#they were having bathroom policies discussion

[swallowtail-ageha]

The teacher subreddit is insane i've never seen such congregation of people who hate children who interact with children daily

[eleilinnrallin]

Me: Hey I'm trans.

People: Read The Bible

Me: only finding affirming things in bible study ... Yeah I'm doing that. I'm trans.

People: >:[

[renthony]

In which I'm angry about intersexism from trans people. Again.

"AFABs don't experience [thing experienced by intersex people of all assigned genders]!" is getting really fucking old. People re-inventing the sex and gender binary through their weird fucking fixation on "are you AMAB or AFAB? Are you TMA or TME?" is exhausting.

I'm tired of existing in trans spaces as a trans person, only to realize how actively hostile those spaces are to intersex people. I don't bother to go to the local trans support group, because my experiences there when I first tried to attend were fucking rancid. Trans people of all assigned sexes and all genders act like I don't belong there, and I hit my limit on that shit real fast. It's exhausting, it's alienating, and it's fucking miserable!

Trans people, you have got to fucking stop acting like intersex people don't exist. You have got to fucking stop acting like you own the concept of sex and gender based violence. You have got to fucking stop acting like transfem and transmasc are a set, incorruptible binary. You have got to fucking stop acting like your fucking bullshit in-fighting isn't affecting people who aren't you.

I'm tired of intersex people discussing our own experiences only to get shit all over by perisex trans people who want to put everyone in a binary.

I'm tired of watching intersex people get treated like shit by terfs and transphobes, only for perisex trans people to accuse us of "appropriating trans struggle" when we talk about it.

I'm tired of talking about my experiences as an intersex trans person only to get constantly hit with endless variations on "shut up, theyfab" or "um, you're TME."

I'm tired of talking to my transfem friends and partners, us relating to each other on our similar experience, and then having random other trans people on the internet decide that, actually, I'm a raging transmisogynist who doesn't value trans women and is trying to "appropriate" their struggle. Never mind how many of my own experiences I've been able to articulate thanks to the support of trans women in my life.

Perisex trans people, do better. Y'all fucking suck! Y'all fucking treat intersex people like total shit! Fuck you for using us as rhetorical devices against transphobes and then ignoring our actual needs and struggles!

I go outside and people call me a tranny with a freak ugly beard. I get targeted by all the same bathroom bills and public policy trying to force trans people out of the public. I get people asking me if I have a dick. I get people aggressively calling me "sir" in public. I started getting called a "he-she" when I was a child. When I started developing breasts, a family member told me they weren't "real titties, just extra fat." I have had total strangers tell me I "look like a fat man" when I got upset at being misgendered. I get "helpful advice" from strangers about how to shave "properly," even though I didn't fucking ask, nor do I intend to shave my beard. I've had people tell me I have "tranny feet" and tell me to "try the drag queen shoe store" when I talk about how hard it is to find women's shoes that fit me. I have been the subject of nasty rumors about what's between my legs and why I "try to look like a woman." I'm not a woman, mind you, but I still get treated as a "wrong woman" by society.

But when I talk about all these things? When I seek support? Trans people of all genders call me a TME theyfab who is appropriating transfem struggles.

I still don't understand how I'm the one "appropriating" when it's the outside world calling me a tranny he-she freak.

But whatever. I guess I just have to accept that intersex people are subhuman to perisex people, even the trans ones. 🤷‍♂️

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Typical Day for a Mall Cop

My name's Bill, and I've been a guard at the mall for almost a decade now. It wasn't my dream job, but life has a way of creeping up on you with kids and a mortgage. I needed something to pay the bills, and I've always had a knack for watching over people.

Like any other weekend, the mall is fairly busy, so I stay on my feet and patrol the halls for most of the day. Occasionally, I'll check in with the other mall cop, but my time is mostly filled with watching shoppers come and go. If anybody gets too rowdy, a stern look is enough to keep them in line.

A lot of the time, teenagers will loiter in stores. Some of them even try and bring their skateboards in, but it isn't too hard to make them adhere to the mall's strict policies. They might be young and clueless, but that doesn't mean I'll cut them any breaks.

Over by the fountain, I see one of the boys I admonished a week ago. I think I caught him shoplifting or something. Thieves normally get banned from the mall, but I didn't do that with this one. He said something that completely caught me off guard; he said he could hypnotize me.

I laughed in his face.

Amused inwardly by the boy's foolish claim, I walk over to check in with him. I'm sure he'll remember the security guard that almost kicked him out of the mall last weekend.

The kid is chatting with his friends, but they fall quiet when they notice me looming behind them. Like we'd discussed last week, I drop to my knees and kneel in front of the troublemaker. He explained that this is the best thing for me to do when I see him around, and I can't help but agree. I know the boy deserves my respect.

I plant a kiss on both of his sneakers, and then wait for him to speak first. It takes a minute because he and his friends are busy cracking up over some unspoken joke. Whatever it is, clearly went right over my head.

"How you doin', mall pig?" the boy laughs.

I smirk at the nickname he's given me. We've gotten in the habit of calling each other by these pseudonyms, and I don't mind it.

"Very good, sir," I answer, using the name I've come to associate him with, "How are you?"

"Fine, I guess," he shrugs, "I spent your cash on kicks for my crew."

That reminds me of last week again. The boy had made it seem like a good idea to give him all the money I had, which included the paycheck I'd earned for last pay period. On the ground, I had a close view of all the vibrant sneakers the teenagers were wearing. It was nice to know he'd put my gift to good use, even if my wife had been pissed that I'd come home without my month's salary.

"You have another check for me, fat ass?"

His friends laugh at his new nickname for me, but I shake my head and answer a solemn, "No, sir."

The teenager groans and leads his gang of friends away, already bored with me. It seems like he's just going to leave me there, kneeling in the middle of the mall, until he turns and beckons me to follow. Inwardly, I'm glad that he's not done with me yet. I've come to enjoy our interactions a lot.

I follow the boys, crawling behind them all the way into a bathroom.

"If you ain't got any cash to keep me and my crew entertained, then you're gonna have to do something to make us laugh," he explains.

"Of course, sir!" I smile, trying to express how willing I am to impress him and his friends.

"We'd find it hilarious if you dunked your head in each toilet," he adds blandly.

I light up. He's just explained how I can be of service and now all I have to do is follow through. I'm sure it'd be hilarious for them to watch a fully grown security guard giving himself a few swirlies. That's peak comedy!

"Watch this, sir!" I laugh, crawling over to the first toilet and shoving my face into the water without any hesitation.

I know the guy that's supposed to clean these bathrooms, and it's obvious he slacks off because there are skid marks all over. I try not to think about it as my cheeks and forehead brush against the bottom of the bowl. When I pull my face out of the flushing toilet, my ears pop and hear a roar of laughter behind me. The kids find it hilarious, which only fuels my desire to keep going.

With a gaping grin, I shuffle over to the next stall and repeat. There are six toilets in the men's restroom. Some are cleaner than others. The last one is a clogged mess, and the boys find it hilarious when I come up with toilet paper plastered to my face. I laugh through it all, even if the urge to puke is growing.

By the time I'm done, I'm soaked in toilet water, and the teenagers are in tears.

"Alright, toilet guy. That was disgusting," the leader of the pack chuckles, grimacing in my direction, "You have a car or something?"

"Yes, sir. I've got a minivan in the parking lot."

"A minivan?" he seems disappointed, "Hand over the keys anyway. We wanna drive around."

"You got it, sir," I say, fishing the fob out of my damp pockets.

He swipes the keys out of my hand eagerly and turns to leave the bathroom. I start to follow the boys out, but he stops me.

"Why don't you stay in here 'till you dry off," he snorts, "You can spend that time in the corner, thinking about what you can do for me next time I'm at the mall."

"Yes, sir," answer, and the boys leave.

Briefly, the thought of getting back to work crosses my mind. I really should be out there keeping an eye on the vendors and their merchandise, but that goes away. Like suggested, I stare at the dirty tile wall and begin to brainstorm what I can do for the boy the next time I see him.

My walkie goes off now and then with the voice of my coworker wondering where I am, but I ignore it.

After an hour or so, I've dripped mostly dry, but a strong stink still lingers around my head. Still, I've come up with a few different things I could have ready next week. It'll take some overtime to make extra cash for the boy. My wife won't be happy about that, but it'll give me a chance to actually have cash ready for him when he asks for it.

The only other thing I have to offer is the perks of my job. Maybe his friends and him would like a tour of the security office? I'd give them free reign of everything in the confiscated bin.

