Get you off on my tongue ?”

Jeff moans, head nodding as he grips Alan’s hair and brings him over for a heated kiss. Alan goes to rake the boys shirt up again, this time not being stopped.

When they’re both naked, alan begins kissing down Jeff’s chest, taking a moment to kiss over each scar which nearly made Jeff cry again.

He gets down to Jeff’s core, shoving his legs further apart to get a better look. Jeff is bright red, embarrassed over being so exposed but he can’t look away.

Alan’s breath ghosts over Jeff’s wet entrance, eyes trained on Jeff’s tiny cock (thanks T). Alan seems to finally break, lurching forward to latch onto Jeff’s cock and suck, hard, tongue swirling around it causing Jeff to let out a broken moan.

alan brings a hand up to ghost over Jeff’s leaking entrance before a noise of protest is hear from the boy. “Nothing inside” he pants out, “please”

Alan immediately withdraws his hand, bringing his head up to kiss lightly at Jeff’s inner things. “Okay” he breaths out, catching Jeff’s eyes and bringing his hand up to interlace their fingers together. “I’ve got you baby”

Alan goes back in, eating the boy out with passion. When jeff is close to his orgasm he begins bucking his hips into Alan’s face.

Jeff cums quickly, riding out his orgasm on Alan’s tongue. When alan resurfaces he moves back up to kiss Jeff deeply, the boy able to taste his own release on the man’s tongue.

Alan brings his hand down to begin tugging at his own painful erection. He pulls back from the kiss to look down at the boy, “can I cum on you ?”

Jeff groans at the lewdness of the question, “my stomach and chest” he says, eyes not leaving the man to watch every twitch of his face. Alan moans and reaches his peak, leaving streaks of cum across the boys chest

Once they’re cleaned up they lay with each other in bed, Jeff tucked into Alan’s neck. “Thank you” the boy says quietly.

Alan kisses the top of his head, pulling Jeff closer to him, “I love you baby.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Want to read more ? Here’s my masterlist

#trans jeff and north are besties #pit babe the series #alanjeff #pit babe #sailubpon #pit babe hcs #alanjeff brain rot #pit babe fanfic #pit babe fic

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jayspaceinc · 14 days ago

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Kori’s Name

Written: 2/4/22

[Author’s note: over time, I will be posting as much side content/AU content as I can (that doesn’t include spoilers) so I can build up an audience :) Kori is just one of 6 main characters in the Are We Dead Yet? Book and other characters will have their own appearances/stories uploaded as well in time]

"So, I know you're not a huge fan of talking about your past but I'd love to hear how you chose the name Kori," Celia said with eyes full of wonder as she sat on Kori's bed in her apartment.

"It's not that interesting of a story. I've told you before."

"That was just the summarised version though. All you said was you saw a comic book with the name and chose that character. What's the full thing?"

Kori sighed. She knew her friend was never going to let this go and it was better she just told the whole thing to avoid any issues. "Fine I'll tell you but dont get upset if its nauseatingly boring. About 6 months before I met you, I had fully accepted that I wasn't a boy and never had been."

*this may be set in the past but out of respect to Kori as a character and being, we will remain using the correct name and pronouns lest the situation call for it*

12 year old Kori sat along their quite large dinner table where her, her parents, and numerous siblings had decided to gather. Her father was going through their usual dinner where they boasted of their accomplishments for the day. Somehow everyone had done something amazing throughout the day besides her time and time again. But she was so glad to share this new revelation with her family.

"Hanbin, what was your accomplishment today?"

Kori wiped her sweaty hands on her pants. "…I figured out something today."

Now, Kori had known about trans people since she was six from her kindergarten sex ed class. She was fully familiar and understanding of the concept of one changing from one gender to another. "I wanna be a girl."

Silence fell across the table. Apparently they hadn't gotten that memo that that was such a thing. Her family chose to stay closed off to the social political issues that was seeing a resurgence in modern times. Sure, they knew about trans people, but they were either unacknowledged or shamed in their presence.

"What are you talking about, Hanbin?" One of her older brothers roared with laugher. "You don't wanna be a girl just because you like men."

She frowned. She didn't like men. Not in that way really, all of her crushes in the past had been women. "But, I don't like boys. I like girls and I want to be one."

"What would you even go by if you were a girl?" Another brother asked.

"I dont know.. I haven't thought about it that much yet.. but what does it matter? A name isn't everything."

"It might be time for you to switch prescriptions again, you've got that crazy look in your eyes."

Her father, who wouldn't even tease the idea of his son being gay or trans switched topics, "Did you sign up for the swim team like I asked you, Hanbin?"

Kori's brief confidence fell under his harsh tone. "I meant to.. but I forgot.“ she quickly bowed her head and apologised in Korean as her father chose to ignore the other half of their lineage and raised them as if they were pure Korean.

"Then that's your goal for tomorrow," and with that, they moved onto someone else.

But Kori wasn't letting go of this girl thing. Her brother was right. She needed a new name that fit her better. Hanbin was a perfectly respectable name for a Korean boy. But she wasn't a Korean boy, was she? She went to the World Library and went through a trial of ups and downs and lefts and rights trying to find a new name on the public computers. She looked up most popular names, unique names, even Korean names since she didn't hate her heritage that much and maybe her father would come around to it more if it was Korean. She'd played with a few of them, pretending she had friends that could even call her such a thing.

"'Jiah you look so pretty today.' 'Yeah Jiah, you're such a pretty girl.' Hm... I don't know if it sounds good enough. What do you think?" Kori turned to her little siblings she'd been forced to pick up and babysit after school. But then she noticed her little brother was missing. Of course, he was. "Where did Sukchin go, Hyunjae?"

The 5 year old toddler shrugged her shoulders. This was just great. She'd never hear the end of it if anyone found out she'd lost him for even two seconds.

Her brothers' words from the dinner a few nights previous were really bothering her. How was she crazy for seeing that she was a girl? If anything, this was the happiest she'd been in this shit family. She hated her short hair cut and her already quite masculine features that were starting to show thanks to the luxuries of puberty. But girls were so pretty and she longed to be just like the ones she saw on TV and magazine covers. After a bit of search, she found her little brother had wandered into the comic book section messing with some of the comics on the lower shelf. He'd already knocked off quite a few on the floor. Kori crouched down on the ground and started to clean up his mess. The comic books were obviously old but in flawless condition. She saw this beautiful tan woman with a crazy mane of pink hair and glowing green eyes. She was so pretty. And that wasn't her only appearance. She was in so many of these covers, always looking astonishing and beautiful at all times. She was the main character of her life for sure while Kori had always felt like a background character in hers. She flipped through a few of the comics where she remained as stunning as her cover image. She was funny and kind of ditzy but powerful and nice. Everything Kori wanted to be.

Kori ended up checking out as much of their collection as the library would allow and became obsessed with reading the series. Once she'd completed all of what the library had, she reached out to other sources on the internet where she soon discovered there was so much more to this illustrious character. Her family was more than unhinged like Kori's and her love life seemed a bit rocky given how often her boyfriend tended to cheat on her. When she'd finally reached the end of all that the internet had to give, she decided she couldn't just let this character go now that she had finished their story. She wanted to keep a part of her with her at all times. The girls name was Koriander but Kori thought it might disrespectful to take her entire name as her own so she dropped the second half until a few more years to come. Hanbin would be no more and out of the ashes would arise Kori. Kind of cool when you think about it. She did sort of resonate with Raven a bit more than she had intended to but she wanted to separate herself from her bleak depressing past and try to be more open in the future.

"And your accomplishment for the day, Hanbin?"

"I've been thinking about what you guys said a few months ago and.. I finally settled on a name. I wanna go by Kori."

Once again, no one really knew how to respond. It was easy to beat around the bush last time but this was much more direct.

"Is that Korean..?"

"No, but it's still a kicka-- awesome name. I like it. I wanna start going by it. That's my accomplishment: I found my name."

"When are you dropping this act, Hanbin? Do you want attention, is that it? Maybe if you did something noteworthy, you'd get it. But enough with this sickening joke you've been keeping on," Her father said, his words cutting her deep.

Kori blinked away the tears in her eyes. "I'm serious.. I don't know why you can't accept that." She left the dinner table and went up to her room that she had started to decorate more femininely over the past three months. Unfortunately, no one had acknowledged her name. Not at home or in school. She had to obtain her parent's signature for a roster change and that wasn't going to happen. So she just kept being Hanbin.. no one wanted her to be anything but. Even after growing out her hair for months, her gender was being ignored everywhere she went. So much for being more open. Once her family had discovered that this Kori thing wasn't going away, they switched her prescription which only made her feel worse. At least she had her books. She could immerse herself in that and pretend that she was the main character somewhere no matter how mythical it could be.

Kori was pretty much the only one who called herself that. Everyone in this town knew her family so they never called her the correct name. That was until she met some strange girl in the park a few months later.

Celia had been the only one to see Kori for what she was and call her by her correct name. The name she so deeply resonated with and loved. She'd probably never actually tell Celia this was but it was one of the happiest moments in her otherwise shitty life.

If you made it to the end, hello again 🥸 I will be very blunt and say Kori’s name was not always inspired by the comic book character 💀 it was Jiah in the first draft! But I think Kori seeing a beautiful woman and getting obsessed with the comics to the point that she literally adopts the name is so adorable. I knew I just wanted her to have the name Kori in the second draft and looped back around to the why so here it is :)

And if you liked this! Check out:

“When Did You Know?”

#jayspace #are we dead yet #awdy #kori kim #Kim Kori #writeblr #writers on tumblr #sorry it’s 50% story 50% A/N #I was nervous okay #new reads

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metalmonki · 2 years ago

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Supernatural, Hunting, Living and Love (Revisited)

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

3k word count

summary While exploring a haunted house your friend told you about, you have a chance encounter with a pair of brothers who give you a crash introduction to their world.

fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers

warnings mention of grave desecration (this is illegal don't do it!)

