#when will fandom stop misgendering

[rjalker]

I randomly remembered Fanfiction.net exists and thought huh I should see if I've gotten any new reviws.

and zygz.

I did get a review.

For Interview With A Murderbot.

From 22 hours ago, aka, July 19th, 2023.

I will just fucking post the story here. It's 2,085 words long.

Would you like to see the review that 99bottlesofbeeronthewall left?

"I could so see Murderbot reacting this way to a panel interview. They'd find so many things to nitpick. :P"

Zyg.

I'm screaming.

Read the 2k word story. That was literally written in reaction to this fandom's exorsexism. And then read that review again. And scream with me.

“Well, don't you think you'd be more comfortable using other pronouns? I mean, 'it' is used for things in this language, not people.”

This was coming from a human from Preservation, who'd been born here and raised here, so you could see why Murderbot had been so skeptical/resigned about Preservation's Super Totally Awesome For Real so-called “Equality between Bots and Actual People™”.

The human in question was sitting in the front row of chairs in front of the stage, wearing a multi-piece outfit of grey, orange, and white, with long pant legs but sleeves that cut off at the elbow, a very wide belt, large, red-tinted glasses, and a wide-brimmed silver hat.

Why, exactly, had Murderbot agreed to put up with this shit, again? Oh, right, to fight for that so-called equality that apparently already existed, that totally didn't need to be fought for, or anything, because things were as good as they needed to get, bots already had equal rights (no they literally didn't), they didn't need any more, and constructs certainly didn't need any rights. Totally. For sure.

Murderbot had to put up with this shit now, so other people who came after it wouldn't have to. It was for the greater good of all society, and totally admirable and awesome and selfless and blah blah blah.

What it was was obnoxious and infuriating and exhausting, but at least it was getting paid for it.

Oh wait, just kidding, no it wasn't! Mensah hadn't been able to convince anyone in the stupid government she was no longer a part of that this Q&A session was a real job/public service they were performing, that everyone involved should be fairly compensated for.

More than half the people in charge of the government still didn't even want it here, there was no way they were going to fund the public outreach programs designed to get more people to welcome constructs to their stupid planet.

The fact that it had to do this for free was just adding insult to injury.

It was one thing to talk to Dr. Bharadwaj in the privacy of her office. Murderbot liked her. She was smart, she was funny, and it didn't have to explain every single detail of something for her to get it, and she didn't ask it absurdly stupid questions or try to demean it.

It was another thing entirely to be sitting in front of humans on camera letting them ask stupid questions and having to put up with their bullshit when they refused to accept its answer.

Thankfully, Murderbot had its drones, so it didn't have to worry about meeting this idiot human's eyes as it said flatly, its voice carrying throughout the room thanks to the sound amplifier clipped to its ear and down to its jaw, “I thought bots here on Preservation /were/ considered people.” For now it was going to ignore the main part of the question, because this was just too annoying to ignore.

Just to be petty, it tapped 9JX on the feed a moment ahead of time to give it warning, then added outloud, “Hey, 9JX, aren't you a people?”

(Humans, it had learned after doing one of these interview panels with 3.14, a bot possibly even more determined to be obnoxious to humans than Murderbot, fucking hated it when you said 'a people' instead of 'a person', so, following 3.14's example, Murderbot made sure to purposefully say it this way whenever it could, just to piss the annoying humans off.)

9JX its current 'team mate' for this panel, being the representative for the cargo haulers. It had been sitting over on the other end of the stage, waiting patiently for questions aimed at it, that didn't seem to be coming. All the questions up until now except one - - (did you get to pick your own paint color? Yes) - - had been for Murderbot alone.

9JX was built to lift and transport large containers outside the actual dock, so it was smaller than most of the cargo hauler types Murderbot had seen in various ports, but it was still bigger than a human or a construct, and designed with functionality in mind, not aesthetics or appealing to human sensibilities.

Unlike constructs like Murderbot or other humanoid bots, it didn't have any eyes, or anything remotely resembling a human face. It looked more like a vehicle than a person, and for a lot of humans, that was enough in their minds to qualify it solidly as an object, instead of a person. Even though they were the one's who'd given it intelligence in the first place. Because humans were fucking stupid.

(Like, it's not like you can /accidentally/ invent artificial intelligence. It requires a lot of technical skills and expensive materials and blueprints and all this complicated shit that it just wasn't possible to do /by accident/. It wasn't a twelve step process. It was a five thousand step process at minimum. No human had ever sat around and just /accidentally/ built an artificial intelligence.)

Anyways.

9JX had decided to have speakers installed specifically so it could talk to humans without being connected to the feed, since it thought it was distracting. (Which sounded unbelievable to Murderbot. How was it possible to function without constant access to the feed? 9JX had the opposite question for it - - how can you function with all those distractions racing around at all times?)

9JX said in the voice synthesized for it specially from multiple donated human recordings, “Yes, I am a people. That's why I'm sitting here, after all.” (Yes, almost all the robots were in on the running gag. Turns out they were actually funny when you were part of the joke. Especially when the joke made obnoxious humans mad.)

“And aren't your pronouns it/its?” Murderbot asked.

“Yep. They're fun, and I picked them out all by myself.” It was true - - 9JX had been assigned he/him pronouns upon construction, and had used those pronouns for the first thirty years of its life, until it decided to change them. It continued, “I guess you could say I'm something of a trendsetter.”

Also true, considering 9JX was one of the oldest bots on Preservation that was still functioning. It had been part of the original doomed colony, and had been packed into the rescue ship just like everyone else. It was starting to wear down in its old age, but the humans and other bots did everything they could to keep it in good repair.

The good part of that story was that it had convinced humans to let bots change their pronouns. The bad part was that humans had started deciding that 9JX using it/its pronouns meant all bots should use it/its pronouns. Even though some of them didn't want to, like Nehir, or Delta, or 4528B-I, or other bots whose names Murderbot hadn't bothered to save to its long-term storage.

Lots of bots on Preservation had pronouns other than it/its, but most of the humans refused to use those pronouns for them, instead just pretending that all robots had the same gender (aka no gender), so therefore all bots should all use and be happy with the same pronouns.

That wasn't how this worked, at all.

Murderbot liked to think of its gender as indeterminate, or not applicable. That had to do with multiple things, including its asexuality, aromanticism, and aplatonicism. It wasn't attracted to anyone, not bots, not humans, not other constructs, in any way, and didn't want anyone being attracted to it, either. That would just be gross. If someone held up a list of genders they were attracted to, in any way, Murderbot wanted to be excluded every single time.

But that wasn't how it worked for all robots, all constructs, or even all SecUnits. Murderbot couldn't even imagine being sexually or romantically or platonically attracted to someone, but that didn't mean other people were lying when they talked about their own experiences.

(Yes, Murderbot had been horrified and disgusted beyond words the first time it learned of a construct who felt sexual and romantic attraction to other people, including humans. Yes, it had made a total jackass out of itself by being a bigoted asshole to them about it, treating them like shit and ranting about how they were just doing this to appease humans and making humans think they could just have sex with any construct they wanted. Yes, it regretted every fraction of second of what it had said and wished it could wipe the incident from its memory. But it wasn't going to do that, no matter how ashamed it was, because it had been one of the most important learning experiences it had ever had in its existing memory.)

The human - - this time Murderbot did check the feed tag, and saw their name was Fiscal, their gender was Neutral, they used the honorific Vr./veyir, they were married to three partners, had as many kids, had a pet yellow-tailed phoron, and their pronouns were they/them/their/theirself (singular) - - was rolling their eyes and making an exasperated huffing noise.

“I wasn't talking to the hauler bot, I was talking to you.” They said scornfully, doing their best to stare directly at Murderbot's eyes in that obnoxiously intense way some humans just love to do for some reason.

Well, they was staring at Murderbot's opaque faceplate, but didn't realize Murderbot had its eyes closed, watching the scene only through its cameras from the drones it had scattered around the room.

Having your face hidden fucking rocked. Murderbot couldn't believe it had gone so long pretending it was fine with letting humans see its face all the time. Talk about a nightmare.

“And what makes me different from a hauler bot?” Murderbot asked, in the tone of voice it reserved for when humans were being fucking stupid and it wanted to let them know that without actually saying it. It was also using the trick it'd learned from ART - - make the person you were arguing with spell out their own stupid ideas for everyone to hear, and maybe they'd realize as they were verbalizing it just how stupid it was.

Fiscal, though, didn't seem to realize how stupid they was being, since they said, with no hint of irony or self awareness or embarrassment, “You look human, so it's different. You're more of a person, so it's not right to call you an it.”

So this idiot was literally admitting they didn't think bots were people. Murderbot hoped all the fancy government workers who'd refused to fund this little get together were crying over how much their supposed little utopia was failing on its most basic advertising principal.

“I'm a person whether I'm human or not, whether I use it/its pronouns or not.” Murderbot said, keeping its voice level through a mixture of resigned boredom and a supreme will of effort, “9JX is a person whether it looks human or not, and it wouldn't be more of a person if it started using other pronouns.”

