#navigating the US medical system

[jmtorres]

Hi, this is random, but would you mind sharing more about your gut issues/long covid? (I.e. diagnosis, treatment). I have chronic fatigue, and gut issues that are definitely linked to that, but all of my doctors are being extremely useless about it. (No worries if this is not the kind of info you want to share with a total stranger on the internet)

(This is in reference to my comment on this post)

@reptilerex I appreciate you recognizing the sensitivity of this ask, I am going to go ahead and answer it because I feel like the likelihood that you or someone you know (or even others of my readers) are struggling with long covid and finding adequate medical help vastly outweighs the minuscule probability that you've hacked into HIPAA records and are planning to dox me lol

so in the immediate aftermath of my first bout of covid (despite vaxxing and masking regularly, I'm up to two now 😭) my obvious symptoms were fatigue – going to the grocery store would wear me out for 2+ days – and a 20 year-old scar from a car accident reopened, which sounds like some scurvy ass bullshit, and I do wonder if the fact that my friend @niqaeli, who knew that long covid symptoms are highly correlated with MCAS symptoms and was encouraging me to start MCAS otc treatments like vitamin C supplements, helped. (worth noting that while I didn't hear anything about old scars reopening as a covid/post covid thing before it happened to me, but when I told people about it, they were like "oh yeah, that happened to me or someone I know" SO often) My doctor sent me to a wound specialist for that, and they kept poking it trying to figure out if there was some embedded shrapnel that they hadn't realized was in there originally, but ultimately it just healed back over much redder and angrier than the first time.

so then, the fatigue. My doctor had me wait three months because it wasn't officially long covid until three months. obnoxious as hell. I found out the DMV accepts long covid for a disability placard reason and got my doctor to write me a DMV form about how I couldn't walk hardly any distance. she was willing to do that before the three month mark.

I was Johnny on the spot coming back three months after, the first thing she did was send me for a chest x-ray because the obvious/expected reason for fatigue is you're not getting enough O2 in your blood. There was nothing wrong with my lungs and we were kind of at a dead end until I presented my doctor with more options.

I mean, I was kind of like, my PCP is being useless, I have a PPO, why can't I just go directly to a specialist, but it turns out specialist won't take you without a referral because reasons. I had heard rheumatologist is as good at figuring out weird vague shit so I tried to book there but when I told them long covid, they said that wasn't their department. They said I needed to go see an immunologist which sounded wrong to me, but there was a pretty good HIV specialist immunologist in the area that I tried to book with who said no that's not what long covid is. someone recommended a Long Covid Specialty clinic in a city that is 2 to 5 hours away depending on traffic and I knew I wasn't making that drive in my current condition so was like somebody local gotta help me.

so I went back to my PCP and said to her that I had learned from disability communities online that sometimes a rheumatologist can be helpful. And she said OK we can do some blood tests for inflammation markers to see if I can justify a referral to a rheumatologist. (and I thought of my weird scar issue and thought gee I better have some weird inflammation markers)

So I had some inflammation markers pop and I got a referral to a rheumatologist, and they were actually willing to see me. The rheumatologist ordered so many tests, like an unbelievable number of tests. I think they drew like eight vials of blood. Plus other samples. The rheumatologist was basically like let's look for anything and everything.

I had a borderline response on Calprotectin. To quote from the explainer in the test notes:

Calprotectin in Crohn's disease and ulcerative colitis can be five to several thousand times above the reference population (50 mcg/g or less). Levels are usually 50 mcg/g or less in healthy patients and with irritable bowel syndrome.

so I wasn't high enough to qualify for IBD outright from that test results, but I was high enough that it flagged to the rheumatologist, and I had reported a family history (brother has IBD), so he said that was enough to diagnose and started prescribing me for that.

The thing is, rheumatology is an ass backwards way to get an IBD diagnosis and I was having another symptom that I hadn't reported because I was a dumbass and this is the apocryphal frog boiling slowly thing. I was having fairly regular loose stool/diarrhea. if I had told my PCP that could I have gotten a referral to a gastroenterologist and gotten a less ass backwards diagnosis?

I hadn't told my PCP about loose stools for two reasons:

I didn't think it was relevant to the fatigue, and in fact, I still didn't think it was relevant when the rheumatologist called it, and I was really surprised when taking medication for IBD did actually turn out to help the fatigue

I knew I was lactose intolerant, so I thought it was already explained. However, the rheumatologist and I had this exchange:

Him: so do you still drink regular milk or just Lactaid?

Me: Lactaid

Him: then you shouldn't still be having diarrhea

Me:…

I can't remember the first med he started me on because I was only on it for a couple of weeks before we had to switch. (it helped a lot when I could tolerate it but about every three days I had to throw up and then I felt awful and didn't take the med for a couple of days and you can guess how that went.) the one that I went on long-term that actually worked without side effects for me was mesalamine/lialda. I also started experimenting with some dietary changes, the low FODMAP diet is intended for IBS not IBD, but you are still expected to have IBD triggers so I was playing around with that.

for a few weeks, I had incredible improving energy. It was crazy.

then I made what I can only now think of as a mistake in trying to be proactive about my care. because I had stumbled ass backwards into an IBD diagnosis and I felt like I should have gastroenterologist confirm it, and I went to go see my brother's gastroenterologist. he wanted to do a colonoscopy and he asked me to go off the mesalamine for six weeks so that he could see what my colon was like without treatment and it was the worst fucking six weeks of my life. Hated it. colonoscopy results: he didn't see anything fucking wrong and would not diagnose IBD or prescribe mesalamine based on what he found. I said, but the mesalamine improves my symptoms, what does that mean? He said, it means keep seeing your rheumatologist.

I went back to the rheumatologist and told him about the whole debacle with the gastroenterologist and he was like "so how did he explain your inflammation readings?" like CHECKMATE. And he concluded that any lesions I had must be in the small intestine, not the large intestine and so were not seen by colonoscopy.

I kept taking mesalamine. My improvement was slower after the break from it which sucks but I did get back to normal lab work within six months, hallelujah.

Follow up: MORE stuff that might have been avoided if I had gastroenterologist regularly, had gotten an IBD diagnosis from a gastroenterologist, or had mentioned my shitty symptoms in the immediate: the gallbladder bullshit this summer

I had my second round of covid in May and I didn't notice a lot of fatigue coming out of it, though I was more cautious with myself the second time around, but I was sort of holding my breath for what horrible nonsense is going to come out of this now? so then I had what I thought was a really bad case of Gerd that didn't go away for two weeks even though my Gerd usually resolves in like a day. I went to my PCP twice during this period and then ultimately ended up at the ER when I realized my pain was in my side not central anymore and I was worried about appendicitis. It wasn't appendicitis. It was my gallbladder. and it came out that night. overall, I am very happy with how the hospital handled the emergency for instance, I didn't realize until two weeks later that I seriously could've died because they were so calm about it the whole time but like they don't do same-day surgery unless death is on the line, let's be real.

but here's things that could have been helped if I had better gastroenterology care:

I didn't find this out until I was researching gallstones after the fact, and I would like to think a gastroenterologist would have warned me whereas the rheumatologist wasn't super aware of it but: IBD can lead to gallstones because one of the ways a cholesterol gallstone forms is, if you get an imbalance of bile and cholesterol in your gallbladder; your body wants to recycle bile by reabsorbing it at the end of your small intestine, but if you have IBD, sometimes it loses the bile instead of reabsorbing it, and then you get an overabundance of cholesterol, turning into a gallstone the size of a golf ball

I told my PCP it was a case of Gerd that wouldn't go away, but I didn't tell her I was also having diarrhea. Diarrhea is not a Gerd symptom. Maybe if I had just fucking told her she might've recognized or could've sent me to somebody who would have recognized it as a gallbladder symptom before it turned into an immediate emergency

tl;dr don't hide your gut symptoms from your doctor because you "think" you know what's wrong with your guts or that it's not related to your other problems or you're embarrassed or what the fuck ever just tell them that you're shitting yourself because it might turn out to be important

[thenarrativefoil]

needed a refill on the cetirizine prescription I've been on for 3 years now and the doc's nurse had the audacity to prescribe a single month's supply (I usually get 3 or 6 month supplies) and say "make sure to come in for your next appointment"

like???? I'm not???? allowed to take my medication if I don't come in for an appointment????? the medication that is available in every pharmacy, and is one of the most commonly stolen drugs bc of its prohibitive cost and wide availability????? i am doing the medical system a FAVOR by getting these drugs the "correct" way and they wanna act like they can take away my right to this nessecary medication???? the fucking AUDACITY on these bitches.

also!!!!!! I had to beat the office up to get this appointment!!!!!! IT'S NOT A NESSECARILY SCHEDULED APPOINTMENT CHECK IN, IT'S BECAUSE I'VE DEVELOPED BED-RIDDING JOINT PAIN, DAILY RASHES, AND EXCESSIVE FORGETFULNESS. WHICH THE DOCTOR DID NOT INITIALLY TAKE SERIOUSLY. AND HAS NEGLECTED TO DO *ANYTHING* FOR ME IN THE T W O M O N T H WAIT TIME TO GET INTO THIS FUCKINGGG APPOINTMENT.

for the past THREE YEARS this prescription has been automatically refilled by the office every 3-6 months. what the FUCK changed.

[smoov-criminal]

i just rbed a post about something similar but. i need my white disabled to folks to be more aware of the privileges they have when navigating the healthcare system. every bit of medical ableism one can experience can be made even worse by being a poc. some of us can't threaten to report a doctor to the ethics board, or refuse care from healthcare workers who aren't masking, without jeopardizing our access to care in general or even our physical safety. we are more likely to be seen as drug seeking, or marked as noncompliant, or experience medical abuse and neglect. that's not to say these things don't happen to white disabled people, but i just think it's important to recognize how dangerous receiving medical care can be for disabled poc specifically. please keep this in mind when giving advice on navigating healthcare.

