Trans-male-character Stories

Glisten breaks down after years of bottling it up and makes the bold move to go visit Rodger. [This was a practice piece after not writing for months, please pardon the dusty parts.]

Brooke Marsh wakes up in his bed on an otherwise ordinary Monday, staring up at the ceiling of his room, connecting the constellations he's had plastered above his bed since he was a young teenager. This morning, however, he doesn't recognise where he is; this isn't his room, or his bed, or his ceiling, or his town. The mirror shows that he is still, well, him - but his surroundings aren't what he's used to seeing. He stumbles through his day, following cues from the people who claim to know him, and he finds himself bumping into his next-door neighbour; Aidan Kim. Words whispered between Brooke's supposed friends key him in on his reputation: a user, a player, a flirt, a bad boy. Brooke feels the hair on his arms stand on end, electricity tingling under his skin, and he begins to believe that his presence in this strange world is linked to Aidan - and Aidan isn't what he seems to be either.

Benjamin straightens his posture, and lets the tension in his wrists soften. He must maintain decorum with grace in the face of his parents; otherwise he is simply nothing but something they did not intend to create. He will be nothing like when he was younger. He will not show off the face of a heathen determined to wear the dirt and mud like other boys, and will instead show that he is better than them; better than all of them. After all, how many can say that they've worn a disguise of a woman for fifteen years? o r: the story of a transboy getting taken by pirates and learning to not hate his own skin

dysphoria hit me like a train today so i'm projecting don't think too hard about it It's not a ship I promise I'm not weird they're just brothers your honor probably won't make a cover unless this gets any traction cause drawing takes more energy than I'll ever want to exert on a ventfic

Aizawa keeps stumbling across little kids. That would be normal, if it wasn't the fact that he sees them around two times per week, that they never say anything, or that they always seemed to be tied to something, from the dark, candy and childhood, to rape, suicide and discrimination.