Desi
The road is winding, intermittently lit by harsh, white streetlights that do a poor job of illuminating the path. Any cars that drive by us are depending on their own headlights and the reflective strips embedded into the road’s surface, while us pedestrians have no choice but to flit from lamplight to lamplight, always heading for the next bright spot ahead.
Kyle, despite his emphatic declaration, seems to have very little to say to me. I suppose, now that I take a moment to pause and reflect on our torrid little affair, that that’s always been the case. It just feels particularly awkward now.
“How long are you going to keep this up?” I finally ask.
“Keep what up?”
He doesn’t even break stride, or turn to look over his shoulder. He just keeps walking away from me.
“I thought you wanted to
talk
,” I point out, through gritted teeth. “So
talk
. Say it. Say
something
.”
“You don’t even want to wait until we’re home?”
Stopping right under a streetlight, Kyle turns around. I follow suit, stopping dead in my tracks, hugging myself in the shadow he casts.
“What’s the point?” I sigh. “I don’t want to spend a bus ride crammed next to you, wishing the whole time that you won’t say what I know you’re going to say.”
“What do you think I’m going to say?”
“That we’re over,” I state bluntly.
Kyle says nothing.
“You can’t even SAY it!” I explode. “You don’t even have the decency to look me in the eye and say it your damned self!”
“You’ve done a pretty good job setting the terms of our relationship so far. Why should that change now?”
I take a step back, reeling.
“Excuse me?” I hiss. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you, Kyle!”
“Without asking me,” Kyle interjects, and it’s like he’s driving needles into my heart. “All these big gestures, these grand declarations, all without my input, because none of them were actually about me, Des. You don’t have to keep pretending any of it was for my benefit. I am, at best, a prop to you.”
“How could you say that?” I cry out in anguish. “Kyle, I … I
love
you!”
“You don’t
know
me, Desdemona.”
This is a nightmare.
“You have to know a person to love them,” he continues, merciless. “I have no trouble believing you love an image in your head—a phantom in the approximate shape of me that you conjured. You don’t love
me
, though.”
“Does that mean … are you saying …?”
Stupid, stupid. Don’t ask the question. You already know the answer, Desi. Why must you make him say it?
“When did I ever say I loved you?”
Ice, encasing my heart. I sob, clapping a hand to my mouth, unable to stop myself.
“Come on, Des.” He has the audacity to
sigh
. “We both know we’ve been playing pretend. What’s the harm in acknowledging it?”
“No!
You
have, clearly!” I shriek. “You—you
used
me!”
“Oh, that’s rich.”
“You just
experimented
with me!” Fingernails in my scalp, digging in. “You in your miserable arranged marriage, thinking you’d just take a vacation from it all, just another bi guy taking a twink for a swing, having your fun with an exotic new toy, but when it comes time to settle down you run right back to the
real woman
who you can
marry
and who can give you
babies
because I’ll just always be a glorified hole and I’ll never be
pretty
or
fem
enough for you to proudly show off on your arm—”
“What if
I
want to be pretty and fem?”
My mouth just hangs open. I wheeze, and no words come out.
“What’s the matter, Des?” Kyle arches an eyebrow. “We’re both
guys
, aren’t we? Queer guys. Gay guys. Why are you so uptight about what I want to wear? About how I present? What’s the problem?”
“No … It’s not … You just can’t … I’m not … You
can’t
.”
“Why not?” He presses, damn him. “Give me an actual reason, Des.”
“You just
can’t
!” I scream. “I don’t wanna be seen like that! I don’t want to be seen with you like that, the two of us just looking like—like—!”
“Like a couple of freaks, sure,” Kyle sighs. “Someone’s always gotta be
the man
, eh?”
“Oh, no, not at all I fucking guess!” I throw my hands up, absolutely done with this. “Why don’t we all prance around just pretending to be lesbians, like our adorable little roommates, or your fucking ex—”
“Wait, my what?” Kyle frowns, interrupting me the second I mention fucking
Rupali
. “What did you say?”
