knightsrequiem8

[knightsrequiem8]

Breaking the Cycle

(A story heavily inspired by The Dark Queen of Mortholme)

The first time I meet you, you are a nuisance.

There is nothing remarkable about you. Just another upstart adventurer who has gotten it in their head that they should kill me. No fancy armor, no legendary weapon, I’m not even sure how you made it past all of my guards.

You die at my feet with a single blow from my weapon.

And I pay no mind to another dead hero.

-

The next few times all blur together. More adventurers challenging my rule, more would-be heroes falling to my blade.

It’s not until the 6th or 7th time that I realize it’s you. That they’ve all been you.

Your hood falls back, and I recognize your dark curls. Even in death you glare up at me in defiance.

And I start to consider the deaths I’ve given you.

-

The first time I acknowledge it, I do nothing more than confuse us both.

I’m no stranger to protected heroes, and I’ve dealt with my fair share of resurrecting types, but this sort of resurrection is usually the realm of my side of the fight.

It’s simple, a grumbled “You again?” when you stumble into my throne room.

But then your face scrunches up in confusion, and you tell me you’ve never seen me before, that you traveled here from the village you were raised in to end my tyrannical reign.

You die to my blade all the same, but your words echo in my skull.

-

I realize that it has been too long since I last left my throne room. The dark pact allows my body to subsist purely on the power of my empire, so I don’t strictly *need* to leave.

But I fear I have grown complacent.

I ask my minions about you, and they seem confused. They tell me that none of the adventurers they’ve seen recently match your description.

But I remember you. I remember intimately now, each time you’ve fallen to my blade. The defiant look you give me as the light leaves your eyes, it’s the same every time.

The next time I see you, I ask you your name before killing you.

-

You’ve gotten better at fighting me, somehow, inexplicably. Despite the fact that you clearly do not remember our encounters, you’ve started to react better to my attack patterns. It takes me longer to kill you now. You’re still nowhere near skilled enough to truly challenge me, but it is curious nonetheless.

I greet you by your name, the next time you step into my throne room. I tell you that I know you, that we have fought many times before. I tell you not to be afraid when you fall to my blade, and that we will see each other again regardless.

You are shaken by this, and for the first time I see something other than defiance in your gaze when I kill you.

-

I start to notice the patterns.

Whatever is happening seems to be bigger than just the two of us. Things change every time I kill you. Not quite different, but not quite the same.

I start to realize that you always reach my throne room at the same time, on the same day. The shadows are always the same, the sun is always at the same spot in the sky.

I ask my minions about you again, and they give me the same response, word for word.

Something happens when I kill you. Something happens, and the needle skips, and I remember, but the world does not.

-

The next time you stumble into my throne room, I am prepared. I have a gift for you.

I toss a legendary blade at your feet. One of a number in my collection. It glows in your hands when you lift it, and I smile for the first time in a long time. It’s the first time you’ve seen me smile, certainly. I wonder what is going through your head, seeing me for the first time like this. Am I what you expected? Have I ever been?

Will I ever be?

Our fight this time is much more satisfying, but you die all the same. The smile fades from my face, just as the light fades from your sword.

I start to wonder at the point of all of this.

-

The next time an adventurer steps into my throne room, it is not you.

I look up expecting to see your face, and instead see another.

I am at once both confused and furious, I slaughter them before they can take another step into my domain.

I am also terrified.

I find myself fearing for the loss of what we have, whatever it is. Has our strange dance ended? Or has it merely been interrupted? And why? The pattern has lasted far too long to assume it would change. You are a constant in my life now. The one break in the monotony of my rule.

In a horrible realization, I learn that I have come to care for you.

-

You return the next time, and I am ashamed of the relief I feel.

It confuses you, I imagine. The relieved smile that splits my face when you step into my throne room.

“It is good to see you again,” I tell you, tossing your blade at your feet (I am already considering it yours).

“Again?” You ask, and I chuckle. It is a strange game we play with each other. I have grown and changed since the first time we met, but you still barge into my throne room the same as you did the first time.

