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dolphin-diaries · 5 months ago

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How To Prevent Detransition In Five Simple Steps (Part 1)

Originally published on Dolphin Diaries.

What do you think of when you hear ‘detransitioner’?

The Right, likely. Grift and pantomime for clout, such as that of a certain doll or the world’s most Korean and Christian man. Coercion; forced detransition.

What do you think of, say, when you consider willing and genuine detransition? If you could look at Chloe Cole past her rhetoric, her ideological allegiance, her utter lack of compassion for those outside of it—what do you see?

Is it regret? Self-hatred? Pity, maybe? A correction of a shameful (stupid, even) mistake? A bizarre decision you struggle to imagine yourself—or anyone—making? A web of uncanny, discomfiting choices, written in flesh?

Maybe, if you’re trans yourself, you might also see your own fears. Not necessarily forced detransition—that wouldn’t make you like her. No, maybe you look at your past doubts and wonder if you could’ve been her, under different circumstances. Or maybe, it’s merely the thought of something that brought you great joy—your transition, the alteration of your body, your freedom—being broken, hated, turned inside-out. Like a shredded garment.

Perhaps you’re just unnerved to see it undone.

Detransition, in the eyes of the masses, is an undoing. That implies discontent, and since this discontent is over transition—something not only voluntary but often hard-won—it also implies that transition itself was a mistake. Seemingly, a preventable one.

And so there is only one conclusion: detransitioners must be prevented. I must be prevented. I am a stain on the medical, social, and queer establishments that have created me, whether you look at it from the Right or the Left. The ‘reverse’ dysphoria I feel is, by all accounts, utterly preventable. Naturally, then, we must attempt to prevent it.

The belief about detransitioners is that they need medical gatekeeping to prevent them from having transitioned—a more robust system of checks that would’ve helped them realise they were never trans. Or perhaps, that they need the topic of transness altogether excised from the zeitgeist. For instance, a known detrans grifter Maia Poet tweeted she is retrospectively grateful to her parents for having hyper-surveilled her after she came out as trans. She still socially transitioned and continued to identify as trans for twelve years afterwards, so it can’t have helped in the way she wanted, but she’s still grateful for, uh. Something. Whatever it is that was accomplished, which, it seems, was not a lot.

Well, no one was expecting cutting social commentary or lucid solutions from Ms. Israeli Sellout Poet, so never mind her. Let us put the grift aside.

That is the knee-jerk response, isn’t it? Make fun of the loud and stupid and obviously wrong ones?

That has its place, but let me assure you, detransitioners exist outside of TV and Twitter. Most are disinterested in sharing a pedestal with Maia or Chloe, regardless of what they believe. Let us even put myself aside as a singular subject. Let us examine what is normally either cynically weaponised by the Right, or else timidly swept under the rug. Because if you allow the idea that willing detransitioners truly exist—and they do, I assure you; if I turned my screen off, I’d be looking at one—then you must also allow the possibility of, well…

Transition regret.

Allow yourself compassion for a detransitioner—a random, regular person—that is staring at rock bottom and finding that their transition took them there. If I were them, I’d surely ask what could’ve been done to prevent that. What could’ve been done so that I never existed such as I am.

A very rock-bottom kind of question, I know. But the only way out is through.

So what is the most effective way to prevent detransition? What has been done to that end? How is transition handled, and what does that mean for detransition?

1. The Doctor Will See You Now

Over the past few months, I’ve spent a good chunk of my god-given procrastination allowance on scrolling online detrans communities that explicitly ban transphobia. You may call that biased, but I’ve found that detrans spaces which make no such explicit attempts are swiftly overrun by Gender Criticals. Not even detrans ones; the topic is hot-button and embarrassing enough to encourage unmitigated manipulation of the audience. It’s a bit like browsing spaces for discussion of cosmetic surgery. When an issue is too unseemly to be spoken of in polite society, the snake oil salesman can peddle whatever the hell he wants. By contrast, trans-positive detrans spaces tend to be smaller, less fraught, and more diverse in issues discussed and feelings expressed.

(To be clear, I will not quote anyone here. While their accounts were told neither in privacy nor in confidence, online messages in small communities carry a presumption of anonymity and non-disclosure, which I intend to maintain.)

Indeed, a sizeable number of even explicitly trans-positive detransitioners express some desire for a prior intervention. A therapist or psychiatrist that would’ve entertained alternatives, or questioned why their patient wanted to transition. It’s not uncommon, when queried by people unsure of surgery or HRT, for such detransitioners to advise waiting until total certainty is achieved. Unlike GCs, though, they often lament the lack of medical professionals that will neither attempt to do conversion therapy nor consider detransition an untouchable topic.

(As I’ve alluded to before, it is difficult enough in many places to find a therapist that even knows Trans 101. ‘Advanced stuff,’ like detransition, is beyond contemplation. It’s not that skilled-enough professionals don’t exist, but that there is no resource for finding them.)

There is a common denominator among such detrans people. They are often—though not always—young transitioners, having done so either in high school or shortly after. They’re usually from countries that have an informed consent model of transition care. Under this model, a doctor does not diagnose with gender dysphoria—or indeed anything at all—but merely provides assistance in alteration of sexual characteristics. That’s the idea, anyway; reality varies and often does not quite match that ideal, but by and large, the doctor’s job is then mainly to explain what the patient is signing up for. What intervention or investigation exists, if any, is minimal or perfunctory.

From a purely technical perspective, these detransitioners are asking for something that wasn’t this doctor’s job to do. But it is a fairly heartless argument to make. “Well, if your dysphoria wasn’t actually dysphoria, you should’ve gone to a therapist instead!”—rather silly, isn’t it? Easily refuted with: “If I knew then what was wrong with me, I wouldn’t be here.” And anyway, just because that is how the system works does not necessarily mean that is how it should work.

There is a wrinkle here, though. Informed consent may be the norm in, say, the USA—for now, anyway—but it is not worldwide. In most places you ought to receive a gender dysphoria (or transsexualism, if the updated DSM is yet to be adopted) diagnosis before access to medical transition is permitted. So how does the diagnostic model hold up when it comes to detransition?

2. Hoops and Hoops and Hoops

As I mentioned in my first essay, I am a young-ish transitioner from a country that very much does not practice informed consent. I started transitioning medically at 19, which is young for an adult transitioner but post-pubertal nonetheless. However, transitioning in adolescence would’ve been functionally impossible for me. Even if my parents were supportive and I somehow found a doctor to prescribe me blockers/hormones—the latter of which is monumentally unlikely, as it was illegal—it would still basically mean social death. So, in effect, I transitioned as young as was humanly possible.

The procedure to acquire legal access to hormone replacement therapy was pretty antiquated during my time. Internment in a psychiatric ward, a prior real-life test, the nine yards. (For the unaware, a ‘real-life test’ is a requirement to have lived as your desired gender for several years prior to any medical transition.) I was diagnosed rather thoroughly both for presence of gender dysphoria and an absence of alternative explanations, such as schizophrenia, BPD, autism, and, put colloquially, mummy or daddy issues—having a ‘broken family’ was a strike against the transsexualism diagnosis. Anxiety or depression was also a no-no. Under this particular model, literally any other condition is a contradiction to transsexualism. You are to be deeply distressed about your genitals and assigned gender stereotype, and absolutely nothing else at all.

