#now its a fuckin gender crisis

[thewhizzyhead]

you know when you get a friend that was even more "tomboyish" than you were in your teens and then as the both of you grow up and enter college, you see them explore expressing themselves more femininely and absolutely fall in love with it and with the concept of womanhood - while you on the other hand become all the more estranged with "being a woman" because good God you really don't fucking get it and that seeing your once-tomboyish friend find joy and an emotional connection to womanhood makes you really realize that you have no such connection whatsoever, hence making you feel left behind in actually "becoming a woman"? Anyways what I'm trying to say here is I'm definitely not fucking cis-

#when i told my cis girl classmates that i feel nothing but indifference towards the concept of womanhood or girlhood #they felt really fuckin sorry for me #and i'm like my bros my dudes i dont really give that much of a fuck for something i don't really understand in the first place #like of course i know feminist theory and all that and as someone born a woman i know and experience and study gender struggles deeply #be it with double standards or dealing with gross perverted dudes #that being said - i dont know what being a woman is outside of our shared struggle in patriarchal structures #like when u take away all the shit we definitely need to fight for - what else is there left for me to enjoy on a personal level #and the answer to that is nothing because i never really gave a fuck about gender be it now or as a child #perhaps its due to my upbringing as well na like i was more responsibility minded but still #to see once really tomboyish classmates grow to love being a woman makes me feel lonely because how can i love a concept i cant comprehend #so anyways when i told this dilemma to a nonbinary-questioning friend of mine he jumped with joy because BESTIE SOLIDARITY #and my bro here was never female to begin with and yet he fully understood my disconnect to concepts of gender #and the coming of age rites that come with them like 'nagiging dalaga na talaga' 'ay nagbibinatilyo na to' #so um yea #thats my ramvle for today and my update on my gender crisis #i dont mind being called a woman tho like im used to it and it doesnt unnerve me - but id rather not be like trapped in having to be that #so um woo #personal shit

[agayconcept]

.

#ok thats cool #to update the doctor situation #he just. straight up Dipped #left the practice for a month (which like. is fine dude. ur having a family emergency thats totally fine) and did not put any plan in place #whatsoever #so im just. left without access to HRT. that's it. until he comes back and by the time he has an appointment slot it will be 2023. yeah. no #i have to now look elsewhere except almost every 'elsewhere' there is has a 8-12 month waiting list #so. theres like. one singular place that Might be able to take me but its in fuckin st catharines & i have no idea how i'd even get there #it'd cost a small fortune #i just. ok. yeah. time to curl up and die #nobody will allow me (right now) access to gender affirming healthcare in all of the Greater Toronto Area. no one. not a single fckin place #ok #im just. gonna stop trying now. with??? mmm everything. all of it. the general existence. im out #going to bed and never leaving again #i dont want to leave my apartment or my room or my bed every again #like. im just. #i think this is rock bottom with this situation. like. this is it. we've reached it. #im Completely stuck. i simply Will Not be allowed gender affirming healthcare in the year of our gay lord 2022. like. i... #im ready to just. call it a day. pack it in. go to the crisis center and just. curl up in a room and Stop Fucking Trying. with anything #and everything #fuck #what do i tag this as idk im sorry #ask to tag #negative

[lucifersresources]

taylor swift // midnights rp meme. 

edit/alter/change pronouns etc as you see fit!  

lavender haze. 

meet me at midnight. 

you don’t ever say too much. 

i’ve been under scrutiny. 

you handle it beautifully. 

all this shit is new to me. 

i’m damned if i do give a damn what people say. 

all they keep asking me is if i’m gonna be your bride. 

they’re bringing up my history. 

they’re bringing up my history, but you weren’t even listening. 

i just need this love spiral. 

maroon. 

we lost track of time again. 

you were my closest friend. 

how’d we end up on the floor anyway? 

i see you every day now. 

i chose you. 

we were shaking. 

how the hell did we lose sight of us again? 

ain’t that the way shit always ends. 

i feel you, no matter what. 

and i lost you. 

i wake with your memory over me. 

that’s a real fuckin’ legacy. 

anti-hero. 

i get older, but just never wiser. 

midnights become my afternoons. 

my depression works the graveyard shift. 

i should not be left to my own devices. 

i end up in crisis. 

i wake up screaming from dreaming. 

one day i’ll watch as you’re leaving.

one day i’ll watch as you’re leaving, coz you got tired of my scheming. 

it’s me, hi. i’m the problem, it’s me. 

i’m the problem. 

i’ll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror. 

it must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero. 

i’m a monster on the hill. 

did you hear my covert narcissism i disguise as altruism like some kind of congressman? 

life will lose all its meaning. 

she thinks i left them in the will. 

she’s laughing up at us from hell. 

snow on the beach. 

life is emotionally abusive. 

time can’t stop me quite like you did. 

i’m unglued, thanks to you. 

it’s like snow at the beach: weird, but fucking beautiful. 

you wanting me tonight, feels impossible. 

this scene feels like what i once saw on a screen. 

i’ve never seen someone lit from within. 

my smile is like i won a contest. 

to hide that would be so dishonest. 

it’s fine to fake it till you make it. 

i can’t speak. 

i don’t even dare to wish it. 

can this be a real thing? 

you’re on your own, kid. 

summer went away, still the yearning stays. 

i play it cool with the best of them. 

he’s gonna notice me. 

we’re the best of friends anyway. 

i hear it in your voice. 

i didn’t choose this town, i dream of getting out. 

there’s just one who could make me stay. 

i waited ages to see you there. 

you never cared. 

you’re on your own, kid. you always have been. 

you’re on your own, kid. 

i see the great escape. 

he loves me not. 

something different bloomed. 

i’ll run away. 

i gave my blood, sweat and tears for this. 

the jokes weren’t funny. 

i took the money. 

my friends from home don’t know what to say. 

there were pages turned with the bridges burned. 

everything you lose is a step you take. 

you’ve got no reason to be afraid. 

you can face this. 

midnight rain. 

he wanted it comfortable, i wanted that pain. 

he wanted a bride, i was making my own name. 

he stayed the same. 

all of me changed. 

my town was a wasteland. 

for some, it was paradise. 

i broke his heart coz he was nice. 

i was midnight rain. 

i guess sometimes we all get just what we wanted. 

he never thinks of me. 

i guess we all get some kind of haunted. 

i never think of him. 

i never think of him, except on midnights like this. 

question...? 

we had one thing going on, i swear that it was something. 

i don’t remember who i was before you. 

i just may like some explanations. 

can i ask you a question? 

did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room? 

what did you do?

did you ever leave her house in the middle of the night? 

did you wish you’d put up more of a fight? 

it was too much. 

do you wish you could still touch her? 

did you realise out of time? 

fuckin’ politics and gender roles. 

i just may like to have a conversation. 

does it feel like everything’s just like second best after that meteor strike? 

i’m sure that’s what’s suitable. 

vigilante shit. 

draw the cat eye sharp enough to kill a man. 

you did some bad things, but i’m the worst of them. 

sometimes i wonder which one will be your last lie. 

they say looks can kill and i might try. 

i don’t dress for women, i don’t dress for men, lately i’ve been dressing for revenge. 

i don’t start shit.

i don’t start shit, but i can tell you how it ends. 

don’t get sad, get even. 

i’ve been dressing for revenge. 

she needed cold hard proof, so i gave her some. 

picture me, thick as thieves with your ex-wife. 

she looks so pretty, driving in your benz. 

ladies always rise above. 

i’m on my vigilante shit again. 

bejeweled. 

i think i’ve been a little too kind. 

didn’t notice you walking all over my peace of mind. 

putting someone first only works when you’re in their top five. 

i’m going out tonight. 

best believe i’m still bejeweled when i walk in the room. 

i can still make the whole place shimmer. 

familiarity breeds comtempt. 

don’t put me in the basement when i want the penthouse of your heart. 

i polish up real nice. 

i think i’ve been too good of a girl. 

i think it’s time to teach some lessons. 

i made you my world. 

have you heard? i can reclaim the land. 

i miss you, but i miss sparkling. 

sadness became my whole sky. 

but some guy said my aura’s moonstone. 

you can try to change my mind, but you might have to wait in line. 

a diamond’s gotta shine. 

labyrinth. 

it only hurts this much right now. 

i’ll be getting over you my whole life. 

i’m falling in love.

i’m falling in love again. 

it only feels this raw right now. 

lost in the labyrinth of my mind. 

you would break your back to make me break a smile. 

you know how much i hate that everybody just expects me to bounce back. 

karma. 

you’re talking shit. 

addicted to betrayal. 

you’re terrified to look down. 

you’ll see the glare of everyone you burned. 

it’s coming back around. 

karma is my boyfriend. 

karma’s a relaxing thought. aren’t you envious that for you it’s not? 

my pennies made your crown. 

don’t you know that cash ain’t the only price? 

ask me what i learned from all those years. 

ask me what i earned from all those tears. 

ask me why so many fade, but i’m still here.

so many fade.

i’m still here. 

karma is the thunder rattling your ground. 

karma’s on your scent like a bounty hunter. 

sweet nothing. 

they said the end is coming.

the end is coming. 

everyone’s up to something. 

i find myself running home to your sweet nothings. 

all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing. 

this happens all the time. 

you should be doing more. 

to you i can admit that i’m just too soft for all of it. 

i’m just too soft for all of it. 

mastermind. 

the planets and the fates and all the stars aligned. 

the touch of a hand lit the fuse. 

checkmate, i couldn’t lose.

i couldn’t lose. 

what if i told you none of it was accidental. 

none of it was accidental. 

the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me. 

what if i told you i’m a mastermind? 

i’m a mastermind. 

now you’re mine. 

we were born to be the pawn in every lover’s game. 

if you fail to plan, you plan to fail. 

strategy sets the scene for the tale. 

the first night that you saw me, i knew i wanted your body.

i wanted your body. 

it was all my design. 

no one wanted to play with me as a little kid.

i’ve been scheming. 

i’ve been scheming like a criminal ever since.

i’ve been scheming like a criminal ever since to make them love me. 

this is the first time i’ve felt the need to confess. 

i’m only cryptic and machiavellian coz i care. 

you knew the entire time. 

you knew that i’m a mastermind. 

the great war. 

my knuckles were bruised like violets. 

cursed you as i sleep talked. 

spineless in my tomb of silence. 

tore your banners down, took the battle underground. 

flashes of the battle come back to me in a blur. 

my hand was the one you reach for all throughout the great war. 

i vowed not to cry anymore. 

if we survived the great war. 

you drew up some good faith treaties. 

you said i have to trust more freely. 

you were playing with fire. 

maybe it’s the past that’s talking. 

maybe it’s the past that’s talking-- telling me to punish you for things you never did. 

i justified it. 

i vowed not to fight anymore. 

i vowed not to fight anymore if we survived the great war. 

got a sense i’d been betrayed. 

that was the night i nearly lost you.

i nearly lost you. 

i really thought i’d lost you. 

we can plant a memory garden. 

there’s no morning glory, it was war, it wasn’t fair. 

we will never go back to that bloodshed. 

we’re burned for better. 

i vowed i would always be yours.

i would always be yours. 

paris. 

all the outfits were terrible. 

i’m so in love that i might stop breathing. 

i was taken by the view. 

romance is not dead. 

romance is not dead if you keep it just yours. 

levitate above all the messes made. 

i want to brainwash you into loving me forever. 

high infidelity. 

i didn’t know you were keeping count. 

you said i was freeloading. 

put on your records and regret me. 

i bent the truth too far tonight. 

i was dancing around it. 

do i really have to chart the constellations in his eyes? 

seemed like the right thing at the time. 

there’s so many different ways that you can kill the one you love. 

there’s so many different ways that you can kill the one you love. the slowest way is never loving them enough. 

do i really have to tell you how he brought me back to life? 

glitch. 

we were supposed to be just friends. 

maybe i’ll see you out some weekend. 

i think there’s been a glitch. 

i’m fastening myself to you. 

i’m not even sorry. 

i was supposed to sweat you out. 

our love is blacking out. 

the system’s breaking down. 

i’d go back to wanting dudes who give nothing. 

would’ve, could’ve, should’ve. 

if you tasted poison you could’ve spit me out. 

if you’d never looked my way i would’ve stayed on my knees. 

i damn sure never would’ve danced with the devil. 

the pain was heaven. 

now that i’m grown, i’m scared of ghosts. 

memories feel like weapons. 

i wish you’d left me wondering. 

if you never touched me i would’ve gone along with the righteous. 

you made me feel important. 

you made me feel important, then you tried to erase us. 

you tried to erase us. 

you’re a crisis of my faith. 

if i’d only played it safe. 

i miss who i used to be. 

the tomb won’t close. 

i regret you all the time. 

i can’t let this go. 

i fight with you in my sleep. 

the wound won’t close. 

i keep on waiting for a sign. 

if clarity’s in death, then why won’t this die? 

living for the thrill of hitting you where it hurts.

give me back my girlhood, it was mine first. 

dear reader. 

if it feels like a trap, you’re already in one. 

just run. 

pick somewhere and just run. 

desert all your past lives. 

if you don’t recognise yourself, that means you did it right. 

never take advice from someone who’s falling apart. 

bend when you can, snap when you have to. 

you don’t have to answer just cause they asked you. 

the greatest of luxuries is your secrets. 

when you aim at the devil, make sure you don’t miss. 

i prefer hiding in plain sight. 

you should find another guiding light. 