Note So I remembered my Mibba log-in and found this embarrassment of a story along with a long list of other equally embarrassing stories. I decided to challenge myself to edit and rewrite the stories and post them here. I will also include a link to the original story so you can read it in all it's cringy glory. This was a story from 2009 that I wrote with 2 friends of mine that we never completed. Once I have decringed the story I will finish it here. Enjoy I guess.

Original / Next Chapter

For some dumb reason, I had decided it would be fun to check out the creepy abandoned house down the road from my friend Linsey's house. At the time, it had seemed like a great idea. Everyone was always talking about how the house was haunted. The neighbourhood rumour was that the father had annihilated the last family to live in the house. But, of course, there was no proof of this. Linsey refused to go anywhere near the house and had chosen to stay home. I, however, convinced my friend Theresa to join me for this stupid adventure. Things had started out okay. Getting entry to the house was easy enough. We pulled out our phones, giggled, and recorded as we walked through a place frozen in time, joking about how this would make us Facebook famous. After we made our way to the second floor, things changed. The air upstairs was icy cold compared to the blistering heat outside. A large bang came from downstairs. Theresa noped out and took off from the house, to my best guess. All I know is she took off running down the stairs before I even had a chance to process the bang. Instead of following, I froze. I stood in the doorway to what looked to be a bedroom staring wide-eyed at the staircase, trying to gain the courage to run downstairs.

"Quick in here," said a voice breaking me from my trans.

I ran towards the voice. I saw two guys, clearly brothers, hiding in the small closet in the room. I squeezed into the closet with them. I took a moment to look at them in the light of a flashlight one of them was holding. The one I guest to be the older one had short dark blonde hair and a small amount of stubble. I guessed him to be around 6’1’; meanwhile, the one I took to be the younger brother had longer, fluffy light brown hair and was clean-shaven. He was easy 6’4 pushing 6’5. You know what they say the older sibling is always the shortest sibling.

“What are you doing in here?” The shorter one asked.

“I was exploring with my friend. We just heard the rumours about the place being haunted and wanted to check it out,” I said, throwing my arms about in frustration as much as possible in the small space. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, exploring just like you,” The tall one said, looking nervously between his brother and me.

“Oh, that’s a lie. You are a terrible liar. What are your names?" I asked as the older brother snickered behind me. "I'm Dean, and this is my brother Sam," said the older one. "I'm Y/n," I said. “Now, what are you really doing here?” I asked looking between them.

“Hunting a ghost”, Dean blurted out.

“Dean” Sam looked at him, frustrated.

“What? She walked herself into this. She should know what's going on. We can’t get her out of here safely otherwise” Dean pointed his open hand at me. “Uh, hello right here. Would you care to explain” I huffed, putting my hands on my hips.

Dean sighed, getting frustrated looks from Sam, but he explained everything. It sounded like the ramblings of a crazy man, or men in this case. Dean explained that people had been reporting getting attacked and followed home. Some people had even been reportedly killed in the house. This was nothing I had ever heard before nor had it come up in my research. Truthfully, my research was a 20 minute google search. I wasn’t from the area and wouldn’t know about the place if it wasn’t for Linsey. We lived 5 suburbs apart, so there was no reason for me to be anywhere near this house. Dean explained what they do and how they ended up in Sydney, Australia. I would have said he was lying and crazy, but he seemed honest. He truly believed everything he was saying. And it felt like I should give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Okay, so if everything you're saying is true, what do we do?” I asked

“You don’t do anything. We need to figure out where the body is and burn it,” Dean said pointing a finger between himself and Sam.

“The whole family who lived here last is buried in the local cemetery in a family tomb,” I said like it was common knowledge.

“Wait, how did you find that out?” Sam asked

“I googled it”, I shrugged. “I just want to know if the rumours were true, so I googled. Their burial place was like the first google result” I shrugged.

“Rumours?” Dean asked

“That the father murdered his whole family,” I said. “I couldn’t find anything, but they all died in this house the same night.”

“So, there is a chance daddy dearest ganked them all,” Dean said

“Well, that’s what the police were thinking, but they didn’t have enough proof,” I said

“Well, looks like we need to burn dear old Dad”, Dean smirked at Sam.

“First, we need to get out of the house,” Sam said

The whole time we had been standing around talking I could feel a cool breeze from what was supposed to be the solid wardrobe wall behind us. I turned to face the wall of the closet and ran a finger along the seem where I could feel the air. I pressed along the wall praying it was in fact what I thought it was, a hidden door. Thankfully it popped open, revealing a hidden stairs case. Most likely a servant staircase. I silently cheered and led the way down the stairs. At the bottom was a door that led into the kitchen, and in the kitchen was a backdoor. Once we were somewhat safe in the yard, I let Dean and Sam lead the way to wherever they were going. They walked out into a back alley behind the house. Sitting in the alley was a beautiful looking 67 Chevy Impala. I giggled to myself before hearing another person squealing from the other side of the car.

"Theresa" I questioned, peaking around the car. "Y/n," she said, running over to me pulling me into a hug. "Are you okay?" I asked looking her over. "I'm fine," Theresa said. "Thank god," I sighed. “Where the hell did you go? And why did you abandon me?”

“Outside, duh, I ran out through the kitchen and then was going to run down the alley to Linsey’s, but I spotted this beauty. Can you believe there is another one identical to yours?” Theresa squealed “Oh and yeah so sorry about leaving you behind, autopilot you know”.

“No, I can’t”, I smiled “Also your forgiven just don’t do it again”.

“Okay, enough with the weirdness”, Dean spoke up. “Who is she, and why is she looking at baby?”

“Oh, this is my friend Theresa the one I was exploring with.” I said, “Theresa, this is Sam and Dean. Who is baby?” Dean waved a hand at the car like it was obvious.

“Oh great, so she was in the house too,” Sam said completely ignoring everything else.

“Well, Theresa looks like you're coming with us,” Dean said, hoping in the car.

“Can we go get my car before we take off?” I asked while getting into the car.

“Where is it?” Dean asked.

“Parked out the front of the house,” I said.

Dean sighed, put the Impala in drive and drove around the front of the house. As soon as we rounded the corner, Dean spotted my Impala. He smirked and chuckled, almost surprised that I had the same car as him. We pulled up in front of my car just long enough for Theresa and me to jump out of Deans car and into mine. Dean motioned out his window for me to lead the way. The late afternoon sky bled into twilight as we reached the cemetery. A thrill, tinged with defiance, shot through me as I saw the locked gates. Nighttime visits were strictly forbidden, and the council was none too happy about the recent wave of skateboarders and trill seekers. But the gate seemed to be a normal hindrance to the boys. With practiced ease, they vaulted the gate, their laughter echoing off the ancient stones. I scanned the perimeter, spotting a hidden gap in the fence, and followed them through, a hint of apprehension mixed with the excitement.

I walked the boys over to the family tomb. The tomb was opened, the door clearly having been broken in a long time ago. They asked us to wait outside while they set to working inside. The boys had a worn duffle with them, out of which they pulled out salt, petrol and a crowbar. The family had been placed in their coffins into the wall with a limestone name plate marking each person’s final resting place. Dean managed to pry the nameplate for the father off the wall exposing the coffin which was quite decayed. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed by Deans strength. Sam covered the casket in petrol while Dean covered it in salt as best they could through the small opening. Once the casket was covered as it could be, Dean threw a lit matchbook into the hole. The coffin burst into flame quickly heating the small mausoleum.

“Well, that should be all done,” Dean said. “But to be safe, we should return to the house and check. You two, however, will go to our hotel and wait for us.” Dean tossed us the keys

I caught them in one hand turning them over to read the hotel name off the tag and chose not to argue. I nodded at him and headed back towards the cars. Theresa and I drove straight to the hotel. I was silently ruminating over the day’s events while Theresa was hardly managing to sit still and rambling on about Sam. We found their room and let ourselves in. The room was basic, 2 queen beds, a lounge, table, chair and tv on one of those hotels’ typical built-in stands. The first thought through my head was I hope to God we don’t have to spend the night because I was not one to share a bed with a complete stranger and the lounge looked uninviting.

“Hay, which do you think is Sam's bed?” Theresa broke me from my thoughts.

“I don’t know. Why do you want to know?” I asked confused.

“I don’t know, I just want to lay on Sam's bed. He so cute, uh, I think I’m in love,” Theresa swooned, dropping into the chair.

“Oh, dear god, woman, you fall in love too quickly.” I rolled my eyes.

“I can’t help it. Did you see him? That man clearly looks after himself.” Theresa giggled.

“Yeah, and so does Dean, but you don’t see me swooning over him. I really don’t get you sometimes”.

I flopped onto the bed, squeezing my eyes shut against the relentless drone of Theresa's voice. Every syllable about Sam felt like a grating record needle stuck on repeat. All I craved was escape, the sweet oblivion of a normal life. Finish my acting degree, build a portfolio, disappear into the anonymity of a bustling city. A sharp rap on the door jolted me awake. Theresa, mid-sentence, pivoted toward the sound. Her smile faltered for a fleeting moment before she plastered it back on and cautiously cracked the door open. A hushed exchange followed, punctuated by muffled figures I couldn't quite see. Relief washed over me when I saw Dean and Sam enter the room. Their presence was a familiar anchor in this storm of emotions.

“You comfortable on my bed?” Dean asked a smirked on his face as he shed his leather jacket onto the foot of said bed.

“Very. I was having a nice little nap before you so rudely woke me up” I stretched out on the bed.

“Well, sorry, ma’am.” Dean laughed, giving a goofy salute.

“On to more serious things, we saw scorch marks at the house indicating that we may have gotten rid of this thing, but we would like you to stay here overnight just in case” Sam looked between us. Definitely the serious brother, I noted.

“Oh yeah, and where are we supposed to sleep?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“You girls, take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch,” Dean smiled.

“Are you sure?” I asked not wanting to be rude.

“Not the first time I slept in a chair won’t be the last” Dean shrugged “It’s kind of part of the job description”.

“You have a job description?” I joked.

