#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

[sleepinglionhearts]

It's election night! That means I, who try not to voice too many of my thoughts and opinions because this is supposed to be my fun blog, have things to say!

You know, all things considered, if The Orange Menace wins the election, the one thing I am absolutely going to be tear-my-hair-out angry about, completely insane about, would be to start seeing posts from the sorts of people who were very anti-vote, "it doesn't matter anyway" complaining about Harris losing.

Like they weren't, yknow, part of the problem.

I cannot tell you how disappointing it is to live in Texas, to know that sometimes the voter margins are so, so slim, to see in my county alone that the numbers could probably have shifted very solidly blue if only there were More Than 30% Voter Turnout!!

And for all of those who will be surprised! Surprised about the consequences of The Orange Guy winning! And upset about it! In the same vein of conservatives who get upset because, say, the abortion ban affected them, "why didn't anyone warn me" etc, etc, SURPRISED!

I already went through this in 2016, in college, with OTHER QUEER AND POC STUDENTS ALL LAUGHING OFF THE ORANGE WIN THEN, and then somehow being shocked that he made things worse?

And I know I can't put the blame entirely on them, but with the things I hear from my younger coworkers even, the attitudes they or their friends have, it's like. Aha. Ohoho. I know where this comes from. I've seen this attitude somewhere.

Hate that.

[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.

[snapcracklepop-myjoints]

i wrote this in the notes of another post originally and am copy + pasting it here because im right but "tell the cops nothing, tell the doctors everything" is such a stupid ass fucking abled take. doctors engage in policing idk how to explain to yall that some people cannot in fact just tell doctors everything without it putting them at risk

like im not gonna go into the myriad of ways this is bs but like a quick example is i cant tell my doctors about my substance use issues because if i get that listed on my medical records it will actively endanger me. It will impact how I'm treated in emergency situations and will get me labeled as "drug seeking" when i try to get other issues dealt with.

i dont say this to scare people but because this is actually important information for people to have. if a medical professional claims this isnt an issue, they are NOT "one of the good ones". they are either straight up lying or theyre utterly unaware, which is frankly not better. doctors are cops. never forget it

like YES tell ur doctor abt being sexually active but stop saying "tell the cops nothing and the doctor everything" before i start killing in cold blood

I KNOW THE ORIGINAL QUOTE. This is about how people misquote it, as well as how they view the phrase as meaning "all medical professionals". ALSO! emts are not the neutral figures you think they are. please stop spewing your lack of understanding on the topic all over my tags, its embarrassing. Paramedics kill people and engage in policing stop fucking shilling for them indiscriminately

finally, THIS POST IS ABOUT DRUGS. FIRST AND FOREMOST IT IS ABOUT DRUGS. THIS WAS WRITTEN BY AN ADDICT. the way yall are talking about addicts and drugs users in the tags is so fucking dehumanising. you are part of the problem. Id suggest non addicts shut their traps please and thank you.

similarly, before you comment, ask youself: am i an addict ? do i have an understanding of how addicts, particularly otherwise disabled addicts, have to navigate healthcare systems ? if not, consider SHUTTING THE FUCK UP. hope this helps !

read the notes before you leave a comment im so fucking serious. reblogs are off because none of you know how to act and i have zero patience at this point. if you think im being bitchy pls consider the fact that your stupid comment does not exist in a vacuum and i have received and deleted countless stupid notes and abusive asks on and about this post and your stupid comment exists within that context and i am fucking tired.

[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.

[zenathezee]

My adventure of trying to emulate Mr. Incredible continues:

Today someone asked if they could do something that would be financially great for them, without doing a thing they don't want to do that would be a financial loss

I said they could do the thing they want if they do the thing they don't want to do

I also said that we do not verify if they did the thing they don't want to do and instead leave it up to the individual company if they choose to verify

I also gave them the instructions on how to do the financially good thing after they totally, pinky promise, scout's honor, do the thing they don't want to do

[genderqueerdykes]

im not sorry the truth of the transmasculine experience is ugly. i'm not sorry that we have to frequently discuss sexual and physical violence and abuse. i'm not sorry that we have to discuss violent physical abuse and death. i'm not sorry that we have to discuss homelessness, mental illness, addiction, disabilities, and other challenges in life.

we struggle. we do not instantly gain male privilege the second we come out. even if we pass. when someone knows we're trans we're treated like a woman no matter what. we can sometimes get lucky and pass with strangers but eventually people around us find out because people tell each other without our consent.

we face all kinds of abuse due to the fact that people feel entitlement to our bodies, regardless of what our AGAB is. they feel entitled to our faces, our hair, our entire appearance. they focus on the face that we're ruining something "pretty". they threaten corrective sexual violence to remind us that we're "just women". it happens constantly. this is not an isolated incident and virtually nobody wants people to talk about it when it comes to transmasculine people.

trans men often get injured for one reason or another. usually because someone wants to make them "prove" they're a man, to "toughen them up" or to "prove to them that they're a woman". sometimes this results in sexual assault. other times it results in physical assault. and sometimes people just kill trans men. all because they hate that a "woman" can transition into a man.

it's an ugly part of our reality but it needs to be discussed because otherwise people use the lack of that conversation as ammunition to say transmascs don't struggle.

transmasculine people struggle to stay housed. transmasculine people get kicked out of their living situations very often for many reasons. it's hard for transmascs to get jobs because often times people want either a man or a woman for a specific position and fuss over what they think the transmasc's gender is. misgendering is a huge issue at work. going stealth at work can be painful. being in the closet at work can be painful

transmascs are often disabled and struggle to get care due to people not taking AFAB patients' pain and symptoms seriously. this is a huge issue with any kind of AFAB person or any woman. all woman and AFAB people struggle with having their symptoms taken seriously when seeking serious medical attention to the point of possibly being undiagnosed for life, thus being unable to get on disability. trans women face this just as much as AFAB cis women, it's a huge issue in the medical industry

transmasculine people struggle to say on their hormones (or access them at all). testosterone is a controlled substance in many countries which means that you need a prior authorization to get the medication and need to consistently see a provider to get blood tests and check ups. it can be difficult to do so if you are low income and sometimes certain pharmacists will intentionally find ways to withhold hormones due to their own prejudices

transmasculine people struggle to get pregnancy support and care. it is very difficult for transmasculine people to figure out how to navigate their pregnancy, either due to their HRT provider not knowing much about pregnancy, or having a gynecologist who's not familiar with transmasculine health.

transmascs get denied from spaces made for men constantly. even if they pass, if word gets around that they're trans they can easily be kicked out of a space. transmasculine lesbians are often removed from lesbian, transmasc and/or non binary spaces. transmasc butches are often ostracized from all communities their identities correlate to. trans men and transmasc enbies are seen as a threat to women.

there is ugliness in every pocket of the queer community when it comes to how cisheteronormative society treats us. we all face disgusting treatment that needs to be addressed. it's important to consider how this system affects everyone underneath it. we need to talk about the positive things, it's good to help those are questioning, but we also must discuss what struggles we face in order to humanize ourselves and show that we people, too. none of us have it easy.

[ceilidho]

fear of god

prompt: There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 1 masterlist

-

In the end, gazing out of the ship's portholes into the dark vastness of space proves to be less comforting than the architects must have originally anticipated. You can attest to this more than most.

