#past misgendering

[heuldoch7b]

you can just draw whatever you want

[anirritant]

(This a continuation of previous events found here and here. Also uhh this got longer than I thought and a bit edgier than I planned oops....)

(TW for mentions of torture and murderous intent I guess??? my guy is less-than-hinged lmao. it doesn't go too in-depth)

Okay. Darkrai... hadn't expected this, but, he can't say he doesn't understand how the other him was acting. He knows now that he'd been too hasty in his excitement, babbling and possibly coming across as, well, mildly deranged. He'd usually have more tact, okay? He's had a terribly long day filled with scheming and manipulating and battling and, ahem, acting. As well as a particularly turbulent travel through time, to top off everything else. Could you blame him for slipping a bit when he hasn't been permitted any rest?

So, yes, he certainly may have come across as rather off-putting. Depending on just how far in the past he's been sent, this version of him may not have even thought of messing with time yet, making his claims seem rather out-of-nowhere. Or, the other may believe him to be an illusionary impostor, not being experienced enough to easily see through those cheap tricks (that are, of course, not cheap when used by himself,) like he can now.

He knew exactly why the other reacted like this -- centuries of being endlessly backstabbed would lead anyone to being quite distrustful, and clearly those centuries are fresh memories for his previous self. Centuries more had it taken to refine his ability to pick out truths from deception, and he's led to believe that the other lacks those many latter years of experience.

Though, even extensive experience in detecting a lack of untruths may not've have been enough to mitigate suspicion. If he had been met by his future self who fervently divulged plans to team up for world domination, he'd be ecstatic! Which, of course, would lead straight into suspicion because nothing ever goes his way like that. It'd sound too good to be true. So, yes, he can understand.

But that didn't make it any less irritating and demeaning. Him, HIM, elicitor of nightmares and despair, being dragged about by his hair like an unruly hatchling!? If it weren't necessary to prove he's on the other's side, (if he weren't too injured to fight back,) he'd be tearing the insolent fool to shreds!

As it is, he flails and shrieks indignantly.

"What are you DOING!?", he cries, grabbing at the claws entangled in his hair, "We're on the same side! We have the same goals -- or, well, they aren't your goals yet, but they will be!"

The other simply ignores him and continues pulling him along as he defiantly rakes his legs into the dirt in an ineffective attempt to slow them both. The other glares at the sight of the ruined grass left in their trail but says nothing, continuing to drag him towards the edge of the island, in the opposite direction of the larger landmass. Towards the closer island he'd spotted before.

Ignoring him... Ignoring him!? The nerve--! Had he truly possessed such arrogance in his youth!?

... Well. Don't answer that.

He still hasn't stopped sputtering and ranting even after they've left the land behind and begun traversing the water, forcing him to begin floating as well lest he get his legs wet. And his past self still hasn't said anything! He'd find the self-restraint admirable and compliment himself for it -- the other's accomplishments are his accomplishments, after all -- if it weren't utterly infuriating! He should be using this time allowing his strength to return and concocting a new plan for a global apocalypse, not... this!

Feeling exceptionally petty, he abruptly stops supporting his own weight around three minutes into their traversal over water. He'd been remarkably agreeable so far, he'd say, but he's reached his limit. If his past self was so intent on ignoring his words, and so intent on dragging him who-knows-where, then the other can support the weight of both of them. Hmph.

Next thing he knew, he was being dunked into the water.

He coughed and spat and gagged and wheezed as he shot himself upwards, only to get rudely yanked back down by the hair again. The other had finally paused their journey, and instead was... laughing! At HIM! No, he's had enough, he cannot let this slide! He is the other's senior by centuries, he is the authority here, he would NOT be laughed at!

"You... Y-you--!!" He cut himself off as he started violently heaving again, producing even more laughter from the other.

His breathing became ragged and harsh, a low, animalistic growl ripping from his throat. His claws clenched so hard it was painful and he suspected he had drawn blood, but he didn't care to check.

Now. Darkrai had had a very long, very tiring, exhausting, humiliating, wretched day. But he'd weaseled his way out of it, he thought. He'd gotten out alive, he was somewhere away from those that would've ended him, somewhere even he hadn't recognised, somewhere they would be very hard-pressed to find. Somewhere to rest, regain his strength, and plan another attempt.

Even better, he found who he was certain would be an ally to him. Who better to team up with than himself? No one else would ever understand the unbridled hate bubbling away inside him, no one else would ever share a desire for his ideal world, he'd accepted that and decided long ago that he simply didn't quite care about what others thought.

