#nonbinary!jason grace

Her mind races as she gets out of the car and squelches through the mud to the front porch. It's a good thing she wore boots today, but she always forgets how much colder it is outside the city, and her black jean jacket is too thin for the salty air. 

At least it gives her a reason to be trembling slightly as she rings the doorbell. 

Percy's the one who answers. He's flushed, but he's smiling as he pulls open the door, paneled in stained glass, which is a good sign. If something was wrong, he'd know, possibly even before Jason did. 

"Shoes off so Nico doesn't kill me," he says cheerfully, dragging her into a hug once she's inside. "Your baby's just getting dressed. We were thinking we'd have coffee here, then hit the new Thai place downtown, if that's cool with you."

The embrace lingers for a second, and Thalia pretends she doesn't appreciate the warmth. She nods against Percy's shoulder, clears her throat and steps back. 

"Are you making the coffee?" 

"Of course I am." Percy heads for the kitchen while Thalia crouches down to unlace her boots, calling over his shoulder so she can still hear. "I'm only banned from touching the espresso machine before ten in the morning, and it's past noon. Mocha, right? Double shot, half and half?" 

He says it casually, but it's proof that she's not hiding her tension. They're a lot alike in a lot of ways, including their caffeine habits; he knows it'll calm her down, but he also knows she'd rather not admit it. 

"Sounds good," she answers, glad he can't see her smile. 

She leaves her muddy boots by the door and pads into the living room on socked feet. The couch is empty. She can hear new wave music upstairs (probably Nico in his study), movement from Jason and Percy's bedroom just down the hall, and the hissing of steam from the kitchen. 

It's okay. He's okay. He's fine. 

The door to Jason's room opens. She hears the jangling of a collar and her baby brother's sweet, soft voice as he talks to the dog. She can't quite make out the words, but she can tell that she was right; he's nervous. 

She wants to get up and run to him, throw her arms around him and pull him tight and tell him everything will be okay. She forces herself to let him gather whatever courage he needs to, to wait for him to come to her. 

She sees Mrs. O'Leary first, her huge tongue lolling from her mouth as she trots into the living room entryway. Jason follows closely behind, using her to brace his weight. 

No. To brace her weight. 

That's a woman, standing shyly in the doorway with her dog at her side. 

She's tall, with long blonde hair that falls in soft waves over her shoulders. The dress she's wearing is simple, but elegant, made of white fabric patterned in pink and purple roses. Her feet are bare; the dress looks handmade, but shoes are going to be a little trickier for her, as big as she is. 

Her eyes, lined with gray liner and shimmering with pearlescent silver shadow, are wide and lovely and terrified. 

The instant relief is so strong that Thalia bursts out laughing without meaning to. Before her sister (holy shit, she has a sister) can get the wrong idea, Thalia springs to her feet and strides over and hugs her, as tightly as she can. 

"Oh, honey, I thought— you scared the fuck out of me; I thought you were going to tell me something was wrong!" 

All at once, her baby sibling relaxes like a popped balloon. Mostly, anyway; her arms stay where they are, locked tight around Thalia's waist. 

"I don't know why I was nervous about how you'd react. Percy kept telling me it would be okay. I should have listened to him." 

"Rubes, we've been over this. That's your dad's fault, not yours." 

Thalia turns her head. Percy's in the opposite doorway, beaming from ear to ear, a mug in each hand. He looks proud, besotted and a little smug, and for once, she has absolutely no desire to question his ego. 

"Rubes?" 

"She goes by Ruby when she's in Girl Mode," Percy explains, venturing fully into the living room. "Two doubleshot mochas for my favorite pair of sisters." He sets the mugs on coasters to protect the coffee table and heads back into the kitchen, whistling something upbeat and in a major key. 

"Which isn't all the time," Ruby adds, blushing. "I'm trying out 'genderfluid' as a label, but I know for sure I'm nonbinary. I still have Jason days." 

"But sometimes, you have Ruby days, too," Thalia finishes, startled to hear herself choking up a little. She reaches up and gently cups Ruby's cheek. "Which is a beautiful name for my beautiful baby sister." 

"Tell her the rest," Percy calls, over the sounds of making his own coffee. 

Ruby takes Thalia's hand and leads them to the couch, Mrs. O'Leary following obediently beside her. 

Her eyes are misty. Thalia's heart thuds in her chest at the open emotion. 

"Actually, Ruby's my middle name. My first name is Renée, after the best mom a girl could ever ask for." 

The world stops spinning. All that exists is their hands, squeezing tight. 

Up until this moment, Thalia has mostly heard that name spoken in anger. Thalia Renée, are you listening to me? 

This time, this one single utterance, erases all of those memories and leaves behind nothing but joy. 

