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aggravatetheaxe · 3 years

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BO SINCLAIR X TRANS MAN / MAN ALIGNED READER COMING OUT - Pt. 1 - Under Your Skin

This title is SAFE FOR WORK. Pt. 2, Over the Moon, will be NSFW. I'll link that here when it's written!

You met Bo while you were still presenting as a woman. Suffice to say things have changed, and you can't keep your secret from him any longer. You have no choice but to tell him or leave ... but what if he makes you leave anyway?

CW: descriptions of dysphoria that get very intense, deadnaming/misgendering, mentions of murder and mortal peril, it's 2005 and Bo is from the south so just be advised it's not all fluff and rainbows (but there is payoff, this isn't straight angst, it's just a journey)

Soundtrack: x

Words: 4,175

Part Two

Masterlist

***

Your shoulders were stiff. Your throat was dry. Your leg was bouncing, the only thing you could do to release the nervous energy juttering through your body.

You were going to tell him.

You'd put it off for months now, not quite sure how to say the words. Then, when you'd arranged them in your head, fear had kept you from saying them out loud. But you couldn't wait anymore. You couldn't live like this any longer.

You'd been hiding the secret for too long. Every time Bo called you by your birth name or made some quip about you being his girl, your heart shriveled just a little more. It had gotten to the point where you didn't even want compliments from him ... you didn't want to talk. You didn't even really want to sleep with him, didn't like to think about him looking at you as a woman during sex.

He didn't know, of course. But that almost made it worse. He couldn't stop hurting you and you couldn't yell at him for it. It was always the same: you lost control, you got frustrated, wouldn't tell him why, he'd get frustrated, you'd fight ... it was a mess. You knew all that was putting a strain on your relationship.

So it had to be tonight.

It had to be tonight.

You had everything planned. You'd already gone into town with Lester and picked up some stuff for a nice dinner; there was a fresh, cold six-pack of Bud in the fridge; and Rocky III was sitting in the VHS player, ready to go. Once he was relaxed, you'd talk to him.

You'd convinced yourself so fully that you'd stick to the plan that when you heard his truck pull up and your heart leapt into your throat, you nearly cried. Fuck, not again. Not another night. You were supposed to be stronger than this.

Stomping boots on the porch. You heard the door swing open from the kitchen. "I'm home."

He didn't sound like he was in a particularly good mood, but it didn't sound like a bad one, either. That was good news, at least. Things must have gone okay down at the shop. "I'm in here!" you called back.

Bo appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, tracking a little gravel into the house as always. He leaned against the doorframe with one hand on his hip, gesturing with his chin. "Hey, sugar. What you got there?"

You looked down at the meal you were plating. "I thought I'd try a pot roast? I dunno. I don't think it came out very good, but I guess we'll see."

He didn't say anything. You glanced over your tense shoulder to see him simply staring at you, like he was trying to read your thoughts. You could sense the gears in his head turning behind those clever blue eyes of his. He knew there was something wrong; you were guarded.

For a moment, you thought he might say something. That familiar little bit of irritation was beginning to creep into his face, right around his neck and jaw. But after a few seconds, he simply said, "A'right," and straightened. "M'gonna go change."

"'Kay." As he stomped up the stairs, you finished getting the food ready and brought the plates to the living room. Bo usually ate at the table—"I ain't a savage"—but you could tell he liked eating on the couch. It was like a special treat. And clearly, you were short on charm at the moment, so you'd have to use your environment to your advantage.

You pulled up two tray tables and set the food down, then fetched the beer. By the time everything was set up, Bo was coming back down the stairs.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to look at him. He was wearing jeans and a red flannel, sleeves rolled up. At this point, he didn't care about you seeing his scars. You hardly noticed them anymore.

He came closer and slowed to a stop, forehead wrinkling as he eyed your set-up. "What's all this about?"

"I was thinking dinner and a movie." You paused. "I thought Rocky might get the taste of my cooking out of your mouth."

You succeeded in making him laugh a little, crow's feet crinkling, but as he took a step closer, his smile faded. "Did you do somethin'? Is somethin' broken?" He glanced quickly, running his gaze over the clutter his parents had left behind.

"Nothing's wrong," you reassured him quickly, stepping back into his line of sight in the hopes of distracting him. "I just thought, you know, we could have a nice night. Like ... romantic?"

He stared at you for a moment. Then, his gaze lit, a toothy smile appearing. "Romantic, huh? Well hell, sweetie, why didn't ya say so?"

He clearly thought you meant sex. In fact, the way he was looking at you, you thought he'd jump you right up against the pool table if you let him. Your dysphoria made sex so unbearable that you'd been avoiding it when you could lately, and you were sure he missed it.

You were lucky he hadn't gotten mean yet. You guessed that was a testament to how much he must like you. But who knew if he'd like you after tonight?

Quickly, you shoved a beer into his hand, redirecting his attention as you slid onto the couch and clicked play. He slid into place beside you, relaxing back with his legs spread.

You both picked at your food—you because you were way too nervous to eat, and him because ... well, you assumed it was because he was waiting for you to initiate the "romance." He did eventually finish his meal, though, complimenting you with one of his "So good, baby"s and a boozy kiss.

The movie droned on, and eventually, he wrapped an arm around you. As he did, you relaxed, if only a little. You wanted to settle into him ... you wanted it more than anything in the world. You did love him. But who did he love? The woman he thought he was putting his arm around wasn't you.

"What's wrong?" His tone was firm and sudden after such a long stretch of silence.

You blinked at him. "Nothing."

He wasn't buying it, and he didn't look impressed. "There's no point in lyin'a me, darlin'. I know when somethin' ain't right." Then, with a little edge to his voice, "You know I get pissed when you brush me off."

"I'm just..." You sighed, setting your beer aside and rubbing your forehead. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Let's go to bed, then." In one fluid motion, he stood and turned off the TV. "Hope you're not too tired," he added quietly.

It was equal parts insult, warning, and come-on, and it exhausted you as much as it panicked you. You weren't ready to tell him just yet. You'd figured you still had a few hours, but ... well, if you pissed him off now, all this nice set-dressing had been for nothing. Then you'd either have to tell him while he was in a bad mood or spend another night as someone you weren't.

Biting back a sigh, you stood, too. He was waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, and let you go up first.

"Nice view from back here," he said smoothly. "Almost wanna tell you to start runnin'."

Shit. You needed an excuse to buy yourself a little time. "Can you shower first?"

You knew the question ticked him off because he didn't answer it. He followed you to your shared room, grabbed a towel, and left for the bathroom in heated silence.

The shower would make him feel better. It always did. He'd scald himself like he liked, then come out much calmer. Hopefully. You changed and took your place in bed, sitting under the blankets with your pillow propping you up. Waiting.

You were wrong about the calm. When he came back into the bedroom—red-skinned and completely naked, towel occupied in his hair—he was scowling at the floor. You waited for him to yell. It was inevitable.

When he did finally say something, his tone was quieter than you imagined, though simmering. "Why are you doin' this to me?"

You didn't respond, mostly because you had no idea which this he was talking about.

"Hurts my pride, y'know." He began toweling his body. Rather roughly, you noticed. "My girl don't wanna fuck me. You know how that feels as a man? You think I wanna have to— hurt you?"

A pause. "Bo..."

"Am I gonna have to get it somewhere else? Fuck, Deadname."

You shrank in bed. That name made you feel rotten to the core. It was like poison slowly choking your veins. You had to do this ... but you couldn't. But you had to.

Bo was unaware of the war going on inside of you as he turned, leaning against the dresser, arms back to clutch the edge. "Is it someone else?" You could tell he was murderous just thinking about that possibility, gaze aflame, jaw clenched so hard you thought he might break teeth. "Is it Vincent?"

"What? No!" Why he'd think that when you'd only ever expressed mild concern for Vincent's well-being, you had no idea. "There's no one else, Bo, I just—"

"Then what's a matter with you, huh?" He raised his voice. "Am I too rough, am I too— Jesus Christ, you gotta at least tell me what the damage is!"

Your conflicting emotions threatened to overwhelm you. You yelled back, "It's not you!"

"Then what the hell is it?!"

"It's me!"

He opened his mouth to shout back, but only managed, "What in the f—" before he lost steam, searching your face helplessly. Something about the way you looked must have given him pause. You meant what you said. Desperately, desperately. It was you. You were the problem.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low, glare pointed. "You been off all night. Hell"—one of those incredulous laughs that betrayed his genuine anger—"you been off for a while. Least you can do is tell me what the fuck is goin' on."

He was right. No turning back now. You took a deep, grounding breath. "Okay."

A moment of hesitation. Did you want him close or across the room like that, just in case? Eventually, you decided you needed him close. You patted the bed beside you.

Bo grabbed a pair of boxer-briefs, stepping into them on his way over. His expression was still twisted sourly, but you could sense him relax as he sat in bed next to you. He didn't meet your eye, simply looking down at the sheets. Beneath the anger, a begrudging expectation simmered. Did he think you were going to break things off?

That thought spurred you into taking his hand, squeezing lightly. "I love you so fucking much."

He glanced to the side. At length, he mumbled, "You, too."

You took another deep breath, trying to keep your voice from shaking. "There's something I haven't told you about me. And it's really been stressing me out lately. That's why I've been acting so weird." When he didn't reply, you continued, "It's been making it ... hard to be close to you. I don't like the way lying to you makes me feel, and I've been ... scared, so fucking scared, Bo."

He glanced at you again, brows drawn, this time with confusion rather than anger. "So what is it? What the hell can be so big an' important that you can't stand bein' around me?" A pause. "I mean shit, Deadname, you know I kill people for a livin'. My fucked up twin turns 'em into wax. You know about the fuckin' dungeon—what could be bigger'n that?"

That fucking name. You couldn't take it anymore. Your voice cracked as you whispered, "You need to stop calling me Deadname."

"What? Why?" He frowned deeply. "That's your name, ain't it?"

"It's not the name I want to be called."

You could almost hear the gears in his head turning as he tried to figure out what was going on. "Okay ... so it ain't your real name. Why you goin' around using a fake name?" His gaze turned flinty and cold. "You're a cop."

"No!" You held up your hands. "No, I didn't lie about who I was, not ... not in the way you're thinking. I was born with that name; everything I've told you about my life and where I came from, all those things were true. I never lied about any of that."

