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Akimikoisthecutest

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Blog Entries posted by Akimikoisthecutest

  2. Akimikoisthecutest

    Week 3

    By Akimikoisthecutest,


    Month 3!
    Dear You (Yes, You, Twelve Months from Now),
    I’m writing this from the middle of the "In-Between."
    Right now, as I type this, things probably feel a bit like a first rehearsal—the kind where no one knows their lines yet, the blocking is messy, and the set is mostly just blue painter’s tape on a cold floor. You know that feeling. It’s the stage where you have to trust the director’s vision even when you can't see the finished product.
    I want to remind you of a few things, just in case you’ve forgotten them in the rush of the last 365 days.
    First: Don't forget the "Natural Ones."
    I hope that in the last year, you’ve rolled a few ones. I hope you’ve had a session where the players went left when you prepared right, or a scene where you tripped over a prop. I hope you remember that those moments didn’t break the story. In fact, those are the moments that made the "Natural 20s" feel like magic. If this year was hard, I hope you look back and realize you didn't fail the check—you just gained the XP you needed for the next level.
    Second: I hope you’re still "Both."
    I hope you haven't given up the spotlight for the sake of the headset, or vice versa. I hope you’re still finding that balance between being the person who is seen and the person who makes things happen. A year ago (which is today for me), we were learning that we contain multitudes. You don't have to choose one version of yourself to be "valid." You are the actor, the techie, and the DM all at once.
    Third: Keep reading the "Hard" stuff.
    Don't let life get so busy that you stop disappearing into the stars or the forgotten realms. I hope the bookshelf behind you has at least five new spines that are creased and well-loved. I hope you’ve found a new favorite protagonist who feels like a mirror, and a new magic system that made you stay up until 3:00 AM just to see how it ends.
    Finally: Be kind to the "Me" I am today.
    When you look back at photos or journals from right now, please don't cringe. Don't look at "current me" as a work-in-progress that wasn't finished yet. Look at me as the brave person who did the hard work so you could be where you are. I am the one laying the foundation. I am the one doing the world-building so you can play the campaign.
    I don't know where you’re standing right now. I don't know if you’re in a new city, a new job, or just a new headspace. But I know that you are still a storyteller.
    Break a leg, roll high, and keep turning the page. I can’t wait to meet you.
    With love (and a +5 modifier to Charisma),
    akimikoisthecutest
  3. Akimikoisthecutest

    Week 2

    By Akimikoisthecutest,


    Month 3!
    There is a specific kind of silence that exists only in two places: in the five seconds before a theater curtain rises, and in the heartbeat after a Dungeon Master says, “Roll for initiative.”
    It’s a vacuum. A held breath. It’s the moment where reality stops being the thing we’re stuck with and starts being the thing we’re making.
    When I was asked to write for Week 2 of this series—focusing on joys that have nothing to do with the "trans" label—I realized that my entire life is essentially a collection of scripts, rulebooks, and dog-eared paperbacks. If you stripped away every social label I carry, you’d find a person who just really, deeply wants to know what’s behind the next door in a dungeon or how to hit the perfect lighting cue for a dramatic monologue.
    Let’s talk about the DM screen. To some, it’s a barrier. To me, it’s a cockpit.
    There is a unique, frantic joy in being a Dungeon Master that I don’t think any other hobby quite captures. It’s the ultimate exercise in controlled chaos. I spend hours—sometimes days—obsessing over the political lineage of a city-state or the specific elemental resistance of a boss monster, only for my players to spend forty-five minutes trying to befriend a sentient door.
    And I love it.
    The joy of D&D, for me, isn't about the math or the "winning." It’s about the collaborative spark. As a DM, I am the narrator, the villain, the shopkeeper, and the physics engine. I get to provide the canvas, but the players bring the paint. There is an incredible, non-binary-coded power in being the one who says, "Yes, and..." to a ridiculous plan. When a player rolls a Natural 20 on a desperate, last-ditch effort, and the whole table erupts in a shout that probably annoys the neighbors? That’s the good stuff. It’s a reminder that we are all capable of creating legends out of thin air and some plastic dice.
     
    My love for D&D is really just an extension of my life in the theatre. People often ask if I prefer being on stage or backstage, and my answer is usually a frantic "Yes."
    When I’m under the lights, there’s that electric vulnerability. You are a vessel for a story. You’re worrying about your breath support, your blocking, and whether or not the person in the front row is actually asleep. But when a scene "clicks"—when the timing is so sharp you can feel the audience leaning in—it’s like flying.
    But then, there’s the tech side. The "Backstage Wizardry." There is a very specific, grounded satisfaction in the smell of sawdust and spray paint. I love the puzzles of technical theatre: How do we make this look like a 1920s parlor on a $50 budget? How do I cue the lightning strike so it hits exactly on the word 'betrayal'?
    Being "both" in theatre means I see the stitches. I know how the illusion is built, which somehow makes the final performance feel even more magical. It’s about the team—the actors, the stagehands, the lighting techs—all moving in a choreographed dance to make someone believe, just for two hours, that they aren't in a high school auditorium or a community playhouse. 
     
    If D&D is a loud, messy party and Theatre is a high-stakes performance, then Reading is my recovery.
    I am a Sci-Fi and Fantasy junkie through and through. There is something about a "Secondary World" that feels more like home than the real one sometimes. Give me a space opera with complex orbital mechanics or a high-fantasy epic with a magic system that has more rules than my taxes. 
    Reading is where I recharge my creative batteries. It’s the "inhalation" to the "exhalation" of DMing and Acting. When I’m lost in a book, I’m not thinking about my day-to-day life. I’m thinking about the logistics of a generation ship or the cultural taboos of a dragon-riding society. It’s a reminder that the human imagination is infinite. We can dream up worlds where the sun never sets or where shadows have voices, and we can share those dreams with each other across centuries just by putting ink on paper.
     
    The beauty of these hobbies—the dice, the scripts, the books—is that they don't care about my "journey" or my "transition." They care about my curiosity.
    In the theatre, the character cares about their motivation. At the D&D table, the party cares about my Armor Class. In a book, the protagonist just needs me to keep turning the page.
    I am a person who loves the "What If?" of the world. I am a person who finds peace in a well-timed spotlight and excitement in a d20 roll. Being trans is a part of who I am, sure, but being a storyteller? That’s who I’ve always been.
  4. Akimikoisthecutest
    Coming out is a massive, high-definition shift. It’s not just about the internal relief of finally being yourself; it’s about the sudden, often overwhelming way the world starts reacting to you. One of the most exhausting parts of this journey is the influx of questions—some well-meaning, some nosy, and some that are just plain out of line.
    I’ve realized that I can’t control what people ask, but I can control how much of myself I give away. This week, I’m focusing on Setting Boundaries with Grace. It’s about protecting my peace without losing my kindness.
    Before I answer any personal question, I’ve started asking myself: Is this person asking because they care about me, or because they feel entitled to my medical or personal history?
    If someone is coming from a place of genuine love, I might offer a bit more. But if they’re just digging for tea or trying to debate my existence, I don’t owe them an explanation. Grace doesn’t mean being a doormat; it means being firm enough to hold your ground.
    When someone asks something too personal—like about my old name or my future medical plans—I’ve been practicing the Gentle Pivot. You don't have to be rude to stop a conversation in its tracks.
    By acknowledging the question and immediately moving the focus elsewhere, you signal that the topic is off-limits without making the moment feel like a confrontation.
    Sometimes, people try to turn a casual hang-out into a Trans 101 seminar. It’s okay to tell people that you aren’t in the mood to be an educator.
    "I appreciate that you’re curious, but I’m really just here to relax and hang out today. I’d rather talk about [shared hobby/interest] instead!"
    This sets a shallow water boundary. It says: I am a person, not a walking encyclopedia for your curiosity.
    For a lot of us in the trans community, especially here on the Shard, we spend so much time worrying about how others perceive us. We worry about passing, about being valid, and about making everyone else comfortable with our transition.
    But your mental health is the foundation of your life. If you let everyone trample over your private business, that foundation starts to crack. Setting boundaries is how you protect yourself. It’s a form of self-care that ensures you have enough energy left for the people who actually matter.
    Stay kind, but stay protected.
  5. Akimikoisthecutest

    Week 4

    By Akimikoisthecutest,


    Month Two!
    I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much has changed in just a few months. When you start your journey as a trans girl, everything feels like it’s in high-definition—the good, the bad, and the extremely awkward. One of the biggest things I’ve realized is that you can’t really do this alone. You need a party, like in a high-stakes RPG, to help you navigate the maps you haven't explored yet. For me, that party has been the online communities I’ve stumbled into, especially the 17th Shard.
    It’s weird to think that a website dedicated to a fantasy author would become my home base, but here we are. Finding a digital tribe isn't just about finding people who share your hyperfixations—though, trust me, we have plenty of those. It’s about finding a space where you don’t have to stealth mode your own personality just to fit in.
     
