#when being trans matters perhaps but it matters in the same way people wear glasses or have grey eyes or are left-handed

[uncanny-tranny]

The weirdest double standard is trans people can only ever "identify as" and cis people just "are," and the more time goes on and people start realizing this, I hope this will change

#trans #transgender #lgbt #lgbtq #ftm #mtf #nonbinary #at this point somebody saying 'you identify as male' to me is an instant red flag #because 'identify as' language is a good way to say 'well you just IDENTIFY that way that doesn't mean you ARE' #do i identify as trans? sure if you want to dig and dig at me to get me to say. but i also AM male and AM so much #this goes double for when somebody just assumes they know how you want to be referred to as #i think trans liberation will start to happen when trans people can just 'be' in the same way which everybody else can #when being trans matters perhaps but it matters in the same way people wear glasses or have grey eyes or are left-handed #being trans CAN matter but people amplify somebody's transness in often insidious ways

[cryptiql]

untitled god song

pairing: bakugou/m!reader (trans reader in mind you can see it if you squint but can also be read as cis)

words: 2k

warnings: themes of religious trauma, homophobia, mentions of blood, the author projecting their mommy issues

a/n: this is purely self indulgent, don't mind me 😩✋ (written in first person)

i wish i had known him before the pain started. perhaps it is a fools dream to think that his presence would have solved anything, and it is likely that he might blown me sky high at the time, if given the chance, but i often ponder his place in my narrative. he is nothing less than a king—nay, a god—and what else am i to be except his humble servant, adoring him in the only way i've been taught?

i would bruise my knees as i kneel for him, and should he turn me away, i shall be lost and without purpose. but he does not, and instead, he snorts out a laugh and pulls me to my feet, roughly squeezing my cheeks together with a shit-eating grin. he'll tell me a joke i've heard a thousand times, and yet i laugh with him anyways, the pads of my fingers idly tapping the pulse on his wrists.

"dumbass, at least take me out to dinner first."

i never thought i'd ache to hear such a demeaning nickname, but it's like birdsong to my ears, and i long for the myriad of butterflies it provokes.

i would heed his every word like a faithful disciple, and—if i knew he would not use this power for the wrong reasons—carry it out without question. he'll roll his eyes at the notion, far too prideful at the idea of being praised, and card hands through my hair, gripping softly. "right. and if i told you to go to bed before five in the morning, would you listen?"

my smiles are genuine, as they all are with him.

"no." i wish my mother had been more open-minded; more loving to those she claimed were goners. maybe then, i could still call her my mother, and not a snarled version of her first name steeped in vinegar. maybe she could have met him, and maybe she would have keeled over in the process, but that is how we put it "killing two birds with one stone".

he was a fallen angel if ever i saw one—emblazoned in smog and ravenous inferno, the pieces of child-like innocence turning to ash. something happened to him when he was a kid, just as all gifted children, and oh, what a fool i was to let my gaze dawdle on his gorgeous form. but i will never regret it—no, not ever—for there is no such feeling that can compare to his eyes on mine, burning with a mind-fogging intensity.

it was instantaneous, the moment my thoughts turned on me with malicious intent, her voice ringing out like a gunshot.

you'll never be him.

his hand slots with mine perfectly; deliciously warm and comforting in a way i haven't felt in years; and hauls me up, the flecks of dirt and rubble from the road clinging to my jeans.

"watch it, pretty boy. i won't always be here to save you, y'know."

my heart batters against my ribs like a caged bird, screeching and wailing to be set free, and i wonder in a haze if i've died. judgement day must have come early, i think, not realizing that it was spoken aloud until the blonde quirks a brow inquisitively. he does not speak on the matter, but continues on his merry way, leaving my helpless; hopelessly enamored; and praying that we will meet again.

no, i could never be him. but i am like him. he has a sureness in his walk and fervor in the way he talks that is only recognizable when i look in the mirror. and we do meet again. it is a shame, however, that i must burden him with the weight of my past. i remember too often the troubles of my youth, even when all has passed into fleeting memories that haunt me as ghosts do to an abandoned house. yet, i still live in this house, and the ghosts are here to keep me company.

i remember the church, first and foremost; nestled between the barren country road and the outback; a beacon of hope to all those who stood in its doors. the luster of freshly polished wood still sits in my mind, accompanied by the echoing remnants of dulcet tones and multicolored bands of light, glaring from the stained glass windows and dancing across the musty carpet floor. the doddering pews were just as uncomfortable as the poorly padded chairs squatting in the front row, but every sunday, they were filled to the brim with hungry worshippers. they sang praise as though they were starved, but i was too young to understand for what. i am older now, and i still don't understand. all i know is that despite its reputation, the church was a cursed place, and i should never set foot in it again lest i go mad. i remember the creaking stairs which lead downstairs, and the winding halls that reeked of torment where shadows loomed. the paint was corroding and foul, and my conscious always loitered too long on the merlot stain on the ceiling; its origin unknown, but nevertheless urging my stomach to twist with nausea.

i remember the feeling of tall grass grazing my ankles; itching horribly from the old moth-eaten socks i was forced to wear. it had become second nature—running and hiding from my problems, from the church, from her. i shall never know a greater animosity than the likes that my mother encouraged, although unintentionally, with her pressuring views and sickeningly sweet smile. it's fake, and i would know, because ours are the same.

we are too similar, and i am sickened by the fact. will i become the wretched woman she is? will i fail to be the father i've dreamt of being? it is an easy thing to fall prey to haunting questions, and it serves as brain rot for every moment of silence that leaves me clawing at my skin, trying to reap the memory of her touch. then i began to think—about nothing and everything—and it does not stop. i will be kind; unforgivingly so, and without biased judgement; like my mother never was, and i'll make her hate me for it. i will grow in leaps and bounds, not for her sake or for god's, but for mine, as it always should have been. i will drink and curse with reckless abandon and kiss who i damn well please, because in no life does she have have the power to make me something i'm not. why should i feel sorry when the tears she wept were forged by my own blood; by the childhood memories locked away to rot in my subconscious? yes, she has suffered too, but it is through clenched teeth and raw-bitten lips that i must confess this, for her suffering was born in me and grew from a seedling into a thorned flower, nourished by her hatred and mine. she'll tell me the lie of all mothers before her: that she knows best, and i'll never know joy that is not from my savior's gracious hands.

one day, when she lies not with words but in silence, under worm-filled earth and withering pastures, i'll tell her that she was right. i'll tell her, with his hand in mine, that my savior arrived with hellfire in his eyes and fury unrelenting. his tongue holds venom that would make the devil blush, but he tastes of a sinful sweetness that i've drowned in more times than i care to count.

mother you should know, my god is like no other. he has a broad chest and muscles, i attest, that are sculpted like fine marble and smooth to the test.

my god is a man who loves other men, unashamedly; in all that is true; and kisses me like real people do. and i know it sounds silly, and a bit cliché, and he'd surely make a mockery of me if ever he heard, but i love him. i love him as passionately as you she does lord above, and it is a crime in itself how much i crave him, so yes, i will burn for this—not because my mother said so or by the ancient script that foretells it, but because i promise it. i promise to let neither hell or high water deter me from that which gives me life, and i'll do so with a ring.

"you hear that mom?" i'll whisper in the dead of night, his body flushed against mine in the most delightful way; his fingers curled into my nightshirt, pulling me closer as listless mumbles fall from his parted lips. he is dead to the world amid his dream ridden stupor, but still leans into my touch when i smooth back the wild tufts of hair to kiss his forehead.

"i'm gonna marry him." part of me wishes she didn't live on the other side of the planet, just so i could rub it in her face, but i won't give her the satisfaction of seeing me again. i won't let her think she's won, because i know, and katsuki knows, that he and i are one in the same.

i do not know who i should thank for my stubbornness, be it my mother or my father, so i will thank the pain they both caused me, for it made me stronger than they ever could. no, i did not become a better person, because the scars have yet to heal from how deep they cut, and the smell of blood still lingers, and i am angrier than i once was, but i cherish my wounds. the stench of my agony has long since been subdued, and i have learned to swallow the sickness it evokes. and yes, this anger is unhealthy and i've chosen not to purge it from my mind like the weed it is, but how lucky am i to have found one whose malice rivals my own?

the tales of his glory have littered my notebooks in smudged ink. you would hate him, is scrawled messily on the last page, but i only feel giddy with excitement. you would hate him for his spite and his unapologetic behavior, and that is why he's perfect. he's everything you hate about this world, but everything i love.

so when she gets to heaven and asks the angels "why?", they'll tell her it was him who made the devil cry. him, who held me like she should have—could have, if she hadn't terrified me—and who chased the nightmarish visions of her from my weary mind with his callous palms and soft-spoken reassurances. i wish i had known him when we were young; when things were not so simple and i needed a hand to hold; but i suppose we'll have to settle for faded photographs and stories told through the bitter aroma of alcohol. that's more than enough, i muse to myself, legs hooked over his as i rest my head on his shoulder, keening softly at the gentle scrape of his nails on my scalp. his arms wind around my waist as he mutters something along the lines of "i love you", his lips curling into a smile, illuminated by the televisions glow.

so when they ask of my religion, i will think of only him. i will recall the way he looks at me, the sound of my name on his tongue, the feeling of his lips trailing between the valley of my breast; featherlight, cautious and unfitting for a man of his nature. i've written songs of praise, all dedicated to him, and if only he knew, oh how smug he would be. but i love him, i love him, i love him. and when he spins me around like a marionette, it is with overwhelming pride and joy that i tell him this, and with rose hued cheeks and bashful grumbles, he tells me the same. so mother, wherever you are, i hope you know i've found my god.

#💥.katsuki #bakugou x trans reader #bakugou x trans male reader #bakugou x male reader #katsuki bakugou x male reader #male reader insert #mha x male reader #boku no hero x reader #bakugou x you #trans reader

[khadij-al-kubra]

I’m Still Here (a songfic oneshot)

Pairing: None (maybe Moxiety if you squint)

Characters: (Human AU) Virgil, Logan, Patton, Roman, Dr. Picani, Duncan (Deceit), Jamal, Dariana, Alma (OC)

Warnings: mentions of considered suicide, self hate, abandonment

Summary: A year ago, Vigil couldn’t have imagined himself being alive, let alone accepted as he was and happy. But here we was, and on the anniversary of the day he decided to start truly living, he plans to show it to his little corner of the world.

Author’s Note: Hey friends! I’ve had this idea in mind for a while and really just wanted to get it out there. I’ve always loved the film Treasure Planet and the main song from it, but it wasn’t until recently when I heard the song again that I realized it could tell another kind of story. I tried to do as much justice as possible but I am not myself trans or part of the lgbt community. So if I got anything wrong or could’ve done anything better please let me know. As always feel free to leave a comment in the messages or reply if you have any notes or constructive critiques. I’m always open to writing advice. Enjoy! 

AO3

Knowing who you are and coming to terms with it is one thing. Actually getting to be who you truly are without fear and loving yourself is a whole other, much harder thing. As far back as he could remember Virgil had always known two things about himself with absolute intuitive certainty: that he was an anxious mess and that he was a boy. Even without being consciously aware of what gender was specifically, he always felt that way on the inside. It wasn’t until he was five or six and his mom kept forcing him to wear too tight pigtails and poofy dresses that he realized the rest of the world didn’t see him that way; that his outside didn’t match the inside. He hated it and himself.

As he got older he allowed himself small acts of defiance. He insisted on wearing pants when he could and cut his long black hair short. He always insisted on people calling him ‘V’ instead of ‘Victoria.’ His parents weren’t trilled about their child being an introverted sarcastic tomboy that played guitar all day instead of a polite, sweet, studious young lady, but they still loved him. Or rather, they loved Victoria. Virgil learned to hide who he really was, got good at keeping quiet and playing the part as long as it kept his parents happy and himself safe. It was a miserable time in his life. He hated his body, hated his mind, and hated himself; that he longed to have the simple luxury of being his true self, knowing it was impossible. One day, Virgil decided he didn’t want to live this way anymore.

That had been two years ago.

“Yo, Virgil! You still with us man?” Jamal asked, breaking Virgil out of his thoughts.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry ‘bout that dude,” he said to the keyboard player.

“No worries. You just don’t usually get all spaced out like that during rehearsals.”

“Guess I’m trying to channel my inner Ziggy Stardust,” Virgil said, smirking at his band mate.