But now he had someone that would understand, right? Someone he could talk to, right? Someone he could rule the world alongside, right? Someone to treat him with respect for once in his horrid, cursed existence? Right?

So why, why, even now, is humiliation still all he ever endures?

In mere seconds his fury had turned downright murderous. He'd tried explaining himself, he'd avoided violence, he'd tried what amounts to his version of being nice, simply because he was dealing with his own immature self. But his efforts were ignored, and he was reduced to something to laugh at. Of course. Of course! It's nothing new, is it!? Nothing ever changes. Nothing, nothing, nothing. No respect for Darkrai, never ANY respect for Darkrai!

The abrupt urge to kill the prompter of that infernal chorus of phantom laughter echoing in his head was overwhelming. Were it any other being in existence his rage was directed towards, he would have, right there, right now. His claws were trembling, not from the sopping cold, but from the sheer effort it took to not clamp them around that neck and squeeze.

But he cannot. That would have disastrous consequences for himself, and he couldn't have that. And that's fine. Yes, that's fine. Fine.

Because he has a better idea. A much, much better idea.

A delirious calm washes over him. Yes, it's okay that he can't strangle the other to death, you see? His past, young, silly self simply needs guidance. Needs to be taught respect, needs to have the grave error pointed out, needs to recognise the difference in power, the inferiority to him.

There's a proven formula for this. Proven to him, and then by him, again and again and again over his several-millennia-long existence. It always proves true, always, that the only reliable path to respect is to instil sheer, abject terror.

He cannot truly kill the other, but, in his domain, in a nightmare? He can kill, over, and over, and over again. He's done so countless times, in the most creative of ways, and he never grew sick of it. He'd go on and on and on, until his victims lose the energy to scream, and then still on and on some more. He hasn't hated enough to subject a victim to such torment in a while. He'll savour every second...

The other will try to wrench control away from him, he's certain. Drawing upon the same power, attempting to loosen his iron grip, and failing miserably in a way that cements his place at the top. He is older, he is better, more experienced, superior. He will make it happen. He will. He will.

The other has long-since stopped laughing even as the phantom chorus continues, and is instead eyeing him with confusion and a touch of concern. Hah. Hahah. A bit late for that, he thinks.

With a wheezed, stuttering chuckle of his own, he summons the beginnings of his Dark Void to his claws, already vividly picturing just how he'd go about splintering a mind to pieces this time around. A bit of physical torture, then psychological torment, followed by some obliteration of the sense of self -- that was always so very funny to watch, hah, hah...

...

Why was the world spinning?

He hadn't noticed, too absorbed in his vengeful thoughts, but the summoned Dark Void had barely flickered into existence before weakly petering out. He simply didn't have the strength. The exhaustion, the injuries, a jet-lag equivalent for portal travel, and a touch of possible hypothermia had combined to make him quite frail and ill, and the attempt to draw upon his power only sapped away at what little strength remained.

He was teetering in the air even though he was still being held up by its claws, his eyes unfocused as his body shivered and dripped. The other now felt bad for laughing -- he was clearly much less well than he had seemed. Is that why he had stopped maintaining his own hover, before? They had assumed it was a spiteful act and had therefore allowed him to fall... now they felt really bad.

Why hadn't he just said he was unwell?

Pride, its thoughts hummed immediately. If anything was clear about this supposed "future self" of theirs, it was that he was self-absorbed to a comical degree, and utterly seethed when he wasn't the one in control. He was... well, rather foul and unlikeable and very untrustworthy; the mere thought of him insisting the two of them were the same was skin-crawling. But he was unwell, all the same.

The Darkrai that was not on the brink of collapse looked to the distant island, still quite a ways away. Around two hours if one was travelling alone, but if, say, one had to carry around an unconscious double of themself, it'd be quite a lot longer and more exhausting.

With a sigh, they came to a decision. It wouldn't be ideal treatment, but there was a small stash of medical supplies available, if they returned. It would've been much more preferable to visit Cresselia sooner, but it seems that these ailments need addressing immediately rather than after over two hours of travel. So, for now, a careful Hypnosis lulls the injured to sleep as they carry him back to Newmoon Island.

He'd been so out of it that he hadn't noticed to protest... rather sad.

And, no, the look of murderous rage and the feeble attempt to use Dark Void had not gone unnoticed. A cautionary Disable was cast as well.

[moongothic]

It's at least a little funny whenever there's a new post on r/OnePiece where people start speculating about Crocodile's past and the comment section in bad faith resort to (transphobic) memes

'Cause I'm just here reading the comments like

[cairoscene]

i think a hugely important and often overlooked counterpart to "curate your online experience" is that even when you block and mute and filter, you are still going to see things that upset you and make you uncomfortable. you just are. and just because you were upset or felt uncomfortable doesn't mean you should never have seen it; sometimes things just happen that make you upset. the counterpart is that as well as curating your online experience, you have to learn to manage and deal with your emotions. how you feel is your responsibility and no one else's.

