#you wouldn’t think something like gender identity would complicate something like asking for some company’s but no!

[future-crab]

Oh, Pretty Girls (the Mover) (Live), we’re really in it now…

[againstme]

idk man i’m just thinking about against me! and transness, especially cause we’re coming up on ten fucking years of transgender dysphoria blues, on the 21st.

lyrics have been swimming in my head lately.

“what god doesnt give to you, you’ve got to go and get for yourself.”

“if i could’ve chosen, i would’ve been born a woman. my mother once told me she would’ve named me laura. i’d grow up to be strong and beautiful like her.”

“you wouldn’t think something like gender identity would complicate something like asking for some company.”

“she spent the last few years of her life running from the boy she used to be.”

“standing naked in front of that hotel bathroom mirror, in her dysphoria’s reflection, she still saw her mother’s son.”

“agitated states of amazement, never quite the woman that she wanted to be.”

“you want them to see you like they see every other girl, they just see a faggot, they hold their breath not to catch the sick.”

“chipped nail polish and a barbed wire dress. is your mother proud of your eyelashes? silicone chest, and collagen lips. how would you even recognize me?”

“no more troubled sleep, there’s a brave new world that’s raging inside of me.”

“all my life, wishing i was one of them. there will always be a difference between me and you.”

“what’s the best end you can hope for? pity fucks and table scraps?”

“all the young graves filled, don’t the best all burn out so bright and so fast?”

“sometimes at night, i pray to wake a different person in a different place.”

“i don’t want to hang around the graveyard, waiting for something dead to come back. i know you think you’ve got one up on me, that you can see something i can’t.”

“i wanna be so real, you can see the difference.”

“dig up your bones, early graves are not homes.”

“come on, shape shift with me! what’ve you got to lose? fuck it!”

“confessing childhood secrets of dressing up in women’s clothes, compulsions you never knew the reasons to.”

“i’m sick of feeling like i’m losing my mind. sick of doing the same things most nights after night. sick of self loathing and self absorption, self destructive narcissism.”

some of these are directly referencing transness, some just alluding to it. some are just ones that i relate to as i’ve grown up struggling with my gender and sexuality and accepting my own transness and dealing with self harm and self destruction and relying too much on drugs.

finding myself buying baggies of coke and just stuffing them in my wallet while i walked downtown, feeling this immense guilt at the bottom of my stomach for essentially just wasting 25 dollars on a drug that wasn’t doing much for me besides making me feel like i was feeling something different than what my life was. getting scared shitless while in the line at the convenience store after picking up, seeing cops come into the store, and the small tied up bag filled with what was more baby powder than coke in my back pocket felt like the the heaviest and most obvious thing in the world.

and then i’d find myself on calls with my friends, with my camera turned off or pointing at the ceiling, suddenly muting my mic holding a cut up piece of a straw in my teeth as i crushed shit up with my library card from a city i wasn’t planning on living in again. just having them talk while i was racking baby lines, tilting my head back and rubbing it on my gums after. i was sniffling all the time. sometimes my nose would bleed when i would wake up. and i wasn’t even really feeling much; i didn’t know at the time that this would be because of having adhd and just basically spending money on overpriced shit that was just like taking an adderall, but it was a drug in front of me, that gave me the idea or the false hope of running away from my life during the short lived high.

“before you know it, here i am again, fucking 6 o’clock in the morning, rolled up dollar bill in my hand.”

“what the fuck are you cutting this with, anyway?”

“how low can you go before you can’t turn around?”

i don’t think that when i was 14 and getting into against me! that i would ever actually get to a point of fully relating to those lyrics. of running away from such a huge part of yourself or your problems, trying to fill the void with drugs that you’d plow through so quickly, faster than you thought you would every time.

the thing is, was that at this point, i had already started my transition. i was already “passing.” but i never got to the root of it. sure, i’m trans, but who am i? and i didn’t know how to answer that question. so i just pushed it away, pushed it under the rug.

“you can pray all night and day, but you’ll still wake up the same person in the same fucking place.”

against me! has been there for me for ten years. throughout so many transformations of myself, so much shape shifting, so much dysphoria, so many late nights wishing i was a different person in a different place.

i found solace in their lyrics. it gave me some small bit of hope, some realization that i didn’t know that i needed; that trans people always have been and always will be here, that being able to be trans and be alive is possible, and that i don’t have to be digging my own grave, spending late nights staring at the mirror and seeing the girl who i used to be.

against me! gave me the courage to be alive.

[cream-and-tea]

happy sts! what would happen if your main characters swapped roles?

@rydykg

oohhhhh this is a really interesting one i’m actually gonna have to think about it for a bit. ty for the ask!!! apologies in advance for how long this will probably get!!!!!

hmm okay okay okay. i’d imagine an agnes who was put in pallases place would like. extremely worn down and probably a lot more jaded. i don’t think she really has the propensity towards lashing out and biting sharpness that pallas does and it’s a LOT harder for her to feign indifference, but she definitely wouldn’t be soft in any way either. her position as The Library’s top student and being used to do everything the director doesn’t want to dirty her hands with would leave her just. incredibly depressed and lethargic. and don’t get me wrong pallas is experiencing depths of self hatred uncategorizable by man, but i feel like roleswap!agnes would lack a lot of the persona they try to put on to cover it. she wouldn’t put time into the I Feel Like I’m The Worst So I Act Like I’m The Best act or effort into trying to seem cruel and controlled, mostly being very straightforward and grim in the work she does. agnes is absolutely desperate to be Seen and Loved and if anything, considering how her relationship with pallas plays out in canon, she’d be even more codependently attached to the director than they are and place her in much more of a surrogate parent role, probably bothering her a lot and wanting to spend time with her even when it’s not mission or training related. in general a roleswap!agnes would be much more likely to try and seek out connection and relationships instead of self-sabotaging every single social interaction the way pallas does. pallas tries to see everything as impersonal where agnes sees EVERYTHING as personal and that wouldn’t really change. i can definitely see her sadly spying on the regular students and classes and leaning on fiver for company in a way pallas would never do. she’d be much quieter, much more withdrawn and just incredibly weary with the world and her place in it. she’s even more aware than pallas that something is Fundamentally Wrong here, but is just so exhausted that she can’t bring herself to try and fix it. also for some reason the idea of her doing so much violent murder is funny to me like. the gawky teenage girl with the biggest, wettest, saddest brown eyes you have ever seen walks up to you and then bam. 50000000 ghosts ripping u apart limb from limb.

as for PALLAS i feel like so many of their already-existing neuroses would become greatly exasperated if they switched places with agnes and as a result somehow managed to have even LESS regular human contact than they already did before. especially in terms of their social ineptitude like. if you thought they were garbage at interacting with people before then prepare to be horrified and amazed at how roleswap!pallas, who has only interacted with two Actual Living People in their entire life, can run any and all conversations into the ground without even trying! there’s. uh. also the fact that agnes was raised Very Very fantasy-apocalypse-flavoured-catholic and i can see that kinda filling the place of The Library Cause that pallas clings to in canon. it would also make the gender thing a whole new flavour of Fucked Up And Incredibly Complicated that would play a pretty massive role in their arc that it doesn’t really in lmd proper. i do think that the whole not-having-committed-actual-murder thing would go a long way towards pallas not being as guarded, so they’d probably be a lot more unabashedly annoying and awkward and not so absolutely beaten down, but their relationship to their powers would almost be completely flipped on it’s head. they’d still be basing their entire identity and self worth off of them don’t get me wrong, expect instead of their magic being something they strive to perfect and control and being seen as prodigy roleswap!pallas would like. pull their powers out with their bare hands if they could. there’s no way with the general Atmosphere of agness upbringing combined with pallas paranoia would result in anything less then a violent repulsion towards any and all magic. and this would lead to a really interesting change of in events at the beginning of the story. because listen. agnes is a good kid but she’s also hardwired for Survival At All costs, which is what enabled her to join The Library and also do so (kinda sorta not really) of her own volition. in contrast pallas will pick a hill and die on it no matter how much it’ll damage them in the long term, so in a roleswap they’d probably have to be very literally dragged there kicking and screaming and resisting basically every step of the way, trying to deny that they see agnes as a person, much less that they’re starting to grow close to her and care about her wellbeing. which like. i didn’t think i could make that relationship any more fucked up then it already is but here we are ig.

[terrorizemypsych]

when laura jane grace said “you wouldn’t think something like gender identity would complicate something like asking for some company” so true

[normal-thoughts-official]

HEY SO u didn’t wanna go on a trans!magnus tangent in ur sexuality post but *I* want you to go on a trans!magnus tangent! Tell me more about him coming to terms w/ his identity & how it’s influenced his life and all that. Essentially just give me all the trans!magnus content in ur brain. Love u ❤️❤️❤️ ~cursedlightwood

here’s my hot take: magnus’ gender is Tired. and yes, i will elaborate, because Ive spent the last 2-3 weeks doing research for this ask, so this is probably the most well-informed theory you’ll see on this subject. yeah, we’re doomed

EDIT: i was gonna say this from the get-go but i forgot, so: english is not my first language and i’m unsure about the usage of some terms that i found during research, particularly those referring to traditional javanese religions and customs; so, if you spot anything that is problematic, racist or colonialist please let me know and i’ll change it. 

ok, so i want to start this off by saying that, although javanese society had a binary gender system, they had pretty egalitarian views on gender, and from what i’ve seen the division of labor wasn’t really set in stone - although they were less common than male ones, there were female warriors, for instance. both men and women could be the sovereign and were equally respected, both could ask for a divorce, etc. the most important part of their gender views, to me, seems to be that they believed women were better for diplomatic roles and trading, because they believed men were too emotional and not as good as debating and making compromises as women were (same source)

so i’m just gonna say this, here and now: AFAB!Magnus makes a lot of sense because Magnus is the most diplomatic person you’ll ever fucking see, and in this context, if he were AFAB, he would have been socialized to be for a very young age. and i dont mean hes diplomatic just on the sense that he’s literally keeping most of the characters together and preventing fights (remember when he had to stop a Raphael VS Simon catfight? ugh), but also in the sense that out of everyone hes the one who best handles the seelie queen, for example. he’s good at Wit Battles, negotiating, building bridges and dealing with power relations when its needed.

and i mean, this would also be a pretty good start on why he’d be like “no thanks” when it comes to this whole Womanhood thing, because yeah, Magnus is good at that, he has to be, but does he like it? to me it’s pretty clear that he doesn’t, that he’s absolutely uninterested in anything involving power and negotiations and this whole ridiculous dance it involves. also he’s constantly giving himself the short end of the stick so y’know. honestly, at heart, magnus is an inventor, an explorer; he likes to create things, he likes to learn, he likes to explore the world around him, meet people, help them, build relationships - but on equal grounds, not this whole give-some-take-some thing diplomacy entails. and as a Woman™ in pre-colonial java society, it’s pretty much that, be a farmer, or a concubine - we’re gonna get to that a little bit later on.

so i think in this context little magnus would be like “no thanks” and wanting to go around and, i don’t know, look at plants and learn their properties and figure out why apples fall, or something. it’s not exactly a Man’s Role™ either, although to be fair i found it a little hard to figure out what exactly were men’s roles in javanese society because gender studies usually just focus on women and treat men as the standard and don’t really explore how manhood is construed. but anyway. i know that they were warriors more frequently than women (same source), but women could be warriors as well. like i said, gender roles in javanese society weren’t really set in stone. [alec voice] they’re not rules, they’re suggestions.

add to that the fact that magnus lived in a port city - he had to, since in the early 1600s the dutch were only settling in important ports and trading centers - and the ports in java were very important trading centers that had been attracting people from all over Asia and Europe for centuries, and had a quite good share of migrants and immigrants living there, including quite a good share of Buginese, aka the people who had a 5-gender division. jakarta, which is in java, has like the 10th biggest buginese population in the world, not to mention the countless other societies that had their own views on gender relations; and you have a pretty good and accepting environment when it comes to differences. the javanese were flexible, they were well aware that culture isn’t set in stone, and they were very prone to syncretism. the kingdom allowed people to have any religion they wanted, even if its “official” religion at the time was buddhism. so really: the javanese were actually not very into the whole “imposing cultural constructs” thing, especially the coastal javanese. so magnus would have likely had the freedom to explore and to not really want to conform to any gender stereotypes without that being a HUGE deal, in my opinion.

and then there’s the fact that the concept of womanhood was a pretty disputed one at the time; yes, the javanese had their own views, but it’s important to note that by the 1600s most of the coastal javanese population had converted to Islam, which led to a few differences as well; when compared to other southeast asian communities, for example, the rate of women in trade was a little different - while it was a steady 50% in almost all countries and cultures, in indonesia it was around 30%, because muslim communities had more of a “women stay at home” view. however, when compared to other asian societies such as the chinese society, where the rate was of 1-5%, you can see that the javanese’s egalitarian views on gender stood a fair amount of ground. also, in indonesia, precisely due to their more open views, Islam mostly syncretised with local religions and customs, including the gender views; in Bugis, for instance, the 5-gender system was kept, as were traditional customs such as “ritual transvestism” and homosexuality. so, yes, it was disputed, and people had many views on what people could or couldn’t do, but that mostly ended up becoming a kind of “live and let live” thing. which is the perfect environment for 1- AFAB!Magnus be Very Tired of this whole womanhood thing that no one can even decide what it is anyway; 2- Magnus to say “fuck this” and live as a masc-leaning genderless entity that just wanted to make some goddamn potions.

but then there’s the colonial relations, right? how do the dutch come into this already very complicated and delicately balanced equation? that was honestly the main point of my research, trying to figure out just how much influence the dutch had at such an early stage of colonisation, and also what it would be like to live in a mixed-culture household such as magnus’. here’s what i have:

during the first century of dutch colonisation (aka the part we’re talking about) the dutch and the europeans didn’t really have a big influence in javanese cultural and political relations. the javanese were pretty well organised and had a powerful and strong society so the europeans didn’t really manage to invade them successfully - even the portuguese, the most powerful european nation at the time, tried and failed to invade them for the whole 16th century (get rekt lmao). so what the dutch did was, they simply established themselves as one of the many companies that settled in jakarta to trade, and slowly built their power and influence from there. don’t get me wrong, the dutch were very violent colonisers and in other parts of indonesia they were doing the european thing of mass genocide as much as any other country. they weren’t a “softer” version of colonisers, they just didn’t have the power to subjugate the javanese, so they had to try a slower approach. during the early 1600s, the only dutch people in java were the VOC workers (VOC is the dutch east india company - the acronym is in dutch. basically the company that was there to get some nice spices to sell to the rest of europe so they could shove it all up their assholes or smth since up to this day their food is bland as shit), and they weren’t permanent settlers; they could only stay in java for the duration of their contract with the VOC and they couldn’t bring their wives and children with them, and they couldn’t bring any wives or mixed children they had while in java back to europe, either (same source).

this weird relationship meant that magnus’ “stepfather” and his mother probably had a relationship of concubinage (told you we’d get back to that), which was not uncommon in java neither before nor after the arrival of the dutch. in short, his mother was supposed to take care of his house, make him food and all that jazz, and also have a sexual relationship with him, in exchange for money (same source). it was not prostitution and it worked pretty much as a marriage, except it was temporary and contractual. BUT it meant that magnus’ mother would have to have converted to christianism (same source) and due to the fact that she was in a temporary contract, she couldn’t divorce him, and in their home he would treat her as, well, europeans treated their wives - with the particular western brand of sexism that they so kindly forced unto the rest of us. so that makes the whole thing even more disputed and complicated.

