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adhdeancas · 3 years

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12x01 Rewrite with Trans Dean

trigger warnings for minor mention of dysphoria. Also minor/negligent transphobia.

“Mom?” His heart is stopped in his chest, staring at the face he’s kept in his head for all of his life, the face he’s thought of as the only real home he’s ever had. She looks the same, exactly the same. “I… uh, are you really… real?”

He reaches out without thinking, needing to just make sure that Amara didn’t bring back a fantasy or a ghost or a sick joke. She proves it without him touching her, flipping him in a neat trick he recognizes from his own training and ending up with her foot on his neck, pressing him into the dirt. “Where am I? Who the hell are you?”

She looks so scared. Dean swallows, his Adam’s apple bouncing against the bottom of her foot. He needs to make her trust him, preferably before she does something rash like snap his neck. “I’m Dean Winchester. I’m your son. I’m… Sam’s brother”

The pressure lets up on Dean’s neck even though Mary’s shaking her head. “No. No, I don’t have two boys. They’re- they’re just kids.”

Dean winces, breathing heavily. This is gonna be a motherfucker for her to understand. Still, Mary lets him up, and he stands and rubs his neck, trying desperately to recall every bit of information he’s stored away about his mom. “Mom. Listen to me. Your name- your name is Mary Sandra Campbell, okay? You were born December 5, 1954, to Samuel and Deanna Campbell. Your father, he bounced around a lot for, uh, work, and you bounced right along with him, and you ended up in Lawrence, Kansas.”

Mary flinches, the facts hitting straight-on. “How do you know all that?”

“Dad told me.” Dean tells her. He doesn’t tell her that he had to gather the story from slurred words, drunken tears in between stories about the perfect wife. That he recited them in his head like a prayer so he wouldn’t forget her. “March 23, 1972, you walked out of a movie theater - Slaughterhouse-Five. You loved it, and you bumped into a big Marine and you knocked him flat on his ass. You were embarrassed, and he laughed it off, said you could make it up to him with a cup of coffee. So, you went to, uh,” God, what was the name of that stupid place? “Mulroney’s, and you talked and he was cute and he knew the words to every Zeppelin song,” A memory of a smiling young alive Mary comes to mind, and he pushes it away because it hurts. She’s right there. “So when he asked you for your number, you gave it to him, even though you knew your dad would be pissed. That was the night that -” You fell in love with- “that you met -”

“John Winchester.”

“August 19, 1975, you were married… in Reno. Your idea.”Dean had always thought that was hilarious. He looks her in the eyes again, pleading with her to not dispute the next part. “A few years later, I came along, then Sammy.”

“No, no. My oldest was a girl, Deanna.” Mary looks Dean up and down, taking in his short hair, wide shoulders, and flat chest. He crosses his arms over that now, uncomfortable, hoping she isn’t looking at his long eyelashes or his delicate cheekbones or his hips. All the places he’s insecure about.

“Yeah, um… that’s me.” He looks up at her, his jaw clenching, waiting for the ball to drop. “I shortened the name a little, and the- uh- hair.” He tries for the old charming smile as he runs a hand through the spiky hair he hasn’t let grow out in 20 years. It doesn’t quite get there, settling at a more delicate need for approval. Mary doesn’t give it to him. “Do you believe me?”

She bypasses the question, turning her eyes away from him to look at the car behind him. Something changes in her eyes. “I burned.” She says quietly, like she’s remembering the heat. Dean swallows. He remembers the heat too. “How long have I been gone?”

“33 years.” His voice cracks.

Mary looks back to him, and she moves forward, putting two gentle fingers to his cheek, to the freckles sprayed across soft skin. He’s had them forever, even when he was little. “Dee?” She calls him by his old nickname; Dean’s doubly thankful that he doesn’t use his deadname.

“Hi, mom.” There are tears in his eyes.

------------------------------------------------------

“How did he die?”

Dean bows his head. He’s really not selling himself too good here, is he? First the trans thing, now- “He gave himself up for me.” He’ll be surprised if Mary wants anything to do with him. Surprisingly, she chuckles and sniffles.

“That does sound like John.” He looks over, and she’s smiling. His brow furrows. Killing himself to save Dean’s ass does sound like John, but not in a way that makes him want to smile. “And he was a hunter? And he raised-” She stutters now, looking at him again and looking away just as quickly. “You and Sam to be-”

“Yeah, he did.” A cold weight is settling in Dean’s stomach, and he tries and fails to not let it seep into his words.

“And you said we’ve met before, when you traveled through time,”

Dean nods. It had been horrible and amazing to see Mary and have her see him, just as some guy. A guy, at all. “Twice. Your memory got wiped, so…” So you don’t remember me telling you I was your kid, and you not believing me. I do.

“And you’re… my daughter-”

Dean coughs. He hasn’t been called a daughter in a long-ass time. “No, I’m- I mean. I was. I know it’s a lot. And I’ll explain everything. I will. But right now, let’s get out of here. Let’s get you home. Come on, Mom.”

She doesn’t correct him, which means she must believe, at least a little bit, that she is his mom.

-----------------------------------------------------

“You live here?” She looks around the cavernous space and he smiles, looking around too. It really is awesome.

“Yeah, when we’re not on the road. It’s an old Men of Letters bunker.”

“Men of Letters?” She scoffs. Dean grins a bit and looks at her. He thinks he likes her. “They’re a myth. An old hunter’s story.”

He tilts his head. He’s just gonna keep blowing her mind today, apparently. “Not so much. New duds look good.” He gestures to her clothes. He’d lent her some extra clothes he’d had in the trunk, and he tries not to fixate on how they weren’t that big on her. He’s not much taller than her, and he knows part of that even is the heeled boots he’s wearing.

“Well, thanks. It’s better than walking around in that nightgown the rest-” Dean’s nodding, about to say something extremely awkward like ‘Yeah, nightgowns are a bitch,’ when he finally looks at what she’s staring at, spattered on the floor of the bunker. “That’s blood.”

“Yeah.” Dean’s heart leaps into his throat, but he goes into autopilot before he can think about freaking out. He takes his gun out from his pants and cocks it, clearing the immediate area. A blurred sigil on the wall puts another bolt of fear through his chest. “Sammy? Cas?” He winces at how high his voice goes.

He takes the Map Table’s gun out from its hiding place and hands it to Mary. She was a hunter too, and he’s not about to leave her unarmed to clear the place. “Take this. Stay here.” Dean takes off immediately. It isn’t until he’s moving on to check the kitchen that he hears the voice. Mary’s clear as a bell, saying,

“Hands, now,”

Dean’s in the room before he can think about it. His heart practically comes undone when he sees that dumb familiar trench coat. He puts his body between Cas and his mom’s gun immediately, hoping she will trust him enough not to shoot through him. “Whoa, whoa, whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa! It’s okay, it’s okay. He’s a friend, all right?” He meets Cas’s eyes and sees the utter relief in his eyes, and a surge of warmth fills his chest. “Hey, Cas.”

It’s a lackluster greeting when they both thought they’d never see each other again, and Cas shows it when he steps forward quickly and pulls Dean into a tight hug. “Dean!”

Dean grins and pats his back. “Hey, okay. All right,” He comforts him quietly.

“Dean, you’re alive?” Cas pulls away and looks him over, like he’s afraid Dean might disappear. Dean nods, understanding; he had done the same thing to Mary, after all.

“Yeah.”

“What about the bomb and the Darkness? What happened?”

“I’ll tell you everything. Where is Sam?”

“He’s not here.” Obviously. Dean could smack him, but his face wants to break into a fond smile instead. He represses both urges.

“Are you a hunter?”

“No, I’m an angel.”

“He’s an angel.” Dean says over Cas. They look at each other and then back at Mary.

“Come again?”

“An angel, with a capital A,” Dean clarifies. He feels, ridiculously, a little bit like he’s showing off. Showing Cas off. “You know, wings, harp.”

“No, I don’t have a harp.”

Dean laughs. “This is Castiel. Cas, this is… Mary. Winchester.”

------------------------------------------------------

“It’s been kinda weird, here. You know, with mom being back?” And learning that her baby girl is now a full grown man? “It’s like we don’t know how to act around each other, so we just kinda make this small talk, and act like it’s normal, but it’s- it’s so not normal.” Dean can hear the pleading in his voice.

“What has she said to you?” Cas asks quickly. Dean bites his lip to hide the smile he’s trying to get from hearing Cas get all angry and protective on his behalf. He’s reminded of the time Cas looked him directly in the face and said, ‘Dean Winchester, if anyone is ever transphobic to you, I will smite them immediately and without any remorse.’ And before Dean could make a quip about internalized transphobia, Cas added, ‘Do not make me do that to you.’

“Well, nothing. That’s- that’s the whole point.” It’s the kind of thing most people usually wanna go over, what the fuck gender their kid is? He’s pretty sure no news does not mean good news in this context.

“Okay, what have you said to her?”

“Well, nothing. I’m- I don’t know what to say to her, y’know? It’s like it’s all too much, and I don’t wanna overwhelm her.”

“Dean, your identity is not ‘too much.’” Cas says immediately. Dean sighs. That wasn’t what he meant, even though he has said something similar before. Something when he was lonely and sad and feeling like explaining his dick to a one night stand was too complicated for him to do to even assuage it that way.

“No- I know. It’s not that. It’s… everything.”

Now it’s Cas’s turn to sigh. “Don’t make things unnecessarily complicated, as you humans tend to do. I’ll call you.” He hangs up.

Dean lets the phone fall with his arm limp to his side. “Yeah. Great. That’s helpful.” He says to the empty air. “That’s helpful.” Asshole.

-------------------------------------------------------

They’re in the car, and Dean is driving, and there is too much going on. He’s not sure whether he’s happy that Cas is in the backseat for this conversation or not. “So you’re… my Deanna.”

Dean’s hands tighten on the wheel. He looks at them and ignores the voice in his head that says they are petite. Womanly. “Uh, yeah. I was born Deanna Jane Winchester.” He clears his throat and meets Cas’s eyes in the rearview. He gives him a little nod, and Dean continues. “I’m… It’s called trans.”

Dean risks a look over at Mary, and she’s playing with her ring. “So you… wanted to be a boy.”

Dean clears his throat again. He’s pretty sure he does it every time before he talks, and he’s also pretty sure his voice gets lower every time he talks, too. He swears it’s an automatic reflex.

“Dean’s soul is- that of a human man.” Cas interrupts, saying it like that clarifies things. The corner of Dean’s mouth tilts up a little bit. Cas did tell him that he could see his soul, and also told him that it was, and he quotes ‘A color more similar to that of a men than women.’ Which, yeah, that tracks. He guesses Cas leaves off the ‘more similar’ part to make things simpler for Mary.

“And so you…” Mary trails off, a finger pointing toward his chest aborting its mission when she realizes it might be rude.

