#trans writeblr

[sometimesraven]

Question for Trans Writeblr

Has anyone written sex scenes with a character whose AGAB is ambiguous?

I have a couple of characters who I'd like to leave ambiguous as to whether or not they're trans, but I want to be able to give them their own intimate scenes if the need arises.

I know anyone can have any combination of genitals but in a situation where, for example, a character who clearly grew up with no access to surgeries or hormones goes by masculine terms and pronouns and has a penis, even most trans people would try to argue that's a cis man

Has it been done? Can it be done? Idk if I'm making sense but if I am, pls give advice!

[ellipsus-writes]

The words they're afraid of.

(Read on our blog.)

The recently appointed Department of Defense head Pete Hegseth (formerly Fox News pundit, perpetually soused creepy uncle, and current group chat leaker of classified intel) banned images of the Enola Gay from the Pentagon’s website for the offense of “DEI” language. In keeping with the far right’s stated war on anything vaguely resembling diversity, equity and inclusion, even historical photos are up for cancellation. When a literal weapon of mass destruction is censored for being a bit fruity under the Trump administration’s war against inconvenient truths, what exactly is left untouched?

This is clown show stuff, but the stakes are far from funny. While some might be hesitant to compare the current administration to the very worst history has to offer, we can at least all agree that they are dyed-in-the-wool grammar Nazis. Policing language has been the objective of the MAGA culture war long before Project 2025’s debut—the wave of book bans orchestrated by astroturf movements like Moms for Liberty, and Florida’s 2022 Don’t Say Gay bill have already had a profound effect in the arena of free speech and freedom of expression (despite the far right’s long tradition of doublespeak performative free-speech martyrdom to the contrary). Don’t Say Gay ostensibly targeted K-3 education, but LGBT+ content at all levels of education (and beyond) was either quietly censored or entirely preempted in practice. The results were not just a war on so-called ideology, or words alone—but on reality and essential freedoms.

Now, words as innocuous and important as racism, climate change, hate speech, prejudice, mental health, and inequality are targeted as subversive. Entire concepts are being vanished from government institutions, scrubbed not only from descriptions but from metadata, search indexes, and archival frameworks.

If you don’t name a thing, does it exist?

These words are as numerous as they are generic: women, race, Black, immigrants, multicultural, gender, injustice. But what is painfully unserious is also particularly dangerous in its real-world consequences. The process of controlling words is a well-worn authoritarian tendency. Fifty-two universities are now under investigation as part of the President's effort to curb “woke” research and thought crimes. Institutions are being coerced to comply with a nebulous set of ideological demands, or face budgetary annihilation. That means cutting funding for entire departments, slashing financial aid, defunding scientific grants, and pressuring faculty to self-censor.

The possibilities for censorship extend far and wide—interfering, by extension, in everything from reproductive healthcare programs, to libraries and museums. The Trump administration’s proposed budget slashing all federal funding for libraries, including the Institute of Museum and Library Services, will effectively gut an infrastructure that supports over 100,000 libraries and museums across the country—community centers, educational lifelines, internet access points, and archives of marginalized histories (starting with the Smithsonian Institution).

When you erase access, you erase participation. And when you erase participation, you erase people, and the means by which future generations might even learn they existed. A culture that cannot remember is a culture that cannot resist.

The erasure is, yet again, unsurprisingly targeted at minorities and LGBT+ people. The National Parks Service quietly revised the Stonewall Monument’s website to remove references to transgender people—a fundamental part of the original protests. Not an oversight, not a mistake, but a deliberate excision—one point in a wider plan of erasure depicted in stark detail in Project 2025, a blueprint to dismantle civil rights, defund LGBT+-related healthcare, and rewrite history from the ground up.

Dehumanization by deletion—welcome to the reactionary resurgence of doubleplusungood governance. In Trumpland, words are weapons—but not in the way they intend. Their fear of language betrays its power; that’s why they’re trying so hard to police it.

Words hurt them.

Hurt them back.

- the Ellipsus Team

[emberwhite]

For five years, I've been trying to tell this story. It's a tale about coming out—to the reader themselves and for a general audience so that more people might better understand it. Not many mainstream readers are willing to pick up a book about a transfem character because of how unrelatable they think it is. For this reason, it's extremely difficult to get a publishing deal for something like this. I take that as a challenge.