“That’s not exactly our usual sound,” said their drummer Dariana. She was sitting in Jamal’s lap, lightly scratching the back of her boyfriend’s fro. “But hey, I guess it kind of works for this particular song.”

“Just make sure your head stays in the music,” Duncan droned as he adjusted the strings on his bass. “After all, you’re the one who insisted we do a cover of this song for the talent show instead of one of our own songs. Or begged is more like it.”

“Easy Duncan,” Jamal warned the other musician. “I’d like to get through one rehearsal without you two going at each other.”

“I’m just saying the talent show is this Friday. If our fearless leader is going to make us learn a whole new song in so short a time,” Duncan threw daggers at Virgil with his brown and green eyes, “the least he can do is stay focused during rehearsal.”

Virgil fought the urge to hiss at the Nirvana t-shirt clad teen. The guy was a sarcastic snake in the grass at times, but there was no denying his musical skills. He was an important part of the band, so he tried to keep the peace most days. And to be fair, he wasn’t wrong in this instance. Virgil has been so adamant for them all to learn this song in time for the school talent show. The least he could do was put 110% of his focus into practice.

“Yeah, yeah. I gotcha. No more daydreaming ‘till we’re done.” Virgil promised.

“And hey! We’ve nearly got it finished,” said Dariana as she returned to her drum set. “And it’s only taken, what, three hours?”

Virgil smirked at her subtle call-out to him. He knew she was tired, as was he. Still, his anxiety at possibly being off key or hitting a sour note the night of the show made him push them all to practice even more than usual. This performance was too important to him.

“Alright, let’s pick it back up from the bridge, run through the song two more times and then we’ll call it quits.” said Virgil.

“After we do our ritual for good luck,” Jamal said. “It is the night of the full moon. Gotta get as much of that good energy as we can from Gaia.”

“Of course,” said Virgil. He already had the three spell candles, quarts and incense in his backpack. “Can’t forget that.”

He waited for Dariana to count them in. She clicked her drumsticks together, “One-two-three-four!”

Virgil lost himself in the music as he always did, giving his band mates full attention. After the four Wiccan teens completed the small ceremony they went their separate ways. Well, save for Duncan, since their rehearsal space was in his garage. Yet another reason Virgil tried to keep things civil with him. It wasn’t his fault their personalities clashed harder than a cymbal.

On the long bus ride to the apartment he now called home, Virgil put on his large headphones to block out the rest of the world. It was the easiest ways to relax and not let the anxiety of being in a crowded public vehicle overwhelm him. As the music played and the streets passed him by outside the window, Virgil found himself looking back on where he’d started. He almost couldn’t believe it sometimes. Two years…Two years since the night he wanted to end his life and the same night where a chance encounter had convinced him not to…

…That night Virgil had waited till his parents were fast asleep. Not that he thought they’d miss him (he was never the daughter they wanted him to be) but still, he wanted to spare them the unpleasant sight. Sometime between the witching our and 3am he snuck out the bedroom window and made his long walk to the high wooded hill on the borderline of their small town. He didn’t go there anymore, but at the time that had been Virgil’s safe retreat where he could go to think or cry. He and the occasional summer potheads only ever occupied it. It had been a crisp autumn night and the stars were in their full radiant splendor. He’d at least wanted something beautiful to see in his last moments on Earth.

When he got the top of the hill, the last thing he’d expected to find was someone else already there. It was some guy around his age, and he had been sitting just a few feet away from the cliff’s edge. In all honesty, at the time, Virgil was both surprised and thoroughly pissed. He had been trying to avoid witnesses. Virgil must have stepped on a branch or something, because suddenly the guy was alerted to his presence. When he turned around Virgil froze. Even with only the light of the half moon he recognized the dark hair, piercing blue eyes and glasses. It was a classmate of his from school. Since he was still just a freshman Virgil had never plucked up the courage to talk to him, or anyone else really for that matter. Plus the guy always seemed to be stuck nose deep in his studies. Yet there seemed to be a look of recognition in the others’ face.

“Good evening,” he said, like some figure straight out of a gothic novel.

“Uh…hey,” said Virgil. He pulled up the hood of his purple sweater.

“I hadn’t expected anyone else to be out here tonight, let alone know about this spot,” the guy said, pushing up his glasses. He didn’t seem annoyed however. If anything he sounded curious, yet there was something soothing about his deep voice. “Would you like to join me?”

Virgil watched him pat the spot next to him. It would’ve looked weird if he refused, since he clearly came up there with a purpose. So Virgil opted to sit down for the time being. Besides, given how late it was, the guy was bound to leave at some point.

“You’re in my chemistry class, right?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah,” said Virgil.

“I thought so. Yet I don’t believe we’ve ever properly spoken before. I’m Logan Sanders. And you are?”

Virgil looked down at the held out hand. How could a guy come off as so formal yet open at the same time? Not wanting to be rude, Virgil took his hand, cold from the night air.

“I’m Vic—“ He gulped. Well, if this was gonna be his last night, might as well let himself be honest for once. What’s he have to lose? “…Virgil. Virgil Yang”

Logan didn’t let go or look at him in disgust, but his eyebrows did shoot up. Virgil pulled his hand back, not aware of the softening look on Logan’s face.

“Ah. I see. Well then, pleasure to make your acquaintance, Virgil.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I don’t look and sound like a typical guy—“

“Perhaps your biology may not match your gender. However that doesn’t negate how you perceive yourself to be on a soul level. If you say you are a boy, which I assume so given the masculine name, unless you are non-binary, then frankly it’s no right of mine to refute it,” Logan said matter-of-factly.

There were a lot of words there, a few of which had confused Virgil at the time. But the basic gist he gleaned was that he had been honest about who he was, and instead of receiving disgust or hatred, Logan had taken it in stride. No one had ever treated Virgil that way before.

“I’m a guy.” It felt like such a stupid response, but saying it out loud had felt like a boulder being tossed off his chest.

“Well then there it is.” said Logan with a small smile.

Virgil swallowed the lump in his throat. “Y-yeah I guess…Thanks.”

“Of course. So I realize this is none of my business, but out of curiosity might I ask what brings you up here tonight?”

Jeez, he really did speak too old for someone his age. “I should be asking you the same thing.”

Classic deflective technique. Logan scrutinized him but didn’t press. In his eyes, there was almost a silent yet pained understanding.

“Fair enough. I happen to enjoy coming out here from time to time to look at the stars and wait to make my pre-dawn prayers. It’s quite relaxing to do so in nature, especially before the weather becomes too cold.”

“Pre-dawn prayers?” Virgil asked.

“Indeed. My faith requires Muslims like me, although mind you I am only a recent convert, to perform five daily prayers so as to facilitate a constant mindfulness of God in our daily lives,” Logan explained.

“No offense but I wouldn’t have pegged you as the religious type. Not that I’m judging or anything!” Virgil added quickly. “I mean, it’s not something I vibe on myself, but if it’s your thing, that cool I guess. You just seem all scientific and logical and stuff.”

“Valid assumption, but false. On the contrary, it is possible for science and spirituality to go hand in hand, so to speak. After all, science is the study of the structure and behavior of the physical world around us, even to the unseen subatomic level, and adequately submitting to it. And what is faith other than the study of and submission to an unseen divine force greater that oneself?” Virgil caught the gleam of excitement in Logan’s eyes as he spoke. “Additionally, some of the greatest scientific minds emerged from the Islamic world. For example, did you know that one of the greatest astronomers in history was a Muslim?”

Virgil perked up at that part. “Astronomy?”

When he told Logan that astronomy was his all time favorite subject, the guy went into full-on nerd mode. They started talking about their favorite constellations and the stories behind them. Logan talked about his favorite astronomers and Virgil listened with wrapped interest, captivated by the other’s enthusiasm. Somehow this led to Logan telling Virgil about his theories on how God was actually a They/Them/Their and not an all powerful cis-white He or even a She since God was beyond the human concepts of gender, race, or sexuality. It was so out there and beyond anything Virgil had ever been exposed to, yet it was just so damn wild and interesting to listen to Logan ramble on about it. The more they talked the less Virgil thought about the reason why he’d gone up there in the first place.

Even when Logan stopped to pray, using the small rug he’d brought with him, Virgil didn’t move from his spot. He watched Logan pray or looked back up at the stars. They really had been beautiful that night. Not even that, however, compared to the otherworldly beauty of when the sun finally started to rise. It wasn’t like Virgil had never seen a sunrise before, but something about that one was different. Like the volume on the world around him was turned up yet there was a comfortable silence to it all as well. It broke the walls inside of Virgil’s heart and released the toxic black flood that had been swelling up inside of him for years.

When Logan, having been long done with his prayers, saw Virgil cry he didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to cheer him up or pull back in confused discomfort. Instead he placed a still yet gentle hand on Virgil’s shoulder and sat with him until he’d cried himself out. Even after Virgil calmed down Logan didn’t try to get him to open up about why he’d suddenly started sobbing. Instead he only asked if Virgil felt better. He had. Then Logan offered him a ride back to town on the back of his bike. To his surprise, Virgil took up the offer. He no longer felt as tired as he had on the climb up, but he had felt physically exhausted. He longed for his bed and a good breakfast of rice and eggs with some kimchi. Virgil had taken one last look at the cliff before following Logan down the hill. He could always try again if he needed to, he had reasoned. Death wasn’t going anywhere.

It was because of that one chance encounter that he’d lived to see another day, and more to come.

After that night on the cliff Logan started to talk to him more at school. As nervous as he was at first, Virgil slowly allowed the logical nerd into his small world. They sat together at lunch in comfortable silence, or occasionally got into debates that were admittedly pretty fun. They were both freshman so they had a lot of the same classes. They’d hang out in the library after school or do homework at Logan’s house where his mom would invite Virgil to stay for dinner. Sometimes when Virgil was having a panic attack Logan would be able to help calm him down. They never brought up the cliff again, yet Virgil knew without asking that –if he wanted him to–Logan would be there to listen. One day Logan suggested, albeit in his straightforward way, that Virgil join him at the school’s LGBTQ Club meetings after school. That was also the day Virgil learned his Muslim friend was Bi. The club was also where Virgil would meet his other soon to be two best friends, Patton (the pansexual club president) and Roman (the gayer than the Yule Tide vice president). 

It was because of Logan that he’d found a community and his first real friends.

The more Virgil went to the LGBTQ Club meetings, the more he got to understand the part of his identity that he’d tried to hide away for so long. Virgil was especially drawn to Patton, who’d been the first to welcome Virgil with open arms. Not only was the guy super frigging cute (not that he’d ever admit it out loud) but also the curly haired freckle faced boy was so incredibly warmhearted! Everything about him radiated comfort and kindness and understanding. Perhaps it was because he’d been born blind, but Patton had a way of seeing people (a pun the guy used way too often) for who they were beneath the surface. He slowly got Virgil to open up more about his parents and himself. Patton was an ever-patient listener. The practicing Buddhist had even started teaching Virgil meditation as a way to help calm his thunderstorm mind, and it did help. Later on Patton convinced Virgil to talk wit his father, who also happened to be the school’s guidance councilor, to see if maybe he could help with some of the things he had been dealing with for so long on his own.

It was because of Patton that he’d found hope.

Roman had taken longer to warm up to, since there were both so similar and different at the same time. However, once they got past the snarky banter and discovered a mutual love of Disney and Sondheim, they’d become great friends. When he officially came out as FtM transgender, Roman had been his biggest supporter. Anytime some idiots gave him a hard time in school or threatened him, Roman was there to defend him and tell the others off. He’d convinced his parents to let Virgil stay at his house the first week after being kicked out. Granted, Roman hadn’t told his Sephardic Jewish parents why his skinny goyim friend from school needed a place to stay (he wasn’t exactly ‘out’ at home yet), but they didn’t press. All they knew was that their son’s friend needed help and lots of big meals. So they welcomed Virgil until he’d found a more permanent place to stay. After that, Roman and Virgil had become brothers. Later on the actor introduced him to other musicians, artists, books and plays that were all LGBT centric in an attempt to help him through his trans journey. (“It’s important to keep up with fellow gay icons, especially when you plan to be the next NPH.”) For the first time Virgil saw himself in other’s, saw that he wasn’t alone. He began to think that, hey, if other people made it through okay –had even made an impact in people’s lives– maybe he could too.

It was because of Roman that he’d found his self worth.

