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itsallanimeandgames · 3 years

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Suppression (1)

Alpha Hanamiya Makoto x Omega Y/N

Omegaverse | Angst | Drama | Romance

Warnings: Language, Violence, Mature/Suggestive Content

Hanamiya Makoto discovers you aren’t an alpha.

Mentally you had prepared yourself for the looks and rumors. You practiced responses to all the backhanded compliments and questions that were sure to come. The society you lived in was all about status.

Kirisaki Daiichi is a school with high promotion percentage. It's known to be popular among children from rich families and those with a higher social standing. The only flaw was that it accepted all genders. It fell behind the elite all-alpha high schools that catered to that cream of the crop of the twenty percent alpha population.

That’s the kind of school you were expected to attend.

The fact that you, an alpha from an affluent all-alpha family, had entered Kirisaki Daiichi instead of an all alpha school like your brother left many wondering what was wrong with you. They never suspected the truth but made theories of their own.

The most popular of them all was that you were somehow lacking intellectually. Those who had only heard of you but never seen you thought perhaps your looks were to blame. Be it looks or intellect, they all came to the conclusion that you were unloved or unwanted by your family because of your flaws.

In a way they were correct. They may have never outright verbally expressed it but it was clear enough in their actions and roundabout remarks. You were their greatest failure. Compared to their first born who excelled beyond their expectations you were best forgotten.

It wasn’t always like that.

Up until middle school you had experienced that one percent. There was nothing you couldn't do thanks to your influential family.

It was something your younger self took for granted.

Your father was a renowned author of medical journals who had retired from practicing medicine and your mother a former national tennis champion. Their firstborn, your brother, profited from his inherited good looks and became one of the highest-paid models in the world, recently he even began entertaining offers to transition into acting.

It was a family of strong alpha lineage.

Breeding between alphas is incredibly difficult. Having two children was seen as nothing short of a miracle and so you were extremely doted on by your family as a child.

All that changed in an instant...

One unfortunate day in middle school. A routine school physical identified your second gender as Omega.

“How can this be?” Your mother tightened her grip on the sheet of paper that stated the results. There in black and white was the undeniable truth.

Your father’s once loving gaze turned into one of pity that eventually seemed more like resent. There had been rumors within his family. Several generations ago there had been an Omega on his mother’s side. Now it would seem such rumors were confirmed.

From then on you carried the burden of being living proof of a tainted family history. However your father wouldn’t allow such a huge revelation be brought to light. He paid quite a sum of money to keep those involved silent on the matter. He even went as far as using his old connections in the medical field to forge medical documents.

On paper and to the public you were an alpha.

Your remaining childhood was spent perfecting the lie. A private doctor, knowledgeable on omega physiology, was brought in to monitor and administer the best suppressants for your individual case. It was vital to keep you from going into heat. A collar would be a dead giveaway of what you truly were thus, it was forbidden for you to ever wear one.

For a child that grew up loved to suddenly have it all taken away...

The shame of being an omega in a family of alphas weighed heavily on you but there was nothing you could do. You’d rather put up with these circumstances and live as an alpha in everyone else’s eyes to the alternative.

Society was hard on omegas. They were victims of discrimination, assault, and persecution. Often you heard on the news how unfortunate omegas suddenly went into heat in public. They would be unwillingly mated or worse, paired with someone for the rest of their lives.

Ignorance truly was bliss.

If you could live peacefully as a fake alpha despite your personal life, so be it.

That morning when you left for school your father was nowhere to be seen. He was most likely upstairs in his study tapping away on the computer as he wrote his latest work. Your mother appeared shortly before you left only to give you a last reminder to keep up the family’s image.

You agreed to play the part your parents asked of you.

During the entrance ceremony you sat up front, in the second seat. It seemed you had placed second in your year. The fact that there was someone who scored higher than you was a testament to the school’s admissions.

You heard the whispers.

“Isn’t that her?”

“I heard she didn’t go to the same school as her brother because she didn’t pass the entrance exam.”

“She must be a recessive alpha.”

Even the slightest glance their way would validate their gossip and you were above giving them the attention they wanted so you kept your eyes forward focused on the current speaker at the podium.

\\\

You kept to yourself, never socializing with anyone more than you had to. You gave vague and straightforward responses to questions in order to avoid their prying into your personal life.

It was typical ice princess behavior in their eyes.

And although some talked behind your back for it, others admired the fact that you didn’t try to establish yourself as the social queen of the school just because of your social status. There were plenty of other girls itching to have everyone on their beck and call.

Yet, alphas were known for being sociable charismatic people so you had no choice but to participate and feign a social life.

That’s when it all began. Countless people asked you to join their club or sport. The golf team was especially earnest in their pursuit. At one point their freshman recruiting officer who doubled as the manager of the team somehow became a close acquaintance.

“Come on Y/N,” The short girl quickly packed her stuff at the end of class. She needed to get to the club room quickly but wouldn’t miss another opportunity to convince you. “It’s co-ed,” she wiggled her brows trying to entice you with the opportunity to interact with boys.

“Sorry, I’m not interested.”

“Hmph,” she exhaled puffing her cheeks. “Fine I give up for today but I’ll keep annoying you until you accept.” She ran out of the classroom at full speed.

You had to admit her passion for the team was admirable.

It was unfortunate that you liked her because you couldn’t open up to her and truly become friends.

But by far the most unfortunate thing was the fact the staff saw you as an opportunity to boost their image. After a few months they began to work up the courage to approach you.

“Miss Y/N, can I talk to you for a second?”

The bell had just rung, signaling the end of the school day. Everyone had left in a hurry except for you and those who had no choice but to stay since they were on cleaning duty.

You nodded your head and followed him as he lead you down the halls.

“Miss Y/N we couldn’t help but notice you haven’t signed onto any extra curricular activities. Here at Kirisaki Daiichi we require that every student go beyond academic success.”

You sighed perfectly aware of what he was getting at. In middle school you had been part of the Tennis club as a solo player. It didn’t require much interaction with others and was the sport with the shortest season. The circumstances allowed you to go about your heat period without complications. Everyone at that school bent over backwards for you considering your lineage. It was perhaps the only time you were thankful for your mother’s influence.

“This school doesn’t have a tennis team,” you very matter-of-factly pointed out “And I’m not interested in any other sport.”

“Then how about starting one.” Kirisaki Daiichi was also willing to do whatever it took to boost their image. If you, the daughter of a national champion, were to start and lead the team it would be idealistic propaganda. Many more affluent families would be interested in the school.

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

Hanamiya smirked when he caught onto your conversation with the teacher. He hadn’t thought much of you when you sat quietly at the front of the class. It was interesting though to see you so blatantly shrug off the teacher.

“Then what if you were to simply coach the other girls? We will put the team together and you instruct them.”

“A student coach?” That seemed far better but would still require you to interact with others often. The closer you became to others, the more chances there would be for someone to catch on to your frequently scheduled absences. After a moment of silence you looked up at the teacher to acknowledge him. “I’ll think about it.”

With those final words you walked away towards the school gates. Just as you were about to pop your earphones in you heard your name being called.

You turned around to see Hanamiya Makoto standing surprisingly close to you, enough to merit you taking a step back. All you knew about him was the fact that he was in your class and through the halls you had heard his name one or two times.

What business did he have with you?

“Don’t bother with the old man’s request.” Hanamiya kept his distance as he proposed an idea to you. “Come be the basketball team’s manager.”

“I don’t know anything about basketball.”

“You don’t have to,” he smirked.

-TBC-

A/N: My favorite manga site is down so here I am writing instead of reading. It has been a while since I saw KNB but my passion for the bad boys is still alive. It will be getting dark and mature so read on with caution.

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comrade-meow · 3 years

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Bad data generates bad research; bad research generates bad treatments; bad treatments generate bad outcomes. The physiological differences between males and females are vast, and stamp their mark on every organ of the human body, not just the genitals and gonads. Ignoring these differences will muddle our data, blur our understanding of physiology, and hinder the discovery of new treatments for diseases. Females are much more likely than males to have autoimmune disorders. Males are more likely than females to develop Parkinson’s disease. Males and females may present with different symptoms preceding a heart attack. Males and females metabolize drugs differently. Blatantly ignoring sex as a variable hobbles the process of scientific inquiry and limits the types of questions that researchers will ask, thereby limiting the answers they get.

About this story: last November I came across some anonymous tweets from a person claiming to be a medical student at an American university where professors were teaching that sex is a social construct. I decided to try to find out if these claims were real, and I contacted the Twitter user, striking up a conversation with “C”. We agreed to meet on a Zoom call, and that C would show me C’s student ID, with their name and the name of the school covered, and that we would then do a written interview. C’s desire for strict anonymity is well founded in my eyes, due to the damage that could be inflicted on C’s career prospects if they were caught speaking to a publication about the ideological lies being peddled and the culture of fear at their institution.

On our thirty minute Zoom call, I met a highly intelligent, critical-minded, and determined young person who was expressing deep concern over the ways that gender identity ideology is distorting the teaching of medicine and the repercussions this may lead to in our next generation of doctors.

C held up their ID so I could see their picture on what was clearly a medical school ID. C told me their school can be categorized as “top tier.”

The irony of using “they/them” pronouns for a single person is not lost on me. I find it interesting that due to the tyranny of gender ideology, I must adhere to one of their tenets and accept the use of the plural pronoun for a single person whose sex I know. But the fact that I have to do this is because any information about C could potentially be enough to raise suspicion (just read their words to understand the climate of intimidation they witness in class everyday), and the knowledge of an individual’s sex is still a crucial identifying feature, no matter what the gender ideologues want us to believe.

C and I agreed that I would offer people on Twitter an opportunity to pose their questions directly and that C would respond in written form. Out of the many responses, the medical student chose what they considered some of the most representative and important of the questions. These are their answers below, beginning with a short message they wanted me to share.

-Sasha White

Thank you, Sasha, for having offered me this valuable opportunity to answer these questions. Before we start, I would like to clarify my stance on basic issues regarding sex and gender identity, so that people can keep these in mind while reading.

Biological sex is not a social construct – male and female are distinct material realities which have significant implications for medical and surgical treatment of many different conditions. These physiological differences are relevant on the levels of clinical practice, research, and policy, and absolutely must be acknowledged in order for physicians to best treat their patients. All patients should be treated with compassion, respect, and high-quality medical care, regardless of their professed gender identity. I remain agnostic as to what it truly means to have a “gender identity”, but will respect the wishes of my future patients in regards to their social presentation and pronouns. I believe that dysphoric adults should be able to pursue transition. Physicians should be aware of relevant aspects of trans healthcare, including hormone therapy and surgery, so that they can better advise trans patients on how medical treatments may impact their gender-related care, or vice versa. It is possible and desirable for us to have a healthcare system which is inclusive and respectful of transgender patients, in a way which does not pretend that biology is arbitrary or merely a social construct. Despite my liberal beliefs, the loudest voices at my institution would falsely accuse me of blowing transphobic dog-whistles, hence my anonymity. This hostile climate is corrosive to an inquiry mindset and critical thinking, and will ultimately be a disservice to the scientific community and to future patients, trans and otherwise.

IDD64 @IDD64 asks: “What happened to “nobody’s saying sex isn’t real”?”

This is actually what compelled me to speak out about this practice in the first place. Well-intentioned non-medical people often assume that medical schools are teaching something like, “Gender identity can be fluid and varied, but biological sex is real, binary, and relevant in medical contexts.” This idea is around five years out of date in the most progressive of institutions. I have been told multiple times in several classes that biological sex is a social construct – not just gender. Granted, I can speak only for my institution, but this change has been frustrating and disturbing to witness.

Robert Woolley @RandomlyBob asks: “Do any of the required textbooks also avoid using those words? If not, might you ask those professors if they think the books are either inaccurate or offensive?”

Our curriculum is constantly subject to revision. Around two-thirds of our written materials have been updated with this new language. For the one-third that has remained out-of-date, our class has received multiple apologetic, itemized emails from course instructors in which they provide corrections, beg for forgiveness and patience, and avow to “do better”. In class, we have been given multiple histories in which the patient’s sex has been deleted, even for cases involving disorders which can manifest differently between the sexes. The words “female” and “male” are being erased and replaced.

Born a space baby @ggynoid asks: “What’s the dynamic like for class participation? Do people start with pronouns? Do people tend to agree, disagree? What’s the female-male ratio in the class typically on these sort[s] of classes?”

When school first began, we were heavily encouraged to include pronouns in our Zoom names and email signatures; around 70-80% of the class did so. Most students and professors would start off verbal introductions with their name and pronouns, though that has subsided since we all have grown to know each other.

A vocal minority of students are loudly in favor of the most extreme aspects of gender ideology, while the majority seem to be vaguely supportive in a nonspecific way. I think that this comes from a mixture of naive goodwill and fear – they are trying to be good allies, and this is the only way they know how. Additionally, it is heavily implied that to ask critical questions, even in a way which is ultimately patient-centered and supportive, is perpetuating bigotry, so they just nod along. A silent minority seems to be secretly skeptical. I have met four or five students who have disclosed to me in private conversation that they disagree with one or more aspects of this dogma but they are hesitant to come forward in group settings. I am sure that more exist, but they are hard to find. None of these people have been transphobic.

The female-male ratio is approximately equal, with slightly more females than males in my class.

