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catboybiologist · 1 month

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“As a biologist, the terms biological woman and man don’t make any sense to me” okay then you’re an idiot and a terrible biologist. I swear to god, morons like you only become biologists just so you can hold it over others, when in reality, if biology deniers like you can become biologists, then being one really doesn’t mean much anyway. But this probably just gave an autogynophile like you a boner to read, anyway.

Oh fun! Haven't gotten one of these in a while. Disregarding the fact that you somehow think the qualification for being a biologist entirely hinges on defining womanhood, I do need to ask some clarification. I know I'm feeding the trolls here, but here we go: does your definition of "biological woman" mean:

Sociological woman? Eh, context dependent, I'm not fully out of the closet, but oftentimes, I am and present femme. So let's call that one 50/50.

Psychological woman? Because I am one.

Neurological woman? Because I am one [1].

Physical woman? My soft tissue redistribution is handling that well.

Hormonal woman? My blood tests are within cis female ranges.

Transcriptional woman? As a signalling molecule, the downstream effects of estrogen have broad transcriptional effects, completely changing the profile of gene expression and functional genomics of my cells. [2]

Genetic woman? I mean, see my above point- as far as my genes that are actually active, I have all of the same transcripts being produced, controlling which genes are expressed.

Karyotypic woman? I actually have a few signs pre-HRT that might point to a non-XY chromosome pair, but I haven't had a karyotype. We'll put that down as unknown. And hell, even if its XY, there's plenty of cis women who are karyotypically XY, with suppressed sry or complete androgen insensitivity. Interestingly enough, a completely androgen insesitive woman can go her whole life without knowing- and functionally, is very similar to a trans woman, actually. Fancy that. [3]

Reproductive woman? I can't produce an egg cell, but neither can significant fractions of cis women. Also, this is all gonna change soon, which is fun. [4]

There's also a lot of understudied aspects to the biology of HRT and even pre-HRT that are emerging, largely demonstrating widespread cellular and genetic remodeling of trans individuals undergoing hormone therapy. The field is a bit behind due to constant political pressure to revoke funding, but a lot of the results are extremely exciting in both testosterone and estrogen hormone therapies. I'm sure that, as a self professed biology As someone who presumably has a lot of expertise in biology, I'm assuming that you're aware of all of this cutting edge research, and are keeping up with modern papers, including but not limited to these cool findings:

Trans men on HRT exhibit significant genetic and transcriptional changes that make them biochemically male. [5][6]. It's a good hypothesis that the same happens with estrogen treatment, but those studies don't exist yet- I'm sure you're reserving judgment until more publications exist, of course.

Trans men on HRT develop male cell types and tissues. [7]

Trans women experience muscular and blood cell changes that align with cis women moreso than cis men [8]

And many, many more! This is an exciting, underserved, and groundbreaking field of research, and I'm sure you're keeping up with the latest in scientific journals about it.

I'm sure, of course, that you understand that it becomes impossible to draw a distinct line anywhere in here, and that words like "woman" are shorthand for the myriad of traits that invisibly synthesize in our mind and in society to represent a concept? I'm sure you understand that science is fundamentally descriptive, not prescriptive? I'm sure that you understand that these findings, while really cool and interesting, actually don't mean jack shit about what the word "woman" means or not?

As someone who is the ultimate decider in what a biologist is, I'm sure you know that bioessentiallism is a childish mindset that completely ignores and disregards the constantly changing, dynamic nature of biological systems, something that extends well beyond biological sex and its relation to gender.

I'm sure that also, that you understand that beyond just this, that the role of science in society is to advise how to achieve our moral principles, not create moral principles in themselves. And I'm sure that understanding means you know that trans affirming healthcare and supportive societal treatment leads to reduced mortality and increased happiness for everyone, right?

So great to talk to someone who is surely a scientist on this. You are a biologist, if you're talking like this, I assume? I assume you're not going to spit complete misreadings of scientific language from the background sections of these papers that only reveal you've never read a scientific paper in your life if you're thinking this way? I assume you have experience interpreting data like this?

Also, imagining my genitalia while writing this? Ew. Please stop projecting your fetishes into my inbox.

Works cited:

Kurth F, Gaser C, Sánchez FJ, Luders E. Brain Sex in Transgender Women Is Shifted towards Gender Identity. J Clin Med. 2022 Mar 13;11(6):1582. doi: 10.3390/jcm11061582. PMID: 35329908; PMCID: PMC8955456.

Fuentes N, Silveyra P. Estrogen receptor signaling mechanisms. Adv Protein Chem Struct Biol. 2019;116:135-170. doi: 10.1016/bs.apcsb.2019.01.001. Epub 2019 Feb 4. PMID: 31036290; PMCID: PMC6533072.

Gottlieb B, Trifiro MA. Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome. 1999 Mar 24 [Updated 2017 May 11]. In: Adam MP, Feldman J, Mirzaa GM, et al., editors. GeneReviews® [Internet]. Seattle (WA): University of Washington, Seattle; 1993-2024. Available from: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK1429/

Murakami, K., Hamazaki, N., Hamada, N. et al. Generation of functional oocytes from male mice in vitro. Nature 615, 900–906 (2023). https://doi.org/10.1038/s41586-023-05834-x

Pallotti F, Senofonte G, Konstantinidou F, Di Chiano S, Faja F, Rizzo F, Cargnelutti F, Krausz C, Paoli D, Lenzi A, Stuppia L, Gatta V, Lombardo F. Epigenetic Effects of Gender-Affirming Hormone Treatment: A Pilot Study of the ESR2 Promoter's Methylation in AFAB People. Biomedicines. 2022 Feb 16;10(2):459. doi: 10.3390/biomedicines10020459. PMID: 35203670; PMCID: PMC8962414.

Florian Raths, Mehran Karimzadeh, Nathan Ing, Andrew Martinez, Yoona Yang, Ying Qu, Tian-Yu Lee, Brianna Mulligan, Suzanne Devkota, Wayne T. Tilley, Theresa E. Hickey, Bo Wang, Armando E. Giuliano, Shikha Bose, Hani Goodarzi, Edward C. Ray, Xiaojiang Cui, Simon R.V. Knott, The molecular consequences of androgen activity in the human breast, Cell Genomics, Volume 3, Issue 3, 2023, 100272, ISSN 2666-979X, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.xgen.2023.100272. (https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2666979X23000320)

Xu R, Diamond DA, Borer JG, Estrada C, Yu R, Anderson WJ, Vargas SO. Prostatic metaplasia of the vagina in transmasculine individuals. World J Urol. 2022 Mar;40(3):849-855. doi: 10.1007/s00345-021-03907-y. Epub 2022 Jan 16. PMID: 35034167.

Harper J, O'Donnell E, Sorouri Khorashad B, McDermott H, Witcomb GL. How does hormone transition in transgender women change body composition, muscle strength and haemoglobin? Systematic review with a focus on the implications for sport participation. Br J Sports Med. 2021 Aug;55(15):865-872. doi: 10.1136/bjsports-2020-103106. Epub 2021 Mar 1. PMID: 33648944; PMCID: PMC8311086.

#cw transphobia #biology #basic biology

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qqueenofhades · 6 months

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i registered to vote for the first time ( i feel old) now that im an adult but my state has closed primary elections which i was wondering if you have an opinion about. my initial thought was that its bad because i had to register democrat (rather than my states green party which represents my beliefs more) just so i could vote between democrat candidates, which feels like being pressured into supporting the weird pseudo two party system we have. but then i looked it up and apparently a reason for this is so that people from opposing parties wont purposefully mess up the votes just so that their preferred candidates have an easier time winning, and i think that makes sense too. but is that actually the reason theyve closed it or is it just to force us dem/republican?? cause it feels strange

Okay, look. I respect the fact that you're a young person, and I appreciate that you have not only registered to vote, but plan to vote in the primaries, so I don't want to lecture you too much. That said: I am taking you out for coffee, I am sitting you down, I am looking into your eyes, and I am urgently telling you the following:

The Green Party is a scam. It is a scam. It has existed for decades in American politics as an empty shell corporation weaponizing the good intentions of young people like yourself, because all it theoretically stands for "it's good to save the planet maybe." Which is not something that any non-insane person seriously disagrees with, but there is no world in which that cause is actually furthered by registering/voting Green (you mentioned that you did vote for Democrats, which -- good, but listen to me here, youngun, okay?) It ran Jill Stein in 2016 to siphon more votes from HRC, and this election it plans to run Cornel West, a pro-Russian tankie who positively equated Bernie and Trump, as another spoiler candidate. It does not stand for "protecting the planet" or America in any real way. It has never elected a single senator or congressman, let alone a president. It stands for empty performance/grievance political theater by those people who feel too morally superior to vote for/affiliate with Democrats, often because the internet has told them that it's not Cool or Hip or Progressive enough.

If your main priority is climate/the environment, you're doing the right thing by registering as a Democrat and voting for Democrats. (Also: the adjectival form is Democratic. It is the Democratic party and Democratic candidates, otherwise you sound like the Fox News host who wrote a book literally entitled "The Democrat Party Hates America.") They are the only major party who has in fact passed major climate legislation and have made environmental justice a central tenet of their platform. As opposed to the Republicans, whose Project 2025, along with the rest of its nightmare fascist prescriptions, openly pledges to completely wreck existing climate protections and forbid any new ones, just because we weren't all dying fast enough under their death-cult rule already. That's the main logical fallacy I don't get among both the Online Leftists and the American electorate in general: "the Democrats aren't doing quite enough as I'd like, so I'll enable the active wrecking ball insane lunatics to get in power and ruin even the progress we HAVE managed to make!" Like. How does that even make sense?

On a federal level, the Greens have contributed nothing whatsoever of tangible value to American or international climate policy/legislation, environmental justice, or anything else, because as noted, they don't have any elected candidates and mostly focus on drawing voters away from Democrats. There might be plenty of good candidates on the local or city level, which -- great! Vote away for Greens if they're available, or the only other option is a Republican! But on the federal/primary level, please understand: once again, they are a scam. There is no point in affiliating yourself with them. You're welcome to register Green and vote Democratic, if that makes you feel better or if you prefer having another label next to your name, but once again, I'm telling you in my position as a salty Tumblr elder that they have done nothing but harm to the causes they claim to care about, because "environment" is such a nebulous priority and has demonstrably been hijacked to stop the American government entity, i.e. the Democrats, that is actually working to improve on it.

