#a gun could fix my dysphoria

[bedforddanes75]

maybe if they didnt want me to want a gun they shouldnt have made them so nice to look at

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

This is kind of a personal ramble but…

In my last semester of high school I had already gotten accepted into college, took no difficult classes, and had the freedom to take 2 art classes in which I was the only person in “art 3” a class that happened in the same room at the same time as art 2. I was basically free to do whatever I wanted.

That semester I decided to make a scale model of Summoner’s Rift, the map from league of legends. I worked really hard on it and was proud of how close I got it. But it was too big to be displayed anywhere and too fragile to be hung on a wall or anything. So I left it at my parents house when I went off for college, where it collected dust.

This year I went back to their house to stay for the holidays, and my mom wanted me to clean out my room. Along with many other things she asked if she could throw it away.

The map became outdated less than a year after I made it, when they added alcoves to the top and bottom lanes. Later years made even bigger changes making it even more outdated. The map is made of salt dough on a piece of cardboard, with the towers being made of hot glue gun sticks I cut and carved that hold wire staves. Everything is painted with cheap low-budget high school art class acrylic paint. I never had time to make a little model of Baron Nashor, the dragons, the shopkeepers, or any of the jungle camps. It just looks barren, empty, and lonely.

The map is covered in dust. It has no function (despite my idea at the time of making it that I could model jungle pathing on it). It doesn’t look pretty. It takes up space. It’s hard to display. It’s hard to appreciate. Objectively speaking it is a piece of junk that is wasting space in my parents’ house. And despite being addicted since 2015, I haven’t even played league in a year.

But it’s something I made. Something I worked hard on. Something I burned my fingers with a hot glue gun far too many times to be seen as junk to me. It’s useless, kind of ugly, takes up space, and yet I can’t bare the thought of throwing it away.

As an art piece it has no meaning, no emotions to invoke when you look at it. It’s some high school kid’s creation of the thing she saw in the game she loved. To anyone but me it is a piece of junk, even if you know what it’s from you have no reason to care. But when I look at it I see all the little details. All the extra touches, all the mistakes I didn’t have time to fix, and all the ways time has aged it poorly.

It would’ve crushed that kid’s heart to see something she worked so hard on destroyed. Did she not already suffer enough from the dysphoria, from the way her friend groups fell apart, the way she got burnt out from trying hard in school, the way everything in her life felt like it was falling apart and the things she enjoyed stopped being fun. She already went through so much, she was so strong and she’s the only reason I’m alive now. So I can’t do it, I can’t destroy it. I took dozens of pictures from as many angles as I could to preserve it as best I can. But it doesn’t feel like enough.

I am her, but I don’t care about it for me, I care about it for her. But she’s not here, she’s gone. Nothing I do now can affect her in my memories. So why do I care?

[tobiasdrake]

Ranma 1/2 Reboot 01x12 - Shampoo Cleans Up

Shampoo Shampoo Shampoo Shampoo Shampoo Shampoo Shampoo Shampoo LET'S GO

Effortless.

Yeah, that checks out. My vague and fuzzy memories of the manga from decades ago tell me that Shampoo is the strongest of the female martial artists in the series. Between the main four ladies (Akane, Shampoo, Ukyo, and Kodachi), I'm pretty sure Shampoo is the gold medal when it comes to a straight fight.

With Ukyo taking the title of quirkiest fighter.

Shampoo's ability to inflict extremely selective amnesia is such a potent fucking gaslighting of an ability to have. This might be the scariest superpower in the entire series. She can unperson you to the people you love.

I love how much fun this series has with Genma's dumbass signs. XD

Can you imagine showing up to a fight and this is what you're watching? XD

The thing that's great about this twist is that. Like. It's in the name. She's called Shampoo. You didn't think personal grooming products were going to be involved in this arc?

Shampoo has the ability to manipulate people's memories and selectively remove individual pieces she doesn't want them to recall, all through the movement of her fingers as she washes their hair. This is so goddamn cool.

Amazon martial arts are built different.

They played off Akane trying to remember Ranma earlier as a joke, but her jealous outburst here is our first serious hint that the memory is still in there somewhere. It's just buried deep.

Ranma, why did you think this would work?

Like. There's a legitimate reason why this was doomed from the get-go.

He's trying to restore her memories using the Memory Erasure Shampoo, and not the Memory Restoration Shampoo. This was never going to work.

But also, even if it did work like this? Ranma. Ranma. Buddy. You don't know the technique. It's not just magic memory shampoo; There's also pressure points and stuff involved. See?

It's a martial art that requires specific training to learn how to do. Randomly futzing about with Akane's brain isn't helping. You might have just rinsed the ability to do algebra out of her! Go to the Shame Corner!

I've said it before, but Ranma's got it baaaaaaaad for Akane. He hasn't even gone back to China to find a cure for his curse. There is one! He could literally just return to Jusenkyo and get fixed! But it hasn't been worth the trouble.

Gender dysphoria isn't enough of a reason to go back to China. But this? Akane having the memory of him specifically wiped from her brain? This is enough to send him back to China. This matters more than being comfortable in his own body.

THAT DEVILISH FUCKING GRIN

SHAMPOO IS THE FUCKING BEST

...

Well, second-best but my fave probably isn't going to debut until like episode 43 if the series even survives Netflix's routine cancellation policies. It's not safe to be a show on this network.

So SHAMPOO WILL BE REIGNING CHAMPION FOR A WHILE TO COME AND POSSIBLY FOREVER.

Look, you can't blame me for forgetting that this is still a plot point. Ranma forgot too and it's literally happening to him as we speak!

You know, this is one case where you really can't blame Ranma for not coming clean about his curse. If Shampoo knew, it's literally a coin flip whether she'd decide to keep the Kiss of Death or Amazon Engagement. I don't think the Amazon rulebook has any official guidance for a situation like this.

Right now, the only reason she isn't gunning for his throat is because she thinks he's a different person from the Ranma she must kill. If she finds out? Hell, she might just do both. Marry and kill him. The Junko Enoshima solution!

I get a kick out of it every time someone calls Ranma a bakemono.

She's not entirely wrong. XD

I mean. She makes a compelling argument. I can't really find a fault in that logic.

I need you to know that Ranma goes so hard to sell this illusion that he uses the pronoun あたし atashi. This is the feminine version of the pronoun 私 watashi, used pretty much exclusively by girls.

And he rolls so high on this Diplomacy check that even Genma is fooled. (Which lands even harder for manga fans who already know about the deal Genma made with Ranma's mom.)

FUCK YOU

CARVE MY HEART OUT WITH A GODDAMN SPATULA WHY DON'T YOU

Fuck, I'm starting to remember why I was rooting for Shampoo to win back when I was a kid. She deserves to be happy.

I mean, she's an attempted murderer and an amnesia-inflicter. But she deserves to be happy. It's not her fault that Japanese culture doesn't appreciate her.

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

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1. Hi! For the next in the mood for can I ask for some fics where wwx finds out about the 33 whips punishment?? Preferably just after it’s happened (so he didn’t actually die during the siege) please?? @iyo-luv

Ghosts Shouldn't by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 15k, WangXian, Grief/Mourning, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

lost whenever you go by wanderingflame (M, 31k, WangXian, Vampire, Canon Divergence, Soft vampire hours, Love Confessions, Conversations about Feelings, Light Angst, Slow Burn, Getting Together, Blood Drinking, Pining, Happy Ending, Vampire WWX)

Into the murk by MissCellophane (G, 1k, WangXian, inspired by a tumblr post, Light Angst, Canon Divergence, POV LWJ, POV WQ, Wēn Remnants Live, WWX Creates a Sect | Yílíng Wèi Sect, WWX Lives, Blood and Injury, LWJ's 33 Lashes Punishment, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, WWX finds out about the 33 whips punishment, Protective WWX, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, POV WWX, [Podfic] Into the Murk by Rendition (TuerShen)) (I actually wrote a fic inspired by this idea not too long ago! ^^ - Mod C)

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2. Hey, thanks for all you folks are doing! I was wondering if you could help me find a fic I read a year or two ago - where Jiang Yanli was engaged to LWJ but loved JZX so WWX crafted a talisman that made him look like her so he could take her place. Which led to love and also gender. I've been in the mood for "wwx has feelings about gender" and haven't been able to find that fic to add to my reading (re-reading?) list. Thanks!

You Free Your Mind In Your Androgyny by misbehavingvigilante (E, 368k, WangXian, JC & JYL & WWX, NHS & WWX, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bodyswap, Crossdressing, Dysfunctional Family, Gender Dysphoria, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, Transphobia, Self-Worth Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans WWX) (fic anon was looking for)

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3. Are there any Bunji fics where Lan Wangji is a very large rabbit, like a Flemish Giant? I think it would be hilarious for Wei Wuxian to assume Lan Wangji’s rabbit form is surely small and cute, only for him to actually be confronted with an enormous rabbit. It’d be especially funny if Wei Wuxian had his own fox form, and had previously assumed that if they were both animals he’d get to be the bigger one for once, but no… Wangji is at least as big as he is! The largest and yet most elegant of bunnies. 🐇

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4. Hi!!! For next ITMF can you recommend me a fic where wwx and jzx are friend or a relucant ally or a least admited that the other is a good person? I prefer canon era but it's okay too if you have a modern era. No bashing please, except for yzy, jfm, jgs, and wc but i prefer no character bashing. Thank you!!!

watch what we'll become by glitteringmoonlight (T, 59k, WWX & JZX, WangXian, Background JZX/JYL, WWX & JZX are married but completely platonically, featuring my let WWX and JZX be bros agenda, Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Angst with a Happy Ending)

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5. For the next ITMF do the mods have any fics with

A) Canon-compliant fics with fem!Sizhui or just LWJ having a raise a girl alongside LSZ

B) WWX, LWJ, LSZ bonding post-canon

5B)

like a folk song by norgbelulah (G, 4k, WangXian, Napping, Family Feels, extremely soft, Post-Canon) Short and sweet

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6. Hello! For the next itmf, I have a need for lwj pov and him just pining after wwx (any setting, age, or plot is fine)

kiss with a fist by daltoneering (E, 23k, WangXian, Modern AU, Secret Agents, Enemies to Lovers, Rivals to Lovers, Enemies With Benefits, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Action & Romance, Action movie-typical violence, A HEIST, james bond inspired, Blood and Injury, Shooting Guns, please read a/n for further warnings!)

symmetry by bleuett (M, 44k, WangXian, Space, Science Fiction, Happy Ending, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Holding Hands, Blow Jobs, Hand Feeding, Cultivation in Space, Yearning, Reunions, Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Injuries, Grief/Mourning, Unconventional Time Travel, Burial Mounds)

💖 Pentimento. by orange_crushed (E, 73k, wangxian, modern, college/university au, art conservation, museums, pining, not actually unrequited love, angst w/ happy ending, misunderstandings, smut, major character injury, hospitalization, hurt/comfort, past incarceration, forgery)

(Planning the Day) To Meet You by Bettydice (E, 61k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Mutual Pining, WWX raises A-Yuàn, minimum angst, MAXIMUM GAY, Self-indulgent fluff, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, POV LWJ, Happy Ending, Getting Together, Falling In Love, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Anal Sex, Intercrural Sex)

Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (E, 108k, wangxian, modern, angst w/ happy ending, romance, persuasion au, separations, pining, miscommunication, depression, self-harm, reconciliation, smut)

undone (the spreadsheet song) Series by spookykingdomstarlight (E, 282k, WangXian, XiYaoSang, LWJ/OMC, Modern AU, Artists, Communication Failure, Mutual Pining, mutual obliviousness, Demisexual WWX, Eventual Smut, Getting Together, Mentions of Past Lan Wangji/OMCs, Crack Treated Seriously, Friends to Friends With Benefits to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Non-Linear Narrative, Established Relationship, Pre-Relationship, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Separation Anxiety, Family Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Self-Worth Issues, Casual Sex, College/University, Temporary Long Distance Relationships, Relationship Pressures and Stresses, Insecurity) (link in #7) This fic can fit both 6 and 7 first fic is wwx being sort of a disaster and very nervous about dating lwj (not shy exactly but definitely not flirty) and the 2nd fic is all about lwj pining for him for years

you’ve ruined my life (by not being mine) by cicer (E, 132k, WangXian, Modern AU, Developing Relationship, Idiots in Love, Awkward Flirting, teenage romance, Shameless WWX, slowburn, Demisexuality, references to lqr’s a+ parenting, references to jfm’s a+ parenting, but we’re gonna get a happy ending ANYWAY, references to yzy’s a+ parenting, Background NMJ/LXC, hints of nmj/lxc/jgy, bottom LWJ in chapter 15)

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7. hi, do you know any fics where Wei Ying is shown to be shy, and everyone is shocked by it. It can just be in front of a few people or just Lan Zhan himself. I'm just in a mood for where people see there is more to Wei Ying than his shameless flirty self.

undone (the spreadsheet song) Series by spookykingdomstarlight (E, 282k, WangXian, XiYaoSang, LWJ/OMC, Modern AU, Artists, Communication Failure, Mutual Pining, mutual obliviousness, Demisexual WWX, Eventual Smut, Getting Together, Mentions of Past Lan Wangji/OMCs, Crack Treated Seriously, Friends to Friends With Benefits to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Non-Linear Narrative, Established Relationship, Pre-Relationship, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Separation Anxiety, Family Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Self-Worth Issues, Casual Sex, College/University, Temporary Long Distance Relationships, Relationship Pressures and Stresses, Insecurity) This fic can fit both 6 and 7 first fic is wwx being sort of a disaster and very nervous about dating lwj (not shy exactly but definitely not flirty) and the 2nd fic is all about lwj pining for him for years

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8. Hello, would you happen to be able to direct me to fics where Wei Wuxian makes a paternity test or something showing lineage?

Like in All Things Belong by kuroi_atropos.

Please and thank you 😊 @myblurryreality

You're My Dad (Boogie Woogie Woogie) by Eternal_writes (T, 6k, WWX & WRH, Canon Divergence, Good Person WRH, Sort Of, WRH POV WRH gets a Redemption Arc, again sort of, he sees wwx and decides that maybe world domination is a no, Qíshān Wēn Sect are Good People, Good Parent WRH, No war AU, OOC WRH, OOC WX, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously)

And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 138k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together) For the paternity test one: it's not a huge part of the story, but it's a plot point in And Time is But a Paper Moon by sami

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9. This is very specific to my likes, but I'll give it a go. Are there any fics that go into WWX's proclivity to faint: maybe he has anemia or low blood pressure? Or he just overextends himself continuously? Other reasons? I love to see caretaking. Can be canon, but I'd like to see modern. I've already looked at the "fainting" tag. Thanks, I have no expectations! @kesterling

let the sun go down on your anger; let it burn you to sleep by enbysaurus_rex (Not Rated, 79k, WIP, WangXian, Narcolepsy AU, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, YLLZ WWX, Oblivious WWX, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Sleeping Beauty Fusion, tags at the beginning of every chapter, Body Horror) he’s got narcolepsy and it is a WIP

like mayflies wandering Series by RoseThorne (M, 12k, NHS & WWX, wangxian, post-canon, assassination attempts, introspection, regret, travel, WWX pov, ghosts, reconciliation, exhaustion, pining, feelings realisation, illness, found family, hurt/comfort, emotional manipulation, manipulative NHS, friendship, qi deviation, resentful energy, WIP) this is addressed in the second fic in the series

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10. hi!!!! so i’m being overrun by the idea of wwx holding children… for the next itmf would you guys be able to find fics with that concept as a big part? Like just wwx interacting with children basically but i’d especially like ones where he’s holding them. Thank y’all!

and having a marvelous time by varnes (E, 108k, WangXian, Yúnmèng Siblings, Sound of Music AU, (i know!!! i know. stay with me on this.), Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Family Feels, spies to lovers???, Protective Siblings, Sometimes You Just Want Your Dads To Admit They're Your Dads, Angst with a Happy Ending) lots of baby holding in this one!

The Trouble with Espionage: A Treatise on the Role of Wit in Matchmaking by Grandmaster Lan Qiren by stiltonbasket (G, 13k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Matchmaking, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Good uncle LQR, Happy Ending)

❤️ Seen and not heard by eatmyass (E, 51k, wangxian, case fic, no sunshot, kid fic, dadxian, strangers to lovers, found family, LWJ pov, pining, fake/pretend relationship, first time, falling in love) link in #11

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11. itmf kid fic!!! (i prefer ones with single dad wwx more than lwj) ive read tons esp the more popular ones and i want MOREE. some hidden gems or smaller fics would be great as i probably have read all others 😆 thank youuuu🫶🏼

❤️ Seen and not heard by eatmyass (E, 51k, wangxian, case fic, no sunshot, kid fic, dadxian, strangers to lovers, found family, LWJ pov, pining, fake/pretend relationship, first time, falling in love)

🧡 your heart, two doors down by ghostsgf (G, 9k, WangXian, Modern AU, Pining, Parenting)

Tired of the Sunset by julomaiboulomai (M, 55k, WangXian, Modern AU, Superheroes/Superpowers, Identity Porn, Secret Identity, Parent-Child Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Unreliable Narrator, superhero fights, Major Character Injury, Major Character Undeath, Slow Burn, But also somehow, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, JC-LWJ Mutual Hate Society, Domestic Fluff, Co-Parenting, Fade to Black, Brief mentions of suicide, Angst with a Happy Ending, Art Embedded)

my little love by mellowflicker (T, 54k, WangXian, Modern AU, Single Parent WWX, kindergarten teacher!lwj, Kid Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Pining, Background SongXiao, background ChengQing)

Single Parent Wei Wuxian Comp

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12. [jumps up and down raising hand] I got a request for the next itmf, please!

Are there any fics where the yiling population stands up for the wens when the sects come for the siege? Either stopping them before they enter the burial mounds or shaming them when they come out? The YLLZ had been good to them, those people were innocents, and apparently the only valid cultivator rn is hgj. Something like that. Thanks!

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13. ITMF Wei Wuxian being awake and aging through the years he is "dead." Not actually alive and running around, but lost in a cosmic soup or something where he can think and his mental state still ages. So when he comes back to life he is older and wizened. Thank you!

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14. For the next itmf… wei ying wearing glasses? Thanks!

KILF (Knits I'd Like To Fuck in) by ScarlettStorm (E, 168k, WangXian, Modern AU, Established Relationship, Porn, like in the writing and also as a plot point, onlyfans aus, ex worker WWX, Fashionista LWJ, Fluff and Smut, therapy is good actually, Domestic Bliss, tender kink, Fiber Arts, autistic LWJ, neurodivergent WWX, switch rights, Nonbinary NHS, a soupçon of gender, Genderfluid Character, Gender Exploration, perhaps slightly more than a soupçon of gender, Hurt/Comfort, past trauma) glasses are very minor in this and wy only gets them in like. The last chapters. But they are very nice glasses!

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15. Hi! I'd love if you could help me find fic that might or might not exist. I don't know if i imagined it myself somehow or i actually read something similar but it was about how wangxian were getting frisky and ayuan finds them and gets mad at wwx because he thinks wwx is hurting rich gege. That's it, that's all i remember. I have found fics where it's the opposite and ayuan is mad at lwj instead but that is not what I'm looking for. Is there a fic like that? Or fics similar to that premise? It can be canon or modern timeline. I just need something where ayuan throws a fit because he thinks wwx was trying to hurt or fight lwj, poor wwx. Thanks. 😊 (also in a FF)

No Talk of Milky Thighs by DeviyudeThoolika (E, 87k, WangXian, ChengQing, XiYao, MingLi, past WWX/others, past LWJ/others, Bickering husbands, Modern With Cultivation, Pining while fucking, BAMF WWX, Arranged Marriage, YLLZ WWX, BAMF YLLZ, Protective WWX, Protective LWJ, Good Sibling JC, exes to married, Exes to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Everyone Loves WWX) although it doesn't fully fit what you're looking for, a fic that i recommend is No Talk of Milky Thighs by DeviyudeThoolika. Specifically, Chapter 28: Sex Education. Sizhui sees WWX push LWJ, then LWJ tackles him to the floor hehe. But Sizhui doesn't get mad, instead, he and Jingyi try to uncover, analyze this case of rough physical interaction between his parents 😅 The fic is funny, hot, and exciting especially the wedding 😁

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16. Hey there 👋 so, for an IITMF, anyone wanna rec me some newer wangxian mpreg fics from Canon verse? I've pretty much burned through all the fics on the preg comps and don't know what's good among the more recent fics out there. I don't care if it's ABO or not, nor who gets pregnant, just not modern setting.

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17. ITMF for some enemies to lovers wangxian where they call each other nicknames.

Like " sweetheart (mocking/agressive) to sweetheart (adoring/endearing/loving) " @whateverweilanlovechild

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what  you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack,  whatever - it’s all good!***

[mooonjin]

Imma rant rant a sec. I never seen a Clone fic (or fic in general for that matter) where the reader is masculine but not a dude, and I even experience body and gender dysphoria sometimes bc of it (especiallywhen the reader is thin with long hair).

So if you don't mind helping a sad she/they masculine nb person out, could you right a Hunter or Tech x Masc!Reader fix where they save their man and he falls even more in love with them

Falling For You

Notes: hi anon!! first of all terribly sorry you had to wait for sososo long and second of all i hope this is kind of what you had in mind? thought captive x rescuer or whatever suited it and ALSO hope i did the masc thing okay !!

Pairing: Hunter x masc!f!reader

Summary: During a mission for Cid's client, the Batch is separated from their Sergeant and with quick thinking, you were bound to get him back. That was the seed for a new relationship.

Warnings/Tags: imperials, no y/n mentions, only one mention of your pronouns (i think) ⁠— tell me if I've missed anything!

Hunter had found himself separated from the Batch during a dangerous mission on a remote Imperial outpost. Another one of Cid's crazy clients that needed the groups help. Unfortunately, the "remote" outpost was, in fact, not remote as Cid specified. This resulted in Hunter's separation, pretty much fending for himself whilst the group trudged to the Marauder for a swift and hopefully safe pickup.

As he navigated the dingy corridors, there were several blaster fire echoing in the halls only a few blocks down the outpost. He was being hunted and being hunted fast. Every corner he turned, his head pounded, his sense constantly filled with energy that didn't seem to stop waning.

His instincts were sharp but there was an often thought that the odds were stacked against him.

"Keep low, these damned troops are always on our tails." Echo said sternly as the group, minus Hunter, ran down the dim corridors to find the Marauder.

"I am having difficulty tracking the Marauder with the rising energy from this outpost. Whatever Cid's client needed is certainly out of our reach."

Great, another problem. As you were running, you couldn't stop thinking if Hunter was alright. Obviously the Sergeant is capable of handling himself but his recent capture on Mt Tantiss didn't help these thoughts disappear. You had to swallow any response to do something foolish in order to go help Hunter. 

The sounds of alarm echoed throughout the outpost as Imperials gave chase, their footsteps pounding against the creaky, metal floors. Hunter was panting but keeping pace as blaster bolts whizzed past him. His enhanced senses allowed him to anticipate the movements of the pursuing stormtroopers, narrowly avoiding their shots and grenades.

He was also worrying about you and his brothers.

As you and the Batchers ran through the corridors of the outpost, you were nearing an eventual 100m vicinity to the Marauder. Worry settled like a heavy stone in your mind. You gave the group a proposition.

"I'll go get Hunter, we'll regroup on my comm signal." You said hastily, quickly dashing around a corner before anybody could protest.

"D'she really just leave?" Wrecker's confused voice spoke up.

