Second go, same as the first! My last blog got nuked because tumblr dislikes trans girls existing. So let's cover the basics!
I'm ForgottenWriter! I'm, well, a writer. I know this is deeply shocking to you all. I've worked on web novels, indie games, VNs and audio scripts. I love writing of all kinds, and I will always support it. I'm big into fandom and original works, and you'll probably see a mix of both here.
I'm trans, mtf, and you'll also see me talking about that, as well! The intention of this blog is to be mostly safe for work, but I won't hesitate to verge into more adult topics if I feel it's needed - though, such things will be marked.
tl;dr: I'm 18+, I'm a trans women, I'm a writer, and I have experience making my living through words.
Those were the words that heralded the end of the world we knew. I jerked out of bed when I heard then, my blankets tangled around my sweat-slicked body.
"Who's there?" I shouted to the darkness of my bedroom. "I heard you! Come out!"
But no one emerged, and as the moments ticked by, and my eyes adjusted to the half-darkness of the early morning, I saw that no one was there. It was just me. Just me alone in my house.
I showered and dressed, went to work. I talked to customers at the clinic from behind the desk, and even chatted with co-workers. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing different. It was just like any other day except that it was the last day.
Were people on edge? They must have been. But I didn't notice. Most of us didn't speak of it. We didn't realise just yet what had happened.
That night, I settled into bed with a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. It swirled, like a noxious soup. I couldn't put my finger on just why, but something was off in the air.
The voices came again that night. Louder now. Closer. I jerked upright in my bed with a groan and a curse.
"We are tired. We cannot hold."
I stumbled out of bed into a scene of chaos. The news was talking about it. It was online. Once, yesterday, could be ignored, but twice now? People had been talking. I realised with a sinking heart that it wasn't just me hearing the voices. It was everyone.
I remember that I sank into my chair, looking at the TV screen, the pale white light of my apartment playing over my pallid face. I didn't know what it meant, but I remembered how the air had felt bad before. It was that way now, but worse. There was a crackle, a stink of static. A sense of something going to rot.
Things began to get worse. People vanished in impossible ways, from closed rooms and behind the backs of friends. Food began to taste wrong, like blood.
On the fifth day - or at least, I think it was the fifth - the sky cracked open. Jagged, crisscrossing wounds carved through to our reality. It shattered like a pane of glass, and the pieces that fell were beautiful, crystalline fragments.
After that, the final message from the voices was not so unexpected:
"We have held as long as we can, but we are tired. Our power is spent, and the gate opens. We can bar the path no more - they are coming."
The Minotaur did not know what it was. It did not know the legend of its sire, or how it had come into existence. It did not know of the power of Poseidon, nor the divine magic which had birthed its father.
It did not know that its life had come to an end, nor that the wailing shade surrounding it in this unbearably grey realm were the remains of mortal souls cut down by death.
It did not, in fact, know many things and this was not its fault, For it had never been taught. Why would one seek to educate a monster, even one of royal birth? All it had known was blood, sacrifice, the unending labyrinth. The churning of hunger in its gut, and the sort, fleeting periods of satiation between its feasts. Its prey had screamed and struggled and perhaps - sometimes - there were fleeting thoughts of mercy in its head. But it didn't know how to be merciful. It didn't know how to fight its hunger.
Maybe, if things had been different, it might have been different too. But they were as they were, and the Minotaur was what it had been made. Now, in the end, it had been slain and though it did not understand the concept of its own death, it certainly understood that it had been bested.
This annoyed it greatly.
It had been tricked! It didn't know quite how, but it was sure it hadn't been a fair fight. It didn't know quite where it was, but it knew that it wanted to be elsewhere.
It did not know where it was, but it did know there was a way out. Somewhere. A part of it was very sure of this, though unable to voice quite why. But the Minotaur had never been one to question its own thoughts on the matter of choosing paths - quite the opposite, in fact - and so it did what it had always done back home: it lowered its head, it stomped its foot, and it set off in the direction it felt was correct.