As for your question: nobody is "forcing" or "pressuring" you to vote in primaries. By your own admission, you made a conscious choice to register as a Democrat in order to vote for Democratic candidates. If you were just a regular registered voter of whatever party affiliation, you would vote in the general election for whatever candidate the primary process produced. But if you are sufficiently vested and committed to that process that you would like to have a say in who is running under that party label, it is not unreasonable that you would register as a member of that party. Nobody has twisted your arm behind your back and made you do so; you are taking a considerable level of initiative on your own. Likewise, open primaries can be both a good and bad thing. This falls under the "the political system we have is flawed, but we can't magically pretend it doesn't exist and act according to our own fantasyland versions of reality" thing that I keep saying over and over. So yes, if you want a role in shaping the Democratic candidates who emerge from a Democratic primary process, you will usually register as a Democrat, and nobody has forced you to do that. It's that simple.

Likewise as a general programming note: I'm trying to cut back on politics a bit right now, because I don't have the spoons/bandwidth/mental health to deal with it. I apologize. So if you've sent me a politics-related ask recently and haven't received a response, I'm not deliberately or maliciously ignoring you; I just am not able to handle it as much as usual and will have to put it on pause. However, I feel as if this is important enough to be worth saying, so, yeah.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts

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fatliberation · 5 months

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I totally understand and can empathize with fat activists when it comes to medical fatphobia. But I do think its important to provide nuance to this topic.

A lot of doctors mention weight loss, particularly for elective surgeries, because it makes the recovery process easier (Particularly with keeping sutures in place) and anesthetic safer.

I feel like its still important to mention those things when advocating for fat folks. Safety is important.

What you're talking about is actually a different topic altogether - the previous ask was not about preparing for surgery, it was about dieting being the only treatment option for anon's chronic pain, which was exacerbating their ed symptoms. Diets have been proven over and over again to be unsustainable (and are the leading predictor of eating disorders). So yeah, I felt that it was an inappropriate prescription informed more by bias than actual data.

(And side note: This study on chronic pain and obesity concluded that weight change was not associated with changes of pain intensity.)

If you want to discuss the risk factor for surgery, sure, I think that's an important thing to know - however, most fat people already know this and are informed by their doctors and surgeons of what the risks are beforehand, so I'm not really concerned about people being uninformed about it.

I'm a fat liberation activist, and what I'm concerned about is bias. I'm concerned that there are so many BMI cutoffs in essential surgeries for fat patients, when weight loss is hardly feasible, that creates a barrier to care that disproportionately affects marginalized people with intersecting identities.

It's also important to know that we have very little data around the outcomes of surgery for fat folks that isn't bariatric weight loss surgery.

A new systematic review by researchers in Sydney, Australia, published in the journal Clinical Obesity, suggests that weight loss diets before elective surgery are ineffective in reducing postoperative complications.

CADTH Health Technology Review Body Mass Index as a Measure of Obesity and Cut-Off for Surgical Eligibility made a similar conclusion:

Most studies either found discrepancies between BMI and other measurements or concluded that there was insufficient evidence to support BMI cut-offs for surgical eligibility. The sources explicitly reporting ethical issues related to the use of BMI as a measure of obesity or cut-off for surgical eligibility described concerns around stigma, bias (particularly for racialized peoples), and the potential to create or exacerbate disparities in health care access.

Nicholas Giori MD, PhD Professor of Orthopedic Surgery at Stanford University, a respected leader in TKA and THA shared his thoughts in Elective Surgery in Adult Patients with Excess Weight: Can Preoperative Dietary Interventions Improve Surgical Outcomes? A Systematic Review:

“Obesity is not reversible for most patients. Outpatient weight reduction programs average only 8% body weight loss [1, 10, 29]. Eight percent of patients denied surgery for high BMI eventually reach the BMI cutoff and have total joint arthroplasty [28]. Without a reliable pathway for weight loss, we shouldn’t categorically withhold an operation that improves pain and function for patients in all BMI classes [3, 14, 16] to avoid a risk that is comparable to other risks we routinely accept.

It is not clear that weight reduction prior to surgery reduces risk. Most studies on this topic involve dramatic weight loss from bariatric surgery and have had mixed results [13, 19, 21, 22, 24, 27]. Moderate non-surgical weight loss has thus-far not been shown to affect risk [12]. Though hard BMI cutoffs are well-intended, currently-used BMI cutoffs nearly have the effect of arbitrarily rationing care without medical justification. This is because BMI does not strongly predict complications. It is troubling that the effects are actually not arbitrary, but disproportionately affect minorities, women and patients in low socioeconomic classes. I believe that the decision to proceed with surgery should be based on traditional shared-decision making between the patient and surgeon. Different patients and different surgeons have different tolerances to risk and reward. Giving patients and surgeons freedom to determine the balance that is right for them is, in my opinion, the right way to proceed.”

I agree with Dr. Giori on this. And I absolutely do not judge anyone who chooses to lose weight prior to a surgery. It's upsetting that it is the only option right now for things like safe anesthesia. Unfortunately, patients with a history of disordered eating (which is a significant percentage of fat people!) are left out of the conversation. There is certainly risk involved in either option and it sucks. I am always open to nuanced discussion, and the one thing I remain firm in is that weight loss is not the answer long-term. We should be looking for other solutions in treating fat patients and studying how to make surgery safer. A lot of this could be solved with more comprehensive training and new medical developments instead of continuously trying to make fat people less fat.

#inbox #medical fatphobia #sources #surgery #anti fat bias #fat activism #fat liberation

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pupcuck · 5 months

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ROTTEN LUCK !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. smut, kidnapping, leon is like mentally gone icl, references to past assault and trauma, non-con, manipulation, suicidal thoughts/reference to an attempt, general leon self destructive behaviour, physical abuse, power dynamics, throatfucking, choking, breath play, somno, 1 instance of drugging, unmentioned age gap, anal, he puts duct tape on your pussy ok just once promise it’s not bad, religious references, 1 mention of vomit and piss not in a sexual way, slight misogyny, panic attack

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

anyway, please ignore typos :3 rbs and feedback is very appreciated :3 my medical knowledge sucks, so keep in mind that all of this is off LMFAO crossposted to ao3 (user clitkiss)

two

Lucky. Leon hates that word. He wasn’t lucky to get out of Raccoon City, he was just barely capable, you have to be unlucky to get into that situation in the first place. You’re a lucky guy, Redfield had told him once, Chris not Claire. Claire isn’t daft. And Leon wonders what is so lucky about him. He’s forty-six and all he’s got is his trusty Matilda, his mother’s old Bible, and a failing liver. His luck is preordained by God and it’s a total sham.

Leon Kennedy’s the one who showed up to drill sessions smelling like sweat and cock. Kennedy’s the one that rolls over onto his front and takes it like a good doggy. Kennedy’s green behind the ears, pretty in the face, and that don’t fare well in a boot camp full of men twice his size. Kennedy’s the one brushing shoulders with the President, got the USA’s most prized dick in his mouth and everyone knows that he wouldn’t dare bite down. Golden boy Leon fucking Scott Kennedy would just go ahead and use his tongue to clean up Graham’s ballsack. And you’re calling that lucky? Bullshit.

The DSO’s modus operandi is strikingly similar to that of the BSAA. He is but a cog in a well oiled machine. There’s one difference, not a dog tag to his name. If he dies, then he’ll die nameless, and he’ll be cremated by something nuclear, and it’ll all be for nothing. Ain’t that just the luckiest thing you’ve ever heard?

He has tried to kill himself once or twice or thrice. He lost count after the fifth. The gun jammed once, a bad joke. Left Matilda rendered useless. Was meant to be him, not her. And if Leon’s being honest, every day is an avid attempt, as in the drinking and praying his liver gives out. Once he managed to get halfway there. Doesn’t remember a lot. Just blood. Lots of blood. Why couldn’t you be quiet about your grief, Leon? Claire’s expression had asked, how I am, how Chris is, how Jill is.

‘Cause he couldn’t. He had to go ahead and splatter his grief all over the linoleum floor. Maybe then someone would find him, and they’d mourn him, and they’d feel sorry for him ‘cause he’d pitied himself enough. Leon told her a joke, yapping away like one of those butterscotch lapdogs. Claire said that in South Korea you’re allowed to snip a dog's vocal cords to stop them from barking. Lucky I’m not in South Korea then. She handed him an orange prescription bottle with his name scrawled on it, and that was that. They didn’t speak for a few months.

Once upon a time Sherry needed him, now he needs her more. Needs her to laugh at his jokes, she’s the only one that does. And he needs her to tell him, I love you, Leon. She’s the only one that says that. No one puts up with him like Sherry does. She puts up with him in the way most women do their fathers. Love their dads unconditionally and nothing can ever fix that. Terrible illness that is. So, yeah, Leon Scott Kennedy is far from lucky. Lonely? Oh, for sure. God. He’s so lonely he feels sorry for himself. That’s one thing Leon has always been good at though. Lending himself a shoulder ‘cause no one else will.

His fingers brush yours in the record store. The hairs on the back of his neck stand. Jesus. Is it getting that bad? Leon’s been without a fuck for a few months and he’s already itching. That’s a new low. When Leon looks up to catch sight of who made his dick swell with their fingertips, he catches your eye briefly. A mousy little thing. Easily spooked it seems by the nervous smile you give him.

You’re on the phone, I don’t know what he likes anymore, dad, yeah—I’m trying to find it—Yes, I know who sang Sex and Candy, dad, Kurt Cobain right? Is that the one he likes? Dumbass. No, I’m not wrong, could you put mom on the phone—Hi mom, yes, I know he’s my brother, mom—Ever since he turned fifteen he stopped talking to me properly—I don’t know what she thinks, mom—

A mommy, daddy, a brother, a sister too he assumes. You’re what they call lucky. Nasty undertone you’re using with your parents. If Leon’s mom was still around he’d talk to her so sweet. She’d tell him to pray and Leon wouldn’t resist. Alright, Ma, Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus Tecum— then his voice would trail off, and he’d pretend to mouth the rest of the hymn ‘cause he remembers fuck all.

He wants to knock you around. Shake you till your brains scramble. Wants you to flinch even when he’s being nice. Leon’s nostrils flare when you raise your voice in the slightest, even if it’s playful, it’s plain rude. How dare you? He can’t even begin to fathom how incredibly lucky you are. The thought crosses Leon’s mind once, twice, thrice. Just how suicide did that day back in September. If you can kidnap the President’s daughter from her bustling college campus, throw her over your shoulder like salt, why can’t you kidnap Miss Nobody from a street corner in D.C?

Your figure is distinguished by a single, flickering street lamp. He sees your shadow. Recognises the silhouette by the shapely legs and how your belted coat flares out to create a dramatic hourglass, Leon’s got a good eye for detail. Oh, it’s kinda sexy watching you in the spotlight, like a makeshift cabaret show, go on babe, bust out the flapper dress, he knows his stuff, he read Gatsby back in high school. He listens out for the tap of your heeled boots, click-clack, click-clack, there you are, you don’t even know what’s about to happen, do you? And it really is that easy. Just like throwin’ salt over your shoulder.