#taylor swift rp meme #taylor swift lyric meme #taylor swift sentence starters #music rp meme #music sentence starters #midnights rp meme #rp meme #rp sentence meme #rp sentence starters #rp memes #roleplay meme #roleplay memes #lyric rp meme #lyric sentence starters #lyrics rp meme

[pathetic-gamer]

Had the absolute WEIRDEST moment of dysphoria at the grocery store just now. I was buying pre-natal vitamins bc my doctor told me to take them due to my Many Deficiencies and Problems, and just standing there comparing the different bottles made me feel a little dysphoric on its own, so we're not off to a great start. Then I had to buy toilet paper which is obviously right next to the baby diapers, duh, but that's fine, whatever, I can ignore it. But THEN I had to buy baby food for my dog (it's a special treat every few weeks ok he's old and he slurps that shit right up and then has healthy poops, maybe all u Affliction of the Gut girlies should try it some time) so i was like "ok it's fine, just gonna get a couple jars and move on. It's dog food, it's just dog food, it's FINE" and I start digging through the cheapest ones to find a 100% Organic Sweet Potato Puree with No Additives that didnt cost a billion dollars because i refuse to pay more than like fifty cents for four ounces of vegetables and the woman next to me mutters "why is it always so expensive? Its not like i can just not feed my kid," and I, thinking only of my desire to feed my dog high quality but affordable pureed sweet potatoes and to feel a fleeting moment of human connection, said "god, I know" and then she smiled that weary 'ah, someone who understands my plight! solidarity,' smile and left with her stack of baby food, so I was like okay oops whatever and went to go look for office supplies, violently suppressing gender feelings, but the office supplies are for some fuckin reason right next to the baby formula (baby formula? ha ha no thanks i already know how theyre made), so I'm thinking 'damn, there sure is a lot of baby stuff around, getting a little dysphoric.' At this point I'm dying to get out of there and back to the safety of the produce section so I grab my pack of pens and turn around only to see the pre-natal multivitamins in my cart.

I just. Short-circuit? There i am standing in baby supplies central as if I'm about to pop one out right there in the middle of the H.E.B., having a gender crisis, but for some reason all I can do is stare at my pack of pens and wonder whether or not a child would hate me if I named them Staedtler

#is this incomprehensible? perhaps #am i going to post it anyway? obviously

[finleycannotdraw]

Do you ever think you’re a complex human being and then you think, I like this music and I’m passionate about this thing and this is my favorite color and this is my gender and sexuality and really, someone might as well fill out a character sheet about me cause man. I don’t feel like a complex human being right now. I don’t. And it fuckin sucks.

#not good omens #finley is existential #finley is losing their mind #finley is tired #its sunday what do you expect ive got to get up early for school tomorrow #but really #existential thoughts #and some existential crisis bc why not at this point #its true tho i like metal music and im passionate about art and my favorite color is purple my gender is yes and my sexuality is no #i do not feel like an actual person #i feel like a character just mindin my own fuckin business and the world just. happens. #hugs to everyone who feels this way i promise youre amazing and valid #i gotta take my own goddamn advice for once #so long and goodnight #why do i keep tagging that this post has nothing to do with mcr #im not even listening to mcr right now im listening to black veil brides #ok im shutting up now

[drewsaysshit]

shit fuck fuck yknow what im thinkin that on certain days being called he/him doesnt vibe with me

like i still like he/him but they/them sounds better sometimes

but then most days im over here like "if you call me anything but he i Will Spontaneously Combust" so im worried

#andrews crisis time #welcome back to another episode of #yknow last week it was "am i rlly ace or am i just a late bloomer #earlier this week i was wondering if i could he demiromantic #now its a fuckin gender crisis? shit man i gotta calm down #serious post #andrews losing his mind

[madhyanas]

a place at the table

Pairing: Din Djarin x gender-neutral!Reader

Rating: T/PG-13 [mild]

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Spoilers for s2ep3, Chapter 11! Reader uses they/them pronouns. References to drowning, not explicit. Descriptions of freezing/extreme cold. One reference to Chapter 9 (s2ep1). Din being as self-sacrificing as always. Din’s particular brand of Mandalorian family values. Pining, yearning, affection - just think soft.

A/N: well then. first time posting for din! this has been cooking since ep3 came out, i’m just slow. it’s soft!! and worried!! and din severely procrastinating his own identity crisis!! they’re really fuckin married, guys. lovely stuff. also, if you can’t tell, i adore frog lady. and bo-katan. mwah.

BIG thank you to @justrunamok​, @pettyprocrastination​ and @generaldamneron​ for beta-reading <33

gif credit: @captrex​ - from the post here. thanks!

masterlist

You thought you knew cold.

Days and nights in the Crest have acquainted you with it. A hollow metal hull in the depths of the galaxy, surrounded on all sides by a vast expanse of nothing. Keeping the heater on burns fuel that you can’t afford, not with three mouths to feed. Space is cold, as cold as it could get.

And then you nearly drowned.

The briny depths of Trask are frigid, you’ve come to realise. Logically, you know it’s nowhere near the freezing vacuum of space. That’s real cold; true, absolute zero. But the thing about water is that it gets everywhere. The searing, ferocious chill of it had slammed all mental processes to a halt, petrifying your rationality before all else. It drenched your clothes, your hair. Snaked into your nose and seeped into your lungs. Rushed you as a swarm; no other sensation was relevant.

At the time — scrabbling at a grate hanging overhead, right there but always just out of reach — it’s what you imagined carbonite to feel like. Conscious but consumed.

Space is cold from a distance. Water freezes from the inside, cracked and jagged and burning.

So you should be grateful for your saviours. Mandalorians, unlike any you’ve ever seen before.

Which is to say, unlike Din.

There’s a lot to think about. So many things have happened in the span of a day that you can barely keep track. And beyond all else, you want to ask how Din’s coping—

“Trask is a black market port. They’re staging weapons that have been bought and sold with the plunders of our planet. We’re seizing those weapons and using them to retake our homeworld.”

—but there are more important things to deal with at the moment.

“Once we’ve done that, we’ll seat a new Mandalore on the throne,” the red-headed woman explains.

Bo-Katan. She speaks regally, like she’s been on that very throne before. More importantly — like she’d earned it. In truth, she scares you. All three of them do, these new Mandalorians who show their faces — they scare you in the way Din did back when he was just a gruff, faceless employer. A tinge of instinct; a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold.

What she’s saying is important, you know that, and you can’t place the onus on Din to handle it after the day he’s had. But you can’t bring yourself to focus either. You’re barely holding it together as it is, taking mild, balmy comfort in his and the baby’s presence on either side.

The three of you, together. Right now, at this table, that’s the only thing keeping you from splintering right down the middle.

Even with a steaming bowl of broth in your hands, your fingers ache with the chill. It hurts, regaining body heat. Hurts as feeling returns to your toes. Hurts to clench your jaw, to stop it from chattering. Hurts the delicate skin of your face, thousands of icy needles jabbing into the nerves. There’s a pounding between your ears and behind your eyes. You’re tired, and you suspect Din is, too.

You really do want to ask how he’s dealing with…this. The Way has been part of his life — and part of yours, in as much of a lifetime as you’ve known him — for many, many years. An oak tree, offering security and strength to the garden. How must he feel, stoic at your side, to see these three fell theirs so easily?

An identity crisis is the last thing Din needs.

What he needs is a break. You need him to want a break.

A coo at your elbow catches your attention. The baby — safe and warm, thank the Maker — seems fascinated with the water dripping from your hair, patting his hands into the small puddles forming on his high chair and giggling at the splashes. It’s as if he was never swallowed whole in the first place; that’s another thing you’re going to recall decidedly later. Nonetheless, he bounces back fast, your child.

You smile, hearing your teeth click, and pet the sensitive spot between his ears. He blinks at you sweetly.

Someone clears their throat.

You look up, startled, to find three pairs of eyes on you. Expecting. None of them saying… anything.

The other woman, the one with braids on her forehead, slurps her slithering noodles without blinking. Unnerving, to say the least.

“Sorry,” you blurt, more on reflex than anything else. “Did I… miss something?” The uncertainty in your voice doesn’t escape anyone’s notice.

Beneath the table, a broad thighs shifts to press against yours. Comforting. You glance at its owner.

“It’s… Mandalorian business.” Bo-Katan tilts her head. Her gaze flits between you and Din, polite and clear. “I’m sure you understand.”

You blink, bemused. “Oh?”

And then you realise.

She’s asking you to leave.

“Oh!” Your brows shoot up. One of her partners smiles ruefully in your periphery, and you are struck with the distinct feeling of being other. “Of course.”

That’s… well. It’s justified, is what it is. She’s right. You aren’t Mandalorian.

You stand quickly, and the chair grates against the floor unpleasantly. You manage not to cringe, somehow.

There’s a free table on the other side of the cantina, you think you saw it as you entered. Should you take the baby? No, Din’s never liked being away from him, even if you’re there. But they’re armed, all three of them, and you don’t know them, even if they did save your life, saved the baby’s, saved Din’s—

There’s a hand at your elbow.

“They stay.”

Din’s voice is unyielding. He hasn’t moved at all besides his grip on your arm, keeping his visor trained on Bo-Katan, who raises a brow.

No one says anything for a long, tense beat. Until—

“They’re not Mandalorian,” Bo-Katan says bluntly. It’s something you don’t have the nerve to state aloud. Something Din is apparently ignoring, however much you’d never believe it.

He stays silent.

“It’s okay,” your murmur, and the silver helmet you know turns to you fractionally. Barely anything, and you know you’re heard. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s still staring Bo-Katan down. “I don’t mind.”

There are three sharp, foreign gazes on you, and your newly-rejuvenated toes curl in your boots. After so many days bundled up in the Crest, you’d forgotten what it felt like to be watched and unwanted. The company inside had never made you feel that way.

“They stay,” he insists, making you jolt. “As is their right.”

Bo-Katan’s half-smile is faintly amused. “And which right is that?” she asks, like she already knows the answer. It seems like they all do, daring Din to state this mysterious ‘right’ that you’re in the dark about.

“It is their right as a member of my clan.”

The gloved fingers on your elbow tighten, leather creaking ever so slightly but just enough to remind you to breathe.

You blink at the silver helm dumbly, forgetting your onlookers for the time being.

He’s— He means that. Din doesn’t say what he doesn’t mean. Every word is measured, deliberate. He chooses his words like he chooses his weapons; they’re specific, well-cared for. Only to be used when necessary. Which suggests that—

Well. Maybe you should sit down.

As you do so, the woman opposite Din releases a slow, steady breath — Maker, you’d almost forgotten she was here — and squares her shoulders.

“Very well,” she says coolly. Her eyes flit to you, appraising, searching, before returning to Din. “As I was saying…”

And then you tune out again, ever so slightly. The information is going in, but you’re not truly registering its significance. Stupid, really, considering Din’s quite literally just fought for your place at the table. But you do.

You stare at the chipped, stained wood as if it holds the answers to questions you don’t know how to phrase. The baby babbles something incoherent, trying to get your attention, so unjustly denied to him, and you offer a finger for him to hold.

Clan. As in, part of. It’s new.

It feels like a small, three-fingered hand, gravelly warmth next to your thigh, and a hand pulling you back to the table.

———

Tracking down the Frog Woman and her husband isn’t too tedious. Trask’s daylight hours are long, for a moon, so even after Din’s aside with Bo-Katan and her people, it’s barely dark as you make your way to the inn.  

“It won’t be long,” Din had assured you. “I go with them, assist with their mission, and come back within a day. Routine transport raid.”

Them. Their. It didn’t bode well that his so-called brethren are this… dissimilar.

“Last time you helped someone out, you got swallowed by a desert dragon.”

“That wasn’t last time.”

“Still counts.”

Childish, perhaps. Petulant. But correct.

The problem was, so was he. There was no choice.

Now, Din leads your party of three briskly down the street.

Since his father had manually adjusted the drift range on the crib beforehand, the child has no issue being carted along express-style, making curious noises at the various fishing apparatus he sees scattered around the port.

You don’t have such luxuries as the little womp rat, so you’re left to frantically try and match your Mandalorian’s pace. The lingering shivers wracking your frame are shoved aside for the wheezing burn beginning to creep up your sides.

“Hey, uh, Mando?” you ask, somewhat out of breath. “You think you could slow down? You’re going a little fast—”

Your shoulder clips a passing Quarren roughly, spinning you round with the force of the collision. The point of impact throbs unpleasantly, painful but superficial. Stunned, you can only blink as the tentacled man snaps something unintelligible in your face. An apology sits ready on your tongue and you open your mouth to speak, before a solid wall appears between you.

A breathing, unyielding wall of leather and beskar, glowering at the Quarren silently as you’re turned away, closer into the gentle bend of his hold. Quietly surrounding, protecting. Something else you’re not used to, from when it was just the three of you in the ship. But this feels… good. It feels like it’s yours.

The other man balks, and leaves with a grumble under his breath.

Din glances around above your head, ever aware, ever cautious. “Stay close,” he murmurs and—

You could probably pinpoint the exact moment your body temperature spikes, as a large, gloved hand comes to rest on your lower back. “Oh. Okay.”

The rest of the walk passes you by.

“I wasn’t trying to rush you,” he says tersely, having slowed his pace considerably. There’s an apology in there somewhere; you can hear it. “But you’re soaked, and you’re cold. You need to get warmed up.”

You smile. It’s really not the time, but— “Are you offering?”

A huff from the modulator, and he shakes his head silently. Less rejection, rather than fond exasperation.

