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2020-10-11
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there are tales to be told

Summary:

In his eighteenth year, having recently purchased a chest binder, he tried out a new name for the first time. It wasn't a name for him. Not really. More of a stage name. So for a night, he was Jonny d'Ville, First Mate of the Aurora. For a night, he was Jonny. Jonathan. Jon. And, the next morning, out to breakfast with Georgie, he asked her to keep calling him that.

Alternatively: Snapshots of Jon's life throughout his transition, from the age of seven to the age of thirty-three.

Notes:

maybe one day i will write something that isn't me projecting. today is not that day.
also there isn't all that much martin in this one. sorry about that :(

tw: gender dysphoria, mention of canon character death

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Jon first noticed something might be slightly different about him when he was seven years old. It was the opening night of his primary school’s Christmas play. He’d been cast as an angel, with ten lines, and he was very grateful for the part. Speaking roles didn’t usually go to kids his age. They were usually reserved for the older children. His grandmother was incredibly proud of him. And he was incredibly proud of himself. 

Until he saw the costumes. 

There were five other children playing angels in the play. And three of the costumes were in blue, the other three in pink. Jon found himself naturally gravitating towards the blue costume. He knew it was for the boys. But it felt right. He changed into the costume before anyone could stop him.

And that was when his teacher walked in. He could still remember the look of pure disappointment she’d given him. 

“Take it off,” she’d sighed. “That’s one of the boys’ costumes.”

And he’d cried. He’d sobbed in front of all his classmates. And, on stage, dressed in the pink angel costume, he’d choked his lines out as he’d fiddled with the skirt of his costume. The audience had brushed it off as a child with stagefright. But Jon didn’t have stagefright. He never had. Onstage was actually where he felt the most comfortable. His grandmother was the only adult who seemed to notice something was wrong.

She didn’t ask him about it. She just smiled and congratulated him on his performance. And when they got home she made him his favourite meal. 

He felt better for a few hours, but the feeling of discomfort didn’t go away.

And it wouldn’t go away for quite a few years.

 

He kept acting. And he kept singing. It was freeing. Empowering. It was a distraction from this strange discomfort that still hadn’t gone away.

So he kept singing. And he kept acting. And, when he was fourteen years old, he finally got cast in a large role in a school production. He should’ve been happy about it. But, when he saw the cast list, he just felt ill.

The musical was Grease. And he’d been cast as Rizzo.

He considered turning down the role, asking the director to give it to someone who actually wanted it. But he didn’t. Acting and singing were both things that he loved. And he was going to keep doing them. 

He attended every rehearsal. He learned all his lines. And he practiced his songs every day.

And he was fine.

Mostly, he was fine.

He was fine. Absolutely fine. Until he saw the costume. And then the pain returned. He’d long since stopped wearing skirts and dresses. He felt like screaming. Or crying. Or maybe punching something. The skirt was too tight. And too skirt-y. He was sure Rizzo could probably wear trousers. It wouldn’t be a change to the plot or the character. He was sure that would be fine.

But he wasn’t going to argue with anyone about it. He was too tired for that. 

So he wore the skirt. And he performed as Rizzo for three nights in a row. And he was fantastic. The director congratulated him. His friends congratulated him. His grandmother congratulated him.

But, once again, she could sense something was wrong. So, on the closing night, she took him home and made him his favourite meal. And the two of them watched a nature documentary while they ate. 

After he’d finished his food, he excused himself and locked himself in the bathroom. Through tears, he cut his own hair, violently snapping at the dark brown locks with the first pair of scissors he found. He cut it as short as he could. And it looked terrible. But he felt as if a weight had been lifted off his chest. A tiny fraction of that discomfort was gone.

The next day, his grandmother forced him to book himself a haircut, telling him he needed someone to sort out the mess he’d made. So he agreed. And he let the hairdresser sort out the mess he’d made. And he loved his new haircut. It was perfect.

The next year, the school musical was Les Misérables . And he was cast as Marius.

That was the first time Jon was ever truly happy about the character he was playing.

 

A lot happened when Jon was eighteen.

The first exciting thing was getting accepted into Oxford. He was very happy about that. And very excited to study English Literature. He’d supposed it was a safe option. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his life. Hopefully he’d figure it out during his three years at university.

The feeling of discomfort hadn’t gone away. He thought maybe a change of scenery was all he needed for it to disappear.

He was wrong.

 

The second exciting thing that happened when he was eighteen was meeting Georgie Barker. She was one of the first people he met at Oxford. And one of the best. She was the best.

