#Freedom of Information Request

[easterneyenews]

https://www.easterneye.biz/bbc-martin-bashir-controversy/

[coochiequeens]

Its chief executive officer instructed those members who have leadership roles within the organization — but who are employed by medical practices or universities — only to use personal email accounts for AAP (American Academy of Pediatrics) -related correspondence. This could protect such emails from freedom-of-information requests and employers’ document-retention policies." 

Well that sounds like they have nothing to hide

By BENJAMIN RYAN Thursday, December 21, 202322:44:51 pm

The American Academy of Pediatrics, under fire for its policies on gender-transition treatment for minors, is taking steps that might limit its legal exposure — or at least minimize public scrutiny — in the face of a lawsuit by a woman who at 14 underwent a medical gender transition that she later regretted. 

This month, the highly influential medical association, which has about 68,000 pediatrician members, shelved a pending book on the care and treatment of children who identify as transgender. Its chief executive officer instructed those members who have leadership roles within the organization — but who are employed by medical practices or universities — only to use personal email accounts for AAP-related correspondence. This could protect such emails from freedom-of-information requests and employers’ document-retention policies.  

An AAP representative told the Sun that neither move was related to the litigation it faces and that the board’s decision to enact the new email policy predated the filing of the lawsuit in question.

“The AAP has been under scrutiny for a couple of years now because of its gender policies,” said a fellow at the Manhattan Institute, Leor Sapir. He speculated that the organization’s new email policy could have been motivated by such ongoing external pressures, which also predated the lawsuit. 

Dr. Jason Rafferty, a leading specialist in pediatric gender transitions, is named in the detransitioners’ lawsuit. He also contributed commentary to a forthcoming book that’s been pulled by the American Academy of Pediatrics. Brown University

Mr. Sapir argues that the AAP and the American medical establishment more broadly have failed to establish “in a thoughtful and scientific way” its guidelines for pediatric gender-transition treatments. Consequently, he said, he supports controversial state laws that ban the prescription of puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones to children to treat gender dysphoria — a psychiatric diagnosis that involves significant distress over a conflict between an individual’s gender identity and their biological sex. 

A number of states with Republican-controlled legislatures have passed these laws since 2021 as part of a concerted pushback against medical care practices, first imported to the United States from the Netherlands in 2007, for children who identify as the opposite gender. The Republican-dominated Ohio legislature last week passed a bill that would make the state the 22nd to ban such medical treatment. The governor of Ohio, Mike Dewine, a Republican, has yet to decide if he will sign the contentious bill. If he does not sign or veto it by December 29, it will become law.

The AAP has maintained full-throated support for the availability – and legality – of medical gender-transition treatments for children. Its influential journal Pediatrics on Wednesday published an essay by a pediatrician at Seattle Children’s Hospital, Dr. Emily Georges, and two colleagues arguing that banning such medicine is “a form of child maltreatment.” 

“These legislative efforts operate under the guise of protecting children,” Dr. Georges and her coauthors wrote. “In reality, they punish caregivers and physicians when they choose to support children.”

The AAP Faces a Lawsuit

In October, a Dallas law firm filed a lawsuit against the AAP on behalf of a biological woman, Isabelle Ayala, who beginning at age 14 was treated for gender dysphoria with testosterone by a group of Rhode Island health care providers; they are also named as defendants. On this team was a child psychiatrist and pediatrician trained by and affiliated with Brown University, Dr. Jason Rafferty, who is the sole author of the broadly influential policy statement on pediatric gender-transition treatment that the AAP published in October 2018, a few months after Ms. Ayala left his care. 

“In hindsight, that makes me feel like a guinea pig,” Ms. Ayala, 20, said in a YouTube video posted last week by the Independent Women’s Forum, a conservative nonprofit. 

Jordan Campbell, Ron Miller, Josh Payne, and Daniel Sepulveda of newly founded law firm Campbell Miller Payne, PLLC. They say they established their firm to represent ‘individuals who were misled and abused – many as children – into psychological and physical harm through a false promise of “gender-affirming care.”’ Campbell Miller Payne, PLLC.

A retired pediatrician, AAP member and volunteer professor of pediatrics at the University of Cincinnati College of Medicine, Dr. Christopher Bolling, defended the AAP’s integrity from what he said was a “talking point from transgender care ban advocates” that Dr. Rafferty “somehow wrote the whole thing and forced everyone else to just sign it.” Dr. Bolling was not himself involved with developing the policy statement in question, but said, “Writing those statements are some of the most collaborative labor-intensive, careful processes I’ve ever been involved with.” 

Ms. Ayala ultimately “detransitioned,” reverting from considering herself a trans male to identifying as her birth sex. The law firm representing her, Campbell Miller Payne, was recently established by four white-shoe attorneys solely to represent such regretful so-called detransitioners. The firm is behind five of the nine known medical-malpractice detransitioner lawsuits.  

Time Magazine reported Thursday that the threat of such litigation is already driving up malpractice insurance premiums for providers of pediatric gender-transition treatment, shutting out some smaller gender clinics.

The lawsuit takes on the powerful American Academy of Pediatrics, which has enormous influence over pediatric care in the U.S. Campbell Miller Payne, PLLC

Ms. Ayala’s suit accuses Dr. Rafferty and his colleagues of malpractice for prioritizing treating her gender dysphoria over her myriad other psychiatric diagnoses and for allegedly causing her lasting physical harm. 

“I don’t even like to think about my fertility,” Ms. Ayala said in a voice over in the YouTube video as she looked at a baby crib, addressing concerns about the long-term impacts of testosterone treatment. “It is my greatest fear to go to the gynecologist and have them tell me I can’t have children over some decisions that were made when I was fourteen.”

The suit further alleges that Dr. Rafferty and others engaged in a conspiracy with the AAP to develop methods for treating gender dysphoric children while Ms. Ayala was the physicians’ patient that are not evidence based and are grounded in what a scathing peer-reviewed critique published in 2019 argued was a misrepresentation of the relevant scientific literature.

In their new Pediatrics essay, Dr. Georges and her coauthors countered such a premise. Referring  to what supporters of such treatment call gender-affirming care, they wrote: “Although some individuals make it seem that GAC is a new, experimental area of medicine, GAC is evidence-based.”  

They continued: “The benefits of GAC, most notably on mental health, self-esteem, and development, outweigh the risks in the majority of circumstances. GAC is, for many, lifesaving.” 

Isabelle Ayala appears with her attorney in a new YouTube video in which she discusses her gender transition treatment. Independent Women’s Forum

This a reference to suicide prevention. Advocates of medical gender transitions for children argue that gender dysphoric youth are at high risk for death by suicide if they are not able to medically transition if they so choose.

The AAP Pulls a Book on the Gender-Affirming Care Model

During the fall, the AAP began taking pre-orders for a 320-page book on pediatric gender-transition care and treatment that was set to be published on January 30. Dr. Rafferty was listed first among the authors of the book’s commentaries. 

On December 6, the day after the Sun published an article about Ms. Ayala’s suit and another malpractice suit filed against Dr. Rafferty and his colleagues by a detransitioned adult patient, the AAP emailed those who had pre-ordered the book, alerting them: “Due to an upcoming policy review on this topic, the publication of this book has been placed on hold.” 

A representative for the organization confirmed to the Sun that the email referenced the AAP leadership’s announcement in August that it would commission an independent systematic literature review — the gold standard for assessing scientific evidence — of the research regarding pediatric gender-transition treatment. The AAP said at the time that it was prompted to take this step out of “concerns about restrictions to access to health care with bans on gender-affirming care.”

An AAP member and a pediatrician at Carmel, Indiana, Dr. Sarah Palmer, criticized the academy’s expressed motivation, which she said centered the pending review “in the political realm instead of in the clinical and scientific realm where doctors should apply their expertise.” 

The AAP representative said that the book contains research previously published in the academy’s journals and no new guidance. It does, however, contain the new commentaries. The representative said the AAP decided to delay publication “to avoid confusion” during the “ongoing” work on the review, the findings of which the academy plans to share publicly. However, the book went on sale for pre-order well after the literature review was announced. The representative declined to respond to detailed questions about the review’s progress, including whether the AAP would observe typical scientific protocol for a systematic literature review and publish its criteria in advance.

In reference to the AAP’s publication of Dr. Georges’ unsparing and politically charged new Pediatrics essay, Mr. Sapir said, “It’s weird that they would pull the book on the grounds that there is an ongoing systematic review, but in their own peer-reviewed journal they would publish this document.”

The AAP’s move to conduct the systematic review came after three years of efforts led by an AAP member and Gresham, Oregon-based pediatrician, Dr. Julia Mason, to compel the organization to do so. ​​She, Dr. Palmer, and Mr. Sapir all expressed concern about what they characterized as the AAP’s lack of transparency during the four months since announcing it would commission the systematic review. 

“I think the pressure of the lawsuit led to their pulling the book. Because they suddenly realized that they might be held responsible for what that book said in a court of law,” said Dr. Mason, who is a board member of the Society for Evidence Based Gender Medicine. Founded in 2020, the society is a collective of clinicians and researchers who share concern that, as multiple systematic reviews of the relevant evidence have found, pediatric gender-transition treatment is based on a low or very low quality of scientific evidence while it comes with considerable risks, including infertility and sexual dysfunction.

In conflict with the Pediatrics essay, such reviews have also not found evidence that withholding puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones from gender dysphoric youth is associated with a higher suicide death rate. Additionally, Dr. Mason and numerous other critics have called into question the validity of the findings of a 2022 University of Washington and Seattle Children’s study often cited by supporters of such treatment, including in the new Pedatrics article’s authors, as evidence that medical gender-transition treatment reduces suicidal thoughts and behaviors in gender-dysphoric adolescents.

The American Academy of Pediatrics headquarters outside Chicago. The AAP is the target of a lawsuit about its policies regarding transgender care for minors. AAP

Transgender activists have called the Society for Evidence Based Gender Medicine an anti-trans group and highlight how commonly other medical treatments are backed only by low quality evidence. The type of randomized, placebo-controlled trials that would produce the highest quality of evidence, trans advocates argue, would not be ethical for pediatric gender-transition treatment.

A sprawling Southern Poverty Law Center report published December 12, “Combatting LGBTQ+ Pseudoscience,” places the Society for Evidence Based Gender Medicine at the nexus of what it portrays as an interconnected conspiracy by various organizations to undermine support for pediatric gender-transition treatment and harm trans youth. The Southern Poverty Law Center has come under criticism from social conservatives in recent years for, they argue, unfairly and egregiously classifying some conservative groups as “hate groups.” The Society for Evidence Based Gender Medicine, however, bills itself as an apolitical science organization. 

Maintaining Ownership of Internal Emails

Earlier this month, the AAP’s chief executive officer, Mark Del Monte, and chief medical officer, Dr. Anne R. Edwards, sent a letter to what the AAP representative reported was all of the academy’s staff and hundreds of non-staff members in leadership roles, alerting them to a new correspondence policy, effective January 1. It ordered the members only to use personal email accounts, such as Gmail, for leadership level AAP-related business. 

The AAP representative told the Sun that the decision to enact this new policy was unrelated to Ms. Ayala’s lawsuit and predates its filing, having been made at an AAP board meeting in May; minutes from the meeting indicate as much. 

Mr. Del Monte and Dr. Edwards differentiate in the letter between the public nature of the AAP’s “policy, advocacy positions, and educational resources” and the “confidential, internal discussions” pertaining to these documents’ development. 

“To protect the internal deliberations of our member experts,” the letter states, “the AAP Board of Directors has approved new prudent steps to keep internal communications under the control of the AAP and its member leaders.” 

The letter continues: “While we regret that this action is necessary, members do not ‘own’ their work email and so do not necessarily have the decision-making authority about whether or not to release it publicly.” 

The use of institutional or workplace email accounts, the letter further states, creates “multiple vulnerabilities for AAP and our members.” This includes the fact that “employer-sponsored email platforms are subject to the document retention and release policies of external institutions, including in response to subpoenas or Freedom Of Information Act (FOIA) requests.” 

The board’s decision to enact this policy, the AAP representative said, “followed a lengthy deliberation by board members to ensure the AAP manages records in compliance with applicable federal and state laws, while meeting operational needs.” 

A medical doctor and tort law expert at the University of Baltimore School of Law, Dr. Gregory Dolin, said he anticipated that a shift from workplace to personal email accounts for such correspondence would not frustrate any attempts by Campbell Miller Payne to obtain internal AAP emails through discovery in its suit against the academy. However, Dr. Dolin said that by forbidding communicating via email accounts subject to FOIA requests, the AAP “may reduce non-litigation related, but nevertheless embarrassing disclosures” by, for example, journalists.

Protecting Children

A professor of epidemiology and biostatistics at the University of California, San Francisco, Dr. Vinay Prasad is an outspoken critic of what he has characterized as unscientifically sound Covid-19-mitigation public-health policies. On Monday, he published an essay on the Sensible Medicine Substack criticizing the AAP for asserting that for obese patients, pediatricians “should offer” adolescents and “may offer” children ages 8 to 11 weight-loss drugs such as Ozempic.

