Sexuality & Gender Diversity Headcanons. Heres One For The Lgbtq+ Muses: Put A Number In My Ask, And

sexuality & gender diversity headcanons.   here’s one for the lgbtq+ muses: put a number in my ask, and i’ll tell you about my muse’s gender or orientational identity and their relationship with it. tw: topics of homophobia, transphobia, dysphoria and discussion of internalised oppresive attitudes in some of the questions. if you want to help your followers to pick out questions a bit, tag this post with your muse’s label(s) as you reblog!

what do you label your muse as, and how do they label themselves? is there a difference, and if so, why?

has your muse’s understanding of their own identity changed after realising they aren’t cishet, and do you see it developing further in the future?

when did your muse first realise they’re attracted to the gender(s) that they are?

when did your muse first realise they’re not attracted to the gender(s) that they aren’t?

when did your muse first become aware that they’re not cis?

when did your muse first become aware that their gender identity isn’t within the binary?

how public is your muse about their gender / sexuality / romantic attraction?

is your muse out as lgbtq+? how specifically and in what situations, if that varies.

how much does your muse’s gender identity and presentation differ from one another? is this a source of issues, or does the relationship between the two feel natural?

how does your muse feel about not being cis or straight? are they content with it, proud, ashamed? would the situation be the same if the culture or surrounding support systems were different?

have there been other meaningful people of the same or similar identities in your muse’s life that they’ve looked for support or understanding from? how did that go, and was the impact positive or negative in the end?

what are your muse’s feelings towards stereotypes relating to their identity? do they affect their self-image, or how they perceive others?

was your muse ever in denial about the matter? do you have any examples of specific instances where it was particularly obvious?

has your muse had feelings or experiences that seem to / do conflict with their identity? are these general knowledge? does it alter how others see them, or how they see themselves?

if the thing that originally caused them to realise / start the chain reaction to realising they weren’t cishet had not happened, how much longer would it had take to end up here?

do they consider to ‘always have been’, or do they see the phases in their life before coming out as ‘back when i was [cis/straight/allo]’?

how are their feelings towards pride and related phenomenons?

how does their family feel about the matter? friends? coworkers?—and does their thoughts matter to your muse?

what’s your muse’s relationship with the current state of their body?

what are your muse’s feelings towards the culture of romance and sexuality as it pertains to their identity?

what words do they reclaim, what are they okay with being reclaimed, and what do they do not want to used to describe them?

VULNERABLE CONFESSION PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

it's been a long time since i did anything like this.

be honest with me.

i have something to tell you.

do you have a second to talk?

i've never said it outloud.

you shouldn't feel ashamed.

you are destined for greater things.

i don't remember anything about my parents.

i think i deserve the truth.

how long have you known?

i can't believe i trusted you.

you should have told me from the start.

i won't judge you, no matter what you say.

i'm not sure how to do this.

i owe you an explanation.

you don't have to hide this any longer.

when was the last time someone held you?

i've never been kissed.

i've been alone all my life.

this feels weird to me.

it will feel better if you tell me.

you are the only one who can save us.

you should know the truth.

i'm not ready to do this.

no one's ever really loved me.

i was kept in the dark all my life.

i don't know what love feels like.

tell me the truth. it's okay.

take your time with this. it must be very hard on you.

my parents died when i was very young.

i should tell you the truth.

there's no shame in this.

i can't believe i never knew.

i'm sorry, but i don't believe you.

i can't do this.

are you sitting down?

you are the chosen one.

it's safer if you never know the truth.

this never should have happened.

i regret everything.

i've never been with anyone before.

there's something i should have told you a long time ago.

i'm afraid of heights.

they thought you'd be better off not knowing.

you should have told me.

you were hiding this from me?

don't laugh when i tell you, all right? promise?

you've been kept in the dark for far too long.

you're the first person i've told.

so? what do you think?

maybe it was silly to hide that.

i didn't feel comfortable telling you.

they deserve to know.

what happens now?

you'll want to sit down for this.

you will save us from this evil.

i should have listened to you.

you'll have to teach me. i'm new to this.

i don't have much experience.

they didn't want you to know.

i never knew them.

i don't even know my own name.

everything you've been told is a lie.

i'm not ready for that.

will it always be like this?

i've been hiding this from you.

i didn't want you to know.

there are more pressing matters to attend to.

Ghost of her old life lapped at her core, the whisper of adrenaline she deprived herself of, a show, a lasting impression in the people. A long interlocked gaze with Villám and the decision was made. The Lord dressed in leather jacket and chaps definitely a few extra pounds with all the...decoration; Karma decided to discard her own along with the saddle. The hellhorse had a similar built like Villám, seemed agile enough, she didn't take unnecessary risks or weights.

A race to the nearest town than back, her trust in her horse unwavering. Perfect harmony between the rider and the lightning fast creature, mutual bond spurred both of them unlike the Olroth excessive use of a riding crop. Whispered praises as moss green veins started to protrude slightly from the ashen skin, just a little more. The midnight mare seemed to fly at an almost impossible speed, the Lord already left in the cloud of dust.

Acidic green veins glowed brightly as the horse thundered through the finish line, taking a little time to fully come to a halt from such neckbreaking speed.

Her rider laughed with ecstasy from the thrill, a few circles of victory while waiting for the Lord's arrival. At some point she dismounted so fluidly while Villám was still basking in applause, her eyes eventually finding Striker's-

Genuine shock as he seemed to be well and actual relief despite how much of a headache he proved himself to be. She couldn't help but send a bright laugh in his direction as well.