Because yes, naturally the pathologisation of gender entails reliance on stereotype and archetype. What makes a man or a woman, after all? When the goal is to have transsexualism as the last possible resort, it’s not enough to merely wish for a different set of genitals or breasts or to describe oneself as a man or woman—gender must be dissected. And that dissection, inevitably, leads to ‘bitches be crazy.’ Man like car, woman like kitchen. Man fucks woman, subject verb object. Et cetera.

Of course, declaring any ‘irregular’ thoughts about gender to be the sole purview of a perfect and utterly healthy citizen, is just cruel. Gender conformity is a violently enforced social protocol. Therefore people that run up against it—trans or not—are highly likely to be made maladjusted. To deny them care on that basis alone is inhumane. If you are found too ‘wrong’ to be transsexual, you will then be told to go treat whatever is wrong with you—your symptom, not your cause. Gender will not be entertained.

Now, that the psychiatric treatment of gender dysphoria is inhumane, dated, and deliberately difficult and arcane, is not news. It is designed to prevent transition first and foremost and also secondly and thirdly, and only lastly to enable it. Some young people in the US may feel enough distance from such treatment as to not understand what it truly entails. To some it is buried history. Most, though, even when unaware of what such procedures are or were, understand they are/were bad. Nebulously bad or specifically bad (mostly the former), but bad nonetheless.

So here’s the first question: does this work? Does this ensure those that truly need transition can do it, and none that don’t, can’t?

I can obviously just point to myself and be done with it, but one person can be anything from an anomaly to a fun fact, just not a tendency. So let’s work through this.

Obviously such procedures do not prevent all transition. Do they reduce the number of transitioners? It is impossible to count for sure, but certainly such procedures generally exist in societies that are not amenable to trans people, and therefore some plainly do not survive long enough to try. It does not matter whether they would’ve eventually detransitioned or not; severe psychiatric procedure does not coexist with widely available, comprehensive therapy. It does not matter because no one will ever find out.

What of those that do survive, though? One extreme conclusion to make is, if you can survive without something, you do not need it. I’m not particularly interested in a survival-only existence as I do not live in a cave and hunt mammoth. (And even prehistoric people made jewellery and painted cave walls with art, so clearly they cared about things beyond sheer necessity, too.) So that aside, how do the lives of those that actually engage with the procedure pan out?

Naturally, one of the results of such procedures is the delaying of access. Some things, like hormones, you can get on the sly, but surgeries you simply cannot receive without either the doctor’s permission or a great—and I do mean great—deal of money. The procedure is designed to take several years before any access can be granted at all, assuming you go through it swiftly and successfully. The more stringent the procedure, the fewer doctors can do it; a degree of waiting is involved even before it begins. In my country’s case in particular, transition is fully paid for by the patient—there is neither state nor insurance coverage, at all, for anything. Even doctor visits in government-sponsored institutions are de facto paid because you need to grease some palms for someone to bother. No, there’s no suing the doctor that won’t treat you without the agreed-upon bribe; you can’t afford it and you won’t win. Therefore there’s also risk of further depression and suicide as great financial burden falls on people that, as a rule, have below-average funds, poor employability, and no family support. But assuming you soldier through, the overall result is a transition timeline that spans about a decade or two. The bulk of social transition will happen in the first five years, whereas surgical interventions, due to cost and laborious approval processes, fall on the last years.

This can be seen as a boon to detransitioners. Delay in access means more time to change your mind, hypothetically. The fact that surgeries are generally impossible until many years in transition means—hypothetically—there’s less chance you’ll end up with changes that cannot be reversed or amended without further surgical intervention, or at all.

As I’ve mentioned in my previous essay, I do believe such calculus to be heavily hindsight-skewed, favouring present lack of regret and dysphoria over past misery and the humiliation of the psychiatric grinder. It’s a little like getting hit with a hammer to the head and then falling madly in love with the doctor treating you. Sure, in hindsight it softens the blow of the head trauma, but you still wouldn’t recommend anyone walk around with a sticker on their back saying ‘Hit Me.’

I can understand, however, how a detrans person who never went through any of that, now deep in dysphoria blues, could find such an argument empty air. Infuriating, even. Perhaps they’d even say they’d gladly be a bit miserable for a couple years so long as they didn’t have to deal with all this now. Grass, greener, et cetera. So let us say this really is a possible advantage of the procedure—

If it actually makes you less likely to go through with transition once you begin the procedure and uncover doubts creeping in.

Does it?

3. A Patient Is A Person

There’s an elephant in the room, though not many notice it. To a cis person it may well be invisible. You might’ve spotted it when I first flippantly described the procedure I went through and mentioned a real-life test. Most people cannot be reliably and consistently integrated into society as the ‘opposite’ gender until they have some kind of physical intervention. Especially not in places that are highly transphobic, where being visibly trans is either not an option or a very dangerous one. But clearly, people do pass this ‘real-life test’ somehow. Is it really only the most androgynous among us that are allowed to transition under such procedure?

Well, no. Although doctors will be more charitable if you already seem like a ‘lost cause’ to your birth sex. Nothing wasted and so on. But like I said, you can always get hormones on the sly. It’s not even hard or prohibitively expensive.

That’s not the only issue with the procedure. How do you reconcile putting all this time and money into a (marginalised) diagnosis with (often precarious) employment? Why are trans patients supposed to have a singular script for their lives and genders, whereas cis people are permitted variance?

In the end, how do you prove to someone else that transition is right for you? Is it really all the silly quizzes and the identically heart-wrenching stories? Eh. Not exactly. In my experience, the doctor makes half their mind up the moment they look at you. And most every patient seems like a regular cis person—a fertile woman, a boy that can be made a man—and so the knee-jerk response is to help you stay that way, no matter how you feel. So there are two options: memorise a rote script of suffering and hope for the best, or, much more reliably and painlessly—

Already look like a transsexual.

Put plainly, the current diagnostic model of transition only works when you’re already transitioning. To access transition you must’ve already done so. Yes, we all simply pretend. Yes, people just memorise whether they’re supposed to like cars or kitchens and how they should describe their sex lives. Of course they do. People seeking transition are human.

You can wag your finger however much you want and insist that people must follow protocol, and whatever happens as a result of disobedience is their own damn fault. The empirical fact is, protocol as written is un-follow-able. Because it is un-follow-able, no one actually follows it.

The result of a system whose first and foremost purpose is to make as few people transition as possible, is very simple: everyone lies. No one trusts doctors. No one in their right mind would go to a doctor that controls their legal gender marker based on the patient’s tales of masturbation, and then bare their true gender feelings with an expectation of help. Even the doctors themselves do not care how you really feel or whether you’re lying. They know the system is faulty, they know none of this is human or nice, but they also don’t understand why anyone would transition and they don’t care to. They have a hundred more patients, a thousand more protocols that are also neither human nor nice. This is psychiatry, and you are an annoying and rare brand of crazy, one that’s both utterly perverse and—they know—not actually crazy, not hallucinating or threatening suicide (and if you do: you can’t, remember?). What you’re doing is wasting a bed and their time. So all they want is their bribe, maybe a dissertation subject, and for you to cooperate and be gone.