Notifications/typing noises in otherwise empty spaces
People waving you over from the side of the road and asking if you're their Lyft. Disappear the moment you look away
Abandoned warehouses that sometimes reverberate with an unheard bass
'Cold spots' where you can't get signal (that cannot be otherwise explained)
That dispensary with the blacked out windows? It used to be a Blockbuster until the manager got shot. If it's the right kind of night and you look real close and cup your hands to block out all the light? You can watch it happen, but they might see you
Newsletters from startups that no longer exist
Hype House haunted by the reason they had to make an apology video
Pictures of a stranger in your camera roll
At 2:30 every morning you can hear a ringing bell coming from the elementary school. Thing is, they switched to a digital tone in 2013. Also, it cannot be captured electronically
Welcome to Denny's what can I start you on? You already ordered? Wait.. Tall, pink hair? *sigh* Been dead for a mtonth and she's still stealing tips
The fetid water presses against my skin; itās murky, and so thick that even if my eyes worked, I wouldnāt be able to see. They donāt work. My skin is thick and leathery now, and I think my nerves shut down some time ago. My heart doesnāt beat, and if any blood is left, itās long since turned to slop.Ā
Iām dead.Ā
Should be dead.Ā
Would be dead.Ā
Iām not dead, but Iām not alive either. Sometimes, vague shafts of sunlight worm their way through the algae-thick water and I feel a little bit of warmth. Fish shoal and dart and shelter around my fingers and toes. My hair flows freely, like some underwater plant. Iām rotting from the outside in, but only very slowly. The swamp doesnāt give up its prizes easily, and if I last long enough, Iāll be a bog mummy.Ā
I remember when I first woke up. It was terrifying. To suddenly exist. I didnāt remember anything then; I had no idea where I was or why I was here. I just had this burning in my chest. Like I needed to breathe. Like I was choking. But I can never breathe again. The water cools me; it keeps me. Sometimes, late at night, I pull myself out of it. But the open air burns. I know I canāt return to the land for long, and I canāt leave the swamp. Its power fuels me. Life. The raw essence of existence, ground down and focused and fed to me via the medium of the filthy water.Ā
I donāt need to see with my eyes anymore. I can cast my mind outwards, I can touch on the minds of others. Of those who knew me, and who I knew in turn. I can see their thoughts, their needs, their greed. I see who mourns and I see who secretly is happy. I see who I touched, and who touched me and-
And I see who did it. I see it in their mind. I see them reliving it every night. I visit them. In their mind. In their heart. A creeping shadow and sense of dread. I canāt leave the swamp, but I can bring the swamp to them. I can carve them open and pour it into their soul.
Every night, they smell it. They wait in terror, their eyes pressed closed against the horror that is my form. I creep forward, and I can smell their fear. They donāt want to see my rotted form; they donāt want to see what they did.Ā
āMurderer,ā I whisper. The words so soft. āYou killed me.ā
āI didnāt mean to, Jess! It just happened! I was drunk! There was a knife! Oh god, Iām so sorry!ā
Heās begged before. He always begs. He always apologises. But only ever for that night. Only ever for that final, shining moment of pain and growing darkness. The crimson stain spreading across my chest, and the lingering smell of drunkenness on his breath.Ā
He doesnāt talk about the years beforehand; the shouting, the grinding down of self. He doesnāt apologise for stomping my dreams to nothing, or convincing me that I was worthless. He never talks about how he separated me from my friends who cared for me, convinced me that only he was capable of loving such a broken thing as me.Ā
He only ever apologises for the death, not the torture that led to it. Not the death of the girl I was, which happened so long ago. The thing he killed was just a body. Jess went away years before that knife finished the job.