but as a VOC worker, magnus’ stepfather wouldn’t even be home for most of the day, and he couldn’t really keep magnus or his mom from, like, leaving the house and doing their things. i think he wouldn’t even try because that would prolly be very looked down upon in java; spousal abuse in southeast asia as a whole was pretty rare, since anyone could divorce whenever they wanted and women were politically and financially independent, so i think if he tried to pull something like that he would be in trouble - again, the dutch were the minority, and for the most part, they lived as the javanese did, in their villages, in their homes, eating their food and mostly adapting to their customs (same source). they even mostly spoke indonesian in their homes, since most indonesians didn’t speak dutch, and indonesia was kind of the universal language at the time, since there were many languages spoken both in and outside of java (this also explains why magnus speaks indonesian instead of javanese; that would have been the language spoken at his home. you have no idea how relieved having an explanation for this makes me). also there’s the pressing question of, would he even give a shit what magnus does or doesn’t do? magnus wasn’t his biological son, and most of these guys didn’t care about any biological children they might have had with these women, since they were women of color and they would leave them eventually anyway. honestly this is all the more reason for him to treat magnus like shit - he was javanese, he was brown, and he wasn’t even related to him by blood. this was also probably grounds for him to treat magnus’ mom even worse, since in his christian eyes the fact that she had a child outside of marriage made her even lesser than other indonesians.

so honestly, what i’m picturing is something like - most of the time it was pretty okay, there were certain expectations and a certain kind of female socialization but it was okay that he didn’t really fit in there, and then with his stepfather the whole thing was just shit. 

also, the fact that his mom was probably a concubine means there was a fair chance that his stepfather would have other concubines, and listen, yes i may be flexing, but you can’t stop me from imagining that maybe magnus was raised in a multicultural home with lots of other southeast asian women and children and maybe even buginese because again you can’t fucking STOP ME.

but either way, even if his home wasn’t like that, his city was - we don’t know which city he lived in, but it doesn’t matter, really; all cities with dutch settlers were port cities and therefore followed pretty much the same pattern of being a cultural tapestry with all sorts of influences coexisting in peace.

so really, little magnus lived in a pretty rich environment when it came to exploring his identity. he and his mom lived in a pretty egalitarian society gender-wise, he had the space and the opportunity to explore the world and figure out what he liked and didn’t like. am i going crazy imagining a tiny magnus with his mom, running around in other farms and listening, enraptured, stories of people from all over the world, about their cultures and lives, and learning there is so much to see and wanting to just go wherever he could, getting himself a passion for travelling that would later fuel his want to invent a quick way to go anywhere he wanted to, going to the port and seeing all the stuff they had available, from plants with healing properties to spices, and just loving to figure out their properties and how they could be mixed together to create new things, loving this world full of wonder and possibilities? maybe. god.

but anyway, what i’m trying to get at here is that it’s really impossible to think of a cis magnus in this context, no matter if you think AMAB or AFAB trans magnus - i know ive been focused on AFAB magnus here but really that’s mostly because 1- Projection; 2- thinking about AFAB magnus brings in new layers of complexity that need further exploration in my opinion; but really this applies to any magnus. what would being “cis” even mean, in a context where the very concepts of manhood and womanhood were so disputed and complex? and that’s not even going into the fact that after so many centuries, complying to gender roles of that time looked nothing like complying to our modern gender roles. really, it’s a lost cause. magnus kind of has a culturally-specific gender that…. no one but other warlocks born in similar situations could, really? there’s no word for it. there’s no explaining it with words. it is [REDACTED GOOD OMENS REFERENCE]

the closest we have is masc-leaning enby, since somewhere along the way he seems to have decided to use male pronouns and have a mostly masc-presenting body, even if paired with a more fem-presenting appearance fashion and mannerisms-wise. but again it’s too unique, there are way too many influences here.

and honestly that’s kind of beautiful! i love imagining small magnus having contact with people with all kinds of views on gender and society throughout his childhood, exploring, trying on their clothes, learning about their religions and customs, having elderly friends from different backgrounds and also young friends who were raised in very different ways, and sharing all of that, and learning about who he is amidst all of that, and being able to explore that and talk about that to his mom and friends and close people because they are used to these differences. even if when at home he was probably met with some kind of transphobic rhetoric and violence because of his stepfather and the imposed christianity that came with it - and that unlike other religions, didn’t syncretize at all.

which brings us to a second, very important point on the whole trans magnus ordeal, which is how deeply tied to racism the transphobia he’s suffered and the general understanding of his gender was. of course, this applies to every single of-color and non-western born person, but magnus has lived that through history. from a very young age, the blunt of the violence he was met with came from a racist standpoint that believed his very identity and existence made him lesser and in need to be corrected - because that’s what, after all, the colonizers were doing. their whole rhetoric was that the colonized were barbaric and needed them to learn the right ways through violence. it is worth noticing that the javanese have been referred to as “the most inhuman of all people” by dutch colonizers, and amongst the reasons for that was the fact that their views on gender were so different from the european’s (same source).

so really we’re mixing in the fact that he was a “bastard” child in his stepfather’s eyes, a warlock, and trans… and yeah, oof. there’s no way he was treated with anything other than violence from way before his mom’s suicide and the subsequent drowning attempt. in his stepfather’s eyes, everything about magnus’ existence was demonic, impure, and all the more reason why he and his mom were dirty and needed to be corrected.

it’s also worth noting that sorcery was a very big part of javanese culture that was also syncretized with pretty much every religion. the javanese believed in sorcery, believed everyone could do magic, and the dutch, of course, despised that. the source above is a pretty interesting article that argues that the european’s so-called “skepticism” on magic and “rational-based” culture was actually part of a construction of whiteness that hoped precisely to differentiate them from the “savage” others. i mean, the guys were burning women at the stake because they were “witches”, but every other culture’s religions, rituals and magic were just bullshit and couldn’t be trusted because the europeans were too rational and knew better? okay buddy. it also features an amazing story about a dutch colonizer who got hexxed because of his racism that is, quite frankly, heartwarming. but i digress.

so yeah listen i know i already talked about this on the other ask but there’s really no way the reason his mother killed herself was because she found out magnus was a warlock or a demon’s son or whatever. magic was part of their culture. it was what they believed in. it was a part of nature to them. it’s way more likely that the reason she killed herself was the constant violence she was met with in daily life that she couldn’t get away from, and his stepfather simply blamed magnus because, to him, he represented everything that was wrong with their culture - and that makes even more sense if we think about trans!magnus, because that makes him an even deeper abomination. it’s very likely that most of the violence and belittling his mother had to face was related to magnus as well - look what you created, what you do, your culture is an abomination, this is unacceptable. but magnus was way too small at that time, and he believed what his stepfather told him, because i mean, what else would he believe in?

i also think that asmodeus kind of messed with his perception of how the whole thing went down, telling him that he “murdered” him when really it was clearly self defense, erasing the violence his stepfather directed towards magnus and focusing on the end to convince magnus that he was evil, unredeemable, that no one would accept him but asmodeus, that he had no other choice. so that’s super fun! but yeah i do believe that asmodeus spent enough time gaslighting magnus and rewriting this whole story for this to be considered magnus’ worst memory, seen by him as a reminder of his “ugly side” that doesn’t really even exist. asmodeus weaponized this, which served the double purpose of convincing magnus he had no choice but to follow asmodeus, and teaching him that violence is normal and there’s nothing wrong with it, and that retaliating makes him bad. 

this is all i have to say about the asmodeus years, really, because like i said before i don’t think he gives a shit about gender, he’s way older than it and who cares. but the trauma that the whole thing put magnus through is easily weaponizable. @thesorrowoflizards also wrote this amazing fic that features the headcanon that asmodeus used magnus’ transness to manipulate him as well, using spells that made him more masculine and stuff but only if magnus obeyed him. fun! especially considering that he was with asmodeus through his puberty (or at least that’s likely) when his body would have begun to change, so for him to have such a masc-presenting body…. yeah. this is very plausible. i love pain.

and then we get to england, where again, everyone is an asshole, about everything, all the time. like holy shit, he thought the europeans cared too much when he was in java, but that is nothing compared to the brits and their casual sentencing people to death for being gender non conforming. also, to the europeans, asian men were seen as emasculate and their gender relations as a whole was unnatural, and listen, i know that in 18th-19th century england men also wore makeup and stuff, but i mean, magnus was probably seen as exotic in his “effeminate” mannerisms and non-compliance to gender roles, even if people didn’t know he was AFAB or just trans in general. he was probably objectified in that sense, kinda like a human-zoo sorta thing. fascinating, these emasculated asians with weird bodies and customs. ugh.

so yeah gender got particularly exhausting at that time, too. thankfully there were the warlocks, who were old enough to know all of this was bullshit and who had people from all kinds of cultural backgrounds, thousands of people with culturally-specific genders, as well as other people who were raised in similar environments as him. so in there he finds a home of sorts, a place where this doesn’t matter and where he can be himself and nobody cares, and also has access to different cultures and views and knowledge, and really it’s like the good parts of his childhood again. he learns more about magic and potion-making, about other cultures and places, travels the world, learns about science and the workings behind his magic. creates new potions, new spells, continues his education, learns and remembers how much he loves this, the cultural effervency, the chances to learn and explore and create. really the warlock community is so amazing and it’s like, golden era.

but he’s also living amongst mundanes and to some extent he likes them - not to mention, he likes travelling and learning about different places and cultures. and they seem to care more and more about differentiating genders as time goes by, and to be getting more and more violent in their never-ending quest to force people to fit into these roles, and it’s. tiring. exhausting. who cares. it makes less and less sense to him, and this alienation from the whole thing only solidifies his non-conformance and general inability to fit. sometimes he feels old, and alone, even if he has other people who are Like Him now - the shadow world can get tiring, sometimes, and there’s also the shadowhunters racism thing going on that’s also inevitably trying to subjugate their spaces and looks down on their culture - so it also has the downsides of his childhood. sometimes it’s like there’s no word for who he is, no one that can understand it, no place where he can be fully himself and loved for it. and this only intensifies by the middle of the 19th century, when suddenly makeup and colorful clothing is not for men anymore, and he’s even less conforming than before - he was a pretty respectable Man™ to their standarts up to that point, but from then on that is lost. it doesn’t matter too much, because even if he is masc-leaning, he still doesn’t really see himself as a man in the sense that he seems to be expected to. but that furthers the alienation, and the feeling of loneliness and of being old and unfit for this world.

that is also when he meets camille! and that’s canon because there was that one picture of him with camille and ragnor and the clothes they are wearing are very much from the 1840s (i talked about this here), which is precisely when the whole men’s fashion differentiating from women’s fashion thing was starting. so in the context of his gender this makes it even easier for camille to manipulate him into thinking that she’s the only one who will ever understand and accept him, and that he’s naive, and that he doesn’t fit into the world and doesn’t understand what’s best for him, and really he should trust her judgement better because he is a man out of his time, but she can help him, and- yeah. that good olde cis-girl-abuses-trans-person routine, with even more elements than usual. ggghhhghh

and it’s not until the 1960s and 70s that these notions start to actually be challenged. of course, trans people have always existed and were building their own communities and helping each other as well as they could, and magnus certainly was a part of that, because, well, that’s who he is. he doesn’t leave people in need and he knows how painful it is to go through all of this alone, so he does his best to help and adopts pretty much everyone he can. but for the most part, they are a diaspora, and the cissexist society that alienates and tries to kill them goes on unchallenged.

that gives him all the more reason to get so involved with stonewall and the subsequent building of the queer neighborhoods and communities, that feeling that maybe he can belong after all, that things might change and his life doesn’t have to be an infinite cycle of violence, isolation, abuse, and repeat. seeing these events unfold, helping keep people safe, meeting Sylvia Rivera and all the other trans people of color who were part of this, who had stories so similar to his, who were also bisexual (!!), who knew what it was like. that was healing, and that was important to him, and gjfdkafaskfa yeah.

and of course not everything is a sea of roses, because then the community starts to divide and trans and bi ppl, particularly of color, particularly those who are like him, start to be looked down on. Sylvia is arrested and even booed at Pride, suddenly he’s drawing the short end of the stick again. and then there’s the AIDS crisis, and he sees so many people die, and for a while, it feels like there’s no way out after all. and he even loses a lot of his warlock friends, the people who really understand him in his entirety, because sometime around that there’s the Circle massacre, as well. it’s a dark time for him, and honestly it’s a good thing he’s sworn off romance after the whole camille ordeal to clear his head, because after losing so many people he’s never felt this alienated, this alone, and to fall into the arms of another camille or asmodeus would have been just too easy.

but god, he heals. it’s crazy, but he has raphael, he has cat, ragnor, dot, elias, and he somehow builds himself up and relearns to trust and starts to believe that he has the love he’s always believed himself unworthy of having, that he believed impossible to him. and he starts to open up, and to feel more confident in his own skin, right in time to meet alec.

and look, trans!Magnus just makes malec all the more powerful. not only is this shadowhunter showing up and fully trusting a downworlder, giving him his strength, caring about him, cleaning his home (!) and taking care of him, something he hasn’t allowed himself to have for so long, something he didn’t believe he could have and that alec does so easily even when they’ve barely met. he shows magnus so much care and respect from day one and magnus doesn’t get that from anyone, let alone a shadowhunter, let alone a shadowhunter that’s there with jocelyn’s entitled daughter who treats him as a tool - and look, i know he loves clary, but she is entitled and magnus unfortunately enables her and other entitled shadowhunters to treat him as such, because even he treats himself as such most of the time, and it’s something he needs to work on, and probably has been at least since he broke up with camille.

but he’s also a white, gay man, and magnus has seen firsthand that these people can be nasty to people like him. yes he tried to help alec come to terms with his sexuality, and yes he’s surprised him before, but it’s also not like alec didn’t fuck up and wasn’t entirely… well, shadowhunter-y and had a lot of trouble believing that things didn’t have to be the shadowhunter, bigoted way for a while. but alec doesn’t give a shit if magnus is trans, it doesn’t lessen his attraction or love to him in any way, and it’s just. ugh. beautiful.

and yeah this has gotten too long and it already took me like 3 weeks to answer it because of the amount of research ive done and general tiredness so im gonna end this here, and on a positive note for a change! magnus is happy and learning to take care of himself and accepts himself and trans rights. hell yeah.

[gaiahypothesims]

50 Questions for your Sim

I was tagged by TWO people but I can’t scroll back far enough to see who the second was!!! I’m so sorry! @ultroslovesyou Thanks for the tag that I CAN find.

Ash would LOVE to answer these himself. And its LONG because .... Ashley. (Its like... so long I’m embarrassed)

01. How old is your sim? Isn’t age subjective? I’m as wise as an elder, but youthful in looks as a young man in his absolute prime. 

02. When is your sim’s birthday? On the most perfect day. My Mother said the sun was shining and all the birds were singing. My newborn cries were met with tears of joy and happiness. 

03. What is your sim’s zodiac sign? This is a complicated question, as the Zodiac horoscopes you see popularly don’t take into account so many details. For one-... No I can’t answer this without explaining everything-

04. What is your sim’s ethnicity? I’m a child of the world. Fine, my parents are originally from India. Though I’ll have you know this kind of question is very narrow-minded.