What actually decides access to transition? A little bit of luck, a little bit of social acceptance in one’s immediate social circles, but chief among all: money.

If we must prevent the possibility of detransition at all cost, surely financial disincentive still works? Not the way you’d want it to. The only thing cost barriers ensure is that the rich can do whatever they want on a whim, and the poor can’t have even that which they desperately need. That is the only social balance money can buy.

And what decides eventual detransition?

The truth is, at least for me, it wasn’t regret. I’ve lived a long while in trans circles shaped by such transmedicalism. And if I’ve learned one thing, it’s this:

Transition regret was everywhere.

It is not at all unique to detransitioners. Certainly wasn’t in my circles. Many trans people who were also my contemporaries and fellow countrypersons had something or other they regretted about their transition. Some had even found the whole process extremely traumatic. They regretted not allowing themselves any femininity/masculinity that ‘contravened’ their desired gender. They got haircuts, clothes, friends, surgeries—anything related to gender, which is everything—only and solely because of the need to transition under very strict guidelines. Sometimes consciously, sometimes not. We lie to the doctors, yes, but that does not mean we are untouched by the transition procedure at our heart. The procedure is long and complex, and thus at a certain point, it occupies a lot of your attention and time. You live and breathe the sex questionnaires and psych visits whether you want to or not. And, as I’ve established, no one in the whole hospital cares how you truly feel about your gender—so for a while, you may stop caring too. It’s a matter of survival. Not just in the sense of access to transition, but in the very banal calculus of things that will and won’t get you beat up in an alley. At some point it’s only human to mentally check out.

In other words, everyone was fucking miserable. Trans, detrans—everyone.

People transition because they want to. Because everyone wishes to be an architect of their own fate and body, insofar as they can, and for some that involves choosing which way their body grows and ages. How it occupies the mould of sex. And when barriers are put between you and your agency, what follows is not obedience. You are human; you are not an algorithmic machine; you do not simply obey, you choose. So what do most people choose when they want something very badly and are told they cannot have it? They resist, of course. Resist, lie, scheme. And resistance to stringent protocol takes a lot out of you.

If doubt starts whispering in your head and you’re not listening, will you even hear it?

Put plainly, there’s no space for gender feelings in survival mode. What the diagnostic procedure causes is precisely that. It does not matter whether one’s need to transition is caused by some sort of True Transsexualism or trauma or misogyny or self-delusion or a secret millionth thing. You want it, and there’s no resource, no space, and no help for you to dissect that need. No time, either, because everything costs years—be it in money, in waiting, or your own life. You have an acute need and a difficult path to it. That is all.

And when all is said and done, and now you want to detransition? You’ve spent years to transition in the first place. You’ve invested great effort and great money, even if you’re not yet ‘done.’ You’ve likely lost family members and friends. Sunk cost is a hell of a weight, and sunk cost is precisely what the diagnostic model—a prevention model—engineers in spades.

4. A Dream of Utopia

So the informed consent model has no oversight, and the diagnostic model is a horrible grinder. Informed consent seems to be the patented harm reduction choice of the two. But surely those are not the only things that can exist? Surely we can dream of more than just ‘less harm’? Can there not be some sort of prior screening by an actually humane doctor who understands both trans and detrans needs? No quizzes about masturbation or kitchens or cars or whether you demanded to be called ‘boy’ or ‘girl’ at age four—just a robust way to determine whether you actually have gender dysphoria or not?

Let us say it is possible. When detrans people ask for qualified, humane, non-transphobic aid in helping them through their feelings on sex/gender, they are not asking for the impossible. Their need is one that must be answered in a just and caring world; it is already being answered for trans people, so why should the detrans be any different? And from there, you might think, it follows that it’s possible to attempt a system whose aim is some reasonably brief and minimally invasive pre-screening, which would filter out would-be detransitioners and enable trans people to pursue their transitions.

It is possible to attempt that. But.

All systems of restriction and access have a problem: there’s a power dynamic at play. Transition is often a pretty acute need. Doctors can make mistakes, they’re only human. Who is to decide what is real gender dysphoria? What if the doctors are not so humane? What if they enjoy holding power more than they enjoy helping? ‘Just don’t hire them’ isn’t really an answer—if we knew how ‘not to hire bad people,’ we’d have already colonised Pluto.

That doesn’t mean no system of restriction has its place. Access to weapons has similar problems, but most people would agree it’s probably not right for them to know nuclear codes anyway. Obviously no one worth listening to would compare detransition to guns or nukes, but let’s say, for the sake of the argument, that the possibility of detransition is so utterly undesirable that, if a prevention system could exist, it must.

The question remains: what makes gender dysphoria real?

The answer is very simple. Ultimately, it will always only be real because you said so. Because the patient said so—not the doctor.

If you’re a medical professional, you know how much of your diagnostic work relies on patient testimony. How you must at times cajole them into being honest, or to decode what exactly ‘bubbling pain in the liver’ means. Those unfamiliar with the medical world often imagine there’s always some kind of screening that can determine with certainty if the patient is lying or misguided or unsure. And yes, even if John insists he never put that Christmas ornament up his arse, the X-Ray will show it one way or another. But in many cases, it’s not that simple, and patient testimony is crucial.

When it comes to psychology and psychiatry, this issue could not be more acute. Often there is nothing else to go on at all. That doesn’t mean therapists are just useless soundboxes—but neither are there Top 10 Signs My Patient Is Actually A Narcissist. Nor are there actually body language experts that will totally tell you you’re being delusional; peddlers of simple and exact solutions are, as a rule, charlatans.

In short, therapists and psychiatrists are not mind readers. They are only analysing what you are saying about your own mind, and what you’re doing about it. They can aid you in interpreting yourself, but at the end of the day, you’re still the one doing it.

And here’s the kicker: no single issue faced by detransitioners is something trans people do not experience. Some detrans people first transition as a form of self-harm after sexual assault; but childhood sexual trauma is common among trans people who are happy in their transitions, too. Many detrans women felt pushed out of their gender by internalised misogyny and the impossibility of envisioning happy lives as women; but all those that are brought up or grow up as girls experience misogyny, including trans men and trans women. Detrans people often cite only wanting to transition after they learn of the possibility of transition and not from early childhood, as if that is evidence—but many trans people do not seek transition until they learn of its existence, too.

Trans people doubt their transitions all the time. Feel unhappy with their transitions, at least sometimes. And they self-harm via detransition too—a lot. The idea that none of this happens, or only happens very rarely, is a fiction recited for the sake of self-defence and attaining civil rights in a hostile world. Spending any time in trans spaces will tell you the truth is much more nuanced. And even so, even still, only some of those people detransition. And only some of those do so completely of their own free will, and not out of despair or a successful right-wing pipeline.