David Poole @MrDPoole asks: “Do you think the people telling you these things actually believe it or are they being forced to do it?”

I think that a very small minority of our professors actually believe that male and female bodies are interchangeable with the exception of genitalia and gonads. There are definitely more woke students than woke professors, and the most radical of students are far more radical than the wokest professor. Most of these professors are very fearful of saying the wrong thing, so they delicately couch their language by referring to “XX and XY people” or other such euphemisms, even though that can lead to inaccuracies.

The social consequences for misspeaking are highly magnified, especially when most classes are delivered online (due to the pandemic). Our class has been quietly accused of having a mean streak in regards to social justice. We have had petitions circulated (drafted by few, signed by many) to name, shame, and “hold accountable” various lecturers who used the “wrong” language, to the point of humiliation. One professor broke down crying after a genetics lecture which relied heavily on the use of “male” and “female” by necessity. (Though the lecture also made ample space to talk about transgender and non-binary individuals, this was not enough to appease the critics.) Another professor referred to “pregnant women” rather than “pregnant people” and spent a very uncomfortable few minutes after class abjectly apologizing for having caused offense “by implying that only women can get pregnant”. It was incredibly disturbing to see, for multiple reasons. One, this is based on bad science and zealotry that has the potential to harm patients. Two, the magnitude of the “crime” pales in comparison to the magnitude of the outcry. Three, it is a total inversion of the expected social order to see these physicians —some of whom are literally leading scholars in their field— be reduced to fearful puddles if a student so much as looks at them askance. Keep in mind that these professors are extremely liberal, compassionate, and well-meaning, yet they are turned upon with such venom and verve by the people who they are trying to please.

Chopper @RodeoChopper asks: How are cases presented? Normally the first line is “This is a such and such year old (male/female) with a past medical history significant for…”

Here are some examples of formats I have seen in our coursework:

“This is a 43-year-old woman with ovaries, presenting with …”

“A 3-year-old child, assigned male at birth, not assigned gender as of yet by parents, presenting with …”

“This patient is a 7-year-old child, gendered as a boy by his parents, who …”

“57-year-old woman with testes, here with …”

“A 16-year-old patient (gender non-binary, pronouns they/them) …”

“A 32-year-old woman (she/her/hers) …”

“A 16-year-old patient presents with complaints of …”

Of the myriad problems with this structure, the most concerning is that most of these cases do not accurately identify the sex of the patient, which is crucial in being able to weigh the likelihood of potential diagnoses and treatments. A person’s pronouns are not relevant when deciding to prescribe a particular antibiotic, and at which dose. Additionally, I find it somewhat irritating to be expected to state the obvious for things that are the default of the human experience. We do not say, “This is a 42-year-old woman with both her arms and legs”, although there are certainly women in this world who are missing one or more of their limbs.

MaryWrath @WrathMary asks: “So how are reproductively different bodies described then? How are cardiac arrest and stroke symptoms described, explained and taught as we know now they present differently across the two sexes? There are clearly two bodies in our species so how are the professors acknowledging?”

Organs are referred to by their actual names – penis, testes, vagina, ovaries, breasts. However, referring to patients as male or female is strictly taboo. If there are relevant but subtle sex-specific differences, then they will often be downplayed or ignored altogether. As an example, we were told that the higher risk of heart attacks in men was due only to the presence of testosterone, and not for any other reason, which is patently false. When the differences are utterly impossible to ignore, “male” and “female” will simply be rebranded as “people with testes/ovaries”, “AMAB/AFAB”, or “people with/without Y chromosomes”. My personal favorite is “persons with [testosterone/estrogen] as their primary sex hormone.” Oddly, “man” and “woman” are still used, often with redundant qualifiers (“56-year-old man with testes”).

thames pilgrim @thames_pilgrim asks: “What are the most dangerous medical implications for turning a blind eye to someone’s sex due to a belief that talking about “male” and “female” might offend?”

This is a very important question which should be addressed at the following interrelated levels: clinical practice, research, and public policy.

Clinical practice: Transgender patients who do not disclose their birth sex might be at risk for improper medical treatment. (I have seen a natal female person who identified as a nonbinary man, be suspected of having testicular torsion; this person did not disclose their sex to the physician, which resulted in a delay in their care). Out of fear of being branded transphobic, physicians may not accurately and completely inform trans patients about their sex-specific risk for certain medical conditions. And for all patients, if a poorly-educated doctor is unaware as to how disorders manifest differently between the sexes, then patients can be harmed through the failure to rapidly and accurately diagnose and treat their medical conditions.

Research: Bad data generates bad research; bad research generates bad treatments; bad treatments generate bad outcomes. The physiological differences between males and females are vast, and stamp their mark on every organ of the human body, not just the genitals and gonads. Ignoring these differences will muddle our data, blur our understanding of physiology, and hinder the discovery of new treatments for diseases. Females are much more likely than males to have autoimmune disorders. Males are more likely than females to develop Parkinson’s disease. Males and females may present with different symptoms preceding a heart attack. Males and females metabolize drugs differently. Blatantly ignoring sex as a variable hobbles the process of scientific inquiry and limits the types of questions that researchers will ask, thereby limiting the answers they get.

Policy: Patients who are not transgender may be misled by “inclusive” educational materials and miss out on crucial preventative care. This is especially impactful in women’s health; whether due to language barrier, subpar sex education, or cultural taboo, not every woman will even know that she has a cervix, but she will know that she is female. Additionally, recommendations made by professional medical associations are widely used in clinical practice; if these guidelines are generated based on faulty data, this could negatively impact patients on a wider scale.

However, the most pernicious of possible harms is not the denial of sex; rather, the denial of sex is just one manifestation of a greater problem, which is the corrosion of critical thinking itself. Whatever you call it – this postmodern poison, the triumph of dogma over data – it is fundamentally incompatible with critical thinking, the most powerful all-purpose tool a physician has at his or her disposal. Starting with a conclusion and working backwards, all while twisting the data to fit a narrative, strikes me as more religious than scientific.

Marjorie Hutchins @leakylike asks: “Part of being a doctor is taking on ethical & safeguarding responsibilities[.] Why aren’t medical students challenging something which [could] have health implications for patients?”

Our positions as students are precarious, especially if one is labeled as being on the wrong side of history. Consequences for speaking out can include shunning, being anonymously reported to the school for “remediation”, being informally blacklisted from research and leadership opportunities, and potentially expulsion. Until I have earned my degree and have completed residency, I need to remain anonymous. To do otherwise would be to kill my career before it has even begun, which would also limit my ability to help many more patients in the future.

Although I am very biased, I think it should be on the onus of administration and our tenured professors to stand up against this madness, rather than on lone students to publicly put themselves at risk of debt and ruin. For now, I resist in the small ways that I can; I wish to do so more publicly when I am more secure.

#Anglo.txt

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ariadne-inthesky · 3 years

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What (job) would Ari be doing if she has to be doing a different one? How would she react if something bad were to happen to Harold? Did the Snap/Blip mess up her job?

- What (job) would Ari be doing if she has to be doing a different one ?

Tough question. We’re going to stay in the Marvel-Verses here because it will shorten the answer but... Had she been given a choice once the US Army stopped experimenting on her, maybe she would have entered a medical career, maybe for the army - she would have made an ideal field surgeon, thanks to the fact she can’t die. Of course, considering the time and the place of women in society in the 50s, it would have been difficult for her to even get to that post but she could have become a nurse and then go back to med school. It’s not like time is a constraint for her, afterwards... Otherwise, she would have probably chosen some secretary job and then slowly slided into something more IT-centered and would probably end in cyber-security. - How would she react if something bad were to happen to Harold ?

LEAVE HAROLD ALONE !!!! D8 .... I’m joking. Obviously, it’s a brick, in the end, she would be disappointed if it got destroyed or misplaced. If someone stole it, Ariadne would hope it would be to a good home where people could understand the hard-ass exterior of Harold is just what it is, a facade, and that it’s a good listener. But she wouldn’t be devastated. Maybe she would find another one - because how else do you threaten SHIELD/SWORD agents to file their fucking reports on time, mh ? - or maybe make a small terrarium for a pet rock. Who knows ? - Did the Snap/Blip mess up her job?

Ariadne did feel quite responsible for it. After all, if the Sokovia Accords had been truly fair and not the result of a hurried response to a catastrophe... If, somehow, they would have put much more thoughts, much more time on it... Maybe... Maybe there wouldn’t have been a rift in the Avengers ? Maybe they would have been more prepared ? Maybe the Snap wouldn’t have happened ? And also, there is the survivor’s guilt - since 1742. Why not her ? Why her ? More prosaically, in her day-to-day work, she saw a huge increase. Because a few agents got blipped out while in action, she had to work with the Legal Dept to find a legalistic solution so their “un-snapped” relatives could get relief. And also, the whole legal proceedings around the situations : who’s fault was it ? Which insurances had to pay ? Do we need to create a world-wide commission to tackle the relief offered (yes) ? Or do we let countries deal with their own people (no) ? What about people blipped while on international waters or in transit ? So many questions to work for hours on - and conveniently not care about the guilt and shame and sadness... And then... People got un-blipped. They were brought back. And it was another huge jigsaw, a lot of insurance claims - and how do you deal with the aftermath of a very traumatic event for the people involved in it ? They need help - yes, financial, but not only - and so time to get your favourite undead to work on legalistic proceedings for relief funds and insurances again. Overal, it was a very busy time for her, more than the Battle of New York or the Battle of Novi Grad.

#headcanon #long post #todowhatwasright #answeredask

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witcher-ot3 · 3 years

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List of Iorveth/Roche WiPs

Because somethings I like to torment myself by showing how many fucking things I’m working on. Doesn’t help that lately, I’ve started a new WiP every time I get stuck in another fic. So, in no particular order (literally just how the tabs are ordered in my window lmao), here are all my Iorveth/Roche WiPs

2 fics in the Petals and Stripes ‘verse - one with Roche’s POV straight after and one of the Stripes’ POV as they deal with the aftermath... and try to help their boss woo Iorveth. Surprising no one, they’re terrible at it.

Curse breaking WiP where True Love’s Kiss strong emotion for one’s enemy saves Iorveth’s life. And then he, Roche, and Triss team up to go save the Scoia’tael.

Roche’s POV WiP set before they first meet. Includes some nice knife and blood kink during a face off between Iorveth and Roche. No idea where this one is going.

Eye On You Chapter 3, for which the plan is thigh-fucking. That’s it, that’s all I got.

Fake dating casefic (The Curious Case of the Murivel Resort for Couples). rn they’re playing strip gwent and I somehow signed up to write 5 different gwent games for this 😢

Competitive makeouts (The Chase) rn they’re spiderman kissing, but there’s gonna be a conspiracy plot that Iorveth has to reveal.

New ‘verse involving Iorveth/Roche/Kayran and Roche/Foltest lmao. First WiP is Roche running into Iorveth during his monthly fuckdate with the Kayran... and then joining in. Second WiP is a comparison of Roche’s two relationships and how they make him feel. For some reason, I framed it around the Chivalric Virtues from Blood & Wine and made it a 5+1 lol

Pining and Poignards, a WiP in which there is pining and stabbing lol. A poignard is a type of knife, which Iorveth generously “gifts” to Roche. rn Iorveth is sneaking around the army base and has just caught Roche masturbating. I...only sort of know where I’m going with this one.

Tittyfucking. That’s it, that’s the plot lmao. Iorveth is a lil obsessed with Roche’s chest and attempts to fuck it.

Gross Gremlin Man aka Iorveth prefers Roche nasty and sweaty. Uh... I just started this one and somehow it went from “huh, why do I not mind Roche when he’s all sweaty” to “hmm, I think I’m gonna steal his clothes and smell them while I touch myself” and I’m still working on the transition from one to the other lol

Red is the Rose Chapters 3+4 - Ch3 is about ready for posting, but I’m trying to figure out how much of the events of W2 to cover or if I should just skip all of them and get to the post-W2 plot.

Fun fact: all of those WiPs above are in 1 document because I like to make life difficult for Google Docs. But the other docs are all specific ‘verses (or themes) and these ones are theoretically standalone. Theoretically.

More standalones

Letters - a post-W3 WiP where Roche is running Temeria and hates it and starts receiving letters from Iorveth (sealed with a forget me not in wax).

WiP where they both get captured and imprisoned in a magic cell and whoops, sex ends up happening... and then their teams come rescue them.

Cuddles with the Commander - continuation of Pride of Temeria, where Roche wakes up cuddled up with Pillow Tits and his team.

Fire Breathing - a Meet the Family WiP where Iorveth is hanging with the Stripes and PT decides to demonstrate how to breathe fire. Iorveth is more than slightly freaked out that humans have this ability.

Iorveth gangbang - uh yeah, what it says on the tin. The Blue Stripes take Iorveth apart under Roche’s guidance.

Different first meeting identity porn WiP - they meet in Flotsam just as the Scoia’tael is starting to get formed. Neither knows who the other is, but they have amazing sex and every time they’re in Flotsam together, they meet up again. But Iorveth, of course, leads the Scoia’tael, and Roche has been tasked with hunting them down.