Speaking of my job, I should probably get back. My partner is probably angry at me for not answering the radio. He'll be happy when I tell him I'll take the late shift for the next few days. Hopefully he won't say anything about the smell. God, it's awful!

Just another day working as a mall cop!

[wombatwisdom]

Great and Spacious

I

When I came out at work, I simply changed my pronouns in my email signature and on zoom. Immediately a co-worker reached out and asked if I changed my pronouns, and I said yes and she was excited for me.

Within two days others noticed too and the reaction was professional and compassionate--I felt seen, supported, and safe. My people manager and I met and we discussed the systems in place and the resources available, she didn't really understand what being trans or non-binary really was, but she knew what policies of inclusion had been put in place by corporate and in our local office to support me. She was open with me and always supportive--even after she left for other opportunities, we still stay in contact.

It was not perfect. Bathrooms were tricky, due to the lack of single occupancy options. Some if my co-workers still mis-gendered me. But I've had people apologize when they get it wrong and do better. And knowing I have the support of so many that I work with helps me navigate the small group of less agreeable co-workers (and to be clear, I've never had anyone aggressively disrespect me).

But the real proof in the pudding is how non-performative the support is. I am not the "token office trans", I am part of the team, fully integrated. My opinions and questions are considered and appreciated. People have told me they enjoy collaborating with me. In many ways, despite transitioning in plain sight, I have never felt that it was a source of burden or concern in my workplace.

II

When I came out at church, I wrote a letter. It was detailed and gruesome. It highlighted my disphoria, my anguish, my pain. I had seen the stories of other trans people crushed by the wheel of leadership roulette and knew I had to be clear and deliberate in my language. The letter was hard to write and hard to read, so I am told. I needed to focus the reader on my pain in attempt to appeal to their sympathy.

I sent the letter to my Bishop; I was Ward Clerk at the time. He was kind. He genuinely took my letter and read and thought and prayed. He prayed for two weeks, and I prepared for the worst. Obviously, the temple recommend would be gone, with it the calling. Hopefully, there wouldn't be too much blowback on my family.

Finally we met, and we spoke for hours. His position was that he didn't feel like this should matter--in his mind being non-binary was fine and I was still worthy of a temple recommend. He said he had read the handbook so many times (which at the time was pretty sparse on how to work with non-binary people, arguably it still is) and felt like he wasn't sure what to do. Due to his upbringing as a non-member he felt like he has known many queer people who were good and deserving of love and he wished the Church were different. He is one of the good ones, but even still, I was at his discretion and thankfully he was benevolent.

My Stake President needed a month with my letter. He has never known a trans person before me and admitted to being at a loss. He, too, prayed and read the handbook and also felt the same confusion my Bishop had expressed. We had only one meeting, where he said that my femme presentation was not in alignment with holding the priesthood and would not sign off on my recommend. He was kind, but firm and I was frank in return. I asked him to draw the boundaries and lines--could I speak in classes? Could I pray, if asked? What callings could I hold? Could I give talks? Bare my testimony? Wear garments? Take the sacrament?

I could tell he was uncomfortable with my questions, but I needed to know so that I could be safe. I let him decide, and he was generous, I could do all those things, just not hold a temple recommend and my calling.

My Bishop was upset at the news. We would meet more times and he would express his frustration at the outcome. I was released from my calling, which felt like a public shaming, and I wasn't ever asked to pray, or speak, or teach. My new calling was to prepare the weekly bulletin--and I did, and I made sure that all my quotes were from female leaders (a fact that no one ever noticed).

I was thanked profusely for showing up and staying. People were kind but uncertain and it showed. Some were kind in ways that felt unnatural and disingenuous. My Bishop often told me of the complaints he got for not being harsher with me. A couple told him they would no longer attend while I was permitted to come and take the Sacrament. Another man told him the I suck the spirit out of the room just by being there.

There were some who were angry for me and how things had unfolded. There were a mix of people with a mix of reactions. They had no guidance or support in how to integrate me into their community. I was at their mercy. I didn't feel empowered to participate, I felt like a problem needing to be dealt with.

III

I share these two experiences to highlight a disparity. My workplace experience has been smooth and a delight. Policies were in place to give direction and support to those who needed it and I was still treated as a respected member of my team. When I asked my team leaders if they wanted me to not interface with clients, they said if that ever was a problem to talk to them and they would handle it.

My experience at church was the opposite. It was grueling, exhausting, and soul crushing. I watched people struggle to know what to do with me. It was messy and frustrating.

In one of our many conversations, my Bishop mentioned that he has clients that he works with that use they/them pronouns and he tries to be inclusive. It made me realise that many of the people at church likely come from workplaces similar to mine that have policies, guidance and systems in place for trans clients and co-workers, so they know how to behave in the work place. But at church, it was everyone for themselves, and it was disappointing.

At church, a lot is said about the world, the great and spacious building, Babylon. We are told to fear it and to believe that the world is mocking us and trying to do harm. But I have seen a world that behaves with compassion, empathy, and love--one that I didn't have to fight for acceptance or give my agency and pain away to a man across the desk from me.

The great and spacious building has come up with a lot of the philosophies our Church has rejected and now is trying to catch up to. But it pains me when people say that the members and leaders don't know any better--because they need only look up and outward to find places of inclusion to model themselves after. My workplace did it, likely without God's inspiration, so why, with God does it take us so long?

There are places of refuge out here in the world--community is what you cultivate. Our leaders and members are not innocent lambs ignorant of what is around them--but there is a cultivated ignorance that permits them to wallow in the mire of their biases. I was there once too. It is comforting to never have to open your eyes or confront your ignorance--but the world can help us do it.

Perhaps the great and spacious building isn't the pejorative we make it out to be. Perhaps it is truly great and decidedly spacious enough to incorporate all of God's children. Perhaps not. I only have my experience--but I have seen both the world and the church in action, and I can say with confidence, which more readily offered me fruit to sustain life.

[octuscle]

Sustainable changes

Nicolas had just been promoted to Senior Product Manager. But the condition was that he had to take a foreign assignment for two years. He had reckoned with Germany, the USA or maybe Japan. India would also have been okay. But he was supposed to go to Turkmenistan. His employer had just bought a large agricultural cooperative there, which was now to be converted in the direction of ecological and sustainable agriculture. On the one hand, this sounded like a completely unknown field of work. Nicolas had previously worked more in the consumer goods sector. On the other hand, anything that bore the label "sustainable" was naturally a career driver at the moment. So he took a cautiously optimistic approach.

Once Nicolas arrived at his new workplace, the optimism quickly evaporated. He had arrived somewhere in the middle of nowhere. There was no office building, there were only barracks. Mostly not air-conditioned. He had expected to be put up in some hotel. But he had been given a room with a farmer. Toilet in the yard. Bathroom was an outdoor shower served from the cistern. He felt infinitely silly in his outfit.

In the first service meeting, a colleague asked him if they could tweak Nicolas's resume a bit for the presentation to the workers. It might be good for his credibility if they could give him some local roots. Nicolas was tired. The trip had been exhausting. He remembered his parents' Russian gardener. A picture of a man. Former combat swimmer. And of the Turkish cook. So he answered, one may mix in there with pleasure something Russian and Turkish. The main thing was that he was allowed to retire now.

The night had been hell. It smelled like a pigsty in his room. And he could hear the pigs too, as if they were sleeping in bed with him. There was no hot water to shave with. And company policy forbids the use of shower gels containing microplastics without functioning wastewater treatment for environmental reasons. So all he can use is a bar of curd soap. When introduced to the staff, he looks appropriately a bit bedraggled. One of his colleagues asks Nicolas to say something in Russian. He has to think a bit. His grandmother sometimes spoke to him in Russian. But it's enough for a "I'm happy to be here and look forward to working with you. The employees cheer for their new boss.

Before Nicolas takes a shower the next morning, he drives the pigs out of the barn. If he's going to share the roof with them, he might as well make himself useful. His hosts invite him to breakfast. The conversation in Russian is still a bit bumpy. Nikolai hasn't spoken his father's language for years. And his host family, of course, actually speaks Turkmen. But with hands and feet it works. And so it goes on in the office. The team meeting was supposed to take place in English. But the interpreter dropped out. With every hour it gets better. The memory of his father's language comes back.

At breakfast, Nikolai realizes that he understands Turkmen better than he thought. It definitely works out that his hosts ask him in their native language. But he prefers to answer in Russian. Nikolai speaks it again as fluently as he did when he lived with his father in the Sevastopol army barracks. At work, they discuss the tasks for the next few days. Nikolai considers the projects for preventing soil erosion and unused surface water runoff to be urgent. Everyone passionately discusses the possibilities of transforming agriculture to get by without artificial irrigation. But Nikolai realizes that it will be difficult to irrigate only naturally in the desert.