I wanted to make something artistic about it. They say the simplest definition of art is transference of feeling from author to reader, and I really wanted to capture what this whole experience has been like for the past 20 years. It's not easy, and it's not supposed to be either. That's what makes it all worth writing. So, how can it be done?

I like Russian literature. I like Dostoevsky. He will give you a character and tell you this person is bad, bad, and bad. Then, as you get into the mind of their character throughout his novel, you slowly start to find similarities between you and them. You might even begin to agree with them. And at one single moment, there you will be saying to yourself, "Oh my god. I AM this person." It's truly great. He understood human psychology, like no other.

I hope to do the same but backwards. I will tell you everything about this character without telling you who this character is. I used no pronouns to describe my character. Instead, I tried to produce this mysterious, unsettling mood around The Drunk. If I can get the reader to relate and identify with this person through workaholism, alcoholism, loneliness, isolation, and addiction, maybe then transfer of feeling can happen. It's a book about not being seen and understood, and I do think that is something universal, especially in this age of tech. It's devastating and the beginning of self-destruction.

The Drunk, The Gambler, and The Lover is now available on Amazon and for order at your local library and bookstore.

(Or you could just leave a comment asking for a free copy.)

[marsadler]

So with tiktok being banned and Instagram rapidly becoming less usable as Zuckerburg does *motions vaguely* that, I'm finding myself wanting to come back here and see if this is a good place to be able to talk about my books and hopefully find new readers.

Queer Indie authors of horror especially, I'd love to connect!

[cherry-pop-elf]

My Roommate Is A Wiz With Animals

Newt x Muggle!Reader

SUM: You were returning home from work, when you stumbled across the strangest little animal. You couldn’t just abandon them. Even tho they are kinda funky. Animals deserve love and shelter, and that seems to win you quite the lost and found reward

Warnings: So much dang fluff, animal smuggling, Teddy shenanigans, Newt accidentally being really good at manipulation, reader is naive enough for plot purposes, MIGHT be a multi part series. Might…..Ok it will be shoosh

“Ugh I swear those shifts are getting longer and longer.” You would groan with your neck rolling around. Just trying to get your joints stretched. Was rather late in the evening. You had to cover for someone. Curse you for actually being a good human and helping someone out! Eh over time is over time at least.

You were still a bit nervous to head home so late. The sun was setting, and it casted the New York sky scrapers were casting such eerie shadows across the world. There was a beauty in it, but also it’s terrifying. Terrifying to be out late in the city night.

Had you picking up the pace.

As you tried to hurry home, before the street lights kicked on, you would hear the trash cans banging together. Made your heart stop, as you instinctively turned to look at the noise.

Didn’t seem like a person at least, so that gave you some calm. Still, could be a wild dog. Not that you hated dogs or anything, but street dogs are built to survive the streets for a reason.

You couldn’t help but stare, and wait, to see what would come out. Maybe it’s a kitten? A puppy? Ok now that you were cycling through the concept of a poor lost animal in the streets of the city that never sleeps had your heart ache.

Call you dumb, but you went to peak.

Was met with quite a surprise.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were looking at. It was some weird looking platypus mixed with a mole. Maybe it’s a sister species to platypi? It’s not unheard of that the rich and powerful have exotic animals. That there’s a black market for them. Maybe this poor baby escaped.

“You poor thing. New York and scraps isn’t meant for you.” You would Cooe at it, as the little creature looked up at you. Looking scared honestly. Would even reach its little arms out to you. How that made your heart explode from the utter cuteness.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. Come here baby.” You would lift up the strange creature, and opened your jacket to tuck them closer to your chest. Help them warm up from the cold streets.

They would snuggle into your chest, as they felt a little safer. Grabbed at your top even. Didn’t want to end up back to the streets again. Like hell you would.

With a baby to take care of you made your quick walk into a proper jog. A rather good motivation to help you speed up on your way home. You had a tiny little thing to care for. One that needed a bath and some food. Shit, what would it eat? Maybe you’ll leave a variety of foods out and whatever they go for first could be what they like? You’ll worry about it later. Now was to get home.

