#why is it so fucking unfathomable that a woman might not want to lose weight

[theygender]

As an afab nonbinary butch who's trying to gain muscle without losing weight the sexism in the exercise industry makes me fucking see red. Just found an exercise program that boasts being entirely based in science and has the sources to prove it with well-controlled, recent, and relevant clinical studies backing up all of their stuff and as someone who's pretty well-versed in scientific research and fed up with fad-based pseudoscientific bullshit in the health industry I was fucking ecstatic. They had a little quiz you could take to find out which program would suit your needs the best so I filled it out and when it asked me about my goals I selected "I have a low amount of body fat and want to build more muscle" and it took me to a program called Strong. Great! ...Except as I read into it I kept finding references to "burning stubborn fat" and other similar shit. Scrolled down to the FAQ and found a question where it explained that this program was different from their Build program bc Build is "better suited for those who are skinny and at a relatively low body fat" ...even though that's exactly the option I selected in the quiz. Turns out they have three options for males: one for people who want to lose weight without focusing too much on muscle mass, one for people who want to become leaner by focusing on both weight loss and muscle mass, and one for people who want to gain muscle mass without losing weight (Build). But for females, they've only got two options, and neither one of them are designed to help you gain muscle mass without losing weight. I would ask why tf it's ALWAYS assumed that women have to want to lose weight but I know it's fucking sexism

[itsclydebitches]

Hey! I saw on one of your fics for preacher to send you prompts so here's one! Tulip learns genesis is fiore and Deblancs baby and all five get in a big fight cause tulips like "GIVE IT BACK???" and Jesse is like "HOW?" There's some "we miss our baby" angst and ends with our gayngels getting to hold there son for a bit??? Idk I think about this alot????

Hello again, @hetaliaprussia! I hope you like this. For the record, I think about our gay angels and their child a lot too :D 

AO3: x

***

Jesse knew this sensation well: the weight of a body pinning his to the floor, a hand clenched, ironclad, into the front of his shirt. Everything from the knee in his stomach to the stench of another's sweat—it was familiar. He knew that as soon as he looked he'd see the barrel of a gun pointed just an inch or so from the bridge of his nose. Jesse understood that any words he heard would be a threat. Rinse and repeat.

Except that this attacker...

Tulip's hands were shaking as she pressed the muzzle flat against Jesse's forehead. No one else would have spotted it, but he did. He could feel the wound tightness in her limbs.

"You took their fucking child?" she hissed.

"Tulip. Tulip. C'mon now, luv, you are missing some real fuckin' important context here…"

Cass dithered behind her, arms reaching to try and pull her away before panicking and snapping back. Off to the side Fiore and DeBlanc looked on in shock. They were such smug, pretentious assholes. If Jesse hadn't known for sure that the gun Tulip held was loaded, he would have found their fish-like expressions amusing.

Instead he held perfectly still. "You're not gonna shoot me," he said, bland as white rice.

The gun pressed harder into his skin. "Really? That's your response here? You're digging yourself in real deep, Jesse Custer."

"You care?"

"Of course I care."

"Well then you're not gonna shoot me. Get off, Tulip."

Jesse wormed his leg up between hers, grabbed hold of Tulip's wrist, and flipped them so that she was the one now nestled against the church's floor. It was a move that only worked because a part of Tulip wanted it to. She scowled, jamming the gun back into her jeans and shoving him off her chest. They scrambled and backed away, Cass looking like they'd just averted a bomb going off.

"Okay," he said slowly. "I appreciate your wild sides, I honestly do, but the two of you have gotta get the whole fuckin' picture before you go threatenin' to shoot one another!"

"Who did I threaten to shoot?" Jesse snapped at the same time that Tulip spread her arms wide and yelled, "What picture, Cassidy? Jesse took their child!"

She pointed fiercely at DeBlanc and Fiore who now appeared sheepish in the extreme. Alright. That was amusing. Fiore muttered something too low for them to hear and turned away, eyes drawn to the ceiling in a comical display of aversion. It was DeBlanc who took the hesitant step forward, removing his hat and placing it protectively over his chest.

"Ms. O'hare..."

"Tulip. Do I look like a blasted 'Ms.' to you?"

DeBlanc swallowed. "Tulip. We contacted you because we know you're... close with this preacher. Jesse. It is true that he has our child... though it would perhaps be more accurate to say that our child chose him."

"Huh?" Tulip peered at the four of them, most of that anger giving way to confusion. "Hold up now. You made it sound like this kid of yours is an infant. How the hell does a baby choose someone? And who the fuck would choose Jesse?"

"I'm right here," Jesse said, but no one listened.

Cass raised his hand. "Yeah. Fascinating. But I'm more interested in how two blokes make a kid together in the first place. Can clones make babies?"

"Clone—?" Fiore gapped for a moment. "I'm an angel, you twit, and we don't adhere to your idiotic gender binaries."

"A what," Tulip said.

DeBlanc laid a hand on his arm. "His question is still valid though. Certainly no one in heaven knows how our union resulted in... procreation." He turned to the group. "It's just one more reason why you must return them. There are many who would do anything to seize the child of an angel and a demon."

"A what."

"Oh wow. Okay. That explains a whole lot of stuff. Did you know about this?" Cass asked. Jesse had his fingers pressed hard into the bridge of his nose, nodding sadly.

"Yeah. Had a whole damn conversation about it last night in the diner. I was going to tell you but then someone," Jesse glared at DeBlanc, "had to go and tell my girlfriend, who recently lost a child, that I went and stole someone else's."

