The reason nonbinary people don’t exist in the media is because we’re cryptids whose existence is poorly documented and based on legends of yore
“I have heard tale of the ‘Non-Binary’ folk, they’ve been around longer than you can imagine.” Pappy Joseph said to a young child recently returned from a hike with a strange photo.
“Tell me more Pappy!” The child shouts, excited about this new revelation, until Pappy’s husband comes outside after making a shitload of cookie dough.
“Are you telling another poor kid about that silly myth?” Said Pappy James, still covered in butter, “Everyone know that Non-Binary folk don’t exist.”
“Don’t be so sure James, I have proof this time,” Joseph gets up from the porch and begins walking inside, “Follow me, both of you!”
Both Pappys and the child began almost running down the corridors of the large home where the Pappys live, until they reached Joseph’s study.
“I’ve found evidence from hundreds of historical documents about the Non-Binary folk, but there is one myth that stands among the rest.” Joseph brings a ladder around to a shelf on Babylonian and Enochian myth. He searches through the shelves until he finds a hefty leather-bound tome bearing a picture of the goddess Ishtar. Flipping through the pages, he stops on one story, headed by a picture of Ishtar in the underworld. “According to Babylonian myth, the Non-Binary folk were created by the Water God Enki to save the Goddess Ishtar from the underworld where she was trapped by underworld goddess Ereshkigal. They saved her by seducing the goddess and curing Ishtar of the ailments trapping her in the underworld. As a result, Ereshkigal cursed them to be rejected by humanity for betraying her, but for helping Ishtar they were granted the powers of healing, prophecy, and psychic visions.”
“Very interesting,” James said, “but why would that make them real? Just because they’re mentioned in some old book doesn’t confirm anything.”
“You’ve met Ishtar, James, she came for supper last year.”
“Just because goddesses are real doesn’t mean the Non-Binary folk are.”
Pappy Joseph smiled, “you are ridiculous James,” Before kissing James’s forehead, “and you taste like chocolate.”
The Pappys begin to leave until the young child speaks, “So wait, does that mean the Non-Binary folk are real?”
“Well kiddo, I guess we will never know, but it’s always fun to think about.”
The two Pappys leave the room, and all that’s left is the young child, who looks at the photo one more time before leaving it on the windowsill.
“Can we have cookies now Pappy?” The child yells as they run from the room. A hand of no discernible gender reaches through the window and rests on the photo. Seconds later, it bursts into flames, ashes blowing away in the breeze until none of the picture remains but a face. The hand takes the last remnants of the image as it retreats, leaving no trace it was ever there.
this is fantastic and i’m absolutely sobbing, thanks mate
Headcannon: the child is nonbinary
“I’m not crazy, I swear” Josephine says. Her hair’s a mess, there are bags under her eyes and she’s been wearing the same outfit since last week “They’re real! I know they are! I found this account that says-”
“Just because someone says something on the internet, doesn’t mean it’s true” her girlfriend, Lizzy interrupts “You know this”
“I know, but this account is…different. I don’t know how to describe it, but I know this one is real. And, I found a store recently that specializes in gender neutral clothing! Who could that be for, but the nonbinary?! No one else cares about the ‘gender’ of their clothing” she says frantically, fumbling with papers and sketches
“That’s great sweetie. But even if they are real, none of them are going to approach you smelling like this. Do me a favour and take a shower” she says, planting a kiss on Josephine’s forehead, before heading to the door “I’ll be making dinner, and if you get cleaned up, maybe you’ll get a special treat after.” She winks with a smile, then she’s gone.
Josephine sighs “I know they’re real. I know it. I just need proof. But she’s right. I really do need a shower” she says before getting up and heading to the bathroom.
Lizzy waits till she hears the water running before dialing a number into her phone. As soon as the person on the other end picks up, Lizzy says “She’s onto you. Some of your people have been getting cocky. She’s found accounts accounts admitting to be one of you.”
“I think I know the one your talking about. It’s Gaud, right?” A voice that’s sounds like nothing other than a river crashing over rocks in the moonlight
“Yeah. And their account has gained a following. If they keep it up, people are going to catch on, and your people will be revealed to the whole world”
“I’ll talk to them. I said it was fine when it was a small account, but it’s gone too far. I’ll kill them, to get the point across. Hopefully when they come back, they’ll have learned their lesson. Anyways, thank you for bringing this tho my attention. Continue to keep an eye on Josephine. Once they realize what they are, they will be unstoppable. We must make sure they don’t find out until the preparations are made”
“I understand” Lizzy says, hanging up just as her girlfriend walks in.
“Who was that on the phone?” She says, as she sits down at the table.