Into the apartment complex you went, up the elevator, and you were home. Made sure all your locks on your door were clicked, and you would soon drop your things off.

“You poor thing. Let’s get you cleaned up, and feed you. How’s that sound?” You swore they were nodding at you. Seeming to comprehend what you were telling them very well. Maybe it’s an exotic pet thing? Or you are tired. Probably tired.

Into the bathroom you went. You ran a warm bath for them, and kept it shallow. Didn’t quite know what to do, so you just set them down in the warm water. Didn’t really have animal safe soap, so just water and a rag will do.

Have the cutest little noises at the gentle scrubs. Poor thing was filthy. Must have been on the streets for a while. Broke your heart. Such a brave little solider. Able to handle out there for as long as they did.

“Let’s dry you off and feed you.” You would lift the little thing up, and made sure they got nice and dry. Get all that grime off them. Certainly seemed alot happier now, so you guess you did a really good job.

Once you stepped out of the bathroom you heard knocking at your door. Who’s going to be contacting you this late? Let alone you in general? Had you cautious. You first found a strange animal, and now someone was knocking at your door? That didn’t equal good.

“Don’t make a noise. I’ll be right back.” You whispered, as you quickly took them to your room. Plopped right on your bed, and you closed the door.

You would wrap yourself in a bath robe, since you had changed into your sleep wear, and peeped through the peep hole.

The sight sure was strange.

There on the other side had to be the embodiment of sunshine. Had this curious attire of blue and browns, a suit case in one hand, and a stick in the other? Why does this fluffy haired guy have a stick with him? Maybe you just couldn’t see properly from the peep hole.

“Who’s at the door?!” You called, and you watched those big sparkling eyes light up. Excited that someone was home.

“Ah yes! Uh you don’t know me but you have something of mine! A sweet little thing. His name is Teddy! He’s mine. My Ni-Uh. Mine. Just mine!” He called back, as you were confused. How did he know you had something?

“One moment!” You figured you would see if he was right. You would quickly return to your bedroom, seeing the animal still on your bed, and called out.

“Come here Teddy-!”

And like that he was running right over you. Quick to jump into your arms.

Ok, maybe this guy had some truth. Still, you had questions.

You would return to the door, only to see that all the locks on the door were undone. Had you so horribly confused. There was a number of locks in a variety of styles there. No way you forgot to lock them all. Could you?

That’s when the door opened, and the man stepped in. The way Teddy seemed to squeak for the strangers attention. Hands reaching out like a toddler who wanted their mother. Was just so human. Seemed like Teddy really loved this stranger.

So, you didn’t refuse.

“OH TEDDY I WAS SO WORRIED-!” He sounded ready to sob, as he held Teddy close. Tears in the corner of his eyes as Teddy held the man’s face. Giving his cheek plenty of Nuzzles.

“You seem suspiciously clean for running around out there. Did you wash him? Did you take care of him-?” He spoke with such enthusiasm. Was like he might burst into confetti.

“Uh yeah. I just saw him hiding by some trash cans and I just couldn’t leave him behind. He wasn’t aggressive in the slightest either. Poor Teddy was cold, and just alone. I was actually about to try and feed him even.”

You were soon yanked into a rather tight hug. Felt like he might squeeze you lifeless. Teddy made sure to crawl over his daddy’s shoulder to avoid being crushed. Just snuggled away into his neck. Happy to be back.

“Oh you are truly a gift. Oh I don’t know how I can ever repay such kindness and warmth you’ve given him. Oh he’s my everything really. He gets into trouble often, sure, but he’s mine.” He explained, before finally letting you go. Little cheek kisses were given from Teddy, and the man would happily nuzzle into them. Was so clear that this wasn’t some poacher or animal smuggler. That made you feel better.

“So uh. Who are you exactly?”

That had his ears a soft pink, and a shy laugh left him.

“Oh blimey. Pardon me. The name is Newt. Newt Scamander. I’m Ma…I uh mean a Zoologist. I travel around the world studying animals, rescuing those that I can, and just loving nature. The pay isn’t that great but it’s worth it.” He would offer you a hand, and you would shake it in return. Telling him your name as well. And your own career.

