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jenniferdiazisatransgirl · 3 years

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My Journey

Hey everyone, As you will likely know by now I am a trans woman and I live in the UK where lately trans people have been under significant scrutiny by the press, government and groups claiming to be acting in the name of feminism.

One of the arguments used when not directly attacking trans people, is that the medical institutions that help us in the UK fast track us through transition, even the NHS and I know so many trans people in this country that I can say without a shadow of a doubt this is not true. This includes a significant number who have been under the care of Tavistock and Portman, the under 18s service which was recently banned from giving its patients hormone blockers without the approval of the courts.

But anyway, I’m gonna share my story and how lengthy the process actually is and I will warn ahead of time this deals with suicidal ideation, gatekeeping, mental health, etc. So proceed with caution. This will also be a long post.

September/October 2008

I can’t remember which month but it was just before my 16th birthday, my Dad encouraged me to go to my GP regarding my gender dysphoria. I lived with my transphobic Mum at the time and had to go behind her back which was terrifying to say the least. I saw a doctor called Dr Moulsher and explained everything I was going through and his response was, “I don’t think the NHS funds any of this.” He was very ignorant on trans issues but it actually fortunately worked out in my favour, I got lucky, I know, but he just wanted me off of his hands.

I explained in Sheffield there was a GIC (gender identity clinic) operated by the NHS known as Porterbrook and he was just like, “Oh right. Well I’m more than happy to refer you but they likely won’t see you till you are 18.”

He asked me some questions, wrote up a detailed report and put in the referral to “get the ball rolling” as he worded it.

I was terrified at the time of the referral letter going to my home address though and he was like, “Well it needs to be sent somewhere.” So he agreed to send it to my grandparents address.

Later That Year

About a month or so later a letter arrived at my grandparents saying I had been accepted onto Porterbrook’s waiting list, explaining it is substantially long, that they wouldn’t be able to see me till I’m 18, etc. Your typical boiler plate stuff. Also as I understand it they don’t typical accept referrals for under 18s so I got lucky there. I remember getting so excited when I got my letter though, that I took it into school to show all of my friends.

Back then it was a requirement that I have a mental health assessment while on the waiting list though. So I returned to Dr Moulsher who I had become rather comfortable with and had made him my regular GP. He made a referral to the local mental health clinic and that was that.

January/February 2009

A letter came in the post asking me to ring to book at appointment at the local mental health clinic. I couldn’t ring from home cos my Mum would overhear and she was spying on me a lot at the time due to really being against the fact I’m trans. My school - which was a Catholic school shockingly enough - had already decided my home environment had become so toxic that I needed removing from my Mum’s care. They would be a process that wouldn’t be completed till June 2010 but yeah, it had got that bad. Anyway, I ended up asking the school receptionist if I could ring on their phone to book the appointment. That was booked for February.

The appointment was a weird one to say the least. The doctor asked me a quite a lot of questions but these are the ones that stuck out.

So with this first one, I am going to preface with that as far as I am aware, I am white and of white ancestry for all the generations I know of. However I do have remarkably curly hair that left to its own devices grows into an afro (or at least what looks like an afro). So the first set of questions that stood out; Dr: What’s your mother’s ethnicity? Me: White British.

Dr: Sorry, did you say Afro-Caribbean? Me: No. White British. Dr: And your father’s ethnicity? Me: White British. Dr: Sorry, was that Afro-Caribbean?

Me: Nope. White British.

Not really sure how you can get Afro-Caribbean and White British verbally mixed up but he seemed very adamant at least one of my parents must be Afro-Caribbean.

He then later goes;

Dr: Do you have a partner?

Me: Yes.

Dr: Are they male or female?

Me: I have a girlfriend.

Dr: Then you can’t be trans. You can’t be trans if you like girls.

Me: What about lesbians?

Dr: That’s beside the point.

Shockingly, in the end he agreed with my GP’s assessment that I am trans but Jesus, as you can probably guess from above that mental health assessment was a minefield of weird.

24th October 2010

In June 2010, I was finally removed from my Mum’s care at the age of 17 and placed in supported housing and on the date about I got a phone call from Porterbrook GIC on my 18th birthday no less, inviting me to my first appointment in November.

22nd June 2012

I legally changed my name and title by deed poll to Miss Lily Nichole Robinson.

22nd October 2012

I’d now been at Porterbrook for almost 2 years, had lots of appointments, most of which repeated the same mundane questions and it had started to feel like nothing was ever going to change. I had become increasingly depressed and suicidal and I had decided that if nothing had changed by my 20th birthday I was going to take my own life. I did not want to enter my 20s still living my life as a man. I didn’t want to lose another year of my life.

I remember this date exactly, not because I marked it in my calendar but because Taylor Swift’s album “Red” came out that morning. Despite everything, I was dancing along to 22 that morning while ironing some clothes, before I headed off to Porterbrook. I didn’t really feel like it mattered, I was going to kill myself 2 days later but I figured what is the harm in going through the motions one last time.

I sat there, trying not to let on how miserable I was, didn’t see the point in letting them in on how I was feeling. Nothing would change.

I remember being asked some really gross questions that day though. I got asked if I masturbated and I just declined answering. When challenged I was just like, “I maybe trans and I may hate that equipment but I’m a human being. I still have sexual urges. What do you think the answer is.”

The appointment though, shockingly ended with them telling me they were going to put me on hormones. I was gonna get my estrogen. It was enough to give me a reason to keep on living.

But just bare in mind how close I got to taking my own life there. 2 days away from my 20th birthday. Also it took almost 2 years for them to say they’d be placing me on hormones.