Dean raises an eyebrow with amusement. “Cut my tits off? Yeah.” He takes a hand off the wheel to raise his shirt, proudly showing off his top surgery scars. Mary trails a hand along them, feeling the raised skin. “After Sammy went to college. It was a bitch of a few weeks, but it was worth it.”

Mary takes her hand away and nods, brows furrowed like she’s trying to wrap her head around it. Dean grins. The grin freezes awkwardly, the edges tilting down, when Mary opens her mouth again. “So you have a-”

Cas coughs loudly in the back seat. Dean meets his wide eyes with a similar expression, and Mary cuts off the question, catching onto the fact she said something wrong. “Don’t think we really need to go there, do we, mom?”

That was a question for him and whatever lucky son of a bitch (gender neutral) ended up in his bed at the end of the night. “Right.” Mary says quickly. She turns her whole body then, asking, “Is that why you like men?”

Dean only swerves a little, he swears. The car coming the opposite direction doesn’t seem to agree, holding its horn long and hard. Luckily, it gives him a moment to stutter less obviously.

“Sorry, I just meant- since you two are-” Mary gestures between Cas and Dean, and Dean blinks his eyes solidly, trying to convince himself this is really happening.

“No! I mean, we-” Dean doesn’t have the balls (hehe) to look at Cas in the back seat, but he can see the trench coat shifting out of his peripheral. “I’m not-”

“Was John okay with this?”

Dean laughs. It comes out bitter and dark. “Dad didn’t much give a fuck what I did with my body. He’d given up on grandkids about the time he saw how decent I was at hunting, so my long hair wasn’t a personal loss.” He knew I wasn’t gonna live long enough to give him grandkids, not without some self-sacrifice on John’s part.

Mary looks a little shocked at his outburst, and Dean almost feels bad for being so blunt and crass. But then he remembers growing up with John as his male role model, and he tightens his jaw. No, the bluntness and crassness was accurate. “Oh.”

“... Yeah.” Dean bites his lip and risks another glance at his mom.

“So, you’re okay with this?” He waves a hand at himself. Asking if she was okay with him was just too pathetic, even for him. She looks at him uncertainly, a frown he recognizes as his own on her face.

“I don’t think I’m okay with any of this, Dean. But… I guess I’ll adjust.”

#tw: dysphoria #trans dean #destiel #deancas #ftm dean #transmasc dean #fanfic #dean is trans #my writing #mine

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boy-above · 2 years

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why do u dislike him ? you don't have 2 talk abt it if ur uncomfortable of course

well for starters he did call korekiyo a slur in the original japanese, which was removed in the localization lol. basically called him a slur that's like gay/transphobic word all in one. so that would give me reason enough, but theres a lot of things about him in general i've disliked before knowing that.

kaito has a bunch of toxic masculinity going on, it's evident even from the beginning. when everyone is devastated after kaede's execution, he starts getting upset and even angry at them for "whining and complaining" and even hits shuichi for mourning her, saying that shuichi was "pissing him off" for not "being a man" about it. this is the moment i immediately decided kaito was not worth it. you can see his sexism as well when he says women shouldn't have weapons. there's actually more instances of sexist beliefs in the original japanese but these were mostly taken out when it was localized for english.

kaito thinks he's the hero of the story, pretty evident considering he calls shuichi his "sidekick" and in general views shuichi as someone he needs to ~take under his wing~. he viewed shuichi as weak and someone in need of fixing. in general kaito has a very inflated sense of self importance. he's stubborn and thinks his way is the right way.

he displays pretty bad toxic positivity. that's why he and kokichi butted heads as two extremes at the opposite ends of a scale. while kokichi wouldn't trust anyone, kaito was Too trusting. his "always believe in your friends!!" spiel would have gotten them caught So long ago. nobody would have survived had everything been done his way and his only. he got mad at shuichi for finding out the truth that gonta was a killer, despite the fact that everyone else would have been killed if he hadn't. that logic also rubbed off on maki, who got angry at shuichi for considering one of them could be the murderer in the final trial, because "friends don't accuse each other". i've already talked about how horrible of a thing that was to say to shuichi, whose had to condemn all of his friends to execution including kaede and felt shame and guilt for it. i'm pretty sure in the japanese version kaito was also asked something along the lines of "would you really risk everyone's lives and not vote maki even if you knew she were the killer?" and he said yes, he would. which makes him a giant hypocrite because he said something along the lines of "we all want to live! so don't get in our way" to ryoma once he found out he was suicidal.

another thing that always made me annoyed is that he decided that maki was trustworthy, despite her doing absolutely nothing to earn it. even after learning she was an assassin hiding an entire room full of weapons, he still decided he believed in her or whatever, but he made no effort to try to understand kokichi like he did with her. at that point maki told Huge lies, she kept her talent and weapons a secret from everyone, she was a Huge Risk. but kokichi is the one who is demonized for outing her, even though she could have been a huge danger to everyone and it was really important for the group to know! but of course he's the asshole for telling everyone her secwet ): maki is allowed to keep secrets and be mean, and gets patience and understanding from kaito, meanwhile kokichi got none of that. and i'm sorry but i think it's bc he wanted in maki's pants lmao. i'm sure people would argue with me about that and that's understandable, it's just what my immediate interpretation was the first time i experienced the game. if not that though, i would say i'm pretty sure it's his sexism that determined his trust in maki. he most likely viewed maki as a non threat because she's a woman. he has several lines that imply his belief that women are weaker than men, so i think that is why he viewed kokichi as a threat and not maki. if kokichi were a woman i think kaito would have been less likely to see him as a serious threat.

i'd like to talk about the localization and how it frames kaito and kokichi. it has a clear agenda on who it wants to make look better or worse than they are in the original. kaito curses like a sailor in the original, and they took that out for? what reason exactly? they took out kaito calling korekiyo the slur, (and of course taking out the slur was a Good thing) but i'm saying they could have replaced it with something that still could negatively impact how you view kaito as a character, rather than just pretending he didn't say something insensitive about korekiyo at all. if kokichi gets to call miu a slut and miu gets to tell him to go play with himself then there should have been NO issue with having kaito say crude or derogatory things. another sexist thing he does that they took out is when ryoma admits he is suicidal, kaito uses a word for him that describes him as girly or effeminate. this is changed to coward in the translation. calling a suicidal person a coward to begin with is horrible, but then in the original it's like he's calling him a sissy or pussy or something for being mentally ill as if that's only a "girl thing" as well.

my biggest example of the localization making kokichi worse is when he says that line about "when i like someone i'd do anything to get them to notice me, even strangle them"? in the original he said "when i love someone, even if they strangled me, i still wouldn't turn away." like that is the exact OPPOSITE of what he said but they decided that was fine. they make changes like that that demonize kokichi further while making kaito seem better than he actually is. it sounds like a conspiracy theory or somethin but look it up, they cleaned kaito up in the translation, they took out a lot of his negative qualities that would make him a more nuanced character and instead tried to make him the hero he always thought he was :I

my dislike for kaito also results in a dislike for maki because, i'm sure some people don't agree with me, but i think maki is a complete orbiter character for kaito. which is why i think it's so wild that i've seen people call others misogynistic for not liking her (throwing around impactful words like that when someone doesn't like your favorite character is a common thing i see in fandom spaces lol) because i think maki exists to have feelings for kaito. she attached herself to him and she doesn't have much to do with any of the rest or the cast. what little growth or development she did had was directly because of or in relation to kaito. she even started parroting his beliefs after he was gone like i mentioned earlier. that's why i just can't get behind those two. i know some people love them and that's okay. i know there's tons of ways you can interpret them and that's okay! i have just never been able to like them. there's objectively worse characters in this series so i'm not acting like they're Worse than them, my dislike for them is just something i'm more passionate about i guess??? or like, yknow something i feel more strongly. you should never be passionate about hating something haha

#please don't try to start arguments! (not at you anon just anyone in general who reads this)#i don't rly enjoy debating with people so pls don't try to discredit my interpretation #the fun thing about media is that it can mean a lot of things to different people and that's why it's fun!#like i'm sure there's probably people who project on maki for example because of her abuse #and becoming attached to the first person who shows you kindness #like i understand interpretations like that! i'm not trying to discredit anyone for liking these characters #every character has something appealing about them to someone #i know plenty of people aren't a fan of how i project onto kokichi haha #marshal has opinions #ask the marshmallow

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captainjimothycarter · 3 years

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Trope meme for Steggy 48. Fake dating and 60. Poorly timed confession

This is...whatever my brain came up with.

“Are you alone?”

Steve looked up from where he was sketching in the notebook, running a hand through his hair. He knew her - the bright-eyed woman above him. She looked stunning with her hair perfectly pinned to mimic Victorian Curls and bright red lips. Her hazel eyes looked to be searching his, almost frantic and nervous. He could see how she struggled not to look behind her.

He did for her, seeing a bunch of frat boys from their classes clambering around the front entrance to the diner. A nasty feeling in his gut told him they were also around back.

She spoke without moving her lips too much, holding onto her jacket like she might take a seat and Steve could easily put the two and two together. They thought she was meeting him here and on the off chance she wasn’t, they were going to pounce.

They were waiting for her to exit and while Peggy was amazing in the classroom with her snappy comebacks and sass and putting the sexist pigs in their place, there was no way she could fight off the five, if not more, boys waiting for her.

And he knew she could throw a punch after watching her sock Hodge, the leader of this group, in the face after a nasty comment and accidentally caught an elbow in his gut when he was behind her in the library.

She was still waiting for an answer, her face carefully poised.

“I-no, I mean…” He flinched at his own words and Peggy gave a small laugh. “I mean, yes I am. I’m here alone. Here.”

He helped her sit down, feeling how shaken she was under his fingertips and waving to the waitress. Angie instantly came by, putting down a few drinks and a basket of fries and winking at Steve as she left.

“I-didn’t, I wouldn’t ever order for you, I mean…” Peggy’s brow rose and Steve swallowed slightly. “I just...she just did that.”

Peggy laughed again, sounding more relieved this time as she picked up a fry and bit into it. “Angie is just like that. Always insisting she’s miss matchmaker. You’re Steve, right? From my history and French class?”

“Yeah, and just about any other time I’m in the library. Are you alright? What the hell are those guys doing outside?”

They were still waiting, passing a bottle back and forth, still glaring at the window. He got an icky, nasty feeling as he looked out at them.

“Being douchebags,” she huffed. “Hodge, it seems doesn’t like that I scored higher than him in our last test in History nor does he like it that I socked him in the face after that nasty comment about my brother. I’m surprised I didn’t get expelled for that one.”

She seemed to eye the way Steve’s ears turned a shade of pink but didn’t say anything as he picked up a fry and twirled it around his fingers.

“I’ve been hearing them talk all week about it. He’s in my biology class too, unfortunately. Dumb as a sack of rocks, that one. He has some pretty transphobic views too.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Unsurprisingly. I wonder how the hell he even got into the university in the first place.”

