#this is how I got through medical and legal transition | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ameliemaaaee · 2 months ago

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The Silent Witness - Oneshot Series

(2) How you Become an Agent

Chapter Information Summary: With a sudden career change underway you find yourself enraveled in a case that's more than personal for the BAU. Content Warnings: S6/7 Spoilers, Doyle Arc Spoilers, Canon Violence/Gore, Awkward!Reader & Spencer, Betraya/Lies. Word Count: 9,504.

Story Masterlist - (1) - (2)

You were extremely glad the long day was coming to an end. The lab-techs were arriving to clean the morgue for the evening, and you were ready to happily retire to your apartment for the night, where you would remain on-call until the morning.

You quickly bustled around your small desk, your body on autopilot as you cleaned up the files and packed up your belongings.

You were pulled out of your reverie by the shrill ringing of your telephone. You began to irrationally panic, dropping the stack of files onto your chair as quickly as possible, not wanting to keep the caller waiting.

Once you finally had free hands and lifted the receiver you were met with a familiar voice you couldn’t help smiling at.

“Hi Y/N, it’s Agent Hotchner from the BAU.” You couldn’t help but smile at the vaguely familiar voice.

“Yes, to what do I owe the pleasure, agent?”

“I actually have a couple questions. I need a consult.”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem... fire away!”

“We have an agent who is in some trouble at the moment…” You hum down the receiver to indicate to Hotch you were listening.

“… she’s being transferred into WITSEC, but in order for that transition to raise no questions, she needs to ‘die’.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You say, your tone taking an even and professional edge.

“She was seriously injured in an encounter with an UnSub, and sent to hospital, where she was then airlifted to another and stabilised. I can’t disclose much more, but I was wondering if a post-mortem report would be necessary?”

“Okay, well most hospitals conduct post-mortems on their patients if they die in their care. And these are supposed to be easily accessible to the friends and family of the deceased. So, I would say that if you’re trying to cover all bases it would be a necessary move.”

“How would I go about that?” You twirl your hair around your finger, deep in thought.

“If you email me over her patient file, I can sign off on a PM report for you? I’m obviously totally excluded from this case, and you would need her consent to share the files, but I’m totally covered legally for that type of thing.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Absolutely not. Not if it lifts a weight off your shoulders, plus I can do PM reports in my sleep.”

You hear Agent Hotchner chuckle through the phone at this.

“That would be greatly appreciated doctor.”

“Yeah, as I said just send me over…”

“-Actually, I had one last thing to ask.” He continues, piquing your interest.

“Okay-”

“We had an increase in budget this year that would allow us to hire an extra agent. I have been in contact with my higher-ups who are currently in the process of trying to bring forensic medical professionals into the bureau, and they are currently finishing up a state-of-the-art mortuary facility on the academy grounds.”

You pause, absorbing all the information agent Hotchner was relaying too you, trying to process what he meant by all of this, and you couldn’t help but feel the excitement swell in your heart as you got your hopes up.

“The brass was obviously aware of you, and how highly I spoke of you on our return, and they requested that I reach out and ask you personally if you would be willing to consider a position. Now, I’m aware that it’s a big ask and that it would require a trans-Atlantic mo-“

“-Absolutely, I would absolutely consider it.” You can’t hide the excitement in your voice as you cut the agent off.

“-That’s great, I’m currently in the process of trying to negotiate a forensic professional to our team, who would be essential in commencing the work of the forensic pathology department, before stepping back into a role primarily within the BAU; and they said yes, we are just working out some of the finer details.”

“Hotch, do you happen to remember what I said in the café that day?” You heard him laugh.

“Yes.”

“This means, a lot to me. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all, I think you would be perfectly suited here.”

You try to contain your joy as Agent Hotchner takes a slight pause.

“I have a meeting later, I will keep you updated, but be prepared; this position will open up fairly quickly. I will also forward you the information regarding our agent.”

“That’s great, I will get all of that sorted for you tomorrow. Hotch?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks… really, this is the best thing anyone has ever done for me.” His laugh emanates through the phone again as you smile widely.

“It’s no problem, doctor. Have a good night.”

“And you.”

As you place the phone back down in its cradle you can’t help but jump up and down as a sense of overwhelming joy overtakes you.

The rush of adrenaline allows you to tidy your desk in record time and soon you find yourself slinging your bag over your shoulder and walking out onto the crowded streets of London, striding to the nearest Tube Station a bright, smile on your face that was here to stay.

Hotch wasn’t lying when he said the position would open up quickly, within a month you were officially an American citizen, and a federal agent in training about to begin your first day…. Well, half-day.

Nothing would ever come close to describing the anxiousness you felt gazing up at the looming foyer of the FBI Academy in which the BAU was based.

Butterflies swam through your stomach as you proceeded up the steps and towards the main doors where an FBI crest was flaunted above the doors inscribed with ‘Fidelity, Integrity, Bravery.” The words somehow calmed you. These people were the best of the best, and so were you, just maybe not at hand-to-hand combat.

Hotch had quickly made you aware that the unit was in a transitional period due to both, a major investigation, and the aforementioned ‘death’ of an agent. This meant, he would not be able to greet you, and instead he would be sending Garcia, a familiar face.

And as you made your way through the sliding glass doors, she quickly bustled up to you engulfing you in her arms; a hug you couldn’t help but find comforting. You were in slightly over your head; a new country, a new job, and what you hoped would be a new group of friends.

Garcia practically dragged you towards a front desk to retrieve a visitor pass and then towards a set of elevators.

“I’m so glad you’re here you know?”

“I’m glad to be here.”

“The whole team loved you in London.”

You grin at this, quickly snapping back to attention as the elevator doors slide open onto the sixth floor. You had little time to process this however as Penelope quickly grabbed your hand and dragged you towards glass doors that were inscribed with the initials ‘BAU’. If you weren’t nervous before, you were now.

“I should let you know that we are in a state of eternal chaos right now. I’m pretty sure Hotch hasn’t even had the chance to tell the team you are coming yet.” Garcia pushes open the doors and leads you through into a large open area.

The main floor of the BAU was carpeted, and spacious L-shaped desks created a sort of bullpen. Each desk had a unique personality that you couldn’t help noting. A raised platform ran along the back of the room housing offices and to the far left, what looked like a conference room.

The space was surprisingly welcoming for an office, and you slowly scanned the room, unable to spot any familiar faces before you were being dragged towards a corridor.

“This is my bat-cave.” Garcia has a proud look on her face as she walks into a large computer room littered with monitors, and a large wall-high computer unit sat behind glass on the other wall.

“Wait- this is amazing! Did you program it all?” You whisper as you trail your finger across the trinket-covered desk, noting the operating system was like no other you had ever seen.

“I did indeed.” You grin as you turn to face her, prying your eyes away from the impressive computers.

“Okay, the team will be here in about 10 minutes, in the meantime I have a PowerPoint.”

“A PowerPoint?”

“Yes, it’s the best way to deliver information.” You laugh shyly, shrugging your shoulders as she fiddles with her computer for a second before dragging you across the ramp, and towards the aforementioned conference room, pointing out offices as she went.

“This is Hotch’s office, he never leaves it unless he’s forced to. This is Rossi’s office, He has expensive renaissance art, and Morgan’s office is back there, he’s hot.” You can’t help but laugh at their dynamic which had stuck out to you in London, but it clearly wasn’t a one-off occurrence.

“…and this, my friend, is the round table room.” You quickly get ushered into one of the comfortable desk chairs as the screen lights up, Garcia standing in front of it.

“This is gonna be less dramatic since you’ve met everyone already but here goes nothing I guess-“

The screen flashes with a title slide reading ‘The Behavioural Analysis Unit’ in bold lettering, the unit logo accompanying it.

“I like your font choice-“ You smile as Garcia thanks you and changes the slide.

“Ohhh yes! Meet the team. This is the best part.” You chuckle at this allowing her to continue.

“Okay, so we of course have Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner…” You try to hold back a laugh as a small photo pops up on the screen accompanying some facts.

“…he is our ‘boss man’ and he’s the dad of the team, but he’s also actually a dad; his son’s name is Jack, and I can’t really remember what age he is but he’s very sweet. He also doesn’t smile… or blink, like ever so don’t be scared that’s just him.” You find yourself wondering whether or not this PowerPoint had been run past Hotch or not.

“Okay, we have me. Fun fact, I’m fabulous. If you ever need a sneaky background check on anyone, I can do that in literally three seconds flat, and I’m also fabulous.”

“Then we have Derek -Chocolate Thunder- Morgan. I’m his baby girl, don’t steal him from me, thank you. The rest is self-explanatory… just, look at him!” You lean back in your seat rolling your eyes, but the sudden sound of a door opening grabs your attention, startling you.

“Garcia?” JJ makes her way into the room quickly spotting you sat on the chair. She laughs slightly as she notices the slideshow proudly displayed on the projector.

“Did you run this past Hotch?”

“No-“ JJ laughs, rolling her eyes as she turns to you, offering a warm smile.

“Dr. L/N, it’s great to have you here, I’ll take you to Hotch’s office. He left the contracts in there.”

“Who’s that?” Morgan points towards a shadowed figure sat opposite JJ in Hotch’s office.

The team had been busy monitoring Declan and trying to come up with a plan for when Doyle resurfaced that, they had failed to remember Hotch’s brief mention of a new agent before he left for his temporary assignment in Pakistan.

“JJ’s probably talking to Strauss.” Spencer shrugs, squinting one last time at the image distorted by the half-closed blinds.

“There were whispers of a new agent-“ Rossi says, rolling his eyes at the team’s speculation, fully aware he was only furthering their curiosity. But instead, he leads them towards the conference room where Garcia is preparing case files.

“Hotch wouldn’t hire a new agent, not right now anyway, he isn’t even here.” Spencer places his satchel across the back of the chair before slumping down into it.

“Yeah, with this whole Doyle thing, it wouldn’t make sense. Plus, it’s not like anybody would willingly walk into this chaos.”

The team begin to discuss their findings amongst themselves, taking notes.

“Alright Y/N, you don’t have to sign the contracts for your main job until Hotch returns. For now, you just need to sign the ones admitting you into the Academy, where you will complete the physical requirements. The academics have been waived, as you will be spending your free time with us.” You nod, quickly scrawling your signature down into all the open spaces on the contract and hand the form to JJ.

“Okay, Academy starts in three days, but for now you can come and meet the team.” JJ smiles at you patting you lightly on your shoulder.

“You’re gonna do great.” You feel your cheeks heat up.

“Do the team know I’m coming?” JJ stops at the door, turning to you.

“They don’t. We are currently tracking an international terrorist who killed one of our own, and it’s pretty much a waiting game until he resurfaces. They’ve been pretty preoccupied.” You nod, solemnly at JJ.

“Thanks for the falsified PM report by the way.” She chuckles as your eyes widen.

“You know?”

“Yeah, it was a joint decision between Hotch and I to put Agent Prentiss into WITSEC, this is the tail end of her case.” You gasp as you make the connection.

“I read about it, He was vengeful at Emily for killing his son, so he attempted to murder her.” JJ nods.

“But in front of the team, you know nothing okay? As far as they are aware Emily Prentiss was killed by Ian Doyle. That’s it.”

“Got it.” You allow JJ to lead you down the hallway towards the BAU roundtable room, where you can see the team sat talking amongst themselves.

“Guys-“ JJ speaks up as she walks through the door, you follow her through standing awkwardly as the teams eyes fall on you.

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice pipes up as you give him a small smile and an awkward wave, which doesn’t falter the confusion across his features.

“Hotch never got around to telling you, but Y/N is going to be our newest team member. For the moment she’s in training. But she will become an invaluable asset to this team once Hotch returns and she is assigned her true position. She will work with us whilst running then new forensic pathology department in the Bureau.” You gaze over the team attempting to process JJ’s words.

“She’s not an agent?” Derek speaks up. You are too distracted however, by Spencer who is patting the empty seat beside him.

You settle in the seat as JJ begins explaining your situation.

“Y/N is technically in the academy, she’s completing the fitness and marksmanship regime, we will provide the academic training here. Once Hotch returns, she will then hopefully be an agent, and then he will arrange her paperwork for her official position.” Morgan furrows his brows, but nods at this.

“I was remediated in the academy also.” Spencer pipes up from beside you, catching your attention.

“For what?” You quietly question, your curiosity peaking.

“Pretty much anything relating to physical strength, or capabilities. If it wasn’t inherently textbook based, I didn’t do it.” You chuckle.

“I mean, I agreed to do all the physical training.” You smile down at your lap, as Morgan laughs.

“She’s smart and athletic, pretty boy you’ve got competition.” A blush rolls over Spencer’s cheeks as the rest of the team join in a chorus of laughter. You can’t help but feel the blush rising to your own cheeks also.

“Why did you move from London?” your gaze turns to Rossi, who offers you a small smile.

“I was just interested in a change, and I was lucky enough to be able to take this opportunity.” You smiled at the group, trying your best to keep your eyes on the people, and not on your lap where they defaulted to.

“I must say, it’s a bit strange that both times we’ve met it has been over an international terrorist.” Spencer’s voice cuts through the remaining chatter and laughter, his observation creating a new rise out of the team.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Do you think it’s weird?” You practically whisper as Spencer weaves you through the bullpen, towards what you were to assume would be your new desk.

“What’s weird?” He furrows his brow as he rolls out the chair, beckoning you to sit.

The desk was empty, apart from a monitor, keyboard and mouse that provided you access to various FBI databases. You weren’t one for clutter and material possessions, but you couldn’t help but recognise that the empty desk struck fear in your heart, it felt like a metaphor for your new life in Quantico.

“Me being here.” Your voice comes out a bit sadder than anticipated, each syllable laced with insecurity that would easily be picked up by a profiler.

“No, it’s not weird. In fact, I think it’s a good thing.” You feel yourself relax slightly at Spencer’s reassurance.

Reid was a sweet guy, and you were glad you had been partnered with him to learn basic profiling skills; not that you would be expected to use them, as Spencer had said, but he thought they would be good to know.

Truth be told, you were pretty sure the team had been trying their best to fill time. With the group being rather disbanded, and cases being on hold Spencer had chosen teaching you as a valid time-passing opportunity.

Pulling you out of your thoughts Spencer stood at the desk opposite, his fingers trailing over the spines of the books he had stacked high, before selecting one.

“That’s your desk?” You snapped your head up towards him as he offered you a lopsided grin and a nod.

“Yeah.” You felt a blush roll over your face, that you quickly hid by gazing down at your lap, allowing Spencer to push his chair up next to yours.

“I have an idea, that’s more interesting than reading a book.” You look up at him in confusion.

“Apparently there’s this game, called two truths and a lie?” You simply nod your head, at what sounded like a question. He seemed unsure of his own idea as he quickly continued.

“Well, in criminal profiling one of the most useful skills is to know when someone is lying. It’s obviously not one-hundred-percent fool proof, but it can dictate your next move as regards their case. And I guess it could be useful in life?” You chuckle at this, nodding your head, trying to hide your anxiousness at the prospect of having to read someone’s behaviour in front of a professional.

“I’m -uh- I’m notoriously terrible at reading people.” You feel your cheeks heat up yet again in embarrassment. Spencer’s eyes connect with yours and you quickly divert your gaze away from him.

“It’s okay, we can make it easy. I know what my tell is so I will make it more obvious for you to begin with. Just study my behaviour as best as you can and let me know if you want me to say them again.” You nod, swallowing harshly.

“Okay, I was sixteen when I got my first PhD in mathematics.” Spencer pauses, as you slowly take him in, he seems totally normal, you nod.

“I graduated high school at twelve.” You watch him again, noticing absolutely no change in his behaviour.

“I was twenty-two when I joined the BAU.” You furrow your brows, totally unsure of which was a lie, they all seemed plausible for a genius like Spencer.

“I-uhm-“ You turn your gaze to him panicking slightly as you realise, he’s looking for an answer.

“I- have no idea.” You whisper, crossing your legs up in the chair as Spencer nods.

“That’s okay, do you want to try again?” You can’t help but deflate at the idea of going through that again.

“O-okay.”

Spencer repeats the three statements again, his gaze remains fixed on you as if he’s reading your ultimate confusion.

Spencer immediately notes you perking up after the third statement.

“The first one is a lie, right?” You say, trying to hold back the grin on your face.

“How do you know?” Oh shit. You certainly couldn’t explain yourself, then he would know that you totally failed the exercise and used logic instead.