05. Does your sim have any nicknames? Ash. That’s it. NO you may not ask my brother if I have any others.... or Evelyn... or Rosie. Just take my word for it.

06. Do they have a job? Travel Writer and a professional student in the teachings of the world. In fact, I do believe that being an avid learner in all things-

07. Where does your sim live? Its rude to interrupt someone every time they try to answer a question. AS I was saying, being an avid learner has taught me that there is no such thing as having a ‘job’. We have a responsibility to cultivate our PASSIONS. In that way you will never once be trapped by a ‘job’ or by one ‘place’, a box really, to call a home. 

08. Who does your sim live with? I’ve lived with so many different, unique, and beautiful individuals. I’ve been really helping my amazing friend Evelyn out. She’s very dependent on my mental fortitude. I don’t find it trying at all, though there are some days I do feel an imbalance in my Chi due to her constant bitching about my hair shedding. I tell her that just because she can SEE my hair better because its black doesn’t mean that she isn’t shedding as well. The OTHER day I found a long, thin, sad, brown hair in my soup, and I know for a fact that I have only the most luxurious raven black hair. 

09. What environment did your sim grow up in? (strict, loving, cold etc.) I have the most loving of parents. My brother on the other hand... well let’s just say he’s embraced Capitalistic conspiracy. 

10. What are your sim’s favourite food? I’ve found that the most healing and ethereal foods are what my body craves. Something like Lotus blossom water, I feel could sustain me for years. .. hmm?.. Oh no, I’d never TRY to live off of it. It is just water...

11. What is your sim’s favourite drink? I adore a good Oolong tea, I have an interesting story about how I was introduced to this-

12. If they have one what is your sim’s favourite color? Well that was rude, I wanted to explain the Oolong. Very well... moving on. How can one choose a favourite colour? The spectrum is SO vast. Can you believe that human eye can perceive approximately 10,000,000 colours? How can I choose a favourite?

13. Does your sim believe in any clichés? (love at first sight) Of course! There has to be a basis of truth if so many can relate to cliches. 

14. What is your sim’s sexuality? I would say that I do mostly enjoy the company of women sexually, but that’s not to say that I think men are unattractive. Sexuality isn’t a be all- end all. We are constantly learning new things about ourselves. I’ve recently discovered that I don’t mind a bit of anal play. I’ll tell you exactly how I discovered this, and it might surprise you-

15. What is your sim’s gender identity? How can you NOT want to learn more about my experience? It might change your life. I’m going to be writing about it for my next article. It has something to do with... a bath house.. and that’s ALL you’re going to get from me since you so rudely interrupted. Again.

16. Is your sim type a or type b? I don’t believe in types. Like asking me if I’m a square or a circle. I’m an entire sphere, unable to be bound to your strict typist ideals.

17. Is your sim introverted or extroverted? I would have to say that I am thoughtfully introverted. 

18. What is your sim’s favourite woohoo position? Oh so NOW you want to hear about my sexual exploits? Well its too late. I’ve been through the entire Kama Sutra, and NO that is not because I have Indian heritage, and it would have shocked you. 

19. Is your sim a pet person? If so what is their favourite animal? Not so much. I like Jonah’s dog actually. In fact he is likely more loyal to me now than he ever was to Jonah. An animal can sense things. 

20. Does your sim have a best friend? Rosie and Evelyn.

21. What is/was your sim’s favourite school subject? I quite enjoyed creative writing, which I think is why I turned to Travel Writing. The absolute best of both worlds. 

22. Is/was your sim a high, mid or low achiever in school? Every child has their own strengths and I find it unfair to measure one against the other when everyone is a unique learner. 

23. Are they planning to go or have they already been to college? If so, what would be or what was their major? I did go for a few years, but I never graduated with a degree. The classes that I took were all for my own interest, not to pander to organized academia for a worthless piece of paper.

24. What are your sim’s political beliefs? (if they have them) Politics are a construct to keep the individual from reaching their full potential. 

25. What is one thing your sim wants to do before they die? I’d like to share my travels with someone that I love, and that loves me back. 

26. Does your sim have a favourite TV show (cable) and/or movie? Watching television stunts a persons cultural and creative growth.

27. Is your sim a Netflix viewer? If so what are their top 3 shows. No.

28. Does your sim like books? Absolutely. I try to pick up a new book at every new location that I get to. I then leave my old book. Its a wonderful way to associate a certain story with a specific location. The feel and smell and tastes seem to stick better, for me, that way. 

29. Does your sim enjoy video games, if so what is their favourite one and do they play on PC or console? Well, I don’t love video games. But Evelyn owns one of those game systems, and sometimes we play together. Its purely for her therapeutic benefit that I join in.

30. What is your sim’s personal style? I wouldn’t dream of limiting myself to only one style.

31. Does your sim have a lucky charm? I make my own luck.

32. Is your sim religious? I’m an acolyte of all religions, including no religion.

33. What kind of music does your sim listen to and who is their favourite artist? There was a beggar woman in Romania that played the most beautiful violin. I gifted her talent with a hand-written poem. She didn’t seem to appreciate it, but I still remember her music.

34. Is your sim a festive person? If so what’s their favourite holiday? I love celebrating all the holidays, and festivals, as long as they aren’t attached to the shilling of Corporate greed. 

35. What is your sim’s favourite type of weather? All weather is beautiful and should be appreciated.

36. Does your sim prefer to start fights or finish them? I don’t prefer either.

37. Does your sim have a dream job? I am living my dream, doing something I love strictly for the passion of doing it.

38. Does your sim have any siblings? .... ugh.. one brother. Raj. 

39. Does your sim get along with their family? I love my parents very much. My mother is the most beautiful and loving woman, and my Father is generous and giving. 

40. What is your sim’s favourite hobby? Nothing, I don’t believe in hobbies. I believe in passion and doing. If you’re doing it and you love it, it isn’t a ‘hobby’ its a passionate endeavor. 

41. What does your sim look for in a romantic partner? I’m not very good at making things work with women. I’m not entirely sure why. It could be because I move so frequently. I have no schedule, no concept of time and plans. I suppose I’d love someone that also could be as flexible. 

42. What is a secret about your sim? I have no secrets, I’m an open book. <He’s extremely vain. His nonchalance is extremely cultivated>

43. What is a wish your sim has? To share my adventures with someone that loves me. 

44. What is a flaw your sim has? Is there really such a thing as flaws? Are we not like the kintsugi in Japanese pottery, “flaws” make us beautifully unique.

45. How do others generally perceive your sim? I would say that some are threatened by my complete oneness with the universe. They might see it as something else, arrogance... perhaps. Though if I could have a moment to explain it to them, they would understand and appreciate it.

46. Does your sim have a greatest achievement? Every achievement is a great one. For a person to get up in the morning, is an achievement. The will to say “yes! another.” and to make it through the day happily, unhappily, to have an adventure, to stay home and self-care, its what life is about. There is NO greatest achievement. Every action is great in itself, no matter how small.

47. If they have one, what is your sim’s greatest regret?  That I tried to follow in Rajan’s footsteps for too long. Instead of embracing who I really was. 

48. Does your sim have a favourite emoji? Emoji’s can’t properly convey all the feelings that I have. I feel that a wordy text, or a phone call is so much better. A long text is something the person can treasure over and over, but a phone call can contain so much more warmth and genuine conversation.

49. Does your sim use simstagram? <under his breath> Yes. 

50. What is the last text your sim sent (and who did they text)? Oh do I have to share? This isn’t exactly... fine.. its to Evelyn and it says: You’re a dirty tramp. <cough> ... I’m sure she’s treasuring the words right now, yes thank you. 

[duckily]

∞ :D

I just want to be young, I want to live / God, I want to be healthy, I don't want this problem / You wouldn't think something like irresponsibility* / Would complicate something like asking for some company

~ Pretty Girls, Against Me!

*"irresponsibility" was a rushed replacement for what LJG originally had written, "gender identity," because she wasnt out as trans yet.

the song is pretty obviously about panicking that being trans is going to get in the way of your relationships with ordinary people, especially when youre deep in the closet. thats something i worry about a lot too, its just so hard to go out and try to form any kind of relationship, even just casual friendships, when youre trans.

[good--bye--binary]

They/Them or She/Her

Happy Priiiiiiiiiiiiiide!!! 🌈🏳️‍🌈

I got a couple of pics in before heading out to the Chicago Pride Parade today and even talked my mom into taking a couple selfies with me while we were there!

I’m also in the process of coming out to every person I know that I haven’t yet. Most of these are people that are very important to me, but either I don’t get to see them very often and/or they’re more conservative and not at all educated on LGBTQ issues. To that end, I finally wrote a coming out letter and I thought I’d post it here just in case anyone else wanted to use portions of it! 😁

Dear ________,

In case you didn’t already know, this month is LGBTQ+ Pride Month. Both because of this and, more importantly, because I respect and cherish our relationship, I feel compelled to tell you that I am transgender. Specifically, I am non-binary, genderfluid, and transfeminine (more on all of those terms later). Although I have always questioned my gender, I came out to myself in November of 2016. Now I feel it is the right time for absolutely everyone to know.

I have written, deleted, rewritten, and revised this letter many times over many months because I want it to be as clear as possible. To that end, I thought it best to organize it as a list of questions directed towards myself, questions that I would expect you to have. Of course if you ever want me to explain something more, an answer doesn’t make sense, or you have a question that isn’t on here, PLEASE TALK TO ME. You might find that reading these questions and answers are enough, but if you don’t, I would much rather you talk to me directly rather than speculate, be confused, or turn to the internet which may have misleading or inaccurate information. On this last point, I don’t just mean anti-LGBTQ+ websites and organizations; gender is a very complicated and personal experience, so even pro-LGBTQ+ literature may define or explain terms in ways that are different from how I apply them to my gender experience.

Q1. How do you know/what makes you think you’re transgender? A1. Like almost all LGBTQ+ people will tell you, I always knew I was somehow different from most of the other kids. For me, it was about never feeling completely comfortable or understood by boys and men. For as long as I can remember, I have not only preferred the company of girls and women, but I have never felt “like one of the boys.” My closest friends have always been (and continue to be) women. Even in films, TV shows, video games, novels, and short stories, I almost immediately identify with female characters, but rarely do I do the same with male characters.

Have I been able to “fit in” with boys/men in the past? Yes, of course I have, because society has always suggested that I should and that there would be consequences if I didn’t. Did I enjoy the act of having to hide, censor, and think very deliberately about my behavior so that I wasn’t bullied or seen as weird? Absolutely not. I went to sleepovers at my male friends’ houses in grade school, but I hated them. I would get terrible anxiety as the scheduled day came closer and once I got there, I couldn’t wait for them to be over. I hated “acting like a boy.” It brought me literal pain and discomfort.

These feelings of pain, discomfort, and anxiety are symptoms of what is known as dysphoria. Dysphoria is an experience that nearly all transfolk experience. Euphoria is the feeling that everything is perfect—being in a state of mind that is complete bliss and one that you hope will never end. Dysphoria is the opposite of that. It’s the feeling that everything is wrong—a mental and emotional state of torture that feels like it will swallow you up and crush your spirit forever. When applied to transfolk specifically, dysphoria is what we used to mean when we said things like “I feel like a man trapped in a woman’s body” or vice versa. That phrase typically isn’t used any more because it implies that a person is only a man if they have a “male body”/a woman if they have a “female body,” but the intended meaning is the same.

I know that I’m transgender because I experience dysphoria. There are days that I look at myself and I just want to throw up because I don’t feel like I look right from a gender perspective. It feels like I’ve hijacked some other person’s body, like there’s a disconnect between my mind and the person I see in the mirror. Some days I look at my men’s clothes and putting them on feels like putting on clothes made of fire or acid. I see the hair on my legs and I want to rip each and every one of them out. This is dysphoria and it feels terrible.

Q2. What do you do when you feel this way? A2. Before I came out in November of 2016, I just buried it. As a child, I of course had no idea why I felt this way. Not only that, but even in the 1990s society wasn’t ready to talk about gender the way we talk about it now, so the idea of saying I was transgender could never cross my mind because there was next to no representation of transfolk. But now, when my dysphoria hits, I don’t avoid it. I listen to my body, think to myself, “Ok, so you’re not a man today,” and adjust my gender presentation accordingly. This brings me to my specific labels of being non-binary and genderfluid.

Traditionally in Western/American culture, we think of gender as a binary experience—everyone is either a man or a woman. Even most transfolk that you may be familiar with, like Caitlyn Jenner, Jazz Jennings, Laverne Cox, and Chaz Bono, are all binary transfolk. They identify as the “opposite” gender they were assigned at birth. Being non-binary means that I don’t completely identify as a man OR as a woman. Some non-binary people identify as more male than female, more female than male, or feel that they have no gender at all (this is known as being agender). However, I also identify as genderfluid, which means that similar to how water (or any fluid) in a glass can move fluidly in a glass depending on how you tilt it, my gender also moves fluidly.

Try thinking about gender as a spectrum (which nearly all psychologists agree it is), a line from 0 to 10. On one end, you have the feeling of being completely male all of the time and on the other side being completely female.

Though it is impossible to qualify with any kind of numbers, I would say my gender identity varies from day-to-day anywhere between a 4 and and a 10. Because I am more likely to be on the feminine side of the spectrum (6-10), I can also say that I’m transfeminine, meaning that while I don’t identify as a woman every single day (and thus am not a trans woman), I do, on average, tend to feel more like a woman than a man.

So, on days that I’m at a 4 or a 5, I probably just look like what you would expect a man to look like. However, if I’m at a 7, maybe I’ll wear “mens clothes” but also wear some make-up and/or nail polish. If I’m at a 9 or 10, I probably will wear “womens clothes,” make-up, a stuffed bra, and sometimes a wig. However, no matter what my gender expression/presentation is, I’m always non-binary.

Q3. Does this mean you’re a crossdresser? A3. No. Crossdressing is a hobby, which is totally fine if that’s what you’re into. It usually refers to men who always identify as men but find it “fun” to dress in women’s clothes. When I’m a man, I wear men’s clothes. When I’m a woman, I wear women’s clothes. It’s not a fetish or a hobby. I dress for whatever my gender is that day.

Q4. Does this mean you’re gay? A4. Because my gender is constantly shifting, labels like straight, gay, lesbian, and bisexual don’t apply to me. A person’s sexuality is defined not only by who they’re attracted to, but also their own gender. A man who is a attracted to men is gay. A woman who is attracted to men and women is bi. I am only attracted to women, but I myself am neither a man or a woman, so I can’t say that I’m straight, nor can I say that I’m a lesbian. Therefore, it’s most accurate for me to say that I’m attracted to women and just leave it at that.

Q5. What am I supposed to call you now? Are you changing your name? A5. I still go by Rich. If I’m in a very public place (like when placing an order at Starbucks for example) and I’m identifying/presenting as a woman and don’t want to get clocked as transgender, then I use the name Christina.

The only big change is that I don’t go by gendered pronouns (he/him or she/her). Like most non-binary people, I go by the gender neutral they/them. For example, a friend of mine wouldn’t say, “That’s my friend, Rich. He is an English teacher.” Instead, that friend would say, “This is my friend, Rich. They are an English teacher.” You might notice that I changed the gender preference on Facebook to reflect this (i.e. “Rich has changed their profile picture”).