Meanwhile, the United States Preventive Services Task Force asserted in a draft guidance released December 12 that evidence was insufficient, in particular concerning the long-term impacts of such medications, to make such a recommendation. The task force called for more research. 

In an email, Dr. Prasad argued that the AAP’s policies regarding gender-transition treatment represent a pervasive lack of adherence to evidence-based standards. 

“I am deeply concerned that, across all their recommendations, the American Academy of Pediatrics does not rely on the highest quality of evidence, and worse, they do not call for better studies,” said Dr. Prasad. “Instead, they’re very happy to make strong recommendations based on their own biases in the absence of evidence. And that harms children.” 

Dr. Georges, by contrast, wrote in Pediatrics that any state law denying children gender-transition treatment “not only represents medical neglect, but it is also state-sanctioned emotional abuse.”

BENJAMIN RYAN

Benjamin Ryan is an independent health and science reporter who also contributes to The New York Times, The Guardian and NBC News and has also written for The Atlantic and the Washington Post.

[humbleapplecrumble]

COWBOY BEBOP: One of the best anime creations of all time. Spike being Spike.

Hey, look traveller, it's a magical button... 🪤

SURPRISE ATTACK! You've encountered free knowledge!

Feel free to snag the gifs, my little Gremlins—I don’t mind. Just toss a like, reblog, and maybe peek at the article if you can. Your support means the world. Have a chill day—or cause a little chaos, your call.

[fleetsonourgecentral]

Good that I give Royal Au so light XD

Talking about the Au Scourge's gang (Fiona and the destrutix plus Rosy) exist?

If yes imagine they made everyone VS everyone/gang vs gang XD

Rubs hands together OKAY SO. I have actually done a little bit of thinking about this, and I think both the destructix and the suppression squad are in this au. I haven't fully settled on what exactly the suppression squad's role will be - parental approved company for Scourge, perhaps? - but the destructix are the gang Scourge initially sneaks out of the castle to hang out with before he bumps into Sonic. Scourge's parents don't approve of them - they consider them ruffians, and they aren't as poor as Sonic/they're not quite commoners but they're still considerably lower on the class ladder than Scourge - hence why he has to meet up with them in secret. They're rebellious and troublemakers and Scourge is always getting into fights with other people with them, which he finds really fun

Unlike Sonic and co, however, they don't have any interest in taking down the monarchy. They're well aware Scourge is the prince, and probably hoping (most likely subconsciously) Scourge will give them powerful, high-up roles in the kingdom once he takes the throne. If they heard about Scourge's plan to overthrow his parents, they'd be down for it until they realised the next step of the plan would not be Scourge taking the crown for himself, but getting rid of the monarchy entirely and giving the power to the people. They don't want it gone, they're just waiting for the day Scourge takes the throne

Tldr they're Scourge's friends that his parents really, really wish he wasn't friends with, and they've forbidden him from speaking with them, but that just means he sneaks out to meet up with them. Trying to meet up with them without getting caught is probably why he takes to dyeing his fur whenever he sneaks out, and thus, they are indirectly the reason he eventually bumps into Sonic while disguised as a commoner - or, at least, definitely someone lower than a prince

[squidificati0n]

@universalpublicfriend on tiktok

[ctbraininjurysupportservice-blog]

Ongoing Silence! Lack of Transparency in Connecticut's Federally Funded Programs Raises Alarm

Secret Directory and Practices: Concerns Rise for Brain-Injured Individuals in Connecticut Medicaid

Federal Anti-Kickback Statute | Medicaid Referral Fraud | ABI RESOURCES

Transparency and Accountability Concerns in CT's Federally Funded Programs for Brain Injury Care

Care Managers. Do you have the right to change yours? Understanding Protecting Your Freedoms

Investigating the Legality and Impact of CCC's Secret Electronic Randomization System on Federally

Disability Rights Connecticut (DRCT) Team

Dear Brain Injury Alliance of Connecticut ( BIAC )

Dear Governor Ned Lamont, Advocacy Request for Brain Injury Survivors

Alleged Discrimination at Connecticut Community Care | Calls for Internal Investigation

The Importance of Informed Choice in Achieving Free Choice in Healthcare.

Informed Choice and Its Implications for Connecticut's ABI Waiver and MFP Programs

Steps for Consumers to Officially Change Care Managers in MFP and ABI Waiver Programs.

Enhancing Ethical Systems / Advocating for Consumer Rights and "Request to change Care Manager Form

Are They Leaving People with Slower Recovery Behind? MFP and ABI Waiver Programs

Freedom of Information Act Request - Connecticut ABI 1549P Consultation Services Funding.

[archivyrep]

Archivists on the Issues: Classified Records, Archives, and Fictional Depictions [Part 1]

Archivists on the Issues is a forum for archivists to discuss the issues we are facing today. Today’s post comes from Burkely Hermann (me), Metadata Librarian for the National Security Archive and current I&A Blog Coordinator. There will be spoilers for each of the books, animated series, films, and other media he will be discussing. This was originally published on February 7, 2023 on the Issues & Advocacy WordPress blog.

High-level overview of National Declassification Center processes, as shown in a post on the NDC blog in 2019

Previously on this blog, Rachel Mattson examined whether police body camera footage is public record or is classified, arguing that it should be a public record. Other blogposts on this blog have examined whether the Senate Intelligence Committee Report on Torture is a Federal or Congressional Record, noted selective declassification by the French government, which declassified over 200,000 records about Vichy government’s collaboration with the Nazis but none about France's occupation of Algeria, and noted the tendency of politicians to avoid documenting their activities and stonewall FOIA requests.

In January 2022, the Director of National Intelligence April Haines argued, in a letter to U.S. Senators Ron Wyden and Jerry Moran that there are "deficiencies" in the current declassification system, and notes the burden of mandatory declassification requirements while the amount of classified material expands. My colleague from National Security Archive, Lauren Harper, noted that Haines, many months later, said that overclassification is a national security threat. Some of these classified records are in the hands of the National Archives, otherwise known as the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA), organized into Top Secret, Secret, and Confidential. Other records are deemed unclassified if they do not meet the existing requirements for classification.

Classification of records in the U.S. has often been outlined in presidential executive orders, beginning with President Truman in 1951. National security generally described as the primary reason for classification. Over the years, rules changed and the role of NARA increased. This has even resulted in a part of the agency dedicated to declassification, the National Declassification Center (NDC), which was established in 2009, in accordance with Executive Order 13526. This went beyond the agency's representation on the Interagency Security Classification Appeals Panel (ISCAP), or the Information Security Oversight Office (ISOO), which oversees the security classification programs in "both Government and industry", and reports to the President annually. The ISOO, role on ISCAP, and NDC, most recently, have given NARA an important position in the entire classified information management process. [1]

Unsurprisingly, NARA has been in the public focus, especially for storing presidential records from the Obama Administration, and afterward. Some politicians have claimed the agency is an "enemy" and have wanted to dismantle it because of NARA's push to return classified records to the public, rather than having the records stored in shoddy locations or controlled by presidents as their personal property. [2] This makes reports, in past years, like in May 2012, that boxes of classified government records disappeared from Washington National Records Center all the more concerning, as it could be representative of a larger trend.

Currently, there are measures in place for declassification of government records, either enshrined in executive orders or provisions of the Freedom of Information Act (FOIA). However, the FOIA system is currently flawed, especially with existence of various exemptions which can be used to redact documents or reject records requests. [3] There are similar issues with Mandatory Declassification Review (MDR) requests. As one government report put it, storage of classified materials is "widespread" across the U.S. government, with NARA storing records from all agencies at central facilities. Even so, some have argued that politicians have neglected the National Archives and failed to "control official secrecy", belaying assumptions about government transparency, and resulting in the crisis which will make it harder for researchers to examine the "state’s inner workings". Recent developments, such as a drop in the annual budget of NARA, attrition, and loss of institutional memory have resulted in the agency having one of the lowest levels of job satisfaction in the federal government. All the while, funding for declassification has decreased and backlogs for declassification have increased. [4]

NARA is not the only archives which handles and processes classified records. There are established procedures for classification of records held by the New South Wales Archives in Australia, British Public Record Office, Taiwanese government, Israeli Defense Force, State Archives of Poland, National Archives of Brazil, South African State Archives Service (later renamed National Archives and Records Service), National Archives of Korea, and National Archives of France. Even the archives of the United Nations has a classification level of Strictly Confidential, necessitating declassification requests, while archival materials over 20 years old are "generally open to the public for research". [5]

As Electronic Records Archivist Amy Wickner argued, archivists have the "power to name and classify," a power which has "material effects on the world". This power can be used to make records more accessible or to make them harder to access. The latter is the case if access is only "granted or refused on an individual basis". At times, more restrictions are imposed because of compliance with professional standards or data within in a record rather than the document itself. This includes including personal data. On the other hand, records which should be publicly available, like agreements between carceral facilities and FamilySearch for indexing of historical records, have a possibility of redaction, despite the lack of personal or sensitive information. [6]

© 2022-2023 Burkely Hermann. All rights reserved.

Continued in part 2

Notes

[1] Čtvrtník, Mikuláš. "Classified records and the archives." Archival Science 22 (2022): https://doi.org/10.1007/s10502-021-09370-3.

[2] O'Rourke, Ciara. "Claims about Obama Foundation keeping classified records in an abandoned warehouse are wrong." Poynter, Oct. 7, 2022; Caputo, Marc. "Barr suggests Trump 'deceived' the government over classified records." NBC News, Sept. 2, 2022; Suebsaeng, Asawin and Adam Rawnsley. "Trump Tells His Lawyers: Get ‘My’ Top Secret Documents Back." Rolling Stone, Aug. 23, 2022; Alemany, Jacqueline, Isaac Arnsdorf, and Josh Dawsey. "Inside Trump’s war on the National Archives." Washington Post, Aug. 27, 2022; Legare, Robert. "Archives found 100+ documents with classified marking in first 15 Trump boxes." Yahoo! News, CBS News. Aug. 23, 2022; Kochi, Sudiksha. "Fact check: Archives agency transferred 30 million unclassified Obama records to Chicago." USA Today, Oct. 3, 2022; Derysh, Igor. "'He has the right to remain silent': Legal experts say Trump’s Truth Social post may be 'evidence'." Salon, Nov. 29, 2022; "Press Statements in Response to Media Queries About Presidential Records." National Archives and Records Administration, Nov. 9, 2022; Reilly, Steve. "What the government’s former top classified records overseer sees in the Mar-a-Lago search." Grid, Aug. 10, 2022; Wood, Jennifer. "Donald Trump Just Couldn’t Keep His Mouth Shut And Went Ahead And Confessed: ‘I Did’ Steal Classified Documents From The White House." Uproxx, Nov. 29, 2022; "Fact Check-National Archives and Records Administration says they manage all of Obama’s Presidential records, contrary to claims online." Reuters, Sept. 30, 2022. There have also been cases, like a lawsuit by the conservative legal group, Judicial Watch, against NARA, aiming to declassify Clinton Administration efforts, but their efforts were dismissed by the courts.

[3] "Freedom of Information Act flaws need fixing, experts say." American Bar Association, Aug. 4, 2018; "The media’s problems with FOIA." Reporter's Committee for Freedom of the Press, Winter 2007; Goos, Christian. "Seeking Access to Classified Records: Requesting Mandatory Declassification Review (MDR) versus Freedom of Information Act (FOIA)." ISOO Overview, Oct. 1, 2021.Also of note are pages like the "Overview" webpage on the Records Management Directorate and Army Declassification Directorate, the NSA's page on supposed declassification/transparency initiatives, and a press release about ZL Tech's support of a  "records management platform with DOD classified technology".

[4] "Appendix V: Central Storage, Declassification and Destruction" in Classified Information: Costs of Protection are Integrated with Other Security Costs: Report to the Chairman, Information, Justice, Transportation, and Agriculture Subcommittee, Committee on Government Operations, House of Representatives (United States General Accounting Office, 1993), 26;  Connelly, Matthew. "State Secrecy, Archival Negligence, and the End of History as We Know It." Knight First Amendment Institute, Sept. 21, 2018. The latter article also says that state secrecy and state archiving began at the same time, around the establishment of NARA and into World War II.