Crones WiP - Roche went to the Crones to plead for his men back. He gets them back - but as ghosts. He also gets assigned to help work on a cure to the Catriona plague, and it turns out one of the people already working on it is Iorveth. I literally just want Blue Stripes ghosts laughing at Roche’s bad flirting, but somehow it’s mostly angst rn ooops

Love Shack WiPs

First Time WiP - this one is so close to being done dammit. It’s actually the first WiP I ever started for this pairing and it just needs like 2 more orgasms aaaaahhhhhh

Medicine WiP - morning after their first time, they have a discussion about scars and medicine and how elven medicine is way better than human medicine. Not at all based on the billions of medical procedures I’m going through or anything.

PWP Ovi WiP - uh yeah, this one is just pure porn. rn Iorveth is giving Roche his eggs and Roche is loving it.

The Picture Says It All - next is gonna be a sketch of Roche hard at work hunched over a desk and Iorveth is all “no, this is wrong, he’s meant to be wielding a sword and fighting me”

The Haunting of Barrack 8B - Adda!! Adda is officially getting introduced in the next part, which is good, ‘cause she’s important in this ‘verse (and in my heart)

Roche builds Iorveth a home WiP - oh yeah, I stalled out because I realized I had to establish Roche and Rinn’s friendship before she could give him a hint about making a nest for Iorveth

Long Live the King - WiP about Roche’s relationship with Foltest, some of what he’s done for the King, how Iorveth feels about it, and then the big finale for this ‘verse, which I will leave secret for now.

Don’t Cry For Me, Temeria WiPs These are only the ones that have actual WiPs started, because believe me, I have a LOT more ideas

(Im)Perfect Strangers ch 27 - time for Roche to step up his wooing. Featuring dinner, dancing, and gift giving. And, of course, it wouldn’t be me without misunderstandings lol.

Between Two Fools Ch 8 - I’m working on getting this out as soon as I can. Just gotta finish writing their sex from the end of (Im)Perfect Strangers ch 26

Unlucky Number Thirteen - I want to write about how he starts spying for Roche and their developing kinda mentorship relationship

Silas’s story - he’s literally JUST joined the Stripes and I need to write how he and Thirteen work closely together but also this poor anxious boy is like 3 seconds from a heart attack at all times rn. It will get better tho.

Earning Your Stripes ch 2 - the first time. This chap will actually have porn! But first I gotta finish writing it lol. Rn Ves and Finch are double teaming Fenn and PT and Thirteen are in subspace cuddling with Roche, but soon they’ll get to join in too.

break (v /brāk/): to destroy someone's resistance - cnc WiP where Iorveth asks Roche to break him - and Roche has a lot of fun doing so as they pretend to fight like they’re still enemies.

Bath House - this was SUPPOSED to be a porny lil thing where Roche talks dirty to Iorveth while they’re stuck being proper for the kids, and then finally they get some alone time. But what it also turned into is that Anais and Thirteen equally hate baths lmao. Boussy loves them tho. He’s a hedonist, while Anais is just bored and Thirteen is like a cat with water.

Tutti Ch 2 - Iorveth begins to compose a symphony for Roche about their love story.

Daggers, Dumplings, and Dresses - the Elihal/Hattori side story. Not gotten much written so far - mostly just Elihal reflecting on his friendship with Iorveth.

The First Rule of Fight Club ch 2 - Ves now has time to think about what Ciaran said about Roche not being worthy of her loyalty. And also about how Ciaran’s skin tasted when she bit him.

Dragonfucking - another PWP WiP featuring a threesome with Saskia... except Roche still doesn’t know about the whole dragon thing, so he’s in for a surprise.

Water Balloon Fight - silly lil WiP where the Scoia’tael and the Blue Stripes have a water balloon fight. PT is the ref.

Baby Mama - lmao yes that is what it’s listed as in my doc. Not gonna say a lot about this, but will probably be a longer piece. Set in the distant future in DCfM,T.

Tempt Not a Desperate Man ‘verse Yeah, does anyone know what this is? It’s the ‘verse that started with Devour What’s Truly Yours and so far has nothing else published oops

Part 2 - in which they actually have to face each other again and figure out where they stand. And then there’s some fisting.

The Chaperon - Iorveth decides to make Roche a chaperon since the last one was sacrificed as a cum rag

Human Bootlicker - Iorveth makes a joke about Roche surrendering on his knees when he gets the upper hand in a fight between the Blue Stripes and the Scoia’tael - and then Roche actually does.

Elven Baths - so it’s kinda a thing in this ‘verse that they end up meeting and fucking in the elven baths in the Flotsam forest. As in, the legend about “if you’re in love, you can still hear the lovers’ sighs in the garden” came to being because Roche is fucking loud lmao. Also, roses of remembrance. 😉

Sort of series fics, but technically stand alone. AKA apparently I decided I wanted to do Themes.

Theme 1: Possessiveness aka all the kinky sex kinda embarrassed to admit to these which is dumb because fuck shame

Piss fic - uh, kinda what it sounds like? Roche decides to be an asshole and refuses to move out of the way when Iorveth tries to get to the bathroom - and somehow this turns into Iorveth pissing on his crotch.

Come inflation + piss fic - Roche gets a potion that makes him come a lot. Iorveth likes it and wants more.

Possessiveness - Iorveth has feelings about his nemesis and Roche does not know how to feel about this.

Tentacles + Breeding - a tentacle/vine plant instinctively tries to lay its eggs in Roche. Iorveth is not okay with this plant going for his enemy... until it turns out Roche is very much here for it. And also for Iorveth fertilizing the eggs after they’ve been laid.

Dream - Roche dreams about Iorveth being an elven king and himself being essentially Iorveth’s plaything, to use and to show off

Theme 2: King Roche aka hey, wouldn’t it be funny if he ended up in charge? He would hate it so much

Murder husbands - Iorveth breaks into the palace and finds the very unhappy “King” Roche, then they go run away and kill war criminals together. But of course Roche could never abandon Temeria, so he’s still in charge by day. But by night, it’s murder time.

Okay, technically this has like a line written for it, BUT bodyguard AU where Roche knows he’s gonna get assassinated without protection once he becomes king, and only Iorveth is allowed to kill him. So only makes since for Iorveth to become his bodyguard.

Arranged Marriage AU - inspired by softestpunk’s The Gift, I literally just want cracky fun where they are forced to get married and they hate it but also fall in love. That’s it, that’s the story.

Holy fuck, I have a lot of WiPs. But I think that’s all the Iorveth/Roche ones. Which is not to say I don’t have more, but rn, I am hyperfixated on these idiots, so these are the ones I am actively writing.

#rorveth #iorveth x roche #the witcher #the witcher 2 #long post #My fic

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swynlake-rp · 2 years

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“This is Dopey, he don’t talk none.”

FULL NAME: Devyn Morey BASED ON: Dopey (Snow White) FACE CLAIM: Chella Mann PRONOUNS: They/He BIRTHDAY: December 12, 2002 CURRENT STATUS: Taken

Character Information

Devyn is the youngest of the Morey brothers, a family famous in town both for adopting Magick children and their illustrious construction company.

Devyn’s time in the foster care system was not extensive. They were tossed in only months after they were born, when strange manifestations of light and color began to periodically appear around them. Clearly an infant with a Gift, it was not long before they were placed under the care of the Morey’s. It was clear to the couple that a disabled Deaf child with an uncontrollable Gift would not be treated kindly by the system, so they adopted him.

As suspected, growing up was not easy, even in the loving environment that the Morey’s fostered. Devyn’s Gift was discovered to be thought projection, manifesting countless wants, desires, fears, and irrationalities before they could even attempt to communicate them. In some ways, this was extremely helpful, giving them the avenue to convey meaning while they were still learning sign language. However, in many ways it was just as harmful, as many of their feelings were not ones meant to be immediately shared, consistently offending and hurting the people around them.

Nowhere were these problems harnessed more clearly than at school. Devyn suffered from several learning disabilities that were projected for everyone to see the ways in which they struggled. They were given the nickname “Dopey” and bullied throughout much of primary school.

However, this did not last forever. No matter how bad things got at school, Devyn would always come home to a loving family with supportive brothers who helped them every step of the way. As the years went on, they became better at controlling their Gift, only projecting their thoughts that they wanted to share, rather than them manifesting spontaneously. They developed a system of sign language, writing, and thought projection that allowed them to communicate better with their peers, and their relationships improved. They explored themselves and their identity, taking on the label of genderqueer while medically transitioning to be more comfortable.

By the time they graduated secondary school (and they did, despite a lot of struggling and being held back a year), it seemed like they really sorted their life out. They were a happy-go-lucky, positive person, with lots of friends, hobbies, and extracurriculars to lean on. It was an obvious choice to go to Pride University, as they could not possibly imagine leaving behind the life they built for themselves in Swynlake.

But things slowly fell apart in their first year. They had a very rough time adjusting to dormitory life, greatly missing their family and home, despite it being close by. The academics at university level were like none they’d ever seen before, and their grades plummeted. By the end of the year, they’d only barely managed not to fail out and had a mental breakdown. After a rough summer, it was decided to take a gap year and see where things end up.

Things have recovered in that time. Living at home with their parents and some of their brothers, they’ve leaned heavily into their online art career, which has started to take off. They’ve got a job at the local market, volunteer at the community center, and participate in activities all around town. But still, they miss their friends, and they hold a deep shame about “falling even further behind” than their peers. They want to return to university and give it another go, but is this truly the path for them?

✓ Compassionate, patient, inquisitive

✖ Confused, unruly, childish

Character Suggestions

None

Current Relationships

Dian Morey (brother, 1st born) Mahzar Morey (brother, 2nd born) Isaac Morey (brother, 3rd born) Elliot Morey (brother, 4th born) Sebastian Morey (brother, 5th born) Gem Morey (brother, 6th born)

Possible Relationships

click here!

Magical Abilities

Gifted – Thought Projection. Can project their own thoughts in thought bubbles as words and images. Through touch and concentration (and consent), they can project others' thoughts as well, though they struggle with this part of their ability. While they have gained better control over the years, they will still sometimes project subconsciously.

#snow white #allch #genderdiversech #magicch #gifted #snowwhitech #takench #takengenderdiversech

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caelystrae · 7 years

Text

Two Ghosts (Standing in the Place of You and Me)

Read it on AO3.

Pairing: Anamercy

Rating: E

Words: 7.5k+

Whatever Ana might have expected, it is not this: Angela pulling her into a hug, as soon as the door is closed, arms trembling around her not with anger but with some other, unnameable emotion. Whatever she might have expected it is not this: lips on her skin and roaming hands, two eyes desperately trying to make contact with her own remaining one. Whatever she might have expected it is not this: a second chance at having something she thought long lost.

Or,

Ana finally answers the Recall, and receives a far warmer welcome than she could have anticipated.

Returning to Overwatch goes much how Ana expected it would; Reinhardt is tearful, Lena is overjoyed, and Fareeha is a knot of emotions, all felt and expressed at once.

(Who could blame her? Certainly not Ana.)

For the most part, being once again at Watchpoint: Gibraltar is—not routine, because there are some things, like dying, and explosions, after which nothing can be routine again, but they are—familiar, in the same way returning to one’s childhood home seems familiar. Despite a number of changes, mostly to Ana herself, and to the other people gathered, there is a sameness to rejoining Overwatch. Some things, it seems, can never change (even when she has wanted them to).

This is not, of course, to say that everything is as she left it; yes, she takes the same quarters she once occupied, and yes, owing in part to Fareeha’s presence on base, her favorite tea can still be found in the kitchen, but some people are notably absent.

Gabriel, for one, and for obvious reasons.

Jack, whom she last saw in pursuit of the former.

Angela, too, is absent. On base, or so Winston assures Ana when she asks, but—elsewhere. Wherever it is that Ana is not.

That Angela has made herself scarce should not come as a surprise to Ana; for all that they were lovers, once, it was purely in the euphemistic, physical sense, and if there was any deeper affection there, they never spoke of it. Furthermore, for all that Angela can be downright showy in many ways, there are parts of herself she likes to hide, such as anger.

To the public, and to those who do not know her well, Angela is a bright, shining thing, is kind and caring and calm, and certainly, she has the capacity to be all of those things, but that is not all she is. Sometimes, Ana knows, that tranquil smile masks a slowly building anger, one Angela would not dare show the public, for fear of losing face, fear of how they would think of her, fear that if she is not likeable, then she will be alone. In private, Ana has seen her shake with anger, be reduced to tears as she tries so hard to repress the feeling, to modulate her emotions and reach what she considers an acceptable level of anger, of fear, of sadness.

(It was beneficial to both of them, then, their arrangement—Ana was someone to whom Angela could express those feelings, before whom she could be vulnerable, and in turn Angela was someone whom, even if only for the duration of a given scene, Ana had some control over, even as Jack and Gabriel’s disputes grew beyond her ability to mediate—and Ana wonders what Angela has done, in the meantime. Reverted to her old unhealthy mechanisms of coping, perhaps, or found someone else? The former is more likely, but Ana hopes for the unlikeliest scenario of all: that Angela has found some equilibrium, even if Ana herself never could.)

Given what Ana knows of Angela, she expects one of two outcomes when she arrives at the door to her quarters: first, that Angela will put up the same calm, distant mask she does before others, when feeling something unpleasant, and politely greet Ana before finding some excuse to dismiss her, or second, that Angela will be furious, and expect Ana to step right in and take control, stealing her anger from her as happened so many times before.

