[Killawolf17]

username:
Killawolf17

kalon's name:
Tara

gender:
Female (mtf)

prompt:
It was the day she finally got the courage to tell her family and friends who she really is. When she would stop responding to Tehran. That name didn't exist for her anymore. She was Tara, and she knew her family and friends should know that too. What changed her perspective on everything is how they reacted.
As you do when you're young and scared about this kind of thing, you fear rejection. You silently wonder what people will think, say, or do. She had always expected some kind of backlash. She knew she was 'different' and had even begun hating herself for it. She hated herself for what she was about to put them all through, not even thinking about how what she needs to do for her own comfort, safety, and happiness is just as important, if not far more.
She had put it off for a long time, but she finally got around to it on her birthday. Everyone was gathered around, waiting for her to make her wish. She said it. She wished it away. She finally wished for that name to be gone forever.
It was silent. Someone started laughing. Soon everyone was falling all over themselves to comfort her, to tell her that it was okay and they loved her for who she is. Her whole outlook on life was flipped upside down. She was confused, happy, grateful. She had started to cry without even noticing it. She spent the rest of that day opening presents, explaining her experiences so far, talking to others about how she feels.
She now looks kindly at that moment when approaching the topic with new people. She never knew what to expect back then, but it was the best outcome and that's all she needed from her friends and family. What more could she ask for?

extra art piece:


Oml if she could be my first, I'd be over the moon! I'm in love with her.

[NaCl]

username: NaCl
kalon's name: Bianca
gender: Female [MfF]
prompt: res
extra art piece: wip

[Soll]

username: Soll
kalon's name: Overgang
gender: Female
prompt: (max. 600 words)
extra art piece: (optional)

wip!!

[mongrel]

omg she's finally open
heCK

[Avisowl]

Res

[OrangeSocks]

username: OrangeSocks
kalon's name: Finch
gender: Transfemale
prompt: (max. 600 words) (599/600)
“Seriously?” I sighed as she produced two tickets. Mom had mentioned wanting to take me when I got out of rehab,
but I didn’t think she had a plan. I didn’t want to go. Did I really need to see disabled people race? Yeah, it would
be great to be reminded that I couldn’t do regular sports ever again; that I would always need accommodations.
“Finch, it’ll be good to watch The Paralympic Games. I want you to know that you can stay strong and moving
even in a wheelchair. Paraplegia can’t stop you from reaching your dreams.” Dreams. What was the point? One day
you’re on the track team with a head full of fantasies, next you’re trapped by useless legs.
“Okay. I’ll go, but...” My mom grinned and kissed me on the forehead.
“Everything’s ready, all we need is you!” Of course she was already packed up.
The ride took six hours. We would stay at a B&B and attend the next day. Before I knew it, we were sitting in the
stadium watching the cycling race. 3...2...1… A flag sliced through the air; the race had begun. Mom leaned over.
“Do you see the woman in the lead?” She gestured towards a speeding bike.
“What about her?”
My mom’s entire face lit up. “That’s Bianca Horvitz!” She rattled off some facts. I fixed my eyes on her as she sped by,
everyone else trying to catch up. Mom was out of her seat with excitement. I wasn’t as enthusiastic and I couldn’t
jump out of my seat even if I wanted to. Mom settled down as the lap finished and held my arm.
The second lap passed. Horvitz was flanked by another racer, battling to get ahead. They turned… but then the racer
beside Horvitz banked too tightly and careened towards her. My mom’s grip tightened. Horvitz pulled her weight to one
side, avoiding the racer, but her wheels skid and she fell. I saw support running over, but something happened. Using her
arms, Horvitz pushed herself up. It took seconds and then she was speeding by.
The crowd cheered, but that felt distant. I watched as Horvitz pushed through the race without help and just kept going.
She had useless legs, but her arms were strong and she was confident. She grabbed life by the throat, playing the hand
she’d been dealt. Her disability may have knocked her down, but she got back up.
I felt like I knew that the wave she gave the crowd was aimed at me. Me. A girl who thought she was a burden for others,
a failure to herself. Who’d given up before even trying to get up. Who projected my fear as anger...apathy. I glanced at
my mom. She still loved me even when I snapped at her. Was she right? Could the chair really not hold me back? Could I
keep racing through life...not need to be pushed by others? I felt myself smiling. How long had it been? I thrust my arms
around my mom. She turned, surprised. “Mom!” I shouted. “You’re right!”
“About what?”
“My legs can’t stop me. I’ll adapt. Become stronger. I can get back up.” Her eyes filled with tears. I was crying too.
We hugged, ignoring the race. The only thing that mattered was the door into my future and the embrace of my mother.

-------
“You can do it Finch!” Mom’s voice rose above the others. I adjusted my hold on the handles. A whistle sounded and
I turned my hand pedals. The race was on.

extra art piece: (optional)

[avior.]

┌────────────────────────────┐


└────────────────────────────┘

username. avior.
name. lena arbridge
gender. trans girl
prompt.
this is the first time I've been to an event like this.

to be honest, I'm not going for myself. I'm going for thea, my friend. or more correctly, I'm going with her. she came out as bisexual a while ago- she's twenty, so our ages aren't all that similar at all, but we're so close. I'm jealous of her; I want to be out. I want to come out. but then, what do I come out as?