Hunter found himself in another tight spot. Literally. With broken hallway doors, Hunter's way out grew thin. The constant noises of blaster fire continued to echo as Hunter maneuvered through the corridors and away from the Imperials, to no avail. 

Ultimately, he was cornered, the heavy footsteps of Imps surrounding him. Hunter attempted to calculate his next motive, the chance of being gunned down increased as more and more Imperials gathered like vultures. 

Many troopers ordered him to unarm himself, the growly, modulated voices ringing through the halls. He tightened his grip around his blaster before eventually dropping the gun to the floor, kicking it over with both hands in the air. 

The troopers tightened their encirclement around Hunter, grabbing both his wrists to cuff them. As they were about to move out, a sudden commotion echoed through the corridor. 

Then out came two rolling smoke bombs.

The canisters gave a quick hiss, spinning in circles as the air immediately filled with dense clouds of obscuring smoke. Three troopers guarded Hunter as blaster fire had erupted almost a second after, in an attempt to shoot down the sudden presence.

You.

You swiftly rolled into the clouds of smoke, pulling out your DC to gun down the three troopers surrounding Hunter. One of the Imps put up a fight but with a quick kick to the stomach and a trip to their ankle, they fell to the ground, a blaster hole sizzling on their back.

Hunter watched your agile figure take down the troops, caught in a trance. 

"It's good to see you." You unfastened the cuffs, in hopes not to waste time before the clouds began to dissipate. Multiple voices faded in and out, orders being thrown all over the place all because of your successful chaotic rescue.

Hunter was in hypnotised as you unfastened his cuffs. He looked at you through his drooping curls, admiring your facial features. The way you carried yourself with a quiet confidence, your every action purposeful and precise, left him in awe.

"Where are the others?" He rubbed his wrists before grabbing his DC off the ground to start shooting. The smoke clouds eventually disappeared, everybody being able to see everything as clear as day once again.

You grunted, taking down a troop, "Heading to the Marauder, we're regrouping on my comm signal."

Hunter gave a small smile amidst of the dangerous action, grinning at your consideration to come and rescue him. He was captivated by your aid and your selflessness. A tender affection blossoming, even in the middle of such a situation.

The two of you began your run to the extraction point as you leaped over fallen debris and ducked under busted pipes. You sprinted, briefly turning your head back to shoot at the tailing Imperials who were determined to capture you both. 

"Coming up on the extraction point, Tech!" You commed.

The corridor behind you was filled with white crusted Imperial armour of troopers, swarming the trail like hungry ants. Blue blaster fire flying past your heads, one actually hitting your shoulder.

"Agh!" With a grunt, your armour hissed at the burning shot. Hunter was quick to use himself as a meat shield from any other oncoming blaster fire that could affect you. He knew you could push through, he knew how strong you were and right now was not the time to stop and rest.

"You're okay, keep going." You could hear his deep, modulated voice behind you, causing you to form a small grin despite the pain.

The distant sound of engines grew louder as the both of you finally came up to the landing pads. 

With Hunter still running behind you, you grabbed his gloved hand, almost dragging him towards the Marauder. An evident blush on Hunter's face, although being hidden under his helmet. In the howling moments of escape, the two of you ran hand in hand towards the shuttle.

The stairs lowered, Crosshair standing with his rifle aimed at the Imperials trailing the two of you. He was your cover as the two of you boarded the Marauder. 

The shuttle was quick to leave the outpost, immediately entering hyperspace. You panted, blushing as you looked down to find your hand clasped in Hunter's. Embarrassed, you gently retracted your hand, taking your helmet off. 

You hissed, sitting down as Tech came over to inspect the blaster shot. Hunter took off his helmet, giving you a kind smile and a small nod of affection. He stole glances at your strong figure, still admiring your act of saving him from the wave of Imperials.

His heart became entangled in a web of admiration as you were being patched up. He'd like to think you took the shot for him, boosting the thought of unexpected love.

-

Post-Notes: currently constructing my masterlist and getting through all my requests!!

~ ~ ~

@elsastoes @nekotaetae @lokigirlszendaya @imalovernotahater @backyard-bear @namesmox @jiabeewrites

my taglist form!

[touchstoneaf]

I refused to let people put me in dresses and keep me clean, and ran around being what at the time we called a "tomboy", and if I was allowed to or had to even known hormone therapy existed back then I would most definitely have transitioned to a boy, because that's how I identified. To this day I don't know if that was because of what boys were allowed to do, and I didn't want to curtail my Adventures, or because that's what I read boys were supposed to be in books, and there were more of them doing more interesting things in the stories I read than there were girls doing the same things, or because the girls at school were mean to me and I hung out with the boys when they let me, or if that's really what my identity was... or am I thinking about it wrong still, and that IS what identity means, because we keep prescribing what gender means as an either-or.

I've settled on non-binary now, and made my peace with my body and how (at the time, incredibly damaging) puberty affected me when it started changing me, and I mostly don't have a lot of dysphoria anymore except on bad days... but it took me over 30 years. And I always wonder how I would have ended up muscle-wise and skill-wise if I hadn't done all of those things that I chose to do and wouldn't let people stop me from doing, and also it makes me wonder about the differences between myself as a country tomboy and my cousin who is a city girly-girl, for whatever reason we both ended up this way. And also how well I would have picked up on things like math and working on cars if my dad hadn't had a son and suddenly stopped teaching me these things because they were "For Boys", and I no longer got to cover both bases and had to turn into The Girl. When I was his only child he was doing things like teaching me construction and oil changes and stuff, but once he had a son all the sudden that was not what I got to do anymore, and he got to learn all that and how to use it; fix cars, drive motorcycles, clean the guns, and all of that stuff. (Not to say I'm super excited about learning about guns, but as a skill it became an across the board thing that turned into A Boy Thing). I wonder if I would have adapted, or remained uncomfortable with the thought of having a female child, whatever their identity, and why I felt so much better about it when I had sons so I didn't have to worry about whether I was adequate to be somebody who might want to be more feminine than I could ever manage to be or ever wanted to be, and so I don't have those skills to pass on.

It's just weird how this stuff intersects with our physical abilities and brain development and socialization, to the point where we don't know the difference between them, and how they might have affected each other, or what might be different if things had gone differently for us.

“If a society puts half its children into short skirts and warns them not to move in ways that reveal their panties, while putting the other half into jeans and overalls and encouraging them to climb trees, play ball, and participate in other vigorous outdoor games; if later, during adolescence, the children who have been wearing trousers are urged to “eat like growing boys,” while the children in skirts are warned to watch their weight and not get fat; if the half in jeans runs around in sneakers or boots, while the half in skirts totters about on spike heels, then these two groups of people will be biologically as well as socially different. Their muscles will be different, as will their reflexes, posture, arms, legs and feet, hand-eye coordination, and so on. Similarly, people who spend eight hours a day in an office working at a typewriter or a visual display terminal will be biologically different from those who work on construction jobs. There is no way to sort the biological and social components that produce these differences. We cannot sort nature from nurture when we confront group differences in societies in which people from different races, classes, and sexes do not have equal access to resources and power, and therefore live in different environments. Sex-typed generalizations, such as that men are heavier, taller, or stronger than women, obscure the diversity among women and among men and the extensive overlaps between them… Most women and men fall within the same range of heights, weights, and strengths, three variables that depend a great deal on how we have grown up and live. We all know that first-generation Americans, on average, are taller than their immigrant parents and that men who do physical labor, on average, are stronger than male college professors. But we forget to look for the obvious reasons for differences when confronted with assertions like ‘Men are stronger than women.’ We should be asking: ‘Which men?’ and ‘What do they do?’ There may be biologically based average differences between women and men, but these are interwoven with a host of social differences from which we cannot disentangle them.”

— Ruth Hubbard, “The Political Nature of ‘Human Nature’“ (via gothhabiba)

Yes.

[improbable-outset]

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆

2BDamned x gn!Reader

Word count: 2.2k ⚠️TW: Mentions of amputation and graphic description of gun violence and gore Contains: Mentions of food and body dysphoria

My AO3

A/N: I didn’t put this one off like I did with my Sanford x reader so that’s something. I don’t know how ‘grunt’s physiology’ work but they’re close to humans right?? Idk I’m probably overthinking this :3 Anyways this is heavily inspired by the character of Misty Knight from Marvel Defenders because yes. Also before I forget: HAPPY NEW YEAR 🎉🎉

Summary: During another raid, you experience an accident that changed your life.

The fluorescent lights in the medical ward hummed in the background, giving you a throbbing headache as you sat idly on the hospital bed across the surgical instruments. You leaned back into the soft pillow with only a paper blanket to cover your legs, inhaling the strong iodoform disinfectant scent in the air.

You looked at your right side where your arm used to be in disgust and sighed as you replayed the events that happened a few days ago in your head again.

~

You moved swiftly in the AAHW building with your other three teammates, rifle in hand, while a group of agents barged into the room with their own weapons pointed towards you. You managed to wipe them out, their painful groans filled the room as their corpses littered the floor.

Light work.

You moved to the next room. Before you could process what could happen next, you felt a strong impact on your arm, causing you to lose your balance and stumbled backwards. Just when you were about to hit one of the desks behind you, Sanford caught you in his arms and hid under the desk for cover.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you listened to the roll of loud gunshot sounds in the background. You felt a burning sensation on your right arm and your sleeve started to feel damp as Sanford held you tighter. “I got you” you heard him whisper in your ear. His voice only drowned into the madness that unfolded. After a while, the room fell silent with Deimos’ voice calling out that the coast was clear.

Sanford crawled out from under the desk with you still in his arms before he released you. You gripped onto the side of the desk to maintain your balance before your eyes caught your right hand sleeve stained in blood. Shit. You must’ve been shot without realising. That explained the burning feeling.

Deimos noticed your arm and quickly escorted you to the truck, sitting beside you at the back and making sure you were ok with Sanford and Hank at the front. Throughout your journey, the stinging feeling in your arm grew stronger as time passed. Finally you made it back into base, with Deimos taking you to the medical ward to be seen by Doc.

~

You grimaced at the memory. Faint footsteps echoed in the hallway as Doc entered the room, flipping through a clipboard. You had your gaze to the paper blanket in front of you with your remaining arm leaning on the cold railing of the bed. “Well, everything else seems to be stable.” He informed you. His voice was stern, asserting dominance which reflected his hardened demeanour. Doc was the most judicious and rational when it comes to his technical knowledge and combat skills. He wasn't a licensed doctor but he was confident in what he did which made it easy for you to trust him when it came to fixing your wounds.

However this was the biggest injury you have experienced. You’ve had gunshot wounds in the past but nothing like this. The bullet managed to hit one of your nerves in your upper arm messing with its function so you had to get your limb removed. Luckily for you, the surgery was successful but that meant you couldn’t go out on raids. “So...now what Doc?”

You haven’t felt this lost and alone since the day you abandoned the agency. Sure you had your teammates that you grew close with and rely on them for emotional support but they still have to go out on missions, leaving you behind since you couldn’t do much with only one arm. Everything happened too fast for you to fully process.

Doc placed his clipboard down, giving you his full attention. “You’re going to need to gain strength on your left arm since you’ll be fully dependent on it now, so starting from tomorrow, we’ll be doing some physiotherapy sessions. But now you should get some rest.” He told you. You felt the acid in your stomach churn. How long will you have to do physiotherapy for? How long will it take for you to adapt to your new body image? Will you ever get used to it?

You trudged your way to your room with your legs feeling heavy and your mind still flooding with questions and confusions. The hallway felt outstretched, making the journey to your room feel longer when in reality, you only walked a few metres. You heard footsteps coming from behind with the sound of clothes shuffling.

You turned to see Deimos walking towards you. The tobacco stench grew with each step he took. “Hey, rookie. How’re feeling?” You dreaded that question. How many times will you be asked that now? “Could be better, Deimos.” You’ve been in the medical ward for a long time, so seeing Deimos after a while felt a little refreshing. “Doc said I should get some rest before I start physiotherapy tomorrow.” You let out a heavy sigh. “Alright, sleep well rookie.” Deimos tapped your shoulder and left you to your own thoughts.

