#or not use pronouns at all if you dont know

[odvunir]

my pronouns are he/him

[randomminty]

Yeahlow

[mechaness]

First of many

So much had happened. Nasiens had found her biological family, she found out about herself, she almost died... but now her hero was with her again.

When the battle was decided, a few words were exchanged and someone gave Percival a cloak so he could cover up. He hadn't even realized he was naked. He apologized, though it was clear he didn't see the issue.

After a while, her new family (she had to present them to Ordo as soon as she could!) left her alone with him, sharing knowing smiles.

Nasiens couldn't stop looking at him.

Percival... She smiled.

"So you are a fairy now? That's so cool!" Percival's voice was so soothing to her. How had she missed his smile!

"Yes... I'm not used to flying, though..."

"But now we can fly together!" Percy said, laughing. He grabbed her hands and gently lifted them up. Nasiens was shocked but soon started smiling again. A little spin in the air, and she was laughing along with him.

"I just can't get used to the height..." she admitted looking down, feeling cold sweat in her forehead. It had been fine in the battle, but now... She looked up at Percival, thinking how silly she was being. Something gleamed in his eyes.

He threw her one of his winning smiles and she felt her heart stop.

"Well, that's easy! Just keep looking at me!" His face was too close to hers, but then again, he had never been good at respecting people's personal space.

And Nasiens couldn't think of anything better to look at than his eyes. He always managed to calm her down. She could do anything as long as he's with her.

"See? You can fly really high if you want!" Like a spell being broken, she looked down. She almost let out a scream. They were so high up she could barely see the ground!

Her arms moved on their own, hugging Percival. She hid her face in the crook of his neck, trembling.

Percival was shocked. Not because of the hug, he loved Nasiens' hugs, as different as this one felt. However, she felt like dead weight. Had she stopped flying?! Of course she wasn't in any real danger as long as he was there to hold her, but...!

"Nasiens?!" He could hear her mumbling nonono again and again, "I'm sorry! I thought...! Are you ok?" He was so worried about her and Nasiens was still trembling, but she managed to answer,

"Ye-yeah..." she looked up. She was again at a loss for words. She knew Percival was still Percival inside, but he was really big now, and tall, and... she could feel her face aflame. "Yeah, I'm... I'm good. I was shocked, I guess..." she couldn't look him in the eyes anymore.

Percy was silent for while before he spoke again.

"You really feel different now, uh..." Nasiens eyes widened at his comment.

"Wh-what do you mean? Is it bad?" Percival's silence made her a little nervous. He wasn't looking at her anymore. She forgot to ask again though, since they landed in the hollow part of a cave, up in a mountain, and the sight amazed her.

"It's beautiful..." she said. Percy agreed, but he wasn't looking outside. His eyes were fixed on the pretty girl he was holding by the waist.

Screw pretty, he thought. Nasiens had always been beautiful, but now... It was like a whole other level. The way she held herself felt different. Also,

"You got boobs now!" he shouted, almost giving her a heart attack. She almost tripped, blushing like crazy.

"Ye... yeah..." she put her hand on her chest. They weren't even that noticeably, but... "the whole thing feels weird..."

"Bad weird?" he sounded genuinely curious.

"N... no, I don't think so. I never felt bad being called a boy, but now... I like this. Being a girl, I mean. It feels right, but I'm... not used to it yet. Not completely, at least. Is that weird?"

"I don't think so! Anyway, Nasiens is Nasiens, no matter what! You are amazing!" when he looked at her, he could see that gentle smile of hers that he loved so much.

Nasiens was so grateful. Of course Percival wasn't fazed. He was just Percival. He hadn't even questioned her change, something which she she was grateful for. She couldn't even imagine how she could start explain the whole thing to him.

She was thinking how much she loved this side of his and was so deep in her thoughts, she didn't realize when Percival got behind her.

"You gotten slimmer too, right? Right?" his poking sent shivers down her spine. What was his obsession with her back?!

Nasiens felt her face aflame again.

"Please, don't do that!" she almost screamed, taking a step back.

"Why? Can't I touch you?" he sounded so innocent, she almost felt bad. But when she looked up again she saw how serious he was. She felt taken back. He had never looked at her like that before, not like this.