    The Shard is where I spend most of my time, and it’s been a total game-changer. I remember when I first joined; I was a bit of a lurker, just kind of hovering on the edges. But once I got involved in Sanderson Elimination (SE) games, everything clicked. There’s something about the chaos of a game like Lords of Luthadel—where you’re frantically trying to figure out who the Spiked are while roleplaying a character—that just breaks the ice.
     
    If the rest of the forums are the main quest, the Trans Hangout Thread is my safe zone. Honestly, I don’t think I’d be as far along in my journey without the girls in that thread.
    Transitioning can feel like playing a game on  Extreme Mode without a tutorial. There are so many boss fights you don't expect—like the first time you have to explain things to a therapist or the internal struggle of setting a "coming out" deadline so you don't just procrastinate forever. In the Hangout thread, I don't have to explain why those things are hard. Everyone already knows. We celebrate the small wins, like a new outfit or a successful voice training session, and we help each other through the Long Chasm days where everything feels a bit too much. It’s the place where I finally stopped lurking in my own life.
     
    Beyond the heavy stuff, my digital tribe is held together by the absolute chaos of our shared interests. I’ve found so much joy in the Singing Epic: The Musical threads. There is something genuinely therapeutic about screaming lyrics with a bunch of other nerds who are just as obsessed with the Saga as I am. (Although I should participate more.)
    Then there’s the gaming side of things. Whether it’s talking about Age of Calamity (and how Sooga is hands-down the best character) or my latest Minecraft project, these hobbies are the bridge that connects me to everyone else. They remind me that even though my life is changing in these huge, fundamental ways, I’m still the same person who gets way too excited about redstone or Zelda lore.
    When I look back at my Early Journey, these communities are what I’m going to remember most. 
    To anyone else out there still looking for their tribe: keep looking. Whether it’s on a forum, a Discord server, or a subreddit, your people are out there. They’re the ones who will celebrate your level ups, help you through the game overs, and remind you that you’re a vital part of the story. I’m just lucky mine happens to involve a lot of crem, some dragon roleplay, and the best group of nerds on the internet.
  6. Akimikoisthecutest

    Week 3!

    By Akimikoisthecutest,


    Month Two!
    Living through a medical transition often means your "wins" are measured in lab results, dosage adjustments, or appointment checkboxes. But this week, the breakthrough wasn’t in a clinic—it was in the mirror.
    I’m dedicating this post to a non-medical win: the pure, unadulterated euphoria of a fresh haircut.
    There is something transformative about the sound of shears near your ears. It’s the intentional shedding of an old silhouette. For me, this wasn’t just about "cleaning up the edges"; it was about finally seeing the person I’ve been feeling on the inside reflected back at me.
    When the stylist turned the chair around, I didn't just see a new style; I saw a clearer version of myself. That sharp line at the neck and the way the light hits the texture on top—it’s a small detail that carries a massive emotional weight.
    In a journey that can often feel like it's governed by wait times and pharmacies, taking agency over my appearance felt like a reclamation. It’s a reminder that while the big milestones are coming, the little things—a new scent, a perfectly styled curl, or a fresh fade—are what make the day-to-day feel like a celebration.
    Euphoria isn't always a destination; sometimes, it's just a really good hair day.
  7. Akimikoisthecutest

    MML Chapter 3

    By Akimikoisthecutest,


    Meet Me in the Lobby
    The fluorescent lights of Mr. Hemmingsworth’s AP Sociology class hum with a clinical, soul-sucking frequency. I sit three rows back and two seats over from Luanne, hidden behind the broad, stiff shoulders of my own jacket. Mr. Hemmingsworth is droning on about “social structures” and “the invisible threads that bind us,” but all I can see is the island of oak where Luanne sits alone.
    She doesn’t look like an invisible thread. She looks like a jagged, purple lightning bolt in a room full of gray static.
    While the rest of the class scribbles notes on class procedures, I watch her hand move. She isn’t taking notes. She’s leaning over that leather-bound journal, her purple glitter pen carving out mountain ranges and watchtowers. I see a crumpled ball of paper land on her desk—a silent, paper-thin slur thrown by someone in the front row—but she doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t even unfold it. Instead, she knocks it aside, and draws right over it, her pen moving with a steady, rhythmic grace that makes my own hands feel like they’re vibrating with static.
    I want that steadiness. I want to know how she can be so comfortable in a room that is actively trying to erase her.
    The bell rings, a sharp, metallic scream that shatters the silence. The sea of students begins to part, giving Luanne that familiar, wide berth as she starts to roll up her maps. My heart hammers against my ribs—a trapped bird trying to break through my chest. If I don’t speak now, I’m just a passenger again, watching her walk out of my life and into a world I don’t understand.
    I stand up. My legs feel like lead anchors, but I force them to move toward her table.
    “What kind of a world are you building?” I say. My voice is thin, cracking under the weight of the name Arthur. “I’ve never played D&D but, I’d love to learn?”
    Luanne freezes. Her thumb, stained with a galaxy-purple smudge, rests on the edge of the parchment. She looks up, and for a second, I feel like she’s reading my blueprint, looking straight past the winter coat of my body and into the person underneath.
    “Uh, sure! We can always use more players. Though I hope that you don’t mind us?” she says.
    ‘‘Us? Who’s us?”
    Before she responds, she reaches into her bag and slides a neon-orange flier across the desk. It covers the crumpled note her bullies threw.
    “Real worlds are hard to find,” she says, her voice steady as a heartbeat. “But we’re building one tonight. 4:00 PM at Orange Street. Don’t be late, Arthur.”
    She says my name like it’s a temporary placeholder. Then, she shoulders her bag and vanishes into the hallway, leaving me standing over an orange map to a place I’ve never been.
    I reach down, and grab the note she left on the table, eager to see what it says.
    My mind is racing! There is someone like me. Someone who just can’t deal with their gender on a regular basis.
     
     
    As always, I would really love some critiques. Thanks 💕
  8. Akimikoisthecutest

    Week 2!

    By Akimikoisthecutest,


    Month Two!
    For Week 2 of this series, we’re talking about the Secret Wardrobe—that first piece of clothing or jewelry that actually felt like you, even if you only ever wore it behind closed doors.
    When you’re a trans girl navigating the early stages of transition, the world feels like a place where you’re constantly performing. You wear the "boy clothes" like a heavy set of armor that doesn't quite fit, waiting for the moment you can go home and take the mask off. But for me, the first time I felt like the real "me" wasn't because of a big, flashy outfit. It was because of two tiny, delicate things: a small necklace and a simple ring.
     
    The necklace was the first thing. It wasn't anything fancy—just a thin gold chain with a tiny pendant that rested right against my collarbone.
    Most people think of jewelry as a way to show off, but for me, this was the ultimate secret. I could wear it under a t-shirt or a hoodie, and no one would ever know it was there. But I knew. Throughout the day, I could feel the slight weight of it against my skin. It was a physical anchor to my identity. In moments where I felt overwhelmed by dysphoria or the pressure to blend in, that little piece of metal was a reminder that the girl I was becoming was still there, tucked away safely.
    It’s a strange feeling, finding your "true" self in something so small. But on the 17th Shard, we talk a lot about how small details define a person's spirit. This necklace was my first step toward aligning my physical body with my soul.
    Then there was the ring. It was just a thin, silver-colored band, but it changed how I looked at my own hands.
    When you’re transitionining, you spend a lot of time scrutinizing yourself. You look at your hands while you're typing, playing games, or just holding a glass of water, and sometimes they don't feel like they belong to you. But when I slipped that ring on, everything shifted. Suddenly, my hands looked more like mine.
    I only wore it at home at first. I’d sit at my desk, looking at the way the light caught the band while I scrolled through the forums. It was a visual confirmation of the person I was working so hard to be. It wasn't about fashion; it was about self-recognition.
    When you wear something just for yourself, you’re telling your brain that your identity is valid regardless of who sees it. There is a specific kind of peace in being "dressed" as yourself in your own room. These small items were the training wheels for my transition. They gave me the courage to eventually move toward the bigger, louder parts of my wardrobe.
    For anyone else on the Shard going through this, or even if you're just starting to question things: don't underestimate the power of the small stuff. Sometimes a half-inch of gold chain is all you need to feel like you’re finally standing on solid ground.
  9. Akimikoisthecutest

    Night Of Magic

    By Akimikoisthecutest,


    Night of Magic
    So, I don't know why, but this is something that I wrote for an assignment a while ago, and I decided to turn it into a story.
     