The next morning, Nikolai surprises your host family with a few words of Turkmen. With his fluency in Russian and Turkish as his mother's language, it's not that hard for him to learn the language. On the job, they speak almost only Turkmen anyway. Today, his job is to drive the fields and inspect and document the environmental damage. Nikolai doesn't even need to shower for that. It will be hot anyway. And air conditioning is only for wimps. The point is to save energy wherever possible. In the afternoon, he gets a call from headquarters. They are very pleased with his work on site. It is clear that the project would not make an economic contribution. But the advertising impact is enormous. Whether he is interested in accepting a junior director position at the headquarters in Paris.

Nikolai turns his camera, bares his left breast and says in broken French that his heart beats for his new home. He won't leave until the desert blooms again.

[cloakedsparrow]

DC Headcanon: Public Restrooms #1

After the first couple of times that Bruce and Clark hung out together with baby Jon and had to use a women's restroom because the men's didn't have a changing table, Bruce changed the WE policies so every Wayne owned building had to have a changing table (or two) in every restroom.

After Barbara Gordon was crippled by the Joker, Bruce updated the accessability requirements of every Wayne owned building. This included requirements for multiple handicap stalls in every restroom, multiple wheelchair accessable sinks, and enough space for two wheelchairs to easily pass each other while heading to and from the stalls.

When Clark and Jon were in the Cave one day so Bruce and Clark could discuss a JL issue, Bruce heard nine-year-old Jon lamenting to Tim that his mom had made him go into the women's bathroom when they'd been out together recently. He got to use his own stall, of course, but his mom said he wasn't allowed to go into the bathroom by himself in the city until he hit double digits. Tim had told the younger boy that he was lucky Metropolis was a safer city because his mom made him go into the ladies' room with her until he was twelve because Gotham was so unsafe. Bruce didn't say anything to the boys, but he changed the policy again so all Wayne buildings were required to have family restrooms as well.

After Tim had to take off one night because Cass had texted him to bring her tampons asap, Bruce once again updated the restroom policy so all Wayne building bathrooms had to include a pad, tampon, and bandage (because Gotham) dispencer.

Eventually, he sent out a company-wide email that employees could fill out stating any amenities they would like included in work and/or public restrooms. He made a few more policy updates in response. He just saw the changes as practical, but it has added to WE's reputation as the best employer in Gotham, if not the world.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Kind of a low-stakes question, but I'm interested to hear what people think the office etiquette is here!

AITA for not picking up Zoom cold calls at work?

I work in a large IT department at a big company with people who work in different physical locations. The primary methods of communication are corporate account email and corporate account Zoom dms if you need to ask someone a more urgent question or ask them if they have time for a question.

There is no policy saying you need to answer unscheduled Zoom calls (we also have scheduled Zoom meetings), so that's why I'm interested in this as an AITA question! We could be in a meeting/working on a project/doing something around the office.

Most of my coworkers send a DM asking "Can I call you?" if they have a complicated question that needs to be discussed over video or voice chat. That way, the other person can say that they're too busy but they can talk in an hour or respond in 2 minutes if they were in the bathroom, etc.

However, a handful of people initiate a full video call without asking! I think this is rude, but I wanted to know what other people think.

WIBTA if I don't accept those calls (even if I am at my phone or PC) and send the person a DM in a few minutes? One of these people initiated a Zoom call without asking at SIX AM (I don't even officially start until 7:30).

I guess I could be TA since I could have answered the video call but didn't since I think it's rude not to ask first.

What are these acronyms?

[cbk1000]

People smugly replying to 'Vote Harris!' posts with, "Can you give me a reason to vote for Harris aside from, 'She’s not Trump'?" are fascinating to me. Firstly, are your goddamn fingers broken? She has a website with all her stances on a variety of issues clearly spelled out, including specific legislation she has been involved with or intends to be involved with if elected. You can put in the bare minimum effort and read it yourself and then we can discuss policy if you want.

But secondly, and most importantly, this is like if you were given two options for dinner: one meal consists of food you don't like, and the other is an actual literal pile of horse shit with worms in it, and you're demanding that I give you a list of reasons why you should eat the food you don't like instead of being force fed the worm-infested horse shit or eating it yourself.

This isn't an election where you have to carefully weigh the pros and cons of both candidates and pick whoever is closest to your values. Mr. Whale Psychiatrist lost in 2020 and tried to illegally hold onto power, including whipping up his army of mouth-breathers to storm the Capitol to try and stop the certification of the election. Some of them brought a little jury-rigged gallows and chanted that they wanted to hang his VP. He stole classified information and had to have his home raided by the FBI because he refused to give it back. He is on tape showing someone not authorized to view classified information some of those stolen documents, and he admits in the tape that he shouldn't be showing it to them. His policy is mass deportation and a concept of a healthcare plan. When a reporter asked him at the beginning of the pandemic what he would say, as the leader of the nation, to Americans who were scared and uncertain, he instead ranted about how unfair and mean the media is to him. He said he would be dictator 'for a day' when Sean Hannity specifically tried to get him to say he WOULDN'T be a dictator and liberals are just being hysterical ninnies. He openly admires other authoritarians.

Even if I didn't like a single one of Harris' policies, I would vote for her, because she's not Trump. One or the other of them will be president. Anyone who isn't worse than a guy who tried to remain in office after losing an election, who sat on his hands while his followers chanted about hanging his VP, who stole classified information and stored it in his bathroom, who said the amount of 'widespread fraud' (that he made up) in the election 'allows for the termination of all rules, regulations, and articles, even those found in the Constitution' gets my vote.

'Can you tell me why you're voting for Harris aside from the fact that she's not Trump' is not a gotcha'. How about YOU tell ME why you asked such a fucking stupid question in the first place.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Chapter 9- Clandestine

Guys, I've discovered Lana Del Ray. So if this chapter is a bit emotional, blame her. Okay, CW: LOTS of dysphoria, as well as a lot of discussions about binding, safe binding, and depictions of unsafe binding. Blink-and-you-miss-it misgendering. Some quick medical stuff. Anxiety, depression. Hints at self-harm, but not really.

Second year was not much different from first, if Regulus was honest. Rooming with Barty and Evan. Walks with Sirius.

He didn’t feel older. Classes weren’t much harder. He enjoyed being back. He felt safe.

But he struggled in some ways. Namely, with his body, which still insisted on betraying him daily.

Being in a room with Barty and Evan was wonderful in many ways. It was a reminder that he was considered a boy, here. That people looked at him and saw a boy. That he fit in with the other boys.

Bit it also made him ache, in a way that was difficult to describe. He watched Barty and Evan continue to change in the open room as he shed his clothes in the safety of the bathroom. He stared in the mirror for far too long, changing into shirt after shirt, wondering if he could actually see a small curve on his chest, or if it was his brain playing tricks on him.

Sometimes he had to sit on his hands to resist the urge to claw at his very skin. It wasn't that he wanted to hurt himself. It was just that his body kept changing, kept getting worse, and he sometimes felt the primal urge to just–

Sirius and Pandora and Dorcas were so well-meaning. They listened to him rant and rage and scream. They helped him on days when he just felt wrong, like a square peg in a round hole. They comforted him.

He’d taken to hiding the rock Potter had given him for his birthday in his pocket. When he got anxious or particularly nauseous when looking in the mirror, it helped to worry it in his hands. Flip it over and over. Feel the smooth surface. It was calming, somehow. It allowed him to focus on something else, anything else, besides the way his body didn’t fit.

He slept in the bandages almost every night. He knew it was bad for him. He felt the way his chest bruised and his back ached and the rashes and scratches burned. But he found that he needed it. He felt so invalid, like he wasn’t truly a boy without them. If he thought too much about it, he found himself close to tears- why did he have to go through this just to achieve the same feeling most people naturally had?

But he pushed that resentment down, and just re-tightened the bandages daily, forcing himself not to think about it too much.

It could be worse, after all.

--

“Did you hear?” Evan asked, one October evening as the three of them lay lazily in bed avoiding homework.

“That you’re a prat? Yes,” Barty replied lazily, dodging the pillow that Evan threw.

Regulus snorted.

“No, that Potter is replacing DeSilva this year on Gryffindor,” Evan clarified, scoffing a bit.

It had been a huge topic of conversation amongst anyone who followed the Quidditch games- Gryffindor had always been alright, but their Chasers had been lacking. A good Chaser would make them a problem, especially to Slytheirn, whose Keeper was shit. People had wondered why DeSilva hadn’t been kicked off in previous years, but Gryffindors were too nice, and had the policy that once you got a position, you kept it, as long as you didn’t do something morally wrong.

