But really can you imagine how much fun Harry would have had with an animagus as a father? James giving little five year old Harry stag-rides on his back prancing along in the backyard, James going to “mow the lawn” and then Harry looks out his window and dies of laughter when he sees a stag just casually grazing the grass, Harry yelling “DAD!” when he sees an antler poking out of a bush as he tries to have a moment with Ginny.
And idk I feel like James would turn every now and then just to clear his head if he’s feeling overwhelmed and one night Harry can’t sleep because of similar reasons and he goes to the backyard and sees a stag sitting on the grass and he doesn’t say anything but Harry goes over sits down next to James and just stays there because it’s so easy and so natural and not weird at all.
idk ignore me and my odd headcanons
#except one night it’s a legit stag right#but harry is like man dad i never noticed ginny before#but now she’s dating DEAN THOMAS#i mean really#dean thomas???#but she’s ron’s lil sis#man idk#and the stag sort of nods at harry#and harry takes it as encouragement#and continues on a long winded and melodramaic spiel about unrequited love#as teenagers are wont to do#and maybe an hour later#sirius rocks up#and is like#yo h man have you seen your old man#and harry gives him this look#and nods at the stag RIGHT BESIDE HIM like r u srs#and sirius stops#and gives him the stink eye you know#like#”yeah buddy that’s not prongs”#and harry looks at the stag#and the stag looks at harry#and without saying a word#and a little quicker than is exactly dignified#harry gets to his feet and makes his way immediately to his room where he spends the rest of the night#and when sirius tells james about it later#they make sure to laugh about it#loudly#and directly beneath harry’s window
OH MY GOD
Have hipbones so sharp that they
protrude through your paper skin
and pierce your own soul, and wipe
the flicker of a smile off of your
cracked lips, and send a shudder
down your brittle, fuzzy legs, making
you scratch with weak nails, that break
as much as your thin hair is snapping
like twigs. And have eye sockets so
gaunt that you scare yourself out of
existence at your reflection, as scary as how
terrifyingly achy your muscles are and
your brain is from the constant and tiring attempt
to ‘higher’ yourself to society’s standards.
When you smear red lipstick on, because it’s
'in season', you're kidding no one; like when
you stain your face with blusher to mask your
pasty, frail, colourless, lifeless cheeks and
imitate a flush of happiness that you lost
long ago when you bought that magazine.
Just like the eye-shadow they tell you will
make you ‘GLOW!’, with pride you lost when
you stopped loving yourself and tried to
become the woman he ‘wanted’.
And after this, they tell you to
emancipate yourself from the norm -
and they tell you that men don’t want
skinny women after all
(one page after they circled the folds of skin that
spilled love from the side of a bikini and labelled it
“OOPS! Oh dear!”),
and that you should embrace that curvacious figure
(that you sacrificed for the body image that
they projected and imprinted on your soul)…
Because men only want women with ample and full curves
(opposed to a bountiful soul).
You’ve nearly killed yourself over
a photoshopped image of a Victoria’s Secret model
(who doesn’t even look like that hersef -
who probably cries in the dressing rooms for not
being beautiful enough).
And you’ve drooled enviously at that juicy breast
accompanied by a full rack of ribs
with a side of self-pity and disappointment,
and you wonder if you were drooling over a body
that you think you need for him to love you,
or the dinner that you’re
staring at because you haven’t eaten food in
Other parts of ancient Eurasia had traditions of third-gender spirit-people. Herodotus and Hippocrates both discuss the “enarees”, or male-to-female transsexual shamans among the ancient Scythians, who “mutilated” their genitalia and took on female roles. They were said to be the most powerful shamans of their people. Ovid actually claimed that some Scythian priestesses knew how to extract “female poison” distilled from the urine of a mare in heat, with which to dose men in order to feminize them. The average person might throw this off as silliness, if they didn’t know that pregnant mare’s urine is the main source of Premarin, the most widely used estrogen drug today. They also ate a lot of licorice root - so popular among them that the Greeks to whom they exported it referred to it as “the Scythian root” - which is also an anti-androgen.
I love trans history!
I would FUCKING LOVE to see a comprehensive trans history book, that especially covered the history of HRT, I’ve always had questions but never really had answers!
especially after YEARS of our HISTORY BEING ERASED and pushed under the rug to make cis people comfortable, and say that “trans people id a modern thing” to be able to show up and take out a history book and be like BOOM shut the hell up.
Lots of us are working on this.
Susan Stryker is the chief here, and Cristian Williams unearths a great deal. If you aren’t checking in with Zagria’s blog, you are missing a ton.
I know of six or seven history books that are being worked on.
Make no mistake: we are entering a renaissance of trans understanding that rivals that of the late 60’s under the Reed funded work.
One warning, though: understand that much of this is being written with an intense understanding that the way we think of transness today does not apply to pretty much any culture but western ones, and that the history is deeply intertwined with the cultures of the time being looked at.
Historians that apply today’s understanding, which comes from the mid 1800’s, to times and people’s and cultures prior to that is incredibly bad form, as it both erases those cultural points and obscures the full breadth of our history.