    "Come closer."
    The voice was not loud, but the acoustic engineering of the central, circular stage carried it to every ear in the massive auditorium. The automated lights above flared in a bright, cold blue, a sudden punch of light accompanying a heavy, resonant musical note that vibrated through the floorboards.
    A video feed, focused only on the sharp, symmetrical lines of her chin to her nose, purple lipstick a stark slash of color, played on a dozen screens surrounding the stage.
    "Closer still."
    The single musical note struck again, a low, ominous thrum. The lights snapped from blue to a warm, predatory gold.
    "Because the closer you are..."
    The note returned, deeper this time. A lip of glowing gold light traced the very edge of the stage, drawing all eyes inward.
    “…the less you see."
    The final, heaviest note of the sequence hit, rattling the teeth of those in the front row. Thick fog rolls out onto the stage as a central platform slowly raises itself upwards, carrying with it, the main event. 
    She strolls out onto the stage, the fans practically screaming their heads off, to a loud techno sound track. These people paid to be played for fools tonight, she thinks. 
    “Alright, tonight you all paid to be fooled. You all paid to see things that aren’t real. To look like idiots? Am I correct on that part David?”she asks the audience.
    The man sitting in the front row, suddenly leaps to his feet. “Uh, yeah. I-I guess.”
    “Ok, now that I’m all warmed up, can I have someone from the audience come up here?”
    All across the room, hands shoot up like rockets.
    “How about the woman sitting in- Hold up. Seat C16!”
    The woman stands up. A spotlight seemingly materializes out of the air and shines on her.
    “What’s your name sweetheart?” asks Kimaya.
    “Solice,” she exclaims.
    “Well Solice, it’s your lucky day! Come join me up here. You are going to help me with this trick,” says Kimaya. “Alright everyone. I have a deck of cards here. It is just a standard deck of cards. Four kings, four aces, and most importantly, four jacks. Now I’m going to hand this deck of cards over to Solice, and she is going to do two things. First, she is going to make sure that there are no weird cards in the deck. Second she is going to take the Jacks out.”
    Solice turns each card over in her hands and removes the jacks and gives the to Kimaya. 
    “Alright,” Kimaya says. “How about it? So I am going to put the deck on this table. What table I hear you ask? This one.” 
    She removes her cape and shakes it out like she’s preparing to place it on a table like a table cloth. She drops it and it just floats there.
    She takes the jacks and puts all four of them face up on the table. Then she takes the deck and puts it face down on the table. Then she piles up the jacks and places them on top of the deck.
    “This one is going to the basement,” she says as she takes the top card and places it on the bottom of the deck.
    “This one is robbing the vault,” and she places him in the middle of the deck.
    “This one is going to the second floor,” and she places him in the top half of the deck.
    “And this one is the look out so he stays right here. Oh dear, the lookout sees the cops coming. He signals everyone to get to the top of the building,” Kimaya says dramatically and then she taps the top of the pile. 
    She flips over the top four cards revealing they are all jacks
    The audience cheers.
     
    Forty minutes of calculated deception followed. Kimaya was the Architect of Focus, her movements a mathematical equation of stolen watches and holographic decoys.
     But as the finale approached, the professional felt her mask begin to crack. The lights dimmed to a ghostly white spotlight for the final act: The Empty Embrace.
    "For my final trick," she whispered, her voice catching, "I will show you the only thing more powerful than a secret."
    She flicked her wrist, activating three magnetic micro-projectors. They knitted together a hard-light hologram of her mentor. He stood five feet away, his digital eyes crinkling with the warmth she hadn't felt since he died.
    The music shifted to a hollow pulse. Kimaya began the synchronized dance, passing her High Priestess Coin back and forth with her light-made phantom. To the audience, it was a miracle of engineering; to Kimaya, it was torture. Every time her fingers "touched" his, she felt only the cold air.
    As they stepped together for the final hand-off, the smell of the silver flash powder—a sandalwood blend her mentor had invented—hit her like a physical blow. Her world-class dexterity vanished.
    She looked into the blue light of the hologram’s face and saw not a trick, but the finality of his absence.
    "I can’t," she breathed.
    The High Priestess Coin slipped from her trembling fingers. It didn’t teleport; it simply hit the stage with a hollow, silver clang that cut through the music. 
    The hologram flickered and died, leaving Kimaya reaching into empty air. In the punishing silence of the spotlight, the world’s greatest illusionist stood exposed, realizing that no matter how many people she fooled, she couldn't trick her heart into forgetting the weight of who was gone. 
    Losing him was the only Unthinkable she couldn't outrun.

     
     
     
    This might continue later, but I have no clue
  10. Akimikoisthecutest
    In our corner of the internet, we spend an incredible amount of time dissecting the internal lives of characters. We analyze their growth and how their self-perception shapes the world around them. But this week, I decided to turn that analytical lens inward. I took a break from the theories to focus on a more personal project: The Pronoun Test Drive.
    The concept was simple: spend seven days using a new name and pronouns in a controlled, safe environment to see if they actually felt like me. While many people start this journey online, I decided to take it straight to the real world. Here’s how my first week went:
    I knew that for this to feel real, I needed to hear the words spoken out loud. Digital spaces are great, but there’s a specific kind of resonance that happens when a name vibrates in the air instead of just appearing in a chat box.
    I didn't want to make a massive announcement yet—that felt like too much pressure. Instead, I reached out to one of my best friends. This is someone I’ve spent countless hours with, someone I knew would offer grace if I felt awkward or changed my mind. I simply asked: "Hey, can you try using [Name] and She/Her for me this week when we hang out? I'm just seeing how it feels."
    The first few days were... intense. The first time my friend looked at me and said, "Hey [Name], what do you think about this?" my brain did a double-take. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it was a loud one.
    I think we often expect a lightning bolt moment of clarity where everything suddenly makes sense. In reality, it felt more like trying on a new pair of shoes. They were exactly what I wanted, but I still had to get used to the way they changed my stride. I felt a bit of imposter syndrome—that nagging feeling that I was somehow breaking the rules of my own identity.
    According to resources like The Trevor Project, this initial anxiety is completely normal. We’ve spent years being called one thing; it takes more than forty-eight hours to rewire your brain so that it feels right.
    By the middle of the week, the novelty started to wear off, and that’s when the real magic happened. We got back into our groove, and started making pride stickers, that we always decorate our school hallways with. 
    The name stopped being an experiment and just became my name. It started to feel less like a costume and more like a comfortable hoodie. This is the goal of the Test Drive: to see if the identity can survive the boring moments of daily life. When someone calls you by your name while you're just talking about normal stuff, and it feels right? That’s your answer.
    When my name was used, my chest felt lighter. I hadn’t realized how much energy I was spending "performing" my old identity until I stopped doing it.  Hearing it spoken in the real world confirmed things in a way a screen never could. It made the identity feel three-dimensional.
    For those who aren't ready to ask a friend yet, I’ve found that even low-stakes IRL testing helps.
    We often say that the most important step a person can take is the next one. For me, this week was that step. It wasn't a grand, cinematic transformation—it was a series of small, quiet moments of being seen for who I actually am by someone I trust.
    To anyone else on the forums who is questioning, doubting, or just curious: your journey is valid. You don't owe anyone a "finished" version of yourself. You’re allowed to test, to tweak, and to change your mind.
  11. Akimikoisthecutest