Iām not Jess. Iām a shadow; a wicked spirit, an echo of her dying moments. Thatās what I tell myself. Iām not Jess. I can never be Jess. Sheās gone.Ā
But I canāt help it. Every night, I come back here and every night, he begs and apologises. I donāt know what I want, I donāt know why I canāt leave. Help, I want this to be over. I want this to be done, but I canāt leave.Ā
The old wooden door opened with a crash, wrapping hard against the aged wall of the small cottage. The old woman in the centre of the room did not turn around. She bent to her work, her knitting needles clicked and clicked.
"Grandmother!"
At last, she looked around. The young woman who had stormed into her home was slender, with long, blonde hair and a pretty face. Right now, that face was red with exertion. She was panting
"Grandmother, please, I've come for your help."
"Have a seat, granddaughter. Tell me what brings you to my home."
"I don't have time for that! Raiders! They came in the night! There was blood! People screaming, and I-"
"Enough. Sit. Down. Girl, you are helping no one by garbling."
Her voice was soft and firm, and to her own evident surprise, the younger woman half collapsed into a chair.
"Now, tell me what happened."
"Raiders came in the night, grandmother. They attacked our steading. Richard and Xathras tried to fight them off, but there were too many..."
"Killed, were they?"
"Grandmother!"
"Now is not the time to stand on formalities, girl. Were they killed?"
"No, just hurt. The raiders used some sort of poison. The wisewoman says that they'll recover eventually."
"Wisewoman? Oh, that would be old Miss Gumpous. Woman knows her herbs. If she says they'll be fine, so they will. That's not why you came."
"No...they took Serana."
The knitting needles stilled, their constant clicks fell silent for a precious few heartbeats.
"I see."
"I'm going to get her back."
"Foolish."
"Grandmother, please."
"Such is the work of men, girl. It's not your place to get her back. It should fall to your brother or your father."
"They were hurt! They can't do that!"
"Then, the rest of the town."
"They don't think that she can be saved. They're cowards! The raiders have a wizard! It's easier for them to give her up for dead than to risk themselves against magic!"
"So you'll go alone against them? This is man's work, and even if you were a man, you'd be unaided. No magic, no armour, rusty old weapons. All you'd do is die as well."
"I know that! But...but I still want to go."
"Why?"
"Because everyone else has given up on her! It'a not right! They're her friends and family, and they won't even try to save her? Its easier to just cut her off! She's suffering! She's scared! She's begging for a miracle, and they won't even try!"
Click, click, click, click went the needles. The old woman's eyes were fixed to the face of her grandfather. Always the pretty little thing, always so delicate and soft. Loved by the town, loved by the people. A prize for all, but never before her own thing.
"You will die if you go. You know this."
"Yes," her voice was small. "But I will still go. At least that way, just maybe, she'll know that she's not alone. That...that someone cared..."
"And you've come to me for help?"
"No one wants to talk about what you did before you settled here, grandmother. I thought you might-"
"Be a witch? You're too old for such tales, girl. I was no witch."
Silence descended then. Heavy and dark, it coiled about them both. The old woman let it linger.
"Then I will go alone," said the young woman.
"No."
With a great creaking of joints, the old grandmother rose to her feet. She tottered over to an ancient, iron-bound chest in the corner of the room and laid her hand upon it. It sprang open, and within, there lay a sword. It was a single-edged sword, but clearly far from normal. The blade glowed with a soft silver, and a white gem set in the pummel pulsed with a gentle ebb and glow.
"What...what is that?"
"My aid, girl. Once, they were common. They were called Lunar Blades, and they were the symbol of my order."
"Your order? Y-you were a paladin!"
The old woman chuckled.
"Long ago. A different life. I am too old to wield this blade now. Too old, and far too set in my ways. It needs a younger hand."
"Me?"
"Who else? The blade will guard the true and protect the innocent. Hold it, and you will be shielded from their magic. It will teach you how to wield it as you go. It will not be easy, but with this, you will save her and yourself."
"But I don't understand! Why did you try to convince me not to go? Why did you tell me that such work is for men if you were a paladin?"