Temazepam, loprazolam, lormetazepam, diazepam, nitrazepam. Some melatonin too. Magnesium’s supposed to help with insomnia. How’s he supposed to know what your body reacts to best? Leon’s not your fuckin’ GP. Chloroform does the trick for everyone. Should’ve invited you out for drinks and roofied you instead.

Leon had gone for an old-fashioned method, listen, he was desperate. He doesn’t usually resort to such bruteish tactics unlike the older Redfield, not that Chris would use a morsel of his strength to harm a lady, but it had to be done. Yes, he choked you out. No, he’s not proud of it. He’s actually pretty disappointed in his lack of preparation. Oh, cut yourself some slack, Kennedy, it’s your first time kidnapping someone, and it was a heat of the moment type thing. To Leon’s dismay, that doesn’t last long, duh, he should know better.

While you regain sluggish consciousness on his couch, Leon’s tearing through his kitchen cabinets for anything to settle you down. Ah. That’s right. Ketamine. Ain’t it horse tranquilliser? What’s that doing here? Honestly, he’s got to stop raiding the infirmary for all they’ve got. A high enough dosage will knock you out for sure. If it kills you, then so be it. Beer for guys, wine for the ladies, and Ketamine for random sluts he picks up on street corners.

You’re blinking to clear your hazy vision, feeling around your crushed windpipe to assess the damage, he leans over you like a nurse from hell. The needle breaks your skin easily, so tender, before you have the chance to kick up a fuss, your eyelids turn to lead and close like a toy babydoll’s do when you lean them back.

Fifteen to twenty minutes, google says. Leon gets down to business, strips you of your clothing, takes you to his room, throws you on the king-sized bed that’s warmed only by him. He kept your panties on. They’re light blue and sensible briefs. A buzzer rings out in his head, bzzzt, boring. A million bitches in D.C. and he picked out the most vanilla one. Just his Kennedy luck ain’t it.

One minute. Leon presses his nose to the fabric of your panties, sniffs like a pig does in its trough, isn’t that just the sweetest smell? Fresh cunt. He licks up the print of your pussy, tongue landing on the hardness of your clit.

Five minutes. With your panties soaked with Leon’s spit, he decides to move ‘em to the side, and he groans in delight when he parts your cushioned lips to find that you’re stickier than toffee pudding, drooly cunt reactive to the pads of his fingers, to the tip of his tongue. He pushes back the hood of your bud, gives it a kiss, then another.

Ten minutes. He’s opened you up, gaped you around three thick fingers, Jesus, you’re so tight. It’s like your cunt’s vacuum sealed. Leon’s fingers prod at the squishy opening of your cervix, his thumb circles your clit, presses down like a button and he’s rewarded with another gush of slick. Beer on tap.

You rouse from your forced slumber at fourteen minutes. Huh. He’ll have to up the dosage next time. “Hi there, sleepin’ beauty.” Leon says in a rather cloying voice, amping up the sweetness when in reality he is less than fond of you. The lucky girl. He strokes your head soothingly, hovers over you to keep you in place. The panic sets in almost immediately, flailing limbs, asinine attempts at sentences that crawl up your throat and spill over. Who are you, get off me, get off me, please. What did I do? I’m sorry, please, let me go, let me go, please, I’ll do anything. Albeit your words are slurred, Leon chooses not to hear you.

“Aintcha just the sweetest thing?” He cups your cheeks, gaze so gentle it’s disarming. “I opened you up, didn’t wanna break ya, just wanted you to wake up before we got it on, I’m a real gentleman, you see.” Before he rapes you, he makes sure to ask: you got a rubber by any chance, sweetheart? Oh, and you don’t like that, you really don’t. ‘Cause your face falls fast like a drop tower ride.

The chance to scream is lost on you when he shoves his fingers in your mouth, pushes them down your burning throat till you choke and drool in an unflattering manner. Your jaw is too lax to clamp down on him. Leon takes this opportunity to smear his leaky, fat tip over your folds, pushes past the barriers of resistance and slides into your pre-gaped cunt. Lucky bitch. Lucky fucking bitch. Getting yourself a piece of Leon S. Kennedy’s dick. He reserves that for only the finest ladies, aka any girl that has a nice set of tits and dark hair, greying roots are a new preference.

He’s fully sheathed inside of you, head rubbing painfully against your cervix. Bruising it from the look of discomfort on your face as you make stupid-sounding noises around his fingers. “Fuck, yeah, that hits the spot.” When’s the last time Leon had his way with a girl, wanton fucking, pulling hair, slapping— they all want it soft and sappy these days. And so did he up until a certain point. Up until he tried to kill himself maybe. Something must’ve flipped in his brain, now he’s overcome with the need to mess your pretty face up.

Leon’s forehead presses to your clammy one, your sweat is salty on his tongue when he kisses your cheek. Slightly sour scent, ugh, what’s he saying? Acting like he’s a fear-smelling B.O.W or some shit. Fuck off, Kennedy. His hips aim upwards when your body shifts due to the thrashing you’re doing, with each thrust he bottoms out with a wet squelch, rolls his hips into you at a force that knocks any chance of breath out of you.

“If you were a good girl,” Leon smiles, all teeth. They glint in the muddy darkness of his room, black-out curtains drawn so not even the moon gets to see what he’s doing to you, “then I’d be fuckin’ you real slow, real nice, rub that little clit till you came.” Your wrists are both cuffed within his grip, pinned over your head as he drives into you, as if his intention is to tear straight through you.

The heat in his gut uncoils, but he’s timed himself well enough, pulls out ‘cause god forbid he knocked you up. Knowing Leon’s luck he’d manage it. Then he puts his cock in your mouth, “I got some pliers out back.” He says in warning as he jerks the shaft and your lips hesitantly close around the tip when he gives you a mean look. Total lie by the way, no matter how abnormal Leon is he does not own a pair of tooth-pulling pliers. Shoots his load down your throat, you splutter and push at his abdomen to get him off.

He pulls out in his own time, lays beside you. All of his chakras are aligned. Apparently there’s seven, but Leon’s only got two. And they’re entirely dependent on whether he’s sucked and fucked till he’s thoroughly satisfied. By god he is. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, Et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. That’s the rest of it right. He remembers now. You might just be his saving grace, Lucky Girl. His very own Sancta Maria, Mater dei. Damn, you hear that, ma? Leon’s got it down to a T. Maybe some more pussy will get him singing out the rest of the prayer. He can get rid of that statuette on the mantle, swap it out with you.

He doesn't get a word out by the time you’re vomiting a vile mixture of acidic yellow and his seed down the front of your chest. Retching as you choke on the gift he’d given you.

Leon takes you to the bathroom, forces you into the shower cubicle as he sprays you down, not even waiting for the water to go warm. “Dry yourself off,” he gestures mildly to where there’s a few towels stored.

You don’t come back out of the bathroom for five minutes, then ten, then twenty. Don’t even answer when he knocks. Goddammit, Leon. Leave your kidnap victim alone in the room with all the razors, why don’t you? Fucking idiot. When he opens the door, you’re huddled in the corner by the toilet, dry heaving into the bowl and sitting in a puddle of your own piss. Stupid fucking baby. Is this what kids are like these days? When he was your age he made it out of Raccoon City alive, and no one made it out of there. No one lived to tell that story. And you’re here pissing your pants ‘cause he’s given you a nice, hard fucking? He pimp slaps you so hard your teeth clatter.

It takes two weeks for his Lucky Girl to be broken in. Not as long as he expected, so he’s pleased. And when Leon’s pleased, he’s nice. So today you get some screen time. You’re curled into his side, the way a baby bird does under its mother’s wing, squinting at his sixty-five inch TV, egregious really, who needs a screen that big? He’s flipping periodically through the channels whenever an ad break comes on. The 7.45PM news is on. He settles on that and you watch mindlessly, no objections.

The speech blurs like white noise to him, Leon’s not focused until your picture pops up on screen, and he just turns to you with this shit-eating grin. Graduation cap and robe on, all dolled up as you make eyes at him through the screen.

“Baby,” he grins wolfishly, ruffles your hair in a teasing manner, “you look so damn cute there!” Leon watches bright-eyed, suddenly enthralled, they list your name, your height, your weight, all stuff he actually didn’t know ‘bout you. Never bothered to ask. You don’t need a name, you’re just his Lucky Girl. “Don’t like the red lip on you,” he comments flippantly, “A red lip is for whores, don’t you think, baby?”

He was right. You got a daddy, a mommy, a brother and a sister. You’ve got it all. Lucky fucking Girl. A broken sob is torn from your throat, jagged and scratchy as you fling yourself halfway across the room, on your knees as you put your grubby fingers all over his shiny screen. Leon lets you. He finds it hilarious actually. Who’d you think you are? Carol Anne from Poltergeist? Like you’re gonna get sucked into the screen, crawling out the other end like Sadako, back into your daddy’s arms.

Our daughter—My girl, she had her whole life ahead of her—My sister wouldn’t do this—She was so excited to move on after graduation—She’s not the type to run away—My daughter—My sister—Our sister—

Your mother is a mess, barely able to get words out with the way she’s blubbering. “She’s layin’ it on a bit thick, don’t you think, babe?” Leon picks up his beer from the side table, slightly heated under the burn of the lamp. “You look like your daddy, cry pretty like your mama though.”

You stare at him horrified. Jaw hanging open as if it’s unhinged, not in the way a snake does when ready to swallow its prey whole. More in the way of a screaming corpse. When the rigor mortis has worn off, secondary flaccidity sets in, and the mandible drops open. Jeez, tough crowd tonight it seems. Don’t make him sew your mouth up, Lucky Girl. Leon wouldn’t dare, that mouth, that throat is precious to him.

CCTV footage plays on the screen, another sob racks your brittle frame, you didn’t know it was him that day, Leon realises. “Oh, baby, that’s where we met, ain’t that funny?” A blurry image of you on the phone, prattling away to your family like the Lucky Girl you are, he’s just out of shot.

We miss her—Please, if you know anything, if you find anything—Please—

“God, let me get my phone, darling, they look so upset I can’t stand it. I might have to call them up and turn myself in. Give ‘em an early Christmas gift, don’t you think?” If Leon went missing, who would look for him? Hunnigan with all her sharp edges, or Claire with her unwilling loyalty to him? Lucky Bitch. It’s making his temper flare, that’s enough TV time for today.

The screen fades out, goes black when he switches it off. “No, no, no,” you chant, “no, no, no, no, please, please—“

“I’m disappointed in you, baby.” Leon says honestly, sips his beer and laughs mirthlessly. “I thought you’d started to like me.”