"Then what is it?" He was getting angry again. "Spit it out!"

Well, since he asked... "I don't want to use that name because ... it's a woman's name. And I'm not a woman. I'm a man."

Bo stared for a few seconds, then scanned you up and down once. His shoulders slumped, just slightly. "You were ... born a man? Then how come your name—"

"No, no." You pursed your lips, taking his hand hesitantly again. "I was ... I guess for simplicity's sake you could say I was born a girl. I was born with a vagina, I developed breasts and started my period naturally. But I'm not a girl. Like, in my head. In my brain, I'm actually a man."

He didn't believe you. You could see it in his face. But you weren't planning on giving up that easily. You knew what he'd be thinking; you'd planned this whole thing out so carefully, chosen your words so precisely.

"It's not ... a delusion or anything. It's actually more common than people think. It's called being transgender. When you're born one gender but you want to be another."

He frowned, obviously completely lost. He wasn't getting it. He just didn't fucking understand. And you were growing desperate.

"Bo." Your throat was raw, tears threatening your eyes. "Every time you call me your girl, or you refer to me as a woman, or you use that name ... I fucking hate it. It hurts. It hurts so goddamn bad to know you're not seeing the real me. It makes me not see the real me. I look in the mirror and I just want to ... tear my skin off. Sometimes I just wanna take a knife and— and fix me. Cut out whatever part of me makes it hurt so bad. I just want to be seen as who I am so bad."

"Okay." You didn't like the way he was looking at you, but the anguish in your voice had at least moved him to speak. You could see in his eyes that he was working overtime to puzzle this out. "So, what? What're you gonna do? What's it mean for us?"

"Well..." You had to break eye contact, staring down at his hand. "What I'd like to do is start living as a man. You know, dressing like a man—which I already pretty much do—going by a different name, maybe cutting my hair. You could call me 'he' ... I might even get medicine later on down the line, like hormones, to make me look squarer. Maybe even surgery."

"You gonna get a dick?" The almost mocking tone of his voice made you want to shrivel up and die. He seemed to pick up on the change in your body immediately and shifted his tone. "I'm askin'."

"No, that's not a thing. But I'm gonna be a man regardless." Finally, you released his hand, though you still couldn't look at him. "What that means for us is ... up to you, I guess. It'd mean you were dating a guy. I mean, you have been this whole time—"

"I didn't fucking know," he cut in firmly.

A jolt of fear lanced your heart. "I know. That's my fault; I didn't tell you. I was ... scared."

"Scared of what?" he pressed, tone growing aggressive.

"I don't know. Of you being mad. Or not loving me anymore." You glanced up. "I love you. Seriously, I do. More than anything. I still want to be with you, just ... as a man."

There was silence. A horrible, stretching, heavy silence that made you want to hang your head and cry. After a while, Bo rose from bed, going to the dresser and pulling on jeans and a T-shirt, all in that silence.

Was he ... leaving you? No, he wouldn't leave his own house, he'd make you leave. Or kill you. But he certainly wasn't opening his arms to you. Waves of sadness crashed over your chest, so intense you thought you'd throw up.

He seemed to contemplate the dresser for an extended period. Then, he glanced over his shoulder, just barely. "I need ta' think."

And with that, he was out the door. He didn't come back to bed that night. The next morning, you found his pillow on the couch.

***

Vincent was next on your list of people to tell. It turned out he was a big help, bigger than you could have ever realized he would be. You had to explain yourself, but he took it in stride, calling you by your new chosen name and even helping you come up with a sign for it.

« Did you tell Bo? » he eventually asked you.

"I told him last night." Your eyes were still puffy and red from your night alone, and the morning following it. You still hadn't seen him, but you could hear music blaring from the garage, so you at least knew where he was.

« How did he take it? »

"He isn't speaking to me."

Vincent paused. His wax face was blank as always, but you could tell he was considering something. « Did he yell? »

"No ... he just said he would think about it."

A low grunt, and Vincent nodded. « Then let him think. »

And he did think. He thought about it every night from then on. You could see him thinking during meal times, when you brought him lunch down at the shop, when he was watching TV. You noticed him zoning out in the middle of reading sometimes: paperback crunched and folded in one hand, other hand pressed to his grim mouth, those blue eyes glassy and staring at nothing. Thinking.

He hardly ever spoke to you outside of necessary communication. Before bed, he told you goodnight, but it was ... heavy. He didn't roll over to touch you or hold you anymore. The distance was yawning and heartbreaking, especially when you were alone. The silence was so pregnant with unsaid words and all his damn thoughts.

You wanted to ask if he was mad, but you didn't dare. He didn't seem mad, and you knew a thing or two about his moods. This seemed ... different. So you simply didn't say anything.

And then, one day...

"Hey, handsome."

His voice practically made you jump out of your skin. You, Vincent, and Bo—and sometimes Lester—divided who would have to go into the houses in Ambrose to dust and clean, and today was your day. He'd snuck up on you in the middle of oiling some of the rigs like he'd taught you.

"Uh. Hey." You managed a hasty smile, uncertain you'd actually heard him call you what you thought he had. "What're you doing here?" After a week of him barely speaking to you, it seemed odd that he'd start now.

Bo took a few steps in, looking away and reaching to fiddle with a knick-knack on a nearby side table. "Just thought I'd come check up on you. You are my, uh ... boyfriend, after all."

You stopped dead in the middle of spraying WD-40, staring over your shoulder. What?

When he felt you staring, he lifted his gaze. There was an uncertainty there, discomfort, along with a challenge. "What?"

"Nothing." You turned back to your work. After a few seconds, you added, "Thank you."

He didn't respond, but he eventually sidled up to you, surveying your work. "Not half bad. Yeah, you're doin' real good." He reached up to adjust his hat, and you could feel his gaze on you. "We'll make a man outta you yet."

You couldn't help it—your face burned. "Girls can maintain machinery, too, Bo."

"Yeah, I know that, but you—" An edge of irritation entered his voice. "Now you're just confusin' me."

You set down the WD-40 and turned, searching his face. By god, he really was trying, wasn't he? It was almost cute how bad he was at it, but he was trying. Vincent had been right.

"You never asked my name," you eventually muttered.

"Vincent told me it. Y/N." He said it again, rolling it around on his tongue. "Y/N ... in'erestin' choice. I guess it suits ya." A pause, and he lowered his voice. "Gonna take me some gettin' used to."

"That's okay," you said quickly. "As long as you're trying."

"Yeah, well..." Bo paused before reaching out, brushing his fingers through your hair. "Gonna miss all this."

You leaned into his hand. "I might not cut it. I haven't decided yet."

He grunted, continuing to brush his fingers through your hair. You could see his expression drift back to that thoughtfulness you'd gotten used to seeing. Eventually, he said, "Guess this makes me gay."

He sounded so begrudging and yet so decisive that you almost laughed in his face. Thankfully, you were able to bite back your reaction. "You don't have to be. You can be whatever you want. But ... if you stayed with me, it would mean you were attracted to at least one man, yeah."

"Fine." He pursed his lips, huffing through his nose. "Bi-sexual or whatever."

"You don't have to put a label on it right now. You've got time." You hesitated before taking his large hands in yours, bringing them to cup your jaw. "This ... you know ... it isn't something that has to happen overnight. I'm not asking that. It's a process for both of us ... a lot to get used to for both of us."

"Sure the hell is." He scoffed and shoved his hat up his forehead, scratching his hairline. "Now I want you to tell me somethin'. Why were you so damn scared of tellin' me?"

You took a breath. "I mean ... Bo."

"What?"

"I'm in the south ... alone, no family ... in a town where you could kill me if I pissed you off and no one would ever know." He made a face, but you pressed: "You know where I come from. Things are dangerous there, and things around here are even—"

"You think just 'cause you're in the country folks are gonna treat you different?" He sounded offended.

"Bo," you said again. "Let's not kid ourselves. How many guys do you know who would beat my ass if they found out? If they found out I liked other men, even."

"Couple assholes. But they ain't gonna bother you with me around. B'sides, plenty a' gays around here, like any other place ... they're just drillin' and weldin' and workin' the factories." He fixed you with a look. "Country don't mean stupid."

"Did you just quote The Stand?"

"No," he said hastily, taking his hat off and shoving it in the back pocket of his Dickies. "All I'm sayin' is ... I'm not some dumb animal."

Your shoulders sank, heart softening. "I know you're not, baby. But you have been known to, y'know, murder people. You can understand why I was scared, can't you?"

His mouth twitched, but reluctantly, he mumbled, "Yeah, I guess." A pause. "I can't promise I won't never hurt you, Deadn— Y/N. I know I can be real careless with my words on occasion. But I won't kill ya. Don' know if I could reconcile that shame. And, uh ... I love you."

Your heart swelled, and you leaned forward, hugging him tightly around the middle. It wasn't long until you felt his strong, warm arms enfold you in return, one hand tangling in your hair. His heartbeat was steady and comforting beneath your head, and the heat radiating from him relaxed every muscle in your body.

The two of you stayed that way for a while, hugging tightly while the TV droned in the background. Eventually, he shifted and spoke, his voice rumbling deliciously against you.

"Now if you don't mind," Bo started casually before dropping into a purr, "I'd like a kiss from my handsome lover."

You couldn't help but grin up at him. "You sure?"

"Lay it on me, big boy."

Maybe you were evil for loving him despite it all. Maybe you were complicit. Those weren't your judgments to make. But as you craned your neck to kiss him and euphoria exploded through your chest, you knew one thing for certain:

You were you.

***

Part Two

Masterlist

Tip Jar

#bo sinclair imagine #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x y/n #house of wax 2005 #slasher fic #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher imagine #written #vincent sinclair

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thedreammweaver · 4 years

Text

You really thought I’d leave? (Burton-Schumacherverse riddlebird , trans!Oswald)

Warnings: Dysphoria, misunderstandings, accidental misgendering, Clueless Ed is clueless, brief mention of suicidal thoughts of no physical consequence, medium to mild amount of blood, forced to come out by stupid dumb uterus, so. many. penguin. tears., A N G S T, pain, suffering, the lads talk about their trauma, 🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃 (it turns out okay though)

Ed was still feeling his post heist high when he threw himself onto Oswald’s bed while Oswald was hanging up his coat, hat, and umbrella. Ed looked over when he heard Oswald sigh, he was rubbing at his back like it hurt. “I’m sorry..” Ed blurted out.