If he graduated high school at twelve, he couldn’t have had a PhD at sixteen, right? That whittles it down to a fifty-fifty chance it’s either one of them… maybe?

“Uhm, well the average PhD takes seven years to complete, five years for your masters, and then two for your dissertation. You’re pretty smart, but not super-human enough to only manage it in four years, considering you have to learn all course material and write an 80,000-word dissertation.”

You continue talking when Spencer fails to fill the silence, you failing to notice the look of shock on Spencer’s face.

“Well, I personally graduated medical school in four years, instead of five. So, I was twenty-one, and then did my two years of foundation training and it was extremely difficult to do extra-curricular research alongside full-time work, and placements. This was all despite the fact that I never found it difficult to remember the academics. I digress though, it would be virtually impossible to do a PhD in 4 years.”

Spencer swallows harshly as he chuckles.

“Yeah, I -uhm- well, you were right.” He’s still relatively speechless and you can’t help but begin to worry that you overwhelmed him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble, I just- I know it was supposed to be human behaviour, but I don’t- I couldn’t-“

“It’s okay Y/N, I just didn’t realise you were so impressive-“ Spencer’s voice has jumped an octave and he’s staring at you so intensely that you shrivel back into your chair.

“I- I mean, I’m not- I, -I just relate to you?” Spencer shifts in his chair, a squeak interrupting the silence, and causing you to jump.

“It’s o-okay, it’s nice to have-“

“Reid! L/N! Can you come into the roundtable room? We’re going to catch you up on Doyle.” JJ gestures for the pair of you to follow her, interrupting the awkward exchange between the pair of you, replacing it with a work environment that would mask you amongst others.

“We were in the hospital for about eight hours, that night, but she died on the table.” You hang your head slowly, nodding as Morgan’s voice wavers uncharacteristically. You had to try your best to keep the secret.

“We never got access to the post-mortem report from the hospital either, not even Garcia could find it.” Your head snaps up at this as you quickly come up with an excuse.

“Yeah, well you wouldn’t be allowed access to it without a next-of-kin’s consent. It’s likely that because her killer was still loose and was so high-profile, that they wouldn’t want to offer up any sensitive info. Her personnel file was erased right?”

“Yeah, it was.” Morgan confirms.

“Well, it’s just so they can’t get to people who are involved in her case as easily.” You place your hands on the desk in front of you as Spencer eyes you.

The rest of the team look pretty sad, Garcia is dabbing her eyes with a tissue, Spencer appears to be peeved off, but Morgan’s face is set in unadulterated frustration.

“Doyle knows us, he knows the BAU. If he wants blood, he will come for us.” You shrug slightly at this; the fact of the matter was they wouldn’t have access, even if it existed.

“I’m sorry Morgan.” You say, pursing your lips together offering him a tight smile.

“How about we just go back to-“ JJ leans forwards patting the centre of the table in an attempt to steer the conversation back on track.

“-yeah.” Reid jumped in, before continuing.

“We knew that after Emily’s death, Doyle would want to resurface to search for his son Declan who-

“Sorry to interrupt Reid but speaking of resurfacing-“ You can practically feel the panic emanating from the team as they all dash towards Garcia at the head of the table, leaving you behind.

You rock side to side in the swivel chair as the team all gather in the corner of the room talking over Garcia’s laptop screen.

“That’s him.”

“Can we be so sure? I mean, it’s only been a month.”

“Spencer, I- Y/N, can you come here?”

You stand making your way towards JJ who is shuffling through a folder.

“This is a photograph of Ian Doyle. Is this man from the CCTV him?” She pokes her finger towards the male in question on the laptop.

“I mean given how statistically unlikely it is for someone this remarkably similar to exist in an area being surveyed for Doyle’s presence, I would say yes that definitely is him. Especially so, considering he has no biological siblings.” JJ nods, agreeing with you.

The rest of the team straighten up, looking to each other as if to decide who gives the orders, all eyes eventually settling on Derek.

“Okay, well I think we should set up surveillance for Declan full time. He is our priority.” You nod in response, as JJ quickly grabs a pen, scrawling on the back of her case file.

“We can dispatch agents to his house to watch for suspicious activity. Spencer, Penelope, we need you to track all of Doyle’s aliases, and update us if any of them resurface, or lead you to an address. In the meantime, Morgan and I will stakeout his school, and see if he will lead us to his hideout from there. Y/N, focus on academy, it’s about to get really busy in here.” JJ Claps her hand, signalling her finish as the rest of the team hums in approval.

For once in your life the room felt alive with the determination of the team, banding together.

“Rossi is in his office reviewing cases, I’ll let him know of the break and to be on standby if we need him, and Spencer in the field.” Morgan quickly dashes past you and out the door.

After that the team quickly went their separate ways. Spencer followed Garcia into her office, and not long after Morgan resurfaced from Rossi’s office, JJ had him bustled into the elevator with little time to spare. That left you standing in the middle of the roundtable room confused, and with a day to kill before academy.

“Welcome to the ‘Basic Field Training’ portion of the FBI Academy. Here we will teach you Firearms, Survival Skills, Tactical and Emergency Vehicle Operations, and of course you will be completing Hogan’s Alley.”

You cross your arms, pulling against your waist, almost giving yourself a hug. You were enjoying the comfort of the FBI hoodie you had been provided with, the soft fabric seemingly dampening your anxiety. You were in a new situation, with new, unfamiliar people.

“Today, we will focus on running the single mile, and the three mile as a warm-up. We will then have you split into three groups. One team will run the obstacle course, The second will go to the shooting range, and the final group will do arrests.”

The coach seemed like a fairly nice man, he had assured you before the class that he was aware of your situation, and that Agent Hotchner had spoken very highly of you. He had also noted that you had been put into a small group of 5 trainees to assure you got plenty of attention, in case your training were to be cut short.

“Okay can the five of you line up on the track and stretch out a bit.” The group followed the SSA’s instructions, lining up at the start line.

You zoned out as you went down your body, naming each muscle in your head and stretching it out until you were satisfied that you wouldn’t injure yourself.

“Is everyone finished?”

The group let out a chorus of ‘yes sir’s, and he offered you an assuring nod.

“Good. Remember it’s not a race, you may start now. Pace yourselves and enjoy it.”

As he stepped off the track the group began moving at a pace, but you stuck towards the back of the group, saving your energy for the final few yards.

You managed to settle into the rhythm of your feet hitting against the pavement, tuning out the hum of activity coming from your other academy-mates. Your breathing was even, steady, and unwavering as you felt the rush of adrenaline overcome you that made you feel as if you could do almost anything.

When you looked up from the ground, the finish line was nearing you, and with about 150 yards left you picked up the pace, slowly making your way to the front of the group. Not in an attempt to beat them, but an attempt to prove that you belonged among these people who had to complete a fitness test to qualify, when you didn’t.

As you cross the finish line you can’t help but feel proud of yourself, you weren’t the most athletic person and a mile was an achievement, and at twelve minutes, and fifteen seconds for a mile at an easy pace you weren’t doing too bad.

“That was a good warm-up guys, now for the three mile. Again, I don’t want you to worry about this too much, because we will be completing it every day for the rest of the course, and you will get better. But as a benchmark, I would be expecting about 36-38 minutes for this. Off you go!”

And off you went again, this time you kept behind the remainder of the group, who had started off pretty quickly for what was going to be three circuits of the mile track.

As you ran you gathered your thoughts. With the Doyle case you had been practically abandoned. Spencer and Garcia were hauled up in her office, and from the glimpses of Rossi you barely saw, reviewing and consulting on cases seemed to be time-consuming work.

You had spent the remainder of yesterday reviewing some materials Spencer had dropped on your desk from the academy lectures. They were pretty self-explanatory, and anything you didn’t know was pretty simple to remember considering you would quickly jot it down, solidifying it in your mind.

By the time you had finished Spencer and Garcia had resurfaced to check on you. And even though you insisted that you were happy to stay and help them in any other ways, they had insisted you had gone home, much to your chagrin.

You had walked home to an empty, undecorated apartment. It felt pretty lonely, and you didn’t want to be there if you could avoid it. In a rush decision you had grabbed your laptop bag, and quickly walked down the street to a local diner. There you sat, scrolling through various medical journals, and hopeful articles regarding technological advancement in the forensic fields. It was at midnight that they sent you packing, in an attempt to close for the evening.

Cheers and screams pulled you back to reality as you crossed the finish line, barely acknowledging the fact you had completed your three miles.

“L/N, L/N! Stop, you did the three.” The instructor jogs over to you patting you on the shoulder, and that’s when you had the sense to turn, trying to spot the remainder of your team, who were only on the first quarter of their final mile.

“How- I’m done?”

“Yeah, you’re a speedy one. This programme will be a breeze for you, provided you can shoot.” He grins at you, and you smile back, breathing a sigh of relief. You were glad you weren’t the worst of the group.

“You’re a doctor, right?” You nod slowly, letting the SSA guide you towards the bleacher.

“Yeah, Dr. Y/N L/N. The medical kind.” He laughs at this, offering you his hand to shake.

“SSA. Jonathan Smith.” You happily take his hand, and shake it, casting your gaze to the rest of the runners who were half-way through their final mile.

“I’ve heard all about you, from Agent Hotchner of course. I was a bit sceptical when he told me you were bypassing a lot of the academy. Now that I’ve met you though, I can see why.” You grin, picking up your water bottle and taking a long gulp.

“I really want to be here, I’m just not sure I can shoot a gun.” You laugh, and he grins.

“Don’t worry, that’s why we’re here.”

Slowly the group assembles at the finish line, the few who had strayed behind catching up, and proving themselves significantly.

“Good job, our final runner finished on just over thirty-eight minutes, so you guys are spot on. Give yourselves a round of applause.” You can see all the others, grinning wide as they applaud themselves, and you can’t help it either. There was a massive sense of achievement in just completing the warm-up.

“Okay, there’s an uneven number so I will take one of you individually, and then we will have two other pairs, who will go with SSA. Alex and SSA. Jameson.” He gestures to two agents who have joined him at the front, offering you small waves at the respective mention of their names.

“L/N, you will be with me.” You make your way over to SSA Smith, as the rest of the four get sorted into their pairs, with their supervisory agent.

“I’m hoping that the individual time will be beneficial for you, and that you might learn quicker this way. Is that okay?” You nod. You were definitely grateful for Smith’s help, he had already proven to be really kind, and dedicated to your training.

“That’s great, thanks sir.”

“Oh, please just call me Jonathan.”

“Alright, up first we have firearms.” You grimace slightly which causes Jonathan to laugh.

“It’s not that bad, we just have some basic rules. Treat all firearms as if they are loaded, keep your finger off the trigger until you intend to press it, and never point a firearm at anyone unless you are justified.” You nod, settling into a serious mode.

“Okay, so here’s a holster, you’re going to put that on your belt.” You quickly follow his directions, placing the holster where it feels most comfortable to grab from.

“Is that comfortable? You’ve positioned it further forwards than most people.” You nod, motioning as if you were to reach from it as Jonathan hums in approval.

“Okay, if that’s good I’m going to give you your training weapon and ammunition.” You quickly accept his instruction as he shows you how to load and unload the Glock.

He quickly explains how to release the safety and shoot, and then he offers you the Glock.

“Take a few shots and see how it feels.” You guffaw at him slightly.

“Sir, I-I’ve never shot a gun in my life, I’m going to miss.”

“That’s okay, we call it training for a reason, I’ll stand behind you and help you hold it until you get used to it. I’m not expecting you to hit a target first time, you’re just getting used to it okay?” You nod, stepping up to the mark.

Jonathan, placed himself behind you, resting his hand on top of yours over the weapon to support it until you get used to the recoil.

“When you’re ready give me three shots, as close or as far apart as you wish.” You nod, adjusting your stance and then you pull the trigger.

The gunshot echoes throughout the large warehouse building and you pause, feeling the reverberation against your chest.

“You hit the target, which is great. Two more!” Your eyes scan the target, noticing he was right. To the left of the paper man’s shoulder sat a bullet hole.

In quick succession you took two more shots, more prepared for them this time, and each time you hit just outside of your target.

“That was great! Do you think you could hold it yourself?” You nod, your gaze remaining focused on the target.

You feel Jonathan step away and you prepare to focus, aligning your hand with your target, ensuring that you had foresight. And you took three more shots, this time hitting the target’s left shoulder.

“That’s great Y/N. Put the safety on and holster your weapon for me.” You quickly flip the safety, sliding the weapon into your holster and turn, unable to hold back the wide grin on your face.

“Good job Y/N, are you sure you haven’t done this before?” You shake your head quickly, still grinning like an idiot.

“-Y/N?” You both turn quickly at the sound of a voice interrupting you.

“Spencer?” You grin shyly up at the male towering over you. He was wearing goggles, and ear defenders similar to you.

“How are you? Is this academy training?” You nod at him.

“She’s never shot a gun before, and she still managed to hit the target.” Jonathan pipes up, clearly revelling in your victory. You feel your cheeks heat up.

A smile settles on Spencer’s face, as he studies the target, noticing the three hits, each getting more and more accurate.

“Good job, that’s amazing!” Spencer smiles, his gaze turning to the ground hiding a blush that rivalled your own.

“What are you doing down here, I thought you would be busy with Garcia?”

Spencer sighs, at your question, his grin dropping a bit.

“I like to come down to just blow off steam, after all that’s happened this year-“ Your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape as you realise, he means Emily’s death. You really wished you would stop walking yourself into discussions involving her, especially considering you knew she was very much alive.

“O-oh well, I’ll let you get on with it.” You stutter quickly, trying to regain your composure.

“Y-yeah, you’ll be stopping by later, won’t you? I-I’ll see you then.” He waves and strides away in quick succession, heading straight for the door as you furrow your brows. You turn to see a grin on Jonathan’s face.

“That wasn’t Dr. Spencer Reid by any chance, was it?” You find yourself confused as you nod.

“Yeah, it was.” Jonathan’s eyes widen slightly at this.

“Isn’t he like, a genius?”

“Well, I mean, I don’t think intelligence can be accurately measured, which would mean that technically ‘genius’ doesn’t exist-“ You trail off as you realise you are rambling.

“-yeah, he’s a genius.”

You quickly press the button for the sixth floor, relaxing as the elevator begins to carry towards the BAU.

You were aware that you looked a mess, you were dressed in an FBI sweatsuit, and your hair was damp after your much-needed shower. Luckily for you The Obstacle Course had been your final challenge for the day and running a mile in mud whilst leaping and climbing various obstacles left you yearning the sensation of hot water against stiff muscles.

You felt as though you could sleep, but it was still only three o’ clock and you didn’t want to leave until at least six; it felt mean to go home when the rest of the team would still be stuck in the office.

The elevator dings, pulling you out of your thoughts. Quickly you slung your gym bag over your shoulder and made your way towards the double-glass doors that had seemed so intimidating yesterday.

Your nerves hadn’t exactly worn off, yet, but you certainly felt more relaxed. It was more the people that made you feel anxious than the actual job. You had so many team members, and you wanted to be friends with all of them, but you were perpetually awkward and even the interactions you had with Spencer ended in you both being obscenely flustered.

“Y/N, Hi!” Garcia perks up as you enter the BAU doors, clattering towards you on her heels to engulf you in a warm hug. Though you weren’t one for physical contact, it was weirdly exactly what you needed, and you felt yourself relax in her arms.

“Don’t strangle her Garcia.” You jump slightly at the second voice coming from behind you and you turn to see Agent Rossi, grinning over a cup of coffee. Garcia releases you and you turn to face him, giving him a quick wave.

“You had academy I assume?” You nod quickly, as he takes in your attire.

“U-uhm yes sir.”

He chuckles at your formalities.

“Rossi is fine.” You nod, walking towards the coffee machine and searching for a mug.

“I keep a spare one, you can use that.” You hear Spencer’s voice echo from your left, and you jump yet again.

“You’re a jumpy one doctor.” Garcia grins as you straighten. She taps you affectionately on your nose which makes you jump again, but this time you bang your head against an overhead cabinet.

You gasp on impact, clutching the back of your head as Garcia takes a step back apologising profusely.

Spencer on the other hand rushes towards you, placing his hand over the hand you were using to cradle your head, and another on your shoulder. He slowly walks backwards, guiding you towards the break room table and sits you down.