"I needed to know. To be sure. Taking this blade is not a simple thing, girl. It is not a weapon you can put down when you are done. To hold it is to accept it, to make it part of your soul. It will never leave you. You had to be willing to go ahead, even with the world telling you it was foolish. It had to be your choice, made with your full heart. Nothing less would suffice."
She held the old up, presenting the blade to the younger woman.
"Now take up your role, Paladin of the Moonlit Blade."
He was a Small God; a wild god of nature, of the twisting path and the howling gale. His name had never been shouted in worship, nor had temples been built to his glory. The gods of civilisation were distant and mighty, but he might as well have been a totally different species from their ilk. He lived on the outskirts, in the distant, feral places where laws did not exist, and the only rules were those of nature. Yet he was not a cruel god, for all that he was harsh at times, as all things of those places are harsh. And he was not unintelligent.
That is why, one day, when the High Goddess called him into her presence, he was confused, and maybe just a little bit concerned.
"I have a task for you, god of the wilds," she said. "Darkness and evil grow in the mortal world. Blood stains the earth, and the cries of the innocent echo to us, and demand our aid. I have made a Sword of Light, such as we made once in the old days."
In her hand, there was a sword of blazing illumination, like a fire that burned gold. The wild god watched it with concern.
"You do not approve?" The goddess asked.
"I am old," spoke the wild god. "Born of nature, of the world itself. Though, I am not strong, and I have no worshippers to claim, I am a spirit of the earth and the stone, and I have seen these swords before. In the hands of the unworthy, they are worse than any tool of evil."
"Yes," spoke the high goddess. "Which is why they have not been made for a thousand years. Yet now, it is needed. The people cry out for aid, for help, and we are poor shepherds if we do not answer. So I have made this, and you shall deliver it. Find one worthy to bear its weight."
"You entrust this to me?"
"Yes," she said, and her eyes sparkled. "For you are the one who will find its match."
And so the wild god took the powerful sword and descended down to the mortal world, intent on finding one worthy to hold its power. A chosen hero, just as always had been done before. Yet what he found there drove him to despair. There were no heroes; the kings were corrupt and mired in greed. The generals and the commanders and leaders of the armies soaked their hands in blood. None were above the evil which had swept across the world, and as for the people themselves? Well, they were numb to it. Numbed to it all, they had killed their empathy in self defence against a cruel and upsetting existence.
No one cared anymore. The world boiled with blood and death and screams and no one cared.
The wild god searched high and low, surely, there was someone, somewhere who could undo this damage? But no one he found seemed worth the sword. They were all mired by corruption, or biased to their own people, or crippled by their pain and loss. None could be the hero.
In despair, the wild god returned to his domain, where an ancient dryad - older even than he- waited to hear of his adventures. He told her of all that had happened, and of the crushing weight, and the realisation that the mortal world had fallen so far. How could this have been allowed? He had searched high and low, yet there was no one worthy to become a chosen hero!
And the old dryad, with her skin like bark, and her eyes as cold as the stars before the first dawning of the sun, listened to it all.
"Of course you find no one," she said at last. "For there is no one to find. Perfection is a measure doomed to failure. That is why the swords have failed before. No one is worthy and no one will ever be."
The wild god knew that she was right, but before he could give into despair, she went on.
"You seek a thing that cannot be found. Instead, seek the answer to your crisis. No single person can ever raise the world from its turmoil, but that is not a weight that should be borne by only one. This is what you gods forget; you are born from myth and legend, and in stories, it's always the chosen hero, the legendary knight, the great king. But that it not how it works. That is not the realm of mortals. Think carefully, and you will find your answer."
The wild god said nothing, for she refused to speak any more on the subject, and at last, he retired to his forest home, and glared at the magic blade. How he hated them for the harm they had done! Too much power for any one person!
And just like that, he had his answer.
The feral good took the blade and broke it across his knee! The metal screamed with the power of the divine as it shattered with a boom like a thunderstorm! Then, the god took each shard and piece stashed them in a leather sack, and went out into the world once more.