I tell you that you didn’t show up last time, and that I had feared this little dance of ours was over. I tell you that I am glad that it isn’t. This flusters you, and you swing the blade to distract from your nerves.

When you die this time, I brush your eyelids closed with my fingertips.

-

The next time you come, I leave your sword at the entrance to my castle. I tell my minions that it is yours if you can take it.

When you confront me, you are much more skilled with this blade than the previous times, having learned the weight of it against my minions.

I find myself challenged for the first time in a long time, and I find myself smiling again.

And then you die, and the smile falls from my face.

-

I am not in the throne room the next time you arrive. I am standing out on a terrace, observing the view from my dark castle when you stumble through a door looking confused. My weapon rests, sheathed, against the railing. I turn to you and smile.

The legendary blade rests comfortably in your hand, you are confident with it now. When you look up at me, there is no sign of fear in your eyes.

“You weren’t in the throne room,” You say, confusion creasing your brow, “Why weren’t you in your throne room?”

The way you say this gives me pause for a moment. As if that is where I am meant to be, where I am expected to be. It makes me consider this cycle we keep going through, and whether I truly have any control in this game we play.

“Is a queen not entitled to the fruits of her empire?” I ask, gesturing to the view from the terrace. And then I surprise myself. “It’s quite a view, would you like to join me for a moment?”

I see the way you look at me, wary and suspicious, and I try to ignore the small spark of hope in my heart, that you will spend this moment with me.

And then you lower your weapon slightly, and step up to the railing. I hear you gasp as you glimpse the vista. Vast lands stretch out before us, rolling hills cut through with rivers, and jagged mountains visible in the distance. A small smile graces my lips.

I’ve been smiling quite a bit more since I met you.

“Why are you showing me this?”

Your voice is quiet, confused, and I let out resigned sigh. I start to speak, and you surprise me by listening. I tell you that I have learned much from you. I tell you, again, about the cycle I am seemingly trapped in, fighting you over and over again, and being the only one who remembers. Reluctantly, I tell you that I am scared. I tell you that I fear for my own agency, I fear that I have no control over this repeating cycle of events, that I am trapped here, doomed to repeat our encounters unto infinitum.

Finally, I tell you that I am scared that it will end. In a quiet voice I tell that I am scared the cycle will stop, and I will lose this strange connection I have with you. The first genuine connection I have felt in a very long time.

And then it is quiet.

I stare out at the vista, avoiding your gaze. There are not tears on my cheeks, but it is a close thing.

Your voice is soft when you speak again. You tell me you don’t think you can stop yourself from trying to kill me, that it is in your nature. It is what you have been working towards all your life. Who are you, without a tyrant to slay? And indeed who am I, without a hero to challenge me?

I nod in acceptance. It is nothing less than I expected.

“Do what you must, then,” I say, keeping my eyes on the view, and leaving my sword resting against the railing. “I am tired of killing the one person I care for.”

And then, for the first time since this dance started, you win.

I pray that it is everything you hoped for.

[knightsrequiem8]

[knightsrequiem8]

rapist girl who only ever fantasized abt doing really softcore romantic stuff with you so when she finally breaks it's less painful violation and more putting a shock collar on you so you can't run away from her during your arcade date

[knightsrequiem8]

dragons enslaving humans

[knightsrequiem8]

BUDDY you're a BOY you're a BIG BIG BOY you're a BIG BIG BIG BIG BIG BIG BOY you got mud on your face you BIG BIG BOY kicking your can all over the place singing WEE wee WEE wee WEE wee WEE wee

[knightsrequiem8]

girl dragon who only chooses girl riders and when she gets assigned a guy she starts disobeying every order they give and trying to buck them off. which really could indicate anything about her

[knightsrequiem8]

[knightsrequiem8]

[knightsrequiem8]

Comedians in the '70s and cartoons in the '90s: weird how your kids can watch violence and murder on TV but the FCC wants us dead if we say the word nipple.