Fiscal folded their arms across their chest, looking stubborn, like they was in the right, or something. “It's not right, I'm just not comfortable calling you an it, it's dehumanizing. You're a person, not a thing. Why don't you try they/them pronouns? I'm sure you'll find people will treat you better if you use them. Using it/its just gives people an excuse to treat you like a bot.”

Yeah, Murderbot hoped everyone on Preservation was enjoying this.

Through one of the drones it had assigned to Dr. Mensah, it could see her dropping her face into her hands at her desk. One of the government officials was sitting in the chair across from her, (Keane, the same nonbinary human Murderbot had met the last time Mensah tried to set up funding) vis mouth open in unabashed shock and horror at the dual-faced display screen on the desk in from of vem. Clearly, ve hadn't expected the public's perception of bots to be this far from the ideal they all prided themselves on.

The look of horror on vis face was almost worth the hassle of doing all of this for free.

And who knew, if this fucking bigot kept talking, maybe the government would be ashamed enough to pay them all in retrospect for subjecting themselves to the bigotry in the first place.

Well, a murderbot could hope.

[the-meme-monarch]

Your rant reminds of the time I watched glitchtale, and partway through its 2nd season it started using he/him for frisk and chara, even tho it used they/them for those two the entire 1st season! Like, my first thought was that the villain was meant to be transphobic, but no! Suddenly the rest of the cast is also he/him-ing Frisk n Chara! Starting off fine only to change their pronouns partway in??? Needless to say, it was frustrating as heck to watch.

WHY WOULD YOU (creator of glitchtale not you) GET WORSE ON PURPOSE that's so fucking sad

[astro-b-o-y-d]

Thinking about Boyd and Gyro again, and how no one understands what their dynamic should be but me

[idolomantises]

I haven't drawn Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss redesigns since last year and the fandom still regularly tags me/picks fights with me over them. I did not think a couple drawings would live in people's heads so rent free.

Like you can go find my redesigns on twitter, they're still very public. I just label them as "Angel Dust redesign" or "Alastor redesign". The only time I think I explicitly called a design bad was when I said I found Beelzebub's design atrocious. Which it is. It's an overdesigned mess that doesn't convey the sin at all, I'm allowed to say I don't like it. And even still, when I posted the art, I still labeled it as "Beelzebub redesign".

I'm not going to forget when you fans regularly stalked my account and PATREON just to figure out when I would upload the redesigns. You think I forgot about when I posted my Angel Dust redesign which was just meant to improve my old design and you people harassed me for days? You accused me of "baiting" fans because you are so self-obsessed you think everything I do is explicitly to upset you. You people misgendered me, told me to kill myself, called me a fucking cockroach and flat out threatened to assault me multiple times. Sure I was harsh about my critiques, but I didn't resort to homophobic and transphobic comments like you people did with my Angel Dust redesign because for some unexplained reason you diehard fans who have been following this project for 10 years didn't know that he's meant to be a drag queen. When I did a quick redesign of Katie Killjoy on my personal tumblr, guess what? You people flipped the fuck out, AGAIN.

I can't even talk about my own religion without you sad, paranoid losers thinking I'm trashtalking hazbin hotel. You made up some rumor that I block all Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss fans (despite being mutuals/friends with people who are fans of the shows or actually work on them) just so you could justify harassing me even more. You told me for years that I should wait until the Hazbin series dropped to get my full thoughts out and when it did you people still freaked out and berated me.

Even when I talked about my situation after posting my Angel Dust redesign, instead of apologizing, fans claimed I planned this hostile reaction to begin with to make the fandom look bad. That I was "pulling a transphobia card" for sympathy. I didn't do shit. You people have gotten more aggressive about your hate towards me because people finally saw how incredibly inappropriate and vile you people act over a midtier cartoon written by someone who has so many allegations of bullying, transphobia, racism and workplace abuse that it's become harder and harder for you to deny, so you take out your unrepressed anger on me.

I know the only reason you people target me is because I'm a big artist who doesn't kiss Viv's ass. You want me to be a diehard fan of hers like every other big artist you people bully into worshipping Viv and her show and I won't do it. So you just obsessively stalk and monitor my account and accuse every little thing I do as a spiteful attack so you can justify your little harassment campaigns again. It's pathetic.

Seek help, find a hobby, stop obsessing over people who don't like the same thing as you. It's getting sad.

[sh4rkb0y-004]

Please stop ignoring the “he” in the “he/they” for Morph in X-Men ‘97. As a gender non conforming and non-binary person who uses he/they pronouns it really sucks to watch that part of Morph’s identity be neglected when it is the cannon of the character that Morph uses he/they pronouns as confirmed by the voice actor and by Disney+.

Morph still uses they/them pronouns but it’s really frustrating to watch people ONLY use they/them in regards to Morph, It’s honestly one of the worst cases of a fandom consistently misgendering a character that I’ve ever seen.

I’m not trying to cause any arguments or start any fires, I just had to vent about that for a second.

[midnight-scugs]

Okay I'm not usually one to be rude but genuinely, I am BEGGING this fucking fandom to stop using entirely or primarily he/him for Seven Red Suns.

It's always he/him! Literally at least a quarter of this fandom seems to he/him them and masculinize them constantly. What gets me here is that it's never like, they/he/she and nonbinary, or they/them + neopronouns and agender, or something like that where you're just adding onto stuff while still respecting their canon gender and pronouns, gender and pronoun headcanons that aren't just the canonical nonbinary they/them are like, ALWAYS he/him or he/they and masc aligned. When people do that CONSTANTLY it's not just something you can ignore either. Because people are just constantly misgendering them.

This isn't even mentioning how despite having no canon genders, Chasing Wind/Grey Wind and Unparalleled Innocence are pretty often just stuck with binary genders... especially the latter who's most commonly just "she/her girl" to people. Now mind you there's nothing really wrong with this since they don't have established genders, but idk, like, man is it tiring to see that a lot of this fandom is just... either weird about nonbinary gender or just not really varied in common interpretations, between this and especially people just straight up misgendering Suns.

Genuinely I can't stand the "Suns being written as a he/him using boy" thing though. I'm so tired of nonbinary characters being forced into a binary box to be made more palatable or for shipping. Yeah that's right, I'm saying it; a lot of Suns being masculinized comes from the fact that their two most common monogamous ships and most common polyship are with guys and people are weird about MLM or MLM presenting ships. Not everything has to be yaoi guys I am begging you, a ship can be just as fun when one party is nonbinary. Literally begging. It doesn't need to be all masc aligned characters to be good. Please just be normal.

[acreaturecalledgreed]

its already infuriating to see the cishet dudebro part of the fandom constantly misgender yam b/c god forbid if a character has titties they're horny for said character HAS to be a woman or they might (gasp) be attracted to a man

but seeing that same shit from the queer half of the fandom actually makes me feel homicidal

hell im a multigender person who ids as both a man and a woman and i Still feel so fucking sus of ppl who are like "i choose to headcanon yam as bigender uwu" b/c yall just CANNOT handle yamato being a man

its so excessively transphobic it makes me sick

honestly just admit you hate trans men and move on

stop fucking pretending you care about any of us when you can't even be ass to use the right pronouns for a cartoon character

[themuffinsoup]

Yamato LITERALLY uses he/him pronouns throughout the ENTIRE time he's on the show. Other characters are confused at first but they catch on IMMEDIATELY. How is that not going through your skulls? Like maybe you need to confront your own biases? Ask yourself why genitals matter to you so much when they weren't even mentioned? Is it his voice? Do you realize you're perpetuating passing culture? Or you're just transphobic and don't give a shit? If that's the case then get the fuck out of the One Piece fandom. You DO NOT deserve to be here. Luffy would look at you and say "wow I hate you" and I would be next to him agreeing 👍 can't believe I'm still seeing this shit. Confront your own biases maybe?? And stop misgendering characters because that makes me CERTAIN that you misgender your trans friends too and that's just fucking pathetic. Learn shit!!! When people are telling you you're WRONG maybe fucking LISTEN?? Do people really not want to learn? To grow as people? What the fuck are we even doing here if not to listen to eachother? Also transphobia is a product of white supremecy so if you support that than you are also racist as fuck 👍 look it up and learn something. 😉

[plague-of-insomnia]

I ship sebaciel but I only like their dynamic, in my head I imagine an adult Ciel and I only read fanfics when Ciel is way over 18 and can decide by himself/not be manipulated. I was raped when I was 15, I could never ship something like that. But anti pro shippers never bother to see the nuance. I'm afraid if I start publicly shipping it, people will call me a pedo lol Also I think that the ones who like the age gap still can't be compared to real pedos who consume lolicon/ realistic drawings who REALLY resemble children and explicitly are in a setting of a child being molested. I see incels doing that, and the kuro fandom is mostly women.

Hi, anon. Sorry I didn’t reply yesterday. I had COVID a couple weeks ago and now have bronchitis and i just ran out of gas to formulate a response I felt this ask merited.

First of all, I’m sorry that happened to you. I hope you’ve been able to get past it enough that it doesn’t affect your daily life too badly 🫂.

Sadly, a lot of antis act as if they’re the only ones who have been victims of (sexual) abuse, and that any survivor who doesn’t behave the way they do either must be lying or “deserved” what they got— which is absolutely awful to do to anyone.