Of course, Regulus had watched Potter play. So, he knew they were a bit screwed, now.

So, why was he excited at the news?

“Potter’s not bad,” he commented, trying to keep his voice even.

“We’re fucked. Between Flint and Goyle, there’s no way,” Barty grumbled.

“Flint’s gotten better at covering the right hoop,” Evan said reasonably. “Too bad Goyle’s captain, or they could kick him off. He’s such shit. But I heard his daddy bought the whole team new brooms, so we’re stuck with him until he graduates.”

Barty grunted in frustration. “Maybe he’d catch the snitch if we charm it to make whistling noises. Always thought he followed Crabbe around like a puppy.”

“Next year, he’ll graduate and Reg will be Seeker. Then, we’ll stand a chance,” Evan shrugged. “Until then, I’m betting on Ravenclaw. Pandora says their Seeker is decent.”

Regulus nodded vacantly, reaching into his pocket to turn the rock over and over.

Privately, he was betting on Gryffindor.

--

Pain.

All he felt was pain.

Crawling up and down his ribs, punching at his back, stabbing at his chest.

It was jarring. Scary. Terrifying.

It hurt to move, hurt to moan, hurt to breathe.

He’d never woken up to pain like this.

He needed help, and he knew it. But his entire being shied away from waking Barty and Evan. He didn’t want to bother them (both were not ones to be awoken before absolutely necessary) and he was terrified they’d ask to see or touch where it hurt.

But as he tried desperately to sit up only to fall back in a groan of agony, his gulps of air causing shooting aches, he knew there was nothing for it.

“Help,” he croaked, even the movement of his talking searing his entire torso.

He had to call twice more before Evan’s grumpy-but-concerned face stuck through the curtains. He immediately went pale. “Reg? What- what’s wrong?”

But he was starting to feel faint. He couldn’t escape the pain, and he was starting to feel almost claustrophobic with it. Like he could either breathe and hurt or hurt less and have no oxygen. There was no way out.

His head spun. He tried desperately to stay conscious. He couldn’t let them see. What if they saw?

The last thing he remembered before passing out was Evan yelling for Barty.

--

“You fucking idiot.”

He opened his eyes to sunshine and mumbles and his chest feeling far too exposed and empty, even with the blanket covering him. The bandages were gone. “That’s my line to you,” he sleepily shot back to his brother, blinking, trying to get Sirius’s face into focus.

“Not when you break your own ribs,” Sirius said roughly. Admittedly, Sirius looked like he was the one who should be in the hospital bed. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and the deep circles under his eyes made him look almost skeletal. His hands, which had wrapped themselves around Regulus’s forearm, all had fingernails that were bitten down raw. He looked distraught. “I gave you that fucking bandage to help you, Regulus. How tight–?”

“It’s not your fault, idiot,” He murmured, looking down. Perhaps he had been keeping the bandage a bit too tight.

“I didn’t know,” Sirius whispered, looking like he was trying to convince both of them of the fact. “I had no idea that- that this could happen.”

Regulus chuckled, ignoring the small twinge in his healed chest. “Same. I suppose Pomfrey is pissed?”

“I convinced her not to owl mother,” Sirius shrugged. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You…erm…might have to lay off the bandage for a while. Pomfrey said something about permanent damage to your back. If you….y’know…keep it up as much as you have.”

Remulus blinked, trying and failing to fight against the despair creeping into his brain as the tears formed. “So…so….” he mumbled, unsure about how to put his thoughts into words.

“Maybe…only a few hours a day? Or…a bit looser?” Sirius suggested hesitantly.

Regulus balked, feeling the anger and fear and disgust all bubble within him, his self-control wavering. “And then what, Sirius? How do I explain to Barty and Evan that I’ve suddenly got tits?”

He felt the nausea build within his stomach and he almost choked, picturing for just a moment having to walk around with an unbound chest. Picturing the looks. The reactions. The disgust.

“You…you don’t have…” Sirius argued weakly, looking as if he truly had no idea what to say.

“I do! I do, and there isn’t a thing I can do about it, because our parents will never let me take the potion. So I’m stuck like this until I turn seventeen!” Regulus said loudly, allowing some of his carefully-controlled anger to boil over. “And you tell me, how many people in Hogwarts would honestly be okay rooming with me, knowing that? Who thinks that’s normal?” Sirius sighed, looking helpless.

“You are normal, Reg. There’s nothing about you that’s–that’s bad or wrong.”

“Tell that to our parents,” Regulus spat, turning away from Sirius a bit. “Tell that to my body.”

Sirius inhaled a bit. “Just….just promise me you’ll keep it a bit looser, okay? I can’t…I can’t bear it if something were to happen to you.”

The genuinely terrified look on his face was what broke Regulus from his anger. He deflated, allowing the defensiveness to flow out of him. “Alright,” he murmured, allowing Sirius to pull him into a hug. “That hurts, you prat,” he whispered as Sirius squeezed him tightly.

But when Sirius made to let go, he felt sad, as if he wished his brother hadn’t let go.

--

Regulus stayed in the Hospital overnight that night. Something about 'making sure his blood vessels were okay', or whatever.

His friends visited, and he reassured them that he had been out the night before practicing Quidditch (true) and he must have hurt himself during a particularly crazy dive (false). Barty and Evan seemed to buy it, but Dorcas and Pandora gave him maddeningly disbelieving looks throughout their visit.

It was a different visitor, though, that made him much more nervous.

Remus Lupin entered the Hospital Wing late the second night, definitely after curfew, and certainly after Pomfrey had gone to bed. He made Regulus emit a small yelp of shock when he showed up, as he hadn’t been expecting the taller boy to show up at all, let alone at such an hour.

“It’s just me, sorry,” Remus muttered, as if he often visited Regulus at midnight in the Hospital Wing. “Sorry, it’s just arrived, or I would’ve been sooner,” he continued vaguely, waving a small package around.

Regulus eyed it curiously.

“I….I need to tell you something,” Remus continued, sitting gently on Regulus’s bed. Regulus pulled the covers over his chest more securely, a bit nervous about how close someone else was while he was so….exposed.

“Go on,” he nodded, wondering what was so important that Remus had to sneak into the Hospital in the dead of night. “Has Sirius done something stupid?”

Remus snorted. “No…Sirius wanted to tell you himself, but…” Remus trailed off, and Regulus momentarily worried Sirius had gone and gotten hurt or something, but then Remus met his eyes. “I was there. Last night when they brought you in.”

Regulus felt his heart sink. He’d been so nervous that Barty and Evan would have seen too much when he was brought in. He hadn’t even thought about another student being there already.

“I…I came in at around 4:30…with a migraine,” Remus murmured.

He really did get a lot of migraines, Regulus thought briefly.

“Sirius came with me. So…we were already there. When you came in.” Remus looked a bit awkward as he spoke. As if he wasn’t sure how much to reveal. “They made your friends wait outside. But Sirius refused. And I was…well, I couldn’t leave.” He looked apologetic, now. “They….they healed you. And then…Sirius got very upset, and…well, you should know he did everything possible to protect you. He argued with Pomfrey and Slughorn for a good ten minutes about contacting your parents. He won, in the end. Well, you know how stubborn he is.” Remus shrugged a bit awkwardly.

Regulus waited quietly for the other shoe to drop. He had a sinking feeling, from how Remus was speaking and acting, that there was more to it.

“You should know, Regulus…I’d already guessed. Before last night,” Remus finally sighed, meeting Regulus’s gaze.

His heart sank. He’d guessed? He’d known?

“How?” he whispered. If Sirius had told, he would…he didn’t know how…

“Sirius talked about you, in our first year,” Remus shrugged. “He mentioned…well, he mentioned a sister.”

Both Remus and Regulus winced at that.

“And then he came back from Christmas and he insisted that he’d only ever had a brother. I’m guessing that’s when you…?” Remus asked gently, raising his eyebrows a bit.

Regulus nodded.

“Yeah, so…I tried to ask, but he didn’t seem to be willing to talk about it and…dunno, it’s not my business, is it? So I figured I'd let it go,” Remus shrugged. As if it was the simplest assumption in the world. That it wasn’t his business, so he should just let it be.

Regulus was again overwhelmed by the feeling of thankfulness for Remus Lupin. He was so unassuming…so kind. He’d known (or guessed) for years and had said nothing. Because he’d guessed, rightfully, that Regulus would be uncomfortable with it.