“Just a friend from work. Now, are you hungry my lovebird?” She says with a smile as she sets the table. She can only wait till Josephine can let their true self out of confine. Then they can rule together as it was meant to be
You can kill me but when I come back I’m going to be so pissed
when fantasy books describe the cloth of Quant Farmpeople’s clothing as “homespun” or “rough homespun”
“homespun” as opposed to what??? EVERYTHING WAS SPUN AT HOME
they didn’t have fucking spinning factories, your pseudo-medieval farmwife is lucky if she has a fucking spinning wheel, otherwise she’s spinning every single thread her family wears on a drop spindle NO ONE ELSE WAS DOING THE SPINNING unless you go out of your way to establish a certain baseline of industrialization in your fake medieval fantasy land.
and “rough”??? lol just because it’s farm clothes? bitch cloth was valuable as fuck because of the labor involved ain’t no self-respecting woman gonna waste fiber and ALL THAT FUCKING TIME spinning shitty yarn to weave into shitty cloth she’s gonna make GOOD QUALITY SHIT for her family, and considering that women were doing fiber prep/spinning/weaving for like 80% of their waking time up until very recently in world history, literally every woman has the skills necessary to produce some TERRIFYINGLY GOOD QUALITY THREADS
come to think of it i’ve never read a fantasy novel that talks about textile production at all??? like it’s even worse than the “where are all the farms” problem like where are people getting the cloth if no one’s doing the spinning and weaving??? kmart???
All demons have a vague sense of precognition, so they only take children as payment from people who would become horrible parents.
I was raised in the Demon Orphanage. You look skeptical. And who wouldn’t be? ‘Tis a rare thing to hear, but it’s true.
I know that sounds bad but really, demons are outstanding caretakers. They don’t need sleep or rest. There’s few beings more patient. Infernal magic is eminently useful. My education was continuous and organic. I didn’t so much attend class as I was simply around beings of incredible intelligence and knowledge who taught us as naturally as we breathed.
You wonder if I stayed all my childhood in the orphanage. I didn’t. But some do stay.
I was personally adopted by an archduke of Hell whose specialty was astrophysics. My mother taught ethical philosophy to other demons. My second father was a polymath and inventor.My boyfriend during my teenage years was raised by an astronomer and a tactician.
You seem to think Hell must be a terrible place for a child. Poorly informed as you are by the Roman Catholic Church and it’s many, often wildly ignorant, offshoots.
Hell is orderly and safe. The souls of the damned are endless and their punishment must be efficient. Those who have not earned punishments must not be punished, and are safer there than any other place in the universe. The darkest, most remote wilderness of Hell is safer for me than in the most heavily guarded fortress or vault in the mortal realm.
So why am I here in the mortal realm? Well, I must admit my second father’s curiosity is quite infectious. I wanted to travel and experience other realms. Those who stay in Hell too long eventually become demons themselves, and many do choose that path, but I didn’t. And Earth seemed a fine place to start. Of course, I had to support myself, so I took a commissions job that pays quite nicely.
You shrug, limited curiosity sated. And put bloody pen to parchment. I was also raised in the old traditions.
I promise you won’t regret this.
My eyes are, perhaps, a bit too bright. There are, maybe, too many teeth in my smile. You shrug these impressions off as illusions. I’m a mortal, like you.
I should definitely start doing this. I’ve lost HOURS doing research for a line that I ended up scrapping.
Oh I like TK I usually do this with brackets like [number] or [thing].
Or, obviously, [joke] and [funny thing] and I think once [chad help].
TK (or whatever format you use–sometimes I highlight the blank space or just leave some random asterisks) is a lifesaver!
If this is the permission you need to write it a way that works for you, great!
In case there’s anyone out there who IS like me, though: for me this is a huge wad of horseshit.
If the detail I don’t know has stopped me then I’m not going to be able to move on without finding the answer because what comes after will be built on that detail.
If it turns out there AREN’T any Catholic churches in Brooklyn that could reliably be assumed not to say something that will piss off my character during their Midnight Mass on the 24th then his friend isn’t going to advise him to go anywhere for Midnight Mass which means this entire next part of the story where he has a particular convo that is PROMPTED by the experience of going to Midnight Mass is not going to happen.
And that means everything afterwards is going to be different and yes it will be in meaningful ways.
The thing is, for me, I won’t get interrupted in my writing momentum for anything that ISN’T like this. I might go back and add local colour details that weren’t necessary for the story later, but that stuff isn’t going to interrupt my flow.
Other people’s “composition brain” works different from mine. If I’m tired or having a hard time, my drafts get very spare – down to dialogue and (boring repetitively phrased) blocking plus any thoughts that are actually immediately relevant expressed baldly. They’re chunky and stilted that way. Because those are the absolutely crucial elements I need in order to find out how this moment happened, how this series of events led to another series of events.
honestly that whole “villain tries to intimidate a hero by putting a hand against the wall next to them trying to trap them” thing just isn’t that intimidating at all
it looks like a fuckin porno opening every time
like they finna make out
Trying to fuck the hero is one heck of a power move though, you’ve gotta admit
The voices of little girls are so powerful and profound because they haven’t yet been completely eaten away at by social conditioning.