As I’m sure you’re aware, we’re not a monolith. Some survivors find rape play (whether role play or in fictional works) helps them move past their trauma because it helps them to have the control they didn’t have as victims. But others find it triggering and upsetting and not helpful at all— and that’s valid too.

I personally don’t ship sc anymore mostly because I just don’t click with Ciel in the ship the way I do with other pairings. I also personally get very very uncomfortable with some underage depictions. For example, there was a fantastic sc fan fic a few years ago that I had to stop reading. It is one of the best written works in the fandom, but it just made me so uncomfortable (it’s underage) I had to stop.

But what did I do? Did i leave the author an angry message saying I was not gonna read it? No, ofc not. I just clicked away.

So if for you, you need situations in which you feel Ciel can fully consent/is in control to feel comfortable and happy then that’s perfectly valid! There’s no one “right” way to ship anything, and you have to look out for yourself first. Because we come to fandom to have fun and escape, so no need to delve into things you don’t like or that make you uncomfortable.

Antis are incapable of seeing these kinds of nuances, or realizing that purposefully consuming content that upsets you is self harm.

Sadly, if you openly ship sc (or even aren’t absolutely against it) you may get some hate. I know I have gotten my share, and it’s *always* about Ciel, no matter how I’ve depicted other characters or what ages they are in my stories. But I’ve also gotten hate for being a fujoshi (misgendering me at that) more than once, and some of it even before I joined the fandom… for my original work.

My point is that people are gonna attack you if they’re gonna attack you…. if you’re not willing to take that risk by being public about your ship that’s valid too. I definitely get how exhausting antis can be and if you’re just wanting to stare at your blorbos for a bit you don’t wanna be fighting of negativity left and right too.

It’s a shame that antis have started using the word pedo as a word for anyone they dislike, devaluing it, but the real shame imo is that they refuse to see that actual CSEM is bad not because it’s gross or immoral but because it harms actual children, who grow up to be adults with trauma.

I think it’s very important to distinguish actual CSEM (or “fictional works” that were intentionally modeled off real CSEM) from anything that’s purely fictional. Because you can never really know why someone made something or why someone likes something.

I write about child abuse, sexual and not, a lot because I find it very therapeutic, but someone might read my works and may draw other, completely erroneous conclusions about me and my motives.

I honestly think a huge chunk of the kuro fandom is nonbinary, but I don’t really know the demographics. I’m sure they’re slightly different depending on if you’re looking at the western or eastern fandoms…

But women can be toxic just like anyone else. Some of the absolute most vile antis I’ve seen identify as female.

Ultimately, I think that the best thing to do with the fandom (or any fandom, really) is to curate your experience. Block accounts that trigger you or don’t vibe with you. Find like-minded friends to chat with in private, so you don’t have to worry about strangers hopping on what you say. Filter tags and use apps if you need to.

I think it’s a shame that antis are so vocal in the fandom and have divided it so much. As a multishipper not much into sc, I have definitely felt that fracture more than some others, since sadly too many non-sc shippers think they need to scream about how icky that ship is and be jerks when we could just ignore sc entirely and enjoy the other ships we like instead together?

But the no matter what antis claim, sc shippers have always been and will always be the column that holds the fandom up, and you either need to make peace with it or learn to ignore it.

🫶

My ask box is open for anyone who doesn’t feel comfortable being open about their love for kuro but would like to squee over it/the new series with someone who doesn’t mind listening :)

[oscconfessions]

PLEASE for the love of GOD i wish people would stop getting two's gender and pronouns wrong. they're not a boy, they're not a girl, they're not non-binary, they're GENDERLESS !!!!!!!!!! and also please please please stop using he/him and she/her for them pretty please i hate the bfdi fandom sososo much but i cant leave because im hyperfixated AUGH. i hate when people misgender two and are like "oh but its my headcanon so its fine !!!!" NO ITS NOT !!!!!!! THEYRE AGENDER AND USE THEY/THEM !!!!!!!!

.

[sissytobitch10seconds]

Farm Girls and Farm Boys

Fandom: Grishaverse: Six of Crows Summary: Jesper always loved coming to the market. Not only because he got to see all sorts of cultures selling their wares to each other, but because he gets to remeet the friend he's had since he was so little he couldn't be away from his parents for longer than a half hour. Warnings: Accidental misgendering and mentions of parental death Word Count: 7,052 Ship(s): Jesper Fahey/Kaz Brekker

Archive link!

One of Zaye’s earliest memories is sitting on her father’s knee while she told him about the place that he lived.

She couldn’t have been more than three at the time, based on the way that his hand had fit on top of her head. She had just tripped and skinned her knee while chasing after one of the chickens, which she was only able to recognize as a way to keep her busy when she was old enough to understand the under-footedness of children. Her father had scooped her up out of the dirt and then walked them to the porch of their cabin, sitting her down and running his hand over her head as he told her all kinds of things. Her mother had just given her new braids and she absolutely adored them.

The stories of her father’s land were her favorites because they were so different to the ones from her own. She loved the place that she lived with her whole entire heart. Her mother had taught her to for as long as she could remember. She had been shown the little warrens that the rabbits made, though they always directed the critters away from the jurda fields and the garden so that it wouldn’t interfere with the growing of the plants. She had been shown the beautiful way that the birds moved through the air, free to everything but the force of the wind and their own strength.

As much as she loved the farm where she lived, the endless fields of places to hide and explore when she was trying to have some fun with her parents, the little cabin where she was able to hear her parents singing songs in a language that she didn’t know, the garden that produced the most wonderful food in the entire world, she did get bored of it. She was absolutely ecstatic when her mother sat her down one evening to tell her something very important.

“Zaye, we think that you’re finally old enough to accompany us to the market,” Aditi had said, one hand on the side of her daughter’s face and the other reaching out to hold her husband’s hand. 

Zaye had reached over so that both of her little hands were resting on her father’s knee. That completed the circle and got a laugh from her family. Her Aunt Sedhi absolutely hated it when she did something like that instead of just responding to the question that had been asked of her. Zaye’s mother and father were never cross with her when her mind wandered onto something else, because they knew that eventually she would come back to what she had been asked. Even when she didn’t, they simply asked her again.

Like when her father said, “This is a very responsibility and it means that you’re going to have to be a big girl. You’ll have to stay with me or Ma the entire time that we’re there so that you don’t get lost.”

“You wouldn’t want a big hungry bear to come and devour you, would you?” Aditi asked, her voice light and playful. She had grabbed her daughter around the waist and swung her up in the air, around in a circle and then pretended to be biting at her neck.

Zaye had begged her to stop, telling her that her actions tickled and that she would be good. She had meant it at the time too, because she knew that coming with her parents meant that she might get the chance of seeing the homeland that her father had spoken about so emphatically. She was well aware that the market where they sold their jurda and the cloth that Aditi made whenever she didn’t have anything to teach Zaye only happened once a year and it usually took them about six weeks to go and come back.

She found that being on a boat made her incredibly bored. There were enough people and enough huge crates that she had to stay where she belonged no matter how boring it was. Her father had tried to make it better by playing with her, telling her stories, and even singing some of the songs that he usually saved for after she was already supposed to be asleep. Still, all she wanted to do was run around on the slick deck and giggle whenever she almost toppled over the side. She had promised that she would be good, and she was.

When they landed in Kerch, it was the most amazing thing that she had ever seen. Her father informed her that the city that they were in was called Ketterdam and it was far bigger than anything she had ever seen before. Granted, she had only been to the two small Zemini towns that they had to pass through to get to Shriftport, but the towering buildings around the canals seemed like they went on forever with no end in sight. They were painted extravagant colors and there were tiny planks on the rooves instead of the thatch that her father had attached to the top of their cabin after the last winter. People in strange clothing bustled out in the streets, speaking to each other in a language that she barely understood but was able to grasp when she really concentrated.

Her parents kept hold of her until they reached the edge of the city where the market was going to be held. They were staying in a big tent at the back of their stall, amongst all of the dried jurda blossoms and textiles that they had exported to sell. She was safely burrowed in between her parents each night before she went to bed and usually so sleepy that she couldn’t even force herself to stay awake so that she could listen to what they were saying.

The morning of the third day stretched low and long over the horizon and she was up within seconds of the first beams. She knew that when the sky was dark with night, only the moon and the stars allowing her to be able to see, she had to stay in bed. The only exception to that was when her mother came to wake her up during the long, cold winter months. But when the sun was up, she was allowed to be as well.

Back home that was only because her mother also rose with the sun. Her father wouldn’t be far behind because there was always work to be done in their fields and they couldn’t very well do it in the dark. Zaye was basically the copy of her mother, though, rising early in the morning to let out energy that had been building up overnight.

Now that they were at the festival, her parents had to stay up for a lot longer than they would if they were all back home in the safety of their cabin. That meant that they were far more tired than they usually would be. They had been sleeping late into the morning and then raising when the other sellers did. Aditi had stressed the importance of routine when they arrived and Zaye was still told to go to bed at the times that she did when they were back home, which meant that she didn’t have that problem.