When she introduced herself, it took Jon a moment before he realised that she wanted his name in return. He didn’t want to give it to her. Something about it didn’t feel right.

He ended up telling her anyway. But he quickly added, “But I don’t like it very much. So feel free to give me a terrible nickname. Or something.”

She happily took the offer. Jon acquired many terrible nicknames over the next few months, most of them being comments on his height. He didn’t mind that much. Not when Georgie joked about how small he was. But when anyone else did, it hurt. Just a little bit. But it was painful nonetheless. 

Georgie seemed to notice this and started to glare at anyone who joked about his height.

 

He made it two weeks before Georgie dragged him to his first meeting with the LGBT Society. Georgie, as it turned out, was bisexual, and very confident in her sexuality. Jon still wasn’t sure of his. He’d liked boys in the past. And girls. But he didn’t quite feel ready to put a label on it.

Despite his protests, Georgie forced him to come along.

“For moral support,” she’d told him with a smile. And when she looked at him like that, he felt he didn’t really want to say no. So he nodded his head and followed her.

That was where he met Ethan. 

Ethan was transgender. And Jon found himself fascinated by the man’s experience. Ethan answered all of Jon’s questions. How he got his name changed, where he got his chest binder, how he realised he was trans.

Jon had a million more questions, but Georgie wanted to go home. 

“I’ll walk you home,” Jon offered as they left the building.

Georgie grinned. “Like a true gentleman.”

And that was when Jon kissed her. He didn’t know why that was the thing that made him want to kiss her. It had been a joke, after all. But, for some strange reason, those four words made him feel seen. Made him feel known.

And so he kissed her. It was the only way he could think of expressing everything he felt in the moment. And also she was very attractive. And very kind. So he didn’t regret it one bit.

 

When Georgie asked him to be her girlfriend, he said no. It was instinct. The word made him feel ill. It felt wrong.

As her face fell, he clumsily corrected himself. “Partner. I’ll be your partner. I uh… I don’t like the word girlfriend. Not when it refers to me.”

She took his hand and smiled. “Okay. Will you be my partner?”
He returned her smile. “Yes, please.”

 

The third exciting thing that happened when he was eighteen was The Mechanisms. 

He wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but before he knew it he was the frontman of a band of immortal space pirates.

And when they were deciding on their characters and their backstories, Jon made the decision that his character would be male.

Later that day, he asked Ethan for more information about possibly getting his hands on a chest binder.

 

And so, in his eighteenth year, having recently purchased a chest binder, he tried out a new name for the first time. It wasn't a name for him. Not really. More of a stage name. So for a night, he was Jonny d'Ville, First Mate of the Aurora. For a night, he was Jonny. Jonathan. Jon. And, the next morning, out to breakfast with Georgie, he asked her to keep calling him that.

Two weeks later, she called him her boyfriend for the first time. And he smiled wider than he’d ever smiled before.

 

So slowly, very very slowly, he socially transitioned. And soon all of his friends were calling him Jon. And then his professors, when they remembered. And, soon enough, plenty of people were using the correct pronouns when referring to him. 

The only person who didn’t know was his grandmother.

 

He didn’t feel like he could tell her. So he avoided him. He ignored her calls. He ignored her emails. He ignored her altogether, except for a quick birthday text in which he told her he loved her.

“You’ve got to talk to her at some point,” Georgie kept telling him. “Even if you don’t come out to her.”

But he couldn’t. He didn’t know if he could deal with one of the people he loved most in the world calling him the wrong name.

So, being unable to communicate directly, he invited her to one of his shows. 

 

The Mechanisms were performing off-campus for the first time. It was a larger venue than they were used to, but Jon felt right at home. The others laughed when he told them he’d invited his grandmother. He wasn’t sure if they realised how important it was to him.

So they performed. And they were fantastic. And Jon enjoyed every second of it.

And, right before leaving the stage, when he said “Jonathan Sims and Jonny d’Ville,” he found his grandmother in the audience and smiled at her. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking. He couldn’t properly see her face.

When he finally spoke to her, all she said was, “You looked so happy up there.” And, for a moment, he thought maybe she hadn’t put two and two together. But then she smiled at him and said, “I like the name Jonathan. It suits you.”

That was the first time she didn’t have to make his favourite meal to cheer him up after a performance.

Instead, he cooked her favourite meal and explained what being transgender meant to him, what the next steps in his transition were, what he wanted her to call him. She tried her best to understand.

