being surrounded by people who do not understand what my identity is/means to me is torture. im not a man and im not a woman. gender and social norms have been kicking me in the butt lately. Being nonbinary sucks so bad because no matter what youre never gonna “pass” no one sees a nonbinary person (unless theyre also queer) and doesnt think twice abt it. i will never get called “they” naturally. i always have to talk about it and the moment i do i get taken unseriously. my room is so hot and i took my shirt off to chill and not overheat, and it made me sick looking down and seeing these things attached to me.
being trans is not a mental illness but its something so weird, my head and how i see myself in my head does not match up to what i was born as and it actually is a very serious thing its not like “haha queer wokeness” i feel sick in my head and im never being taken seriously!!
i recently spent a week at a college where they had gender neutral bathrooms and it made me feel so safe and i was never worried about what people thought as i went into the bathroom. being in public where there are no gender neutral bathrooms is torture and ever since i got back from thag college ive felt so sick having to pee in public
I LOVED "You Weren't Meant to be Human" by Andrew Joseph White. It was honestly one of the best books I think I've ever read. It said everything I wanted it to and was horribly gore and disgusting while doing so.
I haven't many people I'd recommend this book to though. It was a rough read and wasn't made for everyone. I'd love it if you read it, just heed the content warnings.
I do, however, think that every single person who makes any decisions about an afabs right to their body should be REQUIRED to read it. The whole thing. Read what you are doing to people. Be disgusted.
I haven't watched the backrooms yet (sacrilige I know) but from what I understand, "still lifes" are made from peoples memories right? hence why their features are sometimes wrong, due to peoples innacurate memories.
Has anyone taken this in a trans direction? I've been seeing some people make stilllife ocs, basically still lifes of themselves. and I thought about making one of my own. But then i thought. well. it would be myself pre transition for the most part wouldnt it?
Imagine the horror of that. To find the version of yourself that is in others minds. to have. Proof. Evidence. that people do not view you in the way that you are, in the way that you want to be, in the way that you choose to be. There is this version of yourself. that is a ghost. and it is stuck here. and you cannot help it.
A dinner out with the inlaws; It's a regular enough occurrence. I've never been like this in front of them before, but only the oldest and most conservative seems to give me any sort of sideye. I expected that, so I can pretend it's not happening.
I excuse myself, turning away from the table and moving past some other boothes, with families or couples that I turn my face away from. It's the only part that they would question. My hair is great, and the dress I'm pretending to adjust looks great on me. They don't give me more than a couple glances.
Making it past them all and into the small alcove towards the back of the restaurant, I finally look up. My heart skips a few beats; I never expected to deal with this. Two doors, two options, two ways for me to be abused or accused. Normally, I would pick the one that matches my face, but my clothing tells a different story. To risk my body or risk my freedom; I have to pick fast; I can't just stand here!
I go through the door to the mens restroom and pray that anyone inside doesn't want to see what's under my skirt.
i’m bertie (he/they), aka professor homestuck, aka coldairballoons, aka any number of things. i’m a graduate student, short fiction writer, accidental poet, horror theorist, dashcon 2 panelist, and occasional artist based in texas :)
in case you haven’t guessed, this is a side blog wholly dedicated to compiling things for my research. since a bunch of my work surrounds fandom, fan involvement, and accessibility, i figured this could be a good multimodal approach to sharing scholarship!
i’ll go more in depth… at some point, but for the time being, you can find more on my youtube channel and website :)
Category: 18+
Relationships: None
Fandom: Dead by Daylight
Tags: OC, Transphobia, Nightmares, Horror, Memory loss, 1st person POV
A/N: Hi there. This fic is me trying horror since its my first time writing it. So if its a little weirdly written, sorry about that lol but I did enjoy writing it.
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I had no idea when I had ended up here. I didn’t even know how I had ended up here. Last thing I could remember was leaving a building. I don't remember what kind… it couldn't have been my home… it didn't feel like it was, at least. It had been a week since I had been here, at least I think. There was barely a day and night cycle but, sometimes the trials would pause and we’d be able to rest for a bit. I assumed that was night, though this ‘rest’ didn't last long, always dragged out of sleep.
At first, I had no idea what anything was. All I did was cry, wanting to go home. The other’s seemed empathetic, that was nice of them. They explained to me what all of this even was and… well I still couldn't wrap my head around it. It all seemed like a nightmare, but it was lasting too long to be just a nightmare… maybe I had fallen into a coma. I didn't know, it was terrifying not knowing, whether if this was even real, and even if it was, if it was ever going to end.
Some of my fellow “survivors” had been here for… centuries it seemed. At least from what I could tell from their clothes. None of them remembered what their previous lives were, mind’s too numbed out by the repeated torture. I didn't wanna ask them too many questions, it felt cruel. Their mind probably blocked all of their memories out, asking them to remember it felt like opening a wound that had healed half-way.
I was slowly getting used to the trials, learning where to go and where to not go. How to find generators quickly, how to distract each killer, what the best places to hide were, everything was starting to get etched into my mind, as if that was my only purpose… here though, it was my only purpose. Whether I liked it or not, I needed to accept I was never gonna escape this hell, believing otherwise would just be giving myself paper cuts.