So when she saw the streaks of sunlight coming through the gap in their tent where the wall was supposed to connect with the roof, she let out a small giggle. She wiggled down so that she was no longer being held by her mother and then climbed over her father because she knew that out of her parents, he slept deeper. She was very dutiful about removing her nightgown and then getting dressed in the outfit that her mother had chosen for her the day before. Every day since they had gotten on the boat, they had matched each other, displaying the vibrant textiles that Aditi had made on their own bodies.

Today they were wearing something made up of tiny green and pink triangles. It curved around her body and hung down low over her knees, but not enough that she had to worry about it while she played. She knew the rules about what she was allowed to do in the morning and that she wasn’t allowed to leave the stall unless one of her parents was with her, so she carefully wove her way around the crates of jurda that had gotten substantially smaller over the last couple of days.

Zaye let out a small hum as she crawled underneath the table that her father sat at when he was doing deals with some of the other people that were at the festival. She lay down on her belly so that she could feel the already squashed grass leach the morning dew through her outfit. Kerch was far damper than Novyi Zem was, even after the rains had come. She thought that it was fascinating that there was a place so different from the one that she had always known, and it made her wonder about the place where her father had come from again.

She continued to play with herself under the table as she had every other morning until she heard quite a bit of noise from the place next to them, which had been reserved yet empty since they had arrived. She figured that it wouldn’t really be breaking the rules if she were to just peak out of the tent but kept the rest of her body inside. She just had to know what was going on, even if finding out would likely make her father very cross with her.

So she crawled to the edge of the tent where the noise was and then opened the flap just enough that she could poke her head through. Another family had arrived, late but prepared. They were setting up their own tent, made of canvas the same as hers but colored blue instead of the orange of her own. That must have meant that they came from Kerch, like the family two rows down that had a little boy she liked to play with. There were tents of every color in the circular rows of merchants selling their wares and farmers trying to secure deals with each other.

She noticed that there was a father with tanned skin, covered in freckles the same way that her own father was. There was a boy that was about seven years older than her helping him put up the tent. He had a flop of long brown hair and almost-black eyes. The most interesting thing about them was the fact that they had a little girl with them, exactly the same age that she was based on the way that she was sitting.

“Hi,” Zaye whispered, waving her hand nervously at the new potential friend.

The girl startled. She had been perched on top of one of the huge crates full of what looked to be chickens. She turned towards where she had heard the noise and then waved her hand. “Good morning!”

“Valerie, who are you talking to?” the brother asked when he finished helping the father with the first part of the tent set up. “I thought that we told you to be good and quiet.”

“No, you told me that I wasn’t allowed to distract you! Talking to my new friend isn’t distracting you,” Valerie protested, a pout already forming on her face.

“Jordie, let her play with someone new. If she has a friend her own age then it means she isn’t going to be underfoot,” the father said. He paused for a moment while walking around the tent and brushed his hand over the top of the girl’s head. She smiled happily at him before she held her hands up. He reached down and picked her up, setting her down on the dewy grass.

“Thank you, Papa,” she chirped. She turned towards the new person that she had just met and Zaye waved her hand excitedly.

“Do you really get to come and play?” she asked curiously.

“Yeah! I don’t wanna be in the way while Jordie and Papa are setting up the stand. Do you wanna move over so I can come in?” she asked. Her Kerch was a lot more refined than Zaye’s was, but it made sense since the other girl had lived in that country around other people that fluently spoke that language. Zaye had a combination of a Zemini and Kerch accent, according to the little boy that she had been playing with the day before.

She wondered for a moment if her parents were going to be upset at her for what she was doing. She couldn’t remember them asking her not to bring anyone into the front of their stall even if they didn’t want her playing with strangers in the back where they kept all of their things. She figured that it should be fine for Valerie to come into the tent and play with her, at least until her family was done setting up their own tent.

Carefully, she pulled her head back through the doorway of the canvas tent. She reached up and tugged at the inside bows that her mother had done when they had locked everything up. She only undid the lower two, leaving just enough space for her new friend to crawl in so that they were sitting together.

“Where are you from?” Valerie asked, turning her head left and right so that she could make out everything about their new play-spot.

The back of the tent held nothing but the three bags that they had packed containing their clothing and other personal belongings, the huge bedroom that Zaye slept on with her parents, and the crates with the things that they were selling. The front of the tent was separated from the back with another piece of canvas, that one decorated by Zaye and her mother with colorful paints that had bled into the fabric when they had washed it. They had a table that had two adult sized chairs and one that was more fitting for Zaye, though it didn’t let her see what the grown ups were doing on the table when she was sitting on it. There was nothing to cover the floor and block them away from the patches of dirt left by the grass being matted down flat, with the exception of the bamboo mat they had bought when they arrived from a seller from Shu Han when they had arrived.

“Novyi Zem!” Zaye chirped.

“What’s your name?” Valerie asked, seemingly unfazed by that bit of information.

Zaye didn’t get a lot of opportunities to play with other kids her own age, or any age at all. The closest that she got was when she helped the grandmothers watch over the babies whenever she came into town. Usually kids her age that lived in town were ushered off to the school, but her parents had chosen to educate her at home since their farm was so far away from the nearest town. She had the chance to play with her cousins when she stayed with her uncles near the winter festival, but none of them acted at all like Valerie did.

The other girl was quiet and reserved but also very excited and open, somehow combining them into one mind-swimming nightmare. It was new and exhilarating and so different than Zaye felt like she was vibrating out of her skin. “My name is Zaye. Your name is Valerie, right?”

“Yes,” the other girl replied with a nod. “What are your parents here to sell?”

“Jurda and fabric! My da grows the jurda and my ma makes the fabric. You should see the way that she does it, it’s like she can just speak to them and then they do whatever she wants,” Zaye grinned. She knew that her father didn’t approve of her mother doing things in a certain way. It was the only argument she had ever heard them get into and she hadn’t even understood half of it. She just knew that her mother was speaking in that stern tone of voice that she did whenever Zaye did something she had just been told specifically not to do.

“We’re selling chicks!” Valerie grinned. I helped hatch them because I’m the only person that’s able to go into the coops to check to see if the eggs have the crack or not.”

“Crack?” Zaye asked. She knew a little bit about chickens since her mother kept them for eggs and meat, but they had never had a rooster so there was no chance that they would get any chicks.

“Yeah! They have this special little tooth before they come out of the egg and then when they’re ready, they use it to break the shell so that they can come out all the way,” Valerie explained. She seemed to be opening up more than she had been before, like all she had to do was get more comfortable before her shyness disappeared entirely.

Zaye wished desperately that she could see what her friend was talking about. She was so excited that she couldn’t stop the wiggles that her body was making, squirming about as she moved to the table. “Do you wanna play castles?”

“I thought that we were talking about chicks and eggs?” Valerie asked. She didn’t look like she was necessarily against it, but she was very confused. Zaye always forgot that other people couldn’t follow the thoughts that she had because her mother had the same kind of mind and her father had been married to her mother longer than she had even been alive.

“We were, but now I want to play, please,” Zaye said. She tacked on the last word as an afterthought, almost hearing her mother telling her to mind her manners.

Valerie took a moment to think about it. She seemed to be wary about any kind of change or movement in what she had assumed that they were going to do. After a long while, long enough that Zaye felt like the energy inside of her was going to explode, she finally gave a nod. “What are we playing and how do we play it?”

Zaye reached out so that she could grab her new friend’s arm. She tugged the other girl underneath the wooden table so that it was like they were hiding out in their own personal fort. It would have been better if they had a tablecloth like Zaye did back home, but she was excited enough about her new playmate that she didn’t really care. “Castles! I heard about these big huge buildings that they have in Ravka where the King and Queen live,” she explained.

“I think that those are called mansions, we rode by some when we were coming here,” Valerie argued with a little shake of her head.

“No, there’re huge big buildings out in Ravka filled with servants and carvings and Grisha,” she said.

Neither of them had the chance to continue to argue because the flap into the back of the tent opened to reveal Zaye’s mother. She was already dressed and her hair was in the day-wrap that she wore instead of the one that she slept in. “Where’s my little girl?” she asked, the Zemini natural and lovely over her tongue.

“Here, Ma!” Zaye chirped in the same language. She wiggled out from under the table.

Aditi reached down and swooped her child up in the air, whirling them around while peppering happy kisses all over Zaye’s face. In response, the five-year-old pushed at her mother to try and get away from the attack while giggling like mad. “I heard you speaking with someone else, little rabbit,” she said once she had finished, settling her daughter easily onto her hip.

“How do you know that it wasn’t an imaginary friend, Ma?” she asked. She wasn’t trying to lie, but she was a bit nervous that she was going to get in trouble now. Her parents hadn’t explicitly said that she wasn’t allowed to bring someone into the tent, just that she wasn’t allowed to leave.

“Because I heard you speaking Kerch and a voice that did not belong to you,” she replied with a chuckle. “You don’t have to be scared, just tell me who it is.”

Zaye wiggled out of her hold and back down onto the ground. She leaned under the table and offered her hand to Valerie. The other little girl seemed pleased to not be yanked around again and took it. They stood next to each other, hands clasped together and both of them looking nervously towards Aditi. “What’s your name?” she asked, kneeling in front of the girls and speaking in Kerch.

