#-shrug-

[mydetheturk]

Title: Hell, I'm Dead Anyway

Author: mydetheturk

Rating: M (for safety)

Word Count: 2,710

Warnings: Vomiting, Panic Attacks, Crying, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Wolfwood's Going Through The Horrors, Hallucinations

Summary: Wolfwood cracked too many ampules. Meryl and Vash can only keep him comfortable while he recovers.

~~

Day 3 of @mashwoodweek! I chose "Ghosts" for reasons that will be Revealed in the fic. There's also a sprinkling of the poetry prompt "Tell me every terrible thing you've done, and let me love you anyway."

Title is from The Dark Tower Vol 2: The Drawing of the Three by Stephen King

(read on AO3)

There's some content warnings in the replies, if you're reading in the dash view and want to have some idea as to what's going down.

~~

Meryl worries, when her boys get into gun fights. Vash can dodge anything when he wants to, but Nick… Nick tends to soak up the bullets and crack an ampule and chug whatever serum is in them. And this last gun fight had been. Bad.

It'd been bad.

Nick had cracked the glasses at least twice that Meryl had seen, and Vash admitted to seeing another two, not to mention what might've happened when the three had been separated. When Meryl had found Nick again, he was leaning against a horse hitch and standing over black sludge, surrounded by bodies of some of the bounty hunters after Vash.

He'd thrown up black sludge before collapsing, all before Meryl could finish calling out to him.

Meryl's panicked scream had brought Vash running.

That was a couple of hours ago.

Meryl isn't sure how they got Nick in their motel room without anyone seeing them or Nick getting covered in vile, black goop. Meryl's been holed up in the bathroom with him, making sure he doesn't die. Vash hasn't been allowed back in since Nick looked at him with hazy, half-lidded eyes and stopped breathing out of panic. It took about thirty seconds of stillness before Nick sucked in a ragged breath and vomited up more of the black goop, the tears in the corners of his eyes spilling over.

Vash had bolted, and he's been pacing back and forth in their motel room since, bringing Meryl whatever she's asked for. She's only seen something like this once out of Nick since they stuck together after July. It almost killed him then, and it feels like it's killing him now.

It's been a while since he last coughed up the black, rotten goop, and while his vision isn't totally clear, Nick actually looked at her when she called his name, so Meryl's taking it as a win.

“Nick? Baby?” Nick's so pretty eyes blink at her, unseeing. Meryl puts her hand on his cheek, and he pulls back weakly. “I'm going to have to get Vash in here. I can't move you myself. Okay?”

“Shl'dn' touch… hurt you…” Nick wheezes, and Meryl's heart cracks.

“You can't hurt a kitten right now, baby,” Meryl says. She kisses his sweaty forehead.

Nick's too hot, but they don't have a tub with their room, just the tiny closet that holds the toilet and sink. Meryl and Vash will have to get whatever they can to get him cooled down. She just needs to get Nick on the bed, first.

Nick hacks up another lungful of bile into the toilet, wheezing weakly. Meryl runs her hand across his shoulders until he slumps back.

“'m good. Be good. Won't run again,” he whispers. He's staring out past Meryl, at something only he can see. “'m sorry.” His hands keep clenching and unclenching and small shivers wrack his frame.

“Child assassin, made to grow up too fast,” Nick had told her, drunk on bathtub gin and grief. Meryl's put those words in a little box to examine when she has moments to herself. Trying to demand anything of Zazie doesn't work, but what the Worm's Voice has implied has been horrific.

“Vash!” Meryl calls over her shoulder. She doesn't want to corner Nick in the tiny bathroom, but they've gotta get him cooled down.

Vash nearly runs Meryl over in his haste. He's glowing slightly, whorls flickering into existence from his eyes outward. “Is he–”

“He's too hot. It's making him delirious,” Meryl says. She tries not to think about the couple of pictures of tiny baby Nico Miss Melanie had shown her with golden eyes too old for his soft baby face. She doesn't know how successful she is with controlling her voice, given how Vash pales with her words.

“Will – will he let me touch him?” Vash whispers. He hovers at the door, not wanting to put more stress on Nick.

“I don't think it's gonna be a will he, Vash. I think you’re just going to have to,” Meryl says, just as quiet. Nick's lips are moving but no words are coming out, and he's staring not at her but past her. His whole frame trembles and his breath keeps skipping. “We need to cool him off.”

