#cw: misgendering

[bg3scenarios]

Lorroakan: I want the Nightsong

Lorroakan: Bring her, I mean it, to me

Tav: RESPECT HER PRONOUNS OR DIE!!!!!

Lorroakan: What? The Nightsong is just a powerful thing to me. I want to harness its-

*Tav stabs Lorroakan*

Lorroakan: Good gods! What are you-

*Tav stabs Lorroakan*

*Tav stabs Lorroakan*

*Tav stabs Lorroakan*

*Tav stabs Lorroakan*

Tav: …

*Tav loots Lorroakan*

Tav: Bitch

[invertedfate]

Hey, have you ever found it weird how the fandom designs mettatons and mew mews ghost forms? Like, for example:

Napstablook looks like a ghost. A ghost with large black eyes and white irises. He has hands but normally he looks like a white sheet ghost. Simple design. However, many, many fan designs of a ghost mettatons stylised him to be a pink ghost with his bang over his eye. This was back when people thought he was a female who transitioned, but even after that misconception cleared up, mettaton was ghost design (which underswap popularised) stuck. Heck many designs to this day still do this where mettaton is extremely stylised in AUs or canon interpretations, trying to be even more derivative.

Mew mew didn’t exactly have as large as a problem but before the switch release, people would design her as this brown angry ghost, sometimes with a patchwork pattern or stitches… before she even got her body. Even after switch she now is designed with pigtails or just plain light pink. She had much more unique fan designs but the point stands.

Why do you think the fandom suddenly assumed all ghosts are wildly unique or different in design when our one example is pretty “plain”. If napstablook was possessing, say, a boom box instead of just being a ghost his design would likely be related when the fandom latched onto the idea. This isn’t exactly a jab or complaint about the unique ghost designs, but considering napstablook is the template, wouldn’t it make more sense that most ghosts (or at least the blook family) look like him by 99.9%?

Counterpoint: Sans and Papyrus are brothers and look like this.

I don't think there's anything wrong with diversifying ghost designs given there are many types of cartoon ghosts and cousins are less directly related. Not all ghosts look like bedsheets. Some have wispy tails. Some are spooky shadows or lil' orbs. (Also, Napstablook uses they/them.)

[dirtybg3confessions]

Confession: As a trans masc person....I would let gortash misgender me in a sexual context. "What a good girl" literally just to spite me?!?!? Yes.

[kaliarda]

Συνέντευξη με τη Ραφαέλα Μουζακίτη, την Αλόμα και άλλες τρανς σεξεργάτριες της Συγγρού, 1986.

[some-fucker-named-aert]

Need a traumaqueer to forcefem me into being her little brother; Call me a good boy if I don't squirm too much during injections; Make fun of me for having boytits; Force me to leave the house in a binder; Never call me "she" because I'm supposed to be her little brother

[kay-elle-cee]

Jily Week Drabbles: Day 3

Double Drabble for @thegobletofweasleys Jily Week Day 3! Prompt: Fuck JKR Day

“You really don’t have to do this. I can manage.”

Lily breathes deeply through her nose and looks up from the petition in front of her, signed by nearly every prefect, plus herself and James. She fixes the girl in front of her with a fierce look.

“You shouldn’t have to, Donna. Professor Braithwaite’s a cow and it’s clear that she’s doing this on purpose. She calls everyone else by name, it shouldn’t be any different for you.”

“Fuck Braithwaite,” James chimes in with a frown, hand on Lily’s shoulder as his eyes catch on where McGonagall approaches.

“Might I ask why my Head Students—and most of the prefects—skipping class?”

Lily steps forward and hands her a sheet of parchment littered with signatures. “We’re asking for the immediate removal of Professor Braithwaite.”

“Braithwaite? Whatever for?”

“Hostility and disrespect towards her students,” James provides, jaw set.

“What, all of you?”

“Yes.”

Exhausted, her eyes drop to scan the parchment and she stiffens as she reads.

“I see,” McGonagall nods, voice tight. “I’ll talk to the Headmaster and see what can be done.”

“It’s not right, Professor!” James calls to her retreating form, Lily squeezing his hand. “You know it’s not right!”

[aplaceinthedark]

chapter one: LEFT them all BEHIND

Summary: Down in the Shenandoah Valley, there lay a court consisting of the Grim, the Drowned, the Witch, and the Watcher.

Cw: supernatural themes, misgendering

Every chapter will have a different cw section. This is Bad Omens rpf, so obviously, I don't know all the little nuances of the members of their family members.

A/n: Some things are color-coded. If any readers are colorblind, let me know.