DeBlanc blanched. "We didn't realize. We only wanted you to give them back."

"Well I can't! I've tried!"

"How come there's no word for that?" Cass murmured. "A woman who loses a child? We've got 'orphan' and 'widow,' but nothin' else that I know of. Huh. Just doesn't seem right."

"Enough," Tulip spit, interrupting them all. With the jerky movements of someone that was at the end of their rope, she reclaimed the gun and pointed it somewhere in the middle of their circle, essentially threatening them all. "You are treating this like a joke, but you know—you know, Jesse—that it's not." He bowed his head at that. Acknowledging for once that no, it wasn't a joking matter. "Now who is going to explain what the hell is going on here?"

Cass made short work of that, slotting together all the pieces they'd gathered thus far: angels and demons (not clones), God going missing, Genesis' creation, unfathomable power now rooted in their very own Jesse—who watched the proceedings with a vaguely bored expression. He didn't even flinch when Tulip raised the gun this time. Really, she was just using it for emphasis at this point.

"So this 'baby'..." she said slowly.

"Is probably the most powerful thing in existence," Jesse confirmed. "And it's currently nestled somewhere between my soul and my ribs."

"That doesn't mean we don't love them any less," Fiore snapped and there was a moment of silence as the group tried to decided if that was in reference to Genesis' power or the fact that it had chosen Jesse. Probably the latter.

He took a firm step forward. DeBlanc and Fiore held their ground. Jesse smiled.

"So what do you want, huh?" he demanded. "Getting Cass all riled up. Trying to turn Tulip against me. She pistol whipped me earlier." Tulip shrugged to show she really didn't regret that part. "You've tried luring this thing—"

"This child," DeBlanc said.

Jesse inclined his head. "—child out of me with songs and magic and who knows what else. It didn't work. So what exactly do you want me to do about it?"

"Haven't tried the chainsaw yet," Fiore muttered and DeBlanc had to shoot out a protective arm to keep him and Cass apart.

"Easy, love," he said. "To be frank, Jesse, I'm not sure how we should go about this, but we have to do something. At the very least I’d appreciate it if you—"

"Why don't you order it?"

All of them turned to Tulip, staring. She shrugged again and pretended to shoot Jesse straight in the middle of his chest. "It's all-powerful, right? So just use that power and, I don't know, tell it to come out for a second."

Fiore spluttered. "That is the most idiotic thing I've ever—"

"Genesis, c'mere."

And they did. 

The flash of light blinded them all momentarily, filling the church and worrying poor Mrs. Hinderson miles down the road, wondering what in the name of loving Jesus that was supposed to be. As she went back to walking Pepper and resigned not to stick her nose where it might get snapped off, DeBlanc was pushing groggily back to his feet, one hand supporting Fiore while his other had latched onto Tulip's arm. Cass was on Fiore's other side, his stunned expression no doubt a reflection of everyone else's.

"Oh my," DeBlanc whispered.

They'd never seen Genesis before. Not really. Not since the brief, confusing moment of their creation. And they weren't quite seeing them now either. How did you see something that wasn't a thing, but the absence of things—everything by virtue of being nothing at all? There was light, yes, but at the same time they were a void. DeBlanc knew at once that he couldn't look on his child for long, not without a vessel to act as a buffer. Still, he reached for them.

He felt Fiore doing the same. For a moment it was only the two of them in that church, fingers curving around the edges of their child. DeBlanc felt heat, ice, the thrum of electricity, and—

—and then they snapped back into Jesse.

He bent like a bow, stumbled, and only kept his feet by grabbing hold of the nearest pew. Jesse heaved like he'd just run a marathon, but he looked as rapturous as the rest of them.

"Don't see how it's any different," he finally whispered when no one else would speak. "You two taking human form. Genesis possessing me. It's all necessary. Like child, like parents right?"

DeBlanc nodded. The pain against his wrist was Fiore's hand. The sting on his cheek was a tear.

"Well," Fiore huffed, wiping inconspicuously at his own eyes. "That may be the case, but don't think for a second that I'm letting you run off with my child alone."

Jesse froze. "...No."

"Yes."

And it began over again, Fiore, Jesse, and DeBlanc launched into full-blown bickering about who got to tag along on what adventures, their tone completely at odds with the miracle they'd just witnessed. Cass shook himself like a dog, giving Jesse a lopsided grin and suggesting that he should make Genesis pay rent. Tulip sighed, tossed Jesse the gun, and made it very clear that this was not the kind of child they'd agreed to raise. Jesse waved the gun under Fiore's nose who just batted it away.

And somewhere inside Jesse, Genesis hummed with what might be termed happiness.

When they left the church, for all their arguing, they were heading down the same path. 

[ladyspaceradio]

Ink

Ao3 Link

Chapter 2 Birth of Abigail

Space

The unconquerable void to man. The dangers it holds within the deep folds of darkness was unfathomable. Beyond the extreme cold and lack of oxygen there were threats that the stars hid from eager explores.

Like the scourge.

Commander Jane Shepard had been an unfortunate soul lost to the claws of the void. Abigail still remembers the story, of the SSV Normandy’s ultimate demise.

It takes 15 seconds to lose consciousness in space. But so much longer to actually die.

Abigail wondered what Shepard's final thoughts were as she was strangled into a comatose state. Before hitting Achlera’s atmosphere melted her flesh within superheated armor. Did she think about her Turian soulmate? Or ponder the events that led to her death? Did she regret anything?