Also, in general, I do not appreciate being addressed with terms/phrases like “Hey man” or “What’s up, dude?” I understand that most of the time when people use “man” or “dude,” they don’t mean it in a gendered way, but it still really aggravates my dysphoria to be called “dude,” even if I’m identifying/presenting as more masculine.

I also understand and can respect that having to think about my pronouns like this may seem strange and/or difficult to remember, but all I ask is that you try your best and definitely don’t misgender me on purpose.

Q6. Are you going to have “the surgery”/a sex change? A6. Just for the record, the term “sex change” isn’t used any more; the medical term is gender reassignment surgery (or GRS). But no, I am not. I do not plan on undergoing any kind of surgery to change my sex nor do I plan on taking hormones. My wardrobe and gender pronouns are enough to qualm any dysphoria.

I know that this is a lot to take in, both literally in the sense that it was almost 2,000 words long and uses terms you might never have heard of before, but also that it might be emotionally difficult, so thank you if you’ve made it this far into this letter. All I can say is that I wanted to come out to you because I love you and because I care about our relationship. I don’t want to be ashamed or hide who I am from you any more. Take as much time as you need to process this and again, please, if you have any more questions or concerns, talk to me. You can call me, text me, or write me a letter of your own, whatever makes you most comfortable.

Much thanks and even more love, Rich

[skeletonscribbles]

Wishes - Ch. 2

she promises, she delivers. this is the Mike Hanlon chapter which means it is Blessed. I think I got everyone on this taglist but if I missed someone lmk I’m a little outta my head atm

Rating: M, eventually. G right now, except for cursing. Pairings: Reddie, Stan/Bill/Mike, Benverly WC: like 3k? idk math Summary:

you know what tumblr there was gonna be a summary here but since you keep fucking up my apostrophes ive decided you dont deserve it

Other: Martin Short is actually a blessing dont listen to Mike

Chapter 1 / Read on Ao3

Tag List: @roobarrtrashmouth @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @tozier-club @aizeninlefox @stanheartsbill @latinxrichie @softeds @pretzelstoday @melancholypurple @wheezygreens @ayyyymichele @loser-marsh

MIKE HANLON - KIDCOT STATION AT THE CANADA PAVILION, EPCOT CENTER THURSDAY, OCTOBER 8TH 6:55 P.M.

There were two hours and five minutes until the Epcot fireworks show began, signalling the imminent close of the park, which meant there were three hours and five minutes until Mike Hanlon could finally clock out.

Not that he was counting, of course.

Sighing, he shifted in his seat at the Canada KidCot station. He’d been scheduled for an afternoon 8 hour shift, 11 to 7, but they’d asked for someone to extend because they were short-staffed and he apparently couldn’t help himself. He agreed to work until close, which was an extra three hours. Normally, he wouldn’t be phased by that, but he was bone tired today. He’d been up late with his Imagineer roommate, poring over plans and ideas for Star Wars.

He should have known better. No amount of arguing for Lando Calrissian or Finn was going to make Bob Iger, the CEO of the company, less racist, which meant that there was little to no hope for representation in the new Star Wars World. His roommate Ben had tried to warn him, but he’d pushed the issue anyway, feeling restless and irritated that he worked for a company that didn’t value people like him.

Now, he was paying the price. He stifled a yawn as a mother with two children hustled them by his table - he would kill for someone to actually talk to, but he wasn’t the type to hustle people over to him Gaston-style. (The Magic Kingdom Gaston was notorious for cat-calling girls, which Mike supposed was in character...but it was deeply unsettling to watch.)

Sighing, Mike picked up a marker and began to color one of the Duffy* drawings at his station. As bored as he was, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Disney, for all its flaws, was more of a home for him than Canada had ever been, and KidCot was his favorite rotation. He loved telling stories and teaching kids about his home country - he loved teaching.

He loved Canada, too...it was his home, after all, but it had never been freeing for him like Florida had. Home came with expectations - from his peers, from his teachers, and most of all, from his parents.

Mike loved his parents, but he was definitely not the son they needed. He had no interest in hanging around and taking over the farm. His dreams were bigger than that.

His parents, for their part, had totally supported his move...at their own expense. He felt guilty about that sometimes, but he had a feeling that all three of them knew, in their hearts, that it was the right choice for Mike to go.

He’d come to Disney World because he hadn’t known where else to go. Disney had a work program for international students that promised to give him opportunities to connect with people around the world, and that promise had really appealed to 21 year-old Mike Hanlon. It had been the right choice, definitely - his first three months at Star Tours had been like a dream. He got to talk Star Wars all day, he got to choose Rebel Spies**, the ride wasn’t that complicated, and he hadn’t had to slog all the way around the perimeter of Hollywood Studios to get to his attraction like the Tower of Terror bellhops did. (There had to be a more efficient way of moving around backstage, and someday, Mike imagined they’d invent it, but for the time being, it was long walks and bikes over at Studios.) All in all, it had been a perfect fit for him.

Then, he had three months doing outdoor vending (ODV) at Studios, and that was...less exciting, to say the least. ODV was hot, sweaty work, and the guests that wanted popcorn or pretzels or light-up Mickey ears were usually tired, hungry, and cranky (and sometimes racist). Still, that was manageable, especially when he got into the groove of Fantasmic shifts. In fact, he still picked up Fantasmic shifts from time to time, for nostalgia’s sake.

After that, his program was over, but he didn’t feel ready to do something else, so he went to Casting to see about applying for a more regular job (and what he would have to do to renew his US work visa). The only full-time position they had to offer him was in the Canada Pavilion, so that’s where he was for the time being. It wasn’t ideal (he was putting in to transfer back to attractions as soon as he was able), but he’d gotten that temporary worker visa for it, so he had no choice but to make it work. So far, the only thing that had been completely ruined for him was Martin Short movies, because after watching the Martin Short ‘O Canada’ film a thousand and twelve times per work shift, he’d sooner die than watch Three Amigos ever again in his life. (He considered himself extremely lucky to have found the roommate that he did via the CM Housing Facebook page, but if Ben put on Father of the Bride one more time, Mike was going to kick him out immediately and permanently.)

Mike finished coloring his Duffy and looked around. There were no kids anywhere in sight. It was around dinner time, and the Canada pavilion wasn’t a highly popular family destination to begin with, so Mike was going to be alone for a long while, people-watching as young hipster couples walked by with Disney shopping bags full of maple syrup and plaid clothes.

He was so zoned out, he almost missed the two attractive men that were walking out of a shop and towards him.

Now, Mike had spent quite a bit of time coming to terms with his sexual identity. His father extremely traditional - which was not to say close-minded, but there was just no opportunity for exploration on the farm. It wouldn’t have made sense.

Disney was on the extreme opposite end of that spectrum. A huge percentage of male Cast Members were gay, and for the first time, Mike had the opportunity to consider his own feelings.

As it turned out, he was pretty equally interested in men and women. He’d had a couple of short relationships during his time in the States with people of both genders, and they’d all been pretty nice...just, not lasting, and none of the people he had dated had been as compelling as the two men - a redhead and a boy with light brown curls, he could see now - that were walking his way.

It was a bit disconcerting, actually. Mike usually wasn’t attracted to white people (they were so entitled and pasty), but there was something almost cosmic about these two. It felt like the universe calling.

Before they got close enough to see him, Light Brown Curls stopped and turned to the redhead, holding up a Disney bag and smirking. The redhead blushed and grabbed for the bag, but Curls swiftly moved it behind his back. They began to engage in a game of keep-away. Mike was mesmerized.

“You trying to stamp their passports?” Mike jumped at the sound of a leering female voice, and almost fell out of his chair. “If you know what I mean?”

“Ma’am, I---” he began, turning to look at the perpetrator and stopping short when he saw her pretty green eyes. “Huh?”

She laughed prettily. “The ginger making an idiot of himself is named Bill. He works Guest Relations over at MK, and he’s been super hung up on these two guys he saw in passing in the Boardwalk slash Epcot area recently. Classic pining gay.”

Mike looked back over at the two men. The ginger (Bill) had retrieved his bag, and was waving it in front of Curls’ face. Curls seemed unimpressed.

“Is the skinny brunette boy one of the guys Bill was pining over?” Mike guessed, watching the bounce of the haughty man’s curls.

“Yep,” said the girl, joining Mike in looking over. “His name’s Stan, apparently. He’s a front desk coordinator over at Yacht, because of course he is. Everyone at Yacht is so fucking put together. Pardon my French.”

“It’s a relief to hear cursing every once in a while,” Mike admitted. “It can’t be princesses and rainbows all the time.”

The girl nodded appreciatively. “I like your style. I’m Beverly. I work in costuming over at MK.”

“Oh, word.” Mike stuck out a hand for her to shake. She took it, and he was immediately impressed by the subtle strength in her grip. “I’m Mike. You wanna learn about Canada?”

“At some point,” Beverly said, smiling amusedly. “Right now, though, I’m trying to play matchmaker.”

Mike squinted at her, confused. “Aren’t your friends already together, though? I thought you were just third-wheeling.”

“Fourth-wheeling, if all goes to plan.” Beverly waggled her eyebrows. “Weren’t you wondering who else Bill has a crush on around here? I did say that he was pining over two guys.”

Mike’s stomach lurched. Pretty boys weren’t generally in the business of looking Mike Hanlon’s way...unless he was reading the whole thing wrong?

“No, but there’s already...they’re already….” Mike protested weakly, hoping his assumptions were correct. “I couldn’t intrude.”

Beverly shrugged her freckled shoulders, looking down nonchalantly. “Two’s an arbitrary number, bud. You can do whatever you want.”

The boys’ eyes were on Mike, now - they must have noticed him talking to their friend. The redhead was smiling, and Mike suddenly felt hot.

Being with more than one person at a time had never occurred to Mike, but now that the idea had been planted, it was taking root in a really fast and embarrassing way.

“Bill, Stan,” Beverly called, beaming, “meet my new friend Mike. He’s from Canada.”

Feeling a little stupid, Mike gestured to his nametag. “Saskatchewan.”

“Mike from Saskatchewan.” Stan stepped forward, confident and smooth. “Very, very nice to meet you.”

Bill smiled knowingly. “Told you, didn’t I?”

“You were right,” Stan said, eyes never leaving Mike.

Mike looked between the two, hoping for an explanation, and Bill promptly provided him with one. “I saw you here the other day, talking to kids. You’ve got incredible charisma.”

Mike was painfully cognizant of the blood rushing to his cheeks. “Thanks. Uh. Bev says you guys are CMs, too?”

“Yep!” Bill tapped his chest where his name tag would be if he were in costume. “I’m in the Magic Kingdom, and Stan’s your neighbor over at the Yacht Club.”

“It’s a shame you don’t have any guests,” said Stan, examining the Duffy coloring pages at Mike’s table. “I don’t know why people aren’t flocking to you, honestly. You seem like the kind of person that I’d actually enjoy learning about Canada from.”

“Do you wanna hear some facts?” Mike asked, and then immediately cringed. Why couldn’t he say something compelling for once?

Fortunately, Bill and Stan seemed to find it endearing rather than weird. Stan opened his mouth to speak again…

...and was immediately interrupted by a freckly, frizzy-haired tornado of a human being, who swept in and slung his absurdly long arms over Bill and Stan’s shoulders. Mike blinked rapidly, trying to take stock of the situation, but before he could get his bearings, the new person adjusted his glasses and started speaking in a thick Russian accent.

“Eet eez veddy hahd, Comrade, for me to trahhck you eef you do not answer calls, da?” He was talking to Stan, but Bill seemed to recognize him, too, if his eye roll was any indication.

“Why the fuck did you need to find me at all?” Stan groaned. It was obvious that he was fond of this weird, lanky guy, but he was playing at irritation. “I turned off my phone for a reason, you nerd. Take a hint.”

“Eh, I was bored. Also kinda sad, thanks to Big Bill here.” The guy abruptly stopped with the accent, turned to Bill, and tutted loudly. “Can you believe that Bill stood in the way of true love today? Also, how the hell do you know Bill, Stanny?”

“We’ve literally just met,” Stan said, “and preventing you from feeling love is only serving to make him more attractive to me, so by all means, Bill, continue.”

“It’s not up to me,” Bill said sadly, “and tragically, Eddie does think he’s hot.”

The third guy inhaled sharply. “Hold on, say that last bit again.”

“Mike, this is Richie.” Bill ignored Richie’s request and turned to Mike. “He’s bad, sorry.”

Richie’s eyes flicked up to Mike for the first time. Mike sat awkwardly as Richie took him in, smiled, and said, “A fucking pleasure. Has anyone ever told you that red’s your color?”

“Just you,” Mike replied honestly.

“Glad I could be your first.” Richie winked, and Mike felt charmed in spite of himself.

“Okay, so how do we all know each other again?” Bev asked, frowning. “I know Rich because he’s a giant pain in my ass when he comes through costuming, I know Bill because I know Bill, and now I know Stan and Mike through Bill…”

“Richie’s my roommate,” Stan said flatly. “Unfortunately.”

Bill whipped around to stare accusingly at Richie. “You’ve been keeping that from me?”

“Hey, I didn’t know you were into stuck-up assholes,” Richie shrugged. “Besides, that’s justice in action for not giving Cute Character Attendant Eddie my number.”

“He was working,” Bill said defensively.

“He was working,” Richie parroted mockingly. “That’s never stopped me from hitting on him before, and it won’t stop me again.”

“I wouldn't,” Bill warned. “Eddie’s no joke.”

“Didn’t say he was,” Richie agreed, bouncing excitedly. “Did he actually say I was hot, though, because--”

“Where do you work, Richie?” Mike asked, trying to save Bill from the conversation.

Richie’s smile was huge and sweet. “The World Famous Jungle Cruise, of course! Why, you itchin’ to ride my bote?” His expression turned suggestive. “Because I’d let you. It’d be worth the long, painful death Stan and Bill would put me through--”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Bill said loudly, elbowing Richie hard in the gut. Richie doubled over on to the damp wood of the pavilion floor.

Stan quirked an eyebrow, obviously impressed. “Beep beep, huh? I’ll have to remember that for next time.” He brushed Bill’s arm with his hand as he said it, and the corner of Bill’s mouth twitched up. Mike was enamoured by the interaction, and wanted more than anything to be on the other side of the table, included in whatever it was they had going on…

...fuck, he was so fucking fucked.

“Richie, if you’re not here for any real reason, then you should come with me,” said Beverly, looking like she was already regretting her offer. “I was gonna ditch these three in a couple of minutes, anyway. Let ‘em have a Food and Wine date, or something.”

“You’re sweet, Bevvy.” Richie gave her a sappy look as he peeled himself off of the floor. “Askin’ me out. Adorable. Unfortunately, I’m gonna have to pass, because Bill, I’m not going anywhere until you promise to get me Cute Eddie’s number.”

“You’re really dedicated to that, huh?” Bill asked, tone halfway between ‘impressed’ and ‘alarmed’. “What the hell happened between you two to make you so frigging obsessed, Rich? Normally you’re all jokes and no follow-through.”

Richie tried to be nonchalant, but Mike could see a bit of red creeping up his neck under the collar of his shitty Toy Story t-shirt. He was silent for a moment, and then when he spoke, his voice was soft. “He’s just...I don’t….he’s all the stuff I like, you know?”