The old house sat between the road and the edge of the woods. It was dated, and a little worn down, sure, but to my eyes, I could see the love that had gone into it, and the love that I could give. It looked cozy and warm, but most importantly, it looked quiet.

I had needed the escape, and if it meant leaving an oceanside concrete jungle to live like a hermit in the mountains of Virginia, it was fine by me.

And it was indeed peaceful and quiet, or it was compared to the life I had left behind. It took me a while, but eventually I could begin to hear the noises that came from the woods. The birds, bugs, and toads all mixed together provided a gentle white noise that practically sounded like music.

I went to open the front door when my foot connected with something small and metal. It ricocheted off the front door with a soft clang. Setting my bag down, I went to retrieve whatever I had kicked.

It was a silver dish, almost the size of a dog bowl. This was the mysterious offering plate the townsfolk had mentioned.

Earlier today, when I had finally arrived in the small town of New Hope that wasn’t too far from the house, I had been the talk of the town. Though when I had started asking questions about the house – who the previous tenants were, how the house was kept so well, and the like – everyone was suddenly tight-lipped about it. They were more concerned over how “such a pretty girl like me could live all by herself” or “how cute it was that I was settling down to look for a family.”

Despite their misgivings and confusion, I gritted my teeth to keep myself from correcting them, and tried to pry for more information. It was no use. I could only get one thing out of them: “You’re responsible for the offerings now.”

I couldn’t help but notice the slight hint of relief when they said that.

Looking at the plate now, I couldn’t help but notice how… new it looked. Or maybe how well it had kept. Surely it would’ve tarnished by now, what with it being exposed to the Virginia summer weather. But it was shining, despite it being in the shade of the early evening. I could see my own reflection in it. Hell, I could even see the details of the woods behind me in the reflection—

Something was watching me from the treeline.

I swore there were eyes out there; I saw them in the mirrored plate. When I whipped around, the eyes had vanished in a rustle of leaves. I could almost follow its path as it scrambled through the tall grass.

“Hello?” I called out, but of course I got no response.

I grabbed my duffel bag and hurried indoors. I shut the door, locked it, and leaned my back against it for good measure.

What a great way to enter my house for the first time: getting spooked by some mysterious wild animal.

It took me several minutes to catch my breath and calm my racing heart. The whole time was spent reiterating that it had to have been a wild animal. I ran through all the options in my head. Probably a large deer, or maybe a bear. I winced at that.

But just in case, when night fell I locked all the windows and closed the curtains, as if I could shut out the world. You know, to keep me safe from bears climbing through my windows.

Better get used to it, I told myself. This was just Night One out of my new life.

Some context:

Home sweet home…

The same day I had arrived, as I tried to talk to the townspeople, I had come across someone who had been a bit more forthcoming, though it had just been to write me a list of what things to put on the silver dish.

One. Shiny baubles and charms. That was pretty easy, since I myself liked to collect tiny things. I was sure I could sacrifice something from my vast collection, though it was a lot smaller now since I had to sacrifice space for the move.

Two. Food, preferably fresh produce. There was a small note that she circled that said “doesn’t like carrots.” I was a tiny bit iffy on that. I had been raised in an iron grip to waste not, want not, and it felt… wrong to just let fruit or any kind of food to just… sit outside. What if that was what attracted the animal those eyes belonged to? I didn’t need a hungry creature to come onto my porch.

Two days later, I hadn’t seen those eyes again. Maybe it was because I was too busy unpacking what I could to go back outside and admire the lush green surrounding me. But soon, I was running out of things to unpack without the need of bigger furniture, since the movers had not yet arrived with my essentials.

Three. Tiny animal bones. Yeah, that’s where I put my foot down. Food it was, then.

In the early afternoon on the first Thursday I was in my new home, the same person who gave me the list dropped by. Everyone called her Granny, and now I was also to call her that. She brought a homemade casserole as her own kind of offering to welcome me into the community.

Honestly, I was grateful for the break, as I was already sweating from the extraneous work. We sat out on the porch - I had to drag out two small chairs for us to sit in, since I didn't have proper ones - and ate lunch. My bad hip was grateful for the rest.

Of course, she chattered about how it wasn’t fair that I was doing all this work by myself, and her grandson would be back from Richmond tonight so she’d send him over tomorrow. He was a fine young man, he would be happy to help, and no she wouldn’t accept my protests that I would be fine, really. Of course, I was too polite to argue - especially when she called me a little lady - so instead I went indoors to put away the leftovers and to make her a glass of lemonade.

“Have you been leaving any offerings, dear?” she asked as I handed her the glass.