“Not really we kind of just making it up as we go” Dean shrugged giving me a wink.

Theresa, ever the optimist, quickly engaged Sam in conversation. Her laughter, a welcome sound, filled the room. It was a stark contrast to the turmoil within me.

"Alright everyone, hold that thought," Dean boomed, his voice a welcome interruption. His stomach let out a loud rumble, punctuating his statement. "We all must be starving after that little...adventure. I'm gonna hit the shops for some supplies. Anything in particular tickle your fancy, y/n?"

“Buyers choice” I smiled at him, he winked back before leaving the room.

I rolled my eyes playfully as Theresa bombarded Sam with questions. Their easy banter was a testament to her ability to move on. "What happened, happened," she'd always say. Maybe she was right. Dwelling on it wouldn't change anything. I wrapped myself in Dean's blanket, the scent of his cologne and laundry detergent a strangely comforting reminder of normalcy. The weariness in my bones finally won over my racing thoughts, and I drifted back to sleep, the gentle murmur of conversation a lullaby in the background.

“Just making yourself right at home now, aren’t you?” Dean chuckled, walking in the door, startling me awake again.

“I’m tired. It’s been a long day, and part of me is hoping this is all a bad dream,” I groaned looking at the ceiling.

“Sorry, sweetheart, this pretty face is as real as it gets”, Dean shot me a cheesy grin. “Now get up and eat. Grubs getting cold.”

Dean dropped four bags of McDonalds on the table and almost immediately went to complaining about the tiny size of the burgers here and he had to order an obscene amount of them just to fill himself up. Sam just shook his head clearly; this was a complaint Sam had heard a few times too many. I on the other hand just pointed out that he could have gone to any of the fish and chip shops he had gone past on his way to McDonalds and brought a single burger like 4 times the size of the McDonalds ones. Dean being oh so mature put on a high-pitched voice mocking what I had said before murmuring shut-up and starting on the first of a stack of 6 burgers he had brought himself. I begrudgingly pulled myself out of the bed and made my way to the table. Dean had ordered burgers for me and Theresa and a salad for Sam. I gave Sam a questioning look as he murmured something about it being the healthier choice before walking away. Sam and Theresa went back to his bed where they continued their conversation while Dean and I ate in silence. I had taken a seat on the lounge and occasionally glanced up at Dean who would just smile at me with a mouth full of food. I would also catch him watching Sam and Theresa a small smile etched on his face like he was happy to see his brother happy. When Dean had finished the last of his burgers he stood up and started walking towards the bathroom.

“I’m going to shower and get ready to turn in it’s been a long day” Dean rubbed his face in exhaustion.

“Okay well Theresa did you want to catch a movie or something?” Sam asked looking at Theresa.

“Sure” Theresa bounced of the bed and practically ran at the door.

I followed Sam and Theresa out of the room so I could get the spare clothes out of my car that I carried around in there. It became a habit I picked up running from audition to audition to have a go bag in my car with anything in it I might need. I went back into the room and took the chance while Dean was in the bathroom to quickly change into a comfy pair of shorts and a loose shirt. I sat back on Dean's bed, but instead of laying down, I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the carpet as I continued to think about everything. Theresa seemed so comfortable and at home with the boys, but I just wanted this whole thing over. But the more I thought, the more I felt like I would never be able to go back to things as they were. Knowing what could be out there, I would always be a little on edge. If ghosts were real, then what else possibly existed? Vampires? Werewolves? What about all the silly kid stories like Bloody Mary and Candyman? Could they be real? I wanted to pretend that none of this had happened, but it’s not exactly something you can forget like a footnote. Like yeah, that shit happened, but let's just pack up and move on. At some point during my inner struggle Dean had finished his shower and made himself comfortable on the lounge. It wasn’t until Dean cleared his throat that I was snapped out of my thoughts.

“Okay, I’m not going to be able to sleep with you sitting on the edge of the bed like that. It’s kinda creepy. What's on your mind, kid?” Dean asked, sitting up on the lounge.

“Kid? I’ll have you know I’m 22, not exactly a kid anymore” I tried to joke looking over at Dean, noticing he was in nothing but a black t-shirt and black boxer briefs.

“Okay, sweetheart, doesn’t answer my question, though”, Dean smirked.

“How am I supposed to go back to life as it was knowing ghosts, and who knows what else is real?” I looked back at the floor. “What exactly does exist Dean? Vampires? Werewolves? Demons? Angels?” I rattled off a list of things randomly looking back up at him.

“Yeah, those and more” Dean chuckled dryly. “As for moving on the simple answer is you don’t. You just go on and try to live as normal as possible, knowing people like Sammy and I are out here hunting these things to keep you safe. Hopefully, that helps you sleep a little better at night.”

“Can you talk to me while we go to sleep?” I asked sheepishly.

“Of course, sweetheart”, He groaned as he laid back on the lounge. I finally laid down on the bed. Both of us staring at the ceiling as we talked.

“You never told me your last name,” I said it was a random question but anything to keep the conversation going and my mind busy.

“Winchester and yours?”.

“Y/l/n”.

“Well, now I know who to look up next time I’m in town”, Dean chuckled.

“How old are you anyway I mean clearly you’re the old sibling”

“Not too old to hit on a hottie like you” I could feel Dean's eyes on me as he spoke.

“Smooth Winchester” I tried to laugh, but it just sounded like an awkward giggle.

“31”

“You’re a real ladies' man, aren’t you, Dean Winchester” I smiled to the ceiling, getting taken by his charm.

“Yeah, well, when you have my lifestyle, you don’t exactly have the option of settling down, so you take what you can get.”

“No judgement here”

Dean and I laughed for what felt like hours. Under his tough exterior, he was adorable. I would be lying if I said I wouldn’t be sad to say goodbye tomorrow. My eyes could no longer fight to stay open, and I drifted to sleep listening to Dean singing Highway To Hell. The following morning, I woke to find the room completely empty. I got up and changed into something else from my go bag. Nothing fancy, just plain black jeans and a white tank top. I pulled on my boots and headed outside to check for the cars. My car was sitting where I parked it right before the door. Dean's car was gone, though. I pulled out my phone and rang Theresa guessing she was with them. I mean where else would she be, she couldn’t exactly get home without me. Rather than answer the phone she shot me a text message. Busy talking to Sam, we’re just down the road at the all you can eat. I rolled my eyes allowing myself to have a genuine laugh at her. I knew the place she was talking about. It was only 2 blocks away so who knows why Dean decided to drive. I left my car where it was and made the 5-minute walk. I felt a lot better than I had the night before. As much as it felt weird to put my trust in strangers, I really did trust Sam and Dean. Once I was outside the restaurant it didn’t take me long to spot them. Dean gave me a goofy wave through the window while sending me a ‘, please save me’ look. I giggled making my way into the restaurant and over to their table. "Hey guys," I said as I took a seat at the table. "Hey, sleepy head," Dean gave a big cheesy smile. "Hey", Theresa and Sam said in unison. "So, whose food can I steal," I said, tummy grumbling looking between the plates. "I made sure we paid for you too, you know just in case you decided to grace us with your presence” Dean smirked giving me a wink. "Thank you, such a gentleman" I gave him a wink back before heading to the food.

Dean followed me over with his almost empty plate. I could hear Sam call after him “Dude seriously are you still hungry”. I chuckled and shook my head at the brothers. Dean came to stand beside me as we loaded up our plates.

“So,” Dean said, putting way too much bacon on his plate “, I guess after this, we go our separate ways,” He said more of a statement than a question.

“I guess so”, I smiled at him. “But hey, you said you’d look me up next time you were in town, so don’t be a stranger now, you hear.”

“Yes, ma’am”, Dean chuckled “Just promise me you’ll go back to your normal life”.

“I promise” I smiled at him.

We had an excellent breakfast filled with conversation about what came next for Sam and Dean. They were headed back home to the US now the job was done. It seemed like this was goodbye forever. We finished our breakfast, and Dean drove us back to the hotel. Theresa and I packed up our things before giving them a heartfelt goodbye. We hopped in my car, going home back to life before the Winchesters. But we knew things would never be the same, not now. Some small piece of me hoped I would see the Winchesters again.

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean x reader #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #castiel

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trickstarbrave · 1 year ago

Text

i havent proofread this. i just wrote whatever my little heart wanted

heres some childhood friends voryn and nerevar with trans nerevar

slight romance but theyre like. 10-14/15 in this (in human years???? elves are weird) so. its nothing more than little kisses.

also used she/her pronouns until voryn would know differently. bc its mostly from his perspective

The first time Voryn saw Nerevar, he knew Nerevar was someone special. Short, fluffy white hair, bright blue eyes, and a devilish grin had Voryn wanting to be closer and closer to the strange elf.

In all honesty, he thought Nerevar was a boy when they first met. She had that sort of boyish charm, that mischievous look. The name didn’t help either--it wasn’t distinctly feminine or masculine. Not to mention the way she carried herself, the dirt under her nails, and the wooden sword on her belt all screamed “boy”.

The day they first played together it was warmer than usual. Typically in Kogoruhn the wind carried the cold air from the sea of ghosts inward and gave it a pleasant, cool breeze even in summer. But instead the wind carried the heat from Red Mountain down, making it hot under the blazing sun. Annoyed, Voryn eventually discarded his shirt before picking up the large branch to continue play-sword fighting with Nerevar, and soon after Nerevar did the same. They were about to head back into town when they were both thirsty and their shoulders were just turning red, when a familiar man came out into the ash, a glare on his face. He recognized the man by his pale hair--Nerevar’s uncle.

“Young lady--” Nelvon Mora snapped, partially covering Nerevar’s body with his ash cloak. “Where is your shirt?!” He was clearly furious, only confusing Voryn more. Nerevar wasn’t a girl--or if she was, Voryn didn’t see what the problem was. It was hot outside, way too warm to be playing around with a shirt on. When his mother took him to Mournhold lots of children played shirtless in the city, running around carefree.