Every morning, you get up an hour earlier than the rest of your crew and make your way to the galley to make your morning cup of coffee. A pack of instant crystals into your favorite mug and hot recycled water from the kettle. Sometimes you stay to have breakfast, but often you take your coffee with you to the main viewing deck for your morning sojourn. 

There, you sit curled up in the navigator’s chair and stare out of the flight deck window until your breathing levels out. Early morning meditations. With the sun only visible through the rear porthole, the Milky Way stretches out before you, immeasurably vast. Ancient cosmic entities, some already long dead. 

Stars fill your field of vision like an intricate latticework of varying brightness. The watery glass warps at the edges, bending the far off light. All things with their propensity for brightness and decay.

A deep, steady hum fills the room. It’s cathartic to be alone. Sometimes, when you look out into the depths of space, you imagine yourself as a cartographer of old, labeling everything beyond this point: “here there be dragons.” 

Farah is the first person to join you, the ship’s maintenance technician already washed and dressed, floral cumberbund cinched around her midriff and her headwrap pinned in place. She greets you with a firm nod upon her entry, never one to mince words. In the months since your ship set off on its course for Jupiter, you’ve exchanged all of ten words, most of your conversation one-sided. 

She glides in like she’s been up for hours, likely running through her routine maintenance checklist. Monitoring propulsion, life support, and all critical systems. You wouldn’t doubt if she had been, descending into the bowels of the ship and cataloging every minute difference from the day before. Nothing if not thorough. 

Graves sweeps in not twenty minutes later, his uniform pressed and ironed. When he glances your way, you shrink under his gaze, self-conscious about something unidentifiable. He is every bit the commander you met briefly back on Earth, never a hair out of place. If he were less intimidating, he’d be insufferable. 

“Morning,” you murmur, the mug still close to your lips making your voice reverberate. He doesn’t respond. You wonder if he even heard you greet him. It likely wouldn't matter.

Medic has a different connotation this far from Earth. Hierarchy out in space is typically determined by way of one’s importance to the ship, and the scope of your role does not, unfortunately, include maintaining the ship. What that means, unofficially, is that you speak when spoken to, and not for any other reason. 

In the months to come, there may be moments or days when your usefulness is acknowledged, usually much to your colleagues’ chagrin. Though it’s not likely that any of the crew will encounter foreign pathogens while on a hermetically sealed ship in the middle of space, they’re all still susceptible to falls and cuts and worse. Nikolai, the chief engineer on board, had sprained his wrist during the first week of the mission, lending you immediate purpose and validation. 

You make way for the second officer when he finally deigns to make an appearance, sliding quietly out of his seat and stepping to the back of the cockpit, back pressed to the wall closest to the door. 

“Morning, everyone,” he greets, peppier than the three of you despite his rumpled appearance. His thick mustache twitches with the force of his smile. “Ready to seize another day?”

“Jesus Christ, Keller, let’s tone it down ‘til about ten o’clock, alright?” Graves sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache.  

“Our clocks are off, commander,” Alex jokes, coming over to give him a little shake by the shoulder. It would be insubordination from anyone else. “I’m about ready to eat lunch.” 

“Let’s just get through formation and then you can go fill up the bottomless pit you call a stomach.”

The morning briefing never takes up too much time. It’s as much of an excuse to have coffee together as it is to go through the day’s schedule. Graves spends most of the time reviewing the flight course, charting where the ship will be by day’s end. 

“Almost through the belt,” Alex remarks, staring down at the monitor in front of him. It’s an incomprehensible jumble when you try to peer over his shoulder, but he must be able to make sense of it. 

The crew had been on high alert since entering the torus-shaped region between Mars and Jupiter a month back. For the most part, they needn’t have been so on edge—the average distance of the asteroids in the circumstellar disc between the two planets tended to be quite substantial—but a collision the previous day had reinstated their earlier anxiety. 

“Can we switch from manual yet, Farah?” Graves asks from his seat at the helm of the ship. 

She shakes her head, lips tightening with frustration. “I still have to figure out what’s going on with cruise control—it’s not responding correctly.”

“Was that from that little ding the other day?” you ask, blurting out the question without thinking.

Farah’s expression is flat when she glances over at you. “That ‘little ding’ nearly took out our communications system altogether.” 

You wince at that, staring down at your feet instead. Better to just shut your mouth than make a fool of yourself. Had you not blurted out the question, you might have even surmised the nature of the situation given the comm specialist’s notable absence from the cockpit. 

When Nikolai eventually ambles in with a thermos of coffee and deep troughs under his eyes, Farah looks up and frowns. “Where’s Hadir?”

The man shrugs, nonplussed. “Cargo?” he grunts, rolling the toothpick between his teeth around the words. 

She sighs. “I’ll go find him.”

No one says anything when she leaves, the double doors sliding open and shut automatically at her approach, and she doesn’t bother saying goodbye. 

“Dismissed, I guess,” Graves sighs, collapsing into his chair and spinning around to face the stars proliferating in front of him. 

The informality digs at you sometimes because you know you can’t indulge in it. The times you’ve attempted to, you’ve been rebuffed. Sometimes unintentionally, but often to remind you of your place.

This isn’t a crew you’ve ever worked with before. From conversations you’ve overheard, you’ve gleaned that they’ve all worked together in different capacities before, years of familiarity breeding an easy trust and companionship between them. Two of them might even be lovers—though Farah maintains a neutral facade at all times, the same can’t be said for Alex, the man always hovering nearby, eyes going soft at the sight of her. 

You’re the only odd man out. The newcomer. And though you sit with them in the mess for meals and partake in conversation and pass jokes like small stones from hand to hand, you know deep down, in the dark well of your heart, that you are not one of them. You are a passenger that they picked up along the way. A straggler. 

This wasn’t supposed to be the case. When you signed on to the mission months ago, the circumstances were wholly different. A newer ship, a different crew, some of which you’d worked with before. Then ownership changed hands and budgets were cut. Slashed to ribbons even. You had a chance to tour the ship before the launch date, and even down on Earth with all the glitz and glam available to trick the eye, you hadn’t been convinced of the vessel’s ability to withstand the extreme conditions of space.  

But by then, you were locked into a contract so iron-clad that the consequences of breaking it seemed worse than simply seeing the mission through. 

Most days, you feel like you’re waiting for something to give. You pass through halls that echo with low creaks and a deep, rhythmic thrum. Sometimes the walls of the ship groan so loud that you wait with baited breath for the hull to implode around you, to feel the metal crush the delicate eggshell of your body beneath its weight. 

It’s not any better to just stay in your room, your quarters too cramped to nurture anything other than claustrophobia. A recent, unfortunate side effect of spending months on such a small ship. You’ve become accustomed to crews numbering in the tens and hundreds, ships so colossal in size that even months spent aboard weren’t enough to explore all of its nooks and crannies. Cargo holds with excavators and backhoes for excavations on Mars and humvees for getting around the rough terrain. 

This ship barely holds six people and the payload you’ve been hauling to Europa. Pipes hiss in the corridors. Once a week, the radiator splutters or the intercom overhead crackles, kicking your heart into hyperdrive. 

You leave formation more out of sorts than ever. Vaguely aimless. With nothing to do, you grab breakfast in the galley and eat at the counter, too uncomfortable to venture over to the mess. Your days consist mainly of hovering around the ship or sitting quietly in the medbay, waiting for something to happen. A morbid preoccupation. 

The stairs clunk under your feet as you make your way down towards the medbay. You’ve long grown used to the sharp sound of your boots against the metal floor. 