 

It was his grandmother who helped him get his name legally changed. It was his grandmother who accompanied him to his first gender identity clinic appointment. It was his grandmother who sent him a box of cakes when he got prescribed testosterone, to say congratulations.

“Do you think they would’ve supported me?” Jon asked her over the phone that night. “My parents, I mean.”

“I think,” she told him, “that they would have both been extremely proud to call you their son.”

 

It was three months after his top surgery when Jon started questioning his sexuality. He knew he was attracted to both men and women. He wasn’t questioning that. But there was something else.

He’d always assumed his disinterest in sex was due to gender dysphoria. But, as the dysphoria lessened, he didn’t feel a growing interest in sex at all. His attitude to sex remained the same. He was just as disinterested as before.

He was confused. And so he became distant. And that was when he and Georgie broke up. It was messy. And it was painful. And they didn’t talk for years afterwards.

 

Two months later, he stumbled across the term asexual. And he wished he’d found it sooner. 

 

He was twenty-eight years old when he became Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute. It had been seven years since his top surgery. Nine years since he’d started testosterone. Ten years since he’d started calling himself Jon.

Sasha was the first to find out he was trans. She was also the first to find out he was younger than he looked. And the first to find out about The Mechanisms.

“I won’t tell,” she promised him.

He raised an eyebrow. “About which part?”

She just laughed. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

The next day, Martin and Tim both knew the truth about his age, and his past as an immortal space pirate.

Sasha kept his trans identity to herself. And that secret died with her.

 

The first thing Georgie said to him when he turned up at her door was, “You look better.”
It was silly, really. Her thinking he looked better hiding from the police than he did at uni. It was even more silly that she was right. He was better. More comfortable in himself. More confident.
Even if his mental state wasn’t at its best, even if he was scared of what he was becoming. He was doing better.
When she hugged him, he smiled. He’d missed her. He really had.
And he was happy to be staying with her. Even if she couldn’t seem to stop bullying him about stupid things. Like the fact that he apparently couldn’t shut up about Martin Blackwood. He could shut up about Martin. He definitely could. And he tried to prove that to her.
He lasted ten minutes before he mentioned Martin again.

 

Tim was the next to find out about Jon being trans.
Jon hadn’t intended on telling him. He would’ve been happy with Tim never knowing. But, of course, it didn’t turn out that way.

It slipped out of Jon’s mouth, mid-argument with the other man. Neither of them were even sure what they were arguing about, or why Jon being trans was relevant.
But for some reason, Jon found it relevant to yell, “Well, I lived the first eighteen years of my life as a woman, Tim, and frankly I-” And that was it. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He stared at Tim, shocked. “I… I didn’t mean to-”
“You’re trans?” Tim asked. It wasn’t hostile. But it wasn’t exactly caring either. It was just a question.
Jon nodded his head. “Yes. Yes, I’m trans.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Tim gave him a small smile. “Even if you didn’t mean to.”
And then he left.


Jon didn’t tell Martin until Scotland.
It was one of the first things out of his mouth when they walked through the door of the safehouse.
“I’m trans,” he said. “I… uh… is that going to be a problem?”
Much to Jon’s surprise, Martin burst out laughing. Seeing Jon’s face, Martin slapped a hand over his mouth. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you.” Jon frowned. “It’s just,” Martin continued, “I’m also trans. I thought everyone knew.”
And then it was Jon’s turn to laugh. And he did. An embarrassed, stupid chuckle. “I really didn’t know.” He laughed, looking up at Martin. “I’m so stupid.”
“Yeah,” Martin wrapped his arms around the shorter man. “But you’re also very cute.” Martin glanced away from Jon, before turning back to him, nervous. “So… if we’re both trans. And if we’re both okay with each other being trans. And if we would both be happy to date a trans person,” Martin grinned down at Jon, “is it okay if I kiss you?”
Jon grinned back at the taller man. For once, he didn’t feel dysphoric about his height. Martin was tall, a lot taller than him, and usually that would make him feel uncomfortable and insecure and sad. But it didn’t. Martin made him feel comfortable and secure and happy.
Jon had to choke back tears, overwhelmed by his love for the man standing in front of him, overwhelmed with pride about how far he had come, overwhelmed with pure happiness.
He was finally comfortable. He could finally relax. He could finally smile. And when he smiled up at Martin, he actually meant it.
“Yes, Martin. You can kiss me.”

Notes:

i hope you enjoyed me projecting on jon for an entire fic