“It’s not your fault.” Oswald said flatly as he went behind an ornate screen in the corner of his bedroom to change into pajamas. Ed had wondered a few times why Oswald didn’t change in front of him but after all they’d only been in a relationship for a few weeks, it felt like longer to Ed, but maybe the other man just needed more time. Ed rested his head in his hands, feeling guilty

“I was being theatrical and I took too long...if I had hurried up like you said batman wouldn’t have gotten there in time to hurt you..”

Oswald scoffed “It’s OK, Eddie! I needed to let off some steam anyways.”

“If getting thrown into a cement wall where you could’ve been seriously hurt and I would’ve spent forever wishing it had been me instead because..” ‘Because I love you. C’mon, Ed, just say it!’ Ed screamed at himself in his mind “well... because it just wouldn’t be right..I mean if that’s you’re idea of letting off steam then sure.” Ed pouted, kicking himself mentally and burying his face in Oswald’s bed, the comforter smelled like him which lifted Ed’s spirits a bit. “I don’t wanna go home tonight.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud but didn’t regret it either. “Then stay,” Oswald said, coming out from behind the screen now dressed in black and purple satin pjs “I mean...if this- or- we work out you’ll probably be staying here half the time anyhow, right?” “Yeah, I guess so.” Ed said absently getting off the bed to peel himself out of the green glittery spandex suit he was in, he only had his briefs and a plain tank top underneath, he’d learned to wear some sort of undershirt with the spandex if he was going to Oswald’s after unless he wanted his core to feel an ice box. “Look! The bat got you too, we’re even.” Oswald chuckled pointing out bruises on Ed’s arm and shoulder as he got under the covers. Ed rolled his eyes and crawled into bed next to Oswald he had been afraid this would be awkward but the idea of falling asleep next to Oswald came naturally and he was soon asleep.

Ed was stirred awake just as easily as he’d drifted off by Oswald quicky getting out of bed and muttering curses “Shit, shit, shit...goddamnit..” Ed sat up a bit “Wha...Ozzie, what is it??” He asked groggily. “Uh- it’s- just- nothing, nothing just uh-uh stay there or you maybe better sleep on the couch instead uh...just- go back to sleep. Don’t turn the lights on.” After that panicked deluge of unclear instruction Oswald ran off to the bathroom down the hallway. Ed still drowsy, now worried and curious he turned on the lamp by the bed and looked over to Oswald’s side of the bed, all he could make out was a blurry red blob. He huffed and clumsily reached for his glasses, he’d left them on the nightstand before he and Oswald had gone on the heist as he’d gotten changed at Oswald’s too. His eyes were slowly adjusting and the red blob revealed itself to be a sizeable bloodstain, Ed’s heart dropped. He got up and ran down the hall to the bathroom as well. When Ed went to open the door there was a shrill “DON’T COME IN!!” which made him jump and step back. “But Oswald you’re bleeding!”

“I know, Ed, it’s normal...” Ed could hear that Oswald’s teeth were gritted. “That was a lot of blood Oswald! You could have internal damage from “letting off steam” with the bat earlier. I have to take you to the hospital, I know you hate doctors but-“

“It is normal, Edward! Now leave me be!!”

Ed was taken aback, Oswald had never yelled at him like this before. He put his ear to the door, he could hear plastic ripping and crinkling, was Oswald trying to tend to the damage himself? “Oswald, please please let me help. I know you have a lot of weird..stuff going on but bleeding like that isn’t normal.”

“Yes, it is. This has nothing to do with that son of a bitch Batman, this happens every month..”

“EVERY MONTH?! Since when??”

“...since I was about twelve or thirteen..I don’t remember.”

Ed was bewildered “Since you were- you mean as in years old right??? Oswald! That could be indicative of SERIOUS health problems!!”

“Ed just leave me alone please...stop worrying, it’s fine.”Oswald’s gruff voice was beginning sound shaky. Ed was wracking his brain trying to figure out what was going on. “Oswald please talk to me, if this is “normal” I want to understand why..I-I mean is it like the stuff that comes out of your mouth or-“ “No! It’s not like that...”

“Then what??-“

“Gimme a minute! I’ve never really had to..vocalize it..before..”

Ed leaned his head on the door, now he felt confused and impatient. Oswald cleared just throat nervously “So...I’m a man right except I- Except I got born with the wrong sort of...equipment for that..”

“What??” Ed asked, more a noise of exasperation than a question. “Jesus, Ed- I...got born with a chick’s body but later I figured out I’m not a chick alright, not really..not on the inside-We’re both guys but if you wanted to narrow things down to a strictly physical matter I have more in common with the catbitch than with you..”

Ed’s brow furrowed “So you’re a woman?”

“NO!! GOD NO, ED!! DID YOU EVEN HEAR A WORD I JUST FUCKING SAID?!”

“Okay! Okay! I-I-just-“

“DON’T EVER SAY THAT SHIT TO ME AGAIN!!”

“OKAY!!” There was an uncomfortable beat of silence before Ed spoke again “So.....what are are you?” Oswald scoffed, a pitiful tone to the noise “You’re just trying your damndest to make me feel like shit aren’t you?” Ed’s heart broke when he heard Oswald’s voice break. “No! No! I- Oswald, I swear I’m just trying to understand. S-So you’re a guy? Right? On the inside..that’s what you said? But you have...girl..parts? Then-so the blood.......oh......you-...you’re just..menstruating?” Oswald didn’t answer him. “Oswald??” Ed gently pushed the door open. Oswald was on the floor leaning against the bathtub, he was just in his underpants and pajama top now, the blood stained bottoms tossed aside. Parts of his thighs were also bloodstained, he was sobbing into his flippers, a pathetic gasping hitching noise. Ed got on his knees beside Oswald, he’d never seen the man cry before and it was making him panic “Oswald, please...I didn’t mean to- did-did...I get it right the last time at least..?” Oswald whined “Yes!...yes...but it doesn’t matter...you don’t like me anymore..” “What?? Of course I still lo- like you.” Ed grabbed the other man by the shoulders to make them face eachother. Oswald took his flippers down from his tear drenched face “Just wait, you say that now but in time..you’ll get frustrated and you’ll leave, your need for a “real man” will win out over any feelings you claim to have for me. Eddie, I’ve been through this before..I know how this works..” Oswald broke down into sobs again “Except it’s worse this time..because you actually fucking matter to me, you’re not someone I paid to tell me they love me just because I needed to to hear it on a shitty night.” He was beginning to hyperventilate now “I-I never needed anyone before like I need you and I-I didn’t mean to keep this from you but I got so scared! I was so SCARED!! Scared because I think if you left me especially because of this I’d-I’d just have to go and find the tallest building in Gotham and throw myself off...see if maybe one penguin an fly after all...this poor old bird couldn’t take that, not after everything....not after all this. I thought about it so much and I’d really rather die than have you leave me, Eddie, leave me like every other little sparkling thing that cuddled up to me as if I meant something to them! Like my parents the night I was born!! They doomed me to a life of being thrown away. Th-They cursed me that night do you understand?! An-and I so need you to be the one that breaks that curse cause I. AM. telling. you! I can’t stand that happening again..not one time more...please...not once more..please.....pleease...” Oswald begged as he collapsed into Ed’s arms, sobbing, burying his face in the other man’s chest. “Oh...Oswald I- please don’t talk like that...like you’re nothing..” Ed felt tears flowing down his own face as he cradled his bird. “I..love you. God, Oswald, I love you..you really thought I’d leave?” Oswald raised his head a bit “...Eddie, people get killed for being like me...you can never tell how people will react to what they don’t understand..” Ed absently rocked himself and Oswald softly “...I love you...I wanted to say it for so long but I was scared too, I thought you were gonna be like these type of guys I messed around with in school, they’d call you baby when you’re alone and act like they really care but then you see them with their girlfriends the next day, acting like they don’t know you...and you just feel like a fucking idiot all because they don’t like who they are... I never thought I could mean as much to you as...how you said.” Oswald wrapped his arms around Ed’s waist. “You love me? Why?” There was a pitiful wistfulness in his voice. Ed didn’t have to think for long “You’re warm. You’re the only thing that makes me feel held, only thing that makes me feel safe, wanted. It’s like I wasn’t even real before I met you...I was just here..barely. I carry your warmth with me everywhere now, so I can feel real all the time..instead of like I’m floating away. You...obviously love me too, why?”

“You make me feel human. I got too used to being an animal after being treated like one...manipulated like one. You talk to me like- I don’t know...like you care..” They sat there holding eachother for a few minutes more until Oswald’s crying resumed “It wasn’t enough that I had to get born like this..” he sobbed gesturing to his flippers and nose “I had to get born with the wrong insides too...as if I wasn’t a complete freak already..” Ed held the shorter man tighter “No, no, no, no, no, don’t say that, Oswald, don’t say that,” Ed cooed, stroking Oswald’s hair “I promise I’m going to learn how to treat you right, after all this time you deserve it..I promise I’m gonna learn, okay? And I’m not leaving, you don’t have to be scared anymore..” Oswald was still crying, Ed scooted back a bit so he could see Oswald’s face. “Look, look, I-I can run you a bath so you can get cleaned up and I’ll take care of the bed, then you don’t have to think about it anymore tonight. Would that be good...if I did that?” Ed offered earnestly. Oswald sighed and nodded, Ed smiled weakly and cupped the other man’s cheek “Good-..good, so I’ll- I’m gonna do that and you can stay here and just relax, please.” Ed kissed Oswald’s cheek before getting up and turning on the bath to let it fill while he stripped the bed. Before leaving the bathroom he just had to say it once more “I love you, Oswald.” “I love you too, asshole..” Oswald grumbled, while wiping the dried, drying, and still wet tears from his face. Ed sighed happily knowing that his bird was starting to calm down already, and basking in the knowledge that he was loved back.