January/February 2013

In January, I had my bloods taken to get a baseline and I was told about options for storing gametes. I did decide to consider this but in the end it ended up being too costly for me at the time. So in February, on a day it was snowing I got the train and was adamant the snow was not stopping me getting to Porterbrook and I had an appointment with the head clinician, Dr Kevin Wylie.

He oddly listed all the testosterone blocker options to me with side effects and risks and all the estradiol options to me with side effects and risks. In the end I chose Cyproterone Acetate for my blocker and Estradiol Valerate pills for my hormones.

50mg per day of Cyproterone Acetate and 2mg per day of Estradiol Valerate. I was ecstatic and took them both the second I got on the bus 😊

May 2013

Slightly unrelated to the medical process but just 3 months in and my mental health had improved drastically. Since I was removed from my Mum’s care I had become a bit of a shut in. I didn’t have any friends, my anxiety was through the roof, I was insanely depressed and I just avoided everything and everyone, only leaving my house for work. Hormones changed that though, I just felt so much happier and I also remember that Spring just being like really vividly aware of the colours of all the flowers and plant life for like the first time in my life. I actually wanted to go out and social and make friends and there was a local LGBT youth group for 18-25 year olds that I decided to join and I started to have and social life again. And by September 2013 I started university and soon came getting drunk with the LGBT Liberation Group at the various socials. I was happy and finally starting to feel like myself.

2013 - 2016

Porterbrook became very gatekeepy in the final stage of my transition. They didn’t like how I dressed. Apparently girls wear dresses while I preferred jeans, t-shirts and hoodies. I didn’t like wearing make-up. I wasn’t the 1950s image of a girl that Porterbrook seemed to expect. I actually have a trans guy friend who around the same time had been told he couldn’t start on testosterone unless he cut his hair short, cos apparently men don’t have long hair.

It pissed me off to no end because I transitioned to be me, not to be a performance of how the world thinks a woman should be. I refused to give ground on how I dressed, etc but in the end I ended up telling a few white lies to get past the final level of gatekeeping. And I can’t remember most of this dates as they happened while uni was going on in the background. But eventually Porterbrook gave me the go ahead for surgery, about 6 months later I had my second opinion and then I was referred for surgery.

January 2016

I had my pre-surgery assessment at Nuffield Health Brighton and I was told if I wanted I could have my surgery as early as March 2016. Due to university though, this proved a bit too soon and the date was pushed to June 2016.

22nd June 2016

The day before the EU Referendum I had my gender reassignment surgery. I don’t actually remember feeling all that ecstatic after the surgery. There was lot of pain and I was on a lot of drugs. But a friend, Rosie, who I hadn’t seen since high school lived in the area and she was at my bedside when I woke up. I was in hospital a week and had 3 months of recovery ahead of me.

Post Surgery 2016

Having surgery had been great, things finally felt right. My entire body felt right for once but I had tunnel visioned my life towards surgery and put a lot of stuff on the back burner and had some major post-surgery depression so I sort counselling at my university to get through these issues and once that was sorted I felt a lot more stable in myself and like nothing was in my way.

October 2016

I put in my application for my Gender Recognition Certificate only for it to get rejected because they did not like the assessment from Porterbrook GIC and Dr Wylie who wrote the assessments was off on leave. Me and a nurse had to sit down and look through my medical record to find a medical report they might accept and we finally found one. However they wouldn’t say what was wrong with the original which made Porterbrook kinda stumped on what was wrong.

February 2017

I received my Gender Recognition Certificate and my new Birth Certificate.

March 2017

I was discharged from Porterbrook GIC.

For those who are under the impression gender reassignment is a fast process it isn’t, it took me 8 years and 6 months start to finish, from initially seeing my GP at 15 to finally being discharged from Porterbrook GIC at the age of 24. It is a long ass process with a shit tone of gatekeeping and honestly going through the process as it stands isn’t something I’d wish on my worst enemy. When I was discharged from Porterbrook GIC in 2017 my first thought was, “I’m free. I’m finally in control of my own life.” As up until that point, I felt I had no autonomy and that my life and happiness was in the hands of doctors. It was miserable.

But there it is.

#trans woman #transgender #my life #uk #trigger warning #long post #miscellaneous

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bodyofvvater · 5 years

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sweetheart

quite frankly got no fucking clue if this is even good at this point but i spent time on it so im posting it anyway. it’s soft. it’s gay. thats it

julia ortega/f!sidestep, 2.1k words, basically just a long-ass discussion about sexuality. slight retribution spoilers ahead

--- “So how did you know?”

The question comes out of the blue, breaks the sleepy silence that had settled between you. Your thoughts were elsewhere, muddled and quiet for once, still a little high off of Ortega’s hands, but her words drag them back to the present.

“How did I know what?” you ask. You can’t tell what thread she’s pulling on, can’t even dig into her head for answers, so you have to find out the old fashioned way.

“That you’re… Well, not straight,” Ortega explains. A little sheepish smile; “I guess I never asked you what you call yourself.”

A short silence.

“Lesbian, I guess,” you say then, and you’ve never said that out loud before, but that tends to be how it goes with Ortega. She asks questions you never thought to ask yourself, and then you spit out your gut reaction and hope it doesn’t come back to bite you.

Not that this is entirely a gut reaction. Not that you haven’t spent too much time trying to put words to it. Trying to find an answer for why you’ve found yet another way to set yourself apart from the hive. Another defect, you used to think. These days you try not to think about it at all.

Not that Ortega knows that.

“I told you how I figured out I was bi earlier,” she continues in the absence of any further explanation on your part, and you try not to linger on earlier, because what comes after that is warm hands and soft kisses and no, not going there right now.

“You did,” you agree, because you know she wants to continue, and you shouldn’t let her, but she’s smiling and you don’t want her to stop. Sucker.