(Third, of course, is the option—slim—that Angela will simply be angry, and that will be that, but Ana has a harder time picturing this; would Angela yell? Would she hiss? Would she say nothing at all? In the most heated of meetings, years ago, Angela’s voice would grow hard and her words would be cold and precise, then later she would shake and sob while Ana tied buried three fingers in her. Such an outcome seems unlikely today, for many reasons.)

Whatever Ana might have expected, it is not this: Angela pulling her into a hug, as soon as the door is closed, arms trembling around her not with anger but with some other, unnameable emotion.

(This is not the first time Ana considers that, perhaps, they lied to themselves when they laid the boundaries of their arrangement, but this time, the thought is not so easily dismissed.)

Rather than say anything, at first, Ana simply pulls Angela in closer, allows herself to hold someone for the first time in years, and to be held in turn. When she breathes in, she expects Angela will still smell the same, and it will be almost as if time never passed, save for the fact that this time, it is Angela who holds her.

Of course, things are not the same, and Angela smells different—is different. It is a little thing, a change in perfume, but it is enough to startle Ana from the moment of fantasy she has indulged in, pretending as if Angela were her lover in all senses of the word, and this some touching reunion.

(Angela never loved her, and she never loved Angela, so both of them said—it ought, still, to hold true.)

“Aren’t you angry?” she asks, stepping back, tilting her head up just slightly to meet Angela in the eye.

You should be, is the implication, and she knows Angela hears it in her tone, wonders if it will be taken as she might have meant it once, a judgement, a condemnation of the way Angela deals with feelings, or if it will be heard, instead, as it is intended now: an acknowledgement that Angela would have the right to be angry, after Ana left as she did.

(Ana is not the woman she was when she left; it is easier, now, to admit her own culpability.)

“Of course,” says Angela, brow furrowing, “But I’m happy too and—can’t we have just this?”

Just once?

Ana is not certain. What would it do to them, to allow such a change? Would they truly be able to go back to being what they were afterwards? She does not think so.

But, then, perhaps they could not do so already. Perhaps the past is already lost to them—they have changed, both of them, have they not?

What, then, is there to lose?

So she kisses Angela, and it is different, already, from the way things were, gentler, sweeter. Ana does not quite know what to make of the change, is not sure she is deserving of such tenderness—but she will take what she is offered, for she has always been good at taking things.

(Sometimes, she has worried that taking is the only thing she is good at, any longer, taking technology, taking leave, taking lives. She worries that she takes too much and gives too little.)

When Angela half-leads half-pulls her to the bed, Ana finds herself giving in.

Just this once.

It is strange, to let herself be led by Angela, strange to see how Angela has matured—not that she was immature, before, but she is older now, certainly, crow’s feet beginning at the corners of her eyes, and weight that was not there before pads her hips and thighs—strange to think that the woman before her now, thirty-seven years old, is not young, in any sense of the word, but is younger still than Ana was when the two of them met.

When they break apart for a moment, Angela catches her stare, but what she thinks of it, Ana does not know, for she says nothing, and they are not so close, now, that Ana can anticipate her thoughts. Years apart have taken that from them.

(But perhaps things, once lost, can been regained—has she not returned?)

This time, unlike years past, they do not undress one another—probably, Ana thinks, this is for the best, she doubts Angela would know where to find the pins in her hijab, does not want the fabric carelessly damaged. In time, they can relearn this step, she can teach Angela where the pins are and how to fold the fabric. They may not have a feel for one another just yet, but things can be (re)learned, if need be.

When Ana has finished divesting herself of her clothing, she turns, and takes the opportunity to truly look at her lover, for the first time in years. What she intends to be a thorough and drawn out cataloguing of changes is cut quite short when Angela turns around and Ana realizes that what she had previously assumed to be the same silicone inserts of years previous are now organic breasts, flesh and blood and fat, are part of Angela’s body, and not only adhesives. It catches her quite off guard—in the half a dozen years they were lovers, Angela only spoke of any sort of medical transition as a distant, nebulous thing, to happen, perhaps, once her life had settled down.

(Of course, her life never did settle down. Things grew worse and more turbulent steadily and steadily until finally nothing else could go wrong and Overwatch imploded and exploded both.)

She must stare a moment too long—and truthfully, she does not mean to, does not mean to stare at all, only wonders what changed and how she could have missed it—because then Angela is crossing her arms over her chest in a way that could almost be shy, were it not for the fact that Ana cannot reconcile shyness with the woman she once knew.

“I should have mentioned…” Angela says, teeth sinking into her lower lip at the end of the statement. It is not an apology—nor should it be—or an expression of shame or embarrassment; she is simply considering. “Well, next time.”

Perhaps, Ana thinks, this is new to her also.

(Ana wants to ask if Angela is happier now, but does not know if such a question would be appropriate, or quantifiable. In any case, they were never close enough to want to ask such things before, and simultaneously too close to need to ask them.)

“You look beautiful,” Ana says, in lieu of something more meaningful, unable and unwilling both to delve deeper, to threaten whatever temporary peace they have found themselves in, “You always do.”

“They’re smaller than I had hoped,” Angela confesses, and moves her hand to cup one breast, as if weighing it.

(This phrasing puts Ana back in the territory of the familiar—Angela has always referred to parts of her body as if they were some foreign object, something wholly separate, and not a part of herself. In the past, Ana could not imagine what it must be like to conceive of oneself in a way that is so fragmented, to think of the body and the mind as two separate pieces of something greater, but now, having been both herself and the Shrike, she thinks knows.)

"But," Angela adds, a coy smile playing at the corner of her lips, "Much more sensitive.”

"Really now?” Ana asks her. "I suppose I'll have to determine the truth of that myself, hmm?"

"Well," says Angela, huffing a little laugh. "That is what you came for, yes?"

It is not, in fact, what Ana came for—but, then, she also does not know what precisely she was thinking, what she expected from coming here, and this is much better, in any case, that any outcome she imagined, and so she does not contest the assertion when Angela pulls her in for a kiss, follows her one-time lover onto the bed without so much as a second thought.

(That is not to say she will not second guess this, later, but for now, it feels right.)

While Angela leading her might be a change from the usual order of things, they quickly cross into the territory of the familiar once they are on the bed itself, and Ana finds herself on top of Angela, lips returning to their favorite spot on Angela's neck. Time has not changed everything, and the little sigh her attention elicits is the same as it was before.

Similar, too, is the feeling of Angela's hands on her body, clinging to her as surely as they ever did, one fisted in her hair and one moving down to grab her ass, pulling her in as close as is possible.

There is difference, however, when she moves to play with Angela's breasts—it seems the assessment of much more sensitive was not an exaggeration. Certainly, Ana is not complaining; Angela always did make such pretty noises, and some part of her did worry about this, not that she would have forgotten what it is that Angela likes, but that perhaps after so many years she would no longer be attractive enough for this. While she does not think she is ugly, not by any stretch of the imagination, she knows that she is decidedly older, and the twenty-three years between them may not have mattered as much, when she was just beginning to grey and to wrinkle, but seven years apart changes many things.

Many things, but not this, not the way her name is gasped as she plays with a nipple, not the way Angela arches into her touch and bares her throat—a surrender, in years previous and now something else, a sign of trust. Time has not changed her ability to please Angela, to draw a response from her and to please her.

Or, so she thinks.

When she reaches down, intending to assess just how close Angela is, she finds her still soft.

Immediately, she pulls back from her place at Angela's breast, moves so she can look her lover in the eye.

"Are you not enjoying this?” she asks, and if she were anyone else, her voice might waver, and while a part of her is embarrassed, uncertain, insecure, the greater part of her is concerned, concerned that this is not something Angela wants, not really, or that she has done something wrong.

"What?” is the answer, and Angela seems genuinely confused.

"You're...” Ana gestures vaguely with one hand towards Angela's crotch.

"Oh!" and now, Angela looks away, a blush blooming on her cheeks which is distinct from her earlier flush of arousal. "It doesn't really...” she trails off, and then her tone switches to the same clinical one Ana has heard time and again outside of this room, "Estradiol injections have an adverse effect on the ability to maintain erectile function.” If, perhaps, she says the words a bit hastily, betraying some emotion that need not be named, Ana will not comment on it.

"Should we stop, then?” Of all the ways Ana had considered this reunion going awry, this was admittedly an unexpected one.

"No!" says Angela, perhaps a bit more forcefully than is necessary. "I mean... not unless you want to?"

Now Angela looks nervous, and Ana is quick to reassure her, "Not at all, I just need you to tell me what to do differently.”

"Could we just go back to what we were doing before? It was nice.”

Ana certainly has no objections—her arousal has faded considerably as they were talking, and starting again from the beginning ought to help that. So she returns to what she was doing, hands finding Angela's breasts again, and allowing Angela to take a turn sucking at her neck for a moment.

(She considers it fortunate that it is considerably harder to visibly mark her skin than it is to mark Angela's—although her lover is flippant in her use of nanobiotics to heal embarrassing bruises, Ana is a bit more cautious about an over-reliance on the technology.)

This time, what is different stands out to Ana more readily than what is similar—the way their breasts now brush up against each other, the fact that Angela's bangs and her own eyepatch being on opposite sides prevents them from easily making eye contact as they do this, the way her voice, changed both by age and disuse, sounds as she gasps Angela's name.

For all that is different, this is certainly no worse. Perhaps her knees are more quickly growing sore from kneeling than they used to, and perhaps things were briefly a bit awkward, but she is no less wet than ever by the time Angela moves a hand down to slide a finger between her folds, cannot help but rock into the motion.

She shivers as Angela whispers into her ear—and she does not catch the exact words, far more focused on the sound of her own heartbeat, but she knows well enough the meaning and suddenly everything is too much.

(She was dead, she was dead she was dead she was dead. She was dead, and gone, and this was too, and she was never to have it again. After years alone to suddenly be here, be back like this and to have this—admission, this confession before her, a desire long unfulfilled suddenly offered her—she is not ready, does not deserve this.)

When she hears it, she does not jerk back, is careful, does not want to ruin everything by not being able, yet, to return the sentiment she just—refocuses. Switches targets. Changes objectives.

(Running from things again, she thinks, and it is not untrue, but if anyone else were to say it she would say she is only buying time.)

Beneath her, Angela's back is arched, her breathing growing more labored, and Ana thinks This is the perfect distraction, knows that if she can only divert Angela's attention elsewhere, she will not need to answer the question, not until she is ready to do so.

So, she says nothing, only moves her mouth again to Angela's neck, hands kneading her lover's breasts and teasing her nipples, feels the heartbeat under her tongue increase as Angela's voice changes in pitch and volume, until she is gasping, begging.

"Please," says Angela, and then again, "Please, Ana.”

(Once, Angela might have called her another by her rank, or callsign, or something else entirely, but after so long spent living as not-herself it is nice, now, for Ana to hear her own name like this, to have her identity reaffirmed so.)

"What should I do?” she asks, because although she knew, once, the answer to her question, she has learned the value in asking questions, in their years apart.

"Want you inside me," Angela answers, and Ana feels a familiar stab of arousal in response—there is some power culturally ascribed to the act of penetrating, and outside of this room Ana would be quick to scoff, to dismiss it as men being as they are, but instead... well, there is something uniquely heady about knowing Angela allows her to take a position of power, to know that Angela, proud and stubborn, surrenders to her.

The lubricant is still in the top bedside drawer, tucked in next to a pair of toys and a box of tissues, although the condoms she might once have found next to it have disappeared. Although it may not be strictly necessary, she reaches for it anyway, makes quick work of slicking her fingers, and nearly as easily gets to work at fingering Angela.

It is not immediate, locating and slipping into a canal, and she is gentle as she does it, but things quickly fall into a familiar rhythm and it is not long before she finds herself slipping two fingers into Angela—in fact, the whole process is much faster than she remembered it being. That could just be the effect of time, however, and it really does not seem worth asking in the moment.

(They will have time enough for questions later, about many things; a part of her cannot help but note that it never seemed like such a luxury before.)

After a few exploratory thrusts, Ana finds what she is looking for, knows she has brushed against Angela’s inguinal nerve by the reaction she gets from her lover: a sudden jerk of hips, a gasping breath, eyes squeezing shut. Finding it took a moment longer than she might have considered usual, years before, but the sensations Angela experiences are clearly the same.

Pleased with herself, Ana shifts her weight, knees moving to bracket Angela’s thighs and free hand and forearm up beside Angela’s torso, supporting her weight so she can bring her mouth to Angela’s breasts, can tease and lick and suck and see what new reactions she can draw from Angela.

(It is a good thing, she thinks, that she wears her hair braided now—if it were loose it would get in the way, and she has not a spare hand to move it.)

Despite the not inconsiderable amount of time they spent on foreplay, she goes slowly, knows that doing so will get the best reaction out of Angela—and knows, too, that hearing her lover beg is quite scintillating for herself, and this is the best way to go about it. She times her movements carefully, circling a nipple with her tongue as she curls her fingers inside Angela, nipping lightly at the edge of her breast in time with a hard thrust.

Soon, one of Angela’s own hands moves to the breast Ana has been ignoring—she can see it in the periphery with her one good eye—and the other comes to join Ana’s hand, arm bent at what must surely be an awkward angle in order to entwine their fingers. It is… sweet, and unexpected, and utterly unlike what Ana has come to expect from the two of them, and she can feel her eye begin to mist slightly in response to the unexpected tenderness.