Or was she like Abigail, floundering in panic, trying to force oxygen into her burning lungs where there was none, clawing at her neck starved for a single breath as her mind wheeled at the simple thought that this couldn’t be the end and only on the verge of death realizing that she had wasted her life.

In the span of those precious few seconds as she gasped for air, while her throat burned from the harsh dry heat and her lungs spasmed, it hit her like a krogan headbutt. Abby had led a pitifully dull life in the waiting room of living. It’s what she did. Waited for her soulmark, waited for a purpose, waited for her life to start, and waited to die.

It had taken 23 seconds of being clinically dead to actually wake up.

Before she left for the initiative and andromeda, after her mother's death Abby had decided she wanted to be reborn amongst the stars. To be born as a resilient, steadfast, brave, courageous woman. She wanted to be Abigail Ryder; a woman who chased her own dreams, who chose her purpose.

But the birth of Abigail came with a price. Her rebirth had cost Andromeda Alec Ryder.

Abigail would have chosen another route had she known.

But Alec made his sacrifice so she could live, and Abigail refused to let that death go in vain. She had been fearful all her life to make decisions on her own. Peacekeeping had been Alec’s way of dealing with a broken daughter, Eden Prime had been her mother's way of pushing her to start something new. The only thing Abby had chosen for herself was come to Andromeda, and that was a decision she made based on the fact that the only people she was close to were leaving her behind. In the Milky Way she had always been Abby ‘scared of her own shadow’ Ryder.

Now, centuries later and literally an entire galaxy away, she was the unexpected Pathfinder. Walking tall with confidence as she paved a way for the Initiative. Many had their doubts, even Abigail doubted the task at hand, but she was determined to move forward. She was no longer Abby, the shy daughter with blank skin, but the Pathfinder. A woman with a purpose, for once.

At the moment she was celebrating her newest victory. The first successful outpost of the initiative, Prodromos was a prospering settlement that Abigail had achieved amidst the broken bones of the Nexus’ past soul crushing failures. Taking a deep breath of dry air, Abigail tilted her head back and laughed. This was her purpose, and it was fulfilling.

Addison had just finished giving a shitty speech on their first steps of making Andromeda home. Tann had done a holo call to congratulate all the settlers for their bravery of being the first colonists on Eos. Abigail thought it more than a bit cold of him to ignore the equally brave dead of both Promise and Resilience. Then, after all the political propaganda bullshit had finished, August Bradley started the real party. Though they didn’t have much in the way of alcohol or food, the colonists made due with watered down beer and freeze dried fruit.

Abigail slipped away from the victory party after an hour or two, to watch the setting sun of this truly alien sky for the first time by herself and away from the noise. It was an adjustment going from an introvert to an extrovert, but Abigail refused to go back into the shell of a life that had for her, consisted almost entirely of waiting.

Sitting down on a sandy stone ledge, Abigail tapped her thigh as she watched the Eos’ sun dip down towards the horizon at a far slower pace than what she could still so clearly remember of Earth's sunsets. At most she still had an hour of light to do what she wanted.

Falling back into old habits, Abigail still carried her pens with her wherever she went. At the time she had wanted to share the beauty of what she saw with her other half. Now Abigail did it because it felt odd not having the familiar weight with her.

Pulling out her markers, she unlatched her armor, took off her glove and pulled back the kinetic fibers of her wetsuit to reveal the paleness hidden beneath all her layers. Skin that hadn’t seen the sun in over 600 years, that hadn’t felt the mark of a pen in just about same amount of time. Taking a breath, Abigail pressed the marker tip to her skin and shivered. The cold ink was certainly a contrast to her hot but cooling surface.

With a sigh she drew the marker across her wrist, watching as it stained the otherwise blank canvas.

Pinks and browns, yellows and oranges, Ryder drew the setting sun as a woman watching it for the very first time.

Deep down there was still the lingering hope that maybe she’d get a reply. But after so long, watching her skin remain a one way message didn’t choke her the way it used to. Abigail had accepted that this was just something she would always carry. The knowledge that she wasn’t complete.

She felt it. Every night,  every breath, every move, she felt the jagged pieces of herself. Pieces meant to fit someone else. It wasn’t a omission of truth, or her making things up in her head. It was fact. Abby had been made incomplete. Whoever had been her partner had not wanted her. She had come to accept it. That’s why she sat upon a canyon staring at a beautiful sunset on an unknown world amongst a new galaxy. She was here to find herself. And if that meant breaking down every expectation she once had to start anew, she was damn well going to do it.

Goodbye Abby. The picture of the pigtailed girl who held onto hope despite everything slowly burned from her mind so that Abigail could rise from the ashes.

“SAM,” Abigail stretched, pushing the thick tresses of her red hair out of her face. “Is the Tempest ready for departure?”

“Yes Pathfinder and Tann is waiting to speak with you.”

“Oh God again?”

“He seems particularly interested in what you found in the vault.”

“Of course.” Abigail snorted as she pulled her armor back down. “Anything that he can broadcast to make himself look competent.” She had a feeling Tann would be pulling the ‘I told you so’ in the near future.

Fucking asshole. She was still a bit miffed he hadn’t mentioned her in his holier than thou speech. Not one thank you. For one indulgent moment she idly thought of slapping a jump jet on his back and tossing him down the nearest remnant gravity well. The image of Tann screaming, flapping his spindly arms and legs in fright... well, she would be lying if she denied the smile it put on her face.

When night descended upon the Tempest, the triumphant and buoyant mood of her crew slowly but surely waned as the pressure to repeat this success surfaced. Though the members of the ship didn’t say it, it had been clear that while the victory of Prodromos was hard won, a repeat might be impossible.