“Oh, his dad donates a hell of a lot to the college and bribed the board members.” Realizing how sure of himself he sounded, Steve cleared his throat. “Or so I’ve heard. So, Hodge is pissed about that so he decided to what? Track you down?”

“So to speak, yes. He wanted to show me a lesson. In what a sexist asshole he is, then that’s already done. I ran to the first public place I saw and saw you sitting here, I hope that’s okay. I’m not ruining anything am I?”

She sounded generally concerned and Steve had to force himself to put down his drink to meet her eyes. Under his yellow light, he could make out the hints of gold reflecting in them. “No, no. I was just wasting time. I didn’t feel like being by myself in the dorm while Sam and Bucky are on their date. Plus, Angie is good company. Sometimes.”

“I heard that!”

Steve and Peggy both laughed at the shout from the kitchen.

It was close to two in the morning by the time the pair had decided to leave. Steve hadn’t even noticed how their hands were joined together, having reached for the same salt shaker. They’d never pulled them apart.

They had talked about everything from classes, to how Professor Coulson was heard to be the worst and best teacher, their families, even if Steve was reluctant on his.

And the guys still waited, growing increasingly impatient and nasty in their looks.

It didn’t surprise Steve when the door kicked open and a very drunk Hodge stood there. Peggy stood up instantly, half shoving Steve behind her.

“Carte-r-r-r-” He stumbled a few steps and stood face-to-face with her and Steve had to give Peggy props, she didn’t even flinch as he burped. “I got a b-bone to pick with you!”

The second he went to touch her, Steve jumped to his feet and shoved Hodge back, sending him tumbling back. Somehow the broad bastard kept his balance.

“You lil’ scrimp!” The man was yelling now, charging after Steve until he sidestepped the idiot and it sent him hitting the table head-first.

Steve snorted.

“What? You two datin’ now?” He glared between Peggy and Steve like they were nothing but dog shit under his boot. “Always knew you liked wimpy guys, that why you never went out with me, Carter?”

Peggy huffed. “I never went out with you, Hodge because you’re an arrogant, sexist pig who can’t count down from ten without being confused. Or answer a basic question. How you tie your shoes together, I’m unsure. And for your information yes we are.”

She pulled Steve in by his shoulders, laying a swift kiss on his temple.

“You ain’t gonna get high grades that way, Carter! Suckin’ the dick of the dean of the college’s kid!”

“You’re the dean’s kid?” Peggy had spun around to look at Steve, ignoring Hodge when he stumbled back to them.

Steve could feel his face heating up and nod. “Yeah, uh, Chester Phillips is my step-dad and he hates this son of a bitch here.”

“Only bitch I see is you!” Hodge went to snarl at Steve, any advancements he made were blocked off by Peggy’s fist to his throat. It dropped him down fast.

The guy was wheezing and Steve couldn’t even feel bad, even as flashing blue lights indicated Angie must’ve called the police. “Next time,” Angie told them as she handed Peggy a stun gun. “Use this on the bastard. He runs his mouth too much.”

Steve was exhausted. It was near four in the morning by the time they’d got back on campus. Hodge had been promptly for a combination of things, including assault and underage drinking, not to mention most of his crew taken with him.

They’d stayed late to help clean up the mess and give their statements, but still, Peggy hadn’t said a word about Dean Phillips being his step-dad. Even as they were walking up to her dorm.

“So,” Steve sighed as they stopped outside of her room. “I guess you don’t want to see me anymore?”

Even with the bags under her eyes, she looked beautiful, if not confused. “And why wouldn’t I, Steve? Because your step-dad is the dean of the college? Or because I told Hodge we were dating?”

His shoulders shrugged. “Both, I guess. I just…” He made a noise in the back of his throat.

“What you did tonight, standing up for me, to an idiot like Hodge was very brave and I thank you.” She smiled as she bends down to barely brush her lips over his. “As for who your step-dad is… I don’t care. I know you got in on your marks, on your smarts, as did I. Even if we were to date, it would be because I like you, not for Phillips.”

The kiss had all but frazzled his brain, catching odd ends of her sentence. “Wait - like me…? You-you, like me?”

Peggy couldn’t help the small laugh. “I have since our first group assignment together.”

Right. That was…news to him, but it made sense with the knowledge that Peggy always seemed ready to ask him something before changing the topic.

“I...I uh...would you want to...go out sometime then? A proper date.”

“Only after this gal has had some sleep. Thank you for everything, Steve. Shall we say...noon tomorrow?”

#Steggy #StevePeggy #Steggy Prompt #CJC's Story #babylawyeroq

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natblda · 3 years

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tw ;; rp abuse

reivcn

@alaskaslayer

@kennedybtvs

@tylerlockwoof

@sunnydalescoobies

i wasn’t going to do this. but i’m doing this. the next time you tell someone i was in love with you and talk shit about me or my muses in any fandom...check yourself. because i still have EVERY SINGLE MESSAGE, EVERY CHAT, EVERY GODDAMN THING BACKED UP AND DOZENS UPON DOZENS OF PEOPLE WHO HAVE LEARNED STRAIGHT FROM YOU HOW TOXIC AND ABUSIVE YOU ARE...ALL ON THEIR OWN WITHOUT THE HELP FROM ME I ASSURE YOU. YOU ARE INTERACTING WITH PEOPLE YOU TALKED SHIT ABOUT, I have all of that documented too, and you are interacting with them under a different alias. the number of messages i have received unprompted from people coming to me about the LIES YOU SPEW OUT, IS A MORE ABSURD NUMBER THAN YOU ARE A PERSON.

YOU are the reason you have NOTHING but your delusions, and NOTHING is keeping me from putting every single message i have on a google document because you are literally a predator to this community. i wasn’t going to do this, i really wasn’t. because the fact of the matter is...for someone who’s so ‘in love with you right’....you mean nothing to me. you DID THAT. not only did you abuse and gaslight me for YEARS, you abused my muse, you slut shamed her for having other verses, you called her a cheater for seeing other people, you threw in my face and her face nearly every goddamn time that luna interacted with anyone else ...that I QUOTE “RAVEN DOESN’T NEED OTHER VERSES JUST LUNA, WHY DOES LUNA NEED MORE THAN RAVEN, WHY IS RAVEN NOT ENOUGH, LUNA IS ENOUGH FOR RAVEN. WHERE IS RAVEN IN THIS REPLY? TELL THE OTHER MUSE RAVEN IS THERE SO THAT THEY KNOW LUNA IS TAKEN.”

like NO. how many times i said...get raven out there, let her explore, let her meet other people? it’s GOOD FOR HER? IT’S GREAT FOR MUSES? and you flipped at ME with that same gaslighting again. RAVEN ONLY WANTS LUNA. IT’S LUNA WHO CLEARLY NEEDS MORE. like honestly. the emotional abuse that you put me through and my muse through, to the point where i almost quit writing her? to the point where luna couldn’t even look at your raven without seeing YOUR NASTY BEHAVIOR BEHIND HER VOICE. and you would say...i cant interact with others bc no one in this fandom likes my raven, they all blocked me. BECAUSE OF YOU. BECAUSE OF YOUR SHIT, AND DON��T WORRY, I HAVE YOUR MESSAGES SAYING THAT IT WAS YOUR FAULT AS A MEANS TO MAKE ME GO ‘awe poor you, you’re just misunderstood. they just know you like i do’. but the truth is? THEY DON’T KNOW YOU THE WAY I DO AND THE WAY EVERY PERSON WHO BLOCKED YOU DOES. POOR ANYONE WHO COMES INTO CONTACT WITH YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE A PREDATOR AND A LEECH IN THE RPC.

I DO NOT BELIEVE IN CALL OUT POSTS. BUT I DO BELIEVE IN SAYING MY PIECE WHEN I HAVE BEEN ISOLATED AND SUBJECTED TO YOU FOR YEARS UPON YEARS. and you have the audacity to talk shit about me saying that I WAS THE ONE WHO DID ALL THE ABOVE MENTIONED THINGS TO YOU? yeah that sounds familiar, bc everyone in the world abuses you, you are a victim of everything. literally everything. the number of times i heard you say “not to be racist but...” and then proceeded to spit something racist out of your white mouth. the number of times you were transphobic, hell...i don’t have to mention that, most people saw that on the dash because you outed yourself with ‘in 2012 people like me could use any fc we wanted with any gender orientation and it was fine so i can still do that!” like..no. i let slide so much that i should NEVER HAVE ALLOWED. I BIT MY TONGUE BC I THOUGHT...maybe she just...needs to be educated on these things, maybe she doesn’t know what she’s saying, maybe it’s just not registering how to be an honest and genuine person. like i get it, people bicker, they have misunderstandings, but at least have the goddamn audacity to be straight forward with it.

i learned today from a few people...that you accused ME of doing these things instantly upon meeting these people, not even knowing them, and you so readily spilled lies about me. and i figured out why...because you don’t have control of me anymore, you don’t control my muse anymore, because i cut the strings and i cut you out and i kept moving forward, i kept going on, happy...without you. interacting with raven’s who ARE RAVEN, NOT YOU and your narrative behind her face and name.

the hours i devoted to you, the hours, days, weeks, months, stating over and over again how I WAS YOUR FRIEND AND NOTHING MORE THAN THAT, AND YOU TRIED COUNTLESS TIMES TO BAIT ME. let’s see if you remember this.

“i told my friends you’re my girlfriend i hope that’s okay.”

and me...going, i mean we’re friends, i am not in the country, but assuming it was an issue with your self-esteem i said...i guess that’s fine but we’re friends, we probably hang out as much as gfs do but we ARE NOT. and then you turned around with...now you’re giving me mixed signals are we girlfriends? LIKE YOU LIED TO YOUR FRIENDS, YOU STRAIGHT UP KNOW WE WEREN’T , hence the ‘i told my friends you’re my girlfriends’ like you KNEW WE WEREN’T, SO YOU ALREADY KNEW THE GODDAMN ANSWER WAS NO, BUT YOUR DELUSIONS LITERALLY DONT GET IT AND SO YOU ATTEMPT TO BAIT. i’m sorry that after 4+ years sitting on skype every day i can not imagine being with someone i watched eat more out of their nose than of actual food. that was just the tip of the iceberg because then we’re going right back into all of the toxic nightmare you put me through, all the shaming you put luna through., and that carried into threads most of the time, luna having to look at raven and feel like a cheater. like you know what, like i said i wasn’t going to do this, but having just met some amazing rpers i am so blessed to be able to write with and hearing the kind of lies you spilled about me and this whole situation.

i’m going to go to the time when luna was single verse, single shipped with your raven, and when she would interact with FRIENDS, she was slapped for it, i was slapped for it. the time when you tried to pimp raven out in the IMs of one of our mutuals and then that mutual came to me and went...look, im not comfortable, my muse isn’t interested, i’m trying to respect the fact that you guys are single shipped but basically rowan is trying to get my muse to have sex with her. and i went...news to me, i thought we were single shipped, but from this day on...it’s best that we are not. because you know what, considering how many times luna had already been shamed for having friends at that point, to find out that you were ACTUALLY DOING what you were shaming luna for doing, when luna wasn’t doing it? pissed me off and completely broke my rp partner trust in you. and you were only pissed because you got caught, bc someone else was a genuine and respectful person enough to tell me about it. after all the shaming you threw at luna and it was YOU breaking the single ship status. NOT ME. and from that day forth i guess you know what they say...faithlessness breeds a guilty conscience.

i DO NOT HAVE TO PROTECT YOU. YOU DO NOT DESERVE PROTECTION FROM ME. A PREDATOR DOES NOT GET TO SIT BY AND SAY...I’M BEING BULLIED. and i know that’s what you’re going to say, i know because you’re a victim of everything and you depend on my silence and me protecting you bc i cared about the muses. BUT I DO NOT HAVE TO PROTECT YOU. YOU DO NOT DESERVE MY SILENCE. I WILL NOT BE SILENT TO PROTECT YOU. I WILL PROTECT MYSELF AND MY FRIENDS AND EVERYONE WHO HAS EVER BEEN SUBJECTED TO YOU, EVERYONE WHO WILL EVER HAVE THE MISFORTUNE OF BEING SUBJECTED TO YOU, AND WHILE I DO THAT, I WILL BE MAKING THAT GOOGLE DOC.