Rationally, you know they don’t dislike you. You might even venture to say that you get along with the majority of them, particularly the chief engineer and Farah’s brother. The big man likes that it only takes a single drink to get you plastered, often howls with laughter when you stumble out of the mess after drinking with the crew, always the first to turn in for the night. Farah herself is only frosty because she works twice as hard as anyone else, burning the midnight oil on the regular. 

You swallow half-truths like stones to help settle your stomach. 

It doesn’t replace real companionship though; it approximates, but doesn’t quite replicate it. You feel its absence most acutely in the sidelong glances you sometimes get of real affection: Alex grazing his pinkie across Farah’s when he thinks no one is looking; Farah’s eyes softening at the sight of her brother; Graves and Nikolai reminiscing about something a decade past, hardly even aware of your presence in the room. 

It’s something you’ve endured before, but never for such an extended period of time. Prolonged isolation prickles at the mind, feathering the edges. It purples space; passes through the vents. The crew rarely goes on spacewalks (hardly any need for it), but sometimes you swear the ship’s oxygen has a faint sulfuric undertone, like rotten eggs. It permeates the air wherever you go. 

Someone knocks at the window just as you walk by.

You pause mid-sip, the mug raised to your lips and just pressing into your bottom lip, not yet tilted. 

“Hello,” you hear through the thick-paned glass, the voice muffled through the layers of glass and plastic partitions. “Could you let me in, please?”

Though your reflex is to look up, you don’t for some reason. The muscles in your neck stay locked instead. Shoulders stiff, weighed down by an unnatural force. 

The thing outside the ship knocks again. “Love? Can you hear me?”

Your head turns towards the porthole, the hand holding your mug drifting away from your mouth. It tips in your hand and a drop leaks down the side. Your lips tingle, almost numb. 

There’s a man outside the porthole, clear as day. He hovers outside the window, a hand raised in a friendly wave and full lips splitting to reveal perfect, white teeth when he smiles. He’s dressed in a spacesuit, no different than any of the crew on a spacewalk. Through the helmet, you can make out dark eyes and dimples. A close cropped beard.

It’s not a face you’ve ever seen before though. You think you might’ve remembered someone so handsome working on the ship with you.

Something needles inside of you though. A sickening feeling, like something you’ve forgotten but you desperately need to remember. 

“Hi there,” the man says, voice as charming as you’ve ever heard, so velvety rich that you feel the blood heat your cheeks. “Glad you were passing by. Mind letting me in?”

[aventurineswife]

(Original Idea)

@smokess

It’s been a few weeks since you first arrived in the Devildom. You’ve already made your way through a few of the rougher patches: learning the magic laws, getting used to demon food, and navigating the maze that is the House of Lamentation. But there are still moments when things catch you completely off guard, and today happens to be one of them.

You’ve just been called to the dining room for breakfast, but as you walk in, your thoughts are still buzzing from yesterday’s events. You’re trying to put together how you ended up in this bizarre world full of demons with their own customs, traditions, and... strange ways of doing things.

As you sit down, the brothers—Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmo, and Beel—are already seated, along with Diavolo and Barbatos, who were visiting from the palace. The atmosphere is relaxed, almost too relaxed. They’re chatting, mostly about the latest human technology (Mammon is in a heated debate with Levi over the newest video game release) and general happenings in the Devildom.

But then, as you reach for your plate, your body betrays you.

You start sneezing, repeatedly. It’s not that unusual for you—back on Earth, you’ve had bad allergies before, especially in the spring. But here? You didn’t realize that it was possible for pollen from another dimension to mess with your system.

"Huh, bless you, I suppose." Lucifer comments, his tone a bit dry. He raises an eyebrow as you snatch a napkin and try to muffle another series of sneezes.

"Are you okay?" Beel asks, his voice sincere, though it’s impossible to ignore that he's already eyeing the plate of food in front of you, the steam rising from it. He’s always hungry, always concerned about food, and while you’re trying to focus on the allergy attack, his concern doesn’t help.

"I-I think it’s just my allergies," you manage to choke out between sneezes, your hand scrambling to find something to wipe your nose with.

Barbatos, ever the composed butler, immediately gets up and makes his way over to you with a tray of what looks like...some kind of odd, green liquid in a cup.

"Please drink this, MC. It should help soothe your reaction. We have a lot of unique flora in the Devildom, and they can affect humans in different ways."

You eye the drink with a mixture of suspicion and gratitude. At this point, you don’t really have any other choice.

“What... what’s in this?” you ask, sniffing it carefully.

“It’s a blend of herbs from the underworld,” Barbatos says with a calm smile. “Completely harmless. It should help with your symptoms. But you might want to avoid consuming anything too exotic until your body gets used to the local flora.”

You take a cautious sip. Surprisingly, the liquid doesn’t taste too bad, and within moments, your sneezing fits subside.

"Thanks, Barbatos," you say, giving him a grateful smile, but you're still mentally processing the fact that you might have to get used to demon herbs now.

“So, MC,” Diavolo begins, his voice loud and friendly as always, his large frame leaning toward you with genuine interest, “I wanted to ask, what kind of... ‘treatments’ do humans undergo back home?”

The question catches you off guard. You look around, noticing the brothers are now all paying attention—Diavolo's curiosity seems to have sparked a sudden group interest.

“Treatments?” you ask, hoping you understand the question right.

“You know, for things like... well, if you get sick, or need vaccinations?” Diavolo gestures, his enthusiasm barely contained. “It’s always interesting to hear how humans take care of themselves!”

You blink, processing the concept of vaccines. You realize that in the Devildom, none of these demons are likely familiar with things like flu shots or allergy medication... or even common human ailments like cold and flu. It’s a foreign concept here.

“Uh, well, humans get vaccinated—shots, you know, to prevent diseases? We also go to the doctor for stuff like fevers or injuries.” you say slowly, unsure if they understand what you're saying.

The room goes quiet. Then, unexpectedly, Mammon snickers.

"Wait, so ya all just get stuck with needles?" he asks, looking at you with wide, alarmed eyes. "Why would ya let someone do that to ya? Sounds like torture!"

You let out a small laugh, trying to explain it in a way they'd understand. "It’s for our protection. Without vaccines, we could get really sick from things we can easily avoid."

The demons all exchange looks of utter confusion. Satan looks thoughtful, though, his hand resting under his chin. “That’s... fascinating. So you just... accept being injected with something? No magical potions or healing spells?”

“Nope,” you answer, shaking your head. “Just medicine and stuff we get from the Earth. No magic involved.”

Diavolo claps his hands together in an amused gesture. “How strange! I wonder if that would work in the Devildom... Barbatos, what do you think?”

Barbatos, ever the pragmatic butler, raises an eyebrow. “I’m not entirely sure, My Lord. But I believe it would require a rather significant amount of effort. Perhaps we should stick to what we know works.”

You chuckle nervously, trying not to feel too alien. It’s weird being the only one who understands what vaccines even are, let alone periods, or allergies...

The conversation shifts after a while to other aspects of human life, which you’re not exactly prepared for. After some time, the talk turns to... well, other human customs—especially biological ones.

"So... do humans have... um... I don't know how to say this," Asmo starts, clearly not sure how to word it delicately. "Do humans, uh, have... ‘monthly’... discomforts?”

You freeze mid-bite, the word monthly hanging in the air like an uncomfortable weight. You’ve always been pretty private about your cycle, especially now that you’re in a room full of demons who probably know nothing about it.