“Are you okay?” You chuckle lightly, trying to break the awkwardness.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just…. jumpy?” Spencer grins at this. He drops his hand, making his way towards a fridge-freezer.

“I-I’m so sorry Y/N, I didn’t mean to, I-“ You take in the frantic woman who sits opposite you.

“Garcia, it’s fine… seriously. It’s just a bump.” Spencer promptly returns to your side and sits in the chair beside you. In his outstretched hand is an icepack wrapped in a kitchen towel, which you gratefully accept.

Garcia’s phone startles you out of your silent reverie, as she receives a notification. Quickly she bustles away, obviously going to take care of it.

“Okay, we have an address for Doyle, can you guys hear me, okay?!” Garcia talks loudly down her office phone as Rossi, Spencer, and yourself stand beside her, reading the screens over her shoulder.

Garcia reems off the address as you stare off into space, JJ’s voices quickly pulling you back to reality.

“Morgan and I are headed there now, I’ve called Hotch. Spencer, Rossi, I need you both to go to Declan’s house. I know he went home from school early, but considering how dangerous this takedown is, we want him in FBI custody in case he gets away and flees with the child.”

The phone quickly hangs up after that.

Garcia Rossi and Spencer get up, quickly making their way to the door. Spencer, however, pauses turning towards you as you cluelessly follow him.

“We’re probably going to be here all night; you can stay if you want? If not, go home and get some rest.” You watch as Spencer bounces on the balls of his feet, he quickly gestures for you to walk with him.

“I’m tired but I think I will stay, maybe I can be useful?” Spencer smiles, nodding at you.

“Tell you what, go into Hotch’s office, there’s a pull-out sofa in there. Sleep for a few hours and I can wake you if anything interesting happens?” He quickly jogs towards the elevator, meeting Rossi inside.

“I’ll call Garcia and tell her to let you into the office.” You quickly nod, furrowing your brows as the elevator door shuts.

You turn towards the clattering of heels to your right.

“Spencer texted me, he said you needed to sleep and to help you with the pull-out bed in Hotch’s office?” You smile, nodding at Garcia.

You weren’t too happy with the concept of sleeping whilst everyone else was out risking their lives. However, as soon as Spencer had mentioned the word sleep you had felt a deep desire to curl up in a corner somewhere and doze. The academy had taken a lot out of you, and you were feeling the consequences.

Garcia however, acted like people sleeping in Hotch’s office was a regular thing and she very happily grabbed a blanket and pillows from the cupboard, handing them to you as she unlocked Hotch’s office, making a beeline for the sofa.

“This thing is so handy you know? If anyone’s ever tired on long cases where they have some free time, but not enough to go home, there’s fights over it. Every office in here has one actually.” You stifle a yawn, watching as Penelope quickly unfolds the sofa out into a decent sized double bed.

“Okay, that should be all good. I’ll leave you too it, you can close those blinds or leave them open if you feel more comfortable, and the light switch is just over there.

“Thanks Garcia.” You yawn for real this time, placing the pillows down on the bed and smiling as she waves at you through the window, before disappearing back into her office.

You relish in the silence as you dawdle around the office still holding one pillow in your left arm, hugging it tightly to your chest.

You close the blinds and flick the lights off, sighing as the room settles into darkness. You absolutely needed a nap, and you were glad you had taken the opportunity. It was nearing eight o’clock and after the day being so busy you just needed a reset.

So, you took your blanket and curled up on the sofa bed, hugging your pillow tightly to your chest as you dazed off into a deep slumber.

You stir in your sleep as the door to Hotch’s office opens, allowing the bustle of the BAU bullpen to overtake what was the peace-and-quiet of Hotch’s office.

As you open your eyes, you feel the confusion setting in. In your dazed state you couldn’t quite recognise the room you were in.

“Y/N? It’s Spencer, we are having a meeting and you should probably join us.” You sit up on your elbows to see Spencer standing at the end of the room. Nodding you unravelled yourself from the blanket and stood, swaying on your feet slightly.

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Mhmm. Wait. You said a meeting, you were just at Declan’s house, is everything okay?” You pause slightly in the doorway as Spencer walks out of the office. He gestures for you to follow him.

“Declan is gone, but JJ and Morgan have managed to arrest Doyle, he’s being brought into custody here and we are hoping he will be able to give us information on Declan.” You groan, rubbing your eyes with your palms.

“Not the kid…” Spencer nods, silently agreeing with you. Declan had gone through enough in his life, he didn’t need a kidnapping on top of that; no kid did.

“Oh, also, Hotch is back-“ You nod slightly, trying not to stress too much at this concept.

As you approached the roundtable room you could hear the chatter amongst the BAU members, and when they came into view you couldn’t help but smile.

“Dr. L/N, it’s good to have you here, I’m so sorry about all of this.” You smile at Agent Hotchner, shaking your head.

“Don’t worry about it.” The rest of the team offer you kind smiles as you settle in your chairs, ready to begin the meeting.

“Okay, so where’s Morgan?”

“He refused to leave Doyle’s side, so they will arrive together” JJ offers Hotch a slight smile as he nods.

“Okay, in the meantime I would like to talk to you Y/N.” You quickly rise from your chair, following him out of the room, waiting for him to close the door behind you.

“I’m so sorry about all of this, I really am. I know it’s not ideal for you at all.” You quickly attempt to reassure him.

“It’s fine Hotch, really. I want to be here.” He nods, giving you a slight smile.

“I also wanted to let you know in advance, JJ and I have called Emily back, and she will be here any minute. Just prepare yourself, I don’t know how the rest of the team are going to react.”

The sound of a door opening pulls you out of your thoughts and you turn to see JJ.

“I just got a message; Derek is here with Doyle. Emily is five minutes away, Declan tried to call her.”

Hotch simply nods, guiding you back into the roundtable room, and sending you back to your seat.

You chatter a bit with the team trying to catch up on the case.

“So is Doyle responsible for Declan’s disappearance?” You furrow your brows, trying to wrap your head around all this chaos.

“It’s the most likely possibility, yes.” You nod at Spencer’s answer.

The truth of the matter was cases involving children had always hit you the hardest, no child deserved the situation Declan had grown up in. He was the son of an international terrorist, and Emily Prentiss had faked his death in order to give him a better life. Perhaps she was the only one who showed him a glimpse of what caring for a child was like?

Soon enough Derek had joined you, looking incredibly frustrated.

“Doyle’s in the interrogation room, I had a crack at him.” Derek’s face morphs into one of impatience.

“He didn’t do it Hotch, he’s insisting we release him to let him find his son.”

“So, we need to find out if he has any enemies, right?”

“Well Richard Geracey is a known enemy of Doyle; he’s been in the States for a couple weeks. I caught an image of him on a surveillance camera at Declan’s house.” Garcia pipes up, quickly displaying an image on the screen.

“He’s a suspect. Derek, go talk to him.” He stands.

As Derek disappears out of the door an idea hits you.

“Geracey couldn’t have pulled this off all on his own, I mean, Garcia saw two people destroying the security camera.” You keep your eyes glued to JJ as you speak, trying to tell whether or not you were being a hinderance.

“Well statistically the people most likely to be involved in-“

You had barely noticed that Hotch had left the room until he had returned with Derek by his side, cutting off Reid and telling everyone to sit.

“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team.” JJ quickly stands up as you begin to realise what’s happening.

You quickly glance around the room seeing curious looks on everyone’s faces. Uh oh, you didn’t want to be a part of this conversation. Teammates who think their colleague has been dead for 7 months, then find out she’s actually alive are bound to be mad about the whole thing.

“As you all know Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. Both the doctors were able to stabilise her-”

You began to panic slightly, you were in a room with profilers, they were bound to realise you were tense, or uncomfortable, right?

“-and she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration.” As Hotch reems off the information you were already fully aware of you study the team, noticing the look of realisation on their faces.

“Her identity was strictly need-to-known, and she stayed there until she was well enough to travel. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security.”

The team remained silent as they gazed up towards Hotch and JJ. Their faces were a mixture of confusion, and what appeared to be anger.

“She’s alive?” Garcia’s voice was meek, and it broke your heart to see the tears forming in her eyes.

Hotch stays quiet at this, averting his gaze.

“But we buried her?”

The tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife and all you could do was sit there, fidgeting anxiously in your chair.

“As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me.” You offer Hotch a small smile and a nod as his gaze lands on you.

“Any issues?! Yeah, I got issues!” The tone of Derek’s voice causes you to jump slightly, and you felt your cheeks heat up as Spencer’s eyes settled on you.

But they quickly turn to focus on the sound of footsteps entering the room. A dark-haired woman walks through the door. The woman you recognised as Emily Prentiss.

She was gorgeous, her striking hair contrasting against her skin. Her face was set in a solemn look as her eyes trailed over her former teammates.

But you are pulled out of your train of thought by Agent Hotchner, who bustles you up from your seat and walks you towards the door, closing it slightly behind him he offers you a slight smile.

“Y/N, you don’t have to mention your involvement, not if you don’t want to.” You nod at this.

“Are they going to be mad?”

“Probably, but it was a life-or-death situation and I need to stand by my decision.”

“Yes sir.”

“Listen, you’ve had a long day. How about you go back to my office and get some rest, we will be here awhile.” You shake your head quickly at this.

“No, no, sir I’m fine. I really want to stay and help.”

“We can wake you if we need you.” You give in to the idea of sleep, it was the early hours of the morning and you had been up at the crack of dawn the previous day.

“I- okay, fine. But -uhm- I was just wondering, have you looked into Declan’s mother? I mean I know Doyle is his father, but we have no idea who-“ You pause, watching as Hotch offers you a smile.

“We will certainly look into that Y/N, now get some rest.”

And for the second time that night, you curl up onto Hotch’s sofa bed, arms wrapped tightly around a pillow, but you didn’t sleep.

Your mind ran rampant with ideas, and conspiracies as to who could have taken Declan Doyle. You knew that Geracey had something to do with it, he was a known enemy of Doyle’s after some form of conflict in Belfast. But the team had no idea who Declan’s mother is, but it was likely there was some conflict between her and Doyle, considering she wasn’t with them anymore.

You felt so hopeless, you were lacking the means to gather information because Hotch had sent you to a bed at a time where sleep will not come. Out there somewhere was a little boy, being paraded around, likely as a second best to Doyle, since he was in federal custody. That child hadn’t asked to be involved in any of this, he was simply taken from school, from his home.

Gazing at your phone screen you realised half-an-hour had passed, and you were just about to get up out of the bed when there was a light tapping on your door; it was Penelope Garcia.

“Garcia?” You whisper as the silhouette wastes no time in entering the dark room, dragging the light in with her.

“I figured you wouldn’t be able to sleep and that considering the rest of the team are still brainstorming in here I could come in for some one-on -one time? You seem like you are a good idea bouncer-offer.” You chuckle at this, moving upright on the bed.

“Yeah sure, absolutely.”

“Okay so first I’m going to catch you up. Basically, Declan’s nanny took him home from school after he contracted food poisoning, so whoever is responsible for his kidnapping tainted food, and got to him on campus.”

“We have established that Geracey is in some sort of conspiracy with a woman, who posed as agents for the next shift at surveying Declan, they killed the nanny, and the actual agents and then took the child.”

“A woman?”

“Yes, so we got thinking about women who have had relations to Doyle, and of course Hotch had mentioned you talking about his mother. So, Emily managed to give us a compiled list and now we are trying to break Doyle, but it doesn’t seem to be working. They have been in there for the past fifteen minutes.” You nod slightly, turning to the door which swung open suddenly.

“Y/N?” You recognised the voice as Spencer’s, watching as he stepped into the room, taking not of Garcia.

“She told you everything?” You nod as Spencer gives you a tight-lipped smile.

Garcia seems to get some form of signal from him because she quickly makes an excuse to leave, bustling past Spencer and towards her ‘bat cave’.

“I know this is -uhm- a lot to ask, but we were wondering if you would interview Doyle?”

Story Masterlist - (1) - (2)

Authors Note: Wow! I hope you guys are enjoying this? I made reader's background quite specific as it made it easier to weave in bonding between her and that characters. I also love having fun with how lucky she is for all of this to happen to her?!?! I mean it's not 100% realistic (but then again, no Spencer Reid fanfic is?) but either way, go get it girl! <3

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut

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satellites-halo · 6 months ago

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Hi, can I ask you a few questions about intersex? I'm trying to inform myself more about this topic. it's okay if you don't want to answer, but could you recommend another blog to answer my questions? my two questions are why intersex belongs to the lgbt community and what is afab transfem and amab transmasc /genq

Hi I can totally answer this <3 thanks for asking so respectfully!

Discussion of IGM, intersexism, and transphobia below. It got a bit long so putting it under the cut lol

1. Why does intersex belong in the LGBTQ+ community?

Intersex people are often oppressed alongside other LGBTQ+ people. We are a minority in the world, directly challenging the idea of a binary sex and, therefore, seem to 'inherently' challenge a binary gender in a way that makes conservatives and gender critical people uncomfortable. (It's important to note that intersex people can be cisgender, though, and identify with a binary gender themselves.) Recently, Peru classified being transgender, nonbinary, or intersex as having a mental illness (warning for transphobia, homophobia, and intersexism in the comments of that article). We are seen as inherently disordered, inherently breaking the 'rules' of being cisgender and being heterosexual no matter how we identify, because our bodies are not 'normal'.

Intersex babies or children with 'abnormal' genitals are often operated on, having their genitals mutilated to conform to a perisex ideal. This was done to 'avoid gender identity confusion' and is still done today, though through advocacy and speaking up in larger communities (like the LGBTQ+ community), people are now more likely to be aware of the fact that this is not something these intersex children tend to appreciate once they are adults.

There's a lot to intersex history to look at and see how our rights are inherently tied to gay and transgender rights as well, so I'll just bring up one final example for this. In 1979 in Australia, a cisgender man who had been born intersex at birth and raised as a man had his marriage annulled on "the basis that an intersex man could not be legally married because marriage can only be between someone who is seen to be wholly male and someone who is seen to be wholly female."

2. What is an AFAB transfem and an AMAB transmasc?

Answering this requires me to go over some terminology. Definitions have been muddied a lot recently, and this is something I want to approach properly. I'd also like to say that I am transfem myself, and I'm looking at this purely from the perspective of what the intersex communities definitions of these are. I will not be going into other definitions of these identities or doing discourse over what is and isn't valid.

(c)AFAB = (coercively) assigned female at birth. Not necessarily someone who is female

(c)AMAB = (coercively) assigned male at birth. Not necessarily someone who is male

AXAB = assigned (x/intersex/neutral) at birth. This is almost never used in real medical settings, and is instead a form of self identification for intersex people or people who do not want anyone to know their AGAB for any reason.

I'm going to be focusing on AFAB transfems for this, since that's what I feel confident talking about as a transfem, but this also applies for AMAB transmascs.

An AFAB transfem is an intersex person who was coercively assigned female at birth, but either went through IGM, had a masculinizing puberty, or otherwise doesn't have experiences that line up with typical Female-ness. Due to this, this person may develop complicated feelings about gender and go on hormones, dress a certain way, go through surgeries, or present themselves a certain way to transition to female. Sometimes they go through name changes and get stricter with what pronouns they prefer (ex: going from being ok with having they/them used to wishing that people only use she/her). Some of these people see themselves as cisgender women, while others may see themselves as a transgender woman or transfem due to the shared experiences between them and MTF trans women. It's important to remember with this that these people are not claiming to be MTF, and should not go into communities specifically for MTF transgender people, but are still transfeminine in a uniquely intersex way.

Here's some language I think it'd be helpful for u to learn:

xtf- intersex to female

itf- intersex to female

xtm- intersex to male

itm- intersex to male

xtx- intersex to (nonbinary/genderqueer/agender/xenogender/etc)

itx- intersex to (nonbinary/genderqueer/agender/xenogender/etc)

intersexism- prejudice against intersex people

perisex/endosex/dyadic- not intersex

salmacian/altersex- transitioning to have mixed/unconventional genitals. this is not the same as being intersex, but is important to know since they are used to avoid people saying "I am transitioning to be intersex"

I think that's itt... If any other intersex people want to add on feel free to but pls don't bring discourse under this post 🫶 also sorry if this is kinda messy haha I'm rlly disorganized xP

#intersex #actually intersex #lgbtq+#lgbtqia #long post

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luxaofhesperides · 2 years ago

Text

those who serve.