[5] "Standard on the physical storage of State records." New South Wales Archives in Australia, Feb. 2019; Wittner, Laurence. "What I Learned About Governments from Researching Classified Documents." History News Network, Sept. 4, 2022; "The Management Regulations for Classified Archives." Law & Regulations Database of the Republic of China (Taiwan), May 10, 2005; Peterson, Terrence. "The French Archives and the Coming Fight for Declassification." War on the Rocks, Mar. 6, 2020; Makleff, Ron. "Sovereignty and Silence: The Creation of a Myth of Archival Destruction, Liège, 1408." Archive Journal, Aug. 2017; "Public Reference Services." United Nations Archives and Records Management Section, accessed Dec. 5, 2022; Franco, Shirley. "Transparência e opacidade do estado no Brasil: Usos e desusos da informação governamental." The American Archivist 84, no. 1 (2021): 196; Sromek, Teresa. "Teoria i praktyka archiwistyki USA." The American Archivist 83, no. 1 (2020): 177; Harris, Verne and Christopher Merrett. "Toward a Culture of Transparency: Public Rights of Access to Official Records in South Africa." The American Archivist 57, no. 4 (1994): 681-2, 684, 688, 691; Lee, Kyong. "Political Democracy and Archival Development in the Management of Presidential Records in the Republic of Korea." The American Archivist 69, no. 1 (2006): 119-120,129, 134-135, 137-138.

[6] Wickner, Amy. "Recognizing Co-Creators in Four Configurations: Critical Questions for Web Archiving." Journal of Contemporary Archival Studies 8 (2019): 4; Geraci, Noah and Michelle Caswell. "Developing a Typology of Human Rights Records." Journal of Contemporary Archival Studies 3 (2016): 18; Taylor, Claire, Lucia Brandi, Cecilia A. Acosta Sánchez, and Marcelo Díaz Vallejo, "Archives of Human Rights and Historical Memory: An Analysis of Archival Practices ‘From Below’ in Four NGOs in Colombia Archival Practices ‘From Below’ in Four NGOs in Colombia." Journal of Contemporary Archival Studies 8 (2021): 11, 16; Rinn, Meghan R. "Review of The Future of Literary Archives." Journal of Contemporary Archival Studies 7 (2020): 4; Szekely, Ivan. "Do Archives Have a Future in the Digital Age?" Journal of Contemporary Archival Studies 4 (2017): 4; Jansson, Jenny, Katrin Uba, Jaanus Karo, "Labor Gone Digital (DigiFacket)! Experiences from Creating a Web Archive for Swedish Trade UnionsArchive for Swedish Trade Unions." Journal of Contemporary Archival Studies 7 (2020): 5; Windon, Katrina and Lydia M. Tang. "Archival discretion: a survey on the theory and practice of archival restrictions." Journal of Contemporary Archival Studies 9 (2022): 8.

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

average United States contains 1000s of pet tigers in backyards" factoid actualy [sic] just statistical error. average person has 0 tigers on property. Activist Georg, who lives the U.S. Capitol & makes up over 10,000 each day, has purposefully been spreading disinformation adn [sic] should not have been counted

I have a big mad today, folks. It's a really frustrating one, because years worth of work has been validated... but the reason for that fucking sucks.

For almost a decade, I've been trying to fact-check the claim that there "are 10,000 to 20,000 pet tigers/big cats in backyards in the United States." I talked to zoo, sanctuary, and private cat people; I looked at legislation, regulation, attack/death/escape incident rates; I read everything I could get my hands on. None of it made sense. None of it lined up. I couldn't find data supporting anything like the population of pet cats being alleged to exist. Some of you might remember the series I published on those findings from 2018 or so under the hashtag #CrouchingTigerHiddenData. I've continued to work on it in the six years since, including publishing a peer reviewed study that counted all the non-pet big cats in the US (because even though they're regulated, apparently nobody bothered to keep track of those either).

I spent years of my life obsessing over that statistic because it was being used to push for new federal legislation that, while well intentioned, contained language that would, and has, created real problems for ethical facilities that have big cats. I wrote a comprehensive - 35 page! - analysis of the issues with the then-current version of the Big Cat Public Safety Act in 2020. When the bill was first introduced to Congress in 2013, a lot of groups promoted it by fear mongering: there's so many pet tigers! they could be hidden around every corner! they could escape and attack you! they could come out of nowhere and eat your children!! Tiger King exposed the masses to the idea of "thousands of abused backyard big cats": as a result the messaging around the bill shifted to being welfare-focused, and the law passed in 2022.

The Big Cat Public Safety Act created a registry, and anyone who owned a private cat and wanted to keep it had to join. If they did, they could keep the animal until it passed, as long as they followed certain strictures (no getting more, no public contact, etc). Don’t register and get caught? Cat is seized and major punishment for you. Registering is therefore highly incentivized. That registry closed in June of 2023, and you can now get that registration data via a Freedom of Information Act request.

Guess how many pet big cats were registered in the whole country?

97.

Not tens of thousands. Not thousands. Not even triple digits. 97.

And that isn't even the right number! Ten USDA licensed facilities registered erroneously. That accounts for 55 of 97 animals. Which leaves us with 42 pet big cats, of all species, in the entire country.

Now, I know that not everyone may have registered. There's probably someone living deep in the woods somewhere with their illegal pet cougar, and there's been at least one random person in Texas arrested for trying to sell a cub since the law passed. But - and here's the big thing - even if there are ten times as many hidden cats than people who registered them - that's nowhere near ten thousand animals. Obviously, I had some questions.

Guess what? Turns out, this is because it was never real. That huge number never had data behind it, wasn't likely to be accurate, and the advocacy groups using that statistic to fearmonger and drive their agenda knew it... and didn't see a problem with that.

Allow me to introduce you to an article published last week.

This article is good. (Full disclose, I'm quoted in it). It's comprehensive and fairly written, and they did their due diligence reporting and fact-checking the piece. They talked to a lot of people on all sides of the story.

But thing that really gets me?

Multiple representatives from major advocacy organizations who worked on the Big Cat Publix Safety Act told the reporter that they knew the statistics they were quoting weren't real. And that they don't care. The end justifies the means, the good guys won over the bad guys, that's just how lobbying works after all. They're so blase about it, it makes my stomach hurt. Let me pull some excerpts from the quotes.

"Whatever the true number, nearly everyone in the debate acknowledges a disparity between the actual census and the figures cited by lawmakers. “The 20,000 number is not real,” said Bill Nimmo, founder of Tigers in America. (...) For his part, Nimmo at Tigers in America sees the exaggerated figure as part of the political process. Prior to the passage of the bill, he said, businesses that exhibited and bred big cats juiced the numbers, too. (...) “I’m not justifying the hyperbolic 20,000,” Nimmo said. “In the world of comparing hyperbole, the good guys won this one.”

"Michelle Sinnott, director and counsel for captive animal law enforcement at the PETA Foundation, emphasized that the law accomplished what it was set out to do. (...) Specific numbers are not what really matter, she said: “Whether there’s one big cat in a private home or whether there’s 10,000 big cats in a private home, the underlying problem of industry is still there.”"

I have no problem with a law ending the private ownership of big cats, and with ending cub petting practices. What I do have a problem with is that these organizations purposefully spread disinformation for years in order to push for it. By their own admission, they repeatedly and intentionally promoted false statistics within Congress. For a decade.

No wonder it never made sense. No wonder no matter where I looked, I couldn't figure out how any of these groups got those numbers, why there was never any data to back any of the claims up, why everything I learned seemed to actively contradict it. It was never real. These people decided the truth didn't matter. They knew they had no proof, couldn't verify their shocking numbers... and they decided that was fine, if it achieved the end they wanted.

So members of the public - probably like you, reading this - and legislators who care about big cats and want to see legislation exist to protect them? They got played, got fed false information through a TV show designed to tug at heartstrings, and it got a law through Congress that's causing real problems for ethical captive big cat management. The 20,000 pet cat number was too sexy - too much of a crisis - for anyone to want to look past it and check that the language of the law wouldn't mess things up up for good zoos and sanctuaries. Whoops! At least the "bad guys" lost, right? (The problems are covered somewhat in the article linked, and I'll go into more details in a future post. You can also read my analysis from 2020, linked up top.)

Now, I know. Something something something facts don't matter this much in our post-truth era, stop caring so much, that's just how politics work, etc. I’m sorry, but no. Absolutely not.

Laws that will impact the welfare of living animals must be crafted carefully, thoughtfully, and precisely in order to ensure they achieve their goals without accidental negative impacts. We have a duty of care to ensure that. And in this case, the law also impacts reservoir populations for critically endangered species! We can't get those back if we mess them up. So maybe, just maybe, if legislators hadn't been so focused on all those alleged pet cats, the bill could have been written narrowly and precisely.

But the minutiae of regulatory impacts aren't sexy, and tiger abuse and TV shows about terrible people are. We all got misled, and now we're here, and the animals in good facilities are already paying for it.

I don't have a conclusion. I'm just mad. The public deserves to know the truth about animal legislation they're voting for, and I hope we all call on our legislators in the future to be far more critical of the data they get fed.

[mxactivist]

Support the BBC for having a trans character in recent episodes of 'Doctor Who'

Apparently the BBC (UK) has had 144 complaints about a recent episode of Doctor Who because it contained an openly trans character.

I've made a complaint to the BBC that there weren't enough transgender characters in Doctor Who. I would love if 144 other people did the same thing. Here's the link: https://www.bbc.co.uk/contact/complaints/make-a-complaint/#/Complaint

(For your easy reference: "The Star Beast" aired on 25/11/2023 on BBC One, and the trans character is called Rose.)

Please note that the complaint form asks for your UK postcode, so only UK folks can join in with this - but if you suspect you might have any UK-based followers, maybe give us a reblog to boost the signal?

Edit: I'm told that you can fill in the form even if you're outside of the UK, because the BBC provide service to many countries other than the UK, including the USA! Go for it. :D

Reply to confirm that you've done it, so I can keep a count!

Here's my complaint:

I recommend:

Avoid sarcasm or irony. Assume your post will be taken literally. If you are clearly joking or being mean you will be ignored or misunderstood.

Include some gratitude/appreciation. It's pretty great that they included a trans woman in a positive way, and they should know that they have explicit support for that.

~

Edit again: I'm seeing some concerns in the replies/reblogs that the BBC might not distinguish between "less trans people, please" complaints and "more trans people, please" complaints. Rest assured, this is nothing to worry about - the BBC publish fortnightly complaint reports, and they do pay enough attention to know when a complaint is in favour of or against trans inclusion. In fact, their 20 November – 3 December 2023 report is where the various news articles are getting the 144 complaints figure; that report says there were precisely 144 complaints that they have categorised as "Anti-male / inappropriate inclusion of transgender character".

That means the next complaints fortnight window is 4 December - 17 December. We have 8 more days to beat 144. By my count, over Tumblr, WhatsApp, the Fediverse and Telegram, we have 85 so far, which is well over halfway there.

Also, when you've done it, please reply to confirm you have done it, so that I can count us!

Thank you, everyone!

~

Edit, 2023-12-11, 1am UK time:

We did it! I've just been counting up responses, and it looks like sometime yesterday evening we hit 144 complaints/comments in favour of Rose Noble and more excellent trans characters in Doctor Who! (We're actually up to 157 now, fantastic.)

So, my next plan is to submit a Freedom of Information Act request to the BBC sometime in the next few days, asking for complaints and compliments figures. Then I'd ideally (energy and time permitting) like to put together a press release that I can send out to the publications that promoted the tiny "144 anti-trans complaints" figure, showing them that there has been far more feedback in favour of trans representation than against.

I'll keep you posted.

[heritageposts]

From the Freedom Flotilla, April 27 2024:

On Thursday afternoon, the Freedom Flotilla Coalition was contacted by the Guinea Bissau International Ships Registry (GBISR), requesting an inspection of our lead ship – Akdenez. This was a highly unusual request as our ship had already passed all required inspections; nevertheless, we agreed. The inspector arrived on Thursday evening. On Friday afternoon, before the inspection was completed, the GBISR, in a blatantly political move, informed the Freedom Flotilla Coalition that it had withdrawn the Guinea Bissau flag from two of the Freedom Flotilla’s ships, one of which is our cargo ship, already loaded with over 5000 tons of life-saving aid for the Palestinians of Gaza. In its communication informing us of this cancelation, the GBISR made specific reference to our planned mission to Gaza. It also made several extraordinary requests for information, including confirmation of the ships’ destination, any potential additional port calls, and the discharge port for humanitarian aid and estimated arrival dates and times. It further demanded a formal letter explicitly approving the transportation of humanitarian aid and a complete manifest of the cargo. Again, this is a highly unusual move from a flagging authority. Normally, national flagging authorities concern themselves only with safety and related standards on vessels bearing their flag, and are not concerned with the destination, route, cargo manifests or the nature of a specific voyage. Just like when you register your car, the authorities don’t require you to detail to them every place you are going to go with the car. Sadly, Guinea-Bissau has allowed itself to become complicit in Israel’s deliberate starvation, illegal siege and genocide of Palestinians in Gaza. Israel is showing the world the extent to which it will go to deny Palestinians the aid they need to stay alive, in direct contravention of International Humanitarian Law, UN Security Council resolutions, and two orders of the International Court of Justice. [...] without a flag, we cannot sail. But, this is not the end. Israel cannot and will not crush our resolve to break its illegal siege and reach the people of Gaza. The people of Gaza and all of Palestine remain steadfast under the most horrific, unimaginable conditions. We take strength from their incredible, inexplicable ability to maintain their humanity, dignity and hope when the world has given them no reason to do so. It is our responsibility to keep that hope alive. WE WILL SAIL.