“I guess I… Well, I’m curious,” she admits, hand reaching out to touch your shin next to her on the couch. The casual intimacy of it makes your heart leap into your throat. “If you don’t mind talking about it. Not that you have to! We can leave it, if you want.”

I do, you want to say, and don’t ask me again. You don’t know why it’s a sore spot; if anything, this is one of the few things that should be easy. This is one part of you she knows, one secret you don’t have to keep. Not even really a secret at all--if she ever had doubts that you liked women, sleeping with her probably dispelled the last of them.

So why do you want to keep it anyway?

“It’s… a little complicated,” you sigh in the end, because as much as you want to keep this to yourself, you also want to see the way Ortega’s eyes light up when she realizes you’re sharing. It’s a stupid, soft look on her, and you’re even stupider and softer for the way your heart flutters in your chest, but you’ve already indulged yourself plenty tonight, so what’s a little softness to top it off.

“How so?” she asks, interested. In you. You try not to dwell too much on that.

“I don’t know, I guess no one ever really told me what I was supposed to be,” you say, and maybe it’s a bit of a lie in the grand scheme of things, but in this particular instance it’s true. You weren’t built for feelings or romance, not beyond necessary performance. You were never expected to think about it. “It didn’t come up. All of that wasn’t even on my radar until—”

Until I met you, you stop yourself from saying, and suddenly you can’t look at her. That’s another layer to this you don’t need; Ortega knowing what she does to you. What she means to you. Still.

You dare a half-glance at her out of your peripheral, and it tells you all you need to know; your silence speaks too loudly. Even if she doesn’t know, she has an idea now. Ortega’s expression has gone all gentle and open, looking at you like something precious. It makes you want to scratch at your arms, but you wring your fingers tightly together in your lap to keep them still.

“I,” you start again, but the words don’t come, so you start over. “It’s not like I wasn’t… looking, before. The implications just didn’t register.”

That part is honest enough that you cringe a little. Even before you had a mind of your own, you were always aware that women were aesthetically more appealing than men. It just took you a while before you realized that wasn’t a universal truth.

“So no, uh… relationships before? Then?” Ortega asks, and the absence of her usual smooth demeanor would be a triumph if the unspoken before me? wasn’t so blatantly obvious. As it stands, you force yourself to meet her eyes, because you need the upper hand back, and head-on is the only way you know how to get it.

“I told you this was my first time,” you say with a scowl, stubbornly ignoring the way your face flushes.

“Right,” she amends, wearing a smile that’s halfway between smug and apologetic, “I just meant normal stuff, like dating.”

The word normal feels like a punch to the gut, and it’s a struggle not to get angry. You’re not entirely sure you succeed, and you think she sees it too. The smile dims considerably, just the slightest shadow of it left.

“Sorry,” she says, although you don’t think she knows what she’s saying sorry for, and you’re not about to tell her.

“No relationships before Sidestep,” you say instead, backtracking to the last semblance of comfortable territory in this conversation. “Or during, for that matter.” You both know that part’s not entirely true, but you’re not about to admit that.

“That doesn’t really answer my question,” Ortega says, all careful and quiet. She knows she’s stepping on uneven ground, but she does it anyway. That’s your fault, you suppose; you’ve let her get away with too much. You’re gonna let her get away with more.

“What do you mean?” you ask even though you know, because you’re not giving up without a fight, at the very least.

“I asked when you knew,” she says. “Or how you knew, I guess. If you have an answer.”

You keep your eye contact out of sheer spite, but it’s a close thing. You’re not sure why it hits as hard as it does; it’s just a question, and a personal one at that. It should be annoying. Maybe it still is. That doesn’t stop your eyes from burning a little at the tenderness you find in hers.

Maybe it’s just that she cares. You’re still not used to that. You don’t know if you can ever be.

“It’s not a very interesting story,” you sigh, and for a moment you can’t even remember if there’s much of a story at all. Then the memory hits you, hard enough to force something that might sound like an embarrassed laugh out of you. Not that you would ever be caught dead actually doing that.

“I went to go get antiseptic and band-aids a little after my debut,” you mumble in the futile hope that Ortega won’t be able to hear. As if the room isn’t quiet enough to be able to hear a pin drop. “I wasn’t very good at the whole sidestepping business yet, and I needed to patch myself up. I didn’t know the layout of the store, though, and my eye was kinda swollen, so I had to ask the clerk to show me where stuff was.”

You pause, waiting for Ortega to make some quip about you? Asking for help? I never thought I’d see the day, but she stays quiet. Just looks at you, like every word out of your mouth is a favor.

That particular thought gets booted as soon as it appears.

“So this woman follows me to the right aisle, and she’s, like, stupidly gorgeous. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes, looked like she could pick me up no problem.”

This time, Ortega doesn’t stay quiet, and you realize what just came out of your mouth a second too late. “Got a type there?” There’s a smug smile on her lips now, and it would be so easy to just kick your leg out and wipe it off, but you decide to have mercy. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to fight her later, of that you are sure.

That’s the only reason. Definitely not because the warm presence of her hand on your leg is a comfort you don’t want to give up.

“Shut up,” you say instead, and she does, but she keeps smiling. Idiot. “So she shows me where the stuff I need is, and she gets something off a shelf for me, and as she hands it to me she goes ‘here you are, sweetheart’.”

“Aw, was that when you realized?” Ortega cuts in, sounding much too fond and much too smug. “A pet name?”

You sigh, weighing the pros and cons of letting her keep her assumptions and ending the story there. It’s a plausible ending, and Ortega certainly doesn’t need to know any more embarrassing details about you. She already knows what you sound like with her mouth anywhere lower than your collarbones, and that’s more than enough.

