Revenge of the Jewfro

yes, India made legal gender change impossible but my friends have always gendered me correctly and stick to it even when it confuses other people and my friend's little sibling calls me older brother in Kannada yes, India made legal gender change impossible but my dog learned my new name quicker than the humans and she runs to give me a kiss when she's told to without being confused about who's being referred to

yes, India made legal gender change impossible but I can feel the Adam's apple growing in my throat and my muscles getting stronger, and my smile more real and I'm growing a beard, and I talk more freely

Like holy fuck that was such a Moment. Yes the world is going to shit but she's right. It's a wonder. I'm becoming more happy, more myself, and I'm able to.

Worldbuilding where being queer is normalized and queerphobia has no impact on the plot? THAT'S FINE. Worldbuilding that includes queerphobia and tackles the effects of it as part of the story? THAT'S ALSO FINE.

Low-stakes queer romcom where the characters are fluffy and cute? THAT'S COOL. Messy queer drama with toxic people who fuck each other over and clash repeatedly? THAT'S ALSO COOL.

Stories that center the characters' queerness, show a trans character's transition, and are about the queerness as much as the rest of the plot? AWESOME. Stories where the characters' queerness isn't treated as a big deal, and have trans characters whose transition happened before the story entirely? ALSO AWESOME.

You may PREFER one thing or another, but it is actually good to have all these things. It's about variety. It's about queer characters being allowed to exist without censorship. It's about queer artists getting to make things without being told we're a "niche issue" or "adult content." It's about having as many goddamn cakes as the bakery can produce.

new fic is out !! i wanted to write a little bit of messy enemies to lovers gold cross w/ gender ambiguous john, and this is what happened!

warnings: internalised homophobia

summary:

“What’s this?”

“Makeup,” John says, taking the brush back from Oscar and setting it on the other side of the sink. He can’t help feeling defensive over it, even though he knows he shouldn’t be.

“Oh,” Oscar says softly, just a moment too late. “Why?”

--

John and Oscar have always struggled to get along.

[additional bonus drabble under the cut cause i got distracted and couldnt stop writing about john doe malevolent <33]

Noel comes home later than he means to. 

Predictably his last phone call of the day had been an incredibly important one, requiring half an hour of writing down names and addresses and lots of flipping through the phonebook with the receiver tucked against his ear, and it’d been starting to get dark by the time he was sorted enough to hang up. He’d stayed after that to file away all the information he’d just been given, and put away all the records he’d dug out in the process before closing up. Not to mention that he’d run into John while leaving his office, and had taken a detour to walk him the rest of the way to the cinema. He was already behind on schedule, but he felt he ought to be chivalrous, and that was only tangentially related to the fact that John looked gorgeous dressed up for the night. 

When they’d passed down an empty alley that shortcuts to the cinema, John had taken Noel’s tie in his hand and leaned over to kiss him, presumably holding back only so he wouldn’t ruin his lipstick. Noel had commented that he seemed to be in a good mood– (‘Is there a problem with that?’ ‘Oh, daffodil, I’m not complaining–’) and hadn’t felt too bad himself walking the rest of the way back after dropping him off. 

In short, plenty of worse reasons to be home late.

Arthur’s meeting John for dinner after the movies, so it’s just Oscar waiting for him back at their place. Noel finds him sitting on the couch fiddling with his rosary, running his nail above the arm of the crucifix while staring at the opposite wall. His usually forlorn resting expression has smoothed out into something more… blank, and Noel squeezes his shoulder affectionately as he walks past.

 “Evenin,’ Father.”

Oscar turns to look over his shoulder at him. “Noel,” he says, like he hadn’t heard him come in. 

“How was the day?”

Oscar grimaces as he gets up from the couch, letting his rosary fall back against his chest. “Ah- not too bad.”

Noel hums in acknowledgement, slipping the strap of his bag off of his shoulder. “You see Arthur before he went into town? I need his advice on a lead.”

“Afraid not. Must’ve left straight from the office.”

“Bastard,” Noel sighs, though he appreciates the mental image of the two at dinner– Arthur looking characteristically disheveled with his tie loosened messily around his collar, sitting across from the most stunningly beautiful man Noel’s ever had the pleasure of looking in the eyes. “I’ll catch him when he gets home, then.”

He walks into the kitchen and over to the stack of letters on the counter, having piled up over the course of a week or so. The nature of four people in relatively different social circles sharing an address is that there’s almost always mail to look through, and Noel’s almost always behind on writing to someone.

Oscar follows him, glancing briefly over his shoulder at the other room, and Noel realizes that he doesn’t look nervous, exactly, nor is it the usual faint solemnity of his default expression.

“You alright, doll?”

Oscar blinks. “Hm?”

Noel frowns at him. “You look a little shaken.”

Oscar scrubs his hand along the bottom half of his face, nodding. His hand falls back to his side. “Aye, just- out of it, today.”

“Work stress?” Noel asks, sliding out the letter opener that’s been left half-buried in the envelopes. It’s somewhere between a guess and an offered way out, if Oscar doesn’t want to talk about it. “You’ve been goin’ in more often lately.”

Oscar makes a faint noise of agreement, noncommittal enough for Noel to be sure this has nothing to do with work. “Aye.” 

Oscar keeps watching Noel’s hands as he sets down the letter opener and takes out the letter, slanted handwriting in skilled calligraphy. It’s from a former client and friend he hasn’t spoken to since she moved away, but she promised she’d write. He scans the first few lines to ensure it’s nothing urgent, then folds the paper to read in full later in the evening.

Next to him, Oscar’s brow furrows. “And it isn’t as if you haven’t been staying late either.”

Noel slips the paper back into its envelope. “How about we make a pact, huh, doll? I’m afraid it’d be the only thing that’d get me to start leaving on time.”

“Not a bad idea.”

“Don’t know anything about bad ideas, darling,” Noel says, closing the envelope and kissing the side of Oscar’s face. Oscar turns his head and Noel takes the opportunity to kiss him on the lips, his hand resting on the edge of the counter while Oscar’s palm presses warm against Noel’s sleeve. 

It’s as he’s about to break away that he tastes something, the slightest familiar aftertaste on Oscar’s lips. He chases it a moment longer before Oscar moves, hand loosening on the side of Noel’s arm, and moves back.

“Course not,” Oscar says.

Noel sifts through the rest of the letters, sorting them into loose piles by recipient, with Arthur’s letters tucked under John’s, considering John will be the one reading them to him. He still can’t exactly place the taste lingering on his lips– it’s nice, sweet and touch floral, but he struggles to figure out on what other instance he would’ve tried it.

When he glances, mystified, over at Oscar, Noel sees that his hand is on his rosary again. He still looks a little bit like someone just slapped him in the face and he’s too stunned to look annoyed yet. It’s only when he sorts another letter into John’s pile that Noel looks up from the counter, pausing, and it clicks. 

He’d tasted it half an hour ago, on a shortcut to the cinema. 

He’s off the clock for the day, technically, but between the look on Oscar’s face and the several hours they would’ve had alone today, it isn’t that difficult to deduce what happened. 

“Hey, you and John ever figure out that argument?” he asks as he passes Oscar his stack of letters, as casually as he can manage. There’s a pause.

Then Oscar inhales, fanning the letters open in his hand and chewing on the inside of his cheek. “We talked.”

Noel has the slightest suspicion they might’ve done more than talk, but that’s for Oscar to bring up. For now he sets his hand on the small of Oscar’s back, flipping over the next letter of his own with his free hand and resisting the urge to smile. 

“Good to hear, doll. Keep me updated, yeah?”

“Course.”