[purinflora]

self care ᵔᴗᵔ

pampering yourself in steps

— ✦ O1. : start a skincare routine

think about your needs. what are you struggling with? acne, clogged pores, hyperpigmentation / post acne marks, dryness / itching, oiliness, or rosacea? specialize and find products & treatments that can benefit your skin specifically. consult a dermatologist to help you navigate your journey. please do research! know your skin. not everybody needs 12 step routines, just find what you need, keep clean and consistent, and layer products properly! i have sensitive / oily combination skin, so i use a foam water cleanser, tumeric cleansing pads, brightening exfoliant (3x a week), moisturizer, and sunscreen in the mornings. occasionally i do a sheet or clay mask.

— ✦ O2. : hair care

again, your hair care routine will vary wildly depending on both your hair length and type. but there are general rule of thumb practices such as keeping your hair trimmed and neat (to your preferred length ofc, keep free of dead ends for those with longer hair). invest in a scalp scrubber for hair wash days, a bamboo brush for grooming / combing, and products such as detangler spray and heat protectants. my hair wash routine consists of a dove scalp food scrub, two rounds of regular shampoo, one round of my medicated ketoconazole leave-in shampoo, and conditioner. i leave hair oil in pre wash on a bi-weekly basis and i mostly air dry.

— ✦ O3. : body care

pre shower, dry brushing can drain the lymphatic system and soften skin. keeping your skin smooth is key, so while in the shower be sure to exfoliate by using a body scrub. after that, soap up. i use a benzoyl peroxide cleanser for my back and upper / under arms because it kills bacteria that causes odor and can help with body acne. out of shower, glycolic toner to the under arms and legs can aid in getting rid of discoloration from shaving. apply lotion while skin is still damp to lock in moisture. dab body oil on wrists, sides of neck, and ankles. for nails, make sure to cut cuticles, apply vaseline, and keep hands moisturized. for soft lips, you can brush them with a toothbrush or use a peel off / leave on lip mask. find your signature scent, and center your bath products around it.

✷ heαder creds @ unknown !

[buckets-and-trees]

Title: Uncertain and Sure Characters/Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!Reader Word Count: 550

Summary: Immediate follow up to Desperate. The moments after you're retrieved from the safehouse.

Content Warnings: insecurity, brief reference to past kidnapping and sex pollen ordeal

Notes: No one really asked for this (at least not recently), but the idea of it was inspired by an ask @sergeantbarnessdoll sent me with a gif of a certain kissing scene featuring one Sebastian Stan. Good lord that man can kiss. Written spur of the moment.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You fidgeted with the zipper on the standard-issue jacket you’d changed into at the safehouse while Sam and Bucky radioed into the home office in New York. It wasn’t your first quinjet ride, but it was your first ride – first anything – after having spent an intense twelve hours with Bucky Barnes where he let you use him to get over a sex pollen infection, confessed deeper feelings for each other, and then explored the new intimacy of that connection physically and emotionally in the safehouse.

“Strap in,” Sam turned and reminded you before slipping into the pilot seat while Bucky adjusted the navigation from the co-pilot seat.

You nodded and took your spot in one of the jump seats. You felt the intensity of Bucky’s look before your eyes flickered up to meet his. Looking over his shoulder, he gave you a tight-lipped smile, and you returned it, your chest tightening as he looked away. You told yourself it was the pull of the quinjet’s liftoff, not any insecurity creeping into your mind.

After shuffling you into the shower to clean up, Bucky had encouraged you to sleep when you hadn’t been otherwise engaged, but your body was still so tired. Your eyes closed, and you let your head fall back against the seat. Bucky had reassured you that was to be expected after everything you’d been through, that from his limited but field-reliable expertise you seemed to be through the worst of it but that the medical team would examine you when you got back, and that you would recover after more rest, but you still hated how exhausted your body felt. Weak.

Weak and strung out and vulnerable.

Uncertain.

You gasped and your eyes flew open when a warm hand covered yours.

“Hey,” Bucky soothed. Kneeling in front of you, he brought his vibranium hand up to cup your cheek.

Damn Bucky and his Winter Soldier or White Wolf silent approach skills.

“Hey,” you whispered back.

“The look on your face had me worried. I need you to know, I’m not going anywhere. What I said and what we did – what we shared – at the safehouse after the pathogen had cleared your system? That wasn’t just getting caught up in the fallout of a mission for me. I’m not going anywhere.”

And you saw the depth of feeling in his eyes. He meant it. The unease in your chest began to fall away, and that must have registered on your face, because his expression softened.

Bucky brought his other hand up, and then cradling your head in both hands, he leaned in for a sound kiss. His lips claimed yours unapologetically, and you sunk into the kiss. Warmth, want, safety, desire. You felt all of it immediately.

A low whistle interrupted your kiss, and Sam hollered, “I knew it! I told Steve y’all were made for each other!”

“Yeah right,” Bucky argued.

“Took you two long enough to get out of your own damn way,” Sam responded, and you laughed.

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but you put your hand on his cheek and turned his head back to you. “Never mind him,” you said, “just give me another kiss and then go make sure we get home, Barnes.”

He smiled and pressed his lips to yours again.

READ THE NEXT ROMP WITH THIS COUPLE: INSATIABLE

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[lets-try-some-writing]

Hi! I was wondering if you had any headcanons for the bots' fears/phobias? Specifically TFP

The only one I have is that Bumblebee is, ironically, afraid of bees for no reason other than I thought it would be funny. I'd like to hear your takes!

Hmm I think their fears would go something like this:

Arcee: Terrified of blood.

She's seen too much energon over the course of her long life. Watching so many good mecha die and losing both her partners has left her with a strange apathy to energon. She's grown used to it. But blood? Human blood is vibrant and so different and yet so similar. When she sees blood, it ignites old horrors and memories she's long tried to suppress. Her servos shake when one of the children ends up getting a cut large enough for her to notice. It's all too similar for her to handle.

Bulkhead: Afraid of Deep Water

Bulkhead is a big mech, one lacking in serious dexterity. He's a combat and manual labor unit and he knows it. When he was young, he fell into a solvent pool, and while unharmed, he was so heavy that he couldn't get out on his own. He was trapped there for almost a whole cycle, and now that he knows what lurks in Earth's waters, he's terrified of falling in and possibly being crushed to death by either the pressure or something that lurks in the deep. He hasn't fallen in any deep water yet, but he's terrified that it may happen and much prefers the desert.

Bumblebee: Scared of Being Alone

The fear of being alone stemmed all the way back from Bumblebee's sparklinghood. Growing up in a time of war meant that he was often left to his own devices cooped up in a base or safehouse while the grown mechs went off to war. He came to despise being left alone, and so joined the war effort both to help and to be with them. The fear of being alone only grew after he lost his voice to Megatron. When he's alone, he sometimes hears the Warlord taunting him. This can lead him to spiral badly, and so he relies heavily on others for support. This is part of the reason he bonded so well with the children.

Ratchet: Paranoid of Biological Agents

Being a Doctor, Ratchet has seen many things. Not a lot bothers him anymore, save for scraplets. But in his mind, that's not even a fear. It's common sense. But with that said, the Cybonic plague awoke in Ratchet a fear he'd never realized lurked within him. After that great plague, he now fears biological agents above all else. Not necessarily germs, but anything that could become a weapon of war. Contaminated items especially. In that regard, he is an increadible germaphobe when it comes to his supplies and will grow frantic if anything is brought into his medical bay that reeks of disease.

Ultra Magnus: Fear of the Dark

Being inside the Magnus armor means that Ultra Magnus, or perhaps Minimus, is entirely reliant on the armor's optical systems to see. The fear of the dark developed the first time he lost his sight and was completely incapable of maneuvering the armor, effectively leaving him open to any and all attacks since he couldn't use his personal field or even his senses to navigate. He has told no one about his fear, but when the lights go out, he often panics and instinctually enters a state of fight or flight out of a pure primal fear that something may harm him even within his armor. The team doesn't understand. Only Optimus knows why Ultra Magnus goes to recharge with a nightlight.

Smokescreen: Frightened by Fires

Smokescreen's fear stems from his time in the Archive. It is a new fear, one he has not fully realized. But seeing Iacon burning and the Archive coming down around him, destroying the home he'd known for so long... it changed him. At the time he was too busy being enthralled in the thrill of potential battle to care. But now, whenever he sees fire in close proximity, he automatically flies into a combat position, often lashing out at the first thing that moves simply because he associates fire with foes. Anything greater than a candle unsettles him.

Wheeljack: Unsettled by Connections

He doesn't talk about it. Ever. However, from what Bulkhead knows, Wheeljack got very attached to his ragtag family back when he was young and promptly lost them all one at a time. He tried to get attached to fellow workers before the war, but every connection fell through. Now he doesn't bother and actively flees anything that could feel like it weighs him down. He's scared of caring enough to actually cry when someone dies. Bulkhead is a rare exception to his rule of no connection, and it is simply because Bulkhead has lasted this long and all but demanded friendship.

Optimus: Petrified of Being Lost

The fear began when he was still Orion Pax. At the time, he got lost almost every time he travelled, and often, he ended up in frightening back alleys and dangerous situations. The fear evolved after he became Prime and now Optimus does not fear being lost in his journeys. Rather, he fears becoming lost within the grasp of the Matrix and the madness of war. It is such a real fear that often, Optimus will throw himself into days long studies after patrols, reviewing everything he knows about Cybertron and the corruption of the Council just so he can reaffirm who he is.

Just so he won't lose himself to the tempting thought of letting go of his morality.

[faggy--butch]

I saw you mention Jammidoger and I'm a little ? about the context, can you elaborate? Have a great day no matter what tho

Sure! Last year, Jamie did a video with OBGYN Mama Doctor Jones, who is a wonderful person to watch, she uses gender neutral language to talk about reproductive care, talks about trans care, all that good stuff. The video in question is an interview with Jamie, in which he does talk about how trans men deal with a lot of medical transphobia in general but especially in reproductive care, but then be says something along the lines of "But this is a small violin in comparison to what trans women go through" This didn't sit right with me whatsoever.

He minimized everything that he said just seconds before.

We know for a fact that cis women are marginalized in the medical system, that cis women die from lack of care when it comes to all sorts of things but especially reproductive health.

Trans men and mascs deal with that but WORSE. Just an example is that when you are on testosterone, it can be harder to know when you are ovulating or pregnant, and if doctors are already unwilling to listen to AFAB people ( and I say AFAB in this very specific medical context) think of how much harder it is for trans men to navigate.