How could she tell him that the only thing she wanted was for him to touch her all over... it was just so embarrassing to admit!

She felt her true feelings coming forward before she could stop herself.

"Well, if you a-!" a flashback made her stop. A painful memory crossed her mind and she felt silent.

Anghalhad.

She felt her blood boil.

"...you know what. I think it's best that you don't." She turned, not before giving him the iciest look he had ever seen. That kind of look was never directed at him! Percy got worried.

"N-Nasiens?! Are you angry at me? I hate it when I make you angry!" he ran to her. He grabbed her hand so she couldn't get further away from him. She flinched and stopped, but she didn't look at him. "I'm sorry, did I say something bad?"

"You got Anghalhad to touch, don't you?" she said, immediately regretting her words. It wasn't Percival fault, or Anghalhad's for that matter. Plus, she knew Percival didn't understand these kind of things! She barely could, after all.

"Yeah, I guess..." Percival's voice made her angrier and she felt so ashamed. She took her hand back, snapping at Percy.

"See?! Go to her for all I care!" she looked down, hiding her eyes as best as she could. She couldn't face him like this...

"Wha...?! No! I don't want to! I want to stay here with you! Nasiens!" he grabbed her by the shoulder, shaking her a little. He had to make her understand...!

Were those tears?

"Nasiens...? What's wrong?" she lifted her arm, trying to wipe her tears with her sleeve.

"I... I'm a horrible friend! I don't hate Anghalhad, I actually like her... but thinking about you two...!" she put her hands on her face, trying to control herself. "Who am I to say anything? You are free to do whatever you want...! But I hate it! I hate the thought of you two-!"

Percy hugged her so tightly she almost couldn't breathe. She felt his hand grabbing her hair, same way he had done early that day.

"P... Percival?"

"I won't touch anyone else!" he exclaimed, shocking her. "I don't really get it, but I thought of some else touching you and that made me angry, so I guess it's the same for you? Is that it?"

"Ye... yeah."

"Is it because you love me?" Nasiens felt trapped. She was about to protest when...

"Cause I love you too!" he said, his smile so bright it blinded her. He caught her so out of guard she almost fainted.

"Well," he continued, "I love all my friends... but with you... love falls short. Does that make sense? I want to hold you forever..." Percy said, snuggling to her. Looking down he saw her eyes, so full of hope and love, he couldn't help but smile. Nasiens smiled back.

"Y-yes, it makes sense. I... I feel the same way." Nasiens couldn't believe it. She confessed! She managed to do it and now...

"Good!" he grabbed her waist again, lifting her from the ground, "then it's settled!"

Nasiens felt tears forming again, this time from happiness. Things could be so easy with him sometimes... but then she remembered their little argument. She blushed again.

"A-about before... I don't mind, you know... but, you have to ask."

Percy was confused for a moment. Then it hit him.

"Really?!" he had pulled her down a little. His face was so close to hers...!

"Ye-yeah."

"Can I, then?" he asked. His lips were so close to hers, she felt her heart about to explode.

"Yes..." she tried to close the distance and...

"NASSIE! Percy! Dinner time! Come on, where-! Oh, there you are!" Tioreh shouted, appearing out of nowhere.

"...what are you two doing?" she asked, innocently.

It was a rare sight, if you asked her. Nassie with her face all red, pushing Percy away. Her hand was on Percy's face and he looked miserable, ignoring Tioreh and trying to get close to Nassie.

"But you said I could...!" he whined.

"QUIET, PLEASE!"

Tioreh had never seen Nassie so embarrassed. It was fun!

Later that night...

Nasiens couldn't believe it. They had almost...!

But the moment had been ruined.

She put her hands on her face, sighing. Maybe some other time... She was fixated in the fire next to the log she was sitting on, deep in thought.

"Nasiens! I was looking for you! Look!" Percival's voice took her out of her trance. She looked up to see him better, confused in what was she supposed to be looking at.

He placed a white flower on her hair.

"I knew it! It suits you!" he said, making her blush yet again. She gently touched the white flower with her fingers. "You look beautiful, you know!" Nasiens felt her blush deepen. She was going to get a fever from blushing so much...