Once the drama king had learned of Virgil’s interests and talent in music, he convinced him to be part of the band for the school’s musical. That was where he’d met Jamal, Dariana and Duncan. After learning they all shared a love of punk rock music and were each practicing wiccans, the four teens decided to form their own band. Of course Virgil had been nervous at first and never failed to get stage fright before performing. Yet whenever he got up behind a microphone, guitar in hand and started to sing, he felt a strange sense of calm. When he performed, Virgil couldn’t be anywhere else but in the now and he loved that. On top of that, because he had not only a good voice but also a fairly low one for someone of his, uh, biology, he passed easier as a boy in the audiences’ eyes. Over time the Children of Hecate found their sound and became local favorites. Sure they’d only played at school dances and local open mic nights, but it was a start. This one guy Remy who owned a coffee shop down town even paid them to perform twice a month to get in a younger crowd.

It was because of their band that he’d found his voice…

…The shuddering jerk of the bus shook Vigil from his memories. Good thing too, or else he would’ve missed his stop. Really gotta work on not zoning out on public transportation. The last thing he wanted was to end up in some part of town that wasn’t familiar. His nerves would never survive.

The apartment was only a block away form the bus stop. He climbed up the stairs (elevators freaked him out too much), got to the door, took out his spare key and went inside kicking off his boots. The smell of garlic pasta and cookies welcomed him, as did the sound of jazzy Studio Ghibli music renditions. The Picani household never ceased to be a warm and inviting safe haven for him.

“I’m home,” Virgil called out.

“Hiya Virgil!” Patton said, popping his head out from the kitchen.

Virgil noticed he was wearing an apron. Must’ve been helping his Ren out in the kitchen again. It always made Virgil nervous thinking about Patton being in the kitchen when he couldn’t properly see the appliances or the stove. Yet Patton insisted, and admittedly has proven, that he’s perfectly capable of cooking so long as someone else is with him.

“Hey Patton. I’m at the door,” said Virgil, letting the other boy follow his voice.

Patton didn’t need his cane when at home, and he maneuvered around the apartment like a pro. He reached out to Virgil and enveloped the young musician in a big hug.

“How was band practice?” asked Patton when they broke apart.

“Went pretty well. The song’s coming along good and Duncan and me only snapped at each other once. New record.”

“Helloooo nurse!” Shouted Dr. Emile Picani as he popped in from down the hall in all his pink haired glory. “Glad to see ya got home safe Virgil.”

“That makes two of us Doc,” he said.

Virgil set his bag and guitar case down before letting himself be caught in a big hug from the school guidance counselor. Even his hugs were as animated as the cartoons he loved.

“Did I hear you two talking about that new song you’re planning for the talent show? I hope it’s the Disney one you were obsessed with a while back?”

It had been sometime last month when Virgil, Patton and Picani had sat down for one of their Disney movie marathons. They’d put on Treasure Planet, which until then Virgil had never seen. Not only did he love the protagonist, story, and animation, but also the song just spoke to him. Even though the lyrics weren’t about the struggles he’d gone through necessarily, they still spoke to Virgil on a personal level. He’d listened to it on repeat for weeks. That’s how he got the idea to sing it with his band for the talent show after he found out the date.

“Yep. The very same.”

“Exellent,” said Picani in a semi-good Stewie Griffin voice. “Such a great song from a highly underrated movie. I mean seriously, it’s about pirates in SPACE! HOW is that not more popular?!”

“Oh dear,” said a bright voice from the kitchen. “When my partner starts going on a Disney rant is when I come to the rescue.”

Patton’s Ren came out of the kitchen, wiping their hands with a dishrag. Virgil squinted to see the pronouns necklace they wore. Today was a ‘she’ day. As much as she teased the grown man about his cartoon obsessions she really was no better. The long blue winter skirt, black legging and white cashmere sweater she wore made her look practically like Belle incarnate. Save for the cropped curly blonde hair that Patton shared.

“Hello Vigil, welcome back,” she said, pulling him gently into a hug.

“Hey Alma,” said Virgil, returning the embrace. The Picanis were the only people that Virgil let hug him. “Dinner smells great.”

“Thank you! Should be ready soon. If you could help me set the table after you wash up I’d really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he said. Helping out was the absolute least Virgil could do.

“Oh I can’t wait to hear your band play this Friday!” Alma said. “I’ve got the perfect suit to wear for your special night and everything. Even found myself a nice galaxy tie to go along with your space song’s theme.”

“I’m sure you’ll look killer Alma.”

“Don’t forget, Roman’s gonna be in it too,” said Patton. “We’ve gotta show him our love and support also.”

“Well now that goes without saying sweetheart.”

Suddenly Patton started sniffing the air. “Uhh Renny, did the timer go off? ‘Cause I smell smoke.”

“My cookies!” She rushed back to the kitchen. Virgil, Patton and Picani barely held back their giggles.

Virgil really owed the Picanis more than he’d ever be able to repay. When Patton finally convinced Virgil to start seeing his dad for counseling about his anxiety issues, it opened up a new door for him. The hilarious, fun loving, yet surprisingly wise Dr. Emile Picani had given Virgil tools to help manage his mental health issues. Not only that but over time he gave him even more. His office became a safe haven when he had panic attacks or just needed quiet. Picani got Virgil to open up more about his sexuality and body dysmorphia after revealing he was non-binairy (although he tended to favor he/they pronouns). Pretty soon Virgil saw the man as a second father figure. After Patton had told his dad about how Virgil’s parents kicked him out and he was temporarily staying with Roman, Picani immediately told Virgil to pack his things and that he was more than welcome to stay with them. No room for arguments. His partner had been equally as welcoming to Virgil after hearing his story. She even went out and bought Virgil his first binder for his birthday. The Picanis went the extra mile to researched ways for him to get testosterone shots after he revealed he wanted to start transitioning. They gave him a roof, food, comfort, and a place of belonging.

It was because of them that he’d found his freedom.

They spent dinner with the usual boisterous chatter and laughter, Virgil chipping in with his own quieter comments every now and then. Afterwards he and Patton cleaned up and worked on homework together. Then they watched cartoons with Picani before Alma told them to get to bed. All three of them. They whined but did as they were told.

Virgil lay on his futon and stared up at the ceiling thinking. In just a few days it will have been a year since Virgil came out. A year since he started transitioning; now he was more than halfway through the treatments. A year that he found himself happier than he ever would’ve dreampt possible. He fell asleep repeating one thought in his mind like a prayer...I’m Still Here…

*    *    *    *    *

The next day at school went by as usual. Virgil and Patton got a ride there with Picani, Virgil tried to stay awake during his first two periods, and Logan nudged him awake during third and fourth period classes. To all of their delight Logan, Roman, Patton and him shared the same lunch period this year, so the four juniors sat at their usual table. Logan and Roman got into some debate or other, Virgil sat back to enjoy the show, and Patton threw in a couple of puns while also reminding Virgil to actually eat his lunch. Then they split up and Virgil went to spend his free period with Picani in the councilors office. Afterwards he spent the last two classes with Roman. All in all, it was a pretty solid day. That is, until the last bell rang.

“Oh come on! Okay, I’ll admit you have a point about the dark undertones of Sleeping Beauty and Peter Pan and Snow White, but it can’t be possible for ALL of the Disney films to have sinister hidden messages.” Roman said, slamming his locker next to Virgil’s for emphasis.

“Come on Pricy, have you ever read the original fairy tales those movies are based off of?” Virgil asked as they walked down the hall. “It’s some seriously dark shit!”

“I’m telling Patton you said a bad word,” Roman said in a teasing sing-song tone, dramatically draping his red letterman jacked over one shoulder.

“Don’t you dare rat on me to Patton.” Virgil gave his best black eye-lined glare.

“Aww what’s the matter chemically imbalanced romance, afraid of getting on his bad side?” Roman teasingly ruffled Virgils purple dyed hair, knowing he hated it.

“If he even has one,” Virgil muttered, smiling softly at the thought of his sweet and wholesome friend.

“You know Virgil, one of these days you’re really going to have to tell Patton that you like—“

Roman shut up suddenly. Virgil was grateful for it, because Patton and Logan were both coming their way from the opposite hall. Logan’s black and blue flannel clad arms were loaded with three our four books and Patton was tapping his walking cane along the hall.

“Uh-oh! Guess you’d better start calling me Beetlejuice, ‘cause I swear I heard my name three times,” Patton beamed. “Hi Roman! Hi Virgil!”

“Salutations again you two,” said Logan.

“Hey guys.”

“’Sup?”

“Did we interrupt your conversation?” asked Logan.

“Nah, just the usual banter,” said Roman.

The four of them walked out the school together, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. The leaves had already turned a multitude of red and orange colors. There was a slight chill in the wind that felt sharp in Virgil’s lungs every time he breathed. He was grateful for his usual attire of skinny jeans and his favorite hoodie.

“Jeepers, I’m gonna make myself a nice hot chocolate when I get home,” said Patton to Virgil. “My knees are freezing!”

“I told you it was too cold for a skirt today Pat,” said Virgil.

As usual Patton was clad in one of his soft slightly oversized sweaters. However, instead of his usual jeans, that morning he’d opted for one of the knee length skirts he occasionally wore. Ordinarily Virgil enjoyed seeing Patton in a skirt every now and then (even if it did make his gay brain short circuit), but this time around it was definitely not weather appropriate and he was worried about Patton catching a cold.

“Well it was pretty warm this morning, and I really felt like wearing something cute and comfy that I could twirl in,” said Patton. “I didn’t think it’d get so cold.”

“On the contrary Patton, it shouldn’t be all that surprising given that it is currently 53 degrees out and mid-October,” said Logan, adjusting his glasses.

“Sheesh Logan, you can’t ever let me skirt around a subject, can you?” They all laughed save for Logan, who groaned at all of Patton’s puns.

“I keep telling you, listen to the weather reports the night before,” Roman said.

“I guess, but why bother when it’s easier to just stick my head out the window every morning?” asked Patton.

“Because that’s how you end up with cold knee caps,” said Virgil.

They all laughed good-naturedly at that. Patton tried to pout but he could never keep from smiling very long and laughed along with them. Virgil soaked up every second of it, never letting himself forget just how close he’d come to missing out on moments like these. He smiled at his best friends.

“You’ve been in a rather good mood today Virgil,” said Logan.

“Yes, I noticed that too,” said Roman. “Far less brooding than usual.”

“Guess I’m just looking forward to this Friday,” he shrugged.

“Ah yes, the talent show! I myself shall be performing in it as well,” said Roman. “I plan to do a dramatic reenactment of Lewis Caroll’s brilliant poem The Jabberwocky. It shall be epic!”

“I’m sure it will,” Logan said, rolling his eyes. Virgil snickered.

“And of course I’ll be back in the audience in time to see you and the other Children of Hecate perfume Virgil.“

“As will I.”

“Yep! I can’t wait. Dad and Renny are gonna be coming too don’t forget. So save us some seats.”

“Will do Pat.”

“Speaking of performances, I’d better get home so I’ll have time to practice before my mom and nana rope me into helping her cook again,” said Roman.

“Hey tell Nana Reina I said ‘hi’. Oh, and that I miss her cooking,” said Virgil.

“Will do. Farewell friends,” said Roman, heading towards the buses.

“Speaking of parental units, I’d better be going,” said Logan. “My father should be here to pick me up soon. He’s promised to take me to the planetarium after school before he leaves for his business trip. Farewell.”

“Bye Lo!”

“Later.”

Virgil was happy to see his nerdy friend so excited, but the mention of quality bonding time with a parent made him cringe. When was the last time he’d ever had quality time with his own parents, even before that painful night.

He only came out to him because the LGBT Club and sessions with Picani had filled him with foolish courage and hope. After all, they were his parents and loved him. They’d never been unkind or strict unless it came to school. He didn’t expect they would understand, but maybe they would still accept him. How wrong he had been.

Not only had his parents looked at him like a stranger, like a thing, but his dad told Virgil he’d have five minutes to pack his things and leave. That Virgil was no child of his. Virgil could still remember tasting his own salty tears and the stone-cold tight-lipped glare on his father’s face. His mother hadn’t said anything against Virgil; she hadn’t said anything. But she didn’t defend Virgil or stand up to his dad either. Only looked at him with confusion and disappointment. That was enough. Did they even ever miss him? Of course not. They hate you, otherwise they would’ve invited you back home a long time ago. Virgil sighed, knowing that the thoughts in his head were probably right this time.

“You okay Virge?” asked Patton, his brow creased with worry.