“But it’s my business now, Regulus, because Sirius is going a bit spare,” Remus said a bit louder, looking stressed. “He said…I mean, feel free to tell me to fuck off, but…he said you’re using a bandage for your…?” he used his hand to gesture to his own chest.

Regulus nodded, looking down. “There’s a potion,” he found himself volunteering, strangely comfortable talking about it with Remus. “But I can’t take it. Mother and Father…they’d probably rather I was dead,” he chuckled humorlessly. “Barty and Evan don’t know and….I don’t…they can’t. So this is what I have.”

Remus studied him for a moment, then handed him a package. “You know there are people like you in the Muggle world too, right? My mum’s Muggle, so I was raised in both.”

He shrugged. He’d never really thought about it. “I guess…sure.”

“Well…what do you think they do? Surely they can’t take a potion,” Remus said patiently, like a Professor trying to talk a student through a difficult question.

“They cry?” Regulus volunteered, snorting at his own humor.

Remus smiled a bit. “Well, probably. But also, they have other options.”

“Like?” Regulus asked, feeling a strange bubble of hope in his chest.

“Well, some of them take medicine. It’s like potions for Muggles,” Remus shrugged. “Some of them just….cut things off.”

“What?” Regulus yelped loudly.

They both realized his mistake and whipped their heads around to Pomfrey’s door, but they heard no stirring.

“You’re fucking with me, surely,” he mumbled a bit quieter. How on Earth did Muggles actually survive without accidentally killing themselves?

“Nah,” Remus grinned. “I have a….cousin, I think? She told me about it.”

Regulus gaped for a minute before looking down at the package. “So, what’s in here? A knife? Gonna help me chop off my–”

Remus scoffed. “Sirius would kill me. Plus, Muggles have professionals that do that. No, she also told me about those,” he said, gesturing to the package. “I wrote her for one this morning. Said it was for a friend.” He shrugged.

Even more confused, Regulus ripped open the package to find–

“Is this a fucking bra?” he asked, barely controlling his embarrassment and anger. He almost threw the offending garment across the room in disgust.

“What? No!” Remus said, shaking his head vehemently.

It…looked like a strange mix of a tank top and a sports bra. But, it was missing some of the things Regulus remembered from seeing his mother’s bras. There were no cups, no small hooks, no lace or femininity. Instead, there was just a zipper on each side. And it was…less stretchy? The material had give, but it was a firmer stretch. Like it wasn’t meant to give much leeway.

“It’s a binder,” Remus shrugged. “Muggles use them. They kind of….” he gestured to his own chest again, “suck it all in.”

Regulus stared at the fabric for a few moments. “There are things that are meant for that?” he asked, though it was more out of wonder. Clearly, there were.

“Yeah, so…this is better than what you were using before because it’s meant for that purpose. And these zippers here,” Remus pointed at the two zippers on each side, “loosen it when you need a break. So you don’t end up back here.”

Regulus laughed, half-shocked and half-ecstatic. “Why did you do this for me?”

Remus gave him a weird look again. “Well….first, Sirius has been driving himself crazy. All he wants to do is to help you. To make sure you’re happy. And safe.”

Regulus felt a pang of guilt at that.

“But also….” Remus continued, looking emotional, himself, now. “I…secrets….secrets are hard. And I can…I can…well, I can imagine what it might feel like. To have a secret that you’re so…so scared about people finding out. But it’s…it’s a part of you, and you can’t change it.”

He looked so genuine. So empathetic. So understanding. Regulus swallowed thickly, trying not to let any tears fall.

Remus sighed, “It’s hard, erm, I imagine…when you have a secret like that. And if you can find something that helps…people who support you…I would think that would make it…so much easier. Right?”

There was emotion there. Raw and real, and Regulus had a feeling Remus had his own experiences with secrets. But he was so thankful to have Remus accept him and help him with his own that he decided not to push. For now.

--

Guys I can't with this chapter. Remus is just so amazing and we love him. Read the full WIP or leave comments or kudos here!

[coochiequeens]

A TIM sexually assaulted a girl and a teacher who told a grand jury the truth about another incident of sexual assault was fired. At least someone in the school was more concerned about the truth then perverts or maintaining a woke image.

LOUDOUN COUNTY, Va. — A jury of six women and one man on Friday found ex-Loudoun County Public Schools Superintendent Scott Ziegler guilty of using his position to retaliate against a teacher for cooperating with a grand jury investigating how the district handled sexual assault.

After a four-day trial plus a day of deliberations, the jury found that Ziegler wrongfully fired a teacher who had disclosed to Virginia investigators about mishandling of sexual assault in her classroom. Ziegler was convicted of using his official position to retaliate against someone for exercising their rights, and acquitted of punishing someone for testifying to a jury, both misdemeanors.

Ziegler could face up to 12 months in jail, a $2,500 fine, or both. Sentencing in the trial will occur on January 4, 2024, Judge Douglas Fleming Jr. said. Ziegler’s victim, former special education teacher Erin Brooks, clasped her hands in front of her mouth in emotion after the verdict was read.

Prosecutors appointed by Attorney General Jason Miyares, a Republican, said that after they began investigating the school district’s coverup of a bathroom rape, they spoke with Brooks, who disclosed an unrelated instance of mishandling of sexual assault by school administrators. Brooks was then fired by Ziegler for cooperating with the special grand jury.

Out of all of LCPS’ 15,000 teachers, Brooks was singled out for firing by Ziegler at a school board meeting in June 2022, prosecutors said. Ziegler told board members he fired Brooks for giving private information to a conservative activist, and for giving private information to the grand jury, school board member John Beatty testified.

Ziegler’s alleged claim that Brooks had given information to a conservative activist turned out to be false, and it would be illegal to punish her for telling the truth to a jury she’d been subpoenaed by, prosecutors argued.

At trial, school board member Brenda Sheridan, a Democrat who was chair during the gender-fluid rape coverup, was asked under oath about Ziegler’s closed-door statements that amounted to a confession. She did not deny Beatty’s version, but instead refused to answer, saying that because division attorney Robert Falconi was in the room during the discussion, she believed she could invoke attorney-client privilege.

Ziegler, who was wearing earrings and nail polish, did not testify at trial.

Falconi convinced the board to drop their questions about Brooks that June night by falsely saying she could simply appeal.

LCPS, often through its then-attorney Falconi, repeatedly attacked, tried to shut down, and obfuscated to the special grand jury, which Republican Gov. Glenn Youngkin promised to convene following the Daily Wire’s October 2021 expose of a “genderfluid” rape coverup.

The grand jury previously said it would have indicted Falconi for witness tampering because of his central role in the rape coverup, but were hamstrung by the fact that Virginia doesn’t have a witness tampering law.

Though Ziegler’s defense attorney Erin Harrigan said in opening arguments that she would show that Ziegler fired Brooks for invading the privacy of her student assailant, she failed to produce evidence that private information was shared or that a policy was violated. None of the witnesses could point to a policy that Brooks violated.

Prosecutors laid out a devastating timeline of retaliation against Brooks, who was trying to get administrators to do something about the fact that a student with intellectual disabilities was grabbing the genitals of her and her teaching assistant Laurie Vandermeulen dozens of times a day, while making crude motions with his tongue. Administrators offered the educators a piece of cardboard called “no-no hands,” and told them to hold it in front of their groins. They also offered to buy them dog groomer aprons to wear to “slow down penetration,” they said.

At a loss for what to do, Vandermeulen asked a frequent speaker at school board meetings, Ian Prior, to read a letter to the school board expressing that there were two teachers who were being sexually assaulted in class and needed help.

Vandermeulen also sent a record of the assaults she was facing to her personal gmail after fearing a coverup was afoot, which Ziegler’s attorney initially tried to portray as “smuggling” private information, but ultimately failed to show that Vandermeulen violated any policy.

On March 22, 2022, principal Diane Mackey gave Brooks a glowing evaluation. That night, Prior made the speech, which contained no identifying information about the student, the teachers, or even the name of the school. Prior didn’t know any details about the student and Vandermeulen asked him not to use any names. He only said that teachers had filed a Title IX complaint on a certain date that he hoped the school board would look into.

Mackey saw the school board speech and the student was moved out of Brooks’ classroom the next day, but Brooks became the target of ruthless animus from school administrators.

Soon after, Brooks asked Mackey for a day off to testify to the grand jury, and Mackey demanded to see the subpoena. Ziegler asked HR whether Brooks was a probationary employee, meaning she would be easy to fire. Mackey spoke to Ziegler about Brooks, then falsely testified to the grand jury that she had not, she acknowledged this week, chalking it up to a memory error. Mackey also spoke about Brooks to Falconi, the attorney who prosecutors said was Ziegler’s “right-hand man.”