(She never thought she would feel such things with Angela, and once she became the Shrike she thought she could not feel such things with anyone.)

To distract herself, she redoubles her efforts, increasing the speed of her motions and feeling Angela react above her, below her, around her. She feels as Angela’s fingers tighten around her own, hears gasps turn to moans, notes the feeling of Angela’s thighs tensing and untensing between her knees.

Angela is, of course, not the only one feeling the effects of this, Ana finds herself growing wetter in response to the way Angela is saying her name, the feeling of Angela tight around her fingers, the knowledge that she can still provoke such a response.

It has been quite some time since she was involved with anyone else sexually, and it seems like longer still since she was able to think of herself as sensual, or desirable. But now, after years away, to see that for all that she looks differently—acts differently, thinks differently—some part of her elicits the same reactions, is no less attractive than she once was… it is a heady thing.

Also heady is the way she can smell Angela and herself both, their scents combined with sweat and arousal, and the taste of salt beneath her lips. Above her, the sounds Angela is making are increasing in volume, and she feels the hand she is not holding move between them, reaching downward.

Briefly, she entertains the idea of sitting back, grabbing Angela's wrist, and finishing off her lover herself, but she is not certain, quite, what she might need to do differently, does not want to interrupt this with more fumbling, more questions—she is impatient now, not only from arousal but because she feels her knees growing more sore by the moment, the arm supporting her wait beginning to tremble from the effort. Maintaining this position for so long is not so easy as it once was.

Despite being tired, she cannot help that her hips roll a little against empty air as she hears Angela begin to plead in earnest, hears her beg, a familiar litany of please and more and her name, over and over, Ana, Ana, Ana.

(Ana decidedly does not think of a phrase beginning with a word that sounds all too similar, dare not do so, but she hears it all the same, in Angela's tone, heard it years ago, if she is honest with herself, but, then, she was rarely honest with herself, not when she could avoid it. Time and distance have made such things harder for her, have provided greater perspective for the both of them.)

"Please," Angela is gasping, "Ana, please," and Ana realizes that oh, she is still waiting, still obeying rules Ana would not have dreamed applied any longer.

So Ana does sit back, moves so she can look Angela in one eye, their intertwined hands forcing their arms to half hang in the air between them, and orders her to come.

The effect is immediate, Angela's thighs closing tightly, her back bowing, her grip on Ana's outstretched hand tightening. She is beautiful like this, much as she ever was, and there is too much to look at all at once, and so instead Ana just maintains eye contact, watches an unnamable emotion pass behind Angela's eyes as this happens, rocks her own center against her forearm in the meantime to relieve some pressure.

Unlike in the past, Angela does not say anything as this happens—makes no noise at all—and so what it is Ana now knows stays hanging between them for the duration of the moment, there but not, a specter not unlike their history—

—Until, abruptly, the moment ends, Angela dropping her half-raised arm, head turning away from Ana's gaze, her now free hand reaching to the side table to grab tissues.

Unsure, suddenly, of what she ought to do, and feeling somewhat voyeuristic, watching Angela clean herself up, Ana moves to sit slightly to the side; in the past, this was always her job, was filed under the umbrella of aftercare, but now, it seems, Angela can handle herself, is more than willing to clean up her own messes.

"There we go," says Angela, signaling she is clean, and drawing Ana's attention back to her face, "Now it's your turn.”

The second sentence is accompanied with a gesture, and Ana knows the meaning immediately.

"Ah, no," says she, not unkindly but with enough firmness that the Angela of seven years ago would have taken it as an order, and left it unquestioned.

But the woman before her is not the woman of seven years ago, so a question does follow, and swiftly, "Why ever not? I seem to remember you quite enjoying it.”

Ana huffs—that is true, Angela's mouth has always been good for more than just asking petulant questions, and there is something unquestionably dominant about the position—and then answers, "I'm sore," says she. "That was more than enough kneeling before.”

Angela hums, considering, before she perks up and says, "Well, there are benefits to fucking the doctor you know.”

"No," says Ana firmly.

"But—"

"No. I may not have been here, but I know well enough that the PETRAS Act impeded your ability to finish testing. You still don't know the long term effects of nanobiotics, so I won't have them used on me so casually.”

(Never mind that Ana has been using them on others, but that is a conversation for another day, and she rather suspects that if she mentions the rifle to Angela now then she will not get a chance to come, either kneeling over Angela or on her back.)

For a moment, Angela looks as if she wants to say something else, expression pleased and confused, before she seems to quell the thought, and return to the matter at hand. "Well, I suppose I could get on the floor and you could stand over me, if you like. I mean, it isn't the most comfortable, for either of us, but it works. Or there's the chair, which—"

"Angela," Ana interrupts her, before things somehow get more complicated, "There's a much simpler way to do all this.” She pats the bed with the hand which is not covered in lube as she says it.

A brief frown makes the wrinkles that have appeared on Angela's face deeper, "I thought you didn't like to be... you know.” The statement is followed by a vague gesture.

"It's fine," she answers.

(In this context, with the two of them as equals, it is fine. In this year, the old Overwatch being entirely destroyed, and gone with it the dread Ana felt then, the terrible overwhelming anxiety and inability to let down her guard for even a moment, it is fine. In this scenario, the two of them having changed and been changed, it is fine. Allowing herself to feel vulnerable is no longer the danger it once was.)

"If you're certain...”

"I am," says she, as much strength in her voice as there ever was.

For a moment, they are still, before Angela breaks the silence again, "Well, I suppose you should just lie down then.”

Ana laughs, then, cannot help it, "You're currently lying on top of all three of the pillows, Angela.”

"Oh," says Angela, "Scheisse," but she too, is laughing a bit as the two of them switch positions, bumping into each other awkwardly as the dipping of the bed offsets Angela's balance.

It takes a moment for both of them to settle, even after they have switched places, for the laughter to fade and the mood to return somewhat, but it does, and then Angela is the one leaning over her, bangs tickling Ana's cheek.

"Do you mind?” she asks, fingers trailing the edge of Ana's eyepatch.

Does she? Ana is not certain.

"It's hardly attractive," she answers, to avoid having to ask the question of herself.

"I guarantee I've seen worse," is Angela's reply, and Ana supposes this must be true. She is still considering whether or not to remove it when Angela adds, "You're going to get sweaty, too. It'll be gross, if it isn't already.”

That, at least, she cannot object to, and it does feel a bit silly to cover the old injury in front of Angela, whose job has put her in a position to see many a more recent, messy injury. So she brings her own hands up to her face, brushing Angela's aside, and takes the eyepatch off, setting it aside on the nightstand. This somehow feels more vulnerable than nudity, more vulnerable than lying on her back and allowing Angela to crouch over her.

For her part, Angela does not react badly—looks for a moment as if she is studying the injury, assessing it, but does not say anything. Instead, she presses a kiss to the tattoo beneath it, whispers a word of thanks, and carries on her way, pressing a kiss to the corner of Ana's mouth, then to her neck, trailing lower and lower.

There is a tenderness, here that did not exist before—or, perhaps, one that was not allowed—a reverence to the way Angela's lips touch her skin, and the way clever fingers trail over all the new blemishes on Ana's skin, the scars, the sagging, the stretch marks made more evident by time. While Angela might have respected her before, might have been awed, that awe was in in the classical sense, with a respect towards potential for destruction, whereas now there is simply wonder, disbelief, and with it an aching gentleness, one the two of them have never known.

(A part of Ana wishes Angela were rougher, wishes she did not need to watch the emotions play across her lover's face as each new scar is revealed to her—but she cannot stand to look away, knows that now is not the time to run, not if she wants to ever be able to return again. Still, this would be simpler if only Angela were rougher, if only this were something more like what Ana were used to. Anger, she can defend against, and all other harsh things, but she is unaccustomed now to anything soft, does not know how to react to being treated so nicely.)

For a long time, Angela's gaze lingers upon one scar in particular, a shrapnel wound in Ana's abdomen. It would have killed her without nanobiotic intervention, nearly still did, as her supply of grenades and bullets dwindled—and Angela must recognize the severity, must know from the way it is healed that it ought to have killed, if not for extraordinary means. Her fingers trail along it, and her lips after, and Ana shivers in response, feels her nipples harden just a little bit more, and the physical reaction is distraction enough to compel Angela to move on.

Words will be had later, Ana is certain, a lecture on when field medicine is inadequate, but there are many other fights looming of greater priority too, You left, and You took, and You should have all awaiting them both, so she can hardly worry about it now.

(Even in the moment, she did not worry about it. A dead woman cannot be killed.)

Far more pleasant things exist to dwell upon, in the moment, and living in the moment is what kept Ana alive, in the between years, so it is easy for her to brush all thoughts of past, future, past-become-future, future-become-past from her head.

She refocuses just as she learned to, a deep breath, eye closing, focus turned only to sensation—a mattress, too soft beneath her, cool air against her skin where sweat has risen, heat as her internal temperature rises, soft lips moving to suck at the point of one hip, and an aching.

With one hand, she moves to nudge Angela's head over, to move things along, pushing Angela from her hip to her center, and Angela obliges, though Ana can feel her lips curling into a smile as she presses one last kiss—amusement, presumably, at the impatience so uncharacteristic of a sniper.

Ana opens her thighs to give Angela space, and is glad she does not have to ask for this; begging always was Angela's realm.

Of course, this does not mean Angela will oblige her immediately, does not mean that they are not equals in stubbornness. Instead of doing what it is that Ana wills, Angela bites and sucks along her inner thighs, and Ana finds herself unsure whether to arch into it or to squirm away. Angela is so close to where Ana wants her, yet so far away, and each time Angela turns her head she just barely brushes against Ana's exposed sex, in a way that is certainly not accidental.

Rolling her hips a bit towards Angela's face, Ana hopes to force the issue without betraying herself, without losing whatever small battle of wills they have found themselves in—so unlike the games they played in years before, given the reversal of roles, but so similar in other ways—but seven years is a very long time, and Ana almost wonders if losing might not be worth it, here.

Almost.

Instead she bites her lip, tries not to think too hard about what it is she would very much like her lover to be doing right now, and instead brings both her hands to her breasts, hoping that the motion will draw Angela's eye, that the image will be enough to spur her lover to action. She bites her lip as she does so, not wanting to give away how much she wants this, how much the delay, now and before, has frustrated her.

Still, when a particularly sharp nip from Angela accidentally syncs up with a flick of her nipple, she realizes that this is a game she will not win, does not want to, if waiting longer is the win condition available to her.

(Never mind that her wetness must have given her away already, anyway. She has been noticeably so since before she was ever inside Angela, and that is something she cannot mask, even if her pride demands she save face elsewhere.)

If she cannot win like this, she will do as she has always done—in the bedroom, and elsewhere—will change the rules to suit her favor. If Angela will not touch where she wants her to, well, she will touch herself. No matter what, she will not beg, cannot be made to ask for this.

(Before, only pride would have prevented her from doing so, but now, it is more than that, is not only pride but a need to know she does not rely on others, a need to feel that she can care for herself, here or anywhere.)

One hand she brings up to the headboard, giving herself something to hold onto, and the other she brings downward trigger finger sliding through coarse hair before finding her clit. She is not gentle—never is, with herself—and does nothing to hide the moan that escapes when, at last, she is able to find some relief.

That draws Angela's attention, and it is only a moment before she is being hoisted up, thighs over shoulders, hand pushed out of the way by Angela's nose as she moves to finally, finally satisfy Ana.

Had the teasing not gone on so long, she might be embarrassed by the immediacy of her reaction, by how much her thighs are already trembling, by the way she is already rocking into Angela's face, by the way her hand buries itself in Angela's hair, pushing her head forward. She might be, but she is not—she has waited long enough.

After so long, it does not seem as if Angela has forgotten any of what she likes, clever tongue remembering the rhythm from years before—one loose circle followed by two tighter ones and then a flick at the clit—and Ana can already feel the hot coil of arousal deep in her stomach, knows that if she wanted to, she could orgasm soon with just a little effort on either of their parts, and as alluring as that sounds, as much as she wants this, has wanted this, a part of her is not ready, yet, for anything to end, so she nudges Angela's face a little lower, to tease at her entrance, and allows the heat to uncoil slightly, allows the tension to fade a bit, her heartbeat slowing slightly and breathing more regular.

(Once this ends, she is afraid of what will happen, does not know where the arguments to come will leave them, does not know if she will ever again be able to be with Angela in this way, or if they will instead lapse into their old ways, will find themselves again unable to be open before one another outside of their prescribed roles. So she fights it ending, lets the orgasm escape her, allows them just a few minutes longer of this little interlude.)

It is not unpleasant, to feel Angela inside her, but such has never been enough for Ana—not with any partner—to result in an orgasm, and likely never will be. Still, there is something to be said for the knowledge that her lover is inside her, that she is vulnerable now in a way she rarely allows herself to be, and that Angela sees her like this and does not mind, does not care that she is not the same woman she once was, is not the same Captain who was strong, and brave, and never accessible in any way, was almost aloof, the knowledge that she is different, now, after her return, but it does not matter.

(She would be lying if she said that she could have anticipated even that she would want this, but want it she does. After too many years of being too strong she wants to be allowed to be weak, and to do so in a way that is not selfish, is not her leaving behind all that she has known, is normal, human weakness.)