    MML Chapter 2

    By Akimikoisthecutest,


    Meet Me in the Lobby
    The smudge on my thumb is stubborn. It’s a deep, galaxy-purple stain that refuses to wash off, a leftover mark from mapping the Iron Peaks until two in the morning. I like the way it looks against my skin—a reminder that I can build something out of nothing.
    I check the mirror. I don’t look for a person; I look for a vibe. The green turtleneck is clean, free of orange cat hair for at least the next ten minutes. I pull it on, feeling the wool hug my neck like armor.
    An orange blur streaks out of my room and leaps onto the counter to greet me.
    “Morning Kip,” I say, my fingers disappearing into his. He vibrates like a living radiator under my fingers.
    The coffee machine hisses, a comforting, mechanical hum as the first dark drops trickle into my mug. While it brews, I head back to my room for the essentials. I don’t just “check” my bag; I audit it. Maps? Smooth. Journal? Leather-bound and heavy. Purple glitter pen? Present. I settle my dice bag into the bottom—a small sack of metal polyhedral that carry more weight than my textbooks. I slide the whole kit into my backpack like I’m loading a magazine into a rifle.
    A ding from the kitchen tells me my coffee is done.
    I quickly grab my textbooks, computer, put my coffee in a travel cup, and hit the street.
    It’s a pretty peaceful walk today. No homophobes screaming at me. Nobody is staring, it’s just me.
    I made it to class in record time. It’s easy to move fast when the hallways part for you like a sea—not out of respect, but because I’m something they’re afraid to touch. Since I came out, the wide berth is the only space I’m allowed to take up. Everyone either actively avoids me or pretends like I don’t exist.
    I suppose it’s better than what some people go through. I’ve heard stories of people who’ve tried to hide themselves, and end up beaten or dead for it once everyone else finds out about it.
    I take my seat in the back, I have the whole table to myself again. Seems like this whole year is going to be a pretty boring year again. I brace myself as the bell rings, ready for my peers to torment me.
    Surprisingly as my peers pour into the room, nothing more than a snide whisper, and a paper tossed at my head, comes my way. , comes my way.
    The bell rings, a sharp sound, and my teacher says, “Alright, alright, settle down. Class, I am your teacher Mr. Hemmingsworth, and this is your AP sociology class. Now I understand that it is only the first day, but I would like you all to take out a notebook and a pencil and take notes on our class procedures.”
    Mr. Hemmingsworth goes on like that for a while but I tune him out. I click my purple pen. I don’t look at the empty seats around me. I look at the parchment-colored paper of my journal.
    I start on the Western Reach. My hand is steady as I ink in a series of watchtowers. In this world, the wide berth people give me is a moat, and the silence isn’t lonely—it’s a fortification. A crumpled note hits the corner of my table, likely filled with a word I’ve heard a thousand times, but I don’t unfold it. I don’t give them the satisfaction of an audience.
    Instead, I draw a nesting wyvern over the spot where the paper landed. I give it sharp, obsidian scales and a gaze that doesn’t blink. It’s easier to manage monsters I’ve created than the ones sitting in the row behind me.
  12. Akimikoisthecutest
    There is a specific kind of stuck that happens when you’re a trans girl in nerdy spaces. You spend years as a lurker—not just on the 17th Shard forums or Discord, but in your own life. You watch the main characters from the sidelines, hiding behind an avatar and a username that feels like a suit of armor you forgot how to take off. As we stare down 2026, I’ve decided that the Lurker Era is officially over. Transitioning isn't just about the medical milestones (though those are great); it’s about the personal bucket list items that make life feel colorful again. Here are my top five lighthearted hopes for my transition in 2026—the year I finally step out of the shadows and into the light.
    The Final Boss of Fashion: Finding My Aesthetic. For the first year of transition, your wardrobe is basically a chaotic experiment. You buy things because they look feminine on a mannequin, only to realize you look like a Victorian ghost or a confused skittles bag. By 2026, my hope is to reach Aesthetic Equilibrium. I want to move past the hiding in hoodies phase and find the look that says, "I have a 40-minute theory on the origins of Adonalsium, but I also look incredible in this blazer." The goal is to have a Signature Look like Tech-Wear Sorceress or Dark Academia Librarian, where I open my closet and feel like I’m choosing a character skin that I actually enjoy playing. The ultimate milestone? Successfully wearing an outfit with zero pockets and not having a mental breakdown about where to put my phone. That is the true mark of womanhood: the tactical sacrifice of utility for style.
    Mastering the Voice of Authority. Voice training is arguably the most level-up part of transition. It’s the invisible skill tree. You spend months making heat from fire noises in your car like you’re trying to summon a demon, all in the hopes that one day, a telemarketer will call you Ma'am without hesitating. In 2026, my hope is to stop performing my voice and start owning it. I want to jump into a 17th Shard Discord voice chat and just talk without pre-game vocal warm-ups or worrying about my resonance dropping mid-sentence because someone mentioned a plot hole in The Lost Metal. The real win will be laughing—a genuine, unsuppressed laugh that sounds like joy rather than a vocal exercise.
    The Great Analog Expansion. Transitioning takes up a lot of mental real estate. In the early days, you’re so focused on the meta—the hormones, the paperwork, the social coming out—that you forget to actually have hobbies. You become a professional Trans Person™, and your personality starts to feel like a Wikipedia page. For 2026, I want to transition back into being a Human Being with Weird Hobbies. I want to reclaim the mental space that dysphoria used to occupy and finish a project that has nothing to do with gender. Whether I'm building a custom keyboard or baking a loaf of bread that doesn't double as a blunt-force weapon, the vibe is moving from "I am transitioning" to "I am a girl who is currently obsessed with this niche thing."
    Navigating the Social Cognitive Realm. Socializing while trans is like playing a high-stakes RPG where you’re not sure if you’ve cleared the tutorial yet. There’s the "first time going to a comic shop as a woman" quest and the "explaining my name change to my distant cousin" boss fight. My hope for 2026 is Social Fluidity. I want to stop being the Trans Friend and just be the "Friend Who Knows Too Much About Fantasy Lore." The goal is to attend a meetup and realize halfway through the day that I haven't thought about being trans once because I'm too engaged in a debate about magic systems. I want to find that inner circle of people who see me so clearly that the old version of me feels like a character from a book I read a long time ago.
    Reaching Internal Narrative Peace. This is the big one—the end-game content. Most of us spend our lives with a narrator in our heads that is incredibly mean, pointing out every flaw and every reason why we don't belong. In 2026, my ultimate hope is to Fire the Narrator and reach a state of Neutrality. I don't need to look in the mirror and see a supermodel; I just want to see me, without footnotes or caveats. I’m learning to love the messy middle of my transition. 2026 isn't about being perfect; it’s about being present and realizing that the transition isn't a bridge I’m crossing to get to a real life—the transition is my life, and it’s a pretty cool story to tell.
    If 2025 was the Beta Test, 2026 is the Full Release. There will still be bugs and probably some server lag when it comes to my confidence levels. But the core gameplay loop—living as a woman, engaging with the community I love, and finally feeling like the protagonist of my own journey—is finally stable. To my fellow Sharders on your own journeys: remember that the most important step is always the next one. Here’s to a 2026 filled with better fashion, clearer voices, and the kind of self-love that feels like a Critical Hit.
  13. Akimikoisthecutest
    The lobby of the library is a quiet, neutral territory, and it is the only place I feel like I could stop pretending. I sit in one of the high-backed chairs, hidden behind the ‘Arthur’ version of myself like it was a heavy winter coat I wasn't allowed to take off. I watch people come and go through the glass doors, but my eyes always drifted toward the girls my age—the way they tucked their hair behind their ears or the specific, effortless way they took up space.
     
    Every time I see them, a strange, hollow thud echoed in my chest, a feeling I couldn't name but felt like homesickness for a place I’d never been. I caught my reflection in the polished elevator doors—broad shoulders, short hair, the person everyone else seemed to see so clearly—and for a second, my brain just refused to recognize him. I feel like a passenger sitting in the back seat of my own skin, just waiting in this lobby for a life that actually belonged to me to finally walk through the door.
     