"Thank you, Percival..." she smiled at him and he smiled back, love in his eyes. He sat down next to her and she rested her head on his shoulder, sighing.

"Man, that sucked, uh?" he suddenly said, looking down at her. "I really wanted to kiss you."

Nasiens was definitely getting a fever.

"Re-really? Honestly, I did too..."

Without much thought, Percy turned and grabbed her by the waist, surprising her. He flew them away from the dinner and the rest.

In the air, with the moon shining brightly, he looked at Nasiens. He smiled, closing the distance between them.

"Can I?" he whispered.

Nasiens laughed. He really took it to heart to ask first.

"Of course...!"

Their laughter filled the night. At least for tonight, everything was going to all right.

[mouseplaid]

im sorry but owen not feeling anything inside, feeling like shes missing something (which is because shes trans and repressed) being interpreted by people as her being aroace is so upsetting to me. like headcanon her as that if you want but dont use the emptiness she feels, from refusing to let herself accept shes isabel, be the reason you think shes aroace. it feels so dismissive of how badly repression can affect someone to be like 'she feels that way because shes aroace! its totally fine to feel that way!' like no she feels that way because shes repressed and is refusing to accept who she is and its killing her. its not good and its terrifying and devastating and thats why the part in the bathroom is so important, because owen sees whats in her, and there is still time.

[calamitys-child]

I would've thought we knew better than this by now but I'm getting it from fucking Everywhere right now - using they/them pronouns for me is STILL MISGENDERING ME

[stickerscritter]

girl talk

[girlwiththegreenhat]

Why the fuck are people on Twitter upset about nonbinary robots. Transformers are aliens, why would they follow another species gender binary based on reproduction when they don't even reproduce sexually. If anything, ALL the robots should use they/them.

[stupid-and-cute-are-enough]

for the past 4 days, i've descended into madness over the anon getting turned into an animatronic. behold. 2.6k words @get-rammed i've gone insane

as always, i spew BTS lore in the tags

“Alright, that’s everything,” his Handler announces, finishing the paint on his last claw. They give his hand a satisfied pat. Monty watches as they turn away and begin packing up their things, making idle chatter as they do, offhandedly mentioning that they hope it isn’t too late by the time they actually get to head home. They told him earlier that they’ve got a meeting with the higher-ups once they’re done tonight, and it’s been weighing on him all day.

“I don’t think you should go to that meeting,” he says because he can’t take it any longer.

They pause. “What do you mean?”

“I just… I don’t think you should go.” Monty clenches his fists in his lap. It doesn’t feel right. If it was any other lame meeting announced in a staff email, sure, but this isn’t one of those. They were approached in person. No documents, nothing written; just pulled them aside this morning and told them something about enhancing the Handler experience. All of the other Handlers have gone home already, too, and there’s nothing that they could want just his for that meant anything good.

They huff fondly. “I don’t really have a choice, Monty.”

They keep getting ready, a sinking feeling forming in Monty. He tries again to explain that it’s a bad idea again but is gently shut down. His Handler hugs his head on their way out, an act he’d usually eat up and crave more of, but tonight, he feels like rejecting it. It just feels so wrong.

“Sweets, please, don’t go.” He grabs onto their sleeve. “I got a bad feeling about this.”

Their face softens. “I hear you, Monty, but I have to. I’ll probably get fired if I don’t.” They laugh a little. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Worst-case scenario, they dump a mountain of work on me. Everything’ll be okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, big guy.”

—

They announced a new animatronic the very next day.

The announcement made Monty raise a brow because even with his debut as a Glamrock, as rushed as it was, Fazzbear Entertainment still took their time to milk it for all its worth. Surely, with a brand-new animatronic, they’d pull out all of the theatrics. But, no, management had just called everyone backstage (Monty was grabbed by Chica’s Handler because his still wasn’t here, and it worried him. They always tell him if they’re going to be late) and spilled the news.

It’s another gator, which, geez, thanks, corporate. It’s dressed in actual clothes, unlike the rest of them. It’s a little smaller than Monty, with a sleeker design. Monty eyes the new thing up and down. There’s something… wrong with it. Monty feels it. So does the rest of the band. It stands across from them, eyes too wide, taking in too much yet too little information at the same time. Its hands are clutched together, held tightly to its chest. It’s a shambling mess, really. Barely finished and definitely not ready for crowds. The thing really needs a Handler, which only reminds Monty of the empty space by his side.