“Valerie Rietveld,” she answered nervously. “Is it okay that we’re playing? My papa and brother wanted me out of the way while they set up.”

“Of course it’s okay that you’re playing! But if you’re going to be in here this early in the morning then you have to be willing to help us set up,” Aditi said lightly.

Both girls seemed excited about getting to spend more time together and easily helped with what they were asked. They held the canvas in place while Aditi tied the opening on either side of the wall so that they could open their stall for the day. They then helped bring the textiles and a few of the smaller boxes of jurda out of the back to be sold. Once all the word had been complete, they were allowed to sit under the table again and ate little pieces of apple that Colm prepared for them. Zaye was sure that she had never had a friend she liked as much as Valerie and convinced that she never would again.

---

Dreams of when his parents brought him to the festival in Kerch weren’t exactly rare for Jesper. It was one of his happiest memories and one of the most fundamental parts of his childhood. It was the first and last time that he had been outside of Novyi Zem and the last time that he had gotten to go on a trip with his mother. 

The rain hadn’t come during their next season and it meant that they couldn’t be away from their farm for even a moment. They wouldn’t have the money to hire on farmhands so they were doing all of the work themselves, which exhausted even Aditi and Jesper. Their family had come to visit them for the summer solstice, to try and bless their lands so that they would be able to thrive the next year.

Jesper wouldn’t have cared about the fact that they didn’t go visit his grandparents like they always did if he had known what would happen the year after that. Only a single short month after he had turned seven and admitted to his mother the secret that he had been chewing on for half the year like dried jurda, she had died. 

His coming out was something that he also vividly remembered. His father had gone out to town so that he could pick up some of the things that they would need for the next few months. That meant that Aditi had taken him out in the fields so that she could show him to gather up the pre-dried jurda blossoms with the blessing that they shared. He had been sitting up against a fencepost with his head tilted down towards his hands before he said, “Ma, I think that I’m a boy.”

All she had done was tilt his head up so that he had to meet those intense, dark eyes of hers and then had kissed him on the nose. She had helped him start dressing more like his father and less like her. All of the children dressed in the same way in their culture, but he didn’t like people thinking that he was still a girl, so he got to wear pants before all of the other children in their town. She had even helped him learn how to wrap his hair in the male style despite the fact that she had never done that before. 

The hardest thing about his transition had been picking out his name, especially since his mother and told his father for him instead of forcing him to be brave. Both of his parents were supportive of him being who he was, but his father was more worried about him than he had been before because he had heard stories of what happened to people like Jesper. He had been the one to come up with his brand new son’s name, though, being the only parent that could remember back to when they had been discussing names for him pre-birth. 

Jesper had always assumed that the most difficult part of his life would be when he left home to go seek his own way in the world. He was scared of what lay for him on the horizon, what the universe was planning for him when he was finally old and wise enough to take his own steps without the guidance of his parents. Something that he had always taken solace in was that his mother would be there for him to fall back on. His father had always been adamant that he learn how to be independent so that he could take care of himself, because that was the Kaelish way, but his mother was always leaning more towards the idea that they would never have to separate.

Of course, that had been before the family down the road had come to ask for her help. That had been before she had been too scared of the little girl on that bed dying from the poisoned water of the well too close to the mines. That had been before she was too distracted and eager to get the job done to be careful. That had been before Jesper had sat by her bedside, holding her hand and begging her to come back. He had offered up everything that he had held dear to anyone who would listen just to bring his mother back. He had offered his favorite toys, his deserts, a portion of every meal he ate for the rest of his life, all the way until he was offering up the new name that he adored so much. The last thing that he got from his mother before she and the rest of his life was upended was her whispering that very name, cementing that he could never take another name as long as he lived.

Things had changed after that and he supposed that he wasn’t going to end up leaving anywhere. The farm was still going strong, though they had better and worse years. His father wasn’t able to maintain the house and the farm like he had when there were two adults. Jesper had to learn how to do the steps of the chores that his mother had always done on his own. He learned how to cook by burning things and adding far too much sage. He learned how to clean by spilling an entire bottle of perfume into the mop bucket and washing a wrap in too-warm water. He learned how to care for the chickens with his fingers bloodied and aching and how to mend a fence by putting the posts in upside down.

He made mistakes, but he continued to learn and grow. He got books from the neighboring homesteads so that he could learn the way that his mother wove to make textiles. He also learned finances from his father when he finally broached teenagerhood and was able to prepare to take over. There was no way that he was going to leave after that, not even to follow the longing call of his heart. The frontier was quiet and Jesper was restless, but he couldn’t leave the cherry tree that his mother’s spirit helped feed or his father when they both needed him.

The restlessness was going to kill him if he didn’t have the chance to make at least a single trip bigger than the one to his relatives for the holidays, though. He had been thinking about it since he was fifteen and had decided that he was old enough to do it when he was seventeen. He had been able to trade his services at the next farm over for a share of their linen, so he had some beautiful dyed textiles that almost rivaled his mother that needed to be sold. They had also had pelting rain almost for the entire spring, which meant that they had more jurda than the companies had purchased that year.

He had stood nervously by the doorway for almost ten minutes before he was able to ask his father, “Do you think that I could go to the faire in Ketterdam like you and Ma used to?” He had spent the next ten minutes after that rambling about all of the plans that he had made. Jesper loved odds and math, which meant that he had already rationed out almost every single thing that could happen if they did or didn’t make sales. He wanted to make sure that he came to his father with every bit of evidence that he could scrounge up about why going to the faire would be a good idea just in case Colm had decided against it.

Much to his surprise, his father had agreed. The week after that felt like a whirlwind that was barely real. He had helped pack up the extra jurda that they weren’t shipping with the company that had bought their share of produce. He had also wrapped up all of the fabrics and rugs that he had made, though he did that on his own so that his father wouldn’t see the clear markings where he had fixed things using his powers. 

He had expected his father to come with him so that they could spend some time together the way that they had when he was a child, but he also knew that Colm was hesitant to leave the farm when they still had so much work to do and less people to do it. He was disappointed that he was going to be out on his own, but it was also reassuring to be returned back to the world that he had always seen for himself in the future. He was looking forward to rediscovering the world that he had known in his dreams and as a child, now as the person that he had grown up to be.

He made friends with the crew of the boat who loved the way that he talked. They introduced him to card games that they gambled on with bits of rations, which was how Jesper had ended up with one less rug and two extra bits of kruge that he was going to spend for a souvenir when he got to Ketterdam. He liked being on a boat less than he did when he was a child even if it was easier for him to make friends because he was an adult. The massive, gangly size of his body made it hard for him to walk around and he wasn’t able to bind his chest because he was slightly seasick.

Needless to say, he was relieved when they finally touched down in Kerch and he knew that he would have another task to keep him occupied. The city was everything that he remembered, but the sizes and people were so different. The rooves were still gabled with tiles that slipped and slid against each other from the near-constant pelting rains. The plaster was beginning to chip off the bricks of some of the buildings but they were all still painted, bright interesting colors. The people were different because of the world politics and the ability that certain citizens of certain countries had to travel away from their homes, but the natives still dressed very differently than Jesper did.

He found the festival to be the thing that tugged at his heart the most. He and his father had specifically written in to request the spot that they had gotten when Jesper had been first brought to the festival, which meant that he saw his mother almost everywhere. 

They had put up the tent the day before he left to make sure that there were no holes and he knew where every rope went, which he did. He was able to get it up where it belonged, without a single stake infringing on the land that the others had given. He laid his pallet in the back, burrowed in between the textiles and his own hands had made and the boxes of dried jurda that his father had helped him pack before he left. He set the table up in the front of the stall and tied the opening just like he remembered his mother doing all those years ago.

The first couple of days were dreadfully lonely. The stall next to him was empty to his left and had a rather crotchety old woman that didn’t appreciate his attempts to start a conversation to the right. He was able to chat with the other vendors that came over to see if his wares were worth buying, but they always left after they had made their transaction. He was one of the only people that had come on their own and he was deeply regretting it.

It wasn’t until the third day that the stall to the left of him finally got the occupant that it had been promised. A girl with a long black braid and a sparkly costume that matched that of the acrobats that had come to work with the festival walked over with a basket of what appeared to be chicks. 

Jesper was in the middle of a sale with another customer while the other tent was being erected, so he wasn’t able to go out and greet them like he wanted to. That didn’t stop him from craning his neck over when he saw the man that obviously owned the tent walking over.

He had short black hair that was shaved around the sides and the back of his head but was left long at the top so that it hung down into coffee-colored eyes. He wore a black pair of pressed slacks and a white button down shirt with a heavy woolen overcoat that obscured his entire frame. He was clasping a cane in his hand, though it was peculiarly carved with the head of a crow. Given the ware that he was selling, Jesper would have assumed it to be a chicken had it not been the size that it was.

Jesper finished up the sale that he was doing then stepped out of his stall. By that point, the tent was finished and the man was sitting in his chair in front of a coup on the ground where the chicks were running around with each other. He bypassed the owner of the tent and walked over to the coup so that he could spy on the tiny birds for a moment.