SO...ROWAN, HIDING UNDER THE ALIAS OF CASS, [ an alias that she used in the past to make it seem like she had backup during an episode of her toxic behavior. yes. she created the alias and a clarke blog and conversed back and forth with herself on the dash so that it looked like she had someone backing her up when she was being passive aggressive on the dash ] she will likely find a dozen other alias to go by. i haven’t had to change mine, i haven’t had to hide, or move blogs, or switch anything just to get people to NOT KNOW WHO I AM, to trick people into interacting with me so that they think i’m someone else. she relied on my silence, she depended on me caring about the ship too much to speak up and defend myself or others, but i am done being silent.

#tw rp abuse #tw toxicity #tw gaslighting #just plain tw in general i am tired of being silent #im not putting this in MAIN tags bc this is FOR YOU #idc if anyone else reads it...it's for YOU #if i hear one more time from someone the kind of lies you've been spewing about me that will change #lose my number and keep my name out of your mouth #im done

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duhragonball · 3 years

Note

Hi! I wanna preface this by saying this isn’t a request for a liveblog, but just a recommendation for some light reading. There’s a comedy-action series currently running called Mashle: Magic and Muscles. It’s basically just taking the piss out of Harry Potter (mocking the house system, blatantly unfair classes, and just general story structure) in a sort of ‘One Punch Man’ way. It’s a lot of fun and doesn’t take long to get through at all.

I may check that out some time, but from my point of view, taking the piss out of Harry Potter is like shooting fish in a barrel. I shot the hell out of that barrel years ago, and I'm not sure there's much more appeal to be had in seeing it done again. Mashle is probably really good, but I'd probably have enjoyed it more in 2010 than in 2021.

Part of what sucked the wind out of my sails was when JKR went full-transphobe a few years ago, and it started to realize that all the pathetic asshole characters she wrote were a reflection of her own character. Snape was ultimately on the good guys' side, but he still betrayed Lupin just to be a colossal dick. Umbridge was more concerned about sorting her doilies and imposing order on others than in any sort of compassion or moral ideology. Gilderoy Lockhart was a narcissist social climber, desperate to hijack any conversation and make it about himself.

Fans want to compare JKR to Hermione, mostly for lack of any prominent female characters, but Hermione's no saint either. She spent all of Book 3 using time travel to take all of her classes, but she still talked shit about Trelawny for daring to suggest that a person could magically see into the future. Never mind that Trelawny had actually done it before, and got tenure teaching it as a recognized subject. I'm not saying Trelawny was good at her job, but you've got some girl saying "Um, actually, I think I know a little bit more about your life experiences than you do, so I'm going to do everything in my power to discredit you."

Sound familiar?

I'm sorry for going off on a tangent here. You're just recommending some manga to me, and I appreciate it, but I've had this on my mind for a while. Here's the thing I can't get out of my head: Nick Gage robbed a bank.

Let me explain. Nick Gage is a professional wrestler, specializing in "deathmatch" wrestling, where weapons are legal. One time he was pronounced legally dead during a match, because there was broken glass everywhere and he got hurt and I'm not sure I know or want to know the full story. But he got better and he's still alive today. Somewhere in between, he had some hard times and ended up robbing a bank and going to prison for five years.

But Gage is a folk hero, and I admire the man, in part because he appreciates his fans for supporting him. All of his fans, including the LBGTQ+ ones. On July 7, 2020, he cut this awesome promo declaring that trans rights are human rights. He's not sitting on a golden throne, spewing a bunch of bullshit pseudo-biology to millions of followers. He's just speaking from the heart. I think this was one of those deals where you pay someone to do a video greeting, but he went on to add that he would have said this for free, because he believes it. Here's another video where he explains why this is so important to him.

Rowling, and a lot of her characters, they always seem to "punch down", taking shots at people in worse circumstances than themselves. Nick Gage doesn't do that, probably because he's been about as down as it gets, and he knows what that's like. He knows other people have it tough and he has enough empathy to respect what other people are going through. I heard JKR was an unemployed single mother once, but it's hard to tell if she remembers any of that.

This is why I get a little nervous when I hear people talk about things being "wholesome" or "family friendly" or whatever. Because what they usually mean is that they want things to be sanitized, uncomplicated and unchallenging. I never liked the way people put Harry Potter on a pedestal of literature, perfect for young children and college classrooms alike. It carries this broad appeal, and I fear that's because it doesn't really have anything to say, no bold demand that would upset anyone. I mean, there's an implied message about the evils of classism, but Rowling doesn't seem to believe it if she's willing to turn against some of her most vulnerable fans for TERF clout.

Then they made some Harry Potter video game for PS5 or whatever, and all these fans are like "Gosh, I'd like to stop giving this hateful woman more money, but I'm afraid I simply cannot help but answer the call to Diagon Alley once more." It's gutless. You've got generations of people reading these books and the books aren't even that good, and nobody learns anything from them except how to spend more money on this shit. Nick Gage wrestles in broken glass for a living and he gets it, so why can't anyone else?

I'm sorry, I sort of hulked out there for a bit. I guess what I'm trying to say is that Mashle is probably a lot of fun, but it probably doesn't operate on this level, where all the characters are jerks and society is worse off for their introduction into Western Canon. But I might still check it out sometime.

#ask duhragonball #do i need to tag this or something?#i don't normally get into this sort of topic but it matters and i'm sick of people trying to pretend jo ceased to exist #'let's just pretend (x) wrote the books instead!'#i mean i get the sentiment but she wrote 'em and you're going to have to face that #like every woody allen movie is about an old guy falling for extremely young women #he was telling on himself the whole time so you can't just pretend allen smithee made those movies instead #and jo wasn't as obvious about it but we need to consider that her prejudices don't exist in a vacuum #anyway mdk all fucking day

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demonsonthemoon · 3 years

Text

More Real (Your Brutal Truth)

Fandom: Supernatural Pairings: N/A Word Count: 7581 Summary: Dean accidentally gets hit with a "gender-affirming potion." Except that, for him, it's anything but affirming. The hunting life hasn't really equipped him to deal with the fact that he's stuck in a female body for the next few months. Note: Title from Against Me!'s "Delicate, Petite & Other Things I'll Never Be.” I've seen some discourse going around about the "inherent transphobia" of certain fanfic tropes like genderbent AUs, mpreg or sex swaps. Those posts made me realize that I hadn't read any new sex swap stories in a while, despite them being hugely popular a while back. Now, that might be in part due to the fact that they were especially popular in the Supernatural fandom and that I had moved away from it, but I also think there genuinely aren't as many of them as they were before. Anyway, the point is that I've always enjoyed them, and while they can indeed rely on transphobic and essentialistic stereotypes there's also just SO MUCH potential for gender exploration in them. And this is why I decided to rub my greedy little trans hands all over the trope, because I will always prefer subvertion over cancellation.

Read it on AO3.

“You sold me out, you bitch, you-” The second witch jumped at Elena before either Dean or Sam got the time to draw their weapons. She wasn't supposed to arrive this soon, they hadn't been ready, and if they didn't do something, one more person would get hurt. Sure, said person was a witch, and usually Dean would have said good riddance to her, but Sam had done a thorough job of convincing him that not all witches were the same, and Elena had actually been helpful so...

So Dean jumped into the fray, dragging the second witch (he couldn't help but call her The Evil Witch in his mind) away from Elena. The woman whispered a spell, and Dean was tossed across the room, hitting a set of shelves. His vision darkened, but at least he had the satisfaction of hearing a shot ring out before he lost consciousness. Sam would do what he had to do, Dean wasn't worried.

Turns out he should have been worried. But not about the Evil Witch. About the bottles that had been broken in his fall and whose content had been splashed all over him.

“And there's no way you can change him back? Give him the opposite potion so the effects counteract each other.”

“That's not how it works, the potion acts on your current shape, if we tried to turn him back that way, his body wouldn't be right. If it worked at all. The spell is designed to be unbreakable. That's what it's for. But it's only temporary, it won't do any damage. He'll just turn back to his normal body after a while.”

“How long?”

“It depends on the person, on the metabolism. I can't say...”

“Give me an estimate.”

“Between two to four months? Sometimes it lasts longer than that, but usually not less.”

“Four months. He has to stay like this for four months?”

Dean figured it was past time he woke up properly and found out what this conversation was all about. The first thing he noticed was that he was no longer on the floor, but had been moved to a couch. That meant he'd probably been out of it for a little while, which wasn't great news. Sam and Dean really couldn't keep getting knocked out as much as they did and still avoid brain damage. Statistically speaking, it would be a miracle.

He opened his eyes slowly, mindful of any potential headache.

“And he's just... He's fully...”

“Yes,” Elena replied through gritted teeth. “I told you, that's what those potions do.”

“Yeah, okay, I get it, I just...”

Dean sat up, and the movement must have caught Sam's gaze because he immediately moved towards him.

“Dean. Hey. How are you feeling?”

Dean stretched his shoulders, still coming back from the haze of unconsciousness. “I'm fine.” His voice sounded weird, so he coughed a little.

“Don't freak out, okay? But there's been... an issue.”

“This is literally the worst way you could have phrased it if you didn't want me to freak out.”

Wow. His voice really did sound weird. What was up with that?

He ran a hand over his face, trying to shake out his wooziness. His cheeks were... surprisingly soft. He'd shaved that morning, sure, but it was nearly evening know, so his five o'clock shadow should have already settled in.