“Yeah Pat. Stellar. Come on, let me walk you to the car. Your dad’s probably waiting for you there,” said Virgil, gently holding the other’s elbow.

“Aww that’s sweet of you Virgil, but don’t you have to get to band practice?”

“I’ve got a few minutes to spare.”

They walked to the parking lot together in comfortable silence. That is, until Patton spoke up again.

“Alright kiddo, what’s really eating at you? And I know something is. I hear you sighing,” said Patton.

Virgil sighed. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?”

“I might not be able to tell when your lying the way Toph can with her feet, but I’m not as blind to you as you think.“

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Ugh. You’ve been hanging around your dad too much.”

Patton giggled, but then grew somber. “Seriously though Virgil, what’s wrong? Is it about your parents?”

Virgil stopped in shock, nearly tripping up Patton. He turned to his friend, looking into his light milky blue eyes. “H-how did you—“

“I heard you sigh the first time after Roman and Logan started talking about their families. And I know Friday is the anniversary of the day you came out to them. Wasn’t hard to piece together after that.” Patton gently reached for Virgil’s hand and gave a squeeze. “Are you still thinking about inviting them?”

Virgil let out a groan/sigh combo. He immediately regretted telling Patton about that. It had been the briefest of thoughts. It was weird and painful because, as much as he never wanted to see his parents again, Virgil also missed them. They were his family after all. And he thought, maybe if they came they would change their minds. Or at the very least he could spite them. But two weeks had gone by since telling Patton about that and Virgil still hadn’t emailed either of them an invite.

“I don’t know Patton. Maybe it’s a bad idea. It was stupid of me to want…”

“I understand Virgil. I know that they hurt you, and I’ll be honest…I hate them for that.” That caught Virgil by surprise. “But even so, I know you still miss them. I hear you crying for them in your sleep sometimes down the hall. So maybe…maybe at least extending the olive branch would do you some good. Give you some peace of mind again.”

“Maybe you’re right. But I just…don’t know if I can forgive them. They don’t deserve it.”

He turned and saw Patton giving him a pained look of sorrow. He was guiltily glad that his best friend couldn’t see him cringing beneath that look.

“Maybe not,” Patton said after a moment. “But you do.”

A staccato car horn oddly in the melody of the Spongebob theme song sounded from a distance. They both turned to the source. No surprise, Virgil saw it coming from a volxwagon. Picani waved to them from the window.

Patton sighed loudly. “That’s my dad. We’ll see you at home later. Well, they’ll see you at home. I’ll hear you. You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, i’ll be fine. See you Pat,” said Virgil.

Patton gave him one last hug before heading off. His dad met him halfway and guided him to the car, helping him fold up the cane and buckle up. Virgil watched them drive away. Then he pulled on his headphones and blared the Treasure Planet theme song before going to meet Jamal, Dariana and Duncan at the bus stop. He needed to escape into some music.

Rehearsals went really well. Virgil was actually feeling pretty confident, and they still had two more nights left to rehears. On the bus ride back home however his mind circled back to what Patton had said. Forgive them for yourself… Maybe it was the healthier way to go but honestly, Virgil didn’t want that. He wanted to stay angry and bitter because that kept the sadness at bay. Or at least covered it up. It hurt to still feel that way and, frankly, he didn’t know if he was strong enough to forgive his parents even if he wanted to. Let alone send them an invite. It was easier just to stay bitter and angry. Virgil spent the rest of the bus ride doing his meditative breathing exercises. The last thing he needed was a panic attack in public.

When Virgil got back to the apartment after practice he was met with the usual welcoming arms. He didn’t join Patton and Picani in the tv room for cartoons, insisting he had a headache. Alma seemed like they’d wanted to talk to Virgil, but ultimately gave the teen his space. Virgil went to the rooftop with his backpack, hoping to distract himself with schoolwork. No luck there. He tossed the notebooks aside (he could get the notes he needed from Logan the next morning) and instead opted to give reading a chance to take his mind off things. He pulled out the worn out copy of Angles in America that Roman had let him borrow. He was nearly through Peretroika and it was getting good. But when he got to a line by the drag queen Belize he paused. Virgil sat up straight and re-read the lines about nine times. Then on the tenth, he read them aloud:

“’He was a terrible person. He died a hard death. So maybe…A queen can forgive her vanquished foe. It isn’t easy. It…It doesn’t count if its easy…It’s the hardest thing.” Virgil swallowed the lump in his throat before reading on. “Forgiveness. Which is maybe where love and justice finally meet. Peace, at least…”

He just sat there staring at the words on those yellowing pages, all to aware of his own breathing. Virgil may not have believed in some singular all-powerful God like Logan did, but he sure as hell believed in signs. After several long moments Virgil’s jaw set firm. He grabbed his things, went back downstairs to the Picani’s family computer, and typed out the hardest email of his life.

*    *    *    *    *

Friday rolled around and with it came the night of the high school’s talent show. Big surprise, Virgil was really anxious. Even the band’s pre-show ritual and meditation with lavender incense hadn’t helped to steady his nerves. They were dressed in their usual all black attire for performances but Virgil had kept his purple hoodie wrapped around the waist. He was fidgeting with the sleeves so much his fingers were starting to hurt.

“Virgil, relax! That pacing is making me dizzy,” said Dariana as she fiddled with the small crystals braided into her afro.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just—“

“Nervous,” said Jamal as he checked that their equipment was ready to go. They were the last act but the musician liked to be prepared. “We know. You always get like this before a gig, and we always kick ass anyway.”

“Yeah, and it’s not like we haven’t been rehearsing for weeks,” said Duncan. Yet even he cast the emo guitarist a sympathetic glance. “We’re bound to at least not suck.”

Virgil took a deep breath. “Thanks Duncan.”

“Whatever.”

It wasn’t just the usual pre-show nerves this time though. Virgil had done the unthinkable. He actually invited his parents to the show tonight. He honestly hadn’t expected them to show up (that had been his one consoling thought) but low and behold, he saw them in the audience from backstage. At least, he was pretty certain it was them. There weren’t exactly a lot of Korean parents in the audience, so who else could it have been? His mom had been shifting nervously in her seat, and beside her was his dad. Arms crossed and stone faced, yet there seemed to be hints of annoyance that shone through the chips in his armor. Yeah, not exactly thrilled about this either dad, Virgil thought bitterly. Still…they’d come.

As had the Picanis and Logan. They were all sitting together in the audience. Logan was reading through the cheaply printed playbill, Patton has his head slightly bowed so he could better listen to the different performances, and both the Doc and Alma had their eyes glued to the students on stage. It was as though they were proud parents of every one of those kids even if they weren’t their own. He could only imagine how they’d be when it was his turn. It warmed Virgil’s heart and made him smile for the first time all day.

Virgil was just finishing tuning his guitar when he heard applause from behind the curtain. Guess they really liked Roman’s enactment of that poem after all. To be fair, the guy was a gold star performer. Virgil had caught glimpses of it from backstage and it honestly was a pretty cool show.

“Children of Hecate, your on deck,” said a kid with a clipboard and wearing a Steven Universe t-shirt.

Roman burst through the curtain and came straight to Virgil. “Virgil! Did you see that? I had the crowed eating out of the palm of my hands.”

“Great job Roman. Seriously,” he said.

Roman’s smile faltered when he saw how nervous the rock musician looked. He placed a firm yet warm hand on Virgil’s shoulder.

“Hey, don’t sweat it Virge. You’re going to do great! I know it.”

Virgil smirked and clapped him on the back. “Thanks man.”

“I’m going to head into the audience. Hopefully Logan saved he a seat. Break a leg!”

He watched Roman go and then went back to his breathing exercises. The next act went by but was cut short when the kid tripped on his own juggling balls. At least whatever we do won’t be worse then that. Finally, they were up.

“Alright guys, gals, and non-binary pals,” said the kid from backstage.

Virgil saw his dad cringing at that line. Screw you too.

“Here is your final act of the night. Give it up for Virgil, Duncan, Dariana, and Jamal; a.k.a. the Children of Hecate!!!”

The younger audience members who’d seen them perform before gave the loudest cheer (Roman was loudest of all). The other adults and strangers gave a polite applause. Virgil’s parents hadn’t even bothered with more than two or three stiff claps. Virgil stepped up to the mic and took a shaky breath. He did a test strum letting the strings vibrations ground him. You got this Virge. Remember why you’re here. Do it for you. He took one last breath before signaling Dariana to count them in.

Then, they played. The drums were like a steady grounding heartbeat, the rhythm of the base like a pulsing metronome in his mind, and the keyboards flowing melodies like the blood in his veins. His own guitar strings felt like thick blades of grass against his calloused fingertips, their music gently rooting him in the moment. When they played through the intro Virgil got close to the microphone and sang.

“I am a question to the world

Not an answer to be heard

Or a moment

that’s held in your arms.

And what

do you think you’d ever say?

I won’t listen anyway.

You don’t know me

and I’ll never be what you want

me to be.”

Virgil’s anxiety faded away into the music. He felt the vibrations coming off the state through his boots. Could hear his fellow band mates getting caught up in the swing of the performance, just as they always did. The muse of music was certainly with them all tonight.

“And what

do you think you’d understand?

I’m a girl, no, I’m a man!”

Virgil thumped his chest in emphasis on this line. It took a lot for him to make that small change to the lyric, but he was glad he’d decided to after all.

For the next part of the verse, Virgil looks directly at his parents. He pours all the hurt and betrayal built up over the past two years into the next lines.

“You can’t take me

and throw me away.” His dad’s face remains stony as ever, but Virgil catches his mom’s wince.

“And how

can you learn what’s never shown?

Yeah, you stand here on your own.

They don’t know me

‘Cause I’m not here.”

Virgil couldn’t bear to look at their faces anymore. So, he turned back to the audience as a whole, losing himself in the music.

“And I want a moment to be real.

Wanna touch things I don’t feel.

Wanna hold on

and feel I belong.

And how

can the world want me to change?

There the ones that stay the same.

They don’t know me

‘cause I’m not here.”

He turned towards where Roman, Logan, Patton Dr. Picani and his partner were sitting in the audience. Virgil knew the blind boy couldn’t see him, but he hoped that his friends could still feel him through the music. Moreover, he hoped Picani would understand how grateful Virgil was to him for everything the man had done for him.

“And you

see the things they never see.

All you wanted, I could be.

now you know me

and I’m not afraid.” Not anymore.

“And I

want to tell you who I am

Can you help me be a man?

They can’t break me

as long as I know who I am!”

Virgil did know who he was. That’s what got him this far, and even though it was hard, he hadn’t let the world break him. It came close, but thanks to the new friends in his life Virgil emerged stronger than the world. It’s like Picani was always telling him: Self-love is the greatest form of defiance.

“And I want a moment to be real.

Wanna touch things I don’t feel.

Wanna hold on

and feel I belong.

And how

can the world want me to change?

There the ones that stay the same.

They can’t see me

but I’m still here.”

Everyone could see him now for all that he truly was. And sure, there were still bigoted haters and idiots. Yeah, he was still pretty terrified a good 25-60% of the time. Even so, he wasn’t alone anymore.

Virgil gave the signal for Jamal and Duncan to get ready for the key change coming up after the bridge. That had been Dariana’s suggestion, since Virgil actually had the vocal range to pull it off, even with the testosterone shots shifting his voice. He took a breath to steady his nerves before picking the song back up again.

“They can’t tell me who to be…” Duncan played a short bass solo.

‘Cause I’m not what they see…” Dariana killed her drum solo.

Yeah, the world is still sleepin’ while I keep on dreaming for me…” Jamal rocked his short sharp chord progression.

“And there words are just whispers

and lies that I’ll never belieeeeve!”

Virgil couldn’t fight the smile that climbed up his face now. Not only had they nailed that key change, but also nearly the whole auditorium was cheering now. For a moment Virgil felt like he was standing on the edge of eternity, but instead of falling he was flying. He was happy. So impossibly happy! Virgil felt the tears slipping down his cheeks but managed to hold it together for the finish.

“And I

want a moment to be real.

Wanna touch things I don’t feel.

Wanna hold on

and feel I belong.

And how

can they say I never changed?

There the ones that stay the same.

I’m the one now

‘Cause I’m still here.” Virgil played a few quick yet slick guitar licks.

“I’m the one

‘cause I’m still here.

I’m still here!

I’m still here!

I’m still heeeerrre….”