That night, you struggled to get some sleep. It felt weird to lie on your right side and not feel your arm underneath and if that wasn’t enough, you had to turn your body just so your other arm could reach the comforter. Nevertheless, you got adequate sleep before having to see Doc again.

Your day started with a small meal to get you through your day before you were at the medical ward again; God you were bored to that place. You had your pulse and temperature checked and then completed multiple activities that involved using your left arm. The whole day felt slow, being stuck inside. You tried to look at the bright side of things; at least you’ll be safe from the outside chaos. Yes. Doc made you feel safe.

One thing that you noticed is how incredibly patient Doc was with you compared to how he was with your other teammates. He would get annoyed pretty easily with them but he seemed pretty tolerable with you. Perhaps it was because you were pretty easy to work with and stick to plans.

The following day was just as slow as the last but at least now you knew what to expect and how your day was going to go by. However, the question still burned in your mind and the longer it remained unanswered, the more it ploughed your head. You were in the middle of your physiotherapy session with Doc when you finally spoke up. “Doc, since I can't go out now because of how ‘vulnerable’...” you put air quotes on the last word, quoting his words from your session yesterday, “...I am now, what can I do all day here? I won’t be doing these sessions with you forever.”

It was true, you understood that you couldn’t go outside where the chaos of Nevada could further harm you, but you felt pretty useless in the team. There was a pause that went on for two beats before Doc answered you. “Since you’ll be staying here all day, you might as well assist me around here. Things will be done faster then.” His tone sounded questionable, giving you room to choose. Well, it was better than nothing.

After your session, you found Sanford in the gym room punching a punching bag, his sweat glistening on his skin with his full concentration on his punches. His attention span was so deep into his own movements, he didn’t notice your presence until you softly knocked on the door.

He turned his body to face you, a grin spread across his face when he saw you before you walked towards you. You returned the smile. “Hey, how are you now? Deimos told me about the sessions you’re taking with Doc for your arm, how’s that going?” Sanford asked, panting lightly after each sentence, trying to catch his breath from his exercise earlier. “It’s going good, I guess…” your voice trailed off which didn’t go unnoticed by Sanford “hey uh… wanna throw some punches on this thing, might be good for you.”

You felt a little uncertain with his idea, nevertheless you pushed those feelings away and went along with it, you figured it was better than sulking at yourself and better yet, it could help with developing strength in your left arm. You walked up in front of the punching bag and paused and took a few deep breaths.

You threw a punch and stumbled a little, you weren’t as strong as Sanford but you still had some strength in you. You planted your feet on the ground and inhaled deeply before you threw another punch without stumbling. It felt exhilarating, releasing all the tension and stress you’ve been feeling the past couple of days. A few hours later, you went back to your room, your heart accelerated, pumping the adrenaline in your bloodstream. You almost forgot about why you were so stressed in the first place.

The next few days, after your usual sessions, you would go to Sanfords room to blow off some steam. Admittedly, it definitely helped to develop your strength again. But it didn’t change the fact that you still wanted to go out. Sometimes you would find yourself moving your left arm where you used to position it on your rifle, missing the feeling of the weapon in your hand.

It was another day after a raid and everyone was in the medical ward. Hank sat on the hospital bed, bullet wounds on his chest while Doc attended his wounds. You agreed to assist him, passing the medical equipment or applying pressure on the wound when needed to. Sanford and Deimos were near the sink area with a first aid kit. Deimos wrapped a gauze around Sanfords arm, making witty remarks while Doc scolded Hank for being reckless.

After you were done assisting Doc with Hank, everyone left the room, leaving you and Doc alone. You helped with sanitizing the equipment and disinfecting the surfaces. The room was quiet again, making you prone to overthinking. Just when you were in the middle of doing your tasks, you felt a sudden wave of dysphoria making you pause.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Doc when he saw you suddenly stop mid-cleaning which was unusual for you since you always get your tasks done quickly. “Is something wrong?” His voice broke your train of thoughts and you looked up to see his masked face. “Hmm no…” you really didn’t know what else to say or how to explain how you were feeling. “You know you can tell me, you’re my patient, I’m here to help you.”

You sighed before you gave an answer “I just feel a little… ticked off with the turn of events I guess. I thought by now I’ll get used to my new body but obviously that’s not the case. I mean I’m a righty, Doc and it’s just.. hard to get used to and I hate it.” You turned to your side to continue with wiping down the bed, Doc’s gaze was still fixed on you. “It is understandable why you’re feeling like this. Your physical healing won’t take long and I've seen how much you’ve improved since your first session. But the emotional healing might take a little longer, especially getting used and adapting to your new body image.”

You continued with your cleaning, before putting the equipment away and calling it a day. “At least you’re still alive.” He added. You only responded by smiling meekly and exited the room. You were halfway to your room when you heard footsteps. “Hey, mercenary!” Deimos voice echoed from behind, “could you come here? I’ve got something for you to see.” He gestured in the opposite direction. You really weren't in the mood for this. “Dei…I’m kinda tired right now-” “Come on, I promise you it’ll make you feel a little better.” He urged you. You knew there was no point arguing so reluctantly, you followed him. He led you to his room and what you saw on his desk made your stomach drop.

Oh my god

~

The following day, you sat anxiously in Deimos’ room with Deimos and Doc opposite you. Your hand ran over your new Prosthetic arm that was attached to you by Doc, the metal was cold under your touch. You felt the anticipation boiling inside you as you waited for Doc to tell you any further information, watching as he tapped on his tablet with full concentration before looking up at you. “Everything seems to be ready, now we need to test it. Could you lift this mug for me?” He asked, pointing to the mug in front of you.

Your heart thudded in your chest with excitement and anxiety as they both watched and waited for you. Slowly, you lifted your artificial arm up, almost startled that it moved with your full control with ease. Moving your arm forward, you clenched onto the mug handle and lifted it up without dropping it and placed it back down again. Deimos grinned with pride, your arm worked perfectly. You couldn’t see Doc’s facial expression but you assumed he was pleased with the results so far. ”Everything seems to be going fine…” He said as he stood up from his chair “...could you meet me in the medical room in 5 minutes?” You nodded and he left, leaving you and Deimos. You turn to face Deimos “Thank you.” You breathed, still feeling stunned.

Feedback is appreciated. Let me know if I did anything wrong.

[thelightofthingshopedfor]

Hello, different anon here (I'm on anon because I have social anxiety that apparently even extends to Tumblr) and I just want to say thanks for your gender post! I've never felt anything but cis myself, so I appreciate reading accounts of how people who are anywhere else on the gender spectrum feel about it even if you don't identify with a specific label. Also I definitely cracked up at the "gender? I hardly know 'er / awkward finger guns" one, so thanks for that 😂

which is a completely legit reason to use anon, and also why I like to leave it on!

and haha you're welcome. I've always just assumed I was cis, but it's like...I dunno, I do still consider myself mostly cis, but also my gender is a shrug emoji. my gender is dumb jokes about gender. my gender is marking "woman" or "she/her" on medical forms or surveys but feeling kinda weird about it. my gender is a 404 gender not found page. my gender is void. my gender is not recognized as legal tender in this or any other country.

...you know?

and I guess I've felt that for a while, in that I haven't felt an extreme attachment to my gender, but I haven't really put words to it until fairly recently. but I have been thinking about it for a while, and I've known for quite a while that I had a tiny handful of experiences in puberty that sort of lined up with what I've seen trans people describe about dysphoria even if I didn’t necessarily recognize those experiences as specifically gender-related, and more recently for some reason I've...I dunno, allowed myself to recognize a handful of other experiences that were also...something. not experiencing gender in ways I was expected to, certainly, but also...

okay so my last haircut prepandemic when I was 100% positive I wanted it all gone and the stylist basically refused, and it was like...I walked in nervous but excited because I was finally, finally going to get the hair I'd been wanting for so long, it was finally going to be out of my way, and in the car afterward it would be fair to say I was feeling a little suicidal specifically about my hair and the idea that I wasn't ever going to be allowed to cut it the way I wanted to, that it was just always going to be like this, getting caught on things and getting in my way, and...that sounds a little bit like dysphoria, doesn't it? easy to fix, luckily! and it didn't have to be about Gender, it might have just been about hair and inconvenience, and it probably wasn't all about Gender, especially because I very specifically think women with short hair are hot, but it's still like...when I started thinking about this a little more, I'd kind of go "well, obviously, I'm cis. I mean, I don't really care about gender that much one way or the other to begin with (that's not true, just imagining myself with a dick makes me feel vaguely dysphoric, which was an early interesting data point that made me assume I couldn't be trans and continued to make me assume that, for some reason, even after I learned nonbinary genders existed), or anyway I don't care enough to have had dysphoria about it. ...except for how damn uncomfortable I was in general about growing boobs. to, hm, yes, to the extent that my reaction to people with breast cancer getting immediate reconstructive surgery after double mastectomies was 'but why though, you have just gotten RID of an annoying and inconvenient thing and now you're going out of your way to put it BACK??' but I'm sure that doesn't mean anything."

--my point is, in the context of that, the intensity of my reaction to basically being told “no you are not allowed to get rid of hair that you genuinely hate every time you’re reminded it exists” could, in fact, be related to Gender. like, the fact that I hated my hair doesn’t have to be about Gender, and it doesn’t have to be solely about Gender, but it also...doesn’t have to be not about Gender, and it makes a little more sense now to look back at how furious and despairing I was over that damn haircut and go “ooh, okay, maybe I reacted so strongly because my hair was making me feel kinda dysphoric and she’d just told me, if not in so many words, that I was stuck that way.” 

anyway.

I have no idea who wrote it or I'd actually quote it, but I know there's a post about how it's always valuable for people to think about gender or sexuality, even if they end up on a better understanding of their own straightness or cisness, because--I mean, yeah! it's always a good thing to know yourself better, to know who you are and do it on purpose. that's one of the things that drives me nuts about conservative handwringing. we're not trying to turn anyone anything, we're trying to help everyone figure out who and what they really are.

[thatsamericano]

I Just Want You To Know Who I Am

Pairing/Characters: America/Romano. Brief appearances from Spain, Belgium, and Veneziano. Background mention of Gerita.

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Mentions of transphobia, misgendering, and gender dysphoria. Some internalized acephobia. The fic is overall very fluffy in tone, and none of the characters are shown dealing with someone who doesn’t accept their sexuality or gender identity.

Summary: Romano didn’t always have the words to tell people who he was, but now that he does, he wants America to know he’s transgender. He’s scared, but he isn’t going to let that stop him anymore.

Word Count: 3065

Savino was glad he had words to succinctly describe who he was now. A long time ago, there hadn’t been words to describe the innate sense of wrongness he felt in his own body, his aversion to the name his grandfather had given him that went beyond his personal issues with the man, or the inexplicable way he’d felt like crying every time someone complimented him by telling him what a pretty little girl he was.

Centuries ago, when he was small, confused, and terrified, he tried to explain it for the first time. Spain was his guardian, and the only person he could turn to. Savino had told Antonio that he didn’t want to wear dresses like Belgium did. He wanted to wear trousers like Spain and have his hair cut like Spain’s too.

“But why?” Spain had asked, brow creased in confusion. “You look so preciosa in the clothes you have now.”

Romano had looked away, ashamed. “I… I don’t want to be preciosa, Spain. I want to be precioso.”

Spain blinked, stunned by what Romano had said. He’d probably never heard of such a thing, but to his credit, he had reacted as well as could be expected. He smiled at Romano and ruffled his hair. “I’ll make you some trousers and a shirt then, mijo.”

“Grazie, Tonio.” There was something that felt so right about Spain calling him mijo, acknowledging him as a son instead of a daughter. He puffed up his chest with a pride he’d never felt before.

“Of course. Should I call you another name too?”

“Just call me Romano for now.” He wasn’t sure of the human name he wanted yet.