The Freedom Flotilla, which was set to depart from Turkey on the 27th of April with 5000 tons of life-saving aid, has now been delayed because Israel and the United States has pressured Guinea Bissau to withdraw its flag from the Flotilla's lead ship.

Seeing as how their tactics worked on Guinea Bissau, organizers now fear that Israel and the US will exert the same pressure on whichever country the Freedom Flotilla attempt to register their ship under next.

To help the Freedom Flotilla reach Gaza, please keep an eye out for further updates from the organizers. Right now, as of April 27th, they're asking people to help boost their visibility, and to donate to their member campaigns.

For more info, see their webpage.

[syluslnd]

If the pregnant MC is kidnapped by Sylus' enemies, Luke and Kieran don't know how to inform Sylus because they know how much he cares about MC and her babys. If MC miscarries her babys and falls unconscious because of what she went through there, what will happen when Sylus finds her, what will she feel when he takes her to the hospital, what will Mc feel when she wakes up? How will Sylus comfort her when she starts crying and how will he eventually take revenge on his enemies?

I think I've written this request before, but I really want to read this article from your perspective. I'm sorry if I bothered you by sending the request a second time.

when sylus enemies attack you causing you to have miscarriage

tags-angst,comforting,mentions of violence,guilt

(note-hi don’t worry it’s ok if u sent it a second time,it took me a while to write so that’s why I’m posting until now! I hope this is what you wanted 🤍)

────୨ৎ────

The room was dark, cold and the pain was unbearable. Your body ached with every breath, bruises spreading across your skin like ink stains and your mind struggled to keep up with the reality of your situation.

You had been taken, dragged from the safety of Sylus’s protection by enemies who were relentless in their cruelty. You had fought but they were too many and now, your body bore the cost of their violence.

But the worst pain wasn’t physical. It was the dull, nauseating sensation in your abdomen, the sinking, terrifying fear that something was deeply wrong.

Your vision blurred as you lay there on the cold concrete, your hands instinctively moving to your stomach, trembling as you realized what had been taken from you—not just your freedom but something far more precious.

The baby. The one thing you and Sylus had never fully planned but had begun to hope for, had begun to envision. The agony in your gut was matched only by the agony in your heart.

The door creaked open and heavy boots stomped into the room. The men—the ones who had done this—stood there, sneering at your helpless form, mocking your weakness. You barely heard their words through the haze of pain but their laughter cut through. Each chuckle was a reminder of your helplessness, of your inability to protect the life that had been growing inside you.

And then, there was a sound. A familiar, terrifyingly calm sound—the door slamming open, the faint hum of something electric, like restrained fury. Sylus.

His voice was cold, filled with a rage that he rarely showed. You couldn’t see him clearly but you heard the quiet menace in his tone, the way his words dripped with a deadly promise.

“Where. Is. She?”

There was no hesitation. You heard the scuffle, the brief yelp of one of your captors before everything went silent. Then, you felt his hands—warm, steady but trembling with suppressed anger—as he lifted you into his arms. His touch was gentle despite the tension radiating from him and for the first time since you’d been taken, you felt a flicker of safety.

He didn’t say a word as he carried you out, the sound of footsteps and the faint groans of the men behind him lost in the fog of your pain. You knew what this meant—he wouldn’t kill them now. Not yet. But they wouldn’t escape. Not after what they had done.

At the hospital, the lights were harsh, the sterile smell filling your senses as Sylus carried you inside. Nurses rushed to your side, the urgency in their movements sending a cold rush of fear through you. Your head lolled to the side, eyes searching for Sylus but all you saw was his face, stony and unreadable as they wheeled you away. His hand briefly touched yours before you were pulled into the emergency room and that touch was all that kept you from sinking completely into despair.

Time passed in fragments—flashes of doctors, machines beeping, cold hands pressing on your abdomen. You felt detached from your body, lost in the haze of pain and fear, until a voice broke through.

“I’m sorry.”

You blinked, trying to focus as the doctor stood by your bedside, their expression somber. Sylus was beside you, his posture rigid, his hand gripping yours tightly, almost painfully.

“I’m sorry” the doctor repeated, their voice softer now, filled with regret. “We did everything we could, but… you’ve lost the baby.”

The words hit you like a freight train. You stared at the doctor, unable to process the weight of what they had said. The baby… was gone? No. That couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.

“No…” you whispered, your voice trembling, barely audible. “No, I… I should have been stronger. I should have fought harder. I—”

But before you could finish, Sylus’s grip on your hand tightened and he turned to you, his face a storm of emotions you rarely saw. Anger, pain, guilt—it was all there, swirling beneath the surface of his usually controlled demeanor.

“Don’t” he snapped, his voice rough, almost breaking. “Don’t you dare blame yourself.”

You flinched at the intensity of his words, your tears spilling over as you tried to form some sort of response. “But I—I should’ve—”

“No” Sylus interrupted, his voice low but trembling with fury. “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine.” He looked away for a moment, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might break, his hands shaking now as he struggled to keep himself from unraveling.

“I should have been there” he continued, his voice raw with guilt. “I should’ve protected you. This happened because of me because of my enemies. I brought you into this life and I couldn’t even keep you safe. I…” His words faltered and he took a sharp breath, trying to regain his composure.

Your heart broke at the sight of him like this—Sylus, always so calm, so collected, now barely holding himself together. You had never seen him so vulnerable, so angry at himself and it only made the pain in your chest worse.

“I should have been there” he repeated, his voice softer now, filled with regret. “I failed you. I failed our baby.”

The tears flowed freely now and you shook your head, trying to tell him he was wrong, that it wasn’t his fault, but the words wouldn’t come. The grief, the guilt—it was all too much.

Sylus’s hand cupped your face, gently forcing you to look at him. His eyes, usually so cold and unreadable, were now filled with a deep, aching sadness. “Kitten” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’ll make them pay. I swear to you, I’ll make them pay for this. But you… you have to know this wasn’t your fault.”

You leaned into his touch, your body shaking with sobs as the weight of the loss crashed over you. Sylus pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could shield you from the pain, from the reality of what had been taken from you both.

The baby was gone. The future you had only just begun to imagine was gone and there was nothing either of you could do to change that. But in that moment, as Sylus held you, his own grief mixing with yours, you knew that you weren’t alone in this. He was there and no matter how much he blamed himself, no matter how much you blamed yourself, you had each other.

And for now, that had to be enough.

Luke and Kieran stood guard at your door, their shadows tall against the dim light of the hospital hallway. You knew Sylus trusted them-his two most loyal men-but it did little to ease the cold dread that had settled into your bones.

Sylus had left without a word but you knew where he had gone. You knew the kind of wrath that was brewing inside him, the rage he held back only for your sake and now, he was gone to unleash it.

The basement was cold and damp, the smell of mildew mixing with the stench of fear. The three men who had taken you were bound tightly to chairs, their heads slumped forward, blood dripping from their faces from the initial beatings Sylus had given them when he'd first found you.

Their bodies were bruised and broken but that was nothing compared to what was coming. Sylus stood in the shadows, silent, watching them as they stirred, slowly waking to the nightmare that awaited them.

One of the men groaned, his head lifting as he squinted through swollen eyes. "W-Where are we?"

Sylus stepped forward, his boots echoing against the concrete floor. His face was devoid of emotion, cold, calculating. He was no longer the man who had cradled you in his arms at the hospital, no longer the man who had tried to soothe your pain with soft words. This was a different side of him— ruthless, unrelenting, and out for blood.

"You know exactly where you are" Sylus said, his voice low, a dangerous calmness to it. He crouched down in front of the man, his dark eyes locking onto his with an intensity that sent a shiver down the man's spine.

"And you know exactly who I am."

The man's breathing quickened, panic flashing across his face as he realized who was standing before him. "P-Please, we didn't mean to-"

Before he could finish, Sylus backhanded him, the force of the blow snapping the man's head to the side. Blood splattered onto the ground, and the man whimpered, his body trembling.

"You didn't mean to what?" Sylus hissed, standing up slowly, towering over him. "You didn't mean to kidnap my fiancée? Didn't mean to hurt her? Didn't mean to kill my child?" His voice was deadly now, each word punctuated with a barely restrained fury.

The man sobbed, his words a jumbled mess of apologies and excuses. Sylus's eyes darkened as he turned his attention to the others. "You're all going to pay for what you did."

He walked over to a table lined with tools— knives, pliers, a blowtorch. The sight alone was enough to make the men scream in terror, their bodies jerking against their restraints as they tried in vain to free themselves. But there was no escape. Sylus had made sure of that.

He picked up a pair of pliers, testing the grip with a snap before walking back to the man he had hit. "You took something from me that I can never get back” Sylus said quietly, his tone almost conversational. "So, I'm going to take something from you."

With that, he grabbed the man's hand and forced his fingers apart. The man screamed as Sylus clamped the pliers around one of his fingers and, without hesitation, ripped the nail clean off. Blood poured from the wound as the man howled in agony, his body convulsing in the chair. Sylus didn't flinch, his eyes cold and focused as he repeated the process on the next finger, and the next.

"Stop! Please! Stop!" the man begged, tears streaming down his face but Sylus was unmoved.

"You don't get to beg" Sylus said, his voice low and deadly.

He moved to the next man, who was already sobbing, begging for mercy. Sylus picked up a knife and with a swift motion, he sliced across the man's cheek, deep enough to leave a permanent scar but not enough to kill him. It was slow, deliberate, designed to inflict as much pain as possible without granting them the mercy of death.

The man screamed, his cries echoing off the walls of the basement. Sylus barely blinked as he moved to the last man, the leader of the group. The one who had orchestrated the entire thing.

Sylus leaned down close, his voice a whisper in the man's ear. "You're going to suffer the most and when I'm done with you, you'll beg me for death."

He grabbed the blowtorch, flicking it on with a soft hiss. The man's eyes widened in terror, his body shaking uncontrollably as Sylus held the flame close to his skin, the heat searing his flesh. The smell of burning skin filled the air and the man's screams were deafening but Sylus didn't stop. He burned him, inch by inch, savoring every moment of the man's agony.

Hours passed and by the time Sylus was done, the men were unrecognizable, their bodies broken and mutilated beyond repair.

They were still alive but barely. Sylus stood over them, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with the adrenaline that still pumped through his veins. The cold satisfaction of revenge washed over him but it didn't erase the pain. It didn't bring back what they had taken.

He wiped the blood from his hands and walked out of the basement, leaving the men to rot in their own misery. There was no rush to finish them off. They would suffer until their last breath.

but sylus ? He would return to you.

[traveler-at-heart]

Hot and Cold

Summary: Natasha's playing with fire when a new resident joins the Compound.

A/N: Queen of Angst @esposadejoyhuerta asked for the fluffiest, sweetest, tooth rotting story ever and I was happy to deliver, even after they changed their request to inclue jealousy BECAUSE no one can stop me. Love ya, baby!

Another day, another mission. Since last week’s mess, it seems like Fury’s been finding ways to torture the team.

Yes, at the end they were able to retrieve the drive with the data of over twenty enhanced individuals. But so did HYDRA. And now the Avengers are on a race against time to locate them before the Russians do.

Natasha walks to Fury’s office, not excited at the prospect of risking her life to recruit people who didn’t really want to be found.

“Yes?” she says as soon as Fury turns around. He hands over a very heavy binder. “Is this their criminal record?”

Great, a weirdo with a troubled past. Natasha might not make it out alive.

“No, that’s their academic stuff. She’s a scientist. Crazy smart” Fury explains. “Have you heard of Bio-Thermokinesis?”

“No, not really”

“The ability to manipulate the body temperature of oneself and/or others” he recites, having learned the concept just now.

“That doesn’t sound so bad” Natasha says, closing the folder. It’s certainly better than the last few people she had to chase down.

“Yeah, until she induces a heat stroke or hypothermia” Fury scoffs. “We’ve been failing at recruiting these people. It would be nice to have a win. Plus, she could work in the lab with Banner and Stark”

“I don’t think Nerd Club is worth one’s freedom” Natasha mutters, skimming through the file.

“Well, either way, this mission doesn’t requires strenght. It requires charm. You up for it or should I send Hill?”

As Natasha gets to the picture of the target, she looks up.

“I’ll handle it”

—

As usual, you’re carrying more than you can possibly handle. Books, your laptop, a sandwich from the cafeteria, and correspondence from the main office.

By the time you manage to open the door to your office, half of the things in your arms are dangerously close to scattering across the hardwood floor.

“Oh, shit” you mutter when your keys drop.

“Need a hand?” a voice says and you jump back, the rest of your stuff flying across the room. 

“Uh… can I help you?” you say, because the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen is perched up on your desk, legs crossed and a playful smirk across her striking features.