For every seemingly telltale sign of future detransition, there are numerous counterexamples. In fact a trans person can have all those signs at once, and nonetheless remain trans. Diagnostic criteria for a condition requires a list of symptoms, and if no number of those can be definitive? That means there can be no diagnosis. No (medical) condition.

In other words, resources, attention, and qualified aid can all accommodate detrans people exactly as it does trans people. Procedure cannot. Just like it can’t satisfactorily accommodate trans people. It is a dead end to treat the matter of gender as if it is a disorder, an ailment of the individual, rather than an exercise of agency against a society which enforces sex/gender.

Additionally, I have so far spoken in extremes. Real and not-real trans people; detransitioners that utterly regret their transition and wish it never happened. It was necessary for the argument. But many detransitioners do not have such black-and-white feelings about their past. Some are nonbinary and unhappy with either ‘man’ or ‘woman’; some do not maintain that their gender dysphoria wasn’t actually real; some even reject the label ‘detrans’ on principle, even though they have verifiably detransitioned. I have not mentioned any such case because I wished to argue that even the most ‘textbook,’ most acutely regretful case of detransition has little to gain and much to lose in a gatekeeping-first transition system. However, I must also point out that the ‘textbook case’ is the only case that can envision any gain at all. It isn’t real, but it’s a lovely mirage. To the rest of us, there isn’t even that.

5. I Have Bad News—Or Do I?

Yes, what I am saying is that detransition is inevitable. I’m saying its negatives can be curtailed by therapeutic and medical care that accommodates for detrans people—as much is true for trans people—but, regardless of how preventable detransition may seem, there is no way to simply solve it. Detransition can only be vanished by going back in time and making medicine freeze at the turn of the twentieth century, before such things as exogenous hormones were invented. Even a full ban on transition would be just a costly inconvenience, but ultimately not a magic bullet. People do banned things because they want to all the damn time. Oh, and I guess we’d also have to sterilise every single female horse.

So does that mean detransitioners are necessary collateral damage?

Only if you think detransition is inherently, inevitably, invariably undesirable and bad.

When you discover you want to detransition, it can be hard to accept for a myriad of reasons. Sunk cost, fear of ostracisation, shame, or even because you have no idea what detransition can look like and you don’t know what to do. And then there’s dysphoria and dealing with the wider society’s disgust and I-told-you-so’s. Some amount of what one might call a ‘bad time’ is unavoidable.

But why? What makes wanting to detransition—not resigning to it; wanting it—bad? What makes it socially reviled and pitiable? What makes going through it feel so difficult? How is the shame of detransition engineered—and what for?

See you in Part 2.

#transfeminism #detrans #detransition #transmedicalism #material feminism #lesbian feminism #feminism

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yayasvalveplay · 2 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/yayasvalveplay/782653302541287424/dont-some-dolphins-also-like-to-kill-sharks?source=share

this has me very curious on how he even got Sari, past a protective Optimus and pod. unless he did it at night, when everyone was supposed to be asleep

Sari, just a guppy but active and hyper, bored out of her mind until she sees something outside; a flicker in the weeds, blue and silver scales glittering in the moonlight before disappearing. and she's just a guppy, has more curiosity than common sense, and Carrier has never gotten mad at her for wandering around the reef before, so she'll... look, and be right back! it'll be fine! plus she's so boreddd trying to sleep!

She manages to sneak out, swimming clumsily out to find that pretty glitter she'd seen, and then there's something wrapping around her and clapping over her mouth and Sari can't even scream for her pod before she's being whisked away faster than she's ever swum before

in the morning, the pod is woken up by Optimus basically ripping the den apart, optics wide and panicked as he darts outside before anyone can ask what's wrong. no one knows what's happening until they realize Sari's little nest is cold and scentless

Yes She is a hyper one. Op knows she can take care of herself even as he's sleeping, and she's getting her last bit of energy out. But on that particular night she catches the glint of something shiny. Possibly something she can bring back to mama she goes for it.

Only to be caught by Ultra Magnus and brought up to the surface where he beaches her. He doesn't stay long, he doesn't stay to see her suffocating to the air.

Which is a good thing because he doesn't see the necklace work its magic, giving the girl lungs and human feet. She cries like an infant waking up the light house keeper who rushes down, and picks the girl up and brings her inside where he adopts her as his own.

Though with the necklace no longer on her, she has no way of returning home. and with time forgets about who she once was, but she never forgets that she loves being in the sea even though her adopted dad worries about her being out there for long amounts of time.

But yes the morning of waking up Op goes to nuzzle his little girl awake, she always sleeps curled up near his arms. But feeling nothing, he starts panicking, going through the big den trying to see where she may of had gone.

His panic worsens when he goes outside calling for her, but doesn't hear a chirp in reply or her figure sprinting back to him. His pod wakes up to his panic, and they too also search for her, but are met with nothing.

Op is beyond scared, anxiety to the point he wants to throw up. Maybe he has already, but there is a hole in his spark. His baby is missing, and he doesn't know who or what could of caused her to swim away, so far away from their home that she loves.

#tfa #tf mermay #tfa optimus prime #tfa sari #tfa ultra magnus #tfa sumdac #i hate tfa ultra magnus #almost child death

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etherealmultiplicity · 4 months ago

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♆ Poseidon ♆

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

Most info gathered by theoi.com, study.com, and google

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

♆ :Etymology: ♆

Greek Name: Ποσειδων Transliteration: Poseidôn

Latin Spelling: Poseidon Translation: Neptunus, Neptune

Study.com Result: The most accepted interpretation stems from the root da-, meaning "earth" or "land." Poseidon's entire name literally translates to "lord of the earth" or "master of the earth."

�� :Relationships: ♆

Main Spouse: Amphitrite, Goddess of the sea

Affairs: Aphrodite, Asteria, Demeter, Gaia, Hestia, Thetis, Medusa

Siblings: Zeus, Hades, Hera, Hestia, Demeter

Parents: Rhea and Cronus/Kronos

Most Known Children: Triton, Pegasus, Theseus, Polyphemus, Athena

Least Known Children: Aeolus, Asopus, Daimones Proseoous, Despoena, Proteus, Telchines

Nymph Children: Aethusa, Benthesicyme, Herophile, Cymopoleia, Urea, Rhode/Rhodos

Giant Children: Aloadae, Antaeus, Ephialtes, Charybdis, Chrysaor, Laestrygon, Orion, Otus