[planarbindings]

why is it that every finance department ever at any job hosts the most incompetent and rude people at the same time. quickly

[vimbry]

who's the commedian who had the trans alter ego? i've tried googling but can't find anyone who fits the bill 😔

peter kay. well-known here, and probably most familiar to "doctor who" fans elsewhere as 'the abzorbaloff in that episode nobody likes'.

the character was called geraldine. she was pretty popular for a few years from about 2008 to 10ish (honestly the peak of this kind of obnoxious comedy), and there were a lot of interview appearances as well as song releases in-character as her.

aside from there being a fair few jokes in her first appearances related to the concept of transitioning, she wasn't a particularly mean-spirited character in herself, but it's pretty obvious that the basis for the humour, like with a lot of british comedy, is "it's funny because the person playing her is actually a man".

[pickled-flowers]

Honestly shout out to my new boss for saying she was willing to get in trouble with corporate to get me a pronoun pin 👍

[lanaevyssmoved]

i wish i found it easier to forgive people who misgender me

[magentagalaxies]

vent incoming:

got my grades back for my courses last semester and most of it was to be expected, mostly A's, maybe an A-, etc. but i honestly can't get over the fact that my independent study (the buddy cole documentary) was for some reason given a B. like sure getting a B isn't bad per se, I usually get at least one B every semester and i honestly don't really care about what my exact gpa is as long as i can graduate, but come on. this school put me through months of psychological torment over this project and didn't even have the nerve to give me a B+??? i'm still coping with the self-doubt they forced on me and this bullshit is not helping!!

[lokh]

there's a very short period of time where my hair is the perfect length before it crosses over to bad mullet stage. and unfortunately we have reached the bad mullet stage

[binch-i-might-be]

also my most useless coworker got into light trouble today because she didn't listen to me. felt good <3

[warlordfelwinter]

everytime i rewatch earlier dunmeshi episodes with the first intro and see thistle do that happy little hurry holding his lute i can just Tell im going to be obsessed with him when i learn more about him like he's Tragic i can just smell it

[befuddled-calico-whump]

(hope you don’t mind me posting this here, as i’d like to stay on anon)

i have a or rather 2 drabble requests/ideas? but feel free to ignore this if neither of these catch your interest :)

either when Tansy finds Cerus and brings him home but from his POV or a glimpse in the (far) future of Cerus

I don't mind at all! Rather, I am excited. I always love suggestions/ideas :D

Penumbra: Unless (Cerus's POV)

cw: illness, beating/abuse, heavily implied deathwish

Tansy's POV ///// Penumbra Masterlist

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He'd heard somewhere, long ago, that the sea air was good for one's health. An old wive's tale. Something to do with the salt winds, and the vast open water. Cerus hadn't much believed it the first time he'd heard it, and the icy rains of late fall washed away what little hope he may have taken in the words.

It was hard to say how long it had been since the miners had handed him over to the shipwrights. A few weeks, perhaps, the time a blend of cold and pain and heavy planks. Not very long in, a cough had settled into his lungs and bodily shivers chased after it, following him even to sleep, when he was finally able to collapse onto a damp wool blanket, the dockside workshed shielding him from the worst of the wind.

Every day he seemed to grow weaker. Every day it became easier to retreat into his mind and let the world around him blur; a collection of cold, aching moments he couldn't pull a true memory from. Much like the mines, his work at the shipyard was not detail-oriented, consisting purely of moving materials from place to place, and accepting blows from the wrights when he failed in that. Cerus couldn't count the days, and he could no longer hold the names or the faces in his mind, but he could count the beatings.

The bad ones. Not the little slaps or glancing blows. The ones meant to teach him a lesson, yet had too much anger behind him to be as simple as that claim.

Six so far. It felt like making tally marks. And when he at last reached an as-of-yet undetermined number, it could end. His eyes would slip closed and for once, the Healer wouldn't make it in time. He only wondered how many more it would be. Another six? Four? One? It couldn't be long. It couldn't.

The rain came down heavy that morning, drenching his blanket, and it made him shiver so badly he could barely feed himself his meager breakfast. After the meal, it was off to work. Bony arms lifting planks that likely weighed more than he did these days.