Mike looked at Bill, whose forehead was scrunched up in obvious concern at Richie’s words, and then at Stan, who had his hands delicately on his hips and was trying and failing to not seem affected, and understood that he, Mike Hanlon, knew exactly what Richie was talking about.

“Let’s talk more about this later,” Bill finally suggested after a long moment. “Okay?”

Richie nodded quietly. Something had happened in the last few minutes...it was like someone had toggled the Richie off-switch. Mike hoped it wasn’t something he had said. “Roger that, Billiam.”

“Hey,” Mike said, feeling suddenly bold in the wake of Richie’s vulnerability. “Listen. I can’t hang with you all now, because I won’t be off of work until 22:00. If you guys are free and still awake at that point, though, y’all can come to my place after I’m done. I can write down an address. I bet my roommate won’t mind.”

Bill’s responding smile could have lit up the whole park. “I’d love that.”

“Me too,” Stan said immediately, looking between Bill and Mike with a soft expression (well, soft for Stan the consummate professional, anyway).

“You want us there, too?” Richie asked cautiously.

Mike nodded, and was relieved to note that Stan and Bill were nodding too. “Dude, I could really use some friends. I’m fresh out of those.”

With that, the tension was broken. Richie let out a great howling laugh, and moved over to clap Mike on the back. “Oh, Mikey! You just hit the friend jackpot, my man. Just ask Stanley Uris! Richie Tozier’s a top notch amigo.”

Stan shrugged listlessly. “I mean, if you like people that try to give you sloppy handies every time they’re intoxicated.”

Richie’s expression twisted up, and for a split second, Mike thought he was gonna lose it, but then instead of yelling, Richie groaned. “They’re not sloppy, Stanley, Jesus Christ.”

“Jesus who?” Stan asked, reaching out to yank on Richie’s sleeve, which presumably was meant to signal that he was kidding. “Anyways, yes, the three of us will be there, Mike. Bev?”

“That depends,” she said slyly. “Is your roomie hot, Mikey?”

Mike couldn’t help but laugh at that. Ben was an objectively handsome man, but he was less sexy than he was warm and comforting. “He’s a beautiful, wonderful guy, Beverly.”

“Then of course,” she agreed, laughing her little laugh again. “Write your address on the back of one of these Duffys, yeah?”

Mike obliged her, and when he was done, Stan took the paper and folded it up neatly, ultimately placing it in the breast pocket of his shirt.

“All right,” Richie announced. “Parting is such sweet sorrow, Micycle, but we must go purchase overpriced cocktails now. Adieu.”

“Bye!” Bev called, and almost immediately, the two of them were off, merrily making their way to the main World Showcase walkway.

Stan and Bill lingered for another moment. They were both looking at Mike with expressions that made Mike feel like his stomach was going to explode with butterflies. He didn’t know what it was about these two that made him feel all of 17 again, but he wasn’t complaining. He hadn’t been this excited about romance since middle school.

“We’ll see you later, okay?” Stan said assuringly. He slid his hand into Bill’s after he spoke, and Mike watched their fingers entwine. Absurdly, he wasn’t jealous at all...any interaction at all between the three of them felt right and good.

“Have a nice couple of hours,” Mike said, trying to convey the giddiness he was feeling through his words. “Enjoy the fireworks!”

“It’ll be nicer when we’re all together,” Bill said meaningfully, and then he and Stan were disappearing into the throng, too.

It looked like it was going to be another late night for Mike Hanlon...but somehow, he didn’t think he was going to regret this one tomorrow.

One hour and three minutes until park close, two hours and three minutes until clock-out.

Notes:

we don't deserve Mike Hanlon

*Duffy is Mickey's teddy bear, apparently. He's very popular in Japan. You used to be able to go to a Duffy meet and greet in Epcot, which is fucking wild.

**There's a moment in the Star Tours ride where one guest on that particular simulator is identified as a "Rebel Spy". The cast members get to pick that guest. I have never been that guest, and I will be bitter about that until my dying day.

[silver-spider-art]

Okay... so I had horrible writer's block and couldn’t work on the other projects I had going so I decided to make this self-indulgent AU that no one asked for. All because I had a really good idea for Rhys and the other story is a Tim story. I’m going to actually try and finish the whole thing before posting it to AO3 for once, but I thought I’d put a teaser up? Maybe if someone is interested in being a sounding block for ideas hmu. I love talking this stuff out with fellow fans. ^^;;

It's going to be a modern AU (slightly future tech), domestic, assassins/spies, transgender coming out story, autistic characters (POV who doesn’t know he’s autistic yet), fake marriage, pinning, slow burn, awkward flirting, secrets and betrayals, faked deaths, misunderstanding... basically just all the shit I love combined with a stupidly personal exploration of my own identity issues. I’m by no means an expert but the aspects relating to autism and transmasculinity are based on my own experiences and research. I say this because they both will play major roles in later plot points. I have everything but the ending plotted out. 

This will eventually include Rhack (fake marriage), Rhysothy (pinning), Rhysha (pinning), Okay Dad Jack, Trans!Tim, Trans!Rhys, Atlas!Rhys, Dark!Rhys, autistic teenage Angel, side characters or cameos from most the rest of Tales, BL1, BL2, and the PreSequel

Anyway... for your interest:

a teaser that is 4k words >_>

tw for death, blood, and dubious morals

featuring Rhys, Zer0, and Sasha

(the title comes from The Village by Wrabel)

unbetaed, edited while tired

Written In Blood

Ch 0.5 (there's something wrong with)

Rhys really did love his work on days like these. It certainly wasn't what his parents had wanted for him when they'd dreamed up the future plans for their rosy-cheeked child. Hell, it wasn't even what he'd wanted for himself when he'd gone off to college to get his double major in business and computer science. Back then, fresh-faced and full of hope and ambition, Rhys had dreamed of owning his own company. He’d practiced inspiring speeches into the mirror and designed business cards for his future company, dreaming of tech mobiles or ambitious startups in Silicon Valley. So full of boundless ambition and idealistic dreams. Even as the reality of it had set in, unpaid internships and a soul-crushing entry position in one of the big five, he’d still longed for more. That one day, if he worked hard enough, he’d be the one making decisions in the huge cushy corner office with a view over the entire city instead of filing meaningless paperwork… or getting his boss coffee… or fending off lewd sexual advances…

But life tended to take strange turns. Back in those days, this had been one of the companies he’d applied to. In another life, he could be on his way to one of the many cubicles right now. Funny, how life goes.

Leaning back against the elevator wall, Rhys inspected himself in the mirrored surface, smoothing back a few stray strands of auburn hair that had escaped the expensive product holding it all into styled perfection. Sharp and dangerous, if he said so himself. And he did. Rhys didn’t care what Yvette said, he looked cool. His charcoal suit fit like a glove, all long lines and tailored seams, making his already long legs even longer. Heeled boots pushed him just over six feet and frankly made his ass look great. Carefully he adjusted his skinny tie (which was also very in style, thank you very much Yvette), focusing on maneuvering his prosthetic arm through the sensors attached to his chest and shoulder. The best money could buy and it had been worth every penny. None of the other arms he'd ever owned could come close to matching its fine motor control and while some were put off by the obvious robotical nature of it, Rhys reveled in it. It was more than human. A symbol of how he was rising above the limitations of his own body. Function and beauty in one. Exactly the aesthetic he was striving for. Unlike his left eye which was entirely cosmetic. A vanity purchase his *supposed* best friends still mocked him for. The iris of the prosthetic eye was inhumanly blue made tiny sapphires set in a gold ring. It twinkled and sparkled under the harsh fluorescent light as Rhys smoothed down his suit jacket, eyeing the elevators numbered lights. As the doors opened, he was moving before they’d even stopped, sliding out into the group waiting to descend.

Keeping a sneer etched into his face, Rhys passed men and women in corporate approved orange, blues, and greys who peeked nervously up at him as he strode past their cubicles. A raised eyebrow and his clearly too important for this building wardrobe sent them hurriedly back to work, trying their best to avoid his further attention. No one wanted to make eye contact for fear he was the boss's boss or some other unknown overlord. Rhys really did feel he had the look of it, with the Maliwan tie clip and crisp orange waistcoat. He’d never minded Maliwan’s colors, he would have fit in well here… in another life. But never one of them, he overlooked the terrified office drones with a frown, eye scanning the room for his goal. He was made for more than that unappreciated drudgery in too loud and overcrowded spaces.

It had been quite the wakeup call during his first internship out of college, to discover just how grey the morality of the corporate world really was.  He knew the giant megacorps didn’t value human life, not when there was money to be made, and Rhys had wanted that money. He really had. But it had been something else entirely to realize that competition amongst his fellow workers not only included manipulation, bribery, embezzlement, and social backstabbing… but literal backstabbing as well. Anything went… as long as you increased the quarterly profit margin and met your deadline (and didn’t get caught). Rhys’s moral might have been loose, but that was a step further than he could handle. When his internship had ended, he hadn’t sought employment.

How funny, the way things could change so quickly.

Weaving his way through the sea of cubicles, Rhys neared the corner office. He couldn’t afford to linger long. The security clearance badge pinned to his vest had easily passed a cursory inspection and his hacking program had gotten him added to the list of visitors for the day, but the longer he stayed the greater the chance he’d been seen through. Pausing at the water cooler he rolled up the sleeve of his jacket to fetch the lock picks stored in his arm's hidden compartment, barely able to contain the smug grin that fell over his features. He'd beeped, of course, when he'd passed through the metal detector so many floors below but wouldn't he, with that obvious metal arm. He'd laughed and flirted with the guard while they'd hand scanned him with the wand, with them apologizing but, "rules are rules, you know?" Rhys sympathized with them in easy comradery, showing off his technological wonder of an arm for their amazement before being waved on through. Really, it was all too easy sometimes. Maliwan should be ashamed of themselves.

Letting his eye wander the room to make sure his path was clear, all that remained between him and files worth a very cushy paycheck was one locked door. If everything had gone to plan, Mr. Vertis would be tied up downstairs with Sasha for another hour at least, leaving Rhys plenty of time to get through whatever paltry security protocols where in place. Sliding in close to the door and blocking the lock with his body, he kept his shoulders relaxed. Nothing to be alarmed about, nothing out of the ordinary. He hoped if he chanted it in his head loud enough, somehow all the eyes in the room would remain at their computers. He strained to listen for any approaching footsteps over the click-clack of typing all around him. As he worked his picks into the lock, he felt more than heard, his phone go off, vibrating against his leg. Cursing under his breath, Rhys focused on twisting the lock open with deft movements, all was still within Mr. Vertis’s darkened office so whatever issue Sasha ran into could wait until he wasn't in the open. God, he hoped they hadn't miscalculated the mark's tastes. He still recalled all too vividly the time he'd been flat out rejected by a previous mark for being a twink. As much as Rhys had been relieved to stop flirting with the asshole, the mistake had cost them over five grand as they’d scrambled to improvise.

~*~*~

As the lock finally clicked open, Rhys slid gratefully into the darkened office. His sigh of relief, however, was cut abruptly short by the knife suddenly pressed against his throat. Behind him, he heard the door seal once more, blocking out prying eyes… and escape.

"Uninvited guest, you just set off my trap card. Your death approaches.”

The cooling body slumped over the desk with the dark stain seeping ominously into the carpet should have been enough to quell Rhys’s fool mouth, but he *knew* that voice. Or at least the trademark speech pattern tinged with a robotic warble.

"Oh- ooh my god," Rhys whispered, his heart pounded loudly in his ears, "I... um..." he fought to keep still as his body went to war with itself. Fear dropping out his stomach even as he felt his face heat, "I just- I just want to say, I think you’re really cool."

That was probably the least professional thing he could do in this given situation... but Zer0 was a *legend*. The mysterious assassin, known only as a number, lived and breathed aesthetic. It was anyone’s guess if Zer0 actually was Japanese, but the assassin certainly borrowed heavily from the culture, wielding a chokutō inspired sword and speaking in haiku. According to rumor and fan site gossip (which Rhys in no way followed at all), Zer0 was skilled in complicated origami and could write kanji. Even Zer0's gender was hotly debated by fans. Everything about the person beside him, Rhys admired.

But truthfully, right now, he really wished the assassin hadn’t snuck up on his blind side. It was making getting a good read on the killer quite difficult. The blade shifted, making Rhys’s breath catch. As quick as his reflexes had gotten over the past years, there was no way he could pull out the hidden knife from his prosthetic and turn before Zer0 opened veins. It had barely touched him but the finely honed edge simple exuded sharpness and death. This is why Rhys avoided combat in general. Being one-eyed was a fatal disadvantage in situations like this. Actually, there wasn't ever a good time to lack depth perception. But there was a time and place for cursing his body and this really wasn't it. Not when it felt like the blade might nick his throat with every shallow breath.

“Praise won’t stay my blade, bathed in blood is just as good. Fool to be a fan.”

"Fan? Oh god, no" Rhys squeaked, cursing his vocal cords for their utter betrayal. He forced laugh that sounded too harsh. He wasn’t an obsessed fan… it was… professional interest, "I just admire your work is all, your craftsmanship. I mean, everyone in the business knows of Zero," his laugh pitched up, was that blood running down his chest or sweat? His hand trembled, the flesh betraying him in a way that the metal never did. His mouth joined the betrayal as he babbled, words flowing out without filter, "Not that I’m even close to being in your league.”

He must sound like a panicked idiot. Which... he was. He was going to embarrass himself *and* die. Rhys wasn't entirely sure which one was worse. And Zer0 hadn't said anything or moved. Was he just going to stand there? This was lasting too long. His shirt was already sticking to him with what Rhys truly hoped was just sweat... though that was bad enough. And the walls. The walls were too thin, Rhys could hear the oblivious idiots on the other side of the wall still typing away on their keyboards, the sound burrowing its way into his skull as he strained to get a read on the assassin.

“I mean-" Rhys blurted, "I’m just here for the computer. No mind to me if the guy is dead right? I mean… my client won’t really be happy… but it doesn’t bother me,” he quickly assured, unable to stop the stream of words from leaving his mouth, “Ha ha, I’ll just hope he pays me in full before reading the new, right? Have to roll with the punches in this business,” Rhys’s awkward laugh trailed off as he tried to catch a glimpse past his own nose of the assassin that held his life in judgment. His phone vibrated against his thigh like he didn’t already know that the plan had crashed and burned horribly.

The blade at his throat lowed an inch and Rhys sucked in a greedy lungful of air, turning his head enough to finally glimpse the near featureless black helmet that covered Zer0’s face. A red [ . . . ] glowed faintly within the dark mask, changing into [ ? ] as Rhys watched.

"Such a gilded thief, shadows could never hide you, you are not common."

“Thank you? But I’m not a thief,” what was he supposed to say to something like that. The robotic pitch made it that much harder for him to tell if the tone was sarcastic or accusatory or simply observational. Rhys moved to cross his arms over his chest, brows furrowed, but the shimmer of light flashing off the dark blade as it was flicked back up, aborted the motion leaving Rhys’s arms hanging uncomfortable outstretched and decidedly uncool looking.

Uncertain if it would actually help his case, he filled the potent silence regardless, “I’m an assassin. Like you? I mean, obviously not as awesome as you are. And I don’t just do assassinations… but…” his left hand gave a nervous twitch as he resisted the urge to tug at his hair. He finished lamely, “…yeah… I steal stuff… sometimes,” or most of the time.