“I, uh... it’s called a period,” you mutter, hoping the subject won’t get too awkward.

"A period?" Satan asks, leaning forward, eyes wide with curiosity. "Like... punctuation?"

“No!” you exclaim, mortified. "I mean... it’s a human thing. A... biological process." You sigh, trying to explain without sounding too embarrassed. "It’s a monthly occurrence where... my body, um, prepares for something it doesn’t need. So, it... uh... sheds the lining in the uterus."

The demons stare at you blankly. Even Lucifer, usually composed, looks momentarily baffled.

“And that... happens to you... every month?” Levi asks, horrified. “How do you... I mean, that sounds awful!”

You nod. "It can be uncomfortable. It’s like a... natural part of being human."

Barbatos, ever the tactful one, steps in smoothly, his voice calm. “It seems humans have a great deal to manage in their biology. Fascinating.”

“Right? And we’re just expected to deal with it,” you add, still feeling embarrassed but relieved that they’re not asking too many more questions.

Later, the conversation veers into a discussion about where you came from, your homeland, and your nationality. It’s a tricky subject, especially since most of these demons have never even heard of your country, let alone your hometown.

“So, you’re from Earth, right?” Lucifer asks, tapping his fingers on the table, as if contemplating the situation. “But Earth is so vast. How do you classify your people?”

You pause, unsure how to approach it. “Well, there are countries, and people belong to different nations. I come from a country called...”

The name of your country seems to hang in the air, but as you mention it, the demons exchange confused looks. They’ve never heard of it.

“Wait, so what’s that country like?” Mammon asks, genuinely curious. “What’s ya... currency? What’s the most popular food?”

You try your best to explain, but each question leads to another, and soon you realize how very, very different Earth is from the Devildom.

But as weird and overwhelming as this all is, you realize that these moments of confusion and surprise are part of what makes your time here so unique. The demons may not understand everything about you, but they're clearly invested in learning—whether it’s how to handle your allergies or what a "period" is.

And really, at the end of the day, it's that curiosity and willingness to understand each other that makes the Devildom feel a little more like home every day.

[buckets-and-trees]

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.

Previous | Series

↠ 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

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

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

An astonishingly simple and comprehensive guide to avoiding airborne illness while traveling. Many of these tips work for trips to the pharmacy or grocery store too. Stay safe out there!

By Korin Miller

Whether you’re traveling domestically or heading abroad, feeling your best at your destination means you’ll get the most out of your trip. Unfortunately, COVID-19 is still out there, and cases are expected to climb again as we head into the winter months. By now you’re likely aware of basic COVID prevention strategies, but air travel presents unique challenges that can be tricky to navigate.

Luckily, you can take steps to lower the odds of picking up the illness on your next flight. To help you do just that, we asked doctors and health policy researchers how they lower their COVID risk while flying. Here’s what they recommend.

Wear a mask—before you’re even on the plane Many of us know this already, but it’s worth recalling: Research has found that wearing a well-fitting, high-quality mask like an N95 or KN95 lowers your chances of picking up COVID-19 by 83%, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. But when you wear a mask during your travels matters, says William Schaffner, MD, an infectious disease specialist and professor at the Vanderbilt University School of Medicine.

“You really want to use your mask consistently around others, whether you’re in the airport or on that plane,” he says. Thomas A. Russo, MD, professor and chief of the Division of Infectious Diseases at the University at Buffalo’s medical school, agrees. “Think about the whole process when you fly—going through the airport, checking in, boarding the plane, and being on the plane—you’re going to interact with people from all parts of the world… There’s a risk you might get COVID,” he says.

You can help protect yourself by always keeping your mask on—and wearing a relatively new one. Compared to a mask that’s gotten a lot of use, a fresh one will fit more snugly around the nose, cheeks, and chin and, in turn, catch particles more effectively.

Put the air vent to good use If you prefer not to wear a mask, you should take steps to protect yourself in other ways. For example, after you get to your seat, adjust the vent so the air blows over your face, suggests Sheldon H. Jacobson, PhD, a University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign professor and researcher whose work includes using data-driven risk assessments to inform public health policy.

Dr. Jacobson says most airplanes use high-efficiency particulate air (HEPA) filters that catch microbes. Plus, cabin air is refreshed every few minutes, and a good portion comes from outside the aircraft. As a result, what blows out of the vents is pretty fresh. This strategy also keeps the air around you moving faster, meaning there’s less time for you to inhale any possible germs in the cabin, according to Dr. Jacobson. Still, if the person sitting next to you is coughing and sneezing, it’s best to wear a mask if you have one, he says. The filtration system can only do so much in that instance—and it’s not always on before takeoff and after landing.

Be mindful about how you eat and drink If you can, Dr. Russo suggests eating before you get to the airport to lessen the number of times you’ll need to remove your mask when you’re around other people. If you need to dine at the airport, Dr. Schaffner recommends looking for seating away from crowded areas.

When masks were still required for air travel, the suggested strategy for eating and drinking on board was to wait until your fellow fliers finished their snacks and refreshments. But now, Dr. Russo points out, the people around you may not mask up at all. Instead, he suggests dropping your mask, taking a sip or bite, and immediately pulling it back up. This lowers the odds you’ll breathe in viral particles that may be floating around, he explains.

Plan your vaccine around your trip Dr. Schaffner and Dr. Russo recommend getting the updated COVID-19 vaccine about two weeks before your trip. “It’s a good strategy,” Dr. Russo says. It usually takes 14 days or so for your body to build up immunity to COVID after getting vaccinated, according to the World Health Organization. This means your body should be ready to fight the virus by the time you fly, Dr. Russo says. Immunity also fades over time, making the timing of your shot important, he says.

Wash your hands…a lot Experts say you’re more likely to get COVID-19 from breathing in infectious droplets and particles than from touching things. But there’s still a chance you could get sick if you happen to touch a contaminated surface and then your eyes, nose, or mouth.

“What we’ve learned is that transmission from this virus from inanimate objects is very low, but it’s not zero,” Dr. Russo says. That’s why he recommends good hand hygiene while flying. You should wash your hands with soap and water, making sure to scrub for at least 20 seconds, and do so often: before and after security, whenever you use the bathroom, and before eating or touching your face. Hand sanitizer is also a good option in a pinch, Dr. Russo says. But he stresses that keeping your hands clean shouldn’t replace masking up. “It’s much, much less helpful than wearing a mask,” he says.

[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.

[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!

[jellyfemmedyke]

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.

[penvisions]

gone to the dogs {chapter 7}

Pairing: Boston QZ! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: Tensions run high as you can't seem to recover from your bout of sickness even though Tess is back on her feet and helping the newest member of your pack sort out some things. Neither of you had told Joel yet, bidding your time until some things are taken care of but you have a feeling it's more than just that if Tess's determined silence is anything to go by...

Word Count:

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, canon typical gore, outbreak fic, mean joel miller, degrading language, violence, heated interactions, adult language, fighting, references to injuries, blood, sexual content, rough sex, p in v, smut, unprotected p in v (it's the end of the world, y'all), sexual propositions, oral (f receiving), talk of pregnancy, angst, reference to off screen assault, medical jargon, mentions of nausea, mentions of past trauma, mentions of canon death, mentions of past childloss, i think that's it for this one!