This time, he did not seek perfection; he did not seem purity, or absolute benevolence. Instead, he found those who yearned and dreamed for more. Those who faced the pain of the world and did not go numb; those who tried, even if their attempts were imperfect. The fallen, the beaten, those who had tasted power and betrayed themselves but could not shake their regrets.
He found the ones that other gods would never even consider, and to each of those, he gifted a shard. He gave it to their soul, a little speck of light and hope to drive them on. And though he knew that many of them would let that light go out, and others would corrupt or twist it, he realised that yet more would hold onto it and feed it, and then pass it to their children, who would then do the same again. And so, the little shards would grow until they blazed like stars, until they eclipsed what the whole sword had once been, and it would be held in the hand of all mankind, not just one person. And so, it might - just might - be wielded wisely.
For no single human could save the world, but if many of them came together, driven by the same spirit, and recognised each other?
You know, the funny thing is, in writing circles scenes that are just pure dialogue are considered bad. Talking head syndrome where nothing is ever described and the scene is a pure back and forth. But I've found it works really well for short fiction, especially horror, but really, any kind of story where you don't have space for a lot of details.
The back and forth between two characters can create a kind of energy and ping-pong effect, so long as the story is brief and doesn't drag on too much, I've found it to be a very effective technique for some of my shorts.
"They're calling me a monster now, you know. Me! I was their hero! Their saviour! And now-"
"They are calling you a monster because it's true, professor."
"Well, fine. But it's still impolite. Am I a monster just because I had the gall to see what they refused? To reach boldly into the darkness? Of all who could have done it, I alone did not hesitate at what was asked of me! I saved the world!"
"The blood on your hands tells a different story."
"...it wasn't intentional, you know. I didn't set out to be this. I didn't know. How could I have known?"
"You never gave much thought to where it led to?"
"Nowhere! It was supposed to be nowhere! I-I did the calculations! A realm of pure energy! Life should have been impossible! The portal was just supposed to tap the energy and bring it back to be processed! That's all!"
"Yet, there was life there, wasn't there?"
"I didn't expect that. I didn't anticipate... it should have been impossible. There was no way for me to know."
"Liar."
"What are you calling me?"
"You heard me, professor. I'm calling you a liar. You said you didn't anticipate it, but the portal opened up right where it was most concentrated. You say you expected no life, and yet your siphon is just so good at tearing it into little bits to be harvested. You knew exactly what you were doing."
"I...I had no choice! The energy crisis! The world was in turmoil. We were running out of power, out of oil, out of coal. Nuclear wasn't coming fast enough, and renewable weren't going to fill the gap. Thousands would have died."
"So you killed millions."
"Animals! Millions of beasts! Like whales! We hunted them for oil until there were nearly none left! This was to be no different! Harvest the creatures, take their power, save our civilisation. You have to see that it was worth the cost!"
"So that's how it was, eh?"
"Yes! I admit it! I knew they were there, but the one thing I didn't realise was-"
"That they weren't beasts at all."
"Damn you, yes. I didn't think they were people."
"Yet every night, you would sit by your machine and hear them scream."
"..."
"I did not have high hopes when I came to meet you, professor, but you've managed to undercut even those."
"Enough. Arrest me if you're going to. It doesn't matter. My technology doesn't work without me and the government needs it. I'll be out in a week at most. I'm too important, too valuable. In a decade, this all will be forgotten and I will be praised as a hero and saviour."
"Arrest you? Oh, professor. Did you think I worked for the government?"
"You mean you don't?"
"Well, this body did. Once. But you know the funny thing about the human brain? It basically runs on electricity. And you know the thing about portals? They're two ways, professor. Did you really think you'd get away with what you did to us?"
"You're here to kill me!"
"Oh my, no. Dear professor, I'm not here to kill you. That would be far too merciful."
