The sum of the parts.

God look at these cute dorks. The inspiration this evening.

I've realised something. Maybe it's because it's past 2am and I always get so weird in these hours. Maybe it's because I'm seeing Moony in tomorrow/today, and maybe it's because Alex Bertie just got gay at me on Facebook. 

I met Jake last year at my first group session, the first time I met a group of trans* people and the first time I felt actually accepted. We got on instantly and I've considered myself lucky to know him and get to be such good friends ever since. 

Then he met this cute YouTuber, Alex. They're sweet together and all but this isn't a proper promo, god knows they get enough attention already.

The thing is, I was incredibly nervous about meeting Alex. We were suppose to all hang out for a few hours until he had to go to the dentist, and Alex kept commenting on how me and Jake had this 'weird connection', a habit of sharing glances and understanding each other. Admittedly most of them were Jake looking at me to say 'look at this cutie do you understand' and me nodding. I think at some point I helped manhandle Alex into a jumper. That was fun.

We ended up holding hands (all of us in a queer little line but 'the hetero way' with me because interlocking fingers is too intimate) on the way to Alex's bus stop, we barely spoke unless it was through Jake, who was totally useless at talking about me beyond "he's cool, he wore that Star Wars shirt literally to appeal to you but he actually really likes Spock's dad", or something close. All accurate.

Me, Jake, Alex. Actual dorks.

So yeah, I was a little concerned that Alex was uncomfortable with me around for this reason, but it seems to have settled down. Despite being mostly iffy about contact, he'll hug me, and I feel like we've managed to get on pretty well, probably much to Jake's delight. 

Today, Alex just went to sleep after some sweet messages where we basically discussed our affections for Jake, I realised something. I've been worried this whole time that I was screwing up the situation between those two, but I've actually somehow helped. 

What I'm getting at here is a massive Star Trek analogy. It was going to happen, you know it.

Jake is Kirk, enthusiastic, full of ideas and an intense desire not to owe anyone anything, to just help where he can and get nothing in return. Alex is Spock, hardworking, more relaxed around Jake than anywhere, and passionate about his subjects. This leaves me as Bones, Kirk's  best bro and reliable source of personality boosts while patiently sitting through Kirk talking about his relationship and how great it is. Totally ready to help or tell him he sucks. Bones and Spock only interact because of Kirk, and while they're different (I can't work nearly as much as you, Alex and I could not make videos I just type things), they get on. 

I did it guys. I'm Leonard McCoy. I'm Karl Urban. I'm finally there.

My best friends are idiots.

Beyond that, most shows have this Triumvrate dynamic. Three main personalities that work together despite differences and create a stronger, triple the awesome version. Like the combo moves in Power Rangers. Scott, Stiles and Derek in Teen Wolf. Cas, Dean and Sam in Supernatural. It's a tried and tested method.

But more than the two cute homos pictured above, I've come to the realisation that I often set myself into triumvirates. 

When I was a kid, I always had two friends that I kept close, we worked together best. Then, as I grew up it became a rotation of my best friend and whoever else fitted at the time. Now, it's two really awesome guys that I consider close, and I appreciate the heck out of them. 

It's Emily and Kati on Skype/Tumblr keeping me going in the Dredd fandom and bouncing ideas off each other, letting me talk about my godawful AU and slowly wrecking this once hardcore Lawman when we're not having identity crises together or lamenting our lives. 

It's my partner and Erika, friends since Sixth Form and now considered a good friend of mine. Alternatively, my partner and Aniz, brother pictured below.

The strongest Triumvirate. Moony and my Swedish brother.
(Singing 1D, which explains the bottles).

I'm almost always Spock or Bones. I never fit Jim, which I'm fine with. I'm not good at direct sunlight. I work best when I'm reflecting the glow of others back at them so they'll understand what I see in them. 

Moony is the Kirk to my Spock, and I'll always cherish that most of all. I'm like a young Spock that hasn't learnt to turn off the human emotions yet, but the ideals remain the same. 