“
Now
you want to listen to me?” I laugh, bitterly. “The woman you oh-so-sexily waltzed all over the dance floor with tonight was telling anyone who’d listen about the girl she’s fucking not moments before picking you up! I guess neither of you is particularly faithful, but what can you expect from two bisexuals?”
“I don’t really think you have a leg to stand on, there.”
“You’re right, how dare I make you throw yourself at me?”
There’s just nothing left inside me anymore. Nothing but bile and poison and acid, and I can’t stop spitting all of it in Kyle’s direction.
“Good point.” Kyle straightens up, nodding. “That was the worst mistake I’ve ever made in my life. I’m correcting it.”
I throw my head back and wail.
“Yeah, that’s what I am! A mistake! A fucking freak who belongs with other freaks because I’m never, ever going to get a
real
man to take the slightest interest in a goddamned
mistake
like me!”
“FOR FUCK’S SAKE, DESDEMONA!”
Before I realize what’s happening, Kyle’s seized my shoulders.
“Can you snap out of it?” he demands. “Can you realize that you go around judging people for dressing up like women, when that’s exactly what you want to do? If you’re so fucking desperate to do it, THEN DO IT. Stop acting like there’s all these arcane rules everybody but you is breaking, and for the love of everything sensible, stop acting like you need to be standing next to a guy for it to count! You can just do it, you can just
be a woman
, Des, and you don’t need to fucking recruit me into some harebrained scheme to let yourself be one! Because
I am not your gentleman caller
, Des. I am not your prop, I am not your shield, and I am not your big brown hunk for you to stand next to, looking pretty and small and fem. I’m your idiot roommate who does your fucking dishes, has been folding your fucking laundry, and cleaning your fucking room, because I’m only ‘the guy’ to you when you want to go outside and show me off. And now, Des, I’m your ex. Because
we’re done
.”
Ringing in my ears. He lets me go, and I drop to my knees, stunned. There’s no fight in me. There’s no strength in my legs.
“Des. We’re going to miss the bus.”
“So go.”
“Des, I’m not going to leave—”
“I SAID GO!” I look up, eyes wide, tears pouring freely. “I DON’T WANT TO COME WITH YOU, I DON’T WANT TO FUCKING LOOK AT YOU, I DON’T WANT TO BE ANYWHERE NEAR YOU EVER AGAIN! GET OUT OF MY FUCKING SIGHT, AND DON’T EVER DARE EVEN SPEAK TO ME AGAIN!”
Finally, wordlessly, he does as I bid. I see Kyle’s retreating form, and I promise to make good on my proclamations, to find someplace to crash tonight, and to figure out how to get out of the apartment as soon as possible.
He deserves that much from me.
Kyle Rashmi
Home, finally.
The bus was packed to the brim, of course. Drunk passengers were shouting at each other, seating was impossible to find, my feet hurt, I’m cold, I’m sweaty, Kathy’s dress is too tight around the chest and as much as I enjoy the look of it I need this thing
off
, so I can breathe properly, drop onto the bed, and sleep until next month. Maybe next year, even.
Nobody is going to be home yet. I’ll be all alone as I get ready for bed, with nowhere for all these thoughts to
go
until I wake up. Simply take off my shoes and jacket, open the door into the common area and—
And see Kathy hunched over the dining table.
She barely seems to register my presence as she stares into her second bowl of noodles for the day. The kitchen counter is spotless, and she is lightly prodding at the food with a pair of plastic chopsticks.
Notorious for staining, the sauce on Kathy’s noodles would make them an enormously risky comfort food in a white suit. This is not a problem however, as Kathy has made the wise choice to change into her pink hoodie, the one with the cat ears.
“Home early?” I take a seat across from her.
“Oh, hello Kaalappan.”
Not even looking at me, Kathy’s response is as quick as it is disinterested. The noodles have started to solidify from cooling, her lips free from any telltale stains.
“It’s Rashmi, actually,” I correct without thinking.
My sudden proclamation succeeds in capturing her attention from the clutches of her lukewarm ramen, and she grins while locking eyes with me.