Spain had helped so much after Romano told him the truth as he understood it back then. He cut Romano’s hair, dressed him as a boy, and agreed to use the human name Romano eventually decided upon. Spanish and Italian were both gendered languages, and Spain was very good about referring to him with the right endearments and adjectives. He complimented his little henchman just as much as he had before, but he never called him preciosa again.

When Belgium saw him in trousers for the first time, she had naturally been confused. Antonio had rubbed the back of his neck and sheepishly explained how he had been mistaken. Romano had always been a boy, but he hadn’t known. And since he was a boy, he ought to wear boy clothes and have his hair cut like one.

Belgium had bent down closer to his height and told Savino what a handsome boy he was. And that had made him feel so wonderful, to have someone else see him as a boy, especially a beautiful woman like Belgium. Romano had been able to explain everything to her later once he was an adult and had better language to describe who he was. Belgium nodded along with a soft little smile and said she hadn’t known that at the time, but figured it might have been something like that later, when she had been able to reflect on what happened with a better, more modern understanding of transgender people. She agreed to keep it secret for Savino, since it wasn’t something he wanted spread around.

He’d told Veneziano too. By then, he was presenting as a boy and most people believed he was one because they didn’t know he’d ever been considered a girl. Veneziano knew about his past, but it didn’t seem to make a difference to him. “Famiglia is famiglia,” he’d said. “And a fratello’s just as good as a sorella.” After asking for his new human name, Feliciano had hugged him and told him he didn’t need to know anything else unless Savino wanted to share it with him. From that day on, Feli had been just like Tonio. He never spoke to him as if he wasn’t a man, even if the idea of someone like Savino being a man wasn’t well understood at the time.

There were others he’d told over the years, mostly his prospective lovers. Savino couldn’t risk someone being disgusted by the sight of his naked body, so he’d always told them in advance, long before he got involved with them physically. But each time he was taking a huge risk, not just of rejection but of violence. Humans were not kind to men like him, and nations wouldn’t necessarily be either. There were many people he wanted but never pursued for that very reason, and America was one of them.

Alfred seemed kind, and he was a loud and vocal supporter of LGBT rights. He saw himself as a hero, and he truly wanted to make the world a better place for everyone. Once, Alfred had put his arm around Savino’s shoulders and promised that Romano could count on him if he was ever in a fix. Romano had pretended to be annoyed, mostly because he liked America’s arm around his shoulders a little too much.  He liked Alfred a little too much, and he had for decades, ever since he had lived in his house so long ago and grown to feel like Alfred’s place was a home as much as he anywhere that wasn’t South Italy could be. But he couldn’t bring himself to admit he loved him, not now, not when he hadn’t revealed something so important about who he was. It was one thing to be rejected by someone you had a silly crush on that didn’t mean anything, but it was another thing to be rejected by someone you loved. Savino didn’t know if he could survive the latter.

Romano was in such a better place than he’d been when he told Spain that first time, so long ago. He knew who he was and he had words for it that would make sense to other people who had never felt as he did. He’d been living as a man for centuries, and no one had questioned that in a long time. The twentieth century had brought with it medicines and surgeries for men like him, wonderful inventions that could bring his body more in line with his internal sense of himself. Romano still had occasional bouts of dysphoria, but now he could look at his naked body in the mirror without shame. He was mostly fine with who he was these days, and with the long journey he’d taken to get there. But would America be?

There was only one way to find out. Romano frowned down at his phone as he pressed the button to call America. It rang once, twice before America picked up.

“Hey, Little Italy! I’m so glad you called! I’ve been totally bored, and I’ve had no one to talk to all day!”

Romano smirked and decided to tease America a little. He enjoyed teasing him, seeing the way his face would get all red as he shyly glanced away. If only he’d ever been able to kiss Alfred when he was acting like that. “So you were lonely without me, Fredo?”

“I… uh, I didn’t say that. No, ‘cause like I tried to call Mattie, but he was hanging out with the Netherlands and Cuba and was too busy to do anything with his own brother.” Savino just knew that Alfred was pouting and making sad puppy eyes at being “abandoned” by Canada for his friends.

Savino snorted. “Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Feli’s on a date with his macho potato right now.”

Alfred giggled. “Macho potato. I always thought it was so funny when you call him that. But I’ve never really understood why.”

Because I’m jealous, Savino thought. I’m jealous of his height and his muscles, and how he got them so easily. I’m jealous of how he was born to look so macho with hardly any effort, and I’ve had to work so hard just to get where I am right now.

Savino cleared his throat and tried to shove the dysphoric thoughts away. “I don’t fucking know. He likes potatoes, and he likes to pretend he’s Mr. Macho Man. Do I need another reason?”

“Nah, that makes sense, I guess. But you can be pretty macho too. I still remember that one time on Halloween you dressed up as the Grandma from Little Red Riding Hood.” America paused, and Romano could hear him letting out a long sigh over the phone line. “You were wearing a dress, but like in a manly way? I don’t know how to explain it, but it was macho of you. Very macho.”

Dio, Alfred sounded turned on just from the memory of it. Savino remembered that costume. Spain and Belgium had both been surprised when he volunteered to dress up as the Grandma in keeping with their Little Red Riding Hood theme, and Spain had even pulled him aside to make sure he was comfortable wearing a dress, given how much it had bothered him as a child. But Romano had explained it was different this time. He was dressing up as a character, not him, and it was just that one night. Romano had worn sunglasses and toted in a gun to feel more tough and manly, and no one mistook his for a little old woman. That costume now hung in the back of his closet, behind the suit separates and shirts that were his normal, daily attire. Savino had considered finding selling the costume on eBay or donating it to an organization that took women’s clothing since he’d probably never wear it again.

But if he could make Alfred sound like that again, maybe Savino would hold onto the dress.

“Vinny? You still there?”

“Yeah, sorry. I just drifted off for a minute there.” His hand moved through the air like he was sweeping cobwebs out of his mind.

“It’s cool. Oh! Speaking of costumes, Japan was talking about this awesome anime convention in Tokyo next month. Hopefully my boss will give me enough time off for me to go, because it sounds amazing.”

Romano smiled at America’s enthusiasm. “I hope so too.”

Alfred launched into an excited discussion of all the characters he might cosplay as at the convention if he got to go. Romano didn’t know many of them, and America was speaking so fast he couldn’t hear the names of all of them, but he listened attentively regardless.

This was nice, Romano reflected. His friendship with America was warm, safe, and comfortable. He could listen to Alfred talk about something that made him happy for hours on end. If he didn’t say anything, never brought up the real reason he had called Alfred, it could stay this way forever.

But the thing was that he would gladly listen to Alfred talk about something that made him happy for hours on end. That Alfred made him feel warm, safe, and comfortable just by being himself. He was so close to letting himself fall in love with the idiota, and there was only one thing stopping him.

Savino broke into the middle of Alfred’s sentence. “Alfredo, I need to tell you something.”

“Is it something bad? You sound really scared. Is someone hurting you? Whose ass do I have to kick?”

“No… no one is. I’m fine. This is just really hard for me to say.” It had been so difficult each time. With Spain, Veneziano, and Belgium, he didn’t have words for it, and he had to explain himself in painful, drawn out sentences that didn’t always reflect the truth he knew in his heart (like telling Belgium he had been born a girl, when he’d never really felt like one). He was afraid of being rejected by people who mattered to him, and he was afraid they might not even comprehend what he was trying to tell them. Now, Savino had words, but that didn’t make him any less scared of losing someone who mattered to him.

“What is it?” Alfred asked gently.

He took a deep breath, in and out, then bit the bullet. “I’m transgender.”

Savino tried not to panic in the stunned silence than followed. Luckily that silence only lasted a few seconds. “Oh, wow, that’s… that’s awesome!”

Romano laughed in relief. “It is?”

“Of course it is, dude! I am so proud of you, and I am so glad you felt comfortable enough to share that with me!”

Savino closed his eyes, feeling that last barrier to falling in love with Alfred giving way. “You made it easy for me to feel comfortable, caro.”

“Umm, can I ask you a question?” Alfred’s voice sounded hesitant and strained. “I promise it won’t be too weird.”

“Sure, I guess.” Savino frowned and brushed some imaginary dust off his knee. People could ask invasive questions when someone revealed they were trans, but that didn’t sound like what Alfred was planning to do.

“What kind of transgender person are you? Because I just called you dude, but only because I called you dude so many times before and didn’t know it was wrong. I’d never intentionally misgender someone right after they came out to me. That would be epically shitty of me.” Alfred seemed worried and apologetic.

“It’s okay. I’m a trans guy, so you can call me dude if you want to.”

“Thank God! For a second, I thought I’d fucked up really badly. He/him pronouns still okay?”

“Yeah.”

“What about your name, Savino? And the nicknames I give you, Vinny and Little Italy?”

Savino grinned. “Yes. And I don’t even know why you’re worried about Little Italy. That has nothing to do with my gender.”

Alfred chuckled. “I figured I should make sure, just in case.”

“I’m glad I decided to tell you today,” Romano said. “I wanted to tell you before, but I was scared. You didn’t seem like you’d have a bad reaction, but it’s a hard thing to talk about, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Alfred paused, and it felt like he was preparing to say something important. Savino waited until he was ready. “I’m uhh… queer, I guess? I’m not really sure what to call myself.”

Savino smiled sadly at the insecurity he could hear in Alfred’s voice. “That’s okay. For a long time, I didn’t know what to call myself either.”

“No, I guess you wouldn’t have.” America sighed, and he sounded distressed. “It’s… fuck, I don’t even know how to explain this. For most of my life, I thought I was asexual. Well, actually, I thought I was broken and that there was something wrong with me, but I’m trying not to feel that way anymore.”

“There is nothing wrong with you.” Damn it, he wished America wasn’t on another continent so he could hug him. He could probably use a hug right now.

“But then there was this guy. This one amazing, wonderful, really special guy.” Alfred laughed softly, thinking about whatever lucky bastard he was obviously in love with, and Savino wondered who it might be. Lithuania? Japan? Prussia? South Korea? America was close to a lot of people.

Or maybe it was him. Maybe he was the lucky bastard.

“He’s the only person I’ve ever, umm, wanted that way,” America continued. “I don’t think it’s because he’s a guy, because I’m not into guys generally, and I’m not into girls either. But I do like the specific ways he is a guy, so maybe I’m gay? I don’t know.”

“That’s fine, Fredo. You don’t have to label yourself if you don’t want to.” No wonder America was so confused. He had only liked one person his entire life. That wasn’t much information to determine your sexuality on.

“I really appreciate you saying that, but I wish I could label myself. All my other friends seem to know what genders they’re into, and it feels kind of weird that I don’t.”

“Well, you seem to be fixated on this one particular person. Do you think anything would be different if the guy you told me about had been a girl instead?” Romano wanted to help America figure this out, since his uncertainty seemed to be bothering him. This was the only way Romano could think of.

America thought it over. “I guess I still don’t know,” he answered quietly. His volume was more typical of Canada than what Romano was used to from America. “When you told me you were transgender and I wasn’t sure how you were transgender, I was more worried about hurting you than if I’d still think you were hot as a girl.”

Savino teared up. He was the lucky bastard after all. “Alfredo, you…”

“Crap, I didn’t make things weird, did I?! We can totally go back and pretend I didn’t say anything. You know me, open mouth, insert foot.” Alfred laughed shakily.

“I don’t want to go back and pretend you didn’t say anything. You know what I really want, idiota? I want to kiss the hell out of you, like I’ve wanted to kiss you for years. But I’d have to get on a goddamn plane and be trapped in a tin can of death with hundreds of other passengers for several hours to make that happen.” Romano hated flying, but he was willing to consider it.

“Or I could fly to see you. I’ve got a private jet, so I wouldn’t have to waste time going through airport security.”

Romano grinned. “That works too.”

“Can I call you back in a little bit? I need to call my boss to make sure he can spare me for a few days while I fly out to see you.”

