#government assigned gender for the day

[katrafiy]

I think about this image a lot. This is an image from the Aurat March (Women's March) in Karachi, Pakistan, on International Women's Day 2018. The women in the picture are Pakistani trans women, aka khwaja siras or hijras; one is a friend of a close friend of mine.

In the eyes of the Pakistani government and anthropologists, they're a "third gender." They're denied access to many resources that are available to cis women. Trans women in Pakistan didn't decide to be third-gendered; cis people force it on them whether they like it or not.

Western anthropologists are keen on seeing non-Western trans women as culturally constructed third genders, "neither male nor female," and often contrast them (a "legitimate" third gender accepted in its culture) with Western trans women (horrific parodies of female stereotypes).

There's a lot of smoke and mirrors and jargon used to obscure the fact that while each culture's trans women are treated as a single culturally constructed identity separate from all other trans women, cis women are treated as a universal category that can just be called "women."

Even though Pakistani aurat and German Frauen and Guatemalan mujer will generally lead extraordinarily different lives due to the differences in culture, they are universally recognized as women.

The transmisogynist will say, "Yes, but we can't ignore the way gender is culturally constructed, and hijras aren't trans women, they're a third gender. Now let's worry less about trans people and more about the rights of women in Burkina Faso."

In other words, to the transmisogynist, all cis women are women, and all trans women are something else.

"But Kat, you're not Indian or Pakistani. You're not a hijra or khwaja sira, why is this so important to you?"

Have you ever heard of the Neapolitan third gender "femminiello"? It's the term my moniker "The Femme in Yellow" is derived from, and yes, I'm Neapolitan. Shut up.

I'm going to tell you a little bit about the femminielli, and I want you to see if any of this sounds familiar. Femminielli are a third gender in Neapolitan culture of people assigned male at birth who have a feminine gender expression.

They are lauded and respected in the local culture, considered to be good omens and bringers of good luck. At festivals you'd bring a femminiello with you to go gambling, and often they would be brought in to give blessings to newborns. Noticing anything familiar yet?

Oh and also they were largely relegated to begging and sex work and were not allowed to be educated and many were homeless and lived in the back alleys of Naples, but you know we don't really like to mention that part because it sounds a lot less romantic and mystical.

And if you're sitting there, asking yourself why a an accurate description of femminiello sounds almost note for note like the same way hijras get described and talked about, then you can start to understand why that picture at the start of this post has so much meaning for me.

And you can also start to understand why I get so frustrated when I see other queer people buy into this fool notion that for some reason the transes from different cultures must never mix.

That friend I mentioned earlier is a white American trans woman. She spent years living in India, and as I recal the story the family she was staying with saw her as a white, foreign hijra and she was asked to use her magic hijra powers to bless the house she was staying in.

So when it comes to various cultural trans identities there are two ways we can look at this. We can look at things from a standpoint of expressed identity, in which case we have to preferentially choose to translate one word for the local word, or to leave it untranslated.

If we translate it, people will say we're artificially imposing an outside category (so long as it's not cis people, that's fine). If we don't, what we're implying, is that this concept doesn't exist in the target language, which suggests that it's fundamentally a different thing

A concrete example is that Serena Nanda in her 1990 and 2000 books, bent over backwards to say that Hijras are categorically NOT trans women. Lots of them are!

And Don Kulick bent over backwards in his 1998 book to say that travesti are categorically NOT trans women, even though some of the ones he cited were then and are now trans women.

The other option, is to look at practice, and talk about a community of practice of people who are AMAB, who wear women's clothing, take women's names, fulfill women's social roles, use women's language and mannerisms, etc WITHIN THEIR OWN CULTURAL CONTEXT.

This community of practice, whatever we want to call it - trans woman, hijra, transfeminine, femminiello, fairy, queen, to name just a few - can then be seen to CLEARLY be trans-national and trans-cultural in a way that is not clearly evident in the other way of looking at things.

And this is important, in my mind, because it is this axis of similarity that is serving as the basis for a growing transnational transgender rights movement, particularly in South Asia. It's why you see pictures like this one taken at the 2018 Aurat March in Karachi, Pakistan.

And it also groups rather than splits, pointing out not only points of continuity in the practices of western trans women and fa'afafines, but also between trans women in South Asia outside the hijra community, and members of the hijra community both trans women and not.

To be blunt, I'm not all that interested in the word trans woman, or the word hijra. I'm not interested in the word femminiello or the word fa'afafine.

I'm interested in the fact that when I visit India, and I meet hijras (or trans women, self-expressed) and I say I'm a trans woman, we suddenly sit together, talk about life, they ask to see American hormones and compare them to Indian hormones.

There is a shared community of practice that creates a bond between us that cis people don't have. That's not to say that we all have the exact same internal sense of self, but for the most part, we belong to the same community of practice based on life histories and behavior.

I think that's something cis people have absolutely missed - largely in an effort to artificially isolate trans women. This practice of arguing about whether a particular "third gender" label = trans women or not, also tends to artificially homogenize trans women as a group.

You see this in Kulick and Nanda, where if you read them, you could be forgiven for thinking all American trans women are white, middle class, middle-aged, and college-educated, who all follow rigid codes of behavior and surgical schedules prescribed by male physicians.

There are trans women who think of themselves as separate from cis women, as literally another kind of thing, there are trans women who think of themselves as coterminous with cis women, there are trans women who think of themselves as anything under the sun you want to imagine.

The problem is that historically, cis people have gone to tremendous lengths to destroy points of continuity in the transgender community (see everything I've cited and more), and particularly this has been an exercise in transmisogyny of grotesque levels.

The question is do you want to talk about culturally different ways of being trans, or do you want to try to create as many neatly-boxed third genders as you can to prop up transphobic theoretical frameworks? To date, people have done the latter. I'm interested in the former.

I guess what I'm really trying to say with all of this is that we're all family y'all.

[queerasfact]

International Day of the World’s Indigenous Peoples

On the 9th of August, the UN celebrates the International Day of the World’s Indigenous Peoples, and we celebrate some Indigenous queer history! Here’s a few of our podcasts you can check out to learn some more!

We’wha (pictured)

Born c.1849 at Zuni (now in New Mexico, USA), We’wha was a lhamana - a Zuni gender including both masculine and feminine roles. Like many lhamana, We'wha was a highly skilled craftsperson, proficient in both traditionally masculine, and traditionally feminie crafts.

In 1885, We’wha travelled to Washington DC as a representative of the Zuni people, where they worked with anthropologists and the Smithsonian museum to demonstrate and share information about Zuni crafts and culture, and met US President Grover Cleveland.

Click here to check out our podcast on We'wha!

[Image source - note this source was incorrect in the original post and has been corrected]

Kapaemahu

According to Hawai'ian oral histories, in around the 1500s, four healers visited Honolulu from what are now the Society Islands. These healers - named Kapaemahu, Kahalao, Kapuni, and Kinohi, were māhū, a gender recognised in Kānaka Maoli (Native Hawai’ian) culture, with a particular focus on healing and caring roles.

When they departed Hawai'i, the four māhū left behind four huge stones as a momento of their visit, imbued with their healing powers, which are still revered in Hawai'i today.

Click here to check out our podcast on Kapaemahu!

Osh-Tisch

Osh-Tisch was a batée born in the 19th-century Crow Nation. Batée is a uniquely Crow gender identity, describing a person assigned male at birth, who performs female as well as specifically batée social roles. Osh-Tisch was renowned for their skills as a craftsperson, their bravery in the 1876 Battle of the Rosebud, and as the best poker player in the region. In the face of attempts by the US government to force assimilation to Western ideas of gender, Osh-Tisch’s community fought for their right to express their identity.

Click here to hear our podcast on Osh-Tisch!

[useless-catalanfacts]

A bit of trans and crossdressing history of Barcelona (Catalonia's capital city) in the 1920s-1930s

Did "the Carolines" hold the first documented queer march in 1933?

Contestants in the 1934 edition of "Miss Barri Xino" for crossdressers. Photo from the book La Criolla: la puerta dorada del Barrio Chino by Paco Villar.

The Barri Xino, nowadays more commonly known as Raval, is a working class neighbourhood of Barcelona, Catalonia's capital city. Being one of the poorest neighbourhoods in the city, it was the meeting place for people who were outside of the law or the morality of the time, including homosexuals and people who dressed in the way that is associated with the sex they were not assigned at birth (all called crossdressers at the time, this category would include a wide range of people including those we nowadays would call transgender, drag queens, homosexual men, sex workers, as well as thieves and other criminals who used women's clothes for their robberies on passerbies or for hiding). When referring to them, this post will use the term "crossdresser" in this broad meaning, as is used in the sources of the time and was used by the people we are talking about.

At the time, trans people and others who didn't want to follow the time's gender norms faced a lot of hardships. It was not uncommon for men to dress as women and viceversa during Carnival (annual holidays where people dress up, often with satirical purposes, considered a time of turning social convention upside-down) or for men to dress as women in theatre and concert halls. Even though these were situations where many found a place for self-expression and fun, the clothing transgression was limited to very specific ambits and often related to the arts or to things considered funny, but it wasn't normalized to freely exist on the streets outside of the Carnival period. In fact, traditions like Carnival (where the lower class rules and everyone makes fun of the Church and government, where the behaviours that aren't allowed the rest of the year or considered sinful are encouraged) or Saint Agatha's (where women get to form a government for 1 day a year) are found in many cultures around the world as an outlet in repressive societies, and are celebrated in a strongest and wildest way the more repressive their society is.

Carnival in Barcelona's Jardinets de Gràcia (richer area of the city), 1936. Photo from Arxiu Fotogràfic de Barcelona.

Photos of the parties that continued after King Carnestoltes's burial was over in Barcelona's Jardinets de Gràcia, 1935. Context: in Catalan culture, the Carnival holidays are personified in King Carnestoltes (King Carnival). On the last day of the Carnival period, the King is buried in a humourous event called "the burial of the sardine". For the burial, people of all genders dress as mournerers (the women who, often professionally getting paid for it, cry desperately at funerals) and the funeral procession parades on the streets exaggeratedly crying and wailing. Photos from Finestres de Memòria.

When talking about 1930s Catalonia, it's impossible not to mention anarchism, which was the mainstream political ideology of the Catalan working class. We must not assume that leftist movements gave support to queer liberation at the time, it clearly was not the case for most of the CNT and anarchism in general, who saw homosexuality and crossdressing as a bourgeois vice.

Outside of Carnival holidays, it wasn't normalized for people seen as men to walk on the streets wearing women's clothing. The most famous meeting place for those who wanted to wear them was the bar La Criolla, in the Barri Xino/Raval quarter. El Bataclan and El Sacristà were also frequented. Another common meeting place for some of them were the "vespasianes" (public urinals on the streets), where crossdresser AMAB people offered their services as sex workers or stole the wallet of the men who were distracted peeing. According to a witness, the people who crossdressed as women and attended the vespasianes and its surrounding areas were known as the carolines (les carolines). They are the protagonists of the 1933 march.

Sadly, we only have one source of information, so it's difficult to tell how accurate the explanation is. This source is the book Journal du Voleur ("Diary of a Thief") by Jean Genet, where he explains his experiences in Barcelona's crossdressing circles of the 1920s and 1930s when he was one of the crossdressers who stole from men peeing: a carolina. At the time, it was common for anarchists to bomb places frequented by the bourgeoisie, and sometimes other places, too. According to Genet, in 1933 one of these anarchist bombs ended up in one of these vespasianes urinals frequented by the carolines. This sparked one of the first documented queer marches, maybe encouraged by their bad relation with the anarchists.

Genet explains that the carolines were outraged at the destruction of the urinal, and that "[wearing] shawls, mantillas, silk dresses and fitted short jackets, they formed a solemn delegation to place a bouquet of red flowers tied with a gauze crape" on the destroyed urinal. They marched from Paral·lel avenue through Sant Pau street, down the Rambles until Colom statue shouting about what had happened.

Even though the Barcelona City Council talks about these events as true and Barcelona's LGBT associations call it "the first documented LGBT march in history", it's unknown how much of Genet's description is true. Genet was known for his proclivity to embellish and exaggerate real events and, after all, the only source of information is a literary work (memoir). There is no other recorded use of the word carolines to refer to these people, but precisely because of their marginalization it's not a demographic that was often talked about in newspapers or other historicals sources of the time.

Despite the lack of knowledge about the carolines's march specifically, the crossdressing meeting places are well-known, with many photos and witnesses of the time. We also know what happened next: in 1936, the fascists in the Spanish Army did a coup d'état which started the Spanish Civil War, ending with the fascist victory in 1939. About the bars where crossdressers and others used to meet, we know that La Criolla was destroyed by a fascist bomb in August 1938, during the war. Cal Sacristà (which had changed its name to Wu-Li-Chang in 1934) was also destroyed when the fascists were bombing the city. Bataclan was forced to change its name to Rataclán and ended up closing in 1942. The fascist dictatorship of Spain (1939-1978) imposed a strict Nationalcatholic morale and persecuted those who did not follow its strict gender roles (trans people, homosexuals, feminists), national minorities (like Catalans, Basques, Galicians), and political dissidents. The dictatorship even forbid Carnival for years, event though it's a holiday of the Catholic religion (Carnival is the excess before the fasting period of Lent). The only crossdressing that was legally allowed were transformist male artists who imitated famous female stars in theatres and concert halls, and even they had to be discreet. Their life on the streets was persecuted, but they never eliminated the presence of crossdressing in Raval. You can read more about homosexuality and crossdressing during the dictatorship in this previous post, about the Law of Social Danger in this one, about Catalonia's first Pride march (1977) in this one, and as always find out more about Catalan queer people and history in this blog's tag #uselesslgbtfacts.

Information sources: Transvestits en acció by Lluís Permanyer (in Catalan), La Revolta de les Carolines by Leopold Estapé (in Catalan), Vespasiana by Ailo Ribas (in English). A good explanation that helped me contextualize is found in this entry in La Barcelona Diversa (in Catalan).

[fanaticsnail]

i just wanted to say i really liked your garp fic and i was wondering if you were going to do a part 2?

Bonnie Lass (2/2)

Masterlist Here, Part 1 Here.

Word Count: 7,925

Synopsis: You finally meet with the handsome older gentleman at the other end of the den-den-mushi. He promises a night you will both not forget in a hurry - will it live up to that expectation?

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+ You have been warned, smut, p in v sex, oral afab!receiving, bonnie lass - wee bonnie - lass - bonnie gendered terms used, afab! reader, "The Garpening", flirting, supportive boss Mihawk, den-den-mushi calls, both are shameless, age gap, unprotected, creampie.

Notes: This fic was brought to you by a bottle of wine, long chats with @carrotsunshine, @since-im-already-here, @sordidmusings, and @feral-artistry, my incessant need to write for older men, and an overbearing need to know exactly where Garp's appetite leads him.

Apprehensive and Apologetic Tag list: @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @cinnbar-bun @i-love-myself-xd @the-reas0n-is-y0u

The seabreeze whipped through your hair, the gullsong serenading you as Mihawk’s vessel made to dock at the Marine port. You squint your eyes up, staring at the bleached stone walls of the large building that held the promise of good food and pleasurable company. Hanging on the words Vice-Admiral Garp last spoke to you, your body immediately felt compelled to wander forward to exit the ship and gleefully skip towards the mighty doors.

But you knew better. 

The presence of your boss, Dracule Mihawk, fell beside you: his bicep brushing with the pointed tip of your shoulders as he physically began rumbling a low growl. He despised attending meetings held by the World Government, meaning he would likely require additional resources to get him through the week you were to remain docked at harbor. 

“My lord,” you addressed him, turning your body with a curt nod to him. He hummed in response, unbreaking his eyes away from the headquarters of the world government. With a small exhale of breath, you regained your composure and began relaying his itinerary for the day to him.