“You broke some potions when you fell. Nothing dangerous, okay? But you're...”

Dean pushed his brother away, sitting up straighter. He looked down at himself.

“What the fuck?”

“They're gender-affirming potions,” Elena said, drawing Dean's attention away from what were definitely breasts on his chest. “It's not dark magic. It helps some people, when they can't access hormones or surgery.”

“Gender-affirming potions?”

“You know,” Sam replied awkwardly. “For transgender people. It's like...” He winced. “A sex change.”

Dean looked down at himself again. At his breasts and the way his t-shirt fell awkwardly over them, too large for his frame. At his jeans beyond that, and the way they were too large around his hips despite the belt that was supposed to hold them in place.

“What the actual fuck?” He couldn't help himself and put a hand to his chest, cupping one of his boobs just to make sure that it was really there, that it was real.

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed in protest.

He could take his prudishness somewhere else though, because Dean was freaking out. “You mean that I'm a woman now?”

“Your body's female, yes,” Elena explained. “Temporarily.”

“You need to change me back.”

“Like I told your brother, I can't. No one can.”

“This is bullshit. I can't just be-”

“Dean, come on, it's not her fault.”

Dean was about to protest again, because it was definitely not his fault either, this was what he got for trying to help a witch, he'd known it was a bad idea... He stopped when he noticed the expression on Elena's face. She wasn't revelling in this like someone who had just gotten their ways or played a bad joke. She looked sorry and, more importantly, she looked scared.

Dean forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down.

“Okay. Fine. So, what do we do? We just... wait? I'm just supposed to live like this for several months and pretend everything's fine?”

Elena shrugged. “Loads of people do it. For what it's worth, I really am sorry. This is the opposite of what those potions are meant for.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. If you can't help, we'd better just go. Before another one of your spell goes off in a way it isn't meant to.”

Dean knew he was being too harsh, but he couldn't help it. The way his voice sounded kept irritating him, and now that he'd noticed it, he could feel the ways in which his body wasn't the same as before. He felt like he had a good excuse for being snappish.

He'd pulled his belt as tight as it would go and still needed to regularly pull his jeans up from where they threatened to fall off his frame. What a ridiculous situation.

He'd had to pull the bench-seat forward in the impala to reach the pedals comfortably, because turning into a woman had apparently also made him a good two inches shorter. Which was bullshit. Tall women existed.

He'd thrown a glare Sam's way, daring him to comment or complain about how he was missing his leg room. His brother hadn't said anything. He kept giving Dean short glances out of the corner of his eyes as he drove. It pissed Dean off, although the rational part of him knew that it was normal for Sam to be freaking out about this as well.

Dean got out of the car as soon as they'd pulled into the parking lot of the motel they'd booked the night before. He made a beeline for their room and didn't even wait for Sam to walk in before he locked himself into the bathroom.

With some trepidation, Dean started pulling off his clothes, starting with his shoes and jeans, then his t-shirt, until he was standing in his boxers and socks.

He raised his eyes and looked into the mirror.

For a while, he couldn't move. It as possibly the strangest thing he'd ever experienced. The reflection looking back at him was both decidedly him and not him. His face was thinner and a little softer than it had been, without any visible facial hair. But at the same time, his eyes were exactly the same as they'd been before, just like his hair.

Then there were the more obvious difference, i.e. his chest. He had boobs. Not too small either. Once again, he couldn't resist the urge to grab them, just to check that they were really there, that they were really his.

Touching them was weird. Not bad weird, but not really good weird either. Considering how much he liked touching girls' breasts, he was kind of confused that the only feeling being able to grab his own provided him with was bewilderment.

Dean stared at his boxers. He knew he needed to check. Knew he wanted to check. To be honest, he already knew that the change was as complete as Elena had promised. But he couldn't not check, right?

So he dropped his underwear and looked at himself. He looked and he felt... not much, really. That was weird, right? That was most definitely weird. He had a vagina, for fuck's sake. Of course he was supposed to feel something.

Dean had heard his brother close the door, so he knew that he was sitting in the next room, being thoughtful and giving him space. It made him feel a little guilty about what he did next, but once again... He couldn't not, right?

So he touched himself. Just a little. Just to see what it felt like. He let his fingers skim over the lips of his vagina, then trailed them upwards to gently press against his clit.

This was so weird.

This was so, so weird.

He stopped. He stopped before the sensation became more than that. A sensation, not yet really pleasure. He pulled his hand away and closed his eyes for a moment. Breathing.

His pulled up his boxers, put on his t-shirt again, and gathered his jeans in his arms. He didn't want to put them on again, not if they kept falling down. He had some sweatpants in his duffel. Those might hold better.

Four months. He was supposed to stay like this for four months.

Fuck. He was going to have to shop for clothes.

Sam didn't comment on his state of undress when he came out. “You okay?”

Dean shrugged. “I'm fine.”

“Dean-”

“Look, I don't want to talk about it right now, okay? I just got turned into a girl by a witch and am going to have to stay that way for the foreseeable future. I don't know how I fucking feel about it. Weird. I feel weird! But I'm fine, and talking about it isn't going to change things.” He dropped his jeans on his bed, then turned to his duffel and put on his sweatpants. Back turned to Sam, he added: “I'm gonna need to buy some clothes.”

“Yeah. Right. We... We can go tomorrow. I can... I'll grab some takeout for us to eat, okay?”

“Sure. Yeah. Good idea.”

“Okay.”

When Dean didn't add anything, Sam grabbed his wallet and moved to leave the room.

“Don't forget the pie!” Dean called after him, finally turning to face him.

“Of course not,” Sam said with a smile.

A kind smile.

He closed the door and Dean groaned. He knew he was about to be on the receiving end of a lot of those smiles in the coming week. Which was bullshit. His body had turned female. It wasn't as if he was sick or anything.

Dean put a hand on his stomach.

Shit. Elena had said that her potion turned your body fully into that of another sex. Did that mean he was going to have his period?

Going clothes shopping the next day was just as awkward as Dean had anticipated. He dragged Sam into a Goodwill, figuring that at least in a second-hand store no one would find him weird for picking up way too many items and trying all of them on. It took him five tries to find a pair of jeans that actually fit him. He put a skirt into his basket without trying it on and without looking at Sam. Shirts were easier, although most t-shirts were annoyingly thin and let the shape of his nipples show through.

How was he even supposed to begin figuring out his bra size?

He categorically refused to set foot in a lingerie store. The small little shops all had women wearing bright friendly smiles in them, and he knew they would ask him whether he needed help and he would have no idea how to reply and he just wouldn't. So they went into a department store, and Sam hovered over him awkwardly as he walked to the underwear department.

Finding out that sports bra came in standard shirt sizes was a relief. Dean was ready to take a pass on the chance to wear sexy underwear if it meant not having to try on 5 different bras. So he took two of the sports one in the same size as his t-shirts and didn't look at Sam until they were back in the car.

They went back to their motel room. They'd booked another night since they didn't already have a new hunt planned. (Technically, Sam had booked another night, because Dean didn't really want to know how the reception clerk would react if he saw his new face.)

“Go ahead if you want to...” Sam started, gesturing towards the bathroom.

Dean sighed, but carried the bags of new clothes inside with him.

Changing was slightly easier than it had been the day before. He wasn't used to his new body, far from it. But at least the ways it moved and the new sensations had stopped being as foreign. At least it felt like his body again. Different, but still his.

Dean pulled out one of the two pairs of jeans he'd bought. It had strass lining the pockets, which Dean didn't feel great about, but well. When in Rome.

He put those on over his boxers (He was not going to wear panties. Out of the question. Especially not with his brother there.), then put on the sports bra. The sensation was weird, but not much more than the feeling of his boobs moving when he walked had been. He put a branded white t-shirt over it. Finding a simple t-shirt that didn't have a horrifying design printed on it had been surprisingly difficult. This one had been his only decent find, but Dean had figured that he could always just wear his regular stuff. Oversized shirts were a thing with women, right?

He finished his outfit by putting the flannel he'd picked that morning back on. It was warm enough outside to go without, he supposed, but he wasn't ready to relinquish his layers. He rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves, then stared at his reflection.

He walked out of the bathroom.

“I look like a lesbian.”

Sam looked up from his laptop, where he'd probably been looking for a new case. “What do you- Oh.” He started laughing, then tried to hide the giggles behind his hand.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on. Don't be shy. I said it first.”

Sam tilted his head to the side, still laughing slightly. “I mean... Yeah. You kind of do. Jeans and flannel, you know?”

“I'm not going to wear one of those floral blouses, absolutely not happening.”

“But, well, it's not a bad thing, is it? I mean, you do like women, so...”

“Yeah. Straight women. 'Cause I'm a guy.”

“I know! I know, dude, I just mean... I just mean it's not too bad if people assume you're a lesbian. Might stop some straight guys from trying to flirt with you.”

Dean grimaced at the possibility. He had already considered it, had in fact spent most of the morning avoiding looking at people's faces so as to ward off any attention.

The thing was, he didn't care if it was a guy or a girl. The idea of anyone flirting with him while he was in this body just felt wrong. He wasn't about to explain that to Sam though, because the man was too smart for his own good and might pick up on the subtexts that there were times when Dean would be comfortable getting flirted on by a guy, and that was one of many conversations that Dean didn't want to have with his brother. “I guess.”

“Hey. Don't worry about it. You look fine.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

It did get easier after that. Once he got past his original discomfort, Dean set out to explore the possibilities of this new body more thoroughly. He wasn't about to wear a sexy dress or whatever, but he just let himself... be. Stopped hunching in on himself to hide away, which didn't feel natural to him in any body. He let his body be a body, and found it quite interesting to notice the differences between how people interacted with him now in comparaison to before. Especially women. Comments that would have obviously been taken as attempts to flirt in his old body were now received like honest compliments. He never got anything more than a smile and a thank you out of them, but there was often something so honest in that smile that Dean couldn't feel mad about it. Sam – who was in on the joke, obviously – found it kind of hilarious.

Another thing that was seriously throwing off Dean's flirting game was the fact that he and Sam kept being mistaken as a couple. And sure, considering that this had happened before when they both looked like guys should have prepared him for it, but it was still infuriating. A girl and a guy could hang out together without being a couple. And, yes, Dean and Sam had different hair colors and body types, but they were still brothers. Couldn't people see that?

Dean's exploration of his female body also took a more... hands on turn. Becoming female didn't mean that he'd lost his libido. Besides, weren't all guys curious about what sex felt like for girls? So Dean touched himself. In the shower, like he usually did, because Sam was always in the next room. (It was frustrating sometimes, but Dean would never trade privacy for the sense of loneliness that had settled in his bones when Sam had left for Stanford.)

He quickly figured out that sitting down would be a lot easier that staying up. So he did just that, settling himself on the tile of the shower floor, back to the wall, and spreading his legs.