#oswald cobblepot #edward nygma #the riddler #the penguin #riddlebird angst

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nbenrey-real · 4 years

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various hlvrai headcanons

everyone on the science team (+gman & forzen) are autistic. whos gonna stop me, god?

john freeman is canon. hes the one babysitting joshua during all this wondering what the fuck is going on

gordon is trans & bi

benrey is something between nb and agender. they/themry rights

genderfluid tommy & coomer

bubby does not vibe with gender. agender it is fellas

darnold is probably nb but hes just vibing

gregory ‘gman’ goodman is tommys bioparent. he wasnt sure how to raise a half human child without fucking them up, and time passes weird for him so he didnt realize how long it really had been. tommy is understanding given his experiences with time fastness on soda, but gman owes him so many birthday bayblades and he WILL use that power for guilt-tripping

joshua is in and will never outgrow his mlp phase because i love those funky ass plastic horses

Gordons first language is actually ASL! both his parents were deaf and he’s partially deaf in his left ear. he switched to the black mesa hearing aids because they worked better and kinda slap with the orange, though.

he spent most of his childhood not talking and then most of teenhood dealing with being selectively mute. still prefers sign tbh but cant have shit in black mesa

since he really hates being left out of communication- this also makes things like inside jokes or references irk him, so hes just. very annoyed, most of the time. this really only made the hand thing even more distressing, tbh

speaking of the hand, his new one is a really sick ass high-tech prosthetic courtesy of gman. it has texture and heat sensing and everything, but he still gets phantom pains like hell and sometimes needs to shake it a few times to get it to re-calibrate to his nerves

gordons always been neurotic as shit and had high anxiety, but dealing with a shitty ex and raising joshua by himself really kicked it into high gear right before the whole. resonance cascade thing.

knows he tends to get aggressive when he’s afraid or panicked but has just gone absolutely off the rails after black mesa because hes sick of the varying bullshit thats been going on just. in general. he can have a little ultraviolent crime. as a treat.

ended up becoming friends with chell as a kid, since they were both in the deaf community, lived in the same area, and had a huge interest in science.

black mesa actually has really good work culture when it comes to lgbtq+ folk and suspiciously good benefits, and aperture science is just happy to have more warm bodies to throw at portals- gordon heard some of the rumors about cave johnsons weird ass tests though, so he elected to go with black mesa. now hes starting to wonder if cave johnson just ran both, because what the fuck

somehow he keeps ending up with more and more of the science team living with him whereever hes staying, even after he moves to a bigger place for joshua. eventually they just. buy a house specifically to live together. theres an entire seperate house connected by a path thats just for joshua because gordon is paranoid someone will leave out something dangerous

can and WILL have a panic attack at the drop of a hat, this is a THREAT. also please install more battery-powered night lights, the power went out and it scared the shit out of him guys hes serious please pick up more from lowes-

craving ice cream 24/7 because GOD do i want to eat that entire container of cherry vanilla hagen daz right now SDFBGN

benrey is dissociating or spacing out 98% of the time and really has no idea whats going on dude. they just follow the script. or sometimes the skeleton does for them. the audio processing bs really doesnt help with any of this.

will i project my shit memory, audio processing issues, general-spaciness, and inability to tell when ive veered from ‘playful joking’ to ‘oh wait im actually being annoying and making them mad’ on to benrey?? yes. yes i will.

legitimately has only ever been in black mesa. why hasnt everything reset yet. do they just have to live here until it does so they can go back. he just kind of sits in the bus-stops for the lines that used to go there after he reincorporates, occasionally joining in on heists or hanging with tommy, and just. waits.

after the like 5th night in a row, of the second week of gordon having to drive tommy to pick them up from a soaking busstop at 3 am in the morning, because ‘its storming really bad and they dont have anywhere else to sleep mr freeman and he gets so worried its so cold’- he just says fuck it and makes them join the rest of the household

gordon promptly ends up actually being concerned about this dumb asshole because jesus christ, they dont even know how to microwave things. did they just live in the breakroom at black mesa all this time??

benrey: yeah gordon: gordon: what the fuck is wrong with black mesa they haVE DORMS. WHY DID THEY-

between benrey and whatever the fuck is up with doctor coomer hes starting to think black mesa might have been causing some serious memory issues in their workers. he makes everyone do tangrams just to check, encourage neuroplasticity

benrey spaces out halfway through one and starts playing terraria on their phone instead. gordon gives them a b- for effort

benrey and bubby are single highhandedly the reasons behind the banning of both tnt and all firespread from the house minecraft server

#hlvrai #hlvraiposting #hlvraitagging #hlvrai au #watsonian au #it doesn't have to be but this is the earliest hcs that influenced it #YES i am autistic YES i will project onto characters from my newest special interest NO you cannot stop me

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curtashiism · 4 years

Text

Long rant/vent ahead

It’s hard, because I know I genuinely love biology. I love learning about anatomy and physiology, and I have an affinity for bio as a whole. But I don’t know that it’s really what I want to do, and I feel like I was never given the chance to fully explore what I actually wanted to do because of my mom’s manipulative behavior to me growing up.

When I was younger I wanted to do something with music, but my mom told me I wouldn’t be good enough. I didn’t have the talent my sister did at the cello, which was why they sunk so much money into her cello rental and lessons but wouldn’t get me any lessons.

My mom told me future was in academics and I never really questioned it. Her grandma had a premonition (my mom’s words, not mine) that I would go into the sciences. So my mom never let me consider anything else. She tried her best to shut any other ideas I had down. She never came to a single one of my track meets when I ran in 8th grade. I mean, I finished dead last in every race except the one time I finished second to last, but that’s not the point. I shouldn’t have had to be good to earn her involvement. But that’s how it was with her. She only cared when it was something I was good at- academics. She’d come to the awards ceremonies when I made honor roll, but never cared about my other interests.

So I settled on the medical field at some point- I thought a doctor or vet for a while but I’m not good enough at math, physics, or chem, so now I’m thinking public health.

Before I started college, I wanted to take a break from school, get a job, and figure things out. But my mom didn’t want that. She thought if I did that, I’d never go back to school, and we couldn’t have that now could we? So she did what she does- she manipulated the situation to get what she wanted to my detriment. It didn’t matter that I didn’t want loans. She said “we all go into debt, suck it up” and told me if I didn’t start the next term she would kick me out.

So I did. Then once I had the loans finalized, she told me she was never going to kick me out, she just wanted me to “get my life together.” Because clearly it’s not my right to make those decisions, it’s hers, and if I wasn’t ready to start college at 19 my life must have been falling apart.

So now here I am, entering my senior year of college at 26 years old, panicking because I need to start preparing for a Master’s program but I don’t FEEL ready at all and I’m not sure this is actually what I want to do. I like the arts. I want to learn more about them. I want to learn to play the violin, I want to see if I can act (I’m practicing voice acting and am loving it and my friends say I actually am not bad at it and I have a cute voice perfect for child characters), or maybe even try to write a play (I love theater and I love writing.) Hell, I think I’d be happier joining the Peace Corps or going to the Kalahari Desert to volunteer with the meerkat study project for a year. I’m not ready for grad school- but I feel like I HAVE TO do it.

But that’s the thing. I try so hard to get my mom to approve of my decisions for just ONCE in her life. But even when I do exactly what she wants it doesn’t happen. She wanted me to do the science stuff to begin with- but when I tell her there’s a couple of MPH programs down in NYC, I would just need to finally get my driver’s license and a car, she starts making me defend my decision. She asks all these questions that make it sound like I’m some kind of idiot for wanting to get a Master’s degree. And maybe I fucking am, but not for the reason she thinks.

I told her I was going to learn the violin and her reaction was to get mad that I asked if I could practice it in the apartment during my visit home. When it looked like I was going to get to study abroad in London, before COVID, she made it all about her and her letting go issues.

When I graduated with my Associate’s degree- I’m the only one in the immediate family to do so, by the way- my mom cried before my graduation. Because she was devastated it wasn’t my sister.

And I honestly don’t know why I still even try. I know she has four kids but only cares about one. She will NEVER care about me or actually be proud of me. Not if I get a Master’s degree, not if I become a doctor, not if I became a tapdancing polyglot brain surgeon who cures cancer on the moon. She isn’t capable of it. On top of that, she has no grasp on who I actually am as a person.

She has a twisted and distorted view of me where I am a manifestation of all the things she fears are true of herself. All the things she doesn’t want to be, she projects onto me. She calls me hateful and judgmental and mean because I tell her not to call me when she’s been drinking. One single, solitary boundary I request and that’s too much for her. She was jealous of me as an INFANT because my dad doted on me. You have no idea how many times she’s been in the middle of a bender and accused me and my dad of literal incest because we’re close. “You’re his second wife” “there’s some Mormon shit going on between you two!” She doesn’t know the first thing about me. She told all my relatives that I only was in the orchestra as a teen because I wanted to be like my sister, not because I actually liked to play.

I do not admire a single thing about my fucking sister. This is the same sister who conspired with my first boyfriend and got him to sexually abuse me. The same sister who got high on meth and fucking raped our little brother. The same sister who told me about this while she was blackout drunk, then licked my neck. The same sister whose behavior I told to my mom and got a response of “well to be fair I’ve fantasized about your neck too!” Oh but see, if my mom was to be believed, my fucking sister never did anything to hurt my little brother, no sir. He made it up for attention, and I “planted lies in his head because I wanted to prove an agenda about men being able to be raped by women.” Because she thinks I’m so evil I would use my little brother as a pawn for a social experiment just to hurt my sister.

I don’t admire anything about my sister. I barely even fucking feel sorry that she fell into sex trafficking and had the same thing done to her that she did to my little brother. I should be upset about it, but I just feel apathetic, especially since she got to see her abuser put behind bars while my little brother is still dragged out to visit her every time my folks (who he still lives with as an adult) decide to see her. She’s a shitty person. The world will be a better place when she fucking dies. She convinces everyone she meets that she’s a wonderful person because she tells them what a long journey she’s been on and how she’s working so hard to heal through her faith (conveniently leaving out the part where she victimized others as much as she was a victim herself). Bitch, you don’t get a cookie because you fucking went five years without sexually abusing your younger siblings. Jesus isn’t fucking proud of you. I’m certainly not.

But of course, since she’s the one my mom favors, she can do no wrong. My mom is no better than her in my eyes.

So that brings it back to, why the FUCK do I want her approval?

Why the fuck do I care?