“An hour after we dock, your presence is required to partake in a meeting of the warlords of the sea,” you began, elevating your clipboard and scanning the paper pages for the next item on his agenda, “Afterwards, you have a brunch with Boa Hancock and Jinbei - to what end, I was made unaware. After that, you’ll be given your assignment to rid the outer ring of the ‘unruly plague of piracy’ the World Government deems important enough for your skill - likely to be completed over four days of battle, given the numbers,” Your brows furrowed, searching the pages for further information, “Then you are to meet with your tailor, just before your new headshots are to be confirmed by den-den-mushi.”

Mihawk clenched his fists, gritting his teeth as the marines roped his ship into port. The more you spoke, the more agitated he became. Not agitated at you, never agitated with you - he despised these meetings, and hoped that bringing you along would ensure a safe and swift encounter. He always struggled with managing his agendas and itineraries with these encounters, almost electing to bring you along simply for moral support if nothing else. 

“And then?” Mihawk spat through his clenched jaw, fists balling at his sides. 

“And then,” you confirmed, placing your clipboard under your arm and smiling up at your boss, “You have been booked into an onsen for a private spa, a massage and hot stone session in the hamam, and,” you stepped further towards Mihawk, adjusting his overcoat and soothing over his shoulders to rid the material of fray, “After that, I have sent a bottle of Rosso, and asked for for the next book in that romance series you have been indulging in to be awaiting you in your personal suite.” 

Mihawk exhaled a sigh of relief, clapping a hand over your shoulder in a gesture of appreciation. You smiled up at your boss, nodding at him to affirm your notion of providing his relief. You turned away, bringing your attention back up to the top of the building, and focussed your pointed gaze at the silhouette glaring over the balcony of the highest point. 

“And while I am distracted by a good book and a bottle of wine,” Mihawk’s taunting purr cracked into your ear, “Where will you be, my dear?” You drew a sheepish grin up to your lips, a faint flush igniting your cheeks 

Mihawk leant down into your ear, his breath tingling and hot against your flesh as he uttered his warning into your ear.

“Wined and dined by an old man?” he taunted down, his smirk visibly present in his tone, “Keeping me at bay while you enjoy a few stiff drinks, before being railed by something else stiff-.”

“Lord Dracule Mihawk!” you scolded him, turning to join your ignited gaze against his playful, honey-colored orbs, “I am first and foremost your assistant.” Mihawk’s lips twitched at the corners, indicating his amusement as close to a smile as he would ever publicly display. You huffed out your breath, shaking your head while adding, “I have never met him in person, and he is yet to extend a formal invitation to join him for dinner. I will be busy all day tending to your affairs, as I always am, Sir.” His amusement never lessened, only growing on his lips with another twitch.

“And after the day of your duties?” Mihawk’s brow twitched in interest, “What then?” 

“What then,” you shoved your index finger into his chest, scraping it up to tap the tip of his nose, “Is that I will be tucked safely within my bedsheets after a long bath and a hot meal. I am here to serve you, sir. I am your assistant, and I am a damn good one.” 

“That you are, dear,” he confirmed, placing his other hand on your shoulder, holding you in place, “Which is why, after today, I have given you three days paid shore leave.” Your stunned silence only propelled him on further to add, “Buy yourself a new pretty dress, and enjoy the sights,” he leant forward with a small wink, his darkened lashes kissing against the waterline to hide his brilliant amber eyes briefly, “And then, get the old man to roar your name in the thralls of joint ecstacy. By my orders, dear. You have earnt it.”

The warm rise of warmth held against the apples of your cheeks all day, constantly repeating Mihawk’s comments in a circular swirl within your mind. From the moment your temporary office was welcomed by a pink-haired cadet, to filling in a variety of paperwork, to taking various den-den-mushi calls, to clocking out for the day - the flushed heat held firm against your cheeks. 

No whisper of a word, nor scroll of a calligraphed note, graced your temporary office with its presence. You honestly thought you had been forgotten, neglected in the knowledge that you had journeyed long beside Dracule Mihawk to be within close proximity to the man who held your undivided attention every day for the past year. 

Just as you were packing away your desk for the day, the den-den-mushi began to roar to life on your wooden countertop. The reverberation of its guttural grunts and gurgles had you satiating its tone by answering the call. 

“Lord Dracule Mihawk’s den-den-mushi. State your intentions, and make it quick-,” you growled, your professional tone wavering in agitation due to the proximity of your shift ending. 

“-Oh, sweet bonnie lass. I dinnae mean t’keep ‘ye waitin’,” the soothing drawl of Vice-Admiral Garp purred through the transponder. You huffed out an exasperated breath, your brows furrowing further against your forehead as you navigated through your swelling mind. 

“Vice-Admiral,” your warning tone cut through the air, halting all further conversation with a concluding utterance of, “My office hours have concluded for the day. Should you desire to reach Dracule Mihawk for any need, you may try again at-.” Your words were stolen from you by Garp’s tone cutting through them like a knife through hot butter.

“-Please, lass,” his plea cracked through the den-den-mushi, holding you hostage to his words, “Please dannae brush me aside. I have been in meetin’s all day, and I have been trying to claw my way to you from the wee hours of the morn, to the quiet moments of the noon.” You rotated your neck, relieving tension found within the tight bands of your muscles. 

“Vice-Admiral,” you began, interrupted once again by his rumbling brogue growling through the mouthpiece of the den-den-mushi, “I have had a long journey at sea. My only welcome being more work at the bequest of my employer. I do not have time to entertain you over the transponder today. If you desire to speak further, you can try again tomorrow, Vice-Admiral-.”

“-Garp, lass. It’s Garp, please,” his breathy voice gasped through the speaker, “I’ll make it up to you, I swear. I should’ve been down by the docks waiting - up to my knees in sea water to reign your ship in with my bare hands.” You hummed at the thought: a high and mighty Vice-Admiral of the marines lowering himself to the duties of a simple cadet at the chance of meeting his eyes with your own in person. 

You took a moment's pause, contemplating his words and mulling the thought of him demonstrating his strength and stamina to you while shepherding Mihawk’s ship into port. Did he have old navy tattoos on his biceps? Did his advanced age hinder his ability to perform such a task? Gathering he was the one who suggested such a notion, and him being a man of high honor, you gathered he would be up to such a muscle burning task. 

“Alright, Garp,” you hummed into the transponder, leaning back into the transponder and purring through your vocal challenge, “Make it up to me.” 

A shuddered groan sparked through the mouthpiece, your own giddy joy elevating in your chest and igniting your body with soft tingles. If he had this much sway over you with just a small growl of his voice, you were unsure of where the next few moments were to bring you. 

“Meet me at the docks in two hours, Bonnie Lass,” his tone was hushed enough to draw you in closer, your ears pricking to catch every syllable granted to you, “And I’ll treat you to a night you willnae forget in a hurry.” Your broad grin split your face, a small squeak of joy threatening to escape your lips with a soft hum.

“And how should you like me, Garp?” you asked him, your taunting purr calling further into the receiver end, “Should I prepare my wardrobe for an outdoor activity,” you questioned, your foot tapping lightly within the air while hooking over your knee, “Or should I just throw a coat over some lingerie and call it a night?” 

Several cracking objects bent and broke, echoing throughout the den-den-mushi transponder; something akin to wood snapping and nails tearing through mahogany. You rewarded such a sound with a melodic giggle, only producing more creaking wood noises in consequence. 

“Wear something dainty for me,” a low rumbled growl purred at you, “What you choose to wear under it is your prerogative.” 

“Aye, Sir,” you confirmed with a curt nod, “Two hours, and I’ll be all yours.” 

“All mine,” his low drawl parroted back to you, the giddy chirp of his voice endearing in your ears. At the click of the receiver, you sprung immediately into action and hurried out of the office doors. 

You bid a cheery farewell to the cadets loitering in the hallway, thanking them for arranging your office, before leaving the washed-stone building of the World Government headquarters. Your smile never left your lips, the promise of meeting the man who held your romantic affections weighing heavily on your mind and fluttering harshly within the pit of your stomach. 

While bathing, cleansing your skin and hair, and ensuring every part of you was styled and scented with the sweet and sultry persona you had presented yourself to be, your thoughts turned to pondering unspoken questions. Will he enjoy the way you present yourself? Will he behave like the perfect gentleman? How should you act: the way you shamelessly speak over the den-den-mushi, or poised like a lady? Would he like this particular color on you, or on the floor beside you? 

You shook your head to rid them of the spiraling doubts, soothing over your tight dress and hooking your coat over your forearm while exiting the suite you had organized for yourself. Clicking and locking your door behind you, your eyes briefly met with Mihawks: a book tucked under his arm and wine bottle within his grasp, twirling the cork with his screw and filling his wine glass in the window. He shot you a knowing look, mouthing the words: “make him roar.”

Your cheeks flooded with the heat of scorched oil, flash point igniting in your eyes at the final utterance of support from your boss. Shaking your head, you made your way briskly to the docks. The dimly lit lamplight illuminated your path, the click of your heels tapping lightly on the solid sandstone pathway. The flap of gulls wings shepherded your final steps atop the docks, your eyes meeting with a truly unique sight you were not expecting in the least. 

In the middle of the pier stood a highly decorated marine, silver hair backlit by the radiance of the moon and standing with his wrists clenched behind his back. His beard was neatly cropped, his eyes fixed on your approach, his lips exhaling a shaky breath he prayed you didn’t notice. As your feet carried your body closer, you halted a few feet away from him, tilting your chin and pursing your lips playfully up at him. 

“Vice-Admiral,” you purred up at him seductively, your eyes wide and innocent to contradict your expression.

“Bonnie-Lass,” he gruffly commented in response, a smile painted brilliantly on his lips. A delightful shudder flew up your spine at his undistorted voice finally meeting with you. You flit your eyes hastily over him, examining his stature inquisitively - a gesture he returned with gusto, eyes hovering over your meticulously cared and styled hair and outfit. 

“May I invite ‘ye aboard, lass?” Garp’s softness in his tone pulled you in, his arms waving behind him to gesture towards his impressive ship, “I ‘kin understand if being on a ship again after so much time on the water might no’ agree with ‘ye-.”

“-I would love to see your ship, Captain,” you remarked gleefully, stepping past his arms and following his gesture to the broadwalk, “I adore sea travel, and enjoy the rocking of the waves. I find it comforting.” 

As you stepped past, your intoxicating radiance graced Garp with the aroma of your sweet perfume. The way your presence called him immediately to follow you, his feet falling in tow with your every step, was not something he ever accounted for. 

The moment your voice picked up the receiver of the den-den-mushi, Garp’s sour mood was immediately stifled under your comforting tone. The first time he called Castle Kuraigana to relay orders to the broody warlord of the sea, he was ill-prepared to be met with a tone so honey-sweet and kind. He was immediately smitten, often calling the castle with any excuse he could muster to hear more of your sweetness pouring onto him through the speaker of his den-den-mushi. 

But now you were here in person, Garp truly had no idea how to handle you. He did not know if you would allow him the luxury of holding you against himself in a warm and welcoming embrace. He did not desire to lean down and claim your lips with a kiss, only to be met with a turn of your cheek and an utterance of, “You’re too old for me,” falling from your lips. He truly did not know what to expect from you, and the unspoken anxiety was eating at his stomach and clouding his mind. 

“Garp?” you called over to him, halting your advance onto his ship and turning to face him, “Are you going to guide me along your vessel, or am I to find my own way without you?” Garp snapped his eyes to meet with yours, his winding thoughts pausing as he bore his intense gaze into you. 

“Although I do enjoy exploring new areas, I would prefer to be ushered in with the pleasure of your company,” you continued, a coy smile springing to your features, “After all the promises you made to me of the many months we’d been speaking,” you took a step back, falling closer to his larger body, “I would prefer you to keep your word.”

“And which word might that be, lass?” his gruff whisper crooned down at you, his eyes half-lidded and lips parted in desperation, “I had promised ‘ye an array of mischief, if ‘me old mind serves correct.”

“Considering I’ll be on, I’m assuming, this ship for the next few days while Mihawk completes his assignment,” you contemplated, darting your focus between his two eyes, “Would you show me to my quarters so I may send for my belongings to arrive on the morrow?” 

“All work an’ no play, lass?'' he huffed a small laugh down at you, “An’ here I thought you’d want something more playful the first time we met in person, or perhaps something a little more-...” His thoughts trailed off, his tone almost disappointed at your formal conversation. He took it as his first rejection from you, opting to not push his expectation and desires onto you should it make you uncomfortable. 

You exhaled through your nose, your smile not leaving your lips as you shook your head at him. As Garp allowed his spiraling thoughts to plague his mind, fully trapped within his misguided notion you had rejected his flirtatious advances, he didn’t feel the grip of your fingers around his teal tie until his body was thrust forward by the strength of your forearm. 

Drawing all of the power you could muster, alongside the courage you felt you needed to complete such a feat, you claimed the lips of the decorated Vice-Admiral of the marines beneath your own. You set a bruising pace, turning your head and standing yourself up on the tips of your toes to reach more of him. Your other hand found his broad chest, dropping your coat to the floor while fisting the material of his outer coat beneath your palm and cradling him closer to yourself. 

Stepping backwards onto the ship, you ushered his hulking body aboard while unbreaking from the passionate embrace. As your knees knocked with a hard benchtop behind you, you ushered the larger man to turn, forcing his body down to sit himself down on the bench. You opened your mouth, your tongue raking against his bottom lip. 

A groan fled from his lips, Garp’s needy hands grasping at your flesh over the material of your dress. Fistfulls of the material was claimed within Garp’s hands, the hemline of the material being shimmied up your thighs to grant more of your flesh to be exposed to him. He opened his mouth, allowing you to seek out his tongue to brush against your own with expert and practiced precision. 

As the material continued to ride up your body, you hooked your knees either side of his broad thighs and straddled his waist. The split side of your dress strained beneath the grasps of Garp’s hands, stretching the material harshly before your ears pricked at the harsh ‘rip’. You squeaked in Garps mouth, drawing your lips away from his with a frown.

“You tore my dress!” you exclaimed, your accusatory reprimand mixing with a hidden smile beneath your frown, “It was my favorite!” Garp paid your chastising tone no mind, peppering your neck with several, open-mouthed kisses.

“I’ll buy ‘ye twelve more,” he gasped, nipping and sucking at the exposed flesh of your neck, “All the colors you desire,” he raked his teeth against your jaw, “All the patterns in the world.” You keened a small moan into the air when he found a sensitive piece of flesh between your throat and your pulse. 

His hand dipped between the material of your dress, raking his fingertips over your thigh to hold your hip only to pause while held in complete shock. 

“You’re ‘nae wearing anythin’ beneath this dress, bonnie lass,” he growled against your jaw, his teeth catching on the bone and clamping over your soft skin.

“You said it was my prerogative,” you gasped, turning your head to seek out his lips with your own, “Why do you think I wanted you to show me to my quarters, Sir?” You pressed a long and heavy kiss against his lips before tearing yourself away once more. “But it seemed as if you couldn't handle the uncertainty for a moment longer,” you kissed his whiskered cheek, “So I am improvising.” 

Garp immediately responded by raking his broad hands beneath your bare ass, barely covered by the material of your dress, hoisting you into the air and marching you throughout the corridors with heavy and intentional steps. You giggled at him, weaving your hands over his shoulders and massaging his scalp with your fingertips, and nuzzling down into his neck. You inhaled deeply, committing his cologne to memory while nipping and sucking on his exposed flesh close to his collar.

“It’s against protocol to leave visible marks above my uniform,” Garp growled, leaning his head back and exposing more of his skin to you, “If you litter my skin with any bites, I’ll see to ‘ye punishment personally.” In response to your rough, peppered kisses along his neck and bearded jaw, Garp slapped his hand on your right ass cheek before kneading it within his fingers and palm. 

“I am no marine, Garp,” you confessed, wrapping your lips around his pulse and sucking at the skin with fervor, “And I’d like to see you try.”