The blade swished through the air and clicked back into its sheath leaving Rhys’s legs feeling like they were made of jello. Sagging, Rhys hurried to put distance between himself and the dangerous assassin before him.

"Has anyone told, it’s a fool who runs his mouth. Prattling on and on, benefit to me alone. I claim the victory here."

He really didn't need Zer0 to tell him that. Rhys was painfully aware of his flaws. If he wasn't already, he had Fi and Sash to point them out regularly as reminders. He scowled in what wasn't a pout no matter what anyone said. He still felt off kilter. If anything, being free from the blade only made it worse, the adrenaline leaving his limbs shaking with nothing to do. Rhys carded his fingers through his hair, the gelled locks breaking apart under his fingers, but the simple repetitive motion did more to calm him than anything else could.

"I shall have your name, if trust is broken after, I shall hunt you down."

Damn this was still going sideways but he couldn't think fast enough to work out any other options. Scowl deepening, he complied, “Rhys Oliver, of Atlas.”

The [ ! ] that appeared on the assassin’s mask filled Rhys with a modicum of smug satisfaction. Five years ago Atlas was all but a footnote in history. Yet now Rhys, with the help of his friends, had raised it like the proverbial phoenix. Slowly but surely, the name Atlas was becoming relevant again. Though… maybe admitting to being from what could be seen as a rival organization wasn’t the *best* move Rhys could have made in this moment. If Fiona was here she would have smooth-talked her way out of revealing so much, she was always better at improving than Rhys was. Or she’d have gotten shot at already. That was nearly equally likely some days.

“I have heard of this, its corpse thought rotten away. Yet you claim it yours?”

“Atlas was never dead,” Rhys huffed defending his tiny operation, “We’re small right now but growing,” did he just volunteer too much? Ugh, he wished he had Yvette on a radio line but they hadn’t been able to get the headset past the security checkpoint. He felt naked without his support line. Her calm reassurance and direction in his ear.

Zer0 tipped his head, only serving to remind Rhys how much taller the lanky assassin was comparatively. Idly he wondered what was under that suit… Rhys bit his lip, his mind trailing back the myriad of speculation he’d read on that subject. Sucking in a sharp breath, he snapped his eyes back up, feeling his face heat. This was so not the place. Real spies never bought their way out of death by offering sexual favors. Or at least Rhys was fairly certain that was the case. He wasn’t going to risk his neck offering. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, a protective barrier to his own wild imagination. Which hurt more than it should… that could cause issues if they did fight. But at least his hand was nearer to his weapon now.

“Atlas is reborn, this I must see for myself. You’ll introduce me?”

“What? Oh, I mean, yeah, sure. Anytime,” Rhys stammered. This was so not good. He was acting like a blushing teenager. Maybe it was actually a good thing no one had eyes on him. Sasha would never let him live this down.

“An intriguing talk but time presses ever on, I shall leave you now.”

Zer0 turned toward the large window behind the desk, a sheer drop down 53 stories, and glanced back only briefly. [ <3 ] lit up on the helmet as Zer0 gave Rhys a cheery, “Goodbye.” The assassin’s suit seemed to shimmer, an active camo making the edges harder to distinguish in the dark.  Taking a half step forward, Rhys could still track Zer0’s movement as the assassin pushed open the window and dove out. Gripping the edge and peering down was enough to seize Rhys’s stomach into knots. Too high. He squeezed his eyes shut and staggered back like the fucking armature that he apparently was. He was never going to be as cool as someone like Zer0. It was hopeless. Just a dork dressing up and pretending to be James Bond.

Running his left hand, Rhys sighed heavily. When that didn’t work, slapping his own cheek, Rhys berated himself, “Focus, you still have a job to do, dum dum.”

~*~*~

With a great deal of distaste, he nudged the cooling body aside. That was certainly unfortunate. Fi would have her work cut out for her, but with luck, the data might be even more valuable to the right buyer because of the inevitable shift in power dynamics. If they acted fast enough. They might even get more than originally offered.

Careful as he tried, Rhys couldn’t get to the computer terminal without stepping in the blood. The carpet squished wetly around the slick soles of his leather boots. He wasn’t dressed for bodily fluids today. It was going to stain. Or worse seep into his socks. He was not walking around with wet socks. It was bad enough his shirt was binding up and clinging to him with drying sweat making just standing unbearably uncomfortable. He took a deep breath through his mouth, trying to ignore the ripening scent, and plugged in his flash drive to activate rhys_winz.exe. While the hacking program did its thing, he browsed through the unsecured files for important keywords, copying anything that looked promising. He could sort through it all at leisure later when he wasn’t hovering over a smelly corpse. Preferably with a cup of coffee or some ice cream. No, definitely ice cream. Today deserved ice cream.

God, the smell really was unpleasant already. This is why he refused jobs that required handing bodies after the fact. Speaking of which, he took it all back. He hated this job. This wasn’t supposed to *be* a messy mission. Yet because no one in all the city had worse luck than he did, here he was, standing in blood and the download *still* wasn’t done. Rhys was sure even the corpse would agree that Rhys’s luck was worse. The dead guy didn’t have to deal with his own stink.

His endless list of complaints stalled as the popup informed him of the download’s success. Slotting the drive back into the watertight storage in his arm, Rhys was left with only one pressing problem… bloody footprints. His bloody footprints. He hated that there was really only one solution. Standing at the door, he held his bloody leather boots in hand. Real leather, mind you. He’d had to import them! Real leather was so rare nowadays. And even if they hadn’t been god awful expensive, he couldn’t just leave them at the crime scene either.

Rhys walked out of the office distinctly less cool than he’d entered. Face beet red, he prayed no one questioned the garbage bag clutched in his fist… or his brightly colored fish socks now on display. God, how many people were *in* this damn building? Every set of eyes crawled over his skin but he refused to meet their questioning gazes. It was probably all in his head anyway. Either that or security was going to be waiting with an armed escort when he got off at ground level. He jabbed the elevator button with prejudice, shoulders tense.

~*~*~

Fuck. His phone. He’d forgotten all about it after the Zer0 debacle. He pulled out the disposable burner, opening up the deluge of texts he’d gotten from an unsaved number.

>> greet & meet failed >> still no luck, be safe!! >> getting odd looks, have 2 bail >> where r u? >> Hey dork, u alive??? >> if u r making me worry for nothing I’m going 2 kick ur ass >> if ur dead im taking ur pc >> don’t be dead, I dont know ur password

Cradling his bagged boots to his chest, Rhys chewed his lower lip, chuckling under his breath. I’d been just over three years now since he’d first run into Fiona and Sasha but now he couldn’t picture his life without them in it. They could be brash and rude… but they really did care. In their own way. He liked to imagine it was what having a sibling was like. Yvette seemed to think so and Rhys took her word for it seeing as both he and Vaughn were only children. But Sasha, Rhys was especially fond of her. Fond was likely underselling the soft feeling that curled in his chest when he thought of her, but Sahsa had made it abundantly clear that she wasn't interested in anything serious. Which… which was fine. Good even. It meant that Rhys didn’t have to worry about any awkward explanations or reveals later down the road. Just friends was fine. They clicked and she was fun to work with even though she terrified him at times.

One handed, he typed out a quick reply. Left thumb moving with practiced ease.

<< not dead, call off the funeral << done & done but messy << so ready to bail

He watched the eclipses dance as the other side of the conversation typed. Sasha must have been waiting for his reply. With luck, she’d already fetched the car.

>> tnx 4 the heart attack dork!! >> outside

Never trusting their messages not to be intercepted, they always avoided anything incriminating or too descriptive. You could never be too safe, after all, but he had to laugh that their secret agent spy code was just vague text speak and knowing each other well enough to read between the lines. It really dispelled the glamorous spy mythos. Real life had far more bloody shoes and aching ribs than cocktails and fast cars.

~*~*~

As it turned out, clutching a trash bag and brooding in an elevator didn’t gain as many strange looks as he’d feared. A woman in a crisp suit gave a snorting laugh as she entered the elevator with him, though Rhys wasn’t sure if it was his face or his socks that drew her humor. And that had been the most notable reaction. Most simply turned a blind eye to him. The purposeful sort or ignoring that likely meant they were filing away future blackmail (what little good that would do them) but it served Rhys well enough. Apparently leaving a head office in an embarrassing state wasn’t all that surprising. All the more reason to be glad he’d missed out on such exciting corporate affairs.

It was a struggle to remember to walk as he exited the elevator, pulling away from the business men and women. Security was going to be a whole new issue. They *would* open the bag. Then they’d see the blood. Then there would be questions he couldn’t flirt his way past. With a heavy heart and cursing his completely shit luck, he turned toward the ground level food court. Selecting a very full trash can he stuffed his bagged boots deep into the mess of greasy burger wrappers and paper cups. Rhys said a brief farewell to his boots, parted from this world too soon. His closet would be all that much emptier without them. The world that much colder. He blinked back a tear.

~*~*~

“Nice socks,” the guard’s barely held back smirk was beyond punchable. They were the same two guards as when he’d entered the security checkpoint what felt like ages ago. The other leaning casually back on their shared desk.

Holding his arms up, Rhys breathed through his nose. He was almost out, “Thanks.”

The other one had the audacity to wink, “Maybe if you’re naughty next time we can have a cavity search.”

What even was that? Was that supposed to be a pickup line? His head frazzled from the careful plan falling apart, Rhys was too tired to piece out what the hell was going on. He scrambled for some semblance of a script and hoped the flirty executive role still worked sans boots, “Next time, cowboy.”

It seemed to work. At the very least they laughed and released him. He couldn’t be bothered to care more than that he was leaving. All that much closer to his own room and chocolate cookie dough ice cream. After he cleared the obstacle that was his concerned friends… he sagged, staring down at his toes as he exited onto the city street. His socks really were ruined at this point. There was going to be no salvaging them from the sidewalk dirt, not when he could feel the grit from the office building still clinging to them. The purple and red fish mocked him as he glowered.

“I gotta say, that’s quite the fashion statement you got going there, dork,” a punch to his fleshy arm signaled Sasha’s arrival.

Her words mocked, but he knew her well enough to understand that she really cared. It was unlike any of the friendships Rhys had previously, but it felt stronger for it. Besides, he often felt sarcasm was greatly underappreciated and Sasha always seemed to get when he was joking. Unlike Fi. She was just scary mean sometimes.

“Ha ha,” Rhys rolled his eye, “Come on, I’m starving.”

“Uh, huh. Don’t pout, it couldn’t have been *that* bad,” Sasha pointed out.

He was in one piece so she was right on the account. But he wasn’t going to admit that, “I’m not pouting.”

“So is that why you could land aircraft on your bottom lip then?” her laugh was utterly fake, though Rhys doubted anyone who didn’t know her would be able to tell. It’d taken him long enough to learn the difference.

She steered him easily through the crowd and into the twists of side streets to their getaway car. Casual as could be. Just two friends giving each other shit. Rhys followed without thought, it was so much easier to navigate when someone else led and he could follow her anywhere.

“I hate you,” he didn’t.

~*~*~

[queertheology]

When and How to Have Sex

Celibacy The First Time.

I was taught one thing about sex: don’t have it until you’re married. That’s it. That was the entirety of my sexual education. I wasn’t taught about intimacy or consent or safer sex. I wasn’t even taught about the mechanics of it. It was assumed that since sex was natural once you got married you’d just figure it out. In fact, that was pretty much promised: if you waited until you got married to have sex you would have a wonderful and fulfilling sex life. 

But only if you were heterosexual.

Ah yes. Queer and transgender people weren’t supposed to exist. And when they did exist they were supposed to either cease existing or, barring that, remain celibate forever.

I grew up with all of these messages that basically said sex was either super dirty and wrong or a holy mystical union between a man and his wife. And I felt on the outside of both conversations.

As I was coming to terms with the fact that I wasn’t straight (I had no language for gender identity at this point) I wasn’t all that interested in sex. Probably because I didn’t know anything about it. What I was interested in was intimacy. I wanted to be close to another person. I wanted to hold and be held. I wanted to kiss someone. I wanted to not feel so damn alone. I was also determined to still be a good evangelical Christian. I promised myself (and anyone who would listen) that I was going to be celibate forever. I thought that was the only way to honor God.

The truth? It was the only way to make my conservative Christian church (and family) happy. 

I held firm in my commitment to celibacy…until I fell in love. Those who ask us to remain celibate forever ask us to deny ourselves of companionship and closeness. I do believe there are people who are called to celibacy (either for a certain time or for a lifetime) but it is not all queer people; that belief is toxic and needs to go.

No Sex Until Marriage.

I didn’t mean to fall in love it just did. I wrestled with my faith again and decided that I would simply wait to have sex until I was married. Sure, the church wouldn’t recognize my marriage, but so what. I would still be honoring what I thought was right.

Now here’s where it gets really complicated. I was with someone I was really attracted to. I wanted to have sex. But I didn’t think I could have sex until I was married. So we rushed into marriage. From the time we met to the time we got married it was only about a year.

Looking back I cringe because we were clearly not ready to get married. Neither of us were financially secure. We still were getting to know one another. There were all sorts of red flags that I ignored and so much of it is because of sex.

We were attracted to one another, definitely. But ready for a lifetime commitment? No.

We waited until we got engaged and then we had sex. And it was okay. Not great. It wasn’t the life changing thing I had been promised. Now, some people will say that’s because we were queer. Or not married yet.

I think it’s because no one had told me a damn thing about how to have sex.

Look, sex is natural. And it’s also a skill that needs to be learned. You need to know your body. You need to learn your partner’s body. You need to learn how to communicate in the heat of the moment. That doesn’t happen overnight. It doesn’t happen instantly even if you’ve had sex a million times before or if this is your first time. There are new things to learn.

And now that we were having sex I also felt like we couldn’t break up. I had given my virginity away! No one else would ever want me! We had to stay together forever! Sounds bonkers, right? Except that’s what the evangelical church tells people. If you have sex you are basically ruined. So don’t have it. And if you do…well….

So now I’m married and sex is still complicated and crowded with guilt. I can’t talk to anyone about it because my Christian friends still think I am living in sin and my queer friends don’t really understand my hang ups. Plus, I’ve never talked about sex so I don’t really know how to do it. It makes me uncomfortable, as if I am talking about something dirty or wrong. 

I don’t feel dirty or wrong when I’m having sex. I don’t feel like I am doing anything wrong. But still these weird feelings about what one can and cannot talk about linger. And so I don’t have anyone to talk to to see if what I am experiencing is normal or good. I don’t have anyone to learn from. It just feels complicated and hard. 

And honestly? I feel a little cheated. I was promised that if I waited sex would be mind blowing all the time and every time from the jump. And it’s not. So what, exactly had I been waiting for? 

Then I start to wonder if I had really been ready to get married. If sex had been off the table would we still have chosen to get married? Maybe if we had just had sex we would have dated longer or moved in together first and waited to see if we were actually compatible.

And then I transitioned to male. Now we add gender into an already swirling mix of life and sex and religion and the center could not hold. We tried. We went to counseling. I tried to be less of who I was, but even that was too much for her. She told me she was no longer attracted to me as I laid shirtless in our bed, bearing the scars of my relatively recent chest surgery. My first thought? Shame about my body. I asked her to hand me a shirt. I covered myself up.

