hey! I’ve been a big fan of your blog for a while and I think you’re really funny! I saw that u put transmasc in your bio and I got really exited. I wanted to ask you if you had any subtle trans boy tips for someone in a not so accepting family who can’t move out yet.
thank you :>
firstly, thank you~! that's v sweet of you
secondly... as a very old and crusty transmasc that survived through one of the sexist jobs...
you don't gotta change a thing about yourself outwardly
all that matters is how you feel about yourself
(okay more stuff under the cut because unctail got wordy)
what i mean is i think sometimes there's this stigma that because we see ourselves as another gender/just want to change our pronouns it means we have to act a certain way
nah man. you can be transmasc and still be feminine.
you can be transmasc and not "outwardly" pass.
you just gotta find what feels comfy to you and do it
ALL THAT BEING SAID when i did finally come out (i choose literally the last month in the military to come out as a final heck u to everyone) no one was surprised. when i asked why, i realized its because i just didn't act like people's preconceived ideas of a woman
i sat down and took up as much space as i could (because i didn't want people in my bubble)
i called people out when they tried to tell me i should let a man help me (ie, moving furniture. i then proceeded to lift the entire desk and throw it out of the office......... which totally got me in trouble, but the dude never talked to me again so win/win)
i walked like i was on a mission and wouldn't let other people make me move - kind of an asshole move, but once you start doing it, you realize how many people have been doing it to you
standing like i knew exactly what i was doing - though most of the time i didn't. if i was in a situation i had no control over (which was a lot), i stood straight, spread out my feet and crossed my arms. one could argue that was military training, but given the amount of people in the military that don't do that.... id say it was something inherit.
long story short, when i first came out and wanted to really be sure people knew i was transmasc, it was gently pointed out to me that by just being me... i already was telling people.
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Sooooo.... I continued it... But not really. Also I never continue things so fair warning if there is a drop in quality.
I was rewatching Scara's introduction and got to the point where he talked about the "Third Betrayal" and only JUST NOW realized that he doesn't understand death because he is a puppet and was probably still super young at that point and it usually takes normal human children a long time to come to terms and fully understand their mortality. He doesn't have to do that because he was originally built to last as long as possible. He had to be built that way to house a gnosis. And as a result death would have been a very hard concept to fully grasp.
Sure he understands that of you hurt someone enough they go down and possibly even stop breathing but they'll get up soon enough right? I mean how else would his enemies have so many people to fight for them if those still people didn't just get up and go back to what they were doing before? (Which was fighting him) He would probably need something big to force him to really understand death in a very short amount of time. (Hehehe)
Say perhaps if his precious Companion were to get injured for the first time in some random skirmish against hilichurls and he dismisses it. He's seen mortals leak the red before but he doesn't see it as any more than an annoyance when it gets on his clothes. His Companion insists on stopping to "clean up the wound" which he agrees to. That red stuff can really stain good clothing and other mortals look so weird and weary if you try to interact with them while still wearing the stains. And, even more importantly, such stains may get in the way if his future cuddle time.
After they are done fiddling with the wound and some random scraps of fabric they continue on but strangely enough his Companion doesn't seem to be doing as well as before. The injured body part seems weaker and is starting to become warm, sore and puffy. They have started to apply strange plant mixtures to the offending area, claiming that these poultices would help the injury "heal" though it seems to be doing the opposite. It was when they were about to leave the supposedly beautiful Qingce Village (he thought his companion looks 100× better than this random village of old people) that his Companion stumbled in their step before looking up at him and saying "please don't get mad" before dropping to the ground.
Scaramouche had never been so afraid. Not after being abandoned by his mother, not after loosing his friend, not after every hard fought battle and not even after loosing the gnosis he so craved. He watched their precious, delicate, achingly mortal body fall and screamed. He saw visions. Vivid as if he was right back to when they happened. Visions of soldiers felled by his blade, visions of Dottore's lab after he was done experimenting with delusions and the effects they had on mortal bodies and visions of the child he had once called friend laying still in that suffocating shack.
Near by villagers came rushing over to the small campsite that the two strange wanderers had insisted on setting up instead of staying in a guest house, to find a very distraught looking young man clutching on to his softer spoken companion as if they were his life line. Villagers quickly leapt to action and gently guided the young man to bring them to a cleaner space than the open air campsite and, with much coaxing and promises that he can remain by their side during the examination, to let go of them so that a local doctor can take a closer look at them.
When it is confirmed that the seemingly insignificant wound they had gotten from that hilichurl fight not to long ago was now infected and a much more serious problem than it once was Scara is devastated. How could this happen? Why did it happen? What does this mean for his Companion? What exactly is an infection? He almost holds this poor doctor hostage until he gets all of his questions answered and he understands the situation better. Once the poor doctor is release from the room and scara has a moment to think...
'Their injury is infected. They got injured in a fight. A fight that I obviously didn't protect them well enough in. Therefore they got injured because of me. That must be why they told me not to get mad. They knew that I failed to protect them. They knew and yet they still traveled with me. They don't want me to get mad.... At myself...'