    What is wrong with me? As far as I know, other boys don’t avoid mirrors like the plague...
     
    I sink further into the high-backed chair as Luanne pushes through the glass doors. She heads straight for her regular table—a small island of oak that most people avoid as if her 'lesbianism' were something they could catch like a seasonal flu.
     
    She doesn’t seem to notice the wide berth they give her. She’s too busy shaking a fresh layer of orange cat hair off the sleeve of her green turtleneck before dropping into her seat. With practiced movements, she begins unrolling a stack of hand-drawn D&D maps, smoothing the curled edges exactly where she left them yesterday. Okay, maybe I’m a little obsessed with her routine, but only because she seems so much more comfortable in her skin than I am in mine.
     
    I know I’m staring, but it’s hard not to. In the quiet of the library, she’s the only thing that looks real. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a leather-bound notebook, clicking a purple glitter pen with a rhythm that feels like a heartbeat. She dives into her campaign world, and for a second, I’m jealous of how easily she inhabits a universe she built for herself.
     
    “Arthur? You good, man?” David said. I didn’t even hear him walk in. When David said ‘man,’ it felt like a door slamming shut in a room I was just starting to breathe in.
     
    “Yeah, I guess,” I tell him. 
     
    “Good, so you’re coming tonight?”
     
    “To what?”
     
    “My party! Come on, don’t tell me you already forgot.”
     
    “Oh, that party, with guys. No, I can’t come. I have stuff tonight,” I quickly lie. Me? In a basement full of guys, where they all expect me to speak the same language as them? Not going to happen.
     
    “Stuff? You never have anything going on these days. What is up with you?” David laments as he strolls towards the library’s open door.
     
    I turn my attention back to the unrolling maps, letting the ink and parchment swallow me whole. It’s easier to get lost in a world that doesn’t exist than to figure out how to stand in the one that does.
     
    I watch her hand move. It’s steady, unlike mine, which always feels like it’s vibrating with an energy I’m trying to suppress. She adds a tiny, jagged mountain range to the edge of a forest, the purple glitter ink catching the fluorescent light. To anyone else, it’s just a game. To me, it looks like a blueprint for survival.
     
    She doesn't look up. She doesn't even acknowledge that I'm still sitting ten feet away, staring at the back of her green turtleneck. She just continues to ink her world into existence, oblivious to the fact that she is the only thing keeping me anchored to the floor.
     
    I want to stand up. I want to walk over and ask her what the hidden path on that map leads to, or how she managed to build a universe where she actually fits. But my legs feel like lead, anchored by the weight of the name David just threw at me. Arthur. A heavy, iron anchor.
     
    Luanne reaches up and absentmindedly brushes a stray hair behind her ear—that same effortless gesture I’ve been practicing in my head for months. It looks so simple when she does it. It looks like breathing.
     
    The library doors hiss open again, a draft of cold air cutting through the lobby. I sink deeper into my chair, the high back swallowing me until I’m nothing but a pair of eyes and a heartbeat. I don't go to her table. I don't say a word. I just stay in the shadows of the high-backed chair, a silent passenger watching her live a life that is loud, and colorful, and hers.
     
    Across the room, the elevator chimes. The polished doors slide open like a silver mouth, and for a second, the reflection of the girl in the green turtleneck and the boy in the heavy chair merge into one blurred shape before vanishing into the light of the car.
    I turn back to the maps, watching her pen move until the ink finally dries.
  14. Akimikoisthecutest
    Hi everyone! It's that time of the week again! I'm @Akimikoisthecutest for those who don't know me, and I started this blog to talk about some of the troubles of being trans.
    This week we're talking about who I really am, versus how I act around others
    My presentation isn't a choice; it's a shield. When I walk out the door, I often feel like I’m stepping onto a stage. There’s a specific way I’m supposed to walk, a certain pitch to my voice, and a way I have to react to things to keep people from looking too closely.
    This is what many of us call gender performance—or more accurately, survival. It’s the art of being "palatable." For some, it’s about physical safety; for others, it’s the mental safety of avoiding a thousand tiny questions or the sting of being misgendered. But here’s the thing about wearing a mask: eventually, your face starts to ache underneath it.
     
    There is a specific kind of magic that happens the moment I’m alone. The "performance" ends. I can let my shoulders drop. I can look in the mirror and see @Akimikoisthecutest without the filter of "What will my boss think?" or "Is this neighbor going to be weird?"
    When no one is watching, identity isn't a debate or a struggle—it’s just a state of being. It’s in the quiet moments:
    The way I feel in my favorite clothes that I’m not brave enough to go out with my nails painted.
    The hobbies I pursue that don't fit the box people put me in.
    The way I talk to myself when there’s no one around to correct me.
    Living two lives—the public performance and the private reality—comes with a high tax. It’s called minority stress, and it’s a real phenomenon documented by organizations like The Trevor Project. When the person you are on the inside doesn't match the person the world sees, it creates a friction that burns through your energy. I never have enough energy to do all of the things that I want in a single day.
     