It can and Has killed us. Robert Eads was denied medical care over and over because he was legally male, and he died of Ovarian cancer. That's serious! that's no small violin. It was kind of crushing tbh to hear him say this. Jamie obviously comes from a place of privilege, he was able to fully transition and I'm happy for him but that's no excuse to be reductive and ignorant.

[intersex-support]

Intersex Support FAQ

1. What is intersex?

Intersex is an umbrella term that describes people who have variations in sex characteristics that fall outside of the sex binary. This includes variations in genitals, internal reproductive organs like testes and ovaries, chromosomes, secondary sex characteristics, and/or the way that your body produces or responds to hormones. Some examples of intersex variations include AIS, CAH, PCOS, Klinefelters, hypospadias, and more. 

The three main factors that define intersex variations are: 

Variation in sex characteristics 

The variation falls outside of the sex binary and is different from what is considered typical “male” or “female” development. These variations in traits might often be stigmatized and discriminated against for being outside of the sex binary.

This variation is either present from birth or develops spontaneously later in life. It is not caused by transitioning or by something temporary like a medication side effect, tumor, or other medical diagnosis. 

(This definition is inspired by InterACT).

2. Does ____ count as intersex? 

There are around 40 different intersex variations that are currently known. InterACT”s intersex variation glossary lists out those intersex variations and gives a brief description of each one.

However, we know that isn’t a complete list. People have intersex variations that haven’t been medically researched yet, or might have a rare variation that the intersex community isn’t aware of yet. 

There are also some variations that might seem on the border between perisex and intersex. Some types of hormonal or reproductive diagnoses might not have a clear answer on whether they’re intersex or not. 

Ultimately,  intersex is a social/political identity rather than a strictly medical one. Increased research and changing social attitudes can cause the definition of intersex to expand over time. Regardless of whether someone has a confirmed intersex variation or an “intersex adjacent” diagnosis, if intersex resources are helpful to you, we hope that you continue to use them and act in solidarity with the intersex community. 

On this blog, we do include PCOS with hyperandrogenism as part of the intersex community. Check out our PCOS tag for more posts about our reasoning, and PCOS specific resources.

3. Am I intersex?

We cannot diagnose you with an intersex variation over the internet. We can share resources such as the intersex variations glossary, share tips for navigating the medical system, and share information on other non-clinical signs of being intersex. 

Some questions to ask yourself that can help you start the process of intersex discovery:

What do my sex traits (genitalia, secondary sex characteristics, hormone levels, etc) look like? Does this seem like it lines up with the “typical” descriptions of those sex traits? 

Do I have any information about my birth? Were there any complications? Did doctors do extra testing at birth? Did doctors take me away from my parents for long periods of time? Did it take me longer to have my sex assigned at birth?

What was puberty like for me? Did I have early or late puberty? Did I have to go on hormones to start puberty? Did I have any variations in puberty, such as unexpected breast growth, irregular periods, or other changes? Did I go through puberty at all?

If you’ve tried to have children, are you infertile or struggling with fertility?

Did I have any unexplained surgeries or medical procedures as a child? Was I ever told I had to have organs removed and was told it was because of a cancer risk? Did I have to be on specific medications or hormones throughout my childhood? Did I have to go see a doctor more frequently? Did I go to an endocrinologist or pediatric urologist as a child? 

Do I have surgery scars or scar tissue? Do I have more frequent UTIs than typical?

Do I have access to my medical records? Is there records of hormone panels, ultrasounds, physical exams, surgeries, or other medical procedures? 

This kind of information can help you start to piece together if you think you might have an intersex variation, or if you think your intersex variation was hidden from you. 

If you’re sending in an ask trying to figure out if your symptoms line up with a specific intersex variation, please share as much information as you’re comfortable with so that we can answer with the most helpful resources. 

4. Can I self diagnose as intersex? 

It’s complicated! Intersex is different from other LGBTQIA identities, in that it’s not only about self determination, but also about our embodied experience in a very specific way. In order to be intersex, you have to have an intersex variation. And there are many intersex variations that can only be confirmed through medical testing, so it’s not something that is easy to self-diagnose.

However, we recognize that the medical system is expensive, discriminatory, and often actively hides information about people’s intersex variations from them. (it wasn’t even until 2006 that the AAP stopped recommending that doctors lie to their patients about intersex status, so many intersex adults were born before that policy change!) Considering all that we know about intersex oppression, curative violence, and medical abuse, it feels incredibly cruel to tell people that they have to force themself through that system in order to seek answers. 

So, we understand that there are ways of finding out that you are intersex without having a specific, confirmed, medical diagnosis. Many of us might find out that we’re intersex because we realize that our genitalia visibly looks different, and we can tell that we are intersex, even if we don’t know our specific diagnosis. Others might find out that we’re intersex because of strange discrepancies in our medical record. We might find out through discovering surgery scars on our body. We might go through puberty and realize that we’re developing in an atypical way to our peers. We might do a lot of research into intersex variations and have a pretty good guess into what variation lines up with our experiences. We might have some test results that help us understand we have intersex traits, even if we don’t know our specific diagnosis.  

Before self diagnosing, we think it’s important to do thorough research into intersex variations, so that you truly understand what intersex means, what intersex variations exist, and understand how that information applies to yourself. It’s also important to be considerate of how we interact in community spaces, and respect other intersex people's boundaries as you engage in a questioning or diagnosis process. 

5.  Are intersex people trans?

Some intersex people are trans, and some aren’t. Most intersex people are still assigned a gender at birth, and many intersex people who are raised as one gender and then later identify as another gender identify with the label trans. Intersex people can be cis or trans just like any other group of people. 

Many intersex people have complicated relationships with gender, and don’t feel like labels like cis or trans really fit their experiences. For this reason, terms like intergender and ipsogender were coined.

6. Are intersex people LGBTQIA?

It’s complicated! The “I” in LGBTQIA stands for intersex. Intersex history is intertwined with other parts of queer history. For example, the very first protest for intersex people in the United States was organized by Hermaphrodites with Attitude and Transexual Menace. There are intersex inclusive versions of community pride flags. Many intersex people view their intersex identity as a queer identity. Intersex oppression overlaps in many ways with homophobia and transphobia. 

However, not all intersex people think that intersex should be included in the LGBTQIA community. Sometimes this is for bigoted reasons, with intersex radfems who use this stance as a way to be transphobic. But there are also intersex people who think that the “I” should only be included in the acronym when intersex people are actually meaningfully being included in queer spaces and resources. Many of us feel frustrated when people put “LGBTQIA” on a resource but then don’t actually have any intersex specific information in those resources. 

In general, this is an ongoing intracommunity discussion where we don’t have a consensus. 

7. Are intersex people disabled? 

It’s complicated! Intersex is an umbrella term for many different experiences, and there is not one universal intersex experience. Some intersex people identify as disabled. Some intersex people do not.

Many intersex variations do cause disabling impacts in our bodies and lives. Some intersex variations are comorbid with other health conditions. Other intersex people become disabled because of violent normalizing interventions we’ve survived, such as forced surgery or other types of medical abuse. 

Intersex people are also impacted by many of the same structures of oppression that harm disabled people. Both intersex people and disabled people are harmed by ableism. Both intersex people and disabled people are harmed by pathologization. Both intersex people and disabled people are harmed by curative violence. 

In the book Cripping Intersex, Celeste Orr explores all these concepts and creates something called “intersex is/and/as/with disability,” which is a model to think about all these different and sometimes conflicting relationships with disability. Some intersex people might identify directly as disabled. Others might sometimes think about the way that intersex is treated as a disability. Other intersex people might think about intersex and disability as a way to have solidarity. All of these relationships with disability are meaningful parts of the intersex community. 

8. What is intersex oppression/intersexism/interphobia/compulsory dyadism? 

Intersex people face a lot of oppression in many ways in society. At the core, intersex oppression relies on the idea that the only acceptable sex traits are sex traits that fit into the sex binary. Intersex oppression relies on mythical ideas of the “ideal male or female” body, where someone's chromosomes perfectly line up with their genitalia and internal reproductive organs, with perfectly normal hormone levels and perfect secondary sex characteristics that don’t have any variation. When people don’t fit into that “perfect” sex binary, they are seen as less valuable, abnormal, and threatening. There is then a societal pressure to eradicate any traits and people that fall outside of the sex binary, which causes a lot of targeted discrimination of intersex people. This form of oppression is called “compulsory dyadism,” and was coined by Celeste Orr. 

Compulsory dyadism is also rooted in, overlaps with, and is the foundation for many other types of oppression. For example, ableism is another form of oppression that creates ways of harming people whose bodies and minds are labeled as less valuable for societally constructed reasons. Check out Talila Lewis’s definition of ableism for more information. Another example is how racialized people are targeted by sex testing policies in sports--both intersex and perisex women of color are consistently targeted by sex testing policies designed to exclude intersex people from sports. Another example is that homophobia and transphobia contribute to why intersex bodies are seen as threats that need to be eradicated--society views existing with intersex sex traits as a slippery slope to growing up as a gay or trans adult. Compulsory dyadism is also at the root of a lot of transphobic rhetoric about how transitioning “ruins” people’s bodies. All these forms of oppression are connected. 

There are a lot of ways that compulsory dyadism causes intersex people to be targeted and discriminated against. A huge issue is nonconsensual surgeries at birth, that attempt to “normalize” ambiguous genitalia, remove intersex people’s gonads, and otherwise alter genitalia or internal structures. These surgeries are often referred to as intersex genital mutilation, or IGM. These surgeries do not have any medical necessity, but doctors lobby to continue to be allowed to perform them anyway. These surgeries can sterilize intersex people, cause lifelong trauma, and also cause many disabling medical complications. Alongside IGM, intersex people also face a lot of different types of medical abuse. 

Besides curative violence and medical abuse, intersex people also face discrimination in our schools, jobs, and public places. We face legal discrimination in changing our names and sex markers. We face discrimination from institutions like CPS, which often target parents, especially people of color, that refuse to put their children through intersex genital mutilation. Many intersex people survive targeted sexual violence. We have a widespread lack of resources, visibility, and representation. Many people still have prejudiced ideas about intersex people and call us slurs. These are just a few examples of the many way that interphobia/intersexism show up in our lives. 