I blinked. I had been too preoccupied to care about the plate, though I had put it back where I had found it. She took my silence as confirmation. She clucked her tongue. “You’ve been busy, I understand, but you should pay better attention, dear.”

For some reason, her scolding me like a child embarrassed me, like I had forgotten to take out the trash before my parents got home. Honestly, I hadn't put much thought into leaving anything out. No one had told me what it was meant for, and it seemed like such a silly thing to do. “Sorry. I meant to,” I lied, “but I fell asleep early last night and—”

Granny chuckled, cutting off my weak excuses, and she pulled three golden delicious apples out of her bag and placed them on the plate. “There, that should take care of the past and tonight.”

“Because no one here really knows why dear,” Granny said, “and if anyone did know why, they wouldn’t risk speaking its name. Out in these hollers, names are a precious thing.”

My curiosity got the better of me, and I blurted out, “Why am I expected to do this? What is this even for?” I waved a hand toward the apples. “No one will tell me anything.”

That last statement… I brushed it off even as it crept into my head. “What about the previous tenants?” I asked.

“No one really stays for very long. I'm not sure, but I think the last family that lived here left after say… six months?”

I wonder if it's because they didn't contribute. No, that was ridiculous. Hopefully, it wasn't because of a problem they left for me.

“I’ve been leaving these offerings, as did my parents and their parents before them. I’m sure Nicholas would’ve taken over, but since you’re here, it’s your duty,” she said. She then smiled and patted my hand. “I’m sure you’ll be just fine. Don’t fret.”

Her words weren’t very comforting. “You said people around here don’t know what it’s for, but do you? If you don’t mind me asking?”

She seemed to think about it, and said. “There’s a lot of stories about forest spirits in these woods. My grandparents used to tell me it was for an ancient forest king to help protect us.” She patted my hand again. “I'm sure you don't think much about it, Taylor.”

“Well, do you have any advice on how to keep wild animals away from the house?” I asked. I then described the encounter from the first night. Thankfully, she listened the whole way through.

“I’m sure it was just a deer. You’ll see one or two of them out here,” she said, sounding reserved. “Do you want my advice?”

“Sure.”

“One: Don’t go out into the woods after the sun sets. Two: Don’t look out into the treeline after it gets dark. And three: don’t whistle at night. Close your doors and windows properly.”

Jesus Christ. “That’s…mildly terrifying,” I admitted.

“Like I said, we’re a mildly superstitious folk around here. Little stories spread like foxfire out here,” Granny said, “but as long as you follow those three rules, you’ll be fine.”

“Just stay out of the woods?”

With Granny gone after more repeated promises of sending over her grandson to help me tomorrow, I had continued to fiddle around with unpacking. And again, it didn’t take very long for me to tire out. I retired out to the porch steps with some Tylenol and casserole on a paper plate.

“Stay out of the woods. These hollers out here have remained undisturbed by man for decades, and they would like to stay that way. And it’s very, very easy to get lost in them.”

Telling myself I would only take a small break, I used the moment to make a list of things to do around the house and things to get next time I went into town. But that “small” break turned into an hour of watching the fireflies flicker around the yard. The evening breeze also felt nice. If it weren’t for the screaming cicadas, I could’ve taken a nap sitting there.

In fact, I had gotten so comfortable watching said fireflies I didn’t notice the silence until the sun dipped well past the treeline, staining the sky with deep, warm hues. It was almost… unnerving. Suffocating, even.

I stood up, turning to go inside since Granny’s earlier warnings were ringing in my ears. The trees were nothing but black lines set against the sunset, standing like unnatural sentinels. Or like jail bars, the thought came unbidden to my mind.

I shook my head. Okay, I had procrastinated long enough. It was time to go back inside.

But before I could even take another step, a slight rustling noise stopped me. It was unnaturally loud in the deafening silence. Something in me said not to turn around, but when it rustled a second time, I whipped around to scan the area.

Nothing.

Steeling myself, I hopped off the porch to see if I could catch a glimpse of the animal. When I still could see nothing, I took another step, and then another. I only stopped when I found myself toeing the border between my yard and the forest proper.

Don’t go into the woods. Don’t look into the trees.

I let out a huff in defeat. Whatever it was would have to stay a mystery. It probably had gotten curious and just moved on already. Dejected, I turned back around and headed into the house.

The next morning, when I went out to drink my coffee and enjoy the morning air, I happened to look down.

When I opened the door, I noticed the sounds of the woods had come back in full force. Like it had never stopped. And somehow, I felt like something was watching me. It made me shiver despite the warm, Appalachian evening.

All three apples were gone.