“Sure, tesoro. Talk to you soon.”

Alfred hung up the phone, and Savino set his phone down on the table in front of him. Coming out to America had gone much better than he could’ve expected. Romano was glad he didn’t have that burden on his shoulders anymore, and he was hoping America would call back in a few minutes to let him know his boss’s decision. If he couldn’t be spared for a few days and Romano’s boss wouldn’t let him go either, they would have to find some way around that. As far as Romano was concerned, he’d been waiting more than long enough as it was, and he wasn’t going to wait any longer than he had to.

[sith-shenanigans]

18, 19, 26 and 27 for your choice of ahene and sirue :0

You said “my choice” and I like to talk, so I’m choosing both of them. ^^;;

Ahene:

18. What did they find abroad, and what did they remember?

Ahene has been a lot of different places on a lot of different planets, and what she found has mostly been weird Force things. Especially ghosts. There have been a lot of ghosts.

The parts she remembers fondly, though, are the times post-class story when she had the opportunity to claim an artifact personally, when she and Talos (and occasionally some combination of the rest of the crew, but always Talos) got to go down into some ruin and figure it out like a puzzle. No politics, no expectations, just the opportunity to let down the facade a little bit with one of the few people she can actually count as a friend.

Now, most people wouldn’t consider ancient tombs to be the best place to do that, but she’s not most people and that really is her idea of fun, so it works out. Somehow.

19. What were your character’s deepest disillusions? In life? What are they now?

I’m… not sure quite what this one’s saying (‘in life?’), but I’ll do my best.

When Ahene was a young child, she wanted to join the SIS. The idea of being a spy appealed to her (you get to Know Things, and figure out what people are hiding, and sneak around) and while Verios was closer to the Empire, its political sentiments were much more strongly Republic-aligned. Being a kid, the part where you have to be a Republic citizen didn’t really cross her mind… but, anyway, after the invasion? She spent a couple years thinking the Republic might show up and rescue them all.

She is of the opinion that her younger self was inexcusably naïve.

Ahene also went through a lot of the class story hoping to, at some point, disappear into the endless night and go looking for Sirue. But the time never seemed right. Zash’s expectations were too immediate to risk running, and then there was Thanaton—and then she was part of a power struggle, and moffs were choosing sides. Things just kept escalating until it was too big to back down from, until there were too many people involved, until there was no way out but through.

And then the Council.

And then Makeb.

She should have known better than to think leaving was an option.

And she should have known better, after KotFE and KotET and all the things she built while saving the galaxy, than to think it wouldn’t come crumbling down around her.

She should have known better than to think she could do this the right way.

Always and ever, no way out but through.

26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance?

She’s lived a few different places, but they all have some commonalities. Her living space tends to be surprisingly austere. Sith—especially powerful ones—generally tend towards whatever extreme suits them, ominous or lavish or cluttered with whatever interests them (or, often, some combination of all of those). Hers is just… functional. Sometimes there are datapads lying around, or occasionally a coffee mug that 2V or a cleaning droid hasn’t had the chance to spirit off for washing yet.

If you had a way of looking, you could always tell the places she’s actually lived from the places she inherited from Thanaton and never used; the latter still look Sithly and pristine, and the former have been rearranged by someone who really doesn’t want to sleep in a bedroom that feels like an evil cathedral. She would like her bedroom to feel like a bedroom, thank you. A normal one.

27. How do they relate to their appearance? How do they wear their clothing? Style? Quality?

This is where I mention that Ahene is a nonbinary woman, and also that she has mild/occasional chest dysphoria. She doesn’t ever get top surgery, though, even though Star Wars medtech would probably mean a very short recovery period—she doesn’t actually want a flat chest, she just prefers clothing that keeps it covered and doesn’t draw the eye there.

She also has an entirely non-gender-related dislike of fancy Sith robes, possibly because she resents any outfit a droid has to help her into. Or maybe she’s just ended up slogging through a swamp in full formal dress more than once, because official visit and unforeseen circumstances collide with alarming regularity where she’s involved, and there aren’t enough showers in the galaxy after an experience like that.

More generally, she takes a fair bit of pride in the way she looks. She knows the kind of power appearances have, she knows how she wants to be seen, and she makes an effort to look polished. (Her hair definitely doesn’t stay slicked back like that without a lot of space hair product.) She likes grayscale clothing, with sharp, clean lines, stays meticulously clean when she’s not actively slogging through the wilderness, and does very… particular things with makeup. Or, often, 2V does, because when she does too much of his job herself he has a small nervous breakdown, and sometimes it’s easier just to take pity on the droid.

Sirue:

18. What did they find abroad, and what did they remember?

Sirue has traveled across a lot of the galaxy—or more of it than most people ever will, at the least, and that’s still only a tiny tiny fraction. She couldn’t see it all in a thousand lifetimes. And that’s part of what she likes about it. She doesn’t have to stay anywhere too long, bouncing between stars until all the planets start to blur together, a new job on every horizon. It’s the freedom to move, to fly, to leave her mark and be forgotten.

She’d like to say that she forgets everything but the good bits, the exciting bits. The bits where she lived fast and won big and did things nobody else could.

It’s a damned lie, but she’d like to say it.

This is what she remembers: there’s no justice but what you make, there’s no odds that aren’t fixed, and everyone’s wrong when they say they’ll be lucky forever. (Except me, she’ll tell you, and wink.)

19. What were your character’s deepest disillusions? In life? What are they now?

Sirue wasn’t a born cynic, but going from political scion to Imperial slave at the tender age of eight will leave you disillusioned with just about everything. She lost more than a lot of people ever had, and it taught her that power was just a word for how many things you can break. Nothing means anything unless you have the bigger gun. Forgetting that was how she ended up getting betrayed by her best business partners—though she got off the last shots in the end.

That said, none of that means you have to break the wrong things, or shoot the wrong people. She’s not some kind of petty schoolyard bully. But she doesn’t believe in anything she can’t ensure herself, and she will go to some kriffing terrifying lengths to ensure things herself.

26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance?

She lives in her ship, of course, and it’s about as organized as anyone could expect from the living space of a motley group of criminals. The captain’s quarters aren’t outright messy, but sometimes things get set on the floor. And she collects horrible knicknacks. And then there’s the trophy case with the lightsabers in it, and the guns on the wall, and all the other miscellaneous items she’s picked up off her enemies to prove that she lived and they didn’t. Everything needs a memento; that’s how you keep score.

27. How do they relate to their appearance? How do they wear their clothing? Style? Quality?

She goes through horrible places on a regular basis, she’s worn the same jacket for at least a decade, and… actually, she’s pretty hygienic when it comes to personal grooming. She’s been through grubby grimy hell, sometimes she just wants to feel clean, gods, is that too much to ask? Looking pretty isn’t exactly a priority for her, though—she’s gonna be a scruffy smuggler unless you give her a damn good reason not to be, ‘cause otherwise people start noticing those delicate features that make her so clearly her father’s girl, and…

Well, she’s done a lot of things that weren’t exactly morally sound, but she can look at herself in the mirror without seeing her father, and that’s important. If she dresses up too nice, she starts thinking a little too much about futures that weren’t hers.

[writing-tips-archive]

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[kathuichithouda-archives]

Do you know if you have something like ADHD? From what I can tell from how your describing things about the lack of response from people about your hyperfixations, it kinda sounds like Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD), which if I remember correctly, is part of ADHD. It's like... For example, someone says "maybe not right now", but our brain turns that message into meaning "no, your idea is stupid, and I don't like it, stop bugging me" instead of the intended meaning, (1/2)

—when they really were interested, but maybe a little busy at the time. Sorry if you knew all of this already, but I was just wondering, because sometimes knowing what's up with our brains is a little bit of comfort in situations. I'm sorry things seem really bad, and I want you to know that there's a buncha people who care about you and your ideas and your interests!! (2/2)

___

I do actually!

And yeah, that could explain a lot... But, like I said before, I don't like using things like that as an "excuse" but it would explain why I am the way that I am??

Either way, that's how struggling things can be sometimes. I misread ppls responses, the way they talk or emote themselves, and I tend to jump the gun too. Plus it's even harder when it comes to texts. Because its hard to fully expression how to say something when you are making a voice and tone FOR them when you read. Yknow?

That and I know good and well I'm just, an attention whore. I literally don't exist to my family irl so I'm mostly alone. And when I do speak to ppl I'm quit clingy.

I get used to patterns of behavior and have this like "Schedule" and when its disrupted I do get uncomfortable and kinda whiney.

But again I'll try and fix that.

[carolynpetit]

198X and Being Players in a Dangerous Time

NOTE: This piece describes 198X in detail. I encourage you to play the game yourself. It’s currently available on Steam and PS4, costs $10, and takes about 90 minutes to play.

-----

There’s a song I love by the Canadian singer-songwriter Bruce Cockburn called “Lovers in a Dangerous Time.” To me, the song is about how the things we might take for granted as a normal part of our lives most of the time can feel frivolous or wasteful in times of great crisis, yet it’s also in those difficult times that we may need those things the most. I mean, how can you go on a romantic getaway when immigrants are being held in nightmarish conditions in concentration camps here in the United States? But on the other hand, isn’t it in these times that we most need to be reminded of our own humanity, the humanity of others, and why a better world is worth fighting for?

When you're lovers in a dangerous time Sometimes you're made to feel as if your love's a crime  Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight  Got to kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight

Personally, I often find that many video games, movies, television shows and other types of art that I normally enjoy begin to feel hollow and indulgent when I can’t escape the awareness that moral atrocities are being committed by my own government. However, it’s also true that such times are precisely when art that cuts through the crap and makes me feel something deep and genuine is more vital and necessary than ever. 

Twin Peaks: The Return was essential to me during the first year under Trump, not for being the most “woke” thing on TV (it wasn’t) but for being such a strange and uncompromising show that watching it felt like being blasted with a high-pressure water cannon that washed away the cynicism I’d cloaked myself in as a way of enduring the horrors of the week. On one episode, David Lynch’s own character, FBI agent Gordon Cole, tells chief of staff Denise Bryson, a transgender woman, that he told the agency men who didn’t accept her to “fix their hearts or die,” and there was the show itself, each week, working its own magic to fix my heart, to keep me human in dehumanizing times. 

For me, the new video game 198X enters this same category; it’s one of those rare and urgent works that does what we most need art to do when we most need art to do it. In 198X’s launch trailer, we see footage of games from an assortment of genres as the protagonist, Kid, says, “This is not just a beat ‘em up. This is not just a shoot ‘em up. This is not just a racing game. This is not just a ninja game. This is not just an RPG.” This trailer got me fired up for the game because I felt as if I knew exactly what Kid meant. When I was a kid myself, back in the years of 198X, games were much more to me than what they may have appeared to be on the surface. In my desperation to escape from anguish both internal and external--the pain of gender dysphoria, a home racked by alcoholism and instability--I could turn even a simple, tedious game like Capcom’s run-and-gun Commando, one of the few NES cartridges we owned, into a valiant struggle to triumph over the forces that threatened to swallow me whole. 

Like me, Kid is an expert at finding deeper meaning in the space between themselves and the game. And it only makes sense, since like me, Kid has a need for escape, and a need for meaning. 198X avoids the use of any gendered pronouns for Kid--the only voice we hear throughout the game is Kid’s own, as they narrate their own story--but I believe Kid might be trans or genderqueer. At least, in the absence of the game asserting otherwise, this is my headcanon. I have to admit, seeing a character like Kid in a game still feels like coming across an oasis in a desert. Such representation is so rare, and so precious to me, that it feels life-giving. Brilliantly delivered by Maya Tuttle, Kid’s narration offers us tremendous insight into who they are, even as they remain a fiercely guarded individual. During one of the game’s many gorgeous pixel art interludes, Kid reminisces about how they used to frequent a nearby video store with their father. “But then, we didn’t go there anymore,” Kid says, hinting at some undefined strife that has driven their family apart. “It was no big deal,” Kid says, revealing just what a huge deal it was.