9. What is intersex justice? 

Intersex justice is a framework created by intersex activists through the Intersex Justice Project as a way to fight for intersex liberation. 

“Intersex justice is a decolonizing framework that affirms the labor of intersex people of color fighting for change across social justice movements. By definition, intersex justice affirms bodily integrity and bodily autonomy as the practice of liberation. Intersex justice is intrinsically tied to justice movements that center race, ability, gender identity & expression, migrant status, and access to sexual & reproductive healthcare. Intersex justice articulates a commitment to these movements as central to its intersectional analysis and praxis. Intersex justice acknowledges the trauma caused by medically unnecessary and nonconsensual cosmetic genital surgeries and addresses the culture of shame, silence and stigma surrounding intersex variations that perpetuate further harm.

The marginalization of intersex people is rooted in colonization and white supremacy. Colonization created a taxonomy of human bodies that privileged typical white male and female bodies, prescribing a gender binary that would ultimately harm atypical black and indigenous bodies. As part of a liberation movement, intersex activists challenge not only the medical establishment, which is often the initial site of harm, but also governments, institutions, legal structures, and sociocultural norms that exclude intersex people. Intersex people should be allowed complete and uninhibited access to obtaining identity documents, exercising their birth and adoption rights, receiving unbiased healthcare, and securing education and employment opportunities that are free from harm and harassment.” (Source: Dr. Mel Michelle Lewis through the Intersex Justice Project.)

There are seven principles to intersex justice: 

Informed consent

Reparations

Legal protections

Accountability

Language

Children's rights

Patient-centered healthcare

10. What is intergender? 

Intergender is a gender identity for use by intersex people only. It doesn’t have one specific definition-it is used by intersex people to mean a whole variety of things. It’s used to describe the unique ways our intersex experience intersects with and influences our gender.  Some people use it as a modifying term, such as calling themselves an intergender man or woman, as a way to explain the way being intersex affects their identity. Other people identify solely as intergender, and have that be their whole gender. 

11. What is dyadic/perisex/endosex? 

All are words that mean “not intersex.” Different groups will have different preferences on which one they like to use. 

12. Is hermaphrodite an offensive term? 

Yes. It is an incredibly offensive slur that perisex people should never say. Many intersex people have a very painful history with the slur. Some of us reclaim the term, which can be an important act of healing and celebration for us.

12. Can perisex people follow? 

Feel free, but understand that questions by intersex people are prioritized! Anyone is welcome to follow.

13. I’m writing a character who’s intersex…

Check out this post:  https://trans-axolotl.tumblr.com/post/188153640308/intersex-representation. If you’re writing about intersex people for a paid project, you should pay an intersex person to act as a sensitivity reader before publishing. 

Check out our Resources and Intersex Organizations pages as well!

[ghelgheli]

Well in that case we can also argue that ''trans woman" fonctions as an umbrella gender characterized by a particular adversarial and oppositional relationship to patriarchy: transmisogyny produces trans womanhood, and afab trans women are certainly this.

''Trans woman'' is also an essentialist archetype that some trans women fail to met (e.g those born with a vulva, those who can bear children).

The social reality of the afab transfem can be similar to the one of (conventional) transfemininity if the afab person is perceived (and thus treated) as a transfem..so what about those people ? Aren't they functionally transfem ? Their lived material experience isn't transfem? However similarity can also arises from interesections between racialization, misogyny, or lesbianism, intersexuality, detransition etc, creating experiences that are functionally like or adjacent to trans womanhood. Some afabs can also be ''women by dint of being less than women'' and thus are transfems, this is not exclusive to amab transfems.

the crux of your problem is this sentence: "the social reality of the afab transfem can be similar to the one of (conventional) transfemininity if the afab person is perceived (and thus treated) as a trans fem"

this is the main justification I see being used for claims of transfemininity/trans womanhood/being tma by people who were cafab: people keep mistaking me for a tranny, and that makes me a tranny! this rests on a complete misunderstanding of the systemic nature of transmisogyny. being mistaken for a trans woman, even on the regular, does not put someone in the same totalizing relationship to hegemonic gender, for the simple reason that (as I have now said multiple times) the logic of transmisogyny operates thru birth assignment. the corrective violence of transmisogyny is applied specifically because betraying coercive assignment as male puts a person in a unique degenerate position as far as cisheteropatriarchy is concerned. someone who was cafab will always have their birth assignment as a shield against this, even if there are instances of mistaken identity where it cannot be used in time.

you may retort that sometimes the violence against someone who was cafab proceeds apace despite disclosure of this assignment—perhaps in the case of the cafab butch lesbian facing street violence (thinking of nearby versions of hannah gadsby's story in nannette), or the working class transmasc on T running up against discrimination at the workplace, or, famously, the case of woman athletes, generally Black and sometimes intersex as in the case of Caster Semenya, being banned from sports competitions (I imagine this is one of the examples you're alluding to when you mention intersections). but to equivocate this to transfemininity is itself violent erasure. you would be neglecting that in every case there is a difference between the person under discussion and someone against whom transmisogyny has set its whole machinery.

there are tma masc lesbians, there are working class transfems on T, there are Black trans women for whom participation in sport is yet more complicated. the realities of navigating the legal-medical-social apparatus of gender is multiplied in impossibility for all of them, because birth assignment is the charge laid by transmisogyny to condemn the trans woman. whatever intersection your "afab transfem" sits at, there will always be this difference between them and transfemininity. this is a difference that will be leveraged against the latter, not the former.

if you think you can reskin my argument as you have in this ask and maintain its fit to reality, then you understand neither misogyny nor transmisogyny. transmisogyny against the "afab transfem" is a mistake by the lights of hegemonic gender itself, to be amended (not necessarily into something harmless, but certainly into something different) upon the revelation of birth assignment. meanwhile the misogyny experienced by trans women (including closeted trans women, including the trans girl who does not even know why she is being treated thus!) does not happen by accident, but as part of the logic of (trans)misogyny itself, because trans women fail to be men despite their birth assignment and this demands punishment. there is not an escape-by-disclosure here. in other words, misogyny deliberately makes trans women women! there is no defense the trans woman can mount on the basis of birth assignment, because that is the very event against which her existence is measured.

this is not true of your imagined afab transfem, nor is any further punishment systemically levelled against the "afab transfem" because of their failing to meet the "essentialist archetype" of trans womanhood. on the contrary, the "afab transfem" remains asymmetrically empowered to use transmisogyny against the transfeminine. yes, cafab ppl are not exempt from violent transphobia, but this is not a violence predicated on the same gender-betrayal the transfeminine person embodies. the political distinction between these experiences remains.

a final point: you are correct that some cafabs can be "woman by dint of being less than woman" but I never claimed that this was a unique trait of transfemininity! in fact I made it clear that this is a common condition for many women (ableism, fatphobia, classism, etc. can all degender a woman). what is unique is the role the logic of transmisogyny plays in defining transfemininity, and the specific manner in which it underclasses the transfeminine subject—makes her the kind of person for whom only a certain, highly peripheralized form of existence is permissible.

if you are interested in describing the way the world is (hopefully with intent to change it) then this is not the way to go about that. any careful analysis of the power relations that cisheteropatriarchy uses to facilitate gender-classing in service of the division of labour will make this clear. you can argue whatever you want! you can also be wrong.

[mae-lou-ron]

A Friend Indeed

Summary: Two years into settling on Pabu, Crosshair reluctantly finds solace in some familiar places.

Rating: T (might be G but set as T because I'm just a baby and I don't know how ratings work. Feel free to yell at me if I should change it) Warnings under the cut.

Tags/TWs: hurt/comfort, cute brotherly fluff, descriptions of PTSD, descriptions of sleep paralysis symptoms, recurring nightmares involving medical trauma (nothing described), heightened anxiety around dates, grief processing, mental health probs, just wrecker and crosshair being adorable brothers with their emotional support animals.

WC: ~1,800

A/N: this is the first work I've ever posted. It started as a completely self indulgent drabble of Crosshair bonding with a scrungly stray island cat (still in progress), but I loved writing this brotherly exchange between Crosshair and Wrecker so much it kinda turned into something else entirely by the end? This story falls in line with my HCs that Wrecker is the mediator middle child, Tech is still alive and on Pabu with his family, and that he's an awful snorer. Proofread by me.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"And how is this supposed to help?" Crosshair seethed, looking down at the plush tooka doll his brother just shoved into his hand. "I don't need this, Wrecker."

"Oh come on, Crosshair, don't pretend like you didn't borrow Lula when we were younger...like that time you had nightmares after falling off the--"

"Stow it," Crosshair growled, throwing the doll back at his brother, but Wrecker, being used to his brother's temperament, dodged it easily. It tumbled to the floor and Batcher, who had been eyeing the tooka during their entire exchange, didn't hesitate to scoop it up and wiggle her hind quarters, hoping one of them would start a game of chase.

"Listen, I still get them too..." Wrecker said quietly as he took a step towards Crosshair, his hand resting on the sniper's shoulder with a gentle squeeze. "Want to tell me about it?" He was no stranger to navigating Crosshair's anger. Especially now, after two years of them living on Pabu, two years into recovering mentally and physically from their experiences with the Republic and the Empire, two years of healing the bonds between one another. Wrecker knew that it was always a cover for something more nuanced. So, he was quiet and let Crosshair percolate with his thoughts before he spoke about what was bothering him. After a few moments, Crosshair grumbled, resisting the urge to shrug his shoulder free, but the wall he put up cracked just enough.

"It's just..." Crosshair’s hand clenched into a fist at his side. Batcher flopped down on her bed dramatically at being ignored, still holding the tooka gently in her mouth. "It's not just the nightmares..." he mumbled. Wrecker took a half step back, eyes soft and trained on his brother's deep furrowed brow and scowl at opening up like this. But Wrecker was patient.

When Crosshair continued, his voice was barely a whisper, "Sometimes when I wake up I'm still stuck there and...I can't...I can't move..." he trailed off, his mind flitting back to that morning.

He'd woken from the dream, or so he thought. Tantiss' medical droids were still swirling in his periphery, the smell of disinfectant still sharp in his nose. His nervous system immediately reacted, seeking to lash out, to escape, but his body didn't respond- for a horrible moment he thought he might be strapped down again but no, nothing was biting into his skin, he simply couldn't move. He tried to speak, but the words remained on his tongue.