You’re not listening, too busy fitting on the rug, grasping at the screen as if you can pluck your family out of it and reunite with them on his living room floor. Leon did think you were getting used to him though. Family’s family, blood is thicker than water. Cum is also thicker than water. And that’s what he’s pumped down your throat nightly in hopes of it clogging up your brain, so you think of nothing but him. Those dogs in South Korea, the ones Claire told him about, he’s got his own special method to take care of your vocal cords. No snipping, no surgery needed. Just the throat training method.

“C’mere, lucky girl.” He clicks his tongue as if he’s calling out for a dog. You lay unmoving, rocking back and forth, whispering to yourself like a crazy person. Bit creepy. Leon stands, he grabs you by the hair and drags you to sit at his feet near the couch. Simple and effective. Backhands you for good luck. He needs it. “Stop your cryin’ I’m getting sick of it.” Leon says, brows wrinkled as he lowers his sweats, brings your head down to rest on his thigh. Your tear-stained cheeks turn him on, the doleful eyes, runny nose. It’s hot. His sad little girl.

“Suck it.” Leon taps the tip against your pouty lips, swollen from his earlier kisses, coats them in his pearly pre, “I won’t ask twice, sweetheart.” You open your mouth, take him like clockwork. He don’t like that attitude. So he pushes your head down on his cock, watches your throat bob, uncomfortably full. Leon pinches your nose, listens to how you panic so nice around a mouthful of dick, gagging in a way you never have before. Not a gag that indicates inexperience, but one that is full of sheer terror, nails leaving red marks on his thighs as you drag them down his skin. Ouch. He’s gotta trim those down.

“You get it now, babe?” Leon hums, he lets you off this time, “Do what I say and it’ll be fine, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Leon,” you nod furiously through gulps of air, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.” Fuck. Another one of your panic attacks. He’s not got the patience to deal with this. “I won’t—“ A wheeze, “ I won’t do it—“ A croak, “I won’t do it again.” You’ve learned to handle yourself. Rub your chest with your right hand, stare at the ceiling till you calm down. Leon’s dick is still rock hard. Ready to crack open a walnut.

“Good girl,” he nods, “then get on with it.”

There is nothing you’ve done in particular to set Leon off. He’s just had a bad day. Hunnigan’s senses are much too acute, she thought something was off with him. That put him on edge. So he’s like a ticking time bomb. Just waiting for you to make one wrong move. And you do. You say no to him, pleadingly so, shaking your head as you look at him with your fairytale fawn eyes. Meekly admit that you’re sore and achy and it hurts.

“That’s not your decision to make, sweetheart.” Leon informs you, he grabs a roll of duct tape from the kitchen, nicks at the edge with his teeth and tears a strip off. You bristle, completely still, a thousand thoughts running through that pea-sized brain of yours. “But I’ll be nice today, been waitin’ to fuck your ass anyway.” He puts the strip on your cunt, over your chubby lips to hold them together, it feels strange and icky. The last thing Leon wants to see is blood. He sees enough of that daily. So he’s generous when it comes to prep, busts out the cherry-flavoured lube today, squirts a decent amount on his fingers, cock, and your tighter hole.

You squirm, he watches the unreadable expression on your face carefully, the rise and fall of your chest. You’re nervous, but you’re wet, and that makes his chest swell in pride. Lucky Girl finally gets it. One finger slips past the ring of tight muscle, Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, there’s one last line he’s missing. It’ll come to him. Two fingers in, he scissors you open, spits on it just ‘cause it turns him on to see it run down your crack.

That’s enough, Leon thinks when he fits the third. He wants to make it hurt a little. Wants to feel like a big, strong man. He sits back on his knees, flips you over onto your front, he likes you this way. Just takes you in, how your tits hang low, brushing against the mattress when Leon presses a hand down on your back to keep you from arching. He takes his dick in hand and in he goes, easier than he thought. He wonders if you can cum just like this, with his dick pounding your ass.

He fucks like an animal, you gasp and yelp below him, unable to handle it as his hips smack against yours. The duct tape is starting to peel ‘cause your pussy is fucking soaked. That alone makes his balls tighten as he turns you back over to do damage control, and ‘cause he wants to see your face while he fucks. You look like you’re lovin’ it. Alright. So you’re an anal slut. Got it. He pushes back into your ass, groans when you clench around him, the duct tape peeling at the corners, he can’t handle it. Et in hora mortis nostrae. Leon’s mind blanks when he cums, fills your ass and his limp cock slips out. Shit. A-fucking-men. That’s right, he remembers. That’s how you end a prayer.

You don’t cum. He tears the duct tape off clean. You let out a loud ‘Ow, Leon!’ and frown at him. Beads of arousal stick to the piece of tape, your pussy is pulsing, walls fluttering around nothing. Leon kisses your swollen clit, rubs it steadily till you cream on his tongue, sweeter than molasses his Lucky Girl is.

“Leon?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you.” You tell him shyly, gaze at him with this dumb fucking smile on your dollface that makes his heart squeeze. God, he’s gotta keep you around, his lucky charm.

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil smut #leon s kennedy x you #resident evil x reader

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trans-axolotl · 7 months

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and this is also why i think that any meaningful community building/advocacy/support around madness/neurodivergence/mental illness needs to be founded on principles of liberation and abolition, and that we need to be able to distinguish between people who are allies based on our shared values + goals, and between people who use some of the same language as us, but are fundamentally advocating for separate things.

One example I see a lot of is the idea of "lived experience" professionals, people who have a career in the mental health system and who also have some personal experience with mental illness. These professionals oftentimes will talk about their own negative experiences in the mental health system, and come into their careers with a genuine desire to improve the experience of patients. But their impact is incredibly limited by the system they have chosen to work in: the coercive elements of psychiatry incentivize professionals to buy into the existing power structures instead of disrupting them. And as a whole, many lived experience professionals end up getting exploited and tokenized by their employers and used as an attempt to make carceral psychiatry seem more palatable. Professionals in this dynamic are not working to effectively challenge the structural violence of their profession: they become complicit, even if they do also have good intentions and provide individual support.

(I do know some radical providers who have found innovative ways to fuck up the system and destabilize and shift power in their workplaces, but this is a very small number of providers and is not most of the lived experience providers I've talked with.)

Another example I see a lot in our spaces has to do with the evolution of the neurodiversity paradigm. I feel a very deep connection to the original conceptualization of neurodiversity and neurodivergent as coined by Kassiane Asasumasu, but in recent years I've seen a lot of people using neurodivergent language in a way that feels pretty dramatically different than the foundational principles. This isn't saying that people should stop using ND terminology or that all neurodivergent spaces are like this--rather, I just want to point out some trends I see in certain communities, both online and in my in personal life. Although people will often use neurodivergent language and on the surface, seem allied with concepts of deinstitutionalization, acceptance, etc, the values and structure in these community spaces often rely heavily on ideas of classification based in DSM, and build very prescriptive and rigid models for categorizing different types of neurodivergence in a way that ends up excluding some M/MI/ND people. Certain types of knowledge are valued over other types of knowledge, and certain diagnoses are prioritized as worthy of support over others. There's a lot of value placed on identifying and classifying many types of behaviors, beliefs, thoughts, actions, into specific categories, and a lack of solidarity between different diagnoses or the wider disability community.

Again, this isn't to say that ND terminology is bad or useless--I think it is an incredibly helpful explanatory model/shorthand for finding community and will call myself neurodivergent, and find a lot of value in community identification and sharing of wisdom. I just feel like it's important to realize that not every ND person, organization, or initiative, is actually invested in the project of fighting for our liberation.

when thinking about our activism, as abolitionists, it's important to be very specific about what our goals, values, and tactics are. For example, understanding the concept of non-reformist reforms helps us distinguish what immediate goals are useful, versus what reforms work to increase the carceral power of the psychiatric system. And when building our own value systems and trying to build alternative ways of caring for ourselves and our communities, we need to be able to evaluate what brings us closer to autonomy, freedom, and interdependence. I need people to understand that just because someone is also against psych hospitalization does not mean that they are also allies in the project of letting mad people live free, authentic, meaningful, and supported lives, and that oftentimes people's allyship is conditional on our willingness to conform to their ideas of a "good" mentally ill person.

#personal #psych abolition #mad liberation #surviving psych #antipsych #neurodivergent #also to be clear i'm not saying any of this as a way to say some people are more or less disabled than others #or that becoming a provider makes you no longer neurodivergent or something #but rather this is discussion of activism + strategy + goals + tactics #not a commentary on "who counts as disabled or who deserves support #this is talking about: how do we build the type of world where mad people are liberated and how can we tell who is also working towards tha

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theinnerunderrain · 2 years

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Imagine Dottore as your doctor.

Warnings: Yandere themes, non-consensual touching, abuse of authority, drugging, increase and decrease in the use of prescription medication, physical and cervix examination, medical play, mature content.

Dottore isn't necessarily the worst doable doctor, but it's fairly obvious that he lacks a significant number of the qualities that a traditional doctor should exhibit. He somewhat considers masquerading as a doctor as a pastime, something he chooses to undertake despite possessing limited interest in people, seeing it as a valid opportunity to further pursue his interest. Furthermore, it serves as a decent cover for his occupation within the Fatui, which the general public would describe as "vile" and "inhuman", but that isn't the main topic for today.

He has a basic understanding of medicine, but he's not the type of doctor that particularly cares about his patients. It's amazing he hasn't already been arrested considering he's the type of doctor to diagnose a patient with stage four cancer from a mere cough that was obviously just from a simple fever. When someone complains of backaches, Dottore is most likely to prescribe them insulin, which is generally prescribed for diabetics, and dismiss them whenever they inquire as to why the drug isn't working.

There is nothing more to playing doctor than a trifling amusement, a way to pastime.

Or so he thought.

As a new patient, you were required to meet him for a "meet and greet," which he obviously didn't want to do, but was forced to do by Pierro's persistent demands on managing the business properly to avoid suspicion. He had anticipated that the meeting would pass by rather smoothly, but by his definition of smooth, he had anticipated that you would flee the room in a fit of tears after he unintentionally criticised you over a trivial matter.

But you were remarkably unwavering, not wavering at the slightest amount of venom within his words. Instead, your only expression was a serene smile that never flickered; the only time your lips faltered was when you had to open your mouth to answer him, delighting him with your soft-spoken voice.

Dottore doesn't immediately fall in love with you, but he does become intrigued by you, somewhat like how a researcher would become enthralled by a rare specimen that only sometime emerged from its cave every full moon.