“So you have finally realized that the time for a real-life cover is at hand. A wise move, if somewhat overdue given that—”
“Nope.” I interrupt her pontificating before she has a chance to get stuck in some dead-end nonsense. “Trans woman. I’m a transsexual woman. A trans person, who now and for the foreseeable future identifies as and will be identifying as a
woman
!”
I slap the table for emphasis, and Kathy squeaks a little in surprise as she straightens herself out, fully attentive.
“I mean it. I’m fed up with keeping secrets, I’ve been hiding for too long already, I’m not just going to pretend I’m transitioning for the
fucking server
! I’ve already driven away the woman I was
supposed
to end up with, the one who
would have accepted me all along if I’d just been honest with her
, because I was too much of a
coward
to just say it! She’s even into girls, Kathy! I had the luckiest fucking arranged marriage imaginable and I pissed it all away by being an insecure moron!”
I take a moment to catch my breath. Kathy continues silently taking in all of my words.
“So call a tribunal on me if you want, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. I’d rather just be honest.”
“I’m trans too.”
Deadpan and unusually to-the-point, it’s hard to tell if Kathy’s fucking with me or not.
“No shit?” I ask. “I mean, that’s sort of obvious, but why admit it all of a sudden?”
Kathy shrugs in response.
“It is much as you said. I, too, am sick of the secrecy, for it has brought ruin upon Nichole and I, much as it has done for you and Rupali.”
Hunching back down, Kathy’s mood is visibly souring again.
“I take it you two didn’t run off to sort things out, huh.”
“Her communication skills are as tepid as her fellating skills, she has much to learn on both fronts. The orgasm was
fine
, I suppose, but she really ought to have stuck around.”
There really isn’t a good way to respond to that, so I don’t bother. Kathy punctuates the too-much-information with a sigh, and returns her gaze downwards.
“I said some regrettable things before that. Hurtful, ill-considered, and operating on presumptions about Nichole which, as it turns out, were entirely false.”
“What presumptions?”
“I thought she was a man.”
She
what
.
“I see. Were you, perhaps, recently kicked in the head by a horse?”
“I’ll have you know that I am
soothing
to horses, beloved by them even, and no horse would ever do such a thing to me. I was taking her stated identity in good faith!”
The absurdity of it is too much, and I can’t help but laugh.
“You took her stated identity in good faith even though she was
literally transitioning in front of you
?”
“She appeared to believe that a false transition was a reasonable scheme when I said I was doing the same thing. I had no reason to suspect she would deceive me about it.”
“So it didn’t occur to you, even
once
,” I begin, speaking very very slowly for Kathy’s benefit, “that maybe, just maybe, Nichole was doing the exact same thing you were, for the exact same reasons?”
Kathy blinks, tilts her head to the side a little, and then puts a finger on her chin.
“Well, when you put it like that, I mean–look, I was
somewhat
distracted by the panic of believing that my cisgender male friend was about to participate in Ranked Competitive Breast Growth. Such a thing would be a dreadfully dysphoric experience, would it not? She would not listen to reason, and so I was attempting to dissuade her from participating through… subterfuge.”
My head is in my hands now. “You couldn’t have just had a
conversation
with her? I thought you were best friends!”
“I mean. If I had warned her it would have incriminated me in the competition, and then I would risk being ousted. Certainly, I am
somewhat
culpable given that I introduced her to it in the first place, but up until she decided to participate I
intended
to be honest with her, for the most part?”
“But not honest enough to trust your best friend not to oust you from the competition.”
“Well. I mean. I panicked and attempted to knock her out first, is the thing. Hindsight once again tells me this was a bad move.”
Hindsight
tells her that, sure.
“Kathy,
why
are you like this?”
“In all honesty, sometimes I find my actions and my motives to be discordant in a manner I barely understand myself.”
“If
you
don’t even know why, what hope do the rest of us have in figuring it the fuck out?” I mutter, half under my breath.