The song ended. He was in tears and no doubt his eye shadow was kind of a mess (although it probably added to the goth punk aesthetic). His heart soared even higher when the whole audience stood up in a wild applause and cheers. He spotted his friends and Picani being the most exuberant cheerers of all. Even Logan had abandoned his usual composure out of pride for his friend. The only ones who weren’t cheering so much were his parents. In fact, they weren’t even in their seats anymore. Virgil looked to the back of the auditorium and saw them talking to each other at the door. Virgil looked away. Yeah, it stung. But honestly, he didn’t care. He was happy. So unbelievably happy because he had done this even though it was hard.

“Well, guess we know who won the show,” said Duncan over the applause.

Virgil rolled his eyes but nodded in agreement, even smiling at the guy. They all took a final bow before the Steven Universe kid (oh right! That was Thomas from drama club) closed out the show. Virgil clambered off the stage and was immediately caught in a patented Patton hug.

“Virgil that was AMAZING!!!” Patton said with a squeal.

“We’re super proud of you buddy,” said Picani, joining in on the hug.

“You are kicked butt up there, sweetie,” said Alma as they added onto the hug.

“Thanks guy…but uh…need to breathe!”

“Oh, sorry!” They all said letting go.

“Seriously though Virgil, you sounded amazing,” Patton said as he squeezed Virgil’s hand, “I could practically hear how happy you were up there.”

“Patton,” Virgil held the boys hand in his own, grateful that Patton couldn’t see him blushing. “That may just be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Patton gifted him with the warmed of smiles. Virgil practically melted.

“Honestly Virge, I’m not even mad that your band won the show instead of me,” said Roman. “You all gave an Oscar worthy performance. Grammy? Either way, you kicked ass.”

“Language,” said both Patton and Alma.

“Indeed. While I don’t quite understand theatrics that was undeniably a fantastic performance,” said Logan. He clasped Virgil on the shoulder and gave a rare soft smile. “Tremendous job Virgil. You’ve really come so far.”

Virgil smiled back. “Thanks Logan. All of you, I—“

Someone cleared her throat and stepped into there little circle of light and love. Virgil stiffened, holding tight to Patton’s warm hands to ground himself.

“Mom?” he said, voice trembling.

“Hello Vic—Virgil,” she said. “I’m Mrs. Yang. Are you all Virgil’s friends?”

“Indeed ma’am,” said Logan, his eyes cold.

Roman took a protective step in front of Virgil. Patton, having now picked up on the sudden shift in the air, seemed to get the gist and did the same. He practically held his walking stick like a spear.

“Hey, hey, hey. Hakuna matata boys. I’ve got this,” said Picani.

He stepped in front of the teenagers and put on polite yet icy smile. Meanwhile Alma stood behind Virgil, their hands resting protectively on his shoulders. Picani extended a stiff hand towards Mrs. Yang.

“Do you how do? My name is Dr. Picani. I’m the school’s guidance councilor and, for the past year or so, your son’s guardian.”

To Vigil’s surprise, standing before the other adult, his mom looked…small. Not height wise but like on the inside. To her credit she politely, albeit awkwardly, shook his hand.

“I’m glad to know that my child’s been looked after,” she said.

“Well someone had to,” Alma said. Virgil had never heard so much venom coming out of their mouth before.

“May I speak with Virgil alone?” she asked. “Please?”

After a pause and a loud breath, Picani said, “Of course.”

“Dad!” Patton said.

“Come on fellas, lets give these two some privacy,” said Picani, corralling the reluctant teens away from their friend. “Virgil, we’ll be right over by the bake sale table if you need us.”

Virgil nodded to him, still a bit in shock. “Thanks Doc.”

Alma kissed the top of his head before going over to join their partner. Now that they were alone together Virgil felt the bitterness starting to creep back into his heart again. Despite this, he couldn’t help noticing just how nervous his mom looked. She was even fidgeting with her fingers in the same way he did. When did that start happening?

“You were wonderful up there,” she said finally. “I’ve never seen you so happy.”

Virgil scowled. “Yeah well, you haven’t exactly seen me in a while.”

She winced at his words. He hated how it made him feel both guilty and glad at the same time.

“I thought you were leaving with dad,” said Virgil.

At the mention of him, she stiffened her spine. There’s the mom he remembered.

“I told him he was free to leave on his own. I also told him that he should leave with his things and that he’s not welcome to come back home. Not until he was ready to live under the same roof as you.”

That took Virgil by surprise. “W-wh-what?”

“I want you to come back home Virgil,” she said, a sad smile on her face. “Everything’s already made up the way it was before. I mean, I-I added a few more, um, male intended furniture and re-painted the room so that it wasn’t so, uhh, pink. You still like purple, right?  I didn’t expect you to say yes right away. I’ve been planning it for a while but I never—I-I didn’t know—but after seeing that email you sent I hoped…I even cleaned your room up today just in case…”

Virgil was speechless. Someone might as well have dropped kicked him in the gut, he would’ve been less surprised. He swallowed the cotton ball in his throat and managed one shaky word.

“Why?”

“I-I told you, I want you to come—“

“Why now!” Virgil seethed. It cam out sounding more sad than angry. “Why now?”

He hated just how desperate he sounded. Then again, his mom looked just as desperate, if not more. Hell, she looked about ready to cry. That quelled some of the embers in his temper.

“Because I’d rather have a happy son than a suicidal daughter! I miss you Virgil. Ever since that day the house—my life—has felt so empty without you in it. I admit, when you told me about…you…I was confused. I didn’t understand it, and quite honestly I still don’t. But you’re my child and I love you more than anything. I’m willing to bend and try to understand. I made a mistake and I’ll be spending the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. Virgil, baby, p-please come home? C-can you ever f-forgive me?”

For the first time ever, Virgil saw his mother start to cry. He tried to ignore the stinging in his own eyes, just barely keeping a straight face. He took a deep breath, looked her in the eyes, and nodded his head yes.

Relief painted his mother’s face, as did a fresh wave of tears. She stepped hesitantly forward, arms open, and he filled the space between them. Virgil hadn’t realized how much he missed being held by his own mother. That did it.

“I’m still mad at you,” Virgil cried, “but I love you mom.”

“I love you too Virgil,” she wept. “My son.”

They held each other for the longest time. Over her shoulder Virgil looked at where Picani was watching concerned. He gave the councilor a thumbs up and the grown man visible sagged with relief. He nodded and smiled proudly at Virgil before talking to the others. Virgil would fill his friends in later. For now, he just wanted to be in the moment.

It wasn’t going to be easy starting over with his mother. Then again, when had anything in his life ever been easy? Even so, no matter what the world threw at him, Virgil had proven himself stronger.

He was alive, he was happy, and he was still here.

Tag list:

@justisaisfine @the-pastel-peach @altruistic-skittles @queer-human-being @phlying-squirrel @thekeytohappiness-is-you @canadian-crofters @patchworkofstars @ab-artist @ravenclawangst @pink-and-purple-flowers @forrestwyrm @beautifully-terribly @lizaelsparrow @fangirltothefullest @romanamongthestars @ierindoodles @logically-asexual @icecoldparadise @bluebloodstains @purpleshipper @hissesssss @axyzel @jynxlovesluck @thatsanswitch @6tick6tock6 @hanramz-the-fander @azlinne @helplesscreator @thestoryofme13 @bibbidi-bobbity-booyah @accidental-sanders @smokeyrutilequartz @madly-handsome @puns-and-patton @notveryglittery @eequalsmcscared @safesandersides @lizziepopanime @anxiously-unsatisfied-world @moonstone-fox

#sanders sides fanfic #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #emile picani #thomas sanders #tw suicide attempt #tw self hate #famders #fanders #I'm Still Here #my songfic #KDsWriting

[mononoke-no-ko]

[TRANS] R2 Sound Episode #2: Kururugi Village, The Inn of Evil Spirit, Scary Geass is Truly Existed

Full translation below.

Kururugi’s Village, The Inn of Evil Spirit, Scary Geass is Truly Existed  

(footsteps)

Suzaku: Looking over from the long staircase that reaches the main hall of Kururugi Shrine, the scenery I encounter is still the same as before. This quiet pastoral scenery reminds me of childhood memories I had spent together with Lelouch and Nunnally. The scent of the wind and the sound of twitting birds are still there. However, now I'm not the same as I was then. Knight of Seven, a knight who’ve sworn allegiance to the Emperor of Britannia, Kururugi Suzaku. But only for today, I have to go back to the old me. In order to finish the mission that cannot be accomplished by anyone but me.

(footsteps)

Gino: Huh? I heard that there's a festival in Suzaku's hometown so I even came here to see it. But there's nothing at all here, Lelouch.

Lelouch: Yeah, that's because after Suzaku left, this place became unhabitated.

Anya: Lelouch, where's the FAVORITE-grill?

Lelouch: FAVORITE-grill?

Anya: An Area 11's food that's similar to pizza.

C.C.: Pizza? Where's the pizza?

Anya: Not pizza, FAVORITE-grill.

Lelouch: Oh, perhaps you mean Okonomiyaki? (TN: a name of Japanese food usually sold in traditional festival. Okonomi = taste,as one's like,preference, Yaki = grill)

Anya: I can't find GOLDEN FISH CATHER either.

Lelouch: It's Kingyo Sukui. (TN: Literally means "snatching goldfish", it's a must-have game in Japanese traditional festivals)

Rolo: Brother, just like Gino and Anya said, it seems there is no festival here.

Lelouch: As I've explained, Rolo. I did say that we're going to have a matsuri (offering, worshiping to god), but I didn't say that there is going to be omatsuri (festival).

Rolo: Is it different?

Lelouch: Completely different. The offering I mentioned is a ritual to appease the god that resides in this shrine. The one you were talking about is a temple fair. Basically a FESTIVAL. It's totally different.

C.C.: Eh, so boring. Why do we have to go to see that ritual?

Anya: Number's language is so hard to understand.

Lelouch: Look up the dictionary! Then again, the ones who want to come here in the first place are you guys.

Gino: What is Suzaku going to do here?

Lelouch: That I don't know either. Kururugi Shrine has different origin than the usual Shinto beliefs in Japan. Its origin is older than the establishment of Japan, no, I heard it even goes back to the time before recorded history.

C.C.: Eh, really.

Lelouch: There are various theories on which Shinto shrine is the oldest in Japan, but the most influential among all is the Ōmiwa Shrine in Nara Prefecture. This shrine is the place to worship Ōmononushi-no-kami as the main god, as well as Ōnamuchi-no-kami and Sukunahiko-no-kami.

C.C.: Anya, today your getup looks unusual. What exactly are you wearing?

Anya: Miko(shrine maiden)’s dress. Gino said it's a must-wear for festivals.

Lelouch: I've been wondering for awhile, why the plaque of Kururugi Shrine's main god is hidden. In Buddhist temples, there are hidden Buddhas that can't be seen for religious reasons, but such thing is rare for a Shinto shrine...

Gino: Because, there's someone who said that for Elevens' shrine festival even if you don't know anything else, first of all you need a miko. OH, JAPANESE MIKO GIRL, VERY CUTE.

Anya: AHA~, THANK YOU SO MUCH

Lelouch: Pay attention when other people are talking!

C.C.: Oh, so you're still here, Lelouch.

Lelouch: Listen, since all of you were asking, I was trying to explain what Suzaku is going to-  

Suzaku: What am I going to do, Lelouch?

Everyone: Suzaku!

Suzaku: I thought it was so noisy, turns out it's because of you guys. Why are you here?

Lelouch: Cutting to the chase; to see what you'll be doing.

Suzaku: What the, you bothered to come here just for that reason. By the way Anya, what's with  that strange clothes?

Gino: It's a miko, Suzaku.

Suzaku: Miko? But isn't she wearing miniskirt?

Gino: Eh?! But this is what your friend with funny glasses told me to prepare, you know.

Suzaku: As I thought, it was Lloyd's idea.

C.C.: Indeed, although I have had several experiences as a miko, I've only worn it with that sort of miniskirt in a cosplay event.

Lelouch: What!?

Suzaku: C.C.'s cosplay. . . .

(imagining)

C.C.: Okay, THINKING TIME is over. Boys, are your delusion finished yet?

Gino, Lelouch, Suzaku: YES MY LORD

C.C.: That being said, that's a big luggage you got there, Kururugi Suzaku. What are you bringing?

Suzaku: Oh, this? Well, what's in this bag is the props needed for the ritual.