Internet users in 2025: you didn't warn me that there would be erotic themes in the game you just mentioned which is fucked up because I thought it was going to be a normal "morally struggle with killing people" game but now it's gone too far :-/

[knightsrequiem8]

"dark academia" just say postgrad depression

[knightsrequiem8]

A cute guy likes me on a dating app. After chatting with them for weeks, we decide to go on a date. They are very flirtatious and forward over the app, but not when we meet in person. He admits he thought I was transmasc like him, we laugh about it because his mistake is funny and means I'm not passing but in a silly backwards way. I think his sudden awkwardness in person may be nervousness and flirt with him in ways less forward and aggressive than he'd been flirting with me earlier, and they become cold and distant for the rest of the date. By the time I get home they've blocked me on the app we met on. This case of being mistaken as a transmasc on a dating app will happen 3 more times, and in 2/3 times it results in a similar sudden lack of interest where once they were coming on to me. None of these people will be cis.

I am in a self defense class for queer people, learning hand to hand combat as a community. I have been here months. I notice I'm the only transfem in the classes but there are other trans people there so I don't think much of it. Today I have some stubble as I did not have time to shave before the early morning class. When discussing unrealistic action movie and anime fight scenes I describe on of my favorites, quoting the lines as I pantomime the goofy moves. They smile and laugh along until the word bitch leaves my lips in one quote, then the bisexual woman who only ever they/thems me glares at me like I've committed a grevious crime, and the rest of the class looks at me like a freak in awkward silence for a moment before moving on. I learn bitch is not a word a clocky bitch can "reclaim". I am quiet in classes now, and when I go I focus primarily on the training, when I see other trans women try it out they often give me a sad look and do not return for a second class. I get a sinking feeling that if I ever use this training to save my life one day I'd be branded a violent man instead of a strong woman.

I am texting with a good friend of years who was one of the people who helped me realize I was trans like them and even the one who helped pick out my name loves talking about our shared interests and sharing their favorite smut with me. We bond over favorite stories, artists, characters, and kinks as well as our trans experience. Yet they constantly tell me they could never date someone who's AMAB because of the trauma of being "female socialized" and their genital preferences for vulvas. Every compliment they have ever given me on my appearance or outfit is followed up by "but in a non-sexual way, I could never date you". Today I finally have the courage tell them they don't need to say that every time. They ignore this response. We keep talking for awhile, but they start taking months to respond to my messages and respond with a short sentence at most. They no longer share details about their life and shut me out when I ask or share details about mine, even the most mundane and chaste details. I stop talking to them. A birthday gift I bought them months before this falling out happened looms at me in my closet. I cannot use it as it doesn't fit me but can't bring myself to throw it away, just in case we reconcile one day. I feel pathetic for craving friendship with someone who sees me as "abuser-bodied", that so much of my early stages would've been impossible without their help. I feel a little more lost without them.

I am at a queer/trans/enby kink dance party with some friends. I am scantily clad and wearing a skirt and high heeled boots. I do not pass well so this space is one of the few places I feel safe and free dressing like this. It is packed with queer and trans people just like me engaged in delightful debauchery and wearing very little. The music hurts my ears but I'm happy to be here, I feel overstimulated but alive and authentic. I am approached by a beautiful stranger from across the dance floor, she is graceful and stylish, like some modern Galadriel clad in leather, white lace, and industrial piercings with impeccable voice training. She compliments my outfit, I compliment hers. She tells me I need to shave my armpits if I want to look like a real woman. My two friends stand up for me and yell at her. They assure me she was just being an asshole, that women were supposed to be hairy, but I can't help but notice how both of them have hairy armpits and yet the "advice" targeted me. The wide range of bodies that people here tonight find desirable on cis women don't seem to apply to the women like me. I am the only one of us that doesn't go home with a hookup at the end of the night. I realize now she likely spoke from experience. I am still hurt by her words, but realizing the kinds of experiences she must have had herself to feel her words were kind advice hurts far worse.