“
Regardless
, the core of my mistake has been addressed,” Kathy disregards my comment entirely. “Nichole is a woman, and I ought to act with that information in mind.”
“So you’re going to tell her what you told me, and try to fix things.”
“Rashmi. Hours ago, I damaged my relationship with Nichole to the extent that she fled my presence in tears. Prior to that, she was refusing to speak to me, to even answer my calls or texts. I fear the opportunity to sway her with honesty has passed me by.”
“But if you just come out to each other you’ll have a basis of
genuine
honesty to work off.”
“That supposes Nichole actually knows her own identity. I fear this might not be the case, that the darkness of the server’s influence has plunged her into the abyss.”
“That’s … not impossible, I mean. I only just figured it out tonight.”
“Indeed. In my attempts to save Nichole from undue feminization, I have provided her with all the tools of self-denial she could ever need. Her defenses against self-actualization are now truly impenetrable, and if nothing is done I fear she will believe herself to be following in the footsteps of Laura for every step of her transition.”
“Pretty bad situation for her, yeah.”
“And it is my fault. Thus, setting things right is my responsibility, for I
refuse
to depend on mere fortune to undo the harm I have caused. If I do nothing now, I am no better than Desdemona, enforcing masculinity upon a partner to whom it is
poison
.”
Instantly, I reach across the table and grasp her hand, tightly.
“Katherine,” I state, in a tone that will brook no argument, “let me state one thing, plain.
You are nothing like Desdemona
.”
Squeaking a little in surprise, she grips my hand in return.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but—”
“No buts.”
“However—”
“No. You’re genuinely trying to look out for Nichole, even if you have a
tremendously
flawed way to do so. Desdemona wanted a docile, passive
boyfriend
to order around. It’s different.”
“And yet, the harm remains, and now it falls on me to undo it.”
“She hurt you too, you know.” I tighten my grip on her hand. “You’re not obligated to save her, even if you think some of this is your fault.”
“Someone has to. If left to her own devices, influenced by the alluring whispers of that damnable server, I dread the monstrosity that will become of her. And besides … I
want
to have her in my life.
I want to help her
.”
Despite everything, Kathy really does care about Nichole. I smile.
“Well, you’re not doing it alone.
We’re
going to help her.”
Smirking wickedly, Kathy tugs on my hand.
“Then, my co-conspirator, we must waste no time.”
I feel a looming sense of d she’s about to say. “Kathy,
please
—”
“We must engineer a scheme to
trick Nichole into realizing she is a woman.
”
Nichole
The cocoa’s warm.
I hold the mug hard enough to feel my own pulse, nestled gently against my chest, breathing in the steam for a moment. Lavender and vanilla and cinnamon and scents I can’t place, the smell itself is healing, rejuvenating, breathing life and feeling back into my limbs. I take a sip of the concoction; honey, chocolate, spices and cream hit my tongue, a dazzling explosion of sweetness and salt that has me attempting a too-greedy gulp despite its temperature. A moment to ensure I haven’t burned the roof of my mouth and I place the potion back down on a coaster, looking apologetic.
“They don’t make you get good manners ‘fore they give you the pills these days, eh?” Dorothy jokes.
“No,” I answer feebly, realizing too late the question was rhetorical.
Kindly, Dorothy has turned up the heat for my benefit, shedding her various layers and sitting across from me. Her powder-blue blouse and bright pink pinafore harken back to a different, simpler time. Or maybe that’s just me judging her fashion and doing my best to put a non-catty spin on it.
“So,” she begins, conversational, direct, “what’s the boy’s problem?”
The laugh that tears its way out of my throat is harsh and deranged, barely human.
“The problem is it’s a boy. Isn’t that enough?” I ask bitterly.
“Oh, but that’s
always
going to be a problem,” Dorothy chuckles. “They have such unique, specific ways of going above and beyond that fundamental issue though, don’t they?”
“Tell me about it,” I groan.
“That’s your job, sugar. Take your time.”
So I do. I stare into the mug, trying to divine something from the twisting patterns of the rising steam. Trying, mainly, to think about how to phrase things without sounding like a crazy woman.