Basically we surround ourselves in triumvirates because they make everyone stronger. And it's a really interesting concept. Everyone builds on each other's weaknesses and they're practically unstoppable. I want that. I have that, everywhere.

Has Godzilla been misgendered this whole time?

Even the strongest fighters can get tied up in the traps of heteronormative society.

I guess this is a new installment of the projection onto fictional 'villains', continued from the Dalek metaphor post.

Disclaimer. My total knowledge of Godzilla is totally limited, I'll admit this. But I'm completely committed to watching the terrible old movies and learning all I can. Instead, I've done a little research online, and thought I'd share it all here. We all know sex and gender are very different, but I feel like Godzilla has bigger issues than that, so for the purposes of this post, I am discussing pronouns in direct connection to biological clues.

So, back in the early days, it appears the creator intended Godzilla to be female, though the Japanese narrations used neutral pronouns, which is super considerate. There are several instances wherein Godzilla is pregnant and has adorable babies, yet American dubs began using male.

As Moony pointed out when I said I was writing this, it shouldn't matter. And that's totally true, but I'm amazed at how big the confusion around all this is. It is as if the American narrators thought it would be cooler or more realistic to have a masculine radioactive creature emerge from the ocean and attack cities, ignoring the obvious signs that some form of explanation should maybe be given at least.

(It's kinda like how when Otachi was discovered to be pregnant in Pacific Rim, it changed how we understood the Kaiju, and since then it's been sort of understood that all the Kaiju must be female, if they're clones of each other. Because of course there is a Pacific Rim comparison here.)

Objectively, Godzilla probably doesn't give a fuck if we use an extra letter when referring to them, but I can't help but wonder if maybe there is some immense misgendering happening here that nobody is noticing. Which sums up trans* awareness perfectly.

I'm likely projecting massively, after an incident when a hetero guy on the train this week loudly asked his friends if I was a girl or a boy, and it still makes me uncomfortable. But it's a consideration.

There is a popular theory that there are hermaphroditic concepts as at work, allowing Godzilla to reproduce without another being, which would make sense given how nobody expected one, let alone two of these things to be created after years of toxic waste and planetary abuse of the oceans.

Either way, I adore this thing, and it was refreshing to see the focus be on how heroic this character is in the latest movie, so I didn't have to feel alone in my sympathies.

My hope is that one day, someone like precious Nick the worm guy of the '98 movie will ask 'wait, pregnant?' and we'll get some sort of closure, because nothing makes me more uncomfortable than getting things like pronouns wrong. As it is, I'm more confident with 'she', and I will fucking fight you about it.

Regardless of the sex of Godzilla, clearly producing model kids.
Don't share, just take the whole damn bag.

It is no sign of good health to be well adjusted to a sick society.

It's 4am blogs with Lorcan, yaaaay.

This explains the lack of beautiful metaphors and so on. And punctuation. I'm on my phone. 

Since it's totally Saturday now, I can safely say it is my birthday tomorrow. I'm going to be 18 years old. I'm going to legally be an adult.

I know it's typically a thing in older people, when they hit a new benchmarker and realise how little they've achieved, but I'm getting that right now.

I can't believe that I'm almost 18 and today I made plans to borrow my friend's boiler suit so I can cosplay as my favourite character in the Lego Movie. 

I'm nearly 18 and my aunt got me elastic/rubber brightly colored dinosaurs. The aforementioned Lego character is dancing with a T-Rex on my desk right now.

I'm nearly 18 and I regularly ask myself (and am asked by Moony) how I'm still alive when I fall over my feet and burn myself making tea, a task I conduct multiple times a day. 

I'm nearly 18 and sometimes I feel so much older. You know, they say you can see in the Doctor's eyes that he is far older than his face, that he has seen so much more. I wonder if that's like with me, to a less impressive extent. I don't want that to sound like me saying I have the same cred as the Doctor, that's wishful thinking. 

But let's go meta here for a second.

The Lorcan has to deal with a lot in life. They have a fiancée on the wrong side of the ocean, a family that doesn't really accept them to the point that a slip-up of pronouns is a massive breakthrough. There's mental health, dissociation, exams, legit over abundance of stress hormones, not the correct set of hormones in general...