Tysm for reading! Next chapter coming soon!

[simplegenius042]

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[tailsrevane]

i've seen a lot of bad takes in my day. like, a LOT of bad takes, but today i saw "trans men do not experience misogyny" which might be the actual WORST one?

and that wasn't even their main point, it was like... a given that they were basing the whole rest of their point on.

just... wild. i hate it here.

[questioningespecialy]

NBMtF Diary#01: going outside

Nobody told me it’d be so hard to go out outside. Took my time getting dressed in the skirt and top. Adjusted the cross body leatherbag and felt comfortable af with it surprisingly. Stared at myself for awhile like the perv I am, and then... stood there.

Walked all the way to the front door and... stood there. Couldn’t even touch the knob. Just stood there.

Knew it was odd. That this shouldn’t be hard, but... I stood there.

I’ve already gone out thrice now. This time’s not much different. Even to the same location. Sure, there’s a bag under my arm now. And a skirt below my shirt. But... I stood there.

Yeah, the shirt’s practically the same as before. And I’ve still got the beard. So I probably look like a hot oddity confusing dafuq outta people 💅🏿 But still... It’s not the same. Not at all.

There’s no mistaking me anymore. No wondering. The pants before were debatable. The skirt now? Obvious.

Spot me from a mile away. As soon as I turn my head. “That’s a beard!” “What is that guy?!” Am I gonna die?

Probably not. Maybe. Confident enough for a 1-on-1. But not willing to try a 2-on-1. And if they’ve got a knife? And if they drive by with a gun? Will I be another one?

idfk This shit’s scary. I’m still gonna go. But this shit’s scary.

I don’t wanna go. But I do wanna go. I don’t wanna go. But I do wanna go.

I’m hungry aren’t I? Don’t I wanna eat? Don’t you use those closed questions with me! Well? What’s it gonna be? Just give me a minute! Geez

I’ll be ready in a bit. Eventually. Just give me a minute.

[invertedfate]

bit late of an ask, but, what was frisk planning to do in the neutral ending of "Crises of Determination". Were they planning to give her soul to the Queen or what? Also, if Mettaton remembered the amalgamation, why wasn't he already planning to get Papyrus already?

Please don't misgender Frisk. They are nonbinary and use they/them. Frisk was just blindly charging forward because they were scared reloading wouldn't make a difference and it'd just be the same thing all over again. Mettaton had hazy deja-vu at first that got clearer as time went on and he processed everything. At first, he was in denial. That's why.

[yellowstone-supervolcano]

I thought I was basically impossible to misgender BUT…. I just had someone sending me their edited version of a drafted magazine article ABOUT ME and WRITTEN BY ME and they changed everything to she/her even though there were 11 THEYS and 4 hers in the first draft.

BUT I GUESS YOU GET A FREE COPY EDITOR YOU ILLITERATE BIGOTED BITCH!!!!!!!!

[whatdoyoumeanitsnotcanon]

CW: claustrophobia, body horror, It as a pronoun, misgendering, general religious talk.

You felt rather than heard the door closing.

Felt the vibrations of the fight outside.

Feel. It was all you could do these days. Feel the heat of infection as it traveled around and around your body. Feel and hear and see- everything. Losing a sense was almost a relief.

You studied your hands. Was the shaking you? The fight outside?

You never dwelled on your thoughts if you could help it. But now you had no choice.

Left waiting, waiting for Kor Pheron to send you into space to die.

Or for whoever was outside to wrench the doors open and drag you back out.

Left to the whims of fate.

The pod was starting to feel claustrophobic. Small. Crushing. Like the box. You fell to your knees and grabbed helplessly at your chest. You couldn't breathe.

How could Lorgar do that?! You thought-thought he was better than that.

You should have known. Stupid stupid STUPID.

Inexperienced.

And oh Throne he was going to do it again!

Probably.

You screamed. Felt the strain on your throat. Felt the contraction of your lungs. Felt the heat of your breath.

You heard nothing.

So who was talking?!

Took you long enough to notice. The not-voice sneered.

You looked up and saw-

Yourself. Flawless. Head shaved and written on like Lorgar or Erebus. The ink ever shifting Not-colors. You had the impression to read those words would be lose yourself to madness. The other you had their chest shamelessly exposed, every inch of skin covered in writing. Strange growths covered the not you's body. Scales merged to feathers merged to raw bloody flesh merged to open Sores merged to outgrowths of claws and teeth. As though fighting for space.

And somehow, beautiful.

There was a human touch. An artistry. A composition to the growths. To the colors.

If you had the time you would have spent hours pouring over the strange tapestry.