“You must be cold, too.” The realisation dawns on you in an instant. Oh, Maker. He’s been freezing for just as long as you, now. If not more, since he hasn’t eaten anything warm.

The next shake of the helmet is more insistent, purposeful. “No. I wear more layers than you do.”

“You dived into the ocean, Din.” His name is hushed, spoken after a quick look to confirm that no one can hear you.

“So did you.”

“I was pushed, that’s not the same thing.”

Din doesn’t respond, and your smile dims. He seems to hesitate for a moment, before pressing a button on his vambrace, and the baby’s crib floats a little closer.

Oh.

He doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the walk. You regret bringing it up.

But his hand doesn’t stray from your back.

——

The building is small, cozy. Barely a couple of stories tall. And, to your delight, it’s warm.

“Thank you for having us,” you tell the Frog Woman gratefully. One of their towels is wrapped around your shoulders; a placeholder until you can find a clean, dry change of clothes. You feel better already. “We’re sorry to impose like this.”

She croaks something vaguely welcoming and you smile, keeping a shrewd, wary eye on the baby — now staring at the egg canister with wondrous intent, reaching his stubby little hands out from his place clutched to your chest. Now there’s something to keep you occupied for the evening.

A hand on your shoulder, warm and light, and you turn around. Din tilts his head towards the door. “I’ll be going,” he says, barely a whisper past the lip of the helmet.

“What? Uh, Mando, hold on!” Halfway out of the chair already, you stare at him incredulously, before turning back to the expecting parents. “Just— Just a second, please. Could you take the baby?”

However disinclined she may be to your carnivorous terror, the Frog Woman takes him into her hands gently. She’s sweet, kind. You hope she understands the depths of your appreciation.

A polite nod from Din to the couple. “I’ll be back for them soon.”

He follows you into the narrow corridor. The door slides shut behind you both.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

You stare at him for a moment, tugging the edge of the towel at your shoulders. Your mouth opens and closes, faltering around words that don’t have the courage to form.

“I…” You deflate. “I just— I wanted to ask you that. Before you left.” It’s a foolish question. What’s wrong, like his entire way of life hasn’t been upended in a heartbeat by a careless show of face. Like the Way hasn’t just crumbled at his feet like wet sand, trodden on by three strange pairs of boots, scorched by familiar jetpack fuel.

He doesn’t say anything. No tilt of the helmet, no sinking shoulders. Nothing. Just keeps looking at you, visor tilted down to your face.

There’s a reasonable distance between you. Not professional by any stretch of the imagination, but enough for him to be comfortable in semi-public. The corridor is empty, and you can’t hear any footsteps.

Except Din’s, when he steps forward.

You feel your features soften in time with the pounding of your heart. “Din, love, please—”

He pulls you into his chest, plucking the wind from your lungs in a surprised, candied puff into the worn fabric of his cowl. His arms snake around you, securing you to his sturdy frame, and by reflex, yours mirror the movement on him. The helm’s hard, flat surface presses against the side of your head tightly; an anchor tugging on the seabed.

You feel him inhale, a ragged, rattling thing that has your stomach sinking. You only hear that sound when he’s injured, stumbling back to you with a bounty and a nasty, jagged stab wound or two. Only when he’s injured but oh, isn’t he?

It’s hard to tell how long you remain like that. Wrapped around and in between each other. Feeling each other breathe in and out, like the push and pull of the tides. It’s worth it, for the fading of tension in Din’s shoulders. Not removal. But an ebb for the flow. You’ll take it.

“There is a lot,” he rasps, modulated into your hairline. “You know that. And I can’t focus on what needs to be done if I think about it.” You feel him sigh, draping into your arms even further. “I can’t afford that.”

You try to keep your voice calm, soothing. To avoid the hot press of tears threatening to clog your throat. “Okay. That’s, that’s— Okay.”

You sound like a fool, parroting your own words. But he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Okay,” Din agrees. There is something shaky in his voice, and you would give anything to wrench it from his chest and throw it into that Maker-forsaken ocean. Let it drown for all you care.

For now, though, this is enough.

You move to step back, just a palm’s breadth away, and his arms unlock to let you do so immediately. His gloved hands slide down to nestle in the dip of your waist.

You look at Din consideringly, wondering if you could push for later. Later, to discuss the revelations he’s been bombarded with. Later, to talk about what you’re doing to do. Later, to finally get him to rest his weary bones.

Urgent, but. You decide to let him be. For now.

There’s something else you’ve been meaning to ask about anyway.

“So.” You smile wanly, treasuring the jewelled glint of beskar through the thinnest film of tears. “As a member of your clan, huh?”

Din sighs. Bracing, grounding. Returning to the present, where you’re just here to see him off. Where you have a baby waiting inside to keep from snacking on your hosts, and he has a hijacking to initiate. His fingers press tighter into your skin.

He appreciates the subject change.

“You already know my name,” he says quietly. Shrugs. “I’d say you know more about me than anyone else.”

You take a second to mull that over. Enjoy the taste of it in your mouth, the weight of it in your heart. He is such a precious thing to know.

Without thinking, the word leaves your lips in a bright gust of affection. “Same.” The helm tilts. “You know more about me than anyone else, too.”

He nods, a small, barely-there movement. More to himself than to you, you suspect.

“Good.”

Elastically, achingly slow, Din leans his head down. You lift yours up. When your warmed forehead meets beskar, a kiss from which you feel deprived, yet glutted, you’re inclined to agree.

“Stay safe,” you whisper. Your heart fogs and clouds on the metal, right above where his lips would be.

His thumb strokes across your waist. And you know he will.

——

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #star wars fic #reader-insert #gn!reader #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian season 2 #the mandalorian chapter 11 #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #the heiress #my writing #sw #bit nervous about this one #we'll see how it goes huh

[bloodcrownedking]

so i was HAPPY with the name kaz it fit me and i was vibin with it, and then this goddamn fuckin tiktok comes along and slaps me in the face with the realization that i could have named myself jester. fuckin jester. imagine how cool that would be. its legit a professional clown. jesus fuckin christ i wasnt thinking big enough before. I am currently looking through dnd manuals for name inspo. is this what my life is now. an ongoing gender crisis where i constantly change my name and spend 90% of my time crying to bears in trees. 

[xxmisty]

My Big Humiliating Torchwood Confession Post, Part 2: the worse part :P

Warning: this will be another long post :P

So how the hell do I begin this? Maybe by screaming at Torchwood for existing? :P um, ok. So where did I get up to? Oh yes: Lucy had forced me to watch Torchwood, I hated it, the. I loved it, then it became my fuckin’ LIIIIIIFE

so, i got into Torchwood. I got back on T. I got back my ability to be truly swallowed up in a hyperfixation. And then i got really majorly pissed off with what happened next :P

A couple of days ago I made a coming out post about the way my sexuality has shifted and changed since I went back on T. Ha ha ha ha ha, you want to know where the whole fucking thing started??? Well pull up a chair and watch me foam at the mouth with rage and embarrassment about this whole thing aaaarrgghhhhhhhhh!!!

Is there anyone who’s been following me long enough to remember the oranges dream?  To my mind I can only think of two people who might be and I doubt it’s stuck in anyone else’s mind, but it stuck in mine. Ohhhhhh god, it stuck in mine, along with the discomfort and the embarrassment and the rage of it. 

Basically, back in the summer of 2013 I had a highly unexpected dream. It was a fetish-related dream for one thing which is actually really rare for me. For another, it featured someone I would never have expected in a million years. I’ll shift the white elephant out of the corner of the room: it’s Captain Jack Harkness. This was weird even for the time because although i’d started watching new Who the year before I hadn’t yet watched any of his episodes, i just knew of him from seeing stuff in tv magazines and trailers and pictures online and believe me, I was so weirded out by that fucking dream that oranges have been a source of discomfort ever since. So has Jack fucking Harkness. 

And so when I realised I was getting increasingly intense feelings of discomfort, embarrassment and awkwardness every time he was on the bloody screen I chalked it up to *that*. The god damned oranges dream from six and a half years prior. But it was *more* than that and I couldn’t put my finger on quite what it was until I realised it was exactly the way I used to feel when trying to deny the crushes that I had on characters in the shows I used to be obsessed with through my teenage years. Back in the days when I was having butterflies over looking at pictures of Gillian Anderson and Jaye Griffiths and trying as hard as I could to force myself to find their Male co-stars attractive instead to no avail.

And that’s when I started to have a Big. Gay. Panic.

I kept thinking it would go away. It didn’t. I kept thinking it would fade into the background. It didn’t. kept thinking I was mistaking my sudden and resentful love of Torchwood for a crush on a character. I wasn’t. I fancied Jack Fucking Harkness and it wasn’t going away.

It got worse. Much worse. Because Jack Harkness was like a fucking gateway drug, as I said to Lucy yesterday. I started to get some funny feelings about aaargghhhhhhhhh..... a certain other character from Torchwood. Ianto was already my favourite character (which was miraculous when you remember that Cyberwoman was the second episode lucy made me watch that fateful night!) and I really ship Jack and Ianto so again I wrote it off as something else but it kept gnawing away at me. 

And I went into such a stupid crisis because this was all the last thing i’d expected I honestly can’t explain how hard I tried to force myself to find men attractive. For years and years and years. And god, the number of fake crushes I had when I was younger to throw people off the scent of the fact that I liked women! I never had any changes in my sexuality when I was on T before either. But there I was, horny as hell, obsessed with Torchwood and getting all kinds of feelings I was NOT happy about when certain characters of an unexpected gender came on screen.

This post is already going to be way to long so I’ll give you the short version of the process that occurred in the latter weeks of January and first week of February: I increasingly ranted at Lucy for showing me Torchwood because it had ruined my LIFE and blamed her for EVERYTHING and started having a big fucking MELTDOWN one night when I first of all confessed with rage that Torchwood had become my utter hyperfixation, then spent several hours sat in front of her with half-mock, Half-genuine sobs, burying my head in her lap/arms/bosom and crying ‘IT’S SO AWFUL!’ While she patronised me in a Frasier-esque fashion to coax me through my trauma, until after literal hours I managed to force out the words that I was having some very confusing feelings about certain Torchwood characters.

I then begged for retcon.

She was wonderful. This was not a surprise, because she *is*. She just is. She has always been my absolute rock, no matter what i’m going through. She said all the right things and did all the right things and helped me more than I can put into words. And I was still convinced it was a temporary thing and would go away soon. I was sure when I got more used got the T things would go back to the way they were.  But they got WORSE! 

They got worse in TWO WAYS! The first was that sometimes I realised there might...*might*...be other men that actually weren’t competed hideous... maybe some that I might... actually... quite... fancy... (funnily enough though my attraction to women became a lot more sexual in its nature at the same time. Where as before it was more along the lines of ‘you’re very prettyi ... I would like to draw you... maybe hold hands with you... perhaps even a chaste peck on the cheek...’ it became quite a bit.... hotter?)

And worse than that the whole... Harkness... crush.... just got... worse. And worse. Dear god, I think at this point it’s like... fuck, i’m too embarrassed to even like... put it into words nfkubahhrrrghhhhhh And then it got worse because it’s spilled over into fffffffffpppppppp having a bit of a thing about John Barrowman and hhhhrruuunnnghhhh pahhhhh I hate EVERYTHING!!! 

This is.... so embarrassing. This is literally the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me. Because as a result of this whole thing a whole bunch of humiliations have opened up to me. I have CHANGED since i’ve been on T again, I am going through all kinds of intense emotions and experiences (and they're WONDERFUL oh god I can’t even express how INCREDIBLE I feel on T. I feel so fucking *right* for the first time in my life. It’s like I can’t even process how mentally and emotionally amazing I feel. Physically too. it’s so *right*!!!) and i’m doing things I’ve never done in my life. 

Like BLUSHING!!! I never, ever used to blush and now I go BRIGHT FUCKING RED any time there’s something involving Torchwood or Harkness or any of that whole array of THINGS!!! And Lucy loves this fact because god she can wind me up something CRAZY!!! Which... I *Suppose*.... is the least I owe her :P since she puts up with what she calls my ‘hankering’ And has fed my habit by finding me photos and clips that i’m too fucking chicken to look for myself - now that’s love!!! <3 <3 <3

I’m going to have to wrap this up here because I already in a hot mess right now (you literally have NO IDEA how quickly and easily I fall apart over this stuff!!! Nfjhbkhghkshad stupid fucking PUBERTY)  but there will be a part 3 at the weekend some time - and if you made it this far you deserve a god damn medal!

#torchwood #jack harkness #ianto jones #my posts #about me #moirspritmaterail blogging #AAAAARGHHHHHHHHHHH I AM SO FUCKING EMBARRASSED #testosterone #stupid fucking PUBERTY!

[imacrowcawcaw]

Eyes of Juniper Ch. 1 (A Metallica Fic)

Ao3 Link

Author (as known on Various sites): Lady Lover- Rockfic, Luluthechoosingcrow - AO3, theladylovingcrow - Deviantart and Wattpad, @sammy_bluebells - Instagram, @imacrowcawcaw - main Tumblr, @insannywestan - Sanny shipping Tumblr Pairing: Lars Ulrich/James Hetfield, Kirk Hammett/Cliff Burton, Lars/Female Character (briefly), Lars/Male Character (kinda, more just awkward one sided flirting then Lars gets rescued by his knight in a ratty Motorhead shirt) Fandom: Metallica Tags/warnings: Sex-swap AU, early 80s era 'tallica, smut, gay smut, also het smut since the whole gender switch thing, drinking and alcohol, lots of cussing and profanity, should warn that Lars goes into detail about taking a piss cuz ya know it's new to him, Idk I'll add tags per chapter as I think of shit

Notes: 

1. Okay, so I spent like months thinking about whether to do this or not. On the one hand, yes this has so much potential to be fun (and I've seen some other sex swap stories i like). On the other hand, a lot of the whole sex/Gender swap thing is really stereotypical gender shit and goes against what I personally believe. But, creative juices won out and I'll try to keep true to character as much as possible while also making this funny and not too misogynistic (if that's possible).