This account has been dead for a bit! Tldr, my original account was restored and I've been posting more over there. I've been thinking about what to do with this one - I didn't wanna abandon it, but I also don't really wanna do exactly the same sort of posting on two accounts. After a bit, I decided to split 'em. My other account will be my casual posting account - I'll talk about trans things and cool stuff there.
This account is gonna be my writing account where I'll be doing my short stories and other bits and pieces! If you enjoy my writing, you're gonna wanna keep an eye on this account. Otherwise, my main is the one to watch.
The old goddess sat atop the mountain. She had been there since before there was a mountain. Her aged form was hard like stone, and her great, ragged hair hung like clumps of twisting ivy. She worked hard; the massive hammer in her gnarled hand came crashing down against the anvil.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
She had no name, no domain to rule over that anyone living knew. No tongues would beseech her, and no prayers called out to her. She was a remnant, a relic of an earlier age. Primal and beyond the affairs of mortals and even the younger deities themselves.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
One day, she was approached by a man; a young prince clad in furs and silks. His face was pale, and his sword was bloody. On trembling legs, he knelt before the goddess.
"Please," he said to her. "My people suffer. My father is slain, and our armies falter. In only days, our enemy will swarm our borders for the last time, and we will be conquered."
The goddess was unmoved, for she was of the earth and what did the kingdoms of man mean to her? They came and went, like tribes of ants, and there was no point in trying to tell one from another because as soon as you started to recognise it, it would be gone.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
"I will give you wealth," the prince cried out. "And money and fame! I will make you the patron of our kingdom! I will raise great temples to you! And I will have festivals and celebrations and music! All in the land will know of your power and mercy if you will help us!"
But the goddess was unmoved. What was wealth to one who had walked when the earth ran red and molten? Lesser gods squabbled for worship like children, but she had no ego to placate, and no hunger to sate. She was simply as she was, and needed nothing else.
Boom went her hammer.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
At last, the prince - with despair in his eyes - cried out.
"I will give you anything! Anything you want! My throne! My kingdom! My life! I don't care about titles or wealth or power anymore! I have seen what's coming! They do not merely want to conquer, they hate us! They will kill us! There will be slaughter! They will slay and kill and rejoice! We're nothing to them! We're inferior beasts! They call themselves enlightened, but bring death in their wake. The other gods have turned their back, or told us that it is our time to die. We fought hard, but our numbers are too small. Our weapons are not as powerful. They come from across the sea, in endless waves and any victory we have is soon snatched away when the next boats dock."
The goddess said nothing. The only sound was the resounding boom of her hammer.
"You are our last hope," the prince wept. "I have no one else to turn to. Name your price and I will give it. My body, my soul, my very being. I'll trade it all. Just...just save my people. That's all I ask."
The tears flowed freely down his face, and he wept unashamedly. His noble clothes were in tatters, and his blade cracked and stained with red. The goddess made no answer, and he turned away from her in crushing despair.
Then, he realised.
The hammer had fallen silent.
And then, for the first time in human history, the goddess spoke. Her words were not words; they were the booming of thunder, the crackle of lightning. The howling of the wind and the whispers of the moon at night.
"This is not evil," she spoke. "It is simply how things are. Again and again, the pattern has traced itself across your history. Blood and conquest and war and death. You wear it like a cloak, oh man. Sometimes, in some eras, there is less. In others, there is more. But always it exists. It cannot be denied. It is your nature. Why should I intervene when no matter my actions, you will simply circle back to this point again?"
"Yes," said the prince. "That is so. But I am not asking you to change the world. I know what we are, and I know death and war is in our blood. Yet my people suffer, they are innocent. They do not deserve this fate and I...I cannot save them. Poor ruler that I am, I have done everything in my power. It was not enough. It may all be the same in a hundred years, or a thousand... but it matters now. Here. To these people who will live and die in these times. Surely that is enough?"
And the goddess said nothing, and her great hammer remained still and silent, and for one whole day, she was motionless in thought. Then, at last, she moved and the mountains moved with her, and the great rivers roared, and the wind howled like it had not howled since before the dawn of mankind.