“It’s in my bag.” Nerevar replied, before her uncle dug it out and started wrestling her back in it. “It’s hot--!” Nerevar began fussing, only to get a firm tug on the ear making her yelp.

“You’re a young lady now, you can’t be running around without a shirt on no matter how warm it gets.” Nelvon looked annoyed and disgruntled.

“I said she could.” Voryn spoke up, trying to defend his friend. “I did it first.”

Nerevar’s uncle looked his way, before sighing, still keeping a tight grip on Nerevar’s arm. “I understand, young lord,” Nelvon began, “But you’re a young man. What might be appropriate to you isn’t appropriate for a young lady.”

Voryn didn’t understand what that even meant. If Nerevar was a girl, what did it matter? Why was Voryn allowed to not wear a shirt because he was a boy, but Nerevar wasn’t?

He’d asked his mother afterwards why Nerevar was in trouble for it. His mother only sighed, sitting him on her lap.

“You and Nerevar are nearly at the age your bodies start changing and you begin to grow into adults.” Voryn cocked an eyebrow, confused. “The two of you will grow in different ways, and her uncle just doesn’t want her in the habit by the time the changes start.”

Voryn was still a bit too young to understand, but he nodded his head and didn’t question any further for the time being. From that day on though, Nerevar was given linen and cotton shirts that breathed easier or wrap tops that left her arms exposed. Yet, she seemed more self conscious about them as they were distinctly more feminine.

As they got older, Voryn became interested in romance. He slunk around the library when he had time to himself, pulling the few romance novels off the shelves, reading in the corner. He liked the way they described fluttery feelings, held hands, and professed their love. He liked it more so when it was two men who fell in love, usually in times of war or battle, exchanging blows to measure their hearts.

Voryn really only saw himself kissing and holding hands with another boy, when he fantasized about it. Heirs were supposed to get married and have kids, but the idea of a wife never really appealed to him. He didn’t find himself attracted to the poetic descriptions of princesses in long, flowing dresses and snake-like smiles. He much preferred the raw strength of the warrior-heroes and their rugged looks. Besides, he found it easier to get along with boys, why wouldn’t he want to kiss them too?

Well, there was one exception. His heart always fluttered when he thought about kissing Nerevar, but… Nerevar was different. She wasn’t delicate and feminine, but just as boyish as Voryn. Hell, Nerevar was more boyish than Voryn in many ways, preferring the sword and physical activity, enjoying nothing more than wrestling in the ash and mud with the boys.

“What are you doing?” Nerevar was suddenly at his shoulder while he was deep in thought, causing him to jump and drop his book. Nerevar snickered as he rolled his eyes.

“You’re going to make me lose my place…” He groaned, picking the book back up and trying to get to the previous spot he was at. Nerevar wrapped her arms around his shoulders, practically hanging off him as he flipped through the pages.

“What are you reading?” She asked. Nerevar had learned to read shockingly fast. Her eyes flicked across the words as he skimmed as well, looking for the page he was on.

“It’s a novel about a war between two clans.” Voryn explained. “The main characters are two men who were friends before the fighting broke out and decide to work together to stop it.” Voryn finally found the spot he was at, where the two characters finally confessed, kissing one another in the rain.

“... Two boys can kiss?” Nerevar asked quietly, her eyes wife as though marveling with the revelation.

“... Yeah.” Voryn answered back, his cheeks feeling warm. “Araynys has a boyfriend. And there’s lots of stories like this.”

“Can I read with you?” She asked, and when Voryn nodded his head she got comfortable leaning against him, now just resting her head on his shoulder as they read in silence.

Nerevar’s uncle left her at Kogoruhn. When he asked Nerevar about it, she just shrugged, looking indifferent. It was supposed to be a good opportunity for Nerevar; here she could get a good education and find a good job or husband. At that comment though Nerevar would glare and roll her eyes, proudly declaring she’d never get married.

With her uncle now gone she could cut her hair shorter, at least, something she seemed to really enjoy. With short, choppy hair she looked a lot happier, smiling as bright as the sun.

They’d just finished playing with some of the other children in town and the stronghold. They said they wanted to play a game of capture the princess, but Nerevar, despite being the only girl, refused the role of “princess”. Instead she volunteered Voryn, who was now grumpily sitting in her lap after she spent most of the game running around with him in her arms.

“You always make me the princess…” Voryn grumbled, annoyed. They were just about to be teenagers and here Nerevar was still bossing him around.

“But you’re cute like a princess.” She teased, still with that wolfish grin that made Voryn’s heart race. “Besides, how are you going to pick me up and carry me? It’s way easier for me to carry you.” Voryn rolled his eyes, messing up her hair with his hand, making her laugh more.

“You’re even cuter when your face is red--” She continued, and Voryn glared.

“Shut up.” Voryn could feel his face and ears turning an even brighter shade of red.

“Cute~” Nerevar teased, poking his cheek, and Voryn huffed.

“You’re cute too.” Voryn looked away, still flustered. At that, Nerevar got offended.

“I am not!”

“How am I cute but you aren’t?” Voryn replied, indignant.

“Because I’m not!” Nerevar glared, and Voryn could tell it wasn’t a playful glare. She was actually mad. “I don’t want to be cute!”

Voryn didn’t know why she was mad. Why was it okay to call him cute, but not the other way around?

“Well you’re not ugly,” Voryn scoffed, “What else am I supposed to call you?”

“... I don’t know…” Nerevar’s voice went quiet, her ears drooping slightly.

“... Handsome?” Voryn offered, and Nerevar’s ears perked up again, her cheeks turning red slightly as she looked away. After a moment, she nodded slowly, as if unsure, her hands playing with the hem of Voryn’s shirt.

There was tension in the air again, as was so often the case with the two of them lately. A fluttering feeling came in Voryn’s stomach as he leaned closer. “Doesn’t the princess usually kiss the warrior who rescued her…?” Voryn offered, and Nerevar’s face turned even redder. She nodded again, closing her eyes.

Voryn leaned in, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to Nerevar’s cheek. Nerevar’s arms tightened around him, as Nerevar then turned and returned the favor, kissing Voryn on the cheek in return.

Voryn hadn’t seen Nerevar in three days. Whenever he came by her room, she either pretended to be asleep and refused to answer, or she told him to go away because she didn’t feel well. After long enough of being ignored and feeling helpless, he grabbed the healer who had attended to her and demanded an answer. The healer, seeing his concern, merely laughed, patting Voryn on the shoulder.

“Young lord, please don’t worry too much.” The healer reassured him.

“She hasn’t come out of her room. What’s wrong with her?”

“It’s nothing serious.” The healer answered. “She just got her first period is all.” Voryn blinked, confused. He’d been taught what menstruation was; while some noble families preferred to keep their sons in the dark about such matters, Morvani Dagoth was not that kind of woman. She said it was embarrassing for a man to not know about such matters or find a normal bodily function taboo. It would be humiliating if one of her sons actually managed to marry a woman clueless about what menstruation even was. “A lot of girls are sensitive about it, but I assured her it’s perfectly normal. It just means she’s a young woman now, becoming an adult, but I think she’s still coming to terms with it.” The healer attempted to reassure Voryn. “Don’t worry too much about it.”

Voryn grit his teeth. He knew there had to be more to it. Nerevar wouldn’t get upset about that for no reason. Not to the point she’d refuse to see Voryn. He turned and marched his way back, more furious than ever that the healer wasn’t taking this seriously.

He knocked again, and Nerevar groaned.

“Go away!” She shouted.

“Let me in please.” Voryn asked, now desperate to see her. Normally he’d respect her wishes, but he needed to make sure she was alright.

“I don’t want you to see me…” Nerevar answered, her voice cracking to show she’d been crying. Voryn felt his heart break a little more.

“Wrap up in your blanket?” Voryn offered. “I’m just worried about you… Please?”

There was nothing but silence for a few minutes. Voryn was about to ask again, when he heard Nerevar finally answer him. “Okay…”

Voryn cracked the door open to reveal Nerevar sitting in the dark in bed, wrapped up in a blanket to the point only her face was showing. Her eyes were red and irritated, still sniffling. Nerevar never cried, not even when injured, so Voryn was really worried now.

“You don’t want to come out?” Voryn closed the door behind him, moving to sit beside Nerevar. Nerevar shook her head.

“I hate this…” Nerevar’s shoulders began to shake, another sob coming from her throat. Voryn wrapped his arms around her without thinking, pulling her in close and keeping the blanket wrapped around her. “My stomach hurts… My chest hurts…”

“That’s all normal.” Voryn tried to reassure her. “Do you want some medicine for the pain?”

“I don’t want it to be normal!” Nerevar snapped. “I don’t…” Tears ran down faster as she buried her face in Voryn’s robes. “I don’t want them to call me a woman. I don’t wanna be a girl! I don’t like that my body is doing this when I don’t even want it to and I can’t do anything about it!” Voryn stiffened. It was the first he’d heard of it, though the rest of Nerevar’s behavior over the years seemed to click for Voryn. The boyish charm, short hair, insisting on not playing pretend as a girl, not to mention the fact Voryn liked boys and liked Nerevar for all the same reasons he liked boys usually… “I just want to be like Boethia… He can be a man whenever he wants to even if people call him a girl. I wanna be like that…”

“You can be.” Voryn reassured him now, holding him closer. “Nerevar you can be, I promise.”

“I want a deeper voice like yours…” Nerevar’s tears were stopping now at the reassurance at least, now nuzzling against him. “And a flat chest…”

“I’ve read a few books like that.” Voryn stroked the white, fluffy hair now peaking out from the blanket.

“R…Really?” Nerevar asked, still too nervous to look up at him.

“Yes,” Voryn answered. “One was a Boethia cultist who was born a man. She went to Boethia and prayed to be a girl, so Boethia transformed her in a rainstorm of blood.” He explained. “Another was a man who asked Mephala how to change his body and she taught him the alteration magic needed.” Now Nerevar was looking up at him, eyes wide with wonder. “I can call a mage here if you want.”

“Really?” Nerevar sat up more, the blanket now falling down his shoulders. Seeing how excited he was, Voryn couldn’t help but smile.