Lelouch: Would you do it according to the conduct of Engi-shiki, after all?

Suzaku: What? 'Engi-shiki'? What's that?

Lelouch: As an heir to a Shinto shrine, how could you don't know about things like this. The Engi-shiki is an important literature in Japan that has been passed down from ancient times. It's like a manual for Shinto shrine's activities.

Suzaku: Ah, my family has nothing to do with those.

Lelouch: What?

(Open the luggage)

Suzaku: Well since Kururugi Shrine is a pagan, so for props needed in the rituals, we're using these...

Lelouch: Suzaku!

Gino: Whoa...

Rolo: What's that?

Anya: Gross.

Lelouch: That red and black liquid in that glass jar... could it be...

Suzaku: This is the blood that was squeezed from a decapitated chicken head in the middle of crossroad at midnight.

Rolo: Then, what about that strawdoll?

Suzaku: A cursed strawdoll that was buried for 49 days besides a grave that has no offerings.

Gino: And this rusty iron bar is?

Suzaku: It's katana. A sword that was used to cut off criminals' head in ancient time.

C.C.: It's a pretty unique collection.

Suzaku: This is already much better than the old times. It is said that a hundred years ago, the most beautiful girl in the village is offered as sacrifice.

Lelouch: I've never heard of the usage of these props in a ritual. What are you planning to do here?

Suzaku: Sealing evil spirits. Kururugi Shrine was originally built for this purpose, and the strength of the seal have gradually weakened, so it must be renewed for every 30 years.

Gino: What would happen if it's not renewed?

Suzaku: The seal will be lifted, and the evil spirits will be resurrected.

Lelouch: Evil spirits? What nonsense.

Suzaku: And yet, this is a ritual that must be performed by those who inherit the Kururugi's blood. Then, I'll begin the preparation for the ritual.

Lelouch: So, Suzaku, how will you perform the ritual?

Suzaku: Well, in a word, that is... casually.

C.C.: Casually?

Suzaku: Well, I don't know the details, but this kind of thing is just a matter of feelings.

Rolo: Is that right, brother?

Lelouch: Y-yeah! Precisely.

Suzaku: Well then, ehm ehm. Evil spirits begone, evil spirits begone, be cleansed, be purified, evil spirits begone, evil spirits begone...!

C.C.: Hmm this is more a joke than expected.

Anya: Really just casual.

Lelouch: Oi, Suzaku, somehow the air turns bad.

C.C.: Now that you mentioned it...

Anya: There's something coming out from inside the altar!

Evil Spirit (with Emperor Charles' voice): Who dare to disturb me in my sleep, paparapa~?

Everyone: Ooooh!!

Lelouch: What is this monster?! Is this really an evil spirit?

Evil Spirit: So it's you people who sing strange spells in my ear, paparapa~.

Everyone: No, that's only Kururugi Suzaku.

Suzaku: Eeehh?!

Evil Spirit: I see, so it's you! Long time no see Kururugi's son, paparapa~.

Suzaku: Eh, err, um, excuse me, is it correct that you're a classified evil spirit?

Lelouch: Why used polite speech.

Evil Spirit: The answer is YES. Now let me eat all of you, paparapa~

Gino: The development is too fast.

Rolo: Because we've already far exceeded the scheduled time after all.

Lelouch: Suzaku, what're you planning to do for this kind of situation!?

Suzaku: Shit! Casual incantation are not enough after all!

Anya: It can even be said it's counterproductive.

Suzaku: Aish! Now that it comes to this, only Lancelot can be used to dispel the evil spirit!

(Lancelot starter)

Suzaku: Damn evil spirit, prepare yourself!

Evil Spirit: Don't underestimate me, paparapa.

Suzaku: I got defeated in just a brief-aaaah....!

Lelouch: What?! With just one attack Suzaku's Lancelot is...

Gino: Then, let me use Tristan to... aaah!

Anya: Gino; instantly killed.

Rolo: I'll stop the time with GEASS, then use Vincent to... waaah!

Lelouch: Rolo!

Rolo: I'm sorry, brother, I can't do anything....!

Suzaku, Gino, Rolo: Ah. . . . . !

Lelouch: There's no other way. Now that it comes to this, I have to be the one to do something to deal with this.

Evil Spirit: Oh? What kind of technique will you show me, paparapa?

Lelouch: There is no need for any technique. I just need to deny your existence.

Evil spirit: WHAT!?

Lelouch: Ghosts like evil spirits are nothing but strong imaginary that people themselves created. In other words, they're group hypnotic. Therefore, the you in front of me, are only an illusion created by my mind.

Evil Spirit: I am an illusion, paparapa?

Lelouch: Yes, Evil Spirit. Try to ask yourself, do you have parents, or families?

Evil Spirit: That kind of thing, I don't!

Lelouch: Right, you can't possibily do! Why? Because it's our brain that created you here, you don't actually exist. You're a shadow, an illusion!

Evil Spirit: What even...

Lelouch: Lelouch vi Britannia command you, for your entire existence to be denied!

Evil Spirit: As you said.... Don't screw with me! Paparapa.

Lelouch: Shit! So this isn't working after all.

Evil Spirit: Damn humans, wasting my time with these kinds of trick. This time I must eat all of you and bring disaster to this world, paparapa!

C.C.: What now that you’ve uselessly provoked him, Lelouch?

Lelouch: Don't panic! There was just a small error in my calculation.

Xingke: Well, we wouldn't want to get cursed because of your calculation error, would we.

Lelouch: What, Xingke!? And there's Tianzi too!

Xingke: I sensed a strange irregularity so I come down to check and find this situation. Tianzi-sama, what should we do?

Tianzi: There's no other way, Xingke. We can't just ignore it right, Kaguya-sama?

Kaguya: Right! Just as Tianzi-sama said.

Lelouch: Kaguya! Even you are...

Anya: Unconventional development.

Xingke: Rest assured, Lelouch, I was born in a family that mastered the art of Qimen Dunjia and Feng Shui from the past. This type of demon or evil spirit is no match for me.  

Tianzi: As expected from Xingke, really reliable.

Lelouch: No, I’ve never heard of such thing in your backstory.

Xingke: Don't mind too much, it's just a fun setting made for a spinoff story.

C.C.: No subtlety at all.

Xingke: Evil spirit, give in before my presence!  %^%%*^*$(%.... Come, everyone follow me!

Everyone: E-eeh?!

Lelouch: Do we have to recite that too, Xingke?

Xingke: That's right, this is the spell that's used to drive out the devil. Come, together!

Everyone: %^%%*^*$(%....  

Xingke: No energy! Say it louder!

Together: %^%%*^*$(%!!

Evil Spirit: Pfft, that kind of spell is useless, paparapa.

Xingke: Impossible! Why?!

Evil Spirit: An old spell like that has already outdated, paparapa. I'll also make you fly to the star!

Xingke: Waaah!

Tianzi: No~ Xingke....!

Lelouch: Tch! Is there nothing else we can do?!

Evil Spirit: However, it wouldn't be impossible to negotiate if the most beautiful woman in this area is dedicated to me as living sacrifice, paparapa.

Lelouch: Sacrifice?! Stop dreaming, Evil Spirit! Who would want to do such a thing?!

C.C.: I see. Although I'm reluctant, there's no other way but for me to give my body.

Kaguya: Wait a minute, C.C., that should be my role to fulfill!

Anya: The most suitable one should be me.

Tianzi: Even though I'm young, I have to become a sacrifice for Evil Spirit. It's heartbreaking, but it’s something that needs to be done.

Lelouch: W-wait! Why are all of you so eager to be the offering-wah!

Evil Spirit: The most beautiful women seem to be here.

C.C.: Since the most beautiful woman is the one to be appointed, there's no one else but ME, right?

Kaguya: If you are that cheeky, dying a thousand times won't be enough!

Tianzi: If we put future state into consideration, then for this role I should be-

Anya: Shut up, little girl.

Tianzi: You too are the same.

Lelouch: Gah! Stop it, all of you! I definitely won't let any of you to be a sacrifice! It's absolutely not allowed!

Evil Spirit: What is this? Is no one going to be the sacrifice? Then I'm going to annihilate all of you, paparapa.

Lelouch: !! Is it over for us!?

C.C.: It's too early to give up, Lelouch.

Lelouch: What?

C.C.: Only this spell I never want to use. But at this point, there's no other way. Listen well, Evil Spirit! The cursed existence in the Underworld, I command you in the name of Taniguchi Goro, immediately return to the realm in which you belong!

Evil Spirit: A-aaah...

Lelouch: He's disappearing? What is this spell!?

C.C.: In the name of Okouchi Ichiro, the end of cause and effect, the end of the beginning of universe, the point of chaos. Go to slumber in the permanent graveyard!

Evil Spirit: Ah... why is it...  why do I feel that if I don't listen to the order, something very horrible will happen? Ah, I really don't want to.... ah, paparapa!

Lelouch: The Evil Spirit is... gone!? We did it...! Amazing, C.C.!

Kaguya: It's annoying but I'll admit it's a brilliant skill.

Anya: A miraculous spell..., what is it?

C.C.: The spell that's used to praise the Creator who governs this world, and we cannot rebel against this Creator.

Lelouch: Is that so?

Tianzi: This sounds like creepy stories that sends chill down your spine.

Lelouch: Well, doesn't matter. With this, now the world is saved. Everyone! Let's go home!

Anya: I'm hungry.

C.C.: Me too, Lelouch.

Lelouch: Why are you telling me?

Kaguya: Then, let's eat pizza together!

C.C.: Oh, that's a really good idea.

Lelouch: Sigh, what a bunch of carefree people.

C.C.: Still not as much as you.

Everyone: Hahahaha!

(crows)

Rolo: Ah, it's the first star!

Xingke: In the mountains it gets dark pretty fast.

Gino: What do we do, Suzaku?

Rolo: Our KMF can't move anymore.

Suzaku: Soon Lelouch and the others will definitely find us. Just hold on for a while.

Gino: It seems like it will be cold tonight.

Xingke: Tianzi-sama, your Xingke is here.

Suzaku, Gino, Rolo, Xingke: Quickly come and find us....!

(crows)

#code geass #lelouch #suzaku kururugi #c.c. #code geass sound episode #anya alstreim #gino weinberg #li xingke #kaguya sumeragi #tianzi #rolo lamperouge #translation

[a-spec-tacular]

Ashlyn Eloise Miller (Ace OC)

A/N: She’s not for any particular fandom. Just a character I made. I hope she’s acceptable. *sweatdrops* Picture (which is hopefully showing up) done by the amazing RiversArt!

NAME

Ashlyn Eloise Miller

NICKNAMES

Ash (given to her by her parents, but not particularly used)

Lynn-Lynn (given to her by her baby sister, who at one point in time couldn’t say her full name; she is teased about this all the time by her older brother)

GENDER

Female (cis)

SEXUALITY

Asexual biromantic

However, she thinks she prefers men, and so figures herself to be more bi-curious (but not in a sexual way, of course).

AGE

21 (almost 22)

HEIGHT

5ft 3in (1.6 m)

WEIGHT

113 lbs (51.26 kg)

APPEARANCE AND BUILD

Ashlyn has short, very dark brown hair (can look black in dim lighting) that reaches just above her shoulders. It’s styled in layers, which in her case means the front is longer than the back. Her hair is also dyed a mixture of purple and indigo, with various sections of her hair being one or the other, though the bottom layers are still her natural brown. It’s parted to the right, though there are days where she’ll part it down the middle because she feels like it. When parted to the right it seems more like one-sided bangs than when it’s down the middle. Her skin leans toward the darker side of being olive-toned, though it would probably be even more so if she’d go outside every once and a while. She has large brown eyes, the shade of which she always found boring as a child, so once she turned thirteen she convinced her mom to get her colored contacts (specifically blue, violet, lavender, and red). Most days she wears the lavender or violet ones (especially lavender), but sometimes she’s too lazy to bother with contacts and will just wear her plain black glasses. Her lips aren’t particularly luscious or prominent on her face, though they are shaped nicely and essentially symmetrical. She also has a sprinkling of freckles on her nose, not to mention a stubborn pimple on the left side that just keeps coming back no matter what she does. She’s nicknamed her eyebrows ‘furry caterpillars’ because they’re thick and she refuses to pluck or wax them (no, they aren’t nearly as thick as Arthur’s, which I bet most of you were thinking). Her ears are of average size, and she has just the left one pierced with a small diamond.