2. This is a work in progress! I started it a year and a half ago, and now a friend is helping me continue 

3. This story is inspired by the song 'Jewel of the Summertime' by Audioslave (on their album Revelations) I love this song and it is awesome you should totally go listen to it.

4. The witch-lady is inspired by Aine, Celtic goddess of love, summer, wealth, and sovereignty. I literally just googled 'goddess of love' then scrolled through a list to find someone other than Aphrodite (don't get me wrong I love Greek mythology but it just wasn't right for this fic) and came across this girl. I only did a quick Wikipedia read, I'm not planning on going too heavy into her myth and more just using her for the plot but.... If anybody is more well versed in Celtic mythology and I seem to get something wrong, please feel free to comment and I'll try my best to make it accurate!

5. Woo damn that was a lot of stuff, I don't blame you if you didn't bother reading it. Now, on with the show!

----------

1984 (Lars' POV)

The first thing I felt when I woke up was this odd sense of.... well, just something being fuckin' off. Like I was missing something, but also like I had gained something? I felt like a brand-new person, although in my gut I was still me.... Man, I must have had WAY too much Jager last night, it's fucking with my head.

I slowly peeled the itchy fleece blanket off of my body and rolled onto the floor, which was about a foot from the bare mattress. We really needed to invest in some sheets, especially if we wanted to keep bringing chicks back to the house. Apparently, most girls are not at all impressed by stained, lumpy mattresses with almost no bedding on them.

Speaking of girls and mattresses, didn't I bring one home last night? I raised my head slightly from its position from the threadbare carpet and looked at the bed, trying to see if Anna (Was that her name?) was still there. Yep, there was a naked hippy still passed out in my bed, sweet!

I groaned quietly as I stood and shuffled my way out the door and down the hall to the bathroom. It was then I noticed that I didn't really have the usual alcohol-and-early-morning-and-piss induced erection, but my bladder was still straining. Huh, weird.

Whatever. I just wanted to pee, get rid of that feeling in my gut, and get that dead possum taste out of my mouth. Pushing open the door and wincing as the creaky hinges screeched through my headache, I pulled down my boxers and reached for my dick.... What the fuck?

WHAT THE FUCK?

WHERE WAS MY MOTHERFUCKIN DICK?!

Trying not to panic, I looked down, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment so I wouldn't have to see right away. But, of course, that kind of defeated the purpose of looking down, so I opened them again. No dick. The hell was going on?

Taking a deep, calming breath, I tried to think through this rationally. My dick, for whatever reason, was not where it was supposed to be. But, my bladder was still full and begging to be released, so obviously my system or whatever was still working. That need to pee was turning into a burning pain, so I tried to come up with a solution. If I don't have a cock, then I can piss through....what, exactly? Is there anything down there at all? What is even going on!?

Pulling in another deep breath through my nose, I let it hiss out between clenched teeth as I slowly, so slowly, touched my fingers to my abdomen and moved them downwards, dreading what I would find. Annnnnd....... Yep, there it was.

Velvety soft lips, slick, pungent juices; anatomy I knew so well but never, EVER expected to feel on myself. My crisis would have to wait a minute, though, 'cause my bladder was going to explode and no dick be damned I needed to do something about it.

Gingerly sitting my ass down on the toilet (god, so weird sitting down just to piss) I tried to slowly let it out. The feeling was...well there was certainly relief of the pressure, but it also felt strange in a way I couldn't really describe. I could possibly get used to it, not that I'm planning on staying like this or anything.

Cringing as I wiped, I slowly pulled the boxers back up to my hips that I just now noticed were a little wider than usual. And my hands, were they smaller? Softer? My chest too....HOLY SHIT I HAVE BOOBS! That, I might be able to get used to.

I turned to the mirror, and was quite shocked at what I saw. There was a girl standing there, with large, doe-like green eyes staring back at me from underneath brown bangs. She had a nice tan on her upper body, although her breasts were still pale where she clutched at them, small rosy nipples poking through her fingers. A pair of black cotton boxers stretched tight around the small curve of her hips, but hung loose around her milky thighs that almost touched. And this...this chick was me. ME.

Shaking my head, I splashed some water onto my face and rubbed my eyes, hoping it was just a fucked up dream. No such luck.

I was considering hiding in the bathroom forever, because no way in hell could I let the guys see me like this, let alone figure out how to explain, when I heard a scream. It sounded a lot like Kirk's voice, so I pushed my problems to the back of my head and ran into the hallway, stopping dead in my tracks at what I saw.

Anna, or whatever her name was, stood at the top of the stairs, dressed in flowing black robes with green Celtic designs all over them. She had jewels and charms hanging from her waist, wrists, neck, and ears, each tinkling as she tossed some sort of... Powder onto a very shocked looking Kirk. Or at least, I was pretty sure it was Kirk. He (she?) seemed to be in the same boat as me as far as bodies were concerned at the moment.

With a final dusting of powder, witchy-chick turned to me and smirked. "I hope you learn your lesson, I'll be back in a week. And as for you...." She turned to Kirk, "Well, you're just too damn cute! I couldn't resist seeing what a pretty girl you'd make!"

"This is your fault? You bitch! " I yelled. "Why the hell did you do this to us? Who are you? Change us back, then get the fuck out! I don't wanna be a damn girl, and neither does Kirk!" God this was fucking insane, that chick was crazy!

She hissed at me, eyes flashing in a way that could not be human. "Now you listen, GIRL. You'll stay like this for as long as I deem fit. You need to learn some respect for women, and being one is the best way to do that. I suppose you don't remember what you did last night?" She asked, looking bored and ready lo go fuck up someone else's life.

I thought hard, then it came creeping back to me. The bar, the Jager, the flirting with a group of girls, copping a feel and getting slapped, then her changing her mind and coming home with me, talking dirty in her ear, then unworldly sex, her whispering what sounded like a spell in my ear as I came... Holy shit.

"Is this about me grabbing your ass? I'm sorry! Please don't do this!" I begged, finally starting to let the situation sink in and desperation set. This could not be happening.

"Hmph," she snorted, "Begging isn't going to get you anywhere. I've seen humans beg for much less, and they still didn't get it. No, you'll love your life as a woman for a week, both of you, and hopefully you'll come to realize the struggles and terror that comes with it. If you've learned your lessons and are truly sorry, then you will be turned back. If not... Well you'll just have to stay like this until you do."

And just like that, she turned with a flourish and disappeared into thin air. My morning could not get any crazier, I was sure if it. But, because I wasn't actually sure and was suddenly doubting all logical occurrences in the world, I knocked on the wooden railing. That done, I turned towards Kirk.

He (seriously, do I call us he's or she's now? This is so fucked up) was shaking like a leaf, looking like he'd fall over any moment. I went over to grab him, calm him down, something.

"Shh shh, it's all right, Kirk," I muttered in his ear, awkwardly patting his back. I never thought I'd need to, but it really fucking sucks I can't comfort him any better than this. It was like this sour feeling in my chest that nestled in right next to my heart, whispering how awful I was at this and how he's probably mad at me for getting him into this situation.

Before I could ask him if he wanted to punt me out of a window, though, I heard some shuffling and talking coming from downstairs. James and Cliff were headed up here. As much as I wanted to hide for a week until my fuckin' "lesson" was up, I couldn't exactly drag Kirk into the hall closet in his current state, so I stood my ground.

"Hey, ladies, we do appreciate the service you've done our ugly ass friends, but could you keep the cat fight down until you've left the house?"

Ah, James, the man still didn't know how to talk to women after all this time. He was either too shy to form a sentence, or he put on this macho bravado that turned him into a drink asshole. Either way, this lady was not pleased.

By now I guess the guys had reached the landing Kirk and I were at and saw me hugging him, because Cliff chimed in, "Aww, they've made up! Good! Now, can I ask what exactly you two were telling about so loudly that it woke me and my boy James up? Did Lars do something?"

My back straightened at that, and I turned my head to him indignantly. "I did fucking not!" I retorted, even though apparently this whole situation was my fault. No need for them to know that, though.

"Holy shit, Lars!?!" James screamed.

I sighed. "Hi, Jamie."

----------

Chapter 2

#metallica #metallica fanfic #fanfic #fic #fanfiction #lars ulrich #kirk hammett #james hetfield #cliff burton #cliff my man #kirky wooi #jlars #kliff #papa het #little lars #babytallica #early metallica #1980s #alternate universe #sex swap #sex swap au #james x lars #kirk x cliff #my writing #lulucrowproductions #fluff #crack #humor #slow burn #alcoholica

[elaphaemourra]

30 Questions Tag Game

Got tagged by @outcastcommander :DDDDD Thank!!!!!

Rules: Answer 30 questions and tag 5 blogs you are contractually obligated to know better. HI I’M ACTUALLY REALLY SHY SO I’M NOT DOING THAT LOL I’m just gonna say, if u wanna do Intro and see this, go for it, and also bonus if u r Friend, absolutely feel free and also say i tagged u bc Yes Friendship.

Name/nickname: Elaphae,  Ela is most common (and great!! i love it fjdklajs), some people on the swtor art server called me ‘inquis’ a couple times ljfdklas.  

Gender: Nonbinary :DDD

Star sign: Virgo-Libra cusp :3

Height: 5’4 WOOP i am Short

Birthday: September 21

Time: 12:48 pm >:3

Favorite bands: Green Day, Volbeat, The Longest Johns, Alestorm… a lot more.  I’m a nerd lol.

Favorite solo artists: uh h hhhhh  o-O  there are Many.  Aurelio Voltaire is pretty solid lol.  Good for the heart.  Also, I can’t listen to too much of his stuff bc it gives me a Crisis, but Bo Burnham.  Shit’s a Bop.

Song stuck in my head: The theme for the uruk-hai from lotr lol

Last movie: Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers

Last show: fjdklasj i don’t watch tv lol, i can’t make my brain sit still for it.  Gotta be Interactive.

When did I create this blog: uh, shit, when WAS that?? WOW 2014.  3 more years and I’ll have spent a decade on tumblr.  Which is WILD.

What do I post: things that make me happy ;v;  mostly star wars and dragon age, and Assorted Random Shit i think jfdlkfjd.  I don’t actually know what  my blog makeup is but it Sure Is Something.

Last thing googled: ‘the song from lord of the rings when saruman shows off the uruk-hai’ lmfaoooo, i couldn’t remember the name of it so i went looking.

Other blogs: HOO BUDDY okiedoke:  @haospart (art blog), @swtorcompanionsgoofin (swtor blog), @lyriumdisaster (dragon age blog, which i’ll get back to once i’m done on the swtor end of this bioware pingpong table of interests, and then i’ll be hopping BACK to swtor bc it IS a pingpong table), i have studyblr that I Never Fuckin Use and have only posted on in the past 2 years to go ‘what the fuck why do u people keep following me’ bc I LITERALLY HAVE NOT TOUCHED IT IN LIKE 2 YEARS why does it keep gaining followers, and then a few like, ‘no don’t look me i’m Embarassed’ repositories jfdklsjaf.

Do I get asks: Very rarely, but yes!! Lmfao usually when i go ‘GIVE ASK PLS I LOVE ASK’ and people are reminded that i am, in fact, a very friendly marshmallow who does not mind interaction and also Definitely Craves people asking questions about my stuff fjdla.

Why I chose my url: This is kind of a convoluted thing, but like, the easy version is that it’s the name of my trooper on the leviathan server (now called Aea out of the game bc they were supposed to be my self-insert but then they escaped into the woods and developed a storyline for themself).  The LONG thing is that I have an oc named Regia Elaphae, who I modeled after pnigophobia, the fear of choking or being smothered, and I made her snake-themed.  Rex is the latin word for king--for king snakes--which i swapped to regina and then took out the n bc ‘Regina’ didn’t fit her, and Elaphe is the genus for rat snakes, but i found two ways of spelling it so i spelled it Elaphae, and when I got into swtor I decided to use Elaphae in reference to myself.  I replaced my old url with this one after i started playing that trooper of the same name, bc my old one was :I .  I was into hetalia in middle school, and homestuck, and when I got on tumblr that followed me into my url.  I’m not into hetalia anymore, or anime at all, and homestuck fell off my radar into the ‘i’ll go “hey i know that” if i see it, but i’m not in the fandom anymore’ pile.  For the longest time my blog description was ‘it’s been 5 years and i still haven’t changed my url’, but it was time for change fjdklasfaj.  It’s better this way.  

Following: 953 (it was over 1300 but i did some clearing out of my follow list a month or so ago lol, mostly of people who haven’t been online in 6 years)

Followers: 616

Average hours of sleep: 7 and a half hours, if i want to be Functional

Lucky number: 19 :D  I love 19, it’s always been my lucky number, always will be.

Instruments: I don’t play much, but I can sing and also I can play beladi on the doumbek.

What am I wearing:  Fox onesie lol.  I wear basically nothing else at this point in my life.