Then a gunshot.

Karma whirled around to watch Olroth horse collapse dead into the dust while the Lord was still spitting every possible insult at the animal's corpse, his men creeping from corners, inns, her trained eyes spotted a few on rooftops as well.

"Take that horse and kill the bitch if she moves!!!" came the furious order from the fanged maw

No. She was past this. She changed her ways. Her life was peaceful. Two of them stood guard on either side of her with guns ready.

She worked hard for a secure life. Both for herself and Villám. Tremors shook her body but not her hands as a part she kept at bay fought to surface. It can't, she can't-

Villám's shrill neigh of fear echoed through the small town.

Two shots, yet they sounded as one, the ones at her side dropping dead in a second.

The demon woman wrestling with Villám's reins was the third one who perished; the ivory haired woman taking lives with the ease of breathing. From the corner of her eye she noticed one of the rooftop snipers lining up; with frightening accuracy the fourth body hit the dirt.

deathshadowed​:

It was almost time for her to disappear back to the desert, to her home as she didn’t belong. She couldn’t especially with powers beyond her control. Still, she hoped the imp, Striker she had the misfortune or rather HE had that to meet her was buried properly. She didn’t want to ride past his rotting body, sure that remorse would linger.

Villám was enjoying their last hours in this town, prancing around with imp children surrounding her, Karma couldn’t help but smile at the display and the little show she put on even without her rider. She had returned an another child yesterday, the last one missing, thankfully only a few bruises and dehydration. Still, she couldn’t exactly shake off the feeling that something was terribly off about this region as a whole.

She didn’t have the heart to announce they were leaving. Not when both the children and her horse were so happy. Instead she jumped on the playful mare with fur shimmering like oil in the blaze of suns. She was an undisputed champion of marksmanship, but among her skills came second being an extraordinary esquetarian. It was ‘made easy’ by their bond and mutual trust, but her talent was undeniable.

Suddenly the delightfully clapping children were picked up one by one, rushed inside despite their protests of wanting to watch. Did she indeed overstay her welcome and…and…she didn’t even dare to think about. But the locals weren’t coming with pitchforks ready for her. A newcomer or a visitor, Lord Olroth decided to make an appearance, Karma had heard a few rumors, whispers about the Hellhorse breeder, or better said horse stealer.

“Would rather not.”

She declined firmly as she yanked her priceless hand out of his talons, before the Lord could bring it to his maw.

“And Karma does just fine.” ‘Lady Karma’; holy chirst.

“Extraordinary beauty.” Olroth near purred, making Karma slightly guess the path she has chosen as the Lord hungrily eyed with Villám

“Not for sale. No matter the price.” she nearly snarled, a slight twitch of fingers, the familiar weight of her revolvers grounding.

“Well, there are other ways of gaining a prize like that besides money. How about a race then? Prove your mare deserves the Wrath-wide fame for being the fastest. Or is it simply born defective?” Olroth questioned smugly and Karma almost shot him dead on spot.

Villám neighed in displeasure at the insult, emerald flame eyes burning a little bit brighter at being talked about that, which seemed to amuse the Lord even further along with fueling his curiosity.

The sight was interesting, to say the least, a lord he’d care less for than the dirt he walked on(At least the dirt did something like keep the ground from not being there, the royal did jack shit in Striker’s opinion). He’d post himself up nearby a general store and watch the whole scenario unfold.

He might have issues with Karma, but even he felt insulted when the lord questioned the horse’s qualities. It maybe scared of Striker, but from one rider to another, one does not mess with the horse, and here Striker wished he had his popcorn, ready to see the lady that was so eager to get him away that she threatened violence and said such terrible things to him, he was eager to see the lord get their just desserts, knowing for a fact with how they acted, Striker believed himself to have done way less deserving of a tongue lashing before, he waited patiently for the explosion.

“Me without my camera or snacks, this is gonna be one heck of a show!”

@infernal-dominion

Solitude and the desert were old, familiar friends. Made her feel like she belonged to the beautiful landscape even now when she was a wraith among vibrancy. Her decision to metaphorically bury her weapons -she would've never had gotten rid of her revolvers- and live a decent, quiet life failed spectacularly; a grim reminder of the words of an another feared gun for hire: she wasn't a savior but a killer.

Angeleyes was oh so right and Karma couldn't loathe the man for that. A sigh followed by a small smile, at least Villám was with her despite everything. Ivory fingers curled a tiny bit tighter into the mane of the sleek ebony horse, sometimes she decided to ignore tacks and rode in a way like the nomadic tribes her father told her about did.

It was strange to find a demon so deep in the endless horizon, furthermore alone; she was well aware the desert was also an unmarked burial ground, mostly for the undeserved. Gently steering Villám towards the figure, she had enough water to spare in case they managed to get utterly lost and she wasn't the type to simply ride past someone dying from thirst.

She came to a halt in front of the creature, ink black lips parting to offer help. The shadows whispered. Or she came to the conclusion that they did in lack of a better culprit. They have done so while she was alive too, bringing many unexplainable images, facts, faces along with a strong sense of deja vu. By now she learned to listen to them.

“Have we met before?”

Despite the confusion, her tone gentle as always, acid green eyes stared, overfilled with curiosity.

Karma has appeared and about to disappear very fucking fast

Do "it"

Throw drink

Make them mine

Ravish

“Friendly warning that anyone attempting anything from the listed, will get shot.”