Soon enough, Angela grows bored of just teasing, moves her attention to sucking at Ana's labia, teasing and pulling on them with her lips and tiny scrapes of her tongue—deliberate, in her intent to only excite but not to get Ana close, again, to orgasm.

Perhaps she still believes that she could win this, that Ana conceded by allowing her first potential orgasm to fizzle out, that she will wring a request from Ana yet.

She will not, of course, could never make Ana beg—would only ever get a command at best—but optimism is something that Ana's lover has never lacked, is to be seen in the way she pursues the impossible professionally, ethically, and here.

Knowing this, Ana teases her a little, lets free a few sounds that she might never otherwise, allows Angela to think that she is more desperate than she is, hears, feels Angela's corresponding hum of contentment. It is all the confirmation that Ana needs.

"Angela," she starts as if she were begging, and wishes she could see the grin she can feel pressed against her. Then again, "Angela.”

For a moment she thinks she has overplayed it—undercover missions were never Ana's forte—but then Angela is pulling back just slightly, looking so smug, "Yes, Ana?” Her voice is almost saccharine.

"You'll have to try harder than that," says she, flatly as is possible given the situation.

This, at least, startles a laugh out of Angela, a little shake of her head, and then they are moving again, Angela's lips and tongue finding her clit once more.

This time, there will be no backing down, will be no putting off an orgasm. She can feel it already, in the way her spine is arching into it, in the speeding of her heart, in the way both of her hands grip harder, one on the headboard and one in Angela's hair, pulling blonde bangs out of her face to make this easier.

Of course, Ana can hardly focus on the sudden eye contact, finds herself almost entirely absorbed by sensation, by the desire of all her muscles to tighten until they can do so no longer, all feeling focused on a single point of her body.

So close, Ana thinks, so close, so close, so fucking close.

Just one more hard suck, just one more graze of teeth, and she will finally, finally come. She closes her eye in anticipation of the sensation, bites down on her lip to silence herself and, and—

—And her attention is snapped away at the last minute by Angela moving a hand to snap near her face.

Fuck.

"Angela," she grits out.

They are, it seems, at an impasse.

Or, so Ana thinks. Angela has something else in mind.

"I want you to look at me," she says, breaking rhythm only long enough to get the words out, the feeling of her breath an almost unbearable tease in and of itself.

Well. Ana is not a fan of compromise, not really, it always tastes to her vaguely of defeat, but when Angela is keeping her on the edge like this, not giving her that one final push she needs—a concession may be worthwhile. Just this once.

So she concedes, opens her good eye and looks it with one of Angela’s, and it does not seem so much like losing now, as she feels Angela suck on her just so, and she thinks—

—She does not think, because that little movement, and Angela’s gaze upon her, and the way she has been tensing in preparation for what feels like so long now are enough, and there is hardly room for thought anymore, only sensation, the pulsing of her muscles and the clenching of her thighs, the way her heart races and head spins.

(Perhaps compromise need not always be a defeat.)

Throughout everything, Angela’s eyes are meeting her own eye, and she could not look away even if she wanted to. It might be nicer to say her gaze were one of defiance, a final small victory, but instead she is transfixed, is lost in feeling and space and time and possibility and Angela. Above all else, Angela.

But then, as most things do, it ends. They break eye contact and then the gulf of time and distance is there between them once more.

Angela is moving to wipe off her face, the sweat on their skin is cooling, and Ana is suddenly very thirsty. She gathers her strength to go walk into the bathroom, knowing that if she lets herself get comfortable now it will only be more unpleasant to stand up later, and ignores the slight shake to her legs as she does so.

When she returns, again, Angela’s clothes have found their way into a hamper, the sheets are once again straightened, and Angela is sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for her. Perhaps, if Ana ignores her, this conversation need not happen, she can just put on her clothes and walk out, and they can say all that it is they need to tomorrow, have this one night untarnished by past or future. She bends to grab her bra and—

“Please,” says Angela, “Stay.”

(In her voice, Ana thinks she can hear another conversation, thinks she can hear so many more words; Don’t leave, and Not again, and Not like everyone else.)

Like this, Angela easily seems seven years younger, naked before her as if the time never passed, and Ana finds herself wavering.

Should she stay? Likely, no—come tomorrow there will be conversations she would rather not have, about her leaving, about her rifle, about what Angela did say and what she yet cannot—but in coming back to Overwatch Ana is already acting against her own best interest and, well, what, then, is one thing more?

(How much could one night mean?)

“Alright,” says she, “Alright.”

Just this once.

#anamercy #ana amari #angela ziegler #this is just smut. like straight up 7.5k+ of smut

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hotcocosharing · 7 years

Text

Done With You Part 5 (KBTBB Angst)

Me as OC Hana hobo4lyfe11 as Eisuke

Eisuke’s POV

HANA! I’M COMING TO GET YOU!” were the last words spoken. The last words that captivated the attention of every man below. The last words uttered before the dance of bullets began, and first-blood was shed.

Nothing screams, “Come ambush me,” more than Ota literally screaming, “Anyone who wants to stop me can come and get me!” I guess thats why he was in charge of being the decoy.

Within a fraction of a second, several hundreds of gunshots can be heard. From the trees and bushes, flies swarms of projectiles that follow purposeful paths. The night is lit up from the sparks of light bouncing off of our cover. What better distraction is there than a full, blown-out war?

I use the diversion to disappear into the building through the back door and ascend the dark infrastructure slowly and cautiously. Finding my way up to the top floor, all evidence of the stealth approach is thrown out of the window as the sound of a resounding bang forces my pace to quicken, faster than I’ve ever moved before. Should I not die from the rescue mission itself, I felt like I was sure to die from worry and desperation alone.

The locked door separating me, from my Hana, may as well have not existed at all, because the adrenaline rushing through my blood, broke down the barrier like it was nothing. It felt effortless and easy, but promised a painful morning the next day. Before I even had a chance to assess my surroundings, a shadow looms over me, increasing in size as a dark red clothed body flies in my direction and throws me off balance.

“Baba?” I grunt, shoving him off of me.

“OH! Boss, you made it!” the thief sings cheerfully, all smiles, unbefitting of the situation and the fact that he was hurled across the room just a second ago. His light-hearted laugh is interrupted by the sound of a cocking of a gun. A man in grey has us held at point-blank range, “Hello, Mr Ichinomiya. It’s so nice to finally meet the man who ruined my father’s business and, as a result, destroyed my life. I wanted to return the favour by taking the thing most precious to you as you did, me!”

I stare at the man with a neutral expression. Half not wanting to boost his ego, knowing he held an advantage over us, half in thought. “Ah, you must not recognise me. Apologies on my part, I rudely forgot to introduce myself. Nice to meet you, I’m Keiji Ozaki, son of the the man you wrongfully stole the Burj Khalifa from, here to get my revenge.” He snickers, transitioning to a maniac, hysterical laugh, thinking he’s defeated us. How naive. Unfortunately for him, I always win.

I swiftly shoot his leg and he falls to the ground dramatically. His inexperience in this sort of matter clearly evident from not checking me for weapons.

“What an amateur,” I scoff defiantly, “It’s a shame you were destined for failure, being brought up under the control of your idiot-father. Too bad, I’m not one to pity, especially for those who think they can overthrow me so easily.” With my finger on the trigger and the barrel of my gun to his forehead, I’m prepared to end this once and for al—

!BOOM!

The ground shakes with incredible magnitude and I’m knocked onto the floor by the force. Keiji, expecting the bomb below, quickly dashes towards the bed and grabs a hold of Hana’s unconscious body. “Let go of her!” I yell, as shakily as the crumbling floor below me. Baba makes a half step forward with a gun directed at Ozaki by which he reclaims the distance by taking a half step back, towards the window.

“I’ll let her go, if you let me go,” he bargains as he presses his gun to the temple of her head.

Coward. Using a defenceless girl as a scapegoat, I guess he isn’t brainless after all. Baba and I are left powerless as we eye each other. He takes a chance and abruptly pushes Hana towards us, catching us off guard and making his escape out of the window.

Glass shards scatter in every direction, another bomb explodes and the ground quakes violently. “We have to get out of here!” concerns Baba, “The building is going to collapse. We have no choice but to jump!”

“WHAT?! Are you insane, Baba?”

“Relax Boss, if that clown escaped out that window then I’m sure we can, too!” he chirps, all, too happily.

“Fine, but you’re going first,” I say, “Wait, WH—“ I push him out of the window and he lands on the inflatable crash pad at the foot of the building. Well, I guess it’s our turn. I hold Hana in my arms and take a leap. Mid-air, stray bullets from the feud between the others and the enemy, pierce the crash pad in what feels like slow motion.

Crap! no. No. NO! No matter what, I have to protect her. Shifting our bodies hastily, I circle my arms around her tiny, fragile frame and tuck her head comfortably into my chest, embracing for the colossal impact that await our arrival below.

“BOSS!”

That was all I could hear in the midst of the gunfire and explosion before I felt the crack of my body against the deflating pad and the concrete ground. Ears ringing, sight fading, body breaking, Baba and Ota make their way to my paralysed body. “Take Hana and get back to the car, I’ll meet you there,” I groan with much difficulty. The dark lure of unconsciousness is so enticing but I’m doing everything I can to resist the temptation. “Not a chance! Ota you take Hana and I’ll support boss.”

We struggle on, back to our vehicle with Soryu, Mamoru and the Ice Dragon covering our backs. Heh, and they say they don’t care about each other… Seems like my trust in the bidders was absolute because in the protection of their hands, my body gives in and the darkness of slumber consumes me.

Light leaks into the slit of my eyes and the smell of chemicals stir me from my sleep. I open my heavy eyelids and prop myself up as more of my vision begins to return. “Where am I?” I question, striking pain flowing throughout my whole body. Pathetic. I can barely breathe without feeling like my lungs are about to collapse on themselves.

“You’re in my medical office.” Luke answers, “Hana’s being treated in the hospital. I knew you wouldn’t want to be held there and risk the public, catching wind of the situation, so I took the initiative of tending to you myself, here, in private.”

I’m thankful that Luke understands me so well, even during our boarding school days, he always seemed aloof, but could read everyone like a book.

“You have 3 broken ribs and about 4 fractures. I’m surprised you’re not completely paralysed, let alone able to move as you are.”

“Hmph, as if a few broken bones could stop me,” I banter, not sure if I believe myself.

“Just take it easy. I would advise bedrest for a couple of weeks at minimum, but you have a tendency of not listening, so I’ll leave you with some painkillers instead.”

“Thanks Luke,” I chuckle.

I make my way to the Hana’s hospital room with great effort, no thanks to my injuries, to make sure she is truly okay. The doctors inform me of her condition and the fact that she wasn’t defiled by those vile creatures. Thank God.

She looks beautiful. Despite the cuts and bruises that stain her fair skin, she still exudes an ethereal glow that draws my hand to her cheeks. Stunning. The slight flutter of her lashes that follows my soft caress, brings a smile to my face, one so unlike me, and one that is soon replaced by a frown.

I did this to her. I hurt her. I brought her into this life of suffering. I destroyed her.

I’m disgusted by my hand upon her pure form, “I need to fix this.”

Hana has returned to the penthouse after a long and lonely week. I’ve been tracking down Keiji and his father, who annoyingly escaped from prison, to make sure they can never go after her again. I haven’t had the chance to see her yet, and it pains me to send her to the guest room instead of our shared bedroom, but I couldn’t risk letting her seeing the papers flooding my bed about the very people who put her through hell. The countless weeks of sleepless nights feel extra difficult to conquer without her coffee and presence, but I need to do this to keep her safe. That is my sole motivation.

The next morning seems brighter than usual and my heavily beaten body feels lighter, knowing justice would be served today. I found the two troublemakers and sent Soryu to retrieve them. Selling them at our next auction would surely teach them the consequences of angering me. Feeling fulfilled knowing this whole mess was finally over, was naive of me and couldn’t prepare me for what was coming next.

I prepare to get up to finally see the woman I love, before the door swings open and, there in front of me, appears the said woman. Why? Why does she look so livid?

With tears streaming down her flushed cheeks; soaking into the carpet, eyes once innocent, clear and kind, now filled to the brim with rage, lifelessness and sadness. She spits words of venom at me louder than she has ever sounded. “Go to hell, Eisuke!” was all I could comprehend in her outburst before she leaves like a passing storm. I squeeze my eyes shut in reflection and my heart follows. Squeezing and squeezing, so tight my breathing hitches and I feel suffocated by, what I tell myself is, the pain of my injuries.

An uncharacteristic tear forms and rolls down my face. I was supposed to fix all of this, but again, I couldn’t even be there to comfort her when she needed me most. I’m a rotten bastard. She’s right, I should just go straight to hell, where I belong. But I can’t, “I can’t go to hell,” I whisper with a wry smile and a tear-stained cheek,

“I can’t, because you’re not there…”

“Thats a strange favour for you to ask of me. I guess trying to understand you and your antics was my mistake but—“

“She deserves better than me. I need you to protect her. With you and the Ice Dragons around her, I can rest, assured, nothing like this can ever happen again.”

“You really love her don’t you?”

“More than anything, but I need to preserve the light in her eyes. It dulled a little after what happened, but should it darken anymore… I don’t know if i could live with myself.”

A long silence ensues as Soryu carefully analyses my depressed form, never seeing me so vulnerable in the many years we’ve known each other; as a partner and a friend.