We went our separate ways and it felt like every doomsday prophecy ever spoken over my life had come to pass. Queer people couldn’t find lasting relationships. Transgender people had weird bodies that no one would ever really love. And once again I had no one to talk to.

I dipped a toe into the online dating world. I even went on one date. The whole thing just felt exhausting. I either had to not put that I was transgender in my profile and then worry about coming out or rejection or I could put it in my profile and spend all of my time explaining what being transgender meant. Through it all the voices of my ex rang in my head, “I’m not attracted to you anymore.” That voice danced with my own insecurities about my body; about who would want a body like mine.

Celibacy Revisited.

After spending way too much time scrolling through OK Cupid, feeling distracted as I thought about dating, and still feeling weary over the break up of my marriage, I decided that I would be celibate again. This time it was different, though. I wasn’t choosing celibacy because I thought sex was wrong or because I thought it was required of me, I was choosing it because I wanted to focus on other things. By taking dating off of the table I was able to invest in my writing, starting QueerTheology.com, working toward ordination, and a host of other things. 

I chose celibacy for reasons that had very little to do with sex, but instead had to do with where I wanted to invest my energy. The years I spent celibate mostly healed me from the break up of my marriage. I was able to get really clear on who I was and what I wanted. I was able to figure out what the truth was about my personality. What things were actual flaws and what were damaging messages that were untrue? I finally had time to figure out my identity, to figure out what I wanted out of my life, to figure out what I liked and didn’t like. I was amazed to find how disconnected I had become from my own self. Celibacy gave me the time and space to reconnect.

Celibacy also taught me a lot about other people and my relationships with them. It taught me how to love people freely without expecting anything from them. I was able to enter into relationships without the awkwardness of trying to figure out what the other person was thinking about me. With dating and sex off the table I was simply able to get to know people, to invest in their lives, to come to the table freely and without striving.

I was able to be more generous with my time. I could show up for people at any hour of the day, do the late night airport run, stay up until three in the morning talking. I could field the middle of the night phone call.

I learned to not be anxious about being single. Even when I was the only single person in the room. Since I had chosen celibacy I could happily be the third or fifth wheel. It didn’t feel weird for me to go out to dinner or the movies with couples. I didn’t feel like something was missing from my life. I didn’t feel less than. I simply felt like me. My friends were simply my friends. I felt healthy and whole.

Some people didn’t understand my choice. They thought it was weird or I was doing it because I was afraid. They thought it was unnatural. They seemed to think that I was making the decision lightly or foolishly.

I always told people that I wasn’t closing myself off from a relationship forever. This wasn’t a vow that I had taken, nothing was required of me. But I didn’t like the person I became when I was desperate to be in a relationship. I didn’t like how online dating distracted me and took up my emotional bandwith. So I told people that I would consider dating again, but the person would have to pretty much fall into my lap. I wasn’t going to go looking. I said that, but honestly it was more for other people’s benefit than it was for my own. They needed to hear that I wasn’t closing myself off. And I wasn’t, but I didn’t think that anyone would come along. I was content. I was happy. I was settled.

Enter Actress. Stage Right.

A couple of years ago I started a theatre company called Uprising. We do plays that raise ethical questions and then partner with local organizations already working on those issues to channel the energy and empathy created by theatre into concrete change. It was the next step in my journey to figure out where to best use my gifts. I had always loved theatre and I was passionate about justice work. What would happen if we could combine the two? No one else was doing it and so we began. 

For our very first show I needed a woman who could play an incredibly difficult part. It was one of the hardest roles in the show and I knew I needed someone great. A woman came in to audition and she was fantastic. I cast her in the part. We were playing boyfriend and girlfriend, but we were strangers to one another. Throughout the rehearsal period we became friends and got to know one another. I came to appreciate the instincts she brought to the production. She knew her stuff. We went out for dinner and drinks with the rest of the cast, shared laughs at rehearsal, and that was about it.

It wasn’t until very late in the process, almost opening, that I realized I had a bit of a crush on her. Now, this wasn’t the first time I had had a crush in my years of celibacy. I had had crushes before. And what I had learned is that if you don’t give the crush energy, it goes away. I figured there was no way that the crush was reciprocal, so all I had to do was get through the production and then we would go our separate ways and my crush would fade and all would be well. I also didn’t want to mess anything up with her because she is very talented and I hoped she would work with the theatre company again.

After the show opened we had several days off before the next weekend’s performances. It was the first time in ages that we had had time off. It felt weird. She invited me to come over to her place and watch a movie. I wondered if maybe this crush was reciprocal. And if so, what then?

At this point I still didn’t know if she knew that I was transgender. I hadn’t talked about it during the run of the show because it didn’t come up. But I also knew that if this crush was going somewhere she needed to know. We watched the movie and then talked. Sometime during the evening I blurted out, “you know I’m transgender right?” She nodded yes and I went on with my story. I breathed a sigh of relief that now it was out. 

But I still didn’t know how she felt. And we still had another weekend of shows. On closing night I gave her a note that I hoped was vague enough to not freak her out but clear enough to show that a door was open for me to exploring where this could go. 

We started hanging out. She asked if she could kiss me. We started seeing each other, though neither of us were quite ready to call it dating. But we liked being with one another. We were attracted to each other. We liked kissing each other.

And then suddenly I was back in the throes of evangelical angst around sex. 

Where the hell did that come from?

I hadn’t been in the evangelical church for over 12 years at this point. I no longer believed that sex is only between a man and a woman in marriage. I no longer believed that pre-marital sex was wrong. But here I was feeling anxious about sex. When was too soon? Did we need to be officially in a relationship? Did we need to be able to call each other boyfriend and girlfriend? Should we say “I love you” first? How did I know what was right?

Then there were the other fears: What if she doesn’t like my body? What if she’s freaked out by the fact that I’m transgender? What if she doesn’t know to be freaked out, but then she’ll be freaked out when we’re undressing and then I’ll get super hurt and everything will suck?

And how much of anxiety over when to have sex was actually related to my anxiety that she would reject me?

Could this be any more complicated?

I kept thinking back to my marriage, to the situation that got me into my marriage. The fact that having this timeline in my head of how things were “supposed to be” made me rush things I wasn’t ready for. I didn’t want to make that mistake again. I also didn’t want to be casual or careless with sex.

Finally, though, I had someone to talk to. Brian and I were able to talk a lot about sex and what it means to be both of us. He was able to challenge some of the assumptions I was making and ask if there wasn’t really something else going on. I was able to finally sort through and figure out what mattered for me when it came to sex. 

I was able to figure out my own sexual ethic.

Finally I was freed from everything being a zero sum game. I was freed from making decisions about my sexual life based on what other people thought I should do or told me I should do. I was able to extricate my sexuality from my evangelical moralistic upbringing. I was able to divorce myself from respectability politics that said I had to conform to certain standards in order to be an acceptable Christian. (Even though, often, even being an acceptable Christian isn’t enough when you’re queer).

Here’s what I’ve learned:

It’s totally possible to take sex seriously, to believe that sex matters and means something, while also not wrapping a million moral clauses around it.

It’s possible for different people to have different views about sex and have them both be respectful and healthy and good. I don’t do casual sex. It doesn’t work for me. Other people do, it works for them. Neither of these views negate the validity of the other view.

We have to free ourselves from one size fits all sexuality. What works for one person doesn’t work for someone else. What one person needs someone else doesn’t need.

What matters is health, consent, communication, and respect. 

What matters is your intrinsic understanding of who you are and what you need.

How do we get there?

Unpacking years of harmful messages about sex and sexuality takes time. It doesn’t happen overnight. It doesn’t even happen after you’ve had a first amazing sexual experience with another person; guilt and shame can still rear their ugly heads and make you feel like you’ve done something wrong (even though you haven’t).

How do you create a sexual ethic if you’ve never been taught? If you’ve not been allowed to even entertain the thought that you were allowed?

Here’s some of what has helped me:

Get clear on what sex means to you. Not what you think it should mean, not what other people have told you it means, what does it actually mean to you?

Separate out other people’s voices from your voice. Which voices are the church? Which voices are your parents? Which ones are your friends? Which ones are media? Which ones are you? This can take quite a while, so be patient with yourself.

If the condemnation of the church or your parents were off the table, what would you do? What decisions would you make?

Are the decisions you are making to please anyone but you and your partner? Are you choosing celibacy because you feel like you have to? Because you feel like it’s what God or your church demands? Are you choosing to wait until marriage because otherwise you won’t get to be a part of your church community? Are you not having sex because you think it’s sinful? Really examine these beliefs. I firmly believe that you can choose to wait until marriage to have sex and have that be the right decision for you. I also believe you can choose celibacy out of healthy and well grounded reasons. But most of the people I see making these choices are making them because they feel like they have to. Maybe they sugarcoat it with conversations about how it works for them or they agree with their church teachings, but the reality is that choice is rooted in the belief that queer sex is inherently wrong and sinful. That belief is toxic and must be rooted out and tossed in the fire.

If you enter into (or withhold yourself from) a sexual relationship believing that queer sex (or any sex at all outside of marriage) is sinful and shameful this belief will mess you up. It will. It will impact your whole life negatively.

If you continue to struggle with guilt and shame around sex, I urge you to seek out a licensed therapist. By this I mean a therapist that actually has a degree and a license and isn’t just a “church counselor.” Also make sure that therapist is knowledgable about queer sexuality and identity. You do not need to be educating your therapist nor do you need to convince your therapist that queer sexuality is acceptable. If you really need to see a Christian therapist make sure they have an actual degree and license and are fully accepting of LGBTQ identity. If you seek out an unaffirming therapist they will damage you.

Finally, what do you want to do? For those of us raised in the evangelical church this seems like a scandalous question. We were taught that it doesn’t matter what we want, it matters what God wants! But really that’s just a shield. God gave us minds to think for ourselves. God gave us intuition and instincts. God gave us our bodies. God gave us free will and the ability to discern. The church is afraid that if we really listen to ourselves that we’ll tune in to the truth: our desires matter. Our instincts matter. We don’t need an outside authority telling us what is right for us; we have all that we need in our hearts and souls and minds. 

So sit with your body. Sit with your heart. Ask yourself, “What do I want?” Your body will tell you. Your spirit will tell you. You just need to listen.

Sexuality doesn’t have to be complicated. It can be a source of joy, of pleasure, of connection, of fun. But we have to do the work to unpack those harmful messages we received. We have to do the work of communication and consent. We have to do the work of listening to ourselves and learning what we need.

I promise, it’s worth it.

[deniscollins]

How to Disclose a Disability to Your Employer (and Whether You Should)

The Americans with Disabilities Act forbids employers from discriminating against applicants or employees on the basis of disability. But sometimes you are never sure what the real reason is why you get rejected for a job. What would you do if you were applying for a job and had a disability due to severe back pain that required some work accommodation: (1) mention it during the job interview, (2) wait until immediately after obtaining the job and then tell your employer, or (3) wait longer, until after you have proven your value to the company as a hard and talented worker, and then make the accommodation request? Why? What are the ethics underlying your decision?

The invisible nature of my chronic illness protects me from a whole universe of discrimination and microaggressions, but it also insulates me from potential support.

Of course, I acknowledge that my position is a privileged one. Some disabilities announce themselves as soon as a job candidate enters an interview room, along with all of the misconceptions society places on anyone with any degree of difference. I wondered what we’d have to do to help people come out of it empowered and employed.

The issue is as complicated as people are. As with all forms of discrimination, there’s a world between what the law says and how we relate to one another that’s murky and difficult to navigate, even for legal professionals, disability-rights advocates and those long-practiced in explaining themselves to a world not built for them. But there are ways to make it easier, and difficult truths everyone should know.

The cost of staying silent

Perhaps you’ve seen the little self-disclosure boxes on job application forms. Employers are prohibited from directly asking anything about your disability; that puts the onus on the employee or applicant to educate the employer, said Eve Hill, a disability rights attorney. You can request the accommodations you may need and explain how you can best perform the job, but that can be as much a burden as an opportunity, she said.

“In the best outcomes, you become the guide on how to do this well,” Ms. Hill said. “That’s an extra burden that people with disabilities bear.”

Disclosure during the interview process can open up a world of support. Or, worst case, it can reveal an atmosphere in which you wouldn’t feel comfortable working, anyway. And hiding a major part of yourself — assuming you have that ability — takes its own toll.

“Disclosing a disability to an employer enables a person to live one’s life authentically and be able to bring one’s whole self to work,” said Kathy Flaherty, executive director of the Connecticut Legal Rights Project. “Hiding a disability takes emotional energy that could be better spent elsewhere, like doing one’s job.”

That bore out for Katie Rose Guest Pryal, a former academic who said keeping her mental illness a secret from her colleagues meant she could be only about 70 percent herself at work. “Keeping a major aspect of your identity a secret because you fear for the ramifications is not good for you,” she said. “But every time I sat down and weighed the positive and the negative, the negative of sharing outweighed the negative of keeping the secret.”

After seven years, Ms. Guest Pryal left her position as a nontenure-track professor to become a full-time freelance writer and novelist, documenting her decision in a book, “Life of the Mind Interrupted: Essays on Mental Health and Disability in Higher Education.”

Legal requirements vs. reality

The Americans with Disabilities Act forbids employers from discriminating against applicants or employees on the basis of disability, but the gap between the letter and application of the law can swallow people whole.

Emily Johnson was denied a handicapped parking spot at work because her boss wanted to leave it open for visitors who might need it. Holly Nelson, who has a hearing impairment, was terminated from a new position during her probation period because she didn’t hear a supervisor’s instructions. Jocelyn Mondragon called to reschedule a job interview when her motorized wheelchair broke down. Instead, the hiring manager canceled entirely. Roz Tolliver’s supervisor told her she was “broken” and would never get promoted. Allyson DuPont started her own company after getting fed up with access barriers related to her wheelchair. All of these stories are horrifying. Many are technically illegal. None are particularly unique.

“It’s difficult to disclose at work because most of us know about cases of overt or covert discrimination in employment, whether it’s around disability or age, gender, sexual orientation, race, class or another category,” said Sonya Huber, an associate professor at Fairfield University who has written extensively about living with rheumatoid arthritis. “People are frightened for good reason.”

Caren Goldberg, a human resource management professor and a consultant on discrimination issues, said she often sees people grappling with the decision. “I wish I could say everyone should disclose, but depending on the nature of the organization, reactions can be very subtle,” Dr. Goldberg said. “Often, it’s something that’s not done with nefarious intention.”

Negotiations for accommodations can be arduous, even when they are conducted in good faith. When Charis Hill asked for a yoga ball chair to alleviate pain related to their ankylosing spondylitis, a type of arthritis that affects the spine, a simple request stretched into weeks of public self-advocacy. “I felt a little humiliated by the lack of confidentiality when the time came to complete the formal request,” they said. “The experience certainly made me have second thoughts about requesting any other assistance in order to do my job.”

For Jed Findley, who works in education, his reluctance to disclose stemmed from his desire for privacy, as well as fear of losing a position he loved. “I knew they couldn’t fire me, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t discriminate in other ways,” he said. “People’s attitudes could change toward me. Oftentimes an accommodation is viewed as an excuse.”

Eve Hill acknowledged that deciding whether and when to disclose a disability can be challenging. “You don’t want them to be thinking things that aren’t true, especially things that may be worse than the reality,” she said. “When given a choice, you probably want to go with the one that gives you civil rights protections.”