Unlike the most of his patients, Dottore is incredibly nice to you, legitimately assessing your condition accurately and prescribing the appropriate treatments. While Dottore does demonstrate some concern for your general well-being, he does have a nagging tendency of undercutting some of your treatments. It's just tinkering with the doses you're supposed to take by either adding too much or too little, nothing too drastic.

"Here. These are the medicines I'm recommending to you since they will alleviate your headaches. Too much..? No, it is the correct quantity. The other doctors must have completely misunderstood considering taking such a small amount is essentially worthless..."

Too much medicine would cause a lot of adverse effects, perhaps an increase in headaches and fever, leading you to come back to him within the next week. Too little however, doesn't do anything and doesn't even have an effect, negative or positive. After it becomes clear to you that the medicine was ineffective, you would return to his office and request for a new prescription. Basically all the tactics he can use to make sure you're back to him within a few weeks.

"Ah. So soon, my dear? Come sit down, and I'll be delighted to know what went wrong this time."

Other times, he would accompany you in conducting physical examinations, which would typically be handled by a nurse but he would venture in to assist you. Despite his unpredictable temperament, Dottore appears to be a somewhat capable doctor throughout the first half of the examination. But halfway through, his actions start to seem a little... off, and his touches are a little too persistent. Maybe you should retract the compliments you originally gave him.

Since he regards sexual activities as nothing more than a means of reproduction, Dottore does not conceive of himself as a particularly affectionate person or as the kind of man who craves physical contact all the time. However, he did make a few modifications to his perspective on the subject. Even while his continual need to touch you isn't entirely motivated by sexual aggravations or anything, it does feel slightly pleasurable when he runs his hands up your shoulders. His justification was that he wanted to avoid unintentionally tampering with your readings and needed to be certain that he was being accurate while taking your blood pressure.

Dottore found the examination to be more amusing than he had anticipated; for the first time in his life, he felt like a true doctor. Though he doesn't think he would have considered the assessment to be as interesting if he had been required to care for a patient other than you.

But listening to your heartbeat with a stethoscope was his favourite part. It was interesting to monitor how your pulse rate would spike after his hand inadvertently brushed very close to your chest or how his fingers would accidentally unlatch from the stethoscope and press onto your breast. It was noticeable that you were aware of the way his hands would brush up against you, but you were unwilling to confront him and instead chose to merely cringe slightly, forcing your lips into a thin line to stop yourself from saying anything you'll regret.

He must touch your chest in order to feel your breasts for any lumps that might be indicators of breast cancer, you probably don't want cancer right? Every doctor needs to touch his or her patient's breast; don't treat him like some sort of pervert. Ignore the fact that he would leave his hands on your moulds for far longer than was necessary, even giving it a quick squeeze and having the audacity to laugh.

"I apologise; I understand it is uncomfortable for me to be touching your breast, but it is necessary for the physical examination."

He will frequently make statements like this while grinning widely and without any apparent remorse or sign of sorrow within his face or voice. The pelvic exam, which includes examining the cervix, vagina, and vulva, is the other component of the physical examination, one that you often dread. It's not that you've never undergone a pelvic exam; nonetheless, the majority, if not all, of those exams were performed by female nurses or medical professionals. It's therefore unsettling to have this unusual man crouch down between your legs with a flashlight in his hand and gloved hands poised to pry open your hole.

"My dear patient, don't worry. There is no need to have your cute little head all screwed up because I am experienced with these types of examinations."

Dottore claims to be knowledgeable about this sort of thing, so you do not need fear, but in reality he isn't and hasn't fully comprehended the female anatomy outside of the textbook standpoint. Pelvic exams are typically only supposed to go on for a few minutes, but Dottore was clearly looking into you for far longer than that, his fingers fluttering at what appear to be random places, teasing and stroking your flesh. He would reel back and appear quite satisfied with what he accomplished after a few more moments of simple flicking and fondling with you before removing a metal hinge instrument from beneath the cabinet next to the bed.

"Regarding this, I'm certain you've already had a lot of experience. Please bear with me because it can ache just enough."

He will glide the instrument steadily into you as he watches your countenance change to one of pain as the metal surface of the device clings to the inside of your vagina and works its way through despite the dryness, a quiet moan escaping your lips as your face flushed in embarrassment at yourself for making such a noise. Even though Dottore knew that this process would be uncomfortable, he chose to wait a few seconds before expelling the instrument from you, seemingly interested in the way your expression was one of fear. He did this while monitoring how your face is visually relaxed and your tight grip on the chair loosened.

The following stage of the process would involve him physically inserting two fingers into you, certainly with lubricant on them, to make the process much more compelling for the both of you. His other fingers would be pressed against the outside of your lower abdomen while he noticed the way his long fingers curved into your cunt, causing you to gasp. Dottore had to examine the size and shape of your uterus and ovaries during this portion of the examination, noting any painful regions or strange growths.

What a good girl. So still, and motionless.

Although he did begin to daydream during the procedure, picturing his cock stuffing you while you urge him to go harder. Would his length be discernible through your lower abdomen as well? Would he be able to put pressure on your abdomen while feeling the contour of his own cock through your skin?

"That hurts, right? Do you mind if I exert more pressure here? Don't you feel a little intrigued about the small bump on your stomach as well? Why not try touching it too?"

It's possible that he'll have the chance to put that hypothesis to the test at some point.

Following the vaginal examination, he would stick a second gloved finger into your rectum to feel for any soreness, growths, or other anomalies. You've obviously never touched your rectum as frequently as you have your vagina. Not with the way you visibly winced when his finger pressed into your behind, a startled gasp departing your lips as he forced himself harder down the lower portion of the examination table, attempting to stop the expanding erection within his tight pants.

After being humiliated for yet another five minutes, Dottore at last rose from the table, reaching into the white coat's jacket to try and nudge the material forward and conceal his erection.

Let's just say Dottore had more fun with the physical exam than he originally thought. Despite this, he gave you the go-ahead to dress and told the receptionist that you needed to schedule another appointment. He claimed that he would have been delighted to assist, but that he had another emergency to attend to. He'll depart from the room, prompting you to struggle to get dressed on your wobbling legs and wondering why he was in such a hurry, since he did state that there were no other appointments beside you for today.

Dottore would race to the restroom, fumbling to undo his pants, and stroke at his erection, which was visibly red and painfully hard. His thoughts would still be coiled around the vivid image of your body, stroking up and down his cock as he recalled the feel of your tender breast, remembering your warm, snug pelvis, which twitched around his finger like a heartbeat. In a few minutes, he would start to spasm, hard enough for his sperm to shoot against the bathroom door, staining the floor in the process.

The assessment was certainly an entertaining experiment or well, experience.

So why not come back again?

He is always available to support since, after all, he is your doctor; a medical professional who will take excellent care of you. So do return? Or maybe he'll have to switch to more extensive techniques, one that will involve the more use of mechanical methods rather than a humane one.

Be sure to visit soon.

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arotechno · 1 year

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the way the aro community talks about attraction is inadequate

Disclaimer: The following is in no way intended to invalidate, shame, or "call out" anyone for using whatever language or terminology they see fit to describe their own experiences. This is about community-wide trends and pressures, rather than individual choices.

As an aroace, I've never felt a particular desire to label other types of attraction I may or may not feel. Identifying as aroace is a way for me to express my disconnect with what society at large views as healthy, normal, valuable, and aspirational; that is, a committed, monogamous, sexual and romantic relationship. I don't want those things. I'm not able to even understand them. But by and large, beyond that, I don't find the framework of different types of attraction very useful at all.

This is the fatal flaw of the split-attraction model in its most advanced form: it's predicated on the idea that there are distinct types of attraction that can be qualified and quantified in neat and tidy boxes. Just as there are people for whom romantic and sexual attraction cannot be separated, there are many (like myself) for whom the very concept of attraction breaks down more and more the more you try to categorize it.

Here's the thing: relationships (of any kind) aren't inherently predicated on attraction, just as they aren't necessarily predicated on love. We can understand, as a community, why an aro person might have a successful romantic relationship despite not feeling romantic attraction, or why an ace person might enjoy engaging in sex even if they are not sexually attracted to their partner. Attraction does not equal action. So why, then, must we make the assumption that everyone must categorize their feelings in terms of attraction at all? This is how we end up with terms like queerplatonic attraction, which warps the original definition of queerplatonic such that a QPR becomes something predicated on a separate kind of attraction that is more unique and special than "regular" platonic feelings, rather than being a broad type of non-romantic relationship that is deliberately built and developed by the people in it based on their own personal needs and desires, and not necessarily based on some ephemeral type of attraction.

This sort of trend towards hyper-categorization is extremely frustrating to someone like me, who doesn't view their relationships or their feelings for others in terms of attraction at all. I'm not platonically "attracted" to my friends, I don't think. I love them platonically (deeply, unconditionally, almost like family), but naming it as attraction makes me almost uncomfortable. Others may not feel that way and that's fine. It's no skin off my nose how people choose to talk about their own feelings. But the implicit expectation in a lot of aro spaces is that you will label your attraction, your feelings, your experiences, your desires, your orientations according to such-and-such paradigms, as if we can wordsmith our way out of simply understanding one another. As if the diversity of aromantic experiences were something we need to break down and quantify.

All of these things are socially constructed. Sex, romance, love, relationships, attraction. That doesn't make them not real, but they are not divinely granted concepts with their own inherent, easy-to-understand taxonomy. We make up the language necessary to describe complex and diverse human experiences as best we can, because it's the only way. But what is absolutely crucial to remember, as a crucial tenet of aro activism and beyond, is that none of these models work for every single person, and needn't be prescriptive.

#not putting this under a readmore. read my post lol #aro #aromantic #aro community #intracommunity #qpr #queerplatonic #aro terminology #long post #op #i'm doing hot girl shit (posting hot takes about models of attraction)

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romeulusroy · 11 months

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Succession Preference: Baby Roy's Relationship (Non-Roy Characters)

Requested: loving all the baby roy content!! but i am curious: What are interactions with baby roy and greg like? does she bully him, too? does she just give him the sad “welcome to the shit show” smile? is she envious that he never had to grow up like this? - anon

A/N: These relationships are based on this particular fic/headcanon set. They're my favorite Baby Roy, and I think it really complicates some of these relationships! I know this was more of a question rather than a request, but I just couldn't get it out of my head!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Tom doesn't like you. You don't like Tom. The feelings are mutual. Not only do you think he isn't good enough for Shiv, which he's not, but you two have a lot of unspoken tension and hostility that's there just because you're you. Tom thinks you're a fuck-up. You're an addict and an alcoholic. You have been since you were a kid. With all the money and opportunities you and all your siblings have had, and yet you turn out like that? Rehab after rehab. Overdose after overdose. Not even your own father could stand you in those later years. He understands why he locked you in your room for days at a time, why he hired nanny after nanny so he wouldn't have to deal with you. Even your own mother doesn't love you. Tom thinks you shouldn't have any power in the company that you shouldn't have any say. Not after the stunts you've pulled. He still can't believe your brothers and sister still ask your thoughts and genuinely listen to you. You've shown him that you're not a Roy. You're not ready to hold that title. If anyone is, it's him. Not you. But he has to put up with you. You both resort to the silent treatment and talk behind one another backs. It's just easier this way.