“Fine, I’ll keep her with me but, I’ll kick your ass if you think you can just drown in your sorrows and revel in pain just because she’s not around.”

I throw him a quick, thankful glance, but it’s easier said than done. She was my whole life, and without her, guiding me to the light, I don’t know if I can find my way out of this dark abyss.

You may be done with me, but my heart will always beat here, for you.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

SO BLESSED and thankful to have rp with hobo4lyfe11 , driving our best to complete this story and we look forward to our next fic, hope you’re too!

#eisuke inchinomiya #kbtbb fanfic #kbtbb angst #kbtbb eisuke #eisuke x oc #voltage oc x canon #voltage oc x eisuke #eisuke x hana #Hana Kido #voltage rp #voltage role play #kbtbb rp #kbtbb role play #done with yo

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averyconradwilde · 7 years

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Introduction

Hi, I'm grateful that I found other de-transitioning and re-identifying womyn on here. I'm 48 years old and I medically transitioned FTM 26 years ago. I started T in 1992, underwent mastectomy in 1994 and hysterectomy in 2003. I was considered ‘very passable’ by social standards. I served as an FTM support group facilitator and transgender youth advocate, and I worked as a cultural competency trainer for human services organizations wishing to better serve transgender clients. At no time during the early years was I aware of any doubt/regret/grief or did I ever have any reason to think I was misdiagnosed. In fact, during my ‘honeymoon period’ of the first 10 years, I was blissfully happy. (Anyone who wants to proclaim that I was ‘never truly trans’ is out of their fucking mind).

However as time went on, if pressed, I could admit that there were some things about my transition I was deeply disenfranchised about. My mastectomy surgery was complicated by a post-surgical infection that resulted in a failed nipple graft; this resulted in full loss of sensation and additional scarring on one side that I had not expected and I experienced extreme shame about this. My boyish chest and my plans for shirt-free living had not materialized to my satisfaction.

I also identified as a gay male and I experienced a level of sexual rejection from gay men (which I had frankly never experienced from straight men when previously living as a woman). I let this eat away at me and really undermine my sense of self. I began to feel extremely inferior and inadequate about not having a penis and extremely shameful and loathsome about having female anatomy. I eventually did find love and settle down. However, for the first 10 years of my relationship, I was convinced that at any moment my partner would leave me for a ‘real man’.

I began to experience a growing sense of despondency regarding the fact that my transition had come to a plateau and there were still no truly viable options for phalloplasty. My previous experiences with surgery made me very doubtful that the scar tissue, possibility for necrosis, loss of sensation, etc. were risks I would ever be willing to take.

Regular check ups revealed that I had an ovarian tumor and needed a hysterectomy. After this surgery, I experienced another post-surgical infection and had to be re-admitted for IV antibiotics. About 5 years after that surgery, I began to experience painful sex and frequent UTI- which doctors diagnosed as atrophic vaginitis attributed to estrogen deficiency and longterm use of testosterone. I began treating it with a topical estrogen and a prophylactic antibiotic regimen. The antibiotics gave me yeast infections. Now I was in a position to require life-long medical intervention to treat the side effects of life-long medical intervention. The irony was not lost on me.

The good news is that my intimate partnership persisted and eventually I was able to finally experience being present in my own body during sex without the mental gymnastics of having to fantasize about having a penis. What I experienced was a genderlessness/formlessness/freedom that I could only describe as spiritual. This happened very gradually through no effort on my part to change my orientation or identity. And this experience was not at all rooted in ‘internalized transphobia’; which is an explanation that some folks would offer to debunk the validity of de-transition as an act of liberation.

However, this experience of freedom from dysphoria and being at home in my body also came with a high degree of cognitive dissonance. I felt slightly guilty; like I was somehow betraying my queerness by no longer mentally exercising a strictly bob-on-boy masculine identity. And it was challenging to my self concept to learn that the very thing that made me want to be male in the first place (fantasizing/feeling a phantom penis) was something that now was not only unnecessary, but was actively causing my own suffering.

I began to desire wholeness and being at-home in my body without despising my anatomy and without wishing for other anatomy. I finally realized that I was grieving my natural, non-medicated pre-transition experience. Even though I could not remember a time when I hadn’t wanted to be male, I now knew it was possible to love myself as a female bodied person and I began to wonder how my life would have been different without the need to filter every moment through the lens of wanting desperately to be male.

Furthermore, I came to despise the masculine role I'd taken on. I realized that I no longer had the close bonds with women I’d enjoyed before and that I was grieving this level of intimacy. And I could finally really see evidence of white male privilege in my own life and I became saddened and appalled at my failure to be an ally to women and people of color. During times when I tried to speak up on behalf of challenging sexism and gender stereotypes, I felt that my words were misinterpreted as ‘mansplaining’ and that my passing as male so successfully meant that I was forever an outsider to the people who I shared such a fundamental experience with. I started to hate my own paralysis and complicity in the toxic masculinity and racism which mainstream culture is so clearly seeped in.

In therapy, I eventually came to the conclusion that I transitioned too young (age 22), under the wrong circumstances (abusing street drugs) and for the wrong reasons (self-loathing rooted in misogyny and untreated trauma at having been a rape and abuse survivor). This gave me a new lens with which to think critically about my choices and the desire to heal these parts of myself that I abandoned by unconsciously seeking to obliterate them through transition.

For the last 3 years I've been exploring social de-transition through wearing what would typically be considered ‘feminine' and/or ‘androgynous’ clothing, using gender neutral name and pronouns, and reclaiming my body. I am actually enjoying my own femaleness and I no longer obsess on any rare instances of gender dysphoria. I've removed 90% of my facial hair and 60% of my body hair through laser treatments. I'm taking a modest dose of estrogen, Gabapentin, and a low dose of T to cope with debilitating hot flashes.

I am now so permanently masculinized that I am usually perceived as MTF- although I sometimes pass a female if I’ve had a very close shave and I am dressed very stereotypically ‘female”, and if I use my voice very quietly.

My instinct is telling me to proceed with legal de-transition because now that I'm learning to appreciate my body, I'm finally feeling more pride and alignment with being female and desiring to have my public identity synchronized with these experiences.

However, if I am to be completely honest about it, my tendency is to sometimes fixate on restoring myself physically (as well as possible) to my original pre-transition condition when no amount of new medical interventions are ever going to undo what has happened; let alone fully heal everything I’ve been through. The healing has to come from inside.

Furthermore, my partner of 19 years (who I dearly love), is decidedly gay and although he tolerates my new androgynous look, he’s expressed a feeling of not being attracted to my more ‘feminine’ side. After building a life together, adopting and raising two young children together, I have a very hard time with the possibility of risking all that when maybe I could be content with a genderqueer or gender neutral identity.

Anyway, I'm not looking for advice, just support and community.

#ftm detransition

19 notes · View notes

newagesispage · 5 years

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JULY 2019

PAGE RIB

If you care what people think, you’re their prisoner. – Heidi Fleiss

*****

The Stones are back and opened in Chicago on June21. The reviews were great, they mostly stuck to the hits and Mick was in top notch form. Monkey Man and Sweet Virginia are back!!! Woo Hoo!!

*****

Satellite images show the complete deployment of 4 Russian made S-300 missile defense systems.

*****

Comedians in cars getting coffee will start season 11 on July 19. This season will bring us Eddie Murphy, Barry Marder, Bridget Everett, Melissa Villsenor, Sebastian Maniscalco, Seth Rogan, Ricky Gervais, Matthew Broderick, Jamie Foxx, Mario Joyner and Martin Short.

*****

Law and Order: Hate Crimes is coming.

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NRATV is no more. Hooray!! The NRA’s second in command Chris Cox has resigned after he was implicated in a plot to oust Wayne La Pierre. Cox calls the charges, “offensive and patently false.” There are also multiple lawsuits from ad firm Ackerman McQueen that claim the NRA is in violation of contracts.

*****

Republican representative Duncan Hunter is headed to court in September for charges that he and his wife illegally spent more than $250,000 in political donations. Prosecutors want to list details of his many affairs.

*****

NBC is bringing back Who Do You Think You Are?

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Police in Hong Kong are beating protesters.

*****

Sexual harassment news of the month: George Nader, part of Trump’s transition team, was arrested in New York on child porn charges.**Cuba Gooding Jr. was charged in NY with forcible touching. His lawyer says that the incident is on tape and will prove he is innocent.** Trump has been accused by the 22nd woman, this time of rape, but most of the media seemed to be playing it down. The victim, writer E. Jean Carroll says she will cooperate 100%.

*****

The Supreme Court ruled that the government can’t stop us from running a business with a scandalous name.

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Stop the cash bail system. It is costing us money every day.

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Chris Pratt and Katherine Schwarzenegger have wed.

*****

Joe Sestak is running for President.

*****

I always think of Meghan McCain as the Rosie O’Donnell of the right. She seems to have a big heart and her childhood and parents seem to have made a huge influence. Somehow she always brings everything back to her and she freaks on certain talking points.

*****

Let’s keep an eye on U.S. transportation secretary Elaine Chao. The shipping dynasty of her family is benefitting from industrial policies in China.

*****

2 deputies were fired for inaction pertaining to the Parkland shooting.

*****

People were horrified at the image of Scary Clown with graves in the background on foreign soil as he talked of “Nervous Nancy” and called Mueller a fool. We were outraged when he told us that he would want to listen to dirt on others and wouldn’t see why he should tell the FBI before he walked it back. He does not fucking care. When will we all understand that?

*****

The President is being urged to cancel his speech at the Lincoln memorial. Many of his own people think it might appear to be a campaign stop paid for by the American people. He did that already when he made ads for himself while at his golf course in Scotland.** I suppose he will pretend to be all about America again when he gets back from smiling with North Korean and Russian dictators.

*****

New York has banned declawing. Meow!!

*****

It is looking like Sam Little, in prison in California, may turn out to be the most prolific serial killer in U.S. history.

*****

The Tony’s came and went. Big winners were Bryan Cranston, Elaine May and Bob Mackie. Ali Stoker was the first wheelchair bound winner and Hadestown won the most awards.

*****

Some schools are trying out yoga instead of detention. Teaching children how to control their feelings and help it to dissipate seems to be work.

*****

The Catholic Church has stomped on the rights of our Trans brothers and sisters. They decree that people should stay the way they are born.

*****

The movie,’ The Dead Don’t Die’ sounds great with Bill Murray, Tilda Swinton, Adam Driver, Danny Glover, Tom Waits and Steve Buscemi.

*****

Trump and Pence seem pretty pleased with themselves for not allowing the rainbow flag to fly during pride month. They really hate progress, don’t they? Luckily, some brave souls are finding ways around it.

*****

Scary Clown has signed an executive order to increase transparency of hospital costs and info of medical professionals.

*****

On July 17 Bob Mueller will testify. **A comic book publisher is turning the report into a graphic novel.

*****

JB Pritzker has signed legal weed into Illinois and they will look at releasing low level drug offenders and putting money back into hard hit communities that were affected by the drug war.

*****

Maple Vale is suing because they say big chicken companies have colluded to hike prices.

*****

Absolut has been a proud supporter of the gay community since the 70’s.

*****

Jim Gaffigan is in the new film, ‘Being Frank.’

*****

Sarah Huckabee Sanders is out. Many reporters tell us that she and other WH staff can be very different behind the scenes. They have been known to be very helpful and personable at times. The bluster and the lies are mostly for show for the boss.** Acting US customs and border protection commissioner John Sanders is out.

*****

Scary Clown really put his foot in it with his Stephanopoulus interview. From little wise guy to taking help from foreign powers to the look on his face after ‘the cough’ it was quite the show.** Chuck Todd really soft balled his interview with our Pres. Shame on you.

*****

So, of course Manafort is going to a Federal location instead of Riker’s Island after AG Barr sent a letter to state prosecutors.

*****

One day it is announced that ICE is throwing millions out of the country. Another day they will round up 2,000 illegals that haven’t shown up for court etc. then that is on hold. Iran is going to be hit then it isn’t. It seems like real panic time in the WH. Justice Department attorney Sarah Fabian has explained in her double talk that kids without toothbrushes, soap and proper sleep is fine. Concrete floors in cages seem like a good idea to Trumps WH. Sarah Fabians phone number of 202-532-4824 was released to the public and she got an earful but I am sure she has changed that # by now.** ICE won’t even allow anyone to donate items to the kids in cages except for one in Deming, NM.

*****

Roy Moore is running for senate in 2020. These pompous, narcissistic pigs will not just fade away.

*****

I really hate this way the media lumps all the ‘rest’ of the Dem candidates as interchangeable. At least give everybody a chance to tell us who they are until the debates. All should have an equal chance because there are some good candidates there. Each one is unique and has at least one good idea. Would they all make a good President? Probably not but let’s hear them out!! People wonder why we never have enough choices and then they try to thin the field right away. Andrew Yang wasn’t even included in some of the advertising for the debates and he is polling 8th. ** Seth Macfarlane and Bill Maher suggest that we do away with the audience. Great idea!!