She certainly doesn’t care about me. If all the above shit isn’t proof, the fact that she got drunk when I was 15 and said she wished she could kill me is. The fact that she gave me PTSD from all the shit she put me through is proof. The fact that she made me coming out as a lesbian all about her is proof. The fact that she would go on a hateful rant about trans people- even though she doesn’t know I am, she knows I care deeply about the issues which should be enough but some isn’t- is proof. The fact that she honestly can NOT remember what my birthday is and has to be reminded by my dad is proof. The fact that she once called me a bitch on my birthday, which she forgot was my birthday until my little brother reminded her, is proof. The fact that she tried to tear my dad and I apart because she was too insecure to handle my dad “choosing his kids over her” is proof. The fact that she put me in the position of having to let her scream and throw things at me to protect my younger brother, because the alternative was letting her hurt him instead, is proof. The fact that I self-harmed for nearly a decade because of her and only got clean when I moved 3,000 miles away (what a coincidence!) is proof.

She’s fucking sick and is never going to be anything approaching a good mother to me because she doesn’t see me as me, she just makes me the lightning rod for her anger whenever she gets pissed off. When she’s pissed off, I’m an emotional punching bag, and when she’s hurting I’m a substitute therapist who will do all the emotional heavy lifting for her because she fucking knows how to use my compassion and guilt complex against me.

She has reasons, in her head, for why I’m so awful and deserving of her anger, which it took me years to learn weren’t actually excuses because I was a CHILD and she had no right to hold shit against me. And I know the truth is that she’s never proud of me because she doesn’t actually want my success- especially not when my sister doesn’t have it. She treats me the best, the nicest, when I fail, because that’s what she wants for me, even if she pretends otherwise. She’s sick and she’s so determined to play victim for her whole fucking life that she will never NOT be sick this way.

And I’m even sicker than she is because I still try after all these years. The real definition of insanity is repeating the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. I just keep getting my hopes up that one day, I will say the magic words that will make her actually be supportive. Like if I get a magical piece of paper to show her she’ll think I’m actually worth something, but she never will and I’m an idiot for hoping. If she hasn’t got it by now, she never will. My dad loves me for me, my brothers loves me for me, my grandma loves me for me, my aunts and uncles and cousins love me for me, my friends love me for me- it’s just my mom who can’t figure out that I’m worth more than what I can do for her.

Fuck her. I’m either going to go to grad school or I’m not, but whatever I do will be awesome. I might act or play the violin or write plays or I might study ethnomusicology, or who knows, maybe I will go through with this public health stuff. Either way I’ll be surrounded with people who actually see me for me and are capable of feeling joy at my accomplishments. Maybe I’ll stupidly keep trying to include her, but I’ll have others around me when she inevitably disappoints me yet again. And she can’t say the same because she drives everyone who might care about her away.

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artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

Something New- Chapter 7 (Trixya) - Julie

AN: This is going to be the last chapter of Something New! Thank you so much for reading and thank you for all your lovely feedback! It really motivated me to keep going.

Chapter 7 includes: a hair crisis, Kim being a good friend and Brian’s parnets. Tw for some transphobic comments.

Thanks for reading! - Julie

Brian was woken up by a loud cough. He jerked up and blinked a few times. The room was well-lit and his curtains didn’t do much to keep the sun out.

“What the fuck?”, he asked confused when he spotted Kim standing next to his bed, hands on his hips. He raised an eyebrow at Brian.

“Good morning”, he said.

“What’s going on?”, Katya asked next to Brian and his head whipped around, having forgotten that she was there. Her hair was a mess and she had pulled up the blanket to cover her breasts. She still was the most beautiful woman Brian had ever seen. She blinked at him with tiered eyes.

“What time is it?”, Brian asked Kim and he let out a laugh.

“It’s 12.”

“Oh fuck”, Katya groaned. Brian glanced at his alarm clock to make sure Kim wasn’t lying. He groaned as well when he saw that he was in fact telling the truth.

“Where’s Keira?”, Brian asked, his voice slightly panicked. He didn’t want her to burst into the room, seeing Katya in his bed. He didn’t have the energy to explain that right now and so he was glad when Kim assured him that she was in her room.

“How did you even get in here?”, Brian demanded to know. He was more awake now, and able to think a bit more clearly.

“Your door was open”, he explained, “it seems you were too busy to close it last night”, Kim nodded at Katya and Brian put his face in his hands embarrassed. But Katya just giggled and the sound of her laugh made Brian feel oddly comfortable.

“Fuck off”, he said, the sound muffled by his hands but Kim understood him anyway.

“I’m going to make coffee”, he said and went over to the door. There he turned around and let his gaze wander between Brian and Katya.

“And put some goddamn clothes on!”, he said before leaving Brian’s room, letting the door fall shut behind him. Brian sank back into his pillows and groaned loudly. This was not how he had planned this. Granted, he hadn’t planned anything but if he had, Kim finding out about them like this would have not been involved his his plan. He groaned again, thinking of the merciless teasing that would probably await him the next few weeks at work.

Katya snuggled closer to him and pressed a light kiss to his shoulder.

“Good morning”, she said in a soft voice and then she giggled again.

“This is awkward”, Brian sighed and she laughed.

“I need a cigarette”, she said and Brian could feel her warm body next to his own move. She got out of the bed, naked, and went over to her purse. Brian had to hold back a moan when she bent over, presenting her ass. She grabbed her pack of cigarettes and a lighter and walked over to his window. She opened it and lit her cigarette.

There was a naked woman in his room, smoking.

Brian rubbed his temples and wondered if this might be a dream.

He got up with a sigh and went over to his wardrobe taking out two boxershorts and two shirts. He laid one pair on his bed for Katya and put on the other one.

“I’m going to look after Keira”, he said and Katya acknowledged it with a nod, while she was blowing smoke out of the window.

Brian closed the door behind him quietly, and rested against it for a moment. Then he walked over to Keira’s room. She wasn’t there but Kim had heard him opening the door.

“Kitchen”, he called out.

Keira was sitting on the kitchen counter, her legs dangling of it. Kim shoved a cup of coffee in Brian’s hands when he entered the room and he smiled at him gratefully.

“Hey honey”, he said and pressed a kiss to Keira’s forehead before leaning on the counter next to her, “how was sleeping at Kim’s?”

“I want to go again!”, Keira’s eyes lit up, “we watched two movies and I was allowed to eat a whole bowl of popcorn!”, she recounted excitedly.

“That sounds fun”, Brian said and took a sip of coffee. He almost choked on it when Katya entered the room. She had brushed her hair, so that it was falling down her shoulder now, slightly curled. She was wearing his shirt, that was a bit too big for him and it almost looked like a dress on her. It went down to her thighs and she hadn’t put on the boxers that he had laid out for her. She was barefoot and in his shirt she looked tiny.

She grabbed a cup of coffee and winked at Keira.

“Morning, sweetheart”, she said. If Keira was confused she didn’t let it show.

“Did you have a sleepover too?”, she asked and Kim let out a stiff laugh.

“You could say so”, Katya said, ignoring Kim. She took Keira’s hand and inspected her nails. The nail-polish was already chipped.

“Hey do you want to come up later to redo your nails?”, Katya asked, changing the topic cleverly.

Keira nodded excitedly.

Katya moved so she was now standing next to Brian, her side pressing into his.

“Keira”, Kim said, “why don’t you go to your room and set up something to play with?” Brian knew that this was a manoeuvre for Kim to get to speak with him and Katya alone and he couldn’t even be mad at his friend. Keira hopped off the counter and bounced to her room giddily.

When they heard her door shut, Kim turned around to look at them with raised eyebrows.

“Soo”, he said, “anything you want to tell me?”

“It’s none of your business”, Brian mumbled into his cup, before gulping down the last sip of coffee.

“It is, when I come to bring Keira over and your still asleep”, Kim sounded offended.

“Look, Kim”, Brian said pitting down his cup, “I’m sorry. I really am. But I don’t know what you want to hear from us.”

“I think it’s fairly obvious”, Katya chimed in, “why do you want details?”

“Ew no!”, Kim said and his face scrunched up.

“Just- don’t let me find you in bed together, I guess?”

“Noted”, Katya said and Brian was well too aware of the implication that this hadn’t been a one time thing. That Katya wanted to repeat their night together.

“I’m going to look after Keira”, Kim said, “don’t-” he threw his hands up and left without finishing the sentence.

Suddenly Katya was I front of Brian, pressing him against the counter. Her face was so close to his and he could smell her morning breath. He was surprised to find that he didn’t mint it at all. Katya stood on her toes to reach Brian’s lips with her own and pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth. Brian put his arm around her waist but before he could pull her in even closer he heard Kim’s voice.

“Jesus Christ it has been ten seconds”, he complained and Katya quickly twisted herself free from his embrace.

“Uh Brian you should probably come see this”, Kim said and he sounded unsure.

“What is it?”, Brian asked slightly nervous at Kim’s tone.

“Just…look”, Kim said and Brian followed him to what he thought would be Keira’s room but Kim passed it and motioned to the bathroom instead. Brian looked at him questioningly but Kim only pushed him forward.

“Oh God”, was the only thing he could say as he looked at Keira sitting on the closed toilet.

“What have you done?”

Keira was holding a scissor and the ground beneath her was covered in strands of hair. The hair still on her head only reached the tip of her ears instead of falling down her shoulders. It looked uneven and the left side was longer than the right. It looked a mess.

“What’s going on?”, he could hear Katya ask behind him and then an “Oh”, as she spotted Keira who had crossed her arms defiantly.

“I cut my hair”, she said.

“I see”, Katya said and her voice sounded a bit unsure.

“Keira”, Brian crouched down in front of her, “why did you do this?”

“Because I wanted to”, she said and Brian tried to control his breathing to not get mad.

“I think it looks fabulous”, Katya said behind him and his head whipped around to glare at her.

“You should have asked me”, he said to Keira, his voice decidedly calm.

“Why?”, she asked and Brian couldn’t help but to raise his voice slightly.

“Because you can’t just cut your own hair! Look how short it is now!”

“Jacob in my class has short hair too”, Keira complained and her bottom lip was trembling. Brian could see that she was on the verge of tears and he did not want her to throw a tantrum now.

“Yeah but Jacob is-”, he started and then he abruptly stopped when he realised what he was about to say. But he knew that everyone in the room already knew what he had wanted to say, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

But Jacob is a boy.

He slowly turned his head to look at Katya. She was standing there, in his too big t-shirt. Her mouth was open in disbelief and she shook her head slightly when his eyes met hers. She turned around, her hair flipping over her shoulder. She walked away without saying a word and Brian flinched when he heard the door snap shut.

“You fucked up royally”, Kim said, breaking the silence.