“Y’ell do as ‘yer bloody told, lass,” he growled, leaning away from your lips. As his eyes met with yours, he squeezed the flesh of your ass with a warning pinch. You squeaked in delight, Garp’s hearty laughter pleasantly echoing within your ears. 

“I’ll do as I bloody please, Garp,” you taunted in return, biting a crescent shaped mark against his pulse, soothing over the mark with your lips and tongue. You sucked at the mark, hearing a hitch in his breath as he continued to lead you towards the guest suites. 

Tearing your lips away, you hummed at the heart-shaped mark you pressed into his skin. It was a medal of lust, visible to all who see it - and see it, they will. Garp’s pulse was elevated further, his passionate advances leading him on with heavy and intentional steps. His boot heel kicked in the door to cabin quarters, your anticipation only growing as Garp lowered you onto the freshly made bed. 

Your back hit the plush mattress, your hair sprawling out on the sheets as he lowered his head against your neck. He pressed a few intentional kisses against your exposed flesh, his hands desperately raking over your chest to knead your breasts slowly and sensually. You sucked in a soft groan, your brows furrowing up as his thumb and index finger rolled over your puckered nipples. At your small gasp, he took it as encouragement to continue stimulating your breasts with his left hand, as his right rose the hemline of your dress over your hip. 

Hastily, you shot your hands forward, fumbling over the buckle of his belt to rid it of its hold on his pants. Just as quickly, Vice-Admiral Garp surged forward: claiming both of your wrists within his circular grip to halt your advance. You furrowed your brows as he pinned your wrists beside your head, your wide eyes meeting with his mischievous grin. 

“What are you-,” you began, silenced by a heavy and open-mouthed kiss pressed against your lips, claiming you beneath him with rough bites and soothing caresses. He groaned against your lips, leading your hands with his to wrap around his shoulders and weave into his hair once more within your fingertips. 

“Let me taste ‘ye first, bonnie,” he growled against your sensitive skin, You gasped a sigh of affirmation, nodding against his smiling lips, “Let me make it up to ‘ye for ‘me surliness earlier. Please let me have ‘ye like this.” 

Trailing open mouthed kisses down your neck, halting briefly at your breasts before trailing down your stomach; Vice-Admiral Monkey D. Garp made his intentions incredibly clear to you as he shimmied the line of your dress higher over your body. 

“Let me show ‘ye how much I’ve been craving the sweet call of my name from those pretty lips o’ yours,” Hooking your knees over his shoulders, he scraped his bearded chin over the sensitive inner flesh of your thighs before grazing his lips over the top of your core, “I’ll have ‘ye cryin’ and whimperin’ for me before ‘ye even see my cock.” 

He tested your sensitive flesh: flicking the tip of his tongue out to brush against your swollen clit. Immediately, your back arched up and a soft cry flew from your lips before you could stop it. Garp chuckled, looking as your pulsating core was welcoming more of his touches, giving away your arousal with a pool of your sweet essence pouring from your contracting entrance. 

“You are so beautiful, bonnie lass,” he pressed a sweet kiss against the top of your groin, his smile felt against your flesh, “And ‘ye finally all mine.” After allowing another chuckle to fall from his lips, he advanced forwards and skillfully licked a clean and expert stripe along your glistening walls. 

Vice-Admiral Garp was known for many things: His brutality in war, his aggression while training cadets, his calculated advances on the battlefield, his impossible strength, and his insatiable appetite. This appetite was now displayed to you as he hungrily and desperately lapped at your core like a man on death row, consuming his last meal while awaiting execution. The balance between savoring the flavor while horking down like a man starving had your eyes rolling back and hands fisting at his cropped hair to hold on tightly. 

“O-Oh fuck,” you cried, your eyes now tightly clamped shut as you relished in his skilled ministrations. The roll of his tongue, the mouthing of his hungry lips, had you physically quaking against his face.

“Shakin’ like a leaf, lass,” he taunted, nuzzling into your aching core, “‘ye want ‘te see what else I ‘kin do?” Your toes curled as he prodded your entrance with his tongue, his nose circling your clit and spreading your arousal throughout your core. Skillfully thrusting his tongue in and out of your desperate and delicate slit, you felt as if you were going to explode in ecstasy the moment he began vibrating his tongue with a deep, rumbling groan. 

“G-Garp. I-I don’t know if I-I can-... hnnng-... I c-can’t last m-....mmmn-... m-much longer,” you cried, your thighs clenching on his neck and shoulders to hold him in place. Your body reacted against your will, arching your back off the mattress while desperately riding his face. You felt the band winding tighter in your abdomen, each area of your body desperately shooting sparks, teetering on the edge of unravel. 

Two firm hands clapped over your thighs: one holding down your stomach and pinning you against the bed, the other kneading over your thigh. Garp pulled his face away from your needy cunt, hovering his hot breath and breathing puffs of cool air over your hole. You whimpered in desperation, wriggling against his wide-spread fingers to get any stimulus to conclude your high. 

“W-Why-,” you cried, a slap on your bare ass halting your words and having you throw your head against the pillow. 

“-Because I warned ‘ye nae t’ leave a mark on ‘me body. It’s against protocol, lass,” he chuckled, his whiskered chin scraping over your thigh as his smiling lips pressed a kiss against the outer corner of your crotch. You growled, leaning up on your elbows, staring into his eyes with a dark agitation.

“And after all those promises of making it up to me?” you spat, your nose scrunching, lips pursing and brow furrowing. Garp rose from his low position against your exposed flesh, a foreign desperation depicted in his wide eyes. 

“Were they all empty words?” you uttered. You knew, for a fact, that Vice-Admiral Garp was mad for you, but that only made you want to taunt him more, “All an act to get me to open my legs, just to leave me disappointed like the rest of them?” A stuttered gasp flew from his lips as he crawled up the bed, weaving his clothed torso through your legs to meet at eye level once again. In turn, you shimmied your body away from him, turning your face away in an attempt to hide your smile.

You knew how desperately he wanted you. The moment your lips collided with his above deck, you felt just how much he absolutely adored you. Considering he held you on the edge of ecstasy, only to pull away from you as you were about to unravel , you decided it would be more entertaining to watch him grovel for you. 

“Perhaps you were only interested in leaving a sour taste, teasing me with your pretty brogue and taunting me with your dream-like promises,” you continued, lips pouting and brows triangulating up in the center of your forehead. Garp staggered in his movement, his hands reaching out in an attempt to grasp yours, only met with you pulling away. 

“L-Lass, I didnae mean t-,” he began, halted by your melancholy sigh in an attempt to stifle a rising giggle in your chest. 

“-You said I’d beg and plead for your hands and lips to be in a few key places, if I recall correctly,” you pouted, playing into your role, “How disappointing, only having me beg and writhe beneath you to pull away at the crescendo.” 

“P-Please, lass. I’m sorry. I am a cruel, cruel man,” he confessed, claiming your left hand within his right and peppering the flesh with a flurry of kisses, “What can I do t’make it up to ‘ye, ‘me bonnie lass. Tell me,” he trailed his kisses up higher, halting at the inner flesh of your elbow, “Order me, dictate me,” he continued spreading kisses up to your shoulder, soothing over your scorching flesh, “I beg ‘ye to reconsider your withdrawal. I am ‘ye humble servant, wee bonnie.” 

Your smile broke through your pouting expression, your head snapping over to meet with his. His eyes were wide and frantic, desperate to know he had not lost you by enacting his cruel punishment. 

“Off the bed,” you ordered him, a twinkle of mischief sparking to light in your surly expression, “And strip yourself, slowly.” 

“Aye, bonnie lass,” he stumbled over his words, immediately staggering backwards and falling to the side of the bed. He began unbuttoning his overcoat and shaking it from his shoulders hurriedly, prompting a giggle to break through your practiced character. 

“I said slowly, Garp,” you purred at him, sitting up and moving your left calf along your right, “I thought you would be good at following orders, considering your title as a marine.” He halted his hasty undress, opting to silently follow your orders by unhooking the clasps of his belt and unbuttoning his pants. As the hem lay limply on his hips, he slowly popped each button of his shirt and raked his index finger along his torso to separate the fabric. 

Shamelessly following each movement with a bite of your bottom lip, you reclined on your side and encouraged him to continue with your sultry and beckoning eyes. His heart fluttered, feeling so small beneath your predatory gaze. After speaking with you for so long over den-den-mushi, and desperately seeking your approval with his choice words, he was certain he knew what to expect when he met with you.

He had never been so pleased to be proven wrong in his life. 

As he released the final button of his shirt, you clicked your tongue at him and pointed your index finger at the teal sash decorating his neck.

“The tie stays on,” you spoke through narrowed eyes, testing his resolve to follow your orders. He huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head as he peeled his shirt away from his skin - leaving the teal tie around his neck. He shimmied off the fabric before hooking his thumbs through his belt hoops, slowly pulling the material over his hips and down his muscular thighs. 

Hungrily and awestruck, you followed each taut flex of his impressive muscles: his forearms, his biceps, his shoulders, his pectorals, his abs, his thighs - nothing was hidden from your eyes as he continued to slowly undress himself before you. His head-shot from the World Government truly did not do him justice - a man dignified and refined, muscular and carved from slated marble. He was a sight to behold, and was anxious to receive your approval at each passing moment. 

Stepping away from his pants, Vice-Admiral Garp was standing before you in naught but his teal tie and tight undershorts. The growing pole to tent the center of his trousers had your mouth watering beneath your stoic and sultry expression: keeping your hand close to your chest to not reveal your desperation for him. 

“Does this please you, lass?” he whispered below his breath, the corner of his mouth ticking with his melancholy expression, “An old man far from his prime, humbling himself before the delicate flower of Kuraigana. Is this all ‘ye dreamed of?” His small sigh caught your ear, prompting your brows to furrow in deep thought. His eyes were focussed on the floor, unable and unwilling to tear them away to meet with your exploratory eyes. 

Vice-Admiral Garp was self conscious. He found himself unworthy to be at the receiving end of your interest, a fact that had become clearer and clearer the more the night flew on. 

“Take off your undershorts, Garp,” you ordered him, slowly rising to your knees on the mattress, “And lie back on the bed.” You witnessed as his cock twitched beneath his pants, a growl purring in the chasms of his chest as he hooked his thumbs around the hemline of his undergarments. 

Slowly shimmying down the elastic, his impressive cock sprang above the surface, slapping his abdomen with his shining mushroom tip on his belly. The slit was dripping with precum, the veins throbbing with anticipation while he bashfully lay his back down on the mattress. His cock stood to attention, knob throbbing while his shaft was hoisted in the air. He was neatly cropped, every follicle of his happy trail meticulously maintained down his stomach. 

Without much warning, you eagerly straddled his waist with a giggle of joy. A gasp of shock fled from his lips, followed by a huff of laughter as you eagerly threw your dress off your body and looked down at his reclined form. There was a hidden uncertainty within his eyes, a hopeful sheen sucking you within his orbs each moment you gazed into them.

“Now what, lass?” he questioned you, eyes searching yours as he reached up his palm to cradle your cheek, “You’ve got me pinned and helpless beneath your thighs. Does this please you? D-Do I-...” his voice trailed off, remaining uncertain as his eyes sought out deeper, unspoken desires within your own, “...-Do I please you?” 

You sighed, flipping your hair over your shoulder and looking down at him through half-hooded eyelashes. Your soft smile drew up over your features, a secret and hidden kiss’ shadow rising within the right-hand corner of your mouth - a place that immediately held Garp rendered defeated under your beautiful features. 

What began as mild lust had blossomed and flourished into something more sacred. Garp was indeed smitten with you, desperately wanting to both treat and tease you, but now that he had you - he was clawing at being a worthy partner for you to couple with. He knew you were beautiful, he knew you were intelligent, he knew you were wise - but he did not expect, upon meeting you in person, to be rendered helpless upon seeking your approval. 

Wordlessly, you sought out the tip of his glistening cock with your needy hole, slowly circling the knob without welcoming him fully into your walls. He gasped at the contact, surging forward to grasp at your thighs over his waist. Your arousal coated his tip, painting it with your own lust and propelling his sinful desires on further. 

“You’ll please me by letting me ride your thick cock until you can’t take it anymore,” you purred down at him, angling your lips to almost brush against his own, “You’ll please me by splitting me open and filling me up with every inch you’re willing to give me. You’ll please me-...” you leaned your torso down, your breasts brushing with his pectorals, nipples circling his own in a sultry dance as you hovered over his cock, “...-By allowing me the luxury of cumming on your cock, my pussy milking you of your thick load and splashing back onto your cock once it meets with my cervix.” 

Garp held his breath, furrowing his brows as he felt you inch down to claim his shined knob within your entrance. He focussed on the hitch of your breath, the swell of your heart rate, and the small whimper in your voice. He focussed on the twitch of your closed eyes and your parted lips as you sank further along his shaft. 

Although his appetite was insatiable, he would never rush you in adjusting to his girth and length. He relished in every stretch your walls made to accommodate his impressive size, focussing on how your brows knit together and breath hitched at every small move. He tried to hold back the twitch of his desperate cock, trying not to lose himself within the feeling of your cunt fluttering to adjust for his cock to fully sheathe itself within you. 

As the hilt of your crotch met with his, his cock disappearing within your fluttering cunt up to the brim, he finally allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief at being sheathed completely within you. Grinding yourself down, you suppress a strangled moan within your throat as you feel your walls adjust and accommodate to his impressive size. Testing a small movement, you inched yourself upwards and slunk down against his shaft - a sigh mirrored within Garp’s lips as he restrained himself from fucking up into you. 

You began to slowly rake your walls up, before slamming your body back down against his groin: mutual cries of bliss falling from each other's lips as you focussed on riding his cock. You hastily drew up speed, setting a rhythm that had his hips rolling beneath your own. Your mewling cries of his name were rising into the air each time you felt his knob touch the edge of your cervix. 

His hands gripped firmly against your thighs, ushering you to bob, grind and gyrate against his cock to chase your own ecstasy. Your clit brushed with the small tuft of hair remaining at the base of his shaft, stimulating the small bud each time you drew yourself down to his crotch. 

He stared up in disbelief at the way your body responded to him. He was mesmerized at each whimper of your voice, each flutter of your eyelashes, and each slam of your aching cunt welcoming his throbbing cock within his walls. He couldn’t get enough: you were intoxicating and addictive with each writhe against him. 

Your rhythm began to get more stuttered, your body responding to the elevation of your ecstasy. Your walls began to thump against him, wringing his cock and clamping down on it as your approaching orgasm began to shudder against his shaft. His breath hitched, his own brow furrowing as he felt every pulse within your walls ushering him into his own bliss. 

As you continued to grind against him, Garp struggled to hold back against his own desires of flipping you over and stapling his hips against your own by railing your body into the plush mattress below. He did not want to destroy his good standing with you by completing such a lewd act, reacting in penance from drawing himself away from cumming into his awaiting lips, and simply chose to take each moment you gave him as a gift. 

The flutter of your cunt began squeezing his shaft, the sensitive spongy underside of your clit meeting with his knob propelling you further in the release of your incoming ecstasy. Your whimpers and cries of his name falling freely from your lips had both Garp’s cock and heart swell in pride that his body was granting you such bliss.

“G-Garp, I-I’m gonna-...” you called, clenching your eyes shut as you continued to gyrate and grind down against his cock. 

Garp’s iron will snapped, immediately hooking his arms around your waist and tackling you against the bedsheets. He caged you beneath him, plowing greedily into your shuddering walls with an eager snap of his hips. You shrieked in shock, your ecstasy being ushered in further by Garp stampeding you both towards your ends with a heavier and more controlled rhythm.

Each heavy rake of his cock within your cunt had his balls slapping against your puckered ass. At this new angle, you cried out, desperately clawing at his back and shoulders to draw him in closer to you. 