Because I don’t want to just lie. I’m tired of lying to people about what my actual problems are, about what’s actually bothering me, about what I really, truly need. I’m tired of having to lock everything away behind a shell, even when I’m with people I should or want to trust. Not that I
trust
Dorothy—I met her not ten minutes ago. However, I don’t really have a single trans friend, and had never even
thought
about trans people who are so much older than me, who came before me, who dealt with everything I’ve dealt with and lived, somehow even flourished through it. The thought is dizzying and fills me up almost as much as the cocoa. I really, really need to talk to her, as honestly as I’m able.
Maybe I’ll start somewhere simple.
“You ever just realize …” I trail off, trying to determine the best way to say this without sounding incredibly conceited. “Transition went, kind of well, all in all.”
Dorothy snorts.
“Okay,
really
well,” I admit. “Especially given the timeframe, I don’t look half-bad.”
“I’m not your girlfriends, sugar, no need to be humble.” Dorothy rolls her eyes. “I already hate your guts for being young and pretty, you may as well own it.”
That got a little smile out of me. “Alright. I’m drop-dead gorgeous and everyone knows it.”
“But it didn’t solve all your problems, did it?”
“No.” I take another sip of the cocoa, staring off into the distance. “Dumped a whole bunch of new ones into my lap, at that, and I’m not really equipped to sort out any of them.”
“As it turns out, pretty girls have problems too.” Dorothy spreads her arms wide. “Ask me how I know.”
I giggle. “I can imagine.”
“Wish I could tell ya what the silver bullet is, but as you can see, I don’t have a hunky baker closing up for me right now.” Dorothy gestures behind the counter.
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. A couple of decades of living, a roof over my head, and a line of work that I actually enjoy waking up for every day … there are worse deals.” Dorothy shrugs noncommittally. “Lasted longer than the looks did.”
“I mean … you’re still very …”
“Over fifty, sugar, which to men means ‘dead’.” Dorothy raises a hand. “This wasn’t
my
bitch session though, was it?”
“Right.”
More cocoa. More gathering my thoughts. More trying to figure out how to talk about the server without talking about the server—though, actually, it wasn’t
about
the server, was it? When you get right down to it, as much as Ranked Competitive Breast Growth may have contributed to this hot mess I find myself in, it didn’t cause the actual problems. The server didn’t
make
Kathy into a distant, manipulative, eccentric and detached person who doesn’t trust me, despite professing to be oh-so-close to me.
That was all her.
“We’re best friends. We were, anyway,” I begin, faltering, but more sure with each word. “We’ve known each other a while, a long, long time, since before I … since before. So I thought that meant something, foolishly. I thought that even when things were hard, even when I’d have to deal with all the bullshit this new life is throwing at me, I’d have someone in my corner. Someone on my team, someone to watch my back and take care of me and hold me when things get rough. Instead, I don’t have anyone, because the one who’s supposed to be at my side is the one hurting me. Because the person I thought would never let me down just doesn’t trust me, just doesn’t see me the same way and just can’t get past how … I’m not the same person I used to be. I’ve changed. I’ve become someone new, and we both know it, and we just can’t admit how it’s changed
us
, too.”
Another sip. The cocoa’s gone cold.
Quietly, Dorothy places her hand on mine, on the one still cradling the mug. She taps my knuckles in a little pattern, brow furrowed in thought, exhaling a deep sigh under her breath. I must be such a silly girl to her, a freshly-out babe with the impulse control of a teenager, crying my first tears over a problem she’d likely solved and made her peace with long ago. Her empty bakery stood still around us as a testament to a life well lived, yet lived largely alone. Perhaps she was gearing up to tell me the harsh truth no one ever tells young trans girls, in their eagerness to reassure us with false hopes and ephemeral dreams. Perhaps I was about to be told exactly how futile it is for women like us to wish for happily-ever-afters.
“Your first mistake was thinking you got to keep anything from your old life, sugar.”
My grip on the cocoa tightens.