It’s different from them. It doesn’t fill its body like it’s supposed to. A feeling of uneasiness washes over the room. Even the other Handlers look a little disturbed.

After the incredibly lackluster introduction, dampened by the uneasiness of everyone in the room, management gives up on pleasantries and snaps at everyone to prepare for opening time. They leave without further explanation, not even telling everyone what the newcomer is supposed to be doing. Everyone takes the chance to leave as fast as possible, abandoning the barely functional animatronic where it stands.

Something in Monty tells him to linger, as disturbed as he is. The sinking feeling he had last night returns tenfold.

It looks too familiar. Cautiously, Monty approaches the thing, eyeing the uniform it wears. He dares not to peek at the nametag displayed proudly on its chest. The animatronic tilts its head up at him slightly, or at least it tries. Monty can hear the inner mechanics going, but it remains frozen. He stands uncomfortably in front of it, unsure of what to do. Everything about it feels wrong. Everything about this feels wrong.

He peeks at the nametag, and his world comes crashing down. Surely not. They couldn’t have shoved a whole person, a full consciousness, inside of an animatronic, could they? That technology doesn’t exist, right? Right?

Monty reaches out a shaking hand, staring into the bot’s blank, red eyes. It can’t be. Fazzbear has done some fucked up, shady stuff, but they wouldn’t do this, would they? This has to be too far. It has to. His hand touches their forearm, feeling the all-too-familiar fabric of the Handler uniforms under his finger pads. He meets their eyes, registering the terror behind their blank stare.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Hey, it’s... I, uh-”

“M-” Their voice fries out, and their jaw moves unnaturally. But it’s enough for Monty. That’s their voice. That’s their voice. Monty feels something vile fester inside of him. If he could get sick, he would. That’s them. That’s them in there. They’re in there. That’s his Handler, who he saw just last night, in there.

Their stare is so blank. Their hands are clutched together so tightly. That’s them.

“Oh, sweets…”

His hands slide down their arms to take their hands, snagging his thumb on the cuff of their uniform as he goes. Something there catches his eyes, though, something a human eye would miss, but something he’s been trained to notice. A tiny speckle of blood stained into the fabric. Their blood.

Monty sucks in a breath, his grip on their hands tightening. They were hurt when this was done to them. They bled.

“Let’s go to my green room,” he says. He keeps his voice gentle, but there’s also no room to argue. He doesn’t think they could, anyway. They don’t respond to him or make any kind of movement, so Monty moves for them. Slowly, painfully, he guides them up to his green room, keeping a gentle set of hands on them the entire way. They stumble and would’ve fallen without Monty to catch them. Their tail drags limply behind them. They probably don’t know how to use it for balance yet. The word yet makes Monty’s heart hurt.

He ensures the door stays open as they shuffle into his room, hovering over them until they’ve been cautiously guided to sit on the couch. They don’t need to struggle to stand anymore. Monty doesn’t think he could handle seeing it.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” he says. It’s a lie. It’s an awful, horrible lie, but what else is he supposed to say?

They try to speak again, but their voice fries into something that sounds like a quiet cry. Their body begins to tremble, their hands clenching around each other even harder. All tell-tale signs that they’re crying, but they don’t have tears anymore. Instead, their eyes just stare into the wall, unresponsive.

“I’m so sorry, sweets,” he says as they weep. He sits beside them on the couch, cautiously wrapping his body around theirs. He doesn’t know if the different sensations will upset them even further, but he also doesn’t know what else to do.

“H-” A billow of steam rolls out of their jaw, rattling their whole system. The sudden movement startles Monty, making him pull away.

“Hey, sweets, you-” Monty glances into their eyes, wide, sightless, terrified, with a slack jaw pouring steam, “you need to calm down. I know it seems like I’m askin’ the impossible of ya, but you’ll overheat yourself, and I dunno how to fix that.”