He hoisted your knee over his hip, latching his lips onto your neck and sucking a deep, angry, mark into your porcelain flesh. You cried for him, every ounce of your flesh ignited by the sparks of untamed ecstasy as you thrust your hips upwards to meet with every sharp snap of his rhythmic hips. 

“Cum for me,” he purred at you in a gruff growl, “Cry out my name.” His rhythm began to weigh heavier with each deep thrust, heavier and heavier with every staggered slam of his hips. “I want the entire base t’ know I’m makin’ ‘ye feel good. Want ‘ye fookin’ boss t’ know you’re becoming unraveled by my thick cock, ‘me bonnie lass.” 

At the mention of your boss: Mihawk’s verbal warning of having Garp cry your name in bliss echoed back to you. In a final ditch effort of having Garp cry out for you, you latched your lips onto the mark you created a few hours prior and teased the flesh with your teeth and tongue. Garp knit his brows, growling through yelping barks below his breath at how truly good you made him feel. 

“O-Ohh f-fuck, Garp. I-I’m-... ahh-... I’m c-cumming,,” you called, clawing and gnawing at his flesh like a lifeline anchoring you to the earth. He sucked in a breath feeling the twitch of his end spurting the first few moments of his orgasm within your walls. As much as he desired to pull away from your eager cunt to not risk his seed finding purchase within your walls - he simply could not help himself. He immediately began plowing harsher into you, his cock spurting his cum within you like a valve turning to release hisses of pent-up pressure. 

His voice became elevated with each staggered thrust, each subtle whimpered cry of his name coinciding with you grinding and writhing beneath him to chase your mutual highs. At one final bite of his flesh, and a particularly harsh snap of his hips, the two of you began experiencing the first realms of joint ecstasy.

“F-Fuck bonnie lass, I cannae pull out,” he roared your name, gyrating and pumping his seed deep within your cunt: splashing back spurts of his load within your needy, throbbing cunt. 

“D-Don’t you dare t-try,” you scolded him, eyes rolling back in bliss as he chased his orgasm within you. The walls of your pussy began contracting against his thick cock, shepherding him into releasing hot ropes of sticky cum within your eager walls. For every thump of your walls, you were granted by a spurt of his release within them - milking him of every fiber of his essence. 

As you both rode through your highs, the hums of your voices and gasps of your breath caught up with you. He snapped his hips forward, remaining sheathed within your glistening walls, as he raked his fingers through your hair. Your strands stuck against your forehead, your pupils blown with lust as you gulped back another cry of ecstasy as his cock throbbed within you. You sobbed, hiding your forehead against his chest as you attempted to come down from your high. 

Taking a moment to each gulp in oxygen to fill your lungs, Garp rolled from caging you beneath him, unsheathing his cock from within your pussy slowly. He looked down at your entrance, watching as it clenched to chase his retreat from your body with an eagerness he was yet to witness in some time. You were a masterpiece, a body unraveled and glistening within the realms of the afterglow in unbridled lust. He adored you. 

“You alrigh’, lass?” he asked you quietly, his lips grazing your temple as your lungs refilled with oxygen. You smiled up at him, eyes closing while your body chased his lips to feel his wired whiskers against your skin longer. You hummed at him, rolling over to your side and grazing his chest with your open hands. 

“Never better, Garp,” you cooed back at him, feeling your energy supply depleting the longer you remained comfortably within his arms. He cradled you against himself, feeling the soft song of slumber calling to him each moment you remained nestled against him. 

“And what of t’morrow?” Garp asked, his brow cocking up at the corner while he fought to keep his eyes open, “‘Ye got duties to attend, I’m sure.” 

“Dracule Mihawk has allowed me the luxury of a few days' shore leave,” you confessed, sleepily, “I don’t think I’ll be returning to my station any time soon, Vice-Admiral-.”

“-Garp, bonnie lass. It’s Garp, remember?” he cooed down at you, shimmying his body down to locate the plush duvet and nestling you both beneath it, “When you’re with me, it’s always Garp.”

“Alright, Garp,” you purred up at him, eyes hooded and feeling serenaded by sleep, “Will you stay by me tonight? Show me you still want me in the morning?” He huffed out a breath of disbelief, cradling you further against his chest and pressing a gentle kiss against your forehead.

“Rest assured, Bonnie Lass,” the rumbling drawl of his voice cooed down at you, his fingers brushing over your hair and smoothing over each strand, “I will still want you every morning.” 

Both of your warm smiles clung to your cheeks as you fell into the arms of sleep, feeling calm and at peace while clinging to one another. You had never been so pleased to be relieved of duty, your legs and body remaining blissfully numb by being plowed into by Garp’s throbbing cock. 

An apology for his rough actions came in the form of caging your hips against his face, his arms weaving over your thighs, and him welcoming you to ride his head until your voice grew hoarse from the sheer number of times he had you cry his name on his eager tongue. Enthusiastically lapping at your glistening cunt with the fervor of a man being granted the feast of a lifetime, he refused to part his lips from your glistening walls until you violently shook with a scream of his name.

When riding down your high and sobbing through your ecstasy, you looked down at his eager eyes: twinkling with mischief. Upon meeting his gaze, he kissed your thigh and cooed up at you: “Just one more? One last time before I let you go, ‘me wee bonnie lass?” for the fifth time that morning. After all, his appetite truly was insatiable.

[angstics]

i finally articulated my opinion on my "is gerard way doing drag" question. my definition of drag is when a person impersonates, exaggerates, or appropriates a mode of gender expression. drag can be artistic or political (or both). drag can be an identity. drag and transgender identity are confused as the same thing. for some, it is. what is considered cross dressing can also be considered drag. it's important to note that drag is essential to queer culture, and how the us government harasses queer people through cross dressing, and now anti-drag, laws. we wouldnt be here talking about pop artists doing drag without drag performers and nonbinary-trans-gnc people.

to some people, a self-identified man in a female-identified dress is drag. "cross dressing" depends on cishet norms. queer people, especially nonbinary-trans-gnc people, have called to dismantle the assignment of gender to clothing. under that lens, a man in a dress is just a man in a dress -- for it to be drag, context and intent matters. that's how you get women doing female drag, or androgynous people doing what gerard way's been doing this last year on tour.

in asking "is gerard way doing drag?", im assigning importance to the topic. does it matter? within my understanding, drag is about intent and context as much as gender presentation. intent and context is what makes something important. therefore: understanding why the question is important solves it.

male music artists have a long history of cross dressing and doing drag. there's a good chance plugging any dude into a search engine with "drag" or "skirt" will bring something up. bowie, queen, nirvana, manic street preachers, placebo. here's a list. newer artists: lil nas x, harry styles, anthony green, pete wentz, young thug. some are impersonating female caricatures, some are masculinizing female clothes (long, ill-fitting, straight). some, like molko and lil nas, wear feminine clothes without exaggerating or masculinizing. gerard is in that same grey area.

male music artists have a long history of cross dressing and doing drag -- photos: "i want to break free" mv by queen (1984) / placebo in london (oct 1998) / lil nas x at audacy beach festival (dec 5, 2021) / fall out boy at rock for people (june 17, 2022)

all that history is why it was so weird when kerrang called gerard's riot fest "dress and heels" "a compelling show of contrarian anti-rock star eccentricity". it is not anti-rock star, at least not as described. it may be compelling, contrarian, and eccentric, but no reviewer really cares to analyze why. the closest they get is by identifying non-binary connection (them.us) and its relation to the "minefield that is American gender politics today" (latimes.com).

fans were struck by way's outfits for a lot of other reasons.

1. we have to get it out of the way that they just looked hot -- gerard is perpetually attractive, skirts are pretty. easy equation.

2. he has a long history of gender nonconformity. more on that in my #mcr queer studies tag. gerard is a 45 year old famously androgynous person who doesnt do labels, aligns himself with gender nonconformity (2014 reddit ama, 2018 advocate article, 2015 he/they tweet), and doesnt seem to care to be known as a man.

3. the tour outfits were well-fitted. many were crafted by skilled designer marina toybina and her team. which leads to ->

4. the outfits were very casual and very feminine. as mentioned, most men opt for masculine, ill-fitting skirts. which is to say they are NOT showing leg and they are definitely not showing ass. gerard doesnt steer clear from shortness or tightness or movement. he also dresses in ways people dress day to day -- the miniskirt is as casual as the shorts as casual as the jeans. there's some discussion to be had about what casual means -- he could be imitating expected presentation or just using basics, like his frequent shirt and pants.

the miniskirt is as casual as the shorts as casual as the jeans -- photos: firefly music festival (sept 23, 2022) / uncasville (sept 1, 2022) / eden project night 1 (may 16, 2022)

5. there was variety. many outfits, many types. he wasnt just doing pure femininity. some looks were high concept, some low concept. some gendered, some genderless. some feminine, some masculine. it was playful. its honesty evident in its fluidity yet cohesiveness. expanded in the next points ->

6. they incorporate elements of masculinity and gender neutrality concurrent with the feminine. his aggressive, energetic performance style often doesnt mind what people are seeing when his skirt lifts or shirt droops. he has little to no make-up -- if he does, it's stage and not glam. the closest he gets is the agender black swan look at boston night 1, the stage contour at wwwy night 3, and dubious lipstick at firefly. he also maintains the same hairstyle: barely styled, not straightened-curled. pinned a few times, gelled back some other times.

he has little to no make-up -- if he does, it's stage and not glam -- photos: boston night 1 (sept 7, 2022) / when we were young night 3 (oct 29, 2022) / firefly music festival (sept 23, 2022)

7. the character outfits weren't caricatures, like green's sleazy hooker or queen's uptight housewives. gerard's characters were appropriated but not exaggerated. cheerleader, nurse, manson girl, jackie o, princess diane, st joan. all figures of pop culture. he wore them as they were. even comparing green and way's similar white-green cheerleader costumes there's a difference in presentation. green wears long leggings, way wears shorts. green's costume is based on a stranger things character, way's is a custom remade vintage outfit. green exhibits the masculinization of feminine clothes which way subverts. this comparison highlights what makes way's outfits different, and therefore exciting to talk about.

green exhibits the masculinization of feminine clothes which way subverts -- photos: saosin in garden grove, ca (oct 27, 2022) / mcr in nashville, tn (aug 23, 2022)

8. and when he played with masculinity, it was in a way that was dubbed "boydrag". the new jersey night 2 casino singer look was a dramatic caricature that heightened masculine features until they were pure style... the defintion of camp. he had a mustache -- thin like john waters or a confirmed bachelor, and drawn on with eyeliner. he had a suit -- a pink-gold, glittery woman's cut jacket with a glittery bowtie and pleated shirt. the dramatic flair is accentuated by the black eye make-up, the frank sinatra "my way" cover, the drum tag: "the house always wins".

the defintion of camp -- photos: new jersey night 2 (sept 21, 2022) 1 / 2

when i asked which outfits others considered drag, all replies identified the casino singer and jackie o as drag and the rest as "just clothes". this relation made me understand why the rest couldnt be drag despite all the connections i talked about above. the jackie o outfit doesnt exaggerate the source like casino singer, but the source itself is both highly dramatic and highly gendered. cheer is gendered but not highly dramatic, st joan dramatic but not highly gendered. diane is gendered and dramatic, but not highly. the list goes on and on. it's a fine line. especially cheer could tip into drag for me.

but the source itself is both highly dramatic and highly gendered -- photos: mcr at riot fest (oct 12, 2022) / jackie kennedy onassis (jan 3, 1971)

if drag is understood in this way, simply wearing gendered clothes isnt drag. the look itself has to be about the performance of gender, however that may be presented. that’s the importance of classification. we can see what the artist is doing.

[syluscore]

Read the camera series, and I had an idea 👀 what about a story where the reader is obsessed with Leon FIRST? Like, she watches him all the time and notices he kind of has an obsessive streak, and she likes him and decides that she wants him obsessed with HER. So she kinda leaves a trail of breadcrumbs to make him start liking her. She's sweet to him, does things for him, and makes notes of his preferences so she can match them perfectly. When he starts stalking her, she's all like "🥰 yay! Bf!"

thank you for your patience with this one <3

Perfect Subject

~Leon Kennedy x gender neutral! Reader~

Word count: 1931

Content warnings: shooting guns in a gun range, obsession, reader is a government agent, stalking, leon goes through your stuff and into your place without permission

!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!

Leon Kennedy could never just casually enjoy things. You would never find him just appreciating a thing for what it was and then moving on with his life. Oh no. If he thought a song was good, he would replay the melody over and over again until he didn’t like it anymore. If he liked a movie, instead of him thinking, “wow that was a good movie,” and then watching another, he would replay that movie until he knew every little detail about it. 

This included his work as well. Anything he did, it had to be done perfectly. He crossed all his T’s and dotted all his I’s. When you were first hired on as a government agent, he was assigned to overlook your training. There were specific agents assigned to training fresh recruits, so he wasn’t training you directly, but he would always cut in if he felt your trainer was going too easy on you or wasn’t teaching you properly. 

One day, you were practicing in the gun range and couldn’t seem to improve your accuracy no matter how much instruction your superior gave you. You huffed and threw your head back in frustration when you failed to hit the designated mark again. You were desperate to succeed and be good at your job. You couldn’t focus on anything else in your life. Everything you did, you had to do it well, otherwise it would eat you up inside.

That’s when you felt a strong form firmly press himself into your back, his arms wrapping around yours and guiding your hands to aim the gun properly. He used his heavy boots to kick your feet out into a better, more grounding stance. He slowly adjusts your shoulders and elbows and forces you to tighten your grip on the weapon. He stepped back from you and you felt stronger and more confident in this new position.

You fired the shot and hit the mark exactly in the center. You shook your shoulders, relieving some tension in your neck before getting back into the same position. You fired a second shot and hit the mark again. You spun around with a smile on your face ready to thank your trainer when you were met with pretty blue eyes and a blond fringe. 

You stammered over your words, “Oh, um, hey Agent Kennedy! I didn’t know you were here.” You shifted your gaze up to meet his eyes, “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.” 

“It’s my job. Thought that would work for your height and stature,” he said simply before walking out of the room. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the sudden emptiness of the room once his overwhelming presence was gone.

And from that point on, you had become obsessed with the man. You wanted to know everything there was to know about Leon Kennedy. Once you discovered he had an obsessive streak that matched yours so well, you knew you had to have him. His face had those soft features, but still had a prominent sense of rugged manliness to it. The messy look of his hair, which you could see the effort put into it to give it that carefree look while still being just the right amount of tidy. 

Don’t even start on the muscles protruding from his body. It’s like he had been sculpted from angels themselves. You could see the outline of every ab through his tight shirts and the way his arms bulged against the fabric of his sleeves. His aura demanded attention and he always commanded whatever room he was in, he didn’t even have to try. You noticed the way everyone else stared at him with admiration as well. You had no right to be jealous, but you were hooked and anything standing in your way would have to be eliminated.

You’d spent a lot of time trying to overhear gossip about the man’s love life, but he was so private that there wasn’t much actual information to go off of. Everything was pure speculation at this point. But what you did know was how many people had struck out with him. He wasn’t easily impressed by the flirtatious gestures, shyness or boldness. He was a case that no one had been able to crack, but you loved a good challenge.

While the other rookies threw themselves at Leon, you had to feign indifference. He genuinely cared about his job and the “greater good.” So you became the best agent you possibly could, rising through the ranks and becoming the perfect success story. You remained as elusive as possible with all of your coworkers. If Leon wanted to know anything about you, he’d have to do the research himself or ask you directly.

You were so relieved when your plan actually started to work. You could feel his stare on you when you weren’t paying attention to him. You never attempted to make small talk either. You discussed your work and would always thank him for any instruction or help he gave you, but that was it. 