CHAPTER THREE: a transition.

chapter one, chapter two or the full fic on ao3.

how did i write 10k.... my self-control is nonexistent. enjoy.

“Is there anyone else who works here?”

Alfred stops to consider the question, then turns to face Danny, bringing a stop to their tour of the manor. “On occasion. Many galas or events require specific companies to set up and organize the spaces open to the public. I also hire a landscaping company once a year to tend to the yard, and a cleaning company to set every room in the manor straight.”

Danny hums thoughtfully. They’ve been walking through the manor for around an hour now and have only just finished the first floor. Alfred is very in-depth for this tour, speaking of not only what each room is, but also brief snippets of the history of the Wayne family, supplemented by a multitude of portraits hanging in the hallways.

“But there’s no one else to help with daily tasks? It’s just you?”

“That is correct. There was a full staff many years ago, but they had left after Master Bruce’s parents had died. I alone remained to care for Master Bruce and the Manor.”

“And no one else ever came by to help? Bruce didn’t offer to hire anyone to help you?”

Bruce had been nice so far, letting Danny into his home and office, promising to work out the details for him alongside Tim. They had gotten a strange look on their faces when Danny reluctantly admitted that he didn’t legally exist and had no social security number to put into the paperwork. Stranger, though, was the fact that they didn’t ask any follow up questions besides basic information about himself: age, date of birth, allergies and medical conditions.

And then they said they’d get it all sorted out and sent him on his way with Alfred, who had appeared behind him without him noticing.

It’s all very suspicious. Danny’s starting to worry that the Wayne’s might be leading a mob; he knows getting legal identification and records for him will involve some illegal work. Nice of them to do it, but still a reason why he can’t trust them.

“Though it has come up occasionally,” Alfred says, “I have refused each person who sought employment here. There have been too many people who wished to take advantage of the Wayne family’s wealth and fame. I have found plans for hostage situations, theft, even selling personal secrets to magazines.”

“Yikes,” Danny winces. “That sucks. So why did you agree to take me on? Shouldn’t you have done like, I don’t know, a background check?”

“I only need to know if you are a good person.” Alfred smiles at him and places a hand on his shoulder. “You are a very good person, Danny. I would be honored to entrust the family to you.”

Tears well up in Danny’s eyes. He blinks them away quickly, trying to hide how touched he is. No one’s ever trusted him so much, or so quickly. Even as Phantom, back in Amity Park, it took a long time for people to trust that he wanted to keep them safe. Sam and Tucker may have believed in him to protect them when things got rough, but they also saw first hand all his blunders and mistakes.

Alfred doesn’t see any of that. He sees a homeless teen with nothing to his name, no family or home or possessions, and is willingly putting his trust in him.

Danny wants to prove him right. He wants to show that he can be trusted, that this isn’t a mistake. He’ll take on the whole world if that’s what it means.

“Thanks,” he manages to get out.

“Think nothing of it, Danny.” With a final pat to his shoulder, Alfred steps away and continues the tour, leading Danny through the second floor.

Much of the manor looks the same: big and expensive. There are so many paintings and portraits and fancy rugs everywhere. There’s potted plants and vases set out on display, statue busts and sculptures. It’s a little dizzying to think about so Danny tries to put it all out of his mind and just go with the flow.

He’s going to spend so much time getting lost here, he can already tell.

Alfred is a good guide. It’s too bad that Danny’s spotty memory is going to make this tour be mostly useless.

Still, walking through the manor is a nice reprieve from his conversation in Bruce’s office.

It stays nice up until they reach the family wing, where everyone’s bedrooms are. Alfred’s just going over whose rooms are never to be entered without explicit permission, and whose rooms need to be checked every few days to be cleaned.

Danny’s listening attentively, trying to memorize each name and match it to a door, noting which ones are keep out and which ones are clean occasionally.

He’s listening until a sudden chill races up his spine and his spins around, placing himself in front of Alfred on instinct as he readies himself for a fight. He didn’t hear anyone behind him, didn’t feel the same coldness that alerted him to a ghost nearby, but there was a shift in the air, a warning that he needs to be on his guard.

There’s a girl in front of him. She had snuck up behind him completely silently and he almost didn’t notice her presence at all.

It’s hard to tell how old she is. She must be older than him, surely, but she looks youthful enough to be any age over fifteen. Her eyes are dark and even though she smiles at him, Danny can only see her as a threat. It doesn’t matter that her body is fully relaxed and her hands are open; she doesn’t need to move to be dangerous. She just is.

“Miss Cassandra,” Alfred greets warmly. “You didn’t come down for breakfast.”

“Slept in,” she says, “Smoothie?”

“I shall make you one after I finish giving Danny a tour of the manor.”

Cassandra nods and looks over Danny, eyes scanning him carefully. “New brother?” she asks.

“No,” Danny says before Alfred can answer. “Definitely not. I’m… working for Alfred? Will be working with Alfred? I don’t know the official name for the position I’m going to get.”

“You are to be my apprentice. And later on, a butler much like myself. Traditionally, there is strict schooling a butler must undergo to gain that title, but this family has never been traditional itself. It will work out with time.”

Butler school is a thing? That almost distracts Danny enough to stop paying attention to Cassandra. Almost.

He steps back when she reaches for him and Alfred moves out from behind him. “She will not harm you,” he says to Danny quietly, though he has no doubt Cassandra can hear every word, “And she will not touch you so long as you tell her not to.”

“I will not hurt,” she confirms. “Hand? For hello?” Then she signs something and looks at him expectantly.

“I don’t know ASL.”

She holds out a hand. “For hello,” she repeats.

It clicks, then, that she’s asking for a handshake. Warily, he reaches out to shake her hand, and despite his fear, her grip is light and easy to break if needed.

“Cass,” she says. “Welcome.”

“Danny,” he returns, “Thanks. I guess I’ll be seeing you around a lot? Since I’ll be working here.”

She nods. “My room is off limits. Ask first.”

“You got it.” Danny pulls his hand away, glad that she didn’t pull a Bruce and keep hold of him. He gives her a weak thumbs up which she returns enthusiastically.

Then she turns to Alfred and asks, “Little brothers?”

“Master Damian has gone to school and Master Tim is in the study. Though he may have left to work downstairs. I shall call you up when I have made your smoothies.”

“Lots of fruit,” she says, “No green.” And she waves goodbye and disappears down the hallway, heading for the staircase.

It’s only as she’s leaving that Danny realizes he can’t hear her footsteps at all. She’s clearly not floating like he is, but she’s completely silent anyways. The way she moves makes it seem like she’s either about to start twirling around and dancing, or throw herself into a fight.

This family is definitely a mob family. She’s probably one of their best enforcers.

“Miss Cassandra will often leave without warning. She will return just as suddenly. She can take care of herself more than other members of this family, but she cannot be trusted with laundry,” Alfred says.

“Oh. Okay.”

Danny stares at Alfred, wondering if he’s going to say anything about how obviously dangerous she is, but all he does is nod and start walking again. He doesn’t want to bring up her unusual way of speaking—it’s probably rude to ask about such things, and Danny doesn’t want to be kicked out for being insensitive—and chalks it up to a language development issue and puts it out of his mind.

He can understand her and she can understand him. That’s all they need.

The tour continues without any issues. No one else pops in to surprise him and the walk through the yard to the greenhouse is nice and relaxing.

Danny’s especially looking forward to helping Alfred out there. Trimming back hedges, weeding flower beds, tending to the herb and vegetable gardens; it’s so nice to live someplace that isn’t ecto-contaminated. It’s actually safe to eat all the plants that are growing out there.

It’s a nice change from what he’s used to.

By the time they get back to the kitchen, it’s been a few hours. Danny’s starting to feel the pull of sleep, unused to being awake while the sun is up. He’ll have to stop being nocturnal if he intends to work this job.

He can’t help Alfred during the busiest hours of the day if he’s knocked out and snoring before ten in the morning.

Alfred, being who he is, gently ushers Danny into a seat at the table then bustles around the kitchen, setting out a blender and a few large glasses.

“I can help,” Danny starts, rising to stand.

“I’m sure you can, but not today,” Alfred says, pinning Danny in place with a stern glare. “I know you are tired. Rest a while and we shall work out your accommodations after I am finished here.”

“I can just come back later. I’ve got a place to sleep in the city.”

“Absolutely not. We have more than enough empty beds here.”

A bed does sound nice. Waking up on a concrete floor or with a crick in his neck from sitting up against a wall all day is unpleasant. A bed with pillows and blankets? While it was normal for him once, now it sounds like heaven.

He’ll ignore the Wayne family being a mob for a good bed.

In fact, Danny will even settle for a subpar bed, though he’ll be bitter about rich people not spending their money on decent mattresses.

So he sits and watches Alfred make smoothies, chopping up fruit and dropping ice into the blender. His eyes start closing, slowly, and he forces himself not to slump onto the table and pass out. Falling asleep in the kitchen is nothing new to him, but this isn’t his home. This is his future workplace and he needs to learn how to be professional, but he’s sure step one is don’t fall asleep at the table.

Danny is so close to failing step one.

“Hey Alfred,” he says, trying to stay awake, “How much time do you spend cooking?”

“Quite a lot. I often spend mornings preparing every meal for the day so lunch and dinner can be quickly made.”

“It doesn’t leave you much time to do other things, right?”

“I suppose so.”

Danny nods, biting back a yawn as Alfred looks over, pausing for a moment to give Danny his full attention. “I don’t know how to cook or anything, but I can help with other things while you’re in here.”

“You do not need to worry about that right now, Danny. I plan on having you shadow me for a week and learn how to do many of my tasks. And I would always appreciate a hand in the kitchen; previous experience doesn’t matter at all when I can teach you everything you need to know.”

Job talk is out of the question then. Alfred’s just going to shut it all down until Danny’s more awake and capable of keeping focused. Totally fair, even if Danny wants to keep prodding to get all the details he can about this job.

“Can you tell me more about everyone who lives here?” he asks, turning the conversation down a different path.

“I do believe you will learn more about them on your own,” Alfred says, popping the lid back onto the blender, “They will be eager to meet you, now that you’re here.”

“We will have a family dinner,” Cass says from behind him, just before the blender starts up and swallows up every other sound in the kitchen.

Danny flinches hard enough to bang his knees against the underside of the table. He’s wide awake now, adrenaline running through him, and he has to hold his breath in an attempt to stop from gasping or having his heart give out from shock.

“Cass,” he says, “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” she says, raising her voice to be heard.

A moment later, the blender stops and Alfred starts pouring it into one of the tall cups. “Miss Cassandra,” he says, somehow knowing she’s there without turning around or hearing her, “Your smoothie is ready.”

She crosses the kitchen in silent steps and takes the offered cup with a smile. “Thanks,” she says, signing at the same time. “Family dinner tonight.”

“I see. Will Master Jason be returning as well?”

“I will get him,” she promises. There’s a glint in her eyes that speaks of nothing but trouble. Danny feels bad for this Jason person, but has no intention to help him. Cass is not someone he wants to go up against, no matter how friendly she acts.

She turns to Danny just before she leaves the kitchen and tells him, “Go sleep.”

He can do nothing but nod, but it’s enough for her and she walks away without another word, sipping on her smoothie.

Alfred begins preparing another smoothie, and Danny considers asking who it’s for. If it’s for him, he’ll need to find a way to politely decline it on account of not being used to having a full stomach these days and starting to feel a little sick at the thought of more food.

Thankfully, he doesn’t offer it to Danny once it’s made. Alfred just keeps the glass set aside on the counter and starts washing the dishes.

He has to bite down an offer to help; Alfred has made it very clear that Danny isn’t doing anything at all today besides meeting the family and getting a look around the manor. It grates at him, having to sit and do nothing, but he doesn’t want to overstep his bounds and get kicked out before he can do anything.

That would be a terrible start to his career. Whatever his career ends up being.

Just as Alfred’s putting the last of the dishes onto the drying rack, Tim walks in and says, “Cass has a smoothie.” Then he spots the glass left on the counter, untouched, and goes, “Oh.”

Danny considers this more proof that Alfred has magic. It’s just a magic specific to predicting the people he considers under his care.

“I thought you would want one as well,” Alfred says.

Tim nods and grabs the glass to take a sip. “Mhmm. You can’t expect me not to come running when you make smoothies. Could use a little spice, though.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s good! I swear! Sweet and spicy is a good combination.”

“I will not be putting spices in my smoothies, Master Tim. I do have some self-respect.”

Tim shrugs and stops arguing. “All right. Your kitchen, your rules. I’ll get my spicy smoothies elsewhere.” Then he turns to Danny, looks him over with a critical eye, and says, “You look tired. Do you wanna crash in one of the guest rooms for a nap?”

“I was just about to have Danny pick out his room,” Alfred says, “If you would follow me, Danny.”

He hurries to get up, hastily pushing the chair back in, and falls into step behind Alfred. Tim joins them, for reasons unknown to Danny, but his company has been nice during the few hours Danny’s been in the manor, so he doesn’t mind.

They don’t go to the family wing. There’s apparently a servants’ wing, and though he isn’t a fan of the name, he’s glad to be put somewhere far away from the Wayne family. With them being the way they are, he wouldn’t be surprised if he woke up with them standing over him in the middle of the night if his room was in the same wing as theirs. Maybe not to hurt him, but just to watch him and make sure he’s alright.

There’s nothing that says they would do that, but it’s the vibe he’s getting. Nice, a little prone to worry, and very much capable of going about the wrong way to make sure everything’s okay.

Hell, they’re making him a new identity through definitely illegal means just because he can’t do anything without legally existing.

He’s better off not thinking too hard about the Wayne family, honestly. At least, not until he can do some research on them once he can access the internet again.

“Here are my private quarters,” Alfred says, nodding to a door. “I would like for you to choose a room in this hallway, so that I am nearby in case you need anything.”

There are only six other doors in the hallway, which means these are fairly big rooms. Danny looks over his options and goes for the door on the other side of the hallway, a door down from Alfred’s room. Close enough to hear Alfred if he needs help, close enough to call for help, but far enough that Danny doesn’t feel crowded.

He opens it, hesitating slightly until Alfred nods at him to go in, then tries very hard not to gape too obviously.

Servants’ wing brought to mind an image of small, cramped rooms that held only the bare minimum. A bed, definitely, maybe a desk, possible a closet or wardrobe. The bathroom would be separate, maybe down the hall in its own room.

That is not what the room looks like. It’s big, larger than the living room and kitchen of his old house combined. There’s a couch and a low table in what must act as a lounging area, then a desk on the far wall just beneath a window, and a large bed in the back of the room. A door off to the side goes to the bathroom and another is open to show an empty closet. A drawer is set beside it, a ship in a bottle on top of it as the only decoration in the room.

“Oh wow,” he says, taking it all in. “Are you sure I can have this room? I can take something smaller.”

“No way. If you’re going to be working with us, the least we can do is give you a good room as thanks for all the things you’ll have to deal with from us.” Tim nudges his shoulder, a gentle, friendly little gesture that forces Danny deeper into the room.

“You can redecorate it however you like,” Alfred says, “And we shall go shopping to get everything you need once you’ve settled in a little more.”

This is way too much.

Abruptly, Danny feels lightheaded.

He hasn’t even done anything yet. And here’s Alfred, and by extension the Wayne family, offering up not just a job, but a home, a future, a place to belong.

“Woah!” Tim grabs his arm suddenly and Danny slumps against him. The world feels a little more real now that he has someone keeping him from drifting away. He must have been swaying a bit because the room settles into stillness just as he realizes that the floor is tilting out from under him. “Let’s get you to the bed.”

Tim leads him across the room and Alfred follows, a hand against Danny’s back to hold him steady.

“I suppose this was a little too much excitement,” Alfred says, “Get some rest, Danny. We can work everything out later.”

“No,” he mumbles, but can’t fight back as he’s gently maneuvered onto the bed. “I’m supposed to shadow you.”

“There is no rush.” The pillow is heavenly soft beneath his head. All the strength leaves his body and Danny realizes just how exhausted he’s been, running on fumes for the past month and not noticing because there was never time to notice. Now his body is making the executive choice to rest, uncaring of his concerns of sleeping in a strange new environment, of the responsibilities he needs to take on in order to survive in this dimension.

“I’ll let everyone know to leave you alone,” Tim says, voice lowered until it’s just louder than a whisper. Danny forces his eyes to cooperate and squints in Tim’s direction just to see him leave the room—Danny’s new room—and that’s all he sees before his eyes slide shut, unable to resist the siren call of sleep.