Vash takes a couple of deep breaths and steps in, deliberately making noise. Nick twitches back, eyes flicking in Vash's direction. He's ashy under his tan, the ever so faint freckles just darker than his normal skin tone standing out.

Meryl doesn't know what ghosts he's seeing.

But she wants to find the remains of Millions Knives and use the Punisher's laser to make sure he isn't coming back. She wants to find whoever Legato is and hurt him for hurting Nick.

“I'm so sorry, Nicholas,” Vash says. He kneels down, and Meryl scoots out of his way. She can't really haul Nick around the way he can her – he's too dense and she's too short. “I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe.” Vash keeps his words low and soft and unhurried as he carefully takes Nick in his arms. Nick tries to get away, flinching and spitting and full of panic, but there's only so far he can get in the confines of the bathroom.

Nick's crying silently by the time Vash gets his arms around his torso.

“I know, I know,” Vash says. “I'm sorry.” He presses his cheek to Nick's. “I'm standing up now, Wolfwood. There we are.” Vash rolls to his feet, dragging Nick with him. Meryl moves up as well, drawn to them magnetically. Nick can barely keep his feet under him, he's shaking so hard. Vash keeps murmuring to him and there's a sound Meryl can feel coming from Vash's chest. “We're gonna walk now. I've got you. I'll let you go in a moment.” Vash backs them out the door, staring forward at the back wall of the bathroom the entire time. He keeps going until the backs of his legs hit the bed and then Vash turns, shifting Nick until he's the one with the mattress in the back of his knees. Meryl helps Vash manhandle Nick into the bed proper; Vash's hands don't linger the few times he touches Nick's skin.

“Can you run water as cold as the sink will get it, Vash?” Meryl says once they've got Nick as comfortable as they can. There's an expression on his face that says he can tell more about what's happening than Meryl can. She's not sure he'll say anything, though.

Vash uses his prosthetic fingertips to shift Nick's hair off his forehead. Nick’s eyes scrunch closed and he tries to pull back, but he doesn’t make it far. Tears streak in varying directions across his face, across the bridge of his nose when he looks away from Vash. “Yeah. Just a second.” With a heavy sigh, Vash grabs up some fabric – a towel, a spare shirt, things like that.

Meryl takes a moment to get Nick's shirt the rest of the way unbuttoned, exposing his torso to the hotel room. Placing her hand over his heart, she feels the way it jumps a little and his breathing catches. He’s scared and verging on passing out from his panic and what he was seeing.

Meryl's breath stutters on an exhale.

He's so stupid.

She lost Vash once, no matter that he came back; Meryl can't lose Nick too. Her breath hiccups and she chokes back a cry.

“Hey.” Vash taps her shoulder with his flesh hand, the glove off so she can see his hand fully when she turns her head to look at him.

“Yeah?” Meryl hates how small her voice is.

“Nicholas is stubborn,” Vash says. “I'm sure he'll pull through.”

Meryl wants to believe him. She does.

But the sense-memory of when Nick killed the man that had been the boy Rollo to save Vash's life rolls through her bones anyway. She doesn't want that for Nick.

Instead of voicing this, she holds out her hands for whatever Vash had taken with him to the bathroom. The fabric in her hands isn't super cold, but it's cooler than the air around them. Carefully, Meryl drapes the smallest pieces of fabric over the pulse points of his head and arms, saving the wet shirt (which is one of Vash’s) for Nick's torso, folding it in half and laying it across his chest.

It's not heat exhaustion or stroke, but she's not sure how else to handle it. They'll have to try getting some water in him at some point so he doesn't get dehydrated.

For now, it's all she can do.

“I'll make sure the bathroom is clean,” Vash says. “We don't want the lady at the desk getting angry with us. Innkeepers talk.” He says this lightly, but there's a look in his eyes. Meryl's sure the same look is in hers.

She pulls her eyes away from Vash's far too blue ones and casts a glance around their room. Something is missing. With a second, more thorough look, Meryl realizes what it is.

“We left the Punisher,” she says with dismay. It's been a few hours – she hopes no one stole it since they retreated to the motel room. Honestly, she's not sure how someone could; the gun so full of what Nick claims is mercy but is in actuality a horrifying number of bullets weighs more than Nick and Vash combined.