A significant moment you remembered was at a mandatory reward dinner. Every single employee was expected to attend, no exceptions. Of course, you had made sure to be sat at the same table as Leon while putting on the front of not caring about the arrangements. You had both remained relatively silent during the conversations about everything and nothing at the same time going on amongst the group at your table. You’d speak and engage when called for, but avoided the small talk and gossiping as usual.

“What about you? No hot date either? What’s up with that?” one of your coworkers nudged your shoulder. You snickered as you took another sip of your wine.

“Quite a few of us at this table don’t have dates either. Maybe we should go around and share all about our personal love lives. John, Sarah, Patrick, Leon? Anybody want to share some misfortunes?” you said nonchalantly and were met with mostly silence, except for Leon who was grinning and trying not to laugh. “Oh wow, the elusive mysteries continue,” you cooed at John who was giving you a dirty look.

“Sorry, I forget you’d rather die than engage in a friendly conversation,” he spoke and huffed out a breath.

“It’d be wise of you to never forget it again, huh?” you nudged him like he had done to you earlier. He rolled his eyes before a laugh slipped from him. 

The following Monday, about an hour before it was time to head home, John pulled you to the side to talk to you.

“Hey, you’re not going to believe this,” he said excitedly.

“Oh?” you raised your eyebrow skeptically. 

He nodded his head eagerly, “Yeah! Leon fucking Kennedy was asking me about you. He wanted to know what I knew about you.” You had to hide your excitement as you continued to stare at John. “I should totally set the two of you up,” he laughed as he grabbed onto your shoulders and shook excitedly. 

You laughed at him, “Wow, agent turned matchmaker? I’m super impressed.” You pulled yourself from his grasp and went to turn and walk around the corner, escaping from the little space John had pulled you into.

You yelped when you ran into a solid object, or solid person rather. Your eyes looked up and came into contact with Leon’s. John came out after you and his eyes widened as he realized Leon was within earshot of the conversation.

John stuttered, “H-hey, buddy. What’s up?” His nervous laughter had you fighting back a smile.

“Buddy?” Leon asked as his arms crossed over his chest. John continued to fumble over his words. Somewhere in the word vomit, there had been an apology. You slipped out while they were both distracted and didn’t stick around to see how their conversation would play out. 

After that encounter, you and Leon had built a bit of a friendship. You two were always joking around and helping each other’s workload as much as you possibly could. You took advantage of every conversation you two had and utilized all the information and observations you had of him. You’d bring him coffee when he started giving his sleepy cues. You knew his favorite places to get lunch and would conveniently eat at them regularly, always ordering too much and giving him the leftovers. He never had to run his own errands around the office, because you always offered to do them for him. You never ran yours either, he always jumped up and did your little tasks as well. 

You noticed him also adjusting himself around your preferences as well. He slowly switched coffee shops to the one you preferred, attempting to keep you from noticing. But of course you noticed everything. You stopped being assigned the work you’d always complain about and tell him how you dreaded doing those meticulous little tasks. He’d drop little references from shows you’d told him you liked occasionally. Always feeding you information on top secret topics you’d shown interest in. 

You were so giddy when you noticed he had upped his game when it came to you. You started to notice things on your desk not being where you had left them. Logging onto your computer and the tab you’d left open not being up on the screen like you had left it. Your heart swooned when you noticed things in your apartment disappearing or being moved without your knowledge. You even noticed him tailing you on your errands, him in his unmarked car staying a reasonable distance as you went to the grocery store or to pay bills. 

You noticed the unmarked car in your apartment complex’s parking lot early one morning. So, of course you went outside and lounged on the balcony in your short shorts and tank top that barely covered your chest. Biting your lip, seemingly lost in thought as you drank coffee and scrolled on your phone.

He started placing himself in your path as well. One Saturday, he coincidentally ran into you at the supermarket and you walked around shopping together. He’d jog past your place, waiting for the day you’d be outside and he could recognize you. You let this go on for a few weeks, before finally deciding to get your mail from the office at the exact time he always jogged past. After talking to him for a few minutes, you invited him for some water and a snack. You spent the morning together, before he finally left to continue his run. 

So far, it’d been a few months of this back and forth. Running into each other, sharing lunches and coffee, spending more time working together, and you both suddenly were showing up to all work events. Neither of you ever rejected the offer to go out for drinks when invited by coworkers. You always stayed near one another, no matter the outing. You longed for the day something would finally happen between you two. You knew he was basically stalking you at this point and you made sure to make this job as easy as possible on him.

The longer the chase, the better the end result right? As long as you kept Leon right where you wanted him, you could keep this up forever. You imagined all of the ways he would finally make his move, finally bridge the gap between you two and mold you together where you belonged. Until then, you’d be his perfect and oblivious subject. 

~masterlist~

[adhdmeds]

How It Started W/ CSM Characters [Gender Neutral]

This is my first x reader fanfiction, so please give me plenty of criticism. You can also request certain scenarios. I hope you enjoy :) Makima:

Makima is not a devil who cares for love. She finds the idea of love to be below her, a human concept that doesn’t concern her.

You two are coworkers at the Public Safety office in Tokyo. She’s a superior and you’re a new hire, ready to prove yourself

At first, she pays you no attention unless it’s to give you orders. Whatever kind of worker you are, lazy, hardworking, enthusiastic, etc., whatever it is, it slowly catches her attention.

At first, the idea of you becoming a lingering thought to her vexes her. She’s an important person who has to run a government organization, she has no reason to get interested in anyone, even in a platonic sense

But she can’t help it, something about you stays with her until the end of the day. This can’t persist, as she has plans for Chainsaw Man and the world. With all the devils of hell to deal with, one measly human can’t distract her

She “accidentally” let some devils loose in the Tokyo district and sent you and your team to go and fix the situation.

Despite all the odds stacked against you, you survive and this does it, Makima then can’t help but think of you CONSTANTLY.

Slowly but surely her schemes pivot from Chainsaw Man and eradicating devils to getting you to be just as infatuated with her as she is with you

Maybe she could make some use of you as well

Kobeni:

Poor ‘Beni, there’s no way in hell that she has the confidence to ask you out. It’s all on you, champ

For Kobeni, you will definitely need to be coworkers for you two to become close. She has to work constantly in order to please her abusive family.

You guys are assigned to patrol the city on day and that is how you two meet.

During that patrol, you strike up conversations with Kobeni, who, despite her nervous appearance, cheerfully reciprocates.

You don’t mind her nervousness, in fact, you find it quite endearing, leading you to slowly fall for her

After that patrol, you two exchange contact information to stay in touch outside of work.

This is where she will progressively open up to you about her family problems and the difficulties that she has to go through and, to her surprise, you listen and try to help her on an emotional level

No one really cared about her emotionally so she didn’t know what to do, she felt a bit overwhelmed

You being there for her and being a genuinely kind person to her is what makes her slowly grow attached to you and what makes you fall for her even harder.

You ask her to go out to eat or to watch a movie. You stop short of calling it a “date” just in case

You both have a great time

She doesn’t admit it out loud, but she would definitely agree to a few more dates

Asa:

You’re a student who transferred to Fourth East High School. You introduce yourself to the class.

Asa doesn’t think much of you at first, you’re just another student after all.

It isn’t until you are seated next to Asa that she finally pays you any attention

You start trying to talk to her outside of class to her initial displeasure, she’s an incredibly emotionally avoidant person.

This goes on for a little bit until the Bucky situation, Yoru taking over her body, and Asa losing her best friend Yuko.

After that, she starts to appreciate you coming up to her constantly.

These past two weeks have been miserable for her and you taking time out of your day to bug talk to her has cheered her up ever so slightly

Yoru wants to take advantage of this newfound friendship to make a powerful weapon to kill Chainsaw Man

Of course, Asa can’t let that happen, you are one of the only people talking to her at the moment and she can’t let you be taken away from her

This feeling of friendship slowly changes, she looks forward to school just at the thought of seeing you again

Asa decides that she must act and so she asks you out on a date and to her surprise, you agree!

Things are looking up for Asa! She has someone who she can be close with and maybe more than friends!

Maybe Yoru can leave this relationship alone, right?

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Gabriella Ferrigine at Salon:

John Oliver on Sunday's episode of "Last Week Tonight" delved into how former President Donald Trump's second term could hypothetically play out given that polls give him an edge over President Joe Biden. “You can go on his website and see it all laid out, and it’s pretty alarming,” Oliver said, before playing a clip of Trump articulating his plans to dismantle trans rights. "I will ask Congress to pass a bill establishing that the only genders recognized by the United States government are male and female, and they are assigned at birth," Trump said in the clip. "No serious country should be telling its children that they were born with the wrong with the wrong gender," he added, claiming that it is a concept "never heard of in all of human history" until it was recently invented by "the radical left." "That is really the Trump experience in a nutshell right there," Oliver said. "Hateful ideology, a promise to make life harder for minorities, all wrapped up in a non sequitur so stupid it is inconveniently funny. The radical left invented trans people a few years ago? I’m sorry. What?!? Did they put it on 'Shark Tank' and I somehow missed it?” The host then brought up a number of Trump's other plans if he assumes the presidency again, including mass deportation, requiring local law enforcement agencies to implement controversial policing tactics such as stop-and-frisk, slashing funding for schools that implement a mask or vaccine mandate, and impose a universal tariff of at least 10% on all imports.

"He's promising to get revenge on his enemies," Oliver said. "At rallies he’s told supporters that ‘I am your retribution,’ which sounds like something you’d hear out of the mouth of Megatron rather than a major presidential candidate." "He's been specific about who will be on the receiving end of that retribution," Oliver added, before showing footage of Trump claiming that he will "root out communists, Marxists, fascists, and the radical left thugs that live like vermin within the confines of our country, that lie and steal and cheat on elections and will do anything possible — they'll do anything — whether legally or illegally to destroy America and destroy the American dream." "Was he falling asleep at the end there?" Oliver jokingly asked. "Second, it's not usually a great sign when a politician starts referring to groups as vermin, unless of course they're running for mayor of Zootopia and they're gunning for the little Rodentia votes."

[...] Project 2025's 900-page handbook, for example, includes plans for dismantling the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration because it is "one of the main drivers of the climate change alarm industry." Oliver observed other initiatives included in the handbook, such as installing a pro-life task force to replace Biden's reproductive healthcare task force, disassembling the FBI, defunding the Department of Justice, outlawing pornography, and more. Speaking about the two figures spearheading Project 2025, Trump associates Russ Vought and John McEntee, Oliver said, “Their goal here is clear: To assemble an army of vetted, trained staff who can begin dismantling the administrative state from day one."

On the most recent episode of HBO’s Last Week Tonight that aired last Sunday, host John Oliver had an alarming segment about how Project 2025 would harm America in a multitude of ways.

See Also:

The Guardian: On HBO's Last Week Tonight, John Oliver on a second Trump term: ‘Really does promise to be far, far worse’

Can We Still Govern?: The Public Opposes Trump's Plans to Politicize Public Services

From the 06.16.2024 edition of HBO's Last Week Tonight:

[loveerran]

Utah Bathroom Ban

In an effort to protect women and children from a problem that does not exist, Utah legislators recently passed, and the governor recently signed into law, HB 257. Among other things, this bill defines criminal penalties for improper use of a binary, sex-designated (male or female) restroom in a government owned or controlled space that does not correspond to one's assigned sex:

"Going into a bathroom that is not consistent with your birth gender, or your birth sex, you are putting yourself at greater risk. I think that’s the best way for everybody to look at it and say, ‘How do I avoid risk? How do I avoid risk of arrest?'" - Senate sponsor of HB 257 Dan McCay

As a trans woman who has been out and about for 20 years, what I hear in this quote is very specifically: "We want you to be scared when you use a bathroom that doesn't align with your assigned sex at birth. You already know someone may report you just for being there and the criminal justice system is horrible for trans women, so maybe you'll think twice before trying to pee when out in public."

And it works. I am reminded I am different and should be scared of what will happen if the wrong person is having a bad day, reports me to the bathroom monitoring authorities, and some cop starts making choices that put me in a difficult or dangerous situation. Stories of abuses suffered by trans women in the system are legion.

But I don't think my situation is the real problem here. In practical terms, this bill means a trans kid can't use a school restroom that aligns with their gender identity and/or presentation. Instead, they have to develop a 'privacy plan' with the school and use separately designated facilities or a faculty restroom, etc. - reinforcing that they are 'other'. This is very dangerous and will create victims and we have actual data and studies to back up that assertion.

Let me restate: There is data demonstrating that bathroom restrictions hurt gender non-conforming kids, with a reported increase in the sexual assault rate of nearly 50% when bathroom restrictions of this type are in place.

My wife points out "I would be safer in a men's restroom than you. Most men will actually try to protect women, but that doesn't apply to trans women. Quite the opposite."

The sponsors of the bill could not name a single instance of trans kids being a problem in spaces aligned with their gender identity. Not one single incident for them to rely on. And they ignored evidence indicating there are actual harmful effects. This bill makes a small, marginalized group of people more likely to be victims of violence.

This issue was so important to the Utah legislature that they devoted a substantial portion of the 1st two weeks of the legislative session to HB 257, including significant changes after the public comment period passed.

When the bill went live on May 1, the Utah State Auditor's office began being flooded with false reporting (I love you all :)!). The Auditor's office responded by publishing what can only be described as a scathing indictment of the situation:

"the Office created the complaint form to comply with a statutory mandate – a role we did not request. Indeed, no auditor sets out to become a bathroom monitor... Like many in the public, we learned about our role under this bill shortly before the bill was rushed to final passage. I recognize that many Utahns feel trampled by an invasive and overly aggressive Legislature that too often fails to seek input from those most affected."

Thank you to everyone who continues to fight for us on this issue. There aren't enough of us to win this on our own. We need your help.

[kickingitwithkirk]

Winchester's Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Pairing: Alpha Dean x Omega!Reader x Alpha Sam

Word Count: 1261

*Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter

Warnings: A/B/O, non/con elements , dub/con elements, enslavement, pandemic, non/con drug use, collaring/leashing, forced mating, forced breeding, BDSM elements, show-level violence

*Additional warnings to be added

*Square filled: @spnabobingo -Rut Suppressant @spnaubingo -Sub!Dean @anyfandomdarkbingo - Voyeurism

A/N: * UPDATED 3/24 They say the third time is the charm, this will be the last rework of the Prologue.

A/N II: Still working on reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many parts this will end up being.

A/N III: a few notes about designations in A/O sub-genders for this story.

Alphas-Dominant (head of the pack/family) Subordinate (obey Dominant) Breeders (rare & highly coveted by the government. Can challenge Dominant for pack/family leadership)

Omegas -Domestic (mostly wiped out by plague, few natural born left) Feral (government-supplied breeders sold commonly called O's) House O’s (3rd generation+ Feral/Dominant breed. Used as servants/sex workers) Pack (rare & highly coveted by the government)

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

PART I

Five weeks ago 

John had grown tired of Sam’s constant complaining about finishing his sophomore year in one place, so he found a case out west and left his sons in this backwater town. The little money he’d left was running out, and when Dean couldn’t hustle anymore, he took a job at a local garage. 

It wasn’t long after another problem arose.

Dean ran out of suppressants in one of the few states requiring a doctor's prescription. He was unsuccessful in obtaining them through less-than-legal channels. Out of options, Dean made sure his brother had everything needed for a few days before taking off to find someone to sink his knot into. He was chatting up a pretty brunette Beta in one of the low-end bars when their irate Alpha showed, and a rut-induced fight ensued. 

When the local sheriff showed up at the ER, a doctor informed him the Alpha had died from exsanguination by canine perforation of the carotid artery. Dean, because he was now in full rut, was on IV sedatives, and the sheriff ordered him handcuffed to the hospital bed and posted a twenty-four-hour guard so he couldn’t escape. When Sam could not reach their dad, he called Bobby Singer, even though they were forbidden to contact the Beta after their Alpha fell out with the grumpy hunter. 