It feels like he’s falling. Like he’s sinking, neck deep in quicksand with no way out. The world quickly fades away, and the last thing he hears is Alfred saying, “Sleep well, my boy. You are safe now.”

And, despite all his doubts, Danny believes him.

Danny must be dreaming. None of this feels real, certainly, but he’s not sure if that’s because of the twisting and confusing nature of dreams, or the absurd and unreasonable behavior of rich people.

He sleeps.

He had (allegedly) woken up after six hours, just after Damian had returned from school. After he had felt a little more human and cognizant, he wandered the manor until he managed to make his way to the kitchen. When Alfred wasn’t there, he searched every room and hallway until Cass appeared behind him and pointed him towards the family den, where he was dusting.

From then on, Danny stuck close to Alfred, following after him as he spoke about what he was doing, how he was doing it, and how often he does each task. It’s easy enough to understand, and Danny’s confident that he can pick it up quickly enough and help Alfred out by reducing his duties some.

The idea of working for the Wayne family isn’t so alarming now that he knows what he’ll be doing. It’s all just cleaning and taking care of the manor. Alfred can handle tending to the actual family, and he can ask Danny for help on anything.

This could actually work out well, which will be a first for Danny.

He thinks it’s all fine up until Cass meets him in the living room, takes hold of his arm, and grins at Alfred. “Got everyone,” she says, without offering any context, then drags him into the dining room.

Too many people are in there and they all stare at him.

There are plates set on the table and almost everyone is seated. Cass direct him to a chair and Danny suddenly realizes that this is a family dinner and he’s expected to sit and eat with them.

He must be lucid dreaming. It must be a nightmare. But when he discretely pinches himself, he can feel the sting of pain clearly.

“Sit,” Cass tells him, and he sits because he doesn’t want to know what will happen to him if he disobeys. Especially since it’s Cass, especially since Bruce is watching him.

Distantly, he wonders if he can fake his death and run away to another city. Before he can go down that train of thought, Bruce clears his throat and gathers everyone’s attention. They all look to him, then glance back at Danny, trading knowing looks with each other.

“Everyone, I’m sure you’ve heard already, but this is Danny,” Bruce says, “He is not mine. He’s Alfred’s. Any comments can go to him this time instead of me.”

“Thank you, Master Bruce,” Alfred says with a polite bite in his voice. “Danny has graciously offered to help me in my duties of taking care of the manor. Do treat him well.”

Apparently, that’s all the introduction he gets. Everyone returns their attention to him, blatantly staring. Some look annoyed, others look excited. All of them have a hard light in their eyes, as if they can peel back every layer of him and find all his secrets just by looking.

It’s unnerving.

Danny, hesitantly, waves to the room at large, then tucks his hands back under the table.

Across from him, a man with a bright grin and the bluest eyes Danny’s ever seen leans forward. “Hey! I’m Dick, Bruce’s oldest.”

He almost asks what he did to earn the name Dick before his common sense smacks him in the back of his head and stops him. “Hi,” he returns weakly.

Taking their cue, the rest of the brood go around introducing themselves. Besides Dick is Damian who gives him a curt nod, then Cass who waves at him happily. There’s a blond girl who has a smile that screams trouble; she introduces herself as “Steph, not Stephanie unless you’re looking for a throw down”, then adds that she’s not Bruce’s kid, she just likes Alfred’s cooking, which is very valid.

On the Danny’s side of the table is Tim, who rolls his eyes at the man beside him, who has a streak of white hair above his forehead who gruffly introduces himself as Jason and says nothing more. On the other side of Danny is a a boy who looks to be the same age as him and so far has the calmest demeanor of everyone in the manor.

“I’m Duke,” he says, “I’m mentoring under Bruce right now, so I’ll be hanging out here often. Usually during mornings or evenings, so I probably won’t be in your way too much.”

“There are a few others,” Bruce says, as if this group isn’t enough, “Though they weren’t able to make it tonight. I’m sure they’ll come by to meet you soon enough.”

“Great,” Danny says, trying not to sound like he’s dying. He fails, and Steph’s muffled laughter makes heat rush to his face. Would it be too much to go intangible and just sink through the floor? Surely once dinner comes out they’ll be too busy eating to notice Danny melting from the sheer mortification of being so lame in front of the family he’s going to work for.

Luckily, Alfred comes to his rescue by announcing that he’ll bring dinner out now. Before Danny can offer to help, yet again, Jason roughly pushes himself away from the table and declares that he’ll help. He’s walking into the kitchen before anyone can respond and Alfred just shakes his head with a fond smile on his face.

Maybe that’s the way to do it. Say he’s going to help, then get to it before Alfred can do anything to stop him.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asks. Danny startles, looking away from the door to the kitchen, waiting for Alfred and Jason to reemerge, and blinks at Bruce.

“Fine?”

“I was a little worried when I heard you had passed out.”

“I didn’t pass out,” Danny refutes immediately. “I was just tired. I’m a little nocturnal right now, but I’ll be back to normal soon enough.”

“It sounds like your sleep schedule is like a lot of ours,” Steph says.

Dick shoots a sharp look at Bruce as he says, “Sounds like you’ll fit right in.” Somehow, it sounds like a threat.

“I’ve got your paperwork figured out. We’ll just need to get your picture taken for your ID.” Bruce completely ignores Dick.

“I can do that,” Tim interjects, “We just need a good backdrop, something in a neutral color.”

“How about using one of the bedsheets?” Duke suggests.

“Yeah, that would work. Can you hold it up for me?”

“Sure, just let me know when you wanna do it. We’ll have to find a good one.”

“So!” Dick claps his hands together, “Tell us a bit about yourself, Danny.”

Danny freezes. These people definitely know something’s up with him. They helped create a new identity for him! They heard his conditions for staying! They know he’s not normal, but he doesn’t know what they might be thinking about him. What’s something mundane he can share that doesn’t have anything to do with death or ghosts or experiments?

“What do you want to know?” he asks slowly, wondering if he’s just offered himself up for the slaughter.

“Who’s your favorite hero?”

…What. What?

Danny casts his mind around for an answer. He hasn’t really kept up with comics back home, too busy with ghosts and school to do much of anything else. The video games he usually plays don’t have superheroes, and there haven’t been any good superhero movies to come out, so he hasn’t watched any in years.

Even then, none of the superhero characters in his dimension were particularly interesting to him.

“I don’t really have one.”

“Come on, I’m sure you do! There’s so many options, you have to like at least one!” Steph insists, looking overly invested in his answer.

“Um.”

Once again, Alfred saves him by entering the dining room again, pushing a cart full of plates. Jason follows after him with a cart holding empty glasses and two pitchers of water. All conversation comes to a stop as they eagerly wait to receive their plate, each member of the Wayne family thanking Alfred.

Bruce is the only one to thank Jason, who just huffs and quickly moves away from him.

Danny quietly says his thanks when he gets his plate and tries not to feel too touched when he sees that his portion is visibly smaller than anyone else’s. He hadn’t even asked, but Alfred noticed and adjusted accordingly, plating only what Danny would be able to eat without getting sick.

Yeah, Danny can ignore any suspicious mob activities so long as he can stay with Alfred. The man deserves the world for all his kindness, but the best Danny can do is give him a little help.

He thinks he’s managed to dodge the question, now that everyone is digging into dinner, but Steph is nothing but relentless. Mouth full, she says, “Come on, Danny, you haven’t answered yet!”

“Miss Stephanie, please do not speak with your mouth full,” Alfred scolds.

“What question?” Jason asks, glancing towards Danny for a split second before quickly turning away.

“Favorite superhero,” Tim answers.

“So?” Steph prompts, looking at him expectantly.

Why is this such a big deal? Danny tries to think of an answer, but nothing comes to mind. Maybe they’ll accept someone he looks up to as an answer? And there’s someone who pops into his mind immediately.

“My big sister,” he says, “She’s my hero.”

“Aww!” Dick coos at his answer, looking touched. “That’s so sweet!”

“Yeah.” Danny smiles, relaxing a bit now that he can speak about something that’s actually happy for once. “She’s great. She’s taken care of me for a long time, and even though she can be annoying, especially with her bad habit of psychoanalyzing everyone around her, I could always trust her to have my back no matter what.”

Cass taps on the table to get his attention. “Where is she? Safe?”

“I… I hope so. She’ll be safer now that I’m not around her, in any case.”

“If you are in any danger,” Bruce begins, then Danny catches the sound of multiple people kicking at him from under the table. “We can discuss this later,” he amends.

Okay. No longer a happy topic! He’ll remember that for any future discussions.

“As sweet as that is,” Steph interrupts, “I was looking for an answer about an actual hero. Like, someone from the Justice League maybe.”

The what now?

“Wonder Woman is obviously the only correct answer,” Jason says.

“Batman and Robin are far superior. They can keep up with all the others without any powers,” Damian argues.

“But they’re not Wonder Woman,” Jason says, as if that’s all the argument he needs. “Besides, Batman is a loser who can barely keep Gotham safe.”

“Black Bat is better than all of them,” Tim says, throwing in his two cents.

Cass smiles at him and says, “Red Robin. He is kind and smart.”

“I think anyone from the Titans is a good choice,” Dick says, “They’re all skilled and have saved countless lives.”

“I guess Nightwing’s pretty cool, but the Signal is better,” Duke adds.

“So?” Steph says, leaning onto the table in an attempt to bridge the distance between them. “C’mon, pick anyone.”

Danny blinks, then slowly looks at each person around the table. In his mind, superheroes are fictional. Just a fun genre to play in, a poplar media that nerds gravitate towards. Technically, Phantom counts as a hero, but he’s also a non-sentient entity according to the government and only operates in Amity, rather than across the Earth.

The way everyone at the dinner table is talking about superheroes as if they’re real has him concerned. On one hand, they could just be a family of nerds who love their comic books. On the other hand, this is an entirely new dimension where superheroes could exist and Danny didn’t notice because he hasn’t looked into the happenings of this world yet.

This is clearly going to out him as Not From Here, but he needs to know, so Danny slowly asks, “Are you… saying that superheroes are real?”

The entire room freezes. Half the table looks at him incredulously while the other half look deep in thought, as if they’re realizing something unfortunate.

“Heroes are real,” Bruce answers. His voice is calm, neutral, but his eyes are stormy. “Some work with governments. Others operate outside the law in order to protect people. But there are many, all over the world, and some join forces to create teams that deal with certain threats or cover specific locations.”

Heroes are real.

“Are you fucking with me,” Danny says without thinking.

“Though I am sure this is a surprise to you Danny,” Alfred says from the end of the table where he’s refilling Duke’s glass, “Do remember to eat.”

Moving on autopilot, Danny stabs his fork down and shoves a stalk of grilled asparagus into his mouth.

“No?” Dick answers, looking hesitant for the first time that evening. “They’re real. We have a group of heroes in Gotham: Batman and his birds. Also Oracle and sometimes her Birds of Prey.”

“So you just have people who become heroes and fight crime? Regular people?”

“Some have powers due to the metagene. Others have powers from… other means that are not well understood. And some heroes have powers because they’re aliens.”

“Y’all got actual aliens?!” Danny shouts. He realizes belatedly that he’s jumped out of his seat to stand, hands on the table and leaning forward towards Dick, eagerly awaiting his answer.

“Superman and Martian Manhunter,” Tim helpfully supplies.

“Is Martian Manhunter an actual Martian? From Mars?”

“Sure is.”

“He’s my new favorite,” Danny declares.

Almost immediately, everyone at the table, sans Bruce and Alfred, start throwing out their objections, insisting that other heroes are better and demanding to know where his Gotham Pride is at, nevermind the fact that he’s not even a citizen of Gotham.

“I don’t care,” Danny says, “He’s from Mars. That automatically makes him cooler than anyone else. I am not taking criticism at this time.”

The rest of dinner is spent arguing over who’s the better hero, during which Danny stubbornly refuses to change his stance. Despite the raised voices and the dramatic threats, everyone is smiling, having fun as they shout at each other.

The Waynes may be a mob family, but they’re also nerds and, even better, fans. It’s so fun that Danny doesn’t even realize that he’s managed to clean off his plate now that stress isn’t making his stomach twist itself into knots. In fact, he’s managed to forget that he’s eating dinner with a rich family in their giant manor because the atmosphere reminds him of a group of friends hanging out at Nasty Burger, all laughter and good vibes.

It lifts his mood and makes him more comfortable walking through the halls, listening to everyone chatter about various topics. They split up near the family den; Dick, Damian, and Steph go in to watch movies while Tim grabs Jason and mentions getting some more work done on a project they’re working on together, while Duke leaves to do homework in the library.

Bruce has vanished along with Cass and Alfred had insisted that Danny get some more rest while he washes all the dishes.

Despite his earlier sleep, exhaustion still hangs heavy in his limbs. Having a full stomach only makes it more obvious just how much rest he needs still. Every part of him wants to curl up under a blanket and forget about the world outside, but he can’t.

He still needs to be vigilant. The Waynes may be fun, but he still can’t trust them not to suddenly stab him in the back if they discover his halfa status.

And Alfred will need his help. He needs to stay up just in case Alfred needs something.

Danny, unsurprisingly, falls asleep within ten minutes of sitting down on the couch in his room. He intended to wait for Alfred to show up or for someone else to ask for his help, but the room was quiet, far away from everyone else, and he was so comfortable that he just… dozed off.

He stirs just slightly when he feels someone pick him up; whoever it is has large arms. Like his dad. Jack Fenton hadn’t picked up Danny to tuck him in for years, but only because Danny got used to staying up absurdly late on account of fighting ghosts and homework. It’s the safest he’s felt in months, cradled by those arms that gently set him onto the bed and tuck him in.

It takes no effort at all to sink back into sleep, dreaming of nothing but the peaceful quiet of the stars.

The second time he wakes up, some of the heaviness in his limbs has eased, but it’s still there. How much sleep could he possibly need as a half-dead boy? More apparently. His body is making its demands very clear.

Still, Danny forces himself up. If he’s going to work with Alfred, he needs to cut off his bad habit of staying in bed when he wakes up in the morning. He needs to be better. He needs to prove that he can earn his place here and make something worthwhile of himself.

That he’s even been given the chance to do this is nothing short of a miracle.

A quick look at the clock tells him that it’s barely six in the morning; this is usually around the time he starts looking for somewhere to settle down for the day. Now it doesn’t mark the end of his day, but the beginning.

Danny moves to get up and head to the bathroom, wash his face to look a little more put together, when he catches sight of something on the bed that wasn’t there yesterday.

Folded clothes. And the note on top reads: We will buy you new clothes soon. For now, Tim has extras that he will give to you. -B

Bruce Wayne, resident rich man and future boss, delivered Tim’s clothes to Danny. Everything about that sentence is absurd, but it’s apparently what happened.

He’ll… worry about all that later. He can only focus on so many things at once.

He needs to get it together. Make a plan. Some kind of to-do list. Something like:

Wash your face to look less like a very sad racoon.

Wear new clothes that haven’t been stuck on your body for weeks.

Breakfast?

Do stuff????

Job accomplished.

It needs some work, but it’s a good starting point. He’ll figure out the rest as he goes. Step one is easy enough to accomplish, as is step two. Wearing something clean has never felt so good and Danny has a new appreciation for the wonders of laundry. It helps that Tim has good taste in clothes; everything he’s given to Danny is soft and slightly oversized, just the way he likes it.

Breakfast is a little harder, as Danny wanders through the halls in search of the kitchen. He must have taken a wrong turn somewhere because he ends up at an indoor pool?

No one’s around.

It’s as good a time as any to go invisible and start walking through walls until he finds some familiar rooms.

Or familiar faces, he thinks, as he stumbles upon Cass hanging upside down from a light fixture. He stares at her, a little worried but mostly bemused, as she scrolls on her phone as if this is completely normal. And maybe it is for her, who is he to say?

Just as he wonders if he can go down the hall and walk back, visible and completely human, to ask her for directions, Cass tilts her head and looks at him.

Or rather, in his general direction, dark eyes scanning across the hallway before settling almost directly on him despite his invisibility.

“Who?” she calls out, searching the area.

There’s no possible way she could have known. But somehow she does. Cass knows he’s here and that’s really not great. How is he supposed to hide if things go wrong? She’ll just hunt him down through instinct alone and that’s more terrifying than any GIW agent or his parents.