He spends a lot of time stewing in that mental space. Thinking about things he could have done better in the fight. Thinking about all of the signs that something was wrong that he didn't notice. All of the winces when ever his hand brushed the injury when he want to hug or cuddle them. All of the herbal poultices used in vain to keep the infection at bay. All of the moments taken to rest that he misinterpreted as more head pat time for him. All of the selfish actions he took that might have made it worse. Thinking about what might have happened if they weren't anywhere near other people when they collapsed. Those thoughts scare him the most.
The only time he spends outside of his own head is when the local doctor comes by to redress and check on the wound. During that time he pays close attention to what the doctor is doing so that he could replicate it in the future, should he fail to protect them from another injury again. He gains a sudden interest in medicine after all of this.
After a week or two you are deemed healthy enough to travel once more, something scara is particularly excited about. Traveling will mean less of your attention is focused on other beings and a new chance to prove himself worthy of your praise and affections. A chance he will never take lightly ever again.
Scara becomes more protective after this experience. Insisting on looking you over after every single fight. Doesn't matter if you were even involved in the fight. Doesn't matter if his own limbs are hanging on by mere threads. Doesn't matter is some random guard or adventurer had gotten involved as well and were more obviously hurt. He is checking his Companion over for even the smallest scrape so that the ever looming threat of death could never claim you.
Not that he exactly had the right word for that feeling yet.
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Golden Attempt anon here and AAAAAAA??? WHAT THE HELL THAT'S SO GOOD??? Seeing my ideas coming to life like this is so amazing - but now there's the aftermath to worry about, huh? Byleth trying to keep Claude safe while also trying to bond with him once more while ALSO trying to get Claude back to Riegan territory...very good stuff
HELLO AGAIN GA!ANON I apologize again for being so, so so late with this but uh
Things have been happening
so again I hope this is worth it
(this actually incorporates some stuff from another ask that is the next one on my list so surprise??)
=====
Jeralt hated the busywork that came with running a group of mercenaries. Even after twenty years of it, he still only tolerated it on the best of days (and on the worst of days, he seriously eyed the booze he kept stashed away for emergencies). But it was part of the life he chose when he left the Knights of Seiros with his kid: a necessary evil, maybe, but one that assured that Byleth was safe and never went hungry. That was enough for him.
It still felt strange, though, not having the kid around. They’d said they had something to take care of while the band passed through a village near the border between Adrestia and Faerghus, then headed off alone -- and he’d let them, with just a few words of wisdom to go along with his blessing. He still wasn’t sure why he’d done it, either. Byleth had spent twenty years with the band, and the last five actively fighting alongside them, so it wasn’t like they couldn’t fend for themselves…but he’d be the first to admit he’d sheltered them, growing up. In trying to keep from drawing unwanted attention, he’d done his best to keep them out of the public eye, to the point where he worried they might not have the social skills to get by without help. Sure, they could probably make it as a lone sellsword, but did they know what those skills were worth? And what were they even doing, when they barely knew the world beyond the places they’d seen on jobs with him?
…but he remembered that Byleth had gone off with what he could have sworn was a smile on their face. They’d always been a bit of a weird kid, and expressing emotions never seemed to come easy to them…so maybe that was why he’d said yes. Because they’d looked happy, for the first time he could remember.
Looking back on it now, though, it had been two years since they’d gone their separate ways. It wasn’t as though they could send letters easily: Byleth could write, sure, but mercenaries never stayed still, so it was hard to get a letter into the right hands. How were they doing? What were they doing? And how long was he going to worry about it before he got his damn paperwork done--
“Jeralt! Sir! Guess who’s back?”
His head came up so fast it made his neck ache. Abandoning his work, he shouldered his way out of his tent, pushing through the gathering crowd of mercenaries at the heart of their camp…
…and there they were. Their hair had grown out a little, and their clothes had clearly been worn and tattered and patched in places, but he’d recognize his kid anywhere. And when they caught sight of him, there was an unmistakable smile on their face.
“Good to see you again,” he chuckled, striding forward and pulling them into a tight embrace -- one they returned easily, holding on tight for so long he started wondering if they planned on letting go. They did, eventually…and then there was a part of him that wished they hadn't yet. "Took you long enough -- I was starting to wonder if you we ever coming back," he said, gesturing for the rest of the band to get back to work. And once they were mostly alone, he softened, giving their shoulder a brief, telling squeeze. [Did you do everything you needed to?] he signed.
Byleth nodded…and turned, gesturing for a stranger to join them. Jeralt hadn't even noticed him by the tents ringing their central gathering point until he moved, leaning into a sturdy walking stick tucked under one arm as he walked. He looked young -- not a child, but still younger than Byleth, if only by a couple years -- with tan skin, green eyes, dark hair left mostly loose except for a short braid on one side of his face…
Jeralt looked between his kid and the man they'd brought with them. [Who's this?] he asked.
Byleth looked to the stranger. "Khalid," he replied, signing it while he spoke.
"Khalid," Jeralt repeated. It sounded foreign, though he'd be damned if he could place where it came from; he'd never traveled outside Fódlan. "Nice to meet you. Name's Jeralt."