The young Alphas' words spilled out in a jumble of profuse apologies and explanations, making Bobby’s temper flare. He always considered the brothers to be his kids, and upon hearing Dean’s going to jail and Sam was in North Dakota’s CYF custody, he wanted another shot at the elder Winchester with something more potent than rock salt. Reassuring Sam he’d be there by nightfall, Bobby pulled out his hunter contacts and started dialing, asking everyone in the vicinity to track John down ASAP.

When hitting town, Bobby’s first stop was the CYF holding facility. He presented the fake documentation verifying he was the brother's blood uncle and allowed temporary custody of Sam. Then, to find out what was happening with Dean, they headed to the police station, where Bobby flashed his FBI credentials to the officer in charge, whose response was that information would only be released when his Alpha arrived. He wasn’t allowed visitors except the public defender assigned to the case but slipped them a paper saying that Dean was charged with voluntary manslaughter. 

Unable to do anything else and unwilling to sit around the rental while waiting for their pack Alpha, Sam went to the local library to research the state’s laws on his brother's case. At the same time, Bobby interviewed the witnesses from the bar that night, ensuring no unnatural forces seeking revenge against John had a hand in Dean's predicament. 

Several days later, John rolled into town and went directly to the police station, where they informed him of the situation and then allowed a brief visit with his eldest. His fuming turned into a boiling rage as he walked towards the interrogation room. Out of all the shit Dean had done over the years, this proved what John always considered his subordinate offspring to be, a worthless fuck-up who was only good at taking orders, and John no longer wanted to deal with him. 

Entering the interrogation room, he sees Dean seated at the table, tethered to it by his shackled ankles. The ruddy cast in John’s eyes that'd begun when Caleb found him envelopes his irises, and Dean suddenly found himself airborne, legs flailing as far as the chain aloud, kicks over the chair, then is slammed onto the table, the back of his head impacts the table with a sicking crack, trapped under the weight of his Alpha, his dad, whose hands that used to carry him as a young pup now are wrapped around his throat strangulating him.

Dean flashed back to the night his dad laid baby Sammy in his arms and ordered take your brother outside as fast as you can! And not look back! Over the next sixteen years, John’s mantra, watch out for Sammy, was burned into his psyche, but before he’d even been born, Dean already knew Sam was his in every sense of the word. He was about to lose consciousness when the door burst open, and three deputies barreled and tasered John, shocking the raging Alpha into unconsciousness.

Sam maneuvers around the chaos, drops to his knees next to Dean on the floor and rolls him onto his back, helplessly watches him gasping for air between bluish lips. Sam can sense that dark, angry thing that’s always there, slithering through his veins at the finger-shaped bruising developing around his brother’s neck makes his canines elongate and releases a bloodcurdling wrawl. 

Silence fills the air except for Dean’s rasping breath as he watches his brother slowly stand up, appearing confused as to why everything is tinted a strange color. Sam, scanning the room with his glowing, extraordinary shade of red eyes, finally landed on John, feeling the deep-seat anger that while Dean’s lower status didn’t interfere with hunting, it’d never allow him to stand up to their Alpha about to explode.

 “Son, don’t.” 

Sam finds Bobby’s voice absurdly loud and agitating but heeds the Beta’s advice as the deputies drag the eldest Winchester out of the room.

Twenty-seven days later

At Dean Winchester's arraignment, the assistant DA said that due to the extenuating circumstances, him being on the cusp of a rut, and the Beta’s signed confession of deception in retribution for their deceased Alpha purchasing a House O, their office was willing to offer a plea deal. The Public Defender asked for a brief recess to discuss the terms when John stood up and said, “Your honor, there’s no need for a recess. I accept the deal.”

 The court clerk read the agreement out loud for the record.

 “Alpha John Winchester agrees to procure an Omega for the defendant, Subordinate Alpha Dean Winchester, within ten days from this date and time, and will present them before this court with the proper documentation. If he fails, the defendant will serve the mandatory five-year imprisonment per the state law of North Dakota. At that time, Alpha Winchester must also surrender custody of his other minor Alpha son, Samuel Winchester, who will be taken to foster care and placed in a court-sanctioned home until he is of age.” 

T-Minus forty hours                     

Shouting and loud banging at the far end of the warehouse drew the attention of several patrons and suddenly stopped just as it started.

 “Dean, go wait by the entrance.” 

“What?” Dean snapped without thinking, and John grabbed his leather jacket collar, “Don’t you take that tone with me, boy,” he snarled in a low voice. “I’m having to clean up your fucking mess so your brother doesn’t end up in the system.”  Dean submissively replied, ”Yes, sir,” and walked away with Sam automatically following.

“No, Sam, you’re staying with me.” 

Dean felt terrible for getting his brother mixed up in his mistake, noticing after they’d entered the warehouse, Sam kept trying to hide his natural, recently presented Alpha reaction to the scent of the O’s under his too-short hoodie, now forced by their Alpha to stay in the thick of it, so to speak. He watched Sam reluctantly fell behind his elder. “Let's get down to brass tacks, shall we?” The dealer gestures around. “Is there a specific type your son prefers?”

“Dean's preference of type doesn’t matter, but I want one under eighteen.”

Part II

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx  @lyarr24  @flamencodiva   @lassie-bird @nancymcl  @spnbaby-67  @leigh70

Sam/Jared:  @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen:  @thoughts-and-funnies  @stoneyggirl2  @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl 

WF: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch @ilovetaquitosmmmm

[verfego]

The UK government has put in place an emergency ban of puberty blockers to any person under the age of 18 while under the conservative government. A recent statement by the new Labour Secretary of Health Wes Streeting indicates transphobic intentions and views; regretting saying that "trans women are women" and has displayed intent to extend the current emergency ban of puberty blockers to minors past September 3rd 2024, and enforce the ban permanently.

People under the age of 18 cannot legally receive puberty blockers under private healthcare services and if they want to receive puberty blockers from public healthcare (the NHS) they will need to do so in a clinical trial environment. The NHS notoriously takes a VERY long time to get things done due to understaffing and underpaid workers, meaning that almost all trans minors are going to be unable to access puberty blockers for extended periods of time, and they will do so under clinical conditions and nowhere else.

This is an attempt to eradicate trans youth.

A recent post on presidential candidate and convicted felon Donald Trump's website explains how he will, on Day One of being re-elected for president 2024:

- Ban all forms of HRT for any and all ages in the USA

- Pass a law allowing all "victims of child sexual mutilation" to sue doctors who have provided gender affirming care to trans people.

- Push an act of congress to make sure the only legally recognised genders in every state of the United States of America are male and female, and these are to be assigned at birth.

This is an attempt to eradicate trans people en masse.

This is an attempt to eradicate trans people from the US population entirely.

This is an attempt to make America as it was years ago before trans people were allowed to live publicly and freely.

I cannot imagine what the entire trans population of the US is feeling at these statements, especially under the conditions that Biden is running for president under. Biden is unfit for a state position, and should not be allowed to run for president. Biden is not likely to be elected president at all, as the recent presidential debates showed his mental decline and removed faith from the Liberal party he is the face of.

I urge almost all people who are trans to try and find safety in countries outside of the UK and US respectively, as both countries' governments have shown time and time again who they stand for and what agendas they will try and act upon - regardless of political alignment and personal politics. They will do what they can for power and for control, regardless of the toll it takes on the people of the countries they seek to "protect."

The changes the UK are making are devastating to not only trans youths, but to young people experiencing symptoms of early onset puberty that puts their health at risk. This does not just damage trans people, but others as well.

The changes Trump seeks to enforce in the US will cause countless deaths of trans people on a nationwide scale. These changes are catastrophic, and the effect that they would have upon the entire trans population of America would be devastating.

Please. Do everything that you can to stop this attack on our lives, our happiness, and our community. Do everything you can to prevent the trans healthcare crises that both the UK and US are imminently facing, because the changes will take years to revert and will have lasting effects on our rights and health for years to come.

Send letters and emails to your local representatives and any relevant government authorities, residents of the USA if you are legally allowed to, please do not stay quiet or neutral on this. If you are of the legal age to when the presidential election comes around; VOTE. Vote for anybody but Trump, ensure that you vote against Trump to save lives. DO NOT VOTE FOR TRUMP.

I hate that this is happening anywhere but two of the largest countries in the world with some of the most diverse populations of trans people are regressing at a rapid rate. Save trans lives and do your part, because this is the start of an attempt to eradicate us from the world, starting from the young people of our communities in the UK, and aiming to remove any hope of basic gender affirming care in the US.

Trust me when I say, this will not end here if these laws are allowed to pass through in any capacity. After they take away any hope for gender affirming care in the USA, they will begin criminalising trans lives entirely. If the UK is allowed to ban puberty blockers to "save childrens' lives" we will follow the US swiftly, and our lives will be in jeopardy just as the trans community of America's is right now.

Do not stay apolitical, do not let them kill us, do not give up.

I send love and appreciation to all trans people, and I believe that we can get through with this. We cannot give up and let them remove us from the world. Trans Lives Matter.

[probablyasocialecologist]

During these times, and in line with its long-standing exploitation of liberal identity politics, Israel has been weaponizing queer bodies to counter any support for Palestine and any critique of its settler-colonial project. Israelis (politicians, organizations, and “civilians”) have been mobilizing colonial dichotomies such as “civilized” and “barbaric,” “human” and “animal,” and other dehumanizing binaries as a discourse that legitimizes the attacks on Palestinians. Within this settler-colonial rhetoric, Israel seeks to garner and mobilize support from Western governments and liberal societies by portraying itself as a nation that respects freedom, diversity, and human rights, that is fighting a “monstrous” and oppressive society, illuminated clearly through the declaration of the Prime Minister of Israel “There is a struggle between the children of light and children of darkness, between humanity and law of the jungle.” While these blatantly racist genocidal declarations take the stage, activists in Palestine and internationally are being silenced, harassed, detained, criminalized, workers fired from their jobs, and students suspended from universities. International feminist and queer activists, in solidarity with Palestine, are facing attacks and harassment by Zionists under the premise that those who support Palestine will be “raped” and “beheaded” by Palestinians for merely being women and queers. Yet more often than not, rape and death are what Zionists wish upon queers and women who stand in solidarity with Palestine. Zionist fantasies of brutalized bodies do not surprise us, for we have experienced the reality of their manifestation on our skin and spirit. Yet they never seize to accelerate in their explicit vehemence. It becomes evermore absurd when such framings are constructed against Palestinian society, in light of countless testimonies, reports, and documentations of sexual violence Palestinians have been facing throughout Israel’s 75 years of military occupation. From the thousands of Palestinian prisoners, men and women, who are subject to sexual torture and rape since Israel’s inception to this very day, to daily and escalating settler violence against Palestinians in the West Bank, to Israeli “civilians” filming themselves torturing kidnapped Palestinians as a TikTok trend, and the most recent harrowing footage published on social media platforms by Israeli soldiers which document the lengths of torture and sexual abuse soldiers and settlers inflict on our bodies regardless of their sexual orientation and gender – all forms of violence, including sexual violence are systematically and structurally part of Zionist domination over Palestinian life. And yet Israeli society continues to weaponize queerness for the purposes of justifying war and colonial repression, as if their bombs, apartheid walls, guns, knives, and bulldozers are selective of who they harm based on sexuality and gender. We refuse the instrumentalization of our queerness, our bodies, and the violence we face as queer people to demonize and dehumanize our communities, especially in service of imperial and genocidal acts. We refuse that Palestinian sexuality and Palestinian attitudes towards diverse sexualities become parameters for assigning humanity to any colonized society. We deserve life because we are human, with the multitude of our imperfections, and not because of our proximity to colonial modes of liberal humanity. We refuse colonial and imperialist tactics that seek to alienate us from our society and alienate our society from us, on the basis of our queerness. We are fighting interconnected systems of oppression, including patriarchy and capitalism, and our dreams of autonomy, community, and liberation are inherently tied to our desire for self-determination. No queer liberation can be achieved with settler-colonization, and no queer solidarity can be fostered if it stands blind to the racialized, capitalist, fascist, and imperial structures that dominate us.

[anonnluvver]

brett with a very shy reader ? most x readers have a too bold personality for me to relate too lol, gender is unimportant and just headcannons pleaseee :) ty

HIII OMG YALL REQUESTED A WHOOOLLE LOT AND IM SO SORRY IVE TOOK SO LONG TO GET TO THEM BUT I PROMISE I WILL! I’ve just been so busy lately but I’ve finally got some free time on my hands so be ready for looots of posts. ANYWAYS let’s get to it, thanks so much for requesting! (Btw this one is a long one…and cheesy)

Brett x shy reader fluff(gender neutral)

“Deep breathes, okay. You can do this.” You quietly whisper to yourself, nervously fiddling with the seams of your shirt. It’s the first day of your new job in the shadow government at Cognito inc. taking one last deep breath and push the doors open walking up to the front desk. “Hi, im Y/n. Im new here and someone named Reagan said to ask you for instructions.” The secretary just looks you up in down with the blankest expression you’ve ever seen and simply said “go to the 2nd floor, conference room.” You awkwardly look away and thank the lady. Geez so much for good first impressions. Following the mean ladys instructions you stand right in front of the conference doors and give it a quick knock. “Come in!” You hear a women shout. Opening the doors you see who you assume is your boss, Regan. “Hi, I’m Regan your boss . Since of now you are part of the task force.” That was super brief, you thought. You’re a little shocked at how quickly you had been assigned to a job. “Oh um okay, well when do I get to meet this team of mine?” You question her a little scared to meet the rest of your co-workers. “Ah sorry I called you in a bit earlier than everyone else just so you could adjust to your office a bit. I’ll show you the way there then you’ll come back here when your done settling down to meet everyone else.” Regan walks you out to your office and leaves soon after. Your body slumps and your bag falls onto your desk as you sit down. “Well this hasnt been too bad. Regan doesn’t talk too much, which is kind of awkward but I mean so am I.” You talk to yourself in your small office hearing your voice echo a little on the walls from the emptiness in the room. Well I guess I should start heading back I’ve been here a while, sighing you stand up and hesitantly go to the conference room once more. You open the doors to find more people sitting down at the large table in the conference room, all suddenly turning their heads to look at you. In embarrassment your face flushes a little and you look at the floor awkwardly. “Oh, sorry everyone um hi I’m Y/n.” You quietly introduce yourself. “Oh my gosh!” *SQUEEL* “You must be our new co worker!” *gasp* You sharply gasp, surprised by being pulled into a tight hug and squeezed up into the air. Your face grows even hotter and flustered not knowing who is touching you or what to do. You look down to see the person hugging you so tightly and see a tall and really attractive guy. And suddenly your even more flustered if that’s possible. “Brett how many times do we have to tell you, you don’t hug people who don’t know you.” Reagan sighs tiredly, clearly this isn’t the first time he’s done this. “Oh! Right sorry… I’m just so excited to have a new addition to our gang!” He quickly puts you done and apologizes. “Y/n you can come sit down with us now, everyone just introduce yourselves normally please.” Wow, Regan already seems done and the day just started. “Oh okay.” Shit, well where am I supposed to sit? You look to the right and see that weird guy who hugged you patting the seat next to him. You just quickly look away and sit next to Regan on the opposite side from him. You don’t mean to be harsh but you’re just nervous to be close to him. And strange enough he looks sad you didn’t sit next to him. “Alright well I’m Andre Lee, the tasks force one and only biochemist. I also got the good stuff-if you know what I mean wink wink.” He elbows your side while dramatically winking. “You are such a weirdo Andre.” The next girl rolls her eyes at Andre “whatever, I’m Gigi Thompson, best looking one here and PR of the media manipulation department. I’m sure you’ve seen my work because I am everywhere.” She laughs at her own flattery. “And I’m Glen Dolphman, Cognito Inc’s supersoilder and responsible for managing the company’s arsenal.” He says while firmly saluting to the American flag. “Oh and I’m Brett Hand! And uh I guess I just work here.” He laughs awkwardly at the last part as it seems he doesn’t even know why he’s here. “Okay now that everyone has introduced themselves let’s get to business.”