But she’s looking at you and her eyes are all lit up, and the hand on your leg is on your knee now, and you feel so human it’s almost a little overwhelming. Just one step removed from normal, so close. You want to step closer. Just to see what it’s like. Just to try. Hand on the stove just to make sure it’s hot.

This is stupid, you tell yourself, this is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, and then you do it anyway, just to spite yourself.

“Not exactly,” you mumble, trying to stop your lips from quirking up into a smile. You don’t need to give Ortega outright permission to laugh. “I got… a little flustered. I guess. And I started backing away and I-- well, there was another customer crouched down to get something on a shelf right behind me.”

“Wait, you--?” Ortega begins, but you don’t let her finish.

“I fell on my ass and took some old dude and two shelves of band-aids with me.” Your face is burning, but you’re determined not to acknowledge it.

“Hania!” Ortega exclaims, sits up straight so suddenly the movement nearly makes you jump. A huge grin takes up her entire face, and you hate that it’s contagious. “You’re kidding! That doesn’t even sound like you!”

“Yeah, well, it was a different time.” You try for your best approximation of a scowl, but you think it ends up more like reluctant amusement, which is too true to be comfortable. “Figured that wasn’t the average straight experience. The specifics came later.”

“And all that because of a pet name.” It’s not a question. Ortega raises an amused eyebrow at you, and Christ, you’re going to regret telling her this, but it’s worth it for how average you feel. Just a moment where the constant wailing storm of what you’ve done and what you have to do calms down to a faint hum.

“Not all because of a pet name,” you protest, because that’s what you do.

“Oh, is that so, sweetheart?” she asks, all self-satisfied confidence, and the hand that has lightly rested on your leg until now curls to your calf, grips securely and pulls. You want to be angry at how easy it still is for her to just move you as she pleases, but you can’t help the little thrill as she smoothly coaxes you off the armrest you had been propped up against.

“Shut up,” you say, most definitely not smiling like an infatuated idiot, now lying flat on your back on the couch. Certainly not smiling wider when she moves to join you, chest to chest and noses almost touching. All soft, warm pressure, a comfort you’re going to complain about later to regain a little self-control.

“What’s the matter, babe?” she asks, hand on your thigh now, and you ignore the resulting flip of your stomach in favor of rolling your eyes at her. “Baby? Honey? Love? If you don’t pick one, I’ll just keep using all of them.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” you complain, bumping her nose a little with yours. If you’re creative, you can convince yourself it’s an acceptable substitute for the punch you should be throwing.

“Are you saying you don’t like it?” Her voice is all feigned innocence, and you want to call her on it, because she knows damn well that’s not what you’re saying. But that would entail actually telling her as much, and that’s not going to happen.

“Shut up,” you say again instead. Then you kiss her to make sure she does.

#when u're so gay u briefly forget u're a telepath 😔#fallen hero rebirth #fallen hero retribution #julia ortega #sidestep #chargestep #fanfiction #oc tag #hania wyrzyk #my writing

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powwidge · 5 years

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Beach episode just for @exicio lmao I advise everyone else to not read this because you wouldn’t understand it anyways lol

Have fun with this bullshit of about 2700 words. Keep in mind that everything in this is your fucking fault.

~Vanitas~

It had been two years since Domi had come back from Spain. Two whole years already. Time really did fly by.

“Break, do you have the sun screen?”

“Sharon, I know I’m stupid, but it’s 30 degrees and very sunny, so I can’t forget sun screen!” I sighed. Break surely had become too caring for his son who was currently sitting in the Van next to me and Misha. Noé was on the backseat with Jeanne and Domi. Lily had agreed to sit in the very back of the car. It was Lily. Nobody really questioned it.

“Vani?”, Noé asked and leant forward to me.

“Hm?” “I just noticed that I haven’t seen you in a swimsuit or something yet!” “Ah, Noé, it’s not that big of a difference to being in underwear and I’m sure you’ve seen her in underwear often enough”, Domi pointed out and I felt myself getting red.

“Ah yeah, you’re rig-“ “Noé, could you please not agree to it?”, I screamed and Jeanne laughed out loud.

“Not in front of Dave, you horny teenies~”, Break chirped and put on his sunglasses that looked incredibly stupid, “if you do have Sex on the beach, I hope it’s the cocktail~”

I was losing my goddamn faith in humanity right here. Humankind. Partly vampirekind.

Was I a Bella from Twilight make off because my boyfriend was partly vampire- I didn’t really want to continue that thought.

“I brought sun screen too, by the way. I mean, I barely get burnt, but Vanitas is so pale, she’ll need it”, Noé said and I felt like a little damn kid. Not like his girlfriend, but like a kid.

“Ugh, the parking lot is full”, Sharon moaned and drove through the whole thing just to drive past the last space which was free.

“Sharon, you’re so utterly stupid, I have no words.” “Well, fuck you!”

What had it been about “not in front of Dave”?

“Go drive yourself if you think you’re better at it! It’ll still be free when we drive there again, so-“

It took half an hour more to park somewhere. We were already at the beach and it really was terribly full. Like yeah, honestly, I didn’t fucking know why we didn’t just apparate close here, but apparently we were the stupid kind of wizards.

“It’s my only day off this summer, so please don’t ruin it, guys”, I said and Noé took my hand.

I swore that I wouldn’t get used to this at all. It’s been three damn years, I shouldn’t freak out at hand holding anymore, especially when Domi and Jeanne were the lesbians here who were stared at strangely but were happily holding each other’s hands. But it was Noé. How was I supposed to get used to be loved by him? I wouldn’t and that was definitely a problem.

“It’ll be fun! You probably haven’t gone swimming in years, right? It’ll be so much fun, Vani! I never got to go swimming with you but now we finally can without people staring like they would have- you know.” Yeah. I knew. People would have stared if the spell… if I hadn’t invented it. They would have stared at Zach, too. And at all my other clients.