“Are you Doctor Y/L/N?”

“Yes. How did you…? I’m pretty sure the door was locked” 

Is she a thief? You have absolutely nothing of value, at least not for a conventional burglar. You run every possibility in your mind and then you land on your second least favorite one.

Natasha notices the room getting warmer, probably because of how flustered you got. The file seems accurate regarding your power.

“AC broke down?” she asks innocently, undoing the top button of her shirt.

“Uh… I… I’ll open the window” you say, pushing it and leaning against the window pain. You consider jumping down to escape, but it’s a considerable height. You take a breath, deciding to face the matter head on. “So, which agency sent you?”

“Ever heard of S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Yes, that was my first guess” you admit with a sad smile. “What can I do for you, Agent…?”

“Call me Natasha” she says, hopping off the desk. “I’m afraid I am the bearer of bad news… and a generous offer”

“Mmm” you nod, fixing your glasses. 

“A tactical team was sent to stop the purchase of confidential information for 30 enhanced individuals. We were able to obtain it… and so did HYDRA”

“Listen” you raise your hand, taking off your glasses and pinching the bridge of your nose. “I get it. HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. know about me. The thing is, my power isn’t something you can leverage in a fight. I doubt they’ll be very interested in me”

“I think you’re wrong. And it’s not just your ability. Your expertise in science and your genetic makeup can be used to experiment”

“So, is that what S.H.I.E.L.D. wants to do with me?” you sigh, looking out the window. You’re enjoying the view, vaguely aware that life as you know it is over.

“We want to offer you shelter at the Avengers Compound. 24 hour security, top facilities and technology. You can continue your research” Natasha says, trying to make it sound like a great deal.

It brings her back to that time Fury told her it was either work for the US government or end up in the Raft.

Your offer is slightly better, but a golden prison is still a prison.

“Are there any questions I can answer before you make a decision?” she offers with a kinder tone.

“Yeah. Do I even have a choice?”

—

Academic life is all you’ve ever known. Grants were the perfect way to do your research without having to look for a benefactor and expose yourself. You could learn things about your DNA, your abilities, while doing other stuff without anyone noticing.

Now, you wake up and there’s nothing that drives you. You live with people who have exceptional skills, physical prowess, and military training. Their world is avenging, your world is scientific papers and books.

Sure, their lab is nice, but most of the times you end up leaving early, completely unmotivated and feeling empty. 

Natasha watches from afar, and although this isn’t her doing, she feels responsible. She tries to include you in activities she understands, like training, but you’re very obviously not the athletic kind.

Banner is, as usual, isolating himself and Tony speaks nerd, but is barely around unless a mission requires his presence. 

It isn’t until one day that Peter shows up to the Compound that Natasha gets an idea.

“Hi, Miss Romanoff. Is Mister Stark around?” he asks in that shy tone he always uses when he’s around Natasha.

“Nope, not to my knowledge. Do you need anything?” 

“FRIDAY told me to meet him here. He must have forgotten. I guess I better get back to my Biochem project”

Wait a minute.

He’s a nerd.

“Stay” she says, looking him up and down. Peter reminds her of a puppy when he stops completely, as if he learned a new command. “Wait for Tony at the lab. I’ll try to find him”

“You’re sure? I’m not allowed inside by myself” he hesitates, following Natasha.

“Yeah, it’s fine” she types in the access code, and of course, there you are, spinning in your chair.

As soon as you hear the door opening, you stop your movements, almost falling off.

Natasha finds your blush adorable.

“Hey, Y/N. This is Peter. He’ll be around waiting for Tony”

“Oh, hey. Ok, I was just leaving. I’m kinda stuck either way”

“Ordinary Differential Equations?” Peter says as soon as he gets his eyes on your board.

“Yes. Very impressive” you nod. “This is focused on genetic network. I’m trying to determine inborn errors of metabolism”

“Oh, you know? There’s a brilliant Doctor who’s working on that, maybe her paper would be great for you. She’s Y/N Y/L/N”

“Yeah, that’s me” you say, tapping your chin and examining the board. “What is your ability? If you have any? Maybe I can use a different set of data”

“Yes! I would love to, what do you need from me?” Peter says, a little starstruck at finding out you’re one of the most prestigious researchers in the world. 

“For now, a blood sample” you wink at him, adjusting your glasses.

Natasha sits in the back of the lab as you and Peter work together, and you explain every concept to him. This is the first time since you arrived that you don’t look so miserable.

The Russian takes it as a small win when you join her in the common area for dinner.

--

Since Peter found out about your abilities and your permanent stay at the Compound, you’ve been advising him on his project and college applications. Which is a really nice distraction, but it also makes you miss your own college days.

So, even if you’re in a better mood, it’s still hard to socialize with the team.

One day, you enter the lab to find Rogers, Wilson and Barnes looking at a screen, while Natasha types.

“Whoever encrypted this is slightly smarter than me. Only slightly” 

They look away as you drag a chair to focus on your own stuff, a cup of coffee in your hand and a cookie in your mouth.

“Hi…” you wave at them, feeling intimidated as usual.

“Hey, weather girl” Sam winks at you. 

Natasha rolls her eyes and elbows him.

“Ignore him, Y/N”

You can tell she’s getting frustrated, so you inch closer, looking at the code over her shoulder. Placing your hand on her elbow, you silently ask for permission to take over.

The redhead eyes you curiously, but stops typing and moves the keyboard your way. It takes you twenty seconds to hack into the files.

“How…?”

“I used to hack into databases to make sure my name wasn’t on any watchlist” you explain casually. Natasha laughs at that. “Anyway, there you go”

“Thanks, Y/N. You’re my hero” Natasha says, smiling up at you. Her tone makes you blush and you nod, going back to your desk.

“Nice work. We could use your help if you’re free some other time” Steve says as they leave the lab.

“Of course, Capitan” 

—

An intruder changes your mind about training. The threat is handled swiftly and you don’t even have time to hide before F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirms the suspect has been taken into custody

But you don’t even know how to begin to defend yourself, so you come back to Natasha, asking if her offer still stands.

Needless to say, the spy is more than happy to train you. Not just because it means you’re comfortable asking for things, but because Natasha can teach you something that will help you protect yourself.

You start with two sessions per week, which later turns to four, until you’re comfortable with training almost daily.

The rest of the team joins from time to time, giving you advice and helping you when Natasha’s away on missions.

After a few weeks, Natasha notices how your resistance is better and you’re building some muscle.

Only as a professional observation. It’s not like she finds you attractive, with that nerdy charm and toned arms.

One day, as you’re leaving the gym, she checks her bag, cursing when she notices she forgot a change of clothes. 

“Wanna borrow one of my hoodies?” you offer, handing over your NYU sweatshirt.

“You sure?” Natasha hesitates.

“Yeah, I got tons of these. From all the places I’ve done work or research” 

“I’ll give it back” she promises, taking it.

That turns out to be a lie.

A few days later, when you’re folding your laundry, F.R.I.D.A.Y. requests that you join Tony and Banner in the lab. Leaving the basket in the living room, you think nothing of it, nor do you notice that a couple of your sweatshirts are gone.

It all comes to light a week later, when Natasha comes back from a grueling mission. The only thing that will make her feel better is staying in her room while wearing your UCLA hoodie.

She totally forgets about her attire when she answers the door.

“Huh, so that’s where it was” you tilt your head, smiling.

“I…”

“I’m watching a movie, care to join me? It’s one of your favorites” 

“Ok” she nods, surprised that you’re not mad about the stolen sweatshirt. 

Natasha enters your room, appreciating the combination of books, notes and the board with equations. After you apologize for the mess, you offer a place to sit in your bed.

“It looks good on you” you compliment the redhead. Natasha smiles, trying to be nonchalant about it.

“Thank you” 

It becomes a habit, to steal your hoodies.

“Objectively speaking, you don’t actually need them as you can regulate your temperature” Natasha comments one day, digging through your closet. To her shock, she finds a sweatshirt with a sorority logo on it.

“Not mine. A girl I hooked up with in college” you explain.

Natasha rolls her eyes, throwing the garment as far away as possible while pulling a face. You laugh at her reaction.

“Don’t be jealous, Natty. You’re my favorite” you promise, unaware of the effect your words had on her.

“And yet you never let me wear the Harvard one”

“That was my first” you shrug your shoulders.

“First college or first hook up?” Natasha taunts and you laugh.

“A nerd never kisses and tell. Actually, a nerd rarely kisses anyone to being with” you try to joke, pulling out the Harvard sweatshirt from your closet to put it on.

Natasha eyes it, and you catch her intentions a little too late. She inches forward and you stretch your arm back, trying to place the hoodie out of reach.

“Nu-uh” you shake your head, laughing as she keeps trying to steal it. “Natasha, there are like ten other hoodies you  could take!” 

“I want this one!” she insists, jumping. Her body crashes against yours, and you both stumble, falling in your bed. Limbs are tangled and her laugh tickles your ear as she struggles to lift herself up. After a moment, Natasha smiles, looking at your lips. “Gotcha”

You don’t even know what to say, her intense stare making you feel warm -both literally and figuratively - and your heart beats faster when it seems like she’ll lean forward and kiss you.

“Agent Romanoff, there’s an urgent call for you” FRIDAY interrupts the moment. 

Natasha sighs, standing up and looking at you. 

“Catch you later?”

“Yeah” you nod, trying to hide your disappointment.

—

Natasha was gone for a week, and returned with a very bad injury. You heard the news as Steve and Tony were arguing in the kitchen, blaming each other as usual.

“Where…? Is she ok…?” you try to interrupt them, but they’re in the middle of a screaming match.

“Come with me” Maria says, taking you to a whole different wing of the Compound. Since you’ve never been on missions, you didn’t know about the Medbay.

Natasha’s lying in a hospital bed, asleep.

“She’s ok. A guy threw a knife at her, but it was only a superficial stab wound. Doctor said she’ll be discharged tomorrow” Maria eases your nerves. 

Of course, for her it’s easy to say it’s no big deal. Agents are shot, blown up, killed in the field. A little scratch is nothing, especially for Natasha. But you take a deep breath, leaving the Medbay in a rush.

As you lock yourself in the Avenger’s Lab, you make F.R.I.D.A.Y. a simple request.

“Show me the mission’s footage”

—

Natasha’s had worst, truly. But still, her head is throbbing when she wakes up. The doctor discharges her with the instruction to rest for a week. No training either.

The Russian notices a bag with clothes on the chair next to her bed. She finds your Harvard sweatshirt, which puts a tiny smile on her face.

You are nowhere to be found in the Compound when she returns, so she goes to her room to take another nap, the painkillers making her sleepy.

By the time Natasha wakes up to get something to eat, F.R.I.D.A.Y. requests her presence in the lab.

“What is it?” she says, surprised to find you working on a tablet. It looks like you haven’t slept in the last 24 hours, five or six cups of coffee around the various tables in the lab.

“I created a new technology for your suit” you jump right to it. “It has motion sensors that are triggered by incoming threats. That way, if someone tries to sneak up on you, you can either get an alert or program a defense mechanism that can be shot from any part of the suit” 

Natasha takes the tablet, running the simulation. She’s impressed with the level of detail you’ve placed on this and on such short time. She’s about to thank you, but you’re already asleep in the couch of the lab, clearly exhausted from all the work you’ve done.

The sight of your sleeping form makes Natasha’s heart flutter.

—

Movie night is the one tradition you’ve always been on board with. Coincidentally, it’s Natasha’s least favorite. Depending on her mood, she’ll join everyone on the living room, or talk you into watching something else in your room or hers.

Tonight, she stops by once the movie has already started. As usual, you’re on the couch in the far back of the room, your glasses reflecting the screen as you eat some popcorn.

“Hey” Natasha leans over the back of the couch and whispers against your ear, making you jump. Your eyes follow her as she jumps over to plop down next to you.

“You’re not supposed to be doing that with a hole on your side, Natasha” you reprimand. 

“It’s fine” she lies, grabbing some popcorn.

As the movie keeps going, the woman inches closer to you. At first you think she’s settling in her seat, but then her hand spreads on the back of the couch, dangerously close to your neck.

It’s fine. You can handle it.

Nope, you absolutely can’t. Not when you feel Natasha’s nimble fingers playing with the hairs on the back of your neck, her digits alternating between caressing the skin and scratching your scalp.

“You’re hot” she whispers at some point and you turn to look at her, dazed.

“Huh?”

“You feel hot” she clarifies a second later, her eyes looking at your lips. “Is everything ok? Those powers of yours are acting up”

“I’m fine” you nod, looking back at the screen. Aware that you are in fact increasing the temperature in the room, you take a breath and close your eyes, before anyone else notices.

You’re almost back to normal when Natasha stretches and lies across your lap, her left hand squeezing your thigh as the other one begins to trace patterns in your skin.

All while she's wearing your Harvard sweatshirt.