Dream job: i mean, ideally i could just Not and vibe fjdkla.  But i mean like, i guess something working with my hands.  I’m in college to get a degree in french, and my next step after that is to go to trade school, to get smth that’ll make me money so i can keep doing Nerd Junk and also learning bc i like, actually really like school lol.

Dream trip: I want to go back to Rennes.  I miss it.  It was awesome, and, hilariously, I miss being able to get a burger that isn’t Drowning in its own grease.  America doesn’t know how to do healthy burger that tastes good.  Europe knows what’s up tho. I also miss being able to like, have just a pitcher of room temperature water next to a cute little glass and have it not be weird.  The cups are too big in america, i drink so much less water bc it’s just too daunting.  I’m dehydrated constantly.  Also i miss the METRO.  I loved the metro, loved nyooming along in the trains, wandering around the central part of the city, it was cool.

Favorite food: Eel!!  Eel’s tasty as fuck.  I love it.

Nationality: American

Favorite song: o-o uhhhhhhhhhhh, i have no idea lol.  I listen to so much random shit.  lol according to my spotify 2020 rewind it’s Starlight Brigade, from TWRP and Dan Avidan.

Last book read: i have got ZERO clue what the last book i read was.  I mean, technically it was a textbook for my myth, magic, and folk religion class, but like, blegh.  Nah.  Not fun.  I think before that I started reading Metro 2033???  I have a copy in french, and am flipping between that and trying to fckn get through au revoir là-haut.

Top three fictional universes I’d like to live in:  

1. swtorrrrrrr, i wanna be a space wizard [slap slap slap on the metaphorical counter] give me space magic

2. Pellinor, y’all it’s medieval and magic and COOL and i’m a big nerd for that.  (these books are so good ;v;)  Also they got wine that makes cramps and headaches go away and magic baths, so like, fuck yes give me that sweet sweet painkiller juice.  It’s magic babey.

3. Thedas, bc dragon age, and like, when things Aren’t all fucked sideways to hell, there are just like, People.  Going about their days.  It’s great.  Also MORE MAGIC  Science is all fucked up in my vicinity, so like, how much can i fuck up the magic o3o

tl;dr on that fictional universes thing, i really want to be a wizard apparently fjdklasj.

#ela babbles #ela does a tag game #thank u for the tag outcast!!!!!! #you're a peach :DDD #get to know you tag games #30 questions tag game

[star-anise]

I have a favor to ask. In the post about femme bi women you mentioned that you've read the relevant "tedious histories". I was hoping you'd share those and any other queer history/ theory book recs you can think of. It seems that most of what I find is about gay men, and I'm looking for something more diverse or inclusive.

The truly tedious post I was referencing was by gothhabiba, about the history of lesbian bar cultures, with frequent asides about how butch/femme only belongs to lesbians and anyway bisexual women had nothing to do with that history and lesbians have never been mean to bisexual women either.

It was tedious mostly because it was like.. fascinating history, slightly inaccurate fascinating history, BI WOMEN SUCK, weird historical analysis that downplayed something’s coolness, BI WOMEN SUCK, fascinating history.

But there’s some really cool stuff out there!

Dykes to Watch Out For by Alison Bechdel - The strip that named the Bechdel Test, by the author of Fun Home - a reflection of lesbian life since the late 1980s, and a cornerstone of every alternative weekly newspaper of North America during the 90s. Some strips available online; others through anthology

Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg is a semi-autobiographical novel that’s available online. It was published in 1993, just as queer women were getting louder about reclaiming the words “butch” and “femme”, which had been declared Problematic and Cancelled by radical feminist lesbian separatists for decades previous. The novel is available for free at that link. A lot of the people who say “butch/femme are lesbian-exclusive” pass around that link and say they’re honouring the lesbian bar culture that book depicts--but they’ve clearly never read the book, because it’s got trans people and he/him lesbians and the author uses neopronouns and it’s SO OBVIOUS that queer history is SO MUCH MORE DIVERSE than cis lesbians who have cut all social ties with men. 

It HAS got a fair bit of rape, trauma, and queer-bashing, though, so warning for that.

There are a lot of other books from the 1990s that Tumblr lesbian exclusionists love to cite that I haven’t gotten my hands on yet (partly because something’s up with my brain’s ability to process longform text, so it takes me months to read a single book these days and they aren’t available in audio) but I suspect reading the whole thing, instead of a few carefully-chosen passages, might yield up a more complicated history:

The Persistent Desire: A Femme-Butch Reader, edited by Joan Nestle - a collection of essays, poems, and stories by a broad collection of people about their experiences of butch/femme relationships, largely WLW-centred

Boots Of Leather, Slippers Of Gold, edited by Elizabeth Kennedy - a collection of oral histories of the lesbian community of Buffalo, New York from 1930-1960 

Queerer stuff!

PoMoSexuals: Challenging Assumptions About Gender and Sexuality - Edited by Carol Queen and Lawrence Schmiel, Preface by Kate Bornstein - Another book I haven’t read in its entirety, but sometimes my girlfriend reads me bits of this one over the phone and I weep and gnash my teeth over not being able to consume the whole thing at a gulp. It’s from 1997, and went, “Well, now you know gay people exist. But what if we told you... that was only the beginning of the rainbow?”

Public Sex: The Culture Of Radical Sex - by Pat Califia - Thank fuckin’ god, one of these books got recorded to audio. I ended up typing up an excerpt here.  It’s a collection of Califia’s public writing from the early 1970s to the height of the AIDS crisis. The bit I excerpted is about the friction between official “lesbian feminist” academic thought and the sex practices of actual lesbians (pornography, butches, and dildos, oh my!) but there’s a lot more--Califia pushes for sexual freedoms that make me clutch pearls I didn’t even know I had sometimes, but at the same time, these are questions that need to be asked.

This is just a quick overview, and sadly, it isn’t all widely-available. If anyone else has any more suggestions, just sing out!

#lgbt discourse #staranise original #queering lgbt #sunshinemeansmylove

[luuxxart]

GIVE US THE NEW WARRIORS HEADCANONS UR REDESIGNS ARE AMAZINGJAKMAKWJDKSL💖💖💖

aaaa omG thank you!! :’D I’m actually strangely attached to these characters so I’ll try to do my best to explain the design choices I made and everything

ok so here we go.

SCREENTIME

* first off

* Not an entirely bad name??

* I would prefer Worm tho as a reference to the Morris Worm

* And I did make his design a little more wormy. Kinda Doc Ock-ish.

* So his tragic backstory... Well. Long long ago... when he was just a little kid... his dad fucked his mom.

* Jkjkjkjk. But it would be better than fucking “internet gas.”

* To take this in a darker route, I think it would be cool if his grandad had been experimenting with creating cyborgs and turned his dad into one. And then turned Screentime into one. So Screentime escaped sort of half-finished and is just trying to help others who might mirror his situation of abuse.

* I like to think his first superhero story was he was just like fucking buying bulk ramen and then hears a dude harassing a girl in the next aisle over and is like. huh. word. guess I can intimidate this guy by threatening to take his fucking social security and make it public knowledge.

* Bc he can hook up to the internet and updates his database frequently so he can just Mr. Robot people.

* He’s probably like 18 or 19. Never was schooled and college is kinda pointless when you have the whole internet in your brain.

* So he’s just living in a rundown apartment. Payin bills by doing odd jobs and doin bitcoin stocks.

* On the battlefield, he’d definitely be a mind games kind of guy, but he’d also use his worm limbs for dexterity and could probably discharge bursts of electricity at the cost of losing some information in his database.

* Also it’s probably really hard to tell, but Screentime is my favorite out of the original designs.

TRAILBLAZER

* again! Not a bad name at all!

* Made me think of fire though... and hiking... so

* We really don’t have much information on these characters so they were kinda fun to play around w and I think she was my favorite in terms of concepts.

* Also what the fuck are those red things on her head am I just fucking dumb???

* They look like devil horns. So I’m gonna run with it.

* Ok so she got a backpack from a god.

* Well that god was a god of Hell and also her godfather. Her actual father was another god of Hell. And idk how gods really work in the Marvel universe?? But I think there’s probably at least some high-ranking demons of Hell. I think Hell exists??? If I remember Doctor Strange correctly? (Maybe not Doctor Strange... bro everything is so hard to keep up with)

* Anyway, her dad was killed by some hero traveling through Hell at some point probably. And so she’s been preparing since to go avenge him.

* Then she gets to earth and is kinda like... well, avenging can wait.

* And the reason she can’t just get anything she wants out of the backpacks is because the backpacks are alive. But over time as she gains their trust, they start to become more and more useful. So, like magikarp to gyarados.

* her outfit was so fucking hard to redesign. like,,, I still don’t like it. The backpacks and stuff yes. Everything else no. But it’s better than the Neon Nightmare.

* Her powerset shouldn’t be limited to just her backpacks though. I saw a lot of people complain about that. Bc anyone could steal them from her and use them?

* So I think she should have superhuman strength. Also, her backpacks should only respond to her command. It’d be cute if they were also kinda cheeky about it. Bc yeah she’s a spoiled little brat. But she’s their spoiled little brat so they’re not opening up for anybody but her.

* She’s defo the youngest of the group

* Even if she is an immortal demon kid lol

S

bro I can’t even say it

I’m renaming them Shuriken. Effective immediately.

SHURIKEN

* So Shuriken is non-binary. Which I think is really cool! They’re not the first non-binary character that Marvel has,, bc Loki exists,, but while they’re not a good step forward... they’re a step forward nonetheless and I kinda commend them for at least trying.

* But goddamnit why did they have to go and name them S

* Sn

* please don’t make me say it

* So Shuriken has ice powers that are sort of threatening to take them over. Like if Iceman couldn’t control his powers ig. Their powers sort of came to them mysteriously in the middle of them already having a gender crisis and high school is happening and all that blah and now they’re just like,,, so ,, “superheroing seems to be a good venture right now. Maybe I’ll find myself in heroics and forget about everything else”

* And most of the heroic ideal is on their brother, ,,,, uh,,,, Quarterback,,, who idolizes the “classic” heroes like Cap, Iron Man, and Thor.

* Shuriken prefers reading news stories about Night Slasher and Punisher, Jessica Jones, and just generally, the other edgier heroes.

* But because their brother idolizes heroics so much, it makes it sort of a surprise when Shuriken takes up their mantle before Quarterback realizes anything is going on.

* And how does the ice stuff affect them? They’re sort of on the fence about finding a cure and whatnot. Most people speculate its like later-in-life mutation, but Shuriken isn’t satisfied with this answer.

*they sometimes chop off the spiky ice parts for convenience(they have no feeling in the frozen over parts of their body)

*(I’m toying with the idea of them having a crush on Ms. Marvel ngl)

QUARTERBACK

* not much to say about him? Other than goddamn that neon was terrible.

* Also I’ve seen jocks wear pink, so some youtube dudes complaining about that can fuck off. Maybe not that bright of a shade?

* But I figure with a defensive character, you would definitely want a bulkier frame. At least Power Man levels of a bulky frame? Like I’m not talking Hulk or Thing. Just.. yknow. At least a good Cap size dude.

* Also a blockier costume would make sense. Since he’s supposed to be. Uh. Safe. For people to like,, crowd behind. Like a safe

* Like a safe sp

* Like a

* safespace.

* I also like to think he was sort of a stereotypical jock and then here comes his little sibling (by like,, 7 minutes) who’s finally just like “yo fuck the gender spectrum” and so he finally opens up to his own interests that he’s been burying

* Like the color coral

* Which is definitely not pink my dudiest of dudes ;)

* He’s definitely more

* CHILL

* than Shuriken about the whole ice taking over his body thing. Like, at the end of the day, he’s still a jock even if he did turn out to be a mutant. Like , the world didn’t just end because he’s got some cool ice powers

* Also only being able to create a shield if it’s for others?? What a fucking joke man come on

* He can create platforms of ice and just mainly uses the ice as shields.

B-NEGATIVE

* OK THIS IS MY SON

* not the original he kinda just looked like he took one look at Welcome to the Black Parade and said “I can do that outfit. But crappier.”

* Listen,,,, I constructed a son

* It’s like that thing from that movie

* I was like

* “We can rebuild him...”

* is that fucking robocop

* At any rate, yeah yeah, Morbius stuff is still withstanding

* What if

* And hear me out

* His parents were sort of antivax sort of anti-mutant sort of folk. They get into some sort of car accident when he’s kinda young. He gets a blood transfusion against his parent’s wishes and in the end also gets adopted by this weirdass doctor who probably has some nefarious purpose, considering he used Morbius’ blood in the first place.

* This would explain how he could survive having vampirism since a doctor would probably have easier access to donated blood and stuff.

* Should the blood be going to people who actually need a transfusion? yes, however, this doctor is clearly ,, off his fucking rocker and corrupt as hell,, and what is his purpose?? The world may never know

* I don’t think B-Negative cares about anything. Like he just seems like that kind of character? Totally and inherently aloof and selfish because he’s just been fed blood on a silver spoon his whole life?

* Just does not care

* He does care about music though. Specifically rock(alternative, punk, hard, etc) and the history of it.

* me personally I really like Pink Floyd and I’m not going to,, shove my beliefs onto a character but

* I’m going to shove my beliefs onto a character and say his favorite song of all time is probably Welcome to the Machine

* And he probably will not shut up about how righteous of a song it is and how pertinent the message is

* Bc I think it fits,,, a lot of things about the stuff I’ve wrote with the backstories of these characters

* and yes

* he can perfectly mimic Great Gig in the Sky. the man!! has pipes!!!