No. He thought bitterly. They're not here. I'm not there.

He kept repeating this in his head, almost like a mantra as the panic coursed through his body. The droid never came close enough to touch him, but still close enough to be a threat. It felt like an eternity until his tunneled vision brightened slightly, the bits and pieces started to fade, and his bedroom in his Pabu home came into the forefront. He could finally feel his limbs thawing, the weight of the blanket on his feet, the rising sun casting speckles on the wall, the sound of seabirds calling in the distance. These things helped ground him enough to remember his training, he slowed his breathing in an attempt to quiet his pounding heart. It worked, but it didn't quiet completely, not until he could feel his toes wiggle.

Wrecker's warm hand gave his shoulder another squeeze, gently bringing Crosshair back to the present moment. Crosshair glanced up at his brother's scarred face, into his concerned, mismatched eyes for a fleeting moment before shaking his head and casting his eyes back downward. Wrecker was always a good listener despite his boisterous demeanor. He never tried to talk Crosshair out of how he was feeling, or suggest solutions unless asked. He was content to be an ear to bend and a shoulder to lean on.

And Crosshair would rather be slowly digested by that massive tentacled sea creature in the bay than have all of his family members concern be directed towards him. Hunter watched and hovered too much and it only frustrated Crosshair more. Tech would listen and be sure to provide the most annoyingly practical solution. Echo was his first choice to go to about this specific issue, but he was away again and difficult to get a hold of these days. Omega, his heart softened a little thinking of her. She would drag him to the cliffs and insist they meditate, look at him with those kind, concerned eyes. His eyes.

No. Absolutely not. Wrecker was his best option at not driving Crosshair back into himself. And he was so tired, so the wall came down a bit further. He looked up quickly again to make sure Wrecker was still listening. He always was.

"And they're...often," The sniper's lips pressed into a thin line. "Almost every morning this past week," Crosshair continued. "And sometimes in the middle of the night, which are the worst," he spat out so quickly it took Wrecker a second to process what he said.

"This happened last year around this time too," Wrecker thought out loud. Crosshair cringed at the realization he'd already known, but grunted in affirmation. He had learned that sometimes this is how it goes, especially around dates with any significance, and they returned from Tantiss for the last time on this day two years ago.

Wrecker looked thoughtful for a moment before his face brightened at a sudden idea. He strode around the room and started gathering the cushions and pillows, tossing them into a pile in front of the couch.

"What are you doing?" Crosshair drawled wearily, his eyes following Wreckers movements. He was already regretting his decision to speak more freely about this.

"I'm getting comfy," Wrecker said plainly as he settled down amidst the pile of pillows, leaning back against the couch. Batcher took this as an invitation to dig out her own spot at Wrecker's side, Lula in tow, settling down with it under her chin. "See?" he said, his tone light. "Let's camp out here!" He said spreading his arms wide before returning his hands to the back of his head. "You know like back on Kamino in the training storage room whenever Tech would snore too loud?" He grinned at the memory. "Hunter would always find us and act all annoyed but he just always wanted to know where we were...and get away from Tech's snoring,"

"Still does," Crosshair snorted, one corner of his mouth curling up slightly. Admiration for his brothers pulled him out of his resolute melancholy a little more. He settled down on the other side of Batcher, resting his arm over her back like he'd done a thousand times before. The hound grumbled at him when he lifted her chin gently to retrieve Lula.

"No." Crosshair said firmly. Batcher's eyes still followed the doll but she settled back down. He held Lula before him, taking in the tattered fabric, the stains, the patches added to mend rips and burns. One of her ears was almost completely gone.

"This thing is...disgusting," Crosshair scoffed quietly, it was almost a chuckle.

"Yeah, it is," Wrecker laughed heartily. "But she's been with us the whole time. Look..." he said pointing at the burn across the doll's back. "That's from when those clanker disrupters I made for your fire puncher went off in the barracks, remember?" He smiled widely remembering how angry Tech was at them for setting his bed on fire, while he was still in it. And Wrecker's, but that was nothing new back then. He continued regaling Crosshair with anecdotes about how the blemishes were made over the years.

Wrecker suddenly yawned, stretching and settling further into the nest, "Alright if I sleep here tonight," he said drowsily, more a statement than a question, his eyes still bright. Stars, he was a terrible liar, but Crosshair appreciated his attempts to not wound his pride. To give Crosshair the choice for his company without having to ask for it.

He was working on it.

"I suppose," he drawled. It was already late when his brother came by to check on him— and it's not like Wrecker would be easily moved at this point anyway. 

Crosshair, resigned but thankful for the company, studied the tooka for a while longer. The knot in his chest loosened slightly at the reminder of the joyful and chaotic moments they've shared. Bright moments poking through the darkness like the stars studding the night sky. Instead of tucking the doll under his arm or clutching it to his chest, he stuffed it behind his head before settling back onto its familiar softness.

Crosshair folded his arms over his chest, closing his eyes and tuning in on the sounds of the insects chirping softly outside, the distant waves were harder to hear now that the tide had retreated, but still added to the calmness that now descended upon the island. Batcher grumbled in contentment, and soon Crosshair's breathing matched Wrecker's, lulling him into a more peaceful sleep than he'd had all week.

The next morning when Crosshair opened his eyes, the frightening things he may have dreamt about didn't follow him. They stayed where they belonged, far out of his periphery. The bright orange morning creeping over the horizon chased away some of the shadows from his mind. Not all of course, but, some. Wrecker and Batcher were still right beside him, both very real and sleeping soundly. He wiggled his toes experimentally. Pleased when the joints flexed on his command. He could move and get up if he wanted, but it was still far too early to rise and start the day. Instead, Crosshair did something he hasn't done in weeks- he went back to sleep.

Maybe he was still right, he thought as he drifted off again, Lula still tucked under his head. Maybe he didn't need this, but he had to admit, it helped.

[drdemonprince]

Your post about "transitioning to escape gender but then there's more gender" has been rotating furiously in my mind since I saw it. When I first realized I was trans at age 15, I identified as agender, but I knew I wanted to go on T and get top surgery so I decided it would be simpler to tell everyone I was a trans man and that just kind of became the truth. Now 10 years later I'm sorta starting to feel like I wanna actually be agender again, but the idea of an identity shift like that at my current age is terrifying and idek who I'd tell, or how I'd do it, and I don't think I wanna stop using he/him exclusively, and I have no idea why I'm telling *you* this other than that I'm scared to talk to anyone I know about it because it feels like somehow admitting that I was wrong about the gender I fought like hell to become, even though i don't really think that's the case I think my sense of self might just be continuously evolving... but I just wanna say you talking about having a gender shift like once every several years is helping me process this rn and feel like I'm not faking anything now AND wasn't faking anything before.

Dog i am right there with you. As a kid I always thought gender was bullshit, the coercive nature of it disgusted and scared me and I rebelled against it the best that I could. I loathed being assigned to any gender category, I never identified as a "girl", but I didn't really identify with any other category either. Puberty terrified me (and of course, it does most young people, but it felt like it would only more deeply entrench the category that I was assigned to in other people's minds, it made it more difficult to escape). I had trans friends as a teen but it did not occur to me to transition because there was really no end goal that I wanted to head toward, I just knew what I wanted to avoid and not experience. I coped mostly by degendering my body with a fairly androgynous style and way of presenting myself to the word and mannerisms, but also by starving myself which was not so great, and not sustainable. I considered transness for myself, even trying on a friend's binder and presenting masculinely at certain queer events, but it seemed to me at the time like just another way in which to obsess over gender, a foolish coercive socially constructed thing that i was trying to avoid.

In my 20s, I learned more about nonbinary people and figured that explained things pretty well. I was enamored with the transition journeys of some other trans people, largely trans women more than trans masculine ones (with some trans-effeminate faggot boy exceptions), but I still didn't want to take on all the expense and uncertainty and hassle of navigating the medical system for myself. I didn't think that the pursuit of being happy merited taking on so many risks or fiddling with myself so much. I saw it as an extravagance I didn't deserve, I guess, and I also couldn't locate a target outcome that seemed desirable enough for me. I was still dealing with an eating disorder and recovering from some trauma and didn't really think about my life in the long term. I guess I still don't, haha, whoops.

Eventually I came out as nonbinary, and nobody really gave a shit. There is a lot of useless, solidarity-breaking discourse that happens online about essentially who is "more" oppressed, binary trans people or nonbinary people, and a lot of that fight amounts to the two groups shouting about the ways in which they annoy one another without there being any cogent analysis of power and where oppression comes from (let alone how much those two categories overlap).

But I will say that being a they/them was far more difficult than being a trans guy socially and institutionally, because your identity is completely illegible to every system around you. "binary" trans people struggle under this too, but i have found there are some immense benefits to having a socially and institutionally legible target gender. nobody would fucking actually they/them me. not anyone. not even other trans people and queer people. there were no public gendered spaces for me. there were no spaces for me. there was no way to move through the medical system, professional life, and other public institutions as a nonbinary person. i was still just a cis woman in everyone's eyes. including the people who claimed to support me. and it was massively frustrating.

and so i think ultimately, i took my frustrations with not being at all able to escape coerced gendering as a nonbinary person and combined that with the affinity i do feel for queer men and the general sense of misery i was still experiencing in my life and decided what the hell, i'll round myself up to being a trans guy. i upped my T dose, i dressed more masculinely, i eventually got a super masculine hair cut that really squared off my jawline and got me gendered correctly, and i started more consciously inhabiting queer men's spaces.

and it was pretty dope. for a while. i felt the rush of having gotten away with something. when people effortlessly gendered as male i felt freed at last from the pressure to be a woman. i was no longer being coerced into being something that i was not. i had escaped the enforced category so much that people couldn't even see the history of that category being pushed onto me. there was relief.

