Queer microfiction

By Athena

This is a mini-anthology of queer (so far, just trans) microfiction I've written. It will probably grow over time. I also have another of a more general nature.


Incredible, Highness. … Er, we’ve found the Diadem, now, what do we… do with it?

The prince shrugged. That seems obvious. He lifted it.

My Prince, the scrolls say it can only be worn by-!

There was a flash as it met his head.

A hesitant look down. The pretentious royal robes had been replaced by a stylistically-similar pretentious royal gown.

She half-laughed, then briefly covered her mouth as she heard her voice. Wow that’s better. Holy-


Only by the women of the royal family, right? She grinned. Tell the army, we break camp tomorrow morning and make for the capital. I can feel the Diadem is powerful enough; my father’s reign ends now. And make sure my sword is sharpened.

You mean to-

Of course! Now, I have to go have some armor refitted.

Understanding dawned on the man’s face. Of course, Bernard. I’m not foolish enough to think my sister is going to return from the grave to join our crusade. I planned ahead. And, on that note, you can call me Anastasia. Now get going!

Make You Pretty

I’m not a girl.

Don’t make me laugh. I’m going to make you so pretty…

Words were suddenly very hard.

She giggled. You’re blushing, she mocked, in a singsong voice.

What?! I… Cheeks, hot.

She came close, her breath hot on her victim’s ear. Only a girl would blush at that, she whispered, earning a shiver and rapid shrinking.

Ah… I… I know… Thanks… She looked up with a weak smile.

What are girlfriends for? She smiled back. I’m not kidding. I really am gonna make you the most beautiful girl in the world.

A small whimper answered. She went on, Now, give me the needle and show me your leg.

A letter

Erstwhile parents of mine,

I am writing to apologize for the deception I have carried on for some time now in regards to my relation to you. You have, of course, thought me your son, and I have done nothing to disabuse you of this notion.

I cannot in good conscience continue such deception indefinitely, especially given its magnitude.

So far as I would consider myself your child, which I am compelled to admit remains the case in certain manners, I nonetheless cannot be correctly be thought a son. All this to say, I am in fact a daughter; and to your certain response I can say only that I am quite sure I would know, and rather doubt that you ever took enough true interest in me to know any better than I.

I ask that you do not waste ink on writing back with attempts to convince me otherwise; to persuade a girl to be a boy is an endeavor of great foolishness, though perhaps as such befitting of you.

Kind regards,


It was the support group’s newest member’s turn in the introductions. The imposing, bearded figure shrank. I, uh, name, I… I don’t know. Somehow smaller, quieter. She/her, though.

There was a gasp. Oh my gooosh, she’s a babyyy! The speaker’s expression freely disclosed an amazed joy.

Rachel- the facilitator tried to interrupt.

Ooh I just wanna adopt you!

Rachel! You can’t-

The new one was looking up. What- what do you mean?

Ben covered his face with his left hand. She has this thing with-

I have some makeup and a razor right here! Rachel was now digging in her backpack. She paused and looked up for a moment. Um, right… If you want, I’m sorry.

The unnamed new girl’s blush was hard to make out, but it was there. I, uh… Sure…

Ben leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. Rachel grinned like a madwoman and dove back into her pack.