jar saint

But as an AFAB person turning forty-five on the fifteenth of this month, I often find myself locked out of certain queer or non-conforming spaces because I do not look “genderless.” I look exactly like what society has designated as “female.” I possess the curvaceous architecture of a woman, and while it can sometimes be fun to play in that aesthetic, doing so inevitably means running headfirst into systemic misogyny. Because I lack the privilege of the skinny, androgynous gaze, my internal alignment is erased by my external form.

This friction extends directly to how I experience attraction. I am drawn to all genders because gender is not the variable that attracts me. I am looking for a specific internal component. While “demisexual” is close, it doesn't quite fit, my attraction is rooted in an intense intellectual connection rather than standard definitions of “emotional” bonding, a distinction likely shaped by my neurodivergence. I avoid “sapiosexual” because it carries a pretentious, ableist connotation that implies a demand for an IQ test, which completely misses my point. Similarly, “fictosexual” feels too weak to describe the depth of how I engage with narrative structures because I feel like it probably has more to do with archetypes throughout human history.

For me, attraction begins entirely within the mind. Aesthetics and form absolutely play a role, but I enjoy a vast spectrum of human forms far beyond the rigid, binary boxes of what society has determined to be masculine or feminine. 

And yet the rise of the red pill manosphere and the now always present literalism and purity tests of the internet often want to tell me how I should experience existence.

I did not live through a misogynistic abusive father to have strangers tell me how I should identify. If I want to look upon the narrative brilliance of Emet-Selch and imagine this fictional entity could see through my flesh to my soul and know that I am not only defined by the vessel I inhabit then that is absolutely my choice but I do not ever wish to tell someone else how to interpret art. Ship how you please just don’t tell me what lens I can’t look through. That is what I hate about the modern internet.

write insane shit that’s way beyond your perceived ability and skill level even if you don’t finish it even if you think it sucks

Well, someone had to make it, so might as well have been me.

There was multiple very funny party banter moments Marcus would not have tolerated about his relationship to Astarion. He was not happy it somehow became acceptable topic of discussion. This was probably my favourite.

Also Marcus going through the stages of grief thinking about Astarion.

At some point I started to wonder what was Shart thinking when Marcus comes to her every morning to receive his daily Lesser Restoration xD

Then happened the funniest accidental comedy bits, when I was entering the Crèche with the gondolin.