but then. as always happens. people made little comments about my handshake being too weak for a man. the hypermasc dudes at the leather bar rolled their eyes at me and all the other effeminate dudes swanning around the bar. the people who picked me up off the apps or at the sauna would always let it slip, eventually, that they had a lot of experience with trans guys, or had most recently been dating all trans guys, and it would make me feel like a stock character to them, yet another category into which all kinds of assumptions had been projected. a type not a person. a few people said my haircut made me look like i was in the military or described me as actually masculine, which was equally jarring because it was so incorrect. people tried to affirm me by saying i was such a dude, i was such a man, i was such a fag, i was such a gay bro, pawing all over me leaving the mark of all their assumptions and oversimplifications behind. i had tried to run away from gender and there i was just BASTING all the time in everybody's goddamn assumptions about gender. trans people didn't talk about it any less than cis people did, they were just as fucking confining to be around.

it honestly feels really dirty. when people try to affirm your gender constantly and can't stop talking about it, when people look past you and see only your body, your history, or the role they have typecast you in, when people use your body as an outlet for their own gender or sexuality explorations, when they keep trying to measure every single facet of existence up into being masculine or being feminine or being toppy or bottomy or any other gendered type, it's claustrophobic.

as a trans man i tried playing this whole gender game and the second i started winning i began to feel even more disgusted with myself. it wasn't a victory or an escape, it was a capitulation. exploring with my identity and presentation has brought positive things into my life and my health has gotten better as a result, and i've made wonderful friends who, like me, are disaffected by this coercive gendering system. so i don't regret any of that. but trying to make myself legible under the existing gendered system was a fool's fucking errand. i wish i hadnt done it to myself and i wish i hadnt had it pushed onto me. to be clear, it was cissexist, binarist society that forced it onto me; even when other queer people coated me in their gendered assumptions that is obviously a byproduct of societal conditioning, and it's conditioning that ive reinforced in my own behavior and outlook toward others plenty of times too. we all do it, and we are all wronged by the existing coercive gender system.

i dont even care how i fucking identify anymore and i have no intention of changing pronouns again or anything, i'm so bored of it, i just actually want off this fucking thing. im not interested in trying to make others understand what i am anymore or in who i am even being simply categorizable, i dont want to obsess anymore over how i am perceived or to attempt engineer my appearance and mannerisms to broadcast an identity to anyone. i dont even want to fuck anybody right now at all because im so sick of how much that's a gender pantomime for people. i want off this fuckin ride man im so done.

it's kind of freeing, to hit this point of complete gender apathy, and i think it is a pretty common stage of identity development for a lot of queer people who have explored multiple identities and roles over time. there is no category that i actually am, or that anyone is, there are just the frameworks that society has given us to work with to understand ourselves, and the ways in which we flatten who we are to be able to make sense of the world using those frameworks. but who i actually am is so much more contextual and mutable than all that. i am a different person in the classroom than i am on the train platform than i am in the bedroom than i am cuddling on the couch than i am when i'm working out than i am when curled up on the floor crying than i am at a big furry convention. who i am continues to change as new people come in and out of my life and age and change and my body alters and as the weather turns. who fuckin knows man it's nothing and everything. i want to let it just be

[trans-androgyne]

transandrophobia literally isnt real your experiences of oppression are generated by garden variety transphobia

I’ll be patient with you once and only once. Transandrophobia is the intersection of transphobia and misogyny in the lives of transmascs. Born and raised a girl—and still frequently perceived as one especially in medical contexts—I have and do experience misogyny. Out as trans, I experience transphobia.

As a transmasc these things combine in specific ways, such as having to navigate the “women’s” healthcare system as a man. The narratives around transmascs are about ruining their fertile, girly, female bodies to become ugly and masculine and chop off their breasts. Transmascs are called lost women or lost lesbians. Transmascs got a book about social contagion of gender dysphoria written about them (Irreversible Damage: The Transgender Craze Seducing Our Daughters) whose cover page literally focused on them losing their uterus. As well as other narratives insisting other people know what should happen to their bodies better than them, that they’re just stupid young mentally ill often autistic girls.

Transfems experience transmisogyny. Non-binary people experience exorsexism. Transmascs experience ?????. Someone tell me what “garden variety transphobia” even is supposed to mean at this point, because I’ve only seen that phrase used to silence transmascs.

[naoutchi]

✧ Enforcer Squad ✧

These are my enforcer yautja OCs. They work together in a Squad with each individual serving special functional responsibilities. This work gets overseen and directed by their superior, also known as Captain.

✧

Captain

The leader of the team. He oversees and guides their missions, taking on the role as a communicator, decision-maker, delegator and strategist. He never fails to motivate and drive forward his squad.

Captain is a top performer, an absolute workaholic. Sleep? What is that?

Under his leadership, his missions have never failed or ever left any cases unsolved. Partially, he also gathers information and research.

✧

Pilot

The team’s ship navigator and second in command. Pilot possesses ship-engineering skills and very educated in spacecraft technology.

He maintains their ship and other equipment. Pilot works best under pressure. He often stays in the ship during missions and helps to get an accurate overview of the situation by using spy drones.

✧

Greaser

The team's technology specialist and mechanic. Greaser is responsible for all electronic equipment, including weapon systems, and communication devices.

He possesses extensive knowledge technology, allowing the team to navigate and manipulate various systems, whether they're on a spacecraft or infiltrating a high-tech facility. Greaser often designs and builds custom gadgets to aid in the team's missions.

✧

Chef

The team's tracker and stealth expert. Chef is incredibly skilled in wilderness survival and has an innate ability to track prey or enemies through diverse environments.

He excels in hand-to-hand combat and is proficient with a variety of silent weapons, making him the perfect choice for covert infiltration missions.

Chef often utilizes environmental camouflage techniques to blend seamlessly with his surroundings, making him a formidable asset in stealth missions.

✧

Doc

The team's combat medic and survival expert. Doc is responsible for the health and well-being of the team during missions.

He is skilled in battlefield medicine, familiar with various biological species' anatomies, and capable of administering immediate medical care in high-pressure situations. Doc also has a deep understanding of chemical compounds and poisons, enabling him to concoct antidotes or other substances that can enhance the team's capabilities.

✧

[renmorris]

Kim, the mender

I’ve been thinking so much about Kim navigating his own deep loneliness and touch starved-ness through caring for others, and what I feel are implicit statements made by the game that he studied emergency medical first response as his mandatory RCM civil service role

(his year working in body processing, him knowing how to keep Harry alive and able to walk after the tribunal, the morale healing pats on the back, even offering his jacket to Acele etc)

It’s unselfish and not something he has to justify to himself as an indulgence, it’s practical. It’s being a good coworker. Kim mentions repeatedly that gets seen officers in worst states than Harry and I don’t think Kim is unaware that Harry absolutely thrives on his reassurances and praise.

@1tbls has some Kim posts I mull over a lot (one of them is just the sentence 'Kim's horny little need to take care of Harry' because I really feel like that hits the nail on the head. another is the one about how Kim does seem to have self analyzed himself but in a kind of shallow way.) I really agree with that, it does feel like we're meeting Kim after he’s done some internal processing of his own. in the fashion police conversation he mentions that he used to be very uptight before he started wearing plainclothes etc

This is all to say that I know fandom is understandably wary of writing Kim as Harry’s caregiver and that’s good 👍 it’s very good to be aware of racist fandom trends and push against those. But for Kim there is textually, I think, the fact that he does thrive on caring for other people. It gives him a kind of authoritative position, and stability.

(It even ties into his tailoring hobby, he’s a mender of clothes and people, a mechanic, and wants to be that for the city so badly.)

There’s a lot of reasons why Kim wants to take care of Harry, why he believes that he can come back from all of this. Obviously one is that if Harry who is white, who works in this legendary precinct with his heroes, who puts in these impossible hours and burns himself alive for the RCM, who is ranked Double Yefreitor can be so easily left to die by the RCM…it means Kim never stood a chance. That his dwindling faith in the system means nothing and he has thrown his life away in this job.

(Likewise Kim also means this for Harry- If Kim is seen as disposable then there was never any point in being diligent and clean. Both paths are thankless and have left them to rot)

But the other I think is that this is how Kim copes, by taking care of others. He is so very careful about indulging himself in ways that he feels are extraneous. But this is a kind of closeness he is allowed to have, it does good for other people.

And over time this is and will be where Harry sneaks in past his defenses and takes care of him back. Get loved, idiot! Be cared for, bino! ❤️

[eepyfaggoth]

Job Opportunity in Boston

Hello! I'm a multiply disabled medically complex wheelchair user in greater boston who relies on caregivers and i am hiring! No experience necessary, just be resourceful, patient, covid cautious, dependable, and an enthusiastic learner. Especially looking for other fat people! Hoping for someone who drives but I am accessible via the T.

Turning to tumblr as a bit of a hail mary because i am having a really hard time finding someone who can do the job, show up, and also be normal to me as a fat disabled queer through local channels, and i have one worker now who comes as often as they can, but ive been without adequate support for a while. i would appreciate anyone and everyone who reblogs, to possibly get this in the eyes of someone who might be a good fit! welcoming advice as well!

I have the sweetest esa cat

Pay is 19$ an hour funded by masshealth, i have 30-35 hours available and you can work as many or as few of those as you want

Im still very much trying to figure out life with my disability and how to function and organize and communicate my needs and navigating what I'm emotionally able to accept help with, but in general I need help with housework, cooking, managing my medical care, pushing me in my manual wheelchair, sometimes help using a slide board, and I'm still trying to figure out what things look like on a daily basis. going places with or for me. helping me get in the car, helping me pack a backpack if i need to go somewhere. getting mail, helping clean and pick things up off the floor, organizing medical appointments, making phone calls, unpacking medical equipment. emptying a pee jar. Helping me manage/charge medical equipment. I have a hard time lifting my arms a lot because of really bad neck issues, and i have really limited stamina. Putting drinks in smaller bottles, taking packaging off things. I also kind of need help with dressing and bathing sometimes but I have a really hard time coping with that and so like. That happens when it happens and is what it is. I have some systems for washing my hair without actually getting in the shower. I have variable conditions so things might not be the same all the time, on a good day I might be able to sit up for a while and do tasks, on a bad day it's very hard to bring a drink to my lips.