198X’s narrative offers little in the way of specifics, and to me, this only makes it stronger. It asks us to identify with Kid as a player, to feel the games the way that they do and to understand how those games might take on a meaning that reaches beyond the basement arcade that becomes Kid’s refuge. When you start 198X, you’re immediately thrown into Kid’s experience as a player. The first thing you see is an intro sequence and title screen for Beating Heart, a beat ‘em up released in the year 198X. You hear the sound of a quarter sliding into the machine, and then it begins, you’re playing, controlling a brawler in a red hoodie--Kid’s signature color--clobbering an assortment of punks who are out to stop you for reasons that are never explained. They don’t need to be. Kid feels antagonized by the world. Fighting just to survive. That’s why the act of defeating the people who stand in Kid’s way is meaningful. 

198X is a game about how games can mean more to us. If it didn’t let the games that Kid plays within it make their own kind of meaning, unfettered by story specifics, it would undercut its own effectiveness. Unlike so many pixel art games that play as homages to the past and simply want to replicate and capitalize on our memories, 198X is interested in commenting on them, in exploring just what our experiences with the games of the past may have meant to us. Stories in games back then were routinely disposable but that doesn’t mean that the games didn’t mean anything. They did. Through their imagery and music and the way they made us feel, they took on all kinds of meaning, offering places where those of us who felt like losers could be heroes, where those of us who never felt like we fit in here in the real world could belong, could be wanted, could be needed.

Thankfully, 198X prioritizes emotional truth over historical accuracy, allowing the games that you play as Kid to do things that real arcade games of the 1980s never did. After playing Beating Heart for several minutes, making your way out of a subway station and onto a city street, something surprising happens: the camera pans up and away from our hoodied hero to take in an unreachable skyline in the distance. Beating Heart fades out, and it’s only then that we first see Kid, alone in their room in their suburban home, a city in the distance representing all the freedom and possibility that Kid dreams of, but it may as well be a million miles away, for all the good it does them. 

Unable to achieve that kind of escape, Kid finds a different kind at the local arcade, telling us, “In front of these machines stood some of the coolest uncool people I had ever seen. They were the freaks, the geeks, the misfits, the outcasts, the real rebels, part of something the outside world could not understand, or even knew existed.” Is that the kind of narration some people might find cheesy? You’re damn right it is, and thank goodness for it. I have no patience right now for irony. Give me something earnest, sincere and openhearted. Kid may be emotionally guarded but 198X wears its heart on its sleeve and I am here for it. 

My favorite moment in 198X comes a bit later, after Kid reveals their crush on a girl at their high school. “Oh, man, that girl was born a rebel, free to go wherever she wanted to,” Kid says as we see their crush peel out of the high school parking lot in a black sports car, leaving Kid quite literally in the dust. “Free in a way I could still only dream of,” Kid says, and instantly we’re presented with the title screen of 198X’s driving game, The Runaway, which begins with a black sports car speeding off into the distance, leaving Kid’s car, your car, a red sports car in the foreground, pursuing the driver of the black car and the freedom that she represents. 

The Runaway’s most direct reference point is probably Sega’s 1986 racer OutRun (one of the best games of all time, as I talk about in this video), but OutRun offers an escape. In The Runaway, Kid can’t quite get away from reality. You make your way from a barren desert to the outskirts of a city, and Kid begins to speak, completely blurring the already thin lines between their real life and their experiences with the games at the arcade. “Nothing could beat the rush of the highway,” Kid says. “The speeding cars reminding me that there was a way out, a road to somewhere, the city on the horizon. I’d drive all night to get to that place,” Kid says with their characteristic guarded longing, and just then, a soaring, yearning guitar screams above the ambient synth soundscape, sending chills down my spine. So often in the games of the 1980s, music was where emotional complexity could flourish, even when the narrative was just a flimsy excuse for you to run through deathtrap-laden levels and blast killer robots, and 198X’s score is consistently up to the task of capturing the heightened emotion of the period’s best video game music, but what it does here is special, even by those lofty standards.

It’s a piercing, perfectly calibrated moment, but it’s not the last of The Runaway’s surprises. You make it to a bridge, speeding past highway signs that indicate you’re getting closer and closer to the city as Kid talks about how the games at the arcade have changed their life. “Down here, I was free. I was in control. No one told me where to go or what to do. The only bad part about it was having to come back up to the real world.” Just then, you run out of time. Your car slows to a stop. All the other cars speed on, bound for the city, but for you, it remains out of reach. And isn’t that just how it feels sometimes, like there are freedoms that others enjoy, that elude you, no matter what? It is for me, anyway.

The final game you play as Kid in 198X is called Kill Screen. A rudimentary first-person sci-fi RPG of sorts, it has no analog in the actual arcade games of the 1980s, so far as I’m aware, but that doesn’t matter. 198X is an emotional journey, not a historical one. In Kill Screen, you must slay three dragons, all the while taunted by an artificial intelligence known as Motherboard, clearly a stand-in for Kid’s own mother, or at least for the ways in which Kid has come to see their mother as a symbol for all the ways in which they’re trapped. It’s here in Kill Screen that 198X takes its only real missteps. Among Motherboard’s taunts are some statements that feel too plain and standard to evoke the intensity of Kid’s struggle. Sure, when a parent fails to connect with you as a person, even comments like “DO YOUR HOMEWORK” and “DON’T STAY UP” can be painful reminders of the yawning distance between you and them, but in the context of 198X’s economical storytelling, these generic phrases fall flat. Other phrases hit harder, though. When Motherboard’s cold robotic voice intones the words “YOU ARE ERROR,” a Zelda II reference that also pointedly encapsulates how I often felt in the world and how I imagine Kid does as well, I laughed, but it stung a little, too. As I triumphed over the challenges of the dungeon, Motherboard resorted to merely repeating “HELP HELP HELP,” and I felt that Kid’s mom was almost certainly hurting in her own way, unsure of how to connect with her child, the two of them talking past each other, neither sure how to close the gap.

What does Kid’s defeat of Motherboard actually mean? Where does Kid go from here? I don’t know, and I’m glad the game doesn’t try to spell it out. All I know is that there are still possibilities in Kid’s life, just as there are still possibilities in mine, and that games can mean something valuable and real, even when the world feels like it’s falling apart. 

I don’t expect 198X to work on everybody the way it worked on me. After all, it’s a game about how deeply personal our experiences with games can be, how games can take on larger meanings in the context of what’s happening in our own lives. We take our life experiences into the games with us--Kid’s ambiguous gender identity, for instance, is hugely meaningful to me, in ways it may not be to others--and we take the meaning we find in the space between ourselves and the games we play back into our lives. 198X doesn’t just understand that; it captures what it is to find the kind of meaning you so desperately need in a game right when when you so desperately need it, and god, do I need it now. This is one of the best games of the year.

-----

Thank you for reading. Please consider supporting me on ko-fi. I could really use the help right now.

[xenowlsome]

Pick an oc and do all the even numbers!

Asdhbasjdnjihqsd thank you for enabling me

(I’m doing this for Teru btw)

Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect?

She doesn’t, but she would collect fancy weaponry if she had the money for it. Or more realistically, embroidered daenggi (a type of Korean hair ribbon)

What kind of clothing does your OC wear?

Shinobi uniform mostly; very thick, very big knit sweaters in her free time because Kiri is damp and cold. (She does not have a preference re: masculine versus feminine clothing, but she would rather go barefoot than wear shoes that are even mildly uncomfortable (since this includes high heels it sometimes becomes a problem)

What’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite?

Teru likes cats (and her “grandparents” have one so she’s in luck) and Kiri’s giant otters (picture Amazonian giant otters but with thicker fur) and like most people in Joson she distrusts dogs, but otherwise has no particular feelings

What is your OC’s theme song?

I have a whole playlist for particular story points but two songs that are like, Teru Mood™ are

Or (which is more like her childhood’s genin team song but anyway)

What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods?

She’s not picky bc in Kiri you eat what you get but she loves bibimbap bc that was the best treat for her as a kid

What does your OC smell like?

“Blood”, says Kisame not of anything specific normally? It’s not like shinobi use perfume when the mission doesn’t require it probably

What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths?

Fears: disappointing someone, being betrayed, losing control of her life

Weaknesses: arrogant and perfectionistic at the same time, oversensitive to criticism, does not value her life or others’, holds grudges

Strengths: responsible, calm under pressure, direct, orderly, pragmatic

If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do?

She’d be so hyped about guns... and not so hyped about surveillance (but also, it seems like a good challenge)

What kind of student were they/would they be in high school?

The quiet studious straight-A student who would rat you out to the teacher; or if we’re going with her canon backstory, basically in the local delinquent gang

What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy / what do they think in general about living?

She uh... kind of meh about life because it has never been particularly kind to her. She’s ready to sacrifice her life for the village, even when it was not perhaps the only course of action.

Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact and why?)

The most important right now is probably Mei because in the absence of true faith in her village, faith in her is the only thing Teru has left. The least important but still impacting is Raizō Ōmiya, a frequent bully in their academy days and accidentally the father of one of Teru’s students.

What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions?

She’s very rigidly policing her outward behavior I think whatever habits she might have had, she had trained out of herself. She smokes and drinks occasionally, but usually while in company and no more than is socially acceptable.

Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why?

Teru does not intend to get married because honestly, what for? Nor does she want to have children (despite some pressure that all shinobi experience). Her own childhood was bad enough and she’s not about to be responsible for someone else’s.

If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be?

The first impulse would be to have her parents back.

What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually?

She has very few friends (basically only two at the start of The Story). She’s usually the follower, not the leader, but she will expect that people would defer to her on certain subjects/matters.

What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain?

Approval, I should think, in things small and large. (That’s me, projecting my rejection sensitive dysphoria right here).

What would your character do with a million dollars?

(she’d make tiny paper shuriken out of the banknotes)

Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with?

If it’s outside a mission, it’s some seedy pub (there’s no other kind of establishments in Kiri), she’s with Mei and she’s wearing the same sweater she wore to get water in the morning. If it’s on a mission, the scale could be from some really fancy bar spying on some foreign diplomat to a roadside tavern posing as a peasant.

Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from?

Teru has fewer scars than most of her peers because her job is less front-line. Some cuts on hands and shins, usual for shinobi. Among old scars that didn’t fade are the one from the Academy graduation exam (on her throat) and a big one on her stomach from the 3rd Shinobi World War (that she basically had to fix herself while on the battlefield because Kiri doesn’t have a medical devision).

How does your character react/ accept criticism?

Not too well, really. If it’s from her superiors or trusted friends, she’d grit her teeth and bear it (but may or may not take it to heart). Others get an arrogant glare and passive-aggressive remarks.

Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works?

Try and drown it to see what happens

(Don’t worry, she can hold her breath for a long time)

What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult?

Her parents already had a kid and didn’t particularly want the second one because the political/ideological situation in Kirigakure was changing for the worse. They were executed when Teru was around two and she is still affected by their death emotionally as well as socially.

If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count?

She’d proceed as usual, except possibly warning those closest to her (though equally possibly not, to spare their feelings).

[thetravelerwrites]

Elsabet (Female Lich) SFW

Rating: Teen Relationship: Female Lich x MTF Trans Reader Additional Tags: Reader Insert, Exophilia Content Warnings: MTF Trans, Pre-HRT, Dysphoria Words: 1536

I got a request from @chaoswolf1982 for a fem trans reader and a Lich lady, and managed to knock it out in a few hours! This was a fun one, since the Elsabet is from the 1600s and speaks all fancy, and I haven’t done a MTF trans woman before now, so that was a new experience, too! Please enjoy!

I accept requests, but they are limited to 1500 words. Anything more than that, and I’m afraid I’ll have to charge.

The day it happened was actually your first day on the demolition site. It was a shame; this crumbling ruin must have been glorious when it was first built. You could see the structure of the fallen parapets and towers in your mind’s eye. There weren’t many real castles in your country, and even though it was the job you’d been given, you thought it a pity to get rid of it.