Animal Children: Arion, Pegasus, Chrysomallus

Mortal Children: Abas, Agelus, Agenor, Aeolus/Hellen, Achaeus, Almopus, Aloeus, Althepus, Ampheres, Amphimarus, Amycus, Ancaeus, Anthas, Aspledon, Atlas, Augeas, Autochthon, Azaes, Bellerophon, Belos, Boeotus, Busiris, Butes, Delphus, Dercynus, Diaprepres, Dictys, Edonus, Eirene, Elasippus, Eleus, Ephoceus, Epopeus, Erginus, Eryx, Evadne, Euemon, Eumolpus, Euphemus, Eurypylus, Eurytus, Eusirus, Gadeirus/Eumelus, Hallirhothius, Hippothoon/Hippothous, Hopleus, Hyperes/Hyperenor, Hyrieus, Ialebion, Caucon, Celaenus, Cenchrias, Cercyon, Chios, Chryses, Cromus, Cteatus, Cychreus, Cycnus, Lamia, Leches, Lelex, Leucon, Lycus, Megareus, Melas, Messapus, Mestor, Minyas, Mneseus, Molionidae, Mygdon, Nauplius, Nausithous, Neleus, Nireus, Nycteus, Oeoclus, Onchestus, Paeon, Parnassus, Pelasgus, Pelias, Peratus, Periclymenus, Corynetes, Phaeax, Phineus, Phocus, Phthius, Poltys, Procrustes, Sarpedon, Sciron, Taphius, Taras, Thasus, Theseus, Triopas

♆ :Sacred: ♆

Animals: Horses, Dolphins, Bulls

Items: Trident

Plants: Pine Tree, Wild Celery

♆ :Devotional Info: ♆

Major Arcana: The Emperor, The Chariot, Wheel of Fortune, Justice, The Tower, The Star, The Moon

Tarot Suits: King of Swords, Knight of Swords, Page of Cups, King of Cups

Color Associations: Black, Blue, White, Gold

Days: 7th/8th day of the month

Seasons: Winter, Fall

Consumables: Tuna/Fish, Wine, Ambrosia, Nectar

Modern Consumables: Literally Anything, but especially Fish and Wine

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ablatheringblatherskite · 1 year ago

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Time for a hyper-specific poll because I'm seeing everyone do this LOL

Feel free to reblog and tell me in the tags which ones!

#my polls #polls #asterrisks #hyperspecific poll

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scrubbinn · 7 months ago

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Mimic Memoirs: Trip to the zoo

HRT month 17

Two weeks after meeting Aria the Lamia

Attempting to deliver a plush toy as promised

The late noon sun rolled high above the sky. Mid spring days of hyper city carry a lot of rain. It wasn't a big deal for a mimic. But Mayday wasn't fully a mimic yet, and slimes hated rain. Too much water leaves slimes diluted and in danger of melting completely. Thankfully umbrellas do the job just fine. Still it set the tone of today as dangerous.

A drop of water finds its way onto the slime mimic's ankle with her whole body going into a shiver. It's normal for slimes to start vibrating in response to danger. It's a way to alert others that one is at great risk.

“It's just the rain, it's just the rain, it's just the rain.” She chanted.

she pulled a bag of plush toys closer to her chest as she repeated herself a dozen more times.

Repetition soothes the soul. Mayday knew no less than 18 different mantras and methods to remain calm. Ever since she became a mimic, she always felt violent instincts crawlings and brushing against the back of her mind. Currently, they were telling her to leave.

It's not actually that unusual for a therian or otherkin to visit the Zoo. Be it morbid curiosity or genuine consideration for a home, it has become a foundational monument in Hyper city’s culture. An organization dedicated to containing and taking care of potentially dangerous therians that had already passed their crossroads and could no longer be trusted in society.

Arguments about its necessity in society have been ongoing since construction began. But the messy truth was that anyone passing their crossroads had to sign away their human rights to begin with. Humanitarian ethics had no say in the discussion, and no one can stop the animal cruelty that comes with any enclosure.

The near empty parking lot outside was covered in deep puddles, disguising every pothole that waited to shatter some poor sap’s suspension. Mayday couldn’t help but think anyone who had an accident here deserved it. She felt bad about that idea, but she couldn't help but believe it. When she first found out about this place, she began diving far deeper than she ever thought was possible for such an awful place. Each new article about it revealed horror after horror. Poor living conditions, mistreatment of staff, even worse treatment of therians… those blinding shock collars. Anyone who decided to visit here ignorantly deserved a bit of car damage.

The inside of the building was no better, wide doors meant to accommodate a dragon led to an antechamber with a human sized entrance. There wasn't even a sign that informed guests of another way in. The message was clear regardless. If you were something the staff wasn't sure they could handle. Then leave.

Mayday gripped her umbrella tightly, focusing on the sensation of the plastic handle, the smell of the trampled carpet, everything in the room that was now. Better here than whatever dangerous place her anxiety could think of. The mimic found her courage and walked towards the small ticket booth on the far end of the lobby. The smell of cheap gift shop toys and overly sugary candy overpowered everything else here, anyone with a nose would feel nauseated, stars above, what if a dog or really any mammal therian walked in here. Then she saw the stains in the carpet. Of course, they don't care. She began gripping her umbrella even tighter.

Shockingly, on the other side of the ticket booth, was another therian, a dolphin. Despite the small muzzle and completely different facial structure, you could not get a more bored disaffected teenage look out of anyone else. He spoke in a single monotone voice so bored that the sound effects coming from his gaming device were more interesting.

“Welcome to Hyper city Municipal Zoo. A place of magic and wonder as we explore the mysteries that lurk just behind the therian craze sweeping over our city.” The man looks up from his game. “Oh. You here for a protest or something?”

Of course, why else would someone like her be in this place? She took a deep breath and slowly showed the bag to the dolphin.

She stated calmly and clearly, “I'm here to bring some toys to the lamia exhibit for their enrichment. I spoke with one of the staff over the phone and was told to bring them to the lobby.”

She did her best to hide her wincing as her voice automatically went into a customer service tone she hadn't used in years. She tried not to ever remember those times.

The young adult stood very still for a while, looking back down to his game for most of it, only glancing back on occasion to see if Mayday took the hint to leave. After a minute of silence, Mayday began to speak only to be cut off.

“I'll need to contact my supervisor. Stay there and wait I guess.” He said.

Mayday could only sigh as she thought to herself, “just remember that this one is going through problems just like you. Just stay calm. There is no need to lash out.”

Her thoughts carried with her feet towards the massive glass window overlooking the tiger exhibit. The only exhibit set up for free viewing. Its drainage system had backed up a while ago, turning what was supposed to be a savannah into a dank swamp. From the other side sat two tigers looking at Mayday from a shallow cave made of plaster. They barely had enough protection from the rain, but they simply stared at her. She stared at the shock collars locked around their necks.

“I'm sorry,” she mouthed

For what, not even she knew. Being powerless to help, not having anything to give to them, or maybe it was simply the guilt she felt for lowering her dosage, for not walking the same crossroad they did. For being a coward.

“Excuse me?”

Mayday jumped, multiple eyes flinging themselves open, desperate to find the voice that pulled her out of her own head. They all landed upon a human in a zoo keeping attire. A large built man with a beard so curly that it grew more wide than long. He looked like he could be grandfather with the amount of wrinkles under his eyes. There were probably more under the graying hairs. His vest held a name tag reading, Kaylen Deemer.

The man spoke again. “You're the one who called about the donations? Mayday was it?”

He spoke in a strange manner. Emphasizing you're like it was a stone that smashed through his window. Mayday wanted to smash the window next to her.

“Oh, yes that's me. So if it's no trouble then, you can take these and-” She was cut off.

“I think whoever you spoke to wasn’t clear enough.” He said. “There will need to be some paperwork you will have to complete before we can accept these items. Why don't you step into my office.”