There's no physically lifting my entire body, but I do need someone who can lift the 50lb largest piece of one my wheelchairs and standard everyday heavy stuff like groceries or boxes of protein shakes. And sometimes my limbs. There's also likely things like reaching and stooping, alas, I drop a lot of things on the floor. I have a lot of allergies and some tasks are more complicated than they otherwise might be, and Im really hoping to find someone who can pay attention to detail and is comfortable working through things slowly.

i have a lot of allergies so memory and attention to detail are important, as is a willingness to wash hands frequently. i have a disorder called mast cell activation syndrome and frankly the precautions i need to take feel absurd

covid precautions:

Masks required! I'm hoping to find someone who also takes other precautions.I also need someone to be careful about monitoring yourself and not coming in if you are sick with *anything* because I *will* get it and it *will* be a multiple week ordeal where I likely experience dangerous symptoms. must be able to test weekly and mask with a k/n95 while around me. ideally be someone who lives low risk (masks everywhere, doesnt attend crowded events / spaces, etc). cannot be someone with a high risk lifestyle (has kids in primary school, unmasked in food service areas regularly, etc) we can talk about my precautions too, right now i havent left my house in weeks, i have two way masking with my current pca, and occasionally an unmasked delivery person will come into my apartment though id like to work on solutions to this. i need to like. revamp my precautions. but i dont go anywhere without a mask, i only have unmasked contact with another person if someone comes into my apartment and i cant get to my mask, i am eating while my pca is here and they are masked, or when my also homebound and careful partner is visiting. if someone was working for me more than 25 hours a week and lived a very low risk life i might be open to having a bubble with them during non surge times with precautions like air filters?

i really try to create a calm and positive work environment, though i have complex and real needs and i've been struggling to survive for a long time and i am very overwhelmed. i care deeply about a humanizing workplace, and i am looking for someone who will care enough about my needs as a human being to take the job seriously even though i am as flexible as possible.

About me, in case that helps?

Fat genderfluid dyke. I'm on my third medical leave from college (like a champ!) but I study medical anthropology, disability studies, and linguistics. I don't get out much or do a lot right now because of my illness but i like fiber arts, music, I don't do tons because I spend most of my time in bed but im really passionate about mutual aid, it's been a a minute but I've been wanting to get back into d&d, I think the magicians is the greatest work of television ever written, and I've been trained as a clown and want to try stand up (well, sit down) comedy at some point. I'm a bit neurotic but very self aware. trying to sort out anticonsumerism in the context of my disability. i value creativity, resourcefulness, autonomy, and consent.

(if this went like really well, i am also potentially looking to apply for housing assistance with accommodation for a room for a live in aid, but probably in western mass. idk)

Gwen :) he/they

Message for details

[porcelainseashore]

Ghosts from the Past (1)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Agent! Leon Kennedy x Dancer! Informant! Fem! Reader

Summary: 7 years after leaving behind everything you’ve known, you’re suddenly thrust into facing a ghost from your past, Leon. Navigating where you stand with him brings up old memories, painful truths and countless questions. At the same time, you have to deal with a bunch of strange occurrences at your dance company. Set after Resident Evil 4 Remake.

Warnings: 18+ Swearing, Recreational Drug Use, Alcohol, Eventual Smut, No (Y/N), Canon-Typical Horror and Violence, Blood, Injury, Torture, Infection, Medical Experiments, Psychological Trauma, Nightmares

Content: Post-Resident Evil 4, Exes to Lovers, Partners to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, Romance, Fluff

Author's Note: This fic takes place after Part 1 Teenage Headache Dreams so feel free to give that a read first. Note that I might get a little creative with RE lore and chapter updates could be longer than before, so please bear with me. Thank you to all those who gave feedback and followed me on this journey so far! 🫶

AO3 Link

Chapter 1: The Invitation

7 years.

7 years since you last saw him. 

But he hasn’t stopped haunting you.

You were stumbling your way through the sweaty crowd in one of the nightclubs you usually patronized. The thumping electronic beats resounded in your ears, as throngs of people writhed and shook to the music, raising their open palmed hands towards the DJ, like they were praying to some demigod. The room was bathed in a swathe of dark red light, and you were parting it like a sea of blood.

Dark kohl liner accentuated your eyes and your lips were the color of bruised plum, smudged slightly due to the humidity of the place. Your body was slick with perspiration, glittering under the lights, and it was barely covered by pieces of lace and a leather harness. A random guy pulled up next to you, whispering lewd nothings in your ear as you shoved him aside nonchalantly.

You were drugged up, high out of your mind, but everyone else was anyway, so why did you even care? Something instinctual told you to get to the middle, no matter what. So here you were, pushing your way through unapologetically, like you were on some unspoken mission.

And there he was. In the center. Blonde hair, blue eyes, t-shirt and jeans, just like you remembered him, as if time had not passed at all. As if it was only yesterday.

He stared at you intensely, wearing a scowl on his face, unspeaking. You noticed how tired he looked, like he just wanted to end it right there and then. So tired.

Maybe it was like those indigenous myths you had read about in class when you were young. The saying was that if one faces death, death has no choice but to grant them a final dance. Were you now in the shoes of death, frozen to the spot, watching him so he could cross over to the other side? Except, he wasn’t dancing. He remained there, completely still, eyeing you emotionlessly.

“Leon…” you mouthed, as your voice was drowned out by the blaring sound system.

The next moment, he disappeared into thin air like a shadowed specter, a faded memory of what you once had. 

Suddenly, everything around you erupted in flames, the bright light dazzling you and the scorching heat against your skin causing you to shrink away in fear. Your lungs felt like they were suffocating as you coughed vehemently due to the thick smoke that enveloped you. What the hell was all of this?

As you attempted to make a run for the exit, you noticed piles of bloodied-up bodies lying on the floor, surrounding you in a tight circle. Tripping over them, your eyes widened in shock as you began to recognize who they belonged to. There lay your parents, Leon’s parents, Kayla and the rest of the cheerleaders… the count went on as you frantically tried to shuffle yourself backwards, away from the source of terror, until you heard a deafening screech tearing through your eardrums.

BRRRNNGGG!!!

The sound of your alarm clock jolted you from your sleep. Hitting the ‘off’ button in response, you cursed out loud as your body shuddered uncontrollably. Your blanket and sheets were wet and clammy with puddles of your sweat. Trying to calm yourself, you took a quick gulp of water from the glass sitting on your bedside table and started to slow your breathing down.

Why were these dreams getting more and more frequent? You’d see Leon each time and then everything would turn to shit. There was just so much carnage and destruction back there, it nearly felt real.

You turned accusingly towards the framed photo of you and Leon back when you had posed together for your college graduation, still standing upright on your bedside table. Gripping it tightly till your knuckles were white, you opened one of the table drawers and chucked it inside, watching it clatter into the darkness as you shut the drawer back roughly.

Fuck, Leon! Why? You cried out internally, begging him to stop with the nightmares. Cradling your head in your hands, you broke out into sobs, whilst at the same time chiding yourself for not moving on from him all these years.

Bzzzt bzzzt. The burner phone on your desk interrupted your thoughts abruptly.

You sighed, picking yourself up from the bed and groggily trudging towards it. Flipping the phone open, you were greeted by yet another cryptic text from your handler.

The Chancery. Cocktail event. Tonight 7pm.

Right. Not like she would give you any more information on what this was about. As an informant, you were on a need-to-know basis and had to be happy with whatever scraps you got.

Your mind took a trip down memory lane of how you even landed in such a position in the first place. Ever since that fateful day where you decided to leave and never turn back, you used up whatever savings you had and ran all the way from the Midwest of America to the capital of Germany. There, you naturally fell into the arms of the renowned Silje Völker dance company, who had welcomed you so warmly you even forgot about her peculiar, icy demeanor back when she had scouted you from the dance showcase.

You thought moving to another country and making a new life there would help ease the pain of losing Leon, but you were wrong. Still, it couldn’t be worse than remaining in the place where the catastrophe happened and everything reminded you of him.

Then, about a year ago, some men in black suits handed you their card, reaching out with a proposition. Work for the US government as an informant. We need people like you, they said. There was something fishy going on with Silje, a wealthy, eccentric heiress, and artistic director of the dance company you were part of. She even owned the theater where your training and performances were conducted, and that venue was now under suspicion. As you had worked your way up to become one of her principal dancers, you were now in a prime position to gather the information they needed.

They were just so convincing. It reminded you of what Leon had said when he was younger. About wanting to protect the innocent and make a difference in the world. With that, you didn’t even think; you just said yes. 

Yes. To honor the memory of the boy you loved. Yes. If only you could have just said that one word to him, and to whatever he wanted. Yes.

So now you sought to betray the woman whom you saw as your surrogate mother. Your mother who had helped you find your way in a foreign country, where you were all alone, afraid and distraught. The one who nurtured you into the woman you were standing here today - bold, cunning and adaptable. It felt like life was playing a cruel trick on you. One you could not win.

After rushing through your daily routine, you gathered your things, slipping off an elegant, black cocktail dress from your hanger and stuffing it into your day bag, before heading out to the theater where you normally spent your waking hours training.

You greeted Silje, or Frau Völker - as she preferred to be called by the other dancers, except you and a select few - on the way in. Silje was a tall and wiry lady, with an aristocratic air about her. She consistently wore her platinum white hair in a tight bun, which pulled tautly against the skin along her jawline. For as long as you’ve known her, she never once took off her pitch black sunglasses, whether outdoors or indoors. Her dull-colored clothes covered her arms and legs fully and expensive leather gloves lined her hands at all times. Despite her fragile figure, she commanded authority and projected an intimidating presence.

As you entered the dance studio, she stopped you, gesturing to the dress peeking out of your bag. “Going somewhere special tonight?” 

Nothing could remain hidden from her astute gaze for long.

“Oh, just an international exchange at the embassy,” you lied through a perfect smile.

“How patriotic,” she crooned. You had gotten used to her dark humor and sarcasm by now, so you didn’t pay much attention to it as you shrugged in response.

“Well, enough chit-chat. We have a lot of work to do.” She clapped her hands twice to raise the awareness of the rest of the dance company. “Let’s go through the second part of the Rite, shall we?”

“You-” She pointed a bony finger in your direction. “Need to make those jumps lighter.”

You nodded, acknowledging her criticism that she dished out to you in front of everyone.

“Be in the air, not tied to the ground, my dear.” 

As she flashed over a wide, toothy grin, for a split second you were sure that you saw razor sharp fangs emerging from them. However, they were gone the moment you looked back again.