Nights often brought a heavy dose of doubt with them.

While she lay there, twisted in the cotton sheets, Abigail would stare sightless at the galaxy above her. Mind twisting and turning, whispering horrid things that she kept locked away, out of sight. Things like the responsibility of her father's demise, of being half a soul, of being unwanted. The burdens of the many lay upon her shoulders in a suffocating grip that often tightened painfully. The hands of those who she couldn’t save were like a vice, squeezing tighter and tighter till Abigail felt herself losing the carefully constructed woman she had become. And when she is gasping, curling her palm into her chest, nails raking across the skin that hid such a fractured heart, fighting tears and the ability to breathe, Abigail would give in and take the drugs Lexi gave her to sleep.

Her dreams were often a comfortable emptiness. A blanket of black nothingness where worries lay to rest and guilt hid.

Tonight would be no different.

Or so she thought.

The dream came in a swirl of muted colors. A fog twisted around her legs as it blanketed the scene around her. The haze film covered the land around her, confused Abigail twisted around seeking to find something familiar in the mist. But the land of mist didn’t last long as the whiteness laying over top the world darkened to the point that the land began to crumble into darkness, but not before she glimpsed a figure lurking in the distance.

Left in darkness she floated  twisting, panicking, searching for the unknown figure. It was almost compulsive she search for him. A need to find who lay beyond the veil. But the thoughts, the scattered urgency, dissipated as the darkness cradled her. Pulling her deeper into the vacant space of blackness where not even a thought could penetrate the darkness.

She was awakened from her drug induced sleep by a sudden and strange sensation on her wrist. Her arm was tingling with something that felt raw… but good. Like someone was dragging their nails down her skin in a slow sensual caress. Wild and flailing, Abigail scrambled up the top her bed, barking orders at SAM to turn the lights on.

Breath hitching, her eyes latched onto the single red mark standing harsh against the paleness of her skin. It wasn’t quite an inch long, lying vertically along her wrist right next to the main vein.

Exactly where she had painted the sunset.

“No way, no fucking way.” She touches it, running the pad of her finger against it and shivered.

Opening and closing her hand she pressed a nail into her skin, unsure if she was even awake at this point.

“SAM, what is this?!” She pointed to the small line.

“It would appear to be a soulmark, Ryder.” SAM’s sphere on her desk rotated as he spoke. “Congratulations.”

I have a soulmate! I have a soulmate?

“This can’t be happening.” She slowly curled inward, pulling her knees up to her chest while staring at the very visible red line. The ball of worry that always lay squashed between her lungs popped. Filling her chest with a tightness that pressed hard into her diaphragm with a spasming pain.

This couldn’t be happening!

“It is indeed happening.” SAM informed her as she started rocking back and forth making a keening noise. The bubbling feeling of relief and excitement boiled over as she drowned within the tides of so much emotion. Letting go, Abby surfaced as Abigail fall way like the tears dripping off her skin.

“Ryder…” SAM”s soothing electronic call sounded worried at he watched her sobbing form. “should I get Lexi?”

Abby never did answer him as she pressed her wrist to her forehead and cried. For the first time since she came to Andromeda, Abigail Ryder cried with abandonment.

She scared Lexi half to death.

For days she sat staring at the line, waiting for something else. But the red line was all she got. And as it slowly faded, Abigail felt despair crash upon her in waves.

Why?

Why had there been no answer to her questions. Was it because the person was shy?

What if it was a baby! Abigail froze for a second before remembering the initiative still had blockers in place. Still, she continued to mull over the ideas of why. Why now? Why was there no return answer?

Why, why, why?

The longer her skin stayed silent, the more morbid her questions began. What if they weren’t here in Andromida like she had first thought? If they were back in the Milky-way there was no hope of meeting them. What if they were in Andromeda? What if they were a Kett. Oh god what if they had shot at each other on Habitat 7 or Eos?!

Her stomach twisted painfully at the thought.

“SAM, what is the possibility that the soulmark was a fluke?”

“It is unlikely Ryder,” SAM’s tone was softer, lower. He knew what Abigail struggled with when it came to soulmates. They talked endlessly about why she never received a reply in the Milky-way, and now they speculated together why she received one now. In such an odd manner no less. “I monitor all your systems.”

“So you knew when I got it and what it was.” She summarized. “Do you,” She paused licking her lips, “Do you think that it’s a Kett?”

There was a moment of silence before he answered. “I do not have sufficient data to make a educated guess.”

“Make an uneducated guess.” She plead.

“No.” SAM said with no hesitation. “Perhaps, Ryder, it is a species we have never met? This is still a largely unexplored galaxy.”

The tension in her shoulders eased a bit as she finally stops pacing.

Was it possible that whoever was her significant other was an undiscovered alien species?

Chewing her lip, Abigail looked down at her wrist. The idea made a lot of sense. If they were alien, not from the Milky-way, then they wouldn’t have translation for human language, which would be why none of her many questions were answered.

Tracing her finger absently over the faded mark, Abigail looked out at the stark space beyond.

Where are you?

“Ryder,” SAM’s voice intruded on her thoughts, making her jerk to an abrupt stop in the middle of pacing. One foot was raised to take the next step but froze midair when he called her name. “Kallo is requesting your presence on the bridge.”

“Huh,” She about faced, heading towards the small bin of haphazardly thrown clothes before idly rummaging through the pile. “I thought we had another hour till we reached the vault.” Abigail tugged her hoodie out and over the well worn Blast-O tee as she walked towards the door

“It would appear we have a problem.”