In May, Mackey wrote a negative evaluation and letter to Ziegler recommending that she be fired. Ziegler used the letter the same day to have her fired, suggesting he was waiting on it.

Prosecutors said the year-end evaluation of Brooks showed that school officials had “fabricated” the allegations retroactively to justify Ziegler’s desire to fire her, given that she had a stellar record and had been named Special Ed Teacher of the Year the prior year.

The evaluation focused squarely on the student who was the subject of the trial, saying she had failed to manage his behavior and failed to implement “plans” like the cardboard. It, and Ziegler’s attorney, suggested that Brooks had caused the student to sexually assault her by making him frustrated by refusing to give him an iPad.

The year-end evaluation posed a major timeline problem for the defense: The student never set foot in Brooks’ classroom in between her glowing March evaluation and negative May one. Yet the May one was full of allegations involving her handling of the student that were absent from, or outright contradicted by, the earlier evaluation.

“She made it up after the fact. Isn’t it brazen how she did this?” prosecutor Brandon Wrobleski asked. “‘We can’t have more sexual assaults coming out. Anyone who brings sexual assaults to public attention is gone.’ That’s what happened here,” he said. “Look a how well the Family works together when a dissident speaks out. She goes from Teacher of the Year to fired,” he said.

Ziegler’s attorney Harrigan explained the discrepancy in closing arguments by saying that in between the two evaluations, Mackey had seen that the student supposedly did not assault his new teacher, leading to a conclusion that Brooks and Vendermeulen must have been to blame for their own assaults.

Prosecutor Theo Stamos said the defense had offered no “motive” why Brooks and Vandermeulen would voluntarily cause themselves to be sexually assaulted or deprive him of an iPad communication device–Brooks was actually such a proponent of the communication aid for disabled students that she led a training on it.

The defense’s evidence that she had caused the assaults by failing to implement administrators’ “plans” or not provided him an iPad was based on fleeting observations from a handful of administrators who had stopped in Brooks’ class for a few minutes, and whose testimony at trial suggested that the defense had overstated or misrepresented their observations.

Harrigan emphasized in closing arguments that the law about an employer punishing someone for jury testimony talks about punishing them for being absent. Ziegler was found not guilty of that charge, perhaps because jurors believed he was retaliating against Brooks for what she said to the grand jury, not for taking a day off work to do it.

A month after his January 4 sentencing, Ziegler will face a separate trial on a final misdemeanor charge that was at the core of The Daily Wire’s 2021 story: His false statement at a school board meeting that there had been no sexual assaults in LCPS restrooms–part of a screed denigrating parents who were concerned about a transgender policy being discussed–when in fact he knew that a skirt-wearing boy had anally raped a ninth grader in the girls bathroom just weeks prior.

Harrigan said she plans to file a “somewhat legally complex” “motion to set aside the jury’s verdict.”

[beardedmrbean]

The U.S. Justice Department on Thursday released a withering report into the hundreds of Texas law enforcement officers’ fumbled response to the 2022 Robb Elementary School shooting, finding “cascading failures of leadership, decision-making, tactics, policy and training.”

The long-anticipated 575-page report detailed the many failures of the May 24, 2022 response, but concluded the most significant was that officers should have immediately recognized that it was an active shooter situation and confronted the gunman, who was with victims in two adjoining classrooms.

It noted that since the 1999 Columbine High School shooting, American law enforcement officers have been trained to prioritize stopping the shooter while everything else, including officer safety, is secondary.

“These efforts must be undertaken regardless of the equipment and personnel available,” the report found.

Instead, officers wrongly treated the situation as a barricaded suspect, even as children and teachers pleaded for help with 911 operators. It took 77 minutes for officers to confront the shooter. Nineteen students and two teachers died that day and 17 others were injured in one of the country’s worst school shootings.

The federal review by the Office of Community Oriented Policing Services was announced just five days after the shooting. It was led by Orange County Sheriff John Mina, the incident commander during the 2016 Pulse Nightclub massacre in Orlando. In that incident, officers waited three hours to take down the shooter who had barricaded himself with victims in a bathroom.

A Justice Department and National Policing Institute review of that Florida law enforcement response was far less critical than the Uvalde report. It found that Florida officers mostly followed best practices, although it stated the law enforcement agencies in Orlando should update their training and policies.

In the Uvalde review, the federal team reviewed more than 14,100 pieces of data and documentation, including policies, training logs, body camera footage, audio recordings, interview transcripts and photographs.

The team visited Uvalde nine times, spending 54 days there, and conducted more than 260 interviews with people from more than 30 organizations and agencies, including law enforcement officers, school staff, medical personnel, survivors and victims’ families.

The Uvalde report’s release comes two months after ProPublica, the Texas Tribune and PBS’ Frontline published an investigation into the response after gaining access to a trove of investigative materials, including more than 150 interviews with officers and dozens of body cameras.

The material showed that the children at Robb Elementary followed active shooter protocols, while many of the officers did not. It detailed how officers treated the situation as a barricaded suspect rather than an active threat even as evidence mounted quickly that children and teachers were injured and with the shooter.

ProPublica and the Tribune have also revealed that some officers were afraid to confront the gunman because he had a deadly AR-15 rifle. With the Washington Post, the news organizations found that the medical response also was flawed and that two children and a teacher were still alive when they were rescued more than an hour later, but then died.

U.S. Attorney General Merrick Garland is expected to discuss the federal report at an 11 a.m. press conference.

[jaemmingjaem]

Locklyle Week, Day 4: Domesticity

Pairing: Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood

Rating: T

Words: 2.204

Summary: “You were tired. Don’t worry about it,” Lucy smiled, with a dishrag in her hands. A wave of guilt washed over him. “It was no trouble.”

It wasn’t as if she had been any less busy than any of them. It couldn’t have been ‘no trouble’. Her cheeks even still had a vestige of soap on them. He extended his hand to rub it off.

“Don’t be silly, of course it was. Thanks, Luce.”

She blinked at the contact, and, yeah. He took a step back and smiled. Time to call it a night.

Or: There is nothing more domestic than house work.

@locklyle-week

Some days, even though they lived in the same house, it was hard to meet. 

After the case of the Bone Glass, things had been stressful for all of them. Cases had been coming from left and right, and Lockwood and Co. were absolutely clueless about how to handle all of the extra influx of clients and popularity. Turning people down during their time of need, as small as that need may have been, was an unspoken, strictly forbidden company policy. 

George was always off doing some research. Lockwood and Lucy stocked their materials during the days, and, by night, they all scattered around London to work cases. Most of the time they worked either in pairs or by themselves. 

During those times, The Thinking Cloth had lost all of its charm, and had been turned into a perpetual assignment of house chores or little shopping lists, since they barely met anymore to discuss these trivial tasks. As of late, it had been looking something like this: 

Lucy: sweep house (focus - LIVING ROOM) 

George: clean common bathroom (LOOKING AT THE BATHTUB AND IMAGINING YOURSELF CLEANING IT DOES NOT COUNT AS A FINISHED HOUSE CHORE)

Lockwood: clean kitchen 

It was not the perfect list, but the basics were covered. 

The day Lockwood managed to get home at 2am, - for the first time after three weeks, - was also the day he decided there was no better time to clean the kitchen and the dirty, semi-coming alive with fungus pile of dishes that was starting to become a living thing in their house. There was only one problem. 

“Oh,” Lockwood did a once over, casting a glance at the shiny sink. “Where are the dishes?”

The kitchen around him wasn’t spotless, by any means, but all of their kitchen utensils, forks, crusty one week old pans and oily plates were messily piled up on the counter to dry. One Lucy Carlyle stood next to them, guilty as charged of the cleaning service. 

“You were tired. Don’t worry about it,” Lucy smiled, with a dishrag in her hands. A wave of guilt washed over him. “It was no trouble.”

It wasn’t as if she had been any less busy than any of them. It couldn’t have been ‘ no trouble’ . Her cheeks even still had a vestige of soap on them. He extended his hand to rub it off. 

“Don’t be silly, of course it was. Thanks, Luce.” 

She blinked at the contact, and, yeah. He took a step back and smiled. Time to call it a night. 

***

That same week, Lockwood was running late. There wasn't much time left until sundown, and he had to be in Sutton before that. He wouldn’t make it in time, no matter how much he tried, but there was a problem he had to solve before leaving: there were no suits for him to wear tomorrow. The cleanest one, - the one he was wearing, - was filthy with construction rubble. He had to go out in the morning, so there would be no time to do the laundry. Besides. There was no way he'd be spotted out of a suit. Or with a dirty one, for that matter. Today was the only concession to the rule he was willing to make. 