Vash's face falls, empty.

“I'll get it,” he says. “Stay here, I'll be back soon.”

“Hurry,” Meryl replies. She doesn't think the hunters who'd been after Vash earlier would strike again, but she doesn't want to risk it with Nick as bad off as he is.

“Of course. I always do.” Vash grabs the coat Nick's been wearing since July, sliding his arms through the sleeves like he never left it behind. Running his hand through his hair, it spikes up slightly. With his hair back and Nick's coat, he doesn't give off “Vash the Stampede.” It should hopefully be enough.

Nick's breathing evens out while Vash is out getting his gun. When Meryl checks on his pulse, it's still a little off, but going stronger than it had been.

Meryl drops her face into the mattress beside Nick's hip. “You're an idiot,” she whispers. She refuses to acknowledge the tears that threaten to fall from her eyes. “You stupid idiot, you can't do this to me.” She takes the closest hand in hers, threading their fingers together. Nick mumbles something incoherent.

Meryl's still refusing to cry when Vash comes back with the Punisher slung over his back. He looks a little worse, eyes red rimmed and tear tracks through the iridescent scales that show up when he starts glowing.

“How's he doing?” Vash asks. The Punisher makes a soft thump when Vash sets it down. The belts aren't quite right, but Meryl knows Nick will want to make sure his gun is fine when he wakes.

“Better,” Meryl says. “His heart though...” she trails off, biting her lip. There's nothing she can do; she's not a doctor, and Vash's 'profession' when he's going undercover is a Plant Engineer. Not to mention whatever he's got going on inside of him isn't going to be the same as Nick, who's definitely got something going on that a normal, unmodified human wouldn't have. There's no scars, but Meryl watches how he stretches his back, and it's unsettling to see how flexible it is. Sure, Nick broadened over the last couple of years, but there's something going on underneath.

Vash furrows his brow and moves to the other side of the bed they have Nick on. He places his ear to Nick's chest, eyes closing as he listens.

Vash blinks up at her after listening to Nick's chest for a moment. “I don't know if I can do anything for this, Meryl. His best bet might be...” Vash trails off.

The doctors at the Eye.

“Fuck,” Meryl says.

“Yeah.” Vash swallows. “That. That about sums it up.” He lets out a little giggle. It sounds about how Meryl's feeling.

Meryl laughs, a little hysterical thing. “It's going to be so fucking hard to make him not drink that fucking serum.” She's not even sure if there's a single member of the Eye that Nick trusts. From what Vash remembers of the fight on the sand steamer on their way to July, they were holding Nick's brother hostage as a way to make Nick work with them. Most of the people experimented on straight up die.

Vash stands back up and walks around the bed to wrap Meryl in his arms. She finally lets herself cry over the whole situation. “We'll let him heal,” Vash says. He's got that blank tone to his voice again. The one that makes Meryl sad and pisses Nick off. “If he gets worse, we'll head Home. Luida might be able to do something.”

Meryl's met a couple of the doctors on the ship. She hopes someone there can help.

At the moment, all they can do is wait and periodically cool the fabric they draped over Nick.

Meryl gets out her stack of reports and settles herself in the chair beside the bed. Vash cleans the bathroom within an inch of its life and then methodically cleans the Punisher before doing maintenance on his Colt. Both of them keep a desperate eye on Nick while they work. Its a little while longer before he finally slides into proper sleep, his breath deep and even. Something in Meryl's chest untangles at that. She hopes he's not having nightmares. Nick had looked at Vash and seen someone else. Meryl's pretty sure she knows who, since she sees blond hair and a beauty mark on the wrong side in her nightmares too.

Setting aside her reports, Meryl leans on the bed, pillowing her head on her crossed arms so she can stare at Nick. She loves an idiot with a sacrificial streak an ile wide and another idiot who has no sense of self-preservation when it comes to the people he cares about.

She closes her eyes. Just for a minute.

A shaky hand petting Meryl's hair makes her jolt up. The hand in her hair falls.

“Ow.” Nick's awake.

Nick's awake.

Meryl dives into his stomach, not giving a damn that she's sobbing all over him.

“Ow. Shortie, what's–”

“Don't do that to me again!” Meryl sobs.