Fic notes: we are officially 10 years into the apocalypse! joel is 46 at this point and cane is early 30's, but please imagine her to look anyway you want! these are just rough estimates and descriptions that are not set in stone as per the x reader tradition. simply a way for me to get the story fleshed out a bit c:

A/N: this fic really just got so big and it can't possibly be contained to the original ten chapters when i first started it. these two have really taken the reigns and i am all for letting them develop and flourish as they wish ♡♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

Joel scrubs a hard hand over his face, brushing away as much of the ash and dirt as he can as he lowers the bandana wrapped around his head as a mask. It’s not much, but it eases his mind enough for him to keep using it.

He’s been pulling more shifts, as many as they could give him. You and Tess both being sick was something that worried him, stressed him out. The dangers of the end of the world were rampant, too many to count and keep track of. A weakened immune system brought on by fever and sickness was something from Before that he had completely lost the notion of.

Seeing you beaten up and bruised from fights or shows of power, from hard days working whatever shitty physical labor the zone needed done or from crawling your way through the rubble of the fallen city around them in search of things to trade and sell- it was different. Different than seeing you wrapped up in all the thin blankets in the shared apartment, that he could get his hands on only to still see the shivers that rack your body and chitter your teeth together. It was different than seeing you barely manage to keep water down to take the pills he paid far too much for only for you to gag on the weight of it settling in your empty stomach.

The scraps of chicken and bone he managed to trade for had cost so many ration cards. But the medicine, the stock he was able to pull from the bone- all of it was worth it for you and Tess to start to get better.

Well, Tess was better. You were…you were…are still sick. No longer plagued by fevers, cold spells, and heat flashes. But your stomach was unsettled, and your appetite was borderline gone, the weight you dropped a little concerning and the color drained from your skin.

He’s been playing caretaker to whatever extent you’ll allow him when he’s in the privacy of your shared apartment. Even if it’s as simple as refilling your mug with hot water for a second cup of tea, of collecting the bowl you had used to try and eat something with before he got home. He’s willing to do it, to do more. But you won’t let him. Determined to hold onto your independence in a way that both makes him proud and feel a little useless.

So he works. To provide. To make it easier. To give you space. Doing the long standing trades, showing his face more on that side of things while you’re unable to do so. Tess now, too, is back at it and it seems like you’ve given her clear orders on who to trade with and who not to as the weather grows colder.

But right now all he can focus on is the sprawled out form of you on the bed. Sheets and blankets tossed and kicked to the end of the bed and nearly crumpled on the floor as you pant heavy breaths while trying to find a comfortable position to fall back asleep.

The baser instincts in him rise at the smell of sweat and the sounds your making, the slight groan of the mattress beneath your wiggling form. it’s not that he wants it for himself, well, not just that he wants it for himself. But your body is stressed, it’s fighting, mind and nervous system out of whack. He’s on you the second he steps over the threshold into the room, determined to give you some sort of relief. To give you something else other than seemingly endless days of sickness and being unwilling to leave the building.

“Joel, ‘m still sick.” You mumble halfheartedly, that tug in your navel letting you know that despite everything, your body still sings for him- because of him. And it’s intoxicating, the immediate reaction as you feel plush lips against your skin, feel the weight of his body so close.

“Don’t matter, want you.”

His kisses are like fire, trailing down from your chin where he nips hard to your neck and chest. Tank top pulled up as carefully as he could manage, ridding you of the thin fabric. His lips close around hardened peaks to pull out desperate sounds from you, so sensitive to the soothing swipe of his tongue after biting teeth. His nose skims across your skin, the sharpness of it driving you wild as his hands make quick work of removing the pants you had fallen asleep in.

His teeth nip gently at the swollen lips of your cunt through the fabric of your underwear before he breaths in deep. “Gonna get you outta your head for a bit.”

And like a switch, your mind and body only focus on him.

The drag of his nose over the same place, the tug of his fingers pulling the now damp fabric down. The hot, thick line of his cock against your legs as he pulls them up to bend into your chest. His tongue swipes flat over your folds, delving between them after, shockwaves of pleasure so intense after experiencing nothing but aches and pains for the last couple of weeks. It pulls a moan deep from your chest, the responsive chuckle earning him another as you feel the vibrations of it skitter across your skin.

He's pulling pleasure from you like he was made for it, his knowledge of your body all he committed to memory and you’re crying out within minutes. His fingers grip the backs of your thighs, spreading them to make room for his body to line of with yours and then he’s pushing in slowly. Through a crack of your eyelid, you see his focus on where the two of you connect, brown eyes dark and hair slicked back save for one stray curl folded over his temple. Teeth gritted and breath hissing as he fills you, slowly, taking in the sight for what it is, feeling it for what it is, living up to his promise to get you out of your head as he bottoms out and your mouth goes slack.

“Theeeere we go, huh, darlin’?” One of his hands snake up to grip your chin gently, pulling your thrown back head toward him. Thick fingers caress the too hot skin there and his eyes soften as your own fly open when he leans forward to press a kiss to the tip of your nose, the obscene sound of him pushing in deeper and your walls clenching around him. “Look at those pretty eyes, starin’ up at me with nothing behind them, that’s exactly what we wanted, wasn’t it?”

All you can do it try to nod, his hand so large cradling the side of your face, his lips so tantalizingly close but your body is frozen, the breath caught in your throat as you pulse around him, pleasure rippling through your body as he throbs deep inside you. He must see the way they tremble and he closes his mouth around yours, giving you exactly what you wanted without you needing to ask. When he pulls back, his teeth glint in the faint light seeping in through the window.

“Don’t gotta think about nothin’ else but how full you feel. Deserve to turn your thoughts off and just focus on gettin’ fucked.”

He’s pulling back a bit, his knees caging you in as they squeeze around your hips.

You can barely take a breath before he’s slamming back in and it’s pushed from your lungs.

Over and over again.

The day starts off normally, a plan in motion to tell Joel once he returns from one of his shifts. Tess spends the day helping to move most of Jean’s stuff out of the shitty apartment she had been given alongside two other single girls. Not enough room for her to even have her own space. But Tess was willing to give up her bedroom and move into the living room to provide some semblance of privacy and control for the young girl. You had taken her to the clinic, as well. Dropped her off and were due to pick her up any moment now, but you’re kneeled down in front of the toilet.

Your own sickness seems to linger while Tess is back in good health. Her color coming back while yours remains pallor, hot flashes and cold spells waring underneath your skin and making you nauseous. You were doing your best to hide the worst of the symptoms from Joel, not wanting him to feel like he needed to use the stock of goods and cards for more medicine that only worked at first. You’re just grateful that awful cough that rattled your brain and hurt your throat was gone, the phlegm that seemed to either clog up your sinuses or run far too freely gone as well. It had been a bad chest cold, same as Tess and you didn’t understand why you were better, but you weren’t…better.

You had given blood at the clinic, just to be cautious.

Because you were beginning to get worried. Between the new responsibility of caring for and protecting Jean, the rather startling reach out from Bill concerning new habits from Frankie he’s developed and the increasing scarcity of things to find in the city, you were feeling a slow simmering panic begin to form in the back of your mind and weigh down your mental and physical resolve.

The cold chill settling in the air wasn’t helping, telling you that it was about to get a while lot worse as the temperature dropped and winter weather became a daily struggle on top of it all. Snow and ice in Boston was normal this time of year, to begin falling from the sky and form on the ground.