“So kinda like a nomad. Does that mean you don’t have a place to stay?” You questioned, as he seemed to avoid your eyes for a moment. As if either to embarrassed to admit it, or trying to quickly come up with a lie.

“Well um. You see…I was currently trying to get a room for myself, but someone had to go running off. Can’t really blame him though. He adores shiny things. I should have been more careful. I know he has a weakness to things that shimmer and sparkle. It was all on me.” He would admit, as you had to respect that he was taking accountability.

“I mean. One night can’t hurt, right?” You couldn’t help it. This guy seemed to not be native here in the slightest. Said he’s a world traveler, sure, but it seems he’s not used to a concrete jungle. Wasn’t dressed for it, and sure didn’t seem like he was prepared at all. Did he really just only have that suit case with him? To travel the world? Something seemed….Off.

“Oh no no. You’ve already done so much. You’ve protected my baby. I can’t be asking you more-“ He tried to persuade you away, but your curiosity was to peaked. This guy was weird. Didn’t give any bad vibes kinda weird. Just….So peculiar.

“It’s one night really. You must have been hunting Teddy for hours. You didn’t get a chance to find a room, and it’s super late now. I can’t just throw you into the streets. One night. Just one.” You tried to logically explain, only to get another near back breaking hug.

“Oh I’ll never be able to repay your kindness. Oh your heart is so full. No wonder Teddy trusted you. Teddy has always been a brilliant judge of character. He knew you were a good person. No way would he let a stranger just hold him, let alone wash him. Oh thank you-!” You could feel the tears of relief in your shoulder, and all you could do was rub his back. Letting him breathe.

So that was how you ended up with a stranger living on your couch. Well, can’t say stranger given you knew his name now. Still! Most people would call you insane for doing such a thing.

Maybe you were.

But hey! Insane people have the most fun!

Besides, he’s pretty damn cute. Cute to see him snuggled into the couch, with Teddy under his arm, and his suitcase slid under the couch. Made sure to stay out of sight. You figured it was full of valuable paper work.

Did make you wonder though.

Where the hell did those pajamas he was wearing come from then? Did he just have them in that case and papers?

He was just full of to many questions to ignore.

He’s a stranger, but you just had to learn more.

Learn what made that man tick.

[cowboy-heart]

'The Femme ABCs'

made for a beloved friend (inspired by 'The Alpha-Butch Song' by Lesléa Newman) :)

(ID in read more!)

[ID: an original poem titled 'The Femme ABCs':

aggressive femme, always vigilant, black femme, ever so radiant.

charismatic femme, knows how to make them swoon, dorky femme, who laughs like a baboon.

ego femme, who knows his worth, funtime femme, all about the girth.

greying femme, showing off dazzling greys, hard-eyed femme, tattooed and hard to phase.

idiosyncratic femme, wearing every colour and pattern that exists, juvenile femme, never been kissed.

knightly femme, chivalrous and full of heart, loverboy femme, them and their sweetheart never part.

mister femme, dapper in a suit and tie, nervous femme, too shy to say hi.

old-school femme, a lifeline revered by others, pillow princess femme, a home to their lovers.

queen femme, a top who knows how to please, really fat femme, has everyone on their knees.

sisterly femme, preferring to kiss femme dolls, trans femme, fills the place with love and soul.

ubiquitous femme, patching up the wounds and bringing the meals, valentine femme, always donning pink and heels.

witty femme, full of brain and remarks, x-ray femme, knows how to make a butch spark.

yearning femme, lipstick marks on every letter, zany femme, his silly nature makes everyone feel better.

now I know my ABCs, which femme will be friends with me?

Poem ends. at the bottom, it is signed by the poet as 'Ren H.' end ID]

[deadtower]

Do you like books about guys and girls that spend the entire book as best friends and don’t get together at any point in the story?

Do you like books where “aaaaagggghhhhh [my telekinesis throws the furniture across the room]” is not just a hilarious Tumblr post, but also something that happens at regular intervals to the deuteragonist?

Do you like books where sixteen-year-olds get sacrificed by their parents to eldritch gods that live in their basement but the sacrifice doesn’t entirely take and they Come Back… Right? Sort Of????

