i haven’t seen this around among the many excellent theories, so i just wanna toss it out there:
Bigender Pidge. Genderfluid Pidge.
Pidge who is sometimes okay with he and sometimes with she and a lot of the time with both or either, but has days where there needs to be standing on a chair and loud correcting because not that one, not today. Pidge who has gotten used to figuring out how they feel today, and whether or not it matters, and he ends up explaining over and over sometimes because this is important today and other days she was up all night with robots and is too tired and doesn’t bother because today is one of those where each could be okay. Pidge who has a day where it is most definitely she, most definitely a girl day, and seizes the opportunity of feeling sold and real and right to try and explain, try and present, because this feels like the kind of thing that could go on for a while–
and then the next day “she” doesn’t fit anymore and when Lance uses “he” by accident and then tries to backtrack, Pidge tells him, “no, it’s fine”
and then next week, it’s back to “she”, and she’s afraid to explain this again, knows at some point they’re going to run out of patience, and so she just answers to whatever
and eventually the rest of the team might sort of forget, and Pidge is always Pidge but depending on the day or the month or the minute can have to avoid everyone else because hearing them talk about him with the wrong pronouns is too hard.
Pidge knows that she can’t expect them to keep up or deal with switching pronouns on an irregular basis, and isn’t going to try and ask. it can’t be really worth it, can it? he’s used to riding things out, to waiting for them to change, and it’s so hard to explain that sometimes she’s a she and sometimes he’s a he and
is there a point to it, really.
So yeah. Genderfluid Pidge who is too goddamn tired and afraid to explain themselves anymore.
The Chiral Night 10th movie for When The End killed me and sadly was kinda blink-and-you-miss-it in the concert recording, so here, have some badly-taken photos I got of it today (at what can only be described as “upset karaoke”).
[Above is from the start of the song. Ending portion below cut.]
I was inspired to try and find the oldest piece of writing I hadn’t deleted and it’s from right after I turned 14. It… is the most pretentious thing… omfg. I was so proud of this shit. It was my featured deviation, back when the dA lit community was active and cool. I thought I was a fucking prodigy. At least I can confirm that my obsession with girls who have boy names and kiss girls has been ongoing for at least twelve years.
“lgbt is about so much more than your orientation!! its about pride and expression and”
no helen its about fighting to survive because people will kill me if i fuck another dude. how far removed from homophobia are you that you feel its okay to start complaining about how the community is “allosexual”. how fucking entitled are you.
one last question before I go to sleep: why do ppl like killing stalking?? Not to be rude or anything I genuinely want to know bc it’s definitely not my cup of tea. If you could also tell me why people associate it with yuri on ice, that would be cool too.
WIP Game Rules: Go to page 7 of your WIP, count down 7 lines, share 7 sentences, and then tag 7 other writers.
So here’s a bit from the current chapter of Anabasis, some of which people have already seen the notes for. By a bizarre coincidence, that scene ended up on page 7, so here it is in it’s final form.
(Also, I’m doing a little more than 7 lines because it doesn’t make sense otherwise. The actual seven lines start about half-way down.)
Obi-Wan frowned, but it was Anakin who answered. “Someone
offered Boba Fett one million credits to kill you,” he said. “Which is
ridiculous. He should have charged at least three million.”
Padmé could only shake her head. She knew him well enough to
know that was his idea of a compliment. She also knew it was sincerely meant,
which really only made it worse. It was probably best to just ignore it.
“Oh?” said Obi-Wan. He sounded caught somewhere between
annoyance and a morbid curiosity. “And how much are you worth, then?”
Padmé watched Anakin open his mouth to answer, and then
close it again. Something old and sharp-edged appeared in his eyes, glinting
like the stroke of a knife.
“Fifteen thousand Republic credits, roughly,” he said. There
was no inflection at all in his voice. “I know it seems like a lot, but I’m a
good mechanic, so that makes me more valuable.”