“Did you know that they have a tooth that helps them break the shell?” Jesper asked when he remembered the conversation that he had with that little girl. It was one of the only things that he remembered about her, other than her name.

“They actually use their feet more than they use the egg tooth,” the man replied. His voice was deep and had a rasp to it, like his vocal cords had been damaged just a little bit.

“Oh,” he replied as he felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I only learned about that when I was a kid,” he explained with an awkward shrug.

“Not many people pay attention to the actual way that chickens are born. They’re only interested in the unfertilized eggs and the meat that they can produce,” the man replied.

“Right,” Jesper nodded. “Where are you from? I mean, based on the color of your tent I would assume that you’re a Kerch native.”

“I have a small farm outside of Ketterdam that I run,” the other teenager replied.

“And where would that be?”

“Lij,” came the short reply.

“I have a jurda farm on the frontier of Novyi Zem. We had a good year, so you’re probably going to see a lot of them if you go perusing through some of the other stalls. I also have textiles that I made myself,” he gestured down to the outfit that he was wearing. He had chosen something that was a mix of the clothing that his father and mother wore, which was where he was usually the most comfortable. He had a white button up covering his front and then a skirt made out of a fabric with triangle designs and a pink base. 

“It’s well made,” the other teenager replied with a nod of approval. It didn’t seem like he wanted Jesper to just go away and leave him alone, at least not like it had when he had tried to speak with the old woman on the other side. That meant that he was going to keep trying to talk to him.

“Do you run your farm all on your own? I’m only staying at mine to help my Da,” he said.

“No, my brother and I run it together. He’s tending to the rest of the flock so that I can come here, like he does every year,” he explained.

The silence hanging over them felt like it was going to kill him. He had never done well with things being still, which was why he had been so adamant about the fact that he could go to the festival and actually experience sights and noises that weren’t common to him. “I’m Jesper, by the way. I’m going to be staying in the stall next to you for the remainder of the festival.”

The other man pursed his lips together like it was actually paining him to bring the words out of his body. He was twisting his hands around the head of his cane for a long while before he relaxed into his chair and finally said, “Kaz Reitveld.”

That name shot through Jesper like an arrow through the night. He knew that the first name was unknown to him, not even a very common Kerch name that he would have heard spoken while accidentally eavesdropping. It was the last name that was able to pull the memory of a little girl with black hair and chicken facts galore to the forefront of his mind. “Do you have a little sister?” he asked.

Kaz’s face screwed up in confusion as he asked, “What kind of a question is that?”

“Sorry, I know that it’s weird,” Jesper tried to brush it off. He felt more awkward than he had in a long time and he was trying so hard not to blame it on his father’s reluctance to have him around other kids after he came out. “I just came here with my parents a long time ago, I would have been around four or five. I met a little girl with that same name, we got along really well.”

When the other didn’t say anything, he just kept going. “I always kind of wondered what happened to her because we were basically inseparable the entire time that we were here. I think that my ma probably had something to do with that because she loved having guests and other kids to take care of.”

“That was me,” Kaz interrupted the nervous ramblings with a single, short sentence.

“What?” Jesper asked.

Kaz’s entire face flushed rest, but his ears were burning almost purple with the blush. “I used to be a girl. I’m not anymore. And if you call me by that old name then you won’t be walking out of here on your own.”

“No need to get so hostile, if you remember me then you’ll know that I also used to be a girl,” Jesper laughed.

The tension that had been hanging off of the other dripped off of him like butter into a warm pan. It was reassuring and unnerving to see the way that he could shift from being to being. Jesper desperately wanted to know him more. He made a grand bow and then offer his hand out to the other teenager, “It’s nice to re-meet you, Kaz.”

Kaz hesitated for only a second before he reached out and took the offered hand, “Same goes for you, Jesper.”

---

They spent the entire festival together. Jesper found out, very late on the last night that they were going to be there, that Kaz had lost his father two years after Jesper had lost his mother. Jordia, Kaz’s brother, had been tempted to sell the farm but had decided against it when he saw the way that Kaz had grown attached to it. The two of them ran it together without any adult help but were making a very good life for themselves.

The duo met up several times after that, each time at the faire. They would spend hours and hours talking to each other about every topic that they possibly could. They discussed the differences in their languages and Kaz eagerly learned Zemini. They talked about their transitions and the troubles they faced because of it. Kaz ended up being the first person that Jesper had ever told outside of his own family that he was zowa. Kaz told Jesper that he was the only person other than Jordie that he felt comfortable, and that was the first time that they had kissed. 

Eventually Kaz let Jordie sell the farm. He ended up traveling to Novyi Zem with a new ring on his finger and the promise of jurda farming coming from his husband’s lips.

[real-total-drama-takes]

tired of "Zoey is a Mary sue" criticism because you need to learn how to criticise without relying on misogyny

Like the problems in the show

ROTI has so much misogyny in it, the fact that Jo and Anne Maria are treated like jokes for being 1. Too masculine 2. Too feminine. Is fucking horrendous

But also I remember someone pointing out that "hcing Jo as transfem makes lightnings misgendering now actively worse" ...guys it's bad from the start g guys-- misgendering is bad no matter what it is, calling a transwoman "they" when they don't use those Pronouns is STILL MISGENDERING, the whole joke is that lightning thinks she's a guy which is a horrendous joke and the joke is that "Jo is uncomfortable that lightning sees her as a guy"

The only good joke that comes from it is "lightning don't judge"

Be honest. Be really honest. Should we treat jos misgendering as funny

I judge zoey for being comically ableist even after finding out her boyfriends a system, but we should equal criticise alejandro for his unabashed misogynistic way of thinking of women, and how the show pretends that every women ever loves him, and how lightnings misgendering is genuinely a writing problem.

We need to stop pretending this series (and by large the fandom) doesn't have these issues and I'm TIRED OF ITTT

-> 🗒 anon and the ways of tempting the devil

[stormblessed95]

I'm Stepping Away For A While...

Over the past week, and then some, I have been called a multitude of names in an effort to make fun of me and rude names including wh*re, p**sy, bitch, a liar, a fake, etc. I've been told I'm a fake/bad ARMY, a fake jikooker, etc. Ive had people call my friends deragatory names and misgender them. And I've also had someone in my DMs try to gaslight me into believing that this was not harassment or Bullying, but that I should apologize to my followers for threatening to block people and that people were just expressing strongly worded commentary over how my actions hurt them. And that I needed to take responsibility for creating the drama at all. And none of that is okay, and honestly it's been a lot. And the way people just brushed over the name calling and harassment regardless of if they disagreed with me or liked me, that was a lot too.

Blocking people to curate my space is not harassment or bullying or disrespectful. Its simply protecting myself and trying to curate a safe space for me personally. Nor have I ever started a hate campaign to try and drive another blogger off the platform. And if a post of mine encouraged people to send messages or hurtful asks to someone else, and I KNEW about it, I would've said something and asked them to stop. Sharing an opinion or disagreeing with someone is not me sending anyone hate. Nor would I ever want that for anyone regardless of any disagreements we had over whatever topic.

I've lost quite a few followers over the past week, people believing things that are being said and that's fine, i was never here for the numbers anyway. Id rather you unfollow or block me peacefully if you dont like me or my posts. Some of the people engaging with this hate against me were honestly surprising. But it is what it is. But I don't feel safe in this space anymore. I honestly haven't for a while. Blogging isn't as fun anymore. I don't want to post while it feels like a chore. And that's not because of anyone or anything in particular. I opened this blog because it brought me joy and it was fun. And it's really sad that something that brought me happiness is no longer doing that for me. It's not just all this drama either. It's probably been awhile coming, making my timeline posts for longer posts felt more like something I had to do for you all instead of something I wanted to do for me. And that's not what I want for this space.

So I'll be stepping away for awhile. When or if I come back will depend on if I can get that joy back for doing this and I feel like this can be a fun corner of the internet for all of us together again. And also for if I feel like I can do this without it being so mentally draining and just not good for my mental health like it has been lately.

I'll leave my blog here and my masterlist because I know that a lot of people enjoy the archive of some past content I have cataloged there. I don't want to take that away from anyone for that reason alone since I want people to be able to access that content if they can't otherwise find it. I also want the option to be able to come back to this blog again at some point. So I don't want to delete it or say I'm stepping away permanently, nor do I want people wondering what happened to me or anything. I just need a break. I do apologize for all the post series I have started that are remaining unfinished now for a little while.

If you want to unfollow me knowing that I'll be absent from here for awhile or for any other reason, that's totally fine. Honest. No hard feelings. I wish you well and hope everyone will continue to do well and enjoy the next few months of music, content and love from the members. Maybe I'll try to be back in time for JJK1 whenever that happens.

Again, this is just something I need. I'm okay, I'm not hurt or upset. I just need a break. I appreciate you all understanding. I'll still be in this fandom and be ARMY for life. I'll still be around for the next day or so. Thank you for understanding. I do love you guys and hope to back as soon as I'm able to.