I had just got done with another trial. It was the doctor this time. I hated going against him, he would always make weird comments about my body, something about fixing it. When I got back at the campfire, most of the survivors were already asleep. Some kneeling on each other, others in their tents or beside the logs facing the fire for heat. That was the only nice thing here, the fire, it was comforting. Maybe it was there to keep us sane… I didn’t wanna think about that, it would make the only comforting thing here unnerving.
I didn't know if I was gonna have more trials, but I was already feeling exhausted. Phantom pain all over my body from being attacked, even though there was no wound. I decided to just go and lay in my tent, if I fell asleep than ‘oh well’. I changed into the one other pair of clothes I had, though calling them clothes would an exaggeration, they were just some shorts. I was fine with wearing my current shirt, it was comfortable enough.
I bunched up my bag and put it under my head, and tried my best to sleep. Even though the pain was still there, it had begun to fade… or at least it felt like it did. Maybe I was just getting used to it, hopefully I was, it would make everything easier.
Opening my eyes I was in some place… I'm not sure where, though it looked like a bathroom. It felt familiar however. The tiles were white and reached the top edges of the wall, well, they looked like they used to be white. Most of them had a yellow hue to them, they probably haven't been cleaned in a while. There was a toilet, a bath tub and a sink, it was very compact bathroom. There was one tooth bush in the holder and half used toothpaste. There were some stickers on the mirror behind the sink, though they were ripped and had parts of them missing. The mirror’s tint had faded it seems, I could see inside the tile wall behind it.
I walked out of the bathroom, there wasn't much to do here anyway. As soon as I opened the door I was welcomed by the smell of dollar store body spray and sweat. I was take aback by the smell, but it quickly got less intense. Looking around, this room seemed pretty… normal. There were posters of women on the wall, but not of those models in bikinis instead, they looked like they were a part of an art magazine. They were dressed in elaborate statuesque clothing with sharp corners and hair sculpted into an art piece. Weirdest of all, they looked… familiar.
As I thought more about it… everything here felt eerily familiar. I could not remember from where, but all of it gave me a sense of deja vu that wasn't going away.
“Henry! Come down to the kitchen I need to talk to you”
That wasn't my name, but I moved towards it. It felt so foreign, but I still moved towards it without a thought.
I walked down to said kitchen and saw a middle aged woman standing behind the counter. She was wearing sweatpants and a loosely fitting shirt with ‘Love’ written on it in calligraphy. Her hair was tied up in a bun and shew as holding some papers in her hand. There was a scowl on her face, barely noticeable however.
“Sit” She seemed angry with how she said it, as if I had no other choice. I didn't say anything to her yet, my heart was already pounding out of my chest.
“Can you please tell me what the fuck all this shit is?” She threw a news paper in front of me. It had the headline “HRT clinics near you! Call in to make an appointment and meet with a doctor today”.
“I found it under your bed. What the hell have you been doing? Is this why you grew your hair out? Is this why you don't wanna cut your nails?”
I didn't know what to say… was this why she called me by that name… am I home?
“Answer me!” She yelled slamming down her hand on the counter. That made me flinch in my seat. I opened my mouth to defend myself… but I nothing came out.
“What kind of SICK and PERVERTED shit have you been up to. You really are that mentally ill? You think that you can just cross dress and harass women everywhere you go? That all this is just a costume?”
“…no”
“Then what is all this? I did not raise some… some pervert. You are a MAN and you know that. Do you think women sacrificed so much just so you can make a mockery of them? I worked my ass off to raise you, to make sure you’d never have to have a hard life and you do THIS? It’s disgusting. Who taught you this perverted stuff?”
“I… no… no one did anything I-”
“Then why!? You think this is fun? Do you get off to this? Pretend to me a girl so you can watch them in bathrooms? I did NOT raise a tranny, I raised a son that is respectful. Not some Degenerate beast.”
“sorry”
“You're not FUCKING SORRY. If you were you would have never tried any of this.”
Tears started to well up in my eyes. I couldn't say anything to her, my heart was no longer beating fast, it was actively slowing down, to kill me right there and save me from this.
“Wait ‘till your father comes home. He will deal with you. We didn't sacrifice so much just for our son to be tranny who’ll whore himself out for money. That’s all what they do.”
“Mom I-”
“DON'T CALL ME MOM. GO”
I have never ran somewhere faster. It felt like everything in my body was ringing. I hated everything about all of this. My face was boiling from how sweaty it was. I was scared. Horrified as to what dad would do when he got back, horrified of what my friends would think. Was I even gonna have friends.
Before I could have the chance to think more, black fog wrapped around me, stopping me in my tracks and eliminating any vision I had.
I could hear loud pangs of bells… I was outside a hospital… standing… tears still soaking my face. I could see a water fountain near the entrance to the hospital. I went to wash my face and try to catch myself… to try to think I was safe now. For a moment I saw the reflection in the water… it was me when I was still with my parents.
Looking around, I saw a generator in the parking lot. I was back in a trial… as a man… was I ever not one… I didn't know anymore.
"In the glass, his reflection was a flayed thing. The skin was gone from the torso, revealing raw, red muscle, and a ribcage of shining chrome-plated steel. Where his breast should have been, there were two deep, smoking craters filled with flickering, blindingly saturated blue light. The reflection leaned forward, its eyes—his eyes—glowing with a toxic, electric hunger."
(snippet of my novella: Transport of Körper and Tagträumen)
