#traumaqueer

[breach-doll]

magical girl anime where a group of disillusioned, burnt-out twentiesomething trauma queers get turned into angels who are forced to atone for the sins of humanity over and over again by desperately fighting against a sinister group of undead robber barons and their hordes of mindless thralls.

when the angels die they come right back, stuck in this cycle of conflict, as their friends and families and partners slowly age and pass.

atonement is suffering and suffering is beauty and what is a halo if not beautiful? death only accepts humans into her embrace, after all.

[onyxnoon]

Comrades, Friends, Enemies, Random Bystanders, and those Irrelevant to my Interests,

I come to you to shill the heck out of my first novel, written together with @nevariiakshae.

a Blade and her Witch is a transfem own-voices story about traumatized transgender disaster lesbians in a fantasy world that pushes back against them with each step forward.

What to Expect: Witches and Dolls and Living Weapons, Plurality, Six sex scenes in Volume One, Slice of life drama... featuring disaster magnets, and... Gerlthings trying very hard to be better people despite a past of ruthlessness and violence.

Available in hardcover print-on-demand through Amazon, and digitally on Itch.io, as well as available to read serialized on Scribblehub and Royal Road.

Snippets from the book

and a review!

[sickandkinky]

Raped into another seizure, he fucks my convulsing body as I lose consciousness, my body thrashes against his as I surrender to the violence of my own illness, and the brutality of his rightful desire.

[rot-never-ends]

I'm going to see to it that we get the next superwholock but it's with this:

[cobaltnephilim]

Angel of Wrath

cw: intrusive thoughts, brainwashing mention, description of violence, acknowledgement of anger

There was one thing Natiel made sure to never tell anyone. It's what set her apart from everyone else, the thing that made her such a destructive killing machine in her time. The secret she kept all to herself, because as long as she did that then nobody would blame her.

She wasn't forced into service.

None of the brainwashing or any of the manipulation tactics they employed worked on her, though they never knew that. Couldn't have known that, not even when they tried to test her in secret. After all she was complying, and at the end of the day that's what they were after.

It was her choice.

She had made the conscious decision to be a living nightmare. All for what? Power? Greed? Envy? What motivated her to choose that?

It was simple, really. She was fucking angry.

When she allowed herself she could still feel that anger, that drive. The urge to inflict untold violence, be that upon herself or others. It didn't care where it was directed, only that it went.

Sometimes she lost herself in visions of what she could do. People were so much more fragile than they let on. Breaking someone's arm was as simple as grabbing, twisting, and then applying pressure. Their elbow would snap backwards, pushed past its breaking point, and just like that they lost a whole arm's worth of functionality.

When she decided to indulge herself she'd picture the way limbs came loose from their sockets. If you pull hard enough something will give, and she knew all the ways to ensure it wouldn't be her. Disabling a limb is plenty on its own, but permanently removing one? That's a whole lot more damage and something they'd never be able to forget.

Then she'd shake her head, remind herself she wasn't like that anymore, and evaluate the scene in front of her. Their arms would both be intact. She wouldn't have moved, and they'd still be going on about whatever topic had grabbed their interest.

Peaceful as always, blissfully unaware of the horrific pain she had just imagined them in.

This is a choice too; And, she though as she smiled and laughed in response to a half-registered quip, a kinder fate for all involved.

"Do you understand the violence it took to become this gentle?"

[dollzcomix]

Average Traumaqueer discussion group

[veinwires]

put some visuals to a diary entry from 2 years ago. you can read the original here

[notfcknsoryu]

THIS REST WAS EARNED

"Good morning Sister-231 Catherine" said Sister Eirnan as she sat down across the dining table from the hollow looking girl, "how are you settling in?"

Sister-231 Catherine didn't answer, nor did she take a bite from the plate of eggs, toast, and turkey bacon that sat before her. All the other girls had finished their breakfast almost half an hour ago, and Sister-231 Catherine was the only one left in the dining room.

Sister Eirnan sighed and stood up. Some of the retirees took longer than others to adapt to their new lives out of the service, and Sister-231 Catherine hadn't eaten a bite since she finished the ration pack she'd arrived with on the truck five days ago. It was time to try another tack.

"Sister-231 Catherine," she barked in clipped military patois, "you have lost 7 kilos since you arrived to this duty post! Eat your damn breakfast or I'll take take you off the duty roster so fast your fuckin head'll spin for the next three weeks! Do you understand?"

"Yes sir!" Sister-231 Catherine shouted in the strongest voice her hunger weakened body could muster, and she began to eat. She nibbled cautiously on her slice of toast, then moved onto the eggs. By the time she finished the eggs she was shoveling them into her mouth with gusto.

Sister Eirnan hated to speak to her retirees this way, it wasn't at all conducive to their recovery, but neither was ration starvation. This was probably the first time in three years that Sister-231 Catherine had eaten real food instead of ration paste, and Sister Eirnan took the opportunity to go into the hall to fetch a bucket.

She got back just in time, and shoved the bucket under Sister-231 Catherine's chin barely a second before the poor girl vomited up her breakfast. Sister Eirnan patted her on the back.

"There there, let it all out," she cooed softly, "You're okay, sweetie. You did well. It's hard at first."

Sister-231 Catherine stopped heaving, and Sister Eirnan wiped her mouth with a handkerchief she pulled from her pocket.

"I want to try again" said Sister-231 Catherine in her shakey voice, and Sister Eirnan smiled. She looked up, up at the symbol emblazoned on the cieling. The same symbol that was on the handkerchief she'd just tossed into the bucket: a fallen mech, its guns broken, its cockpit cracked open, birthing its pilot into a circle of women kneeling in benediction. Around this image was text, written in gold filagree; "THIS REST WAS EARNED".

A tear welled up in Sister Eirnan's eye. The girl would make it yet.

"Of course, honey. Let me make you another plate."