Their body shudders, unresponsive to their mind. Monty doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to help. He remembers what they did when he first came online and when he was given his new body. They surrounded him with familiar, comforting things, but his Handler doesn’t live here like he does. At least they didn’t. Their greatest comforts are probably far out of Monty’s reach. He searches around his green room, trying to find anything he knows helps them relax.

He spots a fidget they used to love playing with during his noon charging sessions. It should be simple enough; it just needs a pushing and pulling motion. Nothing complicated. But his Handler’s hands don’t react, even as he pries them apart and presses the fidget into their palm. Their fingers remain tense, not even twitching.

“Okay, something easier. I got it. I’ve got you.”

Monty reaches and grabs one of the oversized plushies lying beside the two of them on the couch. It’s big enough for him to comfortably interact with, so it should be good enough for them, too, right? He places the weighted plush in their lap, tucking its arms in so his Handler doesn’t have to do it themself. It looks like they try to wrap their arms around the plush, but the thing just ends up getting knocked to the floor. The failure to get their arms to work only serves to upset his Handler more as their hands begin trembling, the metal of the digits clinking together. 

Monty looks up at them, scared for them. Scared with them. If they can’t function, they’re going to be decommissioned– not fired, not still alive, decommissioned and dead. Gone forever. Their head has turned slightly, staring intensely at something, so Monty follows their line of sight. His gaze lands on their jacket that they accidentally left last night, draped across a chair. Now a little shaky himself, Monty gets up and retrieves it for them.

He realizes once he gets back that it doesn’t fit them anymore. It used to be so big on them, but it doesn’t fit now. Their favorite jacket, the one they wore every day, doesn’t fit anymore. He drapes it over their shoulders, bringing it around them tightly. Their shoulders are bigger under his hands. Wider. Their body is like his own now and so very, very different from what it used to be.

He retakes their hands, kneeling in front of them. He meets their eyes, which stare deep into whatever kind of soul he has.

“Look at me, Chere,” he says, squeezing their hands, trying to ground them. He’d tell them to breathe with him, but they can’t anymore, and he doesn’t know if that’ll help or upset them. “I’ve got you. I promise. I won’t ever, ever let anything else happen to you. I promise.”

Their hands squeeze his own, and Monty lets out his own version of a sigh of relief. The shaking in their limbs begins to die down, the steam eventually coming to an end. He smiles at them, keeping his hold on their hands solid. He praises them softly, rubbing their knuckles.

Their eyes meet his properly, and Monty can see the hurt and the fear in their eyes. They shift, jaw moving experimentally.

“I… can’t breathe,” they say.

Monty’s heart breaks for them. They try to shift, try to grab onto their jacket and pull it tighter around them, but their limbs won’t cooperate, and the metal of their fingers slips against the satin material.

“Here, you gotta… you gotta grip with the pads of your fingers. Like this,” Monty says, taking hold of their hands and guiding their fingers to do so. A shudder runs through their system, getting their hands to tighten and pull, if only slightly.

Monty steps back to take another look at the design of their new body. A gator, like him. Their hair is soft and synthetic, with a little product to keep it sleek, so at least that wasn’t taken from them. In a bitter-sweet kind of way, Monty can imagine helping them style their hair in the morning when the dust settles. But Monty still has trouble adjusting to his mohawk, so he can’t imagine what it’s like for them right now. How long it’ll take for that dust to settle. They’re smaller than him. Sleeker. A little more compact and able to fit into tighter spaces. Probably equipped with the same processing power Monty has, and he prays to whatever is out there, none of the guardrails. Overall, they’re… built to work. They were hurt, maybe even killed, their body broken, disposed of, and shoved into this body to work. To work! They never get to go home again; they never get to have a life outside of the Pizzaplex ever again, all so Fazzbear Entertainment could have another obedient little worker.

Monty shoves down his anger. They don’t need that right now. Instead, he turns his energy to muster up the best smile he can, affirming the correct motions with their hands.

“There you go, you’ve got it.” His smile wavers a little at their silence. 

They stare at their hands, their new, robotic, alien hands. Hands that don’t listen when they tell them to move. A body that doesn’t listen. They grip around the fabric of their jacket, feeling, in a way, the mechanics whirr in their arms. But they don’t feel the silky fabric anywhere but their finger pads. They feel the warmth of Monty in front of them, holding onto them, but only in broad strokes. It’s not like skin. It’ll never be like skin. There’s no more blood, only coolant (they feel so cold), no nerves, no organs. No lungs. Those things are still there, in a way, in a robotic sense.