"Byleth's dad, right?" he ventured. "They told me on the way," he added when the mercenary shot a questioning look toward his kid.
Jeralt made a vague noise in response, crossing his arms as he looked the man over again. "Anybody ever tell you that you look like the guy heading the Leicester Alliance?"
Khalid didn't flinch. "Funny coincidence," he said flatly.
Jeralt looked back at his kid, who gave him no clues whatsoever. Honestly, that shouldn’t have surprised him. Sighing, he scratched the back of his head, planting his other hand briefly on his hip. “Well, whatever the case, this probably isn’t the best place for you. You can take some time to rest up, but then Byleth should get you to wherever you’re going--”
[Faerghus,] they signed.
“Faerghus?” Khalid repeated.
Jeralt felt his eyebrows go up. [Bad idea. The Empire and the Kingdom are going at it right now.]
[We should all go.]
He sighed, knowing that his kid got their stubbornness from him but digging his heels in all the same. [We’ve already got a job, the Empire contracted us for work out here.]
[The battle’s already done. The contract should be up.]
[They’ve already extended the term once, they’re likely to do it again.]
[Have you written it up yet?]
Jeralt twitched. [I was in the middle of it when you got here.]
[Then you’re not bound. We can go north.]
Khalid waved to get their attention. [I thought the plan was to head into Leicester territory. That’s where I need to be.]
Jeralt sighed, pressing a hand to his face and hooking his free hand into his sword belt. “That’s probably a worse idea than Byleth’s.”
[Your contract here was to fight the Alliance,] they signed once he cracked his fingers to look at them.
“They turned tail and ran, which seemed strange since they managed to push us back in the first fight. Things are pretty chaotic up there, though, judging from the word coming south.”
[The Empire’s not taking advantage of it,] Byleth pressed, [which would have been the smart tactic if they planned on making a move against Leicester. If they’re dragging their feet, work’s going to be more reliable on the west side of Fódlan.]
He’d taught that kid too well.
Lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender, he shook his head. “Fine. You win. I’ll report to Count Bergliez, tell him we’re heading out -- if he tries to make a fuss I’ll give him a line about needing to bulk up our forces after the last couple fights. Happy?”
Byleth nodded, looking about as smug as he’d ever seen them. “Get some rest for now. I’ll pass the word around and get camp squared away so we can head out early. Hope you don’t mind sharing a tent.”
Khalid shook his head. “Doesn’t bother me,” he replied. “If you don’t mind my asking -- what is the word coming out of Leicester these days? You said they turned tail mid-battle…”
“Almyra brought another invasion force to the Locket,” Jeralt said.
“Another?” he repeated.
The mercenary captain nodded. “Second one in two years. Same guy leading the charge both times, as I understand it. Shahid, or some such. He shouldn’t be a problem anymore, though -- from what I heard, the guy in charge of the Alliance killed him this time around.”
Khalid went very still. Come to think of it, this kid’s name sounded a lot like that Almyran’s…
Byleth reached out, laying their hand on the young man’s shoulder, and Jeralt turned back toward his tent. A touch like that was about the closest thing to intimacy Byleth ever showed; the least he could do was give them some privacy.
***
Byleth had never owned much, aside from their clothes, armor, and weapons; their few other possessions they’d left behind when they set off on their mission. Coming into the tent they’d always shared with their father, they were surprised to see those few items in their usual places alongside the empty space waiting for their bedroll…and something warm fluttered in their chest, seeing the proof of how long he’d waited, and how sure’d been of their return.
Claude -- Khalid, they reminded themselves, intent on following his lead in this -- joined them while they spread two sets of blankets across the ground. It would be a bit tight, sleeping three to the tent, but manageable…
He drew a breath, slightly unsteady, and Byleth looked up to find him staring down, past them and the bedrolls and into some distant place they could not guess at. [When you found me,] he signed, the movement unable to hide the tremor in his hands, [you said Fódlan needed me. This is what you meant, isn’t it.]
[In part,] they agreed.
[There’s more?] he asked.
They nodded, and he sank awkwardly down to sit on the blankts, his bad leg stretched stiffly out before him as he pressed his face into his hands. “Of course there is,” he chuckled, the sound hoarse and devoid of any warmth. [What else?] he asked, lifting his head again to watch for their reply.
Byleth shook their head. [You don’t know?] he pressed. [Or you won’t say?]
[I only know it will get worse,] they replied.
[And that’s why we’re going to Faerghus?]
[I don’t know if it will be any better there,] they admitted, [but you should be safer there than you would be here or in Leicester.]
Khalid made a quiet, thoughtful noise, folding his hands before him. “I’ll take your word for it.”
They nodded, reaching out to touch his shoulder again before rising to their feet. [Get some rest. I’m going to help around camp, and find something to eat on the way back.]
He nodded, turning his gaze to the canvas wall (though his attention seemed to drift far past it, into an invisible, unknowable distance they could not reach). And they left him to his thoughts, knowing all too well the pain of returning to a world so different from the one they’d known…but lost for how to offer any solace.
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