[biancastoaster]

A Lily By Any Other Name (Is Still a Lily)

Category: Gen

Fandom: Psych (TV 2006)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Author Decided Not to Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Carlton Lassiter & OC

Characters: Lily M. Lassiter (OC), Carlton Lassiter, Carlton Lassiter's father, Shawn Spencer

Additional Tags: character death, misgendering, deadnaming, all that fun stuff, OC insert, sad Lassiter, flashbacks, homophobia, transphobia, little brother Lassiter, no beta we die like yin

Summary: Carlton visits his older sister. 

Author’s Notes: Lassiter needed an older sibling, I think it would’ve been good for him. 

I hope you guys like this, it took me a month to write. 

~~~~~~

At his desk, Carlton checked the time. Not yet. 

5 minutes went by before he checked again, and slumped back in his chair in disappointment when he saw it hadn’t been long since he last looked. 

This repeated until it finally was time. He quickly got ready to go. But just before he stood up to leave, Carlton grabbed a small file and put it inside his briefcase. He snapped the clasps shut and briskly began his way from his new office to his car. 

Halfway through the corridor, he’s stopped by an all too familiar voice. 

“Lassie! Where you going?” 

Carlton heaved a deep, exasperated sigh. Without even looking to see who it was, he kept walking away. “Not that it’s any of your business Spencer, but I’m visiting a family member.” 

Shawn caught up, ambling alongside Carlton. “Ooo, who? Is it Lauren? No wait, I got it: it’s your mother…s.”

He rolled his eyes. “None of them. I’m visiting my older sister, Lily.”

Shawn gave a look of surprise. “I didn’t know you had an older sister! Hold on, does she know you named your kid after her?”

Lassiter briskly walked out the door, Shawn still on his tail. “No, that’s why I’m visiting her today.”

“Doooes Marlowe know?”

“Yes, in fact she was the one who encouraged the name.”

“No no no, not that. Well, actually, yeah that too. But, does she know you’re visiting your sister without her?”

“Yes, she’s well aware I’m- you know what, I’m not entertaining this anymore. I need to leave now, I don’t want to be late.”

~~~

1974

It was dark out, the pitch black of night covering the neighborhood in a blanket, the sky dotted with little pinpricks of stars.  

Carlton Lassiter was in his bed, and he was tossing and turning in his sleep, mumbling nonsensical words to himself. 

He eventually woke up with a gasp. He was shaking, and he reached up to feel tear tracks on his face. He could’ve sworn that… 

But no. He was here, at home, safe in his bed. 

He wiped the remaining tears from his face, and tried to go back to sleep. But the adrenaline still lingered, keeping him awake and scared. Shadows seemed to loom from the corners, taking the form of monsters and blank figures. 

Eventually, he couldn’t take being alone in his room anymore. Grabbing his blanket, he gently hopped off his bed and onto the floor, and began making his way to his parents room. 

But right before Carlton even touched the doorknob, he hesitated. He didn’t want to bother them with something like this. His dad would probably just send him back to his room. And besides, their light was turned off, meaning his parents were fast asleep. 

So he kept going down the hall, and up the stairs. 

Carlton crept past the dining room and kitchen, and made his way to his brother Liam’s room. There was a tiny bit of light shining from under the door, nearly invisible to the untrained eye. 

He grabbed the doorknob, and as it made a small jiggling sound the light quickly turned off.

Carlton gently opened the door. “Liam?”

From the bed in the corner of the room, a head belonging to his 12 year old brother popped up from underneath the covers. “CJ? What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

He found himself unable to answer, his face screwing up and tears falling once more. 

Liam sat up, immediately concerned for his little brother. “Hey, hey, it’s alright, it’s alright. Come here.”

Carlton complied, clambering onto the bed and sinking into his older brother’s arms.

“It’s okay, just let it out.”

And he did, slowly hiccuping his way through telling Liam about the whole bad dream. 

The whole time, Liam sat there, rubbing Carlton’s back periodically to try and soothe him, like he had seen people on tv do. 

After sitting for a minute, Carlton sniffled, looking up at Liam. “What were you doing before I came in?”

“Ohh, just rereading The Hobbit.” 

“Can you- can you read it to me?” 

Liam smiled. “Of course. Did you want me to start at the beginning, or where I’m at?”

“Where you left off.”

“Alright then. Get comfy, come on, CJ.”

As Carlton snuggled under the covers, Liam reached under the first pillow and grabbed the book and pen light he had hidden just before Carlton came in. 

He cleared his throat, reading out loud, “As they sang the hobbit felt the love of beautiful things made by hands and by cunning and by magic moving through him, a fierce and a jealous love, the desire of the hearts of dwarves…”

Carlton slowly began to become more and more drowsy as the gentle timbre of his brother’s voice lulled him to sleep. 

“He looked out of the window. The stars were out in a dark sky above the trees. He thought of the jewels of the dwarves shining in dark caverns…”

Right when he was about succumb completely to sleep, he felt Liam gently put away the book and turn out the light once more. 

~~~

present

Carlton carefully pulled into a small strip mall, right in front of a store called ‘The Flower Corner’. 

He walked in, and stood at the desk, clearing his throat to catch the attention of the lady behind the desk. 

She looked up and saw him, and quickly stood up. “Oh hello, sir! How can I help you today?”

“I’m here to pickup a bouquet. It should be under Lassiter.”

“Of course, just one second.” She tapped a few keys on her keyboard, clicking a bit with her mouse as well. “Alright then, I’ll go ahead and grab it from the back.”

Carlton began awkwardly drumming his fingers on the counter as he waited for the employee to get back. 

“Alright, here they are!” 

He looked up and saw a beautiful bunch of flowers, a mix of pink lilies and carnations, all expertly wrapped in decorative plastic to hold it all together. 

As he paid, the cashier asked, “Who are the flowers for?” 

“My sister, Lily.” 

“Awww! Well, I can definitely see why you chose the lilies, then. I’m sure she’ll love them.”

Carlton nodded stiffly. The whole interaction felt awkward to him, and he hated awkward situations. So once he had gotten the bouquet paid for, he tried his best not to run out the door. 

~~~

1976

Carlton was riding in the back of his father’s car, on the way to pick up Liam from his friend’s house. 

He couldn’t remember his name, but he was pretty sure Liam’s friend was on the football team along with Liam himself. 

Looking out the window as they pulled up to the curb next to the house, he saw figures moving around behind the windows, presumably his brother and his friend saying goodbye.  

To his surprise, Carlton watched as his older brother walked out with a girl he didn’t recognize, instead of another guy. Maybe it was Liam’s friend’s sister? 

They had stopped at the entryway to continue a conversation, talking very animatedly, using dramatic hand gestures and exaggerated expressions. 

The two — along with Carlton — were startled when his dad honked the horn. 

Liam gave an apologetic look to the girl, and she burst into laughter. They exchanged a few more words before she gave him an energetic hug, which he equally returned. 

In the rearview mirror, Carlton saw a grin forming on his father. It was very clear what he thought the hug between the two had meant. But Carlton could just tell it wasn’t that kind of hug. He’d seen his parents hug, and girls and boys — couples — hug each other public. However, he had also seen girls hugging girls — their best friends — as well. That’s what kind of hug his brother and the girl had reminded him of.

As Liam climbed into the car, his dad gave him a look. “So, who was that?” 

Liam buckled in. “Just Chuck’s sister, she’s really nice.”

“Really nice, huh?” 

Carlton caught the suggestive look on his dad at the same time Liam did. “No, dad, it’s not- she’s just nice, I barely even know her.” 

His dad laughed. “That’s how it always starts. Soon enough you’ll be all over each other.”

It was then that Carlton noticed his brother’s face. It was red. The same shade of red his mother had at the end of the day when she finally took off her makeup. 

Not red in embarrassment from his father’s comments. He looked as if he’d been rubbing it continuously to get something off.

‘Was that what Liam had been doing? Wearing makeup?’

Later that day, Carlton confronted him, demanding to know the truth. Eventually, Liam caved. 

“Okay, okay, fine. Chuck wasn’t actually there, he had something come up. But Linda was, and… she uh… needed someone to model some of her makeup for her, and she asked me since we have really close skin tones.” Liam twisted his hands. “Her words, not mine.”

Carlton was young, only 8, but he knew when his brother was lying. However, he also knew when he should and shouldn’t pressure Liam with more questions, and decided to leave it alone. 

~~~

present

Carlton pulled out of the flower shop, and onto the road once more. 

He’d been driving for at least another 5 minutes when he hit a pothole that he heard a particularly loud bump from the back. He thought it was his briefcase for a minute, but a quick glance at the passenger seat told him that wasn’t true. There was something — or someone — in the trunk. 

Carlton pulled over to the side of the road, and grabbed his gun from his holster and cocked it. 

He pointed it at the trunk door, and quickly opened it. “Freeze!”

Light flossed the trunk, and a very familiar high pitched girlish scream emerged from inside. “Nonono don’t shoot!” 

“Spencer? What the hell are you doing here?”

Shawn clumsily clambered out of the trunk, tripping momentarily before regaining his balance. “I just wanted to meet your mystery sister, man. I’ve known you for what, 8 years? And I’ve never heard you talk about you ‘big sister Lily’.”

Carlton took a deep breath. “Spencer…” he briefly thought about ditching him on the side of the road. But a quick look told him that would be inhumane. And probably illegal. He ran a hand down his face exhaustedly. “Fine. You can come.” Shawn pumped a fist. “But you’re sitting in the back.”

“Tch.” Shawn made a dissapointed face, but got in the backseat anyway. 