━━━━━━━━━━━

That evening, you exited out of Friedrichstraße station, one of the main shopping districts in central Berlin. The bustling streets were brightly lit against the darkening sky, as you darted in and out of the swarm of human traffic to get to the embassy. Your heels clacked along the pavement as you made a right, hurrying towards a closed off street, which was heavily fortified with barriers and fencing. 

From afar, you could make out the five-storey, gabled building with beige stone slabs, and the American flag hanging over its front entrance. One of the guards checked in with you, jotting down some notes against your name on his clipboard as he ushered you indoors. 

Dropping off your winter coat and day bag at the makeshift cloakroom, you slipped a couple of spare coins into the tip jar and headed up to the function room. Lively chatter and background music spilled out from its open doors into the corridor you were in. 

You checked yourself anxiously in a reflective surface nearby to make any last minute adjustments. Since your handler hadn’t revealed much of why you had been requested, you wanted to make sure you looked the part and fit in, in case you needed to do some sweet talking with, what you might guess, the elite members of society.

Your hands were trembling ever so slightly as you smoothened out imaginary creases in your shimmery, black satin dress which clung snugly to your body, emphasizing your curves. It had a low, backless design that teased just the right amount of bare skin without raising a scandal. Despite that, you were still debating whether it was too little or too much. In fact, the length of the dress reached so close to the floor, it was a wonder you hadn’t had an accident while walking around in it yet. Maybe you should alter the hem of it in the near future.

The sound of the hallway clock chiming at 7 sharp disrupted your inner monologue, as you realized you should adhere to your punctuality. Making the final touches to your loose, tousled bun and swabbing your lips with a light layer of rouge stain, you finally broke away and entered the function room.

Drinks and canapés lined the long, white banquet tables to the side, while men in snazzy suits and women in fine threads gathered around in their cliques, conversing with each other. It felt like you had gone back in time and were thrown into some 70s gala party, where you didn’t know a single soul. 

A waiter stopped in front of you carrying a tray of bubbly champagne in tall flute glasses. “Madame?” He offered you one from his delicate hand.

You nodded gratefully, taking it before situating yourself at a corner of the room, sipping your drink slowly. Glancing at your watch, you observed that 15 minutes had passed since the supposed meeting time of 7pm. Scanning the room proved fruitless as you didn’t find anything of note.

Where was your handler, Bergmann? What was this party for? You wondered.

At some point, you felt a shadow loom over you from your left shoulder, but you didn’t have a chance to react until it spoke.

“Talk about seeing a ghost from the past.”

Your ears perked up at the voice that you would recognize anywhere, except it sounded deeper and gruffer this time.

No, it couldn’t be… 

Alarm bells started to ring in your head, as you tried to convince yourself that this was one of your nightmares again. Maybe you had fallen asleep on the U-Bahn and now you were lucid dreaming. 

You pinched your arm, not daring to look in the direction of the source of the voice. This was just a dream. 

“Yeah, that’s not gonna help.” 

Or not.

Your breath hitched as you turned sharply to your left, coming face-to-face with a pair of electric blue eyes set in a hollow stare, the dark circles under them giving away his fatigue. His chiseled face was marred by a cut he was nursing on his bottom lip, and his mop of blonde hair was almost like how you remembered it, but longer at the bangs and lighter in color as if it had been bleached in the sun. He was also suited up, black this time, but you could tell he had grown bulkier and more muscular underneath.

How was this possible? What was going on?

You couldn’t even begin to comprehend the scene in front of you, as everything around the room began to spin and your vision blurred. There was the sound of a glass breaking, and the last thing you were conscious of was a strong set of arms wrapping around you, followed by a yell, “Give her some air!”

Then darkness came to claim you.

━━━━━━━━━━━

There was something wet on your face and what felt like a cold breeze, causing a shiver to run through your spine. Then, you sensed a light tapping against your cheek.

“Hey, hey. Wake up.”

Your eyes fluttered open and you were met again with those vivid blue eyes. As you came to, you realized that you were out on one of the balconies, your head propped up by his suit jacket while you lay on the ground. 

He held out a glass of water in his hand. “Here.”

You pushed yourself up on your elbows until you came into a sitting position, before taking it from him gingerly. Your body was still shaking as you drank from the glass and at this, he took his jacket and placed it over your shoulders to cover you.

“Thanks,” you managed weakly.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, while carefully helping you to your feet.

There was a moment of silence as both of you eyed each other without a word. However, it seemed as if he wasn’t surprised to see you, which was weird.

“Leon,” you stuttered. “How-”

The balcony door slid open.

“Ah, there you are!” A young man with a communication earpiece, whom you assumed was one of the staff members, called out.

He glanced between the two of you knowingly. “I see you’ve gotten acquainted.”

“Bergmann will see you now.” He signaled towards the elevators past the crowd.

Leon gave him a quick nod. “We’ll talk later,” he whispered in your ear as you followed the man leading you towards the top floor of the building.

Passing by an unassuming door on the fifth level, he rapped it thrice and you heard the distinct tone of Bergmann informing you to come in. He pushed the door and held it open for both of you before he left.

A woman in her late 40s with curly, auburn ringlets and donning a light gray pantsuit greeted you and Leon.

“Kirsten Bergmann,” she introduced herself while shaking Leon’s hand.

“Leon Kennedy.”

“Of course,” she smirked. “USSTRATCOM’s golden boy.”

You were confused, but started to piece together bits of the conversation. Leon had been alive and working for the government this whole time?

“So you’ve met my informant.” Bergmann motioned at you. “She seems to have a flair for making a spectacle of herself recently.” She frowned disapprovingly, referring to the incident that happened earlier that evening. 

You bowed your head in embarrassment, but Leon appeared completely indifferent.

“Anyway, Hunnigan will be joining us on comms shortly.”

With that, she turned to one of the screens in the room which had been switched on and was showing a connecting symbol. A few seconds later, a bespectacled lady with her hair neatly tied back appeared on it.

“Hunnigan here. Shall we get to it?”

Bergmann took the lead on the discussion. 

“My informant will be an invaluable asset to Agent Kennedy’s mission. She has nestled herself deep within the target company and gained the trust of Ms Silje Völker, who has started to, on her own accord, disclose further information in confidentiality to my informant. All the intel has been fed back to HQ.”

Pressing a button, Bergmann brought up a blueprint map of the theater on another screen, except this had additional markings on it in your own handwriting.

“As you can see, exploration of the target site has shown multiple hidden passageways, false doors and even additional depths absent in the original plans. A copy of this has already been forwarded to all of you.”

This time, Bergmann turned to face you, folding her arms as she continued.

“In addition, my informant has secured various key connections that will prove the validity of our findings and help Agent Kennedy gain a foothold on getting access into the target site easily.”

“We are certain this is the base of operations,” she added, almost triumphantly. 

“And I shouldn’t have to remind you how this case needs to be handled with the utmost discretion,” she warned, gazing strictly at Leon and Hunnigan. 

“We have to ensure that US-German relations remain solid and the last thing we want is for this thing to blow up in the public. Much less in the capital.”

“Understood,” came Hunnigan’s unwavering reply. “I’m sure Leon will be able to manage that.”

“Perfect,” Bergmann replied, looking rather satisfied with herself. “My informant will work closely with you on this. There are sights to see, people to meet, and she will accompany you-”

“With all due respect, I don’t need a babysitter.” Leon suddenly piped up from the middle of the room.

You watched in astonishment, your jaw falling ajar, as he insulted you in front of your colleagues. His harsh words stung you inside. It seemed as if he hated you, and wanted nothing to do with you. But why?

“I am more than capable of finishing this myself,” he continued firmly.

Bergmann’s brows furrowed and her nostrils flared, as she looked at Leon like she was about to reprimand a child. “I assure you, she-”

“Take her off the case,” he demanded.

“Agent Kennedy!” Bergmann raised her voice. “That’s not your decision to make.”

From the intercoms, Hunnigan concurred, “I’m sorry, Leon. It’s been endorsed by the higher ups.”

“This is fucking bullshit.” He smacked his hand on a nearby table in defeat.

A tiny smile appeared on Bergmann’s face and you knew she had a trick up her sleeve. “Besides, Agent, how good is your German?”

He glared at her pointedly. “Good enough.”

She laughed mockingly and proceeded to speak with him in German, using a mixture of complex and colloquial sentences, which you noted that Leon was having a fair amount of difficulty processing. Then she turned to you, indicating that you should answer, and you complied with her order obediently.

“She’s fluent, even passable as a native.” Bergmann remarked smugly. “You, on the other hand, won’t last a day with that grasp of the language.”

Leon didn’t respond, but instead resorted to shooting daggers at her.

“Well, now that part’s over and done with, let’s move on to the logistics.” Bergmann stated simply, as if the previous altercation had never occurred.

She pushed forward, briefing you and Leon on the capacity in which you two should work together, how to approach comms, backstories and the like, including the next steps required in the task ahead.

At the end, she requested you to step outside and wait for Leon on the ground floor, as she relayed further details to him that you were not privy to. You had grown accustomed to this sort of treatment, even if you didn’t like secrets being withheld from you. So you waited patiently on one of those stiff, high-back wooden chairs in the lobby, for the man you thought had been a ghost all this while to find you.

How did he survive? Why didn’t he say anything? Was he still upset about the past? Is that why he had treated you with such venom at the meeting? You had a million questions running through your head. Nothing made sense. Maybe the only reason why you weren’t having a mental breakdown at the moment was because you knew you had a job to do.

“Something on your mind?”

You whipped around, startled by the unexpected intrusion. It was Leon, regarding you with curiosity despite the constant scowl on his face.

You sighed, catching your breath and lowering your hands that had been clutched at your chest. “Wanna start talking?”

“Not here,” he replied. “Somewhere less open.” He glanced around before adding, “More rowdy.”

You nodded, understanding that he wanted a place without prying ears. “There’s a grimy bar that’s always packed to the brim in Neukölln. No one will give a shit there.”

He scoffed. “Sounds like my type of bar.”

Pointing at his attire, you commented, “You gotta get out of that suit though. Not unless you want to attract some attention.”

He leaned against the wall, allowing his bangs to fall over his eyes as he folded his arms and smirked at you. “Suits me.”