The other construction guys had been looking at you sideways all day. You hadn’t started hormone replacement therapy or undergone any surgeries yet, so even though you’d grown your hair out and despite wearing black jeans with flower embroidery and a feminine-cut button-up shirt with thin, pink pinstripes and a half sleeve, you still had a five o’clock shadow and a tell-tall adam’s apple. You knew you didn’t quite pass yet, but you didn’t care. You’d spent too much of your life hiding yourself and you just plain refused to do it anymore.

At least they had enough consideration to hold their tongues while you were in earshot. Not that it mattered, of course; you were the only explosives expert within a hundred miles that they could hire, so what they thought about you and your life choices didn’t make a difference either way.

“Okay, so, that tower that’s leaning,” You said to the tear-down team. “It doesn’t need explosives. If you take out those three support stones underneath it, it’ll come down pretty quick. The main hall is the one thing I’d say we’d need to rig up, but we’ll work inward toward it and leave it for last.”

“Okay, boys,” the team leader said. “You heard the…” He paused, side-glancing at you. “Start on that tower. I want to have at least half of it cleared out by dark.”

You shook off your annoyance and started mapping out the plans for the main hall. You heard distantly the sound of the supports being smashed away, looking up to make sure the men got out of the way before returning to your measurements.

Then a blood-curdling screech shattered the atmosphere around you. You stood up straight and saw the men scattering, yelling and cursing.

“What the hell is that?” You asked the men as they ran past you like rabbits from a fox. They all jumped into their trucks to flee.

“Wait!” You called, but they were gone, kicking up dust as they sped off. “It was probably just a coyote, you fucking cowards!” You shook your head and growled at them, as they left you here. You reached into your own truck and pulled out your high-impact airsoft rifle. You weren’t really a fan of guns, but you worked in the country a lot and predators were a common problem, so at the very least, a non-lethal deterrent was necessary.

You approached the fallen tower with your rifle up and ready, whistling loudly.

“Alright, whatever is in there needs to fuck off! I have a job to do here,” You said loudly, your voice echoing off the stones. You grimaced at the sound of it. You didn’t have a lot of body dysphoria, but your voice was one thing about yourself that really bothered you. You didn’t know how to make it sound more feminine without feeling like you were pretending.

You didn’t see any movement inside the main structure, so you called out again. “I’m serious! Get out of here!” You even cracked a BB off of the nearest rotting wooden window pane in warning, which you assumed once had glass.

To your immense surprised, a largish rock came sailing out of the darkness in your direction, and you ducked with enough time to avoid getting brained.

“Begone!” A voice inside said. It was a rasping, crackling voice, as if whoever it belonged to hadn’t used it’s own voice in quite some time. “Let this accursed woman rest! I have paid your infernal tax well into the next decade! Get thee hence and vex me no more!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” you said, lowering your rifle but stepping tentatively into the main hall. It was still pretty solidly standing. “This place has been scheduled for demolition. You can’t stay here.”

Another stone was lobbed at you, and you dodged it.

“Dost thou intend to eject a lady from her own dwelling? Bought and paid, I have! This land and all that exist within is my own! I shall not suffer thee! Darken my doorstep no further.”

“Ma’am, please,” You said. “This property is owned by the state. They’ve plans to turn it into a resort. You can’t stay. If I have to call someone to get you out of here, I will.”

“Threats?” You saw two pinpricks of light in the dark, moving around the room, and froze. “I should like to see thou maketh good on thy foolish promise. Come, then! Come and see that which you so blithely provoke.”

The person to whom the voice belonged stepped into the sunlight, and you immediately pulled your gun up again.

It was… a corpse. A walking, talking corpse made of tanned leather skin stretched over a skeleton with no muscle or organs beneath. It’s lips were drawn tightly back, leaving it’s long teeth exposed. The lights you had seen were coming from the sockets of its eyes, deep in the darkness of it’s skull. It was tall and wore a tattered, ill-fitting dress; old-fashioned, perhaps centuries old.

“Dost thou comprehend now?” It asked. “Dost thou see what it is you seeketh to expel from her own domicile?”

“What are you?” You asked in shock, your rifle forgotten in your hands.

“I am an undead thing, bound to this castle,” It said. It peered at you curiously. “What is thou?”

“I… I am a woman,” You replied, your heart skipping a beat. It was the first time you had ever said that sentence out loud.

The lights of it’s eyes dimmed, as if it was squinting. “Lookest ye not like a woman.”

“Neither do you,” You retorted, bristling.

You expected a barbed reply, but instead it said, “Thou dost not speaketh a falsehood,” It--she--sat on a moldering wooden chair. “This curse hast robbed me of much. My womanhood is but the smallest facet of the jewel that I once was.”

“How did this happen to you?” You asked, setting the rifle aside.

She waved a bony hand dismissively. “Money and power breedeth hostility. Any number of the vulgar rabble would revel in my misfortune. I am the last of my damned line. The curse hath fixed me so that no further children of my blood would be born, but that my house and name continue in death for eternity.”

She waved her skeletal hands at the remains of her castle. “All that you see is the remnants of my home and my prison. Eternally shalt I pay for the sins of my forebears, though no such sin did I commit.” She looked introspective, her angular shoulders hunched. “Perhaps, if thou dost breaketh down these walls, I shall crumble with it. Perhaps I, too, may fade.”

You knelt down. “How long have you been trapped here?”

“What is the year?” She asked, and you told her. She gasped softly in surprise. “Has it really been so long? I had grown melancholy that I thought to sleep for only a few years, just to pass the time. I have… severely miscalculated.”

You had the strange urge to reach out to her and take her hand, and you did. She looked at you in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” You said. “I can’t stop the demolition. It’s not up to me. You scared off this crew, but they’ll hire more.”

She shook her head, the wisps of hair still left on her scalp floated around her ears like dandelion fuzz.

“No,” She said. “What must be done shall be done. I shan’t stand in thy path or interfere in thy work. The time has come for the end, as all things must.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “What will happen to you?”

“I do no know,” She said. “But circumstance will be different. That shall be well enough.”

“What’s your name?” You asked her.

She frowned, thinking. “It… it is Elsabet.”

The next week, you began planting explosives around the main hall. Elsabet had retreated to the treeline to watch from a distance. The other workers hadn’t spotted her; the faded green hue of her clothes and tan of her skin made it easy to blend in with the foliage.

You twisted up the charges and set it to the trigger, calling for the team to clear the area. Once it was free of people and everyone was behind a blast shield, you glanced in Elsabet’s direction, and she nodded once. You pushed the plunger down, and the entire main hall blew out from the bottom and fell straight down, shooting dust and debris across the forest floor.

That evening, after spending at least twelve hours cleaning up the wreckage, you made it home and sank onto your couch with a groan of exhaustion.

You felt something push the hair away from your brow, and your eyes jerked open with a start. Elsabet knelt in front of you.

“This place hast not the grandeur of which I am accustomed,” she said. “But… it doth retain a… charm. Perhaps, if thou wouldst enjoy my company, I may stay with thee? I shall endeavor not to be troublesome.”

You smiled at her and touched her cheek. “Only if you want to.”

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[gdreamzseternal]

Ben Sharpio

Taught me something today.. while I don’t herd myself with whatever the fucking sheep party he hopped in. Way to go by the way BEN. I totally liked you til you brought up your need to add both a political and religious bias yuck different rant different day. I don’t hate him though I agree with ‘most’ of his perspectives. Anyway I digress..

Where the fuck did this idea of “safe space” and trigger warning come from? Nah if you are dramatically effected by words on a screen get the fuck off the site you’re on. Other people shouldn’t have to sensor themselves because you’re fucking sensitive. I have people comment on MY POSTS. People who don’t even follow me, telling me to tag my posts with a trigger warning. If you are so damaged by that particular subject why are you even browsing in tags that could potentially contain things related to your “trigger”.

God the internet has made us a bunch of cowards. Remember when stranger danger was legit and people weren’t so afraid to take risks!?

I have gender dysphoria. I love being a boy, a girl and everything in between. I don’t need to cut myself up (anymore ;) and scream at everyone to notice me to heal. Lmao. I go to THERAPY and talk about why I was so dissociative. That I had deep fucking nightmares of my father’s cock so deep I didn’t even remember them until I started talking about my childhood. Those memories of a girl getting molested by her father was me! My brain was so broken I didn’t even know to be a human so it fragmented into DID and Schizoaffective. Had I brought up my gender issues before my dissociation, etc. I probably would have been manipulated by psycho doctors to takes shots and cut my tits off cause it will cure ALLL my deeply rooted issues with a deeper voice and face stubble.

I speak completely unbiased because I don’t give a fuck about any human’s feelings. I have seen things from just about every perspective. To me we are just another species on this planet. A toxic and now invasive species we are. I don’t believe in “rudeness” because it’s not one human’s responsible to be aware of everyone’s sensitivities at all times. Over breeding, not enough resources and destroying the literal things that gives us life.

Look at all those trees cut down for that new apartment complex for all those useless humans that will do the SAME exact thing as 472846261572827361 people who felt entitled to breed without any conscious thought of the long term consequences of the planet. We have no intention of sustaining. We are going to burn and burn and burn until we have burnt everything up. We are fucking robots with guts. 1/2 the fucking humans don’t have a personality except for jumping on a big band wagon (sports music internet), work all the time and have sex. We are taking up so much space and killing so many things for no reason.

Ironic how we kill dandelions but they do more good to the world in overpopulation than we do.

Ironic how we learned to communicate and build cool stuff and suddenly nothing else, even ourselves, matters.

I try so hard every day to live and be like you “normals” you political thinkers. But it didn’t even take me 15 years to realize that this government bullshit isn’t working AT ALL pretty much anywhere.. This earth does nothing but give and all you do is take. This Earth is working to death for us and we go out of our way to destroy it. I do not want to be apart of you. You have destroyed this planet, you all acknowledge it and do not care.

The human species is awful.

I don’t not love or hate them I simply do not care.

To me that means I am not bias. Or perhaps my only bias is that I have never in my entire existence met someone who thinks like me. Yet I’ve never met someone who has (actual) reason to hate my ideology.

I do not speak worrying if/who I will offend in the room. I do not care about telling people exactly why they are wrong.

I do believe there is a right and wrong answer for literally everything, perhaps there is more than one right answer, yes. But there is definitely wrong ones. It’s absolutely ignorant to ignore that ideas are wrong and encourage them for personal gain coughbrainsexcough.

The human species is selfish and tries its hardest to filter everything to everyone’s weaknesses. When in reality it’s only making us weaker. A kid who is unvaccinated and never exposed to the outside world is more likely to get sick than someone exposed to the true toxicity. To see the true toxicity is what will make us change. Sad but true. It always takes riots, violence, death and suffering for things to change. Things just can’t change they always have to hit rock bottom to prove they are bad bad. It’s gunna take 20 years when the HRT hormones end up being reverse chemo. Or when a gang of black men finally get sick of the fucking police brutality and walk into a police station and slaughters 20 cops. It will take a few 10 years olds getting raped in the target bathroom by dudes in dresses. It will take a bunch of schizophrenics and psychotics burning a hospital down with themselves inside to escape the staff abuse. Or a massive and overpopulated prison getting overthrown and they take over a whole town. Hell sometimes even the worst doesn’t work. If all these mass shootings meant anything to anyone theyd fix up our fucking mental health systems. Nah it will be a fucking gun war of course. It will be about POLITICS and not in 2019 kids are being FORCED to go to potential war zones for an education that doesn’t do them much fucking good anyway.

It always takes the worst.

The earth deserves better than us. Hell we deserve better than what we give ourselves. The Earth is more magical than you will ever begin to comprehend. You all preach about loving god but the very ground you walk on is the only “god” that has ever existed.

So fuck your safe spaces.....

Rot like you let this beautiful planet.