Don't get me wrong, there are awesome things in Lorcan's life, too. There is that same fiancée, for starts, and a support group that is full of completely lovely people. The Godzilla movie was hecking awesome, too. 

And they're getting presents tomorrow. Which would be great except it's two days before an exam, too.

And while we're here, let's take a moment for neutral pronouns. Wow, they feel strange, but they're hella. No assumptions made, perfect for raging Dysphoria, which is a thing today. 

Every time I revise, I either actually cry orI end  up close enough to it that I crawl under my comfort duvet - it has a space theme - and listen to music until I calm down. But that takes hours out of my time, and lead to things like this, where I'm laying in bed at 4am unable to sleep because I'm trying to work out techniques to pass - both the exam and in life generally. 

Maybe tomorrow I'll work something out. Maybe I'll find a kickass track list online and there'll be a study montage. 

Maybe Uni will let me in regardless. It does happen.

Casting shadows on the winter sky as you stood there counting crows.

Today, I was waiting in my brother's girlfriend's car until a closer time to board the coach that would take me the hell away from the seaside town where people go to end the portion of their lives that could be called interesting, and it was raining pretty bad.

I don't even just mean it was unpleasant. Anyone reading this may be unaware of the storms that have gripped the bottom half of the united kingdom for the last week or so, but there have been floods and road closures around where my family lives, and I've been worried about my flight back home, to Moony. It's that bad.

But I digress. Next to the car, on one of those low flower installments you get on promenades to make the place look nicer, was a crow. I think it was trying to get into a shell or something. Now, I know the phrase 'water off a duck's back', as in 'don't let it get under your skin, but let it go without touching you'. And it's always been kind of a good idea. It's a good job I adore cliches, because I think of that line a lot.

The water droplets on this crow were first apparent when it shook, sending the water everywhere and leaving its' feathers blessedly free of water for a few seconds until it began gathering again. What struck me, in that moment, while my brother's band played music through the speaker system and cigarette smoke curled over the top of a window, was that while the water fell onto that crows' feathers, it seemed utterly unphased.

Now, this is a hell of an extended metaphor, because what if each droplet of water were an issue of some kind. The faint ones were the little things, like doing the washing, e-mail that freely gendered individual. The more noticable droplets were things like, say, essays, university money costs. The really big ones? Well they'd be parent issues, gender identity dysphoria. You know, to take examples at random.

Sometimes, the droplets fell together, small things combining into bigger things. Deadlines, mock exams, pressure to do something to make someone blood related proud.

And then, just as if they were simply droplets of hydrogen and double oxygen, the crow would shake free its' problems, and continue on whatever undecided course the small creature had picked out over the dirt.

If I could do that, just shrug it all off and be content with myself, I would love to do so. But then, that's what these trips to Sweden are for. However, then the water started falling onto the same ink black feathers, and I realised that no matter how frequently you free yourself from problems and issues, you're never really going to be content, because the water will keep gathering. All you can do is try to make it a little easier on yourself by only attracting the small droplets, and not letting the bigger ones weigh you down.

Unwritten

I recently read a piece of fiction based on Jim Kirk and Leonard "Bones" McCoy, wherein Jim works for a publishing company named Enterprise and ran by Christopher Pike. Jim also publishes the ten book Captain Fine series aimed at young adults. He finds an unfinished manuscript by one Leonard H McCoy, MD, and tracks him down despite hippy-background Mr Spock's requests that he not do that.

Leonard is, to say the least, uncooperative to finish the work he stopped six years previously, and while I knew this fic had promise, I didn't anticipate how inspiring it would be.

The way the characters discuss writing, why they pursue it and how they feel about it, it made me consider for the first time in a very long time why I actually want to be a writer.

There's no doubt about it, for me. Writing has been my dream career since I was a kid, and I love how words can make you love or hate a character your previously never met. How it can light a feeling in you or make you long for something you never considered.