Picking Jean up from the clinic was supposed to be a simple task. But you honestly don’t remember much of it. The ringing in your ears had started once the doctor had turned to you and read the results of your own testing. Effectively pulling the entire god damn earth’s crust from beneath your feet. You don’t remember the trek back to the apartment, nor the way that Jean was glancing at you out of the corner of her eye. Bottom lip between teeth as she contemplated commenting on same diagnosis that was read to you.

Shock. You were in shock. Mind reeling from the fact that now there wasn’t just one pregnancy to navigate, but two.

All you know is the startling cold of porcelain seeping through the towel you had placed over the top of the lid as you knelt in the bathroom once again. Stomach heaving and throat burning, heart beating far too fast as you struggled to regain your breath. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, a sharp contrast in how hot they were compared to the tile that surrounded you.

Just as you managed to stand up from your rather humbling position in front of the toilet again, you hear it.

The boom of Joel’s voice through the thin walls.

He was home early.

And Tess must’ve just told him what you two have been handling the past few days.

Keeping as silent on your feet as possible, not wanting to sound the creaks of your aged flooring, you inch into the living room and move into the kitchen. His voice is clear as a bell and angry.

“It’s just another fucking human being that’s going to be subjected to a shitty life and even shittier people. How do you think that kid is gonna feel when they learn about how they were conceived? You think she’s gonna be able to sit her kid down and explain to them the shit she had to endure? That she was raped and it was either go through with the birth or risk her life ending the pregnancy? You think that’s any kind of thing to put on child in this god forsaken world?”

“Joel, she’s scared. She said you told her to come to you for help. And Cane and I are an extension of that-“ Tess’s voice is raised, an attempt to wrangle in Joel’s own but its fruitless. You’ve only heard him sound like this when he deals with less than savory trade partners. You’ve only heard him when it was that first year of knowing him. When he didn’t trust you or share your bed. Before the shadow of a life you two slowly and carefully curated together.

“Just cause y’all are women doesn’t mean you know better about this than me. Don’t you try to pull that sexist bullshit with me, Tess. You know just as well as I do that bringing a new life into this world is a mistake. The risks of pregnancy before were deadly, with the help of machines and medicine. But now?”

He scoffs loud enough for you to hear it through the walls. You don’t flinch, though you know you would’ve once upon a time. There’s truth in his words, no matter how he’s weaponizing it to prove his point. To deny getting involved in the situation.

“Now she’s as good as dead if she goes through with it. And what if she does manage to give birth to a healthy baby and she’s the one stuck paying the price? Bleeds out or needs to be cut open, then there’s just another orphan the system is gonna abuse and use for their twisted sense of righteousness.”

“Joel-“

“She’s gonna be stuck with a kid, do you realize how much time and effort and work is gonna go into that and it’s all gonna fall on us. On me. And I am too fucking old for this shit.” You can hear silence that greets his harsh words, the raw and unfiltered emotions he feels on the matter. You knew Tess had a kid before all this and it must be hard for her to grapple with the reality of the situation. Especially as it brings up memories and her own past emotions. “There is no way in hell this is going to work out.”

“She came to us for help, Joel. You instilled in her that you would look after her, no matter what. And guess what? This is something big! She can live here with me, I can…I can help her through the rough patches, I know what it’s like to have a less than smooth time of it.”

“Tess…”

“I’m going to help her, Joel. From one mother to a prospective one. As a parent, I would think you feel at least a little connected to the issue at hand.” That gave you as much pause as it seemed to Joel. The silence that permeated the air was heavy, crackling tension palpable even through the walls.

“This is dangerous, this is stupid and reckless. Children aren’t a blessing, they’re a curse.” His even but thudding steps could be heard as he makes his way to the door. You’re still in shock a few moments later when it doesn’t slam shut, it doesn’t even open. He must’ve turned around and you can almost picture him looking over his shoulder. All broad and brooding, angry. “This is a mistake.”

With no other outlet for what you’re feeling, you shove your hands into the sleeves of your jacket and grab your keys from the nails they hang on beside the door. Glancing on the sleeping form of Jean on the couch, you’re relieved that she’s in a deep enough sleep to not hear the harsh words of the man who she had sought out for help.

You don’t even dare glance at the end of the hallway, not knowing what you would do if you glimpsed Joel at this moment.

And that scared you.

That you didn’t know if you would curl up into his chest, wrap your arms around his neck or waist and burrow your face into him. Inhale his scent and be comforted by the way he holds you back. Or if you would scold him for his choice of words, for the way he’s backtracking suddenly as the situation turns now to something he doesn’t have the patience and energy to deal with.

That you didn’t know if the words would immediately fall from your lips or stay lodged in your throat and suffocate you.

He had given Jean his attention, his protection, his word that he would look out for her. And he’s standing there determining the course of her future that would best benefit him. That would work in his favor, to not have to deal with something so monumentally important. The news isn’t the best, it isn’t born of a decision between two consenting adults who are determined to nurture and love. Hell, you aren’t even sure if Jean had ever admitted to wanting to be a mother beyond not feeling right with doing away with her condition. But it was something, it was someone.

Hope. It was hope you were feeling as you sped down the hallway and away from the harsh words that hang in the air.

Hope for a future that isn’t the same damn thing day in and day out. Fighting and hustling for supplies, for food, for water, for space in a crowded zone. That isn’t protecting your territory and your smuggled items, that isn’t holding fast to your going rates as people challenge them and clamor for them because even if you did want to provide things that were hard to find or considered contraband, you still needed to benefit from the effort and skills that go into supplying them.

The news Jean brought to you, born of devastation and immoral means, could be the universe’s push of urging you toward something else. Your own news born of a moment of passion under the influence with someone who you found rare solace and genuine companionship with. The naïve notion of taking it in stride and shifting everything for the better, for the hope of making something of the situation you’ve landed yourself in is a painful one. Cultivating and nurturing goodness back into the world where you could, back into your life that had become so violent and overwhelming in its eat or be eaten nature.

You’ve been violent for so long, have had to be violent for so long. The world demanding it of you if you wanted to survive, to breath, to live to see another tortured day. And all those days that it seemed like too monumental a task, too hard a thing to commit to once again. A flicker of your old, weaker self rising up and arguing that there was no point, that it was useless to survive a hard day and the only reward was another string of them. But now you know why it was imperative that you stuck with it, defending yourself, protected yourself, used teeth and nails and haunting violence to make sure you saw the sun rise each morning and set each night over a world that was decimated beyond help.

And that reason was a phantom weight low in your belly. The new reason you would fight even harder from this point on until the moment you drew your last breath. Your child would know better than you were thrust into, would know better than this broken world and mockery of what was once city life.

You would bite and claw and fight, shoot or slash anything that threatened the life you were determined to give to your child, to give back to her. That younger version of yourself lost piece by piece as things quickly fell, as people gave into temptation and damnation the second civilization crumbled.

You don’t realize the heavy words in your mind are coming out as snarled sounds every time your boots hit the ground with your fast pace. The man Jean had described was walking home, you on his tail and none the wiser about what fate was about to deliver. What you were about to deliver.

Crazy bitch. Depraved dog. Ruthless.

His insults don’t mean anything, as you stalk him through the streets and down the hallway that leads to his apartment. His pained groans and stuttered breaths mean nothing to you as you land hit after hit, they don’t give insight to anything but satisfaction that curls your lips up at the corners.