“Yes, thank you”, Brian snapped and then Keira started to cry. Brian wished he was four too, so he could just join her. He certainly felt like crying.

“Honey it’s okay”, he said while uncrossing her arms to take her hands.

“I’m not mad.”

“But Katya is”, Keira sobbed and Brian could feel his heart shatter.

“She’s not mad at you”, he promised while running his hand up and down her arm, “She’s mad at me. I said something mean.”

He took a piece of toilet paper to dry her tars and Keira sniffled.

“What did you say?”, she asked and Brian sighed. He leaned against the cold tiles of the bathroom. Kim was still standing in the door frame.

“Do you remember a few days ago when you asked what trans meant?”, Brian asked and Keira nodded.

“Well, sometimes boys or girls are born in the wrong body. Sometimes a girl is born as a boy.”

“Why?”, Keira asked and Brian shrugged.

“I’m not sure. You know, some people can’t pet dogs without sneezing? It’s just a genetic mistake.” Keira nodded.

“And Katya was born as a boy even though she is a girl. And that’s very hard. She felt like something was wrong with her, when she was growing up.”

“But there isn’t anything wrong with Katya!”, Keira interrupted him.

“No there isn’t. But when I said that you couldn’t have short hair because you are not a boy that really hurt her feelings. Because when she was growing up there were people who told her that he couldn’t do things because she wasn’t a girl.”

“But she is”, Keira said and Brian nodded.

“She is, yes. But not everyone could see that right away. And I want you to know that you can be whatever you want to be and that you can have any haircut in the world because I will love you regardless.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Keira’s now short hair.

“I want to be a girl”, she said and he smiled into her hair.

“And girls can have short hair”, he said, “I was being stupid.”

Keira giggled at that.

“You’re a stupid Daddy.”

Kim huffed behind them.

“Yes he is”, he said and took a step forward to put his hands on Brian’s shoulders in a comforting way, “and he’s going to have to apologise.”

“I will”, Brian said and stood up. Keira’s eyes were still red but she was smiling now.

Suddenly a shrill sound interrupted them and it took Brian a while to realise that his phone was ringing. Which was weird. Because no one ever called him. No one except for – Brian groaned when he saw the caller ID and realised he was right.

“Yes?”, he asked as he picked up and he really was doing his best to not sound annoyed but he couldn’t help it.

“Brian!”, his mother chirped, too loud. She still didn’t understand that she didn’t have to shout all the way from Milwaukee for him to hear her.

“Hi mum”, he said and Kim gave him a sympathetic look.

“Brian, we’re in LA, we’re going to be there in 2 hours”, his mother declared and Brian almost screamed.

“Why didn’t you say something? I could have plans for all you know!”, Brian said angrily and his mother made a disapproving sound on the other line.

“We wanted to surprise you. We haven’t seen Keira in a while”, his mother explained and Brian looked at his daughter with panic in his eyes. She looked horrible, her hair was cut unevenly and there was no way in hell that his mother would find the whole thing funny. She would somehow find a way to blame it on him and then she would make Brian feel guilty and accuse him of being a bad father. A girl needs a mother, she would say and sooner or later Brian would run out of arguments or simply out of energy to have a discussion with his mother. His dad would stand there and nod along, occasionally making affirmative grunts. Always, always siding with his wife, never with Brian.

“Listen, mum, this is really not a good time”, he tried to speak up but he was soon cut off by her.

“Oh, nonsense! We’ll be there soon! Love you”, and with these words she hung up, leaving Brian defenceless and without a choice.

“Are they coming?”, Kim asked. He could probably read Brian’s face.

“In two hours”, he said and looked around. He would have to clean the bathroom, there was hair lying everywhere. He should probably vacuum the kitchen as well and his parents would expect coffee and cake. Keira looked a mess but it was Sunday and there would be no hair salons opened today. He could cut it himself but he didn’t have the right equipment and he hadn’t cut hair in years. There was also no time and there was still Katya.

Katya who probably hated him by now.

He hadn’t realised that he was shaking until Kim took his trembling hands in his.

“We’ve got this”, he said, looking Brian in the eyes.

“I’ll clean and bake a cake or something, okay? You go talk to her.”

“She won’t talk to me”, Brian whispered.

“Then you will talk until she has no choice”, Kim said sternly and began to lead Brian to the front door.

“I can't”, Brian said and he wanted to turn around but Kim blocked the way.

“Fucking go”, he said and pushed him out of the door.

Brian stood in front of his door for at least ten minutes, contemplating what he was going to say. When he finally climbed up the stairs and knocked on Katya’s door he had forgotten every word he had so carefully put together. It didn’t matter, because Katya didn’t open the door. Brian knocked again and again but Katya ignored him.

“Katya?”, he finally called out and he was shocked at how broken down his own voice sounded, “Katya, please. I know you’re there, I-”, he exhaled, “I was a fucking idiot, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Katya”, he could feel tears well up in his eyes.

“I know that you probably don’t want to have anything to do with me ever again but I’m sorry. I am so so sorry.” He immediately shut up when he could hear shifting behind the door.

“Katya?”, he called out after a few seconds of silence. Nothing.

“Keira thought that it was her fault somehow”, he said and at the mention of Keira’s name the door was being opened slowly. Katya was still wearing his shirt. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying and Brian could feel a tug in his stomach.

“I hope you explained to her that you are the one who is a massive dickhead”, Katya said and he could hear that she was trying to sound confident but her voice broke at the last second.

“I did”, Brian reassured, “I did and I explained what trans means and I told her that it didn’t matter and-”

“God Brian, it’s a fucking haircut. It doesn’t mean that she’s fucking trans”, Katya interrupted.

“I know!” Brian said and he put his hands up just to let them fall to his side again, “what I’m trying to say is, that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter to me, Katya.”

“Well, it should”, Katya said crossing her arms.

“I mean it matters but I don’t like you any less or more because of it”, Brian said helplessly, “I like you for you and I don’t care that you’re a woman. Maybe I’m not that gay, I don’t know. But I don’t care. I like you. I really do. And so does Keira. And I know that I fucked up big time. And I’m sorry.” He looked at her, trying to read her face. She was biting the inside of her cheek and her arms were still crossed.

“You are such an idiot”, she finally said, but her face softened, “I forgive you.”

Brian could feel the knot in his stomach loosen and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Thank you”, he said and stood there unsure for a moment. Katya blinked at him and he took a step forward to wrap his arms around her. He was hugging her tight, but not too tight. He could feel her breath against his neck as he hugged him back.

“Thank you”, he whispered again against the top of her head.

They stood there in Katya’s hallway for a while, embracing each other. Eventually Brian pulled back to look her in the face. He gently kissed the corner of her mouth.

“I’m still mad”, she said and he quickly drew back but he could see that she was smiling.

“I need to go back downstairs”, he said after a while, “my parents just announced that they were coming. God, that’s gonna be a mess”, he groaned.

“Oh”, Katya said, “they’re not gonna like Keira’s new hair are they?”

“They are going to fucking flip”, he confessed, “very,and I mean very traditional gender roles. Having a gay son who’s a single dad almost brought my mother to her grave”, he joked.

“Well semi-gay”, he added when Katya raised her eyebrows slightly.

“Plus you can’t argue that Keira isn’t the most talented hairstylist.”

“I think she looks amazing”, Katya said, “asymmetry should be celebrated more across the world.” Brian laughed but Katya’s look suggested that she hadn’t been joking.

“Wait are you serious?”, he asked.

“Dead”, she said, “but I can see why your parents maybe wouldn’t be into it. My mum’s a hairstylist, I can take Keira there and ask if she can fix it?”, Katya suggested and Brian could have kissed her. He didn’t, only because the had just fought and it didn’t seem appropriate, but he definitely felt like it.

“Katya, that would save my ass. Thank you. I really owe you.” Katya simply shrugged.

“You’re lucky I still think your ass is cute.”

Brian and Kim had worked a miracle, Brian was sure of it. When his parents arrived, his house smelled of a freshly baked banana bread and coffee. The floor in his kitchen was spotless and not a single hair was to be found in the bathroom. He had fluffed the pillows on the couch and Kim had karate-choped them “to entertain the stereotypes”. He had left precisely five minutes before his mum had knocked on the door, making it look like Brian had done all the work by himself. There was only one problem.

“Where’s Keira?”, his mum said, looking around instead of a greeting.

“Hello to you too”, Brian grumbled but his mum just stalked past him, pushing her coat between his arms, signalling for him to hang it on the coat rack.

“Hello, son”, his father said, somewhat awkwardly and Brian nodded.

“Hey.”

“So where is she?”, his mum called from the kitchen and Brian sighed.

“She should be here any second. I told you it wasn’t a good time!”

He went to the kitchen, where his mother was sitting in one of the chairs. His dad trotted behind him.

“I should warn you, though, she-”

“We’re here!”, he was interrupted by Katya. She came into the kitchen.

“Oh”, she said, when she spotted Brian’s parents, “they’re already here.”

His mother gasped when she saw Keira. Suddenly Brian regretted that they hadn’t seen her before Katya took her to her mum, because she looked much better. Her hair was a tad shorter now but much more even. Pat had put a bit of gel in them so they were styled. Brian had to admit, that it suited her. She looked a little bit cheeky.

“What have you done?”, his mother asked Brian aghast. He put his hands up in defence.

“I haven’t done anything”, he said, “it was Keira’s idea”, he turned to face his daughter, “you look amazing, honey, that’s much better.”

“Don’t you dare to think I’m stupid, I know that was your idea”, his mother hissed.

“Nope”, Keira simply said, popping the p, “I did it. And Pat.”

His mum turned to Katya know, acknowledging her for the first time.

“Are you Pat?”

“Uh no, that’s Katya”, Brian jumped in, “she’s my, uh, Katya.” His mother looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“She’s my neighbour”, Brian said blushing, “Pat is her mother. She’s a hairdresser.”

“Hi”, Katya said and extended her hand towards Brian’s mother. She didn’t take it. Instead she focused on Keira.

“But you had such pretty blonde hair!”, she complained and it sounded accusatory.

“Mum, please. It’s just hair”, he said, trying to defend his daughter, “it grows back.”

“I don’t want it to grow back”, Keira said, crossing her arms. I like it.”

Brian wondered how a four year old got that much confidence.

“What is that?”, his mother asked all of the sudden and took Brian’s hand.