The door creaks open, Vash stepping through. “I'm back,” he calls quietly. “The innkeeper was kind enough to give us something when I mentioned Nick's not...” He trails off, finally processing the scene before him. “Nicholas,” Vash breathes. The bag in his hand clatters to the floor and he joins Meryl in clinging to Nick. “Wolfwood – Nicholas, Nick.” He keeps repeating Nick's name, as though his brain has gotten stuck on Nick and Nick alone.

Nick makes a noise but doesn't shove either of them off of him. Not that he could at the moment, not with the grip Meryl's got in his shirt and the almost bruising clutch Vash is using.

Meryl sobs herself out, Vash close behind. Nick shakily holds on to both of them, bewildered.

“You can't do this to me – to us,” Meryl croaks when she thinks she can talk a little bit without bursting into another round of tears. “You could die and I can't lose you too.” Her voice cracks on her words and Meryl clings into Nick's chest again.

Vash pets Nick's cheek with his flesh and bone hand, thumb going through tear tracks and giving Nick a watery smile. “I can't lose you either,” he says. “Please. Don't make me lose you too.” He buries his face in Nick's throat.

Nick makes a noise at both of them. “'m sorry,” he rasps. “Didn't mean to scare you.” He doesn't say it won't happen again. Meryl knows it might.

He didn't promise her this after that time when they were without Vash, either. As long as people he cares about could be in trouble, Meryl knows Nick will do whatever he has to to keep them safe.

She just hopes it doesn't kill him in the process.

[julie-su]

"Why is my Megaman fanart folder 9 goddamned gigabytes?!"

...

"Oh. Right. The Robot Master dating sim I downloaded"

[theglitchos]

i know i've gone through character development when some v drunk undergrad guy verbally harasses me and i just turn around and tell him to fuck off.

altho after the fact i do feel like i should have checked to make sure at least one of them was sober enough to drive..

but it was also kinda amusing because until i turned around i think his drunk brain thought i was a guy, because the two sorority girls (who had already been trying to get him to tone down the things he was saying) immediately turned on him and i think i vaguely heard him protesting that he didn't know i was a woman as they continued up the garage stairwell

[jellojolteon]

Observed an interesting interaction that's sitting with me

Was in a public space where a public figure was about to speak, and a security guard was posted where I was at because it was on a balcony with a clear view of the stage area. I had popped over because it happened to be near where I work and I was just curious to see what I could, y'know? So I was standing on this balcony a few mins before the event, and the guard requested that we take a seat (they were available) if we would like to stay. I decided that was a sign that I shouldn't be blowing off my work by committing to whatever probably boring thing was really gonna happen and so left lol.

Of course, that's not relevant, that's just context for the fact that this fellow who works near me but whom I don't know, who had been standing there well before I had been, against the railing, reacted somewhat incredulously to this to the effect of "So I'm not supposed to stand?" and walked away when I was also leaving. Out of earshot of the guard (presumably) he mutters something about it being ridiculous and fine, then, he'd just go find another vantage point, while slamming open the door to the stairwell to leave.

I just. It just doesn't close a circuit in my brain. Is it the shock of being spoken to? Could he not reason fast enough that probably it's easier for the guard to keep track of onlookers if they stay seated and cannot just come and go? Or could he, and felt offended that in the eyes of this guard, by default, he was a disruption (or worse, security) risk? (Wouldn't his anger just make matters worse regardless?)

It just seemed like such a strange level of upset to reach, like in the seconds it took to leave the balcony he'd gone from surprise to anger. Or in retrospect, like he was already primed to be angry.

idk fam

[aparticularbandit]

meanwhile, seeing a pokemon scarvi epilogue playthrough....

penny: oh! you've got a pokemon switch! you've got to tell me what games you've got on this thing! me: oh, penny. i have a game you'll just love. it's called danganronpa--

[malapertmarquess]

Jarvis is being a fussy ratbag tonight, so I’m putting on a Led Zeppelin concert video to help him chill out...

[unforestalledreturn-a]

//MOAR HC because @steeleidolon is a bully  Genesis, as I am sure you have all been plenty spammed with this point, it an innate caster, and in the FF7 universe there are some individuals, like Reeve and his animating of animatronics, Aerith and her connection to the planet, do not necessarily need materia to cast their ‘spells’.  Materia is the ‘collective memory of an ancient people in crystal form’, theoretically the Ancients, which makes sense why Aerith has some innate abilities of her own. NOW, it is MY personal take that the casting of magic prior to materia was a far more difficult art to master. I portray it as an internal structure or ‘stricture’ that has to be developed similarly to how one develops muscle, but on a spiritual side. A caster must create appropriate avenues for magic to flow and take physical form. 