There even had been some muggles who I told that they should keep their mouths shut to everyone except to close family. I didn’t want to see them suffer. Not after what I had gone through for years and years of my life.

“Here’s enough space for all our towels!”, Lily said and pointed at a part of the beach were no damn people were and it made me incredibly happy.

Misha and her ran to it to get the space in the shadow of some rocks. Yeah, I would have liked them too. I wouldn’t get a sun tan anyways.

Noé got the Quidditch towel out of his bag and placed it neatly onto the floor.

“I wished you would make our bed like this, but no, that one always looks like a mess when you do”, I sighed and put mine next to his, then I sat down onto it.

Noé did that too and took my hand again.

“Ah, I never would’ve thought I’d be so happy to be with you at a beach one day! The last time I was at a beach was-“ He didn’t need to finish the sentence. I knew who he meant. I knew he still loved him and that he’d never forget him.

I was well aware of that. But it was ok. Noé wasn’t limited to only being in love with one person. He had so much more love to give.

“One day we’ll go here with our kid, yeah?”, I asked and smiled at him.

“Lmao, Dave tried eating sand!”, Domi screamed and picked up the boy who was gagging and coughing sand and I couldn’t do more than laugh.

“We’ll just have to teach our kid not to do that, Vani”, he chuckled and then reached for the bag, picking up the sun screen.

“Come here, I’ll rub it on your back for you.” “Lemme just get out of those clothes, yeah?”

He nodded and I opened the buttons of my jeans skirt and my blouse to slide them off. I was really uncomfortable. I was so not used to being half naked in front of anyone else than Noé. And Noé was my boyfriend. He was allowed to see me naked. But others were just… kinda urgh.

Domi whistled in my direction.

“If I didn’t already have a girlfriend, I’d make a move now”, she grinned and winked. She winked at me.

I buried my face in my hands.

“I’m not strong enough for this patchwork family.”

Noé laughed out and touched my shoulders with cold cream. “She’s right! You’re sexy!”

I lost it.

I did not know what to respond except for burying my face in my hands even further. This day was already a catastrophe. Sometimes, Noé was a little too honest. But I adored him for it. But-

“Please don’t get horny”, Sharon said and now I really had to deadpan.

“Says the woman I have had to hear fuck like almost every single day before Dave, huh? Also we’re not horny, we’re just cringy.”

Noé laughed out loud again at that and I slowly took my hands away.

“No, seriously, Vani. You look beautiful. Be proud of who you are, damnit. You’re a woman just like all the others are and you know that. You remember when you apologized for your body back when we-“ He got quiet and I got fucking red again. Yeah, I remembered apologizing to him about having small breasts.

“Anyways, uh-“, he seemed quite embarrassed now too, “you… you’re beautiful and I want you to finally accept that as the truth, chérie.”

“I know I’m repeating myself, but only in the form of a cocktail, Dominique.” I looked over to Domi who was putting sunscreen onto Jeanne’s back and then lower and lower and- holy shit.

“Hello, can you please stop doing this right in front of us?”, I screeched and buried my face in Noé’s shoulder now.

Domi sighed and raised her hands. “Ok, ok, sorry for wanting to protect my girlfriend from the sun in every possible place of her body! Swimsuits aren’t that good against UV-rays! You need protection everywhere!” “I doubt that”, Noé whispered and pulled off his shirt then.

“Ok, Vani, let me put it on you. Don’t worry, I’m not like Domi.” Yeah, and I definitely didn’t have an exhibitionism kink.

Compared to some other people.

I really did enjoy him massaging my back though. I was overworking myself. I really should slow down and I knew it, but on the other side, I just wanted to be completely financially stable. It was obvious that both of us wanted a child someday. Or maybe two. And maybe I would be able to stay at home for two or three years then. But on the other side… I was the only one who was able to perform that sort of magic.

“I need to teach someone my job, shit”, I mumbled and Noé laughed out, rubbing my shoulders.

“I totally agree. Oz said his little sister was really good with magic. Maybe you could give her a job offer!” “Ah, you mean Ada!”, Misha exclaimed and looked at us, “She’s really good and kind! But she also had a crush on Gilbert, which is why some kind of dude named Jack tried to kill her because he-“ “What the fuck is wrong with our author”, Break sighed and I stared at him.

“Our… what?”, I asked in confusion.

“Ah, never mind.”

I wasn’t going to question it any further. It was Break. I’d not question this guy.

“So, finished with sun screen! Can we go into the water now?”, Noé asked, his eyes practically sparkling with joy and I stood up, keeping my arms away from my body now. It was ok. I was beautiful. It was ok.

Noé took my hand again and I suddenly got a very good idea.

Yeah, I’d do this. This was the perfect payback.

I pulled him with me into the water and as soon as we reached a certain depth, I took his head in both hands and pressed it into the water for three second.

I let go and he looked at me, puzzled, his hair now completely wet.

“What was that for?” “For when you pushed me against that damn wall in grade one.” He smiled and then that smile grew into a grin and he started laughing, placing his hands on my shoulders to bury his head in my hair. I hated that he was so tall.

Ok, no, I loved it. His pullovers were completely oversized when I wore them and that was just absolutely perfect.

“I swear… you are… you really are…!”

I loved him so much. So incredibly much.

In the next moment my whole head was cold and I wanted to kill my brother.

“We can’t leave that beach without a water fight, can we?”, Misha sad and got water into his bucket to pour it over me again.

“Hey! That’s unfair! You have a weapon and I don’t!”, I breathed out and hid behind Noé.

“Noé, you’re my shield now! Protect me from this evil brother of mine!”