WELL THEN HAVE I GOT THE BOOK FOR YOU.

(It’s my first book and also, like, it’s free on Kindle Unlimited and only $4.99 on Kindle, and if you really can’t afford it, you can send me a message with your email and I can send you a PDF of it, so like… why not, y’know.)

[acertainmoshke]

I am officially a published author!

7 Days for Fae is a low-stakes middle grade book following 10-year-old Fae as she makes a new friend, learns to accommodate her own needs, and helps her family get along. Featuring an autistic protagonist with supportive parents, a big imagination, and a b-plot about showing her aunt that there’s nothing wrong with one of her parents being trans. It also contains 4 lovely illustrations by Marta Maszkiewicz like this one:

Find it as a paperback on Amazon or Lulu, or as an ebook on Lulu!

Full blurb under the cut:

Fae struggles to do a lot of things that are easy for other kids. She has a hard time talking, running, and reading facial expressions. She finds other things easy: reading, making up stories about fairies, flapping her hands to tell the world she’s happy. But in 5th grade it’s not good to be different, no matter how much she can’t help being disabled.

Now Fae’s aunt is moving in with her family and suddenly nothing feels right—all of the adults are quietly upset for reasons Fae doesn’t understand. Aunt Lana gets mad at her for things she can’t help and makes her feel like a baby. She just wants things to go back to the way they were.

Meanwhile at school, the new kid doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo that Fae is supposed to be invisible. He sits right down next to her and starts talking about spaceships. She isn’t sure what to do with this loud boy, but when he still wants to be her friend after a meltdown gets her suspended, it seems worth giving him a shot.

And now, as her life is falling apart, it looks like it might be up to Fae to discover if people really can change, and if change can sometimes make everyone’s life better.

[rosesrotofficial]

"Are you missin' me?"

it's november 18! can you believe the devil is a scorpio? happy birthday to our dearest goreboy!! 🔪 🍰

(art by @munstxr)

interested in more killer chat?

we'd love to hear more! check out this survey about the future of killer chat and help spread the rot <3

[ellipsus-writes]

(Read on our blog)

Beginning in 1933, the Nazis burned books to erase the ideas they feared—works of literature, politics, philosophy, criticism; works by Jewish and leftist authors, and research from the Institute for Sexual Science, which documented and affirmed queer and trans identities.

(Nazis collect "anti-German" books to be destroyed at a Berlin book-burning on May 10, 1933 (Source)

Stories tell truths.

These weren’t just books; they were lifelines.

Writing by, for, and about marginalized people isn’t just about representation, but survival. Writing has always been an incredibly powerful tool—perhaps the most resilient form of resistance, as fascism seeks to disconnect people from knowledge, empathy, history, and finally each other. Empathy is one of the most valuable resources we have, and in the darkest times writers armed with nothing but words have exposed injustice, changed culture, and kept their communities connected.

(A Nazi student and a member of the SA raid the Institute for Sexual Science's library in Berlin, May 6, 1933. Source)

Less than two weeks after the US presidential inauguration, the nightmare of Project 2025 is starting to unfold. What these proposals will mean for creative freedom and freedom of expression is uncertain, but the intent is clear. A chilling effect on subjects that writers engage with every day—queer narratives, racial justice, and critiques of power—is already manifest. The places where these works are published and shared may soon face increased pressure, censorship, and legal jeopardy.

And with speed-run fascism comes a rising tide of misinformation and hostility. The tech giants that facilitate writing, sharing, publishing, and communication—Google, Microsoft, Amazon, the-hellscape-formerly-known-as-Twitter, Facebook, TikTok—have folded like paper in a light breeze. OpenAI, embroiled in lawsuits for training its models on stolen works, is now positioned as the AI of choice for the administration, bolstered by a $500 billion investment. And privacy-focused companies are showing a newfound willingness to align with a polarizing administration, chilling news for writers who rely on digital privacy to protect their work and sources; even their personal safety.

Where does that leave writers?

Writing communities have always been a creative refuge, but they’re more than that now—they are a means of continuity. The information landscape is shifting rapidly, so staying informed on legal and political developments will be essential for protecting creative freedom and pushing back against censorship wherever possible. Direct your energy to the communities that need it, stay connected, check in on each other—and keep backup spaces in case platforms become unsafe.