For the ragged prince had been right. Even if nothing could be done on the grand scale, and mankind was doomed forever to fight and die, for those who lived now, in these times, it mattered. To push back the darkness even a little, to buy time for generations to grow and die in peace and love. Such a paradise could not last forever, but for those who dwelt during its time, it didn't need to.
And so the Goddess of the Earth and the Wind and the Sand and the Rain raised her hand and cast her voice across the ocean, booming and resonating and crackling like lightning across a stormy sky. And all who heard it knew her power, and knew that she would rise to guard those lands, and all people who hailed to them in honest heart and good intent would find her as their sword and shield.
The compact would not last forever. One day, it would rot, as all things rot. But for those people, in that time, it was enough.
Marlon Wayans on the Snoop Dog homophobic comments on children's films
"I'm tired of defending this ni**a. I defended him on his criminal sh*t, the Gayle King situation, and I took heat for defending him online when he performed for Trump, but this crosses the line. Sooner or later you just realize someone has issues. There ain't no Hollywood agenda to turn kids gay. That's the dumbest sh*t I've ever heard. Disney characters lie, steal, cheat, kill, poison, and everything and don't nobody say it's an agenda to turn their kids into a piece of sh*t. I watched Snow White when I was a kid and I ain't gave a b*tch a poison apple yet. But as soon as a gay character pop up, its an agenda. The agenda is to make your kids empathetic , not gay. White people acted the same way when black people started being seen on tv." -Marlon Wayans
So true!! I know thereās a lot of focus on Frozen being a story about two sisters, but reading it as one of them being a closeted trans guy opens up SO many intriguing possibilities!
Right?! And the best thing is, the themes of the movie would be close to the same. Frozen is about love for your siblings, acceptance, and not having to hide yourself. It's about how self destructive hiding your true self can be, and how that unhappiness can even spread out to your family!
Like,you can have a plot where trans guy Elsa strugglesn to hide himself even from himself and be super femme and just what everyone excpects a princess to be, and how that has shaped Anna. Does Anna try to do the same? Does she feel empty and hollow, but forceds herself to go on because her ''sister'' is doing it, but doesn't know that Elsa is just as hollow?
There's so much you can do there!
YES YES oooohhh I am genuinely so excited about this headcanon, especially as someone who related HEAVILY to Elsa growing up (I guess this explains why lol).
Itās also why the ending of Frozen 2 made sense to me, because even though the story was about family, it was also about Elsa needing to leave and start āherā own life, independent of his family and desperate to break away from his past. Like, even with the reconciliation with Anna, that never went away! And it shouldnāt need to! Elsa can still love his sister but also need to start completely anew and figure out who he is away from the life that stifled him for so long, and I support it 100%!
Yessss such a good and healthy message!
''It's okay to love your family and also need to be on your own. Just because they care about you doesn't mean they didn't stifle you. Maybe they thought it was in your best interests, but they still did it. Just because you need to lead your own life and chart your own course, it doesn't mean you love or care about them less. But that love shouldn't become a chain, and can only be made stronger by finding yourself and growing and becoming an adult, and over all else, becoming you unashamed and unvarnished.''
So true!! I know thereās a lot of focus on Frozen being a story about two sisters, but reading it as one of them being a closeted trans guy opens up SO many intriguing possibilities!
Right?! And the best thing is, the themes of the movie would be close to the same. Frozen is about love for your siblings, acceptance, and not having to hide yourself. It's about how self destructive hiding your true self can be, and how that unhappiness can even spread out to your family!
Like,you can have a plot where trans guy Elsa strugglesn to hide himself even from himself and be super femme and just what everyone excpects a princess to be, and how that has shaped Anna. Does Anna try to do the same? Does she feel empty and hollow, but forceds herself to go on because her ''sister'' is doing it, but doesn't know that Elsa is just as hollow?
There's so much you can do there!