Ashlyn is on the short side for her age, and while she is teased for it by her taller older brother, she really doesn’t mind it all too much. She has a long waist (meaning the distance between the bottom of her ribcage and the top of her waist encompasses several inches), which can makes her body appear rather unproportioned with only a brief glance. Because of this ‘structure’, she gains her weight in her butt and thighs first, much to her annoyance when pants are too big at her waist and uncomfortably snug on her butt and legs. She’s of average bust size, but has trouble finding bras that fit because American bra companies don’t make them with band sizes small enough for her. She’s a relatively muscular person, after taking gymnastics for five years. However, she was forced to quit because of a back injury. Nevertheless, she looks stronger than she appears. Her bone frame is also on the smaller side, which really doesn’t help her seem taller whatsoever, much to her [occasional] dismay. Her feet are small, which should come as no surprise, though she has an unusually high arch, which can make it annoying to find shoes that fit correctly. Her brother is flatfooted, however, so she considers herself to be luckier than him. Her fingers are small but not compressed (and sadly not slender, either), and she has a large writing callous on her right hand from using wooden pencils for such a long time (she’s only just switched over to mechanical).

SCARS/BIRTHMARKS/ETC.

Ashlyn has a small birthmark of no particular shape on her back just under her left shoulder blade, which she almost always forgets is there because who actually looks at their back? She also has a scar below her knee from falling off her bicycle as a child and catching it in the chain, not to mention assorted marks that she doesn’t qualify as ‘scars’ from gymnastics. Her left wrist also juts out slightly because the bone didn’t heal exactly as it should have after she broke it doing – guess what? Gymnastics. She also has a small mark above her right eyelid from where she had to get a bump removed as an infant. She has no memory of the process and so just believes what her parents tell her. Perhaps she’s really an alien (an asexualien).

CLOTHING

Ashlyn loves purple – any and all shades of it. Indigo is a close second, followed by mint green. Most of her shirts consist of styles in varying shades of these, and paired with black or white jeans, and occasionally jeggings. Despite her overall monochrome assortment of clothing, she has a small collection of shirts with punchlines and comedic gags relating to asexuality on them that she likes to wear every now and then. Her favorite shirts have the asexual flag colors and say “This asexual pirate is not interested in your booty” and “I want to do people like I want to do homework. Not at all.” She’s not a very trendy person, and therefore doesn’t keep up with ‘the latest styles’ – this includes mainstream media and so-called ‘punk’ and the like. In fact, it can be embarrassing how ‘out of the know’ she is. She’s also more self-conscious about her body than she cares to admit, so she’ll wear long sleeves and pants or a jacket over a regular shirt in an attempt to keep herself covered. She’s a huge fan of boots, especially lace-ups or combat boots. Not so much of knee-highs – she actually prefers heels or flats over those. She doesn’t wear dresses very often, but she has a few for special occasions or when she feels a little fancier. And on her right middle finger is a simple black ring – the sign of being asexual.

HEALTH

Ashlyn is a relatively healthy person – with the exception of her back injury that’ll act up every so often, much to her dismay. On the worst of such days she has to use a brace, but thankfully those are few and far between. She’s had problems with anxiety, especially before she came out as ace and biromantic, but nothing above average. She’s been seeing a physical therapist ever since she was forced to stop doing gymnastics, but only goes once every two weeks for a three hour session (on average, at least). She’s fallen prey to many standard diseases, including the flu and several stomach viruses. She is asthmatic, but not seriously so, which is why she was able to do even strenuous gymnastics without the extreme fear of having an asthma attack (and she keeps her inhaler on her just in case); though she did have to be hospitalized when she was stricken with pneumonia around eight years ago.

RELIGIOUS BELIEFS

Ashlyn is a non-denominational Christian that attends mass every Sunday who believes that there is nothing wrong with being gay, bi, pan, trans, ace, etc. When someone tries to tell her that God doesn’t make mistakes, she says, “I know that He doesn’t. If someone is gay, God made them to be. If someone is trans, God made them that way. You are the one who is mistaken.” Her religion is important to her, and it frustrates her to end when someone tries to use religion as an argument against sexuality, because it gives all Christians a negative reputation that most have not earned. And if someone isn’t religious or is of a different religion than her, she couldn’t care less and will support them with all her being, because it’s their choice and it doesn’t make them more or less of a human being.

LANGUAGES

She’s fluent in English! And that’s it, sadly. She wants to be bilingual, and is trying to get her two friends (one of which is bilingual in English and Spanish and the other of which is trilingual in English, Danish, and Dutch) to teach her other languages. They’ve agreed to do so, but so far it’s been hard for them to find a schedule that works. She takes Latin and German as two of her electives because they’re supposedly the best languages to learn for English-speaking writers who want to improve their writing.

PERSONALITY

Ashlyn is a blunt person who will tell things like they are without a second thought and not care how it makes you feel. Therefore she is not very empathetic. Emotional connections can be hard for her to establish and understand, which is both a strength and a weakness. It’s a strength in that she doesn’t get very attached to things and is less likely to be offended or hurt by words (and even actions), but it also a weakness because she finds it hard to be a source of comfort for people (and to find a source of comfort for herself), and often just cannot understand how deeply intertwined some people are with their feelings. Because she can be rather apathetic, she doesn’t get overjoyed or annoyed easily. If she does get mad, she’s not going to show her anger physically; instead she’ll simply appear cold and rather emotionless or will simply respond with sarcasm. The same applies to excitement; she won’t jump around and hug people, but she will laugh and smile more. Crying is something she considers to be embarrassing, because it makes her feel weak and often results in pity from others, which is part of the reason she’s so lackluster in physical expression. Because of this, she hardly ever cries, and simply does not take things to heart.

Ashlyn can be sarcastic every now and then – particularly around adults when she’s irritated – but her true sense of humor is that of cringeworthy puns and one-liners, not mention a ton of ace jokes that she will not hesitate to use. Dirty jokes are also right up her alley, much to the surprise of many. But just because she’s ace doesn’t mean that she doesn’t understand things about sex and/or similar subjects, and she will have a grand time making fun of it. But most of her puns and the like (aka her real sense of humor) are only shown around friends and family, though there have been times where she just couldn’t keep her mouth shut and accidentally spoke her thoughts aloud in class, resulting in her being absolutely mortified (at least on the inside). She feels her sense of humor mostly comes from her dad, though she and her mom have lots of laughs on their own. Her friends appreciate her terrible jokes and zero remorse when it comes to having suggestiveness in them – most of the time, at least.

Despite her lack of connection to emotions and fondness for darker colors, Ashlyn is not the stereotypical ‘emo’ or ‘too cool for school’ type of person (if anything she’s probably ‘too school for cool’). She considers to herself to be overall an extrovert, with a few introverted traits stuck in here and there. For instance, she’s not going to be very open to people she doesn’t know too well, but is probably too open among those whom she does. She’s also never going to be the first person to approach someone in an attempt to make a new friend; that’s just a no for her. However, she doesn’t mind going out with her friends on spontaneous occasions, and admittedly loves it when the spotlight is put on her (when it’s for a positive thing, anyways). She can even be flirtatious when she feels like it, but it’s never serious. Flirting is honestly something that entertains her in a comical fashion – watching people squirm when dirty things are implied is hilarious to her (which she will acknowledge is a slightly twisted thing to laugh at).

Being asexual, Ashlyn does not experience sexual attraction. But she is not aromantic, and still desperately wants to have an intimate relationship with someone. She just wants to skip the sex part and get to the cuddling, basically. She loves to hold hands with people, especially that moment when you slowly intertwine your fingers with theirs and just hold tight for a moment before relaxing. She’s more hesitant about kissing, and there are times when she’s completely up for it and others when she can’t even fathom the idea. She’s not a very sentimental person, per se, but the things that can get her to the blush the most quickly are when she’s told by her significant other how loved she is and how proud she should be owning her asexuality. Simple things like that touch her the most. She enjoys hugs for the most part, especially when she can hug her significant other and their foreheads touch and it’s so quiet it seems like their heartbeats fill up the room. Just being together is enough for her.

LIKES

Men and women; particularly men, though personality is the most important thing to her

Dirty jokes and awful puns

CATS, CATS, CATS

Spicy foods

Cake, cake, and more cake

Writing, especially poetry

Gymnastics and martial arts (the latter of which she has never done)

Card games (because they give her so many chances for ace jokes)

PURPLE STUFF

Pride Month

Animation, everything from the colors to the style, be it 2D or 3D

Working at the nursing home (especially on bingo nights)

Baseball/Softball (she will stay up all night watching a game; loves the Astros)

People who know multiple languages

ACE HUMOR

Classical music

DISLIKES

Ace discourse (especially when people claim that asexuality is not real, that it can be cured with medical help, that asexuals are broken, and/or the idea that asexuals just want to be ‘special snowflakes’)

Homophobes, aphobes, transphobes, etc.

Overly sweetened foods and drinks (not just ‘sweet foods’ in general; a good example is pure honey)

Makeup (on herself because she breaks out easily; she couldn’t care less if someone else wears it)

Long hair (she feels it gets in the way)

Lizards (her brother put one on her pillow when she was little and has been terrified since)

Wasps and other stinging insects

Soccer/Football/Futbol (she just doesn’t find it entertaining)

Flowers (her allergies always act up during spring and it irritates her to no end)

Being told to wear heels or stripes to make herself look taller

American bra companies

Being asked if she’s like a plant because she’s asexual

Roller coasters

Sex (though she doesn’t consider herself to be ‘sex-repulsed’)

Trends

Cursing (even though she herself does it)

Eggplant

Airplanes

FEARS

Corrective rape

Yes, if someone tries to have sex with you without your consent (even if they claim they’re trying to ‘fix’ you despite the fact that asexuals are not broken), it is rape and always will be. She does not experience sexual attraction, but is terrified someone is going to force her to have sex with them one day.

Heights

She is overwhelmed with vertigo easily even if she’s not extremely high up; if you try to force her to ‘look down’ anywhere above ten feet from the ground she will not hesitate to punch you.

Rejection

It’s not an unusual fear for asexuals; she’s worried she’ll fall in love with someone with heart mind, and soul, but once they find out she didn’t fall in love with them with her body as well, she’ll just be left in the dust.

Drugs/Addictions

She had an uncle who was addicted to cocaine and was an alcoholic, and the havoc it wreaked on his wife and kids (her aunt and cousins) terrified her. Thankfully, however, he’s in rehab now, and his family is slowly rewriting itself for the better.

HABITS

Ashlyn doesn’t have very many habits, but when in deep thought she’ll stare off into space and twist her hair around her finger. She used to bite her nails when she was younger, but has since stopped. However, a habit caused by gymnastics is to keep her nails short, which still remains. She’ll also twist her ring around her finger when she’s nervous or under a lot of pressure.

SKILLS/TALENTS

Poetry

Coming up with bad puns and dirty jokes on the spot and seizing every moment possible for ace jokes and (in her opinion) nailing them

Gymnastics, though evidently not so much anymore

Organization (everything has a place it should be and a time it should be done at)

Getting along with people (because not much ever really ‘gets to her’, she tolerates people that some would never consider)

FAMILY

Ashlyn has two parents that she loves very much (and they love her as well), a brother six years her senior, and a sister eleven years her junior. Her relationship with her parents is not perfect (as to be expected), but it is much better than what she knows other people face, and she counts herself to be very lucky for that. She was nervous to come out as an asexual biromantic, and while her parents didn’t understand at first (she had to give them a lecture on sexualities and what it meant to be asexual for her and how asexuality varies from ace to ace), they did accept her. Not without questions, though – they wanted her to explain everything to them as much as she could, which genuinely touched her. Her mom had a little more trouble understanding, and at first did tell her that she almost hoped that Ashlyn would change her mind in the future, but has now fully come to terms with it and says whatever makes her daughter happiest is good enough for her. Her dad was pretty indifferent on the matter, and actually joked that she would have worry about STDs and similar much less than most people – especially if she ended up marrying a girl and not a guy. Neither of them ever considered sending her to a therapist because neither believed their daughter to be broken and/or in need of fixing, which actually made her cry (much to her embarrassment) when they told her because that had always been one of her greatest fears.