“Of course,” Voryn ruffled his hair, before wrapping the blanket back around him for comfort. “I’ll tell Mother right away, and ask them to come quickly.”

Nerevar wrapped his arms tightly around Voryn, holding him close.

“Thank you,” He mumbled into Voryn’s shoulder. “I… I mean it…” Ah, Nerevar was crying again, this time in what seemed to be relief. Voryn stroked his head, holding him back. “Thank you so much…”

“It’s no problem, Nerevar.” Voryn closed his eyes, nuzzling against him, “I just want you to be happy.”

#nerevar #indoril nerevar #voryn dagoth #nerevoryn #projecting my gender feelings onto nerevar again #my writing #ill prob continue this

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wedontburnbookshere · 7 months ago

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☆☆☆

(spoilers under the read more)

Similarly with House of Hollow, I loved the writing. It beautiful but doesn't pull back from the grossness or horror. And for the most part, I enjoyed the characters and their development.

The dedication of the book reads For all the angry girls, and this is a clear theme throughout the book, from the first victim we see in the prologue to the final confrontation with the main villains.

The book centers on three girls: Zara Jones, previously a top student at her school but now pushes all her attention into the occult, desperate to find a way to raise her sister from the dead; Jude wolf, estranged daughter of a billionaire who is trying to find someone who can undo the curse she accidentally placed on herself; and Emer Byrne, a witch who writes curses for women who come to her for power -- even at the cost of a piece of their souls. When Emer's clients start turning up dead, the three come together to find out who's killing them and how.

The world-building is relatively simple to follow but interesting. I enjoyed the description of the demons, especially Bael. When it's introduced and named, it's shown right away that its relationship with Emer is different and that it might have other wants beyond simply eating her soul.

A big part of the world-building that's tied to the main theme is that men can't be witches. They can't sell a part of their souls to demons for power.

Emer looks at each of them and sighs. "Even the devil does not trust men to honor a bargain, so it does not deal with them. It offers power only to women." "What about trans women?" Zara asks, writing the question in her document. "How does that work?" "Of course I have written invocations for trans women," Emer says. "Demons do not care about bodies. They only care about souls."

This scene, to me, felt slapped on last-second. It was a throw-away scene that doesn't do anything to build upon the theme of how women are hurt by the patriarchy. Another throwaway line later in the book states how men are hurt by the patriarchy as well, but again, it feels slapped-on last moment.

But throughout the book, it says men don't have to fear the dark, men don't have to fear walking through the world. As a brown-skinned trans man, I disagree. The book has a very rad/fem-y feel of feminism to me, even with the couple complicated male characters we see -- Elijah and Lawrence, Jude's brother and father, respectively. I will say that at least this book didn't piss me off like The Secret, Book & Scone Society; I don't think I'll be able to finish that one.

With the language and content, The Invocations is written for an older teen audience, and I wish it were more nuanced in its feminism for them. Still, it's a fun read, and for some readers, it could be cathartic. Sometimes you want to read about hurting the people who've hurt you, though if the book were to lean into catharsis more, I think the choice in who the serial killer was could have been different.

The other reason I didn't end up rating this book higher is that Zara felt to be mostly-forgotten once Emer and Jude started to have feelings for each other. Zara was pushed to the background, and even when she raised her sister from the dead, it felt more like a plot device, setting up what ends up saving Jude and Emer from being murdered by Jude's witch hunter brothers.

It didn't feel like she got as much of an arc as the other two characters. She got to tell her sister Sav that she was sorry for what she'd said, but with how vague it is how conscious Sav even is when her body is reanimated, there's no real catharsis there. It was stated at the start that Zara didn't want revenge like Emer did. She just wanted her sister back. And then she has to lose her all over again when Emer kills her to stop the demon possessing Sav's body from killing anyone else.

Zara ends up back on track at the end. She gets to live with Jude instead of having to go back to her abusive uncle, and she gets accepted into Oxford. But for the most part, she feels like a secondary character instead of a main one. It would have at least been nice to see more of her with Gardner, the principal who'd been willing to give her the cash in her purse, no questions asked, then her personal phone number, to give Zara a lifeline -- an adult she could trust and lean on for support. It would have made that final scene before the epilogue feel more like character development, Zara reaching out for help.

The book was overall fun to read, enough that I finished it in a day, but I am a bit disappointed, especially after how excited I was to read it.

#book review tag #from the book hoard #krystal sutherland #ya literature #speculative fiction

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definitely-not-iorveth · 2 years ago

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the men we become

"Would you like to become a Witcher, child?" He asks her.

She gapes at him, speechles at first.

"Aren't all witchers… Men?" She asks hesitantly. Vesemir nods, watching her carefully.

"So they are."

—

They say all Witchers are men, and it's true in a way. But not all of them need to have started as such.

written for @thepassifloradiscord trans week

ao3

A newborn baby cries out their first cry. The mother, her face red and puffy, looks desperately at the midwife.

"It's a girl!" The other woman announces with a big smile. The mother sighs with relief, almost in tears. A girl. It's a girl . They don't take girls, do they?

Her baby is safe, isn't she?

—

The girl grows up with two older brothers and a younger sister. The boys are very protective of them both—that's annoying but normal, she supposes. But the way her mother sometimes looks at her, with fear and sadness in her eyes. The way she hesitates before letting her out of the house, the reluctance with which she agrees to let her wander off down the mountain—even after her sister is easily allowed the same privilege—that is strange.

—

She loves reading books and listening to fireside stories about the travels and adventures of brave knights and scary witchers. She wishes she could be just like them.

She envies their freedom, she thinks.

—

She doesn't like spending time with the girls, not because she dislikes them or because they bore her, but because of how much she doesn't belong.

It's not even that they like different things, precisely—she just knows that no matter how hard she tries, she will never be one of them. She will never belong.

It's different with the boys. Whenever she's with them, she feels more true to herself, somehow. Occasionally, she gets mistaken for one of them and her heart flutters with joy.

Eventually, she thinks that she may like being a boy better, so she tries it out, crops her hair short and dresses like one.

Her mother doesn't seem happy about it, but she tolerates it—until she- he decides he does like it better, asks her to use the masculine pronouns and call him her son.

That's when something breaks inside her.

She pales, her mouth working silently, then suddenly begins to sob uncontrollably and yell. No and you can't, calling him my little girl as she tears the clothes off him and begs him to change back .

The girl is so scared she doesn't try to be a boy again.

—

Something changes after that. Her mother becomes more and more anxious to see her disappear from sight.

She tries to argue of course, but no amount of pleading or yelling changes that. I'm trying to keep you safe , her mother always says. You'll understand one day.

She doesn't understand.

She runs away a few times, but her mother always has such a wild look to her, cries so hard with relief when she's found, she eventually resigns herself to her fate and stops.

—

One day In the late afternoon, when she's eleven, there's a knock on the door. There's no one else at the house—her mother is tending to the animals and her father and brothers had gone to town, so she runs to open it.

It's a man, his hair long and starting to grey. He looks like a dangerous sort, wearing leather armour and two swords at his back, but his smile looks amiable enough and, more importantly, genuine. She looks at him questioningly, and he speaks in a kindly tone.

"Are your parents home?"

"Mother is at the barn."

"Would you fetch her for me? Tell her Vesemir has come to collect what he's owed."

That makes her more cautious—debt collectors are usually not a friendly lot—but that smile is still on his face, so she obligingly runs to get her mother.

When she repeats the stranger's words, her mother blanches and goes stiff, then hugs her very tightly.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she whispers into her hair, stroking it lightly. "I tried. I tried to keep you safe." She holds her for a very long time and when she pulls away, her eyes are wet and puffy.

"What's wrong, mother?" She asks, but her mother only shakes her head.

"Perhaps you'll be happier there."

Where? She wants to ask, but by then her mother is already grasping her hand tightly and pulling her back towards the house and the smiling stranger—Vesemir, he had said his name was.

He nods at her mother.

"Is your son well?" He asks, but her mother shakes her head angrily.

"Spare me the pleasantries." She snaps, still tightly clutching her hand. It hurts, and she winces a little. "My husband thought he was saving my child, but it turns out all he did was exchange one for another."

Vesemir's smile turns sad, but he doesn't say anything. He simply waits. Her mother sighs and her hand slackens, then falls to her side.

"I will not fight you. I know there's no cheating destiny."

She looks questioningly between her mother and Vesemir. She doesn't fully understand what is going on, but she understands enough to know that it's something that will overturn her life. A deep sense of unease settles low in her stomach—but there's curiosity there as well.

Vesemir nods gravely at her mother.

"Very wise of you." He crouches in front of her, to be nearer to her eye level, and simply looks at her in appraisal for a long moment.

"Would you like to become a Witcher, child?" He asks her.

She gapes at him, speechles at first.

"Aren't all witchers… Men?" She asks hesitantly. Vesemir nods, watching her carefully.

"So they are."

Her heart flutters in her chest. Surely he can't be serious, and this is some kind of jest…? She blinks at him, trying to figure out his angle, but he simply continues looking at her with the same solemn expression.

"Yes." She finally says, her voice small and shaky at first, then repeats it with conviction. "Yes!"

Her eyes are wet. She hadn't noticed.

"It's a difficult process, and the training is harsh. Not all make it out alive." Vesemir says, his tone gravely serious. Her mother makes a choked off sound, but she doesn't care . If she can be a Witcher, if she can be a boy—it is worth all the risk.

Vesemir smiles and stands up, then reaches out his hand.

"Then come with me, boy."

She- he grasps Vesemir's hand. It is warm, warm like hope.

—

"What is your name, boy?" Vesemir asks as they walk towards his horse. Her- his heart almost leaps out of his chest with joy at those words—until the full meaning of them sinks in.

His face falls. His old name, a girl's name feels wrong somehow, and yet—what other name does he have?

Fortunately, Vesemir seems to notice his hesitation and, more importantly, to understand his dilemma even before he can articulate it out loud. He puts a heavy, comforting hand atop his head and ruffles his hair.