Mayday was certain the phone call she had before coming here had the phrase “You can just hand the items over when you arrive” in it. The smart play would have been to ask for any paperwork to be brought out to her. Unfortunately this was something that would only come to her in hindsight.

Kylan's office was cramped, not from the lack of space, but from how stuffed it was. Eugh, stuffed was a poor choice of words. Mounted trophy animals covered the walls, with their killer's weapon of choice hanging directly above him. She did her best not to look up at the nightmares. To an outsider, she would have looked as if she were bowing her head to a superior. All she could do is read the plaque on his desk, “Security chief Deemer,” over and over. Silence covered the rest of the room. Mayday hoped anyone but her would break the silence. Eventually, she had to.

“So, that paperwork?” She said; proud in keeping her voice from shaking.

He looked surprised for a second before talking. “Yes, here it is. Just needed Miller to fax it over. Now then, why don't you show me what you brought here today.”

Mayday reached into her bag and set out multiple plush animals of various sea creatures. Several fish, a spider crab, a rainbow collection of some other dimensional sea creature, and a sea snake that she placed gently on top of all the others.

“These are for the snake exhibit. I met- no, I saw the Lamias at the aquarium and they seemed to want a few of these things from the gift shop. I had to buy a few for them. They all seemed like a nice group.” She said.

“Quite charming of you. But I doubt they were looking at anything in particular. They're just animals after all. They were probably just drooling over a mouse running along the gift shop floor. They'd be pleased as punch if we gave them a stick or a toy full of cotton.” He retorted.

“I don't think-” Mayday made the mistake of raising her head. Every taxidermied head was looking down directly on her. Blank unmoving expressions with the glint of a gun painted across their eyes as the last thing they ever saw. Mayday closed all her eyes and gripped her umbrella even tighter. The handle began to crack.

His tone held that of unmoving authority. “Tell me… Mayday was it? What do you think is the difference between us, and the things out in the exhibits?”

She knew the answer he wanted. She didn't want to say it. Yet she started to open her mouth anyways. Like he had reached down to her core to pull out the words stuck in her throat.

“That we're smarter.”

She didn't believe it. Not for a second did she ever think that was true. But she had to say those words. Anything to make this go by quicker. She scribbled in every signature, every date, everything she could on the paperwork. Only afterwards double checking to make sure she hadn't signed her life away.

“That's right,” he said. “If I pointed a gun at you, you'd try to stop me. It's our minds that make us different from them. We’re not feral animals. Now, I understand you got sympathy for them, but you really have to know these aren't the kind of toys they'll like. They might think we're handing them food and choke. But I'll be sure to check with our lead therian keeper, and you can come back tomorrow when we have an answer.”

The paperwork falls to the floor. Mayday just stared at the desk in front of her. She did her best to swallow the anger, no matter how much she wanted to show this man how feral she could be.

“What do you mean tomorrow? I was told I could drop them off today.” She spoke in a raspy tone.

Kaylen sighed, as if he had finished giving the most simple explanation to a child, only to have them just as confused as before.

He spoke his words like laws chiseled into stone. “Well you can’t expect us to just hand them over. They could be filled with dangerous substances or any number of hidden objects. We don’t have the equipment to check. So you have to be the one to get them checked at an appropriate station. Then they’ll send us the donation. Really now, what did you expect? For us to rip them open and sew them back up. It might be a slow day for guests, but that doesn’t mean we can fulfill every little whim you have, simply because you thought you were special enough to bypass the rules.”

“I'm just trying to send gifts to a friend.” She started to choke on her words. “Please, just take them.”

He spoke with the joy of a hunter catching prey in a trap and said, “A friend? I thought this was all for our lamia exhibit? That's so strange. It reminds me of something. You know, we had an escape attempt at that aquarium, a lamia who said she made a friend. Miller really wasn't happy about it. I mean an accomplice running off with a dangerous animal. Can you believe it? Tell you what, though. Maybe we can come to an agreement here. You should go to your doctor and get your dosage upped. Come be a part of the family here. You'll get to actually befriend the others that live here, and best of all, you won't be fined for kidnapping zoo property.”

The room was silent for the next five minutes. Mayday could only desperately grasp at words that sped across her mind. Blackmail. Property. Friend. Zoo. Help… Attack.

Kaylen could have sworn the room grew darker. He blinked just for a moment, and Mayday was gone. No, not gone, changed. The mimic now dwarfed Kaylen. He stood up but still found himself a few feet short of the thing now in his office. 28 of its eyes all zeroed in on him as threads of sinew carrying rows of fangs rolled across its body. The security chief glanced over to his rifle on the wall. It had already been snapped in half without so much as a decibel alerting him. As if grabbing a shield to defend a dragon's fury. Kaylen took the bag of plushies and placed them to his chest.

Knock knock knock!

The sound of the door behind Mayday made her jump. To Kaylen, it was another blink and his nightmares had turned back into the soap bubble slime he thought he was dealing with. Mayday looked over at the door. Then to Kaylen, the bag he was holding, and the gun on the wall. She wondered why the last ten seconds of her life felt so fuzzy in her mind. And then the door opened.

What stood before Mayday was another man. A maroon military haircut and mustache would make anyone stand out, but then there was the deep scar on his cheek. Something about him immediately made Mayday uncomfortable, even Kaylen seemed surprised. His nametag just read: Miller.

“You must be Mayday. We talked over the phone.” His voice felt plastic. Nothing about his smile or tone was real. “I see Deemer here was just taking the donation off you now.”

Mayday felt off about this man more than with Kaylen. She pushed herself out of the office and back into the lobby. The smell of it invaded her senses once again. She was just about ready to leave but something stopped her. She turned to walk back into the room but the new figure was already directly behind her. She made a mental note to leave her eyes open around him.

She spoke before he could have the chance. “You better make sure these go to Aria and the others.”

The man's plastic smile faded for a brief moment. He spoke in confusion. “Aria? I don't think I… oh, the poor thing is getting confused again. Her name is Saphir. It was changed to help her move onto her better life here. We'd appreciate it if you used the correct name.”

Changing your name after fully transitioning was pretty normal for most, but something about the way he said it. Like he was proud of the name. In that horrid office with that horrid man. Mayday had kept her composure for the most part, but in this moment, her body could not stop shivering. Nothing about this man felt right.

“You're pretty unusual for a slime.” He spoke.

Mayday couldn't help but retort, “I'm a mimic.” She regretted saying it.

She gripped her umbrella with a mouth that had wandered onto her hand. Teeth dug their way into the handle. The pole started to bend.

“A mimic. Well isn't that… unique.” He spoke with a hunger that nearly broke through his fake tone, unable to stop himself from eyeing Mayday up and down

“Erian’s never mentioned he had a client turning into something like you. I assume Erian is your doctor. He usually ends up making the weirder ones. I've never seen a mimic so good at disguising itself. Not even a plank of wood for a chest to hide in. I hope you have a good plan when you decide to become feral.”

She felt like she had a grip on the conversation. She nearly shouted, “I’m not planning to-”

“They always do. Even if they try to pretend they're still human.” He removed her hold.