“Uh, nail-polish?”, Brian stammered.

“Why?”, his mother asked, her eyes widening.

“Because Keira- God, Mum, I’m 24, I don’t have to explain myself to you!”, he said drawing his hands back. His mother raised her eyebrows.

“I think it looks nice”, Katya chimed in and her mother glared at her.

“I do not recall, asking for your opinion, Katie.”

“Katya”, Brian said and now it was his turn to be glared at.

“Let’s just all sit down to have some coffee”, his father said, trying to ease the tension.

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you”, Katya said and Brian could tell by her voice that she didn’t mean it.

“You can stay if you want”, he said and his mother gasped again.

“I thought this was supposed to be a family thing”, she said and Brian whipped around.

“This wasn’t supposed to be anything”, he growled, “this is my flat and when I say Katya can stay, she can stay”, his voice sounded angrier than intended and his mother was clearly taken aback, her mouth was hanging open, gaping like a fish.

“No it’s fine”, Katya said and looked at Brian’s mother, “I don’t want to disturb anything.” She stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Brian’s cheek.

“I’ll talk to you later”, she whispered and turned around. She ruffled through Keira’s hair as she walked away, messing it up again. Keira giggled and walked over to the table to sit next to her grandmother. Brian sighed and poured his parents and himself some coffee while Keira got a glass of orange juice.

“Thank you”, she said and Brian felt a tiny pang of victory over her showing politeness in front of his parents.

They sat down and ate in silence.

“That Katya-”, his mother started and Brian involuntarily tightened the grip around his fork, “is she a man?”

“No”, he said, not wanting to discuss Katya with his parents.

“She’s trans”, Keira piped up, proud to present the new word she learned. Under any other circumstances Brian would have been proud too, but Keira had now undoubtedly proven herself to have terrible timing.

“Where did you learn that word?”, his father asked.

“From Daddy”, Keira answered.

“Don’t you think she’s a little young to know about such things?”, his father asked, looking at Brian sternly.

“No, I do not”, Brian said, “she’s perfectly able to understand ‘such things’.”

“Well, do you think it’s good that she’s growing up under the influence of people like that?”, his mother asked, “If you ask me she’s too young to-”

“I didn’t ask you”, Brian interrupted her, his voice raised.

“Brian-”, his father said warningly, but Brian ignored him.

“If you have something against the way I raise my daughter or the people I surround myself with, you are more than welcome to leave”, he said through gritted teeth.

“We just think, that it would be best for Keira to come to Milwaukee for a while. This city isn’t right for a young girl”, his mother said and Brian was just about to say something when Keira spoke up.

“I don’t want to come to Milwaukee. I like it here and I like Katya. She’s my friend.”

A wave of affection for his daughter hit Brian.

“Keira that decision isn’t up to you”, his mother said and Brian had to control himself to not yell.

“But it is up to me, and when Keira says she wants to stay, then Keira stays.”

“Brian.”

“Mum”, he said challengingly.

“You are on very thin ice here”, she warned and Brian couldn’t help but to laugh out loud.

“I am?”, he asked, “This is my flat. And I think it’s best that you leave now.”

“Are you throwing us out?”, his mother asked shocked and Brian stood up.

“Yes, I am. Are you honestly surprise by that? You come into my house, insult my daughter and my friend and basically tell me that I’m not a good father? I don’t need to hear that right now.”

His mother gasped for air.

“This is unbelievable”, she said and turned to her husband, “come on, we’re leaving.”

This was typically her, Brian thought. Making it look like she had made the decision to leave. But he wasn’t going to correct her, risking to start a new argument. He walked over to the door, opening it, and handed her her coat.

His parents left without another word.

He knocked on Katya’s door again, after he had put Keira to bed. After his parents had left he had talked to her, feeling bad that she had to witness the fight between her dad and her grandparents. But she seemed fine and not all too phased by it. She was mostly just excited for school on Monday to show Jacob and her other friends her new hair style.

He had called Kim to tell him how the unfortunate visit ended and to thank him for his help. Kim had asked if he needed Monday off but Brian had declined thankfully. He needed a distraction. And now he was back where it all started, standing in front of Katya’s door, hearing her shift behind it.

How’d it go?”, she asked as she opened her door but her face and voice already disclosed that she knew.

“Terribly”, Brian answered anyway and Katya opened the door more so he could come in. They sat next to each other on Katya’s couch.

“I had to throw them out”, he said after telling her the whole story, “They were acting unbelievable.”

“You stood up for yourself. And for Keira. That takes courage, especially if it’s your own parents.”

“I guess so”, he shrugged, “I’m just worried that they are going to take her anger of on Keira. They’re the only family she has.”

“She has you”, Katya interjected, “and she has Kim. And if you ever need any help, you know where to find me. A family doesn’t always need to be connected by blood.”

Brian smiled at her suggesting that she considered herself part of Keira’s family.

“You’re right”, he said.

“I always am”, she agreed and then her body was shaking with the laughter, Brian loved so much.

“What are we going to do?”, she asked after she calmed down.

“What do you mean?”, he asked but he knew what she meant.

“Us two”, she said and Brian noticed her hand twitching nervously. He took them in his.

“We can try this. If you want. Maybe we can go for dinner again? To another place, though, I don’t need your friends threatening to cut off my dick again.” Katya threw her head back and laughed, her hands still in Brian’s.

“Let’s try it”, she agreed, “and I’m sure we’ll find another restaurant. I’m always open to something new.”

#something new #trixya #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #au #single dad trixie #trans!katya #fluff #julie #rpdr fanfiction #m/f au #trans character

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beekeepercain · 7 years

Photo

Trans prompts?

Heya, internet.

She stops for a moment right there, after waiting more than an hour with the tab open without managing to put down a single word onto it. She’s not sure how to proceed - damn, she’s rarely been sure about anything. But asking for help when she’s already so unsure and afraid of hearing a confirmation for her worst fears? No.

Sam’s gone - he’ll be back in no more than another hour, and Dean doesn’t have forever.

My name’s Dean. Deanna, really, but I go by Dean. And... that’s kind of the problem, really. That I’m asking about. See, I’m a tomboy.

Her palms are sweating but her fingers are cold. She’s not sure why - it’s just the internet. Nobody’s opinions matter on the internet - right? So why’s she even looking?

I love comfy clothes. Flannels, guy jeans, slip-on shoes. No make-up, short hair, easy life. Confession: I don’t even shave my legs. I probably sound like a lumberjack and the truth is, I kinda am; I live a rough life. Out of a car, mostly. Get my living out of gambling, bars are more work than fun, although, let’s face it, when they’re not work they’re still a lot of fun. I shoot guns on a daily basis, and trust me, it’s not for sport. So - you get it by now, right? I don’t live surrounded by glam and glitter.

She takes another break, drinks a long gulp of her coffee and leans back. It’s a pretty day, but she’s just not feeling it. This has been gnawing at her ever since... well, since she was a kid, really. She’s just never felt like pretty was who she was. She tried it on for a while, back when she was haunted by these same doubts, but she grew tired of it soon enough. Gave up on it, really, after realising how much trouble it was and how little it did to make her feel comfortable. Quite the opposite; pretty tends to be just another word for tortured.

But tomboys are normal, you say. You don’t have to be a princess to be a lady, right? Well, yeah. Except, look, I was born a boy. Yeah, that’s right; I’m a - eurgh. Hate that word. But yeah, I’ve got the dangly bits.

More coffee. Dean looks up for a moment, stares at the dust particles dancing in the sunlight, and yep: once this is done, posted and hopefully forgotten about, she might just go outside. Get some air.

Grab a beer.

So. All I want is to be comfortable, do my job right, be the kind of a girl that feels good to me. And I’m not some kind of a shaggy beast, either, no offense to people who like themselves that way - I shave my face, I trim my downstairs. People don’t take a second look when I pass by, and if they do, that usually means they wanna make a move. But sometimes, you know, I doubt myself. I see all the other girls like me taking their looks so seriously, and then there’s... there’s me, Miss No-Effort-Whatsoever. I know it’s stupid. I know - look, I like girls, and I guess I’m a bit butch. But it haunts me. What if I’m not good enough to be a girl?

Is that stupid? She draws a breath and it catches in her throat.

What if I don’t deserve to be a girl?

Before she can continue from there, the breath she held back escapes as a panicked gasp when a key turns in the motel room door’s lock. Without thinking, she slams the laptop’s screen down and jumps up from the chair, backs away from it as quickly as she can and lands on her bed just in time to see Sam enter the room with a book in tow. She gives him a flash of a smile, collects herself up from the bed again and wipes her sweaty palms to her flannel’s sides.

“Back already?” she asks him as she walks towards him... and past him, straight for the door.

“Huh?” Sam asks, turning around as she moves past.

“Gonna go grab us a couple beers for tonight now that I’ve got the car,” Dean tells him.

“Uh - alright.”

All she needs is some air to shed the thoughts, forum posts be damned. But sunlight doesn’t cast the shadows from her mind, and neither does the over-enthusiastic AC in the grocery store. She comes back feeling, if possible, more defeated than ever, and lingers in front of the motel room, hesitant to go back in. Hesitant to pretend everything’s fine in front of Sammy, who really, really doesn’t need to deal with more of her bullshit. Sam’s done enough; he put up with this whole girl thing from the time he wasn’t more than a school kid, and it was Sam who helped her get the medication she needed to really feel comfortable with herself. Now, what he really doesn’t need is to know that all she achieved after all that work was just another load of self-doubt. Yeah, maybe she’s happy with herself now. Maybe it feels good to stand in front of a mirror and look at her body and how the fabric concealing her skin bends just right around her chest and her smooth waist and her ever so slightly rounded hips. Maybe she’s happy in her skin. So why doesn’t it translate to her behaving more like a woman? Being more feminine, instead of just becoming more like a man? Before she grew the - well, they’re not tits, exactly. They’re more like just small bumps where her chest used to be flat, but she’s happy with them, happy about them, even if she’d never sell a skin mag. But before them, she at least tried. She used to put on some make-up, shave her legs, wear clothes that made her waist appear more prominent, even cared enough to use some skin-care products that made her appear a little softer. And then she got the capital E in her system and it all just... stopped. She could as well just have stayed a man. Right?