"Don't worry, if you don't have it picked out yet, boy. You will find the right one in time. You'll see."

—

Vesemir helps the boy cut his hair along the journey. It looks much better than anything he was able to accomplish by himself, and it feels so right when he sees his reflection that he nearly weeps with joy.

—

They arrive at Kaer Morhen after a few days, late in the afternoon. Vesemir shows him to a big room full of bunk beds. The boy counts 30, allowing for 60 occupants. It's empty when they enter, but many of the beds look to be in use.

"This is where you will sleep until the end of your trials." Vesemir explains. "If you survive, you will be given your own room in the castle that you will be able to come back to whenever you need or want to after your training finishes. It… Most likely won't be comfortable." Vesemir chuckles. "But it will become your home, if you allow it."

If you survive. A chill runs through the boy at those words—but he knew this beforehand, didn't he? He had made the choice voluntarily. He nods, trying to show a brave face.

"Okay."

Vesemir nods back, seemingly satisfied with this reaction.

"Today you can stay here. In your own time—which you will not have a lot of, starting tomorrow—you are free to explore the ground floors of the castle as you please. Other floors are off limits to new recruits."

Vesemir goes on about the training, about the meal times, about the special diet and many other topics.

The thing that the boy remembers best is that after all the trials, he will not yet fully be a Witcher (too much to learn still)—but he will fully be a man.

—

Mindful of Vesemir's warning concerning his leisure time, the boy spends the first evening exploring the castle's ground floor.

He meets a few yellow eyed men in the corridors. A couple of them are friendly. One ignores him completely. The others just give him pitying looks.

—

As he meets the other recruits, he makes many friends and learns that there are more sharing his circumstances than he expected—some already with new names picked out, others, like him, simply known as the boy.

There are four such recruits in particular he becomes steadfast friends with, all sharing his age—Geralt, Eskel, Janos and another boy.

The odds are against them, of course. After all, it is said that only one in ten receuits lives through the trials. They cover up their nervousness with humour, betting on who will be the last one standing. As the most sturdy of them all, Eskel is the favourite. Geralt, the poor sickly-looking sap, is immediately labelled the least likely survivor.

But it's Janos who dies first, his body unable to bear the strain of the preparatory diet of strange mushrooms and herbs.

Then the other boy dies in an unfortunate accident during training.

The fact that three of them make it to the Trials of Grass in one piece is still impressive.

—

They can't sleep the night before.

Plenty of the bunks are fully vacant by then, so they push two empty ones together and sit there, huddled up.

"When did you pick your names?" The boy asks quietly. It nags at him, that he still hadn't been able to find one that fits.

Geralt shrugs.

"Vesemir picked mine. I live in Kaer Morhen ever since I can remember. It felt… Right. "

"I found mine in a fairy tale." Eskel smiles and shrugs. "I just… Liked it so much, I've decided to use it."

The boy nods.

"It's a beautiful name. I wish I found it before you did."

Eskel grins at him.

"Why don't you use it too, then?"

The boy chuckles.

"Two Eskels from the School of the Wolf? I don't know, it sounds like a bit much."

Eskel shrugs.

"Well, I don't know if I'll be keeping it yet. Maybe a fairy tale name isn't such a great pick for a Witcher."

The boy laughs loudly, soon infecting Geralt and Eskel and waking some of the sleeping recruits. They glare at the three of them until their laughter subsides into quiet giggles.

—

It's difficult to face the Trial of Grass with optimism and a brave face, yet Eskel somehow manages to do so.

He squeezes the boy's hand and gives him a cheeky smile.

"See you on the other side!"

—

Passing out is a mercy.

Whenever he's awake, he can feel his body changing.

It's torture.

Fire is flowing through his veins. His bones are stretching, breaking and mending all at once. His joints and muscles throb with pain, as if he was overexerting them again and again. His insides feel like they're liquifeing and reforming over and over.

After a while, he starts hallucinating.

He sees his mother, sitting by him and alternately crying and singing an old mountain lullaby. Then his father and siblings, and then the other village children. They flit around, a face or two coming closer to tell him to be brave, to tell him that he's making a mistake, to say that they miss him. At one point he thinks he spots Janos and the other boy, but the pain makes it difficult to see and their faces are quickly lost in the crowd.

—

Eskel comes to him last.

He sits in the place previously occupied by his mother—that's when the boy realises that everyone else is gone, even the mages and elder Witchers—squeezes his hand and repeatedly whispers encouragement. You're almost there. Don't give up. Be strong. It makes the pain just a little more bearable.

And then, just once, he says, keep the name. It suits you. Then he kisses his forehead, waves goodbye and disappears through the door.

The boy loses consciousness.

—

He wakes up shortly afterwards, tired and in pain—but it's different than before. Much more subdued.

It's still an effort to open his eyes. They feel dry, like sandpaper.

The light is painfully bright, and everything seems somehow sharper and clearer—too much. It makes his head spin.

He notices he's no longer in the underground, but instead in a small room with a narrow bed he currently occupies, a bookcase, a wardrobe and a writing desk, a Witcher he doesn't recognize sitting in the chair.

He tells the boy that he's the third one to wake up, then forces some stew and a foul-smelling concoction into him.

"Tomorrow you'll feel much better." He informs the boy.

When the boy asks about Eskel and Geralt, the man is quiet for a long time. It's not a reply he offers when he finally speaks.

"Rest up for now, boy."

Too tired to protest, he falls into a dreamless sleep.

—

It is only later that he learns that Eskel had passed away during the trial.

—

Many years pass before he visits the desolate mountain village he came from.

They don't seem to recognize him—why would they, after such a long time? But an older woman with a braid like his mother used to wear beckons him close.

"What is your name, sir Witcher?" She asks.

"I am no sir, there's no need for formalities. My name is Eskel."

She nods.

"Eskel. A good, strong name." She simply stares at him for a while, and he grows a little uneasy. "Do you regret becoming a Witcher, Eskel?"

He smiles and shakes his head.

"No."

Her eyes are a little wet, but she wipes the tears away quickly.

"Then I am glad."

#the witcher #my writing #eskel #eskel (the witcher)#trans main character #cw: mild transphobia - non-supportive parents

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puff-mmd · 1 year ago

Text

5/26/23

picks up the old lillian and michelle lore and throws it out the window

none of that was good tbh i hate it all now

first off, lillian's name is going to be lillyana, but most people call her lily. she doesn't mind it, she knows her name is long, and lily is the common shortening.

michelle likes to call her 'ana' instead of lily though, after asking her what she would like to be called in short, and hearing that most people called her lily, and that she didn't mind but was rather tired of it, she wanted to do something different.

We are going midwest growing up different love story.

Lillyana is trans now, and likes girls. It was something she always knew about herself - her parents are the kind that love their child no matter what. She has their support, but... others might not feel that same way.

Anyways, growing up she gravitated towards the girls section ever since she was old enough to walk on her own. She loved picking out dresses and skirts, though her mother would often buy her different ones than the ostentatious pieces she would bring to her ("honey i don't think the bright green tutu and dusty pink blouse are a good idea.")

It also brought a challenge to her mom when she was old enough to go to the restroom at a store by herself for the first time.

"Wait dear, don't-"

She stopped herself. Lillyana (then called Lucas, but very rarely) looked back at her mother, hand on the door to the women's restroom. Others in the crowd turned their heads, typical fashion of a Wal-mart shopper that's too nosy for their own good.

Catherine felt the burning eyes on her and her child, knowing there would be suspicions if she directed them to the men's bathroom.

She quickly walked over, and knelt down, quietly whispering but still loud enough to be hear by some of the crowd, "Don't sit right on the seat, use toilet paper okay? Just like I showed you."

She nodded her head and gave a "Yup" before heading in to do her business.

Catherine sighed.

Crisis averted.

I think when she's 6, her parents bring up going to school and talk to Lucas about it. They know if they go with the name Lucas and their appearance, it's bound to raise questions. They ask them if they were to be called something else, what would they like?

"Lily!"

Her mother always liked the name lillyana and has talked about it before to her husband, but with having two "sons", that never presented itself as an option for a name.

Her face brightened as her oldest child exclaimed the name she loved most. (Even if it may have only been because her mother talked about it so much.)

And so when she started going to school, she registered her as Lillyana Walker. It was best if no one really knew, she thought. If there had ever been an emergency and someone had to know, well...

They would deal with that if it came.

Fortunately, that never happened.

Eventually, i think when she's 9 or 10, they do end up legally changing her name.

I do think as Lillyana gets older, her parents do talk to her about what how she is as well. Of course, she always had this feeling somehow that she was different than other girls, and it wasn't until a presentation at her school that made her realize just what was different. I'd imagine her sitting with the other girls, and she doesn't say anything, but she's visibly confused ("I don't look like that down there...")

Now as for when she meets Michelle.

They meet when Lillyana goes away to college. It's not much bigger or fancier than any community college, and it's not very far from where she lives. Just far enough that she wouldn't want to drive there and back every day. (Plus her scholarships covered room and board, lucky her)

On her first day, she walks in to one of her classes, and when she sees her, everything in her screams to sit by her.

Dark skin, black hair twisted into ornate braids; her stylish outfit and simple but effective makeup draw Lillyana's eyes to her like a moth to flame. She had to be one of the prettiest girls she had ever seen (though to be fair, her graduating high school class of 116 didn't make that hard).

She eyes the seat near the girl at her table, and sits across from her.

Lillyana soon finds out the girl's name (Michelle), and as they sat at the same table, become introduction partners. The professor thought it would be fun to have an impromptu "learn about your table mate and then present 3 things you learns about them" instead of normal introductions. What else would be expected of a speech and language professor after all?

The two girls leave the class together, laughing about how eccentric the professor was.

It turns out, Michelle is from a small town not very far from Lillyana's - about 30 minutes south of her hometown.

They both live on campus, and may I say they start seeing each other quite a bit. Even during summers, they visit each other often.