“Shit.”

Notes

Lunamir- Co-Writer/Beta

[flutteringphalanges]

A Heart of Razor Wire

Summary:  An alternate universe in which the X-Men infiltrate the mutant research center, Transigen, and rescue the children within. It is there that Logan is introduced to an infant identified only as X-23. This story follows the plot idea of how life would unfold if Logan raised Laura from infancy and the events that would follow suit. FFN and Ao3

                                                Chapter Five

"Can you stop teasing my kid with a laser pointer. She's not a damn cat."

For five minutes. That's how long he had been gone. Five minutes to take a bathroom break. And now, here he was, standing in the entrance way of one of the many recreation rooms where he had left and entrusted Laura's care to Jubilee and Peter with the understanding they'd watch her for the short time he'd need to take a good piss. But apparently, their idea of "babysitting" involves using a laser pointer to flash a red light on the ground for his kid to crawl after.

"I don't see why you're so uptight," Peter says nonchalantly, continuing to flash the light about in great amusement. "She's getting exercise. You should thank us. We found a way to keep her entertained for free. Well, I mean, free as in you pay us for discovering this idea."

"And she's completely safe," Jubilee adds, her mouth upturned into a nervous smile as Logan glares at both of the younger mutants without any sign of softening up. "You don't have to even worry about her choking on something like you do with toys!"

Laura bumps her head against one of the table legs that "coincidentally" has the bright, red circle dancing across its surface. Peter disappears before the infant even gets the chance to let out a wail, leaving Jubilee alone with the evidence that caused the accident in her lap. Her eyes flicker down to the pointer and then at the older mutant as he goes to pick up his inconsolable daughter. The young woman's fingers clench around the device, knuckles white as Logan's attention returns to her, anger visible in his features.

"Sorry," the words comes out in a soft, sheepish tone. "I'll just...go now…"

She hurries out of the room, almost knocking into Logan when her socks cause her to slip across the wooden floor. Thankfully, Jubilee catches herself, an audible sigh of relief meeting Logan's ears as she disappears from sight-probably going off to find Peter and give him a well deserved earful. Hell to the concept of giving them the title of "young adults", they still acted like teenagers. Well, their young age and maturity level implied that. He grumbles to himself in between the hushing he does to soothe Laura.

"This looks like you're gonna be left with a knot," the older mutant comments, eyeing the small swell on his daughter's forehead. "But hopefully it'll go away soon enough."

Laura's crying has subsided by now, the sounds now replaced by those associated with hiccups. She chews on one of her fists, a cheek smooshed against the shoulder of her father. By the time they make it to the kitchen to grab an ice pack, Laura is staring at her father with a wide, nearly toothless smile-for what it's worth, she's a pretty damn, tough kid. Nevertheless, he takes a few cubes of ice, wrapping them in a towel that he tries to hold against the injury of his now wriggling, restless child.

"Logan, I'm so glad I found you. I…" Beast's voice trails off as Logan turns, the blue mutant taking sight of the infant. "What happened? Is Laura alright?"

"Peter and Jubilee happened," Logan replies in an aggravated tone. "She knocked her head against the side of a table. There's a lump on her forehead, but she's not seizing or whatever...I guess that's a good thing."

However, he doesn't argue when Beast approaches and, after sliding a manilla envelope under his arm, takes Laura and gives her a good look over. When she smiles, patting the fur on Hank's face, he chuckles and shakes his head, handing the infant back to Logan. Though he refrains from admitting it, a great wave of relief washes over the other mutant knowing the doctor didn't seem to show any concern about something out of the ordinary. He shifts the baby in his arms, somewhat fighting her to keep the ice pack over the spot.

"You said you were look for me," Logan asks, grunting as Laura accidentally backhands him in his left eye. "For the love of Christ, kid, can you settle down for once? I'm trying to help you…" Another whack, this time managing to hit his cornea causing Hank to smirk in amusement. Logan doesn't.

"I came across something I thought you might be interested in seeing," Beast answers, finally grasping the mysterious envelope he had brought when first running into Logan. "I'm not sure how this went unnoticed for so long. Or, to be quite frank, how we managed to misplace it to begin with. But I suppose better late than never."

For a moment, Logan hesitates, eyeing the folder with slight uncertainty. He's not sure why, but something feels off about this. Like he's about to find out information a part of him hasn't really considered not wanting to know until now. And yet, the greater half is morbidly curious. Without commenting, Logan takes the object from Hank's grasp, shifting Laura so he can better hold her without allowing her the opportunity to snatch and destroy the contents.

"What is this?"

"Documents on Laura," Hank answers, eyes fixed on Logan as the other mutant begins to thumb through the pages. "On everything about her. Genetics. Linage. Everything."

"How the hell did this disappear in the first place," he growls, surprised by both how angry he sounds and feels. "Isn't shit like this important to have on file or something? And why the fuck did no one even tell me there was stuff on my kid in the first place? I thought we were basically going in blind on some intuition Charles had!"

"A lot was lost in the chaos during the Transigen rescue mission. Laura's file was among of the many misplaced," Beast's tone is so calm, Logan has to fight the urge to sock him in the face. Combat with a baby in tow isn't exactly the best idea. "The fact that we were even able to locate Laura's file is a miracle in itself. In the past several months that I've been digging through things, very few have turned up."