All of the essential bits keeping their body moving are still there. But it’s not their body. Flashes of blood and mutilation streak across their vision the longer they stare. They have claws now. And a snout. And a tail. They always thought it’d be kind of cool to have a tail, who doesn’t, but not like this. They don’t want this. They want to go home and lay in bed and fall asleep and hope that this is some god-awful dream. They want to fight with their ID at the stupid maintenance tunnel exit, and drive home tired, and wake up five hours later to come to work and do it all over again. 

“... sweets?”

They look up to Monty, sight still a little unclear. He looks worried. He looks scared. They don’t think they’ve ever seen him scared. He tentatively takes their hands, prying the fabric away before they rip something.

They stay there, Monty kneeling, Handler sitting, staring at each other. Lost, scared, confused. Neither quite sure what to say.

“I wanna go home,” they eventually settle on. They can see the resolve in Monty crack.

“I know, sweets.” He rubs their knuckles again. They’re disturbed by how little they can feel of it. “I’m so sorry they did this to you.”

They want to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that he has nothing to be sorry for, but the words don’t come to them. So, instead, they sit in silence. Awful, dreadful silence.

Eventually, Monty stands, still holding their hands in his. “You’ve gotta be getting… tired,” he murmurs. “Here, I’ll show you how to get charged.”

His Handler know how. They’ve helped Monty settle in to get charged a million times. But it’s different now. They need to charge. Their battery isn’t running low, they don’t think anyway, but the emotional drain is enough for them to take the carefully offered out. Monty gets them set up, gently explaining things as he goes, like what it’s going to feel like at first and how entering standby will kind of feel like sleeping (at least, what he’s pretty sure sleeping feels like). When everything is said and done, and Monty is sure they’ll be out for a while, he turns to eye the big door that separates his room from the rest of the Pizzaplex.

His curtains are closed, and he’s going to make sure it stays that way. For a long time.

[zxyacb]

in roblox literally almost everyone will refer to you as a he/him if your avatar is a default noob. my pronouns may be they/she but i turn into a he/him whenever i go on roblox

[trans-kevin-juice]

does anybody else like to use she/her, they/them, and/or it/its pronouns on cookie??

asking cuz I’m curious about something

[kittycowboy]

Jamaican patois my beloved U are suxh a helpful referwnce

[terrorbirb]

Idk if I'll get in trouble for this but I've been changing all "the engineer.....he should..." To "the engineer......they should..." On the official documents/letters . Like I'm not sure if that would confuse developers but I'm getting a little sick of being referred to as "he" by default.

Don't give me access to this if it's so important. They've had completely outdated language on these things before about which building is where.

[imhere-imqueer-ilikedeer]

I have the opportunity to introduce myself to people as thomas irl next week and I am FREAKING THE FUCK OUT

(tw vent incoming)

[batautism]

I'm writing a paper about gender transgressive characters in mythology & folklore [in swedish] and its SO frustrating writing about these figures within the constraints of a gendered language. especially since these characters, while not real historical figures, still exist outside of the modern LGBT-era and point of view. since i'm explicitly doing a queer analysis, the choice of pronouns because more highlighted, too. i find the english s/he to be quite useful for some of these stories but that doesn't really work in swedish. swedish: she = hon, he = han and quite newly introduced & borrowed from finnish [only has one 3rd person singular pronoun] is hen = they/them singular or whatever else gender neutral that is used in english. currently i've been writing h[o]n, h[e]n and h[a]n depending on, as it is the middle vowel that changes the grammatical gender but google docs is so fucking mad at me constantly and i'm not sure my supervisor is going to let me keep it in..

[satoriberry]

tha terf paradox of promoting acceptance of oneself's biological nature and not changing it for societal ideologies but then turning around and criticizing any person that has a different perception of their biological nature that doesn't immediately enter the "male or female" binary hmmm,,,,

[ratatatastic]

no im still on maffhew calling the forsymaffhew lovechild a missile