I only caught a glimpse of Lily before Noé, but he suddenly started laughing and when he slowly sank more into the water, I saw that Lily was tickling him, alas, killing my one and only protection I had left for this last war.

Misha had beaten me. He had won and I had accepted it. It wasn’t as if I could help it.

“We need help like right fucking now”, Domi suddenly screamed and we looked at her. Jeanne was standing next to her, terribly flustered, her hands in the water. Domi was kind of grinning but also she looked like she wanted to die.

“You two stay here and look after Dave, Break and Sharon are currently getting ice cream for us”, I said and took Noé’s hand, “come, we’ll help them with whatever problem they have.” He nodded and together, we walked to them.

“So, what’s the problem? Got your finger stuck in your girlfriend, Domi?”, I snarled and she looked at me as if she wanted to kill me.

“No. Jeanne has lost her panties.” In less than a second, Noé had buried his face in his hands and sighed and then he made a sobbing-like sound.

“How the fuck did that happen?” “I-“, Jeanne began, stuttering, then she looked at Domi, then at the water and her hands which were covering the lower part of her body, “I- tried to pee and-“ “That lie is worse than the truth, Jeanne”, Domi shouted and looked me in the eyes, “I was fingering her and she raised her leg and whoops, it was gone. Now help me search for it, it’s not like you’ve never seen panties before anyways.” I sighed and shook my head in complete desperation. I didn’t want to fucking live anymore. This was just too much.

“I’m doing this for Jeanne because she’s the victim, but not for you, Domi”, I answered and then went on more to the shore in the hope that the waves would carry it.

Jeanne let herself sink more into the water. Everything about this was just absolutely awkward. And it would not have happened if they weren’t that horny, but no of course, sex on the beach was apparently necessary for them.

“I have it”, Noé said, he was not standing far away from me, holding a pink pantie between his right middle finger and thumb.

He walked over to them and gave it to Jeanne who mumbled a ‘thanks’. Yeah, they should definitely thank us. God, right now, I kind of hated them.

“Vani, I’m going to lie down for a while, I’m still kinda tired from the quidditch training yesterday.”

Half an hour later, Noé was asleep in the sand and he had boobs made out of sand as well as a mermaid tail, made by Lily and me. We stared at the result happily. He’d not get out of that without help and we should definitely hide somewhere.

Misha, Sharon, Break and Dave had gone to look for toilets and Jeanne and Domi had… disappeared. I didn’t want to know what they were doing now. It was more than obvious what they were doing anyways.

“Behind the rocks”, Lily whispered and I nodded, hiding behind them with her now. We just had to wait until he woke up now.

“You know, Vanitas…”, she suddenly said, looking downwards, “I’m… I just wanted to say that I admire you. You basically raised Misha. And he’s so kind and loving and… I’m glad that you made him like that even when your father…”

I didn’t really know what to answer to that, so I just kind of put my hand into her hair and ruffled it a little.

“Of course I did that. He’s my brother. I love him just as much as you do. And you’re good for him, I can tell that. I know that you’d never pressure him into anything except for like, cooking or something like this.” Lily smiled and nodded.

“Thanks I just… I admire you so much, Vanitas. You went through so much and yet you still made him into this person, and also… you’re… really beautiful and I have to admit that I’m kind of jealous sometimes. Like, I don’t really care about beauty or anything but- I just… you’re really beautiful, ok?” “Lily, are you sure you’re not a lesbian and are you sure you’re not drunk?” She shook her head and looked at me with those completely honest eyes of hers. She was serious about that.

I felt myself starting to blush.

“O-oh… ok, thank you, then… I guess…? How am I supposed to respond to this? I don’t fucking know…!” “Why the fuck am I a mermaid?”

Lily and I both burst into laughter when we heard his scream. Yeah, hiding surely hadn’t been logical if we only laughed like that.

“Vanitas, get me out of here, you fucking…!” “Ah, I’m a fucking what now?”, I asked and jumped over the rocks to kneel down before him.

“You’re a brat! Now free me! I swear to god, I won’t-“ “You won’t what, Noé?”, I asked and leant down closer to him.

Lily was still a little farther away.

“I guess I won’t be able to have sex with you then.”

“Lily, we’re freeing him. Right now”, I said and he laughed out.

“I knew that’d work.” “Yeah, you jerk, of course it does”, I sighed and his grin didn’t fade, “Noé, stop grinning or we’ll get the same fucking problem Jeanne and Domi had.” “I can hear everything you’re saying!”, Lily complained and grabbed a tiny shovel, “let’s get to work before you two starve on horniness or whatever, I just don’t want to be near you then.”

#ph vnc hp au

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lesbianrewrites · 7 years

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Blood of Olympus - Chapter 45

*disclaimer* This is a project done for fun, and none of these characters/works belong to me. I do not claim to own any of the material on this page. This is a Lesbian edit of The Blood of Olympus by Rick Riordan. Chapters will be posted every day at 10am EST. Google doc version can be found here. The chapter can also be found under the cut. Enjoy!

ABOUT FIVE MILES EAST OF CAMP, a black SUV was parked on the beach.

They tied up the boat at a private dock. Nicola helped Dakota and Leila haul Michael Kahale ashore. The big guy was still only half-conscious, mumbling what Nicola assumed were football calls: ‘Red twelve. Right thirty-one. Hike.’ Then he giggled uncontrollably.

‘We’ll leave him here,’ Leila said. ‘Just don’t bind him. Poor guy …’

‘What about the car?’ Dakota asked. ‘The keys are in the glove compartment, but, uh, can you drive?’

Leila frowned. ‘I thought you could drive. Aren’t you seventeen?’

‘I never learned!’ Dakota said. ‘I was busy.’

‘I’ve got it covered,’ Nicola promised.

They both looked at her.