Your only thought is to take it off, along with the rest of her clothes and kiss every inch of her body.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., is the thermostat broken…?” Tony finally snaps, annoyed at the sudden changes in temperature. “Never mind” 

Everyone follows his eyes as he looks to the back of the room, where Natasha is playing dumb while riling you up.

“Can you two find a room to turn into a sauna and spare the rest of us?” Tony says, which makes your eyes widen, and the room practically turns into a freezer. “Great, now we’re all turning into popsicles. Cap, you’re familiar with the feeling, right?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Tony” Natasha finally stands up, showing you some mercy. “Come on, detka” 

“Uh, ok” you say, your voice barely a whisper as you allow the woman to drag you back to her room.

As soon as the door is shut, she pushes you against it.

“So, tell me” she says with a playful smile. “How hot do you think it will get here?”

You can only shake your head, speechless. Natasha smiles, kissing you softly. All thoughts leave your head, opening your mouth to give her access. You’ll do anything she asks, anything at all.

“I see” she smiles when the room gets hot. “Good thing we won’t have our clothes on” 

It’s the best sex of your life.

So much so, the fire alarm goes off in the entire Compound.

“Fucking worth it” you sigh as you’re both naked in bed, the water from the sprinklers evaporating from all the heat in the room.

[strawberrystepmom]

ready to eat

pairing: Yami Sukehiro x F!Noble Reader

word count: 4.9k

contents: NSFW - minors and ageless blogs dni, I will hard block you. Takes place in canon universe, there is a slight age/experience difference insinuated between the pairing but reader is at least 25, reader has named magical ability (movement magic), so much banter, oral sex (f receiving and finishing and it's sexy)

cw: mentions of marriage and misogyny, virginity (reader is a virgin)

notes: brain rot has proven to be fatal so here you are. this is open ended and i would not consider it a oneshot bc i'd love to write more about these two. hope you enjoy! thank you for reading ♡ | crossposted to ao3, divider by @cafekitsune

you can find more about these two here, here, here and here 🖤

Nighttime is your time, a lesson you taught yourself independent of your instructors many years ago. 

Movement magic allows you the luxury of blending in with your scenery, rushing unseen toward a capital district that is on the opposite end of where your family has made their name. Nobody here would recognize you even if you were less discreet, cloak gathered around your face and obscuring any unidentifiable features, and the freedom is indescribable; better than every sunny day or freshly made tea dessert. 

You are free to be yourself. Unmarried, unattached, unimportant, it doesn’t matter. You stumble into the usual inn you make your domain until the sun rises, ready to watch the way people you have little in common with live. If anyone knew you’d get reprimanded, probably rightfully, though you have never quite understood the scandal that lies in being a well informed woman. Your mother was a gossip and isn’t that another way to become informed? 

It’s society's acceptable way, anyway.

You slink into the corner table, away from the crowd gathered nearer the bar, and slip your hood off of your face. No glances of recognition from anyone else, too engrossed in their own drinks and their own conversations, and you sink down against the back of the chair you’re sitting in. It’s nice to be anonymous, you decided months ago when you began doing this. You aren’t certain you want to continue being so inconspicuous when you remind yourself why you’ve been doing this to begin with - to gain even the slightest bit of the life experience that continues to elude you. To love and laugh and feel joy that you’ve been told only comes with marriage, something you are too apprehensive about committing to. 

It’s why you come namelessly into a district that does not belong to you or your kind. You hope that someone will find you interesting, a beaten path off their life’s track. Someone to laugh with or tell stories to. It’s all you’ve ever really wanted, a romantic to your core despite the decidedly unromantic life you lead. Caretaking, getting earfuls from your father about being a responsibility that the family no longer wants to have when taking your age and failed proposals into consideration. So lost in your own thoughts, you barely notice when a man slides into the chair next to you, glancing down at your hands and then at your face.

“You need to stop wearing whatever is making you smell like that.”

The interruption to your quiet evening makes you jump, no longer dissociating and now in the present. You recognize the man sitting next to you, a captain of a Magic Knights squad. Their faces are plastered all over the capital and you’re shocked that he stumbled into such a low brow establishment though getting a look at him up close convinces you that he may not be in the entirely wrong spot.

“Captain Sukehiro,” you offer politely, formal as ever. “I regret having to request clarification from a man as esteemed as yourself but what do you mean?”

The captain snorts, shaking his head in response to you as though your manners are piteous instead of a courtesy that should be extended to all. 

“Don’t call me that, Yami is fine.” He sniffs, stuffing a cigarette between his lips. “I’m talking about the shit you’re wearing that is filling every corner of this place. People don’t wear things that make them smell like bakeries around here.” 

Scrunching your nose, you lift your wrist to your nose for a sniff. He’s referencing the perfume you spritzed on after bathing and the way it sticks to you, the smell wafting around the table with every move you make. It hasn’t caught any eyes yet, thankfully, but he can see how this will end if you don’t correct your mistake now. 

“What are you doing around here anyway? I figured women of your, uh, breed or whatever stuck to their own districts.” 

Bristling slightly at his insinuation that you find yourself too good to hang out here, you square your shoulders and clear your throat. A low chuckle rumbles in Yami while he lights his cigarette, raising his brows and eagerly awaiting whatever argument you are clearly cooking up in that little head of yours. 

“I’ll have you know that I enjoy exploring parts of the city that I rarely see. I am out here thanks to my own curiosity.” Your eyes shift from Yami toward the rest of the tavern, a small smile on your face watching the patrons laugh amongst themselves. “I think it’s really wonderful that people are happy no matter how they were born into this world and I’m thankful to be able to experience this side of life too.”

The captain could spend all night laughing at your naivety if you’d let him but he doesn’t wanna let you dig any deeper of a hole than you’re already finding yourself in. You’re clearly a fully grown woman, even the doll-like roundness of your eyes and cheeks can’t convince him you’re under 25 judging from the way you carry yourself. You aren’t the first noble girl he has ever seen sneak off in an attempt to find herself yet it strikes him as hilarious you clearly believe it.

“So you aren’t like the other nobles? You see people as people?” The brusque individual takes a long drink from the mug in his hand, Adam’s apple bobbing while he swallows, your eyes fixed on the sheer size of his neck and throat. “What do you want? A prize?”

Even the enticing muscles of his body (how can one person have so many muscles bulging off of them anyway?) cannot distract enough to forget that he’s insulting you. You place your hands in your lap and fiddle with the edge of the cloak that covers the simple nightgown you are wearing, covering it enough that no one is suspicious about why you’re wearing nightclothes in the first place. 

“No, I’m simply telling you what I’m doing here because you asked.”

Sipping from his mug, the man glances you up and down. He swallows and squares his shoulders.

“Okay? That still doesn’t tell me what you’re actually doing here, you’re only talking about feelings and shit.” Another sip and he places his ale down. “So what are you doing here? Isn’t it a little late for your type to be out with the rest of us?”

He considers you for a moment. Not bad looking. Pretty, even. Not plain in the way some overly manicured noble women can come across and you clearly aren’t using magic to enhance anything about you or else he’d notice. He’s a pro at sniffing out transformation magic in women having seen so many who have taught themselves to dabble in the arts to subtly tweak their appearances. You sigh and he finds it impressively naive to do so, your shoulders pinching in while you exhale sharply out of your nose. 

“I’m looking for someone to help me.” Now this is interesting. He raises a brow, glancing you up and down. You lean toward him, creating a veil of intimacy in a crowded tavern, elbows resting on the table rudely. “I, um, I fear I’ll be woefully unprepared for my marriage bed once the time arrives and I want to avoid embarrassment. I’m already too old to be considered marriageable to most and my heart could not take physical rejection from my husband as well.”

“You’re a virgin and feel weird about it and now you’re makin’ it my problem.”

Gasping, your eyes widen and you shake your head rapidly. Yami smirks when he senses how quickly your heart is pounding beneath those layers of fabrics most in this place could only ever dream of seeing much less feel against their skin, curious enough that he won’t just tell you to get lost at this point. 

“Please do not repeat my predicament so loudly, Captain Sukehiro.” You whisper hiss, fighting the urge to kick him beneath the table as you do the rest of your fathers’ unruly issue you are the eldest of. “It’s not something I’m terribly proud of.”

The captain scoffs, humming to himself and adjusting his posture so that he’s leaning toward you instead of on the back of his chair, cigarette dangling from his fingers. You’ve captured his attention, at least for now, and he’ll give you all of it that you can handle. Pursing his lips, he glances around the bar for a split second before focusing on you, gray eyes locked on your pouting mouth.

“Then why is it your situation in the first place? Thought you nobles were too proud for your own good.” He flicks the lighter in his pocket. “And don’t call me that. Yami is fine.”

You should find it very rude that you are being asked so many questions and being made to suit so many demands made by a lesser born to begin with but the curiosity feels like deeply personalized attention, causing you to bloom in response. Hunched shoulders stretch out, the graceful posture you’ve spent what would amount to months of your life if you stretched the hours out perfecting appearing. No one at home is this curious about you outside of when you will no longer be around to tend the younger children your father continues to spawn and it feels different to be the center of a man’s attention. 

Not a weak, defanged little noble whose only function is to act as an additional limb for his father. A man with rough hands and battle scars and overgrown hair down his neck. 

“I haven’t felt a spark with any of the men I’ve been introduced to. They’re lovely individuals with proud lineage but it has always felt so…” you search around the room, lifting your hand to your mouth to idly nip at the cuticle around your thumbnail. “Forced. I don’t want to be with them and they do not want to be with me. Four men and none of them made me feel like I could spend the rest of my life with them.”

Once again, Yami chuckles at your predicament. Your cheeks heat in response, ears tingling and burning as that familiar feeling of being mocked encourages you to retreat inward. The awareness that you do not have to put up with this kind of treatment from a man beneath your station 

“Sounds like you’re hard to impress, kid.” A plume of smoke is blown over your head, the cigarette he was holding now dangling from his lips while he examines you with narrowed eyes. “Little darling won’t settle for less than a fairytale.”

Retreating further into yourself, you move your hands from your lap to fold your arms over your chest.

“I’m no child, obviously.” 

Your retort is as petulant as your posture and the man smirks, the corner of his mouth jumping, tenting his fingers in front of him and leaning toward you. Despite himself, he likes you. Your willingness to shit here and just shoot the shit with him has impressed him but not enough to let you off easy. 

“You’re here beggin’ for attention like one so I dunno about all that.”

Scoffing, you shift in your chair but make no effort to get up. You won’t be picked off by him that easily. 

“You know nothing about me, sir.” You raise your brows and shift your head to emphasize your point, arms still folded. A grown woman behaving like a little brat shouldn’t draw a man like this in yet he considers himself intrigued, stamping out the nearly depleted butt of his cigarette on the edge table in front of him. 

“Can’t argue with that. Keep talking.” 

He leans back in his chair and sizes you up, boots stacked on top of each other where his ankles are crossed and his long legs are extended out in front of him. It’s one thing to be keeping him here against his will because you won’t stop talking, it’s another when he is a willing audience. Your mouth runs dry and you gradually unfold your arms, placing them above your knee so you can subtly rid your clammy palms of the prickling sweat across them.

“I want to experience the things that a husband and wife are to experience together though I do not have anyone to enjoy them with.” Even the way nobles describe sex is stuffy and uncomfortable, Yami realizes, brows raising slightly. He lets you continue speaking before butting in, letting his arms dangle from the sides of the chair. “Perhaps it’s wrong of me to believe it will change my luck but I won’t change my mind. I have to know how to…perform.”

Perform is such an interesting choice of word. All of the sex the captain has ever had has been far less of a performance and more of a two person dance, locked in repetitive motions and tangled up as one form. He isn’t much for the sappy, intimate shit you’re clearly insinuating you’d like though he feels like he could help you.

“I’ll tell you what,” he starts, leaning back toward you and closing the distance to once again grant you some semblance of privacy. “I can show you how a man should treat a woman but I can’t promise you it’s how a husband will treat his wife, you understand?”

Your eyes widen and you nod once, picking up on his meaning immediately. Impressed by your sharp wit he smiles although it’s nearly as unfriendly as the ones exchanged at court and only slightly less smug. Leaning in toward him, your brows knit together, and you bunch your skirt up in your fists.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for, you know…” you trail off, frowning slightly. He pretends like he doesn’t understand what you mean, shaking his head and staring vacantly at your mouth. “I don’t know if I’m ready for you to take me.”

Another snort from him and your face heats like a wildfire. The two of you remained locked in this strange posture, whispering but not quite, discussing the terms of whatever is occurring here. Blood rushes from your face to your chest to your stomach, a familiar tense feeling between your legs making you shift uncomfortably in your chair.

“The only one who would be doing any taking in that scenario is me and you don’t have to worry about that tonight.” He tips his mug and finishes off the last droplets of his ale, sliding the empty vessel across the table top where it stops just short of you. 