He watched his fingers trail the length of his vagina to settle on his clit. He rubbed against it sotfly, experimentally. The sensation was strange, diffuse and too much all at once, like he was already overstimulated despite barely feeling anything.

He kept going. Soon the sensations changed, growing more familiar along with his arousal. He trailed his fingers lower once again, between the lips of his cunt and... yeah. He was wet. The sensation was a complete mindfuck, and Dean had to close his eyes as he slipped a finger inside of himself. Once again, the feeling wasn't what he'd expected. Not that he'd consciously imagined something but... yeah. He moved his finger around a little, trying to keep on rubbing his clit with his other hand at the same time. The angle wasn't great, which was really frustrating. He pushed another finger inside himself, still not looking, curled them upwards a little and... okay. He felt... something. Something good. He kept pushing in and out, a little more insistantly and maybe... he used his thumb on the same hand to rub against his clit as he moved and that was... really nice.

He felt his muscles clench as his orgasm approached, speeding up his rhythm even as his wrist started to hurt, frustration growing as he teetered on the edge.

And then the spasms started, and Dean struggled to keep any kind of rhythm at all as the sensation washed through him in several waves.

He stayed sitting for a few seconds, pulling out his fingers and washing the white fluids coating them in the flow of the running shower. He was careful as he stood up, legs still a little shaky. Washing himself down felt weird, as he was overly conscious of his vagina and the way the sensation of being stretched open still lingered.

He didn't spend much more time in the shower much after that, and walked out and into the bedroom as usual. After all, this was the usual. He jerked off in the shower all the time.

The next step was to actually wear the skirt he had impulsively bought in the charity shop. He told both himself and Sam that it was only a way to look the part when they went to talk to some witnesses for a case. They were supposed to be insurance investigators, so his usual butch look wouldn't work as well.

Sam didn't seem convinced, but he didn't say anything. That was pretty much his entire policy on this whole sex-change thing. He did what he had to do to sell their covers when they were out in public and acted as if nothing had changed in private. Dean had to goad him into making any kind of comment or joke. It was... nice, Dean guessed. Thoughtful, definitely, even though it didn't really make Dean any more comfortable. Joking was his go-to coping mechanism. Sam's silent respect only made him feel like this was a bigger deal that it really was.

Just like wearing a skirt wasn't a big deal. He just... wanted to try how it felt. (He did go back to a department store to buy himself some tights, because shaving his whole legs wasn't something he wanted to do. And rocking a skirt with unshaved legs kind of went against the idea that he was wearing it to blend in in the first place.)

And it actually felt... nice. Lighter than wearing jeans, allowing him a freer range of movements. (To an extent. Sam had to nudge him as they were seated on one of the witnesses' couch so that he would close his legs.) It felt even better without the tights on, which Dean figured out when they went back to their motel room to wait for nightfall before they broke into the cemetary to salt and burn the local vengeful spirit.

Sam avoided his gaze a lot during that evening, but he also didn't say anything. Dean knew the skirt thing was weird. Most of the time he shed his feminine clothes as soon as they were alone, reverting to sweatpants and old t-shirts. He would have to put on jeans again went they went out at night. But for now... it felt nice. Fun. It looked good and it was comfortable and... well. There weren't a lot of things about this situation that were comfortable, so couldn't he enjoy this one without overthinking it?

Three weeks into the spell, Dean's stomach started hurting. At first he thought he might have eaten something bad, but it wasn't the same kind of pain. Then he found blood in his boxers.

Fuck fuck fuck.

He'd known the day would come, because Elena's potion was very thorough, but knowing it in theory hadn't meant that it had actually felt real.

This was very real. At least they were back in their motel room and not in a witness's house. Having to excuse himself to change his underwear would have been a lot more awkward in that situation. It also explained why Dean had felt so horny the past three days.

“I need to go to the store,” Dean grumbled.

Sam hummed, barely looking up from his laptop. The thing they were hunting was apparently only talked about in some African legends, so finding a way to kill it had been slightly more difficult than expected. “Beer run?”

“Yeah,” Dean easily agreed, happy for the excuse.

Finding the personal hygiene section of the local supermarket hadn't been an issue. The problem was that Dean was then faced with a lot more options than he knew what to do with.

He didn't know how he felt about the idea of tampons, because sticking a wad of cotton in his vagina and carrying it around all day was just... uncomfortable.

So, pads. Was he supposed to get the normal ones? Bigger ones? Was the fact that there were special packs for the night something he should be worried about?

He took a pack of the bigger size, figuring it was better to be safe than story, then was struck by the thought that the pads wouldn't fit inside of his boxers and that he would have to by some panties after all.

Fuck his life and fuck Elena's potions.

In the end, he bought the menstrual pads, a pack of three pairs of black panties, some painkillers, and turned around last minute to grab a six-pack of beer as well.

Had to keep up his cover right?

He didn't look the cashier in the eye when he paid for his items, even though the middle-aged woman didn't seem particularly interested in his selection. Dean knew he had nothing to be ashamed off. This was all natural and blah blah blah. Except it wasn't natural, not for him. It was fucking witchcraft and it fucking hurt.

As soon as he was back in the motel room, Dean settled at the table, opened a beer and used it to wash down one of the painkillers.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, looking at him over the screen of his laptop.

“Just peachy. You find how to kill this thing yet?”

“I think so. Maybe.”

“Maybe? I'm not sure if that's good enough, Sammy.”

Dean had thought that it would become more bearable as time went by. He'd thought that he would get used to his new body, that it would get easier not to frown when Sam called him Dee in public or when guys in the street looked him up and down.

Instead, it just grated on his nerves more and more. At first it had been weird, confusing. Then there had been a short while where it had been... almost fun. He'd been able to see it as a sort of experiment, and he'd played with it, hyping up his female persona as some sort of game. But now it just felt heavy. He was tired of not recognizing himself in the mirror, tired of the offended looks he got when he dared act like normal in this new body, like no one had ever seen a woman chew with her mouth open or stare at a waitress' ass. He was tired of pretending, tired of being judged, and tired of this fucking body that didn't belong to him.

Still a month and a half. At least.

Even hunting was weird now, because he was used to being taller, larger. It was also very frustrating that every monster they fought always immediately went for him, like being female per definition made him the easy target. So he'd taught some monsters a lesson or two about sexism. At least there was that.

Sam obviously noticed that something was wrong. His puppy eyes had basically been trained on Dean ever since the potion had hit, and they only intensified as soon as Dean's mood turned sour.

“Quit it, Sam. I'm fine. Just... tired of this fucking spell. But there's nothing we can do, right? So leave it alone.”

“Maybe we can't reverse it, but you could still talk about it, you know?”

“It's not because I'm a chick now that you get more chick flick moments. Don't even try.”

“Yeah, but that's the thing, Dean. You're not a chick, like you say. You just have the body of a woman and are forced to interact with the world like you're one, and don't try to bullshit me because I know it's not easy for you, I have eyes.”

“Yeah, well. Still doesn't change the fact that there's nothing to be done about it.”

Sam frowned, looking thoughtful. It was the kind of expression that indicated he'd just had an idea that would probably take some time to work through.

Dean left him to it, instead starting the series of pull-ups and push-ups he'd begun doing every evening to compensate for this new body's lower upper-body strength.

Dean hadn't been so dilligent about keeping in shape since his dad had been around to tell him off for not doing it, so the activity brought back some weird memories. At the same time, it allowed him to genuinely feel in his body, in control of it, despite whatever form it took.

So yeah, Dean had a woman's body now. But as long as nobody tried to talk to him, and as long as he had the fire in his muscles to focus on, he could ignore that. It was fine.

“What's this?” Dean asked, looking at the item Sam had just handed him. It vaguely looked like the sports bra that Dean always wore when they went outside, and he wondered if this was a jab at him for not washing his underwear enough.

“It's... uh.” Sam looked... embarrassed? Awkward, at least. “A binder.”

“A binder?”

“For your...” He gestured vaguely towards Dean. “Chest.”

Dean frowned. “And you had to buy me one because...?”

“Look, it's not like a bra or something. It's to... to flatten it.”

“What the fuck?”

Sam looked towards the ceiling, probably trying to find his words as much as not to snap at Dean for his lack of helpfulness.

Sue him. He was the confused one in this conversation.

“A binder is a garment that transgender men use to make their chest look flatter. More masculine.”

Dean stared at the piece of fabric in his hand, which basically looked like some sort of black tank top.

“Okay. So why did you buy me one?”

Sam threw his hands in the air. “Oh, I don't know, because I like throwing around money we don't have! Think for two seconds, Dean. I bought you one because Elena's potion is making you miserable. Because you've started flinching every time someone calls you Miss on the street. Because it feels really uncomfortable to have to call you Dee when we're out and I keep messing it up.”

“This isn't going to make me a dude again.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You're already a dude. That's the whole point. But it can make you... Look like more of one. At least a little. I don't know. You don't have to wear it, I just... I just thought it would help.”

Sam's voice nearly broke over the end of his sentence. Dean suddently realized how helpless Sam was feeling in this situation. Taking care of each other was what they did. What they lived for. When there was nothing that they could do... It felt wrong. Painful.

So Sam was trying to help.

Dean still felt like there was something not quite right about his brother's reactions, though. Sure, this spell was a pain in the ass, and Dean could admit that he'd been acting in a pretty foul manner because of it, but it wasn't like they hadn't ever been in annoying magic-related situations before. It almost felt like there was... some personal stake for Sam in all of this.

But Sam hadn't said anything, and Dean wasn't going to ask. His brother wouldn't expect him to.

Instead, he wordlessly stood up, binder in hand, and went into the bathroom.

He'd been avoiding looking at himself in a mirror for a few days. Couldn't muster up any awe or curiosity anymore for this too-familiar and still foreign face that stared back at him. He looked now. Tried to see himself behind every little difference that amounted up to too much, to something that had become close to unbearable.

He undressed. As usual, he had ditched his sports bra when arriving at the motel, still not used to the feeling of it over his chest. The fact that the binder looked even more constricting did not make it sound like an inviting alternative. Still. He ought to try. For Sam's sake, but mostly for his own. He didn't know if hiding his chest would be enough for people to treat him as a guy again, but he did know that the novelty of grabbing his own boobs had worn out a long time ago.

Pulling the thing on was not exactly a pleasant experience, but Dean figured it out. It was indeed constrictive, though it still allowed him to breathe. Once properly in place, he was glad to noticed that he didn't actively feel the fact that his breasts were basically being squished against his torso.

He looked up towards the mirror.

It looked... It looked like Dean was wearing a weird tank top, instead of underwear. But his chest did look... flat. Almost normal, if not for the fact that Dean's usual body had broader shoulders. He turned to the side, looking for the telling bulge that insisted on changing his silouhette and making it so recognizable as female, but could barely see any curve at all.

Dean grabbed his t-shirt, one of his old ones, from the male section of a department store somewhere. He puts it on, then looked at himself again.