‘You’re, like, fourteen,’ Leila said.

Nicola enjoyed how nervous the Romans acted around her, even though they were older and bigger and more experienced fighters. ‘I didn’t say I would be behind the wheel.’

She knelt and placed her hand on the ground. She felt the nearest graves, the bones of forgotten humans buried and scattered. She searched deeper, extending her senses into the Underworld. ‘Jules-Albert. Let’s go.’

The ground split. A zombie in a ragged nineteenth-century motoring outfit clawed his way to the surface. Leila stepped back. Dakota screamed like a kindergartner.

‘What the hell is that?’ Dakota protested.

‘This is my driver,’ Nicola said. ‘Jules-Albert finished first in the Paris–Rouen motorcar race back in 1895, but he wasn’t awarded the prize because his steam car used a stoker.’

Leila stared at him. ‘What are you even talking about?’

‘He’s a restless soul, always looking for another chance to drive,’ Nicola said. ‘The last few years, he’s been my driver whenever I need one.’

‘You have a zombie chauffeur,’ Leila said.

‘I call shotgun.’ Nicola got in on the passenger’s side. Reluctantly, the Romans climbed in the back.

One thing about Jules-Albert: he never got emotional. He could sit in crosstown traffic all day without losing his patience. He was immune to road rage. He could even drive straight up to an encampment of wild centaurs and navigate through them without getting nervous.

The centaurs were like nothing Nicola had ever seen. They had back ends like palominos, tattoos all over their hairy arms and chests, and bullish horns protruding from their foreheads. Nicola doubted they could blend in with humans as easily as Chiron did.

At least two hundred were sparring restlessly with swords and spears, or roasting animal carcasses over open fires (carnivorous centaurs … the idea made Nicola shudder). Their camp spilled across the farm road that meandered around Camp Half-Blood’s southeast perimeter.

The SUV nudged its way through, honking when necessary. Occasionally a centaur glared through the driver’s side window, saw the zombie driver and backed away in shock.

‘Pluto’s pauldrons,’ Dakota muttered. ‘Even more centaurs arrived overnight.’

‘Don’t make eye contact,’ Leila warned. ‘They take that as a challenge for a duel to the death.’

Nicola stared straight ahead as the SUV pushed through. Her heart was pounding, but she wasn’t scared. She was angry. Octavian had surrounded Camp Half-Blood with monsters.

Sure, Nicola had mixed emotions about the camp. She’d felt rejected there, out of place, unwanted and unloved … but now that it was on the verge of destruction, she realized how much it meant to her. This was the last place Bianca and she had shared as a home – the only place they’d ever felt safe, even if only temporarily.

They rounded a bend in the road and Nicola’s fists clenched. More monsters … hundreds more. Dog-headed men prowled in packs, their poleaxes gleaming in the light of campfires. Beyond that milled a tribe of two-headed men dressed in rags and blankets like homeless guys, armed with a haphazard collection of slings, clubs and metal pipes.

‘Octavian is an idiot,’ Nicola hissed. ‘He thinks he can control these creatures?’

‘They just kept showing up,’ Leila said. ‘Before we knew it … well, look.’

The legion was arrayed at the base of Half-Blood Hill, its five cohorts in perfect order, its standards bright and proud. Giant eagles circled overhead. The siege weapons – six golden onagers the size of houses – were arrayed behind in a loose semicircle, three on each flank. But, for all its impressive discipline, the Twelfth Legion looked pitifully small, a splotch of demigod valour in a sea of ravenous monsters.

Nicola wished she still had the sceptre of Diocletian, but she doubted a legion of dead warriors would make a dent in this army. Even the Argo II couldn’t do much against this kind of strength.

‘I have to disable the onagers,’ Nicola said. ‘We don’t have much time.’

‘You’ll never get close to them,’ Leila warned. ‘Even if we get the entire Fourth and Fifth Cohorts to follow us, the other cohorts will try to stop us. And those siege weapons are manned by Octavian’s most loyal followers.’

‘We won’t get close by force,’ Nicola agreed. ‘But alone I can do it. Dakota, Leila – Jules-Albert will drive you to the legion lines. Get out, talk to your troops, convince them to follow your lead. I’ll need a distraction.’

Dakota frowned. ‘All right, but I’m not hurting any of my fellow legionnaires.’

‘No one’s asking you to,’ Nicola growled. ‘But if we don’t stop this war the entire legion will be wiped out. You said the monster tribes take insult easily?’

‘Yes,’ Dakota said. ‘I mean, for instance, you make any comment to those two-headed guys about the way they smell and … oh.’ He grinned. ‘If we started a brawl, by accident of course …’

‘I’ll be counting on you,’ Nicola said.

Leila frowned. ‘But how will you –’

‘I’m going dark,’ Nicola said. And she faded into the shadows.

She thought she was prepared.

She wasn’t.

Even after three days of rest and the wondrous healing properties of Coach Hedge’s gooey brown gunk, Nicola started to dissolve the moment she shadow-jumped.

Her limbs turned to vapour. Cold seeped into her chest. Voices of spirits whispered in her ears: Help us. Remember us. Join us.

She hadn’t realized how much she had relied on Reyna. Without her strength, she felt as weak as a newborn colt, wobbling dangerously, ready to fall at every step.

No, she told herself. I am Nicola di Angelo, daughter of Hades. I control the shadows. They do not control me.

She stumbled back into the mortal world at the crest of Half-Blood Hill.

She fell to her knees, hugging Thalia’s pine tree for support. The Golden Fleece was no longer in its branches. The guardian dragon was gone. Perhaps they’d been moved to a safer spot with the battle so close. Nicola wasn’t sure. But, looking down at the Roman forces arrayed outside the valley, her spirits wavered.