“What if we never see each other again after tonight?” That sappy shit he was right to assume you wanted has surfaced earlier than he expected. He shrugs flippantly, arching a brow. “Then we never see each other tonight but at least you can say you know how it feels when a man takes care of you.”

Inhaling loudly, you weigh your options. 

You can always get up and go home, turn tail and run to where you will always be viewed as something akin to a decorative sconce on the wall instead of a human being. Your opinion matters not, you’re a glorified caretaker for your younger siblings, some of who are your fathers rightful heirs thanks to the boyhood the Gods so mercifully granted them. You can retreat and continue wasting away waiting for a man who thrills you enough that you can ever see him as someone deserving of being your equal. 

Or, you can consider Yami’s offer. He’s rough around the edges and speaks with no formality or regard and you like it. At least you think you do. He doesn’t care who you are any more than the others around you do yet he makes you feel the most seen anyone ever has. He’s interested in your words, your ideas, and even your pleasure - a realization that makes the knot in your stomach tighten further.

“Okay.” You concede. “I think that I’d like that.”

The man rises from his seat, smirking, tossing some coins down on the table in front of him for the drink. 

“I know you will,” he finishes, words dripping with honesty but not arrogance. 

He begins to head toward the stairs that will lead the two of you upstairs and your breath catches when he looks over his shoulder and raises his brows, signaling with a wave that you should follow him. You toss a few more coins on the table in front of you, uncertain of how much a room in an establishment like this would cost to begin with, and rush to follow him with your cloak pulled tightly against your body.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

This room is nothing like your quarters at home where everything around you gleams in gold and marble and silk. It may be decidedly less impressive though it’s twice as cozy if you’re honest. 

The bed is barely large enough for two and there’s a well loved desk pushed against the wall, magical light flickering from the wall. Shutting the door unceremoniously, you swallow and feel the captain at your back, a large palm covering the entirety of the space between your shoulder blades. You don’t recall him seeming so imposing downstairs, glancing upward to meet his eyes. He can tell you are inexperienced solely by how skittish you’ve become beneath his fingertips, an intriguing shift from who you were sitting opposite him.

Boldly asking a man to pleasure you has told him everything about the person you are beneath the skirts and the trappings of society. If he waits long enough he knows that hungry girl will once again show her face to him and while he isn’t particularly patient, he believes it would be worth his while to wait. 

“Go sit on the edge of the bed.” He instructs right above your ear and gently shoves you toward where he’s commanded you be. 

You follow directions and sit, legs dangling off of the edge, unfastening your cloak and letting it rest on the bed. The knot in your belly remains tight, keeping you on edge with all of your movements while your walls throb weakly, arousal and curiosity bearing down on you with similar weight. Sukehiro towers over you, slowly unfastening his belt and cloak, leaving the leather goods and his katana on the desk. 

“I’m going to lick your pussy. Do you know what that means?”

Cheeks warming, once again surprised by his lack of decency, you nod once. You have read about this particular act more than once and have also heard about it secondhand from some of the married women you call friends although their reviews have been mixed. Books have always made it seem far more interesting, an exchange in the same way a kiss is between a man and the paradise between a woman’s legs. 

“Good, at least I won’t have to explain all the technicalities.” He approaches you slowly and squats down, now face level with your middle. You glance down at him and wonder if you should touch him, if he’d like it, if he’d want you to. “Lift your hips.” The next command gives you reprieve from overthinking and you do as asked, raising them enough that he can pull your nightgown from beneath your thighs, spreading them to fit between.

“If you don’t like something, speak up.” He glances up at you, holding your nightgown halfway over his face. “If you do like something, speak up and I’ll keep goin’.”

The linen of your nightgown stretches and tents in the shape of Yami’s head and shoulders when he pulls it over himself, too big to be fully covered by the fabric. His back is curled into a C shape and the muscles ripple while he positions you, hands that you can feel but cannot see gripping the outside of your soft thighs to keep you from deciding at the last minute you are feeling shy. 

It’s too late for you to fall back on the shy act now, your panties dangling off of one of your ankles. Even if you attempted, you know the man currently fixated on spreading you open with his fingers would surface from beneath your skirt and laugh at you. Your heart simply could not take the open derision and ridicule, already feeling overextended thanks to this evening’s excitement.

“Alright, you’re about to feel something different,” he warns kindly, puffs of his breath fanning out against the slickened skin of your labia. The low rumble of his voice sends another rush of wetness seeping out of your cunt, excitement mixing with terror while you await the pleasure you were promised. 

Your hips shift impatiently on the edge of the dingy inn bed, legs on either side of his still dressed torso. His tank top is untucked from his pants and he no longer wears his belt, discarding the unnecessary while remaining firmly in control of the situation. There isn’t much that makes his mouth water but the sight of warm and just for him pussy is doing just that, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip.

His thumbs massage the outside of your thighs, keeping you as relaxed as possible, and he leans in to kiss the temptation he can no longer deny himself. A simple smack, loud enough that you can both hear it, yet the moan that escapes you is positively sinful. High pitched and breathy and immediately obscured, clapping your palm over your mouth to keep yourself quiet. 

“Nope,” he simply responds from beneath your nightgown, hand reaching up to remove yours from over your mouth. “What’d I tell you? Half’a the fun is hearing how much you like it.”

One of the thumbs that was rubbing circles into your thigh now does the same on the back of your hand, calloused digit occasionally catching over the surface of your smooth skin. It’s no shock that your hands are soft like your body and your hair and your eyes, it’s what your life was meant to be like the minute you assumed the role of it.  Soft and easy, no roughness to throw you off track.

Yami chuckles and lets his tongue feel you this time, dragging the wet muscle through your folds, rewarded with another of those breathy moans. You do not rush to cover this one, tilting your head backward and letting your eyes flutter shut to focus on the sensation of another lick. He takes his time to get to know you slowly, brushing the flat of it over your hole and dragging the arousal he receives as a reward upward toward your clit.

He doesn’t release his skills on your sensitive bud so quickly but a simple brush of the side of his tongue against it is enough to make you squeal, shoulders rounding in momentarily. Repeating the motion, you squeal again and arch your back, thrusting your hips forward into his face and dragging every bit of you he can see across his mouth.

“W-what are you doing to me, Yami?” You ask breathlessly, elbows propping you up on the bed and keeping you grounded. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Your head swims with unfamiliar pressure, sparking a line from your brain to between your legs, all connected and you fight the urge to slump back onto the bed, too curious about the way that the light linen covering the man between your legs shrouds him. 

“Eating, obviously,” he mumbles against your body, tongue lapping against your clit. Your body reacts to each touch, thighs tensing on either side of his face, hips slowly bucking in pursuit of the feeling again and again. Your back arches and your moans are staccato babbles, elbows finally failing to hold you up when he gives your clit full attention.. “Oh my, wh–,” your back arches off of the bed before you can finish your thought, another rough lick to your throbbing clit followed by the warmth of his mouth while he sucks it between his lips, flicking the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. 

There is no denying that you may be prissy and perfectly pampered but he was clearly correct in his assumption about you being more than meets the eye. The way your body responds naturally to his ministrations, hips grinding and toes curling and lips keening, tells him every little secret you’re too demure to spill. You want to have sex for enjoyment, to chase your own pleasure and have your own fun. 

He’ll never fault someone for that although he believes he can get you to admit it’s the truth. Maybe not tonight but eventually he’ll convince you to drop the “good wife” act. If he weren’t enjoying himself so much he’d grumble about considering a future where the two of you will meet up for this again, too lost in his own enjoyment of your pretty noises to realize how unreasonable this was to begin with.

“Please keep going,” you beg, a tearless sob thickening your voice. 

Yami doesn’t look up, well aware of what he is capable of, but he keeps his hand over yours and continues rubbing gentle circles into it. You flip your hand and face your palm upward, loosely tangling your fingers with his, your hips now dragging across his lips wildly. It’s messy and you are dripping like a peak season fruit, drenching his chin and sending little droplets down onto his tank top and chest. Moans increase in pitch when his tongue dips inside of you, lapping at your sweetness and drinking it down with satisfied grunts, though he can tell you’re close solely by how you ride his face alone.

You lack the words to describe how you feel, not that you are a stranger to self pleasure, but it’s different when someone else is showing you the maximum of how you can feel. Every inch of you buzzes with a pleasant awareness, nerve endings sparking like celebratory fireworks, and you lift yourself up with your elbows to glance down at the man making you feel more than you ever thought possible, your nightgown no longer around his head. You were so lost you didn’t even realize he shifted to holding your nightgown up above your belly button with the hand you aren’t keeping occupied, those astute eyes appreciatively watching your chest heave and face twist.

“Yami, I think,” you start and he chuckles, sucking your clit between his lips again, sending you over the edge and effectively making sure you know how exactly it feels when someone else makes you cum. 

Dots of light spark in the corners of your vision and you slump down onto the bed, too spent from the strength of your orgasm to remain upright. The perpetrator of your current state untangles your fingers from his wordlessly and he rises to standing, leaning over your exhausted body and propping himself up with his forearm.

“Good as you thought it would be?” 

Giggling, you nod. It’s all you can think to do, truly left wordless and thoughtless, grateful that what you read on the pages of the books you hide amongst your more chaste picks were somewhat accurate to how the experience feels. There has been no insinuation that he expects reciprocation so you don’t bring it up, quietly glancing up at him and noticing that the distance between your face and his decreases every few seconds.

“Now taste.” 

He closes the little distance left, tongue pressing against the seam of your lips. You grant him entrance and whimper when your mouth fills with the taste of his tongue, a mixture of acrid tobacco and ale and something you could only recognize as yourself. 

“Pretty good, right?” All you can do is nod dumbly, still splayed awkwardly across the bed. Should you leave? Should you stay? Is that pesky reciprocation going to come into the conversation now? Yami glances down at you with something you’d almost mistake for warmth in his cool irises, rolling onto his back beside you and folding his arms over his chest. “Are you going to head home now or what?” 

You shake your head, letting your flipped up skirt rest against your belly, the air of the room cooling your heated skin. “No but I’m not going to expect you to stay if you have other business to attend to. I will stay the night and leave before sunrise.”

It’s what’s polite. You did pay for an entire night, after all, and your raising will not allow you to be rude. Pushy and precocious at times but never outright disrespectful. The man next to you sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, turning his face to look at you. 

Maybe you are as pretty as he originally thought. It could be all the blood rushing from his head to his dick, a problem he is attempting to solve mentally by envisioning anything but the satisfying contractions of your cunt while it cums for him, but you glow even in this low light. 

“Only thing I have to do is go downstairs and drink and then I’ll just end up running my mouth and losing money.” 

You giggle at his honesty, turning your face to look at him. The gruffness only adds to his aura, as unrefined as a man can be, yet you really do like it. Even if the two of you sit here in silence for the rest of the night, there’s much you feel you can learn by simply gazing at him, a quiet battle of wills unfolding between the two of you like the mist that fills the city on a summer morning. 

Permeating, inescapable, potentially trouble.

[vague-humanoid]

U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) has run a secretive program for years where ICE agents have trained hundreds of civilian volunteers on how to operate multiple types of firearms, conduct investigations and surveillance of immigrants, and use lethal force on human beings.

The program, known as Citizens Academies, includes role-play scenarios for civilians to conduct fictional raids on immigrants and is active in New York and in more than a dozen cities across the country. The program is run by Homeland Security Investigations, the branch of ICE in charge of intelligence, international affairs, and surveillance.

According to thousands of internal documents obtained from ICE via a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request litigation, published on Oct. 1 by a group of civil rights organizations, the program was piloted first in Puerto Rico in 2014 and turned national in 2019.

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Let The Rain Fall | Bucky Barnes x Autistic!Reader | Short Series - Part 1 of 4 - 2.6k

Bucky finds your file and is shocked to learn you're not in the field, despite your excellent test scores. Although Steve advises him to let it go, Bucky sets to work on convincing you instead.

Warnings: nothing yet really. Some reference to Bucky's time as the Winter Solider but it's very brief.

Masterlist | Let the Rain Fall Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

Bucky dropped another manila folder onto the desk and leant back in his office chair with a sigh. Across the table Steve looked up from his equally towering pile of agent folders and eyed his friend.  

“Tired?” He asked, closing the latest file and placing it carefully with the others he’d already assessed.  

“This is exhausting, there must be a hundred agents here.” Bucky kept his face covered by his hands, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.  

“Sixty.”  

“What?”  

“There’s sixty, but some of them already have positions.”  

“Of all the automated shit in this century, this, this, is what we have to do by hand?” 

Steve didn’t look up again, “it’s to keep staff information safe after...well...after everything.  

Bucky tensed; he knew what Steve meant by everything. Flashes of that day still came back to him sometimes in his dreams and his nightmares. Moments of clarity in an otherwise hazy memory, explosions, jets falling from the sky and water, fear and freedom. 

“Well, we already found the best candidate, right at the top, her scores and rankings are incredible.” 

Bucky handed Steve the folder, the covering page turned back so he could see the smiling face of the agent in her profile.  