His words, Joel’s words, ring in your ears as you feel the impact of your knuckles on the man’s face. Each punch, each hit landing as the echo inside your head gets louder and louder. Those are the only ones that mean anything, the only thing that fuels your violence. The man crumpled beneath your knees deserving of every last bit even more so and you’re convinced he would feel the exact same way. He would see his own actions as righteous, taking what was his, what was deserved- the consequences not on his mind nor something he would feel like needs his attention. An afterthought, the result of an assault he forced on someone.

All of it, everything in the entire world was just- mistake, mistake, mistake. After goddamn mistake.

But this? Delivering retribution on the man who is weaker than you ever were, it feels right. It feels like something you’re meant to do. Despite the depravity and brutality of the sentence you’ve given him, it’s a step in the right direction. It’s a step toward a better future.  

Please. Stop. I’ll do anything you want. Take anything you want. Please- no…no!

And then he’s no longer breathing the air he doesn’t deserve.

With bruised hands, swollen knuckles and aching fingers you gather everything in his apartment into his own duffle bags hidden beneath the bed.

You leave the apartment, ignoring the cracked doorways as people peek through them to see what the scuffle was about, who had been target this time- the only thing left inside besides dirty linens and dishes is his body with a note stabbed into his chest with his pocket knife.

Don’t mess with my people.

Signed off with a stamp of ink in the shape of a paw.

And though it’s far too early to feel the weight in your belly, something settles there and you feel it the entire walk back to the apartment building, even as you stand at the sink and wash the blood from your hands. The stain of it lingers even with the aid of soap and cold water.

His figure used to be refreshing, a comforting thing to see at the end of every tumultuous day. But now, your eyes track him, take him in as if he posed a threat. As if he had done anything other than simply walk into the room, his muscles rippling with the action of removing his jacket. His scruff a dark shadow in the low light that glitters when the gray there catches the light. He’s so broad, the entire doorway filled by the width of his shoulders, the breadth of his chest. The same body you found comfort in when it curled around you or pressed down upon you. But now, it’s as if a stranger has strutted into your home for all that had happened recently.

Large, calloused hands reach for his belt, remove with a simple pull through the fabric holding it in place and you feel nausea rise at the spike of desire that pools between your legs. Feelings and urges war with each other in your mind and heart, body reacting to his as he approaches. Your head tilting into the cradle of his palm even as your mind screams at you that he doesn’t care. This is the same man who had declared loudly and determinedly that he wanted no part in the situation at hand. The one that involved a child. He hadn’t known his words were not only for another woman but for you too.

“You okay, darlin’? You look a little waxy there. The meds workin’ alright or do I need to go and get some more from the infirmary?”

“Fine, Joel.”

“Hey,” His eyes search yours as he tips your chin up, locking onto them and trying to find out what you’re not voicing. But he can’t seem to, because his brow furrows and the corners of his lips pull down. “You sure?”

“Had to take someone out, is all. Muscles weren’t used to being used like that.” The admittance doesn’t lift any of the weight in your chest, but the words are out. No longer caged between your ribs with the other secrets you now carry.

“Tell me you didn’t.” He takes a step back, and he’s not upset…but he’s- something. How were you supposed to know it was fear, when you swallowed yours down so long ago?

“I’ll tell you I did, because it needed to be done. He didn’t deserve to breath anymore. He forced her, Joel. He manipulated her long before that and then when she was finally free from him, he goes and-“

“You shoulda let me handle it.”

“Why? Because I’m too weak?” The snarl in your words has him removing his hand from you, giving you space. He lets out a heavy breath as he realizes the way you had taken his worry, his fear.

The room is crackling, the energy flowing from you having built up for days, weeks now. It hadn’t bothered you at first, it hadn’t bothered you at all. Until someone had made a comment that you had been made to heel, fucked into your rightful place. Just as you had been leaving the clinic earlier that day. You had been preoccupied, yes that’s true, but that didn’t mean you had taken a step to the side and allowed for authority to shift. You had simply begun to focus more on finding things that would not only benefit the anticipated needs of the zone’s occupants, but of Bill and Frank as well. Then you had gotten sick, all of that paired with the reality you were facing alongside Jean and no one could blame you for the whirlwind that had replaced your heart.

“You’re just tired, is all. Not weak, I could’ve been there for backup.” He tries to keep calm, but you can see the way the muscle in his jaw twitches. He looks from the collection of items on the dining table, to where you had made up a nest of sorts on the couch as you had tried to get some time out of the bed you really should be swathed in to recover. “Let’s get you another dose of meds and maybe a shower.”

And you know he isn’t trying to belittle your emotions or step around them. He’s seeing them for what they are, as least as best he can. He knows you’re overwhelmed, that small things grow into big things over time, and this is one of those moments where you realize that they have and it’s completely out of your control.

“‘M fine.” You can’t help the snap of your teeth as you clench your teeth, head pounding and stomach turning. You hadn’t left for days but you had heard the rumors going around as you and Tess all but disappeared from the scene when you both fell sick. Determined to get out and reclaim some semblance of control, you reach for your coat. The clack of plastic makes you freeze, worried that the object got shoved from the depths of the inside pocket it’s hidden in.

Joel takes the moment to come up behind you, his arms wrapping around your middle. Grounding himself and attempting to ground you too, knowing there was no stopping you if you wanted to get some space. You know he wouldn’t take that from you, try to control that part of you. He needed space sometimes too, even on the good days. But this wasn’t one of them, this was a bad day. A monumentally bad one. And it’s made even heartbreakingly worse by the confession he breathes into the back of your neck, his forehead pressed to back of your head as he inhales your scent. Don’t go. Love you. Need you safe while you’re sick.

You freeze, processing.

Love you. Love you. Love you.

It echoes in your mind, his voice caressing and soothing despite everything. It calms you enough to take a deep breath, to try and center yourself for the barest of moments.

And it sounds so good, his voice quietly voicing the warmth and affection that had developed, that had been carefully cultivated between you two over the years. But as good as they sound, they don’t bring you the comfort you know he hopes that they will. Because he’s already undermined the sentiment, he’s already crumbled the very foundation of what you two stand on. It breaks your heart a little to not return the words, even as you feel them harden and catch in the middle of your throat.

“You gotta know that, by now.” He fills the silence as your body tenses in his hold.

But the timing of it, the words he had spoken so devoutly just the previous day are like shrapnel stuck in your skin, burning and stinging. No amount of picking at them will take away the damage they’ve done, clear the burns and the irritation, the pain.

“Didn’t know you were the type of man who cast aside a pregnant woman who came to you for help. A woman who you’ve done nothing but try and watch out for until this point.” Your voice is a whisper, anger bubbling up, heartbreak spilling your chest open, body almost numb from the way everything was so poetically fucked.

“You’re right, I’ve done nothing but try and watch out for her. And guess what? She still got hurt, she still got assaulted, she’s still in this goddamn situation that has no good outcomes!” He’s pulling away, you turn to face him. The darkness that had fallen as night settled is not longer comforting against the onslaught of photophobia you had been experiencing all day. Now it feels suppressive, it feels like you’re in a cage that you can’t escape from. The words Joel had said and is now saying are like locks, connecting together in a twisted way to make you feel the weight of how they can’t possibly be coming from the same person.

“Is it really that bad of a situation?”

“Is it- for fuck’s sake, Cane.” He scrubs a wide palm over his face, the scruff of his neck bristling at the action and causing goosebumps to sprout all along your arms. “I think I get a decent read on you and then you go and ask somethin’ like that. Do you not see how this will affect us? Affect everything we try to do to survive?”

