If You Would Be So Kind As To Reblog This If You Feel Insecure About Your Writing Skills.

Nd culture is being told you’re not nd just pubescent and emotional

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I wish people realized that just because someone’s love language may be physical touch, that doesn’t automatically mean it’s sexual touch.

Sensual attraction and platonic intimacy exists, too. 

YOUR name is YOUR name and you can decide what it is, and change it as much or as little as you want.

if your birth name is gender neutral… you don’t have to keep it just because its “non-gendered”. even if you’re switching to a similarly non-gendered name. it is your right as a person to have people call you whatever makes you the most comfortable

my first favorite hobby is yapping. second is being extremely quiet and not talking ever at all ever.

RESPECT ALL ASPEC IDENTITIES EVEN IF YOU DONT UNDERSTAND THEM

Get this message onto everyone’s dash rn

you decide what kind of attraction it is that you're feeling btw

this pride month I am wishing everyone a very stop overanalyzing yourself and just have fun with it. have gay sex. don't have any sex. try on a new gender. stop caring about gender at all. talk to your doctor about hormones. go on a date. break up with the person you dont love. whatever it is you have been putting off doing by dithering about it in your head. just do that and fully experience how it feels without trying to put it into words. if you still need a word for it later there will be one. they aren't going anywhere. but people were here before language and there's only so far language can go in giving you a fulfilling human experience. so if you are hiding behind finding the right words for whatever it is your heart wants i hope this month you get the courage to just do it instead.

This is possibly my favorite thing I've read in a while.

The "encouraged myself to talk like the concept of the name Brad" makes so much sense for some reason, and just makes me laugh

And the "What did I do to earn she?" hits so close to home

Water - a wolfstar microfic

Modern Coffee Shop AU ~ cw: mentions of suicide as a joke, mild transphobia, misgendering, dysphoria ~ word count: 1,499 ~ @wolfstarmicrofic

“I swear to god I’m going to kill myself if another customer starts giving me their order when all I’ve asked is ‘How are you.’” I made the joke even though I knew he’d hate it. Remus Lupin takes thoughts of my death very seriously, doesn’t even laugh when I say, ‘But my death will be Sirius!’

But I mean, no pun intended, I was Sirius about the comment.

Because, look, sometimes working in customer service feels like choosing between lying on asphalt naked on a boiling summer day and just sort of…walking into traffic just to make your headache go away. 

That didn’t make sense, I know that, but I’ve worked two double shifts in as many days and I’m icing both of my feet and I wasn’t trying to upset my best friend by talking about my death by my own hand, but a woman who was almost certainly named Lauren had just completely ignored my frantic Be with you in a moment! as I nearly poured oat milk all over myself for the fourth time today to start telling me about the lavender latte she wanted ‘grande size’ when I don’t work at a Starbucks. 

“It’s still not funny,” he’d said, too busy slowly pouring steamed milk into a mug to look me in the eye, but I knew exactly the expression he’d have used if he could. 

“Fine, I’m going to scream, Shut the fuck up and wait one goddamn second or get the fuck out of the store! if another customer starts giving me their order when all I’ve asked is ‘How are you.’ Better?” I was whispering fast and sharp in his ear, ignoring the next Lauren in line who was trying to catch my eye. 

He did look up at this, lifting a brow at me, his stupid mouth smirking just enough that only I’d notice. “Slightly.”

As my manager, maybe he should have preferred I opt for suicide, but Remus Lupin isn’t a capitalist pig like that.

The line was to the door, which meant muttering benign threats of bodily harm (to myself or the customers) was only going to delay my inevitable suffering. I moved on to the next Lauren, and the next, and then the Laurens and their Boyfriends, who were usually named John, and then the Laurens and their moms, who usually looked perturbed to be in a coffee shop run by weirdo queers and eyed the mustache coming in on my face and my round cheeks, noted my voice that had the rasp of a 14-year-old boy and the cadence of someone raised to be a woman pandering to societal standards (no matter how hard I tried to drop the sound of a question mark at the end of my sentence, or encouraged myself to talk like the concept of the name Brad), and evidently deduced that I was something rather than someone so once again answered, “How are you?” with a flat-toned, “Medium latte with nonfat milk,” without meeting my (queer) eye. 

I opened my mouth, taking in a very large breath in preparation for my verbal assault, when I felt a body swerving in beside me. “How are you?” Remus asked her again, and Lauren’s Mom blinked at being asked another question. 

“I’m fine, thank you,” her words were clippy, but at least he’d gotten an answer to the world’s most useless question. “Medium latte with nonfat milk, please.”

He’d even gotten a please. 

I went to the bathroom.

When I returned, Remus asked casually, “Switch spots?” and didn’t mention that I’d just left him alone with an endless line on a Saturday morning when we didn't have a mid-shift so that I could sulk in the bathroom for five minutes, because again, he isn’t a capitalist pig. And also, he is kind of a saint. 