    So, how do we start narrowing the gap? This week, I’ve been focusing on "micro-authenticity." It’s about taking one tiny thing from my private, real self and bringing it into the light. Maybe it’s a piece of jewelry, a different way of styling my hair, or just being more honest when someone asks how I’m really doing.
    Transitioning isn’t just about medical or legal changes; it’s about the slow, beautiful process of unlearning the performance. It’s about realizing that you deserve to be the person you are when no one is watching, even when everyone is.
    -@Akimikoisthecutest
  15. Akimikoisthecutest
    Hi there! It's @Akimikoisthecutest again! It’s time for week 2!
    This week we're going to be talking about the things I learned as a boy, and am now discarding as I move on in my life! Coming to terms with being a trans girl isn't just about finding the right clothes or a new name; it’s about deconstructing years of "training" that told me how a person is supposed to exist in the world. For many of us, growing up was like being handed a script for a play we never auditioned for. Now, I’m finally putting that script down.
    Number One: Emotional Expression.
    Growing up a boy, they teach you that you need to treat your heart like a high-security vault. From the playground to the dinner table, the message is clear: vulnerability is a liability. I was taught that "real men" are stoic, and that the only socially acceptable emotion to show in public is either stoicism or, occasionally, anger. Anything else—sadness, fear, even extreme joy—was seen as a "leak" in the armor.
    I’m discarding the idea that tears are a sign of failure. In reality, repressing those feelings didn't make me stronger; it just made me numb. Now, I’m learning that expressing my needs isn't being "needy" and crying isn't "hysteria." It’s human. I’m giving myself permission to feel the full spectrum of my life without checking to see if I’m being "too much."
    Number Two: Physical Presence and Movement.
    Just watching any kind of media shows young boys that you need to walk like you’re trying to push the earth down with every step and sit like you’re trying to occupy three zip codes at once.
    There is a specific way boys are taught to inhabit space. It’s all about angles and dominance. I was taught to keep my shoulders wide, my gait heavy, and to never, ever look small. If you've ever seen "manspreading" on a bus, you’re seeing that socialization in action—the learned belief that your comfort matters more than the space of the person next to you.
    I am unlearning the habit of "performing" toughness through my posture. I’m discovering how it feels to move with fluidity rather than rigidity. It’s a strange, beautiful process to realize I don’t have to "hold" myself in a specific, aggressive way just to be safe. I can be soft. I can be graceful. I can take up exactly as much space as I need—no more, no less—and feel perfectly at home in my own skin.
    Number Three: Assertion vs. Aggression.
    This is a big one. Boyhood socialization often blurs the line between standing up for yourself and steamrolling others. I was taught that if I wanted to be heard, I had to be the loudest person in the room. I was taught that a disagreement was a competition with a winner and a loser. In that world, "assertion" often looked like dominance—interrupting, using a "commanding" tone, or using physical presence to end a debate.
    Now, I’m learning the art of true assertiveness. The difference is all about respect. Aggression says, "I matter, and you don't." Assertiveness says, "I matter, and so do you."
    Handling this shift is a daily practice. It means learning to use "I" statements—like saying "I feel hurt when this happens" instead of "You are doing this to me." It means realizing that a "win-win" solution is much more valuable than a "win-lose" outcome.
    However, being a trans woman adds a layer of difficulty here. Because of how we were raised, some of us might still have those "aggressive" reflexes when we feel threatened. But there is also a double standard: society is often hyper-critical of trans women. If we stand up for ourselves even a little bit, people are quick to label it as "male aggression" to invalidate our womanhood.
    Handling that requires a lot of grace and a lot of boundaries. I have to stay calm, keep my voice steady, and be firm in my truth without letting my old "defense mechanisms" take the wheel. I’m learning to be firm without being overbearing. I’m learning that my voice has power even when it isn't raised.
    Discarding these lessons is like shedding a heavy winter coat in the middle of spring. It’s scary to let go of the "armor" that kept me safe for so long, but it’s the only way to feel the sun. Thanks for following along on this journey! See you next week!
    - @Akimikoisthecutest
  16. Akimikoisthecutest
    Hi, everyone! Today I'm going to be talking about when I first realized I was trans! Cue magical sparkle flashbacky sound effect!
    Finding your identity is rarely a straight line; it’s more of a winding path through dense woods where the markers are often hidden until you’re standing right in front of them. My journey over the past year and a half has been a whirlwind of self-reflection, hesitation, and eventual clarity. Looking back at where I was in late 2024 compared to where I am now in early 2026, the transformation feels both sudden and like it was always meant to happen.
    It all truly began in November of 2024. At the time, my connection to the trans community was indirect—mostly through the lens of fiction. I found myself deep in the world of genderswap fanfiction. On the surface, I told myself I liked these stories because they were a creative what if, a subversion of the tropes I was used to. But deep down, there was a specific pull. I wasn’t just reading them for the plot; I was reading them for the feeling. I spent hours wondering what it would be like if I woke up and a magical swap had occurred. It felt like a safe way to explore a desire I wasn't ready to name yet.
    By that point, I already knew I was AroAce. I had a handle on my lack of romantic and sexual attraction, but that clarity made me wonder if there was more to the story. If I was already part of the LGBTQ+ community in one way, was I farther in than I realized? The thought of being trans started to move from the back of my mind to the front. I considered it seriously for a while, but the weight of that realization was terrifying. It felt too big, too permanent, and too visible. In a moment of fear, I chickened out. I couldn’t bring myself to commit to the word trans because I wasn't ready for what it meant for my life.
    Instead of jumping into the deep end, I looked for a middle ground—a way to acknowledge the shift in my internal landscape without fully leaving the shore. I landed on the label genderfluid. It felt like a safety net. It allowed me to express the parts of myself that weren't cisgender without having to abandon the familiarity of my birth gender entirely. It was a compromise with myself. I spent nearly a year under that banner, from late 2024 through most of 2025. It was a period of testing the waters, even if I didn't realize that's what I was doing at the time.
    However, as the months passed, the fluidity started to feel less like a true representation of my soul and more like a stalling tactic. By October of 2025, the internal noise became too loud to ignore. The magic swap fantasies weren't just idle daydreams anymore; they were reflections of a persistent reality. I realized that I wasn’t shifting back and forth between points on a spectrum—I was simply trans. The hesitation that had held me back a year prior had finally been eroded by the exhaustion of trying to be something I wasn't.
    Even with that realization, taking the next step was daunting. I lived with the truth privately for another month, keeping it tucked away like a secret I was finally ready to keep, but not yet ready to share. It wasn’t until the end of November 2025 that I finally gathered the courage to come out to anyone in real life.
    It’s strange to think about the timeline. In the span of a single year, I went from identifying as cis, to briefly entertaining the idea of being trans, to settling into genderfluidity, and finally coming full circle to accept that I am trans. Some might see that as indecision, but I see it as a necessary evolution. I needed the "genderfluid" chapter to bridge the gap between the person I was afraid to be and the person I actually am. Now, standing here in 2026, the "what ifs" have finally been replaced by "I am," and for the first time, the path ahead looks clear.
     
    -@Akimikoisthecutest
  17. Akimikoisthecutest

    Table of Contents

    By Akimikoisthecutest,


    Welcome!
    Month 1: The Inner Landscape
    Focus: Deep reflections on identity and the initial "crack" of the egg.
    Week 1: The Anatomy of an "Aha!" Moment – Describe the specific event or realization that made you finally accept your identity.
    Week 2: Unlearning the Script – List three things you were "taught" about your assigned gender that you are now officially letting go of.
    Week 3: Identity vs. Performance – Discuss the difference between how you presented to survive and who you feel you are when no one is watching.
    Week 4: Top 5 Hopes for 2026 – A lighthearted look at your personal transition "bucket list" for the year. 
    Month 2: Social Exploration (Testing the Waters)
    Focus: Small, low-stakes changes in your daily life.
    Week 1: The Pronoun Test Drive – Share your experience of using your new name or pronouns in a safe digital space or with one trusted friend.
    Week 2: The "Secret" Wardrobe – Show (or describe) the first piece of clothing you bought that actually felt like you, even if you only wear it at home.
    Week 3: Euphoria in the Little Things – A post dedicated to a non-medical win, like a new scent, a haircut, or a specific way you styled your hair.
    Week 4: Finding Your Digital Tribe – Review the online communities (Discord, Reddit, etc.) that have been most helpful in your early journey. 
    Month 3: The Research Phase
    Focus: Educating yourself and your readers on the "how-to" of transition.
    Week 1: Navigating the Roadmap – Share what you've learned about the legal or medical requirements in your specific region.
    Week 2: The Consultant Search – Discuss the process of looking for trans-friendly therapists or doctors.
    Week 3: Budgeting for Transition – A practical look at the costs you’re anticipating, from new clothes to potential future medical fees.
    Week 4: Dealing with "Imposter Syndrome" – Address the feeling of "not being trans enough" and how you’re working through it. 
    Month 4: Mental Health & Resilience
    Focus: Building the emotional strength needed for a public transition.
    Week 1: Setting Boundaries with Grace – How you plan to handle invasive questions from family or acquaintances.
    Week 2: Trans-Joy Beyond Transition – Share hobbies or interests that have nothing to do with being trans to show you are a multifaceted person.
    Week 3: A Letter to My Pre-Everything Self – Write words of encouragement to the person you are right now, to be read a year from now.
    Week 4: Self-Care Sunday (Trans Edition) – Your favorite ways to relax when gender dysphoria feels particularly loud. 
    Month 5: Style & Presentation (Stealth Mode)
    Focus: Exploring your "look" while still potentially closeted.
    Week 1: Gender-Neutral Fashion Hacks – Tips for finding clothes that affirm your identity without immediately "outing" you if you aren't ready.
    Week 2: Voice Training Journal – Document your first month of practicing voice changes using apps or YouTube tutorials.
    Week 3: Skincare & Grooming – Talk about new routines, like starting a skincare regimen or exploring hair removal options.
    Week 4: The "Coming Out" Draft – Share (or practice) the letter/speech you might one day use to come out to a larger circle. 
    Month 6: Half-Year Reflection
    Focus: Looking back at the progress made in the first half of 2026.
    Week 1: 6 Months In: What’s Changed? – Reflect on how your mindset has shifted since your first post in January.
    Week 2: Community Q&A – Answer questions your readers have sent in or common questions you see in trans forums.
    Week 3: Top Media Recommendations – Share the books, movies, or creators that helped you through these first six months.
    Week 4: Updated Goals for the Rest of 2026 – Revisit your Month 1 goals and adjust them based on what you’ve learned. 
  18. Akimikoisthecutest

    Those Among the Stars: Chapter One

    By Akimikoisthecutest,


    Those Among the Stars
    ‘BEEP BEEP BEEP’
    I rub my eyes and look at the room around me. The curtains are closed which creates a dim glow eminating from the window. As I sit up I look at my calendar. It was August 11th. Tuesday. Wait, Tuesday? The 11th?
    It was not just a normal Tuesday. It was the Tuesday. The Tuesday I had been waiting for my whole life! The entire point of my existence!
    The sole thing to keep me going through my long and arduous days. Today I was going to Aldwyns!
    I leap out of bed and run to the window and throw open the curtains. It was a bright and sunny day.
    Today I was going to start a new life. Finally after waiting 15 long years for this I can finally do my family proud. Would I be stuck with the dumb kids? Or would they find that I don’t actually have magic? Would I have to work too hard?
    What the heck. I should be fine. Don’t worry. Nobody is going to die. It’s just high school. With magic. And teachers that could kill me with a look. And murderous gargoyles. And possible humiliation. What if I don’t have magic. That would ruin my reputation. NO! Stop. You will be fine.’
     