I lost track of it, amongst my education and transition, but I want to pick up my old ideas, shake them off and add a little more of an LGBT* spin, and write for young adults. I want believable and interesting characters of my own, and maybe I'll get there, one day. 

I can't stop thinking about the possibility of ever actually publishing a book, seriously.

In Michael Jackson's final moment, he thought about? Passive aggressive post-it notes.

If there's one thing that frustrates me more than my parents not trusting who I say I am, it's when my own mother is passive-aggressive towards me over matters that I am not in the wrong for.

In my travel to Moony last month, my suitcase - mum's suitcase - got broken. Or rather, the handles snapped except for the main one. It was not my fault, and I was pissed but it was done, and I could still move it easy enough.

I didn't see it as a problem, and I was just happy to be there. I didn't think about it again until I got back here any my mum told me to either get a new one from the airline or buy it myself. It's not my fault, and nobody travels anywhere in this house except me. And I got back from Heathrow just fine, even though I was welcomed by nobody upon returning to my town. They couldn't be bothered to journey 20 minutes to meet me after a long and emotionally draining day, and I'm never going to ask because I don't want to owe them anything. 

I tried to complain, even though it's very against my nature, but since it was more than seven days since it happened, I couldn't. 

Today, mum asked if I complained. I explained the situation calmly, and was told I should have said it happened when I got home. It honestly never occurred to me to lie about what happened.

I was told 'thanks a fucking lot' and general other things that clearly state no thanks are in order, and I rarely raise my voice but this was not my fault, and I won't let my mum blame me for it.

But I'm not even upset. I'm just frustrated. I can't stand up for what I believe in, I can never tell them I don't answer to that name any more, or that I'm not female (today). 

I probably seem really confident at school, but the secret is that I'm not. I can tell a class who I am because I trust them not to hurt abuse with a teacher in the room, or to my face. But I don't trust my parents. I hide in my room, don't leave unless I have to get to the kitchen or something, and some evenings I don't voice a single word because all my friends are online. Even though one or two aren't talking to me much, and I miss them. 

And I wish I were strong enough to stand up for myself but I know the resulting argument will achieve absolutely nothing but tears and a stressful night of hatred on my part while my parents cry downstairs and my mum strongly hints that her headache of several days is caused by me. 

I can't be let down after throwing my heart at them any more.

I'm fading in this place, and I need to get out before I disappear. 

You've got to ask yourself one question: "Do I feel lucky?" Well, do ya, punk?

As you may be able to tell, I have discovered and fallen in live with Dirty Harry, yet another in my line of Clint Eastwood marathons.

But this quote seems oddly fitting, because I had some fairly good things happen yesterday.

I'm going to resit my media exam because the examiners were dicks and it seems like if I do it again, my D grade might be pushed to a C or B. 

I finally know were my media coursework is heading, too. We mapped it out yesterday so I feel more sure of myself. And I have a book to get that will actually tell me what to revise.

I got an offer for Bournemouth university, so long as I get the grades. This is really great news because it seems I'll definitely get at least the grades for there. It's close to home, and if I go there I get the feeling my parents want me to stay here, but me and Moony have dreamed of our own place for years and if I don't move out In August I might crack.

I also got offered Judge Dredd comics by a teacher I'd never met because she had some in her garage to get rid of and noticed my Dredd badge on my coat.

I know it's not a great belief, but I very much feel that sometimes the universe/life does little things to remind you that the world can be a kind place.

I picked up that badge in the morning on a whim because I was looking for a pen, and decided to pin it on at the bus stop because it's seriously awesome.

I was walking in a different part of school than usual, because I was meeting a somewhat friend so we could pick up food someone got us. The teacherwas walking   past at that exact moment, and now I own some things that I love utterly, and can actually call my own. A series of small adjustments have led to something great. This is amazing to me.

I also watched a cool film called Gigola, which I recommend to future me reading this and anyone else that likes french films about a classy dressed lesbian and her group of pretty ladies, and incredibly classy sex scenes.

So it was a good day, and I do feel lucky. Me and Moony have nearly survived or first week until we next see each other and I finally know what to do for school. Things are looking up.