So I made oat milk cappuccinos for people that asked us to put vanilla in them–in a cappuccino–for the next two hours until my brain slid out my ears, down my arms and into the espresso drain.

And then—

“Excuse me,” someone said in a tone that sounded very much like they did not care if anyone ever excused them, “I think she made my drink wrong. I was supposed to have a large oat milk latte. This is medium, and I’m pretty sure it’s whole milk.”

She made my drink wrong, she made my drink wrong, she made my drink wrong, my shoulders were so stiff they must have touched my ears. I looked down at my black tank top and my cut off shorts and my black doc martens and wondered if I should have washed my binders last night after all because maybe it wasn’t constricting my chest enough? I hadn’t even spoken, what did I do wrong? What did I do to earn she?

Remus leaned over the register, taking the cup from the customer. “He did not make your drink wrong. I called this drink out, a medium latte for Cathy. Your drink is a large oat milk latte for…” He checked the tickets waiting on the counter. “Helen?” The customer nodded, wide-eyed. “Yeah, your drink is still third in line.”

“Oh…” Helen sputtered, actively not looking at me. “I apologize, I didn’t realize.”

“Alright, well, we need to serve the next customer, so if you could just stand…” Remus gestured toward the other side of the bar, and Helen nodded, stepping back.

Even though the next person stepped forward, Remus turned to me. He didn’t ask with words, just his soft eyebrows. 

I shrugged. “One more hour, right?”

At least, in the last hour, the lobby area was so full that many people opened the door and walked right back out. My feet ached so much I had to bounce between them for a moment of relief, my back pain was flaring up from my binder, and the clattering sounds from multiple groups’ loud chatter mixed with the music playing over the speakers created the most grating noise I’ve possibly ever heard.

When Marlene and Dorcas got there to take over for us, I almost kissed them on their beautiful lesbian mouths. 

“That bad, huh?” Marls asked as she clocked in. 

“What?” I questioned.

“You didn’t make a quippy joke when I came in, didn’t make up a song about how hard the day was, didn’t compliment my new shoes. You’re truly dead inside, so it must’ve been a rough shift.”

“Could’ve been dead on the outside, but Remus wouldn’t allow it.”

“I’ll be thanking him for that, then.”

“You ready?” He came up from behind me, touching my elbow just slightly. Somehow, even after a grueling morning with no mid-shift on an overly warm Saturday when we could have been lying out on the grass somewhere getting actual vitamin D, Remus was smiling, and his eyes meant it.

Like I said. Saint.

When we got into his car, he started it and cranked the air, but didn’t move to leave the lot. Leaning back in his seat, his shoulders facing forward, he rolled his head to look at me. “Wanna talk about it?”

I didn’t. But I did. Mostly I wanted to be around him as long as possible.

“There’s not much to say, right? Whatever. I don’t pass, it is what it is.”

He didn’t say anything.

“It’s just so fucking annoying that you pass so well,” I said, not thinking about it, and only heard how it sounded a few moments after. I winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, just, like, that woman you took over for me with, she even said please to you, when she couldn’t be bothered with me at all. Like, she fully thought you were a cis guy! I just don’t understand what I have to do!” 

I hadn’t meant to get that worked up, but I’ll admit it now, I was nearly crying, the words clogging up my throat, each and every side glance and double take at the sound of my voice clawing its way out of the recesses of my disassociated mind. 

He reached a hand over the center console, hovering it over the hand I had resting on my water bottle, our silent way to ask, Can I touch you? I lifted my hand up to meet his in response.

“I’m sorry, Sirius. This part of transitioning just…sucks.” His fingers were warm resting directly over mine, and I think I stopped noticing the pain in my back, my feet, my mind as much. “It’ll get easier eventually, but–yeah, until then,” he pressed his hand more firmly against mine, “I’m here.”

Anyway, Prongs, I think what I’m trying to say is I might be falling in love with my coworker/boss/best friend, and, um, help?

(Also, god I want to quit my job.)

(Also also, like exactly how bad would it be if I gave myself three T shots in one sitting?)

Terrified, Tired, Still Icing My Feet, Padfoot

FIN

A/N: DO NOT take more HRT than is prescribed to you by your doctor, no matter how much you want to, trust me, I've done it and I only got chastised and fucked my system up a bit. Also, would you guys want to read more of this little fic? No idea where it'd go, but I am fond of any iteration of wolfstar, so naturally I've already fallen in love with them. (Which is a little self-absorbed of me since Sirius was....heavily based on my own experience.) That being said, I did want to say that the customers at my coffee shop are much better than this--this was really more emulating the experience of working for Starbucks. 😆 all the hugs to my trans sibs reading this <3

something something remus lupin being a werewolf is a metaphor for him being transgender

Pronouns. They suck.

Wait! Hear me out.

1. You tell people you use many sets of pronouns, they pick one set of pronouns and stick to that.

2. Your gender has changed, would you like to inform the group of people you're hanging out with or would you like to be misgendered?

3. Today, my gender just feels like a blob of nothingness. Which pronouns do I use?!

🫠 8/23/22