    I hurry and run out to the bathroom to start getting ready for the day. I wave my hand over the shower faucet, and the water turns on. I quickly shower and get dressed in the school robes they sent me, all the way back in May…
     
     
    “Dad! Stop it. I’m old enough to send the letter by myself! I don’t need you to always tag along,” I complain.
    “Alright, alright. I just want to be there for my favorite daughter’s special day,” he persists.
    My older sister gasps, “What does that make me?”
    “Don’t ask me! I have no clue,” my Dad responds.
    “How do you not know? You’re the one who said it,” she says exasperatedly
    “Bold of you to assume that I understand what comes out of my mouth.”
    “You’re not that old,” my sister says.
    “Guys! Just get in the car!” I yell.
     
    About a month later, a letter appeared in our mailbox. It had a red wax stamp on it with a dragon on it.
    “Yes!” I exclaim as I leap into the air. “They responded!”
    I cautiously lift the edge of the letter’s seal flap and peek inside. Of course I can’t see anything at all. I carefully pull the envelope open, and peer at the letter inside.
    Accepted! I made it into the most prestigious magic academy! Inside the letter they have a list of the things I need. And a red robe, showing that I didn’t have my specific type of magic yet.
    I wonder what type of magic I’ll have. Hold up, what kinds of magic are there? Frankly, I’m not even sure! I guess I’ll find out.
     
     
    As I get out of the car, I spot the orientation group. It’s a small group. As I walk up, the chaperone taps her foot impatiently.
    “You’re five minutes late.”, she croaks.
    “I’m sorry, traffic was terrible.”, I apologise.
    “We do not accept excuses here. We are on time, or we don’t survive for very long here,” she says in a commanding tone.
    “Now that we are all here, let me take the role,” she says as she gives me a death glare.
    “Noah Pkos.” A kid with dark hair and bone white skin raises his hand.
    “Shallon Devort.” A rich looking girl stands up. “Here, also this place is a mess. You really should-”, she trails off as she gets a death glare. I thought those were reserved for me.
    “Markos Thsps.” An insectoid raises his hand.
    “Joyce Terka” A confident looking theatre kid shot her hand up like a rocket.
    “Avery Quinn” A shy looking girl raises her hand tentatively.
    “Kallon Venice” A young elf raises his hand.
    “Nova Arden.” I look up at our chaperone. “That’s me.” She gives me another death glare.
     
    As we walk in the front gates, our chaperone talks about the history of Aldwyns. “Aldwyns was founded in 1555 about 550 years ago. This is the original campus building with a few new buildings. We have also only stabilized the structure and not changed any of the architecture.”
    She begins to go on and on and on about the architecture and the founders, and I begin to daydream. When I decide to pay attention, we are in a small hallway surrounded by doors. “Now dorm rooms.”
  20. Akimikoisthecutest
    They speak of the Shards as gods. Distant, powerful, inevitable forces. But they forget the truth: each was once a person. A mortal with hands, a face, and a heart that beats with fear.
     
    Torshi ran down the wet pavement. Today, it was cold and raining in Edöl, the capital city of Altaakanûl. This was not normal. Altaakanûl was a world of three suns and perpetual, warm daylight. 
     
    Its people, the Kanûlians, were a sun-worshipping culture whose very essence—their Identity—was tied to light and warmth. Rain was a novelty, a curiosity in the high mountains. A cold, persistent rain in the low-lying capital was a near impossibility, a climatic anomaly that defied the natural order of their world.
     
    Yet, here it was. Torshi dodged a sputtering cart, its driver cursing as the metal wheels skidded on the unfamiliar, slick stone. People huddled under awnings, their vibrant, sun-reflecting clothing muted by the heavy, grey sky. The air, usually crisp and warm, clung with a damp chill that seeped into her bones.
    More importantly, the rain muted the city's hum. Edöl was usually a vibrant, noisy place, powered by the thousands of Luminaries moving through its streets, their conviction and channeled Investiture radiating a low, constant vibration of being. 
     
    Today, the city felt dead.
     
    "They're all hiding," she muttered, pulling her thin cloak tighter around herself. "Afraid the sun will forget them if they step out in the wet."
    The lack of sunlight didn't just dampen spirits; it seemed to leach the very conviction from the air. For a street performer like Torshi, a Mimic still finding her footing in the tiers of power, this was a disaster. 
     
    She could feel the familiar 'well' of Investiture within her spiritweb, but accessing it required an effort, a deeper, almost painful focus to adopt even simple roles. The world felt muted, sluggish.
     
    She cut sharply into a narrow alley, the rain momentarily lessening under the overhanging second stories. Her destination was the Obelisk, the great, towering crystalline structure at the city's heart, where the Priesthood supposedly communed with the Ascended Sun—the Shard that governed this world. The Priesthood had declared the rain a "trial of faith," but Torshi, pragmatic to a fault, smelled a lie. This was not natural weather. This was something wrong. A deliberate blockage.
     
    As she reached the end of the alley, she had to stop. The main street leading to the Obelisk plaza was a river, and a small group of the Priesthood's guards, their golden armor tarnished by the moisture, were blocking the way, their spears crossed.
     
    "The plaza is closed to all save the initiated," one of the guards said, his voice clipped.
     
    Torshi looked at the sullen, wet crowd gathering at the makeshift barrier. A desperate energy was building. The sun was their life; the magic, their industry. Without it, the city would grind to a halt. Famine would follow. Chaos.
     
    She shifted her weight, testing her connection to her roles. The Athlete? Her conviction was too low; the cold sapped her will to embody 'peak physicality'. The Diplomat? She was too typecast as a cynical street rat.
     
    She settled on something simpler, something she knew well: the archetype of the Shadow.
     
    "It's a strange trial," she called out, her voice cutting through the growing murmur. "The Sun Ascended values action, does it not? Not hiding behind golden spears."
     
    The guard tensed, his helmet turning towards her. "The will of the Ascended is made known through the Priesthood."
     
    "Or perhaps through a lack of sun," Torshi countered, stepping into the open. She didn't wait for a reply. She began her performance, not with grand gestures, but with the quiet conviction of absence.
     
    Internally, she focused on making herself forgettable, channeling the Identity of an insignificant passerby, a smudge in the crowd. She lowered her head, pulling her face into a neutral expression. She performed the Shadow. The conviction flickered, weak in the oppressive damp, but present.
    Cognitive Cloak.
     
    She slipped through the edge of the crowd while their attention was fixed on the shouting guard. The magic didn't make her invisible; it made her unremarkable. The guards’ eyes slid over her. The crowd parted slightly without noticing her passing.
     
    The guards shouted, pointing their spears, but not at her. They were yelling at the spot where she had been standing seconds before. Torshi was already moving, scrambling over a low awning. She felt the eyes of the city fail to register her, and for a moment, the heavy air seemed to lift.
     
    This was a chase now, a familiar rhythm. She was an anomaly in the perfect system of Altaakanûl, just like the rain. And she was going to find out why her world was breaking. The truth, she suspected, was much colder than the rain.
     
    Torshi scrambled over the slick rooftops, the sound of the guards' shouts fading behind her as she vaulted over a gap between two buildings. She landed hard, the damp tiles offering poor grip. The momentum sent a jarring pain up her leg, a testament to how tenuous her current performance of the Shadow was. Usually, with strong conviction, the role's subtle physical benefits would make her movement fluid; today, it felt like she was pulling every ounce of power from her own bone and muscle.
     
    They're slow in this weather, she realized, a small, grim sense of triumph flaring in her chest. The Priesthood were powerful Performers, but they were used to a world where conviction was an easily accessible ocean of shared belief. When the shared Identity of a 'sunny world' ran dry, they were just men in heavy, ceremonial armor.
    She reached the edge of the residential section, looking down into the sprawling expanse of the Plaza of the Three Suns. The square was vast, paved with polished mirrors designed to focus and reflect sunlight onto the Great Obelisk at its center. Today, the mirrors were dark, covered in a sheen of rainwater, reflecting only the oppressive grey sky above. The Obelisk itself—a hundred-story spire of crystalline white rock—usually blazed with captured solar energy, a beacon of light visible for miles. Now, it stood as a monument to absence, its surface dull and lifeless.
     