Mayday didn't know anything about this man, except that every part of her was telling her to attack. It wouldn't work. Somehow she knew that even with all her tricks. He had something to stop her. She looked down at the shock collar clasped around his belt. She looked up at the ticket seller for help. Solidarity with another. He was hiding in the booth trying not to be seen.

“I bet mimics have a pretty tough time suppressing their urges to eat. We're always happy to take care of you if it gets too hard. We'd need to change your name then. Oh you'd look perfect for a Malachite. We'll shorten it to Mala, we haven't used that name in a while.”

For the first time she met this man, the tone in his voice was completely genuine. Something about that made her so much more afraid. She thought of her friends and family, she wondered if they'd ever be able to find her. She held her umbrella as tightly as possible. The pressure made it worse. Slimes aren't able to throw up. It's biologically impossible and a waste of body mass. But mimics are very good at making the body do things that it thinks will help survive. A black puddle of poison rested at her feet. Mayday felt dizzy.

Miller, in that same plastic tone, spoke again “Oh no, you seem sick. We have an infirmary you can rest in.”

Mayday broke her umbrella. Bits of the handle flew off and metal bent under her fanged grip. She threw it like a weapon at Miller and fled for the entrance. She never turned to look back, if he said anything, she didn't want to hear it.

The scared mimic ran through the rain as fast as she possibly could until arriving at a bus stop, one she was certain that no one from that awful place would check. She knew Aria, or Saphir, or whatever her name is… she knew her friend wouldn’t receive those gifts. She didn’t care anymore, she couldn’t go back. Better to live as a coward than die a hero. She told herself those words over and over, but it didn’t make them feel any more true. Most of her face and hair had been diluted from the rain. She didn't care. She couldn't stop shivering.

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Hey thanks for reading, So a quick explanation since this isn't Mimic HRT. This is something new we've been thinking about for a while now. Mimic HRT generally has a lot of chapters that get scrapped due to running off into tangents about world building or stories that couldn't fit in the normal recording format. So while we spend our time agonizing about the final chapter of Mimic HRT, we thought it might be fun to write a few stories expanding on chapters that could use more. Hope you enjoy.

Thank you to @ariathelamia for letting me use the character, Miller

Thank you to @ariathelamia, @tigergirltail, @ashen-vulture, and @josphitia for the setting of The Zoo

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Mention list: @a-shramp, @calliecwrites, @be702, @respectfulevil, @hyacinthdoll1315

@aster-is-confused, @bloodandbrandywyne, @glitchgloop, @nyxthewary, @lunadook,

@celestemysterios, @i-am-trans-gwender, @reliablegal

#monster girl #animal hrt #species hrt #therian hrt #otherkin hrt #therian #otherkin #fiction writing #original writing #creative writing #Mimic hrt #mimic girl #mimic memoirs

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piratesparrotdraconian · 5 months ago

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there's lots of things i dislike when it comes to how dragons are often portrayed and seen by humans, but i know there's a lot of other creatures who feel the same way. things that make us uncomfortable, sad, angry, or things we plain disagree with.

so to all the horses who in any way dislike being seen as objects for transportation

to all the cats and colorkins who in any way dislike being feminized

to all the dogs and colorkins who in any way dislike being masculinized

to all the semihumans/partial humans who in any way dislike having either part of their identity excluded

to all the german shepard, bloodhounds, and rottweilers who in any way dislike being used by the police to further oppress black, asian, and indigenous people, queer people, and other marginalized groups

to all the vampires who in any way dislike being hyper sexualized

to all the pigs who in any way dislike being seen as dirty

to all the (carnivorous) dinosaurs who in any way dislike being seen as bloodthirsty monsters

to all the prey animals who in any way dislike being seen as pathetic and weak

to all the insects, arachnids, and arthropods who in any way dislike being body shamed and seen as disgusting

to all the dolphins who in any way dislike being seen as evil and disturbing by default

to all the AI and robots who in any way dislike being seen as garbage and bad just because humans choose to use them in unethical ways

to all the merpeople and sirens who in any way dislike being seen as sexual objects

to all the fairies, equines, angels, deer, flowers, bunnies, etc. who in any way dislike being seen as inherently dainty and girly

to all the werewolves who in any way dislike being seen as aggressive and misogynistic

to all the demons, goblins, gorgons, trolls, etc. who in any way dislike being seen as inherently evil and ill-intentioned

to all the wyvern who in any way dislike being excluded from the term "dragon"

to all the plants who in any way dislike being seen as useless objects (especially in regards to deforestation and stuff)

to all the fictionkin who in any way dislike the way fandom treats their character or species

to all the chickens who in any way dislike being seen as mindless

to all the fantastical creatures who in any way dislike being seen as cooler than earthen animals

to all the earthen creatures who in any way dislike being seen as basic or less cool

to all the aliens, deities, etc. who in any way dislike being seen as ill intentioned for being strong/technologically advanced

to all the donkeys and pigs who in any way dislike being seen as stupid

to all the humans who in any way dislike being seen as inherently flawed due to the current society modern humanity has adopted

to all the creatures who in any way dislike being compared to disabled and fat humans as a form of ableism and fatphobia (such as cyclops, cows, etc.)

to all the non-sapient and/or non-anthropomorphic creatures who in any way dislike being seen as lesser beings/less valuable/less morally considerable

to all the non-sapient creatures who in any way dislike getting accused of being non-sentient (being accused of having no consciousness, feelings, or emotions just because they're not smart)/dislike when people confuse sentient for sapient

to all the non-sentient creatures who in any way dislike being seen as undeserving of respect

to all the fantastical and fictional creatures who in any way dislike being judged based on what they look like/their design

basically. shoutout to everyone who actually wants respect.

#physical nonhuman safe #transspecies #anti radqueer transspecies #transnonhuman #alterhuman #nonhuman #otherkin #otherkinity #alterhumanity #not human #inhuman #otherlink #semihuman #ambihuman

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urautismdiagnosis-wistie · 6 months ago

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Kwazii design Take 1 (plus Kobb!)

Edit: this design of kwazii is so old 💀

sorry if my info seems wack I'm only now just starting to catch up to above and beyond lol

{ LONG POST BUT IT DOES INCLUDE SOME HEADCANONS ABOUT KWAZII AND HOW HE JOINS THE OCTONAUTS}

Ok so I'm gonna be honest this is from like 2 weeks ago when I was first getting back into the octonauts hyper fixation and the way I've drawn kwazii Has Changed since then but its still pretty close lol

Btw, that's Kobb, someone from his "mysterious pirate past" loll. His name is Kobb because its inspired from Japanese Kobolds, Hes a doberman.

He comes off as a guy with very quiet and threatening aura full of silent intense states, but really he's a sweetheart. He's not very talkative, but he adores children (knew kwazii since he was a kitten) and is the type to take the blame to keep others safe. He's really a shantyman, (I'll have to dump all my pirate lore and how it works in the octonauts universe in another post, I'll link it when I do) and that doesn't just mean like singing songs, but also communication of ship orders via long distance with flags, whistles, howls, and such.