Steve did look up then, “not her, sorry.” He ducked back down, folding the cover back over and attempting to take the folder from Bucky.  

“Why not? She’s a crack shot, scored well in all the reasoning tests and has excellent recommendations from her tutors. She even has a sealed folder from Xavier’s School, but she must have done well to get the college course she wanted.”  

“I know, but she requested desk duty and we’re respecting that. So, not her. She might do some digital recon, if you ask nicely. But she oversees the mission records now.”  

“Steve, she has a sealed envelope, what if it’s a power? How can you leave her on desk duty.” Bucky insisted.  

It was Steve’s turn to sigh, pushing his hand through his blonde hair until it stuck up in tufts. “Remember when you wanted desk duty? Remember how you have a sealed envelope in your folder? I respected you; I respect her. She’s a great Agent, but she’s not going into the field. Drop it.”  

The two men eyed each other for a second before Bucky stood, grabbing his leather jacket from the back of his chair. “I’m going for a walk. I need a break.”  

Bucky stalked through the Avenger’s compound, allowing the door to the private offices to close with a bang. He’d intended to head towards the gym to work off his frustrations at the incredibly tedious task of picking new agents and the even more frustrating realisation that the only agent he’d shortlisted had voluntarily taken themselves out of the field.  

Before he knew it, he was scanning his pass card and weaving his way through the open plan office that sat opposite the Avenger’s private space. He knew a few people here, mostly from bumping into them on the way into work or at the coffee shop on the ground floor.  

Stopping by one of the assistant’s desks he asked for directions to Mission Records, only to be pointed to a set of small, two people sized, meeting rooms that sat at the edge of the otherwise open space.  

Cautiously he picked through the maze of desks and paused outside of the door. Inside he could hear the faint sound of humming and the swish of papers, after a few seconds there was a dull thud as if something had dropped onto a desk and bounced off quickly. Underlying this was the sound of rain, despite the fact it was a dry day. 

Taking a shaky breath to steady his nerves, Bucky knocked on the door.  

“Who is it?” The voice inside was high and lilting, definitely nervous.  

“Uhm - it’s Sergeant Barnes...” Bucky tried to sound authoritative but, honestly, he hadn’t been in charge of anyone or anything since he was Steve’s second in 1945 and now that he was trying, panic was rising inside of him like a tide.  

From behind the door, he heard another dull thump and the paper noise stopped, but the rain continued. 

“You can come in.”  

Bucky turned the handle slowly, ducking his head and wishing he’d at least taken a lap of the office to think of what he was going to say to you, and then he was inside.  

The small office space was considerably cooler than the main office, with the faint smell of fresh linen fabric softener. It wouldn’t normally be the kind of detail he’d notice, except that he liked it too and knew it wasn’t sold at the small grocery shop on the other side of the compound. You had to go all the way into town for anything other than Tony’s preferred fruit cocktail scent. He was lost in his thoughts when he looked up, and there you were.  

Your folder had boasted of your prowess with a gun, your efficiency with a knife, tenacity during physical training and, although there was a picture of you in your official agent’s uniform, he had not been prepared for meeting you in real life.  

He was, in fact, surprised to recognise you considering the wave of people that seemed to roam around the compound. He’d seen you eating alone on the grass outside, and reading in the atrium when it was raining after hours. It was odd to see you in your own office, you looked so different to the official image of you on file. 

“Good afternoon, Sergeant Barnes.” You said, politely but with that edge of nervousness still bubbling beneath the surface. 

He took you in. Your soft, pale blue cotton shirt over what was clearly a pair of sweatpants, despite the fact they were a dark blue. Although your trousers fit you, the shirt was too large, it didn’t quite fit correctly and the sleeves were so long that your hands were covered up to your knuckles by the cuffs. As his gaze travelled over you, you shifted, pulling your hands inside of the sleeves completely and then tucking your hands under your thighs.  

You looked small, in such a large chair, wider than his own with a comfortable, quilted back and seat, your legs crossed neatly under your desk as if you were sitting on the floor.  

The desk itself was home to an array of trinkets and toys, all lined up along the top edge and around the double screen of your computer. Bucky marvelled at your ability to keep up with such a thing, he found his own laptop screen quite enough brightness. But then your room was darker than his office with Steve and the blaring overhead light.  

You shifted again, looking at him pointedly.  

“Would you like to sit down?” You indicated a round armchair that took up most of the rest of the space and he sat down heavily, aware of his large black boots and wide frame in such a small space.  

“Thanks,” he hesitated. 

Awkwardly, you quickly gave your name, as if he hadn’t read your folder a hundred times.  

You allowed one of your hands to be freed from its confines under your leg, but only to chew the pad of your thumb while you gazed somewhere over Bucky’s left shoulder.  

Bucky’s stomach turned over and he angled his shoulder back self consciously. You snapped your eyes to his and then looked down at your thumb, “sorry,” before snatching one of the toys from your desk and beginning to push the little plastic bubbles in and out.  

“I wanted to talk to you about your scores at the academy.”  

“Oh?” You kept your eyes on the toy.  

“They’re very good.”  

“Yes, I’m very proud of them myself.”  

“And you graduated college?”  

You looked up again, “look I know it took me a little longer than everyone else but I -”  

Bucky held his hands up in surrender, “it wasn’t a comment on how or when, just that you had.”  

“Oh,” you nodded, “okay.”  

Pop, pop, pop.  

“Sorry, did you need something from me? It’s just best if you’re really clear and then I can answer.” You placed the little plastic toy back in its place on the desk.  

“I wanted you to join the Avengers Agents, we have three open spots and I’d like you to take one of them.”  

“No, thank you.” You smiled at him, it was a friendly but firm smile that reached your eyes enough to let him know you were at least flattered, but that this really was a no and for some reason it made him absolutely furious.  

“If you’re worried about the other agents then -” 

“No, it’s not that. I don’t want to.”  

“There’s lots of training and -”  

“No, thank you.”  

“It’s a great -”  

“I said, no.” You snapped and then plastered that smile back on the lower part of your face. “Thank you.”  

You turned to your computer and began typing and Bucky stood feeling smaller than he had in a long time.  

“Can I ask why?”  

Your typing stopped but you didn’t look at him.  

“I already documented that I’d ask you, so if you don’t want to, I  just need a reason.” He waved at the twin stacks of paper in your ‘in’ and ‘out’ trays. “You know what the paperwork is like here.”

“I don't like the uniform, it’s itchy and uncomfortable. Is that good enough?” You cocked your eyebrow at him and then turned, pointedly, back to your work.  

Bucky left with a nod, closing the door quietly behind him and pausing long enough to hear the shift of paper again.  

Your conversation with Sergeant Barnes had left you rattled, so as soon as he’d walked away you closed your computer down with a sigh and left the office for the day. You’d come in extra early tomorrow to make up for it, it’d be quieter in the morning anyway and you could hopefully get ahead by 10am and then enjoy a quiet coffee and some time curled up reading before the next round of debriefs were submitted.  

The office was empty at 7.30am, the lights still off and the scent of the cleaners all-purpose spray still lingering in the air. You’d only managed to settle in and grab a coffee before there was a sharp knock on the door and a familiar shadow looming through the frosted glass.  

“Come in.”  

Sergeant Barnes opened the door tentatively and peeked around the frosted glass, “morning.” 

He smiled awkwardly, hovering in the doorway with a large black garment bag before you beckoned him in and pointed towards the spare chair.  

“Morning,” you smiled back automatically, but before you could drop it a genuine flash of happiness passed over the Sergeant’s face and your smile moved from forced to genuine too. There weren’t many people who were actually happy to see you around the office, and yet here was Barnes, again, smiling at you.  

“I’m really sorry about yesterday.” He said, seriously, “I didn’t mean to push you, I was just worked up.”  

Whatever you’d been expecting when he’d knocked, it wasn’t this.  

“Oh, well.” You moved in your seat, pulling your hands inside your sleeves again, a navy-blue fleece lined sweater today, since the weather was unseasonably cold, the collar was turned over under your chin where you’d been fiddling with it. “I was short with you too, I can be a bit – sensitive, about – things. So, I’m sorry too.”  

“Then we’re even,” he smiled and settled into his chair more, looking around at your office.  

Suddenly you felt self-conscious, this was your space and it was hard won. You’d filled it with every soft thing that you needed to make it through your days in the office, cute mugs, fidget toys, blankets and even a teddy. While Sergeant Barnes was looking at your bookshelf you tried to move the little bear from his prominent position next to your monitor and into the open draw by your side, but he caught you and grinned instead.  

“Cute bear.”  

You snatched it up and squeezed its soft body between both your hands. “Thank you.”  

There was an awkward silence as the Sergeant seemed to think of what to say next and then he grabbed the garment bag again, as if he’d forgotten it as soon as he’d sat down.  

“Oh, yes, I was talking to Steve about what you said yesterday -” he looked up at your blank face, “Steve Rogers, you know ahh-” he rubbed his cheek as if he could remove the red smudge of embarrassment. 

“I guessed.”  

“Right, of course, I spoke to Steve, and he said that if that was what was holding you back then it was an easy fix and -” he pulled the zipper down on the bag revealing a black-on-black ensemble inside. Fitted combat trousers with pockets and an empty utility belt as well as a black, long-sleeved, shirt and flack vest. “It’s all made of a cotton blend with reinforced, lightweight, Kevlar. If you like it we can look at adding Vibranium for strength. It has a fleece lining, I noticed you had two fleece lined items in here and took a risk, so it should be soft on your skin. What do you think?”  

Bucky beamed at you from across your desk and your stomach twisted into knots, a yawning chasm of silence opening between you the longer you didn’t answer. You knew what you were supposed to say, you knew you were supposed to be excited and say yes and run off to be an Agent.   

“It smells like my fabric softener.” You blurted. 

“Yes, I figured you used the one from the store in town, I hope that wasn’t presumptuous?” 

For a moment you reached out to touch the sleeve, it was soft and it smelt lovely. But -

“Thank you, Sergeant Barnes, I can see you’ve gone to a lot of effort -”  

“But it’s still a no?”  

“It’s still a no.”  

“Okay.” He said, kindly, zipping the garment bag back up. You expected him to leave, taking it with him, but instead he hung it on an empty hook by your door. “I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry, and that you’re welcome to join us anytime. There’s a big budget, especially for talented agents, I’d hate for something like a uniform to hold you back.” 

“Thank you.”  

“There’s a simple recon next week, Steve and I are leading some of the other newly qualified agents and he said you sometimes do recon, there’s a seat open for you if you want, but there’ll be no hard feelings if you don’t come.” 

“Okay.” 

You weren’t sure if it was the awkwardness or his earnest smile, but you had the urge to hug him. You hadn’t hugged anyone since you’d moved to the compound and you missed the comforting feeling of it, he even smelt lovely and for the briefest moment you imagined him holding you close to him. He had a black cotton shirt on with a dark green and blue flannel over the top. It looked soft, and now your arms felt empty and heavy at your sides, with no one to hold but yourself.It felt strange, too, to be wanted. You’d mostly assumed your colleagues were glad to be rid of you. Instead of embracing him, you stood and offered your hand, allowing him to squeeze your palm before he left, and then spent the next three hours wondering about his request.  

Part 2 ->

[vaspider]

How are you a lesbian if you go by “he?” Lesbians are exclusively women

Assuming you are asking this in good faith - which doesn't make it appropriate, but we'll get to that in a minute:

1. No, lesbians are not exclusively women, and this has never been the case. A great deal of lesbian writing going back decades upon decades posits lesbian as a separate gender - certainly we are not nor have ever been seen by society at large as "proper and correct women."

1a. My gender is butch lesbian. The end.

2. Pronouns aren't gender. Also, see above.

2a. He/Him, They/Them and neopronouns as pronouns for butch lesbians (who consider themselves women or any other gender) has at least a hundred years of history behind it, as does butch lesbians referring to themselves as Husband or Daddy.

2b. Have you read Stone Butch Blues? Like, ever? Leslie Feinberg (z''l) was not a woman. Zie made that very clear over decades.

3. And this is the most important, so I need you to listen very very closely:

ACAB INCLUDES POLICING OTHER PEOPLE'S IDENTITIES.

I hope that clears things up for you, as other people's identities are not matters for debate or for you to police. I am setting a firm end to this conversation; I will not engage further with you on it. If you would like to request more information from someone on gender theory and lesbianism to clear up your very clearly lacking education, including me, ask about the theory and don't involve the other person's identity.

Once you've read Stone Butch Blues - which is free online by the terms of the author's last wishes - if you'd like to return and discuss the long history of gender variance and gender freedom within the lesbian community, you may do so. But - and I'm totally serious - I'm not talking with you about this again until you've read at least that one totally free book and killed the cop in your head that makes you think you can come into someone's inbox and ... do this.

Would you walk up to someone on the street and say this? If so, who raised you? If not, why do you think it's okay to do to someone online?