The stairs sank and clanked with the weight of his steps as he descended. The basement was void of any presence, but the washing machine was full of someone’s clothes. Lucy’s, he noticed, with all of the blue fabric inside. She had gone to Whitechapel with George half an hour ago, to try to stop an apparition in a family home. 

Lockwood glanced at his watch. Fingers tapping lightly over the counter, he looked at the inside of the washing machine. 

The cycle had finished, and the clothes seemed to be dry. Lucy wouldn’t mind him emptying the washing machine for her… right? It was… well, he needed to do it if he wanted to look presentable the next day. He’d explain it to her. It was gonna be okay. All fine. No worries. 

In a slow pace, he pulled the lid up. A quick glance at his watch showed he had twenty minutes to get to the client’s home. He gulped. He could do this. Lucy wouldn’t be mad that he messed up her things. If he folded her clothes for her she might be even glad… right? This wasn’t overstepping. 

Anyways, he was in a hurry. As fast as he could, he unloaded the clothes. For a moment, a black bra made him pause. He was clearly overstepping. She’d be mad. But it was too late now. There was no time for him to linger at home, and it was too late to simply throw all of her folded clothes back into where they came from and pretend nothing had happened. She’d notice if he did that. Girls were scary. Lucy was even scarier. 

Deciding to not pause in his actions, Lockwood folded the clothes in maximum speed, and then dumped all of his own dirty suits into the cycle. If he pushed the right buttons or put the right products was up for the Lockwood of tomorrow to find out. 

He hoped it would all work out. 

Lucy’s clean things were left on the counter, and he was off. 

When he got home, late at night, Lucy and George were already sitting at the kitchen table. Both of them looked tired. Steam rose in lazy circles over the mugs of tea. 

“Water’s still hot in the kettle,” George said. 

Lockwood wasted no time in preparing his own tea and sitting with them to discuss their nights. The work in Whitechapel hadn’t gone too well. The apparition was stronger than they thought, and Lucy had been caught up with the ghost’s final moments. A nasty story she didn’t want to speak about. But it had visibly shaken her. 

“I’m so tired,” she complained, squeezing in between her brows with her fingers. She never complained. She must have been exhausted. “And I still have to fold the clothes I left in the wash this morning. They’re gonna be all moldy and smell funny if I leave them for tomorrow.”

The room was suddenly hotter. Lockwood could feel the point of his ears turning red, and the color might have been quickly spreading to his face and chest. 

“Uh, don’t worry about it, Luce. I had to put my suits to wash this afternoon, so I took them out and folded them for you. They’re in the basement, over the counter.” 

“Oh,” Lucy perked up, opening her eyes. “Really? Thanks.” 

“No problem.” He grinned through his embarrassment. From the corner of his eye, he could see George snickering and trying to cover it by pretending to sip from the empty tea mug. 

Lucy looked down. 

Awkward. Oh, gosh. He felt so awkward. 

“Anyway,” he mentioned, casually looking at the freezer. “I’ll probably go and fold my own clothes now.” 

“Sure.”

“You could fold mine while you’re at it.” George smirked. 

He cursed and walked in the most casual way he could toward the basement, not running or stomping down like he wanted to. 

Lucy’s clothes were still in the neat pile he’d arranged before leaving. At least she wasn’t mad that he messed with her things, and seemed… grateful? He didn’t want to put the word to what she was feeling, but it had seemed like it. 

Upstairs, he took a shower and brushed his teeth, putting on his pajamas. Sleep did not always come easy to him, but wearing clothes that weren’t dirty by ghosts or by the task of trying to uncover their sources felt good. 

Contemplating if he should give sleep a try or if he should read something before resting for the night, he almost missed the knock on his door. It could be a trick of his ears. But no. After a few seconds, a second knock came. 

“Come in.”

A brown haired head peaked from the door. The book in his hands was cast aside, almost as a reflex. 

“It’s you,” he smiled, standing up from the chair. 

“Hey,” Lucy smiled back, staring into his eyes. The moment got dragged, and none of them talked.

This happened sometimes when they were together in a room. When they were alone, every sentence seemed to run away from him, just out of his mind, as soon as his eyes landed on her. It was hard to look away. Most of the time, he never even tried to, though. So the silence lingered. 

He cleaned his throat and got closer to the door, where she was standing still. He leaned into the shelves beside the door. “Do you want to sit down?”

She shook her head and took one single step into the room. Belatedly, he noticed the only pajamas she was wearing was a shirt, reaching her mid-thigh. A curse word went through his mind. His mouth was dry. The bare-legs stood out, pale from the lack of sun, smooth and soft looking, and they were Lucy’s , and they were just there , out in the open for him to stare. 

Of course, gentlemen didn’t stare. It was impolite. 

“Don’t worry. I just came here to thank you for folding my clothes today.”

Lockwood couldn’t breathe. And it was also a really hard task to not let his look wander. “It was nothing, Lucy. And I’m sorry if I overstepped.” 

“It’s okay, you didn’t. You were very kind.”

It was strange for Lucy to be this polite. She fidgeted. He let himself take her in, searching for the little details that would show him if there was anything wrong, while trying not to be a creep. 

“I’m always kind. It’s part of my default personality trait.” 

She laughed. She seemed small in the big space of his bedroom. If she were to sit on his bed, maybe she’d look like she’d fit just right. 

“True.” She looked at her own feet, and grabbed the hem of the t-shirt. Wait. He knew that t-shirt. “Anyway. I’m off to bed now. Thanks again.” 

Without thought, he stepped toward her. “Luce?”

“Hm?”

He grabbed the end of her sleeves, next to her biceps. “Is that my t-shirt?” 

“No,” she quickly looked down to check. His hand slid up to rest on her shoulder. As the fact she was wearing his t-shirt dawned on her, her face turned scarlet. “I mean, yes . I just… well, you see. You know how it’s been crazy these past few weeks, right? So, anyway. I couldn’t wash any of my clothes for the past month, and, so, I washed just a part of them today. There were so many. Hm, they didn’t all fit in one wash. So, you know. I prioritized some. Work clothes, and all that.”

“Luce?” 

“I had no clothes to wear to bed, and this shirt got mixed with my things, so I wore it. Sorry I didn’t ask. I’ll give it back to you in the morning.”

“Don’t,” he said with finality. “You look nice.” 

Slowly, without even knowing why, his thumb slid over the line of her tender frame. He felt drunk with something he didn’t know how to name. His fingertip landed over her collarbone, on top of the white shirt's collar. All breath seemed to have stopped coming out of her. “You don’t have to ask for these things. Just grab a shirt if you want one. We’re family, right? What’s mine is yours.” 

The thumb of his hand caressed her neck. She looked at him, small and strong at the same time. The way she stared at him, like there was nothing else in the world to see, always made his heart forget how to beat. 

Unbidden, almost as if it had a mind of its own, his palm made its way behind her ears, cradling her face. She put her own hand over his. Not for the first time, Lockwood’s thoughts and eyes strayed to her lips. They were pink, and looked soft. just for a second, before he looked into her eyes again. No eyes should have the right to be as big as Lucy’s. It was making him act in an irrational manner. It was so hard to let the air come in and out of his lungs at a normal pace.

“I think you say that for marriage.” Her hand squeezed his. 

He freezed. The silence turned awkward. The realization of how he was touching her came in full force. 

He gave a heartless laugh. The ends of his fingertips still grazed her neck on their way down, as he pulled his arms to stand next to himself again.

“Right. Might have been confused for a second there.” 

Lucy crossed her arms in front of her body. The pose rode the shirt up, showing him more of her bare thighs. It only made him more conscious of how much he wanted her. “Anyway. Thanks again. I should go to sleep. It’s getting late.”

“Sure. Good night, Lucy.”

“Night, Lockwood.” She smiled, and slipped out of the room. 

If only she could as easily slip out of his mind, he’d be able to rest better. 

[mariacallous]

By Wednesday night, a sweeping anti-trans bill appeared dead in Kentucky as lawmakers debated whether it went too far. So it surprised Democrats, transgender activists, and their allies when Republicans managed to hold a committee vote, then rush the bill through approvals in both the state House and Senate the following day.

Democratic Gov. Andy Beshear isn’t expected to sign the bill, which passed mostly along party lines, into law, but the GOP has enough of a majority to override his veto.

People in the gallery were furious when the measure passed and yelled, “You’re all fucking pieces of shit!” at lawmakers on the floor, according to Courier Journal reporter Joe Sonka.