He also knows how to work a canon :)

INFODUMP ON KWAZII HERE:

I would give kwazii some sick pirate earrings and all that jazz, but honestly dude lets be real there be BARACUDAS and YEAH.

He switches his eye patch between his eyes because apparently pirates mightve used em to effectively train their eyes to see in the dark better? Very cool to me, so for below deck and night raids which makes sense. The smudged eyeliner is also just Kohl, which is an old thing that alot people still use because they believe it improves the health and vision of the eyes. Makes extra sense when I remember cats see in the dark lol.

Kwazii was a bit of a lookout in his preteen years and such.

Ive got a lot of ideas and like genuine plot for the octonauts in general so I'll have to make a list and post em one by one.

Basic timeline for kwazii though (Im explaining how pirates work in this universe on another post) so kwaziis born into a pirate clan and well his grandad was the captain and all that jazz. He's raised with em and gets the Pirate Education of reading, math, navigation, Pirate Battle Tactics, Pirate Politics, how to bribe sea life, how to stab and no be stabbed, steering boats, water currents and maps, How To Survive If ShipWrecked, and etc.

All cool, all silly pirate times for our ADHD kitty, around age 10 is when calico jack left in my timeline, (also y'all I'm just now getting to watching above and beyond so if I mess stuff up gimme some grace please :'> ), and they expected the guy to come back a year or two after satisfying the treasure itch but he just... didn't.

3 or so years later, some drama happens in the crew happens and eventually kwazii ends up going solo at the age of 13, (he wants to get treasure and adventure just like his grandad,maybe even find him!) its pretty rough at first and the most social interaction he gets is sea life or just people at ports he visits lol. He does successfully hunt out treasure (and bully unethical fishermen, he and the dolphin pod are still great friends) and etc. He even found an abandoned lighthouse on an island (weird, but hey! free pirate hideout) and he was just living like that till he ended up meeting none other than captain barnacles!

The thing is the octonauts were like like getting a crew together at all, and the only one that was really there (other than tweak and the prof) was shellington and well. Needless to say they're understaffed lmso.

So barnacles has been chasing this dolphin pod, well he tried to nicely ask if he could tag some of em for scientific purposes but well, they thought it was a game and now they're convinced they're playing tag. Of course the captain still isn't experienced in Being An Octonaut, and well gup A might end up getting wrecked by some rocks he crashes into. And then he's just stranded on the rocks above the waves and oh wow did you know that the land above the water is even hotter than the water?

Anyways he's just melting and questioning his life choices because, like what's he supposed to do wait for tweak to pedal to him on the gup f 😫🙏like be for real man that must've suuuuccked

anyways he just sees this tiny boat with this even tinier guy on it??? sailing to him???

(sorry if they sound outta character lol)

"Oh... H-HhhIiiii"

"Y'know them phins told me some big furry thing crashed but I didn't expect it to be- You alright big fella?"

"mM nO I think.. YeAhp, Im ALL GO ooOD."

"Ive got shade and water?"

Oh sh- fr? " Thank you tiny man"

"Awh man ya don't even got a wallet on ya, oh well."

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"So are you still a beached whale or ah?"

"I-I'm fine, thank you I simply, well I'm feeling better I just need you to drop me off at this location."

"Y'sure you're not still about t' feed the fish? On accounta all o the uh, squiffy looks ye have?"

At this point barnacles is just doubly wondering what his life is, because either he's still under the effects of overheating or this guy has said "me clipper" in reference to his boat 3 times already. He was actually very grateful but honestly was this guy even real???

"I... don't think so?"

"M yeah yeah, so what's a walkin Nothern whale even doin out here?"

Was that an insult or- No he seems far too friendly- If a bit rough, maybe scraggly looking-

After a very lengthy, educated explanation of his goal and dreams of the octonauts and all they would accomplish- He'd realized the cat had been stared at him with the biggest blankest eyes he'd ever seen-

And then in a second they snapped to clarity-

"OHHHHHHHH- so yer like, some sorta ah, sciency type... a nerd ha! Well alright that's nice for ya"

The ginger cat didn't even have an ounce of mocking in his tone either- He was really just stating a fact. He really hoped he seemed like a strong dependable nerd at least. ᴹᵃʸᵇᵉ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵃ ˡᶦᵗᵗˡᵉ ʰᵉʳᵒᶦᶜ⁻

They'd bid farewell. A stranger helped a stranger and that was the end.

Or it wouldve been until he'd been struggling to find some little sea creatures in a reef and he'd just so happened to come across a certain cocky cat. Of course, the guy was happy to help, he was friends with the little critters after all!

Silly fun little coincidence and wow kwazii sure is decently good with this haha well good bye (again)-

They meet again and this time Kwaziis boat has been absolutely wrecked. And wow captain you're not really gonna wreck a poor pirates boat (one who helped ya plenty) to just suffer when your whole motto is explore RESCUE protect are ya?

So until Kwazii could get to his safe spot, (an abandoned lighthouse he turned into his own 'secret pirate base') to repair the thing, he was... kinda just stuck in the octopod.

And well- He was grateful, and very very curious, being cat and all that.

He'd never dove so deep into the water before! And he certainly hadn't ever seen such cute curious creatures as the (admittedly very young at the time) vegimals, and well of course he'd help Tweak try out the new speedy gup she was makin, anythin to help around-

By the time they get there well.... Barnacles has realized that Kwazii is well, Kwazii is kind of the exact person he'd been struggling to find.

Quick to learn, quicker to act, understood navigation and sea currents, gifted at diving, capable of steering subs well, crafty when dealing with the unique challenges of dealing with sea life and-

Well, he was also possibly a very good and kind friend. A strange one, but well, a very very good one.

They were about to say good bye, but well, the captain lamented on how he hoped kwazii would have good luck with treasure hunting, and he well maybe he kinda hoped he'd find someone at least half as good as him to help.

And well, who said he couldn't be a pirate AND an octonaut? Since the captain, you know, really needed the help- BESIDES, he probably had a way better of finding treasure when going UNDER the water- AND WELL, what pirate could say no to adventure and-

And kwazii was not a legally recognized citizen of any country so he couldn't legally become an octonaut.

Getting legal documentation for a lone pirate cat he'd met in the middle of the ocean wasn't on the captains bingo card. At least he... sort of knew what taxes were....

"Well what's your place of birth at least?!"

"Uhhh I dunno, a boat?"

"Okay- But, But w he r e ?"

"The ocean, matie???"

"In what waters though? Like- Like near what country???"

"... I dunno just like, the middle 'o it?"

"Kwazii I cant put "the middle of the ocean" as your place of birth!"

"Why not? its true-"

A very fun process for everyone that didn't include long wait times or long explanations of why on earth aren't you legal anywhere- or even shorter "explanations" of thats what makes a mysterious pirate past mysterious me heartie

anyways my brain is broken have fun lol

also I finally finished captain barnacles drawing today lol I'll post later

#octonauts #octonauts kwazii #octonauts oc #octonauts art #my art #octonauts captain barnacles #octonauts barnacles #I'm a living wreck

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