* I also think it would be cool if he’s the oldest of them? Like, younger than 21 but he’s out of high school. Just trying to get a bachelors in music history at fuckin uh. NYU probably.

* he unironically likes twilight

#marvel #new warriors #ask #ik it looks weird haha i wrote this all in my notes and just copy pasted

[jinruihokankeikaku]

hello! could you please do a session analysis on a session with my fankids? (quick note: certain classes being gender-specific is ignored here) we have a Prospit Heir of Life (m), Derse Knight of Mind (m), Prospit Mage of Blood (f), Prospit Maid of Doom (f), Derse Bard of Heart (f), Derse Seer of Space (f), Prospit Rogue of Time (m), and a Derse Witch of Void (m) thanks in advance!

Hey there!! I certainly could ::::) Here’s Session Analysis #4…

Player Lineup

(++)Heir of Life, Prospit

Expansive-Explosive-Cyclical Aspect, Passive Manipulation Class

(-)Knight of Mind, Derse

Associative-Personal Aspect, Active Defense/Service Clss

(--)Mage of Blood, Prospit

Associative-Cyclical Aspect, Active Knowledge/Understanding Class

(-)Maid of Doom, Prospit

Culminative-Conclusive-Cyclical Aspect, Active Creation Class

(++)Bard of Heart, Derse

Introspective-Personal Aspect, Passive Destruction Class

(++)Seer of Space, Derse

Expansive-Explosive-Actual Aspect, Passive Knowledge/Understanding Class

(+)Rogue of Time, Prospit

Culminative-Conclusive-Actual Aspect, Passive Relocation/Appropriation Class

(--)Witch of Void, Derse

Introspective-Actual Aspect, Active Manipulation Class

Session Outlook

Space and Time players present? Indeed they are. Soooooooo your session isn’t doomed from the start. That’s always a good thing.

Prospite-Derse balance? 50/50. That’s what you’re aiming for, so more good news.

Active-Passive balance? You’ve got a 50/50 balance here. +7:-7. All good stuff.

Aspect Balance: 3 Cyclical : 3 Actual : 2 Personal; 3 Expansive-Explosive : 2 Culminative-Conclusive : 1 Introspective : 2 Associative. This is… a really decent balance!! Excluding Time and Space, your Direction ratio is 2:1:1:2, and your Source ratio is 3:1:2, which is not bad at all. What’s really important here is that you’ve got all your Sources and Directions covered!

Now, to get into the actual discussion of the session…

Potential Events

Well, you’ve got a Bard of Heart, like the last session we analyzed here, which is likely to be the main source of intra-team conflict. This isn’t because the Bard is malevolent (necessarily), but because their very presence induces decay / generates entropy in and among people’s identity and relationships. They’re not going to notice this effect at first, initially ghosting Mind and repressing their emotions until they overflow rather explosively. More on that when we address the Bard specifically.

Your Space and Time players are both Passive classes, which means your session may start off slow or run long, but which may also reduce the odds of one of the over-embracing their Aspect (as, say, a Mage or a Thief may be more likely to do. You also have all six Class Functions covered, which is great news – another example of how well-balanced this session’s lineup is. You’ve also got 3 inverse Aspect pairs, which should lead to plenty of drama, buuuuuuuut it wouldn’t be a proper session without it ;;;;)

Now to discuss the specific players – note that because Role genders are kinda fake (oversimplification, yeah, but y’know) and I don’t know the player’s orientations or how much, uh, relationship stuff you’re looking to write in your session, I’ll pretty much be ignoring the genders listed – if you have more info on what kinda analysis you want re: gender relations, do let me know. And now, without further ado…

The Heir of Life [+2 | M | Ex-Cy | manipulator | Prospit]

Your Heir is someone who “becomes, embodies, is manipulated by, or invites change in growth, rebellion, biology, and consumption”. He’s going to be given a lot of Life from the start, filled with exuberance and youth, and possibly born into luxury, a leadership position, or a literal inheritance. Being a Prospit dreamer and a member of a Passive class, he’s likely going to be laid-back and inclined more towards improvisation than planning; while Heirs are natural leaders, they’re often slow to rise to this role, and his passivity and Prospitian attitude, plus his Life-bound rebellious streak, may harmonize with this effect. They’re likely going to go along with the Knight’s initial leadership, albeit reluctantly. However, a clash with the Maid, one of their fellow Prospit dreamers, is certainly also possible.

Conclusion: Reluctant leader, but likely the endgame leader, nonetheless. Unlikely to get on well with the Maid, but might be close with the Bard and the Rogue at first (prior to the all-but-inevitable Bardic Crisis).

The Knight of Mind [-1 | M | As-Pe | defender | Derse]

The Knight of Mind might be the one to initially aim for the role of “team leader”, due to Knight’s attraction to leadership positions and Mind’s aptitude for strategy and decision-making. He might try to present himself as a grand strategist or organizer for the team, which some might go along with, and others might be reticent to accept. The Knight’s lack of confidence regarding their wisdom / capacity to make decisions will cause them to attempt to overexpress their Aspect, perhaps by spending a great deal of time in affected contemplation, going through loops of thoughts or processes that they don’t really believe. They’re actually as thoughtful as they need to be, but their lack of confidence in their capabilities may cause them to falter, and the Bard especially will see straight through their persona.

Conclusion: Initial session leader, but not an especially strong one; like the Heir, will probably be close to the Bard prior to their crisis. Skillful tactician and likely to be on the frontlines if he makes it to the endgame.

The Mage of Blood [-2 | F | As-Cy | interpreter | Prospit]

The Mage is someone who “innately understands, explores, directly experiences from, or suffers due to their bonds, promises, and relationships”. She may wind up in a number of relationships or with a number of obligations to other people, and get burnt for it – either because they fail to successfully balance their duties (to herself, her friends, her team, etc.), or because she’s successful, but it comes at a great cost, potentially even serious injury or death. However, she’s also someone who understands what a promise or a bond is, on a very technical level – she may have some interest in legal matters, or substantial knowledge of contracts. She’s likely to try to be friends with everybody – not just her team, but also her Planet’s Consorts or even the Prospitian populace or royalty. This could leave her pulled in many different directions, and whether or not she’s capable of navigating the network of chains and signals ahead of her will be a real challenge.

Conclusion: Sociable person, less interested in leadership than in friendship. Has a tendency to over-commit herself, which may lead to unfortunate consequences, but is nonetheless a force binding the team together.

The Maid of Doom [-1 | F | Cu-Cy | creator | Prospit]

The Doom Aspect and Prospit’s sway make an interesting combination – the one commonality I could draw between them is that they’re both better with acceptance than most. And since the Maid is, well, “made of their Aspect” (not literally, like an Heir; rather, as in They Have A Whole Lot Of It), I’d imagine the Maid to be someone who carries with her, and overflows with, acceptance – maybe in kind of a cheerfully nihilistic way? The Maid of Doom also “creates structures, systems, or rules”, perhaps assisting the Knight in his strategic schemes, or working with the Rogue to ensure that whatever ending comes isn’t catastrophic. She’ll be a significant Active player with real potential to Invert, so if any serious conflict develops she could well be at the heart of it.

Conclusion: Powerful, lives a structured life but is capable of improvising, wants to ensure that everything ends well but might have a limited set of tools with which to do this.

The Bard of Heart [-1 | F | In-Pe | destroyer | Derse]

Bards passively induce decay in their Aspect at first, before experiencing a radical shift and embracing their Aspect, using it to wreak chaos on the session and render the story less predictable in the process. Your Bard of Heart, being a Derse dreamer, is going to commit hard to ghosting Mind at first – she might be rather close to the Knight, and she’ll try to present herself as a just, rational, straightforward person, the type of person who uhhhhh just fuckin,, smashes peoples feelings with Reason and Logic. Not trying to imply that she’ll be right-wing or anything, but I think you know the type o obnoxious debater I’m talking about. Her character arc will experience its most radical shift when she discovers that she’s been using her Rational persona to avoid developing an identity of her own, at which point she’ll likely begin to overembrace Heart and perhaps enter into a tumultuous relationship. Alternatively, if she’s not the romantic type, the tumultuous relationship might be with her own soul slash sense of purpose; she might split from the team and go off to “find herself” in solitude (which could be right disastrous, depending on the timing). Either way, she’ll likely play havoc with team integrity, as her own identity crisis triggers a domino effect amongst her teammates.

Conclusion: Rational, argumentative type who, due to some event (probably post-entry) undergoes a radical identity crisis and causes chaos in the process, for better or worse. Not necessarily a bad person, just a person with a less-than-complete understanding of themselves.

The Seer of Space [+2 | F  | Ex-Ac | interpreter | Derse]

Space players aren’t usually Derse, but there’s certainly no rule against this – the Seer will just have a unique sort of personality. As one who learns about creation, beginnings, and possibility, and eventually teaches others about the same, she’s likely to be an artist, engineer, or inventor, starting processes, though not necessarily finishing them, and taking great pleasure in sharing her ideas with others. The Seer is a rather Passive role, and but they also discover the meaning of their role early on – the downside being that they’re susceptible to manipulation, and often, at first, rather impressionable. The Seer will work well with Active players like the Knight in collaborative efforts, and may actually be a significant influence on the Knight’s plans and schemes. The worst-case scenario is that she abandons her Role and job of frog-breeding and Inverts to behavior reminiscent of a Witch of Time, which would obviously be a crisis for the session as a whole. Nonetheless, I don’t see this scenario as particularly likely, and as long as she has the support of her team, she’ll do great work for the session as a whole.

Conclusion: Creative and eager to teach others about her creations; likely to collaborate with the Knight, but be perhaps more doubtful of the Heir’s leadership potential.

The Rogue of Time [+1 | M | Cu-Ac | relocator | Prospit]

Rogues are initially hesitant about their Aspect, so I think this Rogue would be rather reticent to use time travel at first, considering its potentially drastic consequences. He might make music in private, but be hesitant to share it as well. The Rogue won’t really understand the Knight’s plans, and more to the point, won’t agree with them, and will be more inclined to pursue less-structured avenues of exploration of his Aspect and the Game as a whole. Once they’ve grown into their Role, and embraced the power of time, they’ll be a formidable and vital player, literally giving the team Time by transporting others to the past or future. Which is, yes, risky business, but it’s a power all-but-unique to the Rogue of Time, and will likely alter the course of the session, hopefully for the better! The Rogue will really flourish once the Heir has begun to develop as well; they’ll likely be friends from the start, but when the Heir and the Rogue are both more comfortable utilizing their powers, it’ll be a major step forward for the team.

Conclusion: Improvisational, clever, but somewhat shy, with a unique ability that will almost certainly alter the course of multiple timelines. Will work well in collaboration with the Heir, but is likely to resent direct, structured leadership and planning in general.

The Witch of Void [-2 | M | In-Ac | manipulator | Derse]

This is a dark Role if ever I’ve seen one, but dark doesn’t necessarily equal Bad. The Witch will have the ability to “alter, restructure, or bend the fundamental rules of the unknown, oblivion, and darkness” – and on top of that he’s a Derse dreamer, so I see interaction with the Horrorterrors being a real possibility here. The challenge Witches face is to use their abilities carefully and for righteous purposes, as the immense degree of control they have over their Aspect must be tempered with control over themselves. The Witch is the Functional opposite of the Seer, but their Aspects are adjacent, which I think creates the potential for a very interesting dynamic between those two. Hopefully, they’d co-operate with one another, as a Witch with the guidance of a Seer (and a Seer with the raw power of a Witch) would be a force so significant as to radically alter the course of the Session/narrative.

Closing Notes: The Bard of Heart and the Witch of Void alone add a great deal of raw power to this session; combined with the guidance of a Seer of Space and the unique power of a Rogue of Time to send others across the timelines instead of himself, I think the session has great potential. The main areas of concern are the Bard, yknow, doing the Bardic thing and upfucking everyone’s the shit and/or the leadership struggle between the Knight and the Heir becoming excessively pitched. The Mage should help maintain this balance, but it may come at a great cost to them.

I hope you found this analysis informative and slash or entertaining ::::) thanks for the ask!!

#silver-star #Homestuck #fansession #session analysis #Witch of Void #Heir of Life #Knight of Mind #Seer of Space #Rogue of TIme #Maid of Doom #Mage of Blood #Bard of Heart #ask

[angelofthequeers]

That Red Skirt

Disclaimer: I don’t own SPN.

Spawned from this thread. I already made a post for @some-angelic-flowers and @gabrielsbackbitches, but then I figured why not write them a fic? I also thought that @i-miss-balthazar might appreciate a tag as well!

Summary: When Jack realises on a shopping trip that he’s non-binary, leading to a confrontation with a stranger who can’t mind their own business, Dean starts to have a few realisations of his own. And his angel is there to save the day and provide answers and comfort as Dean ends up knee-deep in working out stuff he’s repressed to be John Winchester’s Perfect Son. Sam’s just a little shit but then, when isn’t he? At least the overgrown moose is accepting as well.

AO3 link here

It’s not that Dean’s ashamed exactly. Sure, he doesn’t go around telling people that he likes doing “womanly things”, as John called them whenever young Dean dared to bring them up. It’s clear as day to people who actually know him that he likes cooking and looking after his home and taking care of others – all “womanly things” according to John – but he doesn’t exactly like to parade it around.