Now, materia, as the crystalized memories of former casters, actually provides a shortcut to having to develop one’s own strictures and rely instead on the materia itself rather than any personal development SAVE for the magic needed to cast the particular spell in the first place.  An innate caster, like Genesis, has his own internal strictures that he uses to cast that comes with great advantages and disadvantages. For one, as we can see in the First Trio Combat Simulation, Genesis is able to not only cast Firaga, but he can split it up and transform it into homing missiles. This sort of adaptive modulation is a huge boon and allows for the progression, change, and growth of the spells, whereas materia are somewhat ‘locked’ to the memories and strictures developed prior.  HOWEVER, internal strictures can come at a cost. For my portrayal of Genesis, because of his affinity to fire, his internal strictures are particularly sensitive to temperature. He regularly runs at a somewhat feverish temperature to no detriment, but cooler climates and getting dunked by water ‘douses’ his internal core and actually depletes his pool of magic, making it difficult to cast ANY spell and severely weakening his ability to cast fire-based spells, which he uses as a basis for MANY others.  On a side note: ^ This is the reason I HC that Genesis could never quite reach Sephiroth’s level. You could call him, quite literally, a ‘summertime SOLDIER’, because at his peak, he can go head to head and tease out a draw. But he is too inconsistent, which is a major frustration point for him.  Now what else can Genesis do with his magic? I AM GLAD YOU ASKED (hur) He can use magic as something of a ‘trace’, or in cooler terms, be something of a bloodhound. Because of his sensitivities to magic, not only can he detect what is being conjured, but he can sense the slight varying differences of who casted based on materia or the unique signature of one’s magic pool in interaction with said materia.  Makes him quite the hunter for stolen materia goods, traitors, and the like. So caster beware~ He can also be drawn by an interesting signature and make one’s life a living hell, mostly because he is kind of a nerd and will pester until the heat death of the universe. 

[conditioned-to-obey]

"wow, you actually like this shit?" as I scroll through her disgusting horny Tumblr likes with one hand. Rubbing lazy circles on her swollen little clit with the other. Degrading her for being such a gross little girl while she mindlessly moans and humps my hand each time I send a filthy disapproving glance her way.

[crystallizedtwilight]

People I met for a few moments that live in my head forever.

[bone-free-as-the-wind]

Fossil of dragonfly larva or I don’t know.

[maelancoli]

Writing Intimacy

i often see writers sharing a sentiment of struggling with writing kiss scenes which honestly bleeds into other portrayals of physical intimacy. i see it a lot in modernized styles of writing popularized by the recent trend in publishing to encourage short, choppy sentences and few adverbs, even less descriptive language. this makes intimacy come across awkward, like someone writing a script or clumsy recounting of events rather than a beautiful paragraph of human connection.

or just plane horniness. but hey, horny doesn't have to be mutually exclusive with poetic or sensual.

shallow example: they kissed desperately, tongues swirling and she moaned. it made her feel warm inside.

in depth example: she reached for the other woman slowly and with a small measure of uncertainty. the moment her fingers brushed the sharp, soft jaw of her companion, eliza's hesitance slid away. the first kiss was gentle when she finally closed the distance between them. she pressed her lips lightly to gabriella's in silent exploration. a tender question. gabriella answered by meeting her kiss with a firmer one of her own. eliza felt the woman's fingers curling into her umber hair, fingernails scraping along her scalp. everything inside eliza relaxed and the nervousness uncoiled from her gut. a warm buzz of energy sunk through her flesh down to the very core of her soul. this was right. this was always where she needed to be.

the first complaint i see regards discomfort in writing a kiss, feeling like one is intruding on the characters. the only way to get around this is to practice. anything that makes you uncomfortable in writing is something you should explore. writing is at its best when we are pushing the envelope of our own comfort zones. if it feels cringy, if it feels too intimate, too weird, too intrusive, good. do it anyway! try different styles, practice it, think about which parts of it make you balk the most and then explore that, dissect it and dive into getting comfortable with the portrayal of human connection.