Danny all but hurls himself through the wall and hurries away, looking over his shoulder as he recklessly goes through the manor.

It’s almost an accident when he phases through the wall into the dining room; seeing that long table, the chandeliers, the stillness of the room is an honest relief. Here’s somewhere he’s more familiar with.

And through the door is the kitchen where Alfred is already getting started on his work for the day.

Danny drops his invisibility at the doorway, stepping into the kitchen with a quiet, “Morning, Alfred.”

Alfred doesn’t startle. He just looks over with a small smile and asks, “Danny. How did you sleep?”

“Fine. Slept longer than I’m used to.”

“Do take a seat and I’ll have breakfast ready for you shortly.”

Danny steps up to the counter, hovering beside Alfred, calling upon his ingrained stubbornness to ignore Alfred’s not-orders.

“I can make my breakfast,” he says, “Or, like, you could teach me how to make breakfast.”

Alfred doesn’t respond for a long moment, looking only at the eggs sizzling away in the frying pan, then sighs. “Very well. Though you do not need to start your workday before eight in the morning.”

“I want to learn,” Danny insists.

“So you shall, Danny. Let’s begin with making some French toast.”

From then, Alfred shifts seamlessly into teaching mode, showing him where everything in the kitchen is and watching over Danny carefully as he cracks an egg and adds milk and vanilla extract. He moves to the side to give Danny space at the oven, taking over the front-left section with his own frying pan.

He’s nervous about burning it, but Alfred is keeping track of both their cooking, instructing Danny when to turn down the heat and flip over the bread.

It gets easier the more he makes them, going through nearly an entire loaf of bread, each slice of French toast better than the last. Danny plates them carefully, trying not to tip over the stack as he sets them in each family member’s plates. Five plates is a lot, but knowing how many more people are in this family make Danny all the more glad that he’s here to help Alfred.

This is a lot of work for one person. Alfred is definitely magic. There’s no other explanation as to how he’s managed all this time.

Danny gets to work in peace with Alfred for just over an hour before the residents of the manor begin to trickle in. He’s working on carefully cutting strawberries to go with the French toast, keeping his fingers curled just as Alfred instructed so he doesn’t accidentally cut them off.

It’s strange being the only thing in the kitchen that can hurt himself. None of the food comes to alive and tries to attack him, nor are there stray experimental weapons lying around ready to be set off as soon as he gets close.

Tim enters the kitchen silently with Cass by his side. Somehow, Tim already has a cup of coffee in hand. They both greet Alfred, then Danny, and Danny does his very best not to look too nervous in front of Cass.

Dick cartwheels into the kitchen two minutes after them, and Danny applauds him when he gives an exaggerated bow.

Damian follows, a cat trailing after him, and Bruce is the last to arrive.

They all settle at the table, quietly talking or trying to get a little more rest as they sit with their eyes closed. He feels awkward trying to navigate around this commonplace family moment, an outsider who suddenly forced his way in.

Each person he sets a plate in front of thanks him quietly, though Damian does so with some hesitancy and clear distrust. Alfred follows with cups of water or juice, then sets out syrup with a warning “not to cause another Incident.”

“You will get used to this in no time,” Alfred reassures him as they walk away from the table to get started on washing dishes. “There’s no rush.”

“If you say so,” Danny replies, twisting his hands in an attempt to get rid of some of his restlessness.

“Now, what do you feel like eating?”

He honestly doesn’t feel hungry at all. Not with how much he ate yesterday. “Nothing. I can wait until lunch.”

“That won’t do at all.”

“I really don’t think I can eat anything right now,” Danny says, “But I’ll probably have a bit of an appetite in the afternoon.”

“At least have some tea,” Alfred insists, and it sounds like a good idea, so Danny agrees and listens to Alfred talk about the different temperatures needed to brew different teas, as well as what can be added to certain types of tea but not others. Most of it goes in one ear and out the other, but Danny’s sure he’ll appreciate all this knowledge later once he’s expected to make tea alongside his other butler duties.

The first task that he’s given, without having to ask for it, is to fetch a mug, a teapot, and a tin of tea leaves. It takes some searching through the drawers and cupboards to find everything, but Danny manages to gather everything just as Alfred finishes washing the dishes.

With nothing else to do but watch as Alfred prepares tea, Danny sits on one of the bar stools, trying not to fidget too much as he listens to the Wayne family move at the table.

They’re all so quiet. No one speaks as they eat and it’s almost like they’re not there.

It’s so quiet, in fact, that when Tim pushes himself up from his chair, making it skid back across the floor loudly, Danny flinches.

He’s tired of being so jumpy and on edge all the time. The sudden surge of adrenaline that hit him leaves his heart stuck in his throat and his lungs stuttering around every breath. He’s better than this, he knows he is, but after all he’s gone through over the past few months, Danny can’t help it.

“Hey,” Tim says as he passes by, setting his empty coffee mug into the sink after rinsing it out.

Behind him, Danny can hear the rest of the Wayne family finish up their breakfast, standing and gathering empty plates. He manages to keep perfectly still this time, acting normal as they pass by and leave to get ready for their day.

Tim doesn’t leave. He hops up onto the bar stool beside Danny and rests his elbows on the counter with his arms folded, hands dangling above his lap. “Sleep well?” he asks, voice still rough with sleep.

“Yeah,” Danny says, “You?” Tim looks worse than yesterday, somehow. The bags under his eyes are dark enough to look like bruises and his eyes are slightly glazed over from exhaustion.

He shrugs. “Some. Only a few hours. Managed to fall asleep around… three in the morning?”

“How are you awake right now?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Tim says, “Comes with insomnia, I guess. Hard to fall asleep and harder to stay asleep.”

“If you say so,” Danny replies, feeling his concern for Tim rise with every word he says. Danny never got this bad, even during the worst of the ghost attacks that left him flying around Amity Park late at night with unfinished homework waiting for him in his room.

Alfred sets a cup of lightly steaming tea in front of Danny, but his eyes are fixed on Tim. “Master Timothy,” he says, disapprovingly, and Danny knows it’s bad since that’s the first time he’s heard Alfred full name Tim..

Tim wilts where he sits. “I know, Alfred. I’ll get more sleep on the weekend, promise.”

Bruce clears his throat, cutting off the conversation about Tim’s unhealthy sleep habits. Danny flinches again, his tea spilling over the side of the cup just slightly.

When did Bruce appear behind him? Danny didn’t hear him at all, had no idea he was there until he let his presence be known.

The last time someone snuck up on him like that—

Well, it’s best not to think about his parents. Nothing good will come of it.

“Danny,” he says, moving around to be in Danny’s line of sight instead of standing behind him. “We’ve gotten your paperwork sorted out. Would you like to check over them in my study or here?”

“Here,” Danny answers immediately. Bruce’s study felt too… formal. There’s too much pressure put on him in there and he feels more out of place there than anywhere else in the manor. The kitchen, in comparison, is safer. Warmer. More casual and familiar.

“Alright. Tim, would you mind running up to grab everything?”

Tim gives Bruce a lazy salute, hopping off the bar stool and leaving the kitchen without another word. Bruce sits beside Danny in the newly unoccupied stool, moving carefully so he never gets into Danny’s space.

He’s very considerate and far too observant. With how quiet and sneaky the entire family is, Danny isn’t sure if it’s a good sign or proof of something that will hurt him later on.

He sips on his tea to avoid looking at or talking to Bruce. Alfred returns to washing the rest of the dishes and Danny focuses on that, listening to the running water and the sound of dishes clinking against each other.

It feels like barely a few minutes before Tim returns, somehow crossing the distance between the kitchen and Bruce’s study on the second floor quickly without being out of breath. In his hands is a black folder, which apparently holds Danny’s new life.

“You stole my seat,” he says as he drops the folder onto the counter.

“It was open.”

“I was sitting there.”

Bruce shrugs, the small quirk of his lips the only thing revealing his amusement. “Not anymore.”

Tim glares at him, then leans against the counter, sprawling into Bruce’s space. He’s practically lying on top of the counter, shoving Bruce’s arms out of the way to make himself comfortable. “Look those over,” Tim says, tapping the folder.

“We’ll fix anything you want changed,” Bruce adds when Danny makes no move to grab it. He even helpfully moves it closer to Danny.

Slowly, Danny opens it. Papers fill both sides and he can see some square lumps hidden in the pockets. He carefully pulls those out first, finding a credit card and a debit card, which. Holy shit. He’s going to freak out about that later; there’s still an entire folder left to shock him.

The first few papers are simple. Information about his new identity, under the name of Danny Jameson. Yes, it is his first name and a modified version of his middle name. No, it’s not a very good fake name but Danny was stressed and tired and didn’t want to think about it for too long. Now it’s his name and he’ll have to live with it, so it’s a good thing he’s already familiar with it.

The next few papers hold his social security information, health insurance, the works. All of it means nothing to him, but he appreciates the effort they put into this!

He’s a little concerned about how quickly they got so much done, but he appreciates it!

The words blur together as he flips through the pages. The only thing that he needs left is an ID and Tim wants to be the one taking his picture, so he’ll just wait until Tim brings it up.

“It all looks good,” Danny says, trying to hide as much of his confusion as possible.”

“We can always change it later,” Bruce reassures. “Now, why don’t you take a look at that last document, stating you job position and salary?”

He helpfully pulls it out of the folder where it had been stuck to the back of another paper, making Danny miss it completely.

It doesn’t have as much written on it as the other documents. Words only fill half the paper and everything is in short phrases or bullet points, contained in little boxes to make finding information easier.

His official title is Apprentice (Butler). There are no formal work hours as he’s on call and the small description of his duties reads: Attend to the manor and its inhabitants while learning the ways of a butler. Apparently, he has unlimited sick leave and vacation is negotiated with a month guaranteed.

All this sounds pretty good up until he sees what his salary is. The fact that he would be getting that much monthly…

“Mr. Wayne,” Danny says, very calmly.

“Please, just call me Bruce!” he says with a grin.

“Mr. Wayne,” Danny stresses, “Remove some of these zeroes or I am leaving Gotham to find work somewhere else.”

Tim leans over to get a look, then turns to Bruce with a raised eyebrow.

Bruce is unrepentant. “I will remove one zero but I will move your planned pay raise forward by half a year. And I’ve already put one month’s pay into your bank account so you can buy what you need when Dick takes you shopping later.”

“A pay raise?! Actually, hold on, since when am I going shopping?”

“Since… now? You need clothes. And whatever else you want to buy. It’s your money now.”

Danny turns to Tim. “Help.”

“This is actually the best you’ll get,” Tim says unhelpfully, “The fact that he actually agreed to take off a zero means he really doesn’t want to scare you away.”

“I would be quite cross if he did,” Alfred interjects. “Do drink your tea, Danny.”

Danny knocks back the rest of his tea and says, “I understand you are slightly out of touch with reality as all rich people are, but this is ridiculous. I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“You saved Alfred.” All of a sudden, Bruce’s voice is serious. There’s an intensity about him that was hidden before, something that screams both danger and protection. Something almost more than human. “You saved Alfred. You don’t need to do a single thing here and I would still give all this to you.”

“But…” Danny trails off, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. “I just wanted to help.”

“So allow us to help you, now, Danny.” Alfred takes his cup out of his hands and sets it on the counter. He places his hands on Danny’s shoulders, holding him steady, and says, “We know you are in a difficult situation and have no one else to turn to. We know you are a good person who deserves to be safe and happy. Allow us to help you as much as we can.”

And what can he say to that?

Nothing, apparently, because he’s two seconds away from crying. He leans into Alfred’s hold and nods, just slightly, and tries to blink back his tears.

“Very good,” Alfred smiles. “I do think it’s time for you to go shopping. Take today to gather everything you need. I can begin teaching you what to do tomorrow.”

“Okay. And… thanks.” He can’t quite make eye contact with anyone, but Alfred pats his shoulder before moving away and Bruce ruffle his hair.

Tim straightens up, pushing himself off the counter, and rounds it to be by Danny’s side. “Let’s go bother Dick into getting ready to take you shopping.”

Danny stands, clumsily shuffling the papers into order and shoving them back into the folder. Bruce takes it before he can worry about what to do with it, and sends him off with Tim.

“Are you coming with us?” he asks as he’s lead up the staircase and down the hallways to the family wing.

“Huh?”

“Are you coming with us? When we go shopping?”

“Oh, no. I need to do some work today. Mostly just meetings, but I can’t skip out or Tam might actually kill me.”

“Tam?”

“My personal assistant,” Tim answers, like this is normal.

Danny starts to wonder if Tim really is close to him in age. It seems like it, but it also sounds like he has a legit job (with a personal assistant!) and is not in school. Did he already graduate college? Is he actually 30 years old and stuck with an insane babyface?

It feels rude to ask, so he doesn’t, but he can’t help but wonder.

“Okay,” he says. There’s really nothing else he can say.

“Don’t worry, though. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Dick is great! He’ll keep you safe.”

Safe from what, Tim doesn’t say, and Danny decides to just not question anything else during the day. It’s happening whether he understands it or not, so better to not worry about it. The key to being stress free is to not care and vibe. He can totally keep his cool. Not a problem at all.

How bad can one shopping trip be?

(“Are you planning on enrolling him in school, Master Bruce?”

Bruce sighs, running a hand through his hair. “If he agrees to it. I can’t ask anything yet, not until I find out more about where he was and who had him. I don’t want him out there on his own when someone could be looking for him.”

“He must have been held captive for quite a long time to be so unfamiliar with the world.”

“I’ve only seen this sort of thing with labs and cults. I’m not sure yet which one he came from, but neither are good.”

“Once you do find them,” Alfred says, rather calmly, though the steel in his eyes tells another story, “Do give them hell. If you do not, I shall.”

“I’m half tempted to set you loose on them,” Bruce jokes tiredly.

“I’ll keep my shotgun ready. Just say the word, Master Bruce. I will ensure no one touches another hair on Danny’s head.”

“We’ll all keep him safe, Alfred. And he’ll be here with us from now on, anyways.”

“So long as he doesn’t run off into the night to be a vigilante,” Alfred says, “Lord knows we’ve seen that happen too often.”

Bruce sighs. “Well. There’s hope for him yet. Who knows? Maybe he’ll be the normal one in the family.”

“I would certainly like that more than sending another child into danger,” Alfred agrees. He has never been able to stop this family before, but perhaps he will be able to save Danny from the dangers of their nightlife. Danny may be the only one he saves, in fact, but Alfred still has that chance.

He intends to make the most of it.)

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #alfred's apprentice au #butler danny au #my writing #fic #i PROMISE next chapter will have actual butler danny. im fr done w set up now. except the shopping trip #its fine i'll figure it out i'll add anothr chapter #dont worry abt it i know what im doing

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skiptomy · 2 years ago

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Vent post; feel free to ignore unless you have very specific advice for how to live as a disabled artist in an increasingly hostile world.

Feeling less than stellar as of late. I'm trying to come to terms with my disability, but it's so fuckin hard cause I still live in a world that needs so much from me. I feel like I'm constantly dipping in and out of burnout. (Which makes a lot fuckin more sense now that I know I'm ADHD and autistic) But I literally can't do anything to stop it because I can't stop working or anything like that.

Most months I barely make enough for groceries, and I haven't been able to save money in.... Ever. Which sucks because there's so much shit I need to replace or fix. I need a new computer because even after completely factory resetting mine (and accidentally losing about three years worth of files despite thinking they were safe on the cloud) my comp still breaks down every other time I go to draw, and it takes an exceptionally long time to do even basic tasks like open the Internet.

I need to get my car re-registered, get an oil change, probably new tires, and who knows what else. I'm so fucking lucky to have a car at all, but there is kind of no alternative since public transit is barely a thing around where I live. Even if it was, I physically wouldn't be able to walk to the stops.

Almost all my clothes have holes or are from like eight years ago or just don't fit anymore. I have like three pairs of shoes and one is breaking. I don't have money for some of the meds I need and I definitely don't have money for medical aids that could really help.

I think I'm getting extra down on myself about all this because I lost my spot at the tattoo shop I was working at. I completely understand why, they have limited space and need reliable artists who are there all the time.

I can't be.

Most days I can barely wake up. I've got maybe 7- 10 good days out of any month and that's being generous. My health is getting worse and worse and it really doesn't seem like there is much I can do about it, mostly because money is such a problem that any significant improvement (a functioning wheelchair for bad days, some kind of management for chronic fatigue, even just good healthy food) seems entirely impossible.