Regans voice just fades out slowly from your head as your distracted by a certain someone. You just stare at him in confusion and curiosity, Brett seems like such a strange yet normal guy. Though as your staring at him you can say he is really cute. Lost in your thoughts you don’t even notice when Brett catches you staring at him at first. He smiles at you and you quickly look away in embarrassment.

Eventually the hours pass you by and your first day on the job was over. You’re glad it was nothing crazy but planning things and paperwork. Reagan promised you’d be safely at the office, just for your first few days. You collect your things from your office and head to your car in the parking lot. Content enough with your first day you decide to get a quick pick me up at Starbucks. You sit at a table by yourself waiting for your vanilla with extra sweet cream foam cold brew, your regular. “Oh hey Y/n, it’s me Brett!” You look at up from your phone in surprise. Brett stood smiling right in front of you. Immediately filled with awkward nervousness you look away from him and down the the table. “Um hi…” you quietly respond to him, clearly not matching his energy. Brett immediately frowns with sadness. “Hey, I’m sorry that I hugged you without your permission. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I was just so excited to meet you! From now on I promise I’ll always ask before touching you.” Surprised at his apology you look up to see him smiling sweetly at you. You feel your cheeks warm up and little and you start to smile just a little. “Thanks, I really appreciate it Brett.” You finally spoke to him while making eye contact! Brett’s eyes light up with happiness, just glad you accepted his apology. Before either of you could say anything else the employee called out your order. “Oh that’s me, sorry Brett I have to go now but um it was really nice to see you.” You grab your bag and coffee and wave goodbye to Brett. Finally at home lying in your bed trying to sleep, you find yourself staring at the ceiling unable to stop thinking about something. Or more like someone. You couldn’t get Brett Hand out of your head and it was unbearable. What was so intriguing about him to you? I mean surely you cant like him you just met. I’m sure it’s just cause your excited about having a new friend. Yes of course, that’s the answer. All these thoughts rush through your head for the next few hours of you sleepless night.

You wave lazily at the front desk lady on your way into the office this morning, tired from you lack of sleep from last night. You drop a few things off at the office and report to the conference room shortly after as Reagan directed. You walk in and it’s just Reagan, seems like your a bit early. “G’mornin.” You mumble and take a sit next to her slumping tiredly in the chair. “Woah you look just like me, what’s wrong?” Reagan questions your tired face knowing it a little too well. You slowly lift your head off the table to look at her with half closed eyes. “Hm? Oh sorry, im just really tired. I couldnt sleep last night and I forgot to get coffee this morning too.” You slur and mumble all your words but it’s clear enough for Reagan to understand what your saying. “Ah I get that but my question is, why were you having trouble sleeping?” And before you could fumble over your words trying to make an excuse the answer bursts right through the doors. “Hey guys! How’s it going?” Brett’s energy is way too much for you this morning so you just put your head back down and doze off as Regan and Brett talk for a bit. Yet before you can fall asleep Brett calls out your name. “Y/n, look up.” “Hm?” You hum and left your head of the table once more to look up at whatever Brett wanted. He was holding out a coffee to you. You wake up a little from the shock and slowly sit up straight. “Is this for me?” You look at him confused. “Yes of course, I swinged by this morning to get you it. it’s a vanilla cold brew with extra sweet cream foam!” He gleefully beams at you. “But that’s what I always get?” You look at him stumped “how do you know my order?” Still confused you question Brett. “Oh well I I remember what order the employee called out yesterday when I saw you.” He smiles once more and you gently reach out your hands to grab the cup. And suddenly your sense of touch heightens when your fingers brush softly against Brett’s as you grab the cold cup. You share one last look with Brett before he quickly jolts up. “Oh! I just remembered I should go find the others. I know they’re here probably just running late.” He smiles and heads off to find the rest of your co workers. You just sit there starring off into space from where Brett last stood. “Hey Y/n” “hello?” “Y/N!” Regan yells at you to wake up from your day dream. “Oh regan, sorry I spaced out.” “Yea I could tell. Now let’s get ready for another stressful meeting.” You fully turn your attention to helping Regan prepare for the day.

Once again the work day is over and it’s time to leave as your walking out to the doors of your office you’re stopped by a certain someone. “Hey Y/n! Great work today.” It’s Brett. “Oh, thanks Brett…” fuck you’re internally screaming. Why does this guy make you so nervous? Hiding your face from Brett inevitable feeling the heat flush to your cheeks once more. “Um by the way, thanks for the coffee. It was really cool of you.” Cool? Gosh I sound like a dork. You internally beat your self up for your stupid choice of words. “No problem! Anything for a pal.” He giggles a little from his own statement and winks at you playfully. “Okay we’ll see you tomorrow Y/n!” And with that you both exchanges waves and goodbyes. Once finally out of eyesight you mentally face palm and groan into your hands. Gosh. That was embarrassing “Honey, I just saw that whole thing and whooh that was awkward.” You quickly turn around to see who saw your embarrassing display with Brett and it was Gigi. “Ugh I know but I just can’t figure out why I’m so awkward around him.” You cringe at just remembering your interaction. And yet you find yourself weirdly comfortable talking to Gigi. “Mmhm I think I know exactly why.” She just gives you an all knowing look up and down. “Really? Please tell me why.” You plead do her to enough you so you can just solve the issue already. “It’s because you like him.” “WHAT?” You accidentally yell out in shock covering your mouth quickly. “I mean, why do you say so?” This time whispering so no one near could hear. “Honey it’s written all over that little face of yours.” You groan loudly at her claim. Could that really be the reason your social skills suck more then usual when talking to Brett? “But I just met him, how could I already like him?” You ask Gigi since she seems to be much more knowledgeable in this aspect. “Well I couldn’t tell you. After all how am I supposed to know why YOU like him? All I know is lover boy seems to be developing a few feelings of his own.” And with that mind breaking statement she leaves you alone with just you and your thoughts. Brett like me?? No way. Not in a million years. These words echoing through your head the whole way home. Throwing yourself over your bed with exhaustion more over your conflicting emotions rather than your heavy work load and eventually passing out.

A few weeks pass and your now comfortable in your new work environment, strange but now familiar. Yet one thing has not changed, the awkwardness you feel when around Brett. And yes those feelings Gigi talked about have not left one bit, in fact you’d say they’ve grown over time. Brett’s nice gestures always make your stomach flutter with butterflies and your heart face like some 3rd grade crush. “Y/nnnn, Come on! He clearly likes you, why not just make a damn move already. Everyone in the office practically knows already! It’s so obvious.” Gigi shouts at you while your just trying to enjoy your sandwich. You asked to have lunch together not a therapy session… “Gigi shhh! Don’t say that so loud!” You sigh and put your sandwich down “look, I like him sure but we don’t know for sure if he does and-“ “OH PLEASE!” Gigi cuts you off abruptly shouting and throwing her arms in the air. “He’s always extra nice to you and trust me Brett’s already way too nice. Plus he’s always bring you little gifts all the time.” She huffs and rolls her eyes at you. “Whatever Gigi, I’m not making any moves so sorry to dissatisfy your office romance fantasies.” You roll you eyes back at her and clean up since your lunch break is over leaving back to your office and go finish up some paperwork for Reagan. “Oh I will get my office romance wether you want it or not.” Gigi talks to herself planning a ‘special’ surprise for you.

*KNOCK* *KNOCK* you sigh getting up from your chair to open the door to your office. “Oh hi Gigi, Reagan, What do you need?” You see the two girls standing in front of your door. “Hey Y/n we were hoping you could help us find something in the chemical closet.” Gigi asks in a weirdly high pitch voice. “Sure,what is it?” You ask wondering what it was they couldn’t find. “Oh follow us then we’ll tell you”. So you follow Reagan and Gigi to the chemical closet and go inside. “It’s called fizzyflupflurp acid.” You can hear one of them trying to hold in a laugh behind you “Really? That sounds kind of stupid.” But before you can say anymore they quickly leave in a rush saying to just call them when you find it since they’re so “busy”. Huh, weird. But I mean this whole place is weird. You just think to yourself as you look through the various viles for ‘fizzyflupflurp’ acid. Suddenly you hear lots of giggling behind you and hear Brett stumble into the closet falling right on to you. He lets out a grunt from the impact of you two colliding and before either of you can get a word out you hear the lock click and Gigi and Reagan giggles burst out into laughter. You push brett aside and rush to the door trying to open the door but it’s locked, pounding your fist on the door in frustration when it doesn’t open. “Let us out!” You yell at the other two behind the door. “Yeah, What are we locked in here for?” Brett chimes in. “Oh I think you know why you’re in there. And we’re not letting you out till one of you spits it out.” You can just hear the smirk on Gigi’s face. You freeze in fear and feel your face turn completely hot and red. “Gosh no.” You breathlessly whisper to yourself not wanting to turn around and face Brett. “AH OKAY I ADMIT IT,” Brett suddenly yells out “I MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE STALKED YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA TO LEARN YOUR FAVORITE THINGS.” Brett winces as if you might yell at him for what he’s done. “Brett what? No, this isn’t what this is about. And that’s not a horrible thing Brett im not mad at you for it but it is kinda weird…” you sigh preparing yourself to ruin your small friendship with Brett and make it awkward for the rest of your career. “Then what is it about?” Brett asks confused to what other secret needed sharing. “Well it’s… it’s- gosh um” SPIT IT OUT ALREADY internally yelling at yourself to get it over with. “I like you.” You say extremely quite almost enough for Brett to not hear. “Oh well I like you too Y/n! You’re a great friend, that’s no secret.” He laughs at you for your ‘silly’ secret that he just doesn’t seem to understand. “No, Brett. I like like you. As in romantically.” You muster out clarifying things for Brett. It’s silent. Way too silent that you look up to see his expression and he looks so, shocked? Panicked you start apologizing “look Brett I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable I jus-“. Oof is the noise you let out from being knocked back into the closet door. “Brett?” “I’m sorry, I know I said I’d ask next time before hugging you but I just really needed to this time.” He whispers softly and your heart just melts. You hug him back tighter than ever happy he isn’t upset. “I like like you too Y/n” he quietly says nuzzling into your neck and gently squeezes you reassuringly.

I AM SO SORRY I TOTALLY READ THIS REQUEST WRONG I DONT KNOW HOW 😭. well regardless I hope some of you like it but I am truly sorry anonymous hope you can forgive me🙏.

[transtheology]

Blessing Our Many Masculinities: A UU Blessing by Kye Flannery

We bless today all the masculinities with us and within us.

We bless you who shelter us and are queer,

you who grow flowers,

you who take up welding and are proud to work in a shower of sparks.

We bless you whose heart hammers at taking up a power drill,

you who know the names of the birds and trees, each life regarded and held gently.

A gender fluid male, with very short hair, an earring, and makeup, with skirt fluttering in air

We bless you, who paper over fear with swagger, your little bird heart beating fast,

Saying, “Let me be free, please don’t laugh.”

We bless those of us who don’t have words for what we feel,

Whose strength lies in planning, hoping hard that action will be enough.

There is a space for you in the landscape of vulnerability.

We bless those of us who are confident,

knowing in our bones our own value.

We bless those of us who live with disability,

who find new ways of loving a body, its essence, its gifts,

not just what it can do with ease.

May we find a measure of strength again each day for the journey.

We bless you who try new things at age sixty, seventy, eighty.

May you find joy and not perfection.

We bless you who have to figure out how to relax, intentionally,

for whom retirement is a mystery to be tried one day at a time.

We bless you who never made enough money to retire;

Those who hesitate to sign anything because the Law has always taken away and never given.

May your name come to mean power and not suspicion.

We bless you who live with a government name or an assigned gender that doesn’t fit.

May the place where you live come to join you in embracing complexity.

We anoint those of us who don’t seek healthcare,

who seek self-sufficiency because it is safe and proud.

May you learn the rest and risk of being cared for.

We bless those who find courage in speaking up for others.

May you teach others your gift of saying hard things with kindness.

We bless you,

you whose hearts are a brilliant magnolia print and those whose hearts are plaid;

Those who live your masculinity in a skirt with sequins and boots, who learned how to work a sewing machine in secret.

We bless you who wait for others to speak first; those who use your power to lift up voices around you,

And those of us who don’t recognize our power and need to be witnessed again and again to know we are seen,

We bless you, we bless you, we bless you, we witness you.

We bless you who shelter us and are queer,

you who grow flowers.

Your children are all around you.

We bless today all the masculinities with us

and within us.

[coochiequeens]

Is this kid even able to start transitioning? West Virginia placed restrictions on minors being able to transition.

 By RACHEL BOWMAN FOR DAILYMAIL.COM

PUBLISHED: 21:27 EDT, 21 April 2024 

A West Virginia transgender athlete won her shot put competition in her first sporting event following an appeals court ruling that allowed her to participate - as other contestants refused to play against her.

Becky Pepper-Jackson, 13, competed in the Harris County Middle School Track and Field Championship on Thursday, two days after a court ruled West Virginia’s transgender sports ban violates the teen's right under Title IX.

Pepper-Jackson took home first place in the shot put competition with her 32-foot effort, three feet further than second place, and she placed second in discus.

Despite being legally allowed to compete, some athletes protested Pepper-Jackson's participation by refusing to play against her. 

Five girls from Lincoln Middle School stepped up to the circle for their turn, then refused to throw the ball.

Becky Pepper-Jackson (pictured), 13, won her shot put competition in her first sporting event following an appeals court ruling that allowed her to participate

In addition to taking puberty blockers and estrogen hormone therapy, Pepper-Jackson has legally changed her name and has a birth certificate listing her as female

Offering the teen a 'choice' between not participating in sports and participating only on boys' teams 'is no real choice at all,' Judge Toby Heytens wrote in the ruling.'

The defendants cannot expect that B.P.J. will countermand her social transition, her medical treatment, and all the work she has done with her schools, teachers, and coaches for nearly half her life by introducing herself to teammates, coaches, and even opponents as a boy,' Heytens wrote.

In a statement, ACLU West Virginia attorney Josh Block deemed the ruling a 'tremendous victory.'Following the decision, West Virginia Attorney General Patrick Morrisey said he was 'deeply disappointed' and vowed to continue fighting to safeguard Title IX.

'The law was passed more than five decades ago and was meant to address sex discrimination in education by ensuring that women had equal opportunities to participate in federally-funded programs.''We must keep working to protect women’s sports so that women’s safety is secured and girls have a truly fair playing field,' Morrisey said on Tuesday. 'We know the law is correct and will use every available tool to defend it.'

In the ruling, the appeals court reaffirmed that government officials had the authority to establish separate sports teams for boys and girls and enforce the line between them.

'We also do not hold that Title IX requires schools to allow every transgender girl to play on girls teams, regardless of whether they have gone through puberty and experienced elevated levels of circulating testosterone,' the court proclaimed.'We hold only that the district court erred in granting these defendants’ motions for summary judgment in this particular case and in failing to grant summary judgment to B.P.J. on her specific Title IX claim.'

In a dissenting opinion, Judge G. Steven Agee wrote the state can separate teams by gender assigned at birth 'without running afoul of either the Equal Protection Clause or Title IX.'

West Virginia is among the 24 states barring transgender women and girls from competing in sports consistent with their gender identity.

Pepper-Jackson told NBC News in October that she would not give up on her fight to compete in girl's sports.

'I want to keep going because this is something I love to do, and I’m not just going to give it up,' she said. 'This is something I truly love, and I’m not going to give up for anything.'

Her mother, Heather Pepper-Jackson, said, 'She likes to do the best in everything, be it algebra or running or shot put or discus.'

'She tries to excel in everything that she does, just like any other kid... if she didn't start the fight, who's going to?'