She breaks down sobbing, beyond any words more complex than I love you, thank you, I'm so happy for you. Ruby indulges all of it, laughing and trembling from what must be a ridiculous amount of left-over adrenaline, never loosening her grip. 

Mrs. O'Leary, bless her, even puts her enormous paw in Thalia's lap as though to console her. Not that she needs consolation; it's just that an emotion this huge can't help but spill over. 

The best mom a girl could ever ask for. 

"I guess I must have done a decent job," she sniffs after a few minutes, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. "I raised a pretty fucking kickass daughter, anyway." 

We got engaged a few weeks ago which I am still completely losing my mind over. The ring I got him is really nice. It has abalone and amethyst on it and it's made of tungsten. Except for the amethyst it matches mine (I have a pearl, which I am just now realizing is funny for reasons that will become clear). 85% of the time, he's deliriously happy showing it off to anyone who will look. The thing is, it's really masculine because when he's feeling masculine he feels really masculine. 

He's still pretty new to the whole nonbinary thing and kinda anxious about everything, so we've been using codes to talk about it. It's a little easier to tell me "I'm in ten percent mode" than "I feel like a woman today". He came up with a nickname for her, too. We call her Pearl (not the real nickname but close, it's something you can wear as jewelry). 

So anyway Pearl definitely likes the ring, but she's conflicted about it. She hasn't complained and she never will. But last night we went on a date to an opera, and she wore this absolutely stunning floor-length gown and silk gloves and a wig that went all the way down her back. I was so busy gaping like a horny fish I didn't even notice she was wearing the ring on a chain around her neck instead of her finger. 

I didn't ask her about it. I'm pretty sure it would have embarrassed her and she would have put it on and sucked up the dysphoria because she thought I was unhappy. But it gave me an idea. 

I want to take her out to a really nice restaurant and give her a ring that matches her name. Something feminine and pretty she can feel good in. I want her to feel like Juliet on her balcony. Like Taylor Swift in the music video for Love Story. 

I just don't want to put her on the spot, you know? I don't want to draw attention to it if it'll make her feel crappy, but this is super new for both of us so I have no idea what I'm doing. He did drag shows for two years before Pearl perked her head up and let him know she was a part of him. 

She has a hard time expressing herself because she grew up with a lot of very strict pressure to adhere to gender norms. She's one of those people who can easily see that it's bullshit, except for when she internalizes it. She makes herself the exception to her own acceptance. 

It breaks my heart. Sometimes she cries about it, which is actually a huge improvement. Before Pearl, he couldn't cry except in literal life or death situations. He kinda still can't, but she can. 

She likes the opportunities to have a few milestones, like coming downstairs in a beautiful dress while I'm waiting at the door in a tux with a bouquet of pink hyacinths. He went to prom with me, but she's never been to a dance. My housemate helped me buy her a (not-actually) pearl bracelet for her birthday, and she cried and laughed and told me she loved me and demanded I put it on her. (My hands were super sweaty so it took me a couple tries, lol. It looks great on her.) 

I imagine myself taking her hand while we wait for dessert. Telling her how beautiful she is. How much I love her, that I can't wait to introduce her to people as my wife, that she's as knock-out drop-dead gorgeous as he is knock-out drop-dead handsome. Tell her how proud I am to be seen with her on my arm. How much her happiness means to me. 

I imagine getting on one knee and taking her hand and asking "Antoinette Pearl Smith (not her real full name either), will you do me the honor of being my bride?" 

I imagine her crying. That's where my imagination starts letting my insecurity interfere. 

Sometimes I see her smiling and crying and laughing and asking me to put it on her. Sometimes I imagine her bursting into tears and having a panic attack because I reminded her. I feel like there's a pretty even chance that it's either exactly the validation she needs from me or it's the worst possible plan I could come up with. 

She's incredibly elegant, classy and sophisticated, but she has a distinctly glam edge to her style. We get stares when we're out in public and it's a Pearl day. She's convinced it's because she doesn't pass (she can sing high bass parts and she's over 7 ft tall in her 8-inch dagger pumps and yes that turns me on), but I've seen the way people look at her. Most of them are staring for the same reason I do: because she's an Amazonian bombshell who leaves you breathless and makes your heart race, just by entering your field of vision.

When I say she's outrageously attractive, I mean the second word very literally. People are drawn to her. They can't help it. It's natural when a goddess walks among mortals, I guess. ;) 

(And yeah, sometimes people are horrible and we've heard plenty of slurs, but we live near a liberal city steeped in queer culture and history, which helps. I've taken a few punches, but I've thrown them back too, and there's always somebody nearby who checks in with us and makes sure we're okay afterwards. All things considered, we could be in a much less trans-friendly situation.) 