He struggled under the material as he dragged it towards the builders, placing aching legs as carefully as he could to avoid slipping on the wet dock. It wasn't his footing that failed him in the end, it was his own stupid body, unable to bear the weight of the planks any longer. Cerus's legs buckled, and he hit the ground hard, scattering the wood around him. The impact with the dock spurred a coughing fit, tearing up his lungs from the inside out, and before he could even try to get up, one of the workers was towering over him, their boot colliding with his chest over and over again, pain on pain on pain.

Seven.

Maybe seven would be enough. Maybe his seventh was his last.

The worker was shouting at him, but through the pain of their blows and the struggle to breathe, Cerus couldn't be bothered to comprehend what was being said.

Get up, most likely. Get up, you worthless, wretched shadow.

Then all of a sudden, the blows stopped.

Not seven, Cerus thought, almost mournfully. Not yet.

He remained on the ground, half steadying his breath, half seizing onto a pitiful excuse for a rest, telling himself it would just be a moment, and if it wound up being a moment too long, number eight could begin, and maybe that one, that one, would mean the end. 

"Cerus?"

He froze at the sound of his own name, spasms running through his fingers as he squeezed his fists tightly, expectantly.

"Cerus."

His name again. Like the speaker was confirming to themselves that it truly was him. The damned Shadow King, the scourge of the land. He dared to look up, peering through dark hair that framed his vision like winter-dead branches.

The face before him was not a cruel one, but he knew by now how deceiving looks could be. They knelt beside him, uncertain brown eyes behind red curls, regarding him with something that may have been pity.

"Do you have a place away from the rain?" they murmured, the question only serving to remind Cerus that he didn't, that everything he'd had, everything he'd been, was lost. The stranger's brow furrowed when he told them as much.

Their hand, warm brown contrasting the gray that surrounded them both, pulled away from where it had been tucked inside their cloak, extending towards Cerus. 

"Then come with me."

The words, the gesture, the imitation of kindness, all curdled together, threatening to dredge up memories of a similar ruse; memories he'd rather leave buried. They wanted to hurt him. He was certain of that much. They wanted to bring him somewhere dry and warm and hurt him. Perhaps they'd already bribed the dock workers to look the other way. Perhaps that was why the beating had ceased.

He could do nothing to stop it. Even should he try to run, to surrender himself to the icy embrace of the sea, he'd never get far. The builders or the guards or the stranger would catch him, and he'd be dragged away to suffer.

He could do nothing to stop it. He could only give himself up, and hope it made things easier, hope his compliance, his submission, would inspire even the smallest shard of mercy.

Shoulders shaking, chest rattling with every tiny, hitching breath, Cerus pressed his trembling hand into the stranger's. 

An acceptance of whatever fate they decided to inflict.

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tag list:

@whumpwillow @rabbitdrabbles @kixngiggles @honeycollectswhump @chiswhumpcorner @whatwhumpcomments , @dont-look-me-in-the-eye , @turn-the-tables-on-them , @pigeonwhumps , @itsmyworld23 , @andromeda-liske , @starlit-hopes-and-dreams , @haro-whumps , @kira-the-whump-enthusiast , @whumpedydump

[armoured-fighter]

Reo didn’t have armour on, didn’t have a sword - just their personal dagger - when they got surrounded. Adults. People larger than them, that could very easily take him. It had been a nice day, the rain felt nice on his skin but now it just burned. He pulled his jacket tight, wishing Graeme was here, and held their dagger at the ready. “Get away,” they hissed.

“Awh. Stellam’s little sister thinks she can fight us.” They laughed, cold and cruel. Reo’s breath was shallow and panicked. “What? Not so strong without your brother are you?”

“Get the fuck away from me,” he hissed angrily. “I will stab you, get away.” The group laughed, and one stepped closer. Reo acted on instinct, swiping at them. Blood bloomed on the white of their shirt. He raised his dagger. “Does anybody else want to try me?” 

The group stepped back, Reo’s breathing erratic. Someone lunged for him and their vision went black.

They woke up with a start, alone in their room. They took a shaky breath, wiping weakly at the tears on their face. “B-Breathe. You’re fine.” A notification popped up on their communicator.

> haleygar: sleep well 💛

> reostellam: ty, ily <3

[laulo821]

consequences of hellghschool years (i mean. coração wasn't in highschool with them at that time but yknow)

[non-un-topo]

I wasn't going to be sad today but then I found out my very first appointment with an endocrinologist is in August. I won't even get access to T at my first appointment. And I'll have to get on another wait list to do bloodwork after the appointment, and if they find anything wrong with my blood (dude's got serious vitamin deficiencies) then I have to wait even longer before getting on T. I could be looking at over a year before I get my first shot. And I knew this might happen, of course, but I held out hope.