of course the biggest part comes to not knowing what to say other than "they kissed" or, of course, the tried and true "their lips crashed and their tongues battled for dominance" 😐. so this is my best advice: think beyond the mouth. okay, we know their mouths are mashing. but what are their hands doing? are they touching one another's hair? are they scratching or gripping desperately at one another? are they gliding their hands along each other's body or are they wrapping their arms tightly to hold each other close? do they sigh? do they groan? do they relax? do they tense? are they comfortable with each other or giddy and uncertain? is it a relief, or is it bringing more questions? is it building tension or finally breaking it?

get descriptive with the emotions. how is it making the main character/pov holder feel? how are they carrying those emotions in their body? how do they feel the desire in their body? desire is not just felt below the belt. it's in the gut, it's in the chest, it's in the flushing of cheeks, the chills beneath the skin, the goosebumps over the surface of the flesh. everyone has different pleasure zones. a kiss might not always lead desire for overtly sexual touches. a kiss might lead to the desire for an embrace. a kiss might lead to the impulse to bite or lick at other areas. a kiss could awaken desire to be caressed or caress the neck, the shoulder, the back, the arms etc. describe that desire, show those impulses of pleasure and affection.

of course there is the tactile. what does the love interest taste like? what do they smell like? how do they kiss? rough and greedy? slow and sensual? explorative and hesitant? expertly or clumsily? how does it feel to be kissed by them? how does it feel to kiss them?

i.e. examine who these individuals are, what their motives and feelings are within that moment, who they are together, what it looks like when these two individuals come together. a kiss is not about the mouth. it's about opening the door to vulnerability and desire in one's entire body and soul.

[chloesimaginationthings]

Why did William get FNAF springlocked? Is he stupid?

[theglitchos]

y'all bookshops of arkham is. absolutely fantastic for my brain. it's not as long as critical role which is what i've been needing lately (yes yes i've fallen off the bells hells wagon) and call of cthulhu is also a system/setting that i've played before and enjoyed greatly. (i love psych horror-esque rpg settings so much, despite being a Big Coward when it comes to horror movies)

and just. the theatricalness of the replay vids are incredible. the set, the costumes, but especially the way the players embody the characters. i binged all currently available vids today and i was struck by how much enjoyment even the npc players were having with their characters. so much fun to watch, and the story is engaging too.

which reminds me at some point i need to bug one of my friends for their dropout login so i can binge a court of fey and flowers because i still wanna watch that too

but also this has me Yearning again. it's been a full year since i've played a ttrpg (whether in person or online) and i just. really miss it. which is mostly not knowing anyone in the area and also my online friends having fuckin weird schedules and timezones and also me being stressed tf out over work and adulting

someday, perhaps

[anris-resurrection]

w̷͎̭͐̈̀h̷̖̯͗̚y̵͇̬̩̰̐͑̌̅͌ ̵͎̫̟̰͍̿͒ d̴͖̒̅̈́i̸̗̙̞̔͐̚d̷̛̟̬̥̄ ̵̳̜̔ ỹ̶͉̂̀ỏ̵̹̗͎̭ȕ̴̪ ̷̡̯̟̞̾̐̑͛̈́ d̸̺̲̞̈ǒ̵̩̮͜ͅ ̴̙̺̔͜ i̴̠̜̙̹͛t̷̨͔̜̳́͆̈́ͅ ?̶̫͌̓̌̓̌

[potatokoko]

Two night skies, one sun

[stench-core]

sometimes I wonder if people remember that:

'tranny voice' - even shortened to 't voice' - was something that specifically targeted trans men and like, the whole brand of harassing 'transtrenders' applied to trans men as equally as it did trans women, and our king [sarcasm] kalvin garrah was the main driving force of anti-trans masculine rhetoric such as 'you can't have big boobs' 'you can't like your boobs' 'you can't wear colours' 'you can't dye your hair' 'you can't be effeminate' 'tranny voice' 'you can't have a weird name' 'you can't be disabled' 'a real trans man wouldn't say that' and so on, bolstered by mega transphobes blair white and arielle scarcella

when we're told we aren't actually targeted in any specific way when, yes actually, we were and are targeted in specific ways, but the only people who talk[ed] about it were other trans men, trans mascs, and nonbinary people who were specifically targeted by this trans medicalist rhetoric, and then trans women who stood up for us were [and still are] told that they were 'forcibly transing little girls'