I guess I really want to make sure she knows I'm attracted to her and in love with her, and that I would be even if I'd never met him— honestly, if I'd met Pearl first, we probably would have started dating a lot sooner because I already knew I liked tall, blonde, brilliant, sophisticated women, and that's exactly what she is. 

I want her to feel like I'm not just going along with it for her sake. When I picture our wedding, I get choked up whether I'm imagining him in a suit or her in a gown. I want her to know that there's no facet of her I'm not captivated by. 

Am I overthinking this? Am I being ridiculous? (Yes.) Should I ask her girlfriends for advice? Should I ask my girlfriends for advice?? Should I go hang around at some gay bars and see if I can find any elders who can talk some sense into me??? 

Should I talk to her mom (actually her sister, long story)? My mom? Maybe my kid sister can lend me some of her childhood wisdom...she's very, very good at keeping surprises (never secrets). 

I don't know. I'm rambling. I started writing this post because my BFF (27M) is teaching her to sew bc she's way too tall even for most plus size shops and she just finished her very first circle skirt. she's been spinning around all day like a toddler in a cinderella costume. It's so fucking cute. Please help. I may actually be dying.

I'm going to go dance with her now so she stops giving me the sad baby kitten eyes. Thanks in advance if you made it all the way through! Yikes, me. 

MORE NOTES: The nickname thing is honestly mostly so I can keep my head on straight as a writer. Her actual nickname is Ruby, which I was not consciously clever enough to remember fits perfectly because ruby is July's birthstone!

Percy's BFF is Grover, and "Antoinette" is a reference to Jason's middle name, which in this 'verse is Anthony.

(Incredibly, this is less than half of what I have written. Whoops.)

I (26NB) was diagnosed with fibromyalgia two years ago after about six months of symptoms, which was astonishingly fast for anyone and downright miraculous considering that at the time, I still thought I was a cis man, and I presented very much that way. There are people who don't believe that's even possible. Several doctors have questioned my diagnosis, asking suspiciously isn't that only in women? 

Strangely, when I'm wearing a dress, they don't do that. 

Anyway, I have fibromyalgia, which means I constantly feel like I did that time in high school after I played a football game while actively suffering from acute appendicitis (it burst within forty seconds of me getting on the field, because duh, and I almost died— thanks, Dad, for making me play when I had a fever of 104 and I was telling you I felt like someone was spearing me through the back— but that's another story.) 

Feverish, sore everywhere, sick to my stomach, like my skin is bruised. The worst part is the fatigue. I get so tired during flares that I can sleep 14 hours a day and wake up exhausted. The only other time I've felt like this was when I was sixteen and fighting off sepsis. 

I bring up football mostly because I look like a football player. I was a heavyweight before I got my diagnosis (though I've dropped a lot; my MIL keeps "just happening to be in the neighborhood"— two hours away, mind— with baked goods and stuff). I'm close enough to 6'6 to round up to it if I wanted. I have been told I have the rugged, thoughtful face of a stern, ancient Roman politician. I wear shoes so big that half the time they don't even make them in men's sizes. 

And most of the time, that's fine! I'm okay with it when, as my (genuinely) Dear Husband/Prince Charming (27M) puts it, my "gend-o-meter" is pointed towards guy, which is still more often than not. 

But it gets to me otherwise, which Charming knows. He also has this very eerie ability to tell where that meter is pointed without asking me. He says it's something about my posture, but he's not sure exactly what. All I know is he's never wrong, and he always knows the best time to pop his head around the corner, smile his sweet smile, say "Hey, babe, guess what?" and then burst into a corny pop song. 

[Relevant comment from PC himself:

girl you got my heart racing in your skin-tight jeans~ 🥰😍😚💙💙]

Last week (midsummer for posterity), I was having a hell of a time with a rash of thunderstorms. Everything hurt so badly I could barely think straight. It was like every injury I'd ever had was fresh again, and being a football player, I've gotten banged up a lot. I had five migraines over the span of eight days. I lost a scary amount of weight because I could barely keep anything down. 

Eventually my BFFs (we'll call them BFFa, 26F, and, BFF1, 25M, because I don't want to rank them against each other) came out and stayed over the weekend. They made an enormous batch of corn chowder, which was so good it overrode my nausea and lack of appetite and was all I could manage for about 3 days straight. (It's really excellent chowder.)

I'm glad they were here, because I've never had gender dysphoria come on in the middle of a flare before, and I freaked Charming out pretty good when I got halfway through my food and suddenly had enough energy to burst into tears. BFFa is very calming and good at talking people through things, and she helped me articulate while making sure my husband didn't panic. BFF1 isn't as comfortable with emotional displays, but he makes a damn good rice pudding and it's really hard to stay upset when the house smells so nice. 