At first, it was because John expected him to be the perfect son; “If I wanted a daughter then I would’ve had one,” had been his exact words on many an occasion, until Dean had learned to hide it all under layers of exaggerated manliness. That’s not to say that Dean’s not manly at all…just not to enough of a degree for John’s liking. Hell, probably not to enough of a degree for most men’s liking, judging by all the ‘guy humour’ he’s heard about women “belonging in the kitchen” and “taking care of the breadwinner”.

So he likes to indulge in taking care of people and his home without the need for violence. Sue him. He doesn’t think he’s too ashamed of it anymore, but he just doesn’t see any conversation to slide this information into, or just any people who he’d feel safe enough to tell. Sam and Cas wouldn’t give a fuck for sure – their appreciation of his cooking makes that blatantly clear, although he could do without Sam’s occasional comments about knowing how to do the perfect load of laundry despite having relied on laundromats all his life – but that still involves having a conversation about it. And if there’s one ‘manly’ thing that Dean’s good at, it’s avoiding talking about his feelings.

Actually, that’s probably more from years of trauma and childhood neglect. But whatever.

Dean has always thought that this inner conflict would come to a head in a bar somewhere. A finished case, a bit too much beer, he’d get hit on by some creepy asshole who thinks he’s “pretty” with his “princess lips” and “candy apple eyes” – because apparently even when he’s pushing forty, he’s still pretty enough to get hit on by creeps – and then drama would ensue when he says no. A homophobic slur here, an insinuation about being a girl there, finished with either a nice bar fight or storming off, then Sam’s following attempt at a conversation. According to Charlie years ago, it’s a popular trope in gay fanfiction and usually ends up in hot sex between the two guys, with a lesson about accepting yourself and blah blah whatever.

But no, Dean’s apparently too good for fanfiction tropes, because his moment of epiphany is still dramatic but much less macho manly bar fight. He’s out shopping with Jack one afternoon, since they’re in dire need of food supplies due to being down to a tablespoon of shitty instant coffee, a few slices of mouldy bread, a pack of nearly-expired bacon, and condiments that will probably only make that mouldy bread even worse. Thank god the hunters from the other world are gone now, out inhabiting the other Men of Letters chapter houses around the country so that they’ve got a web across the US. It might be horrible of Dean to feel this way but really, a home invasion was the last thing conducive to recovering from Michael’s possession.

So, anyway. He and Jack have filled the cart with food and are now preparing to brave the clothing department of Walmart, only because Dean had decided that it might be nice for Jack to have more than a few shirts and pairs of jeans for himself. He makes a beeline for the men’s jeans and picks out the first pair he finds in Jack’s size.

“Simple but decent when it comes to hunting,” Dean says, turning to show Jack. “About as tough as you can get for this price – the fuck did you go, kid?”

Jack’s nowhere to be found. Heart starting to race, Dean dumps the jeans and heads off in search of the human naphil, because Cas is going to have his ass for days if he loses their kid. He’s still not adjusted to being with Cas, especially with a kid between them (and between Sam too, but he’s firmly not involved in this Dean and Cas equation), but apparently letting a homicidal archangel possess you while the love of your life pleads for you to not make such a dumbass move is catalyst enough to really get things rolling.

In any case, he knows for sure that he’s going to be in the shithouse if he loses Jack, so he navigates the clothing department with all the grace of a giant tortoise whose shell is made of fraud-funded food. Jack’s nowhere in the men’s department, so Dean checks the kid’s department in case he’s started having a ‘one-year-old in the body of a twenty-year-old’ crisis, but he’s not there either.

“Dean!”

Dean whirls at the sound of Jack’s voice calling his name. He locates Jack in the women’s department, standing next to a rack of discount skirts, and he struggles on over.

“They’re so pretty!” Jack says in awe, running his hand over a white, flowy skirt that looks to be about mid-thigh length.

“Don’t run off on me like that!” Dean snaps, mostly to avoid having to crush the light in Jack’s eyes as he pulls out a long red split skirt to examine it. “Cas would fuckin’ kill me if I lost you. You know how much of a passive aggressive dick he can be.”

The lady at the rack nearby tuts, which Dean assumes is at his foul language. He shoots her a winning smile, but she just tuts again and looks away, so he shrugs and turns back to Jack.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Jack says, his mouth drooping as he puts the red skirt back. “I didn’t mean to make you worry. I just went looking for stuff I’d like, and I found this section and – Dean, look at how pretty these skirts are!”

“They’re for chicks, Jack,” Dean says, painfully aware that Cas is probably going to kill him for instilling human gender roles in their son who’s pretty much a toddler with adult intelligence.

“But why?” Jack says and runs his hand over the white skirt again. “Why do humans insist on assigning gender to pieces of cloth?”

“Okay, for one, you’re human to everyone else, so you might wanna tone down on that alien talk,” Dean mutters. He shoots a look at the lady out of the corner of his eye, who’s so thoroughly invested in the table of T-shirts that it’s obvious she’s eavesdropping. “It…just is, okay? Guys wore skirts ages ago, now they don’t. Shit changes.”

This coming from the guy who likes to wear pink panties makes it incredibly hypocritical. He knows that. But there’s a difference between a sexy kink and just outright wearing women’s clothing every day, and Jack doesn’t seem to be getting it. Dean’s just going to conveniently ignore how the fact that he likes wearing panties is waving its hands to get his attention, like there’s a ground-breaking revelation to be had if he examines it further.

“I don’t understand,” Jack says. “If it’s comfortable then why not wear it?”

“Because you’re not a chick. You’re a guy.”

Jack just frowns as though these are foreign words. “But how do I know that I’m a guy?” he says. “I met someone when I was off training my powers who told me that when he was born, everyone assumed he was a girl because of his body, but he wasn’t a girl. How do I know that that’s not me?” 

“Do you feel like you’re a girl?” Dean’s too sober right now. And he’s totally not equipped to handle a conversation like this. Cas is better suited, what with his utter disregard for human gender roles.

“I don’t know!” Jack clutches the skirt, no doubt to stave off the distress spreading across his face. “I like things that people call “womanly”. I like cooking with you and caring for other people just like you do. I like feeling pretty sometimes. I don’t like people thinking that I have to be tough and “manly” and not interact with my emotions just because I was born with a certain set of genitals.”

The woman nearby outright winces, so Dean turns to her with a fake smile plastered on his face.

“Is there a problem, ma’am?” he says. She dithers, like she’s torn between speaking her mind and admitting that she was eavesdropping on another person’s conversation.

“No,” she finally says.

“Good.” Dean turns back to Jack. “Look, kid, I can’t help you there.”

“But you like things that society designates as “womanly”,” Jack says. “Yet you’re comfortable in your masculinity.”

Dean sighs and draws Jack away from the nosy woman. Jack brings the white skirt with him, and Dean’s seriously thinking that he’s going to have to buy the damn thing just to shut Jack up.

“I just don’t understand,” Jack insists.

“Look, kid, I don’t either,” Dean says. “And any time I tried anything, my dad kicked my ass for it. I…don’t want that to happen to you.”

“I appreciate your concern, Dean,” Jack says with that soft little smile of his. “But you and Sam have taught me how to take care of myself. I might only be human now, but I’m sure I can handle negative opinions if I’m not hurting anyone. And I know that you wouldn’t “kick my ass for it”.”

For a moment, Dean sees himself in Jack; his younger self, so fresh and idealistic, unaware of just how horrible a place the world was. He’s got one vague memory from before Mary’s death of her painting his nails for him because he’d seen the bottle of blue polish and wanted to “look pretty like Mommy”, only to result in one of the worst fights between John and Mary about “turning their son gay” while Dean huddled in bed crying.

In that moment, he vows that Jack will never know that pain. He’s never going to be that parent that forces a tonne of bullshit on his kid because everyone else thinks he should. He’s already raising the one-year-old grown-up son of Satan in a hunter life with his angel boyfriend, so there’s literally nothing about this that’s normal in any way. No way is he going to squash that light in Jack’s eyes that John had squashed out of his.

“Fine, whatever,” Dean says. “Get the skirt if you want.”

Jack’s face lights up, and he throws his arms around Dean while thanking him over and over again. Dean pats him on the back, praying that the kid doesn’t suffocate him to death, and thankfully he’s given back control of his lungs after just a few more moments.

“Tsk.” It’s so quiet and barely there, but Dean’s trained ears pick up the reproach from the woman who totally hadn’t started inspecting the next table over just to stay within hearing range.

“You know, it’s rude to listen in on conversations you’re not part of,” Dean says with the most passive aggressive smile he can muster.

“And it’s wrong how you’re raising that son of yours,” the woman retorts. “Especially with your…boyfriend.”

Ah, so she’s one of those ones. Dean’s fake smile just widens. “Well, I don’t see it as any of your business, sweetheart.”

“You’re sending your child to Hell by encouraging him to live in sin!” the woman says. “How can you say it’s not any of my business when I’m concerned for the poor thing?”

“Dean and Cas have always taught me that I’ll never go to Hell if I’m a good person,” Jack says straight to the woman’s face. Ah, Dean’s so proud. “And I don’t see how wanting to wear a skirt makes me a bad person.”

“You gay and transgender people are wrong in the eyes of the Lord,” the woman says. Jack frowns.

“God doesn’t care about that.”

“Just back up,” Dean says. “You can’t argue with crazies like her.”

“She’s insulting you and Cas,” Jack says. “And me. I can’t just let her hate other people when she’s wrong!”

“You’ll never be able to prove it to her,” Dean says. “Trust me, kid, you could have God himself pop in and tell her she’s wrong and she’ll still insist that she’s right and he’s just “pandering” or whatever. They don’t actually give a shit about God. They just use that bullshit so they can act like they got a real reason to hate others rather than having to admit that they’re just assholes.”

“You people sicken me,” the woman spits.

“At least we’re here minding our own business and not going around scaring people into believing our fairy tale,” Dean says. He marches over to the skirt rack and, looking the woman straight in the eye, grabs the red skirt that Jack had also been eyeing. “And you know what? My son can have all the skirts he wants. Hell, I’ll even paint his nails for him. ‘Cause I wasn’t allowed to be pretty as a kid, so Jack’s gonna be the prettiest fuckin’ guy around. You capiche?”

The woman looks like Dean had whipped his dick out and started pissing right in front of her, but Jack looks like Dean had personally hung the stars just for him. Dean drapes the skirt in the cart and nudges Jack.

“C’mon, kid. You still need some good, strong clothes for hu – uh, work.” He wheels their cart back to the men’s section, leaving the woman stewing and Jack bounding along beside him, and he feels in his bones that he’s made the right decision as a parent.

***

For the next few weeks, Dean can’t shake off Jack’s words from their shopping trip. Every time he cooks, he finds himself examining his actions under a microscope, dissecting how much he enjoys cooking for his family and exactly how he feels about it. He does the same thing when tidying the bunker, even going so far as to dust the top of the bookshelves and use some new, tropical-scented shit in their laundry that quickly earns Sam’s seal of approval. And fussing over Sam after the guy had been stabbed by a rabid vampire on their hunt has him spaced out for the rest of the night as he reflects on just how much he mother-hens his brother.

It doesn’t take long for Cas to notice. But then, Cas always notices. However, he doesn’t bring it up until about a month after the Shopping Trip, as the incident has now been dubbed.

“What’s wrong, Dean?” Cas’ voice is thick with the sleep he doesn’t need but enjoys when he can cuddle with Dean all night. “You’ve been quiet for weeks now.”

Dean doesn’t say anything at first, instead running his fingers down Cas’ bare chest and stomach and feeling the muscles spasm under his touch. He can’t help but marvel that, for all his holy angelness, Cas is still so incredibly human in many ways, the biggest way being how he chose to willingly tie himself to a human in the way he’s with Dean.

“Is it about Jack’s skirts?” Cas says into the silence. “You’ve been quiet since then. But I think you were fantastic to buy him those skirts. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen him so happy than when he came to show me how they look on him. The red skirt especially suits him.”

“How do I know that I’m a dude if I like chick things?” The question comes out so softly that human ears would have missed it. But Cas doesn’t have human ears.

“Is it really that important that you know?” Cas says. He sighs and shakes his head. “My apologies. That was insensitive of me to say. I just don’t understand humans and their insistence on assigning themselves boxes and roles based on physical characteristics.”

“Look, I know you can like some chick things and still be a dude,” Dean says. “Just like I know chicks who are into cars and other “guy shit” and they’re still girls. But…I dunno. It feels like I’m missing something when I say that.”

“How so?” Cas says.

“Just…somethin’ Jack said about how you know you’re one or the other.”

“It’s not necessarily that simple, Dean. There’s so much more than just one or the other.”

Okay, that makes Dean blink. He’s had some vague knowledge that this exists – how could he not, when assholes everywhere are raising up a stink about “snowflakes” or whatever -  but to actually have an angel of the Lord tell him that there’s more than just guy and girl makes his head spin.

“This may not be of any help, since I’m an angel,” Cas says, “but I’m not a man. You see me as such, since my body appears that way, and I’m utterly indifferent to what people call me so my pronouns don’t bother me. I’m not a woman either. I don’t even know if I am anything.”

“That’s literally no help at all,” Dean says. “Thanks, you just confused me more.”

“Eat me,” Cas mutters. Dean snorts at that, because he can always count on Cas to unintentionally lighten the mood. “Talk to me, Dean. Walk me through your thoughts. I don’t know exactly what to say right now.”

“My thoughts are a fuckin’ mess,” Dean says. “Mostly ‘cause this is shit I’ve been shutting down since I was a kid ‘cause you know Dad would kick my ass if I tried. I remember when I was four and my mom painted my nails ‘cause I wanted to be pretty and Dad pitched a huge fit.”