It's not perfect. Dean's face is still slightly too thin, slightly too soft, so it's not perfect. But Dean can sort of see himself again in his reflection, in the eyes that never changed and the way his gaze can slide down past his collarbones without catching on anything.

So maybe Sam's idea had some merit. He braced himself, then went back into the motel room. Stopping a few feet away from his brother, he ironically spun around, showing himself off.

“How does it feel?” Sam asked, ever the worried type.

Dean shrugged. “It's a little weird. I can feel it when I breathe too deep.” He did exactly that, feeling the fabric stretch to accommodate the rise and fall of his chest. “But it's okay.”

“Okay. Do you...” He trailed off, unconsciously biting his lower lip.

“Do I want to wear it? I don't know. Don't know if it's gonna be enough to... pass. Or whatever. But I guess I'll try?”

A shy smile. “Okay. Yeah. That sounds good.”

Dean could let it go. Should let it go. This isn't something he feels comfortable talking about, and if Sam had wanted to talk about it he would have.

But he couldn't just ignore ir either, could he? Because protecting each other was all they had.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Mmh?”

“How did you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“How did you know to get me this? That it'd help.”

Sam shrugged. “I didn't. Not really. I just... guessed.”

“I didn't even know those things existed.” Dean could already feel he was treading unsteady ground, and told himself this was as far as he'd push.

“Like I said. A lot of trans people use them.”

There was a pause. Dean looked at Sam without saying anything, giving him the choice of where this conversation was going to go next.

But the fact that the silence lasted for more than a second was enough to indicated that something needed to be said. Both of them knew it.

“I was doing some research,” Sam explained, not looking him in the eye. Of course there had been research, this was Sam. “Before this.” He gestured towards Dean. “Before Elena.”

That, Dean hadn't expected. Because “before Elena” could mean a whole range of thing from three months ago to three years. He wanted to ask, but held his tongue. He was already overstepping by having initiated this conversation, he needed to rein himself in and let Sam go at his own pace.

“Research on the transgender community. I mean. Yeah, obviously. But that's why I knew what a binder is. And I figured... Remember how Elena said something about your situation being the opposite of what her potions were for?”

It did ring a bell, vaguely, so Dean nodded.

“They're meant to allow people to have the body they feel is aligned with their true gender, right? They're meant to ease the discomfort created by the fact that the way you feel and how people see you don't match.”

Dean nodded again. He kept noticing the care with which Sam chose his words, and thought of how much blunter he would have been if he'd had to talk about the same topic, of how many of the terms he knew would probably sound offensive to some, because Dean had never thought he would need to learn new ones.

“With you, it went the other way. Instead of fixing it, it created that discomfort. That mismatch between who you are and how people see you.”

Thinking of the past month, Dean could agree that that description felt right. He hadn't realized, before his body had changed, how much of his confidence and of his sense of self was based on how others percieved him and interacted with him.

“I figured... I figured you're kind of stuck in the same situation as someone who's trans? In a weird way? And obviously it's not the same, because you know what your real body's like, and you know it's temporary but I still figured... I figured that you're a guy, and so you want to look like a guy, and that this might help.”

Sam stopped. He looked down at his feet, then at the ceiling. “This is gonna be a really awkward conversation, isn't it?” he asked drily.

“Sam, you don't have to-”

“I know.” He smiled. “I know I don't have to, but I got this far so...”

Dean sat down on the second bed, facing his brother. In the narrow space between the two pieces of furniture, their knees could almost touch.

Dean didn't like emotional moments. They made him uncomfortable, because he didn't know how to react during them. Allowing himself to be vulnerable was equivalent in his mind to letting himself get killed.

But he knew he needed to be there for Sam. He knew that this might be more important than he'd expected, and that Sam needed him. There wasn't anything Dean wouldn't do for his brother.

“I don't think I'm... like you,” Sam started, looking at their knees instead of towards Dean. “When it comes to gender. I mean... You're so... confident. In your own identity. You overplay masculinity all the time, but it doesn't feel jarring. It feels like it comes naturally. Like you know who you are.”

Dean probably could have argued about the overplay part, but he wasn't sure it was the kind of hill he wanted to die on. He knew he sometimes... compensated. Played up his love of women to avoid thinking about other things, and built himself a persona in the process. It was strange, in a way, that Sam could see right through that and still call Dean confident. Dean was the person he'd needed to be. In order to survive a lonely childhood, in order to thrive in the hunter's life and its constant danger. Sam had always been the one who dared break the unspoken rules, who tried to find another way. Wasn't that confidence?

“It's not like that for me. It doesn't feel natural. It feels like it's always shifting. I look at you now and it looks like you feel so uncomfortable in this new body, and all I can think about is that I'm barely comfortable in the one I have right now.”

Dean had pushed. Dean had wanted to know, he'd wanted an answer, but he didn't know what to do with what Sam was telling him.

“What does that mean?”

“Honestly?” Sam's smile was self-depricating and Dean hated it. This was an expression he knew well. He'd seen it throughout all of their childhood every time Sam came home from school after a day of being bullied and called a weirdo, everytime he asked their dad for something simple and normal and got the answer that those things weren't for people like them, every time he'd been called a freak or called himself one, because of hunting, because of his visions, because of who he was. “Not much. I don't think it can mean much, not with the lives we've got.”

“Sam-”

“No, listen. I've thought about this, okay? I've thought about this for months. My relationship to gender is... complicated. Weird. And I think that... maybe that puts me on the trans spectrum. Somewhere. But I'm not a woman. I don't want to transition. And if I don't... it's just easier to let people think what they're gonna think, you know? And maybe what they think isn't the truth, isn't my truth, but it's my choice to tell them or not, and I've decided not to.”

“Okay.” Dean looked at himself, at his too-loose shirt and the new sweatpants he'd bought because Sam had insisted he couldn't keep wearing his old ones all the time without washing them. He looked at his chest and the way it felt new to see is so flat, the weird kind of relief that that sight brought. He thought of everything Sam had done for him in the past weeks, how careful he'd been, stopping himself from making any kind of jokes because even if Dean had been gauding him into them he knew that they might still hurt, maybe not right then, but later on, on days like today when Dean's new body felt like it was seeping with open wounds. And here Sam was, looking at him with eyes that begged him not to fall into pity, that begged him to actually listen and understand, and Dean couldn't do anything else. He couldn't help. Even though that was his job, because he was the big brother and Sammy was everything. Despite all that, he still couldn't help. “Okay.”

“Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry I didn't tell you earlier. It wasn't... It wasn't that I didn't-”

“Don't even go there, Sam. This isn't... It's about you. It's personal. I get that. I'm not gonna get mad that you kept it a secret or whatever. You had every right to. But... I'm glad you told me. You gotta know that.”

Sam smiled then, small and shy, but a smile all the same. Dean had wanted to do more. To be more. But this was something. Maybe it was even enough, at least for now. “Okay.”

“Okay. Chick flick moment over!” Dean proclaimed before letting himself fall backward on the bed. Sam tried to push his feet out of the way when Dean put them up beside him, and Dean kicked him in retaliation, leading them to play-wrestle like they hadn't since being both teenagers.

Dean got out of breath too quickly and had to surrender, wincing at the way his chest was constricted under the binder. That meant he wouldn't be able to wear it when they were out hunting. Actually... that wasn't too bad. He didn't need it when it was just him and Sam and whatever monster they were chasing. Those moments were when he was closest to feeling like himself, present in his body, adrenaline rushing through his veins, and Sammy by his side.

In the end, the effects of Elena's potion lasted for three months and 22 days. They dissipated just as quickly and as thoroughly as they had set in. Dean had felt tired all morning, and had settled for a nap right after lunch. He woke up to the uncomfortable sensation of being squeezed across the stomach, and it took him a minute to figure out that that was because his pants had become much too tight.

He changed immediately, taking the time to stare at his own face in the mirror, to rub his hands over the familiar stubble across his cheeks. He laughed aloud, an expression of pure joy that amplified when he recognized the lower tones of his old voice.

As soon as Sam came back from his trip to the local library (the thing they were after was mostly likely a ghost, so he'd been digging into the city records for potential gruesome deaths), Dean was gesturing at himself.

“I am back in the game!”

Sam smiled, with genuine happiness and relief. “That's great. So, how are we celebrating? Burgers after the hunt's done? Hitting up a bar or three?”

“I am going to get laid! It has been way too long.”

Sam chuckled, rolling his eyes at his antics. “Right.” They both knew that Sam had been celibate for a lot longer than three months and wasn't any worse for it, but they also both knew that Dean wasn't Sam.

Dean was pretty sure he didn't have to explain how much he'd missed being able to flirt with women, even more than the physical act of sex. Sam was too smart for his own good, he probably understood.

“It's good to have you back, man,” the younger brother said, clapping Dean onto his shoulder.

And it was good. It was really really good. So good that Dean couldn't help but think about what Sam had revealed, the day he'd bought Dean's binder, about how he didn't seem to experience the sense of rightness that Dean now felt at being back inside himself. But there wasn't any bitterness in Sam's eyes, not any jealousy. Only light. He was living his life, as well as he could, just like Dean was. That was their truth, and it didn't matter if it was a little imperfect.

It was good all the same.

#Meeni writes fics #Supernatural #Trans Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #yes I tagged trans!Sam first because I want to provide that sweet content to those who know the truth #Non-binary Sam Winchester

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werehamburglar · 3 years

Note

The anon that sent the long message here again (with another big message too!): I didn't see that post that you said the OP was probably referring to, my bad. Still, they're being extremely aphobic (ironic, huh?) accusing a literal ace/aro person of being an aphobe, especially when looking at your blog for more than a few minutes, it's CLEAR that you are 100% pro-ace / pro-aro.

I would honestly block that person, they seem a little too... unstable? That doesn't feel like the right word because I'm genuinely not trying to insult them. Like I think they fell into the discourse crowd and went to the extremist side of "if it looks like it's supporting shitty people/statements then context is completely unnecessary, they're guilty call them out now". Which has gotten plenty of minorities bullied off of here by "allies" with discourse blogs not checking their sources or information.

They're not worth your time, or your emotions. They're a stranger in a sea of strangers. Block them, and anyone who seems to have appeared through them. Those extremists pockets aren't very big and often never have actual reach, so it'll die with their blogs whenever they grow up and mature.

Lastly -- I would contact your professor and let them know what happened with the internet being down. Especially if this is college. Practically any instructor will brush off any deduction for being little late if it was caused by something out of your control, especially if it doesn't happen often and you make sure to communicate. That's what most instructors (and people in general!) want -- just communication.

i just got to this, sorry.

1. Yeah, I... I don't know. My discourse blog is specifically for being a little shit. And if you look at the rest of the conversation that happened there (on that post), it should be very clear that that's what was happening. Contrasted with my posts on main and my more genuine posts on that blog, I don't know? I genuinely don't know. I don't get it.