Greg likes you, at least as much as he likes your siblings. He's kinda afraid of you. He's intimidated by you, to say the least. You're an all or nothing person. Growing up, you were in the thralls of your addiction and often got him involved. Could he go into your room and get you a white circle pill from the prescription bottle in your nightstand? Could he get you another drink? Don't tell Logan. Greg wasn't sure what to do. He couldn't say no to you. He was definitely scared of you, so often he did as he was told. Now that you're sober, he's grateful you can have some type of normal relationship. Kinda. Normal for him, at least. Like your siblings, you order him around a lot. He's in the way or just around too much. Who invited Greg? You don't see him as one of your equals. He's just there, Tom's assistant, basically. When it's just you and him, you're capable of having a relationship, but as soon as Tom invited himself, you're immediately turned off. To you, he's an extension of Tom. He's the puppet to his master. You don't have a lot of respect for him either. He does as he's told. There's no fight, there's no push back. When Tom destroyed his office he just let it happen. You have your issues, but you're not a pushover.

Marcia wants to act like your mother. She knows your mother is pretty absent and doesn't want to deal with you, contributing to your issues. She hopes that if she steps up, you'll confide in her, and you'll get your act together. She and Logan talk about your issues long before your siblings ever know. But he's not concerned. He sees no problem with it. You've gotten your temper under control. Secretly, Marcia worries, but without Logan behind her, she can do nothing. You don't like her. She's not your mother, and she never will be. Maybe she genuinely cares, maybe not. It doesn't matter to you. Years she spent watching you hurt yourself, and she did nothing. You come and go as you please. When you are home, she fears she'll have to call an ambulance every time. You and Shiv make jokes at her expense and laugh along with your brothers when they have something to say. She was an accomplice all those years, and you can't forgive her for that. She's just another one of his wives. That's it.

Gerri is a lot like your mother figure. She has the relationship that Marcia wants. She's the one you go to when you have no one else, when your father has iced you out. She's always had a soft spot for you. You're the baby, after all. She's there for your first drink, and hopefully, your last. She watched you grow up. She watched you spiral. She knew everything Logan knew. And he knew everything. It was Gerri on the phone with you after a hospital visit, telling you that she was sorry but your father was very busy, too busy to talk to you. She was the one who called, angry, fearing the worst, while in Norway. She sat in the emergency room while you got your stomach pumped. She was there through it all. Not Logan, certainly not your own mother. She gives Roman the cold shoulder, but she can't bear to let you go. You're like one of her own. She still emails, asking how you're doing. You tell her you're still sober. You definitely go to her for all your mothering needs and approval. When she's around you understand what it would have been like had your mother actually been caring and attentive.

Lukas likes you a lot. When you called them during their getaway to Norway, when you overdosed again and they came running to your rescue, he didn't see weakness like everyone else had. He saw power. He saw someone who had a shitty childhood and did something about it. Granted, it maybe wasn't the best thing, but you did something about it. It was a major middle finger to your father and everyone involved in the company. That takes guts. Far more guts than the rest of your family has, he thinks. You wouldn't meet until he signed the Gojo deal. It's there that he expresses interest in you. You aren't like your siblings. Look at you. You're barely clinging on. You're real. You're a real person with real faults and a hell of a history. He'd like to order you a water and hear all about it. Your siblings make sure you stay far away from him. He's screwed them over now. He is not to be trusted, especially around the baby of the family. Not now, not ever. You don't think you like him. He chose Tom for Christ's sake. Tom, of all people. His judgment must be piss poor if he chose Tom. He's not as smart as everyone thinks. That was a bad move for the future of the company.

Stewy is actually a good friend of yours. You've known him as long as he's known Kendall. You grew up before his eyes. You guys aren't that close outside of clubs and bars. He's a bit of partier himself. Like he says, he likes bad drugs. You two would find one another at a club and spend a few hours together. This was before your family knew about your late nights. Stewy was impressed by your tolerance, forgetting you were still just a teenager. He was too messed up to remember to care. You'd get high and dance, and at the end of the night, you'd throw however much you owed him at him. Money was never an issue. He made the mistake of bringing it up to Kendall shortly after they figured out what was going on. Kendall banned Stewy from seeing you from getting near you. How could he? You partied at all the same places. You'd assured him that Kendall was just being dramatic when he said that. Stewy wasn't your only dealer, but he was the smartest. You didn't get anything laced with him. Now you're not as close. He still says hi, but he still goes out, gets fucked up. As much as you want to, you can't.

Uncle Ewan has similar feelings towards you as Tom. He's called you a "junkie" more times than you can count. He doesn't let you defend yourself and doesn't care what your siblings have to say about it either. He doesn't see you as Logan's child or even as a Roy. As far as he's concerned, you don't exist. You don't matter. When you do see him, he always rubs your sobriety in your face. After Logan passes and you self-destruct at a club, he feels the need to ask you how much you've had to drink that day. Even at the funeral, he says he can smell an entire bar on your breath. If you weren't so afraid it would kill him, you'd punch him. Your brothers have to hold you back after a comment like that. He wasn't ever sure why Logan even had another kid. You weren't anything special to begin with. He didn't even like your mother. He knew, from the beginning, you'd be a disappointment. To Ewan, you have always been and always will be a disappointment.

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lostbetweenvampiresandmusic · 27 days

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Hello, I saw your prompts list and just couldn’t refuse. Can you do one for Marko with 24, 18, and 12. Just a little hurt comfort.

24. "They have my mate. If I don't save (him/her/them) now, I don't know what will happen to them."

18. "You're bleeding..."

12. "How could I have known they were vampire hunters?"

Thank you so much for requesting! I hope you like this 💜

Triggerwarning for non-consensual drug use to knock someone out.

------------------------------------------------

The music in the bar played loudly, the sounds of Kansas filling the room. The place wasn't too crowded. Some of the tables were occupied by groups of friends. A couple of barstools were being used by resident drunks. In the very back corner of the pub, Marko and I shared a table. We did this every once in a while, doing what we would normally do with the boys, but then with just the two of us. Somehow, it made the usual seem special.

"I'm going to get us some more drinks," I stood up, smiling as he handed me some money. I felt his eyes on me the whole time I stood in front of the bar, chatting with the barkeep. She handed me two new beer bottles, accepting the pay. I was about to walk off when a guy bumped into me.

"What the hell?"

"Ah shit, sorry," the guy looked slightly ashamed, "I didn't see you. Are you alright?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Better make use of your eyes next time, though."

I walked back to our table, placing a bottle in front of Marko. "What did that guy want?"

"Probably a prescription. Said he 'didn't see me' as he walked into me."

"Asshole."

"That's what I thought, " I smiled, taking a knocked back a large part of my drink. I frowned. It tasted weird. Different than usual. I looked at Marko, handing him my bottle. "Is it me, or is something off with this?"

He took the bottle, smelling it. "Don't drink any more of it." He had a worried expression on his face. "I think that guy tried to drug you."

I sighed, anger flashing in my eyes. He must have done that while I was distracted talking to him. I felt my head become clouded and heavy. "Let's just go. I don't feel too well."

Once outside, Marko led me into the alleyway. "Maybe if you throw it up, it won't affect you as much?" I groaned, none too pleased with the idea. I leaned forward, but something compelled me to look up. There was a group of four people standing behind Marko. I recognised one as the bartender from before. One of them was the guy who had tried to drug me. I recognised two others who were of the pub.

"Marko?" I still looked behind him. He turned, moving to stand in front of me. I tried to focus, tried to understand what was going on in front of me, and what was happening, but I couldn't. My head was clouded, and my limbs were heavy. The ground came nearer and nearer, and with a pained sigh, I completely blacked out.

-----------------

Marko had been doing his best, fighting the four humans off. He had killed one of them, easily ripping their throat out - but then the stakes had come into play. The bartender kept them under her coat, and now, all three living humans had a very lethal weapon. Still, he tried. He injured the man who had drugged his mate, he tried to break the leg of the barkeeper - but then a stake was pushed into his leg, nailing him to the ground. Marko screamed, in pain, anger, frustration - incapable of freeing himself when one of the humans nailed his hands to the ground as well. The stakes, although not put through a lethal point in his body, hurt like hell. He couldn't free himself, and he was forced to see how the humans took his unconscious mate with them. The guy who had tried to drug them had driven a car in front of the alley, and his mate was practically thrown in the trunk. He groaned.

"Don't you fucking hurt them!"

"We won't do anything to them that you wouldn't do to us!" One of the man grinned before getting in, and racing off.

Marko yelled in frustration, thankful that he could at least call out for his brothers. In only a few short minutes, they were there, and he was freed and already healing up.

"What happened?" David demanded.

"I have no time!" Marko was already halfway out of the alley. "They have my mate. If I don't save them now, I don't know what will happen to them."

"Shit." David nodded. "Go. We'll clean up here. Paul, stay with Marko."

------------------

"Come on, wake up, love."

I groaned, weakly opening my eyes. Bright lights caused me to close them immediately again. "Wh-What..?" I was sitting on an old, wooden chair, my arms tied behind my back.

"Ssh, it's alright. You're safe. Sorry, we had to be so dramatic with getting you here."

I frowned. I recognised that voice. I opened my eyes, shocked to see Amy, the barkeep. "What have you done to Marko?" I asked, my voice quivering.

"We fucking staked him to the ground. By morning, he's going to be crispy!" A guy in the back - one of the regulars at the bar - laughed loudly.

"No!" Tears welled up in my eyes. "You can't do that!"

"We have to," Amy said kindly. "He's a vampire. He endangers everyone in this town."

"Why did you bring me here?" I asked, slowly but surely realising that my head didn't feel clouded anymore. It just hurt a lot.

"We need to keep you safe. You not only hung out with him, but three other vampires as well."

"You don't understand what they are or why they do what they do." I spat out.

"And you do?" Amy asked, her voice sharp. "Do you really think they are honest about who they kill? They killed my son. They killed their daughters. All young things like you. They are demons that are being unleashed to this world. We need to protect our world from it."

"You're insane."

I gasped as something sharp hit me in the face. The side of my head was stinging, and I couldn't help but whimper. This, in combination with my headache, was quite hard to bear.