Dejected, she pushes open the door, and walks directly into something solid. She lets out a little hiccup as Sam’s arms wrap around her and she’s suddenly being squished, the tall guy’s chin resting on her shoulder for a moment before he backs up and pulls her indoors.

“Sit,” Sam tells her, grabbing the bag of beer she’s carrying.

And she does, not because she chooses to cooperate but rather because Sam’s guiding her down and into a chair before she can really register what’s happening to her. So she sits there, staring at her brother with an offended look, until she realises the laptop’s open and - shit - he’s seen the post. It was right there, open on the screen just waiting for someone to lift it back up. Of course he read it; probably thought it was case-related, until it was way, way too late to stop.

She swallows.

“Dean.”

She can’t make a sound, so she looks away. The bag of beer lands on the table and she charges her hand in, grabs a bottle, twists the cap open. Drinks.

“Dean,” Sam repeats, grabbing her wrist and planting the bottle back on the table, “Listen.”

“What?”

“I know that wasn’t meant for me.”

Dean closes her eyes.

“I know I shouldn’t have read, and I’m sorry, but I thought -”

“Yeah, I don’t blame you.”

“Right. So... I just wanted to tell you that - that no matter how you dress, no matter how you act, no matter how little effort you put into grooming, you’re still you, Dean. And I know you. I’ve known you since you were a little kid and you’ve always been a girl, Dean. It’s not about how you go out there. I know our lives are rough and I don’t have the energy to put into anything extra, either. But I see you every day, I see how you smile when you look in the mirror, I saw you change when you started taking the hormones, I saw how much happier you became. How much more comfortable you are now. I saw it, Dean. You think you don’t deserve to be happy because you don’t shave your legs, when you never go out without a pair of jeans anyway? Who cares? How does that have anything to do with who you are? Dean, you’re my sister. You’ve always been my big sister, and I just - I wouldn’t have you any other way. It wouldn’t be you, putting time and energy into fashion and looks. You’re more about who you are than what you look like. And that’s fine. You’re still pretty as you are. It’s not like you need any extra effort to look beautiful. So - I don’t - why do you think that makes you less of a woman?”

Dean shivers. “I just... feel like I should... care more, now that I have the chance. That I should be - I don’t know. I should be enjoying this.”

“And you say that you aren’t?”

They exchange a quick look, but Dean feels it burn her from within, so she stops looking fast enough. She shakes her head.

“No. I - I love the way I look.”

“And you love the clothes you wear.”

“Don’t you think that after all the effort we went through, I should at least try to look like a girl?”

“Jesus, Dean. You are a girl, you don’t have to try and pull on a girl costume. You don’t have to play a role. Just being you is good enough.”

A shiver crosses through Dean’s spine, makes her hair stand up. She dares to raise her gaze back to Sam and feels him battling with her without words - and she knows she’s losing.

For the first time that she can remember, losing feels good.

“You think I’m doing enough?”

“You are enough. What you do doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

She swallows. Then, stiffly, she nods. “Delete the post,” she tells him quietly, “I guess - I shouldn’t be asking strangers, anyway.”

Sam nods too. He turns towards the laptop and clicks away, then looks back at her and nods again. “Done. Dean - do you want to talk about it?”

Dean shakes her head. “No. I think - I think this is enough. I know it’s stupid, you know I do, I wrote it down there. I’m a butch girl. That’s all there is to it. I just...”

“Needed someone to tell you that that’s alright.”

“... yeah, I guess.”

Sam’s smile is crooked when he lets go of her wrist.

“So, you... feel better, right?” he asks her, and Dean chuckles.

She drinks another gulp out of her bottle, this one less panicked and a lot smaller than the previous mouthful she took, and nods again. “I feel dumb. But better. Yeah.”

“Good. Just, Dean, next time you need someone to tell you who you are, ask someone who knows. Ask me. I can remind you.”

“Thanks.”

Sam reaches for the bag of beer and pulls out a bottle. Dean’s grip around her own grows firmer for a moment before she finally shudders and gasps for air, rushing to speak before Sam reacts.

“No, Sam, listen. Thank you. For - for putting up with me. All these years. With - with all of this, too. For doing so much for me. For - fuck - for being such a stand-up little brother to a mess of a sister.”

“Well,” Sam chuckles, sparing her the look she knows he wants to give her, “You’re the best sister I’ve got, so - you’re welcome.”

He brings his beer against Dean’s, pops it open and drinks it with her, and as she watches him, she feels more at ease than she’s done in months.

Yeah. Maybe she should worry less and concentrate on how good life finally is instead.

#trans!Dean #SPN #Supernatural #Dean Winchester #prompts #fanfiction

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automatismoateo · 4 years

Text

Religion. Is. Fucked. Up. via /r/atheism

Submitted April 11, 2020 at 08:11PM by trickyman226 (Via reddit https://ift.tt/2V04oCK) Religion. Is. Fucked. Up.

I came out as an atheist to my best friend recently, and we’ve had a couple discussions. Our most recent one was an hour long, and was plagued with all the cliches you could think of a Christian saying, followed by me absolutely destroying her arguments from multiple angles.

At one point, I was discussing how barbaric the concept of hell is. “God is evil because he created us to worship him, and if we don’t do exactly how he pleases, we get tortured in hell forever. Eternal torture for finite sins is immoral, how can you justify that? Do you really believe that I deserve to be tortured forever? Like for eternity I will have my flesh seared from my bones, just for not finding Christianity that convincing?” And I was not entirely surprised when I got a “Yes, because you don’t believe.” From her. In ANY other context, saying that you should be tortured forever to someone would be taking it way too far. But to say something like that to your BEST FRIEND shows how deeply indoctrinated people are, and how harmful it is. If you’re in a belief where you believe your best friend deserves to be tortured forever, it may be extremely fucked up. After the call ended, she texted me.

*”Is all of this stemming from the fact that you’re so hurt by your mom, dad, and God?

Because the timeline lines up perfectly. You said you’ve been an atheist for about 8 months which is about 3-4 months after you told your mom. Before you told your mom, you were all about fighting the homosexuality and “I’m not gay I’m not gay I’m not gay” BUT right after you told your mom and (she flipped out) you said screw it all and started to embrace it”*

This enraged me slightly, to say the least. But I gave a nuanced response.

*”To say that me being gay didn’t have anything to do with my conversion would be a lie, but it would be a MASSIVELY dishonest portrayal to say that’s why I left. It was only starting to hit me at that time that I could not be in love and be Christian, so I knew I would have to be celibate (I tried the whole ‘you can be gay and Christian’ thing). I had massive questions about Christianity that had plagued me for years, but I always pushed them to the side, believing there were answers. I wanted to know god was real before going celibate forever (I literally almost killed myself over that realization, I wrote the suicide note and everything). I delved deep into the deep theological questions, and tried to put aside all biases. After MONTHS of research, I finally uncovered deeply rooted problems that I had with religion that ran WAY deeper than the whole gay shit. The very concept of a god was crumbling before me as I panicked. I tried to save my faith, but all I saw were more and more questions and problems as the religious community continued to hate me and hare people like me as well as backing people and policies that actively hurt people. I was exposed to the ugly parts of religion. I couldn’t hide behind Sunday school “Jesus loves everyone” shit because I understood what the Bible says justified every hateful action against me and more. The Bible is full of awful shit and if I understood what I do now, even if I wasn’t gay, and wasn’t hurt by people, I would still leave. It’s absolutely sickening a system that makes your own best friend say that you deserve ETERNAL TORTURE just for not believing in a specific god who’s evidence of existence is no better than another’s. The only “evidence” for a god is a book written by humans years after the events that happened that contradicts itself CONSTANTLY and says the reason god exists is “because the Bible says so.” A triomni god is contradictory, and science and the Bible do not mix, no matter how much Bay Area lies about it. Also, to insinuate that I shouldn’t leave a system that literally calls me a pedophile (including my mother) is frankly absurd. If a system is abusing you, it’s bad. Just because “it’s a religion” doesn’t make my abuse at its hands any worse. But the hurt is not why I left. I was willing to stay and give up love, which is the thing I want most in the world, just for a religion. All I wanted was shred of evidence. I found none. I left because it’s irrational. Yes, I have anger at religion, because I’m still being abused by it today. I don’t even know if I’ll have access to my family when I come out. I don’t know if I will be able to see my nieces and nephews anymore. Believe me if I could hold on to religion at all, I would have grasped tightly. I almost killed myself when I realized I might be seen as dead by my family. It was painful experience that I never asked for. All I wanted was proof god existed. That’s it. There was none. I am SO much healthier now. My depression is way down, I haven’t had suicidal thoughts in months (I had suicidal thoughts for like 2 years straight but that stopped after I left religion, huh🧐. I wonder why leaving something that says you’ll suffer just for existing is harmful). For the first time, I feel happy about myself. I’m not apologizing anymore, and I feel FREE. If religion makes you happy, and you don’t want to even think about changing your mind, fine. That’s your choice. You can stay ignorant and not look into things. But know that if your kid turns out to be gay, or be trans, please please don’t do to them what was done to me.

If you really feel good about your religion, that it will hold up scrutiny and criticism. Go find the arguments against god and refute them. If God is real and you know that for a fact, then it shouldn’t sway you right?”*

She said “damn” then took a few good minutes to respond.

”I just want to say this. I’ll be here for you no matter what, I think you know that. This is going to have to be one of the things that we’re going to agree to disagree on. I don’t know how to help you other than just to be an example and let God’s light shine through me and hopefully it’ll reach you but maybe you don’t want it to, that’s your choice..”

To that I just told her that I loved her (she’s just a friend. Want to make that clear. I’m gay af). Then I made a joke about dragging her to hell with me.

”I’m going to convince you because Satan payed me off for my soul and now I have to drag as many people down with me 😈”

We laughed about it then she said something weird.

”I’m dead serious about that tho. If you try to start convincing me to follow in your footsteps and sway over to your ways, you’re going to lose me. I don’t want that to happen but I have to protect myself.”

So from now on, religion is a no go topic between us. It’s hard for me to know how to feel about that. I’m okay never discussing it again, but I don’t know if she thinks of me as the same anymore. Idk it was something about being told I deserve eternal torture by my best friend who had been there for me fo years that really hurts. The was the first friend I ever came out to. She’s the reason I’m not dead. If I never told anyone, or told the wrong person, I would have committed suicide. Now, it just all feels weird.

I really fucking hate religion.

#reddit

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