    A figure stood near the base of the Obelisk, surprisingly alone, staring up at the spire. They wore robes of a deep, midnight blue that seemed to drink the light, a stark contrast to the Priesthood's traditional brilliant gold and white.
     
    A chase was one thing; confronting a mysterious figure at the center of the world's anomaly was another. Torshi hesitated, focusing her belief to slightly anchor her wet hands to the stone roof tiles, her Cognitive Cloak barely holding her in the 'unseen' role against the wind that had begun to pick up.
    The figure turned their head slowly, as if sensing her presence despite the downpour and distance. 
     
    Even from this height, Torshi could feel an aura of stillness around them, a chilling lack of the familiar vibrance that every living Performer on Altaakanûl usually possessed. They raised a hand, and with a gesture, the rain above the plaza stopped. Not slowed, not paused. It simply cut out, a perfect, invisible dome of dryness over the immediate area, the rain continuing to pour everywhere else around it.
    Torshi gasped, a cold knot forming in her stomach. That wasn't Ascensionism. That was something else entirely. A deliberate, controlled manipulation of the physical world that didn't rely on role-playing or shared belief. It felt foreign, alien.
     
    The figure gestured again, a simple twist of their fingers in the air. A small, dark shard of metal, no bigger than a coin, flew from the ground near the Obelisk and embedded itself into the massive crystal structure with a faint tink.
    A ripple went through the Obelisk. It didn't light up; it seemed to darken, the crystalline structure turning a deep, void-like black from the point of contact, as if the light were being actively devoured. The oppressive cold deepened instantly, spreading across the plaza.
     
    The figure looked right at her, even though she was half a mile away. There was no way they could see her face. They didn't wave, didn't make another grand gesture. They simply turned and began to walk away, towards the massive, ornamental gates on the far side of the plaza that led to the sea cliffs.
    Torshi was frozen, the fear momentarily overriding her drive. She had been right. This wasn't a weather anomaly or a trial of faith. It was an attack. The world wasn't just breaking down; it was being actively unmade, its light stolen by this silent figure.
     
    She had sought the truth, and now she had it. The question was no longer why the world was cold and wet, but how she was going to stop this. 
  21. Akimikoisthecutest

    Transcendance: Prologue

    By Akimikoisthecutest,


    Transcendance
    The power was a scream—not a sound, but a powerful force in the Spiritual Realm that violently bled into the Cognitive and Physical Realms. It had no name or purpose because its Vessel had been killed right after the Shattering of Adonalsium, during the first conflicts between the new gods. Its raw power had been left untouched for thousands of years, a wild and untamed force.
     
    Aris, a scholar of Realmic theory, had spent her life studying this power. She knew that an untended Shard was like a ticking time bomb. It was a force without direction that could warp reality just by existing. The power had already begun to cause strange events: areas where gravity was reversed, moments where time went backward, and bright islands of color that hurt the eyes.
     
    She stood at the edge of the power’s physical form, a swirling storm of energy on a long-dead world. The raw power pulsed like a dying heart, feeling lonely and dangerous.
     
    "It needs direction," Aris whispered, pulling her simple robes tighter. She didn't want to be a god, but she had a goal: she believed the universe needed order, a guiding hand to stop the other gods from destroying everything with their petty wars.
     
    Aris had no natural link to this power. She had no grand destiny pushing her forward like the first Vessels. All she had was her strong will and a lifetime of research into how to create a spiritual link. She took a small, steel cube from her satchel. The cube hummed with energy she had collected over decades. It was an anchor, a tool to connect her mortal spirit to the screaming, infinite power.
     
    Aris stepped into the storm.
     
    The moment she entered, her mind was hit with a thousand sensations at once. It was like living a million years in a single second. Raw knowledge slammed into her: the birth of stars, the silent cries of dead worlds, and the details of countless magic systems she had only dreamed of. The power tore at her soul, demanding that she act without thought or consequence.
     
    Create! Destroy! Build! End! the power screamed, throwing chaotic purposes at her mind, searching for a weak point.
    Aris held on, focusing on the steel cube and her single goal: to Transcend.
     
    "No," she pushed back. Her mortal voice was lost in the storm, but her will became a sudden, unmoving wall. "We will not be a chaotic force. We will bring order. We will bring Transcendence."
    She forced the cube’s connection into the center of the power. 
     
    The power fought back, its scream growing louder. Aris felt her skin tear and her bones groan under the pressure of holding infinity. Her blood boiled, turning to mist as the power consumed her physical body.
     
    She held tight to her one word, her one purpose: Transcend.
     
    The chaos began to calm. The riot of colors faded, and the storm of energy focused, shaped by the unyielding will of the person who refused to be just a Vessel, but a master of her own destiny. The raw power did not consume her; she consumed it, giving it a purpose it had never known.
     
    With a final, silent flash, the storm vanished. The energy folded in on itself, drawn into the core of the newly Ascended being.
     
    Aris was gone.
     
    In her place stood a new force in the Cosmere, a being of structure and purpose, holding a new Intention that gave her clarity instead of warping her mind.
     
    She had taken the power.
     
    She had Ascended.
  22. Akimikoisthecutest

    Origins of Ideas

    By Akimikoisthecutest,


    Early Signs
    Hi everyone! This is my first post in my story of how I realized I was trans! Alright, let’s get right into it.
    So, it was during the COVID-19 pandemic for me, which meant the strange, isolated world of online school. Like many people during that time, I found myself with basically unlimited internet access and a lot of quiet hours to fill while the world outside seemed to stand still. I was spending my afternoons watching YouTube, like anyone would, just trying to pass the time between Zoom classes and homework. That is when I came across a video of two women—a trans woman and her wife—talking about their lives, their transition journey, and how they eventually got married.
    I was quite interested, so I kept taking in more and more of this content. At first, I didn’t quite understand why I was so drawn to their story. I told myself I was just being a good ally or that I was simply curious about a life experience different from my own. However, the more I watched, the more I felt a strange, fluttering sensation in my chest. I wasn't just interested; I was captivated. I began searching for more creators, falling down a rabbit hole of transition vlogs, "coming out" stories, and educational videos about gender identity.
    Through this digital exploration, I learned about the concept of gender dysphoria—that nagging sense of misalignment between one’s mind and body—and, more importantly, gender euphoria. I watched people describe the overwhelming joy of being referred to by the right pronouns or seeing a version of themselves in the mirror that finally felt “correct.”
    Before this, I had always felt a sense of "otherness" that I couldn't quite put into words. I had spent years trying to fit into the box society had built for me, assuming that the discomfort I felt was just a normal part of growing up. But as I sat there in my bedroom with the glow of my laptop screen illuminating the dark, I started to realize that the life these women were describing resonated with me on a level I wasn't prepared for.
    I remember one specific video where they talked about the "click"—that moment when you realize that the life you’ve been living is just a costume. That hit me like a ton of bricks. I looked at the clothes in my closet and the name on my school assignments and realized they didn't feel like me. They felt like a character I was playing to make everyone else comfortable.
    The internet, which felt like a void of static for so many during lockdown, became my lifeline. It provided the language I didn't know I was missing. I spent hours on forums and social media, reading about the experiences of others who had navigated these same waters. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. For the first time, I wasn't just watching someone else’s story; I was starting to draft my own.
    This was the beginning of a long, often difficult, but ultimately beautiful journey toward self-discovery. It started with a single YouTube recommendation and turned into the realization that I didn't have to stay in the box I was born into. 
    -Akimikoisthecutest
    (I didn't realize I was trans until this year though. There might be another post similar to this btw. I lost that one, and it should have been posted at noon, but it just disappeared so I rewrote it. yay)
     
     
  23. Akimikoisthecutest

    Welcome!!!

    By Akimikoisthecutest,


    Welcome!
    Hi everyone! I'm Akimikoisthecutest, if you don't already know, and I'm a trans woman! Here I'm going to share my story with you all!
    My first actual post should show up soon (I thought I scheduled it for noon today, but I guess not.)
    Sooo, yeah!
    Here we go!
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