I don't know if I fell asleep or lost consciousness again, but when I woke up, it was to a fire burning in the middle of the room. Two figures were standing around it, throwing another figure into the flames. I blinked several times, and then he was in front of me, alive and well.

"Marko?"

"Are you alright, babe? What did they do to you? Are you hurt?"

I shook my head slightly. "I- I don't know... can you cut me loose?"

"C'mere," Marko held me close, breathing in my scent. He froze. "You're bleeding..."

"I am?"

"They hit you in the head?" Paul asked, causing me to jump.

"When- when did you get here?"

"Was here the whole time, hon. Do you need anything to clean the wound?" He asked Marlo the last thing. Marko shook his head, and Paul left after making sure no traces of them - both human and vampire presence - were left behind.

"They said they staked you," I said, looking at him. I noticed a hole in his pants, scars on his hands. The sight of it alone was enough to make me want to cry. "I thought you were dead." I held him tightly.

"Thank god I'm not." He looked at me. "Will you be alright if we fly home?"

I nodded. I thought I would be, and even if not, I really wanted to get home. Away from here. Carefully, he picked me up, carrying me outside. Once there, he quietly flew up, flying through the fresh night sky towards the cave.

Once we were safely inside, I made a beeline for our bedroom. I was tired, had been scared - and I just felt that the comfort of our room was what I needed. I changed into some pyjamas, slightly surprised that Marko wasn't with me in the room. I crawled into bed, his pillow between my arms as the door opened. Marko came in, carrying a cup of tea and a plate with my favourite cookies. In his pocket, I could see my favourite book.

"Can I check your head again? I need to know if it stopped bleeding."

I nodded, showing him the wound on my head from where I was hit. He pressed a soft, tender kiss on my forehead. "You're safe now."

"I don't think I want to go to a pub ever again," I said softly, gifting Marko a small, appreciative smile as he handed me my tea. It was my favourite, calming me down the second the smell hit my nose.

"Agreed. Bloody barkeeps."

"Amy seemed so nice, though. Always chatting and being funny."

"That was her job."

"I just feel like I should have known, known that something was off."

"If I didn't notice that something was off, with my vampire senses, then you definitely don't have to feel bad about not noticing anything wrong."

"But-"

"No. Repeat after me: How could I have known they were vampire hunters?"

I gave him a weak smile as I repeated the sentence.

"And now as if you believe it?"

"How could I have known they were vampire hunters."

He grinned, laying down next to me.

"Are your injuries healed?" I asked him. He nodded.

"Shall we try this date again tomorrow?"

"How about we just stay in for a bit?" I asked. "Just us? And tea, take out and books?"

Marko nodded. "We'll do that."

With those words, he opened up our book, beginning to read. I lay in his arms, slowly dozing of as he read to me. His voice brought me more comfort than I could ever put in words.

#the lost boys #marko #david #paul #dwayne #tlb #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #star #the lost boys x reader

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firespirited · 26 days

Text

i've had a severe case of oral thrush (candidiasis) from being immunocompromised for over a year

but since I present flatly and friendly and half the time with a written list because i'm non-speaking that day: my doctor apparently has no clue this is a complaint.

I've done a no dairy, no white carbs diet for a month,

no acid diet

tapered off the prescription antacids and stopped eating anything fatty to cope with the acid reflux in case that helped

each time I reported back in writing that it hadn't changed things

went to the dentist who said you have a really bad oral thrush see your doctor. On his word I finally got treatment for it in December and said "this isn't strong enough a dose but I'll take it while doing all the diet stuff on my end to maximize chances, and i'll report any changes": I was able to taste the christmas meal and sleep without numbing my tongue sores. I requested a higher dose - I was told treatment failing means it can't be fungal, I didn't contest this vehemently enough but forged forward with lab tests instead:

6 lab tests because the local lab doesn't test for candida but didn't say so. I found a private lab willing to take a swab, and they reported back that I have a severe case: 10^7-10^9 cfu/ml.

sent those results via email and today the Dr said: "you haven't complained about your mouth, and we already treated for oral thrush, i guess i could give you probiotics to rebalance oral PH"

Obviously i'm already taking probiotics and have been for 6 months.

I am this close to switching my mouthwash to a peroxide solution and eating fish tank cleaner.

What I need to do is make a scene, perform the distress this has caused me privately to the doctor directly, verbally with emotion.

I am currently flat as hell from depression. I couldn't cry if I stubbed my toe and imagined losing someone close (that's actually regular intrusive thoughts).

10^7 cfu/ml is 10 000 000 fungi per ml, it should speak for itself. Normal amounts are less than 100 cfu/ml. I don't understand how "massive pathological yeast infection of the mouth" by a specialized lab tech is somehow inconclusive.

--------------------

i am too autistic for my doctor to see me as human and that's what i've known for a while now, the worst part is that it's made performing emotion or even making words even harder. I know she's having serious memory issues at the moment too and was willing to pretend it was that, give her some time.

i think i'll have to wait another month and see if I can "perform", if only by persistence: send her photos of my mouth every week with sad emojis.

#saf #disability blogging

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draftingteacups · 3 months

Note

I understand that Special Events are non-canon in The Eternal Blooming Flower. But say how would you let Glorious Masquerade play out in your What if?

I love the Glorious Masquerade event, but the way that the event would play out in my What-If goes like this:

The first thing that would happen in this universe is the fact that Soni would definitely look around the City of Flowers and go, "This feels very similar to old Kalosian architecture." Makes sense since the movie was based in Notre Dame, which takes place in France

Obviously, she does a little bit of research into the city before she goes there, mostly because she doesn't want to do a social faux pas in a place that really reminds her too much of Kalos. Either way, Soni looked at the city itself for half a second before she gets dressed in an ensemble that would definitely remind her of her more formal attire as the Grand Duchess of Kalos.

I like the idea of a mixture of dark blue and gold accents with black-purple being the main color of the outfit itself. I feel like Soni wouldn't get a mask (mostly because I can see her just taking it off and not putting it back one because she's not a huge fan of masks in general) and get something like a circlet instead (looks like Xerneas' horns with clear crystals on top of it).

Happiny gets taken along because Deuce can't bear to leave her alone for a few days, which means she gets her own little outfit! A small pink mask with little beads that look like Oval Stones and a small hat that allows her little ponytail to stick up. As much as I would love for Happiny to have a little scarf, it'll definitely drag behind her like a little cape.

I could have Sobble here as well as Morpeko, and they would be wearing something similar to what Azul and Ruggie wear respectively. Obviously, the first half of the day plays out similar to the event itself: invitation, gets shown around the city, and then meeting Rollo makes Soni just feel a little uncomfortable, especially when Rollo himself looked into the students themselves to the point of getting Azul's eye prescription because I'm sure that's looking into someone medical history and I'd be wondering why anyone would do that much and even lightly comments on Soni's lack of information in a roundabout way that set off alarm bells.

Rollo: "When making accommodations for all of you to enjoy yourselves to the fullest, I noticed that Miss Monet has made no additional requests beyond what was stated in the itinerary, despite being the sole magicless person of your group. Do you truly not have anything else to add that you may have forgotten to write down beforehand?"

And even when Soni says that she doesn't, Rollo says, "If anything comes to mind, I do not mind making time to discuss any details with you on anything you wish to say."

Soni finds it weird that he points out that she was magicless when most people outside of NRC didn't know that, but that itself could be chalked up to her shared student status with Grim as a two-in-one student. Also Grim might just say that Soni doesn't have magic from the get-go because "the Great Grim ain't a familiar!"

However, that last bit poked at her the most because it implied that Soni withheld information that she didn't want written down.

Which is exactly what she did, but for the reason of her privacy and safety because people looking into Soni would potentially use it against her. Not to mention, she listed any needed information (i.e. medical, emergency contact, etc.) and the like on the papers themselves, so it's not like she needed more than that for Rollo to see. To imply that she still had more to say when she didn't and that Rollo was subtly pushing for more information about Soni while disguising it as a gesture of goodwill makes Soni think of all the verbal maneuvering that she had to do as Grand Duchess with many businessmen doing the same.

When the dance in the city happens, I like to imagine that Soni is made to come along with the others, awkwardly following along to the steps with Grim just spinning around like he does in the rhythm game. Happiny is being danced with by Riddle and Deuce, bouncing around cheerfully in the process.

That's when Rollo appears with a specific look in his eye when he sees NRC using magic alongside the other magicians:

"When you first came here, magic was truly a baffling mysterious force as a magicless person, was it not?"

Soni looks at the guy, her tone neutral as it could be, "It was, but who am I to tell people on how to live their lives?"

"Does it not trouble you? With how dangerous it is?"

Soni shrugs, "I've dealt with worse."

Then comes the night where all the Crimson Flowers are basically everywhere. Students are falling over because their magic is being drained out of them.

Cue Rollo's big reveal, and suddenly Soni understands why he mentioned that. She very much dislikes the fact that everything looks like it is on fire.

When they all fall downwards, Soni releases Dior and Charlie, the former teleporting everyone within reaching distance to the ground and Charlie snatching as many people as possible.

If we want to do the non-Championship Team, Nimbus, being a large puffy cloud bird, basically released a whole lot of fluff from using Cotton Guard as a cushion. Honestly, the idea that everyone just falling from a huge height, only to flop onto a cloudy-like fluff without having to use any magic was very nice.

When the others have to deal with the Crimson Flowers and pull weeds, Happiny is very enthusiastic about it because Happiny picks wild flowers all the time, so this isn't very different from what she normally does.

Ruggie, yanking Crimson Flowers with dirt flying everywhere: "Put your backs into it!"

Epel veins popping out of his head: "I can pull these weeds faster than you can breathe!"

Happiny, literally pulls off an entire cluster of Crimson Flowers with her bare hands: "Hap Hap!" This is fun!

I imagine that Happiny's given chores in Heartslabyul, and one of them is weeding the garden. It certainly comes in handy now that there's a magic flower that's trying to take people's magic away.

Then comes the plan to storm the tower and ring the Bell of Salvation.

Obviously, everyone's got an entire plan, but Soni goes, "You're all forgetting that I've got no magic. Those flowers can't do anything to me. And from what I've observed, they don't effect Pokemon either."

And what they settled on was for Soni basically leading the charge with her Pokemon taking down as many of the Crimson Flowers as possible. Dior using Psychic to physically pull as many Crimson Flowers away as well as assisting any passerby in the process. Charlie obviously uses his Flamethrower to burn away the Crimson Flowers in larger areas and even provides aerial assistance with Epel when the Crimson Flowers try to capture them both.

And Happiny doing her best to weed as many of the flowers as possible. Obviously, she stays behind with Deuce when he gets hurt and basically starts ripping apart the flowers even more when they start trying to hurt him.