Getting on disability is technically an option but it takes so long and I don't even know where to begin. And I wouldn't know what to do in the meantime before it kicks in. Plus, who the fuck knows how stable that's going to be, or if it would end up fucking me over if I ever wanted to actually legally marry my partner.

I'm just so scared. About everything. But mostly about being a burden. Being a disappointment. I'm in pain all the time and the only thing I can think about is how much I just want to draw and be able to sit up for a couple hours without feeling like I need to take a nap. I want to do so much, and I can't do almost any of it.

What do you even do with that? How do you cope? "Take it easy, be kind to yourself" Sure, but how do you do that in practice in a world that demands so much and causes so much guilt for failing to give everything you have and more.

I appreciate you so much if you've read this far. It's nice to be able to put it to words even if it's scary and doesn't really fix anything. I'm just scared and frustrated and need to let some of it out in a non-destructive way. And hey, if there are other disabled folks out there dealing with similar shit, I see you and I love you even if I don't know you. Maybe we'll get through this together. Especially if we share any and all tips n tricks.

It's a tough world out there. Be kind where you can.

#vent #compassion fatigue #disability #ehlers danlos syndrome #fibromyalgia #adhd #autism #chronic illness #chronic fatigue

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boydyke · 2 months ago

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u dont have to answer if u dont want to, but how was the process of being able to get testosterone? was it difficult? i really really want to go on T one day but im afraid that it might be difficult for them to approve me for lack of a better word

if you can, go through planned parenthood. i probably would have had to fight tooth and nail if i went through the more traditional method of referral after referral, and the states pretty bad. i had a friend of mine drive me 3 hours to the only planned parenthood in the state, paid her in gas & ritalin cuz she didnt wanna take my money.

planned parenthood was.. quick. easier than i expected. i wasnt asked any invasive questions, i just let them know im transgender & want to transition, the nurse went over all the precautions & handed me informational papers on testosterone & a tutorial on how to inject--though she told me she recommends i watch a video tutorial as well for clarity. very easy, very nice, i got it prescribed same day.

though my insurance did not want to accept it, bullshit excuses like "testosterone is medically unnecessary for women" i just had to call back planned parenthood and they worked on the appeal, feels like maybe after a week the insurance went through--then i had issues with my pharmacy. really, i had issues with them the entire time, my pharmacist refused to fill out my prescription for me to pay out of pocket despite legally having the right to that--claimed he wasnt "comfortable" filling those without insurance go ahead. once i got the insurance, he claimed i needed a new prescription, something about my current one being insufficient, bullshit reasons that if i fought tooth and nail for i probably couldve got somewhere by threatening legal intervention, but i just swapped over to walgreens & they had no issues at all lol. i think its cuz my previous pharmacy is a smaller local one, so the management's bias was clear as day whereas walgreens as a corporation is more concerned with getting paid. not sure though.

tldr; planned parenthood is the way for a prescription if thats an option, dont be afraid of switching pharmacies if yours is a bitch, call back for updates often

#charlie words #ask

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fenmere · 1 year ago

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Sup! an ask about DID diagnosis: how is it ableist, and you've chosen not to go for it?

I dont think it can't be ableist and troublish, but i just want to know how exactly, to understand problems of systems better.

OK, thank you so much for asking! So.

The most direct and immediate problem we've run into regarding a DID diagnosis is that in both the U.S. and U.K. (and likely in other countries), it can be used to legally remove your rights as a human being. It can be used in court as evidence that you cannot give informed consent, which can be used to deny you access to medical care, custody of children, or even to force you into a conservatorship, among other dangers.

We are transgender. We were figuring out our plurality just between having been granted HRT and trying to get our surgery lined up. Our therapist was very worried for us, when we started talking about our amnesia, blackouts, and changes in personality, even though we were all in agreement that we needed transitional healthcare.

She resisted giving us a diagnosis of DID because it could potentially halt our transition. And we were able to demonstrate to her satisfaction that we had effectively integrated (not through final fusion, but through cooperation). So we both agreed to forgo that diagnosis.

We were lucky we got such a good counselor.

That's one way in which DID is ableist. The diagnosis can be used to deny patients of things they desperately need, or that they should have the right to access regardless.

The other way is how the diagnosis is conceptualized as a disorder to begin with.

It's maybe getting better as medical academia is getting a better understanding of it, but the original diagnosis of DID is a step back from Multiple Personality Disorder.

Part of the whole purpose of replacing MPD with DID was to deny the autonomy of alters and system members, and to refer to them as "dissociative identity states" rather than people. Which is not how most pluralities experience themselves.

But also, just at the very basis of it, both MPD and DID have been classified, studied, and defined almost solely by singlets. Not pluralities. Not people who are actually experiencing these things. So the diagnosis is rife with misunderstandings, mischaracterizations, and bad assumptions.

And it's all based on the assumption that being a singlet is the default, healthy state of a human being, and that deviation from being a singlet is somehow disordered and wrong and needs to be fixed.

Sure, if someone experiences genuine distress at being plural, they should be able to seek help regarding it. And there is now language in the diagnosis to accommodate some of those who are not distressed by it. But it was originally rooted in that saneism, and most clinical professionals still exhibit it, and prove themselves to be dangerous to their patients and their patients' human rights.

#plurality #DID #ableism #saneism

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indigo-a-creeping · 4 months ago

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Hi again, it’s me back at it again with the top surgery questions. I’m sorry to ask so many questions and bother you but you’ve been a big help to me, so if you are willing to answer, I’m going to ask as long as you don’t mind. (Feel free to ignore if I ask questions you are comfortable answering)

I’m curious what you told your work in terms of needing time off. Did you tell them everything or keep it simple and say you were getting surgery and needed this much time off or something similar? I’m also curious how much time you took off and how easy it was to get that time off? I don’t know what to tell my job. In an ideal world I would keep it as vague as possible but it will be noticeable once I have the surgery as I have a large chest. (In an ideal world they would actually just be accepting if I told them I was non binary and there would be nothing to worry about but still) I also don’t even know if I’m supposed to talk to HR first or if I can just talk to my boss as my boss is usually the only person I need to talk to when I take time off. I’m going to look at my company’s policies tomorrow. But I’m also debating between asking for two weeks off or three after the surgery so I was curious what your experience was.

I'm always happy to answer what questions I can, friend! You're not bothering me.

So I work for a company that's got pretty notorious liberal leanings. There was a trans guy working there when I started, and I quietly observed how supportive all the management was of him, how kind and understanding and accepting they all were.

You don't legally have to explain any medical things to your work, but I went to my boss and explained exactly what I was doing long before it came up, and he and the assistant managers all made sure I got my leave officially approved, and talked me through the process of getting short-term disability pay. They checked in with me while I was recovering, were patient while I recovered, and made sure I knew I'd still have a job when I came back. They took me back as soon as my surgeon approved it, on transitional duty (which is just slightly less heavy lifting) for the first month just in case. If I had needed more time, they would have absolutely given it to me. If I needed more restrictions to work, they would have worked with me. They asked me about pronouns a few times, to make sure they were using the right ones even though I don't remember my own a lot of the time and all the customers call me she/her/ma'am. I don't know why I thought that would change, but it definitely didn't. I have a really good work environment. (I also scheduled surgery during our slow time of year, which I didn't need to do, but I wanted to) Do you trust your boss? Do you know how they are with queer people in general? With trans people specifically? Are you very familiar with the HR department? Definitely check your company's policies! We have specific paperwork that lists all the physical requirements for work (make sure you pay attention to more than just weight restrictions).

One of my friends who had top surgery told his work he was getting shoulder surgery, which may be an option depending on your shape, attire, and how close people get to you. The thought of claiming breast cancer crossed my mind early on, but I wasn't comfortable lying about that and I wouldn't recommend it. Again, legally you don't have to tell them any specifics, but it's something to think about with something that's visible.

My surgeon said I could lift up to 25 lbs at 3 weeks after surgery, and in my experience I could lift a little more than that at the time (I was probably lifting close to that at 1 week)... but I couldn't lift my elbows above my head, and couldn't carry any weight at that height, so I took 6 weeks, at which point I wasn't completely at 100% capacity but I was able to do my job. If you work a desk job, 3 weeks is fine. 2 is probably fine too. Don't hesitate to ask for more though.

#top surgery #top surgery advice

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wromwood · 4 months ago

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Something happened in therapy recently that has definitely happened to me before, and I wanna think about it for a bit.

So, I'm transitioning from one social worker to another because the new one will likely be a better fit for me. During our last session, I answered a few final questions in the previous social worker's assessment of me. In a past session, I'd mentioned that I was autistic, so she asked if I'd had any specialized learning plans or teachers/tutors during elementary/grade school, particularly after any evaluations I'd had. I answered no, but whether or not I needed that kind of help, an evaluation would've been amazing to have at that time.

The social worker looked a little surprised and asked when I had my autism evaluation. She got even more surprised when I answered that it happened a couple of years ago.

"But that's so recent," she said, double-checking my age to confirm that I had, indeed, been a legal adult two years ago.

"Uh, yeah," I said. I explained that I'd only gotten my evaluation at all because I was fed up with failing to convince my parents to do anything since I'd started asking about this in my teens, and finally realized "Wait a minute, I'm a legal adult now. I can schedule my own damn autism evaluation."

After confirming that I'd been evaluated in a legitimate medical setting (in fact, it was a research center in the clinic's own larger medical system), she asked what sort of autism I had. I had to explain where on the spectrum I was, how I didn't have "special needs" as most people understood them, how I could be independent, the whole thing.

I guess the reason this stuck out to me so much is that she didn't ask all these questions when I first mentioned that I was autistic, or when we discussed how an ideal social worker would be one who was experienced with autistic people. We talked about this, but she only asked further questions when she realized I wasn't someone who had been diagnosed in childhood. I suppose the assumption was that if I'd been diagnosed in childhood, then it would've shown in my schoolwork or social life in a very noticeable way, but as an adult, I would've worked through it and become the relatively-not-very-autistic seeming adult I am now. Or that I only would've sought out an evaluation as an adult for more "severe" signs of autism that would be more apparent when talking about my life.

I dunno, I'm not upset about it or anything, and otherwise, the social worker is great at her work. I just it's just a clear sign that there's still a stigma (perhaps lighter now than it used to be) about when and why someone would get evaluated for autism.

#this is me #autism

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junebugwriter · 1 year ago

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Transition I

I had my first consult for HRT yesterday, and it went super well. I really like this doc; she knows exactly what she's doing, she has helped tons of trans folks like me before, and is able to talk through all the stuff that I simply don't know about. I'm going in for blood tests this morning, which I'm actually REALLY excited to find out the results of, because that's just the kind of person I am. I'm doing my PhD in disability ethics, I've written about bioethics before, and my mom has nurse training, so all the medical stuff is actually quite fascinating for me, even though I am NOT cut out to be a medical doctor or nurse in any way. Because of how my body is built, I'm curious to see how my hormones actually are, if I have high or low T or E, and what it all means.

Doc recommended finasteride alongside estrogen, to help with hair regrowth for the bald spot on the back of my head (one of the biggest focuses of my dysphoria) and the limiting of body hair growth. I honestly thought that it took several years to see the full effects of HRT, but she said that I'd most likely see all the bodily effects within a year, which blew my mind a bit. Part of me is like, "That's it?" But another part of me is also reeling at the fact that "Oh. I'm going to go through a STUPID amount of puberty in like, the span of a couple months. I already did that once, with the wrong equipment--what the hell is the new hormone stuff going to actually DO to me?"

Part of all this makes me nostalgic for how I got here. I only really had my gender epiphany recently, but when she asked "when was the first time I felt like I identified with a different gender," I had to answer... like, all my life. I've operated at varying levels of gender dysphoria since, well, forever. Everything kind of makes sense knowing that I was simply assigned the wrong gender at birth.

It makes sense that I wasn't any good at performing the "masculine" gender, but then again I'd argue, who is? The goalposts of gender are CONSTANTLY SHIFTING. Gender isn't a physical object, it's a role, a performance, a persona. My mom is probably more "butch" than any other straight woman I've met--short hair, wears more non-gendered clothing (polos and jeans, all day every day)--but also, does the feminine-coded stuff that she likes. She loves cooking, knitting, gardening, and generally tending to the home. She is literally a hobbit, a platonic ideal of a Tolkien-esque halfling. She loves things that grow, she loves teaching, she loves reading, learning, and making things. She rarely did anything more than the most basic makeup and jewelry, and seldom wore a dress or a skirt except for on special occasions.

In all honesty, I'm probably going to be more femme than her. I like my hair longer, and want to grow it out. I don't know how to do makeup yet, but I have a feeling once I get good at it I'll never want to take it off. I got my ears pierce, and absolutely LOVE how it makes me look, just a bit of personal sparkle to shine outwards. These are all such small things, in the end. Mentally, I'm still the same. I've always been this way. But I'm so much happier when I'm seen as a woman. My partner says I'm a completely different person, one who's happy, exuberant and vibrant. And she likes seeing me happy.

I'm not looking forward to the more turbulent aspects of puberty, but I think it will be worth it, in the end. I'm excited to transition. Now, I gotta think about changing my legal name, coming out at work... but that can wait for now. Right now, I'm excited about the future.

#transgender #pride #lgbtq #transition #blog #personal #gender #gender dysphoria #dysphoria #trans feminine #lgbtqia+#hormones #estrogen #finasteride #hrt

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f1ghtsoftly · 2 years ago

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So I actually 100% believe we are heading towards a massive, massive western backlash against gay rights. So when trans people say they’re living through a “genocide” I know that any laws restricting minor transition or putting age limits on drag shows is what they mean but very soon we will be living through, not a genocide, but a renewed exclusion from public life that will make what “queer people” are living through now look like a joke…. once Americans realize that TRA’s have encouraged medically experimenting on children there will be a backlash against anyone they believe who supported them, gay people included. And unfortunately it will confirm many homophobic ideas that we have fought so hard to overcome. Even worse is that those in it for the trend, who often give us the worse reputation, will desist and move on with their lives.

And the damage will already be done. LGBT institutions will have been rendered useless, women’s rights will have been rolled back, locker rooms and bathrooms will have been made gender neutral. Imagine a Reaganesque/New Right type movement with all of the legal protections of second wave feminism and gay rights stripped away. That is what we’re heading towards.

And I really want to emphasize that this is the result of aligning ourselves politically with Democrats. I understand and empathize with the decisions of gay rights activists to do so but I want to encourage everyone to really take stock of how the left not only hung gay people out to dry by throwing money at a literal conversion therapy movement but also failed to keep nearly all of their promises. Gay rights, Women’s rights got monetized where it was useful and swallowed and rendered useless where it wasn’t. Through Trans activism, through sex positivity, through selling outfits, merch, through forcing celebrities to preform sexy “feminist” routines. They gutted the movement. They brainwashed generations of women and gay people into supporting *them* over believing in themselves and trusting their own reasoning skills.

If we want to create a world that doesn’t get undone in 50 years, electoralism isn’t the strategy by which we should do it. The more we ally with rich liberals, the more vulnerable we make ourselves to capitalist co-option and movement colonization. The more they will use their power to steer our movement towards positions that don’t threaten patriarchy and are easily monetizable. Which directly opposes our goals of a freer, safer world for all those oppressed by gender.

Please, lets keep this shit grassroots and keep our eyes on the prize. I don’t want to fight for a world only to have it destroyed before my eyes in my old age. I don’t want to fight for laws within a patriarchal government. I want to tell the US government, to tell it’s military, to tell multi national corporations to kiss my ass, and I want a movement behind me big enough and scary enough that they know I mean it.

Women work hard, we shouldn’t beg for our rights. We should take them.