“You were a child,” Cas says. “Children have no concept of gender roles until they’re taught, whether directly or through emulation.”

“I like a lot of “chick” stuff,” Dean says, tightening his hold on Cas like the angel can protect him from his inner crisis. “I like cooking. And I get that a lotta famous chefs are guys but…this is different. It feels more...domestic. I like keeping the bunker tidy ‘cause…it’s home, y’know? I’ve never…had a home before Baby. I just…like things to be nice. I like looking after others. I like listening to Taylor Swift and I’m kinda getting into Ariana Grande.”

The words are spilling out of him like an avalanche as he bares his soul for the first time ever to possibly the only person who would never judge him. As much as he loves Sam, his little brother’s also grown up under the reign of John Winchester, and Sam might be a softer and more emotional guy but he’s still got a lot of shit of his own.

“Sometimes I get sick of bein’ tough and strong and manly,” Dean babbles, burying his face in the crook of Cas’ neck as the deep stuff starts to uncontrollably emerge from years of lock and key. His eyes begin to sting and his lungs are working overtime at this point, but the fingers that start to card through his hair provide a point of sensation that successfully helps keep it under control. “Sometimes I…I wanna be pretty. Like Jack does. I don’t wanna wear a skirt or anything but…I wanna be that four-year-old kid who wanted to wear nail polish like his mom and dress up with her and try to wear her heels but trip and fall flat on his face while she laughs. I wanna be that guy who knows how to braid his younger brother’s hair ‘cause he won’t get a fuckin’ haircut. I wanna wear those flower crowns that Jack makes without feeling like I’m a sissy or somethin’.”

Cas hums, still stroking Dean’s hair. “You can still be a man and enjoy those things.”

“That’s the thing,” Dean says rather bitterly. “That doesn’t feel totally right either. Like…I don’t feel like bein’ a guy fits if I do that stuff. Like if I let myself enjoy that stuff then…not that I don’t deserve to be a guy, but more like…” He fumbles for the right words, wishing he could just let out a long groan and have Cas understand from that, because that’s really the best way he can describe himself. “More like calling myself a guy doesn’t fully describe myself ‘cause…I’m kinda not. But I ain’t a chick either and it feels wrong calling myself that too. If that makes sense?”

“It does,” Cas says and kisses the top of Dean’s head. “I think an appropriate allegory in this case would be nationality. You humans have assigned a label to each other based on where you were born, and you act in different ways according to this label that you were forcibly given. And I’ve noticed how if someone moves to another country, they often face derision for not having been born there like everyone else, especially if they don’t look like the majority or their culture drastically differs from the place to which they move.”

That makes sense. How many times has Dean heard jokes about American stereotypes? Or shitty comments about people based purely on ideas that other people have about where they were born and lived?

“Nationality isn’t anything tangible. It’s more of a feeling and a mutual culture based on shared experiences. And there aren’t just two nationalities or two experiences. There are so many more; some are similar to each other and some are totally different.”

“Nice soapbox,” Dean quips to hide how his head is spinning at this wealth of information. Does that mean that he can just…be neither? That he can let himself be pretty when he wants to while also being the cool tough guy he usually is, and…he can still be Dean? He doesn’t have to be a guy or a girl?

“It’s a very individual experience,” Cas says. “Mine is completely different to yours or Jack’s. That’s why it’s difficult for me to really find the right words for you.”

“Blame Jack,” Dean says. “He’s too pure for his own good. He’s corrupted me.”

“Dean,” Cas chastises. “Don’t talk about our son like that or I won’t sleep with you for a week.”

“You won’t last a week without my dick but sure,” Dean retorts. “So, like…do I have to call myself something since I’m not either? Tell the whole world? Start wearing spandex and dye my hair blue or something?” He looks up just in time to catch the biggest eyeroll Cas has ever given him, so he snickers and nips at Cas’ throat. He refrains from marking Cas up, knowing that if he does then Cas’ animalistic side will come out and he’ll get dicked six ways to Sunday. And while he normally wouldn’t ever turn down some good, hot sex with Cas, he’s also in the middle of an important conversation for which he wants a resolution.

Okay, wow, he’s been talking to Sam too much if he’s choosing a conversation about his feelings over hot angel sex. But it’s worth it, considering that he can feel the chains of another layer of John Winchester’s Perfect Son loosening from around him.

“You don’t “have” to do anything,” Cas says. “You’re still the same Dean Winchester I fell in love with.”

“Hey, whoa, whoa, don’t you dare bring that word up,” Dean protests, but he feels about ten times lighter with Cas’ affirmation that he doesn’t have to do anything different and can just keep doing his own thing while knowing this new thing about himself.

“Oh, shut up, Dean.” Cas immediately contradicts his annoyed tone by kissing Dean’s head again, so Dean decides to lean up and catch Cas’ lips in a proper kiss. Cas hums and cups Dean’s face and their kiss is slow and deep, with small nips and tongues swiping across mouths without dipping inside.

“No but seriously, is there a word for it?” Dean says breathlessly when they separate. “That bitch at Walmart said “transgender” but I don’t feel like that’s me. Others like me might but…not me. I’m still cool with this totally hot body and with people thinking I’m a guy just to make shit easier on everyone, ‘cause I at least know I’m…not.” It feels weird as fuck to say that out loud but also oh so freeing.

“Some might call you egotistical,” Cas mumbles. “It would be totally valid of you to call yourself that if you want, but I understand why you feel it doesn’t apply to you. I’ve heard the term non-binary before, when I was at a homeless shelter as a human and I met someone who referred to themselves as such. After I confronted a bigot and said that I’m utterly indifferent to my own gender, the other person confided in me and non-binary was the term they used. You could try that and research further from there.”

“But…I don’t have to if I don’t want to?” Dean says. Don’t get him wrong, having an actual word that encapsulates him is just…wow. Holy shit. He’s real, he’s allowed to exist, and there are others who are not only like him but also open enough about their identities that other people can find this information and realise shit about themselves too. But he’s literally only just started coming to terms with shit he’s locked deep for the past few decades, so he’s not yet sure if he’s ready to start labelling himself and being so open about it until he’s had more time to work through it.

“Of course not,” Cas says. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Just because Jack feels comfortable enough to wear skirts doesn’t mean that you ever have to as well. I told you, it’s highly individual.”

“Jack’s non-binary too?” Dean says. “I mean, I ain’t surprised, but…”

“We had a conversation. He told me that you said he should come to me, since you weren’t equipped to talk about it. He also said that he didn’t mind if I told you and Sam, so I won’t ever tell anyone else about you unless you allow me to do so. That would be rude and horrible and downright violent if the wrong person learned that when you didn’t want them to.”

Okay, that’s another weight off Dean’s shoulders. “Like tellin’ others that I’m bi, right? It’s for me to tell.”

“Precisely. And I’m very proud that you felt comfortable enough to tell Sam, Jack, and Mary.”

“I had a crisis back in Purgatory when I was lookin' for you.” Dean kisses Cas’ shoulder and snuggles under his chin. “Then I had years after that to deal with it and work through Dad’s shit. But this is just…new. I think I need a bit more time.”

“You have all the time in the world, Dean.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence, and Dean starts to doze off at the feel of Cas stroking his hair despite having only woken up half an hour ago. But then something occurs to him, and it sets a cold pit of anxiety off in his stomach at the thought of voicing it out loud but…he also kind of wants to say it, if he’s still digging shit up from deep. And Cas won’t judge. This is the same guy who approves of their son wearing skirts.

“Cas?” Dean says. Cas hums in acknowledgement. “I…I just…shit, this is embarrassing.”

“If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to,” Cas says.

“No, I do wanna tell you. I just…bear with me, okay?” Dean pushes himself up into a sitting position so that he can look Cas right in the eye, and what he sees there helps loosen his shoulders ever so slightly. He takes a deep breath and blurts out, “Ilikewearingpanties.”

“Pardon?” Cas’ forehead creases.

“I. Like. Wearing Panties. This one chick, Rhonda Hurley…she made me wear them once. And I liked it. But that’s not even…look, it wouldn’t be so bad if it was just a kink, ‘cause loads of dudes – normal dudes – they like wearing women’s underwear too. But only during sex, ‘cause that can be hot.”

“You’re not abnormal for not being a “normal man”,” Cas says. “I know there’s a term to refer to people who aren’t transgender, but I can’t quite recall it.”

“That’s not the point,” Dean says. “I just…nail polish and feeling pretty are one thing, okay? But actually liking pretty, lacy underwear outside of sex, where nearly anything goes…Jesus, Cas, if anything was gonna make me suspect I’m not fully a guy, that’s it. I even…” His voice drops to a whisper as he confesses something to Cas for which John would have probably broken his ribs. “I even like the thought of wearing a bra. Not ‘cause I need it, but ‘cause I wanna see if it’d make me look nice. And not “goddamn Dean you look so sexy and I wanna fuck you in those girly clothes” nice like other guys would think but…y’know, “Dean you look so soft and happy” nice.” His shoulders slump, and he looks down at his fidgeting fingers. “I just wanna be not-tough for once. I just wanna be pretty without feeling ashamed or like I’m a girl when I’m not. Or that I have to be more like a guy when I'm not exactly that either.”

“I’m not sure I see how women’s lingerie is much more of a deal breaker than other feminine things,” Cas says. “And although I understand why you do so, I wish you wouldn’t attach such shame to it.”

“Yeah, why do you think I felt okay telling you?” Dean mutters. Cas’ eyes crinkle and, with a small smile, he sits up so that he can lean in and kiss Dean softly.

“I’m honoured that you trust me enough to confide in me, even if I don’t understand your social taboos.”

“Again, why d’you think I told you? Sam wouldn’t make fun of me but…he’s also human. He also grew up in this shithole society. He wouldn’t get it like you do.”

Cas’ eyes soften even more, and he gives Dean another kiss. “Maybe you could wear some of this clothing in a non-sexual situation with just the two of us,” he says. “No one else. Or if you would feel more comfortable without me, you could do it yourself.”

“Trust me, dude, I’d be a tonne comfier with you there so I don’t end up spiralling and shit,” Dean says with a dark little laugh. “Just ‘cause I realised all this shit now doesn’t mean I’m cool with it or anything.”

“Like I said, you have plenty of time. Use however much of it you need to become more comfortable with yourself. And you’ll always have my support, Dean. And Sam, Jack, and Mary’s, when you feel that you can tell them.”

A wide smile of relief splits Dean’s face and he pushes Cas to lie back down, then drapes himself on top of the angel. “You’re the best, man. You’re a literal angel.”

“I know. I have the halo to prove it,” Cas deadpans. The fact that Cas has finally grasped things like sarcasm after years of fraternising with humans is possibly the funniest thing Dean’s encountered all day, and it takes a humongous effort to just snicker rather than descend into a fit of laughter.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he says, pushing Cas’ chin back to start kissing down his throat. “You’re the biggest asshole around.”

“You –” Cas cuts himself off with a hiss when Dean nips at the skin over his pulse point, sucking to ensure that he leaves a dark bruise behind. “Dean, you know this – that this erodes my self-control –”

Dean gives him a shit-eating grin. “Good.” He bites again, only to blink as the world around him shifts and blurs when Cas grabs him by the hips and bodily throws him back on the bed, then straddles his hips, blue eyes blown black.

“If one thing about you never changes, it’s how infuriating you are,” Cas growls.

“Yeah, but you like me anyway,” Dean says, grin widening. Cas rolls his eyes.

“Sometimes, I wonder why.”

“Hey.” Dean runs his fingers down Cas’s stomach and dips a finger below the waistband of his white boxers. “Less talking, more kissing.”

***

“Dean, you look like you’re gonna puke,” Sam says when Dean corners him after breakfast the next day. “What’s wrong?”

Dean swallows, takes a deep breath, then decides to just go for it. He doesn’t want to have to spend ages hiding something like this from his brother when he can have another person supporting him, especially after everything he and Sam have been through. “I’m not a guy, okay?”

“Uh…what?” Sam frowns. “You’re…uh, wow, that is big. Are you –”

“I’m not a girl either,” Dean rushes to say. “I’m…neither. And kinda both. But mostly just neither. Cas calls it non-binary but I dunno what to call myself yet. If I even wanna call myself anything at all.”

“Huh,” Sam says. “You know, I always knew you were bi, but I never even suspected you weren’t cis.”

“Cis?”

“Not trans.”

“Oh, is that what it’s called? Cas couldn’t remember.” Dean blinks and points at Sam. “Wait, you know about this shit?”

“Of course I do,” Sam says. “The internet exists. And I thought I might not be a cis guy at one point, so I went researching, but I’m pretty sure I am. I did learn a lot, though. I know I don’t really care about gender when I’m into someone, but I have to be close to them to like them like that. That's why I'm so close to everyone I sleep with or get together with. I just never told you because you had your own stuff to deal with.”

“Fuckin’ nerd,” Dean mutters. Sam doesn’t even bitchface him this time, so Dean’s expecting some speech about how happy he is that Dean trusts him enough to confide him and whatever.

“Does that mean you’ll finally braid my hair for me?” Sam says with a smile so innocent that it’s dripping with guilt. Dean rolls his eyes and flips his brother off, then promptly regrets it when the moose turns all touchy-feely and pulls him into a hug.

“Fuck off, bitch,” Dean says into Sam’s plaid shirt.

“In your dreams, jerk.”

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