How to have the conversation

Under the A.D.A., companies with more than 15 employees are required to provide reasonable accommodations to people who disclose a disability, which the law defines as “a physical or mental impairment that substantially limits one or more major life activities.” Those with invisible disabilities may be asked to provide medical documentation to support their need for requested accommodations, and to suggest adaptations that will enable them to perform to their full potential.

“The accommodation changes how you do the work. It doesn’t change whether you do the work,” Ms. Hill said. “You still have to meet the basic productivity requirements, the basic outcomes of the job, just in different ways or in a different location or using different equipment.”

Of course, what’s considered a “reasonable” accommodation can be hard to determine. “The right to a reasonable accommodation doesn’t mean a guarantee of getting the accommodation you want,” Ms. Flaherty said. “The employer is not supposed to just say no; they have to engage in a discussion about the accommodation.”

Ms. Hill and Dr. Goldberg both stressed that communication is key when requesting an accommodation. “The employee can suggest things that might be helpful, when making their case to the employer,” Dr. Goldberg said. “As long as it doesn’t pose undue hardship, there’s really no reason for them not to do it.”

Preparation is also essential. “You ultimately need to be your own advocate,” Mr. Findley said. “Before disclosing your illness or disability in the workplace, come up with a list of answers to questions, and before listing duties you don’t feel comfortable performing, come up with solutions that will allow you to keep doing your job.”

Ms. Flaherty also recommends thinking creatively to come up with solutions that will carry minimal or no cost. The Job Accommodation Network is a helpful resource that your employer can consult for ideas. And as the old saying goes, trust — but verify. “If the employee is feeling in any way concerned that the employer is not responding positively, make sure you’re taking notes and keeping records of those interactions,” Ms. Goldberg said. “If things do unfold and you have to take further action, you’ll have a written record.”

Timing is everything

For people with visible disabilities, it’s not so much a question of whether to reveal, but when. After realizing the only successful job applications she submitted were ones on which she didn’t mention that she used a wheelchair, Ms. Dupont decided to disclose only after getting an in-person interview. “In the face of stigma and misconception, disclosing on my own terms does sometimes give me the opportunity to control the dialogue,” she said. “But I have to be strategic in doing so or the consequences can be disastrous. The balance between discretion and disclosure is treacherous.”

Keah Brown, a writer with visible and invisible disabilities, noted the balance between being upfront with potential employers and risking retribution if they find out later. “Disclosing means to risk not getting the job and then, if you do so afterward, you risk the boss and company’s trust because you waited to say something,” she said.

In light of that possibility, Ms. Tolliver hid her disability until she couldn’t anymore, sometimes performing tasks that aggravated her chronic pain until she’d proven her worth. “I always hid the truth and hoped I’d stay healthy until I’d been at a job for a while,” she said. “I thought that if I made myself valuable to the organization, then management would understand and accept my accommodations and absences.”

The A.D.A. protects people from losing their position because of disability, but it doesn’t prevent microaggressions or water cooler chatter that can turn toxic. “Even though it’s prohibited by law, the law is not a guarantee that discrimination won’t happen,” Ms. Flaherty said. “Unfortunately, bias and misperceptions abound, and employers will sometimes make bad decisions based on that false information. So I totally understand why people don’t disclose and stay in the closet about it.”

If you do decide to seek accommodations, Ms. Hill suggests doing so before disciplinary action takes place, or as close to afterward as possible, so no one ends up in a defensive position. “You want to keep it out of the law as much as you possibly can,” she said. “You want to say, ‘I’m still a great employee. I’m having this barrier to doing just the best work you’re ever going to find. How can we work together to fix this barrier?’”

People who encounter discrimination do have legal recourse. That may include filing a formal complaint with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission or a state agency that protects the right to work, or even taking the matter to court. However, there are time limits for reporting most forms of discrimination, as well as a formalized process to follow. The E.E.O.C. recommends contacting your local field office to discuss your best course of action before diving in.

Living in the light

The decision to disclose is as personal as what goes on in your body and mind. It’s often an ongoing process that evolves as we do, and as society hopefully evolves with us.

“People sometimes talk about disclosure like a single event,” Dr. Goldberg said. “But it’s not like a gender reveal party. We don’t always get along similarly with all co-workers and there may be those to whom you never disclose. But if you confided in one person and got a good reaction, maybe over time you might not think twice about telling someone else.”

Ms. Huber discovered a network of empathetic colleagues once she talked to them about her disability. By writing extensively about her life with chronic pain, she gained confidence that supported her work, as well.

“Disabled does not always mean ‘can’t work,’” she said. “I work very differently now, but I also appreciate how much I get done as I have learned to understand what daily schedule and conditions are best for my body.”

[adventures-in-transmania]

Storytime #2-College. This one’s kind of long.

This is when it gets interesting. And by interesting, I mean interesting. And complicated.

When I got to university, I didn’t really have anyone at first. I knew a couple people from my class had ended up at the same place, given how close it was to our high school. I still lived at home and commuted. I lost contact with pretty much everyone from high school with a few exceptions. It was a lonely first month filled with exercises that were meant to bring people together. Almost every class had some sort of exercise that was meant to introduce ourselves and hopefully (?) make new friends.

At some point I reconnected with a previous classmate from high school, someone I had a huge crush on, who had identified as a woman at the time, someone who had turned out to be a trans man (another of many in my life), and someone who wasn’t exactly the best of influences. There’s much more that goes into this, but I’m not going into that now and I can’t promise I will later. It’s one of those things I know won’t help to dwell on, but is definitely a defining moment in some way or another. Anyways, they introduced me to the vital friend group that I had in college. It was me and another person from the same high school, a cis guy that I came to be quite close to after high school ended, that became integrated into this group that called themselves the Circle.

I introduced myself as my dead name and by the wrong pronouns, because I didn’t know any better. You had this “I need to be this,” complex. I feel like I need to explain this so I will. By law, I was a woman. I’m not. I’m not a woman in any sense other than my legal ID saying so. I grew up believing I was a woman though. I grew up with my name being my dead name. I grew up with she/her pronouns. I grew up referring to myself as such. You don’t usually question this. I was *D* and I was *she/her.* I had no problem being she/her. The name, on the other hand, I had complete plans to change that, whether I actually transitioned or not, but at the time, that was legal.

After that friend who had been in college for two years had talked to me, I felt confident enough to talk about it. I re-introduced myself as Riley, a name I’d chosen previously. The name felt right. I used it for a story in high school that I wrote that turned out to be over 800 pages typed. I put some effort into it, but it’s pretty irrelevant now. As people have pointed out (my parent, especially), I changed my dead name, which was also a gender neutral name, to a name that is also gender neutral and is in no way similar to my dead name. But here’s the thing. You grow up being referred to as that name (my dead name) with the wrong pronouns. You associate that dead name with the wrong pronouns. At some point, you are unable to disassociate the two, even if you wanted to. You hear your dead name, you associate that name with the wrong pronouns. This ties into being misgendered, as I’m sure I will mention later. Riley is my name. Riley is the name I have chosen and Riley Anateria is my legal name. I am Riley. I am not my dead name.

So, I re-introduced myself as Riley probably a month or two into college. My ‘friends’ griped, but relented. Surprise, surprise, I wasn’t the only trans one and they had to do the same with many others. The group itself consisted of many queer individuals with a few straight/cis people who respected queer people. For once, the queers outnumbered the cis/straights. It was a group that I should have belonged in.

And yet, my cis, straight (?) male friend had a better time fitting in, which caused quite the conflict for pretty much my entire time at university. But no one else really was aware of that, so it’s kind of irrelevant at this point. It took me at least a year to fit into this space. And by fit in, I mean be tolerated. I was referred to as Riley. At first, I was referred to using she/her, which I didn’t mind, seeing as I didn’t have gender dysphoria. It was this lack of dysphoria that led me to believe I was gender fluid for about two years during this time. I had very little hope of transitioning and honestly, very little desire to do so. It didn’t hurt when people referred to me as she/her.

Here’s a kicker. The first person to refer to me using he/him pronouns also gave me one of my most traumatic experiences.

So, I identified as genderfluid for some time at the beginning of my college career. I didn’t have gender dysphoria and I felt as though I could live without medically/physically transitioning, in addition to there being no hope of me transitioning for financial and familial reasons. However, at some point, a cis, straight male friend of mine (one I developed a crush on, shocker, because of his support), referred to me as ‘he.’ This became a defining moment in my transition in that I felt more validated than I ever have and it felt right. After that point in time, I began to notice so many things I hadn’t before. I wanted to be seen as male. I wanted to be seen as a man, because that’s who I was.

I recall beginning to notice and copy male behavior. Things that cis males don’t normally have to pay attention to, I watched and copied. I felt good when people used male pronouns in relation to me. In class, of course, that didn’t happen. But within my friend group, within the Circle, it did. It was a form of support, one that I often miss now. There was some silent agreement that isn’t present anywhere else. The cis, straight people within our group bowed to our expertise of knowing our own identities, just as cis, straight people knew their identities. It was respected. They didn’t have a difficult time with our pronouns or our names, and if they did, the certainly didn’t show it. Nor did they feel the need to make it a huge point. If they did fuck up, they corrected themselves and moved on. Or maybe that’s just how I remember it. I do recall some resistance when I first came out, something about how I should have just introduced myself as Riley and with male pronouns, but I didn’t know at the time that it was anything more than a desire to be known as a man.

During my first semester, I was still with that guy that I went to prom with, that conservative, traditional male. At some point I talked to him about the whole gender thing and what I remember from that, he didn’t exactly show support. I wasn’t surprised and I wasn’t happy with the relationship to begin with. The relationship ended within the year of it starting. It wasn’t exactly a great relationship to begin with and it never would have lasted. I really haven’t talked to him since and I don’t think he or any one else from high school that I lost contact with would be happy keeping in contact with me. That’s just fine. The only reason I got close to anyone during my senior year was nostalgia anyway.

I met new people. Most I liked, some I didn’t quite care for, but were nice enough. Most I don’t keep in contact with now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss them or think about them sometimes. I mentioned that one friend who first referred to me using male pronouns. I talked to a group of the cis men, including him, about using the men’s locker room at NU. As someone who didn’t think I could even use a single stall men’s bathroom, I was super unsure, but I wanted to, because, after all, I was a man, same as them. This was something I struggled with in the last two years at university. It’s not like you can ask men to go with you like you can women. Men just don’t do that, or I was led to believe (I’m still led to believe, the whole ‘I’ll go with you’ campaign be damned). Men don’t go to the bathroom together by choice (yay, toxic masculinity). So, I mentioned briefly about using the locker room and the 3+ men were in support of it, all of them being cis and at least one of them being queer. So, I took their word at face value.

One of them had an issue with it. Perhaps he did from the beginning, but he didn’t say anything until the moment that I was in there with them. I went to ask them a question (because the 3+ of them had gone somewhere else, leaving me alone, which was fine) and he got super weird about it. It made me feel as though I didn’t belong and shouldn’t have been there. It re-inforced the idea that I didn’t belong in male restrooms or locker rooms because I didn’t have a penis, because I wasn’t born cis. It was one of the first experiences I had in a men’s room.

I remember that every time I try to use a men’s bathroom, whether it be single stall or public. It has made me pause every time I have to chose between a men’s room and a women’s room. Despite strangers calling me ‘sir’ and referring to me using he/him pronouns, I think back to this moment every time I walk into a men’s restroom and think if any one of these men see me as a woman, see me as if I don’t pass as a man in their eyes, I don’t belong. Even my friends believe that.

But the thing is, I don’t think he was my friend. He may have been at some time, but he doesn’t know how to have trans friends, at least not trans men. And that’s on him. He may have given me that traumatic memory but I can and will get over it. It may take some time, but I will.

He texted some time ago about a job within a company that he worked for, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable taking a job working with him purely because I know he wouldn’t be comfortable working with me. I’d like to see that as progress towards building my own self-respect and self-esteem. It may be in my field, but I’d be damned to willingly work with someone who couldn’t share a bathroom with me and dare call himself my ‘friend.’ I really hope one day I’m able to walk into a men’s room without thinking about that memory.

It’s not just about pronouns or bathrooms. It’s about how people see you. I’m not some woman trying to fit into men’s spaces. I’m a man, unfortunately with what people see as a woman’s body, that’s trying to fit into spaces made for men.

I’m not one for toxic masculinity, especially as I mature. I cried for many a-reason especially in college. I got mad and frustrated and when I wasn’t on T (testosterone), I cried when I was frustrated. Certain tests? I cried. Chemistry homework? Man, I bawled. I used to get so frustrated over that. My last relationship caused a huge problem, which I will address when I talk about sexuality. It was a mess. From beginning to end it was a bad idea. One of my friends who had intimate knowledge and was majorly involved with it decided it’d be a good idea to tell pretty much everyone in our friend group that we bonded because I cried over that relationship in front of them. I absolutely hated it. I think it was more the fact that they used that to say we were so close when in reality we weren’t rather than the fact that they revealed I cried. But there’s a lot that goes into that that I don’t think I’m able to sort through at this current moment.

Two years into college I changed my name, legally. I planned on it since high school. I told my parent that I wanted to change my first name but I ended up changing my entire name. I kept the two names they gave to me as my middle name but changed my first and last name. I don’t know why a more masculine name didn’t fit. Riley fit. Anateria was just some bullshit last name that ended up fitting more than the name given to me. You grow up associating one name with the wrong pronouns, you want out. That doesn’t mean your new name will be associated with the right pronouns. No one tells you that part. I changed my name about a year after my friends had already been referring to me as Riley and he/him. But my school didn’t get the memo. On about half of the paperwork, I got my name changed over. The other half, it wasn’t, as much as I tried, it just didn’t go through or was ignored. My degree is in the right name, that’s honestly all I care about right now. But my advisor? (Well, he couldn’t even remember me to begin with. I didn’t stand out, whatever. It’s not like I shared several classes with his daughter or was in a couple of his classes, nah.), it took him some time. Even now, I’m getting mail from my university addressed to my dead name. Kinda mad, considering they’re asking for money from me. With my dead name. #not mad at all

I have to say, I did not expect this school to be so accepting. I remember coming in for  an interview and them asking about me being trans. Now, this is a highly religious institution, a Vincentian university. I feel as though I could have talked to the Fathers about it and gotten acceptance from them. They were wayyyyy more progressive than I ever would have thought. I went to counseling services through them primarily to deal with the whole trans issues during my last two years there (I ended up with something like 5 counselors, not anyone’s fault, but definitely not conducive to counseling. Another hellfire after the counseling I had in high school). It was one of those universities where class was cancelled to hold mass on campus. Perhaps that’s my own *prejudice* but that’s definitely not the place I expected to be accepted as trans. But between my job (which changed during that time) and school, school was my rock.

I changed jobs about halfway through my college career. I worked at a coffee shop with a very high turnover rate and ended up working for a local grocery chain. I was somewhat supported by my coworkers. I had a department boss that loved me and tried to support me (despite making the comment that my name wasn’t masculine enough..........). I had a boss that asked inappropriate questions but also seemed to have more experience/training working with trans individuals than others (she asked about my plans for bottom surgery, but also inquired about putting a lock on the men’s restroom so I could comfortable use the men’s room). Ultimately I left not because of the coworkers, but because of the conditions and the pay at the end of my college career.

This brings me to my current place.