DH, anxiety managed, was able to throw himself into planning mode. He started by calling our mastiff (5F) and having her lay with me while he drew a bath (she's allowed on the bed after a specific command; she was already trained as a service dog when we inherited her, which was incredibly lucky for me because I realized I needed one about a month later). 

He's helped me take care of myself before. I quit football because of an injury that destroyed my mobility, and for about three months I was completely reliant on him for almost everything. He helped me stand up to pee. I can't ever pay him back for what he's done for me, but he says the same thing, so we must be even in his mind. 

He's always been sweet about it, but he really went all out this time: he lit dozens of beeswax candles,  put rose oil and floated petals in the bathwater, set up the shower stall with my chair and a rose-vanilla shower bomb, and hooked up my iPod to the bathroom speakers so he could shuffle through my playlist of all the love songs he's ever sung me. 

Then he got me out of my depressed college student chic (the aforementioned sweatpants and my alma mater's t-shirt), helped me into a silk robe that didn't hurt my skin, and supported my weight as we walked. 

He got me settled in the shower chair, then stripped and joined me. I didn't have to lift a finger, which was good, because I couldn't without my shoulder seizing up. (He took care of that, too. He's the only person willing to massage me hard enough that I can actually feel it. Everyone else gets too worried about hurting me. Ha.) 

After I was clean, he brought out a razor. That man shaved my legs for me, and I have a lot of leg, so that's no small feat. 

I'm honestly not sure if I was crying. I think I must have been, because he kept kissing my knees and ankles every time he finished a pass. He sang along with the playlist, too. When you smile, the whole world stops and stares for a while. I got sunshine on a cloudy day. I don't know why you're being shy. I think you're pretty without any makeup on. 

...yeah, in retrospect, I was definitely crying. 

I felt so much better it didn't matter. He washed my hair, then helped me into the bath and knelt beside the tub and rubbed my neck while I soaked and let the water support my joints. 

Let me tell you: if you've got a partner suffering from chronic pain, this is one of the best ways you can make them feel pampered and loved. 100/10; do recommend.

And that wasn't even the end of it. 

While we were in the bathroom, BFFa was going through my wardrobe. Charming helped me back into the robe, and when I got back to our room she'd changed out the sheets and set out my softest, most comfortable cotton maxi dress. 

It's very pretty. I made it out of fabric my husband's best man (28M) whipped up for me with fiber from his partner's cashmere goats. He used blue potato peels for dye, which gives it a beautiful muted color that transitions from blue to pink via clever use of anthocyanin reactions.

He also dyed some cashmere yarn to match it, which I found out when my baby SIL (minor) gave me a gorgeous crocheted shawl for Christmas last year. It was laid out beside the dress, which was perfect, because one of my symptoms is that I can't regulate my body temperature very well; having it available to take off and put on as-needed was great.

It felt wonderful on my skin. They got me settled in bed again, our dog in her own bed on the floor (still tall enough for me to scratch her ears 💜). Then they facetimed Prince Charming's gf (29F, she's also married to my drag mother), and she walked him through putting on my makeup and styling my hair into a pixie. 

I honestly never thought it possible that I could feel cute and pretty with short hair. That's part of why I was upset. When my head hurts like that, wearing a wig is asking to end up in the hospital with an intractable migraine, and my face is so angular that without long hair to soften it, the image can be really jarring. 

(That was how I figured out I was nonbinary, actually. I was rehearsing a drag routine and I just felt Wrong and I couldn't figure out why, until my girlfriend (26F) suggested I try practicing in my wig and I saw myself in the mirror and suddenly it clicked.) 

Somehow, he pulled it off. It might partly have been the flower hair clip that BFF1 made me with a soldering iron and some copper wire. Most of it was my face. I had no idea DH knew how to contour, but I looked...soft. Feminine. I felt like a queen. 

Not that he's ever failed to make me feel like one before, but this time, he really outdid himself. I looked how I felt. That's not an easy feat for me in this context. He pulled it off flawlessly. 

It was also just fun, and after such high pain levels I needed fun almost more than I needed validation. 

NOTES: good fucking lord tumblr what have you done with your post editor it took me literally almost half an hour to get it all indented why is there a "character limit" on indentations now

BFF1 and BFFa are of course Piper and Leo, Prince Charming is Percy, Percy's girlfriend is Silena (married to Charlie ofc), Ruby's girlfriend is Annabeth, Percy's best man is Grover; if you read the other posts in this genre, you possibly get the idea. I know, I know, it's getting convoluted.

PING LIST: @perseusjackson-jasongrace @elaborateruses @starlightshadowsworld (lmk if you want me to stop pinging you in Ruby stuff, I'm sort of assuming lol.)