The nearest onager was a hundred yards downhill, encircled in spiked trenches and guarded by a dozen demigods. The machine was primed, ready to fire. Its huge sling cupped a projectile the size of a Honda Civic, glowing with flecks of gold.

With icy certainty, Nicola realized what Octavian was up to. The projectile was a mixture of incendiaries and Imperial gold. Even a small amount of Imperial gold could be incredibly volatile. Exposed to too much heat or pressure, the stuff would explode with devastating impact, and of course it was deadly to demigods as well as monsters. If that onager scored a hit on Camp Half-Blood, anything in the blast zone would be annihilated – vaporized by the heat, or disintegrated by the shrapnel. And the Romans had six onagers, all stocked with piles of ammunition.

‘Evil,’ Nicola said. ‘This is evil.’

She tried to think. Dawn was breaking. She couldn’t possibly take down all six weapons before the attack began, even if she found the strength to shadow-travel that many times. If she managed it once more, it would be a miracle.

She spotted the Roman command tent – behind and to the left of the legion. Octavian would probably be there, enjoying breakfast at a safe distance from the fighting. He wouldn’t lead his troops into battle. The little scumbag would hope to destroy the Greek camp from a distance, wait for the flames to die down, then march in unopposed.

Nicola’s throat constricted with hate. She concentrated on that tent, envisioning her next jump. If she could assassinate Octavian, that might solve the problem. The order to attack might never be given. Nicola was about to attempt it when a voice behind her said, ‘Nicola?’

She spun, her sword instantly in her hand, and almost decapitated Jill Solace.

‘Put that down!’ Jill hissed. ‘What are you doing here?’

Nicola was dumbstruck. Jill and two other campers were crouched in the grass, binoculars around their necks and daggers at their side. They wore black jeans and T-shirts, with black grease paint on their faces like commandos.

‘Me?’ Nicola asked. ‘What are you doing? Getting yourselves killed?’

Jill scowled. ‘Hey, we’re scouting the enemy. We took precautions.’

‘You dressed in black,’ Nicola noted, ‘with the sun coming up. You painted your face but didn’t cover that mop of blond hair. You might as well be waving a yellow flag.’

Jill’s ears reddened. ‘Lou Ellen wrapped some Mist around us, too.’

‘Hi.’ The girl next to her wriggled her fingers. She looked a little flustered. ‘You’re Nicola, right? I’ve heard a lot about you. And this is Cecil from Hermes cabin.’

Nicola knelt next to them. ‘Did Coach Hedge make it to camp?’

Lou Ellen giggled nervously. ‘Did he ever.’

Jill elbowed her. ‘Yeah. Hedge is fine. He made it just in time for the baby’s birth.’

‘The baby!’ Nicola grinned, which hurt her face muscles. She wasn’t used to making that expression. ‘Mellie and the kid are all right?’

‘Fine. A very cute little satyr boy.’ Jill shuddered. ‘But I delivered it. Have you ever delivered a baby?’

‘Um, no.’

‘I had to get some fresh air. That’s why I volunteered for this mission. Gods of Olympus, my hands are still shaking. See?’

She took Nicola’s hand, which sent an electric current down Nicola’s spine. She quickly withdrew. ‘Whatever,’ she snapped. ‘We don’t have time for chitchat. The Romans are attacking at dawn and I’ve got to –’

‘We know,’ Jill said. ‘But, if you’re planning to shadow-travel to that command tent, forget it.’

Nicola glared at her. ‘Excuse me?’

She expected Jill to flinch or look away. Most people did. But Jill’s blue eyes stayed fixed on hers – annoyingly determined. ‘Coach Hedge told me all about your shadow-travel. You can’t try that again.’

‘I just did try it again, Solace. I’m fine.’

‘No, you’re not. I’m a healer. I could feel the darkness in your hand as soon as I touched it. Even if you made it to that tent, you’d be in no shape to fight. But you wouldn’t make it. One more slip, and you won’t come back. You are not shadow-travelling. Doctor’s orders.’

‘The camp is about to be destroyed –’

‘And we’ll stop the Romans,’ Jill said. ‘But we’ll do it our way. Lou Ellen will control the Mist. We’ll sneak around, do as much damage as we can to those onagers. But no shadow-travel.’

‘But –’

‘No.’

Lou Ellen’s and Cecil’s heads swivelled back and forth like they were watching a really intense tennis match.

Nicola sighed in exasperation. She hated working with other people. They were always cramping her style, making her uncomfortable. And Jill Solace … Nicola revised her impression of the daughter of Apollo. She’d always thought of Jill as easygoing and laid back. Apparently she could also be stubborn and aggravating.

Nicola gazed down at Camp Half-Blood, where the rest of the Greeks were preparing for war. Past the troops and ballistae, the canoe lake glittered pink in the first light of dawn. Nicola remembered the first time she’d arrived at Camp Half-Blood, crash-landing in Apollo’s sun car, which had been converted into a fiery school bus.

She remembered Apollo, smiling and tanned and completely cool in his shades.

Thalia had said, He’s hot.

He’s the sun god, Penny replied.

That’s not what I meant.

Why was Nicola thinking about that now? The random memory irritated her, made her feel jittery.

She had arrived at Camp Half-Blood thanks to Apollo. Now, on what would likely be her last day at camp, she was stuck with a daughter of Apollo.

‘Whatever,’ Nicola said. ‘But we have to hurry. And you’ll follow my lead.’

‘Fine,’ Jill said. ‘Just don’t ask me to deliver any more satyr babies and we’ll get along great.’

#heroes of olympus #hoo #lesbians of olymous #lesbian #lesbiansafe #gay #lgbt #lgbtq #sapphic #wlw #lesbian rewrites #lesbian rewrite project #the blood of olympus

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