#radblr #radical feminism #radical feminist #char on char #radfems #radical feminist theory #radical feminists do touch #radfem safe #tw homophobia

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jabeur · 27 days ago

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may i ask if it was somehow hard for you to start medical transitioning? like the process? did you have like doubts our so? sorry if this sounds disrespectful i am not trying to be <3

hi dear anon! don't worry this doesn't sound disrespectful at all and i'm glad to answer. under the cut bc it got long lmao

it was a bit hard, yes. it depends on the country, but here in italy in order to start hormone replacement therapy (as a trans person) you have to get 'permission' from a doctor, specifically a gender therapist (usually they're cis. hate it <3) and the standard procedure is that you should do at least a few sessions with them before they can say "you're good to start!", i think in theory it should be 6 months but? i can't remember now if it's like that by law or if it's just how it is in the area i live in? anyway it took longer than usual for me to get this permission bc i'm mentally ill lmao so like the therapist was hesitant bc i was "unstable" and dealing a lot with the effects of trauma blabla but it took a long time. then once i got his permission i had to go to an endocrinologist who also gave me a bit of a hard time (still does lol) bc i'm fat. but yeah the hardest part was with the gender therapist. then like changing your name legally and getting gender affirming surgeries is also an excessively complicated process, you have to get permission from the gender therapist, the endocrinologist, then you have to get a hearing with a fucking judge (to be who you are!!!!!!!! okay. fuck this country) and pay a lawyer (expensive as hell unless you earn less than x amount in a year) and wait suuuuuuper long times it's. god. it's hell. the waitlists for top surgery (for transmasc people at least, that's what i know best) with public healthcare are also insanely long it's genuinely all so......... difficult. it's quite depressing tbh but yeah not all countries have such long and overly complicated processes for these things

as for doubts, yeah i think i did. i don't remember much what the doubts were but i definitely thought about it quite a bit before i decided i wanted hrt. i mean... honestly transphobes think we take these decisions lightly and don't know what we're doing or what awaits us and it's like. lol so fucking far from the truth. i watched a million videos on the effects T has/can have on you, i researched, i asked myself what i wanted like it was. not a decision i took in 5 minutes you know? especially with how complicated the whole thing is, as i explained before, but also just in general bc it permanently changes your body, it's natural that deciding to go through with it would be a decision one makes carefully. it's normal to have doubts! you ask yourself if you really want a deeper voice? do you want or are okay with lots of body hair? would growing breasts be something you enjoy? do you want softer facial features? etc. etc. so yeah i had doubts, i thought about it a lot

#hope this answered your questions but feel free to ask more #also god i get so angry when i think about how hard it is to transition especially medically and legally in this stupid fucking country #makes my blood boil. i think cis people have no clue how needlessly complicated our lives are #like truly nooooo clue how even little things that they don't think about for even a second can be mountains to climb for us #it's genuinely genuinely a shitty rotten system #asks #anon

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acorpsecalledcorva · 8 months ago

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Identity Dysphoria

Reading The Sisters of Dorley before during and after TDoV has honestly completely unmade me and reminded me how fragile my identity really is.

For those who don't know The Sisters of Dorley is a serialised novel posted on AO3 but since published in print form that's essentially the extreme version of this post

It's a subversion of the force feminisation trope that takes aim at toxic masculinity, the patriarchy, misogyny, and particularly the transmisogyny implicit in the institution of medical transition.

The narrative is shown through the PoV of multiple characters, starting with Stef, a transfem egg who noticed her town has a "missing person/slightly higher than average height female population" problem and wants to be inducted into the hall. Christine, an inductee in the program in her 3rd year of feminisation struggling to fully embody her new identity, and Aunt Bea, the matron of the organisation and her experience with the previous much more brutal and sadistic regime.

Something that's very common and very carefully explored throughout is all the troubled boys history of trauma and abuse and the incredibly complex relationship that can have when interacting in a cisnormative Patriarchal society.

Essentially these boys have all been victims in their lives, something which society historically has no place for. That identity, of being a victimised male, is rejected at every turn and so they reject it internally as well. Pushing it to the deepest parts of their psyche and replacing it with something else. The thing that media and culture and the legal system have been screaming at them is what a man is supposed to be.

Dorley Hall offers an alternative. A really fucked up abusive and arguably even more traumatising alternative, but an alternative nonetheless. To let go of the "driftwood" they've been clinging to all their lives and learn how to create a completely new identity for themselves that's free from the intense pressures of masculinity.

And uhhhh yeah, that's a lot to think about as a AMAB person with DID that has been through the medical transition system in the UK.

Because hey guess what, realising that my current identity isn't really working out, rejecting it and burying it deep inside me and then coming up with a brand new identity to embody and explore is something I have done many many many times throughout my life.

I have tried to become multiple different kinds of male/masculine person over the years, none of them were sustainable for more than 18 months. Some were queer, others were painfully compcishet, often I thought about the possibility of womanhood and femininity but the conversations around trans people at the time just weren't receptive to the feelings I had and it was very clear to me that being trans was the only way you were allowed to do that.

The doors to feminity were eventually opened just enough for me to slip in (if you wish you were a trans girl then you're probably a trans girl) and so that's the identity I chose for myself. I came out to my wife, I went to the GP to get my referral, and then I just...waited. A 2 year waiting list before my first appointment was welcome at the time to give me a chance to try to understand myself and decide what i wanted, but things are never simple.

This new identity as a trans woman still felt wrong. Presenting femininely and being viewed as a woman was something I very much aimed for, but made me deeply uncomfortable. I told myself it was the dysphoria, that my issues with my body were exacerbated by feminine clothing that stood in contast to how I physically looked. That when I got on HRT this would change and I'd feel better, I just need to trust in the programprocess and one day I'll get there.

Two things happened at the same time. I turned 30, and got my first appointment. Turning 30 made me panic at the idea of spending another decade as who I was and pushed me to order DIY hormones, and I got the letter for my first appointment which meant it was time to start socially transitioning.

Because the NHS does not believe that you can make physical changes to your body without also changing your social status. You have to be out to family and friends and work and college or whatever, you have to legally change your name and have lived experience to prove that you are committed (in reality it's not that harsh but the message is very much that your life will be much harder and you'll be viewed with more suspicion if you don't do these things)

So I was a good little tran and did what was asked if me. And if there's one aspect of my transition I regret? It's that. Because no matter how affirming and inclusive the message from the community is, society doesn't work that way. By coming out as a trans woman, I told the world to expect something from me. And there are much higher expectations placed on trans women for performative feminity than there are on cis women, there just are. A trans woman is a very specific object in the eyes of most people in wider society and I am not that, like, at all.

I hate my legal name and title, showing my ID makes me cringe, going to the doctor and having F on my record and then showing up as me is physically painful. I hate that I feel pressured to dress a certain way when going to events with other trans and queer people just to communicate to them "no no I promise, I'm one of you, don't look beneath the mask please don't look beneath the mask"

Because truthfully? I'm not. I'm not trans. I'm not queer. I'm not anything. Because I was never allowed to be anything.

My trauma extends back to infancy, my development has never progressed in the absence of it. I am completely and comprehensively informed by it. If I'm anything it's Assigned Traumatised at Birth. My identity as a child was formed as a reaction to an unstable environment and trying to survive it. My teenage identity was formed as a means to escape my childhood and trying to become the kind of adults that were more than happy to let a troubled teenager hang out with them. My adult identity was formed as a reaction to "oh shit I'm supposed to actually function now fuck how do I do that" and the many ways I failed. My internal female identities were formed because what happened to me isn't supposed to happen to boys so I made up a girl for it to happen to instead. And my trans identity formed because fuck, what else is there left for me to try? If we wanna get really really real with it, transition was an act of suicide. The attempt to completely obliterate who I was so that I could try to become something new.

The problem is that none of these identities are me, because there is no me. I never formed. I am only and have only ever been a collection of attempts to survive, a reflection of the society that's attacked and assaulted me at every turn. That constantly views me with suspicion because they can tell that I'm not being genuine. Because I can't be genuine.

I never can.

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mariacallous · 1 year ago

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Russia’s State Duma is preparing to pass legislation to fully ban gender-affirming healthcare as well as gender marker changes in official documents. Lawmakers say this will “save Russia for future generations, with its cultural and familial values and traditional foundations, while putting up a barrier against Western anti-family ideology.” Meduza spoke with Russians who are currently undergoing gender transitions about what it’s like to go through this experience in today’s Russia and what they expect the future to look like for people like them.

Nate

24-year-old transgender man

Changing your gender from female to male is tough — it brings with it the threat of getting drafted into the army. And for me, as a trans activist, it also carries the threat of being put in the male ward of a prison. That’s why I decided only to change my name to a gender-neutral one rather than changing the gender marker in my passport.

There’s a practice particular to St. Petersburg*: you’re not allowed** to change your patronymic, just your first and last names. This is because the bureaucrats want people to be defined strictly in accordance with the gender indicated in their passport. That’s why I ended up not changing my documents: to avoid ending up in that comical situation.

In 2019, I passed a medical screening and received a certificate with the diagnosis “transsexualism.” In 2020, I began hormone therapy. Some trans people buy testosterone illegally, on the black market. Since I was already at risk of winding up in prison [for my activism], I decided to do everything by the books. For that, I brought the certificate from the medical screening to the district medical center, where I was given a prescription to buy my medication at the pharmacy.

Thanks to the testosterone, I grew a beard and started growing more hair on my legs and my body. My waist disappeared, my shoulders and legs got bigger, my mammary glands shrunk, and my voice became more masculine. I’m not planning on getting surgery; I’m satisfied with my body the way it is now. Plus there’s the fact that post-op recovery takes time; you have to go on leave from work and find someone to take care of you. Also, I don’t want to rush the decision just because it’s my last chance; if I end up deciding to get surgery, I’ll find other options.

Since deciding to transition, I’ve encountered a lot of people [in government agencies] who simply didn’t know what to do with me. But I had previously sifted through a huge amount of legal information so that I’d be well-versed in it all myself. I had to fight tooth and nail to get all [the legal documents] from the various agencies, with no guarantee that anything would come of it.

Everything is highly dependent on what person you happen to talk to [in each institution]: sometimes people are sympathetic and try to help, [though that’s far from guaranteed]. Most of the people I encountered were understanding. The older women in the bureaucracies didn’t ask how to address me, but they didn’t use my passport name either. It seemed to me like they understood: if you’ve taken this step, there must be a good reason.

But no matter what kind of people you run into, all of these processes are fairly humiliating. Every person you meet tries to get in your pants to figure out who you really are. It’s really strange when people try to insist to a person with a deep voice and a beard that he’s a girl, making arguments about chromosomes, usually with no understanding of what role these chromosomes play in the formation of sex.

The law against trans people is genocide. It will make [society] fear and hate trans people more. This will cause the number of people who die by suicide to rise, despite it already being massive***.

*Is this really exclusive to St. Petersburg?

According to Nate, he hasn’t heard of this happening in Moscow. Nef Tsellarius, the coordinator of a peer counseling program for trans people from the Russian LGBTQ+ rights group Vykhod (“Way out”) told Meduza that attempts by trans people to change their patronymics are regularly denied by officials throughout the country.

**Why?

Nef Tsellarius, the coordinator of a peer counseling program for trans people from the Russian LGBTQ+ rights group Vykhod (“Way out”) told Meduza that officials who refuse to let LGBTQ+ people change their patronymics often use excuses such as that patronymics are an important component of “family values.” “You can appeal the refusal in court, but given the state of Russian judicial proceedings, the odds aren’t in the applicants’ favor,” Tsellarius said.

***Is this true?

According to a study from the U.S. National Center for Transgender Equality, 40 percent of transgender people in the U.S. have attempted suicide at least once in their lives, which is nine times higher than the average rate. No analogous study has been conducted in Russia.

Sasha

19 years old, non-binary, name changed at their own request

I had long felt that my gender was different [from the one assigned to me at birth], but the final realization didn’t come until 2020. And I only began transitioning in the fall of 2022. The announcement of the “partial” mobilization was an indication that things were about to get very bad. That’s how I ended up having to make an extremely important decision, which changed my entire life.

I borrowed some money and went to Moscow for a medical screening. (I’m from St. Petersburg.) At the end, the psychiatrist gave me diagnosis F64.0 [“transsexualism”] and issued me a “certificate of gender reassignment.”

I didn’t plan to get surgery, but I wanted to undergo hormone therapy and even started taking the necessary medical tests. But I had to stop because of threats from my family. They tried to make me feel guilty and scare me, saying my elderly relatives would find out about this and it would kill them. I don’t live with my parents, but the emotional power they have over me is enormous.

In May 2023, I began urgently trying to change my documents after the news about the government wanting to ban it. I went to the civil registration office, where they changed my name and my gender marker on my birth certificate. I plan to apply for an updated passport in the next few days.

At the registration office, there was a guy who was also transitioning, and he and I whispered back and forth a little bit while waiting [in line]. A random woman who was also waiting in line suddenly realized what we were there for and said she’d let us go in front of her, because it was more important. That gives me hope that things aren’t so bad in society and that there are understanding people.

I didn’t open up to everyone at my university, but the people I did tell [about my transition] were understanding. [The university administration] even let me take academic leave. But I had to leave the dorm, because the rules are fairly strict. My transition is still in its early stages, so they couldn’t assign me to the women’s dorms because of the high likelihood of people’s misunderstanding, violence, and complaints from neighbors. And since my passport still says female, they couldn’t put me in the men’s dorms.

I only came out to a small circle of people at work, too, and they were understanding; I’m lucky. But for everyone else, I’m going to keep using my old name — it’s safer that way.

The law [banning legal gender transitions and gender-affirming surgery] will effectively prevent people who haven’t managed to undergo a medical screening and change their documents from having a future. I’ve already seen a lot of people saying they simply don’t know how to go on after this.

I managed to change the gender marker in my documents to female, but [if the law is passed], I’ll be banned from the [hormone therapy] I need to align with my new gender. What am I supposed to do then? It’s not clear.

Marena

19 years old, transgender woman

At 17, I realized I was a trans person, and I found the medication I needed for hormone therapy online. Buying it without a prescription is illegal, but I couldn’t go to an endocrinologist because I was a minor and I had problems with my parents.

In mid-May, the project Center-T [which helps transgender people in Russia] paid for me to undergo a medical screening in Moscow as part of an initiative it was putting on (I live in Yekaterinburg). I received two certificates: one for the civil registration office and one for doctors, so that I could begin hormone therapy. On May 30, I applied for a new passport. Everything went fine; there were no problems.

The bill [against trans people] is very scary. It’s a violation of people’s human rights. I want to get a vaginoplasty, but if the law is passed, that will become impossible. In the future, I plan to emigrate.

Konstantin

45 years old, transgender man

I’m from Adygea, and I began my transition at 37 years old in 2015; I started acting in society the way I was comfortable. Before, I had tried to fit into my assigned role — a recipe for depression. I came to the conclusion that I could either lose my mind or start doing something different.

Changing my documents and undergoing medical interventions is something that concerns me and my own body — it doesn’t affect others, so why should I have to get somebody’s permission? Why should anybody else have the right to control my life?

I contacted a clinic about getting a medical screening done so that I could get a certificate of diagnosis and start the hormone therapy. The specialists on the commission were kind to me, but I nonetheless felt as humiliated as I ever had been in my life.

In 2018, I wanted to change my gender marker in my documents at the civil registration office, but I was refused. So I took the issue to court and won. After that, I changed my gender marker and name, first on my birth certificate and then in all my other documents. The court hearings were the only difficulty; everything else with my document changes went smoothly. I had to face quite a few shocked bureaucrats, but there wasn’t any aggression, nor any refusals, which is just one more sign that there’s no need to protect society from trans people.

I got top surgery — a mastectomy. I decided not to get bottom surgery. […] A mastectomy and hormone therapy are enough for me to feel comfortable.

A gender transition isn’t something abstract. It’s a way to get rid of the dissonance and start living in harmony with oneself, to make life more fulfilling. Nobody transitions for entertainment or to avoid their obligations. It might seem to some people like it’s not an especially important issue, since people can be who they want in private and don’t need to change their documents or their external characteristics for that. But living that way is much harder.

The way lawmakers have embraced the issue of LGBTQ+ people in recent months is a sign that the bill [against trans people] might take the worst possible form: a total ban on everything, including document changes and medical interventions. What worries me is that I’ve been on hormones for several years already and I feel wonderful, but if they ban it, it will be harmful to my health.

In the past, when they’ve discussed or passed similar laws, my friends and I have written letters to [State Duma] deputies. Maybe I’m a pessimist, but I don’t think there’s any point in doing that this time. We should probably do something, but it’s hard for me to think of anything that would be useful right now.

If the law is passed, it will ruin a lot of people’s lives. They’re taking our futures away day after day, and now they’re going to take practically the last thing we have. There are people for whom this amounts to taking away their entire lives. I can’t abstract away from this, and that’s hard for me. But until the law is passed, I want to advise everyone not to despair. Nothing is forever, and the situation will change. The important thing is to have an image of the future you dream of and to work towards it.

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