*****

The first night of debate went well. I went in loving Inslee and went out the same way. He didn’t get much chance to talk what with the moderators asking Elizabeth Warren questions about 4 to the others 1. When Jay did get to speak about climate change and calling out CEO’s, I thought he was dynamic. He really puts his money where his mouth is. I wish more people would research him. He had the best answer of what this country’s greatest threat is when he answered ,”Donald Trump.” Colbert made fun of Inslee for interrupting Warren about the rights of women. I must say that as a woman, that never even occurred to me because I was looking at her as a candidate. He has also been raked over for trying to interject with that finger in the air. Hmm.. so polite. DeBlasio got in a great line about not blaming immigrants for their problems but blaming the corporations, otherwise he seemed like a bully. Warren and Booker were competent. Klobachar, Gabbard and Ryan should call it quits. I like O’Rourke but he just seems too sweet. I loved his close because he referenced current events like the kids in cages and student protests which didn’t seem like running for student council Pres. I was impressed with John Delaney who I hadn’t known much about. But Julian Castro won the night. He still wouldn’t be my first choice but he did everything right. He was truly Presidential and seemed to resonate with everybody. He was forceful, down to earth and seemed to know what he was talking about.

*****

Night 2 of the debates was a bit more lively. Hickenlooper will probably impress a few conservatives with his insistence that the Dems shouldn’t identify so much with socialism. Gillibrand seemed like tonight’s bully and it is time for her to go along with Bennet, Swalwell and Williamson. Now, Marianne got a lot of shit but I agree with her on some basics. Preventative medicine and love being the answer is not stupid. These are things we don’t put enough stock in so why laugh it off? She is right about the chemicals and climate and why we are so sick in this world. She is right about state sponsored crimes and child abuse at the border. I thought Gillibrand repeated herself too much but she is right about putting too much money into private prisons. Buttigieg had a great point about the ‘free college for all’ thing by looking at the reality of those who don’t want college, a decent minimum wage and the rich paying for their own schooling. He is also quite perceptive about republicans using religion while separating families which gives them no right to use God’s name. He was a bit sweaty but poised and measured all the way through. I am a big Andrew Yang fan and his money to all every month is something I have thought a solid idea for years but he is not Presidential at this point. He should be in the cabinet because he is an idea person but he sort of nervously choked on his first question about his signature piece. I loved that he didn’t wear a tie and his closing statement was awesome. Bernie gave us no surprises but the red, white and blue reflected in his glasses was fascinating. I did love his line about a hemisphere problem that we have and called out the Yemen crisis. Like the night before, Biden seemed to get more time than the lesser knowns. He started out smooth and easy and ended serious and defensive because of the jabs he received. Kamala Harris stole the night with some of those. She jumped on Williamson’s mention of reparations to explain to Biden why his recent rhetoric of segregationists was so painful. This is why I love debates, it can change everything. I can’t really imagine anyone else taking on Trump at this point. She had some great lines like calming the boys down about no food fights but putting food on the table. Her close was a bit halting but she fired up the crowd as if she was already President.

*****

The after shows zeroed in on the flaws which will unfortunately define some of them. The way we loop ‘Bookers look’ or ‘Williamson’s love not fear for political purposes’ can belittle the progress we can make. I am right in there watching it but it gets old. Trevor Noah said that many try but it was the Right time for Harris to play the race card. Race is already playing a part as some birtherism is erupting eluding to her Indian mother and Jamaican father. Don Jr. got the wheels in motion by retweeting some garbage about Harris not being an “American black.”She raised about 2 mil after the debates.

*****

I will never understand why people always bring up this ‘elite’ business when talking about the Dems. Most of the people I have personally known who had a lot of money and looked down their nose at others have been republicans. Perhaps it is all about where one is from.

*****

Teens are evolving bone spurs on the back of their heads from looking down at their phones so much.

*****

Succession will be back on August 11.

*****

A little political hocus pocus seems to be ok with the Supreme Court. In a 5-4 ruling they have barred challenges to partisan gerrymandering.

*****

G20 countries make about 80% of global CO2 emissions. They had agreed to phase out subsidies for fossil fuels. Reports show that in the years since , they have nearly tripled subsidies to coal plants.

*****

Trump is schmoozing with Kim Jong UN saying, ”I would invite him tight now to the WH.”** There was a brawl with new unofficial WH press secretary Stephanie Grisham and Kim’s people.

*****

The Travers film fest will honor Lily Tomlin with a lifetime achievement award.

*****

The ex- governor of Michigan Rick Snyder, who is responsible for the Flint water crisis, will now have a fellowship at Harvard.

*****

“Trump didn’t actually win the election in 2016. He lost the election and he was put into office because the Russians interfered.”- Jimmy Carter, former President and international expert on election fraud.

Toy Story 4 is big box office.

*****

Mythic Quest is the new series produced and written in part by Charlie Day and Rob Mcelhenney. The show will be about a video game development company and will star F. Murray Abraham and Danny Pudi.

*****

Melissa McCarthy may play Ursula in the live action The Little Mermaid.

A hacker stole the latest music from Radiohead and threatened to release it if they didn’t pony up $150,000 in ransom. The band released a statement declaring. ”We’ve been hacked” , released it themselves for 18 days and the money went to charity. Rock on!!

*****

In Cape Coral, Fla., a parent forced a kid to walk around with a sign of their wrong deeds. Oh bit.. this stuff is back again.

*****

ICS in Springfield, Illinois’ fired Joe Crane from his broadcast for his honesty. Corporate was insisting on using a ‘CODE RED’ alert for weather even when the weather wasn’t so bad to keep the paranoid watching. After numerous complaints and Crane apparently not able to talk corporate out of it, he went to the public and let them know how much he disagreed with the policy but his hands were tied. Of course, corporate let him go.

*****

The FCC is giving the phone company more power to fight robo calls.

*****

Archeologists found some weed in China inside some ceremonial cannabis bowls from 2500 years ago.

*****

Rapper Scarface is running for city council in Houston.

*****

20,000 Christians have petitioned Netflix to cancel Good Omens. I am sure the Amazon show is loving the publicity, they were probably looking for something just like this to happen. Oddly, just before I heard this story I saw the first couple of episodes and thought it was pretty good.

*****

Don’t judge someone because they sin differently than you.

*****

The fight to end robo calls has been named ‘Operation Call it Quits.’

*****

OJ Simpson opened a twitter account on the 25th anniversary of the murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman.

*****

The 71st Emmy’s will be held on Sept. 22 and may not have a host. This no host thing seems to be catching on since it saves money and controversy. The noms will be announced July 16.

*****

If you get the chance, read the Vanity Fair article about Col. Jennifer Pritzker. The cousin of Illinois Governor, JB Pritzker is the world’s only known trans billionaire.

*****

Refineries, Chemical plants and plastics are giving our fire fighters cancer and cities are often not compensating them.

*****

Jordan Klepper used his mug shot as the pic to headline his show. He was arrested with pastors for their rally n support of immigrant students.

*****

Do you wonder if the Trump kids and Melania have so much power and money that they don’t mind that Trump is a laughingstock?

*****

I saw that Seth Meyers used the term bummer camp to explain a kid who gets sent to camp because their parents need to work on their divorce. My friends and I always used that term when our summer camp music festival gets ruined by endless rain.

*****

R.I.P. Roky Erickson, Leon Redbone, Dr. John, Franco Zeffirelli, Leah Chase, Zarious Fair, Elliot Roberts, Alan Brinkley , Troy Chisum, Oscar and Valeria Ramirez, Edward Gallardo and Gloria Vanderbilt.

0 notes

romincantsleep · 5 years

Text

As a trans man newly on testosterone, I have been thinking about what it truly means to “pass” as a cis man in society today. And it makes me deeply consider the enormous responsibility I have as a feminist to build myself into a good man. So to my fellow trans men (especially those who wish to medically transition), here are some things I have been pondering.

(Side note: when I say “women” it includes trans women and trans-feminine people, same with men)

-Respect women’s space

The more masculine your appearance, the more women fear you when they are alone at night. Be respectful and keep a good distance. Pass on the other side of the street when you need to get by them. Do not come up behind a woman who is alone, or even in a group of several women. Give them space, they have every reason to fear men.

When you are making new connections with women, remember that inviting them over to your place or asking to come to their place both put them in a vulnerable position. For the first few meetings, perhaps try to meet somewhere in public. Or, if it is a platonic connection, invite her friends along for a group hang. Better yet, ask her what would make her most comfortable.

When you see another man disrespecting a women’s space, it is now your responsibility as a man in a position of privilege, to step in and make the space safe for women again. If a buddy is catcalling a woman, shut it down. If someone at the bar is getting too handsy and the girl is uncomfortable, do something about it. Step in, ask her if she is okay. Find her friends and let them know what is happening so they can take her somewhere safe. Or, if need be, confront the person who is overstepping.

You have the ability to prevent bad things from happening to women because of your privilege. It is your responsibility to use that privilege to protect women.

-Build women up

At the same time, remember that women are not weak. They are not helpless and inferior to men. It is a societal norm that gives you any privilege over them, nothing more.

Even where women are not present, if you hear someone speaking about women disrespectfully, shut it down. Your silence only makes space for those ideologies to grow and become something deemed “normal.”

At work, if a woman has a great idea or is in a group project and is not being given the full recognition she deserves, be sure to point her out and recognize her contribution. Women are so often dismissed and discredited in the smallest of ways.

When you give a woman a compliment, make it, at the very least, about something besides her body. To a stranger, keep these types of comments to a minimum, but you could maybe tell her you love her shirt, coat, shoes, etc. THAT is a compliment. “I like the way you fit those jeans, girl.” Is NOT a compliment and is just a comment on her body.

-Make the world safer for women

VOTE! Make your vote count towards protecting women’s rights to their bodies and to safe spaces. Promote woment in positions of leadership.

Be open about your feminism and listen to women about the issues they continue face in the world and in politics. Give them space to voice their needs, but do not do the talking for them.

-Do not adhere to toxic masculinity

Do not shame other men for crying, or feeling emotion, or being vulnerable. Make a safe space for them. They need it more that you think.

Do not peer pressure your friends to drink or get laid. DO respect their personal boundaries and encourage them to respect whoever they are interested in.

DO NOT SHAME MEN FOR BEING FEMININE! I stg if I hear any of my trans brothers shaming a man for being feminine I will fight them. I’ll definitely fight any of my cis friends too, but c’mon guys! Men in general need more space to explore their femininity. Let them. Make a safe space for them to do so.

Promote body positivity for EVERYONE. Men, women and nonbinary folk all need some body positivity now and again. Don’t be that guy that is shaming others for their bodies.

-Just be NICE

Support your nonbinary peeps.

Fuck gender norms and do as you please, and allow those around you space to do as they please, gender norms can eat shit.

The world needs better men. Be a good man. Hold your friends and yourself to a high standard. Recognize your privilege.

0 notes

allofbeercom · 6 years

Text

7 WTF Details About Historical Events Everyone Forgets

Tragic events are typically followed by periods of shock, grief, anger, and the occasional flash of inexplicable horniness. So it’s only natural that when we’re dealing with lives lost and places destroyed, we tend to only focus on these important matters and damn everything else to hell. But sometimes, that means we ignore all of the chaotic insanity that typically accompanies history, making textbooks just that little bit blander. So let’s put on our Indiana Jones hats and dive into the past, and remind ourselves of some truly crazypants parts of history that usually get left out of the conversation. For example …

The Manual For The German Tiger Tank Contained Poetry And Porn

War is chaos. With bullets flying and bombs whizzing everywhere, preparation and alertness are the keys to survival. But while combat is exciting, combat training can be mind-numbingly boring. So how do you get a group of disinterested, overly hormonal boys to sit up, pay attention, and remember stuff? By turning that stuff into smut, of course.

During World War II, German commanders needed to quickly familiarize new recruits with the inner workings of the complicated Tiger Tank. Unfortunately, the Fuhrer’s finest were less than thrilled with spending long days memorizing the dry technical manuals. Finally, the Nazis came up with an elegant solution to motivate the laser-like focus necessary to master the tank: They included a naked lady on every other page, and made sure the important parts rhymed.

German Federal ArchivesTranslation: “Danger lurks in the sump! Read your manual well, otherwise your Tiger goes to hell!”

After the war, it was discovered that the manual for the German Panzerkampfwagen was full of nudes, jokes, and dirty limericks. This masterpiece was the brainchild of Josef von Glatter-Goetz, who had novel ideas on how to warm up his cadets’ learning muscles (among others). And most of the warming up was done by Elvira, a buxom blonde who appeared every few pages to keep the boys thumbing — or whatever else helped them get there faster.

German Federal Archives“Klaus, why do you keep taking the manual to the bathroom?”

She would pop up (often with her clothes popped off) whenever the cadets were supposed to pay extra attention to the lesson, like the importance of making accurate measurements when firing or keeping the engines clean, even if it led to making the cockpits sticky.

German Federal Archives“I only read it for the articles.”

The program was a demonstrable success, and both von Glatter-Goetz’s excellent understanding of his target audience and Elvira’s ass helped untold numbers of troops masturbate their way to mastering the Tiger Tank.

Hurricane Katrina Ejected Over A Thousand Coffins From Graves

According to FEMA, Hurricane Katrina was “the single most catastrophic natural disaster in U.S. history.” It caused over $41.1 billion in damage and killed more than 1,800 people. But not content with causing misery for the living, Katrina decided to go after the deceased as well, digging them up so she could pee her hate water on their faces.

Petty Officer Kyle Niemi/US Navy“You whine when it doesn’t rain, you whine when it rains too much, what do you want from me??”