His voice has shifted from anger to something that rings warning bells in your head, it’s not desperation and its not beseeching. But there’s something in the deep timbre that alights your nerves and makes you feel as if everything between you will be determined in the next choice of words. Despite how you feel, despite the way things have been going, the groove you’ve found with him and Tess. Despite the smuggling getting harder but still holding a majority of the supplies and power, and how Joel returns to you every night. Despite it all, the phantom weight you feel low in your middle compels the words that leave your lips next.

“I’m not even sure if I know what love truly is but if it’s not what I feel for you then I have no clue. It’s never simple and perhaps it just speaks to how I’m meant to be alone.”

“What’s more simple than telling me how you feel?” His eyes are narrowed, though you see the way his irises are blown out. You wouldn’t go so far as to say he’s panicking, but he’s not…he’s hadn’t expected anything other than reciprocation. And it breaks your heart, the chasm in your chest deepening as you realize you can’t gift them to him as easily as you would’ve been able to just twenty-four hours prior.

“Because I heard you, Joel!” Your words leave you in a shout, an angry frustrated cry that bursts from your chest. Unable to quell the spike of emotions, this wasn’t just about Jean anymore. “I heard you talking about how that girl you’ve taken under your wing suddenly means nothing to you the second you can’t handle the situation. The things you said, the fucking vitriol in your voice when you talked about an innocent, a baby.”

“That’s what changed your mind? Affected everything I’ve done in the past four years, we’ve done in the past four years.”

“Yes! Because you- it- because it was so hateful. Like, I get it, Joel, really. You’re a big scary man, you’ve got the brooding scowl down and the razor sharp glare, but she needs our help with this. I don’t like it anymore than you do, but I’m not about to tell her what to do with her own body. You cannot be so daft to not think that that’s not going to alter the way I think about you at least a little.”

He doesn’t seem to know how to respond, his full lips pull down into a deep frown and his brow furrows, but he doesn’t say anything else. His eyes hard, sharp on you as he watches the way you shrug your jacket on and stand in front of the door. With a hand on the knob, you look back over your shoulder with a set expression, not willing for him to see any glimpse of what’s going on in your head.

“I’m going to take Jean to Lincoln. It’ll be safer for her there, better place to raise her mistake.”

The instinct to run, to protect, to build for not one but two mistakes settles deep in your bones as you realize the notion was a solitary one. Joel’s own instincts clashing with yours. Preservation and protection flare up and make you defensive, make you willing to walk away from the life you created with someone you love, to deny them the last true thing that makes life worth living- of loving and being loved in return, they allow you push through the heartache of leaving it all behind.

“I’ll be staying there to help her through everything.”

You don’t hear the whispered plea to not leave that falls from his lips, eclipsed by the sound of the slamming door. Or you do, and it push it from your memory for all the pain it brings to recall it.  

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[sapphicfandompirate]

Did any of the Strawhat's even go to school?

Chapter 1134 has sparked discussions on the state of the Strawhat's education, so I figured I would do a little analysis on my thoughts on it based on canon.

Luffy- Feral jungle child. Makino probably taught him to read and write, and attempted to teach him manners. Jury is out on whether or not Garp actually taught him anything. Doesn't seem to know much history. Does know beetles, and probably a lot of survival skills, including hunting.

Zoro- Ok this is the real reason why I made this post.

A dōjō (道場, Japanese pronunciation: [doꜜː(d)ʑoː]) is a hall or place for immersive learning, experiential learning, or meditation. This is traditionally in the field of martial arts. The term literally means "place of the Way" in Japanese. -Wikipedia

Isshin Dojo (一心道場, Isshin Dōjō?) is a kenjutsu school, a school of Japanese swordsmanship. Its owner is Koushirou, who is a skilled swordsman and father of the deceased Kuina. It is the place where Zoro trained his Three Sword Style and in the anime is the only dojo Zoro did not take down the sign of. -One Piece Wiki, Emphasis added by me

As a member of the Isshin Dojo Zoro has attended school! Koshiro taught him primarily swordsmanship and meditation, but someone taught him reading, writing, and math and I'm just going to guess it's Koshiro as well. Seems to know a bit of sword-related history, but not much world or local history.

Nami-Stole education books. Not formally educated. Everything was probably taught by Bellemere and the rest was learned on the fly. Probably knows the basics of mainstream world history. Is capable of formulating advanced equations, and has vast sailing, navigation, cartography and weather knowledge. Studied at Weatheria during the timeskip, but it doesn't seem like a formal institution.

Usopp - Orphaned street rat. Unknown who taught him to read, write, and do math. Possibly Banchina before she passed away. Somehow he knows chemistry and engineering? Might have borrowed books from Kaya? Mostly self-taught it seems.

Sanji- Definitely has a formal education, up until he ran away. Noble child who had a variety of tutors. Learned whatever noble children learn plus a variety of fighting techniques and fields of science. Then was taught cooking by Zeff. Boy definitely knows how to do math. Anyone who cooks for a large group of people can at least multiply on the fly, or has a calculator taped to the wall. One Piece appears to use the metric system, so at least he doesn't have to figure out how to quadruple a recipe that originally called for 1 2/3 cups of flour.

Chopper - Professionally taught by Dr. Kureha (and Dr. Hililuk). They are both referred to as Doctors, but it is unknown what sort of medical knowledge is actually needed for that title, or if there is like a degree or anything. Assumably one of them taught him reading, writing, math, and chemistry in addition to medical stuff. Also read all of the books in the Torino Kingdom during the timeskip. According to the wiki, Kureha established an academy during the timeskip.

After establishing a medical academy, she taught and trained at least eighty students who became skilled enough to join the Isshi-20, expanding their members to a hundred under her leadership.

Robin- Got a degree in archaeology at the age of 8. Has all of the reading, writing, and history skills, including dead languages. While she taught herself how to read the poneglyphs, I think it's safe to say that Professor Clover taught her regular history, math, science, reading, and writing. Robin went to school!

Franky - Apprenticeship under the shipwright Tom. His state of education was unknown before meeting Tom at age 10. Should know all of the basic skills (reading, writing, math) in addition to carpentry, and shipbuilding. Tom's Workers is referred to as a shipbuilding company, so I don't think it counts as a school? Knows at least enough medical knowledge to turn himself into a cyborg with scraps from a ghost ship after being runover by a train. And Survive. Somehow.

Brook- APPARENTLY??? Stated that school makes him nostalgic, which implies he attended. Also knows a variety of things usually nobility would, namely various musical instruments and fencing. He also knows sailing, and various other things to be a battle convoy leader and pirate captain. I have questions for this man.

Jinbe - Dojo again, this time the Fish-Man Karate Dojo. Later joined the Neptune Army. So, since a dojo counts as a type of specialized school, he's attended a school as well as had military training! Knows basic historical stuff, especially that pertaining to fishmen and human-fishman relations. Seems to know other basic life skills (reading, writing, math, ect)

So, in conclusion:

Went to school: Zoro, Robin, Brook, Jinbe

Private Tutors: Sanji

Vocational Training under a Professional: Sanji, Chopper. Franky, Nami,

Self Taught with some instruction by a parent or other adult (non-professional): Luffy, Nami, Usopp

Out of the ten members, 4 of them attended a school of some sort and several others had some sort of professional training or supervision of study.

Feel free to add on if I missed anything!