The Draconic Wizard Workshop

Graffiti Feathers

By Raphyel Snyder

Originally appeared in the My Gender Is [NOT] Human zine, made publically available June 1, 2024

Gender’s a funny thing, ‘cause it’s pretty species-dependent. I mean, of course, an animal probably doesn’t usually have a powerful concept of gender—a dog doesn’t feel “gender” in the same way most people do. But there’s still something there, and it’s different—what “female” looks like between humans, deer, hyenas, and snakes is completely unrecognizable from the view of one to the others, and that can be completely true of alterhumans like me, too.

I’m an angel. Not an eldritch, unknowable entity, not a messenger from some God, barely even a divine being, really—but a protector. A guardian angel, more or less. What looks like a human being with wings, but is so different as to be, gender-wise, unrecognizable—and yet, still, some part of me is human underneath. In source, I’m a vampire, once human, with a hell of an angel motif and identity—and I’m all three, really, human, vampire, and angel, and that’s one hell of a setup for gender.

Vampires often cling to the gender they had when they were human, at least for awhile. A lot of them, though, eventually figure out that their gender isn’t all it’s cracked up to be and either transition or shrug their shoulders and discard it altogether. I know a lot of vampires that consider themselves “men” because, historically, that’s the gender that’s had the most power in many human societies, and vampires love power. You think a guy who named himself Set after an Egyptian god has to be a man because he feels that way, or is there a chance he’s a man because that’s what gives him the power to pull off whatever god-mimicking stunt he’s pulling? Could be either, could be both, but point is, with vampires, either’s just as likely.

I’m a younger vampire, only fifty or so (and only twenty years Embraced), so my gender hasn’t changed in the apathetic or utilitarian way, at least not yet. No, instead, the angel motif of my vampire clan, the Salubri, grabbed me by the throat and turned me into an archetypical guardian angel. Sure, I was queer before I got Embraced, rocking the xe/xem pronouns even in the eighties, but few labels ever sat right and only when I figured out my angel thing did I realize: ah. I’ve never had a human gender to begin with: what I am is an angelic protector, and that’s who I am and who I’ve always been, on every intrinsic level. Hell, why not, you know? Even when I didn’t realize how protective I was, even when I thought I was a mean son of a bitch that barely cared about anybody, I was growling at unfairness and snapping at cops ‘cause they were fucking with my people.

I’m Black, if that helps contextualize anything. I know what it’s like being kicked down and mistreated. I’m trans, intersex, queer, and Black, and yeah, alright, maybe inequality and treating people like shit sets me off. They always have, but I’ve had to learn how to channel that anger into something productive, not just yelling and squaring up, but something that can actually help and make a difference. Being Black’s an aspect of it all, too, I think, even if I don’t have as firm of a grasp on that. A lot of human gender conversation, in English-speaking spaces especially, is crazy white, and maybe that’s why I don’t feel like I fit in, either. Being Black means being dehumanized all the fucking time, and, fuck, fine, maybe I’m not just human, then. I’m not letting people take the label from me but maybe there’s more to it than that. Fine. Let’s play in that space.

I guess I’m like a spray-painted angel up on a brick wall. I’m a hope and a prayer for protection, a watchful eye actually trying to help and heal, not oppress and beat people down like the goddamn cops do. I’m an angel, but an angel of the people, one quintessentially broke and Southern and Black. I’m not a pretty little white waif of an angel, I’m a big motherfucker with an attitude and a complex about saving and helping people a mile long. Is that species? Is that gender? I guess so, on both counts. It’s all so ingrained in me that I don’t see much point in picking it apart. No human gender labels have ever sat nicely with me—I like “trans” and “queer” but not “nonbinary,” even though it applies. It’s a good label, glad we’ve got it, glad other people like it, but it sits on me like a hat that’s too small. It suggests a humanity to me that I’ve gone beyond—and I don’t mean “beyond” as in “better,” I mean “beyond” as in “going further down one of many paths.” My way isn’t the right way, per se, but it’s the right way for me.

Do angels even have gender? I mean, God, what for, right? Maybe that’s what’s going on with me, because what does a protector and healer need gender for? Granted, I’m not just angel, I’m human and vampire, too, and that complicates things—but maybe that’s why any of this comes together. Maybe if I didn’t identify as human in addition to everything else, I wouldn’t think about this so much. Maybe I would. I don’t know. But I picked xe/xem pronouns because they felt so outside of anything else I knew at the time, a step beyond and in a wildly different direction, and that’s the only thing that felt right. I named myself Raphyel, unaware of the angel thing I’d pick up years later, and it feels like a stroke of cosmic or divine genius—Raphael, the archangel of healing, and I became the one kind of vampire that can heal, the one kind of vampire that most other vampires agreed were good to have around until we nearly got wiped out. And is Raphael a man, per se? Why? Or is he something else, an angel entirely, and just takes the form of a man because that’s what feels right, or what people expect of him? How similar would we be, and how different? Where do I fit in in a host of angels that ascribe great religious meaning to their existence, whether that be Raphael the archangel or the dozens of angelkin and fictives I’ve spotted but more-or-less moved past, because I ascribe such a different meaning to the name?

Is this an essay? Is it a disorganized ramble? Is it me sorting myself out as I tell you about it, the thousandth step on a path a million steps long? Maybe it’s all of those. Maybe I’m still learning what my wings mean, and I want to feel understood, like I belong somewhere. Species and role and gender are all parts of our identities, and maybe for some people, those are easily separated, only overlapping in a few places, but not me. To me, every aspect of who I am is completely merged and intertwined with every other part, dots and sprays of paint on that wall, put there by someone kicked and angry but not broken, desperate for protection and to strike back in whatever way they can, making something beautiful along the way.

I just hope I live up to that, because living ain’t pretty, and I’m a lot more complex than a two-dimensional painting on the wall.