And while it would be more heroic for Soni and the others to try climb the tower like they did in the original game, they could just teleport up to the top with the help of Dior or fly up there with Nimbus and/or with Charlie.

And in the process of catching their breath from the few fights that they engaged with on the way to the top, they stumble into the private area where they find the diary of Rollo.

And of course, they still go up against Rollo in the process, covered in flames and all. Hearing Idia's speech is certainly one that Soni understands the core meaning, but it could've definitely been handled better.

Soni looks at Deuce when seeing Azul use Deuce's UM to punch Rollo: "You did what? When did you do that?"

Deuce: "Back in the main area..."

Soni: "I looked away for five minutes-"

Deuce gestures to his leg: "I wanted to hit him, and Azul offered!"

Soni: "And I would've done it for free. We are talking about this later when we aren't at risk of falling off a tower and being roasted alive."

Malleus dealing the final blow with his lightning magic left the thickest smell of ozone in the air with Soni's arm hairs standing up on end.

And skipping to the song that happens during the party, Soni has her time to dance with the others again, although she's not all that good with it. In the background, Happiny and the other Pokemon are equally enjoying their time together at the party.

Side Notes That I Couldn't Put In:

A comical Pokemon for Soni to bring along in this particular event is her Skiddo because one, it's a little goat and they would see such creatures around. Two, it can eat the Crimson Flowers as a free snack. I cannot confirm whether that the Crimson Flower is fit for Pokemon consumption.

Soni using Kalosian and basically finding little to no difference between French and Kalosian; funnily enough, I like to imagine that Soni manages to get better deals this way from people at stalls because she's getting souvenirs for the others (Ace would complain if he didn't get something; Soni bought him a mug that Milcery uses to sleep in).

And that's the general gist of the Glorious Masquerade event!

#ask #what if #glorious masquerade #pokemon x twisted wonderland #soni monet #rollo flamme #happiny #gardevoir #charizard #deuce spade

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slamminslamminmcgill · 10 months

Note

OKAY I’M A GNC VIRGIN SO NATURALLY… I can confess my little (not so little) corruption kink to you 😁 I always think about how Saul would absolutely 10000000000% hire someone especially after finding out they’re still pure through his Saul-style background checks. He’d fetishize the fuck out of them for it and absolutely do the honors while talking really extremely about it, I just feel it in my bones. After all he wants new blood :3 Just imagining the things he’d say… I AM A WHORE!!!!

OOOOO OK PURR!!!!!

combining w/ this

warning: very mild transphobia (saul is a gross chaser and he's learning)

anatomical terms: boobs, vagina/pussy, dick/cock

Saul Goodman always asked his private investigator to get information on people he worked with. Be they long term clients or his own staff, he wanted to know who he was associating with, inside and out. He wasn't going to get caught with his pants down by dealing with someone he couldn't trust. And after you joined his team as his paralegal, you were subject to the same treatment. He honestly wasn't expecting Mike to find much dirt on you, and he didn't. Almost nothing, in fact, but what he did find was far more intriguing than Saul could have ever imagined. He almost didn't believe what Mike told him.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Okay. Let me see if I'm understanding you correctly. Kid's never been in a relationship before. Total virgin. I get that. But you're saying he was born a chick, and wanted to be a dude, so he took some hormones and got his boobs chopped off? Are you for real? You can do that?" Saul had asked.

"That's what his medical records say." Mike had answered. "He's been filling a testosterone prescription for 2 years now, and his 'chest masculinization surgery' was last year. Got a copy of the newspaper publication for his name change, too."

"Did he, uh..." Saul bit his lip and tried to think of a non-creepy way to ask his probably-very-creepy question, "Did he get the downstairs touched up, or is he still rocking the original hardware?"

Mike rolled his eyes. "Doesn't look like he had any other surgeries. Guessing that means he hasn't changed it. Now, you know I'm not one to question your motives, but why is it that you care so much about your paralegal's genitalia?"

"Hey, I'm just trying to get the full story here," Saul had said as a quick excuse, "The world's changing! If men can have vaginas, I say let 'em! I'm always an advocate for self-determination."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." Mike had packed up his things and headed for the door. "Just promise me you won't antagonize him over this. He's a good kid. I'd hate for you to scare him off."

"I promise."

That's what he had said, but Saul could barely hide the excitement on his face when you walked in on Monday morning.

"Well, well, well! Look who it is!" Saul laughed and held his arms out for a hug. "Bring it in champ!"

You shrugged and took him up on it, not knowing that he was looking for an excuse to feel your body pressed against his. "Alright, sure!" You said before subjecting yourself to his tight embrace. "What's got you in such a good mood today?"

Saul's hands started to wander down your back and around your sides to your hips. He hadn't noticed how curvy you were before, but now it was all he could think about. "Well, I, uh... I figured you're not all that used to physical intimacy. Thought I'd show you some of what you're missing."

It took a second for his words to register in your brain. “Wait, what?" You pulled yourself out of his arms. "What are you talking about?"

Saul couldn't hide the satisfaction he was feeling. He wore it plainly on his face, and his voice dripped with it. "Your background check came back clean. Very clean. Pure, I should say."

You could tell he was fucking with you, but you had no clue why or what you were supposed to say to that. "Uh... Okay? Is that a good thing, or-?"

Saul needed a new skincare routine, one that stopped smugness from oozing out his pores. "Depends! You saving yourself for marriage? Cause then I guess you're on the right track."

You gulped. So that’s what he was talking about. “N-No, I’m not. I just… haven’t found the right person.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Saul pursed his lips and went back over to his desk. “Well, I imagine it’s difficult with your setup and all. Probably hard to find someone so understanding.”

“My… setup?” You asked, wondering just how meticulous his background check process was. Must've been pretty damn meticulous if he found out the details of your lifeless sex life. “What, uh… what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know what I mean.” Saul kicked his feet up on his desk, grabbed a pen, and pointed it at you. “Man from the waist-up, woman from the waist-down? I bet that freaks people out, huh?” He chuckled as he set the pen down and took a sip of his coffee. “Not me, though. I’m pretty open-minded. Gotta say, it actually sounds pretty hot.”

"Oh... uh... tha-... thank you...?" Workplace harassment had never seemed so flattering. You wanted to be disgusted. You wanted to throw that coffee in his face, call him a pig, and storm out of his office demanding your last paycheck in the mail. But you didn’t. It was the first time anyone had considered you a sexual being, let alone an attractive sexual being. Rationale and dignity be damned, you wanted more of his attention, but you didn’t want to seem desperate. “So, uh… where do we go from here?”

“We don’t have to go anywhere. Why, did you want it to go somewhere? ‘Cause if you do..." Saul got up from his desk again and strode over to you, brushing some of your hair behind your ear. "...I'd be happy to lead the way." He pressed a tender kiss to your lips, and you, not expecting it whatsoever, tensed up immediately. Saul noticed and pulled back. "Oh, baby boy, have you never even been kissed?"

You shook your head, embarrassed by your own innocence. "N-No..."

Saul didn't even try to hide his excitement. He couldn't believe his luck. He reacted with condescending sympathy. "Ohhh, you poor thing! Whatever am I gonna do with you?"

The answer to that, you'd come to find, was apparently 'strip you half-naked and sit you on his desk.'

"Now, you just lay back and enjoy yourself, okay, baby? I'm gonna help you get ready. I promise, you're gonna love this." He said as he rubbed your bare thighs, gradually lowering his face between them.

"Okay..." You sighed, staring up at the ceiling, not a clue what to expect. There's only so many options when someone puts their face up to your junk, but you had no idea what it was gonna feel like.

Saul spread your lips apart to inspect your virgin anatomy, the first one to explore new, uncharted territory. He'd been through this countless times before, though never with anyone like you, and he liked what made you special. "Aw, how cute! You got yourself a tiny little dick, huh? Is that from the hormones?" Saul chuckled and pressed down on it with his thumb.

Your breath caught in your throat and your body jumped upon contact. "Ah... y-yeah, uh... the testoster-oh! F-Fuck!"

While you were talking, Saul used your distraction as a chance to shove his face into your pussy, swirling his tongue under your foreskin and sucking your mini-cock into his mouth. He even slipped his tongue into your hole and pumped it in and out, probably to give you a preview of what was next. You grabbed his hair and whined, holding on to keep yourself somewhat in the moment with him. You briefly glanced down at him; your eyes met; and he fucking winked.

You threw your head back against the desk and looked up at the ceiling again. Your head was swirling in a way it never had before. It just felt so good. So sloppy, so wet, so electrifying.

By the time Saul pulled his face up, his mouth was literally dripping, and he was gasping for air. He looked unhinged. "Jesus Christ... Are you sure you're a virgin? You're soaking wet."

"I... wha...?" You blushed and hid your face in your hands. "Oh, god... s-sorry..."

"Aw, honey, no, don't apologize for that!" Saul got up off his knees and stood up. He pried your hands away from your face and interlocked his fingers with yours. "It just means you're excited! You must want it really bad, huh?"

You did, but the uncertainty of it all was still so scary. "Mhm... it's, uh... it's not gonna hurt, right?"

"Nope! It shouldn't 'cause I ate you out first. That's what I meant by getting you ready. And you were quite the tasty treat, buddy." He booped your nose to get you to smile, and it worked. You felt calmer instantly. "You good to go?"

You took a deep breath, the air whistling on your exhale. "Y-Yeah, I think so."

Saul worked on pulling himself out of his pants. He lined up his fat cock with your virgin hole and poked it, testing your reaction. You seemed okay, so he slowly, ever so slowly, slid inside and stretched you out. The both of you let out low, deep groans, savoring the new, deep connection you shared with each other.

"Phew..." Saul sighed as he bottomed out in you. "God, that's good, kid. You're the tightest little thing I've ever had my cock inside." He pulled back, nearly all the way out, and then snapped his hips forward. You squeaked, and he did it again. "So... fucking... good..."

So fucking good was an understatement. You wrapped your arms around his back and clung to him, moaning softly and timidly as your sleazy boss took your virginity. You'd always imagined your first time would be romantic and sweet, and on a bed, not hasty, nasty fucking on the desk where your paychecks were signed. Oh well, either way, it felt fucking fantastic.

As was the case with everything else in his life, Saul had lots to say. "Yeahhh, that's it, baby boy, that's it. Take it. I ne- I never... Mmm, never would've thought you had a pussy like this. So wet for me... so warm... so fucking tight... And I get to be the one to break it in... Making me believe in God again, kid... Cause you... you're a fucking angel..."

Hearing his affectionate praise, feeling his firm strokes inside you. The way he talked to you, touched you, kissed you, tasted you. This may have been your first time with anyone, but you could tell it wouldn't be your last with him.

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