The town where the college they go to is probably bigger than a town, not quite a big city but definitely more diverse and crowded. I say this because i have a scene in my head of Michelle taking Lillyana to a gay bar at some point, and that's kinda when they start to realize "wait i think i like this girl"

Michelle is also bi now. Because i said so.

And is also why Michelle doesn't mind that Lillyana has a penis. Even if she was a lesbian, i don't think she'd care - she sees Lillyana as a woman no matter what's between her legs (only that she kinda wants to be between them herself//coughs)

As far as how Lillyana feels about herself, she had taken hormone treatments during puberty (thanks to having had supportive parents), but never considered any kind of surgery. She never felt uncomfortable with herself (aside from the confusion that presentation had caused her), and cannot stand the idea of scalpels or surgery, she is kind of a baby when it comes to that stuff.

This feels like a natural direction for their story somehow. It's still sweet and mostly wholesome, but I am definitely thinking there may be some caveats thrown their way given several things about their relationship.

But! They are my girls and if I want them to overcome those things and be happy together i can make that happen!

......anyways i think a crossover with them and Ciro and kaisei would be funny. They are very different but also kinda similar in ways and i like that.

#oc #rambles #bring back a couple of girl from 2016 because i just felt like it

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animefankotaro · 2 years ago

Text

Trans Kiki

Kiki was a young 13 year old witch in training. She left her hometown for Koriko to improve her witch skills. She didn't have many friends in her hometown. Not that she didn't have any but no one to close. Really her closest friend before going was a cat named Jiji. After moving to her new town she moved in with a baker named Osano. She agreed to let her stay for free in exchange for delivering her goods. She soon become quite successful with this. She also met Tombo; a smart boy who Kiki would be lying if she said she didn't find him cute. After saving him from falling to his death they both grew closer. Because of this Kiki felt she needed to tell him the truth.

“Hey Tombo.” Kiki and Tombo were sitting on a hill watching the sunset on the sea. “Can I tell you something.” Tombo notice her concern.

“Is it something big?” Kiki nodded. “You can. I won't tell anyone if you don't want me too.” Kiki was playing around with the needles on her broom.

“I wasn't born a witch.”

“You weren't born a witch? What do you mean?”

'Well, it's not that I wasn't born one in a way. People didn't think I was one because of the way I was born.”

“The wrong way?” Tombo questioned.

“You know how only girls can be witches? That's why people didn't think I was a witch at first. I wasn't born a girl. I was born a boy.”

“Wait! Do you mean that you're trans?” Tombo asked. Kiki nodded her head and sighed.

“I knew I was a girl early on. Not only because I felt like one but because I showed witch powers which only girls have. I can remember when it all started.”

Kiki flashback to when she was a young child. She was wearing her mothers clothes and giggling. That is until her mom caught her.

“How many times did I tell you not to wear these?”

“A lot.” Kiki looked guilty. “But why can't?” Kiki looked sad.

“Because they're for girls.” Her mom said. Her mom sighed as she took them off and walked away. Several months later she also saw Kiki trying to do the same magic she could.

“You can't do magic honey” She told her child.

“But why? I wanna do magic too.”

“Only witches do magic, sweetie. You're not a witch.”

“Maybe I will be one day.” Kiki said hopefully.

“Only girls can be witches. You're a boy.” Kiki looked saddened by this.

“Could you turn me into a girl with your magic, mommy?” Her mom was surprised by this question. Why would he want her to turn him into a girl?

“Oh, sweetie. You're a boy because you were born that way. Why don't you wanna be a boy?

“I wanna be a pretty witch like you. I wanna fly on a broom with the wind going though my hair and skirt. I love magic, mommy.” Her mom sighed.

“There are spells and potions that can change the body but they're hard to make. They're also permanent. That means you could never change back. Because of that everyone agrees kids shouldn't have them because it's a big decision. Kids have trouble with big decisions.”

“Then can I take them when I'm older?” Kiki asked.

“Maybe, sweetie. We'll see.”

A couple years later when Kiki was 9 she began to show something that shocked everyone. That was magic. She levitated from the ground on her broom. No one could believe it. Only girls had magic.

“Mom mom look! I'm flying. I told you I was a witch!” She said gleefully. Kiki's mom took her to a special doctor who specialized in witches.

“He was flying on a broomstick. Or levitating that is. I just don't get it. Only girls show signs of magic.”

“Has he always been interested in witches? She asked.

“Yes. Ever since he was little. He, well, he was always on the feminine side. He's told me before that he wants to be a girl and even change his body.”

“Well. There have many stories of boys or men who had magic before. I'm not sure how many of them wanted to be female. Maybe he really is a witch inside. How about you let him be one for a while and see how things go. We'll see from there.”

So Kiki became a witch that day. Her mom started to teach her how to fly not long after. She also bought her a red bow for her hair. When she turned 13 she set off for 1 year like other witches do. Before she went her mom gave her the potions that would change her.

“I-I can be a witch permanently?” Kiki had tears in her eyes.

“If you truly want to be.” Her mom smiled. Kiki drank the potions and her mom performed a few spells. After a while Kiki was a true witch.

“Thank you, mom. I promise I'll be the best witch and daughter I can be.” Her mom hugged her daughter and sent her off.

Back in the present Kiki and Tombo were still on the hill. The sunset was gone and it was dark now. Lightning bugs were buzzing around as a cool breeze blew.

“And that's how I became a witch.” Kiki said. Tombo sat up straight.

“Sounds like quite a journey.” Kiki nodded. “I believe you're a witch too. The fact you went so far to prove it shows you are. You're a girl, Kiki. With or without magic.” Kiki smiled at this.

“Thank you, Tombo. You're my best friend.” The two stared off into the village with all the lights on and people going about their day.

#kiki #kiki's delivery service #studio ghibli #hayao miyazaki #anime #Headcanon #one shot #fanfic #tombo #trans #transgender #transgirl

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songoftrillium · 5 months ago

Note

Gonna quote an essay by @vaspider that I think is very closely tied to this. CW for uncensored slurs below. You've been warned. Essay below the cut.

Pete Buttigieg is just a faggot.

It's very important to me that younger queers understand this: to the people who you're trying to be more respectable for when you say things like neopronouns set the trans movement back or you're why the cishets don't accept us or including [aces/bi people with the 'wrong kind' of partners/non-binary people/kinksters/non-passing trans ppl/furries/polyam people] just hurts us, can't you wait until we get all our rights before we talk about some of yours? -- to those people? Pete Buttigieg is just a fag.

On Sunday at Pride Northwest, some kids -- late teens, early 20s -- asked what our button I survived Reagan for this? meant. All of the queer adults at the tables making up our ad hoc counter looked at each other and sighed a little. Emet and another adult started to explain the way that the Reagan Administration handled -- or didn't handle -- the beginning of the AIDS crisis. How many people died. How much we were ignored. The Ashes Action. The Time Magazine article which explicitly blamed bisexual men for passing the pandemic to the cishet community, playing on all the worst stereotypical bullshit. The way that even when the CDC started paying attention, they were so focused on gay men that they ignored AIDS in the lesbian community, leading to the "women don't get AIDS, they just die from it" poster. And so on.

I finished counting out change and passed the last Bear Pride raised fist pin over to a bear a little older than me, then turned my head and interjected, "they didn't care until it started infecting more than just the fags." I turned my head back and handed him his change. He laughed bitterly and said, "remember when they called it 'gay cancer?'"

That what I need you to understand. The people for whom you are folding yourself into smaller and smaller boxes will never see you as anything but a freak. A queer. A dyke. A tranny. A fag.

Never.

These are people who will stand by and let you wither away and die alone, gasping for breath in a cinderblock room, and not even claim your ashes, and they will say you deserve it, because of your lifestyle. If they speak of you at all it will be by the wrong name, with the pictures you hate the most. They will curse at your lover, throw him out of the home you shared, and steal the gift you gave last Christmas to throw it in the trash just so he can't have it and they'll say Jesus loves you! while they do it. They'll feel good and righteous and blessed and holy and pure for doing it.

And for them, you spit in the eye of your sister. For them, you disavow your sibling. For their sake, you trim away bits of your heart and lace yourself up tight. Never too loud. Never too queer. Never inconvenient or embarrassing, never asking for too much.

Pete Buttigieg is what happens when your Boomer dad turns out gay. Middle America. Parents still married. Suburban-sprouted. Valedictorian. Harvard-educated. Rhodes Scholarship. Military service. More power to him: I hope he and Chasten are very happy together. Genuinely, I do.

You couldn't create a more respectable gay if you grew one in a lab run by concerned voter focus groups.

But Pete Buttigieg? Is just a fag.

That's the part you don't seem to get: when they abandoned us, they abandoned all of us. Rock Hudson was a beloved movie star and even personally friendly with that horrid pair of ambitious jackals. Nancy Reagan refused to help him get into the only place in the world that could treat him at the time, and he died.

It was 1985, 4 years after the CDC first released papers on what would eventually become known as HIV/AIDS and 7 years after the first known death from an infection from HIV-2. Reagan hadn't even said the word AIDS by the time Hudson died.

Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, and so am I. Unless I'm a dyke, which seems to depend on who's yelling what from which window and what day it is.

Yes, there will be people who genuinely love and accept you. Those people are worth all the frustration of the rest, thankfully, and they're the ones who love you in a pup mask or a leather harness and a neon jock like the ones sold by the men up the row from us last weekend. They're the ones who laugh out loud when you tell them you hid the word "dyke" in your company name, the ones who love you in all your messiness and uncertainty and the way you don't fit into neat boxes all scrubbed up and clean.

Most cishets, though... well, they don't actively mean you specifically any harm, at least not when they have to look at you. Not when you're right there in front of them. Maybe they'll be okay with you, personally, especially if you're the kind of gay who makes a good rhetorical device, and as long as you remain a good rhetorical device.

They need people to know that they don't have a problem with the gays, after all, and there you are, being all convenient. You make a nice token, and as long as you do, well. You're useful.