A local queer photographer who's work I follow is looking for women & non-binary models for a photoshoot. I have become comfortable with getting photos taken of me for the first time in my life since my egg cracked, and had a few small time modeling gigs under my belt. With something like this I could actually have the beginnings of a portfolio. I reach and am told that they are not looking for trans women models, "only women and AFABs". Getting the same line I get from agencies from an independent queer photographer repackaged in "woke" terminology stings. I see many queer and nonbinary models I looked up to take part in the shoot. I have to wonder if they knew that the photographer's definition of woman didn't include trans women, or if like me in my martial arts class they noticed no transfems were there but didn't think much of it because there were other trans people there.

It is years ago and I am still an egg. I am with my partner of 4 years. I am exhausted after a long day. She asks me for sex in the voice that I know means saying no will hurt her. I learned from her long ago men have high and insatiable sex drives, therefore saying no meant I wanted to have sex, just not with her. So I say yes. The sex is painful and unsatisfying, and I simply do my best to thrust through the discomfort until she cums. I feel numb and hurt. She enjoys herself but seems sad I did not cum. I assure her I love her. When we hold eachother after my obligation has been met and I finally feel comfortable and safe. We begin talking. She talks about the trashy women she saw on the street today, describing their cringe outfits and ugly styles and bad hair. All the styles and clothes and hair I yearn to try myself in my deepest and most repressed desires. I change the subject and ask her about work and family. She asks if I'd still love her if she were a man and I say yes. She says she would still love me if I were a woman. Something in that statement feels like a lie. It is months later when we break up and I move out. Now that I am a woman I look back and know from our years together that if I were a woman then she'd hate the kind of woman I'd become. That if I were a woman she'd still have the same expectations of me as a man, that her refusal of sex equated an impersonal not being in the mood but my refusal of sex equated a cruel refusal of love.

A lesbian group begins organizing a queer woman's strip night event. A safe place for amateur performers to shine and women to perform and enjoy sexuality away from the male gaze. I see no transfems in the promotional material or leadership team, and I've learned not to think nothing of it just because there are other trans people there. I do not go.

I am talking with my therapist. They are trans too and an amazing therapist, often providing insights and advice only someone else with the lived experience of being trans can. I express distress and suicidal ideation at the fact I feel like I need to pass before I can dress the way I want. That until I get expensive hair removal procedures and FFS I can never feel safe and welcome presenting authentically. I lament how these things are expensive and may never be accessible to me. They tell me I need to deal with my "internalized transphobia", as if these feelings aren't a result of constant rejection and othering by external forces even within queer spaces. As if the scrap of womanhood others sometimes acknowledge in me does not rely on their perceptions of me.

There is a publication accepting works from trans people of all stripes to document trans experiences. It gets flamed for not having a single transfem as a contributor. The people behind it apologize profusely, they say didn't notice no transfems had sent work in and would do a sequel publication that was transfem-centric. I wonder if anyone had noticed there were no transfems but didn't think much of it because there were other trans people there. I think about the kinds of spaces I've seen like that, and the implications it has about how they treat transfems, and I am unsurprised no transfems submitted.