“It’s not your fault.” Dorothy’s voice is even but her tone is stern, that of a teacher telling off an inattentive student. “You’ve grown up with all this being sold as something easy, some fun new trend for kids to hop onto with multicolored highlights and atrocious fashion sense, for the purpose of making a juvenile
statement
about gender being fake. That’s not us, though. That’s never been us, because we
know
. We’ve always
known
how real gender is, because we know what it’s like to grow up knowing what we’re
supposed
to be, but somehow weren’t born as.”
She’s shaking her head now, her expression faraway. “We had a system, you know? You went through the gauntlet, same as all the women before, same as all the women after you were supposed to, too. This is a curse, it’s a fucking
disease
, and we’re lucky to live in a time where we know what the cure is. You get your letters, you do your damn woodworking, you get the right skills you need for your new life and kill every part of your old life that holds you back—you know it’s called a
deadname
for a reason, right?”
“I—I guess I didn’t think much of it.”
“Yeah, because for a couple of years you didn’t need all of that.” Dorothy scoffs. “What could go wrong? They just let any and every bloke in a skirt waltz in and get his pills because of ‘freedom’ and ‘choice’ and now look where we are. Idiot kids screaming in the press about how they were allowed to make mistakes, politicians and magnates on a crusade against our whole community, and now the same people who’ve been filling my prescription for years at the pharmacy make eyes at me. I’m lumped in with all the yahoos and the tourists, just like they wanted.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t be a
child
, girl,” Dorothy cautions. “We used to do things this way for a reason, because it
worked
. We used to be able to get what we needed without causing any trouble, without raising any hell or ruffling any feathers. We didn’t used to make being shocking and offensive our identity, or clowns in drag the face of our community. Nothing from your past is meant to be part of your future, girl. Don’t make the mistake of denying that out of petty sentiment.”
Everything is suddenly so clear to me.
How stupid I’ve been, how short-sighted, how selfish and self-involved—the realization hits me like a flash of lightning, like the gods have finally bestowed upon me the gift of insight and understanding. How could I have been such an idiot?
“It’s so obvious now,” I gasp.
“It should be, but no one teaches us these things anymo—”
“No, not
that
.” I interrupt Dorothy before she can spew any more of her nonsense. “Not a word you’ve said was helpful, frankly—I mean, it was, but not in the way you wanted it to be.”
“I beg your pardon?!”
Perhaps I should have made my point a little more tactfully, but I’m too excited to care.
“No, see—don’t you get it?” I’m clutching her hand now, excited at having
finally
connected the dots. “I’m such an idiot—I’ve been feeling like a complete failure this whole time. Cut off from my own people, isolated and trapped amidst gibbering morons in complete denial, playing the role of mother hen to idiots who won’t let themselves admit who they are and what they want. I really, really thought that
actual
trans girls aren’t like this,
actual
trans girls must be self-assured in their identities and confident and
really sure
and
really women
in a way even I thought I couldn’t be. But look at you!”
I brandish both palms at Dorothy in a manic little flourish.
“Here you sit, decades older than me, and you’re just as bad as the rest of them!”
“... Okay, I’m completely lost, but I followed enough to gather that wasn’t a compliment.”
“You just called being trans a
disease
,” I remind her. “You just told me with a straight face that you think
killing off your whole life
, not just doing it but being
forced to
, being
expected
to, was good and better and a reasonable, preferable state of affairs to people just being able to transition because they want to! That is
by far
the most insane thing I’ve heard this year, and it had nothing to do with the server!”
It’s too much—too much energy, too much exhilaration for me to contain. I jump to my feet and begin pacing around.
“It all makes sense now—
she’s trans
! Don’t you get it? She’s trans too, she’s always been trans, and for some stupid reason I didn’t realize it until now, I took her at her word
for no good reason
! She’s lied to me about so much else—why did I think
this
was the one thing she’s being honest about?!”
“‘She’? Darlin’, who and what are you even nattering on about?”
