Nadine is troubled by disinterest in daily life until she notices something spark when she's around her soon-to-be husbands' male companions. She doesn't understand why she wants to belong among men, and figures that she will eventually settle into her marriage.
A lonesome stroll would soon see a sour mood stirred; lax in the way of improvement. Her heels, short and blocked, tacked and tittered against the wooden bridge hovering over the slow flowing trickle of the river. Her face fell in a style that brought a naturalized pout which, at times, proved difficult for her fiance to chisel away at. It was an aura fit for an overcast tune, a boon cherished by the shade of her parasol on a sunny afternoon. Whatever rays of sunlight divined the surface would catch only in her eyes, and cast back into the world through apparent disdain. In fact, a delightful breeze could pass through the light layers of her white dress, and she wouldn't bring herself to enjoy it.
She came to a subtle stop upon the median, reflecting on the disturbed, imposed image of herself in the water.
Although she was in perfectly good health, her visage emanated a sickliness to her subconscious. By all means, she was considered beautiful- her suitors had thought so, and her fiance especially. Dark, thick hair sprang from her head, twirling and curling from wide ringlets into smaller, wavier flicks toward the end of the length. Her fiance especially loved her eyes, which sloped like flowering hills with her long lashes. But her lips, though as soft and plush as they were, were full of contempt.
"Darling," he called out, "Would you care to join the fellows and I for coffee?"
She hummed in thought, her gaze transfixed by the movement of water. Then, she spoke and said "What else would I have to do today?"
The tall, mustached and light suited man lifted his cheeks with a delighted smile, holding out his arm in anticipation at the sound of her heels against the wood. A chance that she would rest her wrist on it when they joined.
Should they ever join.
It was a jolt of love he felt from her fingertips when they perched on his shoulder, a feeling quickly swung when she gently signaled his arm down by a simple impression. She must've been pre-occupied, he thought, filing away the numerous cases she'd declined this simple affection. The two walked in stride, which was the least he had asked for. Where he would meet his friends wasn't far, either.
A group of 4 men sat and lounged under a raised canopy. There were some low stools and cushions made for the woven mat floor that they each occupied. Between them were two long-stemmed waterpipes they smoked from.
"Reza, our friend!" Called one of the men on the floor. His words had pushed through a plume of smoked tobacco, subsequently waved away by the two other men it bothered.
“Sultan, my man, how are you?” He cheered into a handshake, then they kissed each other twice on one cheek.
His lady watched as he repeated the greeting for the other two men; Raul and Santiago. She caught her gaze lingering on the last man; a soft and stubbled jaw, thick brows and wavy hair parted to the side. He wore a rectangular scarf on his shoulders and squared spectacles on the bridge of his nose.
“And of course, my wife,” Reza wrapped an arm around her shoulder, “Nadine.”
That name, which rolled off his tongue so smoothly, was armored with spikes against her psyche. Like smoke, it passed but the smell stained his breath.
“I hope you are all well,” she bowed her head, electing to sit on one of the stools.
The Trevor Project just sent me an email where they deadnamed me multiple times! It was one of those emails they send to everyone and the name must be automatically filled in.
They have my information because I donated to them once. I don't think I actually ever gave them my preferred name? They probably got my deadname from my credit card information.
You'd think that an organization that helps many trans and non-binary people would know better than to assume everyone's legal first name is also their preferred name!
I really hate how that whole situation with my real name was handled, actually. No, azure was not "deadnaming" me just because the name was masc. Nonbinary people are allowed to have gendered names, you are just being transphobic. I didn't like the name either, but that was because it was literally not my name in my canon. I don't remember what my real name was but it sure wasn't THAT.
Also, why does everyone suddenly seem to care about my agab because of this. "Amab two time is canon!!" "I can save afab two time!!" Can you all shut the actual FUCK up and quit trying to shove nonbinary people into boxes. I already have to deal with that enough due to being nonbinary currently, can my kins at least be exempt from it? No? I hate this fandom.
You Know Better than to Trust a Sunny Day in November. // An Anomaly Drabble
You are at a football game. The Homecoming game. It’s an unseasonably warm day in November.
The sun has long since fallen out of the sky, but you remember that it had been sunny all day. You’d stared out the open windows during your last class of the day– US History, half asleep with the fan whirring in the back of the humid room. White noise always had a tendency to put you to sleep, and you’d never been able to pay attention in most of your classes, anyway. Everything was so boring. You were taught the same shit again and again and again, and no one seemed to notice or care that things were stagnant. You had A’s without trying because you already knew the material that was parroted with few differences throughout the years. A little sprinkle of nuance as you got older, but otherwise, everything stayed the same.
Everything was always the same. Nothing ever changed. Not in your school, not in your town, not in your life. Tonight, though. Tonight, things will change. Not in your school, not in your town (who won’t blink an eye), but in your life. How you view the world will crumble and you will have to rebuild it knowing things you never dared know before.
Trigger Warnings for the following content: Transphobia, Deadnaming, Sexual Assault (Semi-Detailed). Please heed these warnings before engaging with this drabble!
You are at a football game with your friends. It’s the Homecoming game, and the only senior in your friend group, Kincaid Anders, isn’t up to win anything, so he’s hanging out with you, Shay, and Dan. It’s an unseasonably warm day in November. You are a sophomore, the youngest in your grade, barely fourteen. Shay and Dan ditch you early on in the evening, wandering off together to do who knows what together. You’re annoyed with them because you find football boring and you don’t want to hang out with KC. Shay and Dan both know you don’t like being left alone with KC. But they leave anyway, too wrapped up in each other to notice your annoyance and discomfort as they leave the concession’s stand line. KC buys you a soft pretzel. You eat the grains of salt off of it and nothing else as the two of you find your place in the bleachers, him sitting shoulder to shoulder with you.