He doesn't realize how hard he's gripping Laura's envelope until his gaze flickers down to the crinkling form in his unintentional fist. Relaxing his fingers, Logan exhales before lifting his stare to meet Hank's. The other mutant looks at him sympathetically, almost as annoyingly meaningful as Charles's is, and he has to press his lips into a firm line to keep from lashing out again. What the hell was going on with him? Shouldn't he have some curiosity and wonder over being granted access to know more about his child? Why did he have this sinking, twisting weight in his gut that made him want nothing more than to toss these papers into a fire?

"Take your time and look over things," Hank says, his voice pulling Logan back into reality. "I need to file a rather excessive quantity of data as it is." There's a pause and for a moment, the blue mutant appears to take notice of the other man's apprehensiveness.

"I'm fine," Logan states bluntly, denying Beast the opportunity to speak. "I'll skim through this and give it back to you. I don't want to screw up your information collecting or whatever the hell it's called." He shifts Laura, much to her displeasure, when she tries to snatch the envelope. "See ya."

Hank calls after him, but Logan's too preoccupied with his own thoughts to hear him-not that he would even answer if had, for that matter. Numbness. Mind hazy. Somehow, Laura's gotten her drool on the outside of the folder by the time they enter the bedroom. She doesn't seem to mind in the least bit when the older mutant places her down in her crib, attention immediately drawn to the singing, blinking toy that finds itself beside her. Taking a seat on the edge of his bed, all while trying to drown out the all too familiar tune of Mary Had a Little Lamb, brings himself to open the file.

**********************************

Property of Transigen (Laboratory Archives)

DO NOT REPLICATE

Project: Weapon X Expansion Program

Subject: X-23

Sex: Female

Species: Mutant

Blood Type: D+ Mutated

Surrogate: Sarah Kinney (Deceased)

Genetic Donor: Weapon X

Paternal DNA: James Howlett (Unknown)

Code Name: Wolverine

**********************************

That's enough. That's all he needed to see. He can't bring himself to delve in further, choosing instead to close folder and cast it aside. Now he could identify that feeling which tugged at him. Guilt. Blame. Until that very moment when Hank approached him in the kitchen, he had managed to mostly suppress the thoughts of Laura's history prior to finding her. An experiment. That's what she was to them. A lab rat. And her mother, this Sarah, a human incubator that was not given a second thought the minute Laura entered the world and she, in turn, died.

Sarah. The mother of his child. The woman he never knew. The person he could not apologize to for his part in her demise-despite not having any knowledge of what was going on. Who he would never be able to thank for giving him his daughter. And he hates himself. But it isn't mainly for what Sarah had to go through. No. He loathes the fact that none of it mattered if he got Laura in return. He cares for her so much. Loves her deeply. And the idea of losing her is just unfathomable.

For the first time since eyeing the file, Logan looks over to the crib. The wall it sits against is painted a soft lavender-a stark contrast to the neutral tones of the rest of the room. There's a tree, one of those giant stick-on designs that Kitty had insisted would go perfectly with Laura's one sided nursery. It's simple enough, well, more so bearable. And there, laying on her back, is Laura. His Laura. The baby who smiles every time he goes to pick her up. This time he holds her close, inhaling the mild scent of baby powder. She's safe and here. Here with him. Always.

When dinner rolls around, Logan tosses the file in front of Hank. Deciding then and there to make himself focus on the present. Laura's smashing mashed potatoes onto her face. Creating a mess as usual. And in his mind, he makes a mental note that he really needs to invest in better bibs.

[jozalynsharp]

So you unfollowed me on Twitter, what now?

My whole life people have had issues with my confidence. As a living, breathing reflection of the traits of humanity deemed less than by them, I think I scare them. 

What secrets of life have I unlocked? A fat woman, truly happy?! What sorcery is this?! It is unfathomable to some people that although my outer package isn’t perfect, I can still feel sexy and confident. I am less offended by the hard-bodied women who are floored by it, than by the average Joe man who is off put by it. The hard-bodied women had to sacrifice and work real hard on her body to love it, but the man just doesn’t want to fuck you. Two very different reasons. One is like your co-worker being mad at you that you got a promotion she worked just as hard, if not harder, than you to get, and the other is like your co-worker getting mad at you because you got a promotion they want even though they don’t think anyone wants to fuck you. 

In the early 2000s being an adolescent girl with a FUPA was a real struggle. Super low-rise jeans? More like, my-gut-is-pushing-the button-of-my-jeans-into-my-pussy-rise jeans. Body image as an issue was being spoken about, but models were still stick thin in all ad campaigns. We were all striving be Gisele Bundchen who, little did we know, would marry a man who frenches his dad. Then, Britney Spears made the “I’m a Slave 4U” video and we all decided our stomachs were disgusting because we didn’t have the abs or core strength to support both a body roll dance move and a boa constrictor at the same time.

I know it’s normal and common for teen girls and boys to not like themselves. Is it necessary to discovering who you are? I think so. What incentive do you have to improve as a person if you never questions exactly how much of a dick you are being? Healthy self-doubt is great. You can have confidence AND healthy self-doubt. They aren’t mutually exclusive.

Now, The term “thirst trap” has integrated itself into the zeitgeist. Dictionary.com defines “thirst trap” as “a provocative photo, often with a coy or confident caption, that will trap (attract) thirst (attention, in the form of comments, likes, etc.)”. My social media game of posting a #DailyThirstTrap lately has really garnered some strange and unexpected reactions. There are a ton of positive and funny interactions, but I want to explore one specific reaction.

Today, one man unfollowed me on Twitter. He told me that he “couldn’t do the self-obsessed Myspace kid vibe” I was putting out there with my #DailyThirstTrap posts. He felt the need to tweet me about why he was unfollowing me. 