Democratic state Sen. Karen Berg, whose transgender son died by suicide in December, cried after the vote, Sonka reported. Berg had delivered powerful testimony as the bill was being debated.

“[This bill] is viewed as the single worst anti-LGBTQ legislation that has come out of a statehouse in this country,” she said during a floor debate.

“This is absolutely willful hate for a small group of people that are the weakest and most vulnerable,” she added.

The bill that passed this week expanded upon one that Republicans in Kentucky first introduced in February, which would have allowed students to misgender transgender students despite the detrimental impact it would have on trans youth.

The new version of the bill still allows trans students to be misgendered. But it goes much further: It also bans gender-affirming care, like puberty blockers or hormone therapy, for trans kids and requires doctors to begin detransitioning any of their trans patients who are children. It mandates that schools create policies that will not allow trans students to use the bathroom that matches their gender identity. It does not allow educators to discuss sexual orientation or gender identity in any grade and forbids discussion of human sexuality until sixth grade. After that, parental consent is required.

The Kentucky GOP’s last-minute push to advance the bill is following a disturbing nationwide trend. Hundreds of anti-LGBTQ bills have been introduced just this year in states dominated by Republicans as part of the broader culture war on trans Americans and the push for “parental rights” — a catchall term that centers the wishes of conservative white parents when shaping policies in public schools.

Gender-affirming care for minors is appropriate and not dangerous, according to the American Medical Association. And genuine mental health risks come with widespread discrimination and health care bans: Transgender youth are at higher risk for depression and suicide.

Instead of serving the most vulnerable among us, Berg said her fellow lawmakers ignored the science behind gender-affirming care for trans children and only rushed this bill for one reason.

“My child came up here 10 years ago,” she said on Thursday, referring to her son’s 2015 testimony against a bathroom bill in the Kentucky statehouse. “You had time to understand the science… this is absolute, willful, intentional hate.”

[pjunicornart]

Long Rant Incoming

So I woke up pretty happy today, right? Well, a couple hours ago I just got the worst news imaginable. My new job (Kaiser) let me go after only a couple of weeks because the job "wouldn't be a good fit for me."

I take issues with this. But, because I was raised right, I will explain why with tact.

One - At no point did they try to meet me in the middle. So, I recognize that my condition still goes un-diagnosed, but I still feel like this point is worth bringing up. I have no idea what my condition is, I just know that noise overwhelms me, I get upset over seemingly minuscule things, and I go non-verbal sometimes. At no point did they ask me about it or present me with an opportunity to tell them about it. Granted, I should've mentioned to them that I may need to be accommodated for, that's on me. But they should've at least brought this up in the orientation/training stage, right? Nope... they just threw me into the process without further discussions. Forgetting about me for a second - I worry about someone who ACTUALLY has a diagnosed mental condition that affects their working abilities. Would Kaiser do the same thing to them? Or is it a case of, "this employee didn't specify it in their application but this one did so we're gonna make sure we cater to them"? I don't know which option is worse.

Two - They were not clear on what training would be like. I mentioned earlier that Kaiser just threw me into training without explanation. They never ONCE said something like, "Okay, for this week we train you on this subject, and for this week we train you on this one." Nothing like that. They didn't even properly tell me which things I needed to be conscious of. For example, when cleaning up a patient room after a patient has been discharged, there are a couple things you need to remember in terms of what gets disposed of and what doesn't. Certain bed tarps are disposable, but some aren't. You'd think this information would be the first thing they teach trainees before they throw you into the mix... but, no. They left it up to the employee training me to teach me that stuff. Which they only told me when it was brought up in a room... if it got brought up at all. Plus, all of my formal training (i.e. policies and benefits and stuff like that) was all done online. With no supervisor supervision. I was just left to browse through 16 boring hours of word vomit that I have no way of remembering on a first pass. Not to mention the potential for malpractice this could cause. Without a supervisor, they would have no idea if I had just blasted through the courses without actually listening or reading to them. Old Navy, my previous employer, sat down with all new employees for two days to explain their important policies and rituals, to make sure we could discuss if need be. Kaiser basically said, "You're on your own, and we trust you to not have questions." They need to cater to slow learners and not just provide a "one size fits all" approach.

Three - Potential malpractice. Going back to cleaning up patient rooms for this point. We all know that IVs, bathrooms, makeshift toilets, and medicine are all apart of the hospital environment. Right. However, why are people like me - who have no knowledge of medicine and medicinal equipment - in charge of cleaning it up? Hell, one of my co-workers even said, "[referring to a dirty portable toilet] Technically the nurses are supposed to deal with that." Let me make one thing clear here: I don't have a problem with cleaning up shit like bodily fluids. It takes a lot to gross me out as an internet veteran. However, if the nurses are supposed to take care of things like leftover IV medicine and stuff with bodily fluids in them, then why am I doing their job? I'm not sorry when I say this. This is inexcusable and unacceptable. A person with no knowledge of the equipment should not be expected to do a job the nurses should've done prior. I would go as far as to say that this is laziness. Also, a couple of my coworkers decided to let the leftover medicine in the IV bags drip into the sinks. That is how you end up with contaminated drinking water. This is malpractice, and I will not be convinced otherwise. As a healthcare facility - especially one as large as Kaiser - they should know better.

Kaiser failed me. If they would've been more competent, I probably wouldn't have been let go. Or, was the problem me? Did they have a problem with my non-verbal episodes? Did they have a problem with the fact that I'm not the type of person to trust people easily - that I'm not just gonna warm up to someone right off the bat? Would I have been let go anyway because I have an "issue" that's not going to work in their workplace? Am I the problem because their work environment doesn't allow people like me to thrive? Either way, I had high hopes for this job. Because it was cleaning, and cleaning is my free therapy. The high pay and benefits were just trinkets to me, honest. However, it appears the world has other plans for me. Ones I fear.

Kaiser. Do better next time. Not for me. But for other people in the future who are like me. I'm not mad. Just disappointed.

[leaves-lilies-and-esther]

About Me

Hi! I'm leaves-lilies-and-esther, and this is a post I made to summarize this blog.

I mostly talk about feminism here, although I may occasionally veer into other topics that I'm interested in. In the future I want to study some combination of literature, international relations, or history/social science.

I'm autistic and was diagnosed relatively late. Symptoms present themselves very differently in women and girls, and I only discovered that I had most of them because of posts online. Here's one I made with the resources that helped me if you're curious.

Politically left-leaning by US standards. If you disagree with me you're welcome here- I personally really enjoy having respectful debates. I wouldn’t be considered a true radical feminist because I am not "gender critical", but I agree with their analysis on most other topics.

Reblogging is not an endorsement of their entire blog

My beliefs are:

The sex industry is predatory. Porn tends to be very violent and misogynistic, and is associated with increased domestic violence etc. To paraphrase Catherine MacKinnon: sex work is usually neither sex nor work, but coercion.

Pro-choice is best for women's health. It is not ethical to force anyone to undergo pregnancy due to the physical and mental toll that it requires. Anti-abortion laws typically have casualties- ie, Savita Halappanavar and Olga Reyes. Most late term abortions are fetuses that were wanted (until new circumstances) or cases where women could not have access in time. Therefore, improving access is critical. Reproductive autonomy extends to procedures like getting tubes tied etc.

The government should have policies which help mothers, and women with reproductive autonomy overall. While abortion should be legal, the widespread necessity of it is symptomatic of other structural problems. Ie, we need paid parental leave, larger tax breaks to low-income families with children, crisis pregnancy centers, educational opportunities designed for teen parents, to fix our foster care and adoption systems, comprehensive sex ed, etc. Being pro-choice means that women should have the true choice to keep their baby if they wish.

We should be trans inclusive. Regardless of your beliefs about gender, trans people would probably exist either way (even if you successfully abolish gender, people will still experience dysphoria with their bodies). Transition can be the best informed decision. Statistically, trans inclusion in bathrooms etc make no difference in sexual assault rates. Denying these rights exposes trans people to assault and polices the appearance of cis women- enforcing gender even more strictly.

Traditional gender roles put women at the disadvantage. While there is inherent value in traditional "women's work", gender roles play out to put women in a position of insecurity and dependence (ie, if you want money, then you are the mercy of your husband to give it to you. And if he loses his job or dies, then you're broke). This is only one example.

i/p edit: I'm against both the Netanyahu government and Hamas. I'm not an October 7th apologist (and you shouldn't be either). At the same time, I can recognize that Israel is currently committing a genocide. My ideal world would feature a ceasefire, hostage deal, aid to Gaza, and two-state solution.

I'm happy to discuss my views in further depth, just please be respectful.