But you didn't have time.

"Who are you?" You asked, soundless.

"You. Eventually." The not thing said. It crouched and offered it's hands to you. You let it raise you up. It's hands a dizzying mosaic of rough growths. You were sure you felt a molar against your fingers. "To die or to suffer. Not the most pleasant of options." Not you mused.

"I- don't think I've had any options in awhile." You admitted. It was awkward, speaking without sound.

"I remember. Nothing but apple juice and whatever the nutrition servitors order. We had only Soylent veridians last week right?"

You nodded. Whatever this thing was. It was nice to have someone acknowledge your suffering. Lorgar didn't count.

"You know his plan will get us killed right?"

What erupted from you was a strangled cry of anguish. You lunged towards the mimicry thing, hands wrapping around its neck. Heedless of the claws cutting your hands and oozing Sores infecting you with Throne knows what.

"WHAT. CHOICE. DO. I. HAVE???!!" Your volume hurt your throat. But all was silent. You might not have said anything at all. You shook the not thing. "HE'S. A. PRIMARCH!!!!! HE. HURT. ME!!!! I. Can't-" you let its throat go. Slowly sank back to your knees. You bowed yourself prostrate before the thing. Not out of worship. But out of a desperate need to be small.

Small. Easy to miss. Easy to ignore. Easy to forget.

Hard to hurt.

"Are you not a God?" The not thing asked.

"I have yet to ascend," you said, more to yourself.

The not thing placed its hands on your shoulders. It's warm breath brought pleasure to your ear.

"You don't have to. It's time to learn of Tzeench."

If Kor Pheron had been anyone else Lorgar would have beat him to a lifeless bloody pulp. Even so, how DARE HE try to take his Goddess away from him!! To send her to her death or worse, into the hands of Guilleman! The Word Bearers Primarch slammed his adoptive father from side to side. The ship shaking under the force of the assault. His Ceramite armor cracked. He coughed blood. Spat teeth. Lorgar threw him to the ground and was about to strangle him when the pod doors opened.

His Goddess emerged, looking as calm as he had ever seen her.

"Go to your chambers," Lorgar ordered, backing off from his father. Had he really been about to strangle him? "I will deal with you there."

"When were you going to explain the gifts?" She asked, far too loudly. As if she couldn't hear.

Lorgar planted an armored, bloodstained boot on his father's chest. Maybe he would kill him. "Whatever do you mean my Goddess?" Godling.

Her lip curled. "I hate that. You know I hate that. I am your God. I have no pronouns."

Lorgar stared at her. She was newly deaf. So how did she know-?

She raised her chin defiantly. "After the gift of Khorne what is next? When am I to ascend?"

"The death of the Emporer will mark your ascension." Lorgar said carefully. Already she-they-you were shaking your head.

"We'll all be dead by then." You told him. "And that is your desire. Not mine. If I am to be a God, a God of Chaos undivided no less, then my ascension will be my own. And you will follow my command. It will not work otherwise. Am I clear?"

His face reddened. It was here that fate diverged. In one, you died. Thrown back in the box and failing the attempt to gain Khorne's gift. In the other, you ascended. Specific planets fell to your orders. The Word Bearers converted billions to your worship, willing or no. Blood, pleasure, plague and trickery abounded all in your name. You stepped into nascent Godhood. And then, when Cadia fell, a new reign of Terror swept those closest to the Eye of Terror. Your name your worship your commandments all powering you.

The Warp would writhe with your incubation. Your birth would be worse than Slaanesh's.

"Kneel," you ordered.

Lorgar stepped off of Kor Pheron.

Then he knelt. His head bowed low before you.

"You have much to repent of my priest." You told him. Resting a too sensitive hand on his head. "I will forgive you, in time. For now, we have much work to do."

End.

AAAAAAAAAAAH OMGOMGOMG this section is done!!!

Also thank you Artist Anon for the kind words! I live to inspire.

Goddess Anon

.

[turtle-servant]

Useless woman, you should be put in your place. You will regret messing with my weapon.

Those are certainly a bunch of words.

But.

I am not a woman.

I am in my place.

And nobody is a weapon.

Vera is is own person, far away from you, you fucking bastard. You will not lay a hand on him.

I swear this.

[polsocmartikhoras]

Watch "Transman Realizes How Emotionally Hard It Is To Be A Man" on YouTube

Just

This is why so antiwoke.

Even when xan agree in principle the practice unnerving

[science-doyourstuff]

I haven't been misgendered accidentally in over three years but today at the bar after the con, when I was wearing my Kim Kitsuragi cosplay, the waitress thought I was a butch lesbian