2. I don't have to worry about blocking her because she has already blocked me. (She also apparently marked me red on shinigami eyes, which is... wild, because I don't know what I did that was transphobic and nobody has told me yet.)

3. I've already updated my bio to reflect what I'm going to be doing. I'm just going to be on less, for my own sanctity of mind.

4. I did tell my professor what was up, actually! God, I hope she's understanding about my connection issues. On the bright side, I'm done with this semester of college! So there's something silver in this dark cloud. I just have to clean up my dorm and move out.

5. Obviously you shouldn't, like, platform TERFs, especially on your main blog, and I'm sorry about that post I reblogged a few days ago. I should have known better, and I took it down as soon as it was pointed out to me that OP was, in fact, a TERF. But, like... me getting pissed at yet another troll blog made specifically to mock my identity isn't the same as that. Of all the things I could theoretically be called out for, this is the thing?

If anything, all this proves my fears-- that someone is watching every little move and misinterpreting everything I say as something malicious. I know myself and I know that all this is going to make me wildly paranoid and I'm already jumping to the worst possible ends (somehow this gets back to my university, they don't believe me when I defend myself, I get kicked out, someone finds me and recognizes me for what was said, etc.), so I think it really is best if I go on that semi-hiatus. (I want to say, though-- it's not someone else's fault that I'm being so up my own about all this. I'm generally a very anxious person and there's a lot happening right now, so it's making it a little harder to cope with what's happening on here.)

Also, for the record: I'll probably take this ask down when I go through and take down the other posts. Hopefully this all blows over and I can do that soon.

edit: this is the one post I'm going to keep up. i'll link it on the deleted posts log, though.

#if this sounds crazy it's because im totally wigging out right now #i know im kinda being paranoid #im just afraid that this is going to be what im known for #that people are actually going to believe im an aphobe #with no actual proof #and then you know #image ruined #and everyone hates me #i genuinely can't cope with that if that's what happens #oh god #anon #checking the mail #rjalker #edit 2 (like a year later): i no longer have a record of those other posts #edit three (subsequent to two): rjalker uses it/its pronouns now. which is something i have been recently made aware of.#since it used she/her at the time im leaving this post as-is. but i am recognizing that now. thank you and my sincerest apologies now.

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jessica-rowan · 3 years

Text

A letter I will never send (to my transphobic mother)

Janet,

So I’m moving out. You’re a bitch and have been such a profoundly negitive influence on me that I have wanted to kill myself. Any mother who is the direct cause of that in her child is a failed mother and a terrible person.

Fuck you. Like for real and for serious, Fuck you. You sit and you bitch about how no one respects you and you don’t feel loved. This WHOLE house bends to your every whim without a word in argument. NO ONE stands in your way. NO ONE. fuck you. SO MANY of my fucking friends have made some variation of the comment:

“If i didn’t know other people aside from your mother lived here i wouldnt have ever guessed”

My room, my space, my fucking hidaway. It has hardwood floors not because I wanted them, but because YOU wanted them. BOTH times my room has been painted it was because YOU wanted it painted.

There is ZERO evidence that I live in the house. Everything is how YOU want it and its always fucking been this way.

You bitch, you berate, you condescend and YOURE FUCKING PROUD OF IT

“Hey i'm just being honest, if you don't want me to be honest dont ask” - thats fucking your mantra and you fucking wear it like a fucking crown

Brutal honesty? No. judgemental bitch. Its not a good character trait its fucking toxic and its one of the many, many, many fucking reasons danielle doesnt fucking talk to you. The reason we dont come to you with problems is because we learned really fucking early that instead of advice or empathy we get criticism and judgement.

Did it ever occur to you that fucking maybe we wanted a mother and not a personified negative opinion?

You grew up in an abusive home. That sucks. You know what you did instead of making sure that your kids never suffered what you went through? YOU FUCKING CREATED AN ABUSIVE HOME WHERE TWO OUT OF YOUR THREE KIDS HAVE TRIED TO KILL THEMSELVES BECUSE OF YOU.

You are a fucking narcisist. This note, these words. They look like lies to you. That i’m making shit up. You cannot see what you’ve done to us and when confronted by the smallest possibility you may have done something?? Not only DO YOU FUCKING BLAME US you have also said that even if you DID do something YOU FUCKING TAKE NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR IT.

LIKE A FUCKING FOUR YEAROLD.

You fucking cunt stain

There is no one in this world i fucking hate more than you

You’ve ripped so much joy from me, caused me an incalculable amount of pain, AND HOW FUCKING DARE I EVER IMPLY that maybe something youve said or done has caused hurt. BITCH. YOU FUCKING BITCH

I want to kill myself. DO YOU FUCKING GET THAT? YOU HAVE SAID AND DONE THINGS THAT MAKE ME WANT TO OPEN UP MY WRISTS WITH A FUCKING BOXCUTTER.

And by the fucking grace of a few friends and a CHAMPION sister, whos been more of a fucking mother than you ever have been. IM NOT FUCKING DEAD YET.

“I love and support you!!!” youll fucking say, cause youre always the victim. And im being so fucking mean and hateful and ungrateful right now.

You know what.

Go fuck yourself.

You ensured ive felt BEHOLDEN to you, that i am INDEBTED to you. Im made to feel bad about ANY and EVERY decision i make that stears my own fucking life.

Youve fucking said time and time again “live your own life and find your happiness” “all i want is for you to be happy”

But whenever we did something to further those goals??? You fucking made us feel like shit.

That we were insulting you PERSONALLY for not doing whatever in the way YOU wanted.

You want us to be happy as long as we live in a way that YOU can fucking control

You wanna know why danielle pisses you off so fucking much??

You can't control her.

You wanna know why my transition pisses you off so much

Other than the fact youre a massively homophopic transphobic psychobitch?

Because it's moved me beyond your control

And you cant fucking STAND that.

And lets fucking talk about my transition. A word you can’t even fucking SAY.

This is the BEST FUCKING THING THATS EVER FUCKING HAPPENED TO ME

THIS FUCKING SAVED MY FUCKING LIFE.

And you fucking HATE it.

You wont use my pronouns, you fucking refuse to call me a she. Your excuse is “i need some time” bullshit

If you were making ANY effort at all you would, fucking statistically speaking, use the proper one AT SOME FUCKING POINT but you dont. You never fucking have. you never fucking will becuse you dont care that it hurts me. Because anything that is a minor inconvenience to fucking Janet isnt fucking worth a damn so fuck everyone who isnt you.

You said point blank that you hate my name and you won't use it.

In a rare moment of bravery, i pointed out that refusal to acknowledge someone's identity is profoundly disrespectful you fucking YELLED AT ME you bigoted bitch.

You said I BETRAYED THE FAMILY when I changed my name. You flat out said that I wasn't part of this family anymore. You yelled at me for two fucking hours about how fucking awful i was.

“Youre a Rowan now, whatever the fuck that is”

IT MEANS COURAGE YOU FUCKING CUNT

Courage to face your fucking abuser and tell her to fuck the hell right the fuck off

When i came out to you do you know what the first things you fucking said to me were??

BECAUSE I FUCKING DO

They are burned into my fucking mind. They will probably never leave.

“First of all how dare you’ - HOW FUCKED UP IT THIS. i don't even have WORDS for how MASSIVELY FUCKED UP THIS IS. how dare I?? HOW FUCKING DARE I WHAT??? BE FUCKING HAPPY??? I THOUGHT YOU WANTED THAT, OH WAIT NO, YOU ONLY WANT HAPPINESS YOU APPROVE OF. LIFE SAVING HAPPINESS TO KEEP YOUR CHILD ALIVE??? CANT HAVE THAT. you fucking cunt

“I suppose i cant talk you out of it” - TALK ME OUT OF WHAT? BEING TRANSGENDER IS NOT A FUCKING CHOICE SO WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT??? TALK ME OUT OF????FUCKING STAYING ALIVE AND HAPPY? YOU WOULD PREFER I DIED INSTEAD THEN YOU WOULDN'T BE INCONVENIENCED BY MY HAPPINESS

“I'm not going to hit you but I'm thinking about it” OH NEAT LETS TRY SAYING THIS ANOTHER WAY

“I want to assault this person because they have displeased me and I am a violent narcissist bigot”

YOU FUCKING PSYCHOPATH. HITTING YOUR CHILD, WHO CAME TO YOU DESPITE HOW AFRAID THEY WERE AND YOU FIRST THOUGHT IS TO FUCKING HIT THME FOR IT.

Your fucking insane and you need help.

In the time since ive come out never once. NOT FUCKING ONCE have you said “i love you” to me.

MARYLOU a fucking aunt I rarely see??? THOSE WERE THE FIRST FUCKING WORDS SHE SAID TO ME. THE FIRST FUCKING WORDS OUT OF HER MOUTH.

DANIELLE my fucking sister who also dont get to see that often

THE FIRST THINGS SHE SAID WAS THAT SHE LOVES ME AND SHE’S PROUD OF ME

BUT YOU, fucking YOU. love was the farthest thing from your fucking mind.

When I then came out to dad, which by the way, DISPROVES YOUR FUCKING NARRATIVE THAT YOU WERE THE LAST TO FIND OUT. you fucking said of me “where did i go wrong”

BITCH YOU FUCKING WENT WRONG WHEN YOU DECIDED TO NOT LOVE YOUR CHILDREN.

This house hasn’t been a home for me since it was built.

This house is your house. It’s always been your house. You make sure everyone fucking knows that.

And believe me we DO know that.

And its taken me a long fucking time to get my brain to accept that i dont fucking need you

I dont need your negativity

I dont need your hate

I dont need your passive aggressive bullshit

I dont need to feel like i should have to hide in my own home

I dont need to feel like im not safe

I dont need to feel guilty for being FINALLY who I am, who I always was

What I DO need?

Is a place that respects me

A place I feel safe

A place I don’t feel judged the moment I walk into the room

A place where I can surround myself with people who are happy i chose not to kill myself

A place where I can breathe

A place where I DONT have to cry myself to sleep

And that place?

That place isn’t here.

That place is not YOUR house

That place is not ANYWHERE near you

So I’m leaving. I choose life. I choose to live. I choose to be happy.

Fuck you Janet. Fuck you straight to a lonely hell.

I have the fools hope that maybe you’ll fucking read this and maybe just maybe something inside that wicked shell of yours realizes what shes done. It fucking wont, cause in Janets fucking world everyone is out to get her and she can do no wrong.

But if by some fucking MIRACLE that does happen and you wanna talk to me? You want to APOLOGIZE to me?? Maybe, FUCKING MAYBE I’ll talk.

But you WILL call me Jessica

Or you won’t call me at all.

Signed in outrage by your youngest DAUGHTER,

Jessica Rowan

#transgender #transitioning #transwomen #transphobes #transphobia #bigotry #lgbtq #lgbtq+#outrage #emotional abuse #catharsis

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