[mistymem0ryy]

Il Dottore x Reader

The Fall of Icarus Chapter 2 - Recollections of burned days

The reader is yet again gender neutral (I use some french pet names but they are given with the different manners of addressing for different genders)

Summary: Some recollections of the time spent between you and Zandik during your Academia years, from your Uncle’s illness to an expediction in the hills of Snezhnaya that shed light upon unspoken words.

Author’s notes: I know you all have been asking for a part 2 for this “series” and with exams and assignments I could not bring myself to write it sooner. I am currently working on a Pierro fanfic and some Kazuha stuff on the sidelines so drafting and creating this was quite the ordeal. I am prioritizing Chapter 3 (and probably the final one) of this series since Chapter 2 is mainly things that hapenned in the past... have mercy on me I am but a humble uni student...

{no beta we die like Zandik’s assistants}

Chapter 1

Word count: 3491

Fire banishes matter from existence, but memory, memory prevails among the ashes, it creeks and coils from within its own cadaver, it challenges the flames into an eternal duel.

You can feel the coldness from the unforgiving weather slowly protrude through your shivering body, you had previously prepared for this sort of situation but it is one of those scenarios that when found in actual practice instead of theory are more complex than previously thought.

Unbeknownst to your freezing body, the blue haired man that is walking alongside your frame, silently clutching to the ends of the thick fabric from your outer garments, finds himself cursing in unison with your shivering protests. 

The matter of his complaints is quite different from yours.

Had the gods looked upon him with a different eye he would have received a pyro vision in order to aid your chilling body, to transform himself into your sole bringer of warmth while traveling the borders of Snezhnaya, he would have perhaps even used the situation as a scapegoat into your longing embrace, but such a thing would never be admitted out loud.

And yet no divine light emanated from the inside of his layering fur jacket, no sign or symbol of any gods’ approval, reminding him of the cruel present.

He had never been gifted by the Gods.

No matter how ambitious and deserving he was, it was as if the deities up above looked at him directly with sole scorn.

To believe that from all of the archons, the one governing the matters of Love would be the one to recognize Zandik’s greatness.

The only thing he could hope for was that the flames from your own intent would be powerful enough to purify his icy heart out of this putrid existence.

A fate similar to that of Icarus did not sound that unappealing after all.

“I think I can finally see the camp set by the others! Zandik hold on for a little longer okay?”

If any other person had addressed him in such a casual manner his facial features would have been consumed by a degrading sneer, but this wasn't any other pestering academic peer ready to drain his brains out with mindless chatter, it was you, the only soul he had found “tolerable” in the last passing years of his existence within the walls of the Academia.

The only sign that he had even been capable of hearing and processing your words clearly had been his slight push of your furry jacket, as if silently saying “I am here with you, I trust you enough to become my eyes. Do not break that trust”.

The plan that you had previously carved alongside Zandik during your voyage from the Academia’s dorms to the camp in Schneznaya’s southern border had quickly been thrown to the wolves and ravaged by their unforgivable teeth. Both of you were in your fourth academic year, which meant you would finally be allowed to go into a professional scientific expedition alongside some of your upperclassmen and actually put the last years of long lectures and cramming to the test of nature and skill.

You initially had the opportunity of choosing between 3 different expeditions and the one related with abnormal elemental phenomena in one of the borders located within the winter nation had stricken your interest. The moment you had your papers in hand you went straight to Zandik, who was as expected hidden within a smaller fraction of the left wing’s library surrounded by books concerning his most resurging obsession with ruin guards.

You decided that the most adequate approach would be to begin questioning him on what his choice will be, perhaps the one exploration in Natlan will have caught his eye-

“All of these expeditions are utter rubbish and I find no interest in a single one, honestly who do the Sages think we are? A bunch of fresh first years that will tremble at the sight of some unnatural fauna? For shame… ”

Your strained smile surrenders to an annoyed look that has slowly but surely become your signature expression as of late.

“The only shameful thing that will happen will be you failing this project if you end up treating it as a field trip, there will be older examiners looking into our every move and this is a unique opportunity to redeem yourself in the eyes of the Sages”

“Redeem myself of what exactly?”

Dangerous territory. You were aware of it. The subject of surging rumors was one both you and Zandik had silently agreed to not discuss out loud, it was the sort of thing that was unconsciously known between those that share a bond similar to the one both of you possessed.

“Look, we’ve talked about this okay. I do not think it was your fault, you simply happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, her death… it was a tragedy yes, but this whole academia is a social ecosystem of its own, people strive out of the failure of others and then hide it behind disingenuous apologies. Most of these people admired and worshiped you during first year and now with these rumors they see an opportunity to strike you down-” 

“I have reassured you countless times that I do not care about what those brainless imbeciles think of m-”

“I know. Trust me I do. But this is not a matter of caring. This could seriously damage your  career as a scientist Zandik, independently of how much of an excellent researcher you could be. I just think it would be better for you to lay low for now, after the whole thesis business that happened last term, i-... I got genuinely scared, okay?”

It was true, Zandik developed a new theme for his soon to be thesis after having his last one rejected, and it came as no surprise to everyone when the Sages decided that his new theme was as outlandish as the previous one. To add unto that the rumors of Zandik’s supposed involvement in the murder of one of your classmates wasn't exactly helpful either, the funeral had taken place some weeks ago but the masses of gossiping students did not cease from growing even during the Academia’s supposed mourning period. 

There were interrogations, you remember clearly the moment Zandik was snatched from your side and led away by Sumerian authorities, the gaze that he directed at you sent the message perfectly “Do not follow me. Do not get involved. I got this covered. If you even dare to insert yourself in this mess I’ll kill you, bring you back to life, and then kill you again”. He did not exactly have a way with words, but goddamn those eyes could tell you a whole lot about whatever machinations were taking place within his mind.

Sohreh was her name. She had taken your place as Zandik’s lab partner during one of his research projects regarding the reverse engineering of ruin guards. You and Zandik had been planning that project for more than a year, but when your uncle was suddenly stricken with an unknown illness you chose to pack your bags and temporarily interrupt your studies to take care of him in Fontaine. Zandik had offered to send some expensive sumerian healers instead of you, but you stood your ground firmly, the only reason you were even able to frequent the Academia was thanks to your uncle’s generosity that paid for your entrance exams. You were going to go back and heal him back to health just like he had done to you countless times during your rather frail childhood.

During that period of time Zandik made sure to write to you nearly every day, even though the beginning of his letters were always filled with enquiries regarding yours and your uncle’s well being they quickly turned into long rants regarding Sohreh’s unprofessionalism and supposed complete inability to catch up with his chaotic process, even thought he would never admit that even upon written word. 

“She insists on displacing important elements of my bibliography and is unable to catalog simple essays according to theme and density.”

“She is always late and treats my research as a pastime of hers. If you were here we would have been through half of the process by now.”

“She told me I looked handsome.”

At the moment you laughed hysterically from the confines of the Fontaine styled kitchen where you read most of his letters while preparing your uncle’s morning coffee, but your laugh was quickly cut short by frigid realization. It was quite well known around the Academia the fact that when directing oneself towards Zandik it would be wise to take into account every single syllable that leaves one’s lips. Being referred to as “Handsome” or “Young” were adjectives that the blue haired student despised ardently, when asked for an explanation behind his disdain nothing coherent came out of it.

You had known Sohreh, you were never exactly close but during your first year when no set groups were yet formed and everyone mingled in conversation without any boundary present you had found yourself in some rather… weird chats with her… Some would call her confident but you honestly could not comprehend the appeal of her loudness and directness, you never complained though, simply transforming your chats into smiles in the corridor to not even acknowledging each other if not strictly necessary. 

You later found out that she had gossiped about your behavior among some of your peers, you did not took it to heart, you knew people like her and their overly sociable nature, she wasn't the first person that you had encountered that derived pleasure from humiliating others from behind the curtains and she certainly would not be the last. You had frequented various schools in Fontaine, and if you were completely honest the level of social nastiness in the Academia could not even compare to a common preparatory school in your home country.

But one thing was she annoying you.

Another thing was she getting on Zandik’s nerves.

Two awfully different situations with catastrophically contrasting outcomes.

At a certain point during your uncle’s recovery the flow of letters diminished greatly, until your fear and anxiety began to intermingle with each other after you hadn’t heard from Zandik in 4 consecutive days.

On the fifth day you received a telegram.

“The Furies have been slayed, 

Icarus must not burn but his wings shall turn to ash, 

The labyrinth deepens.

-Z”

You and Zandik had originally bonded over your mutual fascination with ancient myth, not only did he referred to you by the name of the fallen youth but you had both agreed to communicate in code in situations in which it was strictly necessary, like when commenting on a noisy classmate, when gossiping about an annoying professor, when attempting to bargain with a Sumerian merchant for supplies, when tragedy was amiss.

You quickly burned the telegram and rethought his words.

“The Furies have been slayed”

“Icarus must not burn but his wings shall turn to ash”

“The Labyrinth deepens”

Something was clearly wrong and your first instinct was to grab paper and quill and question him in regards to his absence until you realized that it was too late for that. It was as if your stomach had been emptied of all substance, an emptiness that spread and spread like an infectious disease, the last time you felt such a weight upon your frame was when Zandik’s laboratory caught fire and due to some anomaly in the design of the eastern wing from the building the quantity of toxic gas began to accumulate and suffocate your peers one by one. 

Zandik was able to leave the building nearly intact and actually turned out to be the only one capable of saving the rest of your colleagues which allowed a subsequent ushering of the by then growing rumors. But that did not alleviate the fact that he had been locked up in a sealed laboratory that could have suffocated him to death in a matter of minutes.

You hurried those thoughts away and had made your decision by midday.

You had to return to Sumeru.

Immediately.

Your uncle’s situation had improved greatly thanks to your care and you were certain that he could take it on from here at least for the next few weeks before you return for a check in.

“Is it that boy again?”

“Who?” You were currently packing your bags and making sure your uncle had enough supplies for the next few days. Of course he had noticed your recent skirmishes, after all you did read some of Zandik’s letters to your uncle during his more conscious moments, he insisted on calling him “the boy”, no matter how many times you remembered him that Zandik was already of age and no longer the teenager you got lost with in the various corridors of the Academia during your uncontrollable first year.

“You know exactly who I am talking about… He always was… quite the quirky one wasn't he? Is he in any sort of trouble?”

You sigh and take a moment before answering. “I don’t know.”

“You know I am happy for you don’t you?” Where was this coming from?

“You are no longer in the risk of death there is no need to begin a sentimental speech uncle” You halfheartedly laugh while directing yourself to the man next to the open window that graces you with the view of rural Fontaine.

So many things were capable of bringing happiness in this forgotten town and yet his face remained strict, undiscoverable, as if hiding something willingly and fearing the outcome of its liberation to the world.

“I am not playing mon|ma chéri. You don’t know how grateful I am for you coming to rescue me in this situation… But I must ask you to be more careful from now on.”

You did not liked where this conversation was going, but remained silent in order to let him speak his mind.

“I remember how happy I was when you first told me that you had finally made a friend, not an acquaintance, not someone you speak solely to not be alone during group projects, but an actual friend. On top of all that you were studying in one of the best academies of Teyvat, you are my greatest pride and joy, ma vie…But I must warn you that I don’t like where things are going, every day so many talking and newspapers of fires and scholars dying unexpectedly… It scares me because you are there… Our neighbor Meursault, his mother… You probably already know but his mother worked in one of those fancy departments in the Academia, she died in one of those Ruin guards expeditions… Terrible, terrible thing…The boy hasn’t shown a single emotion since… People talk… Fear arises… I do not like where this is going, not at all… and that boy,well if he's your friend then i'm fine with that… but i still ask you to be careful that’s all…”

“The Labyrinth deepens”

There was nowhere else to turn, your mind was made up, and you quickly said your goodbyes to your uncle… This sudden sickness, the problems in the Academia, his fear, it all began to interconnect in your mind…

If you weren’t going to burn…

Then who was?

You were almost there, you could feel it in your freezing blood. Carrying nearly the whole weight of the full body belonging to an adult man was, most probably, not in your best rationally taken decisions list but it was the necessary means to an end.

And that end was only some meters ahead, you could barely discern some of the lightning up ahead, a symbol of civilization, of life, human life awaiting to aid you. 

You hadn’t been talking to Zadik prior to this expedition. Even though you both seemed to be on good terms after your return his coldness towards you began to develop in parallel with the rumors regarding his behavior. After leaving the dorms and entering the caravans to your current destination alongside the other scholars it was as if a switch had been pressed and he returned to being and acting as your normal Zandik (how normal that is in nature is , of course, up to debate).

He talked with you through the whole voyage as if you hadn't been nearly begging him to at least look in your direction in the last few tormenting weeks. You wanted to yell. Ask him, no, demand from him the reason behind his sudden refusal to even direct his gaze towards you. But something told you that it wasn't the time for that. That it was better for you to gulp your pride down and allow yourself this moment of grace, you never know when those that you cherish the most are walking towards a point of no return, you let his side remarks and silly banter consume you, and allow yourself in that moment, to be not a scientist and neither a scholar, but rather a simple human all over again.

After setting up camp early that morning with some other students, you and Zandik had been tasked to complete some rounds around some nearby sights and regain some samples from local dying flora, during that period Zandik’s demeanor gradually become more serious and alert, you asked him for the source of his worries but he only limited himself to silently sushing you and continue on his path, this was getting tiring.

While having your attention grasped by some rather strange elemental residues near a cave you did not notice Zandik’s prolonged absence.

You only noticed his scream.

No matter how irritable, how enraged, Zandik never lowered himself to the point of actually elevating his voice to such a degree.

You had never heard him scream.

It was raw, primordial.

It was as if he was burning from the inside out.

You remember running hastily towards the source of that petrifying sound and the sight that you were met with reminded you of one of those blood soaked war paintings you attentively gauged at in Fontaine’s Art Museum during your trips with your Uncle to the capital.

The fallen soldier, glory destroyed, a reawakening. A resurrection.

Night was arriving step by step.

Zandik was trying to elevate himself from his kneeling position. 

His eyes were bleeding.

You had one priority now and it was to grab Zandik, leave that cavern, and return to camp before the unforgivable winter night catched up to you. You reached him from behind and even though his body freezed for a slight second, ready to retaliate whomever dared to touch him, by the moment he noticed it was your arm reaching in his aid, he relaxed and allowed you to do whatever you thought fit.

You had no idea what had just happened within the confines of that cavern.

You did not see it but you could smell it. Whatever was beginning to rot in the confines of that cave you did not wish to meet face to face.

Just some more steps and you'll be laughing about it all.

Just some more steps and Zandik will be able to be given first aid and then explain everything to you clearly.

Just some more steps and it will all be back to how it used to be-

“Zandik”

A voice reverberated through the mountains, it traveled with the strong winds and reached you in no time. That was not the voice of a meager scholar getting used to the terrain.

That was the voice of someone familiar with the flow of air and therefore of sound within these grave air conditions.

“ZANDIK”

Was the voice getting louder or were you getting nearer to the source? You could feel Zandik begin to frantically pull on your jacket and you momentarily ripped your gaze from the camp and dared to search for the origin of that voice.

It was all beginning to come together.

Were you blindly building a puzzle all along?

You could feel your body paralyze, not due to the hours you have spent without a nutritious meal and neither due to the freezing temperatures of Snezhnaya, but rather due to sheer all consuming fear.

The type of fear that follows you for years beyond, the type of fear that haunts you in whatever corner of the world you decide to hide. You opened your mouth and remained silent for a while, until you couldn't even feel the words anxiously leaving your lips, as if in a rush to be freed from the confinement of your vocal cords. 

You directed your frightened gaze towards the male you had been carrying around through the snowy terrain, no matter how many times you insisted on his adulthood and mature character to others, in that precise moment he looked like nothing but a boy. 

“Zandik, why are those Fatui soldiers calling you?”

“And why is there a Harbinger among them?“