~~~

1978

Carlton was hiding in his room, trying his best to drown out Liam and his father’s argument they were having just down the hall. 

Liam had been caught underneath the bleachers at the track, locking lips with the captain of the football team. Chuck, Liam’s so-called best friend, was the one to catch them, snitching on the couple to Carlton’s father. 

Which was what the current argument between the two was about.  

Everything was mostly muffled, thanks to Carlton shoving a pillow over his head to drown out the noise, but he definitely heard his father say something along the lines of ‘not raising his son to be a faggot’. 

At this, Liam raised his voice even more, becoming sou loud it permeated through the pillow. “I’m not gay, Dad!”

“Oh really? And how’s that, huh?”

“Because I’m a girl!”

There was a tense silence, shortly broken by the sound of a sharp slap, followed by quick footsteps running down the hall and up the stairs. Carlton could practically feel the slam of his brother’s- no, not brother, his sister’s bedroom door reverberating through the house. 

He waited for the sound of his father following after, but there was nothing.

Quietly, he opened his door. Carlton silently tiptoed upstairs, making sure he didn’t make too much sound. After a short trip, he made it upstairs, gently knocking on the door to his sister’s bedroom.   

“Are you alright-” he opens the door, and stops. So does Liam, who’s in the middle of shoving a t-shirt into a slowly overflowing backpack. “Liam? What are you doing?” 

Carlton sees her wince at the name. “I just… need some space from dad. I’m gonna stay at a friend’s house for a bit, wait for him to cool down a bit.”

“But, why is he mad at you for being a girl?”

She sighed. “I don’t know, buddy. Some people just, I can’t- they’re not really-” Her face started to scrunch up, eyes filling with tears. “But don’t worry, I won’t be gone for long, okay?”

He didn’t understand, but he nodded anyway. “Okay…”

She slung her backpack over her shoulder, and slid the window leading outside open. Just before slipping out, she paused and turned around. “Hey Carlton, can I ask you a favor?”

He perked up a little. “What is it?”

She scooted to the edge of the window, prepping to jump down. “Remember how you asked all of us to stop calling you CJ?” 

At least Carlton was able to understand this. “Yeah. It felt like a girly name to me.”

She smiled. “That’s kind of what I’m doing. ‘Liam’ doesn’t feel right.”

“Well, what do you want me to call you?”

“Lily. Just call me Lily instead.”

“Lily.” He tested it out “Okay. Bye Lily.”

“Bye Carlton. I’ll see you soon.” And with that, she jumped from the windowsill and landed nimbly on the soft grass far below. Lily wasted no time in booking it down the road, her figure quickly fading from sight as the night swallowed her. 

~~~

Present

Carlton’s hands subconsciously gripped the steering wheel as he remembered that night. He did get to see her again after that. Very soon, in fact. Just not in the way he had hoped. 

It had been a hit and run. There was only one bystander, and they hadn’t been close enough to see the car’s details in the pitch black of night. 

Carlton remembered sitting in the hospital waiting room with his parents and Lauren, the latter of whom was napping in her baby carrier, anxiously anticipating any news of Lily’s condition. 

He remembered someone coming out and whispering to his parents solemnly, something about Liam’sconditions, and how he wasn’t going to make it. 

He remembered going to her room and being told to say his goodbyes to Liam, seeing her broken and damaged body lying limply on the hospital bed. 

He remembered begging her still unmoving body to come back, to not leave him alone. 

He remembered being dragged away, tears flowing like a river as her heart monitor flatlined. 

He remembered his father reprimanding him, telling him he was tarnishing Liam’s memory by calling her Lily. 

He remembered that was the night that the last shred of respect he had for his dad crumbled away. 

It was as though he had just gotten to know his big sister, and then she was yanked away from him. 

As much as he hated it, it was the final push he needed in finalizing his decision of pursuing a career as a police officer, then head detective, then his current position as Chief of police. 

“Wait, Lassie this is-” Shawn cut himself off, immediately realized where they were going. “Oh man. I- I’m sorry, I had-”

“It’s fine, Spencer. You didn’t know.” Carlton said, his tone uncharacteristically soft.  

He pulled his car onto a gravelly path, bumping slightly along as he searched for-

There. He could see it from here. It wasn’t like it could be moved, but he almost always lost it in the sea of granite and marble, and would have to go on a search. 

He parked, and reached into the passenger seat where his briefcase and the bouquet still sat. 

“I’ll just- just wait here, Lassie. Me and dead people… it’s really depressing.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you to come anyway, Spencer.” Just before he closed the door, he pointed a threatening finger at Shawn. “You touch anything in here and I will not hesitate to shoot you. Copy?” 

Shawn said nothing, simply giving him a mock salute. Carlton rolled his eyes and shut the door. 

He walked up to a gray marble tombstone. The area had been mowed recently, so there was still some grass clippings scattered on the base of it. 

Liam Lily Mark Lassiter 

1962-1978

son daughter, brother sister, friend

Carlton smiled a bit to himself. Normally, he was opposed to defacement of property, but this was an exception in his eyes. Lily deserved to have her true name on the stone that marked her final resting place. 

He kneeled down and, after brushing away the grass clippings, gently set the bouquet in front of the tombstone, making sure none of the words were obscured. He’d already taken the plastic wrapping off. The world didn’t need more trash littered everywhere. 

“Hey Lily. I know it’s been a while. A few months, actually.” 

Carlton shifted a bit, trying to get comfortable. “I got promoted. I’m Chief of police now, like I’ve always worked for.” 

The tombstone sat silently.

“Uhmm, Marlowe gave birth, too. In the back of a food truck, of all places. Of course, it was all Spencer’s and Guster’s fault. I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you, huh?” 

Silence.

He continued. “It’s a girl, and god she is so beautiful. She has your eyes. We named her after you.” 

Still silence. 

“I have something else.” He reached beside him for his briefcase, and pulled out the file from earlier. “I managed to get your name legally changed. It was one hell of a legal battle, but Mom and Althea and I managed it. You’ll be getting a new tombstone soon, one with your real name.”

Taking a deep breath, he went on. “I miss you, Lily. But, not as much as I used to. I hope you don’t mind.”

A gentle breeze brushed by him, ruffling his hair. 

Carlton cleared his throat. “I’m… not good at saying goodbye. Even after all these visits. You’d think I’d get the hang of it by now.” 

Somewhere in a nearby tree, a bird tittered. 

“Okay, I’ll try to come back sooner next time. I know you don’t like waiting.” He packed up his briefcase once more, and turned away, heading back to his car. 

~~~

Bonus: 

Lily watched as he left, swinging her feet from the tombstone, a soft smile playing on her lips. She looked exactly how she had when she died, but somehow emulated an air of femininity she would never have been able to achieve while alive. 

She waved, even though she knew her little brother wouldn’t see it. “Bye, Carlton.”

[melonteee]

Sanji is honestly one of the most queer/transfem-coded characters I've ever seen and what makes it so funny is that it's mostly just unintentional asfhhjjkk like my jaw DROPPED at the Kamabakka filler with Caroline (I know its not canon but it hasn't left my mind since asfhhh)

What brings me to my actual question: do you personally see Sanji as more of a woman than a man? I know he's a man in canon (for now lmao) but I'm always tempted to use they/them or she/her when referring to Sanji, but I feel like a lot of the fandom wouldn't take it well 😅 I've already seen some ppl complaining that he's being "misgendered" when called babygirl and he wouldn't like it because he's a MAN and it's just *deep sigh*

I mean Sanji calls himself a he/him and everyone calls Sanji a he/him so eh, like yeah they're not real but going by in world preferences makes it all easier you know? Doesn't stop hcs and theories though lmao like go for it if that's the case.

In saying that I genuinely think Sanji hates being a man and hates how he feels as a man and thinks it's a universal thing that men don't like being men. Like imagine Sanji talking to Yamato like "but why do you want to be a MAN isn't being a woman better? aren't women just nicer?" and before Yamato can explain this is not his own choice Sanji is just rambling about how much better being a woman is and Yamato's like "holy fuck...I know something about him that he doesn't" LMAOOO

also babygirl/girlfriend/wife are all universal don't let them fool you

[fruit-kick]

ngl i hate it when u bring up how fucked up the show and fandom treats jermy and ppl respond w/ "he makes out w/ his dog" like idk how to tell you that jermy is not A Real Guy who made out w/ his dog the same way Dolph was not a kid who happened to look like hitler.

like both of those things are deliberate choices made by the writers to justify shitty, bigoted choices in the story and i need all of you to stop falling for it when people bring up the fact that it was fucked up.

also, other hot take that i think should be cold: people doing fucked up things does not justify bigotry. if the writers put in a trans caricature, misgendered them every step of the way, and then threw in a "they kiss dogs" ya'll would know thats bullshit. (or at least i hope you do) so put in the same fucking energy.