Her brother has never had a problem with her asexuality or her biromanticism, often telling her that he’d continue on the Miller family line himself if she couldn’t. He even told Ashlyn that he wouldn’t hesitate to beat up anyone who dared to speak ace discourse or anything aphobic/homophobic in her presence, which touched her, but she reassured him that she could do it on her own. She and her brother do love each other, but their sibling relationship is that of siblings – very much love-hate. And their personalities are also very different, which can result in tense arguments. But in the end they’ll always forgive each other (unless it’s related to the time he left a lizard on her pillow; she will bear a grudge against him for that the rest of her life). As for her younger sister, well, she is only ten, and therefore doesn’t really understand many things Ashlyn likes to joke about (innuendos and all that), but looks up to her very much and is always talking about how cool her big sister is and that she wants to be just like her.

FRIENDS

Before Ashlyn realized she was asexual, she had two main ‘friend groups’ that she felt she belonged to. One group (which will be discussed more in detail later) perfectly accepted her asexuality (and later, her biromanticism), but the other was not so welcoming. One of the guys in that second group whom she’d had a slight crush on for a while just laughed when she told them before saying to her that she didn’t have to worry, because he’d be able to fix that for her. She was disgusted by his comment and essentially lost any and all interest in him immediately. A girl in that group told her that sex was so important, and that she’d never be able to get a boyfriend if she wasn’t willing to have sex. She even mentioned that Ashlyn was too young to say that she was asexual (she was only fifteen at the time, but had suspected herself of being ace around a year beforehand), because she couldn’t say she was asexual until she’d tried to have sex with someone. Even her closest friend in that group, a guy who was gay and a huge supporter of LGBT, became angry at her and accused her of wanting to be special or just pretending to belong in the LGBT movement, which absolutely broke her heart because he was the one person she was completely sure would understand. She has since broken off contact with them, and doesn’t intend on speaking to them again if she can help it.

Her other group of friends had a very different reaction to her coming out. They were all very proud of her and said that they would support her no matter what, even if her sexuality changed in the future. Their reaction was no different when she told them she was biromantic. Likewise, when they began to understand their sexual orientations, she accepted them all with open arms. This friend group consists of five people (including herself), and they are as follows:

Erin Jessen – half Danish/half Dutch (trilingual friend), genderfluid, short blonde hair, blue-gray eyes, 5’ 6”, pansexual

Michael Stafford – African American (grandparents from Angola), male, black hair, hazel eyes, 5’ 9”, homosexual/gay

Gabriela Valdez – Mexican (bilingual friend), female, long black hair, green-brown eyes, 5’ 5”, pansexual (with a preference towards girls)

Sasha Mulyadi – Indonesian-American (parents from Indonesia; yes, she is Muslim), female, long black hair (under her jilbab [what most Indonesians call a hijab], which is optional for her to wear and she does so out of choice), brown eyes, 5’ 5”, heterosexual.

They’re an extremely close-knit group of friends, and would follow each other to hell and back. Ashlyn has known Erin the longest; their parents were actually childhood friends. Sasha is the newest addition to their group, having met them all in seventh grade. Michael and Ashlyn share the same taste in guys, and so before Ashlyn got in a real relationship, they’d often go ‘guy-hunting’ together, as they put it.

And while Ashlyn loves each and every one of them equally, Gabriela admittedly holds a special place in her heart, as they’ve been dating for four – nearly five – years (and have of course known each other for even longer). Gabriela treasures her girlfriend and is always very cautious when showing her physical affection, because she understands that every ace has different boundaries and doesn’t want to overstep them. Ashlyn appreciates this and loves her all the more for it.

QUOTES

*while playing a card game* “I’ve got an ace up my sleeve.” *pauses* “Wait. Never mind. It’s just me.”

“How many asexual does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” *pauses* “None! We don’t screw.”

“Ugh! F*ck me. Metaphorically.”

“I’m beauty, I’m grace, and I am hella ace.”

“1% of the population is asexual. That’s still 70 to 80 million people. Asexuals exist. And based on our low reproductive rates we might cease to if we aren’t careful.”

“Yes, my girlfriend is pansexual. Yes, she experiences sexual attraction. Yes, I am asexual. Yes, I do not experience sexual attraction. And yes – we are very happy together.”

“Oh, so you think asexuality isn’t real? Let’s ask my brother – who’s a pro linebacker, by the way – if he agrees, hmm?”

“God made you to be you – gay, straight, bi, trans, pan, ace, or whatever – and anyone who says otherwise is wrong.”

“I have realized that I am an ace at whatever I do.”

“Cats will rule the world one day and I will help them achieve this.”

“Cake is so much better than sex. Seriously, how is that even a question?”

“SPACE ACE, B*TCH!”

“Honestly, anything purple is fine with me. Unless it’s an eggplant.”

“I am clearly a god.”

“I mean, marriage is great when you’re in love and stuff. But like – tax benefits!”

“Sexuality is not something you’re in control of. So why make a big deal over it?”

“I am not broken. I do not need to be fixed. And if you lay even a finger on me in a so-called attempt to do so, I promise that I will kill you.”

“Please. Don’t touch me. Just… Not now.”

“Curse writer’s block? More like exorcise it.”

“I am asexual and proud!”

A/N: And that’s my OC. Sorry it was so long. I hope you like her.

#ace-spec #submission #pride #of course it's acceptable! #face

[invisible-mirror]

Sooo this is normally a thing I would work through in a private journal, but I deleted my LJ not long ago, so I'm gonna post it here. Feel free to engage or not.

I got on the subject of transgenderism the other day, and surprised myself by going into a bit of a rant. Let me preface by saying I support trans people's rights to undergo surgery or hormonal therapy, change their pronouns, choose which bathroom fits them better, etc. It's no skin off my back, and it clearly means a lot to them, so it'd be pretty boorish of me not to let them have it. But this conversation I had recently led me to realize that, on an emotional level, I seem to feel there might be some skin off my back after all. That's okay, though, I can work through my feelings like a rational adult, watch and see.

My rant, once I'd backed off enough to fully analyze it, boiled down to two root causes:

1) My BS meter going off. I'm sorry, I am WORKING on recalibrating the thing, that’s the point of this post. But it’s a process. Telling me that someone who was raised male and looks like a male "is actually a woman" or vice-versa evokes the same instinctive gut reaction as telling me "This Jackson Pollack painting is a masterpiece that represents the human condition." I'm sorry, maybe that's what Pollack was aiming for, but I'm like 90% sure he secretly tripped over a row of paint buckets and then sold the dropcloth. It's a reaction that says on a barely-conscious level "That can't possibly be right, the physical evidence contradicts it" and follows up with "If that's not right, it means you aren't telling me the truth. You're trying to gaslight me and wow that's rude, how stupid do you think I am." In the presence of an actual trans person (I've met a couple), it's easy to take them as an individual and accept that they're not personally trying to gaslight me, they really do simply prefer certain pronouns, and I can apply the directive in my opening paragraph (don't be a boor) without any trouble. But in the abstract, the prospect of nodding along to the statement "If you say you're a woman, then that makes you a woman regardless of any other factors whatsoever" triggers a chorus of How stupid do you think I am​? that only gets louder in self-defense when you try to shout it down.

2) While I can't technically deny the existence of sex-based differences in brain structure and function, I can (and have on occasion been known to) vehemently declare that my "female brain" even if I have one does not in any way control my destiny, these are not the gender stereotypes you're looking for, move along and freaking give me the goddamn STEM job with equal pay already. So it hurts, a little, when I look at someone like Caitlyn Jenner posing in her white corset because her female brain simply couldn't go on without a pair of breasts in a corset, I mean, those female brains and their obsession with body image, what are you gonna do. And I KNOW, I understand that gender dysphoria is much more serious than your run-of-the-mill teenager wishing she had a bigger cup size, and that there are male brains who equally feel they can't go on without flat chests and facial hair, so it's not necessarily a sexism thing. I just really wish there were a way to avoid the implicit message I see in media/dialogue surrounding trans issues, in which the definition of woman = person who wants to look feminine and nothing else matters. Because if that's woman then frankly I don't want to be one, and I was here first so buzz off.

TL;DR My current understanding of transgenderism threatens my self-identification as a Smart Person, first by questioning my perception of reality and then by hinting that perhaps Real Smart People don't actually have the same kind of brain as Real Women, and I can't be both. These are my issues. Interesting.

So I did some reading. And came away with the points summarized below, now with 200% more analogies:

1) Here is a fantastic blog entry on semantic categories:

https://slatestarcodex.com/2014/11/21/the-categories-were-made-for-man-not-man-for-the-categories/

It's very long, but it stole my heart a few paragraphs in with the mental image of King Solomon and a time-traveling biologist arguing about genetics. The transgenderism bit starts in Part III. And I fully understand the argument. There is no natural law stating that society can't redefine the words "woman" and "man" to mean whatever we darn well want them to. My hangup is actually mentioned in the blog entry's analogy, but glossed over—it's where Solomon says "I understand why you need a word to categorize creatures that are genetically mammalian, but find your own word, because my word already has a definition and it does not include whales." Put less combatively, I'll grant that we have conceptual use for a category that includes both cis women and trans women (the reason that comes to mind being that unfortunately we live in a society where we still have to deal with gender stereotypes, so everybody likes being able to succinctly say “People I stereotype as XYZ”... but someone who's thought about this more than I have can probably come up with a more charitable interpretation). But we also have conceptual use for a category that includes cis women only—for example, doctors determining whether one is at heightened risk for certain diseases, or someone determining whether a conversation partner is likely to be interested in a discussion about their birth control pill side effects. If we wanted to do this semantics thing right, then, we'd invent two separate words. Which I am 100% in favor of. But instead we seem to be taking all the words (woman, female, etc.) that used to mean #2 and decreeing that every one of them now means #1 instead. This doesn't close a lexical gap, it only shifts the gap from #1 to #2, AND it induces confusion (and hostility) because some people use the words to mean #1 but others assume that they still mean #2.

I suppose if "ciswoman" ever enters everyday usage for a majority of the English-speaking population, that could qualify. "Cis" probably isn't used as a slur outside of Tumblr, right? I could get behind that. "Woman" for the fuzzy general category of "people who are similar in some particular ways but not necessarily all of them," kind of like how bowling is a sport even though there’s no running and track is a sport even though there’s no ball. And we can use "ciswoman" for medical forms and also to reassure people like me that nobody's trying to gaslight us into believing that bowling and track are two different names for the same sport.

I went with the sport analogy because it more directly expressed my concern--that I can’t name anything I have in common with Caitlyn Jenner yet we’re supposed to share a category. But I ALMOST used an analogy about how tomatoes are biologically fruit yet we classify them as vegetables, and nobody seems to care. I actually really like this one. Has it been used much? I wonder how it would play with the whole “Men have XY chromosomes and women have XX, end of story” crowd.

2) Someone on Reddit made a compelling point, backed up by others (side note: r/CMV is a great place for intelligent discussion, whodathunk?) that for transgendered people (we'll stick with women as an example) who have decided they want to present as female, gender stereotypes can be used an effective weapon by which to fend off misgendering. They're not thinking "My female brain compels me to wear nail polish because that's how female brains work." It's more like "People keep insisting I'm a man, so I need to prove them wrong by behaving like the femalest female to ever female. What does that even mean? Well luckily, my culture has provided a convenient list of behaviors that it thinks are especially female, so I'll start with those." It's like how I was free to grow my hair long and wear pink glasses frames after I'd been accepted into an engineering school, but not before. You need the signals for your chosen category to outweigh the signals for categories you don't want, and sometimes that means artificially manipulating your own signals.

So from that perspective, it's a survival strategy. Trans women aren't trying to force all women back into the old gender pigeonholes; they're using the pigeonholes as bases to avoid getting tagged out of the game. Which means preventing the rest of us from dismantling the pigeonholes entirely, which is annoying because some of us would rather picnic than play baseball for either side... and this analogy has officially contorted beyond recognition, hasn't it. The upshot is that even when a system could use serious change, sometimes you need to play by the rules of the system in order to achieve a short-term goal that's more urgent to you personally. Lord knows I've used that excuse myself.

I still can't wrap my head around why anyone would care about being called female by others if it's not about the stereotypes/cultural baggage that comes along with the word. Gender dysphoria, yeah yeah, but then I start reading somebody's argument that not all trans people experience dysphoria and I am nowhere near being able to touch that, so I won't try. What I can do is assume that since it's not about stereotypes, there's a good chance that I would not emphatically disapprove of whatever it winds up truly being about. And I can operate under that assumption until proven otherwise.

This concludes my self-assigned transgenderism research project.

#social issues #real life #personal philosophy