(SIDEBAR: No one cares that you unfollowed them on Twitter. You tweeting them about why you’re unfollowing them is really unnecessary. Although, lets face it, if someone is tweeting someone why they are unfollowing them they are definitely NOT reading this many words typed by a woman)  

The thirst trap is such a funny concept to me. It’s a gender neutral activity, but I feel as though women get the most flack for it. We’ve been accused of wanting too much attention because we wear provocative clothing in public but don’t want to be assaulted or harassed about it. We’ve been accused of wanting too much attention anytime in our lives when attention was for anything other than a man wanting to fuck us. The idea that I can’t enjoy the sensuality of my body and even go as far as to celebrate it online because I’m not doing it for a man to cum about is absurd to me. 

It’s a different world today, and I don’t see this happen nearly as often as I did when I was in my early 20’s. However, I think these old biases have more lasting affects than we think. I mean we’re all doing a great job, but centuries of being told our bodies are both for men to covet and disgusting things to be kept away unless they are perfect doesn’t just go away because of a bath bomb boomerang and some free shit from an Instagram company. Cardi B loses her mind every other day. I think we might still be working through some shit. 

Women were always being told that our sexuality was a weapon, weakness, and sin. A man was once so angry at me for speaking openly about my sexuality onstage that he attempted to leave the comedy club. The comic I was opening for, Mike Merryfield, convinced him to stay and when he saw the man in the crowd laughing his ass off at him talking about his dick, he let him know that he was a real piece of shit for having issues with a woman speaking out about her sexuality but no issue when he did it. (Shoutout to Mike Merryfield for sticking up for me like that!)

The attention we receive from our sexuality and it’s validity was always attached to some arbitrary societal expectation of how a “woman” should behave. Times are changing, and in our culture we are now shirking these expectations in favor of demonizing anyone who would try to drape you in them. 

Now, I tell you all of that to tell you this: yes, it bothers me that someone was bothered by my chosen display of loving myself. Yes, I know this seems contradictory. Why care? It’s not that I’m so upset I lost a follower I needed to write a blog about it. People telling me what I can and can’t do really gets under my skin when it comes to me, my body, or my endeavors. Especially when they are insinuating that I cannot do these things because I don’t meet the physical standards (unless it’s like boot camp). Now, I’d like to clarify that the man who unfollowed me today who inspired this train of thought didn't insinuate anything other than he’s annoyed by all my selfies. Strange to follow someone and then get mad when you see them in their posts, but go off I guess.

I’m really just bitter, ya know. Although I enjoy myself today and have worked really hard to love what I see in the mirror, I’m not perfect. I let my insecurities win and make me mad sometimes.

When you’re an overweight or ugly kid every day you are told by the outside world why what you see in the mirror isn’t good enough. You’re told by the way the other kids treat you:

You’re told when you know that people shouldn’t hit each other but when a kid in class pushes you down months after having surgery and the class laughs because of the funny way you fell. Then when another kid finally sticks up for you and says “hey you’re not supposed to hit girls!”, the kid who pushed you says, “yeah but she’s fat it doesn’t count”. 

Don’t worry, I She’s All That-ed pretty hard between sophomore year and junior year of high school and used my newfound sexuality to get revenge on most of my bullies. Like PG-13 teen comedy revenge, not I Spit On Your Grave Revenge.

Did I get revenge on the push kid? Well, if you fast forward about 8 1/2 years you’ll see him crying in an RV and drinking out of a hard liquor bottle, but that story is for another day. 

You’re told you aren’t good enough when you start to develop and your middle school crush finds out you like him and pretends to like you back. Then when he kisses you at the 7th grade dance, you pull away to see a group of his friends doubled over laughing and pointing behind him. He laughs and returns to his friends, the triumphant prankster. It’s like, I didn’t carefully place all these butterfly clips in my hair for THIS.

I care that someone was bothered by photos I’ve taken of myself for that very reason. I was told I wasn’t good enough my whole life because of my physical appearance. This isn’t the first time someone has made a comment about the photos I take of myself. I’m not interested in this. This is another person deciding the level with which I am allowed to appreciate and love myself. The level of my worth. Some of you are like, “this isn’t about loving yourself, you just want attention.”. Uh, yes bitch. Isn’t that what we’re all doing here on social media? Or are you on it for educational purposes? We all want attention, we are human beings.

This IS about loving myself. Because that voice in my head saying “don’t post another picture of yourself” is the same one who told me for years “no one will love you unless you lose weight”.

I’m really not interested in letting that voice win anymore. So, babies, if you aren’t into my vibes online the unfollow button ain’t hard to find. 

[whatshouldwecallmillenniald-blog]

Deep Analysis 3: Reflections on Threesomes and Serial Fuckbois

Lots of topics, lots to unpack here. Let’s start from the top:

Threesomes: So last weekend, I went out to a bar with a girl friend who I knew from previous conversations was bi. We had a lot to drink, her boyfriend joined us along with some of our other friends, and the three of us (me, her, and her bf) ended up going back to her place to have sex. In the end, I don’t remember most of it and it turned into an emotionally messy night, but the overall experience was not unpleasant. In fact, it was enjoyable enough that when my next hookup (see: Serial Fuckboi section) asked if I wanted to do one with him, I agreed. He asked me to put on my Tinder account that I was looking for another girl to join us, and to be completely honest I had NO idea what I was doing. I know how to be a hoe to get guys for a night, I sort of know how to be a wholesome looking fun girl to get guys for dates and long-term things, but I have no idea how to attract/message/talk to girls looking for other girls. When I showed him my profile, he immediately changed my bio, picture, and re-messaged my (meager) matches, essentially doing my job for me. And his version worked WAY better—the girls responded, I got more matches, and overall we were a more attractive couple. Doesn’t this mean he should be the one handling the matches? I suck at starting conversations with girls because I just treat them as friends. If I say to a girl in real life, “Hi! You’re beautiful,” it’s much friendlier and likely to start a conversation than if I randomly messaged “what’s the craziest thing you’ve done on a scale of 1-10.” Yes, Tinder is not real life, and I’ve learned my lesson about being more exaggerated and playful on apps, but this shit is seriously tiring and I’m honestly pretty terrible at it. Also, based on my last threesome, I’m definitely not bi, but another girl being there would be fun? I think? Maybe a foursome would make more sense just in terms of an even number of people, but I don’t even know what to expect anymore. Updates to come if this other guy and I ever find a girl who wants to have sex with us (for God knows what reason, tbh).

----

Serial Fuckboi: Okay, I know this is going to be hypocritical and self-contradictory, but I am just going to relay the events and my thoughts and interpret as you may. Basically, I am hooking up with a guy (See: Case 8) who keeps a “full plate of girls” (direct quote from him) to hang out with/have sex with (not always the same thing) and has no problem telling all of them that he is seeing other girls, has no problem with introducing them to his friends, and has no problem hanging out with them without having sex (read: what happened to me last night when we hung out). When him and I hang out, we usually talk about stuff related to relationships/sex/our lives in general, but nothing too deep. It’s not terrible conversation, but also not necessarily engaging, and I always feel like I’m reaching or asking him questions that he’s just answering to be polite. Am I just used to a more elevated level of enthusiasm in conversation? Why doesn’t he want to ask questions like I do, why don’t we cuddle while we talk if I’m there as a sexual interest, and why (this is the real point that’s bothering me) does he take other girls on actual dates outside of his bedroom and say he likes them when he doesn’t do that with me? Are we just not on that level yet, or am I a lower-tier option for him (also his terminology, not mine)? Am I going to be like that girl he’s seen over 30 times yet will never think of her as “tier 1”? What’s the differentiating factor between me and the girl he took out to a bar on Valentine’s Day? And why did he text me on VDay if he didn’t even want to hang out? 

He is the ULTIMATE serial fuckboi who knows exactly how this game is played and how to play it to maximize long-term gains. I’m just the stupid naïve 21 year old who for some unfathomable reason feels jealous that he’s hanging out with other girls, even though I know that’s the nature of our relationship. Is it really jealousy though? Is it actually related to him, or is it more about my sense of self-worth?

If I’m being completely honest, like COMPLETELY saying this to a void: I couldn’t care less if he was seeing other girls, fucking someone else every day of the week, whatever—as long as he was equally or more attentive to me, basically telling me that I’m just as good or better than the other girls in his eyes as a friend/partner/whatever. This is 100% an issue of self-confidence, and it’s obviously a recurring problem in my life. It’s the reason I want to hook up with strangers when I’m drunk—because some attention is better than no attention. It’s the reason I’m loud and funny and outgoing when I think I’m well liked, and the exact opposite if I feel I’m disliked or seen as not as good/funny/pretty as another girl. This only happens with direct comparison with girls—if another guy is seen as “better”, this does not happen. Why am I like this? More importantly, how can I overcome this? It may come from working out and losing weight, making myself more physically attractive. I do think I’m fairly intelligent and funny, and it’s really just from a purely physical standpoint that I lack the confidence. Well, maybe it’s a little bit of my personality too—I’ve had enough people think I’m annoying/boring to take a hit to my self-esteem. 

Potential solution (that I actually may have learned from the serial fuckboi): become hot, prove to myself that I actually can have confidence and am worth the time and consideration of men I find also worth my time, and begin repairing my broken sense of self.

Conclusion/tl;dr: my relationship/sex life/boy problems are not really about the boy—it’s about my inherent self-esteem and sense of self-worth, which at least in my mind can be fixed or at least bolstered by looking hot and being funny/cool? The quote about “Cool Girls” from Gone Girl hits hard, and maybe this is something I need to keep in mind when dealing with my perception of myself and guys who want a different perception of myself:

Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirt jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl.

Men actually thing this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl. For a long time Cool Girl offended me. I used to see men—friends, coworkers, strangers—giddy over these awful pretender women, and I’d want to sit these men down and calmly say: You are not dating a woman, you are dating a woman who has watched too many movies written by socially awkward men who’d like to believe that this kind of woman exists and might kiss them. I’d want to grab the poor guy by his lapels or messenger bag and say: The bitch doesn’t really love chili dogs that much—no one loves chili dogs that much! And the Cool Girls are even more pathetic: They’re not even pretending to be the woman they want to be, they’re pretending to be the woman a man wants them to be. Oh, and if you’re not a Cool Girl, I beg you not to believe that your man doesn’t want the Cool Girl. It may be a slightly different version—maybe he’s a vegetarian, so Cool Girl loves seitan and is great with dogs; or maybe he’s a hipster artist, so Cool Girl is a tattooed, bespectacled nerd who loves comics. There are variations to the window dressing, but believe me, he wants Cool Girl, who is basically the girl who likes every fucking thing he likes and doesn’t ever complain. (How do you know you’re not Cool Girl? Because he says things like: “I like strong women.” If he says that to you, he will at some point fuck someone else. Because “I like strong women” is code for “I hate strong women.”)