One of my closest friends for years is very supportive of me when I first begin crossdressing and experimenting with they/them pronouns. She gives me suggestions on cute clothes to wear and takes me shopping as well as asks for pictures. We had helped eachother discover we were both queer as young teens, come to terms with it, and navigate it in a hostile environment, so I have complete trust. We are close enough we are frequently asking eachother advice on serious life choices & relationships, sending nudes for critique + tips before sending them to our partners, and sharing our most secret and vulnerable moments. She often asks me for tips on getting her straight boyfriends into pegging and crossdressing that make me slightly uncomfortable but I don't mind, she is a loyal friend I would endure a great many discomforts for. I host a lunch for us one day, and come out to her as a trans woman. I tell her my new name, say I no longer use he/him pronouns, and thank her for her support on my journey thus far. She launches into a monologue about how by changing my name I am throwing away all our memories together and spitting in the face of my family. Taken aback by her sudden heel turn after being so supportive of me being nonbinary and GNC, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom to get a break and give her some time to process. When I am in the bathroom trying not to cry, she is on the phone. I overhear her misgendering me as she is talking about me being bisexual in a frightened voice. She sounds truly afraid that I intend to be sexually violent towards her. When I leave the bathroom and sit back down I pretend not to have heard. She gets off the phone, saying she was just chatting with her boyfriend. We talk a bit longer, she explains how "the surgery" is dangerous and experimental and she hopes I won't get it. I assure her I won't and do my best to change the subject and hope she comes around after some time to process things, hurt and shocked that what I saw as a natural shift in the path I was already on marked me as frightening in her eyes after knowing eachother for over a decade. That a fellow bisexual suddenly saw my bisexuality as dangerous now that I was asserting myself as a trans woman. I say goodbye to her, and she says goodbye to me using my deadname, I do not risk an argument to correct her. It is months after the meeting we have not seen eachother since and she has not responded to any messages I sent. After reflecting on her reaction further I decide that I don't really want to spend time with someone who thinks these things about me for my own safety and mental health, regardless of our history. A friend of 14 years who supported my queerness and transness gone the instant I crossed an intangible woman-shaped line that marked me as a predator and invader in her eyes.

I log online and day after day see trans women getting banned and harassed. Seeing baseless callout posts calling them groomers and abusers getting taken seriously by other queer and trans people. Seeing proof that deep down so many people I consider kindred spirits see me and people like me as worthy of intense scrutiny and policing to keep "the queer community" safe and united. The blocklist grows but everything stays the same. I treasure the people in my life who don't take part in this and would do anything for them, but it seems they get fewer each time.

I'm not making this post to seek sympathy, I am used to this kind of shit and far worse has happened to myself and others. I just make this to illustrate transmisogyny is not some "online-only" issue like people claim. Even if online issues weren't "real" (as healed is fond of saying, "online is real") this has tangible effects in the way trans women are treated offline as well. By communities, friends, partners, colleagues, systems, etc. That's why we talk about it.

So much of the discussions people have paint transmisogyny as some online oppression olympics maliciously trying to divide the community, smear transmascs, and "reinvent bioessentialism". That is not what it is about. Discussions about transmisogyny is about how we are treated for being what we are, and while related to transphobia and misogyny it is seperate because it often represents doors other trans people and women can walk through that transfems cannot. It has affected me in my most intimate moments when I was with other trans and queer people I felt safe around, and taught me that I need to carefully manage my persona and presentation at all times lest my authenticity be branded "male socialization". I am even terrified to express attraction to people who express attraction towards me because I'm so used to being treated like a predator upon reciprocating or being used and abandoned by people I trusted. I am terrified to be too excited about shared interests with friends lest I be too loud or talkative about it and branded with aggressive male socialization. So I make myself quiet and small, and shrink from the community and people I care about, and become more and more isolated.

Anyways, stop platforming anons who spread lies about trans women, stop hopping on TERF harassment campaigns because the trans gal they're smearing "gave you bad vibes", and maybe consider carefully if in your own life where you draw the line for a transfem's behavior is any different from where you'd draw the line for anyone who's not one.

[knightsrequiem8]

Listening to a podcast

"Let's take a word from our sponsor."

*Skip ahead a minute* "You can-"

*Skip ahead a minute* "Use code-"

*Skip ahead a minute* "300,000-"

*Skip ahead a minute* "300,000-"

*Skip ahead a minute* "T-shirts-"

*Skip ahead a minute* "Motherfuck-"

*Go back 15 seconds*

[knightsrequiem8]

another pet peeve I have with fiction is when the narrative treats the need to leave an illusory or fantasy reality for The Real World as self-evident

[knightsrequiem8]

Hey op can I get a source?

[knightsrequiem8]

If anyone wants to know what a leopard seal sounds like 🦷🩸

[knightsrequiem8]

xReader fic but you hate each other

[knightsrequiem8]

WHAT is even the point of mind controlling a hero if it doesn't feel good. if you can't make them like it. if they don't learn to want it.