We can’t stress this enough—support tools and platforms that prioritize creative freedom. The systems we rely on are being rewritten in real time, and the future of writing spaces depends on what we build now. We at Ellipsus will continue working to provide space for our community—one that protects and facilitates creative expression, not undermines it.

Above all—keep writing.

Keep imagining, keep documenting, keep sharing—keep connecting. Suppression thrives on silence, but words have survived every attempt at erasure.

- The Ellipsus team

[emberwhite]

The Drunk, The Gambler, and The Lover is a novella about loneliness, isolation, and addiction, all stemming from the feeling of being unseen and misunderstood.

The Drunk lives in a mysterious, detached reality with a deep desire for connection.

The Gambler dreams of playing at the largest casino tables but is impulsive as he is clever and calculating.

The Lover is on the hunt for his darling and is as bold, hot-headed, and fiery as they come.

The soulful story of three degenerates begins here.

Launch Date: January 14th, 2025 Ebook pre-orders now available on Amazon

[franklyn-newt]

Hey hey, it's the trans rights readathon soon and Synthetic Sea is included in an itch bundle starting at $20 for 40+ books to stock up your ereaders ! There's something from every genre so take a look and support some trans authors 💜💜💜💜

[ashleyrowanthewriter]

Trans Girl's Journey

No Fool's shell is everlasting.

They just need a little crack.

While the journey is long-lasting

The Mage knows her right track.

She shall look into the gaze

Of the eyes of High Priestess.

Empress her bravery shall praise.

Her promise shall seem sweetest.

Emperors she shall look out for

That try to restrict her self.

With Popes she shall learn how to work

And how to shout for herself.

A Lover she shall come to be

Per some chance with no lariat.

She shall take the sugary key.

She shall drive in her Chariot.

She will find Strength as a Hermit

To stay strong against the fate.

The Wheel of Fortune always spins.

It brings love and it brings hate.

For Justice she will become Hanged

And her Death she shall embrace.

Even if in one friendship strand.

She will find in life Temperance.

Time will come when she'll have to face

The Devil. There is no space to cope.

The Tower she'll rebuild misplaced

With the Star and its great hope.

She will fear the gaze of the Moon

And dangers it will foretell.

But the Sun will also rise soon

And will break its dreadful spell.

She shall face the Judgement severe.

Everything will get uncurled.

And she shall to herself become dear

And look with love at her World.

*************

I was inspired by the Trans Girl Trading Cards by @unholytgirl and @sadcoldcoffee and also my passion for Tarot. Seriously, if I could draw I would love to draw a card myself. So here's my contribution.

[transman-badass]

Well, it's Pride month. Can I interest anyone in some scary short stories starring trans masc detectives? You can get them PWYW over on itch!

FRIEND OF THE DAMNED: gaslamp fantasy/gothic horror. A grieving medium, a locked room, a young detective and roaming "dogs"... Owen Rosedown writes a letter to the one person who will understand the dreadful events at the Glint Hall Hotel.

LOCK THE LAST DOOR: Cthulhu Mythos Noir. Hired to find a runaway youth, private detective Lazarus Core finds himself trapped in an old house by his sworn rival, the crime lord Harlan Thompson. What happened here? Lazarus will regret finding out.

You can also get them on my Ko-fi!

Happy Pride! Let's kick ass together!

[ink-flavored]

i caught a glimpse of someone in the mirror today waiting for my t-gel to dry shirtless and smooth with a thin rope necklace a single butterfly ring as a charm hair bleached on one side of its freshly cut shape breasts bound to the chest with skin-colored tape old sweatpants with ancient elastic, sagging at the hips, letting the boxers sneak out a notch that had a stuffed pouch in the crotch yes, this person is almost myself a wo/man i almost recognize despite his imperfections, i took a picture of her because i know how quickly time flies

                                       – mirror mirror

Poetry Taglist: @elegant-paper-collection​ @polyphonetic @qelizhus @livums @auroblaze @stardustanddaffodils  @thelaughingstag @ceph-the-ghost-writer @auntdarth @srjacksin @alesseia @maxdamaz