“I am a rich pie filled with knowledge. I will not be eaten.” Holy fuck my new motto.
Transcription (with original line breaks):
The true feminine
I am not sugar and spice and everything nice. I am music, I am art. I am a story. I am a church bell, gonging out wrongs and rights and normal nights. I was baby. I am child. I will be mother. I don’t mind being considered beautiful, I do not allow that to be my definition. I am a rich pie strong with knowledge. I will not be eaten.
i’m not kidding, this poem shook me to my core. it inspired me more than any famous poet in the past few months. this little girl is going to influence the world in such a beautiful way.
Your church-going, God-worshipping sister adopted a small child and you’re excited to see them. But when you do, the child is a menace. They’re throwing things everywhere, setting furniture on fire with seemingly nothing, chanting in Latin to summon demons, but the weirdest thing is that your sister doesn’t seem to mind.
“You literally adopted the antichrist, Anne. What the fuck.”
“Yeah, I knew when I saw him at the orphanage. I figured if the kid had some decent fucking parenting that we could avoid the whole ‘Revelations’ shite. Nasty business, that.”
George, who’s name has been kindly changed from Damien, approaches his new mother with a huge spider in his hands. It promptly bursts into flames.
“Good job, love. Now go find the rest.” George’s face makes no expression, but his eyes shine when he recieves a pat on the head for his efforts.
As the months go by, George seems to settle down. He adjusts to school, friends, and the positive reinforcement Anne gives him. She encourages the good he does, even though the powers he uses aren’t “good”. When she gets calls from the school, it’s about a rambunctious boy that won’t sit still. Not a destroyer of the world and innocence.
It’s at Christmas dinner, that you let slip your amazement to your mother. How good Anne is for him and how he’s improved a lot. Still summoning hellhounds for games of fetch, though.
“Oh, he’ll forget how to do that when he falls in love the first time,” Your mother laughs, smiling wide.
“How do you know that,” you ask bewildered.
“Because, you did.”
okay so someone please write the story of the family of super-low-key holy warriors who have made it their mission to locate the antichrist in every generation (because when one gets spoiled they try AGAIN) and adopt them and love them into not being the antichrist anymore, thus perpetually delaying the apocalypse
delaying the apocalypse via good parenting I love this
Your church-going, God-worshipping sister adopted a small child and you’re excited to see them. But when you do, the child is a menace. They’re throwing things everywhere, setting furniture on fire with seemingly nothing, chanting in Latin to summon demons, but the weirdest thing is that your sister doesn’t seem to mind.
“You literally adopted the antichrist, Anne. What the fuck.”
“Yeah, I knew when I saw him at the orphanage. I figured if the kid had some decent fucking parenting that we could avoid the whole ‘Revelations’ shite. Nasty business, that.”
George, who’s name has been kindly changed from Damien, approaches his new mother with a huge spider in his hands. It promptly bursts into flames.
“Good job, love. Now go find the rest.” George’s face makes no expression, but his eyes shine when he recieves a pat on the head for his efforts.
As the months go by, George seems to settle down. He adjusts to school, friends, and the positive reinforcement Anne gives him. She encourages the good he does, even though the powers he uses aren’t “good”. When she gets calls from the school, it’s about a rambunctious boy that won’t sit still. Not a destroyer of the world and innocence.
It’s at Christmas dinner, that you let slip your amazement to your mother. How good Anne is for him and how he’s improved a lot. Still summoning hellhounds for games of fetch, though.
“Oh, he’ll forget how to do that when he falls in love the first time,” Your mother laughs, smiling wide.
“How do you know that,” you ask bewildered.
“Because, you did.”
okay so someone please write the story of the family of super-low-key holy warriors who have made it their mission to locate the antichrist in every generation (because when one gets spoiled they try AGAIN) and adopt them and love them into not being the antichrist anymore, thus perpetually delaying the apocalypse
delaying the apocalypse via good parenting I love this
You know what I don’t get? When fanfic authors apologize for long chapters. It’s like? You gave me bonus content, for free, and you’re sorry about it? Bruh. I have already named my firstborn after you. Dude.
You know what else I don’t get? When they apologize for short updates. It’s like: look at these new words I gave you! Sorry I didn’t give you even more free words. Bro, that’s at least two words that I did not have yesterday. For free. Dude. Thank you.
And another thing: when people drop out of nowhere with a surprise update and then apologize for it taking a while. Like, dude, I wasn’t expecting anything, and you gave me words. I thought this fic was abandoned, but wait: there’s more. You just popped in and reminded me that this is a Good Fic that I should probably reread. You made my goshdarn day.
Basically fanfic writers are under no obligation to publish anything so when they do update it’s always a net positive because the story is longer now, and I have something to read, so thank you so much to everyone who writes fic at whatever pace or quantity they want.
wupacing 