“The girl I love!” I throw my hands up and laugh like a lunatic, announcing it to the ceiling. “The idiot girl I’m in love with who doesn’t know she’s a girl, who thinks she’s running some kind of elaborate scheme for money and doesn’t realize she’s just doing it so she has an excuse to transition! I’m in love with a
girl
, I’ve always been in love with a girl even when I and especially she didn’t know it, and I have to make her realize it just like I’ve realized it! I have to fucking save her from her own fucking schemes, because she’s too damn paranoid and two-faced for her own damn good, because she’s so good at lying she’s succeeded in lying to
herself
! I have to save the girl I love!”
My moment of triumph is cut somewhat short when I finally lower my gaze and see Dorothy narrowing her eyes at me, her lips twisted into a disgusted sneer. She looks like she’s just found a hair in her food.
“You’re … in love with a
girl
?”
“Yes.”
“Get out.”
Honestly, she didn’t need to tell me twice. Dorothy really skeeves me out.
The bus is almost here, but I can’t wait any longer. I have to
act
, we’ve both wasted enough time and I can’t let us waste another
second
. I pull my phone out and anxiously make a call. Fortunately, she picks up after the first ring.
“Hey!” I practically shout into the phone. “It’s me, it’s Nichole—we have to talk, right now. I’m sorry, I know it’s late, I know it’s weird, but I’m coming over because I need to tell you
everything
. It’s really, really important.”
#kickoff-q4-25 channel, RCBG Server, on the night of the Drag Ball
Bench Press Meta 2025 (Trickster’s Truest)
What even is the point of this kickoff ceremony? Of standardising the hormone onset of the new batch? It’s not like this sport means anything anymore.
Paladin of Penetration
This is, like, incredibly whiny even for you.
Jormungandr in my Pants (Trickster Was Right)
You trans girls have completely taken over the server while being un-kickable because your dear
impenetrable
hand-wrote you a guide on how to shoot down any challenge. I actually remember what this server used to be like when you could just catch a trans girl being obviously a girl IRL and boot her for trying to game the server.
Errant of E-Cups
Still a toxic cess-pit?
Bench Press Meta 2025 (Trickster’s Truest)
No one’s forcing you to be here, dipshit. We literally don’t want you here, sullying the honor of men’s spaces with your female taint.
Errant of E-Cups
Dude, can you just let it go? Your guy lost
months
ago. Is there seriously
no
healthier outlet for you to channel this bitterness into?
Paladin of Penetration
It’s a pretty big intake this time. We can keep the server culture in this vicious back-and-forth, or we can show the new blood that we’re actually civilized adults here.
Jormungandr in my Pants (Trickster Was Right)
You’re literally here under false pretenses and I’m going to make it known to anyone who enters.
Laura
@everyone
I have an announcement, so if you’d all join the kickoff VC I’d appreciate it. The countdown’s started and all.
Errant of E-Cups
Alright, so be it, you vindictive, petty pissant.
Laura
@isaacahedron
I meant every word, babe.
Bench Press Meta 2025 (Trickster’s Truest)
You are not
actually
the queen of this server, and I don’t have to do jack shit.
Jormungandr in my Pants (Trickster Was Right)
Dude, do you have anything better to do right now? We’re here for kickoff. Let’s see what queen bitch wants.
Bench Press Meta 2025 (Trickster’s Truest)
… fine.
Everyone who joins the voice channel sees, in addition to Admin’s countdown, Laura’s face in the video screen, her expression weary and her hair oddly unkempt. She is wearing a bright red tube top, shoulders bare, and her lips are tightly pursed.
Laura waits for a good amount of the server’s online denizens to join the call. Despite protestations to the contrary, when the champion calls, her server does, indeed, answer. Once satisfied, Laura looks directly into the camera and takes a deep breath.
“I’m a trans woman.”
As if to stave off any uncertainty, just in case anyone believes themselves to have misheard, Laura repeats the statement in writing, accompanied by a server-wide ping. The chat erupts into utter chaos, but Laura pays them no heed.
“Of course I’m a trans woman. Are you all dense?”