But they call you by your deadname when you're not around, and they put the wrong pronouns in your medical record even though they met you years after you came out, and they won't put themselves out to save you. Not one little bit.

I didn't want to be here again. The year I graduated from high school was the worst year of the AIDS crisis. The world into which I became an adult was a world in which an advisor and friend to Reagan, William F. Buckley, openly advocated for forcibly tattooing the HIV status of HIV+ gay men on their buttocks (and IV drug users on their forearms), and in which my father not only told me that when I was 14 or so, but when was told me that he'd advocated for that tattoo being "over their assholes."

(Buckley wrote that in '86, but he doubled down on it in 2005.

Fucker.)

But yeah. I didn't want to be here again. I wanted my daughter to inherit a better world. I wanted Obergefell and Lawrence v. Texas and Hope & Change to really mean something. I work for it, today and all days. I haven't given up.

I need you to know that, too. This isn't a white flag. I'm not surrendering. This isn't over. To misquote Henry Rollins, this is what Marsha and Sylvia and Stormé and Leslie and Brenda and Auntie Sugar trained us for. This is punk rock time.

But I need you to understand that if Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, if that human embodiment of a Wonder Bread, mayo and Oscar Meyer bologna sandwich is not respectable enough for them -- and he's not -- then the rest of us have absolutely no hope of measuring up. Not even if we trim away every colorful, beautiful piece of our community, not even if the Sisters Of Perpetual Indulgence vanish into the ether, not even if we sacrifice the five elements of vogue on the altar of white supremacist cishet middle-class conformity: we can't trim ourselves down to something they'll accept.

The only other option is radical acceptance of our queer selves. The only other option is solidarity. The only other option is for fats and femme queens and drags and kinksters and queers and zine writers and sex workers and furries and addicts and kids and the ones who can look us in the eye and see all of us to say we're here, we're queer, get used to it just the way we did 30 years ago. It's revolutionary, complete and total acceptance of our entire community, not just the ones the cishets can pretend to be comfortable with as long as we don't challenge them too much, or it's conceding the shoreline inch by inch to the rising waters of fascism until we've got nowhere left to stand and some of us start drowning.

That's it. Either it's all of us or it's none of us, because if we leave the answer up to the Reagans of the world and all the people who enabled him in the name of lower taxes and Democrats who wring their hands, weeping oh I don't agree with it but we'll lose the election if we fight it right now, the answer is none of us.

The brunch gays can come, too, I guess.

wow it'd suck being an actually trans person if more people transitioned for fetish reasons. it'd give people the impression that most people transition for fetish reasons. and it gives precedent to outlaw it as a sexual fetish thing, not a real condition.

What is (to you) an "actually trans person"? Someone with an incurable immutable medical condition? Someone that should be allowed to transition (an act so extreme and degenerate that no healthy person should ever be allowed to engage in it) only out of pity because they're too mentally or physically sick and weak to bare existence any other way?

The fascists that hate perverts hate you too. They want to crush you under their boot and then scrape the viscera off like they just stepped in dog shit. There's no appeasing them. You can't make them love you by being a good chaste respectable humble little white supremacist christian transsexual.

What else shouldn't people be allowed to do for sexual reasons? What should they be allowed to do for sexual reasons? Should people not be gay for sexual reasons? Or straight for sexual reasons?

Every one of us is here because our parents and our parent's parents were perverts who fucked and bred. Your great great grand mother got dicked down raw and nutted in and with any luck she enjoyed it. And that's fine! We're all perverts. There's no shame in it. No one is better than you and you're no better than anyone else.

Men and women aren't innately different. Gender isn't sacred. It doesn't need to be protected. Don't concede anything just for the chance to beg for mercy.

If trans liberation is going to be worth having then it has to be rooted in the idea that transness is both beautiful and mundane. Transitioning is no big deal. It's not regrettable. People can choose to transition for any reason (or no reason at all) and them doing so is something to celebrate.

#long post #uncensored slurs #slurs #homophobic slurs #vaspider #ronald reagan's grave is a gender neutral toilet #lgbtq #queer #trans #transgender #fag #dyke #lgbt

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vaspider · 2 years ago

Text

Pete Buttigieg is just a faggot.

That what I need you to understand. The people for whom you are folding yourself into smaller and smaller boxes will never see you as anything but a freak. A queer. A dyke. A tranny. A fag.

Never.

You couldn't create a more respectable gay if you grew one in a lab run by concerned voter focus groups.

But Pete Buttigieg? Is just a fag.

Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, and so am I. Unless I'm a dyke, which seems to depend on who's yelling what from which window and what day it is.

They need people to know that they don't have a problem with the gays, after all, and there you are, being all convenient. You make a nice token, and as long as you do, well. You're useful.

(Buckley wrote that in '86, but he doubled down on it in 2005.

Fucker.)

The brunch gays can come, too, I guess.

#long post #uncensored slurs #slurs #homophobic slurs #ronald reagan's grave is a gender neutral toilet #lgbtq #queer #trans #transgender #fag #dyke #lgbt

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philscoupons · 3 years ago

Text

jackass crew + trans male!reader headcanons

a/n: this wasn’t a request, i just wanted to write it. uh, enjoy :)

johnny knoxville

doesn’t fully understand at first, but supports you nonetheless

a little confused, but he’s got the spirit, ya know?

you let him ask all the questions he wants

at least he’ll be educated

“wait, hold on, so you were born female?”

“yes.”

“and now you’re a guy?”

“yep.”

“huh. that’s neat. we didn’t even have any gay people back in knoxville, much less trans people.”

is 100% like a protective older brother

“none of the guys have given you shit for it have they?”

“no”

“if they do, tell them to come talk to me”

forgets you don’t have balls all the time

like. all the time.

the amount of times he’s nailed a perfect nutshot on you, just to warrant no reaction

“OH THAT WAS PERFECT- wait.”

“i don’t have balls, johnny, we went over this.”

“dammit”

steve-o

confused

asks intrusive questions at first

“so do you have a dick.”

“it’s sort of really intrusive to ask that-”

“OH, my bad, dude.........”

*sigh* “no, i don’t have one”

he’s very quick to correct people after that

especially in interviews or at publicity events

you like to call him the transphobe police

he has told off hosts/interviewers on multiple occasions

“that’s not fucking cool, dude, don’t ever ask him something like that again.”

he loves making fun of you (affectionate)

it’s like a

i can make fun of you, but no one else can, situation

he thinks your jokes/comebacks are the funniest thing on the planet

“oh come on, grow a pair”

“trust me, steve-o, i’ve tried”

*hysterical laughter*

chris pontius

everyone’s protective of you, but chris more than anybody

the list of people he’s either threatened to beat up

and or really beat up for you seems to grow every week

creeps at bars

insensitive fans

just transphobes and bigots and general

his hands are rated e for everyone

“he told you to back the fuck up. i suggest you do it.”

“chris, you don’t have to-”

“no, he’s being fucking weird.”

he’s your go-to when you have questions about random cis male habits

mostly because he never holds back on the answers

and because he usually has something funny to say

he claims it’s his “duty to educate the new found men of america”

(that’s a direct quote)

“so do you guys let it hang or rest it on the toilet when you take a shit?”

“neither”

“neither?!”

“nope, we hold it. gotta cradle the twig and berries. keep em clean.”

bam margera

people always say you two look alike

which is awesome

because bam is basically your gender envy

he doesn’t treat you any different than he did before you came out

you guys are both relatively the same size

so clothing gets borrowed (stolen)

“have you seen my blue element shirt?”

“i don’t know, bam, have you seen my camo skate pants?”

“i told yOU I NEVER TOOK THOSE”

“WELL THEN I NEVER TOOK YOUR SHIRT I GUESS”

if you’re not being compared on looks, you’re being called siblings

and you two act the part

(plus, april and phil basically adopted you)

he found your packer once when you left it out on accident

he treated it as an elf on the shelf

he drew a little face on it

every morning it’d be in a new spot

april did not appreciate this at all

one morning it just didn’t turn up

no one knows what happened to it

bam (begrudgingly) bought you a new one

ryan dunn

suffocates you in a hug when you come out to him

“thank you for trusting me”

“ryan, i can’t breathe”

is genuinely curious on how he can support you

sweetheart.

always offers you his shirt or jacket if yours gets wet/ruined/dirty during a stunt

because he knows you’re not as comfortable being shirtless as all the rest of the guys

he helped bam with the packer elf on the shelf thing

although he’ll never admit it

“it was magic”

“i know you and bam were moving it”

“we did not. it had a mind of its own.”

“it’s a silicon dick.”

“a magic one.”

dave england

he’s incredibly chill about it

darf, not as much

darf caught one of pontius’ punches in the face because of it

dave apologized profusely the next morning

he felt really bad about it

“you were really drunk, we all were, there’s no hard feelings”

“i know, but i’m still really really sorry”

he has, like, weird dad senses

he knows when you’ve worn your binder too long

especially during long days on set

“go take a break in your trailer”

“i’m fine, we’re almost done-”

then he’ll give you what you like to call his ‘dad look’

you can’t say no to the dad look

ehren mcghehey

has about the same reaction ryan does when you come out to him

gives you a hug

“thank you for trusting me with this”

“of course, ehren”

he’s good at recognizing if you’re having a bad day

whether it be from dysphoria or something else

he’ll do something ridiculously stupid to make you laugh

he usually gets hurt in the process

“why would you do that, that was dumb as shit”

“it cheered you up though!”

“...true”

you guys have a pact where you trade stunts the other doesn’t want to do

it started because tremaine wanted you to do a stunt where you would probably have to be shirtless

so ehren came to bat for you

you repaid him by doing one of the stunts he didn’t want to do a few days later

preston lacy

total dad

he gives the best hugs

like.

the best hugs

your #1 supporter too

was so excited when you finally got a top surgery consultation

“preston, i have news”

“oh no-”

“i got the consult!”

“really! oh my god that’s awesome! when is it?!”

anyways

dad

that’s all

weeman

you guys are partners in crime

minority groups gotta stick together

everyone is on edge when you guys are together