You are at a football game with KC Anders. It’s the Homecoming game and you hate how he leers at the procession of girls walking out in their dresses during the halftime intermission. It’s an unseasonably warm day in November, and you aren’t wearing a jacket. You have on a t-shirt black and a long, flowy purple skirt with flowers dancing along the hem. Your mother has recently found out about your nonbinary bullshit, as she calls it, and threw away every pair of pants and shorts you own and bought you a wardrobe full of skirts and dresses. People at school have gone back to calling you she and her and Cassie. You don’t know if your mother has some sort of influence over your peers, but your appearance does and no one cares what you want or the way you want to be perceived.
“Are you cold?” KC asks, glancing your way as the girls and their dates leave the football field. He’s already shrugging off his sweatshirt that stinks of his BO mixed with way too much AXE body spray and putting it on you, pushing and pulling your arms to make you put it on, even if you don’t want to. Your dad never gave great advice, but he did tell you once that boys gave away their jackets because they liked you, not to be polite. You took that to heart. You don’t want KC to like you. You don’t like him, not in a friendly way, not in any way. Your sharp blue eyes flick around as he forces the sweatshirt on you and try and spot Dan or Shay to absolutely no avail. “Are you bored?”
That manages to catch you off guard. You glance up at him and tilt your head slightly to the side before snorting, a half smile making its way to your features. “Yeah. I hate football.”
He nods. “I can tell. Want to go wander around?”
You do. You’re almost never allowed out of the house except for school. A football game with friends is meant to be a treat, a reward, even if your parents neglect to remember that you don’t even enjoy the sport. Wandering around, being given less of a leash is all you’ve ever wanted.
“I know how to sneak under the bleachers,” KC says, off-handedly. “Sometimes people drop cool stuff down there.”
Color you intrigued by that. Although you’d been hoping to wander farther, hiding under the bleachers, waiting for people to drop things or finding previously forgotten items in a hidden place was fascinating to you. You grin wider. “Let’s check it out.”
He leads you down a short slope and off to the side of the bleachers and produces a key from his pants pocket. You keep watch as he opens the lock and then follow him in and shut the door behind you. He pulls out a a tiny flashlight on his keychain and shines it around. “You go first. Tell me if you see anything.”
And so you go first, feeling out your way in the dark with only the tiny LED behind you and the heavy sound of KC’s breathing and the cheers and chatter of the crowd above you. You frown as you find little here, frown harder when KC presses himself up against your back. You assume he bumped into you, but he doesn’t move. You start to turn, start to push him back slightly, to give yourself some breathing room. KC has never taken hints so there’s no point in subtly telling him to move and he–
Grabs your arm before you can push him back. Holds you in place before you can fully turn to look up at him. Your brows draw together. “Let go,” said with simple finality. You can feel dread creeping up from the pit of your stomach and into your throat, threatening to choke you.
“Cassie,” He says, his voice low, one hand grabbing your hip and pulling your body against his fully and holding you there tightly. You try and squirm and he only holds tighter.
“No!” Your voice raises slightly, more angry than scared. “Stop it! Let go of me, you fucking freak!”
“Cassie,” he repeats, his mouth brushing against your ear, making you jerk back in alarm and disgust. “Cassie, you don’t know how long I’ve waited for this… How much I’ve put up with with you just to get this close to you.”
This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. You’re at a football game with your friends and whatever this is isn’t happening. He’s still talking. You aren’t listening, your eyes flicking around wildly to try and find some kind of exit as you feel his hand, hot and dripping with sweat crawl up under your shirt. You open your mouth and inhale sharply, ready to scream until someone came and got him off of you but he covers your mouth with the stink of his sweaty hand before you can.
“Shh. Cassie, you don’t want everyone to see, do you? Shh, shh. You don’t want everyone to know, do you?” He murmurs lowly, “That you put out so easy you’d even take it under the bleachers under the whole school?”
You swallow. You make another attempt at getting out of his grip but he’s bigger than you and he’s stronger than you and by the time he hikes up your skirt the only fight you have left is the tears rolling down your cheeks but that doesn’t stop him either.
When the game is over, Kincaid Anders drives you home. You sit shotgun, next to him, teeth clamped together tightly as he rests one hand on the wheel and the other on your knee. Dan and Shay sit in the back seat together, making eyes at each other and not noticing anything strange or different. As you pull forward to the long, winding driveway of your house, you say, “You don’t have to go down the driveway. I’ll walk from here.” Even though it hurts. You feel sticky and sick and wrong. But you want out of the car. You want his hand off your knee.
“No, I want to walk you to the door,” KC protests and you unlock your door and throw it open, snapping Dan and Shay’s attention to you since the car’s still moving.
“Sass, what the hell–” Shay says, and you don’t care. You unbuckle your seatbelt as KC slams on the brakes and almost throw yourself from the car and take off running in the dark towards your house, tearing off the sweatshirt and leaving it in the mud behind you as you go.
feeling less and less like a kid-on-christmas-day each christmas. shoutout to my dad for getting me one of those safety alarms labeled "for keeping women safe all over the world".