I'm a trans girl. I think I am, at least. the idea of identifying as a girl, of being seen as a girl, makes me feel more comfortable than I've been in a long time. but if I haven't even really admitted it to myself yet, how am I supposed to tell others?

anyways, here I am with thea at a pride parade. and the moment we arrive it feels like my eyes have been opened. it feels like I'm drowning in a mass of chaos- except suddenly I'm not drowning in it, I'm thriving in it. I'm only vaguely aware of thea watching me with a smile on her face. my eyes are wide and I spin in a slow circle, trying to take in everything around me.

the air is full of flags and colours. they snap in the breeze and filter rainbow-hued beams of sunlight down to the ground below. all around me, people are laughing, talking over the din, hugging their loved ones. suddenly it's not chaos anymore. the only emotion I get from it- from any of it- is love. love, and something else. acceptance. for once, I feel safe. I know who I am and I know I will be loved.

thea's already moving on, greeting friends. my heart thuds loudly but I feel happier than I've ever been. I rush towards her and grab at her arm. this is my time.

"thea," I breathe. it's more of a hushed exclamation than anything else. she turns to me, and for a moment I see a girl reflected in her bright grey eyes. me. it's me. I don't hesitate. I feel a smile pulling at my cheeks until they hurt. "I think I wanted to be called lena."

I see understanding flash across her expression. then she breaks out into a wide grin that makes my heart hurt, and suddenly my eyes are full of tears and I can't see my reflection anymore. I don't need to. now she's dragging me somewhere, and I'm almost stumbling, almost falling over my feet. I don't care. she stops and shoves something in my fist, and I don't have to be able to see it to know it's a flag. I blink harshly and try to smile at her, finally feeling like myself. I feel real, I feel alive. I feel the way everyone deserves to feel.

"okay, lena," she states cheerfully, shifting to grab my paw. I've never been happier to have a friend like her. "let's go enjoy pride," she urges. before I can say a word, I'm pulled into a swarm of moving people and waving flags. I drink in every moment of it. this was the right thing to do- I see it now.

I will be loved.

[542/600]

[rustyroxy]

username: rustyroxy
kalon's name: tbd
gender: mtf
prompt: (max. 600 words)
extra art piece: (optional)

[22tabby]

Mark

[Olive;]

Username: OliveMyLove
Kalon's Name: Iris
Gender: Trans-female

The end of the school year was wrapping up, and I walked out of my band audition feeling good. I nailed it!
Instead of putting my trombone away, like most of my classmates did after their auditions, I continued to practice. I had been working on the Rimskij-Korsakov concerto for quite some time, and it finally sounded polished!
"Iris, can I speak to you?" My band teacher, Mrs. Arain poked her head out from her office.
I nodded, and entered the office.
"You’re a very talented trombone player. It’s been a joy having you as my student for the past two years."
I winced, worrying about what was going to come next. Was she not going to promote me to the highest band?
"As of now, we only have 2 trombones in jazz band. We really need more. I know you’ve never expressed interest in jazz, but would you please join?"
I didn’t speak for a moment. Jazz?! I hated everything about it, even the very name of it. Jazz was for losers who couldn’t read music.
She must have sensed my reluctance. "Iris, how about this? If you do well in jazz band, you can play your concerto at the spring concert with band accompaniment."
I couldn’t possibly turn this down. Even if it meant suffering through a whole year of jazz class.
"Alright, I’ll do it. Thank you for the bribery." Mrs. Arain smiled, and dismissed me.
That day, I returned from school, and went straight to my computer. How to learn jazz, I typed into google, and hit enter. I clicked on the first link that came up and scanned the article. It recommended that I listen to lots of jazz and transcribe it. Thankfully, I had been transcribing, or playing music by ear, with my classical studies. This wouldn’t be too hard.
I sat down in front of my stand, and hit play on a youtube video. Autumn Leaves. A jazz standard. I paused it after the first phrase, and tried playing it. It took a couple tries, but it finally clicked. Bit by bit, I got the rest of the song. Why couldn’t I just read sheet music? This would be so much easier.
After you transcribed the head, or the main tune of the song, the article told you to transcribe the solo section, full of improvisational melodies.
I hit play again, and the music went into the first solo. What even was this? It certainly wasn’t deserving of the title of "music."
Reluctantly, I began to work at it. I couldn’t just give up. I needed to play that concerto at the concert.
And slowly, but surely, I added more notes until the solo was completed. I certainly didn’t anticipate the mental workout that this would give me, even if I didn’t like listening to it. But maybe jazz folks weren’t just losers who couldn’t read music.

Two Months Later

I walked up to a classmate’s house, trombone case in hand.
"Hey, Iris, my dude! I’m glad you could join us today!" a bassist opened the door, and led me inside. A guitarist, pianist, and a couple saxes were already setting up. I had been coming to these combo practices for about a month now.
"Let’s get started! How about Straight No Chaser?"
And without further ado, we launched into the high energy piece. I took a solo, letting myself speak freely through the music and enjoying the dissonance that I had hated so much before. This was my passion now; a new way to express myself. I truly felt at home.